Los Reyes wasn't exactly a thriving metropolis. In fact it wasn't even much of a town. It did have a couple of stoplights, a MacDonald's, and a few convenience stores with gas pumps, but little else other than one grade school, a high school, a broken-down tech factory that no longer operated, and a small clothing manufacturer that was apparently where most of the towns residents who didn't work at the school, the small police station, or tiny hospital, were employed.

Mac noticed there wasn't an overabundance of streetlights as he walked down the sidewalk next to Sam. It wasn't dark exactly, but it was dim. And it was cold. Not terribly, but since the local average was 50 degrees this time of year here at night and it was closer to thirty-five, Mac was regretting not putting on a sweatshirt under his leather jacket.

He could see his breath rising in plumes as they walked. He stuffed his hands in his pockets, realizing that Sam had done the same, also clearly ill-prepared for the cold. "Was this in the forecast?" Mac asked, thinking he didn't remember unseasonable cold being on tap and that if they were going to be there a few days, he might want to head back to Brownsville for some warmer gear.

Sam shook his head, glancing around, scanning the dark side streets, like he'd been doing since his age was still measured in single digits. "No … It got like this about three nights ago … when they found the first body."

"Wait," Mac turned toward Sam, halting their walk. "Body? Our report from Phoenix didn't say anything about any casualties. Just missing persons."

Sam nodded. "That's why Dean wanted to call Jack … the bodies turning up. We're in kind of a bad way, in terms of resources. There's no one we'd normally call for back-up available … And whatever this is, it's big."

"Because of the change in the weather?" Mac asked.

Sam raised an eyebrow. "Good instincts," he offered.

"Just collating data, so to speak." Mac swallowed hard and started walking again.

Sam's immediate impulse was to put a hand on his shoulder, like he would with Dean, but he didn't do it. Mac struck him as someone who liked his space. "How are you doing? With all this new data I mean?" he asked with genuine concern and understanding.

Mac shrugged, not looking Sam's way. "I'm fine."

"You realize that's Jack's favorite phrase when something's actually bothering the hell out of him and it's always a lie. Always has been. And he says it in pretty much the same tone you just used," Sam said with a bit of a challenge and a slight smile.

Mac glanced his way with a little grin. "Yeah, well, I really am. Fine, I mean."

"Just checking. Cas has taken a shine to you and I think between him and Jack, if I let you keel over, I'd be better off just facing down Lucifer without any backup."

He bit his lips and furrowed his brow as soon as the words were out of his mouth, because he heard Mac's breath catch and the younger man stopped walking again. The blond paused for a moment, ran his hands over his face and through his hair, shook his head like it needed clearing and then just started walking again.

Sam fell into step beside him. "Still okay?" he finally asked.

"Um … Sure." He was quiet for a moment. "I think … Probably."

The walked along in silence for another minute and then stepped into the well-lit parking lot of the local Lone Star market. Mac moved to open the door. "It's alright if you're not, you know."

Mac smiled in a way Jack would have recognized right away. It was his 'I'm maybe going to need to go run a half marathon but after that I'll be all good' expression, that usually meant he thought he'd be all good, but maybe wasn't. Sam recognized it too. He wore it pretty frequently himself. So, he didn't call the guy out.

"I'm dealing, Sam, but I appreciate the concern. Let's just get something to eat that isn't booze or grease and then maybe I can talk this through like a rational person." He chuckled, and it sounded very genuine. "Did I just say rational person to the guy who mentioned knowing Lucifer?"

Sam laughed a little too. "Yeah, ya did. But you may be surprised to find out that I'm a big fan of the rational myself, much to my brother's constant consternation."

Mac smirked and shook his head and put his hand on the door. That felt familiar.

"Oh, hey, they have a Subway in here!" He sounded pretty happy about that.

He heard Sam laugh again and glanced his way. "Only people like you and I could possibly be happy about mass produced wheat bread and turkey in a state famous for its grilling and barbeque."

"You forgot vegetables. And bottled water. I can't do another greasy burgers and beer meal this week, man. I like to treat my body like I want it around for a few years."

"I like to go with the whole 'body as a temple' approach myself," Sam agreed as they went inside.

"As opposed to a tent?" Mac laughed.

"Yeah. Apparently Jack and Dean have more in common than some related genes. There's the junk food, cheap beer or expensive bourbon, the getting surly when they're tired, and their obsession with action movies and pie."

"Dean's obsessed with pie, too, huh?"

"Obsessed would indicate something below a rehab worthy addiction."

They made their way over to the counter and ordered a couple of sandwiches, side salads, and bottled water, amused that though they'd ordered from separate clerks on opposite sides of the counter, they'd come away with the same thing.

Instead of carrying it back to the motel, which Sam thought was a bad idea (because nothing reminded you that you were sort of freaking out about discovering the things you thought were imaginary were actually real like trying to eat with an angel staring at you), they decided to eat in at the small dining area set aside for the restaurant part of the store.

They talked over their meal. Sam kept the conversation carefully geared toward just getting to know one another rather than allowing it to stray into the things that might text Mac's ability to cope. Cas had warned him it might smack him around physically for a while for a reason. Sam had seen people go right off the deep end when coming into contact with the life he and Dean found almost mundane at this point.

Mac looked more relaxed as he ate, and they chatted. It was clear that they had a lot in common. Mac noted that the biggest difference between them was that Sam had loved college, to the point he was disappointed that he'd had to kiss grad school goodbye, and he'd only liked the practical aspects of education, and the sort he could, and continued to, pursue on his own.

They laughed a good deal as they shared stories about both Jack and Dean, amused by the similarities in their collective personalities. Then Mac brought the conversation back around to the things Sam had been avoiding. Since the younger man no longer looked shaky or wiped out by his earlier experience, Sam decided to see where it went.

"So, Jack really didn't used to be afraid of all this …" Mac struggled for a word that felt sane. "Paranormal stuff?"

Sam's mouth curved in an almost-smile. "I don't remember Jack all that well from before he knew. I was a pretty little kid when he found out. First time we stayed with the Daltons was not too long after my mom died."

Mac's face changed. "Oh. I'm sorry for your loss, Sam."

Sam shrugged. "I was a baby. I don't really remember her. It's no big deal. Don't ever mention it around Dean though. He gets weird about it."

Mac nodded. "I can see why he would."

Sam raised a questioning eyebrow. "Yeah?"

Mac nodded, his expression a little sad. "I lost my mom when I was in kindergarten. You don't ever really … You don't get over that. I'll smell the perfume she used to wear and it's …" He swallowed. "It's just still hard sometimes."

"That's what Dean says. Sometimes it bothers me more that I don't feel that way," Sam said, not quite making eye contact with Mac this time.

"Were you at least close with your dad?" Mac asked.

Sam shrugged. "We fought all the time

"That I can totally relate to," Mac said ruefully. Sam raised a questioning eyebrow. This time Mac was the one who shrugged. "Haven't seen him since I was ten. He … he left."

Sam nodded. "My dad's been kind of in and out, too. Thought I'd gotten him back a few times …" He decided not to finish with real details of his and Dean's odd experiences relative to their father. Mac didn't really look ready yet and had been all too easy to steer back away from their less normal-world-based conversation. "But, I never know with him," was how he decided to finish.

Mac stuffed papers and napkins in the plastic sleeve his sandwich had come in. "On that happy note," he said, starting to rise, "What do you day we take a page out of Jack and Dean's book, buy some beer, head back to the motel and maybe pretend life is normal for a couple of hours in front of that ancient CRT they call a TV?"

"Sounds like a solution you've used before," Sam observed.

Mac grinned. "Jack and I once watched the entire Die Hard franchise on a buddy's laptop in a barracks in Afghanistan with a jug of wine one of the guys had fermented under his bunk. The 'let's drink and watch TV' solution goes so far back in my relationship with Jack, it's what we do almost every time we get a couple of days off if things are going rough."

Sam got up as well, laughing just a little. "I think Dean and I have had our own version of that for a pretty long time, too. Although Jack and Dean may be hard to convince if they've gotten into Hunter mode while we've been gone."

"Is Hunters what you guys call yourself?"

"Everyone in the life calls themselves that," Sam replied and wished he hadn't when Mac put a hand on the table like the revelation that there was more than an isolated duo of distant Dalton relations who knew this was real had made him dizzy. He was about to apologize, ask Mac if he was okay again, but the look his slightly younger dinner companion gave told him that asking after him was certainly not going to enhance their relationship at this point.

"So, if they don't want to," Mac said after steadying himself for a second and then heading toward the garbage can to toss his stuff, "We'll just use the room Jack and I already had booked here. It's a couple of door down from you guys."

Sam shook his head and went over to eye the beer cooler. "I think they're probably going to want us to stick together until we figure out who or what this is."

"So, I fly all the way to Texas, find out the boogey man is real, and my reward for not having a heart attack is going to be a bedroll on the floor of your crappy motel room?"

Sam grinned. Mac's tone was so close to home it was like a sly mirror; sarcastic, a little longsuffering, somewhat amused, totally annoyed, and still prepared to just do what needed doing. "Tell you what. You can have my bed. My feet hang off anyway."

Mac grinned as he reached past Sam for a twelve pack of a beer he knew Jack preferred from their last trip here. It wasn't his usual for sure. Expensive and from a tiny brewery near Austin. Mac was surprised to find it in a chain store this far out in the middle of nowhere.

"Twelve pack, huh?" Sam asked with a smile.

"It's been a rough day, man."

Sam held out his hand for the box, clearly offering to pay since he was part of the cause of the hard day. He looked it over. "Family Business Brewing," he read. "This feels weirdly appropriate."

Mac agreed and followed Sam to the counter. Thinking better of just going back and gunning a bunch of high proof microbrew, Mac grabbed a few bottled of water and paid just after his tall companion. They headed back toward the motel, noticing that they'd talked for quite a while. The sky was fully dark and almost all the very small amount of traffic there had been had ceased.

Sam was hitting the button for the crosswalk at the t-intersection the block up from the motel when there was a thud behind him, a crunch of plastic, and the glug glug of water running out of a container. He spun around, not sure what he would find, but it was just Mac, standing there. Instead of picking up the water he'd dropped, he was staring at the intersection.

"Mac," Sam began. Mac didn't even blink. "Mac, are you okay?"

Mac didn't respond, just took a slow, almost shuffling step toward the blinking traffic light. Feeling the hair on the back of his neck raise in an all too familiar sensation, Sam looked toward where Mac's eyes were fixed.

Standing in the middle of the street was a woman, dressed in white, with long flowing dark hair blowing around her in a breeze that didn't exist for them, beckoning to the blond with both graceful, pale arms. Her hair obscured her face, but Sam got the sense that she was talking, calling out, only he couldn't hear it.

"Mac!" he said, louder, and a lot sharper.

Mac frowned and took another shuffling step forward, but it was clear that he didn't want to. It looked like something was pulling him and that he was fighting with all his might to stay right where he was, or maybe even run the other way, but since the fight was going on in his head, Sam couldn't hear that either.

A muffled sort of protesting sound passed Mac's lips and though his foot started to move forward again, he wrenched it back and fell over on the dusty sidewalk. Sam's attention was drawn to Mac for a split second as he assessed whether he'd fallen on his own or if he'd gone down because of something else unseen passing between him and the figure in the intersection. Satisfied he'd just taken a spill, Sam turned back to the street. There was nothing there but a fait mist that quickly dissipated in the light and almost pleasant winter breeze.

Sam crouched down next to Mac, who was sitting on the ground, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Hey, Mac, you alright? You hurt, man?" Sam asked.

Mac took his hand away from his face. "I … I don't know … I think maybe I really did get a concussion in Kiev … My head is killing me all of a sudden."

"What was she saying to you?"

"She?" Mac frowned in confusion.

Sam nodded. "You don't remember seeing a figure that looked like a woman in the intersection?"

Mac shook his head and started trying to get to his feet. Sam stopped him. "Le'me up. I'm fine," he grumbled.

"Maybe. But take it slow. We just encountered something … It looks like something I've seen before, but I don't think that's what it was …" He trailed off for a moment. "Even if it was a Woman in … You don't want to run afoul of her. And honestly, I think this was something more powerful."

Mac swallowed hard. Sam heard it catch and he picked up the one water bottle that hadn't broken and unscrewed the cap, passing the bottle to Mac and watching with as the younger man drained it in several long gulps. "Thanks."

"You really don't remember?"

Mac shrugged. "It's like I want to, but I try and then … ow … It hurts my head."

"Okay," Sam said, like he'd made a decision. He stood, tossed the broken water bottles and Mac's empty into the nearby trash can since there wasn't one for recycling, then extended his hand to Mac, who took it and allowed himself to be hauled to his feet. "Let's get back to the motel. We've got something to base more specific research on now. Maybe we can get somewhere."

Mac took a step and had to catch himself on the crosswalk sign. "Whoa. Not sure I'll be much good helping with the research. I feel like my brain got tossed in a blender."

"Cas'll help with that, I'm sure."

"He doesn't mind just doing that all the time?"

Sam picked the case of beer up off the ground. "Nah, he likes to help. Besides, he's going to want to see if your memories of whatever we saw are intact or if you can't remember because that thing did something to you. The way you went over, it might have."

Mac's eyes widened, a little horrified. "I don't want your friend to just read my mind … I …"

"Whatever it is, he already knows, Mac. Which means so does Dean. When he unscrambled your brain after the shock of seeing him … He knows everything about you back to before you were potty trained. And he likes you, so I guarantee he couldn't resist telling Dean." He took in Mac's expression. "We can keep a secret, man. We're a good security risk, okay?"

Mac smiled, with his lips at least. "Okay." He started walking, glancing at Sam occasionally. "What's with lugging the beer along. What if whatever you saw comes back? Don't you want to be prepared to fight or run?"

Sam chuckled. "I texted Dean we were bringing beer. I show up with out it and he's not gonna care what happened to us, he's just gonna call me bitch and give me a dead arm."

Mac shook his head, laughing a little himself, now that the weird memory induced headache was going away. "You are definitely related to the Daltons."

"Does Jack randomly call you a bitch and punch you?"

Sam raised his eyebrows; he couldn't picture Mac tolerating that, since Jack was his partner not his older brother, and Mac didn't actually look like a guy who took much shit off anybody. Besides, he clearly had a pretty good willful streak, because Sam was pretty sure he'd witness this guy break a thrall and that it was breaking the spell with tremendous force that knocked him on his ass.

"No, but he likes to tease. Told me before that getting me … how did he put it … Getting me riled up relaxes him."

"Daltons and Winchesters are definitely cut from the same cloth," Sam snorted. "Why do you put up with crap like that from him?" Sam was genuinely curious. If Dean wasn't family he'd have put a pillow over his head before either of them could legally drive.

"He's my partner," Mac shrugged.

"I barely tolerate that crap from my brother."

Mac shrugged again. Sam just gave a knowing little nod. So they were more than just partners, these guys were friends, like the once in a life time kind. And they'd served together. Sam's dad always swore that was a bond like brotherhood. And Shakespeare certainly seemed to think so.

Finally, when they approached the motel room, Sam said, "I get it." Mac thought he probably did. "Listen, when we go in there, let me explain what happened. Dean's probably gonna get a little intense about it and …"

"Dean's gonna get intense? You really must not know your cousin all that well … Jack's gonna freak out."

Sam smirked. "Because he's afraid of all this stuff."

"No, because it had a hold of me. You have never met anyone more over-protective in your entire life."

Sam was ready to argue that point, but Mac went on.

"He calls himself my bodyguard, even though he's not exactly that … He followed me to Paris when I was just taking a vacation one time because he was worried. Like he stalked me to Europe."

"Seriously?" Sam snickered a little as he handed Mac the case of beer and got out the key. "What did you do about that?"

"Told him off!" Mac said with just a little heat. Didn't matter that Jack had been right; it still bugged him a little when he thought of it.

"And how'd that go? Did he yell at you in the middle of Paris?"

Mac looked away. "No, he got mad and left … eventually."

As Sam turned the key, he said, "Well, you obviously patched things up. How'd that happen after crossing a boundary that big?"

"Jack did what he always does, stood by me when stuff got bad."

"Stuff?"

"Getting kidnapped and tortured stuff. He doesn't mean to hover, but he does it. Always."

Sam wrinkled his features in an expression of total understanding. Dean went to psychotic lengths to protect him all the time. Always had. Even when he let him fight it was because not fighting was more dangerous.

The first thing that happened when the went inside was Dean and Jack both demanded to know just where the hell their younger companions had been. Mac sat down on the bed with a resigned sigh as Sam explained.

After answering the rapid-fire questions of everyone else in the room, Mac had allowed Castiel to look at his thoughts. The memories were there under a heavy veil of magic that Cas had a hard time breaking through. When he finally recovered what Mac had seen, but not what he had heard because they couldn't get that to come back, Mac was left exhausted.

There was no changing, no complaining about the noise of everyone still talking in the room. Mac just kicked off his boots and shoved them under the bed, dropped his jacket on the floor, and curled onto his side, away from the table where everyone was sitting and talking.

Sam excused himself from the small group, picking up his laptop and taking it in to the bathroom, the only place with a door to block out everyone else talking, so he could begin researching what that entity might have been. Dean agreed it was unlikely to be a Woman in White based on what they'd seen so far of the case, but Sam wanted to be sure no stories in the area made that a possibility.

Cas had disappeared with out a word after helping Mac get rid of the residual headache and remember what had happened. Dean and Jack quietly talked at the table in the dimly lit hotel room for quite a while. As late night turned to extremely early morning, they stopped to listen to a groaning sleep-mumble from Mac.

"I won't go … Le'me go … No …" He twitched and frowned in his sleep, moaning softly after speaking.

Jack got up and went over to his nightmare-trapped partner. "Hey, bud, you're dreaming, it's alright, man."

Mac quieted, but the frown didn't leave his face.

Dean sat staring at Jack and his partner for a long moment.

Then, he looked at Jack very seriously. "I'm sorry, man."

"About what?" Jack frowned.

"Like Cas said … I never even considered that your partner might get dragged into this. Just found out where you worked, made a few guesses as to what that really meant, and made the call. Now he's in this thing's crosshairs … I just … I know what that feels like, and I'm sorry."

Jack nodded. "Anything happens to him, you sure as hell will be."

"Fair enough," Dean replied and stuck out his hand, like he was offering to shake. Jack took it. It was an old gesture he'd started with Dean when he was still a boy, when Jack himself had first found out all this was real. It meant 'I accept my part in this'.

Jack took his hand and offered, "Me, too, kid."