Bobby Singer had never seen himself as a father. He never thought he would be able to provide that care to any child. His own childhood had tainted him so much that he just knew that any poor kid would suffer. And then, when he had become a hunter, he'd allowed the idea of becoming a parent fall from his mind. The world was much too dark to bring a child into, not even including him.

He'd met Mary Miller whilst chasing down a werewolf pack and they'd hit it off rather instantly. Their senses of humour were very similar, and they ended up working a few cases on and off. It hadn't taken her very long to get to talking about her new-born baby girl she had with her deadbeat ex, and even less time for him to meet the little baby after hearing all about her.

She had been absolutely gorgeous, with bright eyes and a headful of wispy, light hair. He hadn't even thought about it when Mary had asked for him to be godfather, and that was how he'd ended up looking after little Amelia as her mother fought the evil around them all. And it was clear that, as she grew, the little toddler absolutely adored him in return. She would run at him, pudgy hands out, and she didn't seem to care when her mother got back into her car and drove off without her. She just wanted her Uncle Bobby and it baffled him.

Bobby had never seen himself as a father, but the moment Mary had died he hadn't thought twice about taking Amelia in. Of course he had been terrified, but leaving her to someone else hadn't been an option. He loved Amelia, she loved him, and their unconventional family was formed with a little Winchester chucked in for extra measure. He'd done his best to keep her out of the hunting life. He'd sent her to school, he'd given her curfews and allowances and chores. He'd done his best, he could honestly say that, and if he were to die tomorrow then he knew he had no regrets when it came to Amelia.

He'd seen it coming, though. She was going to fall straight into the hunting life because it was hard to ignore the call when you knew the monsters that lived out in the world. He had, admittedly, thought that he'd have a few more years. She had been in college and it had been going well. No one on the damned planet could have possibly predicted the apocalypse, not really. And as much as he hated to admit it, they needed as many hands on deck as possible. And she'd always been infatuated with Dean, and Sam, and the life they led. It was always going to end up that way.

Didn't mean he had to like it.

"Do we really need all this?" Dean asked yet again. There was a dufflebag by the doorway and Amelia was piling some books into another.

"There's really not a lot," she retorted. "We've got an apocalypse looming, do you not think we could use a bit more knowledge on, I don't know, anything?"

Dean still looked at the books with an undisguised look of distain. There was a reason that Sam always did the research and he did the leg work. Anything that reminded him of studying at school was definitely something he avoided if he could help it. She was packing so many that he was sure he was going to get roped into reading through some. He preferred to learn on the job. He had hoped she'd leave the studious side of her behind.

"Does Bobby not mind you taking all this?" he countered in the hope of discouraging her a little. She shook her head.

"Of course not," she dismissed.

"He just minds you going at all," Bobby finished for her as he entered the study. "If you're just going to be reading then you're better off here."

She sighed heavily before zipping the bag up. With a little effort she lifted it off the desk. "We've discussed this," she replied. "I'm a grown woman, who can decide what she wants to do with her life, and as much as I love looking after that grouchy old man face of yours—" she placed a kiss on his cheek on the way past, "-I am much more use out in the field now than I am here. You've always been the best at the research part, so I'm good to go on that part. I need more training in the actual fighting monsters part." Sam entered the room, having taken Amelia's actual luggage bag to the car, and leant against the doorframe next to Dean. "And who better than to teach me than the best damn hunters we both know?"

On her way past she held her hand up and Sam completed her high five as she headed out with the bag she had. "Yeah, Bobby," he added onto the end. "Do you not agree? Or have you been holding back on us all this time?"

"You know, for some inexplicable reason, I'm suddenly less against the idea," the older man retorted. He didn't mean it of course, but the trio were as bad now sometimes as they were when they were kids.

"Did you hear that, Sammy?" Dean said to his little brother. "I don't think he likes us anymore."

Sam put a hand against his heart. "Say it isn't so, Bobby."

"Piss off," he snapped as Amelia appeared back. "Idjits."

"I think that's everything," she told the pair. "Ready?"

Dean picked up the bag with an ease that made her grumble slightly. "Let's get this party started," he exclaimed, like the lame dad that wanted to sound cool. Neither Sam or Amelia replied in kind and he pouted slightly. "Well, this is going to be fun," he muttered.

Amelia turned to her godfather. "Everything'll be okay," she promised him with another kiss on the cheek. "And I'll check in whenever I can, and I'll be back before you've missed me."

"You'd better," he warned. The warm smile she sent his way reminded him of her mother, who had also had an incredibly reassuring smile. Of course, she'd also sent him that smile the day she'd dropped Amelia off before heading to her death. It didn't make him feel as reassured now as it had done back then.

Dean led the way out, like he was the leader of the pack. Amelia and Sam shared a look, both trying not to smirk as he opened the front door wide with confidence.

"Son of a bitch!" he shouted, diving back from the woman on the other side. Or rather, the large cardboard cut-out of a woman. Namely Paris Hilton, who Amelia had somehow managed to get dropped off at her house while she had been hunting down Dean. He dropped the heavy bag on the floor as he's armed flailed. Both Sam and Amelia burst out laughing at him and he turned, looking rather mad and a lot embarrassed. He pointed at Sam. "I told you not to tell her," he reminded pointedly.

"And miss that?" Sam retorted. "Yeah, right."

Dean grumbled to himself as he picked the bag back up and headed to the car, batting the cardboard cut out to the side with his free hand with a little bit of satisfaction. Amelia nudged Sam as the pair followed him. "Best 50 bucks I've ever spent," she proclaimed before looking over her shoulder at Bobby. "Love you Uncle Bobby."

"Love you too, Princess," he replied just before the door shut behind her. He sat, listening to the sound of the car drive off, because turning and heading to the empty study, which suddenly felt huge. It had been the same when she'd first moved out to go to college, and he was getting flashbacks to the first night he'd spent on his own since he'd first moved her in. It was too quiet, it was too big, and it was too still. He'd felt a loss that hadn't been helped by the idea that she would come home every so often for a visit. It was a feeling he really didn't know how to deal with.

So, he did what he'd done the first time. He moved to his desk, grabbed his hunter's helper, and opened a heavy, old book and started reading. At least this time he had something to research.

~0~0~0~

"You were right about this one. It's definitely a job," Dean said to Bobby as he, Sam and Amelia left the morgue. They'd just been to see the body of a young man, only 25 years old, who'd died of old age. He'd looked old too. It was all types of strange, and the pathologist had also been baffled by it.

"Thought so. Any other stiffs in town?" Bobby replied.

"Just the one body."

"Anything else?"

Dean shook his head. "Couple missing persons, but usual for a town this size."

"Well, check 'em out."

"You think they're connected?"

"Call it a hunch."

"You got it." Dean pulled to a stop, glancing at his younger brother. "And, by the way, how you doing?"

"Doing?" Bobby replied, sounding slightly confused at the question. Dean didn't particularly feel comfortable asking him, but he also wanted to know that his friend and father-figure was alright after the hand that he'd been dealt.

"Yeah. You know, just...in general?"

He could almost hear the eyeroll from the other side of the phone. "Oh, you mean my legs? Or the fact that my goddaughter has moved in with you two bozos? Well, I'm just weepin' in my Haagen-Dazs. Idjit."

The sound of silence told him that Bobby had hung up on him and Amelia snorted in amusement from the other side of Sam. "You brought that on yourself," she told him as he pulled the phone away from his ear.

"You didn't think to stop me?" he retorted as they carried on.

"No, why the hell would I do that?" she replied. "What did he say?"

"He was just his grumpy-ass…"

"About the case, dumbass," she cut it.

He didn't bother dignifying her insult any acknowledgement. "He thinks there's something in the missing persons," he explained. "Said we should check them out."

"But there's nothing unusual there," Sam pointed out. "Like you said, the size of the town and the number of people is pretty standard."

Dean shrugged. "Dunno what to tell you. He said he had a hunch, and they're normally on the money."

"Didn't give you any indication what he thought it was, though, did he?" Amelia asked. Dean shook his head. "Alright, who's first on the list?"

Sam flicked open his notebook. "A Mr Cliff Whitlow. Wife reported him missing last Wednesday morning."

~0~0~0~

Mr and Mrs Whitlow seemed like a lovely older couple, and while his wife was quite reserved about his disappearance, it was very obvious that she was very worried about her husband. Luckily for them, Dean had found out that her husband had been a little less than honest during their marriage and had frequently booked out an hourly hotel every Tuesday. They'd quickly headed over there and the room was still booked up and being paid for on that Tuesday, which mean that either he was in there, or someone was using the old man as a cover for something a lot more sinister.

"Working late my ass," Dean commented as they walked down the hotel corridor, looking for the room they suspected the old man had been in.

"Well, at least he's consistent. Same room every Tuesday, hourly rates," Sam pointed out.

"Hope I got that kind of kick when I'm his age."

"Dude, he has a wife," Amelia pointed out. "How good can the kicks be if he has to rent them by the hour?"

"Pretty damn good if he keeps going back," he pointed out. She opened her mouth, ready to protest, when he pointed at her. "Hey, don't you dare take this from me too."

She frowned. "Too?" she repeated. She rolled her eyes. "Are you still upset about the stripper?"

"I'm not upset," he protested before grumbling to himself. "Was an easy shot. You were the only woman there."

They approached room 44, which was the room that Cliff rented every Tuesday. "So, what do you think's in there?" he asked.

"A wrinkly, gooey corpse," Dean retorted. They all paused. It was always a part of hunting, but no one wanted to walk in on a corpse that had just started to decompose. But they had to, so Sam pulled out his lockpick kit to get them inside.

"Oh, God! Oh, God! Oh! Oh, God!"

They all started and Sam and Dean quickly broke down the door to help whoever was in danger. Or, rather, who they had thought was in danger. Instead, they found a man and a woman on the bed, whose good time had just been interrupted by two men and a woman looking for a fight.

"Hey! What the—"

"Oh!" Sam said, rather embarrassed as a second woman came out from underneath the covers. "It's gooey."

The two women dove out of the bed, running to the bathroom and grabbing whatever clothes they could find. "Sorry. Uh, got the wrong room," Dean commented as the man glared at them for interrupting his good time.

"Close the door!" he shouted and they all scuttled out.

Sam made to close the door, much to Amelia's relief, when he paused. His head tilted slightly. "Hey," he called to the man. "Nice tattoo."

He walked back into the room and over to the dressed. "Happen to know anybody called Cliff Whitlow?"

"Never heard of him," the man replied after a pause.

"Well, that's weird," Sam replied, holding up a wallet to show him, ID at the front. "'Cause you're carrying his wallet."

That was enough for Dean, who followed his brother back into the bedroom and unceremoniously lifted up the covers on the bed. "Huh," he said, letting them go again. "Your wife told us about your, uh, birthmark there. That's nice. Well, you look great, Cliff." He waved his hand over his face. "Did you get some work done?"

Cliff shook his head and sighed heavily. "Could you give us some privacy?" he asked the two women, who were stood in the bathroom doorway, looking very scared and rather confused. Both Dean and Amelia shared a smirk before Dean glared at Cliff once again.

After instructing the two women to get dressed, then ushering them out of the room with a very big pay packet, the now robed Cliff closed the door behind them turned to the trio.

"Please don't tell my wife," he begged desperately.

"Slow down," Dean instructed, but the man was in too much of a panic to listen to him.

"I'm begging you. As far as she knows, I'm dead. For the love of God, let's keep it that way."

"How can you possibly be Cliff Whitlow?"

"I can't tell you," Cliff replied, shiftily looking to one side. Amelia rolled her eyes.

"You saw a witch, right?" she asked him.

"You don't know that," Dean replied and she shot him a look.

"How long have you been doing this?" she retorted. "Not much has the juice to Benjamin Button a whole-ass person."

"Could be a demon," he pointed out.

"Demons tend to work in taking people's souls, not giving them extra time," she reasoned. She turned to Cliff. "Which was it?" He was looking at them like they were talking gibberish. "Now, Cliff, or I can call your wife and…"

"Okay! Okay!" he quickly said, hands up in front of him. "I don't know about any witch, or mummy, or vampire. All I know what that it was a game."

"Like...XBox?" Sam asked.

Cliff has no idea what that was, which seemed to lean into his actual age perfectly. "No. Poker. High stakes. Instead of cash, you play for years."

"What is that supposed to mean?" Dean asked.

"Look, I know it sounds crazy. Guy comes up to me at a bar, invites me to play. Gives me twenty-five of these weirdo poker chips, right? Chants some mumbo humbo over them, says now they're twenty-five years. I'm laughing, but then I come out up. And look at me!" He laughed happily, like he was still had quite accepted what had happened to him.

"What does this miracle worker look like?"

He shrugged. "Just a guy. Maybe thirty-five, brown hair. Irish accent. His name was Patrick. He said he likes to keep moving. Never stays in one bar long. And he finds you."

"Thank you, Cliff," Dean said as they got all of the information that they needed from him and they headed for the door.

Amelia paused and turned to Cliff. She pointed at him. "Write to your wife," she instructed. "Tell her you're fine, but that you're not coming home. She deserves better than to wait around for a cheating little shitbag like you." He opened his mouth to protest but she glared hard at him. "I can go get her, or you can write to her. Your call, Cliff."

He deflated slightly. "Alright," he muttered.

"What was that about?" Sam asked as they headed out of the hotel.

"What, that?" she asked as Dean pulled out his phone to tell Bobby about what they'd found. "His wife seemed nice, and these stories tend to end with a body that the family can't quite explain. Sue me for wanted to save her that."

"Hey, I wasn't complaining," he quickly replied. "You seemed more upset that he was cheating on his wife than the fact he'd made a deal with a witch."

"Cheaters are assholes," she retorted. "If you want to have sex with someone else, just leave. You're just making everyone miserable. Even when he was an old guy, if he wanted to have sex with a bunch of hookers that badly he shoulda divorced her and she wouldn't even be bothered that he was missing in the first place."

"Did someone cheat on you?" he asked her and she shot him a look.

"No one cheats on me, Sam," she said with what could only be described as a warning in her voice. "I've been hunting monsters since I was a kid. For some reason everyone always seems to know better."

She then grinned and Sam laughed as Dean looked at his phone. Bobby had obviously just hung up on him without much warning. "Still his cheerful self?" Amelia asked him.

Dean nodded before putting his cell away. "He'll get over it," he replied. "He was the same when you went to college."

She remembered that clearly. He would never admit it, but Bobby had missed her a lot when she had left for college, and it came across in his behaviour. Even Rufus had known to leave Bobby alone during the first month. "He always does," she agreed. "What did he say?"

"Apparently there's a lot of lore around this sorta thing," he explained to the pair. "Some guy rocking up to different bars, offering a game with a chance of giving you a bit of extra time. Super rare for anyone to win, hence Captain Crunchy."

"So we're splitting up?" Sam asked and Dean nodded.

"Plenty of dives full of people with plenty of regrets," he reasoned. "Hit up where you can."

"I'll head back to the room," Amelia offered. "If he's in the lore, there may be a way of reversing what he's done for the poor bastards that are still walking."

Dean shot her a look. "You're giving up a chance to go to a bar?" he asked her. She shrugged.

"What can I say? Trudging around town into seedy locations where I'm going to get leered at just isn't appealing."

"Huh," he replied. "Didn't take long for that college spirit to leave."

"Piss off," she retorted. "I'll see you jerks back at the hotel." Luckily it wasn't too much of a walk away, so she turned and walked off. "Don't get too wasted, asshat."

~0~0~0~

Amelia sighed heavily, leaning back in the chair, groaning to herself. She was rather good at research, and studying, but having just left college and finally become a full-time hunter, suddenly her love of it was quickly draining away. She'd only had a couple of cases before this one to really get her teeth into. There was always a healthy balance of shooting and studying, and she was quickly falling on the wrong side of that.

Of course, she could have gone dive hopping. There was nothing wrong with that, in fact she and her friends would often do that just for something to do when they were all in town. She looked down at the witch lore she had up on her screen, trying to focus on it. Lately, though, she just hadn't felt the want to do it. She hadn't since they'd taken Cas to the strip club. She hadn't since they'd been to the future and she and Cas…

She growled to herself, clicking the close button at the top of the browser and getting rid of everything she had found, incredibly frustrated at the mere thought of what had happened in 2014. She had been right; it really was coming back to bite her in the ass and she hadn't felt this uninclined to hit up anything since she'd moved to college and met Sophie. Even then...

She heard Sam pull up in the car outside, hopefully with the food she'd ordered. She was starving, and it would be a welcomed pick me up. She had found nothing specific about a witch jumping from town to town, dealing years. Just a couple of old wives' tales. A witch was a witch, though, so ultimately it was probably going to be an easy job. She had just hoped to find a way to reverse it all for the pure buggers who were still alive.

She looked at her phone. It had only been two days since Cas had checked in with her. He was very good at keeping on a schedule, but there was no surprise there. She definitely didn't want to keep tagging him in whenever there was a case, especially considering he really was on an important mission to find the Colt and it was just a witch. That wasn't why she was thinking of calling him though…

She jumped out of her chair and decided there and then to just head into the other room and stuff her face with the burgers and fries that Sam had fetched for her. He was a good one, that Winchester. Anyone who could bring her food always earnt a favour in her book.

She let herself in with the spare door key, only to see her godfather sat by the door, an old guy sat at the table and Sam looking at them like he was highly amused but trying not to show it. She frowned. "Uncle Bobby?" she asked, wondering why he had come down when Dean had only been on the phone with him this afternoon.

All three men in the room looked at her in unison and she blinked, a little perturbed at the sudden attention. "What's…" She trailed off as something occurred to her. Sam was there, Uncle Bobby was there, but Dean was not.

She slowly turned to the old man who she realised was wearing a bathrobe and holding a burger in one hand. Oh no. "Dean?" she asked.

He nodded at her. "Hi Amy," he greeted in a gravelly voice that matched his new appearance. Her eyes widened slightly as she quickly jumped to the correct conclusion.

"You played the game?!" she exclaimed and he nodded. "What the hell were you thinking?!"

Dean looked at Bobby, who suddenly couldn't meet his eye. Dean knew exactly why Bobby had played the game, and he knew that he'd not considered Amelia's feelings on the matter because he'd not thought he'd lose.

He shrugged. "I thought I could win," he lied. "He must have tricked me, somehow."

"Of course he didn't trick you!" she snapped. "You don't get old enough to have folk lore around you if you cheat!"

"You don't know that," he retorted, taking a big bite out of his burger as if to spite her.

"You're a moron," she told him firmly, because she didn't how to proceed in the argument except to continue to tell him what a idiot he was. So she turned to her godfather instead. "What are you even doing here?" she asked him. "I thought you were studying up on archangels while we did the grunt work?"

Bobby didn't have answer to that question that wouldn't have given Dean's lie away. "He was already on his way down to help and sat in on the game with me," he interjected.

"Thought I'd be a prime target," Bobby added and she rolled her eyes.

"Good thing doofus here got there before you, then," she admitted. "So, how do we fix this?"

"It's got to be about the chips," he replied.

Dean nodded. "I slid 'em across, Patrick did his little witchy number, and then…"

"Then you turned into John McCain," Amy finished for him, echoing her uncle very well.

"I mean, what are you all thinking?" Sam asked. "Some kind of magic chips or something?"

"Definitely," Bobby confirmed as Sam sat at the table with them.

"You remember what he chanted?"

Bobby nodded. "Yep—every word."

"All right, then let's find out where he stashes his chips."

"And steal me fifty," Dean added. "Benjamin Button me back into burger shape. What do you think?"

"I think you ought to put some clothes on," Amelia and Bobby told him at the same time.