Between Heaven & Hell Chapter 7: The Curious Case of Dean Winchester, a supernatural fanfic

I've seen the world
Done it all
Had my cake now
Diamonds, brilliant
And Bel Air now
Hot summer nights, mid July
When you and I were forever wild
The crazy days, city lights
The way you'd play with me like a child
Will you still love me
When I'm no longer young and beautiful?
Will you still love me
When I got nothing but my aching soul?
I know you will,
I know you will
I know that you will
Will you still love me when I'm no longer beautiful?

THE CURIOUS CASE OF DEAN WINCHESTER

"He's gone off his food, again," whispers the attendant to the nurse. The nurse looks at the chart in front of her, frowning. "That's the third time this week," she replies, glancing at slight build of the seventy-five-year old man sitting in the chair by the window. He stares out at the rippling pond in the distance, lost in his own thoughts. "I'll get the brother," she says finally.

Hospital
Rapid City, South Dakota

Beth's POV

We'd thrown ourselves into hunting for the last few weeks. A true alliance, not one where Dean made the decisions and the rest of us followed. The legacy of John giving the orders, followed by Dean in his footsteps, was dead and buried; hopefully staying that way. Dean seemed lighter, happier about this decision. He was truly enjoying the way that the three of us had returned to life, to the hunt. I had to admit, it was a great way to distract us from other matters, and I'd given myself over to the revival as much as Dean and Sam had.

The latter was walking alongside me as we bounded up the steps to the hospital. He led the way to the basement where the morgue was housed chatting the whole way. The automatic doors opened to receive us, and I fished around in my jacket for the fake badge that would declare us a part of the CDC. Sam had his out and presented first, the doctor standing in front of us scoffed, turning to look at mine as I finally opened it.

"You expect me to believe you're CDC?" She asked skeptically and I froze, looked at the badge. It looked legit, how did she know?

"Excuse me?" Sam asked, not skipping a beat. I was starting to realise my acting skills had grown a little rusty in the last few months. Dean and I had been on some serious hunts, but mostly vampires and ghouls, things that didn't require us to interact with actual people in a place of authority. I resolved, as I looked over the doctor, that we might be due for some role playing. I was certain that Dean wouldn't have any complaints about that, he always scored the girl.

"It's just that you're a day early," the doctor explained sarcastically. "First time in history I haven't sat on my ass waiting for you people."

Oh. So that had been the issue. I chuckled, exchanged a relieved look with Sam and then shrugged. "New administration," I offered. "A change you can believe in." Everyone was on the Obama bandwagon, why not the CDC, I reasoned.

"Right," she replied.

Every morgue was a dreary place you never wanted to linger in, I was starting to see a pattern in the doctors who worked them: a dark sense of humour, if they had one at all - and deadpan personalities that left a lot to be desired. The doctor took a few steps to the large freezer behind her, reached out and pulled a drawer open. On the tray was an old man, I theorised almost eighty years old. For being dead, he looked somewhat peaceful, I had to admit.

"Meet Xavier. Date of birth, April third, nineteen eighty-four," the doctor said. I did the math. Eighty-four? Hell, he was younger than… Sam! I looked up, meeting Sam's troubled expression with a surprised one of my own, before looking at the doctor, shocked.

"I know," she said. "I ran the DNA twice. That's definitely him."

I shook my head, "well, uh, I guess he wasn't much into sunscreen, huh?" I joked, and Sam chuckled before looking at the doctor.

"So what's your theory?"

"All I know is, decedent's male, twenty-five years old, and died of old age," she replied.

Outside the Hospital

Dean's POV

Beth had called while I was filling up the car, and I was now waiting for them to finish up whatever they were doing in the morgue. I phoned Bobby to fill him in.

"You were right about this one. It's definitely a job."

"Thought so," he answered. "Any other stiffs in town?"

I'd already run past the police station and talked to the captain. "Just the one body," I replied. There wasn't much going on in Rapid City.

"Anything else?"

"Couple of missing persons, but usual for a town this size," I said with a shrug. Looking up, I saw the familiar figures of Sam and Beth exit the hospital, it brought a smile to my face.

"Well, check 'em out."

"You think they're connected?" I asked. Bobby had a way of seeing connections where they weren't obvious - Dad had been the same, two of the most impressive minds I'd ever met. If he insisted, I wasn't going to ignore him.

"Call it a hunch."

"You got it," I said as Beth joined me by the Impala, kissing my cheek.

I smiled as she shrugged out of her suit jacket, folding it neatly and placing it on the back seat. My mind returned to Bobby, and how he was all alone at his house - we really needed to go check in on him after this job. "And, by the way, how you doing?" I asked, cringing slightly at the question.

"Doing?" Bobby asked.

"Yeah. You know, just...in general?" I asked. Beth raised an eyebrow at me and I shrugged. I was trying at least.

"Oh, you mean my legs? Well, I'm just weepin' in my Haagen-Dazs. Idjit!" Bobby snapped before hanging up the phone. I couldn't help but feel a little disappointed that my attempt to connect had been shot down so easily.

"Bobby?" Beth asked as I sighed and slipped the phone into my jeans pocket. I nodded. "Told you to stop babying him?" She guessed.

"More or less," I replied, frowning slightly. I wasn't completely inept at this emotional stuff - I seemed to manage it okay with Beth. Mind you, she was easy, she'd never really judged me for being anything other than myself. There was something about opening up to Bobby, and bombing out, that wasn't good for the soul. "I think you can handle the check-in's from now on, babe."

Beth laughed and kissed my nose. "I'm sure you did fine. Bobby told me to, and I quote 'quit pandering, mind your own business, and leave me the Hell alone,' last week." I grinned: she hadn't told me that.

"Well that makes me feel a little better. He just hung up on me."

"So, we have no explanation for Xavier, other than… weird," Sam announced, finally joining us from the hospital. "But, I just overheard a nurse saying that seeing him reminded her of her grandfather, who is currently missing. She was hoping that it wouldn't be him on that slab next."

I grinned at him. "You get a number?"

Sam snorted indignantly, but a moment later produced a blank prescription, a number and name scrawled across it. "Wow, great work Sammy, you still got game."

"I never lost my game, Dean, I just don't slut around like you," Sam retorted.

"Hey, I take offense to that!"

"He's right though," Beth chuckled, stepping up behind me and wrapping her arms around my waist, leaning her chin on my shoulder. "You're incorrigible."

"Hey!"

"Which… I happen to like, so chill," she whispered in my ear. Sam laughed and shook his head. I was trying not to groan out loud as Beth playfully nipped at my earlobe, she was giving me all manner of wicked ideas, and I started thinking a few of them through as I looked at Sam.

"So, you seeing her tonight?" I asked, hopefully. "What's her name?"

"Uh, maybe. We talked about dinner and going to the bar to shoot some pool," Sam replied. "Brenda Whitlow." I grinned, nodding at him.

"Yep, Cliff Whitlow. He's on the list of people Bobby wants us to check into."

"Well, okay then, great," Sam said with a nod. "Shall we go do that?"

"We shall," Beth agreed, slipping her hand into my pocket and taking the keys from me. "I'm driving!"

"Hey!" I protested.

"You need your rest, Romeo," she grinned and I ooooo'ed at her, I liked the sound of where tonight was heading.

Cliff Whitlow's House

Beth's POV

I pulled the Impala into the curb with a flourish that would do Dean proud. He whooped a little from the passenger side and then tossed me a rogue grin. "You might be more of a reckless driver than me," he offered, and I laughed.

"Well I did learn from you."

"Touche'" he admitted. "Not sure that was a good thing now."

"Oh please, I'm a good driver," I said, opening the door and climbing out.

"Better than you, anyway," Sam chimed in. Dean snorted, a form of protest when he knew he couldn't argue with what was being said.

"All right, all right," he conceded. "Dammit I hate when you two gang up on me."

Inside the house, just as on the outside, everything seemed calm and collected. I thought about how I'd been when Dean was in Hell, and things had been anything but that. Mrs Whitlow was upset, but certainly not devastated. I mused as to whether age gave you that kind of perspective - did there come a time when you just expected to lose your husband or wife and become okay with this idea? I couldn't see it ever happening for me, even if we did manage to live to a hundred years old.

Perched next to me on a floral sofa that positively screamed old people live here, Dean handed me the framed photo of Cliff, the missing husband, after taking a cursory glance at it.

"That's the most recent," Mrs Whitlow said as she joined us, sitting down in an armchair opposite us. Sam moved to look down over my shoulder as Mrs Whitlow leaned forward with a new, unframed photograph. It was of Cliff at a golf tournament, proudly showing off his June win at Miami Palms. My eyes fell curiously to the Marine tattoo on his right inner arm as he proudly held up his trophy.

"How long has he been missing?" I asked, looking up at the woman. She watched us with wide, expectant blue eyes. I detected a change in her expression almost immediately upon hearing the question.

"Oh, I knew right away when he didn't come home Tuesday night," she said.

"Is there someplace he likes to go after work, maybe? A favorite bar?" Dean questioned. She laughed, shaking her head in amusement.

"No. Tuesdays, he always works a bit late, but he always comes straight home," she said confidently. I smiled indulgently, she seemed like a sweet old lady. Beside me Dean tensed, his fake smile plastered across his face.

"May I use your facilities, ma'am?" He asked, the question telling me all I needed to know. He suspected Cliff had other extra-curricular activities on a Tuesday, something other than work, and he needed a reason to go snooping. Mrs Whitlow waved Dean down the hallway and then smiled hopefully at me. I grimaced internally, feeling my stomach squirm. Gut feeling told me that Cliff wasn't coming back, but passing that information on to Mrs Whitlow was not something I would relish.

By the time we made it back to the Impala I was ready for food and a couple of beers. Everything inside that house had been… perfect. Just what people were supposed to want when they grew old. A loving family, the perfect decor, the routine of it all. I chewed on my lip as I thought about the unspoken conversation Dean and I still had to have. The one about where to from here… the one about a baby.

I found myself gazing back at the quaint little, well-kept house and wondered, could I do that?

"'Working late' my ass," Dean announced, breaking the spell as he held up a receipt in the air.

"What did you find?" Sam asked, grabbing the piece of paper from him.

"$250 spent at Madame Liu's Golden Palace," Dean informed us. "Somehow I don't think he was getting a snack before coming home."

"Well, not of the food variety anyway," Sam chuckled.

"Maybe we can get a room," Dean suggested as he sidled up to me, "start our evening out right?"

Madame Liu's
Downtown

Dean's POV

Madame Liu had been extremely helpful so far in locating the missing Mr Whitlow, waving us down to a room at the end of a long corridor in her establishment.

"Well, at least he's consistent," Sam commented as he led the way, Beth following closely behind. "Same room every Tuesday, hourly rates."

"You know I'm still constantly amused that you guys know about these places," Beth mused as we passed an exiting man who looked guiltily down at his feet when she flashed him an accusatory look.

"Totally married," she said as he scuttled toward the exit.

"This kind of establishment runs on married men," I said. "And as for me…. research, you know. Gotta know where the perps go." It was complete and utter BS and we both knew it. Back in the days when she was in firm denial about our feelings for each other, I'd visited these sorts of places from time to time. It was a good way to get my frustrations out, when I wasn't looking to pick up in a bar. "How Sam knows about them, we are all waiting breathlessly to hear."

Sam snorted and rolled his eyes. "What makes you think I have any idea about these kinds of places?"

"Call it a hunch," I said.

"Riiiiight," Beth chimed with an amused look. "Well Mr 80-year-old married missing man sure knew where he was going."

"Hope I got that kind of kick when I'm his age," I said, my mind drifting to the possibilities. Fancy being eighty years old and still got enough in you to be coming to Madame Liu's on a weekly basis. I wondered if he was still giving it to the wife back home on top of it. I didn't wonder for long, she'd looked like a bit of a quiet one, probably didn't do sex at their age, which was why Mr 80-year old was coming weekly to here. "We'll still be going strong, you think babe?" I asked, looking at Beth. I couldn't imagine ever not.

Beth chuckled, "they have pills if you can't keep up."

"Oh I'll keep up …"

Sam stopped in front of us, turning around. "Not… something I need to have in mind, guys," he chastised. I grinned at Beth, sending her a wink.

"If I've said it once," I said, "I'll say it a thousand times…"

"...It's perfectly natural, Sammy!" Sam chimed in as I finished the sentence.

"See?" I asked, I'd clearly said it enough. Beth laughed at the jinx as Sam rolled his eyes with his trademark 'fed up' expression.

"Yeah, like any of us will live that long anyway," he added, turning and walking down the hall again. I fell silent, uncertain of how I felt about that statement. In one way, I knew it was pretty spot on, the likelihood of any of us making it to fifty was pretty slim - what with the demons, angels and assorted other monsters out there trying to kill us. But just the same, the optimist in me saw a long life ahead of us, together, happy. I glanced sideways at Beth, scowling at the back of Sam's head, when I saw her lost in thoughts that I would bet weren't far from my own.

"Well," I said finally, "we don't know that."

"Yeah, I'm pretty sure we do, Dean," Sam tossed over his shoulder, coming to stop in front of the room we'd been seeking.

"So," Beth said, changing the subject, "what do you think's in there?"

We paused, looking at the red door with gold embossed numbers reading '44' on it. The whole place was in over-the-top oriental decor, lavish and gaudy all at the same time.

"A wrinkly, gooey corpse," I said after a moment of thought. Beth wrinkled her nose at me in distaste, but it was true. The man had been missing for a week, not that I thought he'd been here for that whole week, but stranger things had happened. Sam pulled his lock picking kit out of his jacket and looked around. I grinned, pulling Beth into my arms and nuzzling her neck as we leaned against the wall to block what Sam was doing. "Now this… this is the kind of work I like."

"Oh, God!" A man's voice cried out behind the door. I stopped, looked over my shoulder as Sam stood up quickly. "Oh, God! Oh! Oh, God!"

I exchanged a look with Sam, both of us deciding on action without speaking, and we threw our shoulders against the door, which as it turned out wasn't locked, and swung open without protest.

"Hey! What the…?"

We stopped short once inside the room. There was a young man, not a wrinkly old corpse, in the bed, a half-dressed woman on top of him.

"Oh," Sam said, clearly at a loss for words.

Another woman's head popped out from under the covers and I chuckled, shaking my head appreciatively at the man. He had style at least.

"It's gooey," Sam commented as Beth looked over our shoulders.

"Eeep," she said. "Not what I was expecting."

"But way better," I said with a nod. "Eh?"

"Good god Dean," Sam admonished. Both the women jumped off the bed and ran into the bathroom while the man in the bed looked to us for an explanation.

"Sorry," I said, raising my hand in an almost salute. "Uh, got the wrong room." I started to back up out of the room.

"Close the door!" He called out, but Beth was pushing into my back.

"Hey," she said, stepping past me. The guy grinned at her and leaned forward.

"Hey gorgeous, you want to join in?" He asked. "They'll have to go though."

Beth looked at me, rolling her eyes. I shrugged - couldn't blame a guy for trying. I know I would have if she'd walked in on me. Turning back to the man, Beth pointed to his arm.

"Nice tattoo," she commented. I followed her lead and saw the same Marine Corps tattoo that had been on Cliff Whitlow's arm in the gold photo.

"Huh," I said. "Happen to know anybody named Cliff Whitlow?"

The man shook his head, a little too fast. "Never heard of him."

"Well," Beth said, walking over to the man's clothes that were discarded on the floor and rummaging through his pants, standing up with his open wallet. "That's weird," she said, pulling out a driver's licence. "Because you're carrying his wallet."

It was enough for me. With a moment of pure genius, I walked to the edge of the bed, pulling the covers up to look at the naked man underneath - his thigh to be exact. "Huh, your wife told us about your, uh, birthmark there. That's nice." I said, dropping the covers again. The man looked alarmed at the three of us, clearly at a loss for words.

I stepped back to take in his appearance, he was lucky to be my age. "Well, you look great. Cliff. Did you get some work done?"

Cliff shook his head and sighed, looking over at the two girls who were lingering in the bathroom doorway.

"Could you give us some privacy?" He asked. The girls had pulled on bathrobes. Cliff climbed out of bed, grabbing a robe from the chair nearby and putting it on. He winked at Beth as he took his wallet off her, which drew a bit of a protest from me, and then turned to hand the girls some cash. As they left, he closed the door behind them and turned back to us.

"Please don't tell my wife," he said. I'd have laughed at his pathetic face if it weren't so bizarre that a 20-something man was asking us to lie to his 70-something wife.

"Slow down," I replied, perplexed by the whole situation.

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

"How can you possibly be Cliff Whitlow?" Beth asked. The man took a deep breath and shook his head.

"I can't tell you." Was the man serious? He was asking us to keep a pretty major secret here, he had to give us something.

"Well, either you tell us or we tell the missus," I threatened. He pursed his lips, clearly determined. I shared a mutual look of frustration with Beth, and then shrugged, turning for the door.

"Have it your way," Beth said, starting to follow me.

"Okay! Okay! It was a game," he said, grabbing her arm.

"Like… Xbox?" Sam asked. Cliff frowned in confusion, looked at Sam, as Beth shrugged off his hand.

"What's Xbox?" He asked. I chuckled, only an 80 year old man would say that. "No," he continued. "Poker. High stakes. Instead of cash, you play for years."

"What is that supposed to mean?" Beth 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 jumbo over them, says now they're twenty-five years. I'm laughing, but then I come out up. And look at me," he said, sweeping his hands down the length of his body.

"What was he chanting?" Sam asked.

"How should I know?" Cliff laughed. "All I know is, my bad hip's good, I threw away my glasses. One of those ladies was here for free! Man's some kind of miracle worker."

"Yeah, well, what does this miracle worker look like?" Beth asked. Cliff shrugged.

"Just a guy. Maybe thirty-five, brown hair. Irish accent. His name was Patrick," he answered.

"Where's this game at?" I asked.

"He said he likes to keep moving. Never stays in one bar long. And he finds you."

"Thank you, Cliff," I replied, turning and walking toward the door. Beth was frowning at Cliff, clearly unhappy with the situation. I took her arm gently and moved her ahead of me, exchanging a warning glance with Sam, who slipped his arm around her and guided her toward the exit. "Oh," I said, pausing and looking at the man who was still standing in the room. "And...uh… stay classy."

Impala - Downtown

Beth's POV

Dean leaned on the hood of the car, his phone on speaker as Sam and I joined him. "It sounds crazy, right?" He asked Bobby.

"No. There's lore on it. Goes back centuries. Traveling card player pops into town. You beat him, you get your best years back. 'Course, most folks lose." Bobby replied.

"Well, that would explain the crunchy corpse," I said, leaning against the bumper.

"Supposedly, this player's a hell of a card shark. Got a lot of years in the bank. You find the bar he's working in yet?" Bobby asked.

"There's a lot of dives in this town," Dean answered. "We're gonna have to split up."

"Well, why you still talking to me?" Bobby hung up the phone and Dean stood up, frowning.

"Is it just me, or is he getting grumpier?" He asked.

"There is definitely something going on with him," Sam replied. I nodded, thinking about our next move. Splitting up really wasn't something I was in the mood for, but Dean was right, we'd be able to cover more ground. I sighed, a little disappointed that we weren't going to be able to kick back and relax like I'd been thinking we could earlier. Dean seemed to sense something was going on, walking up and taking my shoulders in his hands, bending down to look me square in the eye.

"You okay?"

"Yeah," I said, nodding. "Just tired."

"We don't have to split up, you can come with me," he offered, and Sam nodded.

"Yeah, you guys can check out the South side of downtown, I'll take the North," Sam agreed. I caught the puppy dog worried look on Sam's face and shook my head, steeling my emotions.

"No, it's okay, I'm fine - really. We just need to get this done, and we'll do it a lot faster if we split up." There was something unsettling about this case, it felt like big magic to me, and that always meant witches… sometimes demons and deals, though from Cliff's story no soul exchanges had happened. I contemplated the last witches we'd come into contact with and sighed, the idiots had opened a doorway to Hell and unleashed the 7 Deadly Sins in the form of demons. Brilliant. I was hoping, given the Apocalypse and all, we weren't walking into a similar situation.

Hours later I was leaving yet another dinky little dive, having been hit on four times in this bar alone. I mentally shrugged it off, shuddering a little as I tried to forget the broken-toothed, smelly bikie that had just tried to feel me up. I pulled out my phone and hit speed dial, moving to the motorcycle I'd borrowed for the manhunt.

"Hey beautiful," Dean answered. "Find anything?"

"Plenty of sleazeballs wanting to take me out back… but not for poker," I replied, slipping my leg over the bike and sitting down, resting as we talked. "You?"

"A whole bunch of squat," he said.

"I miss you," I said softly. "And I'm hungry."

Dean chuckled and paused as I heard a slight commotion in the background. "Yeah, I miss you too," he said. "How many places left on your list?"

I looked down, counted off my section from the list Sam had made. "Three," I replied.

"Okay, yeah, I got a couple more too. If you come up dry head back to the motel. It's your turn to grab dinner." Now that was something to look forward to. Sam had cancelled his tentative plans with Brenda which meant Dean and I were unlikely to get much time alone, like I'd hoped.

"Usual?" I asked, wondering why I was even asking. We'd been eating the same thing for a few weeks now, it was a miracle we weren't the ones suffering the coronaries, and not from old age.

"Extra bacon," Dean said.

A different bar

Dean's POV

Beth sounded pretty miserable, I figured I'd have to work on changing that mood if we bombed out tonight. I hung up from the call, and sat down at the bar, looking up as the bartender wandered over.

"Can I get a beer?"

"Yep," he replied, reaching for a bottle.

"You wouldn't happen to know of a poker game going on in back, would you?" I asked. He opened the bottle, passing it to me without skipping a beat.

"It's a bar, not a casino," he replied. I smirked, digging into my pocket and feeling around for the cash I had stashed there.

"My friend Ben told me you'd know," I replied.

"Don't know any Ben."

"Sure you do," I insisted. "You know, balding, smart-ass, real ladies' man?"

The bartender leaned forward, looking me sternly in the eyes. "Listen, pal, I told you. I don't know any Ben. I don't know nothing about a game." I raised my eyebrow, gut instinct telling me I was spot on with this guy, there was something he was hiding, he was playing it way too cool.

"You sure? 'Cause, uh…" I pulled the hundred dollar bill out of my pocket, placing Ben Franklin's face up, and slid it across the bar to him. "He sure seems to know you."

He glanced down at the bill, then up at me, reaching out to take it with a slight smile. I was in.

Moments later I was walking out the back of the bar, heading for the elevator. A clattering noise sounded and I turned around, seeing, of all people, Bobby roll out of the elevator.

"Bobby? What the hell are you doing here?" I asked.

"Planting daisies. What's it look like? Came in on the case," he replied gruffly.

"And you beat me here?" I asked. We'd only been looking for about two hours, he'd had to have high tailed it here from Sioux Falls, and had a lot of luck.

"Well, brains trumps legs," he snapped. Something was definitely wrong here. He seemed even grumpier than usual.

"So, you found the game?" I asked as Bobby rolled his wheelchair around me.

"Yep."

"Did you stop it?" I questioned. He didn't answer, which was rather ominous. "Bobby?"

Bobby stopped and turned around, shaking his head. "Not exactly." I didn't like the look that was in his eyes. I figured I knew the answer to my question before I even asked it, but I still had to hear it for myself.

"What did you do?"

"I played, okay?" He snapped.

"And?" I asked, again already holding the answer.

"I lost."

"Are you kidding me? You played some—some he-witch?" I couldn't help myself. I heard the words coming out of my mouth, knew they weren't going to help the situation any, and that it could push Bobby away, and I just went right on with it anyway.

"Don't you take that tone with me," Bobby chastised.

"You idiot!" I snapped.

"They're my years! I can do what I want!"

"How many did you lose?" I asked.

Bobby sighed, shaking his head. "Twenty-five." I looked closer at him, and right before my eyes I watched his face change - more wrinkles set in around his eyes and his skin took a grey tone that filled me with more of a dread than I had already been feeling.

Instantly I knew what I had to do, and no one was going to be happy about it. "We're not done," I announced, turning on my heel and heading to the elevator.

Dark mahogany wood made up the bar, and trimmed the ceiling, it was rather tasteful given the others I'd been to for the night. I imagined this was just the place for bootleg whiskey and moonshine during prohibition years. I scanned the dark room, eyes set on finding my prey.

A man was trying to cut in on an older man and a woman near the bar, making the couple seem rather uncomfortable. I walked straight up to him, hearing the Irish accent, and tapped on his shoulder. "Hey, man. Excuse me. Can I borrow you for a sec?" I adjusted my jacket, allowing him a glimpse of the glock tucked into my waistband. Patrick, because this is obviously who he was, glanced down at it, and then back up at me as I smiled.

"Oh, yeah. Of course. Great. Good to see you," he said. I grinned at him, nodding as I turned and walked across the room to a table. I heard Patrick excuse himself from the couple and then follow.

"Sorry to cut you short with Mr. and Mrs. Easy Marks over there," I said as he joined me, both of us sitting down across the table from each other.

"Oh, no big," he said, holding up a gold wristwatch. "Wasn't a total loss."

I smirked, pulling out my gun and resting it on my leg. Patrick didn't miss this action and held his hands up in surrender.

"Look, I don't know what it is you think I did to your wife or girlfriend…" I frowned at him, not sure what he was getting at, Patrick kept talking, "...mother or sister, but, uh, I just want you to know, my feelings were real."

I shook my head at him, almost laughing at the thought of Beth cheating. "That ain't my problem, man-witch. You owe my friend some years."

"Oh, that's what this is," he said, leaning back in his chair. "I'm sorry. He lost. Them's the breaks."

"Well, then un-lose him," I insisted, cocking the gun. Patrick flicked his eyes down at the gun, didn't seem to hesitate at all.

"Oh, go ahead and shoot me, if it makes you feel better. Besides, I could use a good...you know...tickle," he said with a smile. His face grew serious, and he leaned forward on the table, looking me in the eyes. "You want years? Great. Play me for 'em."

"Fine," I said confidently. I could beat this guy, there wasn't anyone better at poker than I was.

"Dean, no!" Bobby said, wheeling his chair up behind me.

"They're my years. I can do what I want," I said, throwing what he'd said to me back in his face. Bobby's face twisted in anger and he started to bark something at me, only to have the words catch in his throat. He started wheezing and coughing.

Patrick held up a cough drop with an amused look, asked "lozenge?" Bobby glared at him. "What? It's barely linty." He paused, his joke falling flat, then shrugged. " Okay, well, suit yourself. Just trying to help."

"All right, all right. Come on. Let's do this," I said. My mind was on winning back these years for Bobby and getting home to Beth and trying to sort out what had been bothering her for the better part of the day.

"You understand the terms?" Patrick asked, setting a red case on the table. He opened it to reveal eight stacks of poker chips. Chewing on a toothpick thoughtfully, he reached for a stack of red poker chips. "Buy-in's twenty-five years," he added, closing the box.

"Make it fifty," I countered. Bobby glanced at me and Patrick smiled.

"I like the cut of your jib," he said. I smirked at him, we'd see how much he liked me when he was giving me fifty years. Patrick opened the box again, pulling another stack of red chips out and adding them to the others. He held his hand over them, and then spoke some language I'd never heard, but which I figured was old Irish, or Gaelic or something.

"Lannraich gu dealrach a-nis." There was a lightshow across the stacks and then Patrick sat back, nodding. I took the stacks, counted out twenty-five years and then put them in front of the man.

"Twenty-five. That's twenty-five years. They go to him," I said, nodding at Bobby as I pushed the chips into the middle of the table. "And he's cashing out."

"Dean!" Bobby exclaimed.

"Bobby," I growled warningly at him.

"You sure?" Patrick asked. "Don't need to think this through a bit? Call a ...significant other?"

"Dammit boy, think of your family," Bobby said. What he didn't seem to comprehend was the fact that to Beth, Sam and I, he was family. And if they were here, they'd be doing exactly the same thing.

"I'm sure," I said.

Patrick looked impressed, leaned forward and waved his hand over chips in front of him, again speaking some kind of mumbo jumbo. "Las suas agus cuir ás an teine. Mar sin bitheadh." The chips caught fire, quickly burning to ash in an instant, and when I looked over at Bobby, he was back to normal. I breathed a sigh of relief, though he was scowling at me.

"That's twenty-five years you just pissed away. Better be sure you can win them back," Patrick said. I tapped the remaining chips in front of me, looking him in the eye. It was now or never.

"Shuffle up and deal."

Patrick laughed, shaking his head. "This is gonna be fun."

His wife was sitting with the man, holding his hand. She grasped it tightly, and no matter who had tried to go in and pry her away, she wouldn't be moved. He sighed, running a hand across his tired, old face. Decades they'd been together, a lifetime, and there had always been one factor they'd clung to. Their brother. He knew from experience, she would let go when she was ready - and not Heaven nor Hell would move her before that. "Sir," the young attendant said, stepping up to him. "I'm so very sorry for your loss." He nodded, mustered up a smile for her sake. "It was peaceful," he replied. "He lived a long life. It was more than we ever expected."

Motel Room

Beth's POV

An hour or so later…

I met Sam in the parking lot. I'd had to commandeer a car for the last part of the trip, there just wasn't any way I was going to manage take-out on the motorcycle. As he reached the car, I handed him a tray of drinks, and then grabbed the bag of burgers, locking the car and shutting the door. It was a parking lot in a motel, it'd be a while before anyone came calling for this car.

"Nothing?" I asked, and Sam shook his head.

"Maybe Dean had better luck," he replied, and I shrugged.

"He would have called if he did, probably inside watching TV," I chuckled, stepping up to the door. Sam had his key out and slipped it into the lock, pushing the door open. I walked ahead of him, dropping the bag on the table just inside. The room was dark, and empty, and then I heard the water running in the bathroom.

"Hey, babe, you here? You find anything?" I called out, rummaging through the burger bag and pulling out a few wrapped items.

"Uh, you might say," came a voice as the door to the bathroom opened. I glanced up to see an old man in a bathrobe wander into the room, rubbing his hair with a towel. Sam startled beside me, drawing his gun.

"Who the hell are you!?" He demanded. The man held his hand in the air, waving it dismissively at Sam.

"Dude, relax. It's me," he said, as if that made sense. I frowned, taking a step toward him as Sam lowered his gun. Green eyes raised to meet mine, and in that face, I knew him.

"Dean?" I asked

"Hi," he said softly, looking at me with a familiar, apologetic look.

"Oh….my...god…." I couldn't believe it. He'd aged…. fifty odd years in hours! "Oh my god... oh MY GOD…" I took a step closer and examined him. The set of his jaw, the colour of his eyes, the soft fullness of his lips… it was him, even if he looked like he was eighty.

"You know, usually I have to be touching you to get that kind of a response out of you," Dean joked, though there was very little humour in his tone.

"What the hell happened?" Sam spluttered. Dean shrugged, stepped past me to the table where he picked up a burger.

"I, you know...found the game," he explained. Sam watched him, his jaw practically on the ground as we both attempted to take in this news.

"You f—I thought you said you were g-good at poker," Sam said.

"He is," I said quietly. I couldn't fathom it. I'd never seen Dean lose, ever. Not if he wanted to win.

"I am. Shut up," Dean snapped, turning around and brandishing his food. "So, you were just gonna shoot some old guy? Is that it?" He took a large bite of his burger and started to chew as he looked questioningly at Sam.

"I didn't know what you were. I mean, have you seen you? You look like…." Sam's voice dwindled off.

"The old chick in Titanic. I know. shut up," Dean finished around a mouthful of food.

"I was gonna say Emperor Palpatine," Sam continued.

There was a thud, and then the door to the room flung open, Bobby rolling through it, his face dark and moody. The door swung closed behind him and he stopped short, looking from Sam to me.

"I see you met John McCain there," he muttered.

"Yeah," I said, finding my voice. I looked at Dean again, trying to wrap my brain around his appearance. "Either of you want to tell me what happened?"

"Bobby's an idiot," Dean said. "That's what happened."

"Hey," Bobby snapped. "Nobody asked you to play."

"Right. I should have just let you die."

"And for damn sure, nobody asked you to lose!" Bobby continued. Sam grinned, looking at me. I threw him a confused, curious, look - what was he finding so funny?

"It's like Grumpy Old Men," he said.

"Shut up, Sam!" Bobby and Dean replied in unison.

"What the hell were you thinking?" Dean continued, turning back to Bobby. "He's a witch. He's been playing poker since guys wore tights."

"You just don't get it," Bobby muttered.

"Yeah, I get it, Bobby. You saw a chance to turn the hands of the clock back and get out of that damn chair. Pretty tempting. I can imagine," Dean said.

"No, you can't," Bobby insisted.

"You got me. I never been paralyzed. But I tell you something—I've been to Hell," Dean said, the very words stabbing me in the gut. "And there's an archangel there wanting me to drop the soap. Look at me! My junk's rustier than yours! You hear me bellyaching? Huh?" He waved his hand down the length of his body and Sam snorted.

"Uh, actually, yeah."

"Oh!" Dean said suddenly, his face contorting in pain as he sat heavily on the nearest chair. He was holding his burger in one hand, and grabbed at his chest with the other. "I'm having a heart attack."

I panicked, rushing to him and looking urgently at his face. "Sam!" I said. "Call an ambulance. Dean, don't worry, you're going to be okay," I said gently, locking eyes with his.

"Don't bother," Bobby said and I spun around to look at him.

"What?!"

"He's not dying," Bobby said. "It's acid reflux. Guys his age can't digest certain foods," he added, looking at Dean. "You're gonna need to put down that cheeseburger."

I gaped, the reality of our situation suddenly hitting me. Dean sighed and dropped his food on the table, seeming to improve as he calmed down.

"So, you want to keep emoting, or you want to talk about solving this little issue of yours? It's got to be about the chips," Bobby said. I shook my head, climbing to my feet and sitting on the chair next to Dean's.

"I slid 'em across, Patrick did his little witchy number, and you prettied up in a hurry," Dean agreed.

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

"Definitely," Bobby said.

"You remember what he chanted?" Dean asked, looking at Bobby.

"Yep—every word," he replied.

Now things were sounding a little more promising. I could feel tiny rays of hope starting to poke through the dark clouds. Maybe we could fix this.

"All right," I nodded, standing up. "Then let's find out where he stashes his chips."

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

I looked down at him, and if it had been anyone other than Dean, I probably would have laughed. Especially since we were talking about going out in public. I got a flash of what married life in fifty years might be like, and joined the ranks of all the old married, nagging, wives: "I think you ought to put some clothes on," I pointed out, earning a frown in return. "Oh my god…" I added with a shake of my head.

"You know, babe, you keep saying that and there's not an orgasm in sight, I'm going to start getting a complex," Dean said as he stood up, causing Sam to spit out a mouthful of coke from the drink he was taking.

"Shut up!" I snapped.

Bathroom
Dean's POV

Beth wasn't impressed, and I didn't expect her to be. I was still kicking myself for jumping before I looked on this. I'd really screwed up, and I wasn't as convinced as the others on a happy ending for this job. I looked in the mirror and sighed at the wrinkled skin around my eyes. For an old guy, I didn't look too bad really, but the reality was I'd just aged fifty years in a day, there wasn't any getting around that. Our whole lives had just changed.

There was a knock on the door and I turned to see Beth poke her head into the room, easing in and shutting the door when I smiled at her. "Hey," I said, handing her my leather jacket. "Can you...can you help me with this?" She silently held the jacket up for me and I slipped my arms into it, allowing her to pull it up over my shoulders.

"Thanks… not as limber as I used to be," I said quietly. I didn't know what to tell her, what could I?

"What were you thinking?" She asked. I wasn't surprised by the question.

"I wasn't, okay? I screwed up," I answered.

"That's putting it mildly Dean!" She snapped.

"I'm sorry, okay?" I said. "I couldn't just leave Bobby hanging though. He's sacrificed enough for us already." It was true. There was something that broke in me, when I saw him age before my very eyes. He was a father to us, and I couldn't just watch him fade into oblivion like that.

"We could have figured out another way," she responded.

"And what? You played? Sam? No way. I'm the best poker player out of the lot of us," I said.

"It doesn't look like that right now. Jesus Dean…." Her eyes glittered in the light of the bathroom, and I sighed, resting my hands on her shoulders.

"Hey, hey, we're gonna fix this okay?"

"Are you trying to kill me?" She asked. I looked down into her eyes, confused by the question.

"What are you talking about?"

"Seriously, babe. How many times do I have to lose you?"

"You haven't lost me," I promised.

She pulled away from me, running a frustrated hand through her long hair, shaking her head. "We're in the middle of an … a freaking apocalypse Dean," she lowered her voice, it was shaking, "how far are you going to get in the body of a grandpa?"

"Hey, Sean Connery did okay for his age," I joked. Beth didn't find it funny.

"That's a movie Dean! He had stunt doubles, and script writers, and end scenes! This is real life! My life, your life, our life!" Her voice had risen and she looked as if she wanted to pace the tiny bathroom, her eyes flicking around like a caged tiger. I grabbed her face, holding her still and staring into her eyes. She settled almost instantly, taking a deep breath and letting it out with a sigh.

"I don't want to lose you."

I sighed, biting my lip. "Feels like you've had to say that a lot lately…" I could feel the sorrow in her, in me, it was as if it followed us around like a bad smell. "I'm sorry."

"I'm scared Dean," she whispered, her hands coming up to hold mine as they pressed into her cheeks.

"Me too," I admitted. "Okay? Me too. But we'll pull through this, just like always."

"And if we don't?"

"Then it looks like I'm retiring…" I said. Beth scoffed at me, rolling her eyes upward.

"Really," I insisted. "You, me, Minnesota." I thought about our benefactor and the home we had waiting because of his generosity, and groaned. "Man, Jefferson is gonna never let me live this down."

"I think Jefferson is the least of your problems," she responded, which got me to thinking. A crazy blonde flashed into mind and I cringed. I took a step back, running a hand through my hair.

"Oh man, Cole! She will kick my ass!"

"God I hate it when you joke about this stuff!" Beth snapped.

"Oh, hey, come on," I soothed, reaching out to her again. "Beth. It'll be okay, I promise." She shook her head at me, I cupped her cheek, caressing it lightly before sliding my hand around her waist and pulling her curves in against me. My mind couldn't help but wander, with the closeness of her, and I slid a hand down to cup her left buttock, squeezing it lightly.

"You know, there is one thing that still works," I murmured into her ear, feeling myself respond to her proximity. "Ever wonder what it's like to be with an older man?"

"Oh my god, Dean!" Beth snapped, pushing me away. I groaned as I hit my ass against the sink, feeling my hip bruise a little. "You're impossible. Let's go!" She said, throwing her hands in the air and walking out of the bathroom.

"What?" I asked, following her out, looking at Sam who was smirking at me. "What'd I say?"

There was a knock at the door, and I went to answer it since I was already moving that way. On the other side was a pretty young maid, arms loaded with towels.

"Ready for housekeeping, sir?" She asked with a smile. I grinned at her.

"Born ready," I said, getting a laugh in reply. The girl walked past me into the room, looking at me as if she was placating me.

"You're just like my grandfather," she said. The smile fell from my face. "He hits on anything that moves, too.

You're adorable."

"And dangerous," I pointed out.

Another laugh and I looked over at Sam and Beth who were watching with their arms crossed. I sighed, taking a few steps toward the Impala. "Can we just go?"

Downtown
Beth's POV

We'd decided to start by staking out the last place we'd seen Patrick - the bar. We were sitting in Bobby's van, all four of us, like some really bad comedy gone wrong - me in between the two grumpy men, and Sam in the back, leaning forward on the seat to peer through the windshield. My heart jumped into my throat as soon as Dean pointed out the Irishman exiting the building. He walked straight ahead on to the road. He was looking at his watch, not the traffic, and without warning a car slammed right into him. I jumped, not expecting it.

"Oh my God!" I exclaimed, watching in shock as the driver, a young man, jumped out of the car and hurried to check on Patrick. After a moment, he stood up and ran toward a nearby construction crew, calling for assistance.

I was so intent on watching the interactions with the crew, that I didn't see Patrick stand up and hop into the fancy car that had hit him. But I wasn't nearly as surprised as the driver and the crew who had witnessed the accident when Patrick drove off in the vehicle, a big smile on his face.

Dean laughed, and shook his head. "I got to say, I kind of like the guy." Bobby eased the van on to the street and followed.

Several hours later we were still sitting in front of an apartment building. I'd wandered in, done a little investigating, and found that Patrick was currently occupying a suite on the third floor. It would be another hour before the man left again, getting into the same car that he'd stolen from the man who had hit him earlier, and drove away.

Within minutes we were inside the lobby, for the first time I noticed something that I didn't when I'd come in earlier. The elevator was out of order. Bobby sighed. "Well, I'm out."

I exchanged a look with Sam that said I wasn't sure Dean was even going to make it up to the top of the building, but I wasn't about to say it aloud. The stairs were no issue for Sam or I, we took them quickly, jogging lightly as we moved. I looked behind me to see Dean lagging behind, taking one step at a time.

"Dean," Sam snickered, rolling his eyes. With a gesture he pointed to the sign at the landing - "2" - Dean glared and renewed his efforts with more vigor. We reached the next floor without Dean having a heart attack, and I thought us quite lucky. If this wasn't reversible, I really didn't see how retirement wasn't out of the question. Dean joined Sam and I in the hallway, his breathing hard and erratic, I felt a little sorry for him, because his heart had been in the right place when he'd done this stupid, stupid thing, but I was still angry at his impulsiveness.

The apartment itself was not stand out impressive. Simple, it held the basic furnishings you'd find in any motel or long-term boarding house - table, chairs, couch, television. The armoire tucked against a wall caught my attention. Dean must have thought it odd too, because he was currently rummaging through it. He paused, knocked on the back, and then after moving a few things aside opened a false back.

"A safe," I said, smiling.

"Dime-store model. Piece of cake," Dean said. He turned the dial, squinting and then started to do a chicken dance with his neck, leaning in and out. I frowned, looking at Sam.

"It's like Mission: Pathetic, " Sam announced. "Can you even see the numbers?"

"Here, let me," I said, edging in to the dial. Within seconds I had the safe open, and we all looked inside to find it almost full with poker chips.

"I could have done that," Dean insisted as Sam started to grab handfuls of chips.

"What are you doing?" A woman's voice sounded. I jumped, reaching for my gun.

"Aren't you the chick from the bar?" Dean asked after a moment.

"I'm a lot more than that," she said. She threw her hand out in front, clenching it into a fist. I felt a pain stab through my chest and cried out, dropping my gun on to the floor as I doubled over. There was a sound of someone approaching from the other direction and I looked up in time to see Patrick put a hand on the woman's arm.

"It's alright, sweetheart. It's alright. They're harmless," he said. The woman released her hold and I gasped for breath, letting Dean pull me to my feet.

"You boys want chips? Take 'em. They're just chips, Einsteins. It's showmanship. This may come as a shock, but the magic does not lie in a pile of crappy plywood or in any phony abracadabra. It's in the nine-hundred-year-old witch. You want years? Score 'em the old-fashioned way. Texas hold 'em," Patrick said.

"Fine. Let's do it," Dean said. I gaped at him, contemplated pulling my gun on him.

The Irishman seemed to be of a similar mind. He pulled an eight of hearts out of his pocket and held it in the air. "What card am I holding up?"

Dean squinted at the card, didn't answer.

"That's what I thought. If your eyesight's that bad, what about your memory? I'm not a murderer," he said, turning to look at me. "You, on the other hand…you I'd be happy to give a few years for free."

"Get away from her, you… you… man-witch!" Dean snapped, stepping in front of me.

"Dean," I said, contemplating the offer.

"No!"

"Oh, let me guess, wife?" Patrick asked. "Interesting." He looked past us to the man standing silently behind us. "What about you? Big, strapping young lad."

"No, Sam," I shook my head.

"Beth," Sam growled.

"What, Sam not much of a player? Okay, well, happy trails, Dean. Enjoy the twilight of your life. Should have taken better care of that ticker, though," Patrick said, walking to the door and opening it. "You're free to go."

With a scowl, Dean made the first good decision he'd made all day - he walked away, and I followed quickly after. "Oh, but Sam…" Patrick said as we passed him. "Your brother's situation—that's punishment enough, but I can't let you leave without a small parting gift." He clapped three times then looked at me.

"What are you doing?" I asked the man, in spite of all the danger we were in, I seemed to have a death wish - Dean looked at me with a stern frown, telling me I was pushing our luck, but Patrick simply smiled.

"He'll find out soon enough. You on the other hand," he looked at Dean, shook his head sympathetically, "well, I think you've got your punishment coming."

"Let's get out of here," Dean said, pulling on my arm. Patrick closed the door behind us and I hesitated, wanting to go back in. I teetered on the edge of insanity, all the options running through my head. "Beth, come on." Dean's voice snapped me back into the moment and I nodded, hurrying to catch up to the brothers.

By the time we reached the bottom floor, I was almost beside myself with anxiety. How the hell were we going to get out of this? Sam scratched at the inside of his thighs, and Dean glanced at him with a chuckle.

"Dude," he said as Sam scratched again. "I believe that he-witch gave you the clap."

Sam froze for a moment, silent, glaring. Then without a response he marched across the road to the van where Bobby was waiting. I grimaced, and Dean laughed, a lot less sympathetic.

Later that night

Dean and Bobby had taken the beds and fallen asleep after a few hours of us all arguing back and forth about what we were going to do. Sam had gone to find his own room, fed up with the grumpy old men routine, and I wouldn't have been far behind if I'd had a choice. I knew that it would hurt Dean more than what had already happened, if I left, so here I was watching them both snoring away as they slept soundly.

Slipping on my boots, I grabbed my key and phone, pocketing them as I exited the room, walking down the corridor to Sam's door. He answered on the second knock, still dressed and alert.

"What took you so long?" He asked with a grin.

"Sam… do you know how long it takes old men to get ready for bed?" I asked, shaking my head and pushing past him into the room. "There's toilet breaks, and pyjama malfunctions, moaning and groaning about lumpy beds, who wants the light on, who wants it off - the same for the TV, last minute hunger pangs, and then another toilet break because the prostate is playing up…. I swear, if we don't fix Dean, I'll kill him myself."

It wasn't entirely true, we all knew that, but frustration levels were high. I could feel the icy clutch of desperation starting to grab at my chest.

Sam looked thoughtfully at me as I threw myself onto the couch with a loud sigh, resting my head against the back. "How are you, really?"

"I dunno," I admitted. "Freaked out."

"I bet."

"You know I never thought life with Dean would be easy," I said, sitting up to look at him. "I mean, really, our lives are messed up." Sam nodded his agreement, sitting down next to me.

"But?"

"But, I guess I didn't think he was stupid enough to add to that mess," I said quietly, looking down at my hands.

"He was just trying to do the right thing by Bobby," Sam reasoned.

"I know," I said with a nod. "I know. And that is the single, biggest issue we have in this family isn't it? We do stupid things to save those we love from death."

Sam sucked in a breath, trying not to show me the sting of that statement, and then his mouth twisted up in irony. "I'm sorry."

"It's not your fault Sammy," I said, shaking my head. "We've all done it. We've all been the reason someone else did it. You, me, Dad… Dean's not alone in making the mistakes. I just thought…"

"You thought he'd give it more consideration given you've both been talking about starting a family," Sam finished.

I felt my mouth open and close, but no words came out. He'd said it, right there in the open hanging between us - the real crux of the problem. Now, if we didn't fix Dean, none of that would ever come to be. I twisted my hands together, fingers running over my wedding ring as I nodded and glanced up at him through dry eyes.

"We'll fix this, Beth, I promise," Sam said.

"How?"

"I'm going to play him," Sam answered.

"But Sam, what happens if you lose?!"

"I'm not going to lose," he said confidently.

"I'm sure Dean thought that too," I replied. But there was something in Sam's eyes, a determination, a knowing.

"What aren't you telling me?" I asked, looking up at him.

"You can't tell Dean," he said quietly.

"Tell him what?"

"I've been losing to him in poker, deliberately, for years," he admitted.

I jerked my head up to look at him. "You've… what?!"

"He's always so sure about being the best player… well… I didn't want to burst his bubble," Sam replied.

I could see the truth in his statement. It was such a Sam thing to do to save Dean's ego. We all did it from time to time: because in spite of his gruff exterior, Dean was more sensitive than all of us - he just hid it better, turned the rejection into fuel for his hunting.

"You really think you can beat this guy?" I asked. He nodded.

"I don't know Sam, beating Dean is one thing… this guy is good."

"I've got a plan," he said, "and I'm going to need you to help pull it off."

"But Sam… if you lose..."

"Look, if I lose we might as well go all in," Sam said recklessly. I frowned. "Don't tell me you're not thinking it," he continued. "If we can't get back Dean's years, you can't tell me you wouldn't join him."

I bit my lip. He was right, I had been thinking just that. I'd been thinking I'd play Patrick regardless, get what years I could out of him, if any, and then even the age out between Dean and I. At least we'd be together, and too old to hunt, too old to do anything other than live out the rest of our lives in relative peace - aches, pains and all.

"I go where he goes," I said finally, and Sam nodded.

"That's what I figured."

"I really do want that family, Sam," I blurted out before I could stop myself. "I know it's a stupid, crazy pipe dream, but it's there. I look at Ben and Lisa, and I…"

"You want that," Sam said with a nod. "It's perfectly normal, Beth."

"It's not for us," I said, shaking my head. "Not while we're in the hunt."

"You guys managed to get out for a little while before," Sam said, reaching out and taking my hand. "I know I screwed up, I'm the reason you're back in, but that doesn't mean it has to stay that way," he added.

"I'm not sure Dean is really capable of settling down," I admitted.

"Didn't you tell me he started a vegetable garden? I think he'll surprise you," Sam said. "Dean is more … maternal… than any of us. Certainly more than Dad ever was, he raised me, after all. He wants to make you happy, Beth, and I know he thinks promising you a family and getting out is what will accomplish that." I nodded, and he continued, "but we both know that you're happy anywhere he is."

I looked up sharply, he stared at me, daring me to argue. "This dream? The white picket fence, the kids, the normal life? That's Dean's dream, Beth. Surely you see that?"

I hadn't.

I shook my head, almost overcome by the thought. "No, no… that's what I…"

"Who brought it up in the beginning?"

I thought about it, I couldn't even remember. I'd definitely started thinking it when we met Lisa and Ben, but it hadn't been a conscious desire that I'd voiced.

"I guess, I think it was him, when I was pregnant," I said.

"Dean's been looking for a reason to get out for years, Beth." Sam said. "The baby was a good reason, one that made it look less like it was his idea, and more of a … necessity. Beth, he just wants an ordinary life with you. Why do you think he's been so angry with me all these years? I got out, I found it - even if it was only for a short while. I got what he couldn't have with you."

"But he's always so… cheerful. He loves the road, loves being on the move," I said.

"He loves being with you," Sam countered. "He loves that car, and yes, the drive - but you guys can take road trips. Hell, go to the Grand Canyon and actually do something that doesn't involve a hunt. He's content with our life, as it is, but he isn't happy."

"You've been giving this a lot of thought," I commented. He nodded.

"I don't know what's going to happen with the Apocalypse, but I am responsible. I feel like I need to help clean it up, whatever it takes. But you two, you should both get out now, go have that baby, move into the house in Minnesota properly, get jobs." I scrunched up my nose at that and he laughed.

"It's not that easy…. Michael…."

"Will always be looking for you guys. So maybe don't go to Minnesota, go to Cicero, be near Ben and develop that family too. Be a part of the real world, Beth, not just on the periphery."

"Peripheral living," I murmured. "You're right, that's what we do."

"It's not living," Sam said. "Not really."

Motel
Next Day

Dean's POV

Dawn hadn't helped the situation we were in, none of us had spoken through breakfast, and I was starting to think maybe Sam would have to play Patrick, which would be a disaster. There was really only one other option, because I wasn't letting Beth near him… and that was to play him again myself. Which was a live or die scenario, literally.

I pushed open the door to the motel, heading inside with Sam following behind me. I had to put a little effort into the walk these days, I wasn't loving it - that was for sure. There was a grunt in the back and then Bobby snapped.

"Little help here?" He asked. I glanced back to see him struggling to get up the incline leading to the foyer. Beth gasped and hurried to assist.

"You know, I still think I should play," Sam insisted. I stopped as we reached the elevator, waiting for Beth and Bobby to join us.

"No, no, no. You're not good enough. I'm better. Besides, he seemed to like me, I should make the deal," Beth cut in, looking at Sam. I saw red.

"No more deals! Look where that gets us! I'm good. Bobby's way better. We both lost," I pointed out. I had been certain I'd win, how the hell was Sam or Beth going to?

"Exactly," Bobby chimed in.

"So…. what?" Beth asked, crossing her arms as Bobby took over the pushing of his chair and we got into the elevator. "I don't get a say in this anymore?"

I sighed, trying not to snap at her. "Bethie, when you get to be our age…"

"You're thirty, Dean! And I've watched you hustle plenty of poker…" she countered. I grimaced. Watching me? I loved her, but she was out of her mind.

"Knowing the game is not enough, Beth. It's not about playing the cards," Bobby said, I nodded enthusiastically.

"It's about playing the other guy. We know that," Sam cut in.

"Well, hooray for you," Bobby retorted. "All I'm saying is, I played this guy. I know his style. I can take him."

"No, Bobby. You don't have enough years in the bank," I reasoned as the doors to the elevator opened to our floor. I stepped out, Bobby right behind me, followed by the suicidal twins.

"I got enough," he said.

"No, you'll die if you lose, Bobby," Beth said. I wanted to laugh, she was talking about throwing away her life as much as he was.

"So what if I do, huh? What exactly am I living for, huh? The damn apocalypse? Watching men die bloody while I sit in this chair, can't take a step to help 'em?" Bobby asked.

"Bobby…"

"No, no. It's the facts. I'm old...and broke down...and I can't…" I stopped, taking a few breaths filled with what looked like heartache to me. He looked up at us all, sadness in his eyes. "I ain't a hunter no more. I'm useless. And if I wasn't such a coward, I'd have stuck a gun in my mouth day I got home from the hospital."

No one spoke. What was there to say to that? I considered that I might need to give Cole a call, tell her what was going on with her Dad, get some help because he couldn't refuse hers - no matter how hard he'd try. Then Sam broke out of his revelry.

"Bobby, you are not playing again. I'm not letting you do that. There's another way out of this. There's got to be. And I'm gonna find it," he insisted, exchanging a glance with Beth who nodded and walked past us all to open the door to our room.

She stepped inside and I hurried to follow, hoping to steal her away for a moment and have a chat about what was going on in that pretty little head of hers. But as we entered, she stopped short. I felt Bobby's chair hit me in the back of the knees and groaned, moving us both so he could enter.

Beth was staring at the woman sitting on the bed. Patrick's witch-friend. She looked up at us with emerald green eyes, her long blonde hair curling around her slumped shoulders. She looked sad. Looking at Beth, she stood up, extending her arm and holding out a piece of paper.

"Take it. It'll help you," she said.

"What is it?" Beth asked, grasping the paper in her fingers and glancing down at it. I looked over her shoulder, seeing neat handwriting in a list of ingredients, followed by an incantation in another language.

"The most powerful reversal spell you've ever laid your eyes on," she said. Beth's head shot up.

"And it reverses what, exactly?"

"Patrick's work - all of it," she replied. I froze, could she be for real?

"You—you saying I could be normal again?" I asked.

"You and everyone else he's ever played," she said, pausing for a moment and then shrugging. "Who's still alive." Oh man. Cliff was gonna hate me, I thought to myself.

"Why the hell should we trust you?" I asked.

"Trust me, don't trust me. I don't care. The spell is real," she said, taking a few steps toward the door.

"If it zaps everyone, don't that include your man?" Bobby asked.

"And me, too," she said. "I look good for my age."

"Lady, this don't add up for squat. Why would you want that?" Bobby demanded to know.

"I have my reasons," she said, looking down at the silver locket hanging around her neck. "Do it quick. We leave town tomorrow."

As she left the room, Beth chased after her. I cursed, finding them at the elevator, looking each other in the eyes.

"What's your name?" Beth asked.

"Lia," she replied.

"Why are you doing this?"

Lia smiled, taking Beth's hand and looking at her palm, tracing a line on it. "You've been a mother, you know loss," she said as I reached them. She looked up at me. "You both do." I nodded. "Well, I've lost more than I ever knew possible."

She reached up and opened her locket, there was a faded photograph on one side of a little girl, on the other side an old wrinkled woman. "My daughter," she said. "When I buried her, she looked like this," the sentence ended with the tapping of a perfectly manicured nail against the old woman's photo. "It's not natural."

"You never aged," Beth said, biting her lip and looking at me.

"There are worse things than growing old," the witch replied. "I knew when I joined Patrick, what the deal was, and I was okay with it. But I'm not anymore. I'm tired. And even I'm not so blind as to be ignorant to the destiny you both carry, one that Patrick seems perfectly willing to overlook."

"Destiny?" I asked. "What, as some angel's meatsuit?"

She laughed, shaking her head. "More than that, Dean. But it's not my place to say. Everything is revealed as it needs to be," she continued, turning to look at Beth. "You know that, don't you?" Beth nodded and I wondered just what on earth I'd missed in this chick heart to heart.

"Do the spell,"Lia repeated. "Before it's too late."

Bar
Sam's POV

When I arrived at the bar, I had a whirlwind of things running through my mind. I had my doubts about this spell, but Beth was determined to see it through and leave our plan as the back-up play if needed. I spotted Patrick right away, sitting at a table with an older man. As I approached, Patrick looked up and smiled, speaking at me.

"What are you up—like thirteen years there, Hesh? What do you say we call it a day?" The older man chuckled and nodded, cradling his chips up to himself like they were gold.

"Thanks, Patrick," he said with a nod.

"Hesh here is gonna live to see his granddaughter's bat mitzvah. Isn't that right, Hesh?" Patrick said to me. Hesh looked up at me, nodded and then turned back to the Irishman.

"Thanks again, Patrick."

"Shalom, my friend," Patrick replied with a smile. With that, Hesh departed, and I found myself confused.

"That was nice of you," I commented, gesturing to the man who had just gained about a dozen years.

"I'm a nice guy," Patrick said, raising his eyebrow at me and starting to shuffle the cards in his hands. "What can I do for you?"

I sat down at the table, looking him squarely in the eye as he chewed on a toothpick and looked nonchalantly back at me.

"Deal," I said.

"No sister? I rather liked her," Patrick commented. "And… I'm willing to bet she's a better player than you."

I smirked. I didn't think so, but what did it matter what he thought? "She's the last straw," I said. Patrick laughed, shaking his head.

"You sure are a strange family."

"You don't know the half of it," I admitted. "Deal."

Graveyard

Beth's POV

If there was one thing Bobby had managed to get out of after losing the use of his legs, it was grave robbing. Here we were, doing my least favourite thing yet again, and I had two grumbling old men to help with it.

"Jawbone of a murderer. Great," Dean muttered to himself as he drove his shovel into the dirt. His breathing was hard and choppy, he was making half the impact that I was in the grave.

"You know, this really sucks. How do we even know her spell's gonna work?" He asked, leaning against the handle of his shovel.

"We don't. But we ain't got a Plan B. Now, less flappin' and more diggin'," Bobby said. I threw another two scoops of dirt out of the grave as Dean sighed, picking up his shovel and ramming it into the ground. Something cracked and Dean cried out, "Oh, God!" He leaned over, moaning slightly. "My elbows! I'm all creaky."

"Hurry up, you crybaby," Bobby chastised. I bit my tongue and tried not to giggle at the pair of them. They hadn't stopped the whole time we'd been here, and it had been a long twenty minutes from where I was standing.

"Pound it up your ass, Ironsides," Dean snapped back.

"One little grave," Bobby teased.

"Then you do it," Dean countered as I tossed a couple more shovels of dirt up and out of the hole we were digging. It seemed to me that I was the only one digging the grave here, but I wasn't about to point that out. I didn't want to end up buried in the grave I'd dug.

"Fine. I'll hop right in," Bobby retorted.

"Well, least your legs are numb," Dean muttered.

"Shut up and dig, Grandma," Bobby replied. Dean growled and pulled his shovel out of the dirt, ramming it back down. He cried out again.

"Oh! Now it's my back!"

"Can you straighten up?" Bobby asked. Dean tentatively flexed his back, bending over and then standing up straight a couple of times.

"Yeah, but a little sympathy wouldn't hurt," Dean whined.

"Butt cheek tingling?" Bobby asked.

Dean paused, looking a little amazed at the question, which indicated to me that something was going on down there. "Well, that's kind of personal," he said finally. I snorted, shaking my head.

"You still love me, right babe?" Dean asked, looking hopefully at me. I smirked and kept digging as I nodded.

"'Til death do us part," I said. Dean smiled, looking pleased at the reply until he remembered his age.

"Hey, we didn't say that!" He reminded me.

"Yeah, baby girl, you are stuck with this crybaby for all eternity now," Bobby pointed out. I stopped digging, looking over at Dean. Even for an old dude, he wasn't especially unattractive - he had been kind of right, he did have that whole Sean Connery thing going on.

"Could be worse…." I said finally, checking out Dean's ass as he started to dig once more.

"Yeah, you could be diggin' too. What are you standing there for?" Bobby said.

"Enjoying the view, he's still got an ass," I replied, getting an eyeroll from the man looking down on us. Dean looked pleased with my comment, wriggled his ass in my direction and then groaned again as he pulled something new.

"It's sciatica," Bobby said. "You'll live. Keep digging."

"You know, Bobby, killing you is officially on my bucket list," Dean said as his spade hit the ground at our feet once more.

Behind Bar
Beth's POV

I was impatiently pacing in the alley when Sam burst out the back door where deliveries were generally made. He looked around, and hurried down the couple of steps when he spotted me.

"How's it going in there?" I asked.

He scoffed, looking at me with more confidence than I felt. "How do you think it's going? What about you? You have everything you need?"

"We still need a little he-witch DNA," I pointed out, hoping he'd managed to get the job done. This was Plan A, if we had to get to Plan B or Heaven forbid, Plan C, the proverbial shit would have hit the fan. Sam held out his hand, in it was a toothpick. I glanced curiously at it, raising my eyebrow.

"He was chewing on it," Sam explained. I nodded and took it from him. "Hurry up, Beth. Please."

"All right," I said. "Just keep him busy." I started to walk down the alley and turned around. "And, Sammy... " He looked up at me, "...don't lose." Sam sighed, nodded curtly and then went back inside, leaving me alone in an alley with a toothpick and a prayer.

"Beth!" Dean called out to me from the end of the alley. "C'mon!" Jogging back to him, I held up the toothpick and he looked skeptically at me. "Really?"

"That's what he said, let's go," I replied, and we crossed the street to the Impala. I opened the trunk, selecting silver bullets from the inner armory.

"I don't like this," Dean said, frowning at me.

"Well, we need a Plan B," I insisted, loading my glock's mag with the bullets and sliding the clip back into place. "You and Bobby do the spell, and if…" I could barely bring myself to say it. "... if it doesn't work, we'll see how much this witch likes silver."

"It's a long shot," Dean said.

"Everything we do is a long shot," I replied. "We live our lives by them."

"That should be title of our autobiography," Dean chuckled, he waved his hand out in front of him like he was headlining a stage "The Long Shot," he said. "The 101 to cheating death and killing monsters" I couldn't help but smile at that. Dean's mirth fell from his face when I tucked the gun into the back of my waistband.

"You sure?" He asked, I nodded my reply. "Okay, I'll get Bobby and do this." He stepped in closer, and I bit my lower lip, feeling nervous about the plan, but determined to see it through. With a quirky grin, he lifted my chin and dipped his head down to mine. I didn't know what to expect, given he was now old enough to be my grandfather, but at the end of the day his lips were the same. I closed my eyes, slipping my arms around him as he slowly caressed my tongue with his own, finally breaking apart when I let out a little moan.

"I love that moan," he whispered.

"Call me when you're done," I said, kissing him quickly as he climbed into the Impala.

"I will," he promised, "be careful."

Twenty minutes later my phone was ringing.

"It didn't work, that son of a bitch must have switched out the toothpicks!" Dean exclaimed over the phone. I sighed, looking up at the bar, and stepped out from behind the tree I'd been waiting by. If he'd done that, he also knew we were up to something, and that did not give us the element of surprise. It was time for Plan B.

"Okay," I said. "I'm going to get Sam."

"Beth, I don't know about this," Dean's voice was concerned.

"I'll call you when we're out," I replied, snapping my phone shut and sticking it into my pocket.

I hurried across the street and into the bar, taking the steps into the basement section two at a time.

Patrick and Sam were sitting at a table on their own when I came through the inner door, Lia standing nearby. Patrick looked up at me, a twinkle in his eye and winked. As I approached, he held up a toothpick and looked at Sam. "Question," he said as I got closer, Sam's back to me. "Is this what you meant to give your sister?"

Sam, commendably, didn't seem to react. Lia flicked a glance at the toothpick in Patrick's hand, but also kept her cool. "The one you gave him never passed my lips. Won't do a scrap of good." He looked up at me, as did Sam, when I stepped up alongside them.

"Sam…" I reached out for the latter, my hand coming to rest on his shoulder and squeezing slightly to tell him things hadn't gone well.

"I don't like cheating, Sam," Patrick said, stretching out a hand and then clenching it. I felt my windpipe close up, and suddenly I couldn't breathe. I dropped to my knees beside Sam, who looked alarmed, catching me in his arms, and helping me onto a chair.

"Beth!"

I gasped for air, thinking we might be moving to Plan C earlier than anticipated, when Lia stepped in.

"Stop it!" She cried out, grabbing Patrick's wrist. "Patrick, let her go!"

"They tried to kill us!" Patrick snapped, his magical grip still tight on my neck.

"I did it! I gave them the spell!" Lia said. Patrick looked at her, shocked, and dropped his arm. I gulped in a lungful of air as Sam checked me over.

"What?" Patrick asked, standing up and touching Lia's face, trying to determine her motivation. "Why...why would you do that?"

"You know why," she said, a hand absently lifting up to touch the silver locket around her neck. "You know."

Patrick looked thoughtfully at her for a moment and then seemed to make a decision, resuming his position across the table from Sam, and now myself.

"Keep. Playing," he said stiltedly.

"No," I said, glancing at Lia, then Patrick. "No he's out, we're done."

"Beth," Sam said in a warning tone.

"No, I told you this was crazy, Sam," I insisted, grabbing at his wrist. "You're gonna get yourself killed."

"You want to take a hand, feel free," Patrick offered.

"No," Sam said, shaking his head and pushing a couple of chips to the centre of the table. "Not her. Play."

I got up, moved away from the table, and called Dean. "You need to find something else," I said. "And quick."

"I'm in his apartment, It's too damn clean in here. First witch I ever heard of didn't spew bodily fluids all over the place," Dean said. I grimaced, looking back at Sam and Patrick.

"Uh, you never did tell me how Sam was planning to distract Patrick," Dean said. "He's not playing is he?"

"What? No...of course not, they're talking, Patrick's trying to convince him…"

"You are such a bad liar," Dean cut in. "But not as bad as Sam's poker skills."

"If that's the case, there still might be hope," I said, watching as Sam stacked five chips next to another five near the pile. "Keep looking, I'd rather not test my silver bullet theory unless we're really out of every other option." I hung up and moved back to Sam and Patrick.

"Well, look at you—the percentage player betting the farm. Awful transparent of you, Sam. I mean, if I had a monster hand like you have, I'd trap you. But you get so excited, you bet yourself right out of a big pot." Patrick sniffed and picked up his face-down cards. "I fold," he said, discarding them. "Set of ladies, I'm guessing."

Sam collected about a dozen chips from the pot, and turned over his cards, I kept my face deliberately calm as he revealed a three of clubs and a five of diamonds. Patrick's hand was a pair of queens. The witch smirked as Sam stacked his chips.

"Nice bluff. If we had time, I could make a real player out of you."

"I got time," Sam said. Patrick grinned.

"Maybe. But I can't say the same for Dean," he commented, looking at me. "Your husband's gonna be dead soon." Sam looked up at me, and I tried struggled to keep my cool.

"Call him," Patrick said. "When I say 'soon'...I mean minutes."

Sam's face changed, suddenly full of fear. He went to stand and leave, but Patrick reached out with his witchcraft, yanking on him and forcing him to sit. "I said, call him!" This was directed at me.

I swallowed and picked up my phone, putting it to my ear, exchanging a concerned look with Sam.

"The game's not over till I say it is. Blinds," Patrick said, slapping down two chips and Sam one.

"Dean?!" I said a little urgently into the phone, looking at Sam when he turned his attention from the game to me. "Sam… something's wrong," I said warningly.

Patrick dealt two face-down cards to him and Sam. The latter glanced at his, and then added another chip to the pot. There was the slightest, and I mean slightest, twitch to Sam's jaw which had my mind whirling. I set my face to try and counter the fear I was feeling run through me.

"So," Patrick said, smugly slapping three cards down and spreading them out: the ace of spades and fours of hearts and clubs. Sam eyed the cards. "Good to know."

"Go to Hell," Sam snarled at him, he shoved all his chips into the middle of the table. I grabbed his arm, looking at him in alarm.

"Are you crazy?!" I snapped. "No, you can't."

"You said to do something, Beth!" Sam exclaimed breathlessly. "I'm doing something!"

"I didn't mean this!"

"I know what I'm doing!" He snapped.

"No you don't!"

Sam glared at me. "All in," he added, looking at the Irishman.

"Listen to your sister, don't do that, Sam," Patrick said.

"I can't leave until it's over? Fine. It's over. Now, leave my brother alone, where is he?" Sam said.

"Dean?" I asked into the phone. "Can you hear me?" There was nothing on the other side, I shook my head at the man sitting next to me, Sam's breathing had gotten faster, he was starting to panic.

"Look, there's poker and then there's suicide," Patrick said.

"He's right, Sam," I insisted.

Sam ignored me, stared Patrick in the eye. "Just play the hand."

Patrick smirked and then added all his chips to the pot, sitting back and taking in the pair of us. "Fine."

He discarded a card, and then dealt a seven of diamonds, and then the nine of spades. I glanced at Sam, shaking my head furiously. "This is crazy Sam."

"I'm doing it for Dean," he said, looking at me, worried.

Patrick just looked smug - he knew he had us, he knew we were about to lose everything. He reached out, turned over his face-down cards: an ace of diamonds, and ace of clubs. "I'm sorry, kids. Aces full."

I stared at the cards. It was an unbeatable hand, almost. But I'd seen it, the tell, one that only Dean or I would know. Sam looked at the cards, let out a breath and then looked up at Lia who was crying as she stood behind Patrick. "You're crying," he said. She looked away, sniffling. Patrick and I stared as she shook her head.

"For a witch, you're so nice, it's actually kind of creepy," Sam said. I smiled at her.

"Lia, it's okay," I said softly, seeing her turn confused eyes to us. Sam looked at Patrick.

"It was a great hand," he said as Patrick moved to collect the chips. "Just…not as great as…" Sam turned over his face-down cards, and I closed my eyes in relief, seeing the fours of diamonds and spades join his collection. He'd known all along that he had a four of a kind.

"...as four fours," I finished for Sam, still holding the phone to my ear.

Patrick glanced up at Sam, and then down at the cards. Sam took a deep breath, letting it out slowly. With a smile, Patrick leaned back in his chair, nodding slowly. "Well played," he said, looking from Sam to me. "Both of you. You know, that whole...going-out-of-your-heads bit—very method." I smirked at him, holding up the phone and the blank screen, I'd never even dialled it.

"Well," Patrick said, raising his glass to me. "There's more to you than meets the eye."

Sam chuckled, nodding in agreement. "Yes, there is," he commented. "It might happen, but in the head of the moment, you won't actually see her panic," he added.

"Interesting," Patrick said, looking curiously at me.

Sam nodded at the chips lying in the middle of the table. "Cash these in for Dean, please."

Patrick nodded, setting his drink down. "With pleasure."

Patrick's Apartment Building

Dean's POV

My phone had rung a few times since the walk down the stairs. Bobby, and then Beth. I ignored them both, relishing the feel of having my 30-year old body back. I skipped out the front door of the lobby, looking across the road and seeing Sam and Beth pull up behind Bobby's van in a stolen car. It was a relief to actually be able to see across that road, now that I thought about it, my eyesight had been one of the first things to go as an eighty-year old.

Beth and Sam climbed out of the car, looking worriedly in my direction. I held out my arms, grinning at them and then did a little dance ,before jumping up and clicking my heels in the air. Take that, Patrick!

"Idjit," Bobby called out of the window at me. Beth laughed and then ran across the road, throwing herself into my arms. I chuckled, grabbing her tight and lifting her, spinning us around in circles. As I dropped her down to her feet, she kissed me, pulling me close. I groaned in reply, my hands coming up to bury into her hair at the base of her neck.

"So the silver bullets worked?" I asked, looking down at her.

"Ah, no," she laughed. "Sam won."

"He… he what?"

"He won," she repeated. "With a little drama acting from yours truly."

"Wait, you're saying that Sammy, our little bumbling brother, just beat a centuries-old witch in poker?" Beth nodded with a smile. "When I didn't?"

"Guess you just don't know how to play the player," Sam called out as we got nearer.

"Shut up!" I snapped, frowning at him. I was not comfortable with this realisation at all.

Motel Room

Beth's POV

"No tricks," Bobby was saying. "You actually beat the guy?" Sam laughed, spreading his arms out in a shrug. "How the Hell?"

"Just lucky," Sam smirked, heading for the door. Dean, walked in carrying a bag of take-out in one hand, a burger in the other. "Hey, I'll see y'all guys later."

"Where you going?" Dean asked, glancing at him curiously.

"Uh...mm, nowhere," Sam said. We all looked at him until he shifted uncomfortably. "A booster shot. Don't say it." He raced out the door before anyone could say anything. I smiled, watching as Dean closed the door behind him.

"Well, I guess we can get the van loaded," Bobby said. Dean held up a finger and cleared his throat, shaking his head.

"I shouldn't have called you an idiot," he said apologetically. My head shot up quickly, almost in shock - Dean rarely admitted when he was wrong to anyone other than me.

"Which time?" Bobby asked, raising an eyebrow.

"I'm sorry. I mean, I actually—I, I—I get it. Getting old ain't a bachelor party. And dealing with the crap you got to deal with…"

Bobby scowled, wheeled his chair closer to the door. "Don't you go on pity patrol."

"I'm not. I'm not. I'm just...I'm saying, you know, if I was in your shoes…"

"You'd never stop complaining," Bobby cut in. Dean stared at him for a moment and then looked to me for back-up. I shrugged and chuckled.

"He's kind of right," I said, moving to take the bag of burgers out of his hand, and kiss his cheek. Dean sighed, turning back to Bobby.

"Fair enough. You're not useless, Bobby," he said eventually.

"Okay. Good talk," Bobby said dismissively, attempting to roll toward the door. Dean stepped in his path, cutting him off and looking down sternly.

"No, wait a minute. Listen to me," he said, sitting down on the edge of the nearby bed, sighing. "You don't stop being a soldier 'cause you got wounded in battle. Okay? No matter what shape you're in, bottom line is, you're family. I don't know if you've noticed, but me, Beth and Sam, we don't have much left. I can't do this without you," he glanced up at me, his eyes softening. "We can't do it without you. We can't. So don't you dare think about checking out. I don't want to hear that again."

The room fell silent. I shifted from one foot to the other, uncomfortable with the conflict. I always had been.

"Okay," Bobby said finally.

"Okay," Dean said with a nod. "Good."

"Thanks," Bobby said. "Now, we done feeling our feelings? 'Cause I'd like to get out of this room before we both start growing lady parts…" he looked over at me. "No offence."

"Yeah, we're done," Dean said, standing up. He picked up his burger, looked at it, and then clearly decided on another path, putting it back down. I started to grab my bag from the other bed, but he shook his head, taking the straps and smiling at me.

"Let's go, Ironsides," he grinned at Bobby, slinging his own bag over his shoulder and then lifting mine with the other hand.

"Oh, that one's sticking, huh?" Bobby called out as Dean exited the room. Bobby sighed, looking back at me. "I dunno how you put up with him."

I laughed, watching Dean through the door as he walked toward the car. "He's not so bad when you get used to him," I said.

"Oh please, you were smitten with him from the day you met, John told me. Wasn't no getting used to him needed," Bobby said, wheeling his chair out the door. "Grab my bag, would ya? Put them lady parts to good use!"

I gaped, not sure what surprised me more. The uncharacteristically chauvinistic comment toward me, or the admission that John had known Dean and I had connected the day we met. Then I remembered, Dean and I had known each other a long, long time before we remembered meeting - thanks to Castiel wiping our minds, we lost that awareness, but the physical bond was still there. John had to have known that. Maybe that's why he'd been so hard on us all those years.

I sighed, picking up Bobby's bag and following him to the truck: we'd never know on that front, because the two people that could attest to our relationship pre-memory wipe were dead. God knew I'd grilled Jefferson enough on it, until he cried uncle.

In the end it didn't matter, we were exactly where we were supposed to be.

Later that night

Motel Room

Beth's POV

Dean had passed out hours ago, I was still awake, staring at the ceiling. Sam rolled over in the bed next to ours, and I moved on to my side, trying to get a better look in the dark. "Sam? Are you awake?" I whispered.

There was a pause, and then Sam rolled over to face me. "Yeah, you okay?"

"You were right," I said. "About Dean, and the dream to retire. But…"

"But?"

"You forgot something," I answered. "Retiring isn't about us, Sam. It's about you."

"Me? What about me?"

"I got to thinking, after we left the motel. All these years, Dean and I have been inexplicably wrapped up in each other's worlds, from the time I was eight we've been doing this dance." I paused, thinking about the day we met in the church.

"Earlier than that," Sam said. "Your mom said we spent time with you just after our mom died."

"That's right," I said thoughtfully. Sam had only been six months old, Dean and I didn't remember it, but if there was one thing my mother had told me during the time we'd gone back in time, it was about when Mary died, and Dean and I both helped look after Sam. When I joined them eight years later, following the death of my father, we'd been looking after him ever since.

"Which brings me to my point," I continued. "Sammy, this is all about you. We can't stop…. Not really… Not until you do."

Sam didn't respond. I lay in bed, waiting for him to say something. I knew he'd be computing what I'd said, running it through the logical side of him.

"You guys … you feel responsible for me," Sam said.

"Well duh, we love you Sam. And yeah, we have to take care of you, like it or not, it's our job." I said. "So when you tell me just to … quit hunting. Try to convince me that it's what Dean wants? You're not wrong. He does want to stop, he wants to give us a family, a life that Dad couldn't give you or him. But… he wants you to have that too Sammy, and well, we can't stop until you do."

He looked down at her, fidgeting with her rosary as she finished up her prayers. It had taken half the day, but he'd finally managed to pull her away so the dead body could be dealt with. "I can't believe it," she said softly as he crawled in next to her, wrapped an arm around her familiar figure like he'd been doing for over sixty years. He sighed, kissing her shoulder as she settled down to her side, so he could snuggle in and spoon. "How are you?" She asked, lacing her fingers through his. "Tired," he replied. "I'm tired." She nodded. "What are we going to do now?" She asked, he almost wanted to laugh. "We rest, sugarpie. I think we've earned it." She sighed, nodding quietly. "Where will we go?" He thought about it, squeezed her a little tighter. "We never did get to the Grand Canyon… how about a road trip?" She chuckled and nodded. "Yeah, okay. Road trip it is…" The next morning, they lay entwined together, unmoving, light smiles on their faces. Their daughter looked down with a bittersweet expression, turning watery eyes to the attendant. "Well," she said softly. "I guess they're on to their next journey, probably chasing Uncle Sam down to look after him too. They always did everything together. Why should this be any different?"

Dean's POV

I sat up in a hurry, the images of the dream still vivid in my mind. The same dream had been playing on my mind for days, and had finally reached its conclusion. Sam looked up at me from the kitchen, the light from the window playing across the room. "Hey, Dean, you okay?"

"Yeah," I nodded, allowing the motel to settle around me. I was back to normal, still thirty, still had my life ahead of me. "Yeah, I'm good."

Beside me Beth stirred, rolling over and wrapping her arm around my midsection, just like I had done to her in the dream. I stroked her hair, and she smiled, wriggling in closer. "Weird dream," I said to Sam.

"Oh yeah, what about?"

"Uh… we uh, we died of old age, in some nursing home," I told him. Sam's mouth dropped open as he turned to look at us in the bed. "Crazy huh?"

"Yeah, uh, crazy," Sam agreed.

"Like we will ever live that long," I said, almost sadly. The dream, though melancholy, had an upside too… a long life with the people I loved.

"Well," Sam said. "You never know." I shook my head at the sudden change in attitude from him.

"Nah, you said it yourself, Sammy," I insisted. "We won't."

"Maybe I was wrong," Sam replied. He was arguing with me, typical.

"Figures, man. You're just trying to disagree with me for the sake of it, two nights ago you were singing about our untimely deaths," I muttered, reaching for a bottle of water on the nightstand, uncapping it and guzzling half the bottle.

"Yeah well, I been thinking, and I think we've still got a lot of living left in us," Sam pressed. He glanced down at Beth, and I followed his line of sight. My hand was resting on her back, and I tickled my fingers along her shoulder blades.

"I hope you're right, man," I said quietly. "I hope you're right."

AUTHOR'S NOTES

Song for this chapter is: Young and Beautiful by Lana del Ray. Special mention to Lukas Graham's '7 Years' which also was a contender.

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