"Umm, sure." She stepped aside, the boys darting in to avoid being spotted by any trick-or-treaters. "What happened to you guys?" Grace asked as she gave Sam a hug.

Dean hugged her stiffly, stepping back almost immediately. "You've got the most haunted cemetery in the state, practically in your backyard. One of the ghosts got a little too friendly, so we took care of Casper and a few others while we were out there. Do you have a shower and some clean towels?"

As Dean headed for the shower, Grace made a pot of coffee, talking to Sam. He'd dusted himself off as best he could, gingerly taking a seat at her kitchen table. "So you didn't end up going to law school, I take it."

"No," he frowned, thanking her as she set a mug down in front of him. "I was all set to go, but then Dad disappeared, and we've been hunting ever since. Saved the world, a few times, actually. Met a lot of people - angels, demons, and everything in between."

"How is old John Winchester?" she asked, a sour twinge in her voice as she got some dessert out of the fridge. "Do you want whipped cream on yours?"

"No, thanks. Uh, he's dead."

Grace nodded, reaching for some plates. "Well, I don't want to lie to you, but I'm not joining the mourning party any time soon."

Sam chuckled, taking a sip of his coffee. "I know, he and I had a complicated relationship too. But for all the times he yelled at Dean about you, he kind of liked having you around. You were smart, you were a good shot, only thing he didn't like was how you'd question him."

"He'd use you and Dean for bait, Sam." The plates clattered on the countertop just a little too loudly, betraying the venom she still held for John Winchester. "I hated him. I hated him with every fiber of my body. But enough of crap like that, what are you guys up to?"

She and Sam caught up for a while, swapping stories until Dean came back to tell Sam that it was his turn and that, "The shower's got excellent water pressure. I'm impressed. Ooh, pie. Is that apple?"

Sam and Grace shared a look, both of them getting up. While Sam headed for the shower, Grace went back into the kitchen to grab another plate, which she nearly dropped when she felt a pair of strong arms wrap around her. "What the hell do you think you're doing?" She whipped around to confront Dean, who stepped away instantly, the defensiveness growing in his eyes.

"Gracie -"

"No. You don't get to… twelve years, Dean. It's been twelve years, and I haven't heard a word from you. I saw you and Sam die on TV in some sort of FBI shootout years back. I… I mourned for you." She could feel the words catching in her throat. "You know how I found out you were alive? Bobby Singer. We'd worked together for a while, and he called me and told me not to worry. Hell, I even heard from Sam more than I heard from you. Not one word in twelve years. I… come with me." She grabbed his hand, pulling him into her bedroom.

"Woah there."

"Shut up." She grabbed the photo that sat on her nightstand, deftly popping it from its frame. Stuffing the picture into his hands, she had to ask, "What happened to this? What happened to 'I'll come back for you'? Where have you been?!"

"Gracie," his voice softened as he noticed how close she was to crying, her eyes glistening in the dim light that streamed in from the hallway. "I'm sorry." He sat down on the bed, motioning for her to sit next to him. "It was a dick move, I know. I wanted to go back, but it was one thing after another that I didn't want to drag you into. I met other people but they were never… you. But I also knew I didn't want to drag you into this mess. Vamps and wendigos are one thing, but this, angels, demons, God, Heaven, Hell… I didn't want to drag you into the apocalypse. I know I should've said something, but… I messed up. I'm sorry."

Grace nodded, leaning her head on his shoulder and staring at the photo he still held. It was the one he had left her, the last words he'd left with her while he and his dad went off on another hunt. The two of them were beaming at the camera, Sam trying to snap one last photo before they headed home from a hunt with Bobby. It had come with her everywhere - college, various apartments, offices, and now, the house. The photos were the only things she had left that proved the boys were real at all, and not just a wild dream from over a decade ago. "What do you want?" she asked flatly. "Why are you here? Why now?"

Rolling up his sleeve, Dean showed her an odd burn mark. "See this? I'm kind of on the run because of this. Pretty much the whole world is trying to smite me, and right now, we're trying to get back to the bunker. Sammy knew you were nearby and wouldn't turn us out on the street. It's Halloween. Every hunter in the country is out right now, because every bad thing is out now too. Perfect hunting grounds. Not so perfect if you're hiding from hunters."

"That's the Mark of Cain… I've only read about it. You weren't kidding when you said it's all real."

"I've been to Hell, and it ain't pretty. You asked me what I want, though. I thought about it a lot. I thought… you and Sammy were what got me through Hell. Literally. You and Sammy. Every happy memory I ever had, and it's a real mixed bag there. Gracie, I want that again. I want… I want you back, hopefully for good." He reached for her hand, gently setting the photo back on the nightstand where it belonged. "I promise I won't disappear this time. Come with us. We've got a place in Lebanon, a bunker, really, but it's got this huge library, more than you'll ever need. I've been reading your research. You can't be an expert on this stuff and not expect us to stumble on your work. Finish what you're writing there, and then work with us. You can research, you can hunt, you can do whatever you want."

"Dean, you're asking me to uproot my life and you've only been back in it for an hour."

He stood, stretching as he told her to, "Think about it. We're not a far drive. I'll never be able to say it enough, but Gracie, I'm an asshole, and I'm sorry."

"Give me your phone."

"What?"

"Give me your phone."

Dean complied, Grace typing something in quickly. "What are you doing?"

"Giving you my number. And texting myself so I have yours."

"Uh, guys?" Sam's voice carried in from the hall as Dean took his phone back.

Grace stood, telling Dean, "Go get some pie. I can tell you've had a long day. I'll be there in a minute. Gotta put this back where it belongs." She gestured to the empty picture frame sitting on a pillow. Dean nodded, heading into the hall to find Sam.

She'd dreamed about seeing them again for so long, but now it hardly felt real. As she snapped the photo back into its frame, Grace could only wonder if this was meant to happen. Big things had to be meant to happen, right? They weren't just thrown in for no reason. "Checkov's gun," she mumbled, thinking of the old writing maxim. "If it's on the stage in the first act, it goes off by the second. But what act are we in?"

The three of them spent the rest of the evening catching up around the kitchen table. Coffee turned into beer for the boys and a couple of glasses of wine for Grace, and the rest of the pie vanished after Dean realized no one was keeping track of it. They brought her up to speed on the apocalypse, on the wide array of enemies and allies they'd made, and on the mark burned onto Dean's arm. Grace filled them in on her life, on how she'd tried to settle down, only to marry a shapeshifter who she'd had to kill herself. As she showed them photos, the imagery wasn't lost on the boys. While he'd looked a bit different, Dean knew those eyes anywhere. The slimy bastard had molded its own eyes off of his own.

Even though the bunker was only a few hours away, the boys decided to camp out in Grace's living room. After all of the excitement of the evening, she still couldn't sleep, so Grace herself went back to her office, sitting down to do some more work. She couldn't manage to work, either. She kept turning the idea over in her head, the idea that Dean had planted hours before. You could go with them. You're already taking calls from a group of hunters. Stop writing mythology textbooks and do the real thing.

She got up, restlessly pacing to the window. All of the front porch light on her block had long since turned off, leaving Halloween decorations blowing in the wind. All of the inflatable lawn ghosts and witches had long since sunk to the ground, and candy wrappers littered the street. It was quiet, normal, a little town with a ghostly history that she'd lived in for ages now. He's the only reason you didn't say yes right away. What if it doesn't work? What if it does? You've been dreaming about this moment for so long, you've just got to say - "Gracie?"

Dean had materialized in the doorway. "What are you working on?"

"I thought you always slept well after a ghost hunt."

"Things change. I can't sleep too well any more. Ever." He made his way over to her in the low light, hesitantly reaching for her hand as she turned back to the window. It was good to have her back, even if he didn't really have her back. It was good to have her there, just to see her again. And it was good to hold her hand.

"I'm writing about the cemetery out there. You know, after all of these years of teaching about modern American cryptids and myths and all of that, I've never written about that cemetery? It's supposed to be a gate to Hell, but I've never published anything on it."

He was silent for a moment, but finally broached the question. "Gracie, do you want to come with us? You don't have to, but… what are you thinking?"

Grace ran her thumb over his, slowly confessing that, "I want to . But I also don't want to mess anything up. I've had this moment in my head for so long, and now that it's here, I…" She sighed, turning to give him a hug as she took the plunge. "I'll have everything packed up in a week or so. Just… pick a room for me. And I'm going to need an office." Dean smiled, kissing the top of her head. This was definitely going to be a new kind of adventure.