They all stick around at Bobby's place for a while. They figure, when Jo tells Dean about her encounter with Lucifer, that the pain they're feeling is from the damage to their souls not having healed yet. What they still don't know is why it subsides when they're close to each other.

Jo hadn't told the others about her chat with the Devil on the ride back to Sioux Falls. She doesn't know why she only confides in Dean about it. Maybe it's in part because she doesn't want to freak her mom out. And she definitely doesn't want to admit, not even to Dean yet, how tempted she'd been. To take that deal. Have Dean back. But it wouldn't have been fair to Sam—or Dean either—to trade him in for her shot at happiness. It would have been futile, too. Dean, also, would never have forgiven her for it.

So she moves her stuff into Dean's room and spends every night there. Every day of closeness makes the pain easier to bear. Only ever there when they're not joined at the hip. Within a week, they're able to be away from each other for longer periods. By the second week, it's just barely an ache under their skin.

Jo takes advantage of this break in their routine to get to know Dean better. and, by extension, Sam. They trade childhood stories, recount hunts and even swap tales they'd heard about other hunters' adventures. Jo especially enjoys helping Dean do some maintenance on the Impala every now and then. He seems thrilled by her interest and impressed by her knowledge. It feels good to have his full attention.

The first time they're intimate again, it feels different. It's like what Jo had imagined making love to someone would be like. Not that their first roll in the sheets hadn't been intense. It'd been great. Dean's an amazing lover. But now, there's an added emotional aspect, which'd been kept under wraps the first go 'round. That had been more for the fun of it, to scratch an itch and distract from the looming hunt. This is more like establishing a connection. Jo'd never experienced that before.

She brings it up a few nights later, as they catch their breath, and Dean admits that it feels the same on his end. He kisses her forehead tenderly, draws her closer. Jo's never been in love before either. She's had crushes. But she thinks that, with Dean, she can be. In love. Some day.

By the end of the third week, the two of them start feeling a little stir crazy. Her mom and Sam had taken a few of the cases that'd reached Bobby's ears. All of them close by and pretty simple. The two make a good team, only coming back with some bumps and bruises. Never anything serious.

But her mother shows her over-protectiveness once Jo brings up wanting to get back in the saddle. She absolutely refuses to let either Jo or Dean out on a hunt until they're fully recovered. Which sucks. Dean, to her surprize, doesn't fight her mom on it. Goes "Yes Ma'am" and shuts up. Which Jo finds exceptionally weird for a thirty-year-old man.

"You're really okay with this?" Jo whispers into his collar bone a few days later, perched on his lap on the porch chair. "Sitting on the sidelines?"

"Not really, " he says, turning his head to look at her. "But Ellen's right. It's too soon."

That doesn't make sense. Dean never backs down from a fight, no matter how hurt he is. The hunt in Carthage is proof of that. Duluth too. She throws him a confused look and sees a flash of fear cross his face for a split second. And it clicks.

"Wait a minute," she says, trying very hard not to laugh. "You aren't still scared of my mom, are you?"

"No," he scoffs. Looks like a deer caught in the headlights. "No, it's... okay, I am a little."

It makes her giggle. The great Dean Winchester, hunter extraordinaire is scared of her mother. He smiles at her amusement, but it doesn't reach his eyes. Jo's smile falls. It's more than that and he's trying to hide it. Badly.

"What is it?" she asks, serious now. She frames his face with her hands when he looks away and gently coaxes him to look at her. "Come on, Winchester, spill!"

She tries to sound both stern and encouraging. He gives a huff that's not exactly laughter, meets her gaze.

"You remember when I told you what Zachariah said?" He swallows thickly, then takes a deep breath. "About how being marked by a hellhound was a ticket straight to the pit?"

Jo nods. She doesn't like where this is going. That particular bit of information had been so horrible to contemplate, that she'd shoved it right out of her mind. Especially when she'd thought Dean was dead.

"Well, turns out the result's the same if…" he clears his throat, "if you die any other way. At least, before your soul completely heals."

"Yeah, I know." She sweeps her thumb over the apple of his cheek in an attempt to soothe him. "Lucifer said pretty much the same thing. That what got you scared?"

Jo can feel the slight tremors in his body and is reminded that, no matter how brave Dean is, he'd been through Hell. Literally, been there. No wonder he's terrified. She probably should be too.

"It's not just that,'' he says. His fingers flex on her hip, like it's taking everything not to jump out of his skin. "Zachariah also let slip that... that I wasn't the one who was supposed to… that something intervened to change the course of events." His look becomes pleading now. "He didn't outright say it, but I could read between the lines. It was… it was gonna be you, Jo. You were gonna d—you were gonna die."

A tear slips down his cheek and Jo instinctually catches it with her thumb. She's struck speechless. It takes her a few minutes to process that. That she was going to die. In Carthage, Missouri, of all places. She realizes that she's alive just because something stepped in and changed her fate. And because Dean shot the hellhound that was gunning for her.

And it suddenly all makes sense. Dean's fear isn't about Hell, at least not only that. It's about losing her. His tears are coming freely now and his breaths are fast and uneven. Jo doesn't know what else to do, so she leans forward and presses her mouth to his. He kisses back immediately. When a sob escapes his lips, she does her best to swallow it down.

"I'm here, Dean," she whispers when they break apart. They are both breathing heavily, both crying. "I'm right here, alive and kicking. We're alive, the two of us. It's gonna be fine."

"I know," he croaks. "It still scares the crap outta me, that you were so close…"

"To kicking the bucket, yeah." She smiles, tears now sliding down her own face too. "But I didn't."

"I get that I shouldn't coddle you," he says, squeezes her a little tighter, probably to hide his trembling. "We are both hunters and it's a risk of the job. I'm scared though." A shuddering breath, more tears. "I'm so fucking scared."

It almost breaks her heart. Jo pulls him closer and hugs him tight. Lets him cry into her shoulder. He needs to get this out of his system and she lets him have this moment of weakness. All she can do is hold him through it.

"I'm scared too," she says eventually. "I don't wanna lose you either. But we can't hide away here forever."

"I know that, " he says. They break the embrace and Dean runs his hands up and down her arms. Gives her another pleading look. "I'm not asking you to quit." He laughs, shaky and wet sounding. "I don't think I could do that myself, so it'd be unfair to ask you to do it."

He pulls her back to him briefly. Kisses her, softer this time. She's relieved that he's not trying to persuade her to give up on being her true self. When he pulls back again, it's only so he can lean his forehead against hers. Slides his nose against her own. "Please," he continues, "I just… it'd just give me peace of mind if we stayed put a little longer. Until we're all healed up."

"Okay, " she says.

"Really?"

It seems to take him by surprize, that she doesn't fight him on it. But she can't. It's not a lie, what she told him, that she's also scared. This thing between them, it's new. She wants more of it. Knowing how close she'd been to not having it is truly frightening. And tempting fate seems wrong. So, for Dean's peace of mind—and her own safety, his too—she'll stay put. It probably won't take all that long. Just another week, maybe two. She'll need time, also, to process her near miss.

"Yeah," she says. "Really."

The next day, Dean feels like crap for breaking down like that. He'd been so terrified that Jo would want to take off in search of a hunt, and that she could get hurt or worse. And then, he'd lose her. He's more scared of that possibility than he is of going back to the pit himself. Besides, it wouldn't be fair if she didn't know the truth. He'd been undecided about sharing that particular bit of information Zachariah had imparted. But Jo'd been honest with him about Lucifer tempting her into making a deal. So he felt he owed her the same sincerity.

Another week goes by. Sam and Ellen have gone to help Rufus on a hunt a few days ago. All the way to Florida, of all places. It'll take them a while to get there, deal with whatever the heck they're hunting, and get back. Maybe by the time they return, he and Jo will be in fighting shape again.

But he's not in a hurry to leave. It's early December already and Dean doesn't want to spend his first Christmas with Jo in some crappy motel. And he's pretty sure Bobby would love to have them all for the holidays. They can be one big, happy, cobbled-together family.

"Dinner's almost ready!" he yells.

He's cooking in the kitchen, now and then admiring the snowfall outside. He'd had to fix up Bobby's glitchy central heating the day before. Dean's sure the fricking thing is older than Bobby.

"In a minute!" comes Jo's answering yell.

She sounds surprisingly cheerful for someone stuck doing research. Bobby not so much. He sounds like he's a few seconds away from a stroke, by the way he's screaming himself hoarse. Some dude named Garth did something stupid and now Bobby's tearing him a new one. Dean wouldn't want to be on the receiving end of that particular lecture. He kinda feels sorry for whoever this Garth guy is.

Dean takes a spoonful of the stew he's preparing. Blows on it. It's very tasty, like all of Ellen's cooking. He's found that the best way to distract the older Harvelle from fussing over her daughter's well-being is to have her teach him her family recipes. Which has come in handy when she and Sam are out on a hunt. Jo's a decent cook, too. But Bobby can't be bothered. Especially since he's been confined to a wheelchair.

He gets it, though. Dean's sure he wouldn't be thrilled himself if he'd lost the use of his legs. That's another reason Dean wants them all to stick around until at least after New Year's. Bobby's been like a second father to him and Sam. He's always been there for them, even when their own dad had been an ass. Dean wants to return the favor any way he can.

His phone starts ringing. Dean turns off the stove and wipes his hands on a dish towel. Rummages in his jeans pocket to get it. It's Sam.

"Hey, what's up?" he greets his brother.

"Hi, Dean," says Sam. "We're gonna be here a bit longer. Haven't yet figured out what exactly it is that's eating people."

"Eating them whole or just bits?" Dean asks, as he bends to get plates out of the cupboard.

He's pretty sure he's gonna have to take the food into the other room. Bobby doesn't sound like he's screaming his lungs out anymore, but he's still on the phone. Calmer now. When Dean chances a look in the direction of Bobby's study, he sees Jo with her nose glued to a big, dusty book. She's taking notes too.

"Some yes and some not really," Sam says. "Seems to be no rhyme or reason, though. At first, we thought it was a rawhead, but we couldn't find it anywhere. But, by the looks of it, it's way smarter than that."

"Maybe it's a rugaru?" Dean wrinkles his nose at the memory of that particular kind of monster. "Or a very hungry werewolf. Though I've never seen them do that before."

"That's what Ellen said too," Sam says. "She thinks it's a rugaru with either no idea what it's doing, or one that's very picky."

"Could be," Dean shrugs and continues to dish out the food. A thought occurs to him, then. "Wait, were any of the vics missing only their livers?"

"Just the liver, no. Why?"

"Hunted something way back when you were in college. Picky eater. Only had a taste for livers." Dean balances the phone between his ear and shoulder as he goes to grab some cutlery. "Whatever the hell it was, damn thing looked human. Slitting its throat with a silver coated steel knife did the trick." He plops a spoon into each bowl of stew. "Never came across anything like it since. Or before, either. Still have no idea what it was."

"Huh... Never heard of a monster that has a preference for livers." Sam falls quiet and Dean can hear Ellen and Rufus bickering in the background for a few seconds. "Anyway, we're stumped, so it's gonna take a while longer. Didn't want you to worry."

"Yeah, thanks for calling," Dean says. "I'll ask Bobby, maybe he can shed some light on your perp."

"Thanks," Sam says. The bickering grows louder. "I've gotta go. Give me a ring if you find anything, will you?"

"Sure thing. Be careful."

Sam hangs up then, and Dean busies himself with getting a tray ready for Bobby. It's quiet in the study. Jo's still glued to her dusty book when he enters.

"Oh, hey," she says when she notices him. "I forgot about the food."

"I figured." Dean sets the tray down on Bobby's desk and, when the man raises his confused gaze, Dean gestures to the bowl. "Eat."

Bobby grumbles something Dean doesn't quite catch. Sounds suspiciously like idjit, though. Dean ignores it. He turns to Jo again and pokes her in the shoulder.

"Take a break," he says. "You wanna eat here or in the kitchen?"

There's not much space to comfortably do that in here, what with the room having been repurposed to moonlight as a bedroom for Bobby as well. Where the couch used to be, there's a bed. Said couch is out in the dining room, which now doubles as a lounge. The kitchen table is the best place to eat a meal.

"You're right," Jo says, rubbing at her eyes. "We both need a time out." She gets up and takes the tray from the desk. "Come on Bobby. Join us in the kitchen."

"It's okay, kiddo," Bobby says. "You two go on ahead."

"No, you need to eat too." Jo slowly pulls the notebook Bobby had been scribbling in out from under his nose. "You'll get distracted and forget. I just did. Right after Dean called that it's ready. And you didn't even hear him."

Dean tries to keep a straight face. Of course Bobby hadn't heard him, he'd been too busy laying into Garth at the time. He takes the tray from Jo and motions towards the kitchen. "She's right," he says, as Bobby grudgingly moves his wheelchair away from the desk. "You got a one-track mind when it comes to research."

A few more grumbled curses later, they're eating at the table, like normal people. Bobby lights up when he starts eating. Apparently, he's hungry. Or hangry. And the stew is delicious.

"Ellen's recipe," Dean says.

He tells them about Sam calling regarding his and Ellen's hunt with Rufus. Between bites, they talk about what monster it could be. When Dean shares about his encounter with the mystery liver-eating whatever it was, both Jo and Bobby give him nonplussed looks. Although, Jo's expression seems to indicate that it's something familiar. But she doesn't say anything.

"Never even heard of anything like that before," Bobby says. "But rugarus can be a bit messy to figure out. Sometimes, when they start craving human meat, some of 'em fight it. For a little while, at least." He finishes off his food. "It's all downhill from there."

Bobby helps himself to a second serving of stew. So does Jo. Dean tries not to preen too much at that, but he also gets himself another portion. A smaller one, this time. By the time they're finished eating, it's dark outside. Dean checks to see if it's still snowing and is greeted by nearly a foot of white stuff when he steps out the back door. At this rate, they'll be snowed in if it keeps up any longer.

While Jo calls Ellen for a chat, Dean busies himself with sweeping the snow off the porch. Gets more wood for Bobby's fireplace too. If the central heating decides to be a bitch again, the guy's gonna need it.

They've placed a small wood stove in one corner of the dining room. It's apparently something Bobby's had to do some winters. His parents before him, too. At least the heating works okay on the upper level, now. The other day, Dean'd woken up to Jo shivering as she clung to his side. Both their feet had been ice cold. Dean could have sworn that he was able to see his breath misting as he exhaled. That had not been a fun experience.

Jo finishes her phone call just as Dean's done with getting the wood in. He grabs a chair from the kitchen and joins her by the stove. She's perusing another big, dusty book. Different one, seems like.

"So did they figure it out?" he asks.

"Not yet," Jo says. "They're pretty sure it's a rugaru. Although, by the mess it's leaving behind, Rufus is starting to suspect there's two of them."

"No wonder he wanted backup. Those fuckers are strong and a challenge on their own. I wouldn't wanna be alone on a hunt for one, not to mention more."

"That is why mom wanted to go help out." Jo closes the book she'd been looking through and runs a hand through her hair. "When I was… seven, I think, my dad came home from a hunt all banged up. A rugaru took several bites out of him. Mom was… pissed is an understatement."

"I bet."

"She never let him go after one on his own after that." Jo snorts. "She'd blow a gasket if she knew I did when I started hunting on my own. I never told her though."

"Wait, you did what?" Dean swallows his next words when Jo pins him with a narrow-eyed gaze. "Okay…"

"If you even think about spilling the beans to her…"

Dean shakes his head and raises his hands in a placating gesture. Besides, the thought of Jo ganking a freaking rugaru on her own kind of turns him on. He nips that particular fantasy in the bud. Before he makes a fool of himself.

"Nope, wouldn't dream of it," he says. He mimes zipping his lips shut for good measure.

"Good."

After a beat of silence, Jo gives him that impish, thousand-watt smile of hers. It's no secret, at this point, that she enjoys making him squirm. And that turns him on even more.

"What'd you use to roast it?" he asks as he struggles to get his dirty mind under control.

"A flame thrower."

Well, there goes his attempt to get his head out of the gutter. Dean's overactive imagination promptly conjures an image of Jo hefting a huge-ass flamethrower. Jo just smirks, like she knows what he's thinking about.

Damnit, Winchester! Pull yourself together. He needs to get her talking about something else. Before he embarrasses himself not just in front of Jo—who's definitely enjoying his predicament—but Bobby too. Dean clears his throat. Readjusts in his seat.

"So, what are you looking into?"

He points to the book sitting on her lap, hoping she won't call him out on his blatant change of subject.

"Something for a friend of Bobby's," she says. Apparently, she'd decided to let him get away with his deflection. "He's helping another hunter with a case. Thought they were dealing with a kitsune. Turned out it was a wraith."

"That why Bobby was so pissed earlier?"

"Yeah, Garth can be..." she frowns, "an acquired taste. He's a decent hunter, but he can be a little dumb sometimes. Drives Bobby up the wall. My mom too."

"You met the guy?" Dean can imagine Ellen not having the patience to suffer fools.

"Yeah, we bumped into him a few times while working a case." Jo smiles. "He's kinda like an older brother I never asked for. Emails me funny pictures and dumb jokes."

"Sounds like an airhead with a good heart." Although, Dean can't quite imagine how someone like that got into hunting in the first place. "How's he still alive?"

"Beats me," Jo says. Shrugs. "Just lucky, I guess. Like a cat with nine lives." She laughs as another thought occurs to her. "Bobby's been asking him how he's still breathing every time they talk. I don't think Garth has any idea how fortunate he is."

"Did they gank the wraith, in the end?"

"Yeah." Jo grins and throws a look Bobby's way. "They had to use a silver letter opener to do it. Garth delivered the killing blow."

"A letter opener... " Dean has to admit, at least to himself, that that is pretty fucking badass. "Wow, I'm impressed."

"Yeah, well, they were in a psych ward, so no weapons. Martin—the other guy—came up with it." She sniggers. "I thought Bobby was gonna lose it. Rendered him speechless. I had to turn around so he wouldn't see me laughing."

Jo giggles again as she whispers the last part. Dean will never not find it cute, that expression she makes as she laughs. Because she's utterly adorable. And that causes his heart to start beating a bit faster.

The conversation veers into another direction. Bobby joins them when they break out the beers, and he tells them of some of Garth's misadventures. Jo shows Dean a few of the jokes Garth's sent her on her phone. Which are actually really funny. Dean enjoys them immensely. They even talk about the case Ellen and Sam are working on. Jo thinks there's a chance the monster they're hunting could also be a ghoul. It's a possibility. By the information Jo got from Ellen earlier, it's more likely to be that, than a rawhead.

"Either ghoul or rugaru," Dean says. "Those two fit the bill best."

It's just the two of them again. Bobby had, eventually, gone to bed about an hour ago. He and Jo had moved to the kitchen. They're sharing what's left of one of Bobby's whiskey bottles.

"Yeah," Jo says. "Although ghouls usually eat corpses nowadays, I've heard of some going after fresh meat, now and again. Like they used to centuries ago."

"They still do."

Dean tells her, then, about the pair of ghouls that killed Adam and Kate Milligan. That makes Jo drain a whole glass of liquor in one go. He can't blame her.

"Wow, that really sucks," she says, after a moment of silence. "Holy cow!"

"Yeah," Dean says, refilling her glass. "Guess dad's attempt to protect them backfired. Big time."

"It's better to know what's out there, even if you don't actively fight it. Helps you defend yourself if the things that go bump in the night ever decide to make you their next meal."

"Hear hear," Dean says and takes a healthy swig of whiskey straight from the bottle.

"Hey, speaking of the creepy crawlies," Jo says, "that thing with the liver-eating monster. It rang a bell, but I couldn't place the memory at first."

"So you did come across something like it?" Dean had suspected as much.

"Not me," she says. "Caleb did, years ago. He never figured out what it was. Never caught it either."

"Caleb, huh?" Dean thinks it over. "When about was this?"

"Way back when I was still a kid, around sixteen. He came by the Roadhouse to ask mom about it."

"Maybe the one that gave him the slip was the same one I put down," Dean says.

"Here's hoping."

They finish off their drinks and Jo tries to—unsuccessfully—stifle a yawn. Dean takes her glass, as well as his own and the now empty bottle, and plops them in the sink. Tomorrow's problem. Right now, they're both wiped.

"Okay, time for bed," he says.

Jo doesn't protest. Just nods, and gets up and stretches. Dean goes to the stove in the corner and stokes the fire, feeding it more wood. Should keep the place warm until the morning.

Almost another week later, while Bobby's talking to one of his contacts, the landline rings. Dean's closest to it, so he picks up. It's a hunter Dean doesn't personally know. Heard of him, though. The guy'd gotten wind of a haunting near Lincoln, Nebraska, and wasn't able to go take care of it himself. Wanted Bobby to pass it on to someone.

Dean writes down all the relevant information on a slip of paper, all the while trying to ignore the itch under his skin. A salt 'n' burn is a pretty simple affair as far as he's concerned. A milk run. And he wants to go and do it so badly.

But Sam's still not back yet. He, Ellen and Rufus had picked something else up on the way back to South Dakota. Dean hasn't gone on a solo hunt in over four years. He could partner up with Jo on this. She's got more experience this time around. They've gotta start somewhere. They're both hunters and working together is going to be part of the package of being a couple.

Dean folds the piece of paper and shoves it in his pocket. Bobby's none the wiser and, by the time he's done with the conversation he'd been engaged in, he doesn't even remember to ask who'd called. Dean's going to discuss it with Jo later tonight. See if she's ready for some action. They can pass it on to someone else if she's not. No big deal.

But Dean thinks that she'll want to take this. He can tell that she's restless. It's the perfect time to go on a hunt, because Ellen isn't here to breathe down their neck. By the time she and Sam get back from Louisiana—or Texas, Dean doesn't know exactly where they ended up—Dean and Jo will have finished the job. Easy peasy. Their only problem is going to be Bobby.

Dean'll let Jo decide whether to tell him beforehand or to just sneak out. Ghost hunts don't take all that long. It's still going to be a few days at least, so it's not like they can be there and back before their absence is noticed.

Dean's still terrified. Of something going wrong. But, like Jo said, they can't hide away forever. And the pain in their scars is completely gone now.

Jo'd gone grocery shopping a couple of hours ago and all Dean had felt in his side was a weird tingle. Nothing else. So they should be in the clear on that front.

The thought of going on a hunt with Jo makes him smile. Not that Dean doesn't like hunting with his brother. But he and Jo are... well something else. It's a different kind of relationship than what he has with Sam. And he finds that prospect thrilling.

"What are ya smiling at, ya idjit?"

Bobby's voice snaps him out of his reverie. Dean looks up at the other man. Deliberately schools his expression into something he hopes comes across as innocent.

"Nothing in particular," he says. "Just, you know... stuff."

"I don't think I wanna know." Bobby shakes his head and gives a gruff laugh. "Ya thought I haven't noticed the way you and Jo make eyes at each other? Especially when yer under the impression that no one's watching?"

"Hey, we're taking it slow," Dean says. There's no point in lying. "It's new."

"And exciting and makes you feel giddy." Bobby snorts. "That's how a new relationship is supposed to make ya feel."

"Well, it's not something I've ever experienced before," Dean says, voice soft now. "Not like this, anyway. I... I like it."

Bobby's face smooths out into something more understanding. He smiles and wheels himself closer to the desk where Dean's at. Dean, in turn, pulls a chair closer, sitting down so he's eye level with the older man.

"Never been in love before, eh?" he says, a knowing look plastered across his features.

"Oh no, I have been," Dean says. He runs a hand across the back of his neck. "It's just... I've never been with someone who's seen me, the whole me, and hasn't wanted to run off screaming. We fit in a way that I can't put into words."

"That's probably because Jo is also a hunter," Bobby says. "She gets you on a whole other level. It's something only another living this kinda life can do."

"Guess so."

"I'm happy for ya," Bobby continues. "Both of ya. You deserve a little brightness in this crap life you've been dealt."

"Thanks, Bobby."

"But," and Bobby's expression turns stern as he goes on, "if you even think of hurting her, in any way, I'll beat the stuffing out of ya." He pauses, frowning. "Well, after Ellen's done flaying your sorry hide, that is."

Dean can't think of anything to retort to that, so he prefers to keep his mouth shut. He'd never intentionally hurt Jo. And he knows there'll be a long line of people waiting to kick his ass if he ever did anything as stupid as that.

He's spared from any more awkward threats by the sound of a car door slamming shut. Saved by the bell. Dean quickly gets up and hurries outside to help Jo with the groceries. The piece of paper in his pocket isn't forgotten, but he won't spring it on her right now. Later tonight. They'll talk about it later tonight.

They do end up telling Bobby where they're going, seeing as there's no way to hide it from him. Although, Dean would have gone along with whatever Jo'd preferred. But they've come to an agreement with him not to tell Ellen about it. They can handle a simple ghost hunt. There's no need to give the older Harvelle any reason to call them every ten minutes to see if they're still breathing.

Hunting with a more experienced Jo is something Dean enjoys immensely. She's thorough and focused. Intense even. It's obvious hunting is hardwired into her very being, as much as it is in his. And they work together like a well-oiled machine. Much better than the first time they'd done this together.

The family they're helping out is a young couple, who'd just moved into the house with their baby girl. But their problem seems to not be a ghost. There's no EMF, no cold spots. Nothing to indicate it's a haunting. Just weird stuff happening.

Dean and Jo look into the history of the place and come up empty. It's a relatively new home, in an area where nothing gruesome has ever happened.

After a few days of not finding anything to go by, the family invites them to spend the night. Cue some weird crap. That's when Dean realizes what's going down.

"I think it's a poltergeist," he says.

It's the seventh time he'd had to shut and lock the front door after it'd opened on its own. Louise, the young mother, is rocking the crying baby back to sleep for the third time. Mark—the father—is making them a fresh pot of coffee. None of them had been able to sleep much.

"Of course," Jo says. "That explains why there's no EMF."

"Isn't that the same thing?" Louise asks, seeming confused.

Her eyes are bloodshot and her daughter's not doing much better. The poor kid's under a year old. Neither she, nor her parents had gotten a proper night's sleep since moving in a couple of months ago. Understandably, she's cranky.

"Yes and no," Dean says. "It's a sort of spirit, but not exactly a ghost. There's a different way to get rid of it, too."

It's almost four in the morning so daylight is still a few hours away. The front door unlocks and opens with a bang, and Dean decides to take the opportunity to go get what's needed from the car. He still remembers how to make those hex bags from years ago. Committed the ingredients to memory when he'd helped Missouri make them. And since then, he'd made sure to have a stash of that stuff in the trunk.

He hastily grabs what he needs and dashes back to the house. The memory of that door banging shut and trapping Sam inside their old home still gives him nightmares sometimes. Once inside, he props the door open. They need to be quick, before the poltergeist figures out what they're doing.

"Okay, Mark, Louise," he says. "You guys need to get out, go sit in the car." The cupboards start rattling. Shit. "Right now, go!"

Louise doesn't ask any more questions, she takes off, kid and all. Mark hesitates, though, looks like he wants to stay and help. Jo gives him a gentle nudge. A mug falls off one of the shelves and shatters, making the man jump.

"Go," Jo says. "We'll be okay."

Once Mark's out the door, Dean lets it slam shut. When he turns to Jo, she's already sorting through the ingredients, putting them into the bags. Something else breaks. Dean puts himself in between her and the open space to her back.

"I take it you've done this before," he says, keeping an eye on anything the poltergeist might want to fling at them.

"Yeah, a few times." She hands him two pouches and he blindly takes them. "Mom taught me how. Didn't think you'd have this stuff, though. Was afraid we'd have to go looking for it."

"I've had that crap in the car for years now," he says. "Didn't wanna get caught with my pants down if I came across one of these fuckers again."

"Good thinking. Okay, I'll take the ground floor, you do the upper level."

Dean turns and nods at her over his shoulder, then sprints for the stairs. Takes them two at a time. The lights start flickering and every door in the house—closets and cupboards alike—begin to open and close repeatedly. It doesn't take him more than a few minutes to do his part. He only has to kick in one door. Nothing tries to trip, stab or strangle him, though. Seems like this particular poltergeist isn't as strong as the one that'd lived in his old house.

As soon as he's finished, Dean rushes back the way he came. The sound of breaking china from below spurs him on faster so he, again, takes the stairs two at a time. He can see Jo in the far corner of the living room put the last bag into the wall. And then, everything stops for a second.

He comes to a halt, to catch his breath, halfway down the staircase. The light fixture is still swinging and the TV is stuck on static. There's a sort of pressure in the air surrounding him, and he leans a hand against the wall. Feels eerie.

Suddenly, the light flickers once more. One of the open doors slams shut. That very instant, something hits Dean in the center of his back and he's shoved forward. All he has time to do is shield his head as he falls.

Jo lets out a startled yell, just as his hand misses in his grab for the railing. Dean rolls a couple of times as he tumbles down the stairs, then crashes onto the carpet below. He's lucky he wasn't farther up. A loud pop echoes throughout the house, followed by something breaking in the kitchen. One of the lightbulbs in the living room explodes and Jo yelps again. Then silence.

Neither of them moves for a while. When nothing happens for the next few moments, Dean turns over onto his back. He'd landed funny on his left side, right on his shoulder. And it hurts like a bitch.

He blinks up at the ceiling a couple of times. Jo's by his side in a heartbeat, her hands framing his face, looking for damage. Her eyes are wide, but she's biting her bottom lip like she's trying to keep her emotions in check.

"I'm okay," he says. He shifts a little, then groans. "Don't think I broke anything. Shoulder hurts."

"Hold still."

Jo's hands roam his torso. She checks his arms, his neck and ribs, even his hands. He's winded, but nothing feels broken or dislocated. Once Jo comes to the same conclusion, she bends over and gently kisses his forehead.

"You okay to get up?" she asks.

"Think so," he says.

Jo helps him get to his feet and they hobble to the couch. Dean plops down onto it. His shoulder feels like someone tried to rip his arm off, like wings off a fly. It'll probably bruise. Jo runs her fingers through his hair and smiles.

"I'm gonna go tell those two that it's over," she says.

"Okay."

After a night of doors banging and a baby crying their heart out, it's almost oppressively quiet. Dean looks around. The damage is surprisingly minimal, all things considered.

He catches a glimpse of what seems to be a meat cleaver at the foot of the stairs. For a second, his heartbeat skyrockets, worried that the poltergeist might have tried to fling it at Jo. But then he remembers seeing it in her hand. She must have used it to make holes in the wall for the hex bags. He'd just used his foot.

A gasp from the doorway alerts him to the family's return. Louise looks around, wide-eyed. Mark's holding a wrench in his hand and his mouth's open. Their daughter seems to have fallen asleep again.

"Is it over?" Mark asks.

"We hope so," Dean says. "We'll stick around to make sure, but I think that took care of it."

He stretches his back gingerly and stands up. Winces a little when pain shoots through his shoulder and arm. Louise notices immediately.

"Are you okay?" she asks.

"I'll live." Dean tries to shrug, but that only makes it worse. "Took a spill down your stairs. You happen to have an ice pack?"

He and Jo end up staying over for a few more hours to keep an eye on things. While Dean ices his bruises, Jo helps Mark and Louise clean up. They make small talk in hushed voices, so as not to wake up the baby. Her name, he finds out, is Sarah. She's just turned seven months old.

The day passes without any more incidents. Mark and Louise offer to house them for the night, and Jo and Dean accept. They'll better be able to help if the cleansing ritual didn't work. Dean plans to spend one more night in town, anyway, just in case. But nothing happens during the rest of their stay at the couple's home. It's quiet.

"How can we ever thank you?" Louise asks them, as they get their gear packed.

"Don't worry about it," Jo says. "We'll be in town for another night, so just give us a call if anything else happens."

"Or if it starts up again," Dean chimes in. "Although it shouldn't. As long as you don't mess with those hex bags, that thing should stay gone."

"Don't think I'll ever even touch those walls again," Mark says, seeming to try—and fail—to hold back a shudder.

"Well, at least for a few weeks," Jo says. "By that time, the poltergeist should be completely banished. We were lucky it wasn't a very strong one."

They say their goodbyes. Dean and Jo return to the motel they'd stayed in when they first got there. A pretty decent one, at that. Good bed, plenty of hot water. Clean smell, too. As far as motels go, that's rather unusual.

Dean's glad for it though. His shoulder's still sore—his whole body, more like—and a good place to rest will help a lot. The bruise that extends from the back of his shoulder, across the shoulder blade and all the way to his spine, will take at least a few weeks to heal. Comes with the territory, though. No big deal.

"Want me to go get you some ice?" Jo asks.

She must have seen him wince when he'd tried to put on a clean t-shirt. Busted. Dean'd tried to hide that from her.

"Nah," he says. "I'll be fine."

He forgoes the shirt altogether. It's warm enough in the room, which is another added bonus. Laying down on the bed, he beckons Jo to join him. She does. Snuggles up to his side and puts a hand on his stomach, right over his scars.

"Sorry I scared you," he says after a moment of silence.

"It's okay," Jo says. She twists to look at him. "It's part of the job."

"We make a pretty good team, don't we?"

"Yeah, we do."

She nuzzles his cheek, then kisses the corner of his lips. Dean sighs, content. He pulls the duvet to cover them both and they lapse into silence. Soon, sleep claims his tired body.