A/N: Third to last. Almost there!

Note: I fudged up a bit. It should be Salvation, IOWA not Ohio. *head desk* I do that a lot, I apologize. For some reason I get my states flip-flopped occasionally. My bad. Please ignore the minor discrepancy. It's fixed in this chappie. The dates are a little confuzzling, I know. Just bear with me!

This is the third-to-last chapter. Second-to-last is done and in the editing process. Expect that by Wed/Thurs. The last chapter is already ¾ finished and will likely be posted Friday/Saturday. I finally know how I'm finishing this story, and will move on to the second.

I'm sorry for taking so long but RL really kicked me in the butt for a while there, as did writers block and plot bunnies. I killed the block and caged the bunnies, so I'm good now.

Get me ten reviews, and I'll message you all a teaser for the finale to hold you over. ;)

Disclaimer: Supernatural and all related characters belong to Eric Kripke. My characters belong to me. Steal them and die, people.

Chapter Thirty-Seven
Our Lives Suck

Inbound to Manning, CO
July 26, 2006

Dean sipped the scalding coffee without comment, eyes on the road, lost in thought. His fingers had been drumming in tune with Iron Maiden for the past twenty minutes, the tapping the only other sound in the vehicle besides the band belting out "Run to the Hills". He chewed his lip absently, mentally working through the situation facing them once they arrived in Manning.

"Dean," Sam said suddenly, breaking the silence.

"Hmm," Dean grunted, glancing over at him, not pausing the tapping or the chewing on his lip. He raised an eyebrow when Sam's mammoth frame squirmed uneasily in his seat. Interest suddenly peaked, Dean put his coffee in the cup holder. "Dude, spill."

Sam glanced over at him, brushing his mop-like hair out of his eyes. He continued to fidget, searching for some intelligent way to put the question to his older brother without coming off too "firing squad". That unnerving green gaze wasn't helping matters much.

Suck it up and spit it out, Winchester, he mentally ordered, taking a deep breath. "Dean, are you in a cult?"

Dean blinked.

Not exactly the reaction Sam had been hoping for. He studied Dean's expression intently, waiting for something, anything, to flicker on his face. Dean, it seemed, wasn't done surprising him.

He burst out laughing.

"Dean, this is so not funny," Sam protested hotly.

Still chortling, Dean flapped his hand. "Did you just ask me if I'm in a Cult, or did I fall asleep?" he wondered aloud, eyes dancing with mirth.

Sam just glowered at him, crossing his arms. "Don't try to laugh this one off," he said threateningly. "I saw your creepy ass meeting with all those old hunters. I read the journals. Something was always off but I could never figure it out – the connection between you and the Newbern family. It's this 'Brotherhood' thing that you all are so secretive about. Well, secret is out now, Dean. I know. So don't you start treating me like a little kid!" He paused for breath, angered more by Dean's impassive expression – Dean didn't even look a little surprised! "Honestly, Dean, how could you lie all this time about this? I mean, come on! You joined a freakin' Cult and didn't seem fit to tell me about it?"

As all older brothers eventually learn, it was better to let younger siblings finish their little hissy fits before interfering, so Dean did exactly that. The moment Sam paused to take in another deep breath, he set about correcting his little brother – the job he'd held since the age of four.

"It's not a Cult," he said point-blank. Brad had given him permission to tell him the truth… or the glossed-over version of it, anyway. "It's a group of hunters all dedicated to the same cause." He ran a hand through his hair, slightly worried at Sam's sudden silence, blowing out a frustrated breath as he tried to figure out what he could tell him and what he couldn't. "Look, the Brotherhood has existed for a long, long time. You make it seem like we're a band of assassins or something. We're not."

"Then what are you?" Sam demanded harshly.

"An information network, mostly," said Dean honestly. "There are hundreds of hunters in this country alone. The Brotherhood is a means to transport information to hunters at every corner of the country. The Informants – retired hunters or older hunters like Bobby – gather information, do research, find hunts and hand them out to younger guys. The hunters do the hunts, bring back the information, where it's documented to give to the next hunter who comes across the same problem. There's designated safe houses, I suppose you could call them, all across the country, places – mostly bars – where hunters can gather to swap information or put in an inquiry to the Informant running the bar."

"I still don't understand how you got involved in all of this."

"I wasn't the first. Dad was."

Sam was still confused. "Elaborate?" he pushed. "How did dad even find these people?"

"Easy," Dean replied. His eyes took on a faraway look, one Sam knew well – Dean was about to talk about Mom and what had happened to her. "When mom died" – Sam had totally called that one – "Dad went off his rocker a little bit. He literally went insane, Sam, he was so desperate for retaliation, for revenge. He went bumbling blindly into a world he did not understand. The hunting world caught wind of what had happened – the Demon was nothing new, not exactly – and knew that eventually dad would learn the truth. Before the Brotherhood stepped in, Dad somehow stumbled upon Bobby Singer, a hunter in the Brotherhood. Bobby took dad under his wing and taught him everything he knew.

"That's the way it works in the brotherhood. For many families, its tradition, a way of life, like it is for Paige's. New hunters are paired with an elder, more experienced hunter – like Bobby did for dad. Hunters link into the Brotherhood upon their own free will, but keep the back channels open for communication should the Conclave call together a group of skilled hunters to go after a certain target, say, a vampire nest or something like that," Dean finished.

Sam mulled this information over. Still sounded like a Cult to him…mostly. Put that way, though, it sounded more like a…a…secret society, or an organized band of soldiers, or something. He was really too tired to care at the moment. All that mattered was that his brother wasn't crazy.

Mostly.

"Can I join?"

Dean started and glanced over at his brother, abruptly going serious when he realized Sam wasn't kidding. "Do…do you want to?" he said hesitantly, surprised by the notion.

"It might be a good idea to be a part of the information network," Sam pointed out practically. "We both know I do all the research."

"Not all of it," Dean argued hotly.

Sam rolled his eyes. "Okay, Dean. Most of it."

Now this was awkward, Dean noted. To obey the Conclave, or to disobey the Conclave, that was the question… he sighed heavily and ran a hand through his hair. "Look," he said diplomatically. "I'm under orders to not tell you everything but I told you everything anyway. I'll see what I can do. Needless to say, being married to the daughter and granddaughter of two members of the Conclave does have its advantages."

"Does that mean you don't trust me?"

"No, Sam. It means they don't."

Not sure how to respond, Sam just tried to not be too put out. They passed the Manning sign – they were here, finally.

Time to hunt the demon.

Salvation, Iowa
July 28, 2006

Dean surveyed the room, sharp eyes taking in every little detail. The walls were plastered with maps, pictures, news articles… all scribbled on in his dad's handwriting. The information hopped from state to state, until it all looked like one giant, jumbled mess.

To an untrained eye, anyway.

His eyes saw what would look like gibberish to others – signs of demonic activity, electrical storms, demonic possessions, sulfur traces, articles of houses burning to the ground, pictures from all different cultures about the demon they hunted or legends relating to it. It all looked like mumbo-jumbo, but in reality, was a sophisticated demon tracking system.

To say the least he was astounded his dad had even figured out how to track a demon like this. It was incredible. He'd never seen anything like it. No wonder his nickname in the Brotherhood was "Tracker".

"This is it," John announced, sweeping a hand across the circumference of the room. "This is all I got."

Dean listened intently while John ran over the particulars of the demon, tracking it, finding the signs… about the sixth month birthday. Ice curled in his gut at that as he frantically searched his memory for what he and Paige had been doing on Sammy's sixth-month birthday. Nothing had happened. They'd been at home, demon-proof, meaning their son was safe.

Sam looked like he was choking. "I was sixth months old that night?" he said, surprised.

"Exactly six months."

"So this is my fault? Mom, Jess… it happened because of me?"

Oh, here we go again, Dean mentally growled. "Sam," he said. "It was not your fault."

He sometimes wished he had a bell like in a boxing ring to cue round 1 of the Winchester Hash Out. At this point, though, he should probably just get a fire hose to spray them down with.

Before they could start throwing punches, he intervened.

As it turned out, dads and little brothers were a pain in the ass.

XXX

Dean rubbed his face and stripped out of his outermost jacket, tossing it on Sam's bed. Sam was out hunting for coffee, a good thing, too, because he was exhausted.

"Dean."

He jumped and spun to squint at his dad, perched at the table scanning his laptop screen.

"Yeah, dad?" he mumbled, trying to determine what time it was but not finding a clock. He wondered if it was too late to call home and say goodnight as he absently patted his pockets searching for his phone, currently AWOL.

"Congratulations on the baby."

That got Dean's attention as he silently thanked his dad. Paige wouldn't be happy if he called and woke up Jace, anyway. He straightened and crossed his arms, tucking his hands against his body to warm them. "Thanks," he said with a heartfelt smile.

"How did you come up with the name?"

"It's an acronym," Dean murmured, yawning sleepily. "J for John, A for Allyson, C for Christopher, and E for Elliot. And Bradley after Brad, obviously."

John's lips curled into a soft smile. "I like it," he said honestly.

"Thanks."

"You named him after me."

"I figured it was only right," Dean said as he dropped to the end of his bed and removed his boots. "If it was a girl the middle name would have been Mary."

Sadness enveloped the gnarled hunter's face and Dean almost regretted bringing it up. Almost. "If we ever have a girl, dad," Dean said confidently. "Her middle name will be Mary. I would name her Mary, but it just, it doesn't…" he trailed off, running a hand through his hair in frustration as he sought the proper phrase.

"Feel right," John supplied. "Cursed."

Dean was relieved his dad could read his mind so well when he was tired. "Yeah," he agreed. "Here, I have something for you." He dug in his bag for his wallet and pulled it out, handing his dad the three pictures he'd been unable to send him.

John's callused fingers ran gently over the contours of his newborn grandson's face, wishing he could be there in person to hold the infant. It had been so long, so very long since he had seen something that small and pure and innocent. The baby was beautiful, but then, it didn't surprise him. Dean and Sam had been beautiful babies, too. He suspected that was from Mary's side of the family.

There were three pictures tucked safely away inside his palm. One of Levi, beaming at the camera, so very much like Sam at the same age, Ally's brown eyes sparkling with happiness out of his young face. The second of Dean's boys, the Blonde Boys he secretly called them, Owen cradling the infant Jace delicately in his five-year-old arms and looking proud as punch that he'd been trusted to do so, Sammy and Brody sitting on either side of him beaming in their white collared shirts, blue jeans, and bare feet. The third was of all his grandchildren, grinning at the camera while perched an old looking wooden bench in the ranch's front field. He would cherish the pictures forever, holding them close to his heart.

Through thick and thin his boys had turned out alright.

He couldn't have possibly been prouder of them.

Sam returned with a bag of coffee that Dean immediately snagged, making a beeline for the coffeemaker and dumping almost half the bag into the filter. He ignored John's amused chuckle and Sam's snort of amusement. Let them laugh at his caffeine addiction. It wasn't quite as funny when he was running on empty and doing his best interpretation of a grizzly bear, which he knew from experience, was only a few hours away from his current state.

"Let's talk about this year," John suggested, prompting both of them to look at him.

Dean and Sam exchanged glances.

"There's lots to tell," Dean warned, finger poised over the START BREW button.

"We've got some time."

Christ. Dean stabbed the button with his index finger and leaned against the counter, pouring himself a cup when it was done before sitting on the opposite side of the room.

This was going to be an awkward conversation.

XXX

Dean cradled his coffee cup in silence, watching his dad thump down to the mattress in shock, hands clasped before his face. Sam was at the table, rubbing his hands over his forehead in an effort to quell the headache that Dean knew wouldn't fade for a long, long time. Most of the time he pretended Sam didn't have this… handicap… and ignored the elephant in the room. But when the elephant decided to sit on you, goddamn it was uncomfortable.

"A vision?" John repeated, incredulous. He sounded as if he was starting to realize that this was not, in fact, a joke, and that his son was a psychic.

"Yes," Sam bit out, frustrated. If only the pounding would go away, he could think clearly. He could figure this out and stop the demon before something really, really bad happened. "I saw the Demon, burning a woman on the ceiling," he elaborated, furiously rubbing his eyes now. The pain refused to relent.

John was far from convinced, expression doubtful. "And you think this is going to happen to this woman because…?" He spread his hands helplessly.

Sam wanted to yell and hit someone, preferably his dad. Why did he always have to question everything! Why couldn't just try to understand without poking and prodding everything to death! It was maddening!

"Because," he said clearly, "these things happen exactly the way I see them." His eyes met Dean's across the room, and even though Dean wasn't telepathic, he unleashed his best HELP ME look, willing his brother to understand. He needn't have worried. Dean always understood.

Resigning himself to the awkward as hell conversation they were about to have –he silently hoped the 'blame game' wouldn't start again, it irritated the hell out of him when they did that– he downed the last of his coffee and stood. "It's true," he said, backing up the baby brother as always. "It started out as nightmares, and then…he started having them when he was awake." Sam was frustrated and his dad was brooding at the wall. Kill me now… I need more coffee, he thought, heading to the pot for round two.

"Yeah," Sam agreed. "It's like…" he stopped to rephrase, willing his dad to get this. "I don't know, it's like, every time I get closer to the Demon, the stronger the visions get."

John knew it then, knew it as surely as breathing. The Brotherhood's worst fear was true after all. He steeled himself and focused on his youngest son, hearing the muted agony in Sam's voice. Emotions swirled within him, making his head spin. Focusing on anger was the easiest, so he did just that and rounded on his eldest, needing something to vent his frustrations at.

"Alright, when were you going to tell me about this?" he said loudly.

Dean paused in pouring his cup, anger flaring through him before he could stomp down the flame. Keeping his temper in check, he forced his voice calm. "We didn't know what it meant."

Didn't know what it meant? Excuse, excuse, excuse, John internally chanted. "Something like this starts happening to your brother," he snapped in a voice as cold and unbending as steel, "you pick up the phone and you CALL ME."

"Call you?" Dean repeated, incredulous.

Sam stopped rubbing his eyes, suddenly worried that they were about to go Rambo on each other.

"Are you kidding me?" he continued, moving to stand between Sam and John, his default place in the family. "Dad, I called you when I was getting married. I called you when my son was born. I called from Lawrence." His voice rose in volume, as cold and unbending as his dad's. "Sam called you when I was dying. Getting you on the phone, I've got a better chance of winning the lottery!"

Awkward family moment, Sam thought, dropping his gaze to the table. Any other time he would have laughed at his dad's expression of shock at the fact Dean was rebelling instead of him for a change, but this was too serious. Out of his peripheral vision he observed them glaring at each other, before finally, his dad dropped his gaze and sighed, rubbing his stubbled face.

"You're right," John said softly, no heat in his tone now, only wariness. Dean leaned away in shock at his admittance, looking as if he thought his dad had just sprouted a second head. "And while I'm not crazy about this new tone of yours… I'm sorry."

Ooooookay, time to get back on topic. Sam went to raise his hand and thought better of it, deciding to just speak up instead. "Look, guys – visions or no visions, this thing is coming tonight. And this family is going to go through the same hell we went through."

"No, they won't," John promised calmly. "I won't let them."

Sam's phone rang. He smiled in faint apology before pulling it out and answering, expecting it to be Ally. "Hello?" he said calmly.

"Sam?"

He froze. The voice was familiar…he scanned through his memory, searching for a name and face to attach to it. "Who is this?"

"Think real hard…it will come to you…"

Ah. Of course. Just bloody perfect. "Meg," he growled. Dean and John were at attention immediately, faces dropping into nearly twin scowls. Talk about being able to cut tension with a knife… "The last time I saw you, you were falling out of a window."

"That really hurt my feelings you know."

"Just your feelings?" he scoffed. "That was a seven story drop."

"Let me talk to your dad, Sam."

And for the millionth time in his short life, the shit hit the fan.

Salmon Lake, Montana
July 29, 2006

Paige couldn't help but notice how thick and soft the younger man's hair was. So blonde it was nearly white, it reminded her in some distant way of her baby sister's curly locks, back before the shit had hit the fan and her family had been torn apart. She knew he didn't like to be touched, but could sense that he needed the support while he tried to get Noah on the phone.

Noah had to be okay, he just had to. Throughout childhood he'd weathered broken limbs, bruises, fractures, black eyes, and sprained ankles without so much as a flinch. Noah Clayborne wasn't an easy man to kill, he'd proven that during his years in the military and now in the FBI. She knew where each bullet had pierced his body, could point to each scar blindfolded and recite the weapon that had fired it, the size of the bullet, the nature of the wound, the size of the scar, and how long each recovery had taken. Noah had been as much as a big brother to her as her own brother had, remained one still.

She felt when Cole went utterly tense, body rippling with tension. "When?" he growled into the phone, standing up so abruptly he almost knocked her over. He clicked the phone shut and threw it savagely into the forest, swearing non-stop under his breath.

"Cole, what is it?" she demanded, grabbing his shoulder to spin him around.

Cole's fist clipped the point of her chin as she ducked, shocked by his attack.

"Shut up and let me think you stupid wh––"

Paige punched him on the nose, hard enough to get his attention but not hard enough to break bone. "Finish that sentence, I dare you," she growled, shoving him back against a tree. "What is going on?"

"Nothing that concerns you," he snarled back viciously, a dangerous light entering his eyes. It was a mix of something she'd never seen on his face before: anger, desperation, and panic. "Get out of my face."

"Or what? You'll hit me?"

"Don't tempt me." Cole shoved her back. "Ever since you dropped those kids––"

"You have a death wish," Paige cut him off. "My kids have nothing to do with this."

"Not much of a hunter anymore, though, are you?" Cole sneered. "Pretty useless, if you ask me."

"I did my time," she said quietly. "I sweated and bled and cried, same as anyone." She stepped away from him. "At least I'm not like you, Cole Clayborne. All you care about is making yourself look better."

"This from the woman with a traitor husband."

Paige clenched her hands into fists. "Quite frankly, I'm at a loss as to how such an overweening bastard could be related to someone as incredible as your brother. You don't deserve him." She shouldered her backpack and glared at him. "What's wrong with Noah?"

"Why do you even care? All you care about is your stupid whore of a half-demon friend!"

Angry tears pricked the back of her eyes. "Where is he? What happened, damn you?"

"You don't deserve to know."

"Cole!"

The angry young man rounded on her, teeth bared in a threatening growl, making him seem feral. A part of him knew he would live to regret this moment, that his brother would render him limb from limb, but he didn't care. The roaring emotions demanded release, even if it meant hurting her.

"Shut up and leave me alone," he snarled viciously, shoving her.

She stepped out of his reach, betrayal and pain flashing deep in her eyes. "Go to hell, Cole," she whispered, muted agony in her voice. She would just have to find out herself.

"You first, bitch," Cole snapped.

And vanished. Just like Connie, without even a sound. One second he was there, the next, he was gone.

"Seriously?" she said aloud, staring around. "Him, too?"

She turned her eyes up to the sky, beyond annoyed. It had to be some sort of cosmic joke.

Fear curled in her gut like acid. Something was wrong with Noah, something bad judging by Cole's reaction. She'd kill him later, now, she needed to get the powers that be on the gosh darn phone and figure out what had happened or if he was even alive, the mere thought nearly ripping her in two. She wasted no time hurrying back to her car and driving as fast as possible back to Wyoming.

All the while plotting just exactly how she was going to castrate the pompous asshole… with a spoon.

Because spoons were dull…and they would hurt more.

A lot more.

Paige smirked at the lesson and sent a mental note to her friend, wherever she may be. If she was even alive.

Thanks for that, Connie.

Thunder Creek, WY
July 29, 2006

A day and a half away from her babies was a day and a half too many. Relief enveloped her as she pulled into Red Hill Ranch just after sunset. She parked her Yukon beside Jared's truck as the front door flew open and Owen and Sammy raced out, megawatt grins firmly in place. Laughing, she scooped them both up and swung them around, pressing happy kisses to the tops of their heads.

"Hey, guys," she said cheerfully. Internally, she was churning with worry for the resident Bullet Magnet, also known as Noah Clayborne. "Did you miss me?"

"How was Montana?" Owen chirped, grinning up at her.

"Hot," she replied, tweaking his nose. "Did you ride today?"

Owen grinned and nodded. "Jared let me barrel race," he beamed.

Jared appeared and leaned his hip against the doorway, grinning his I'm-a-sexy-cowboy grin. "It's true," he drawled shamelessly, winking. "He did great, too. Patch is a bullet around those things, and that munchkin is a natural."

Paige mounted the steps as she swung Sammy to her hip. "Thanks for watching them, Jare," she said, stepping gratefully into his embrace. "Where's Rachel?"

"California for a friend's wedding. I couldn't leave the ranch, so she went reluctantly without me," said Jared, swinging the door shut behind them as he followed her to the kitchen, hoisting the giggling Owen up onto his back. "The boys were good." He grinned. "Spending time with Jace was good practice for me. Sooner than later, Ryder will be here and I'll be as sleep deprived as you are."

"Don't sound so cheerful about it," Paige grinned, kissing Sammy's cheek and hugging him tight before lowering him back to the ground. "Sammy, why don't you and Owen go pick out a movie to watch?"

The boys raced off to do just that, leaving her and Jared alone in the kitchen. All pretense of cheerfulness dropped, hunting faces firmly in place.

"Michael called," Jared said.

"Something's wrong with Noah," Paige said at the exact same time.

They stared at each other before sighing and palming their faces, trying in vain to calm down. "You first," Jared said, waving his hand.

"I was with Cole up in Montana at Connie's place," Paige said quickly, condensing her most recent adventure as quickly as she could. "There was nothing there, no one. Someone blew up half her house and a blood trail led to the nursery. Two words carved in the wall: Salvation and AZAZ. That's it." She blew out a breath. "Cole called Noah to warn him, saying that Noah was in Salvation on a case. He went stiff and lost his mind." She gestured at her chin. "Punched me and vanished." Anger tilted her brow. "Apparently, the little bastard can teleport like Connie can, and how the hell can he do that, by the way?" Her attention snapped back so abruptly it almost gave him whiplash. "So, I concluded that Noah must be gravely injured, because why else would Cole be freaking out, since he obviously wasn't having a bad hair day and had no dirt under his fingernails. I've been trying to get someone on the line all day, but all I'm getting is voicemails."

Jared's question as to why exactly Cole was there was answered with the teleport comment that momentarily stunned him. He thought about it for a moment, guessing it was likely the Conclave had sent him as a sort of bodyguard or to funnel them information. Probably both. "Connie is missing still, I assume?"

Paige nodded tiredly, rubbing her face as she sat on a barstool, waiting for him to mentally work through everything.

"Cole can teleport, something called AZAZ or pertaining to AZAZ is happening in Salvation, Iowa – which is the current location of Dean, Sam, Michael, Noah, and the rest of the FBI team – that Connie possibly died to warn us about, and to put the icing on the cake, something happened to Noah," Jared said, lifting a finger for each he listed off.

"Correct."

"Well, shit," Jared sighed, sitting beside her. "Have I ever mentioned how much our lives suck?"

"Only sometimes," Paige countered, whipping out her cell phone. "I have to alert the Conclave and warn my grandfather that Cole possibly went rogue and might be teleporting around madly on some homicidal rampage," she explained while she dialed her dad's number. "How the hell can he do that, by the way?"

"Maybe it's connected to the Demon somehow," Jared mused aloud. "Noah's mom died when he was eight and Amanda was four. Cole was just a baby."

It had been before Paige's time here in Wyoming, so she didn't know the details. "How did she die again?" she wondered as she drummed her fingers on the island counter.

"Fire," he said immediately. "It started in the nursery and…" he trailed off, eyes going wide. "Oh," he breathed as it clicked into place.

"The Demon," Paige concluded, feeling like she'd just been hit with a ton of bricks. She shoved the phone at him, suddenly unable to stomach the thought of planning battle with the Conclave. "Here, you talk to my dad. I'm going to try and get Michael on the phone."

Jared quickly explained the situation to Brad, going into as much detail as he could while keeping the story as condensed as possible for easy recall. He knew for a fact there would be an emergency meeting called tonight. By the time he'd finished, Paige was cussing under her breath. He guessed Michael's phone was going straight to voicemail.

Cole wasn't picking up, either, and Noah's phone went straight to voicemail, too.

Paige gripped the phone tightly in her hand as tears pooled in her eyes. "I'm scared, Jared," she whispered as he drew her into his side. "What's happening?"

"Chaos," he replied, dropping a kiss to the top of her head. "Let's just get through this movie and put the kids to bed."

"It's going to be a long night," she whispered, but did as he suggested, keeping on a brave face while they watched Robots and tucked the kids into bed. After that she wasn't sure what to do, so she sat on the end of her and Dean's bed and rubbed her eyes.

Jared entered, dressed in grey sweat pants and an old football T-shirt. He sat beside her and ran a hand through his hair. "Did you try the numbers again?" he asked.

"Yeah," Paige murmured, glaring down at her phone. "I left voicemails. All we can do now is wait. There's no other way to get a hold of them."

Neither was thrilled with the prospect. Jared studied his cousin, down to the dark circles under her eyes and her haggard expression. The stress was starting to take a toll. He reached up to gently run his index finger over the dark rim, concern in his eyes.

"You aren't sleeping well," he said gently. "Why?"

Paige smiled wryly and turned her head to study him in turn. "Neither are you," she informed him, reaching out to run her finger over the identical dark rim under each of his eyes.

Indifferent, he shrugged. "I don't sleep well when I'm alone," he said, a fact she already knew.

"Neither do I," she reminded him. Exhaustion was creeping up on her. "I'm tired, though." She thought about it for a moment. "Stay?"

"Of course," Jared said instantly, moving to stand but freezing when her hand shot out to grasp his wrist. "I'll go settle myself in the guest bedroom."

She shook her head and pulled him down next to her. "Here," she said firmly. "I think we both need the comfort." She tugged him down next to her and threaded her fingers through his. Jared smiled faintly, eyes very gray in the half-darkness.

"He'll be okay," he whispered.

"I know," she whispered back.

While they waited, they fell asleep, enveloped in soothing darkness. For now, they could have peace, as both knew their world could soon go up in smoke.

Literally.

XXX

Paige jerked awake at the phone's shrilling ring, sitting bolt upright, aware of Jared doing the same beside her. Disoriented, she waved her hand around like a blind person until she found the light switch and clicked it, warm golden light bathing the room to reveal Jared's pale face, probably as pale as her own.

She snatched the phone off the nightstand and held it to her ear, suddenly fearful. Was it Dean? Sam? Her dad? Cole? Noah?

"Hello?" she croaked, clearing her throat, heart thumping unevenly.

"Is this Paige Winchester?" a masculine voice inquired.

"That would depend on who's asking," she said automatically, aware of Jared's hand gripping her knee.

"This is Supervisory Special Agent Corey Daniels of the Federal Bureau of Investigation's Behavioral Analysis Unit based out of Denver," the man said formally all in one breath. Impressive.

Paige blinked and digested the words. Oh, right. Rational thought kinda needed. "That's quite a title, Agent Daniels," she said, rubbing her eyes. She'd met him before, when Noah had dragged his team to random family functions. She recognized the name but couldn't place a face. "How may I help you?"

"I apologize for the early ring, Miss, but I have news regarding Noah Clayborne."

"Why can't he call himself?" she demanded, voice sounding strangled even to her own ears. When he didn't answer immediately, panic gripped her. "Is he okay? How hurt is he? Where is he?"

"Whoa, whoa, he's fine," Daniels said quickly. "I should have opened with that, I apologize." She heard him sigh heavily and snap at a mumbled voice in the background. "My team was in a bit of an altercation with a second party. Agent Clayborne–"

The sounds of a scuffle followed by Daniels' irritated growl made her tense, until the voice she'd been worrying over spoke in her ear.

"Is fine," Noah drawled groggily. "Heya, sweet cheeks, I got shot."

Blunt much? Jesus! "Shot," she repeated in a growl. "Where? How bad?"

"Shoulder," he replied. "I was in surgery for a while but I'm outta the woods now. They wouldn't let me call anyone until I was in recovery." His voice was suddenly muffled, probably meaning he had his hand over the receiver. "Whoa, buddy. Talkin' to a lady friend, here. You get that needle the fuck away from me before I snap it off and stab it through your eye!" he snarled menacingly.

Paige snorted softly, suddenly immensely relieved. That was the Noah she knew, intimidating people to do his whim. She released a shaky breath and ran a hand through her disheveled hair.

"I'm back." Noah's voice was more cheerful than it had been a moment ago. Apparently, scaring people was his happy medicine. She couldn't say it surprised her, because it sure as heck didn't. Noah was huge, intimidating, and had a glare fit enough to split a tree trunk. A large tree trunk. So, naturally, he loved looming over people to make them feel tiny.

"Noah David Clayborne, you need to learn how to goddamn duck properly!" she scolded, voice cracking like a whip. She knew he winced, he always did when she flipped out on him. Her eyes watered slightly, prompting her to rub at them angrily with one hand. "Based on Cole's reaction, I actually thought you were dead for a minute there."

"Nah," Noah assured her flippantly, totally unbothered by the situation. "Gonna take more than some stupid bullet to keep me down."

She sighed in defeat and leaned against Jared, putting the phone on speaker. "Where are you, you big idiot?" she wondered.

"Salvation, Iowa. They're flying me up to Cheyenne at my request now that I'm stable. The doctor is pissed I'm leaving, but piss on him, I want to go home." Noah inhaled sharply, a sign of pain or surprise, she couldn't tell. "No, god damn it, I don't want any morphine!" he huffed, pissed off. Switching abruptly back to their conversation, he sounded normal again. "I'll be in Cheyenne by nine this morning. Come and get me?"

As if she could ignore the pleading tone in his voice.

"Of course," said Paige warily. "So, is Cole there?"

"Yeah, why?"

"You should warn him that when I see him, I'm going to first beat him to a bloody pulp, and then tie him to a flagpole and castrate him with a very, very dull spoon," she said casually, as if discussing the weather.

"Yeah," Noah sighed, not the least bit concerned. His tone took on a wistful note. "I can't wait to get my arm back so I can strangle him. Instead of freaking out on you, he should have just told you and teleported you here, too. It would have made the whole mess a lot easier to deal with."

"I know," Paige agreed, rubbing her chin. "Get some sleep, Noah. I'll see you in a few hours."

"'Kay," he agreed, sounding sleepy.

"And Noah?"

"Mmm?"

"I'm glad you're okay."

"Thanks." He sighed heavily. "I'll see you and Jare in a little bit." Neither were surprised that the giant knew Jared was sitting next to her. He had an odd sixth sense for that sort of stuff. "I have to go. Daniels and Nurse Chuckie are about to strangle me and I need both hands to defend myself."

"Okay. Goodnight," her and Jared said in unison.

The line went dead.

"Well, that's a relief," Jared mumbled, clicking the light back off and collapsing to the pillows.

"Now I need my idiot of a husband to call," Paige sighed as she curled into a ball on her side, facing away from her cousin. He scooted towards her until their backs were touching, the contact comforting. The only two people in the world she would ever feel completely safe with in the dark were Dean and Jared, that much she knew.

"He will," Jared murmured, punctuating the statement with a yawn. "Go back to sleep, sweet cheeks."

"Don't call me sweet cheeks," she mumbled sleepily, already halfway there.

Jared's soft chuckle filled the room, fading to them both dropping back into an exhausted slumber.

E/N: There it is. I decided to split this one into 2 because I was getting my thoughts all scrambled up in a jar. So, the next half should be out day after tomorrow, just got to re-arrange to fit the timeline.

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