AN: This story diverges from canon very near the end of the series. Basically, backtrack to just before Dean's death, assume that DIDN'T happen, and then skip forwards a few (indeterminate number of) years.

If you're curious about the other boundaries of the prompt I used, those are in the endnotes of the story.

I hope you enjoy!

From the outside, the bar looked like any other dingy roadside stop. Maybe in other months, there would have been something green to give it life, but as things stood there was only half-melted slush clinging to the dirt and the pavement and the bare branches of a tree which managed to grow straight out of the torn up asphalt that wasn't really trying to pass for a parking lot.

The paint was old and weathered, though not peeling. The windows were clean without sparkling. It was not so attractive as to make the casual passerby suspect it was a perfect trendy bar, it was not so beat up as to suggest an interesting adventure. Without turning on the sign that proclaimed it simply The Lodge, even the soft glow of light leaking through the windows wouldn't be enough to draw most eyes. Anyone who could bring themselves to walk up to the front despite the bland facade and the general unwelcoming atmosphere of a cold night would be greeted by nothing more than an impersonal CLOSED sign hanging from a suction cup that looked like it should have fallen off of the interior side of the glass door years ago.

Past that doorway, however, the light was much brighter, and the rock pumping through the speakers was more than loud enough to fill the room with presence. The simple Christmas lights strung from hooks on the walls brought a surprising amount of cheer with them. It was the man on the floor, however, who filled the room with life.

If the layers of shirts under a leather jacket could be explained by the temperature outside, the simple jeans with a worn through patch on the knee made less sense. And the worn-in boots would have been much easier to keep from stomping on the freshly mopped patches of floor if the mop in question wasn't being used as a microphone just as frequently as it was used as a mop.

"One step ahead, one step behind me, now you gotta run to get even. Make future plans, don't dream about yesterday, hey!"

The deep voice that filled the bar managed to croon the lyrics nearly as much as sing them. Though it wasn't a style of singing most would associate with a Van Halen song, the crooked grin set beneath bright green eyes seemed to reassure any invisible onlookers that Dean Winchester knew damn well he was pulling it off anyways.

Even the music cutting out wasn't enough to make him more than falter. Dean sang another line of the song a cappella as he turned to face the man with a half smirk and a phone that had clearly been stopped from playing, "It's your tomorrow, right now. C'mon- Cas, don't shut off the music in the middle of a song like that, what the hell are you thinking?"

Cas set the phone down and readjusted the sleeves of his customary trench-coat, "That when you said you'd finish cleaning up while I did one last check to see what we had forgotten to pack, it would involve more cleaning and less dancing."

"Hey! I have been listening to Christmas carols on loop for months-"

"A month."

"Months, and I am going to put something quality on while we don't have any customers," Dean insisted. Even so, he put the head of the mop back on the ground and began to mop much more efficiently.

Castiel pulled a rag out from under the bar and began wiping down the counters, "You say that like you aren't going to be controlling the music the entirety of tomorrow's drive."

"That's only a day, it does not make up for the number of times that I have had to hear the word 'reindeer' in the last few weeks." There was no true venom in Dean's griping, just the easy familiarity of a well-worn argument.

Cas, on the other hand, leaned forward with the barely-suppressed-grin of someone who thinks they might've found a way to win said argument, "Thanks for letting me play them anyway."

The answering splutters were a good sign it worked, complete with half muttered comments of, "Shut up," and "what's expected," and "being a competent business owner."

Dean seemed to have pulled himself together enough to start a sentence, getting as far as the word "Anyway-" when he was cut off by a frantic pounding on the door.

"Who the hell is here in the middle of the night?" The question sounded incredulous and put out, but he also leaned the mop against a table and headed towards the door.

Visible through the glass, wrapped in layers of cold weather gear from head to toes were what appeared to be two people, though it was difficult to tell between the beanies pulled low over their foreheads and the scarves wrapped around their faces. The way one man heavily leaned on his shorter companion would probably be the result of drunken shambling at the door of most bars. These two, however, were heading in, not out, and the red stained cloths being clutched tightly to a rip in the side of his jacket told a very different story.

Dean cursed and unlocked the door before yanking it open so the two could stumble inside. He didn't spare a glance for the protections woven into the eaves, if they allowed the beings through without a fuss, he would prioritize the walking wounded over his paranoia for now.

The bleeding man was deposited in the nearest chair and the smaller figure hovered nervously over him. In the better lighting of the bar, a curly ponytail was visible emerging from the back of her bright purple hat, over the equally vivd blue scarf. In fact, nothing on her outfit was a dim color, down to the paint splatters on her white sneakers. It was a sharp contrast to the muted neutrals the man sported, and he let out a hiss as he leaned back in the chair.

The brightly colored figure shifted out of the way just in time for Cas to brush past, and he laid hands on the man's white knuckled grip and bloody cloths. All of the tension in his body eased slowly out, until a ragged gasp finally echoed through the room, muffled by the black scarf still wrapped over his face. The hand swung down, cloths still in its grasp, though Cas gently pulled them away and brought them behind the bar, presumably to be tossed in some bin or another. He paused to throw a significant glance at Dean, who looked resigned and nodded to the unasked request.

Dean opened his mouth to say something, but before he could speak he was cut off with a high pitched and confused, "What the fuck, Alex!" It was the brightly colored figure, who was ripping off layers of clothing in a panicked manner that suggested it was less about the warmth of the bar and more a matter of getting out of the restriction. Even as she stumbled out of her still-laced shoes, the newly revealed brown eyes were fixed directly on her companions side. Through the rip in the man's jacket was only smooth skin.

"What just happened?" she continued, now down to a much more reasonably blue tank top and black leggings, "That doesn't make any sense, I don't, how could, what did-" She stumbled back until she hit another table, where she slumped against it, words devolving into quick gasps.

Dean glanced once briefly towards the ceiling and just as briefly towards Cas before he stepped forwards towards the girl's shoulder–because she really was a girl, no more than twenty at a glance, the kind of person who was an adult in the eyes of the law only because a line had to be drawn somewhere, who might still text her mom to ask what brand of paper towels was actually worth buying. Certainly not used to whatever was happening now. Even though he was behind her, he held his hands up in an "easy, easy" sort of motion and kept his voice equally soothing, "Hey, I'm sure it's been a really confusing day, but it's alright–"

His fingers had barely brushed her shoulder before she was jerking away, shouting, "Don't you fucking touch me!" Unfortunately, this seemed more of a reflex than a return to reality, and the panic attack was still in full swing.

Dean held his hands up and deliberately backed away, "Gotcha. No touch. Just breath with me, alright? In two three four, out two three four, in two three four, out two three four…"

It took a few repetitions for her to catch the rhythm, during which process the man set down the outermost layer of his own cold weather gear, though he left the unzipped and torn jacket hanging off his shoulders. With his face newly revealed, it was clear that he wasn't much older than the girl. His eyes had seen a little more though, and, well, he knew to come here. He gratefully accepted a glass of water from Cas, who also carried another glass over to the girl. She took it with a tremulous smile that made its best attempt at polite. Cas smiled kindly back.

"Alright?" he asked, "Or even a little better?"

She took a slow sip of water, "Better, I think. Though I still want answers." She turned to face the man who was wincing away from her glare. "What the hell was that thing? Why wouldn't you let me take you to a hospital–I mean, clearly you're okay now, but you said you weren't even sure someone would be here? That was not a reassuring concept while you were bleeding out and demanding to go to a bar! Speaking of which, what is this place? And who are–" She turned to Cas, who had gone to stand casually next to Dean, "I suppose it would be more polite to ask you, but–"

"No worries," Dean answered cheerfully, "I'm Dean and this is Cas. You already know Alex, his explanation will probably matter to you more than what either of us could say. I mean that, really!" The last part was directed towards Cas's half amused half chiding look. It faded into a fond smile.

The girl nodded with growing confidence and turned to Alex with her head held high. "Well?"

"Lily," he replied slowly, "All of those are fair questions, but. I don't." He sighed and ran his hands through his hair. "That was a ghost. A real one. And it's kind of a small threat compared to some of what's out there. Answering too much… It's hard to get out of this world once you're in it."

The newly introduced Lily nodded thoughtfully, "Alright. I won't ask questions about anything I haven't already encountered. But Alex Smith you owe me this much." She crossed her arms and lifted her chin firmly.

"Alex Smith?" Dean asked incredulously, "Of all the fake surnames to give someone, you picked Smith?"

Alex winced, "It's so common no one questions it! Besides, sir," and here he grinned, "If even half the stories about you are true, I don't think you have much of a leg to stand on."

Dean threw his hands into the air, but it was clear he was mostly trying to lift the tension, "You tell people a few stories as a warning a couple of times, suddenly everyone has all the information about your life."

"Your name isn't even Alex Smith?" The mood, it seemed, had not been lightened.

"Er, no," Alex said, "It's Alex Schmidt. Hence the scolding, I guess, they're kind of similar. And you're right, I owe you answers."

"And conversations like that," Cas interrupted, "are often longer than you intend them to be. Which is why I'm happy to tell you that while Dean and I are leaving in the morning, I haven't gotten around to throwing the last of the leftovers out of the fridge in the apartment upstairs. Head on up, say what you need to, and eat something, you must be starving. You can crash in one of the spare rooms tonight if you need to."

Alex nodded gratefully, "I think we might end up taking Lily home tonight, but food would be amazing, thank you. I'm glad we caught you before you left for the holidays."

Cas waved it off, "You'd have made do with the first aid kits in the shed, that wasn't enough to kill you."

"At least take enough time to throw your wet clothes through a dryer cycle," Dean added.

Alex nodded once more and helped Lily gather up her things, and with a grateful smile, he led her up the stairs, though she paused once at the bottom to shoot a confused and appreciative look at Dean and Cas. Cas smiled softly, and Dean jerked his head to the side, almost saying Go, listen to what he has to say. Lily's expression turned resolute once more. She nodded and darted up the stairs. Somehow she already looked a little older.

As soon as she was out of view, the upbeat expression dropped from Dean's face. His shoulders slumped and he said quietly, "I don't feel like I was ever that young."

Cas hummed thoughtfully, "In some ways you never were. Still, I remember when you were a lot younger than you are now. And they're not so young as they seem."

Dean laughed, but it was just as much a sad sound as a happy one, "Good, because all these kids that come running through here seem so young. I just want to– grab them by the shoulders and tell them that they don't have to do this." He ran a hand over his face, "I can also hear the answers, of course, 'No sir, but someone has to. Might as well be me,' like half of them aren't going to get killed in the process."

"So instead," Cas said, "You patch them up and let them stay here. You serve them a drink and listen to their worries. You tell them stories and give them advice. You do your best to hand cases out to the people that can handle it, and they listen to you when you tell them they need backup or a break. Do you have any idea how impressed I am that you actually get them to take breaks?"

The next chuckle was a little lighter, "I guess we did build something pretty good here, didn't we?" He walked a few tables over and picked up the mop again, "Bets on how long it'll take Lily to show up looking for a case?"

"Oh," Cas said, "based on how well she seemed to know Alex? I give it two weeks. You?"

Dean grinned as he mopped the floor, pointedly ignoring the newly scuffed walkway from door to table where slush had been knocked from boot treads. "She definitely reads college kid on winter break. She'll research all next semester and we'll see her in early June for what Alex insists is "just one hunt," so he'll ask for something easy. It'll be good for him to have a partner, if she sticks with it."

"Oh, of course she will for a while. Something easy will convince her she can handle it, it's when they get around to something hard that we'll really see." Cas grabbed the mop from Dean's hands and just as pointedly started on the real mess before returning it with a raised eyebrow.

Dean's smile was unrepentant, but he also began to mop the footprints away, "She seems like a spitfire, I think we'll- Christ's sake!"

The sudden exclamation was probably an understandable reaction to the sudden presence of several sparkling boxes wrapped in bright red paper and gold ribbon on a random table in the bar. Cas reached over, picked one up, and searched out a tag. Finding one on the bottom, he smiled, "From Jack. Nice of him to remember us."

Dean was less pleased, "Did he have to give me a heart attack in the process? No, don't answer that, that was the whole point of it." He turned pointedly in a new direction. His manner suggested that which direction was somewhat less relevant than the fact that he had turned to a new one. "You realize we're going to have to lug these all the way to the Bunker now, right? You couldn't have just sent them there? We've already got a lot of stuff in the trunk, if they end up falling off the roof or something, that's on you."

A few seconds of silence was the only answer. He rolled his eyes and went back to mopping the floor. As soon as he had turned, the boxes vanished. Cas very carefully didn't laugh. At least, not until Dean turned around and started cursing. Then Cas gave in to a big, full body laugh. Dean did his best to maintain a grumpy expression, but it wasn't hard to see the softening in his eyes.

AN: The song mentioned in this chapter is Van Halen's "Right Now"