"Holy work," Dean repeated. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means you have a purpose," Greta told him. "One that you didn't fulfill before you died."

"Right. So what you're telling me is I've been brought back from the dead- by an angel- so I can... what, fulfill some destiny or something?"

"Exactly."

"Uh-huh."

Dean wasn't buying what this lady was selling. Why she would lie to him was a question he shoved away. He had too many other gaps in his knowledge to worry about that. It was undeniable that something extraordinary had happened to him, but Dean couldn't accept Greta's claim.

"So why don't I remember what happened?" Dean asked.

"Pardon?" Greta asked, confused by his question.

"Why don't I remember leaving hell?" Dean repeated. "If an angel came and pulled me out, why don't I remember that? Out of all the..."

Memories of hell began to rise like bile, unwanted and uncontrollable. Dean took a moment to push them back, struggling to keep his composure. Out of all the awful things he remembered, every terrible torment he had endured, why wouldn't he remember something as glorious as Greta described?

"That's a question I don't have the answer to," Greta frowned. "I'm sorry."

"Anyway, if that really was how it went down, how would you know anything about it?" Dean asked triumphantly. It was a 'gotcha' question that he was sure she wouldn't have a good answer to.

"One of the angels told me," Greta replied easily.

"One of... Right."

Greta began to realize that Dean didn't believe her.

"I'm sorry," she said. "This is a lot to process. Why don't you take the night and rest? Kaydie will get you anything you need. If you have any more questions, I'll be happy to answer them to the best of my ability, but I think you should get your bearings first."

"Sure."

Greta stood to leave and Dean took a moment to finish his water.

"Do you want more to drink?" Kaydie asked once they were alone again. "Food, maybe?"

"Is there a phone around here I can use?" Dean asked. "And I could really, really use a stiff drink if you've got one."

Kaydie pulled her own cell from her pocket and handed it to him.

"If you want alcohol, we need to visit the village degenerate," Kaydie sighed. "You wanna follow me, or you want to get settled and I'll bring something back for you?"

"I'll get settled," Dean said as he dialed a number from memory.

"Ok. There's a room down that hall, to the right," Kaydie pointed. "You can sleep there for tonight. I'll be back in... maybe fifteen or twenty minutes. You want anything besides that drink?"

"No, that'll do it," Dean said as the call went to voicemail. "Thanks."

Kaydie acknowledged him with a curt nod and took her leave. Dean tried four more numbers but was met with voicemails and out of service messages for all of them. Worry knawed his guts as he tried a sixth. It was the last he could remember.

"Come on, Sam," he sighed desperately.

"You've reached agent Merrick, please leave a message and I'll be back to you shortly," came his brother's prerecorded response.

Dean growled quietly with frustration. He would try again later. He made one more call and almost died from relief when it was picked up.

"Singer's scrap and salvage," came Bobby's gruff greeting.

"Bobby! God, am I glad to hear your voice!" Dean burst out, unable to contain himself.

"Who is this?" Bobby replied suspiciously.

"It's me!"

"Who's me?"

"Dean!"

Bobby hung up in his face and Dean's stomach dropped. He called again.

"Bobby, don't hang up," Dean begged when the call was answered.

"I don't know who the hell this is, but this ain't funny!" Bobby raged. "Call again and I'll kill you!"

Bobby hung up again and Dean groaned miserably. He knew better than to try to call again. A glance at the date and time told him that what felt like an eternity to him had only been three months topside time. Even so, it was long enough that Sam had dropped off the map and Bobby would need to see him to believe he was back.

Dean didn't know how he had really returned or exactly what role the Smiths had played in it. He didn't know what their intentions were and that made him nervous. After the fiasco that had been Alice's reunion with them, the last thing he was inclined to do was trust them. All he knew was that he needed to find his brother. He needed to know that Sam was alright. After that... he would play it by ear.

Dean thought about taking Kaydie's phone with him but decided against it. If they turned the GPS on, they would be able to find him too easily. He left it on the couch and quickly explored Greta's house. He took a knife from the kitchen but otherwise left the home undisturbed. He poked his head apprehensively out of the front door, glancing around surreptitiously. It was light outside, but the sun was getting low in the sky. Dean figured he had two or three more hours of sunlight left.

He struck out through the compound that bustled with activity. Everything was much the same as the last time Dean had been there. He swallowed hard as he moved through the crowd, trying not to stick out. Kaydie had dressed him in all black and for the most part, he matched the Smiths who went about their business around him.

Dean had no idea where he was going and it must have shown in his demeanor. A man stopped him.

"Hey buddy, you look lost as hell," the man observed.

"Uh..." Dean hesitated, trying to decide what the least suspicious answer was.

"Can I point you in the right direction?" the man asked.

"Uh..."

The man raised his eyebrows at Dean but waited patiently for his reply.

"I'm, uh... I'm on my way out," Dean finally answered.

"The front gate is on the north wall," the man said, pointing the way.

"Thanks," Dean said.

The man smiled and walked away, leaving Dean a little puzzled. Either they weren't trying to keep him here or he'd crossed paths with someone who wasn't clued in to what was going on. Either way, he wasn't about to stand around questioning his luck. He made a beeline for the front gate, silently but urgently hoping that whoever was on duty there was as uninformed as the man who had given him directions.

It had been an hour since Ruby disappeared without explanation and Sam was miles away from the scene of the exorcism. He knew he was hidden from her powers by the hex bags he now carried for protection from Lilith and her horde. He waited for her to text him and set up a place to meet. With every passing minute he grew more anxious, curiosity eating him alive. He'd been working with Ruby for three months and in all that time she had barely left his side. What could have been so important that she would disappear without a word?

Finally, his phones notification tone informed him he had a new text message.

What mile marker are you at?

Sam stopped the car on the side of the road.

What happened? he texted back.

I'd rather tell you in person.

Sam told her and seconds later she was in the passenger seat at his side. She looked exactly as she had the last time he had seen her.

"So?" Sam prompted.

Ruby had taken extra time to prepare her excuse.

"Lilith. She's making big moves."

"What does that have to do with you vanishing?" Sam frowned.

"I had to go play the part of a fly on the wall," Ruby lied.

"Alright. So what's going on?"

Your brother is screwing everything up, Ruby thought. She kept it to herself.

"Llilth figured out what we're doing," she lied. "Don't ask me how. She's got her sources, I've got mine. The point is, we need to speed things along."

Sam regarded her with suspicion, but he had followed her lead this far. He wasn't about to back down now. Not after everything she'd shown him.

"Ok," he replied simply.

Ruby breathed a silent sigh of relief. She hadn't expected him to believe her so easily.

"So what now?"

"Now we keep hunting," she replied. "We keep making you stronger. Until you're strong enough to get the job done."

"When will that be?"

His impatience put Ruby on edge, but she could deal with it.

"Soon, hopefully," she told him.

Dean was surprised when another Smith put up no resistance to his departure, opening the absurdly enormous front gates so he could stroll out. He couldn't help glancing back nervously as they closed in his wake. Part of him wondered if he was making a mistake, walking away from the people who claimed to have answers about his resurrection. He pushed the doubts away. He didn't trust the Smiths and he was sure that he could find answers on his own.

Dean trekked to the highway and started walking west with his thumb out. After being allowed to leave with no resistance to speak of, he wasn't really expecting the Smiths to come looking for him. He walked for thirty minutes before a silver sedan with darkly tinted windows slowed to a stop alongside him. Dean approached the car as the window lowered to reveal Kaydie in the driver seat.

"Need a ride somewhere?" she asked casually.

"I'm good, thanks anyway," Dean said, stepping back. He kept walking with his thumb out, hoping Kaydie would drive away. Instead, she pulled the car up, matching his speed.

"Hitchhiking's still dangerous you know," she informed him. "The world hasn't changed that much since you've been gone."

"Good to know. Pretty sure I'll be ok," Dean said dismissively.

"Come on, Winchester, get in the car," Kaydie said, an impatient edge creeping into her tone. She held up a bottle of alcohol that Dean tried hard not to look at. "I tracked down your stiff drink. Don't tell me my work counts for nothing."

"I said I was fine," Dean replied firmly. "Take care now. Thanks for the effort."

Kaydie scowled and stopped keeping pace with him for a few minutes. Dean couldn't resist the urge to glance back and caught a glimpse of Kaydie making a call. He turned his gaze forward quickly, carrying on with his thumb out. No one else seemed interested in picking up a male hitchhiker dressed from head to toe in black. He wished desperately for clothes with a more casual feel to them.

Kaydie soon pulled up alongside him again.

"Look, just let me give you a ride to wherever it is you're going," Kaydie continued insistently. "No one's going to pick you up. You look like a serial killer."

"Gee thanks," Dean muttered. He was afraid she was right. He looked around one last time hoping to see someone else slowing down, but the cars kept whizzing past.

"I'm not just making a run down to the corner store," Dean warned her.

"I'll take you anywhere," Kaydie replied.

"South Dakota?" Dean asked tentatively.

Kaydie's scowl deepened but she sighed and leaned over to push the door open for him.

"If we're going that far, do you mind if I stop back at home and grab a bag?" she asked.

Dean suspected a trap.

"Tell you what," he proposed. "Why don't you go back and get your bag while I keep my thumb out. If I'm still here when you get back, we'll hit the road."

Kaydie groaned.

"I'll rough it," she grumbled. "Let's get this show on the road."

Still suspicious, Dean got into the car with her while she pulled up the GPS on her phone.

"You aiming for an address in South Dakota, or are you just heading there for the scenery?"

Dean gave her Bobby's address. She tapped it in, set her phone down and started driving with a beleaguered sigh.

"You know, for being so pushy about giving me a ride, you don't seem all that stoked to be doing it," Dean observed.

"I'm not."

"So why do it then?"

"Orders."

"From Greta?"

"Now that you're alive again she wants to make sure you stay that way," Kaydie explained shortly.

"What's she getting out of it?" Dean prodded.

"I wish I knew," Kaydie said unhappily.

"So you're... what, my babysitter?"

"If that's how you want to look at it."

"I can handle myself," Dean bristled.

"Look, you're preaching to the choir," Kaydie stopped him. "You think I didn't point out to my grandma that you're a big boy? The woman is carved out of granite. Arguing with her is like arguing with a mountain. You can say whatever you want, the mountain isn't going to move."

Dean gave it up, staring out the window for a few moments while he gathered his thoughts.

"She's got a hell of a grip on everyone in that compound, huh?" he finally observed. When Kaydie didn't reply, he went on. "I mean, you just dropped everything to drive me three states over on her say-so. Do you just not have a life, or...?"

"Do we have to talk?" Kaydie snapped.

"Just making conversation. You didn't put on any music and this is gonna be a long drive," Dean pointed out.

Kaydie hit a button and a song began with what Dean could only describe as a cowbell. He immediately hated it. She took note of the distaste on his face and rolled her eyes.

"I'm the lowest paid taxi driver in the country right now," she said defensively. "I think I'm at least entitled to pick the music."

"This is music?" Dean asked, wincing.

"Let's find out," Kaydie said. "This album came out a week ago. Never heard of the band before. I've been trying to find time to check it out. If I can't do it on this road trip I'll never be able to."

With a groan, Dean reached for the alcohol Kaydie had procured. Upon closer inspection it turned out to be whiskey. Dean was wary of drinking it, wondering if he was going to pass out and wake up in chains back in the Smith compound.

"Poor guy, that man John Thomas! His woman truly was a devil!"

The song continued and though the cowbell vanished, Dean didn't like it any better. With a wince, he quickly chugged the equivalent of three shots from the bottle.

"Oh come on, it's not that bad," Kaydie chuckled.

"I'm a zeppelin man," Dean informed her. "From where I'm sitting, it's pretty bad."

"Hey, I'm not denying that the old timers had it going on," Kaydie protested. "My first crush was on John Bonham. I'm probably a bigger zeppelin fan than you could ever be. But that doesn't mean I'm never giving the up and comers a chance."

"You're not a bigger Zeppelin fan than me!" Dean countered hotly.

"We can argue about that later," Kaydie grinned. She turned up the volume and Dean coped by slugging another shot.

"You can stop scratching your brains out trying to find a way in, darling."

Outside the Smith compound, the woman in black was startled by a man's voice from behind her. She turned to face him. He was two inches shorter than her, but carried himself with confidence that bordered on cockiness. He spoke with an accent that he was making little effort to disguise. She placed it as Scottish, but it took her a moment.

"Winchester's on the move. Which you would know if you were doing your job properly," the man went on.

"You must be Crowley," she scowled. She had been informed that he would be watching her, but it had been her impression that it would be from a distance.

"You're quite the detective aren't you? Why don't you turn that keen eye toward the highway and see if you can't pick up Winchester's trail."

"Did he leave alone?" she asked.

"He tried to."

"They stopped him?"

"Not quite. You're supposed to be watching Winchester, I'm supposed to be watching you," Crowley snapped. "And frankly I've got better things to do than cover both of our jobs."

"No one asked for your help," she sneered. "I've got it handled. Ok, mate?"

She did her best to mock his accent, but it fell flat.

"You do a great cockney," Crowley observed. "If only you were as good at surveillance as you are at impersonation. Look, I've got places to be, bigger fish to fry. He's heading-"

"I know where he's going," she interrupted him. "That's why you black-eyed bastards picked me for this job, isn't it? Is he alone, or not?"

"He's with one of the Smiths," Crowley informed her, apparently tired of toying with her. "Blonde girl, twenties. Beautiful athletic figure. Oh, and she stinks of witchcraft. Unusual for a hunter... but I can't say I don't love a blonde who breaks the rules."

The woman considered this new information with pursed lips for a long moment.

"I don't suppose you'll make this easy for me and get me a car," she finally mused.

"Oh please, I've seen your rap sheet," Crowley chuckled. "One more carjacking won't hurt."

"That's what everyone says," she grimaced. "One more won't hurt... next thing you know you're hell's bitch."

Wisdom of the damned. If only the damned could share with the living.

"Keen observation," Crowley commended her. "Now if I were you, I'd get a move on. Your mark isn't sitting still."

With a grimace, the woman set off toward the highway.

Dean and Kaydie drove for hours and before long, Dean was loaded. He started to enjoy the album Kaydie insisted on forcing him to listen to, despite his initial misgivings.

"So this track is called what again?" he asked loudly, replaying what had become his favorite song for the third time.

"Dude. Listen to the chorus," Kaydie scowled. "No rest for the wicked, ok? Someone with an IQ of sixty could figure that out."

"I can't understand a word this kid is saying," Dean protested. "I just like the beat."

"Right."

"I mean, it's not zeppelin, but the kid's got heart. I could see them going places."

"You sound like someone's drunk uncle," Kaydie rolled her eyes.

"Well you sound like someone's obnoxious niece. What happened to no conversation?"

"Cut me some slack. That was a few hours ago," Kaydie sighed. "So, what do you think, Winchester? Is it time to stop for the night?"

"Is that my call to make?"

"Everything's your call to make."

"Greta tell you that?"

"Does it sound like something I came up with on my own? If it were up to me we would be in South Dakota as soon as possible so I could get you out of my hair."

"Aw come on. You're having fun on this road trip," Dean teased.

"Are you kidding me? Stuck in a car with you trying to sing along to all these songs you're hearing for the first time? Not my idea of a great time," Kaydie scowled.

"If you want better karaoke, play better music."

"Last exit for forty miles, Winchester. What's it gonna be?"

"I could stand to clean up. Let's get a room."

"How about two rooms?"

"Works for me."

They took the exit and settled in for the night at a motel. Dean got his hands on more alcohol and spent half the night sprawled on the hood of Kaydie's car, humming "Cage the elephant" and stargazing.

"Damn I miss my baby," he sighed, stretching out on the cold hood. "Oh no, I can't slow down, I can't hold back, though you know, I wish I could. Oh no there ain't no rest for the wicked... Until we close our eyes for good."

"Shut up!" came an angry call from two doors down.

Dean gave a heavy sigh and resigned himself to silence. The cool night air felt amazing. The stars looked miraculous against their velvet backdrop, sparkling like diamonds above a poor sinner.

"Ain't no rest for the wicked," he sang under his breath, too softly to disturb the neighbors. "Until we close our eyes for good."

He sipped his whiskey slowly, watching the world turn as he fought sleep. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw things that made him want to scream. Hell was seared into his memory, moments that burned like embers against his eyelids. One image in particular refused to go away.

Dean kept seeing Alice's face. He felt her blood running down his fingers. He heard her screams echoing around him. He couldn't help her, couldn't save her. All he could do was what he was told.

"Dean! Please! You don't have to... they can't make you..."

"Dean! Dean! Please, get off my car!"

Kaydie's furious voice brought him back to reality.

"Right," Dean sighed, rolling off the sedan.

"I'm running out for food," Kaydie said as she got into the car. "You want anything?"

"More whiskey would be great," Dean told her.

"Only if you promise to stop singing," Kaydie retorted. "You don't want to stay sharp in case something happens?"

"Like what?"

"I don't know. Anything. Someone could jump you."

"No one's going to jump me," Dean scoffed. "You're flighty."

"I'm practical," Kaydie countered. "You know what, it's your funeral. Just don't come crying to me when someone catches you off guard and robs you."

"I thought you were my bodyguard though," Dean protested.

"I'm here to keep you alive, not stop you from getting robbed."

"Well that's cold," Dean said, heading back to his room. Kaydie pulled off behind him, muttering under her breath.

"She's got a point though."

The voice was feminine, but unfamiliar. Dean looked around, taking a moment to realize that it was coming a car parked a few feet away.

"About me getting jumped?" he asked.

"It's been known to happen," the woman replied. "Especially on a dark, quiet night in a motel parking lot. Dangerous place to hang around drunk and loud."

"Aw... life's no fun without a little danger," Dean protested, approaching the woman's car. She was in her mid-thirties, with bob-cut black hair and piercing blue eyes. Dressed all in black, she reminded him of someone. He couldn't remember who.

"Right. So, where you heading?" she asked easily.

"Who's asking?" Dean dodged playfully.

"Call me Vera."

"Vera. I like it."

"I like that you like it. So, your lady friend didn't seem too keen on getting you that whiskey. What's a stud like you doing travelling with a sour crowd like that?"

"Only game in town for a hitchhiker," Dean explained, too drunk to be suspicious.

"Wow. Where you hitching to?" Vera asked.

"South Dakota."

"What's in South Dakota?"

"Answers, I hope."

"That's crazy, because I'm heading that way myself," Vera went on. "And unlike your sober travelling companion, I don't have a problem with whiskey or loud music. How do you feel about ditching the wet blanket and joining the party wagon?"

Her blue eyes were captivating and promised a good time. They sparkled with mischief and mystery, neither of which Dean could resist.

"You're not going to take advantage of me and leave me dead in a ditch, are you?" Dean asked. He meant it as a joke, but could tell that it missed the mark.

"Well I won't leave you dead in a ditch," Vera chuckled. "As for taking advantage of you... well, I'll do my best to behave. Can't guarantee anything though."

Vera's allure was too much for Dean to resist. After hours in a car with Kaydie, who had a major case of stick-up-the ass, he was itching for an alternative means of travel. To say that Vera was his type would have been the understatement of the decade. He just had one more question.

"Sounds pretty good, but I have to ask... how do you feel about Led Zeppelin?"

"Zeppelin rocks," Vera replied easily.

This was a match made in degenerate hitchhiker heaven.

"When does the party wagon depart?" Dean asked. If she was docked until daybreak he was going to invite her into his room.

"Whenever you're ready," she informed him with a roguish grin. "I've got nothing better to do than set sail."

Dean considered his options quickly and decided that it would be easier to ditch Kaydie if he wasn't here when she got back.

"Well then, let's hit the road," he said, hopping into the passenger seat of her car.

Vera pulled out of the motel with a smile that she hid from Dean while he played with the radio. She had her target.