When Sam slinked back in through the front door within 30 seconds of exiting it, and hurried upstairs without even tossing her a sideways glace, Bela knew that it was bad. Either the family sent him away, or they weren't even there at all. Considering how Dean always had a car parked outside, the second option sounded better. Hell, Bella knew that she would leave if she had the chance. But still… it was troubling to see the Winchester brothers at odds about anything, let alone being in separate rooms of each other. But Sam had changed a lot in the past year, and she figured that Dean would have too. Going to hell did that to a person.

Maybe, Bela couldn't help wondering, that was why she had come here in the first place. Calling Bobby Singer meant calling the Winchester brother's, but she had been prepared for that. In fact, she had been expecting a whole lot worse treatment than what she had gotten, not that she would be surprised if it started up now. But they were the first people she could think of to contact for help. Funny how life turns out, when you have a laundry list of contacts and yet you don't trust any of them. Funnier still, that the Winchesters of all people were the ones who she felt she could trust. But then again, they had never backstabbed her in return to all the things she had done to them. Bela never understood why Dean hadn't killed her that night, when he came for the colt. He was close. But maybe she would never know. And still, she didn't feel like they were potting their much-earned revenge any time soon. This place – these people, more specifically – had drawn her in like a magnet. She knew that they were still alive. Even Dean. It was illogical, but she just knew it.

Then again, there was nothing to say that her meeting up with Dean wasn't caused by a little divine influence on the count of their little angel friend Castiel so that they could complete the ritual tomorrow night together. Bela knew that if she was to pull three people from the pit who needed to work together, she would program them to seek each other out. It made sense.

Or it could just have been her. That was always a better thought. Bela preferred to be in charge of her own destiny. It was better than being a dog on the leash of heaven's payroll.

No matter who had brought them all together, the important thing was why. According to Castiel, they all had to be active participants in the ritual that would catch Alistair, and that even though they would be perfectly safe – and how could he guarantee that anyways? – they didn't have a choice in whether they contributed to the act or how. Bela couldn't help feeling that she could represent all three of them in thinking that she really did not want to do this. At all.

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So sick of waiting for the hot-wired car to rev up, when John saw the spark of wires in his hands he almost jumped in surprise. God, am I really that out of practice? Letting go of the wires, he slid into the old car and did up his seatbelt – after getting t-boned by a semi once already, John knew not to dabble with these things – and skidded out of Bobby's yard and onto the highway.

He needed to find Dean. It was obvious that the boy didn't want to be found, but he should've known that John would chase after him regardless. Even if he let the little things slide, this was a different story. This was hell they were talking about. His son in hell. Whether Dean admitted it or not, he needed his father. John needed him.

Once he got into town, John let go on the throttle a little bit and coasted down an empty main street. If he were Dean, where would he go? Looking at the buildings around him, John let his eyes linger on a strip-mall on his right that was bathed in near darkness, save for the light of a few streetlamps. When he caught sight of a tavern sign, he pulled in front of another car so that he could turn right into the parking lot. He looped around until he found a spot, and pulled in lazily. Without a key – and knowing that he wouldn't be able to restart the car very well if he shut it off – John left the car running. He jogged across the lot until he got close enough to slow down, and when he got to the doors he slipped inside quietly.

A master of appearances, for once John really couldn't care how much attention or lack thereof he got while he stood in the doorway and scanned the surrounding people for sight of Dean. There were lots of people Dean's height, a few men with spiky hair, and plenty of leather jackets to go around, but it was obvious that none of them were whom he was looking for. That much was obvious in a few seconds. Disappointed, John made his way towards a young woman who was cleaning glasses behind the bar. She was blonde, curvy, and had a top that was way too small to be comfortable, and Dean would have been all over her if he was here. The woman looked up at John when he leaned against the bar, and he couldn't help suppressing a shudder when he noticed her eyes scanning him.

"What do you want, dear?" She cooed at him in a slightly southern drawl accented in a very feminine tone and leaned against the bar herself, showing way too much of herself in the process. John kept his eyes on her face, disappointed at how many young women just like this would hit on men that were old enough to be their fathers. Sorry hun, so not interested.

"Um, I'm just looking for someone who might have been in here." John saw the woman's face fall as he said it.

"Oh." It was clear that she had taken it the wrong way, although John was fine with that. "Well, what's she look like?"

John laughed. "No, it's not like that. I'm looking for my son. He's about six feet, spiky hair, leather jacket."

The girl gave a slight nod, her face blank. Not like she hadn't seen enough of those guys, right?

"Probably hit on you a few times?"

Same look. Okay, lots of those guys in here too then. The girl bit the side of her lip, looking bored. "Um, is he cute?"

"So I'm told." It was damn hard not to roll his eyes, but somehow John managed it. "Look, his name is Dean. Do you remember him, or not?"

At the mention of a name, the girl's face immediately brightened. "Oh yeah, Dean? We talked for a bit. Real nice guy. I gave him my number and all, and we chatted for a bit about" –

"When did he leave?" John cut her off then and there. I don't care if you talked about kittens. Still don't want to know. "Can you think of another bar he might have gone to?"

"Um… maybe three-thirty?" Britney Spears' head tilted to the side. "Somewhere around there. And if he went to another bar, it's probably the Crossroads."

"The Crossroads?" How ironic.

She nodded. "Yeah. Nice place. It's up on the corner third and fifth."

"Alright, thanks." John pushed away from the bar and headed out to the door, not bothering to pass a glance behind him and see the reaction that he had on Miss America back there. In fact, he probably didn't want to know. He had better things to worry about then gold-digging bartenders who were barely old enough to drink as it was. He had to find Dean.

Jumping back into the car – which had warmed up since he had left it out – John skidded out and back into the night.

Pulling into yet another parking lot, John left the car running again and let himself into the bar without much patience. This bar was slightly darker, but much cleaner and didn't have an overpowering stink of cigarettes, like the other one. But none of that was important, as long as he found Dean. Scanning this room in search of his son, his eyes quickly fell on a raised leather collar slouched over a counter across the room.

John approached slowly, for once realizing that he had no clue what to say. He didn't really know what had happened in the pit as far as Dean was concerned, but he knew that Dean wouldn't exactly be riling to talk about whatever did happen down there. John could understand that.

Gesturing to the woman behind the counter – this one actually looking old enough to have kids – John quietly ordered. "Scotch. Double. Hold the ice, please."

"Sure thing, sugar." The woman smiled at him warmly, raising a hand to show that she had heard him, and quickly finished drying off a glass. She kind of reminded him of Ellen, in that motherly way.

Dean looked up in numbed surprise at seeing John sit down beside him, although he quickly went back to his drink. In the warm light of a few hanging lamps, the tear tracks on his face were muted. He looked the other way for a moment, running a hand "casually" over his face to try and wipe them off. The sight nearly broke John's heart. "What, you here to make sure I don't drink and drive?" Dean's voice sounded rough too. "I still remember the lecture, dad."

John took his drink from the bartender with a passing smile, although he only had eyes for Dean. Setting his drink down on the table carefully, he took a minute to watch his son and hope that the right words would come to him. "Dean…"

"Don't."

He felt helpless, like an actor who didn't know his lines stuck on the stage without a script. "I… I'm sorry, Dean."

Dean's eyebrows pulled down into a frown, and after a few seconds he stopped to give John a quizzical look. "You're sorry?"

"Yes."

"For what?"

Wasn't it obvious? "For…" John strained his mind, not because he didn't know what he was sorry for, but because he didn't know how to verbalize it. "For everything. I should've – I never – I… I never would have done it if I'd known that you were going to go and do it too."

Dean took a swig of his drink, and swirled it around in the glass for a moment before answering. "Make a deal, you mean?" He asked it quietly, although there was a certain detached tone to his voice that said that he wasn't willing to get emotional.

Nodding softly, John watched the dark liquid in Dean's glass spiral around. "I always wanted to protect you, Dean. I know I wasn't very good at it, but I still tried. You… You never really seemed like you needed it, you know? You were always so mature, you never complained or seemed afraid of anything. I guess at some point I stopped treating you like a kid and forgot that you needed to be taken care of too."

"But I was afraid." Dean was still watching his drink and keeping his tone even, although John saw that his hand was shaking slightly. "I was afraid of a lot of things, dad. Ghosts, and wendigos, and those changelings that we fought when I was in middle school. And I was afraid that I wouldn't graduate from high school – which I didn't – and that Sam would really go and leave us to get some fancy education… Which he did, by the way."

There was no way that John could deny that he knew the words were true, and that he had known them all along. Of course Dean was afraid. He was just a kid. John was damn near terrified of these things when he had his wits about him, and yet he expected his sons to have superpowers of bravery? It didn't make sense.

"The three of us," Dean continued his lecture slowly, still watching his drink slosh around. "That was all I ever had. And then it was just the two of us, and then you just went and…" Moving a hand through the air to symbolize how John had left, he blew out a puff of breath through his cheeks. "Why do you think I went and got Sam from school, huh? You didn't even call me."

Frowning, John watched his son gulp down the rest of his drink and order another. "That's what I'm talking about," John mumbled in reply. "Since I got back I've been thinking, and I know I wasn't… I know I wasn't there for you like I should've been. And I thought that by making the deal I would be protecting you, giving you another chance, but I was wrong. Wasn't I?"

Beside him, Dean almost choked on his drink. Maybe he hadn't been expecting the question, but if he had it didn't show. Facing front for a minute more, he carefully finished his mouthful of alcohol and swallowed a few more times then what was necessary. When he did look back, his eyes scanned the counter for a few seconds before finally meeting John's for a split second. He had his game face on. "So what then, dad?" His voice was angry. "Is this the part where you tell me that it wasn't worth it?"

John felt his stomach drop. "I didn't say that!"

Dean just huffed, and went back to his drink.

"I didn't!" John grabbed his son by the shoulder, spinning him around to face him. "Don't put words in my mouth, boy! I just…" He took a deep breath, slowing himself down. If he jumped the gun and let his temper go, he would never get through to Dean. "I just want to understand what went wrong here between you and me. I was a good father once, believe it or not. And I don't even know when I stopped being one, but all I know is that this," – He moved his hand back and forth between the two of them as a gesture. "Was not supposed to happen. I never would've wanted that for you, Dean. I never wanted you to go to hell!"

"I know…" Eyes down low, Dean's jaw clenched and unclenched a few times. "But Sam" –

"He died, I know. But that didn't mean that you had to die too."

"But it was my job!" Dean hissed quietly over his drink. "I had to look after him, and I failed. So what if I made the deal, then? You did!"

"I know…" John put a cautious hand on his son's shoulder, regardless of who was watching. "I know. And I'd do it again."

Finally starting to break down, Dean shook his head slowly, looking at the ground. "You don't mean that. Not after" –

"Yes, I do." John squeezed Dean's shoulder hard, causing the young man to flinch slightly. "I mean it."

"But – But – Why?" Looking up for the first time, Dean looked exasperated. "I'm not… I don't deserve it. Not after…"

"Not after what, son?" John felt his own voice cracking up, struggling to stay calm when his son was in such distress.

Dean just shook his head, looking back at the dirty countertop.

"Dean?"

"I can't."

"Please," John begged, desperate to keep Dean from closing up on him again. "You can tell me anything, you know that."

"You know…" Dean moved his empty glass in careful circles on the grain of the hardwood, head so low that he was almost hunched over. "You know what he would ask us? At the… at the end of it, I mean?"

John's heart seemed to want to fall out of his chest. How could he forget? Even though he knew that it was likely that Alistair had also traded those words with Dean, it cut him to the core anyways. That son of a bitch wasn't getting much older than tonight, he knew for sure. "Yeah…" His voice was rough.

"Well I couldn't… After… I…" Dean bit his lip. "I said yes."

It hurt. Worse than Mary dying, worse than Sam leaving, it hurt. He had lost his son. Even if he was back here now, in the flesh, he had lost him. And he hadn't been there to stop it. "Dean…" His son huffed tiredly. "Was it still worth it then?"

"Dean, look at me!" With his hand already on Dean's shoulder, it wasn't hard to spin him around to face him again. He could almost feel his son's pain through the physical contact, as if they shared it together. He could feel Dean's sadness, his disappointment. And John could understand it. "I know you, alright. I know you. Who you really are. And will not say that I'd take anything back, because I am not disappointed in you. You understand me? It was worth it, because you are my son. And I love you."

After a little prodding, Dean finally brought his eyes up again. They were swimming in salt water. "But…"

"No!" John put his other hand on the free shoulder, keeping Dean's eyes on him. "This here, now, this is what matters. And we can not let him win. Because if we let him take away anything more than he's taken already, including our happiness, he has won. He can't take that from us if we stick together. And I will not let than happen."
One of the salt-water tears broke free, creating another line down Dean's face.

We have a second chance up here, Dean. We've got angels on our side, and we have a second chance to make things right. Tomorrow, we are going to catch that son of a bitch. But more than that, this time around, we can't let him win. Even in our heads. I need you to be a part of this family." John heard his own voice get nasally, and knew that there must be tears on his own face as well." Remember what you said before? The three of us. You, and me, and Sam. We can do it right this time. Can I count on you to do that, Dean?"

If anything, John Winchester knew that his son would always rise to a challenge. "Yes sir…" He cleared his throat softly, and his face got solemn again. But John saw understanding in his eyes. They couldn't do this alone, and yet there was hope.

John gave his son a big smile, and could barely restrain the hug that he wanted to enfold his oldest in. But he couldn't help from pulling Dean against him in the darkness of the parking lot, and it was with just as fierce of a response that Dean returned the embrace.

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Sorry about the long wait. I had a lot of stuff on the go, and to be honest this was a very emotional chapter to write. I edited it in a hurry and hope that there are no mistakes, and even more than that I hope that you enjoy reading it. I can't ever express how much I appreciate your support in this story! :D