Singer's Auto Salvage Yard

Sioux Falls, SD

March 23, 2006

Bobby fought hard to keep his expression friendly, not wanting to gape at the kid, mouth-open like a dolt. Dean was sitting in front of him, alive, real. Somehow, he got out of the fires of Hell unscathed. The kid was looking up at him, wide-eyed in fear. It reminded him of the little boy he used to watch over. He'd come up to him at night, big-teary-eyes, waking up from a nightmare asking him, "where's daddy, Uncle Bobby?" Back then, the kid thought his father could defeat the monsters haunting him in his dreams.

"How did you find me?" Dean's question jarred him from the days of old.

Bobby sat back, looking him in the eyes. "Our team has this – a kind of alarm system. Don't ask me how it works… a kid from MIY built it 'cause he's got nothing to do but track demonic activity and smoke pot. The alarm went off the charts. Got a call that the source was my hometown, so I went on a drive to see if I could spot anything that was 'off'. Truth be told things have been off for a while. There were signs of demonic activity here for months before your death: cattle mutilations, that baby getting kidnapped, then of course – the deals…"

The former FBI agent's eyes flashed, catching the small detail quickly. "Deals? As in, more than mine?"

Bobby nodded, "Yeah – there have been at least two more that I was aware of, but they were of the normal variety. The '10 years and their dreams come true' type. I was able to exorcise the girl – a low-level crossroads demon—that made those deals to put a stop to it. I thought the town would be safe after that. Sorry, kid…I missed Crowley… didn't realize he'd go after you. I tried to hunt him down, but Crowley disappeared. It's been quiet since – well, since you died. No activity until the alarm went off. When they went off, it was the worst readings we'd ever seen."

"But that doesn't explain how you found me?" Dean looked pale, his freckles a bit more visible than usual in the fluorescent bulbs within the bunker.

"Dean, you know better than I do about the rumor mill around here. I got access to the police radio. They reported the damage in the cemetery and your missing body. I never thought – it's never happened before; someone coming back from Hell. At first, I thought perhaps a ghoul or something got to you. So, I searched for signs. The homeless were buzzing – said that a man was covered in dirt destroyed a homeless shelter bathroom. I snuck into the place; it looked – shattered. So, I kept looking… I heard the noise from the bar and ran to see all that glass exploding. I saw you then. I mean, knock my socks off, you were alive… Hell, kid, I had half a mind to shoot you right then and there."

"Will you? Or am I supposed to be your prisoner now?" Dean asked, waving his arms around pointedly around the room to make his point.

Bobby was uncertain. Part of him wanted to tie Dean up and indeed keep him a prisoner until he could discover how he wasn't a corpse. The other of him was willing to let him go. He couldn't imagine imprisoning an innocent.

The doorbell echoed in the room through the intercom Bobby had installed, interrupting their conversation. Bobby turned on the old-fashioned box TV to channel 3, getting a confused look from his guest. Ash had dropped by and set him up with an offline surveillance system so he could keep an eye on things from inside the bunker. He felt Dean step up behind him, listening to his breath speeding up as he recognized the person at his door.

Dean snarled, fearful and angry, "why's my sister here?"

Bobby held out both of his palms in a calming gesture. "Jody's been dropping by. I've been trying to help her, best I can, understand the supernatural without putting her in danger. Hell, I've been tryin' to get her to let it go – let you go, but ever since she cleaned out your apartment and found that you'd planned your death… hell, she's been going crazy. Dean, your sister knows you sold your soul to save her son…"

"What? Why the hell would you tell her! She wasn't supposed to know," Dean started yelling, hands fisted as if he wanted nothing else but to throw a punch. "Bobby, she can't find out! She can't know I'm alive."

The bell rang again. "Hell, kid. My partner is going to show up soon – he's on the way, and you don't know Rufus. He's not going to want to deal with your family drama. So, why don't you sneak out the back and wander around the junkyard until I give the all-clear? I'll do my best to send your sister on her way."

The bell went off a third time, this time faster, the buzz longer as if Jody was becoming frustrated. Bobby got up and unlocked the door. "I'll get the door for your sister. You know, you could come up with me. Seeing you would be a dream come true for your family."

"No!" The kid shouted in panic, looking around the room for an escape. "I need to leave!"

Bobby tried to calm him down, whispering as they climbed the stairs. "Where are you going to go? Just go outside for a while until I get rid of your sister and then I'll set you up. You'll need a car, some food, and money…protection. You're in danger – everyone on the planet is going to hunt you… you coming back from the dead… you're like the golden ticket. People, demons, creatures, they'd kill for that knowledge, and they won't care about you. They'll rip you apart. I'll – just let me help you." Once they reached the landing, Bobby pointed at the back door.

Dean ran towards it, opening the door and nearly flying out. Before he crossed the threshold, the young man whispered one last vehement order. "Don't tell her about me, Bobby. I'm serious!"

Once Bobby saw that Dean shut the back door behind him and was far enough away not to catch the attention of his sister, he unlocked his front door. Straightening his plaid button-down shirt, he let the door open a crack as if he didn't already know who was behind the door. The woman in question didn't bother to greet him, shoving into his home the moment he let her.

She looked like crap, though he'd never tell it to her face. The Sheriff was carrying a weapon and he wasn't that brave.

"Jody? What's wrong?" He asked, feigning ignorance.

Distressed wasn't a strong enough word for the look on the young woman's face. It made Bobby feel very uncomfortable; it reminded him of seeing his wife cry and wanting nothing but to do anything in his power to make her smile again. "They – someone dug up my brother's body. They took him! I – I don't know what's happening." Jody's hands were shaking, so Bobby took them in his and pulled her down to sit on the nearest chair. "Is it – demons? Are they going to come after my son?"

Bobby's mouth immediately formed the words, 'of course not' before his mind caught up to her panicked question. While the demons typically wouldn't go after the little boy, who knew what happened if a soul was yanked out of Hell? Would Crowley consider the deal null and void? "Honestly, I don't know Jody. But, I promise you that I'll do my best to find out for you."

Mills straightened her back, tenser than any time Bobby had seen her. "Bobby, I can't just sit back and let them hurt my son. I know, Bobby."

"Sorry, I missed something, what do you know?" The man shuffled awkwardly, praying that he wasn't about to get two upset people crying in his living room. Dean would probably kill him if Jody found out he was alive, right before turning into a blubbering mess when his sister caught hold of him. He imagined they'd sob for a while before Jody kicked her brother's ass for not contacting her immediately.

"You're part of John Winchester's – cul—gang. You talk to him every week… a computer analyst friend of mine was able to trace the calls. Bobby, god only knows that I know nothing about what John Winchester was – hunting, but if there's any way to protect my son… Please, tell me." Jody was looking up at him with those watery eyes, a momma's eyes wanting to protect her child to her last breath.

He huffed out a long breath and wiped at his now sweaty face. "Jody, I don't want to put you in danger. What's out there isn't kind to little boys… or their mommas." She just looked at him with those Bambie eyes, pleading silently. "Okay – fine. I'll share what I can with you, but you got to be careful out there. I don't want you putting a bullseye on your family any more than Dean's deal did." God, he was a push-over.

He went over to the bookshelf nearest to the kitchen and pulled out a worn-looking leatherbound journal. He held it with reverence, then walked over to pass it to the frightened mother. "This is John Winchester's journal. After he was captured by the FBI, I went to his foxhole and took his things for safekeeping. You can say that I manage the team's command center. I maintain a library of supernatural entities: what they are, strengths, weaknesses, and how to kill 'em. John Winchester was a 'field' man. He went out there every day and hunted the damned things down. No matter what the FBI says, he's a good man. The only thing he ever killed were monsters, to set the record straight."

Jody took the journal, flipping open to the first page. A couple of photos slipped out of the flap. Bobby watched her trace her little brothers' faces with a trembling hand. "They were babies. Dean's holding a shotgun…"

Bobby stepped into her personal space. "Jody, if you go down this road – you have to be prepared to train your son, your husband… they have to be prepared."

Jody snapped a quick response, fear-based. "No! Owen's a baby! And Sean can barely keep from fainting from a paper cut. Leave them out of this."

"I ain't the one wanting to jump two feet first into the supernatural. I'm warning you of what's to come." Bobby pointed at the photo of the two boys hunting with their father, all three in matching camouflage. "You see John Winchester as some type of a monster. He was protecting his children from them. He was training them. John taught Dean how to protect his baby brother. You might have to do the same with Owen."

Jody flipped a few more pages, looking at the photos, the drawings in shock. "How does this grotesque book help me protect my son? John Winchester may have taught Dean how to 'protect' Sam, but he did a lousy job of it. Do you know how many years of therapy Dean needed?"

Bobby bit his lip, not wanting to incriminate himself, but yes, he did know. It was his job to know. He knew how much the kid struggled; he could only imagine even now how much pain Dean was in. Hell was no picnic. He brought the conversation around, "that book will give you more insight into demonic activity than any other in the last twenty years. If you read it, you'll understand why John does what he does and why he was training his sons into the life. It's also a – how-to-guide of finding, exorcising, and killing demons." Bobby chewed on the inside of his cheek, thinking before continuing. "Jody, that book is the Winchester legacy. Keep it safe."

"What of Dean's… what about Dean?" Jody whispered, her eyes not leaving the photo of the small family.

Bobby put a hand on her shoulder, "I'm going to look into this, Jody. I promise." Removing his hand, he put up a finger, "One thing – to reveal a demon, speak 'Christo'. If their eyes flash black, red, or yellow, get the hell out of there and call me pronto!" Bobby waited for her wide-eyed agreement before walking over to his desk drawer. He pulled out a few anti-possession charms and let them drop into her hands. "Put those on, they'll prevent possession. Gave you enough for your family… I know a few hunters that tattoo the symbol on their skin, so they never forget to put the charm on."

"Thank you, Bobby." Jody stood up, wiping at her face. Unbuttoning the collar of her uniform, she bobby clipped one of the charms to the inside before buttoning it back up so it was hidden. She took Winchester's journal. "Thank you for this and for all of your help. I – I don't know what I would've done without you."

"I didn't do anything, Jody… you don't need to thank me." Bobby had the feeling if Jody knew the truth, the last thing she'd be doing to him was thanking him. She'd be liable to strangle him.

Soon enough, she was on her way out with Bobby waving at her retreating car from the small front porch. Once she was far enough away that Bobby was sure she wouldn't be able to hear his shout, he called out loudly to Dean. "All clear! You can come back inside."

There was no reply to his call, so Bobby walked towards the back. He called out every few minutes trying to figure out where the wayward boy ended up in the yard. The sound of his truck jarred him from the search, and with a swear, he ran back towards his house. Bobby got there just in time to see his blue 1968 Ford F-350 drive away. He threw his cap down on the ground, stomping on it for good measure. "Balls!"

I-90 West Interstate

Pray, Montana

March 24, 2006

Dean wiped at his eyes, tiredly. His shoulders ached and his ankle was practically glued in its current position after driving twelve hours. He was currently in Pray, Montana – a tiny, small town of about 700 known for the mountains and hot springs. No one would ever think to look for him here, with the tourists coming in and out for fishing, hiking, and rock climbing. He didn't know a soul and no one would know him.

Driving past a church, the fear that triggered the urge to run was sparked once again. A small group of women were holding red balloons, some kind of red cross fundraiser for veterans, as the banners indicated. Like a flash, the balloons transformed into bloodied severed heads, dripping down the pikes where Alaistair placed them around his chamber. He's dangling, only the tip of his big toe touching the ground as he's chained to the ceiling after being flayed for hours. The pain was indescribable. Dean could only beg to be healed, knowing full well the torture would begin again immediately afterward.

A honk startled him back to the truck. Dean swerved to avoid a head-on collision, steering himself into the small crowd that had stopped by the charity event. Slamming on the breaks, he barely avoided hitting a small child that had been kicking a soccer ball on the grass. A terrified mother ran towards her daughter, picking her up roughly and running as far away from the truck as possible. Dean could hear her screaming at him from across the way. She called him an asshole and berated him for not paying attention. All the while, Dean shuddered in the truck. He lay his head down on the steering wheel until he could catch his breath, heart beating out of his chest. Once he was able, he got out of the truck to check on the little girl. He apologized with all of his heart, explaining that he had driven all night long and overdid it. The mother scolded him, not giving him an ounce of forgiveness – simply turning her back on him to comfort the crying child.

The ladies all glared at him, shaking their heads in disgust. It was too much like the looks of repugnance that the demons gave him in Hell for him to not want to bury himself for his error. He got back into the truck, turning the engine, and heading towards the nearest parking lot so he could calm his nerves. He pulled out a bottle of Pepsi, taking a long sip. The sugar helped. The granola bars that Bobby had given him were munched down, the Pepsi following behind each bite to help clear the cardboard taste from his mouth.

Putting his head back, Dean recollected the series of events that led him away from Sioux Falls. Bobby was kind. The gruff junkyarder offered him a vehicle, money, and training. It was more than he expected or deserved for that matter. He had every intention of taking him up on the offer, hiding in the yard by the compressors. It was the chains that startled him; visions of screaming as his muscles were torn open by the hooks holding him up and pulling him apart. Dean was thankful no one was around, puking the bites of granola on the dirt as soon as he came to his senses. After that, Dean headed back to the house. Jody's work vehicle was parked in front, Dean's hand trailed across the "Sherrif, Sioux Falls" decal. His breath caught, emotions clouding his mind as he walked towards the front door of the house. His hand hovered over the knob, wanting nothing more than to run into his big sister's arms. He heard a shout, his sister yelling 'no' and he nearly kicked the door down. Fear kept him frozen in place.

He couldn't let Jody see him. She'd be horrified to know what he did. He was a monster and he refused to bring down pain to his family. Dean made the deal for that reason. It was his fault. Instead, he went over to the window to peer at her like some kind of voyeur. Dean nearly cried out loud when he saw her through the glass. He could only see her profile. She looked – old and tired. It was as if she'd aged ten years since he last saw her. There were red rings under her eyes, her hands were shaking, and she was crying. He heard her; it was muffled but her voice was as he remembered it.

Jody was talking to Bobby about demons! His knees went weak at the thought of her interacting with demons. All he wanted to do was barge in there and start lecturing her. What the hell was she thinking!? She couldn't risk herself, nor could she risk any of their family. But he couldn't bring himself to go inside. He just couldn't. Once he spotted Jody heading towards the front door, he hid around the back, ducking under one of the large trash bins. He saw her walk towards her car, start it up and drive away. It didn't take long for Bobby to call out to him. Dean ignored it; he waited until Bobby walked towards the junkyard to circle back inside the house. Once he spotted the keys hanging on a hook by the door, it was as if his instincts took over. He grabbed the keys and ran towards the truck he came in. Randomly, he picked a direction and started driving. He only stopped for gas and bathroom breaks; thankful that the glove compartment held bundles of fake IDs and credit cards. Dean shook his head upset; it seemed like he was caught unaware by another conman.

Needing some fresh air after his near accident, Dean stepped out of the truck and walked over towards the playground across the way. Looking at his watch, it was around 10:00 am. The playground was filled with toddlers being pushed on the swings by their mothers and school-aged children running around during recess. Dean shuffled towards the bench furthest away, not wanting to interrupt the fun nor somehow contaminate the area with his dirtiness.

The laughing children helped clear his mind; there were no laughing children in Hell and the only laughter he'd heard in the forty years of torture was Alastair as he broke him. He shook his head, wiping at his face.

Dean was alone.

He wanted to be alone.

The thing was, he was never alone before. He always had his family; they were his rock, his foundation. When he needed help all he'd ever had to do was pick up the phone and they'd be there for him. Even in Hell, isolation was rare. The demons preferred to go in one after another like a deli-ticketing system, excited to take the next chunk out of him. Now, he didn't know what to do.

Clasping his palms together tightly, Dean closed his eyes and did the only thing he could do, pray. A laugh bubbled up from his gut, he was praying in Pray, Montana. It was as if he was called to it. 'God, I know I'm poison, but please help me. I need to know why I'm back here. I did – horrific things in Hell and I don't deserve to be saved. So, why was I? Please, I just – I have to know. I need to protect my family." Unable to hold an emotionless façade, Dean felt tears dripping down his face and a sob come up unfiltered, loud. He noticed one of the mothers' attentions and hid his face in his hands. He didn't want her help; she needed to be far away from him.

The misery was physical, forcing Dean to hunch forward, protecting his body from the blows it had taken in his memories. He felt himself shaking, hyperventilating. He breathed, "Please, God, help me" as he felt apart there in that playground. The panic attacks he'd suffered previously were nothing compared to this one; logically, he knew that he needed psychological help, but what kind of therapist wouldn't hear his story and throw him into an asylum for the rest of his life. A hysterical laugh flew from his lips.

A gentle hand on his shoulder jolted him, jerking his head up and twisting so sharply he felt a 'click' in his back as if from a chiropractic adjustment. Blue eyes caught his; the intensity stilling Dean's panic. The touch was calming. His FBI training took over, cataloging the man's features and apparel. White, late 30s, 6-foot, dark hair that flopped across his eyebrows wearing a suit and beige trench coat. When the man spoke, it was with a deep richness that didn't match Dean's expectations. "You do deserve to be saved... I am here to help you."

"Who are you?" Dean looked at the man, both in fear and curiosity. The laughter of the children filled the air around them like a bubble.

The dark-haired man slowly pulled his hand off Dean's shoulder, sitting down next to him on the bench; barely any space between them. He was so close that Dean could see his chapped lips as he spoke. "I'm the one who gripped you tight and raised you from perdition. My name is Castiel. I'm an angel of the lord."

Dean's mouth dropped open, stuttering in response. "An angel? What? What about the thing that was following me?"

"That was my mistake. My real voice can be overwhelming to humans, so can my real form. This is – a vessel." The angel explained. "I needed to speak with you, Dean… to explain that your prayers have been heard. I am here to help you through your next journey."

Shaking his head, Dean couldn't wrap his mind around what the angel was saying to him. "I don't understand. Why did you save me from Hell?"

Castiel answered plainly, "Because God commanded it. He has work for you."

"God doesn't want me. I'm not holy. I stopped going to church after the academy; Fuck it, I sold my soul to the devil. What could God possibly want with me?" Dean argued, voice increasing in volume along with his agitation. He brushed his hands across his hair. He turned his head to the side so he could look at Castiel straight on.

"You are a righteous man," Castiel stated softly.

Dean stood up so that he was right in front of the still seated angel. "Don't you understand that I ruined my family! I put my birth father in jail for saving people, hunting monsters… I don't understand any of this."

"You weren't meant to. You weren't meant for any of this, Dean. Your father, John Winchester, was to be sent to Hell in your stead. My garrison believed him to be the righteous man; I had been sent to watch over your family. Your bloodline is of most import."

Turning away, Dean put his back to the angel. He stared at the children playing tag instead, trying to wrap his mind around what he was just told. "I don't understand."

In the next blink, Castiel was standing in front of him. He had two fingers extended out to touch Dean's forehead. "Then I'll show you." A flash of light erupted behind Dean's eyes as soon as the fingertips made contact with his skin.

Dean needed to blink more than a few times. The playground was gone. The church was gone. Castiel was gone.

"Where the hell am I?"