Disclaimer: See Chapter 1.

A/N: Well, this is it, you guys, the final chapter. I hope you all like it, and I hope it was worth the wait. I'm sorry you had to wait so long for it. I edited as best I could, but I don't have betas anymore, so…yeah, if there are mistakes, I'm sorry.

Chapter 53: Game Changer

As Dean pulled the car to a stop behind his father's truck, a mixture of anger and dread filled him at the sight that beheld them.

You have got to be fucking kidding me!

He watched his father hop out of the truck and stick a pistol in his waistband before jogging over to them, and all the while, Dean seethed. He flung the door open, barely stopping himself from slamming Baby's door.

"What's the matter?" John asked, eyeing him cautiously.

"A graveyard, Dad? Really? Two of your kids talk to the dead, and you bring us to a fucking graveyard? For a showdown with a demon? What the hell?"

"Ah…shit, son. I'm sorry. I…forgot," John told him lamely, an apologetic look on his face that despite its sincerity did nothing to ease Dean's anger.

"Must be nice," Dean told him scathingly.

"You gonna be okay?"

Dean paused, ready to give his father a blistering retort only to realize that it was almost completely silent in his mind. Vague whispers had taken the place of the cacophony that usually assailed him.

Ignoring his father, he turned to Aubrey, who was turning in a slow circle, obvious confusion on her face.

"Aub?"

"Yeah, this is weird," she murmured, eyeing their surroundings with growing concern.

And terrifying. As nice as it was to have some quiet without worrying about how strong his shields were or how long he could maintain them, it was scary as hell. Because what was bad enough to keep that many spirits at bay? When the dead are scared, shit's about to get real. And bad.

The air had a strange thickness, an eeriness, as though the graveyard was holding its breath in anticipation.

"Dean?" his father asked impatiently, no doubt wanting an answer to his question.

"Something's not right. It's too quiet."

"But you can function? You and Aubrey can focus?"

"Yeah."

Ignoring the bigger picture here, though, Dad.

"Good. Grab your gear. We need to get ready." John turned and headed back to the truck to grab what Dena thought was more than likely going to be a bunch of shit that wasn't going to be worth a damn against a demon.

"This is such a bad idea," Aubrey muttered, and Dean wholeheartedly agreed.

With a sigh, they turned to join Jessica and their brothers at the trunk.

"Who takes the shotgun?" Braden asked as they stared down at it.

"Sam," Dean replied.

"Me? I thought you were gonna take it."

"No. Yellow-Eyes is jonesing for you, Sam. Take it. Braden, grab some salt and follow Dad. Go where he tells you."

"I thought salt wasn't strong enough to keep demons out," Jessica said as she watched Braden comply without a word.

"Depends on the type of demon," Dean told her as his eyes scanned the contents of the trunk. "It can stop some of them, slow others down. Some don't even hesitate."

"Will it stop this one?"

"You shouldn't be here," a voice whispered, and Dean paused.

'Yeah, I know. We're tracking a demon. Is it here?'

The spirit didn't reply, and Dean sighed. 'TK, you getting anything?'

"Yeah, man. Something is seriously fucked up about this place. Gives me the heebie-jeebies."

'Is the demon here?'

"I dunno, man. This cemetery…it's not like any cemetery I've ever seen before. It's like a void or something…I can't tell what's here and what's not. If there are spirits here, they're laying low. Sorry, bro."

"Dean? You okay?" Jessica asked him, her eyes worried as she stared back at him.

"Yeah. Aubrey? You getting anything from Harold?"

"Not much. He says there's too much interference for him to pick up on anything." She stepped closer to him, attaching herself to his arm. "Do you feel it?" she whispered.

"The air's heavy," Dean murmured back, and she nodded, her nails digging into him as she stared into the sinking daylight.

A few minutes later, they were following their father into the center of the cemetery. And as they passed through the rusty gate, the voices that constantly seemed to accompany him were suddenly gone. He and Aubrey both came to a sudden stop, their eyes meeting as they each silently asked the other what had happened.

'TK?' When the familiar voice didn't answer, Dean glanced uneasily back at the gate through which they'd come.

"Okay, I'm officially creeped out," Aubrey whispered, looking up at him with growing fear.

"Yeah, I didn't think I'd miss the voices, but…damn, this is fucked up," he replied.

"What's the matter?" Sam asked, coming up behind them with a concerned expression.

"We don't know. It's gone quiet."

"Need me to tell Dad to wait?"

"Nah."

It wouldn't fucking matter anyway—he's like a dog with a bone now. He's not gonna stop, not when we're this close.

"What's the hold up?"

He looked up to see their dad looking back at them with an impatient scowl on his face.

Dean shook his head, refraining from a reply, and with a motion for Aubrey to stick close, he fell back into step behind John.

John signaled for them all to spread out, and seamlessly, they complied. While Jessica kept close to Sam and Aubrey stuck with Dean, they veered outward about twelve meters from one another to cover more ground, close enough to keep in sight of each other but not so close that a single line of attack could take them all out. Dean kept an eye on Jessica from the corner of his eye, watching as she followed Sam, picking her way carefully around cracked gravestones and dead tree roots.

"You shouldn't be here," a voice said suddenly, and for a moment, Dean experienced a profound confusion as he struggled to determine if the voice was out loud or in his head.

"Something tells me neither should you," Sam replied coolly, and Dean followed his brother's gaze to see a young soldier in camouflage staring back at them with a cold expression.

Dad stepped closer, angling himself subtly to stand between Sam and the soldier.

"What's your name, soldier?" he asked the man, the familiar tone of command in his voice causing the young man to straighten in response before he seemed to remember himself.

"Jake," he replied with a sullenness that reminded Dean of Sam. It was a sullenness born of resentment, and Dean had heard it often enough that he had to fight not to roll his eyes.

"What are you doing here?" John continued.

"I don't answer to you, man, but, I'll tell you this much-you need to go."

Dean's eyes moved back and forth between his father and Jake, waiting to see how his father was going to respond.

"Christo," John said clearly, and Dean held his breath, waiting to see if Jake's eyes changed. But the same deep brown eyes stared back unwaveringly at John.

"What the fuck is that supposed to mean?" Jake sneered.

Beside Dean, Aubrey let out a sigh of relief, but Dean knew well enough that if the man wasn't possessed, he had no good reason to be here.

"Aubrey," Dean murmured, "whatever happens in the next few minutes, remember what Dad said—you, Bray, and Jessica stay back unless it looks like things are going to hell."

"Okay," she whispered, and Dean could only hope that her fear of demons was enough to keep her from disobeying. He glanced down at her for only a moment before looking back at the soldier facing off with their dad.

"It means there may be hope for you, yet," John was telling him, his own gaze just as steady.

"Hope?" Jake scoffed. "There is none," he said, shaking his head angrily.

"What's Yellow Eyes got on you, son? Whatever he promised you, whatever he told you to get you to do what he wants, you can't believe him."

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah. You know this won't end well."

"Well, from where I'm standing, he's holding all the cards. I gotta play the hand I'm dealt, man. So I'm gonna tell you one more time. Leave."

"I can't do that. That sonofabitch has been after my family long enough. It ends here, now."

"So be it." With a bellow, Jake charged John, and Dean lunged, intercepting Jake with a shoulder to the other man's solar plexus. Unfortunately it didn't faze Jake at all, and faster than Dean would've thought possible, he turned, slamming his fist into Dean's side.

A groan escaped him as he crumpled around the blow, and Dean knew without a doubt that whatever Jake was, it wasn't completely human. Pushing himself back, he dropped to the ground trying to regain his breath.

"Dean!" John yelled, but Dean waved his father back when the older man started to move in.

"Dad, don't," he gasped, and pushing the pain aside, he kicked out, tangling his feet in Jake's as the other man tried to move past him to get to John. Jake face-planted, and Dean felt a brief sense of dark satisfaction before Jake kicked at him. He rolled, just barely avoiding the foot aimed at his face.

Sam tossed the rifle to Braden and joined the fight, trading blows with Jake so that Dean could get his breath back.

"Go! We got this!" Dean told his father. They both knew there was more to this than just a fight against one of Azazel's minions—Jake was a diversion. Which meant that something far worse was coming.

John's assessment of the situation was clearly the same, and with a brisk nod, John took off with the Colt to find Yellow Eyes.

Dean got his feet back under him and charged back into the fight. He and Sam fought well alongside each other, years of experience keeping their moves in tandem. Dean was landing strong hits, but none of them seemed to have much effect. With a grunt, he fell back, his ears ringing from a blow to the head as Jake landed a blow to Sam's jaw that left the younger man staggering.

"Dean!" Braden and Aubrey yelled, the stereo effect throwing Dean for just a second. They started to move, but Dean threw his hand up to stop them.

"Stay back!" he ordered, and though he knew they were desperate to help, he knew this was a fight that the two fifteen-year-olds had no chance of winning. And they knew well enough to follow orders from him when shit was going down, so reluctantly, Braden backed down, ushering the girls further back and giving his older brothers room.

Sam stepped back in, swapping another couple of hits before he and Jake both began to circle each other. Dean fought to push back the dizziness that had him wanting to bury his head in his arms and stay down, and he blinked, not willing to try standing until he was sure he wouldn't fall on his ass.

"What are you?" Sam was asking, his chest heaving from exertion as he peered back at Jake through narrowed eyes.

"The same as you, Sam," Jake said cryptically, and Dean dared a look up to see Sam stiffen.

"How do you know my name?"

"Oh, I know a lot about you, Sam. Probably more than you do," Jake said enigmatically, a smirk on his face.

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"You're special, Sam, like me. And we have a purpose."

"Don't listen to him, Samuel," Oliver's clipped tones emerging from Braden's mouth.

"Special how?" Sam asked, ignoring Oliver, his jaw clenched tightly as he stared back at Jake.

"It's different for everyone. Me, I got super-strength. Some of the others can move things with their minds or make people do stuff. And you? I dunno. Maybe you'll be like the girl who can call demons. Or maybe you're some new kind of special. Who knows? The yellow-eyed demon said it's a little too early to tell with you."

"He'll never be like you, you sonofabitch," Dean bit out.

Fuck the dizziness, he was tired of the games. He threw himself at Jake, landing a punch that at least was hard enough to spin Jake around. With an angry roar, Jake kicked out, and Dean had just enough time to twist, protecting his weak knee from what would surely have dislocated it if not completely destroyed it. Jake followed it up with a roundhouse punch to Dean's side, and Dean could've sworn he heard his ribs crack. He crashed to his knees, trying to protect his ribs from further blows as Jake kept coming.

"Sam, catch!" Braden yelled, and then Sam was there, swinging the rifle like a club, hard enough that Jake fell to one knee.

This guy is like the fucking Terminator, Dean thought, a growing sense of panic beginning to envelop him. Dad, whatever it is you're doing to get the jump on Yellow Eyes, hurry the fuck up!

Jake knocked the rifle out of Sam's hands, and landed another punch that sent Sam sprawling once again. He paused to wipe a smear of blood from his nose on the sleeve of his shirt before aiming a cold stare at the Winchesters.

"Enough of this," Jake growled. He stepped back from the two brothers, cracking his neck as he walked backward about ten feet, and Dean was beginning to think that maybe, just maybe, Jake was going to pack it up and call it a day. But then he knelt at a train rail almost completely buried under a surface layer of dirt, grass, and weeds, his gaze on them. He suddenly thrust his hands into the ground, and with a groan of exertion, began to lift the rail.

"Don't let him break the line!" Oliver shouted, grabbing the fallen rifle and raising it to Braden's shoulder.

"No, he's just a person! Don't waste the ammo!" Sam shouted, and Oliver hesitated just long enough to give Jake the time he needed to fling the rail aside, the rusted metal screeching as Jake forced it to move.

And suddenly, the voices that had been missing from Dean's mind came hurtling in with hurricane-like force, and Dean found himself staggering, a step away from vomiting as he struggled to get his shields up.

'TK!'

"I gotchu, man! Calm down and get your shields set! Shit's about to get real," he told Dean grimly.

"Run don't look back it's coming it shouldn't be here some scary ass motherfucker you can't let him locked out for so long the door guard the door and don't remember to stay out of it's important listen to the put it back only stop for this is the last trust us…"

"Focus, Dean, you can do it," he heard a voice say, a real voice, and he looked up blearily to see Jessica crouched down beside him, her hand on his shoulder as she stared back at him worriedly. A quick glance showed Braden kneeling beside Aubrey, coaching her as Sam seemed to be preparing himself to take on Jake alone. "Come on, Dean—Sam needs you."

Gritting his teeth, he forced the bile in his throat down and pictured his hands working under the hood of the Impala, needing the calm that thoughts of his precious car afforded him.

'C'mon, everybody, shut the hell up for a minute—we're in the middle of a fucking showdown with a demon's minion here. Bug me later!'

Shields, shields, shields.

He repeated the word like a mantra until he finally regained a sense of control and the voices went back to the dull roar that was typical for him when he was stressed. But at least he could function. For a while, anyway.

He allowed himself to use Jessica as a quick crutch to help him gain his feet once more. Sam and Jake were once again circling each other.

"Game over," Jake said suddenly, looking past Dean's shoulder with a smirk. "You shoulda left when you had the chance."

Dean and Sam turned just in time to duck as their father was launched through the air, landing with a heavy thud beside them, the Colt falling from his fingers as he lay unmoving.

"Dad!" Dean moved, and Sam started to follow only to have Jake charge. While Sam once again kept Jake busy, Dean used the opportunity to grab the Colt and shove it into his waistband. He let his shirt fall back into place, as he checked on his dad. "Twins!" Braden and Aubrey were on their feet immediately, moving to take Dean's place at their father's side, Jess right on their heels. "Take care of him!"

Dean threw himself back into the fight, grabbing Jake from behind in a bear hug, and Sam used the opportunity to land a few punches to Jake's face. From the corner of his eye, Dean saw Braden move away suddenly, but he couldn't take the time to see what he was doing, since Jake broke out of Dean's hold and aimed another punch at Dean's side.

"Aren't you boys about ready to throw in the towel?"

Dean froze at the sound of the familiar, gravelly voice, and beside him, Sam did the same.

"Fuck," Sam murmured as the familiar form of Yellow Eyes' unfortunate host walked toward them with a cocky grin. The demon held up a hand, signaling Jake to stand down, at least for the moment.

Dean winced as the voices in his head took the noise level up a notch, the spirits shrieking at him to get away.

'Don't do this to me, please,' he told them. 'I can't run now. Just…gimme some quiet time and let me focus. I'll run later, I swear. And then I'll help as many of you as I can.'

And for the first time, they actually seemed to really listen. They subsided, their voices a whisper instead of a roar, and Dean tuned back in to everything that was happening.

"You have to know you can't win," Yellow Eyes was saying. "I mean, my boy Jake is supernaturally charged. He's like Superman without all of those pesky morals. Ol' Dean-o here doesn't stand a chance. And Sam, let's just say your talents lie in a different direction. Your gifts are mental, and well, I like you, but you just can't beat Jake in a fight. Not yet, anyway."

"What the hell are you talking about?"

"Sammy, don't—he's trying to get under your skin. Remember, demons lie."

"True," Yellow Eyes said with a grin, "but that doesn't make what I'm saying any less true. Sam is one of mine, and if the rest of you would've just let nature run its course, he'd be better prepared. Of course, it's not entirely his fault. Your father forced my hand, made me move up my timetable a bit. That's why your gift hasn't come online yet."

"Wow, you're really taking this 'supervillain' thing seriously," Dean interrupted. "I mean, are you gonna talk us to death like a B-movie bad guy or what?"

It probably wasn't the smartest thing to do, but Dean could see Sam starting to listen just a little too closely to what the demon was telling him.

"You know, Dean-o, you've always been an interesting diversion, but you've outlived your usefulness. Well, maybe 'usefulness' is the wrong word, but semantics aside, you're in my way."

He gestured with his hand, and Dean found himself once again flying through the air, slamming into a headstone so hard that he felt his teeth rattle. He dropped, spilling over a second headstone, and pain shot through his leg, causing his vision to darken. As he finally hit the ground, he couldn't be sure, but he was relatively certain that something in his bad knee had snapped. Or maybe that was his leg.

"Dean!"

Multiple voices yelled his name, but Sam's was the loudest, and despite the pain that wracked him, he tried to get up, Sam's voice urging him on.

Gotta help Sammy. Get up, Dean, get up.

"Now, now, we can't have you and your troublesome devil's traps catching anyone unaware," Yellow Eyes said easily, and another thud had Braden landing nearby with a groan.

Shit, we're dropping like flies. What about Jess and Aubrey? Where are they?

He wasn't sure, but either they'd managed to get out of the demon's reach or the demon didn't consider them a threat, since he shifted his attention back to Sam.

"So, Sam, I'm thinking, why not let you and Jake finish this round? If you win, I might let your family go. If he wins, well…you all die, but let's not get ahead of ourselves."

Before anyone could move, a shot rang out, cutting through the air and a thick silence settled over the graveyard.

Dean blinked, trying to figure out what the hell had just happened, and then Jake dropped to the ground, a gaping hole in his chest. His mouth gaped as he struggled to breathe, but Dean didn't have to be a doctor to know that the guy wasn't going to make it.

He turned, only to see Jessica's arms lower, her chin lifted defiantly as she stared back at Yellow Eyes. Her hands trembled slightly, but her fingers were steadfastly clenched around the 9mm that Dad had given her. Dean had forgotten about it, but damn if she hadn't saved all their asses.

"Well, well, well, we certainly didn't see that coming," Yellow Eyes said, his eyes narrowing.

"I could say the devil made me do it, but well, it seems inappropriate given the situation," she told him cheekily. A dark look came over the demon's face, and that quickly, Jessica was flying backwards towards another gravestone.

"Too bad there's no ceiling here—it's such a convenient way to rid oneself of pests. I guess I'll have to kill you some other way."

"NO!" Sam yelled. "Leave her alone!"

"And just how do you think you're going to make me?"

"Dean?" Aubrey's whisper came from close by, and Dean turned his gaze from the drama playing out before him to see Aubrey crouched behind a tombstone right beside the one he was crumpled against. "Bray finished the circle—if we can just get Yellow Eyes in it…"

"How?" he murmured.

"I…I think the spirits could help us. I mean, spirits can move stuff, too, right? If we let one of 'em take control, all it'd hafta do is shove Yellow Eyes into the trap."

"It's too risky," he said, shifting painfully in a worthless attempt to see if he could stand.

"Well, we have to do something!" she told him, watching as Sam was slowly pushed back against another gravestone, the demon clearly enjoying the chance to toy with them all.

Jessica began to scream then, and Dean knew that time had just run out, and they were out of options.

"Alright! I'll do it—just me, though. I've done this before, and I was able to take back control. Don't you fucking dare try it, you hear me?!"

"Okay," she said, and Dean could tell it had suddenly occurred to her just how big a risk what she had proposed was going to be.

"Don't worry—I'll be fine." I hope.

She gave him a weak smile, reaching out for his hand as tears slipped down her face.

Here goes nothin'.

And as Aubrey's fingers wrapped around his, Dean let go.

Power slammed into him, and he suddenly felt like he wasn't the only one in his head. His consciousness slid into the background, and what felt like a brief power struggle took place before someone slipped into place, taking control. And it was just like last time, except the power was tremendous. It was a bit like watching a weird version of Doom play out, he decided. He felt himself stand, Aubrey's hand falling away from his as he straightened. His spine seemed to be made of steel, and all of his pain melted away as he boldly faced Yellow Eyes. He watched one of his hands clench into a fist. The power rushed through him and with an icy smirk, he gestured with one arm, much like Yellow Eyes' had done earlier.

The demon went airborne, flying back towards a bare patch of ground in the center of the cemetery where some of the train rails had previously converged. It picked itself up slowly, looking confused as it tried to figure out what had just happened.

"Did you really think you could come here, to my stronghold, and destroy what I spent a lifetime building?" Dean heard himself say.

"Who are you?" Yellow Eyes snarled, clearly realizing that Dean wasn't exactly in the driver's seat at the moment.

"Samuel Colt, you sly dog," Braden said suddenly, and Dean distantly realized that it wasn't Braden but Oliver. Braden's mouth widened in a grin, and he laughed suddenly.

"Oliver Winchester. I might have known. Don't you look spry for your age?" he said wryly, quirking an eyebrow. "It's been ages, my friend."

"It can't be," Azazel snarled.

"Oh, but it is," Dean heard himself say as he turned his gaze back to Azazel. "You certainly know how to choose your enemies. You failed to consider just what forces you would be unleashing by breaking the lines. Fool! Demons aren't the only beings in this cemetery. It's a hard lesson to learn, the danger of shortsightedness."

"He's right, you know," Oliver told Azazel matter-of-factly. "Going up against Winchesters was foolish enough, but adding a Colt into the mix. Utter stupidity."

And honestly, if Dean had been fully in control, he'd probably have laughed at the way the two of them had just reduced Yellow-Eyes from 'scary as fuck demon that can kill us all' to 'mere nuisance.'

With an angry yell, Azazel threw Jessica toward Dean and Aubrey, and just as quickly, Jessica's body halted in mid-air. She shrieked, clearly terrified, and Dean could feel the power continuing to flow through him.

"Samuel, if you would be so kind," he said, nodding towards Jessica.

Swallowing hard, Sam hurried forward, reaching up to pluck Jessica out of the air. With a sob, she wrapped her arms around him, and he inched backward until he was standing behind Dean and Aubrey.

Enraged that he had lost control of the situation, the demon started to turn to John, who remained unconscious. But John slid out of the demon's reach, coming to a stop behind a tombstone as Dean's eyes narrowed on Azazel.

"It is high time you left this family alone. You don't belong here, and I'll be damned myself if I let demon ilk like you try to make a mockery of all that I lived and died for in this world."

And then the Colt was in Dean's hand, and he felt himself pull the trigger. The sound of the bullet cracked through the air, and then the demon was falling. Lightning seemed to surge through its body once, then twice, before it stilled.

Silence fell around them, and for a long moment, no one moved.

"Well, old friend," Oliver said with a smirk, "your help was, as usual, late but invaluable." With a matching smirk, Dean felt his hand come up to shake Oliver's own outstretched hand.

"Not all of us are old-souls, Winchester. Until that foolish boy broke the lines and this one here gave consent, my hands were tied."

"Well, you know the offer we made you still stands."

"I've been guarding this cemetery for over a hundred years. My time here is past—I'm ready to move on."

"Are you certain?"

"What is it with you Winchesters? You never listen and you're all stubborn as hell. If I wanted to be an old-soul, I'd have responded to the damned call when it was first offered to me. I've had a long run of it—too long. It's time for me to hang it up."

"Alright, you old coot. I suppose this is goodbye, then."

"Until I see you on the other side. Find me when you decide to hang it up."

"Yes, well," Oliver said, looking around at the others with an affectionate smile, "I think I'll stick around for a while yet. Family's important, after all."

"That they are. Take care, Winchester."

"The same to you, Colt."

The power filling Dean surged again, and the train rail that Jake had hurled away flew back into place.

The rail settled into the ground, and with a snap, the power that had filled him was gone, and Dean found himself alone in his headspace once again. He blinked once before dropping heavily to the ground, the pain ripping through him as it all came roaring back. A yell escaped his mouth, and the last thing Dean saw before everything went black was Sam reaching for him.


An incessant beeping rang in Dean's ears, but for the life of him, he couldn't remember who he'd been on the phone with that would've hung up on him. Or why he wouldn't have hung up on his end by now.

Really, that shit's annoying. What the fuck?

A low whisper hummed through his mind, sounding all too much like a voice not his own, and with sudden clarity, everything came rushing back to him. His eyes shot open and he tried to sit up, and that was about when the pain registered.

"Fuck!" he swore as the pain stole his breath.

"Dean!"

At the sound of his brother's voice, instant relief filled him, though the pain intensified as he gasped for air in spite of the pain. Still, as Sam's hand came to rest on his arm, it was a comfort nonetheless.

"Easy," Sammy murmured. "Your ribs took a hell of a beating."

"Yeah, getting that," Dean choked out, his chest heaving.

"Slow it down, man." Sam shifted, laying his hand on Dean's chest, giving Dean something to focus on besides his need for air.

Closing his eyes, he resisted the innate desire to keep trying to take deep breaths and instead fought to ease up and take shallow, steady breaths.

"Better?" Sam asked after a few moments.

"Yeah," he replied, opening his eyes and taking in the sight of the hospital room in which he found himself.

Well, shit.

"How'd we do?" he asked, pressing a hand gingerly against his ribs and eyeing his bad knee with resignation when he registered not only the pain, but the pillows propping it up and the hospital-grade icepack resting on top of it.

The icepack was doing its job—his knee was numb—so it was hard to say just how bad it was.

That prob'ly won't last too long, though.

Please just let it be a sprain.

"Well, we won—by the skin of our teeth—but we won. Dad's in a room down the hall with a concussion—pissed as hell, too—but he should be discharged soon."

"What about you? You look like shit, and that asshole beat the hell outta you, too."

"I'm okay. A bit sore is all. Besides, you should see the other guy," Sam said ruefully, trying for humor but failing miserably. He looked down at his lap, and Dean could almost hear his little brother internally berating himself, his overactive conscious already butting in.

"Stop it, Sammy."

"What?"

"Beating yourself up about that guy. We did what we had to."

"He was human, Dean."

"The hell he was! And you forgetting that he was trying to kill us?" Dean said vehemently, annoyed that he felt out of breath. "Stop feeling bad about what needed to be done. Besides, you didn't kill him."

"Yeah….that was a helluva shot, wasn't it?" Sam asked a quiet pride filling his voice as he glanced back up at Dean.

"No kidding—damn, I never even saw that coming, and neither did that yellow-eyed bastard. Did you see his face? That was fucking hilarious." He paused. "Jessie okay?"

"Surprisingly, yeah."

"What's surprising about it?" She's awesome."

"She is, isn't she?" Sam said fondly.

"So where is she?"

"She's sitting with Dad—he tries harder not to be an asshole when she's around, so it seemed like a good idea. And I haven't heard any of the nurses complaining, so I guess it's working."

"And the twins?"

"Aubrey managed to come out without a scratch on her. She says it's because we're all stupid, macho guys and we jump into fights without thinking, but whatever."

"Her 'gift' under control?"

"Yeah, she says she's back to just Harold in her head. By the way, that was really risky, what you did."

"Well you know what they say—desperate times call for desperate measures."

"Yeah, but what if—"

"Shut up, Sammy."

"You're such as ass."

"Bitch."

"Jerk," Sam replied with a smile.

"So what about Braden? He okay?"

"Bruised and headachy, but it looks like Oliver protected him from the worst of it."

"And me—how bad?"

"The ribs, obviously, some internal bruising…" Sam hedged, and Dean glared at him.

"And…"

"You tore the hell outta your knee again," Sam told him softly. "Sorry, man."

"Fuck," Dean said wearily, closing his eyes miserably.

"They've already repaired the damage, so at least you're past the surgery part. You just have the physical therapy to worry about. All told, you're pretty damn lucky."

"Yeah," he murmured. With his ribs protesting with every breath, and his body throbbing in time with his heartbeat, he didn't feel so lucky, but he knew that it could've been far worse.

"So what about your gift?" Sam asked after a moment.

"Seems pretty quiet…" He thought maybe he could sense TK, but no one else.

"Good—I'll let Bray know."

"Huh?"

"The bracelet you're wearing—check it out," Sam told him, nodding at Dean's wrist, and Dean looked down to see a knotted leather bracelet on his wrist next to the hospital bracelet. "Bray made it—or maybe Oliver did—but either way, whichever one of them it was said Cherise gave him the idea for it. Something about the knots repelling the spirits or blocking them, something like that. We weren't entirely sure it'd work, but we didn't know what else to do short of Bray drawing all over the room with a Sharpie. And, you know, that's not exactly staying under the radar."

"Oh."

"What? What's wrong?"

"Nuthin', I just thought maybe I'd gotten strong enough to block 'em all."

"Dude, we don't know that you haven't. I mean, hell, Dean, you seem pretty good at raising and lowering the shields when you need to, so who's to say? You may not even need the bracelet."

"Maybe if we can get back to normal, and, you know, not be in the middle of a fucking crisis, we can experiment, see if I've really got a handle on it." Out of breath, he paused, starting to seriously regret trying to have an actual conversation.

"And Samuel Colt—he's gone?"

"Yeah, he's not that kind of spirit," Dean told him.

"So he's not gonna pull an Oliver and stick around?"

"Nah."

"Yeah, that's what Oliver said, but it's nice to have confirmation from someone who's not dead."

Dean started to chuckle but changed his mind when his entire body seized up with pain.

"Fuck," he ground out.

"Shit, I'm sorry, man! You okay?"

He started to nod his head and deny, deny, deny, but with his chest aching from the strain of trying not to suck in air like a Hoover, he didn't even have it in him to lie. He wanted desperately to take a deep breath, but the pain he was already feeling coupled with past experience told him how bad that would be.

Whatever drugs they'd been pumping into him were pretty much done helping him, and as much as he hated the drugged out feeling they gave him, he knew if things got much worse, he was going to end up embarrassing himself by acting like a little girl in front of his brother. Prescription-strength painkillers were looking like a really good option, he decided. His hand searched around for the call button and without a word, he pressed it.

"Why didn't you say something? I could've done that for you," Sam said, leaning forward with worried eyes.

Because that would've required air, and I don't have enough as it is. Fuck—how did I forget how much cracked ribs hurt?

The nurse that came in was short, stacked, and redheaded, all of which pinged Dean's hot-chick radar, but he didn't even have the energy to attempt flirting. Which sucked. Out loud. Maybe later, he thought tiredly. He let his brother do the talking for him—he knew Sammy would know what to tell her-and put up with her poking and prodding him without a word. Anything to get the good shit.

Sam was quiet as the nurse finished double-checking Dean's vitals, and after reassuring them that she'd be right back, she left to get Dean something that would put him in out of his misery pretty quickly.

Haul ass, please, he thought at her back, closing his eyes and grimacing as he accidentally shifted his weight, jarring his knee and causing his ribs to twinge.

"You need anything else before she comes back?" Sam asked him softly, and Dean opened his eyes as Sam rested his hand on Dean's shoulder.

"Nah, just tell me Baby's parked somewhere safe," he mumbled tiredly.

"Yes, Dean," Sam said, rolling his eyes.

"'m serious. Did you park her…where no one will hit her?"

Fucking hospital parking spaces are too small and too many people can't park for shit. Douchebags.

"Yeah, I took care of it."

"Her. Not 'it.'"

"Okay, Dean," Sam told him, clearly humoring him. But Dean didn't care, as long as Sam took care of the important things.

The nurse came back in then and made short work of administering the good meds, the kind that would make Dean fall asleep but not leave him feeling like total shit when he woke, not like the stuff they sent home. Those were shit, and he hated them.

Silence fell as they waited for the drugs to hit his bloodstream, and Dean could already feel a pleasant warmth began to seep through his bruised body, making his limbs feel blissfully heavy.

"You'll stay here, right, Sammy?" he mumbled as his eyes started to drift closed.

"Yeah, Dean, I'll be right here."

And he would, Dean knew, because his little brother was good like that.


Two weeks, several hundred miles, and fifty-seven reruns of Charmed later, and Dean was about ready to take off the next time his father wasn't looking. Well as fast as he could on crutches, anyway.

Recovery is a bitch. And not even the Halliwells could make it go by faster. Though the latter is at least a nice distraction.

They'd come to Bobby's as soon as John had deemed it safe to make a clean getaway from the hospital, but Dean had been chomping at the bit pretty much since they arrived. An overbearing father, three younger siblings, and a plus-one in the form of Jessica certainly didn't make things easier. To be fair, though, Jessie doesn't really add to the chaos. And she takes my side a lot, so…yeah, just the three then.

"Seriously, Dean? Charmed? Again?" Sam asked with no small amount of annoyance. "C'mon, we've been watching this for two weeks now! Aren't you tired of watching four hours of this every day? I mean, it's practically the same damn plot in every episode!"

"First of all, no, it's not," Dean began hotly. "Second of all, Alyssa Milano is fucking hot. Third," he continued, ticking off the reasons on his fingers, "Holly Marie Combs—also hot. Fourth, I have dibs on the remote because I parked my ass in front of the TV first. Fifth, I'm older than you, which means that I always get dibs on the remote. Sixth, I have to see if Phoebe finds out the truth about Cole before shit gets real and she marries him. Seventh, Dad won't let me do anything but lay here on the fucking couch and watch TV, and until Bobby upgrades his damn cable package, this is the only thing on that's not a talk show, an infomercial, or Judge Fucking Judy. Now are you gonna shut up, or need I go on?"

He was vaguely aware that he was probably being borderline unreasonable, but as usual, he didn't really care all that much. Mostly, he was impressed that he'd delivered the entire spiel without having to stop and catch his breath—progress.

"Law and Order is on," Sam suggested cajolingly. "You'd probably like—"

"No. What are you not getting here, Sam? I told you—I have to find out what happens now. And no spoilers," he said darkly, knowing that Sam was just spiteful enough to look online to find out the plot of the show and ruin it just to get his way. "You mess this up for me, and I will fuck you up."

"Dude, you're such a pain in the ass when Dad puts you on medicated lockdown."

"And you're a little bitch when you're not in charge of the TV remote, but it looks like we're both shit outta luck until Dad decides to stop being a Nazi."

Sam huffed, crossing his arms over his chest as he stared morosely at the TV.

"I like Charmed," Aubrey said after a moment.

"Of course you do," Sam retorted. "It's a girl show."

"No, it's not," she protested, echoing Dean's own objection.

"Sam, are you giving Dean a hard time?" Jessica asked, coming in from Bobby's study with a small stack of books and a suspicious look on her face.

"Yes," Dean said, aiming a pitiful expression at her while Sam vehemently denied any wrongdoing.

"Sam," she admonished, "you know he's not feeling well—quit being a pill and leave him alone."

Dean aimed a triumphant smirk at his younger brother before turning his attention back to the TV. Jessica placed the books beside Sam's chair and then slid onto his lap, clearly deciding to watch the show, too.

That's right, Sammy. Because it's fucking awesome and everyone else has better taste in TV than you.

He shifted, trying to get comfortable, but his ribs twinged in protest, and he stifled his instinct to suck in a deep breath. Again.

This shit's getting old.

"You okay, D?" Braden asked, looking up from where he was perched on the opposite arm of the couch.

"'m fine," Dean muttered, wishing that it were true.

Braden eyed him for a moment, clearly recognizing the lie for what it was, but he let Dean get away with it, turning back to his sketchbook with a shrug.

"Dean," John said, leaning in the doorway on his way to the kitchen, "pain meds—dose up."

"Nah, I'm good."

"No, you're not. Do what I said."

Dean geared up to argue, despite the ache in his ribs settling in and the headache brewing from either the pain or the hangover from the drugs wearing off. He'd prefer the aches to the doped up feeling from the meds, though, and evidently, his father could tell because there was a growing scowl on the older man's face.

Apparently, Aubrey saw it, too, because she suddenly sat up.

"Daddy? Since we're almost out of food, can I drive us to the store?"

"What?" he asked, turning to her with a confused expression. "What are you talking about? We just bought food a few days ago."

"Yeah, but we're almost out of the good stuff."

"Like what?"

"Like PopTarts. And Lucky Charms—Sam ate the last bowl." The mental 'jerk' that was tacked on to the end of her pronouncement was loud and clear, and Sam rolled his eyes.

"The Lucky Charms were for all of us, Aubrey, not just you and Bray," Sam retorted.

"You're an adult, Sam—shouldn't you be eating Wheaties or tree bark cereal or something?"

"Now you know what it feels like, Sammy," Dean cut in. "I've been tryin' to get the last bowl for fifteen years, bitch."

"Well, you know, maybe Dad should buy more than one fucking box—it wasn't even the family size box," Sam retorted.

"Or maybe you shouldn't eat such a large bowl," Aubrey came back. "Maybe then the rest of us would have a chance of getting some."

"I'm six-four, Aub—I don't have the appetite of an eight-year-old. Give me a break!"

"Then maybe you should quit eating kids' cereal and start eating something for, you know, abnormally large people."

Dean glanced at their father, who was scrubbing his face with his hands wearily, and smirked. Aubrey caught Dean's eyes, and winked at him, a mischievous grin on her face before she turned back to the argument she'd started.

Good job, little sis.

"You're acting like I ate the whole box," Sam was protesting.

"You did!" Aubrey, Dean, Jessica, and Braden all yelled at once.

"Show me proof—innocent until proven guilty."

"Dad, if she gets to drive to the store, then I wanna drive back—it's only fair," Braden chimed in.

"Wait a minute, I never said we were going to the store," John said, but Dean knew it was only a matter of minutes before the old man caved. He'd realize soon enough that it was easier to go to the store than to try to convince everyone that they didn't need more Lucky Charms.

"You can drive next time, Bray—I asked first. But you can still come along if you want," Aubrey told her twin graciously.

"Nah, that's okay. If there's no reward in it for me, then I don't want to take the risk of being in the car with you when you're driving. I've seen you drive."

"I'm not a bad driver!"

"Yes, you are. But that's okay—you'll get better when Dean can help you practice more, I'm sure," Braden told her, turning back to his sketchpad. "Don't forget the PopTarts. Get the kind I like."

"Take the truck, not Baby," Dean added, turning back to the TV nonchalantly, silently hoping that his dad wouldn't recall the discussion of his meds.

With a sigh, John headed for the door as Aubrey scrambled to follow with an excited whoop. She raced out only to rush back in a few seconds later.

"Forgot my shoes!" she told them. She sat down on the floor, shoving her feet into her tennis shoes as fast as she could.

"Thanks, Aub," Dean told her as she jumped up. She turned back to him, throwing her arms around his neck and giving him a hug and a purposefully wet smooch on the cheek.

"Love you, D."

"Yeah," he told her affectionately. Me, too, little sis. Me, too. "Get me some Pepsi," he called after her as she grinned back at him, and he split his attention between Charmed and the door, waiting to see if his father would come back in. Finally, he heard the sound of John's truck engine grinding, and he grinned, relishing in his success.

Now, where were we? He wondered as he turned his full attention back to Charmed, smirking as Sam huffed. Oh, man, Phoebe's past and present selves? This is gonna be good.


The next morning found Dean sitting at Bobby's kitchen table, feeling like absolute tee-total shit.

"Probably should've taken your Pop's advice—you'd have slept better with the painkillers, my man," TK told him, and Dean frowned.

'Not in the mood, TK. Stuff it.'

In the back of his mind, Dean could hear TK chuckle, but he left it alone after that, and Dean was grateful that the spirit had chosen to be a pal and shut the hell up.

He had to admit, though, that having TK back was kind of a relief. While he didn't miss the constant bombardment of voices, he'd gotten used to TK, and he was tired of losing people. Even if TK wasn't exactly 'people.'

The way Braden (or Oliver) had explained it, the bracelet kept the non-attached spirits away, but since TK had long since latched on in a way none of the others could, he was safe from the effects of the bracelet.

"Here you go, boy," Bobby said, plunking a cup of coffee on the table in front of Dean and pulling him out of his reverie. "That's the real stuff, so hurry up with it before your daddy comes in here. He'll bitch at the both of us if he sees you with the caffeine."

"Yeah, thanks, Bobby," Dean mumbled, taking a cautious sip of this hot, strong black coffee. He could almost feel the caffeine soaking in. Ah, coffee—nectar of the gods. Right after Pepsi.

While Bobby started poking around in the cabinets, no doubt searching for breakfast ingredients that hadn't yet been consumed by the Winchester brood, Dean gulped down his coffee. And when Bobby headed to the pantry to look for more salt, Dean managed to swipe another cup. It wasn't a pain-free venture, of course, but it was worth it, he decided, as he savored the taste of the hot, black coffee.

First cup is for rapid infusion into the bloodstream, but the second is for slow appreciation.

Carefully, he reached for the newspaper on the other side of the table and pulled it toward him, casting a quick glance at his horoscope just for the hell of it. Never hurts to know the lucky numbers.

Slowly, the others began to make their way into the kitchen, just in time for Bobby to finish fixing the first batch of scrambled eggs and bacon. Dean handed Jessica his now empty cup, casting a hopeful expression from her to the coffee pot nearby. With a smile, she refilled it and slid it back to Dean before setting a plate of eggs and bacon in front of him.

"Thanks, Jessie—you're the best," he said, tucking into his breakfast with happy enthusiasm.

Aubrey slid into the chair beside him, turning her nose up at his coffee before getting back up to get a glass of orange juice. She took the plate Jessica offered her with a grateful smile as she plopped back down in her chair.

Sam, Braden, and their dad showed up a moment later, and Sam helped himself to a plate as Braden began to search through the cabinets with a frown. After pouring a cup of coffee, John eyed the small table critically before settling for standing at the counter. Sam sat down at the chair across from Dean, and Jessica perched on his leg, clearly leaving the last chair for Bobby or Braden.

"So, Dad," Braden began only to stop as he pulled down the box of PopTarts he'd found in the cabinet. "Frosted? Damn it," he muttered with a scowl before turning to face John. "Really, Dad? Frosted? What the hell?"

"Your sister picked 'em, Braden, not me," John told him, sipping gingerly at his hot coffee.

"Yeah, but you hold veto power," Braden countered. "And you know I don't like frosted."

Actually, Dean had a pretty good idea that their father didn't know that. Dean was the one that usually exercised that particular right to veto on his baby brother's behalf.

"I thought everybody liked frosted—sorry," John told him, not sounding particularly sorry. Yeah, it's hard to sound sincere when you're dealing with PopTart partiality. He's right, though—who doesn't like frosted?

"So you were saying…" John prompted when Braden continued to glare at the PopTarts in his hand.

"We were wondering," Braden said after a much put-upon sigh, "when are we going to vote on where we live?"

"What?" John asked him, staring back at the fifteen-year-old blankly.

"You know, where we're gonna settle now that Yellow Eyes is dead. It's kinda important. I hear Denver's nice."

"No way!" Aubrey cut in. "That's not what we talked about, Bray! We are not living anywhere cold!"

"We will if the majority says so—D, you'll back me, won't you?"

Surprised, Dean looked up from his breakfast, taking a moment to register what exactly he'd been asked. He shook his head, swallowing as he aimed an apologetic look at his younger brother.

"Denver gets too much snow—road salt would be hell on Baby. Sorry, little brother, but fuck no."

"Hah," Aubrey threw back at her twin triumphantly. "I bet Sam will side with me, too," Aubrey threw back.

"You haven't even offered a counter-proposal," Sam told her. "I can't side with you over Braden until you offer an alternative."

"Fine-I vote Myrtle Beach."

"Ooh, I love the beach," Jessica spoke up, her eyes twinkling with amusement as Dean started shaking his head.

"No way, Aub—I don't do sand. We've talked about this. In fact, if we're throwing out ideas, I vote we eliminate the entire southeastern United States—it's too damn hot, and the humidity is fucking ridiculous."

"But—they have Disney World, that cool Coca-Cola place in Atlanta, and the SEC," she protested, clearly under the delusion that a man-sized mouse, a fucking anti-Pepsi museum, and her precious Gamecocks would be enough to convince him that the Southeast wasn't hell on earth.

"No."

"No fair! Sam, tell him he can't do that!"

"On what grounds?" Sam asked. "Besides…I kind of agree with him," he told her sheepishly.

"You're such a loser, Sam," Aub told him disgustedly. "But Jess agrees with me—she likes the beach! That's gotta count for something!"

"You know, Aubrey, there are some really nice beaches in Cali, too," Jessica offered.

"Yeah, and I hear the earthquakes and forest fires are really nice this time of year, too," she deadpanned. "Forget it."

"Well, if Cali is out, I'm willing to consider Connecticut," Sam threw out. "I could get a scholarship at Harvard, I think."

"Boring," both twins intoned, and Sam frowned.

"Dad, you gonna weigh in here anytime soon or what?" Sam asked, and all eyes turned to John, who still looked a little flummoxed by the whole subject.

"I don't think I've had enough coffee for this," he muttered, but when all of them simply stared at him expectantly, he sighed, setting his cup down on the counter. "Well, uh, the truth is…"

"You haven't thought about settling at all, have you?" Jessica asked softly, and Dean found himself impressed. That was the conclusion he'd come to, as well, but he'd known their dad a lot longer than Jessica; she was pretty damn intuitive.

"Not so much, no," John said with a sheepish expression. "But…if that's what you all want, well, hell, I can commute. It'd be kind of nice to have a base of operations."

"So where did you have in mind?" Braden asked, ripping open the foil PopTart wrapper with an intense look of distaste at the frosted PopTarts inside.

"I don't really have a preference."

"Great, so we're back where we started!" Aubrey said, throwing up her hands in exasperation.

"Well, I think I may have a solution," John told her, shaking his head a little as he watched Braden attempt to scrape the frosting off of his PopTarts with a butter knife.

"Dude, they aren't gonna be any good if you keep butchering them like that," Dean told him as he snagged an untouched corner off of one of the PopTarts.

"They're not any good with frosting either. I'll take my chances."

"Guys—focus," Aubrey said impatiently. "We're discussing how we'll decide where to live. It's a bit more important than PopTarts."

"No need to be bitchy," Braden told her with a raised eyebrow before resuming his massacre of the PopTarts. "And PopTarts are plenty important, especially when someone buys the wrong kind."

She stuck her tongue out at him before refocusing her attention on their father.

"Okay, Daddy—what's your solution? And it better be fair!"

"I think we should skip the voting and let Dean decide."

Dean looked up from sneaking bites off Sam's plate, startled at his father's proposal. Hell, despite his protests to the twins' suggestions, he'd pretty much figured he'd let them all hash it out and then go wherever they decided. As long as everyone was together, he'd deal with it.

Silence descended as everyone's eyes came to rest on him.

"Uh," he began, clearing his throat, "why me?"

"Well," John said softly, "You're the oldest and…you've been without a home the longest. Besides, you've practically raised this family. It's high time you got something in return."

Dean's chest tightened as he looked around the room to find his siblings all nodding at him solemnly.

"So what's it going to be, son? Where's the Winchester clan putting down roots?"

"Well...what's wrong with here?" he asked softly.

"You wanna live here?" Bobby asked.

"Well, not in the same house, but, you know, nearby," Dean said with a shrug.

"Oh, well, that's fine then," Bobby replied, sitting down with the last of the bacon and eggs.

"That alright with everyone?" John asked, his gaze moving around the table.

After a moment, a chorus of agreement echoed around the table.

"Good," John said, clearing his throat. "I'll start looking around."

"How are we gonna afford it, Dad?" Sam asked. "A house is pretty permanent. Someone's gonna notice if you're using fake credit cards."

"I'll figure something out."

Yeah, I might can help with that, Dean thought with a smirk before eyeing the coffee pot.

Wonder if I could sneak another cup…

Catching his father's eyes on him suddenly, Dean sat back, hoping to create some distance between himself and his coffee cup. Maybe Dad'll think it's Sam's. Distraction time.

"So, what's up, Bobby? You don't want us living with you?" Dean asked him with a grin.

"Boy, if you lived in my house, I'd have nothing left to my name but rubble. You throw every damn breakable I own."

"Ah, you know I'm good for it," Dean told him with a smirk.

"Yeah? Then where's the $526.00 you owe me?"

"Specific much?"

"Damn straight."

With a laugh, Dean pulled out a pile of bills. He made quick work of counting out $526.00 and laid it on the table in front of Bobby.

"Where'd you get that kind of cash, son?"

"Let's just say I had some 'spiritual guidance' at a poker game."

"The spirits help you cheat at poker?" John asked, raising an eyebrow skeptically.

"They help me cheat the cheaters," Dean clarified with a shrug, "and trust me, it's not free."

"When did you even—?" Sam asked.

"When we were still on the road, after that Winchester Mystery House fuck-up."

"But when?"

"Sam, even you have to sleep sometime. You can't watch me all the time. And I invented sneaking out, so…"

"So, what do you do in return?" Jessica asked him, taking a sip of her coffee only to grimace at how cold it had gotten.

"I do things for them, you know, find things or send messages."

"Like that lady you stopped to talk to when we were on the road?"

"Yeah."

"Cool," Aubrey murmured. "I wonder if they'd help me with my algebra…"

Dean grinned at her, even as Sam looked offended at the thought that Aubrey would get help from anyone but him with her homework.

And as Dean sat back in his chair and watched his family talk about 'normal' things, he began to think that maybe, just maybe, they had a chance at a normal life now.

"Yeah, man, we got this," TK told him, and Dean grinned.

Okay, maybe not 'normal' normal, but…yeah…close enough. I'll take it.

Life for the Winchesters was starting to look up at last.

THE END


A/N: Well, there you have it, my friends. Thanks to all of you who have stuck with the story despite the long delays between chapters. While I've enjoyed this story and love it dearly, I don't have the same time to put into it that I had before my own little Aubrey was born. I felt like I needed to end it here; I never actually intended it to be quite this long, but it just sort of took on a life of its own after a while. I'm not ruling out one-shots or two-shots in the future, but this one is complete. I'd like to return to my King Arthur fic ("A Shattered Soul") that is also unfinished (and has been for a ridiculously long time). I foolishly began this one before I finished it, and I never went back, which was really unfair to the readers of that fic. But, I digress. I've really appreciated all of you who took the time to review and let me know how much you enjoyed the fic. Thanks for all of your kind words and encouragement—I couldn't have finished it without you.