Empty spaces fill me up with hopes
Distant faces with no place left to go
Without you within me I can't find no rest
Where I'm going is anybody's guess

I tried to go on like I never knew you
I'm awake but my world is half asleep
I pray for this heart to be unbroken
But without you all I'm going to be is incomplete

DEAD MEN DON'T WEAR PLAID

Sioux Falls, South Dakota

Beth's POV

It seemed we'd been spending a lot of time in Sioux Falls of late. Taking refuge in the one consistent home we'd ever known, when John and Bobby had still been friends, raising four teenagers to hunt and survive in a world of darkness. Of course, the reason we were at Bobby's last visit had been darker than I would have liked.

Sam's detox did not take as long compared to previously. Together, Dean and I had held him through it, determined that we would not let our brother break this time. We had to protect him, and in unspoken agreement, we'd done just that until his body had healed from the toxic blood inside of him.

During that time, the darkness that had been plaguing me receded. I couldn't explain it, only that it had come from spending time in the past with my father. My father. With everything we'd been through, all we had experienced in our short lives, it seemed impossible to be sent not once, but twice into what can only be described as an episode out of Back to the Future.

And now here we were.

Even with those explorations to the past, nothing had changed. We were still in exactly the same spot we'd have been had we never experienced our Delorian adventures, and yet something inside of me had changed.

I felt lighter.

Like a healing balm, being able to tell my father all that would befall us, even if he never remembered it thanks to Michael wiping his mind, had been a gift. Above all else, Dad and John in their actions together, had both reinforced in me what they'd both taught me later in life - family came first. No matter what.

It had only been a matter of weeks since we'd been in town, yet it felt like a lifetime.

I stared out of the window of the Impala at the houses passing by, familiar streets and surroundings from another time in our lives; places that I had explored with Dean, Sam and Cole when we were in our teens. It made me smile.

"Bobby, listen, when you get this message, call! Okay?" Sam said into the phone as Dean pulled the car up to a diner. I knew it, had shared many a burger and milkshake with my adopted siblings over the years. My mouth was practically watering from the thought of biting into their signature double beef and cheese burger.

"Is he still not home?" Dean asked, putting the car into park and cutting the engine. "How far could he get in that chair?" His eyes twinkled as he threw me a grin, laughing at his own joke. I smiled back at him and shook my head softly in amusement.

"You know we could just go around there," I said, glancing at Sam in the back seat.

"Yeah, later," Dean agreed. "I mean, we're here now, we might as well see what the story is before we all rock up. He hasn't been the happiest to be around, as you well know."

Dean was right. Ever since becoming confined to a wheelchair, Bobby's short fuse was pretty much nonexistent. It didn't take much to cause him to lose his temper, and as much as I knew he cared for us - we were a reminder of what he no longer had: the ability to pick up and hunt whenever he wanted. He was still every bit as important to us, we relied on him for everything from somewhere safe to stay, to information, to posing as our superior when we were questioned on the legitimacy of our badges. But that didn't seem to soothe his soul much.

"Okay," Sam said, glancing up at the door to the diner. "So, what do we do?"

"What we always do," I replied with a shrug, looking from him to Dean.

"Yeah…" Dean muttered. "We just do it ourselves."

It had been nearly five years since John had disappeared at the Centennial Highway. Close to four years since he'd died… leaving us alone for good. At the time I'd thought we might never recover. We were so used to following orders, taking John's lead, and now… now we did what we wanted; most of the time. It didn't mean that it was easy, old habits die hard.

Even after all that time Dean hesitated on occasion. I could see it in his eyes, the way he would look to me for reassurance when he made the call on a hunt, or anything else that might make considerable change in our lives. Sam was used to going his own way, being his own person. For Dean and I, we were still like toddlers, setting out into a big wide open world with no one to guide the way.

The look Dean shot me now spoke volumes. We were in Bobby's territory, blind luck having led us back to South Dakota after seeing an article about a zombie rising from his grave and killing another man. We'd waited for the call from Bobby. It hadn't come. That was when we'd gotten concerned.

So here we were.

Inside, the diner was almost empty. We spotted the man we were here to see almost immediately. He was in the rear booth, staring out the window. He fidgeted in his seat, feet tapping anxiously against the worn linoleum floor.

I raised my eyebrow at Dean, adjusted my blazer and then walked toward the man with a pleasant, but not overly friendly look on my face. Dean followed, hot on my heels, while Sam found himself a seat at the counter and ordered coffee.

"Mr Wells?" I asked, looking at the man questioningly. He glanced cautiously at me before nodding.

"Yeah, you the FBI?" He asked.

"That's right," I nodded.

"Mulder and Scully right?" He chuckled, leaning back in his chair to run his eyes up and down the length of my body. "Better looking than the redhead."

Beside me Dean cleared his throat and adjusted the tie around his neck. I shot him a curious look as he slipped into the booth opposite Wells. I followed, sliding in beside him only to feel him shift closer, his leg pressing against mine as he silently observed the man. I slid my hand under the table, and rested it on Dean's thigh, giving it a little squeeze.

"We're also the real deal, not some TV show," I lied effortlessly.

"Makes it even better," Wells grinned at me. He leaned on the table, gleaming through hazy eyes that looked as if he'd not slept in days. His face and neck were covered with a five o'clock shadow, and his dark shaggy hair curled around his ears and sat messily on his head, looking as if it hadn't been washed in a week. I fought the urge to roll my eyes at him, leaning back in my seat.

"Mr Wells, why don't you tell us what you saw, in your own words."

"Call me Digger," he smiled at me.

"Digger?" Dean chortled beside me, breaking his silence. "Who gave you that name?"

Wells looked from me to Dean, as if seeing him for the first time, and then frowned.

"I did," he said.

"You gave yourself your own nickname? You can't do that," Dean smirked at him.

"Who died and made you queen?" Wells retorted. Dean paused, blinking once, and I could see he was frantically trying to find a comeback to the man, and was struggling to do so.

"Okay…" I cut in. "Why don't you just tell us what you saw?" Hoping that it would ease the tensions a bit.

Wells took a breath, frowning slightly and looking down at the cup of coffee in front of him.

"I saw…" he began, taking another breath. "I saw Clay Thompson climb into Benny Sutton's trailer through the window. Couple minutes later, Clay walked out, and Benny's dead."

Dean reached into his jacked and pulled out a printed photo of Clay's driver licence, unfolding it and holding it up for Wells to look at. "And, uh...Is this the guy you saw?" he asked.

Wells nodded, his mouth curling up at the side. "Well, he was all covered with mud, but, yeah. That's Clay."

Dean turned the paper around to look at the photo thoughtfully.

I glanced sideways at him, and then back at Wells. He seemed sober, the hazy eyes more appearing exhaustion than intoxication. I couldn't say that I blamed him for having a few restless nights after what he'd seen. Frankly I wondered how Dean, Sam or I got any sleep at all most nights with what we'd been through.

"You are aware that Clay Thompson died five years ago?" I asked, watching his face intently for any sign that he was lying.

"Yep," Wells said honestly.

"And you're positive that it was this guy?" Dean asked, flashing the picture back in Wells' direction.

Wells bristled at the undertone of Dean's voice, the one that was sceptically taking in the story, but didn't really believe him. It wasn't that we didn't believe the man, but we had to test him, make sure that he wasn't just making it all up for some reason. It was the first part of the hunt - to get to the bottom of the story, you had to make sure you had a hunt to begin with.

"You calling me a liar?" Wells challenged, his eyes narrowing at Dean. He had stopped fidgeting, and was now engaging in a stare competition with my equally as immature husband, one cocky smile to another. I could see the edge Wells was sitting on, simmering just below the surface. Dean could too, no doubt, but he was pushing it. He'd been uneasy for weeks: ever since our encounter with Famine - a disquiet sitting with him that he hadn't raised with me yet, and I was becoming increasingly worried. I squeezed his leg again in warning, and flashed Wells a smile.

"Of course not," I said quickly. "Look. Can you think of any reason why Clay Thompson, alive or dead, would want to kill Benny Sutton?"

Wells started chuckling, his shoulders shaking in silent laughter as he smiled broadly at me.

"Hell, yeah," he grinned. "Well, five years ago, Benny's the one that killed Clay in the first place."

I glanced sideways at Dean, our eyes meeting for a split second. I saw the curiosity spark in those apple green orbs. He believed Wells, and I showed him through my expression that I did too. Almost immediately Dean's posture relaxed, and he broke the connection with me, leaning his elbow up on the window sill and turning to Wells, his body language opening, welcoming to the man.

"Is that a fact?" Dean asked genuinely.

"Well, yeah, so-called hunting accident," Wells replied, his voice clearly stating that he didn't believe it. "Now, if you ask me... Clay came back from the grave to get a little payback."

"Go on," Dean encouraged.

The door behind us opened, and I heard a woman enter, talking on her phone. Wells followed her with his eyes. I resisted the urge to turn and look at whoever it was that had gotten his attention, but it wasn't easy. Dean was on alert beside me, not having missed the change to Wells' demeanour.

"...put down the cupcake and pick up an apple… Okay? Okay. I love you," the woman was saying in the phone before she hung up. I watched Wells roll his eyes before he looked at me.

"Heads up," he said. "Fargo."

Footsteps faltered before heading in our direction, and I moved my hand off Dean's thigh, placing it on the table as the steps came to a halt beside us. I found myself looking up at a woman in a brown sheriff's uniform, feeling my stomach sink slightly.

"Digger," she said, looking from Wells to Dean and I.

"Sheriff," Wells replied.

The Sheriff's eyes were locked with Dean's as she turned to face us.

"Hello. I'm Sheriff Jody Mills. I don't believe we've had the pleasure." She was straight to the point, a slight smile on her face, but beneath it was a no-nonsense approach of someone who did their job, and did it well. Just the kind of sheriff to get in the way of our investigations.

Dean was already reaching into his jacket. I followed suit, feeling around for my fake ID.

"Agents Dorfman and Neidermeyer. FBI," Dean replied, flashing his badge at the Sheriff with a confident smile. I held mine up at the same time, mirroring Dean's smile, just like John had taught us: friendly, but not too friendly; confident, but not cocky; comfortable in our skin, but carrying an air of authority simultaneously.

"Welcome to Sioux Falls," she said, glancing between us, shoving her hands into her jacket pockets and taking a breath. "Can I ask you what you're doing with Digger here?"

"They're doing their job," Wells replied with a raised eyebrow, looking up into the Sheriff's brown eyes. "They believe me, Sheriff." He finished with a sly wink and the woman smirked, turning back to us.

"The FBI believes a dead man committed a murder?" She asked.

"Look, we're just asking a few questions, Sheriff. That's all," I said placatingly, beside me Dean leaned forward.

"Of course, if a dead man didn't commit the murder, then, uh, who did?" He asked.

The smile fell from the Sheriff's face, and her eyes hardened. He'd hit a nerve.

"What'd you say your jurisdiction here was again?"

"Our jurisdiction is wherever the United States government sends us," Dean challenged. We sat comfortably in our seat, faces soft – still confident, still showing our certainty that we had a right to be there. But it was clear where things were going.

"Oh, yeah?" Sheriff Mills replied. "How 'bout me and your supervisor have a little chat about that?"

I was already reaching back into my jacket, pulling out a small wallet and producing a business card from where I'd tucked it earlier.

"Absolutely," I said, handing her the card. It was routine, hold the bluff, let her call the number and deal with Bobby. Silently I prayed that Bobby was home to answer the phone, we hadn't had much luck on the mobile, maybe the emergency landlines would be different.

The Sheriff dialled the number on the card, and turned away while she waited for someone to answer .

"Agent Willis, this is Sheriff Jody Mills..." she said after a moment. I breathed a small sigh of relief, shooting a look at Dean. His mouth twitched slightly, indicating he was happy Bobby had answered too. But suddenly Mills said a name I wasn't expecting her to come out of her mouth.

"Bobby?"

I looked up in alarm, eyes meeting Dean's immediately. He tensed, eyes hardening, the only indication that something was wrong. No one else in the room would have picked it, but I did. I saw him glance behind me, no doubt to Sam, and then back again as Mills slowly turned to face us.

"Is this Bobby Singer?" She asked into the phone. Behind us Sam casually got up from the counter and left the diner.

Out of the corner of my eye I could see Sam, now outside and moving toward the car. I knew he'd be waiting for us, ready for a quick get away, should things get ugly.

"Bull crap," Mills said after a moment, hanging up the phone. She raised her eyebrows, looking at us both. "FBI, huh?"

"So, uh... So you know Bobby Singer?" I asked uncomfortably.

"That is... a fun coincidence," Dean said, chuckling.

"Here's what I know about Bobby Singer," Mills replied. "He's a menace around here, ass-full of drunk-and-disorderlies and mail fraud. You understanding me?" Her tone was definitely no-nonsense. I could practically hear John speaking to us, talking us through this moment, as we'd practised over and over. Don't push it when you're caught out. Be respectful. Acknowledge the play. And get out as quickly as you can.

"I think we all can agree that you've made yourself perfectly clear, yes," Dean said carefully.

"So, whatever the three of you are planning, it ends here. Now," she reached down and pushed a finger against the table to emphasize her point, looking me dead in the eyes. "Ten-four on that, Agents?"

"Yeah," Dean said beside me. Mills seemed happy with that response, or was at least confident she'd rattled us enough to leave, because without another word she walked out of the diner and didn't look back, leaving us with a very curious Wells on our hands.

Bobby's House

I couldn't remember how many times we'd pulled up to the steps of this house, tails between our legs, running from one monster or another. Running from the local sheriff, who had recognised our FBI supervisor on the phone, was a new one. It just hit home that we were too close for comfort, and something was not right here.

We trudged up the stairs to the front porch and were met at the door by Bobby in his wheelchair.

"Figured you lot would show up here," he commented, turning and wheeling back into the house without any further comment. I shrugged at the boys and followed him into the library.

"You know how many times we called? Where have you been?" Dean asked, only a few steps behind me.

"Playing murderball," Bobby replied, the sarcasm practically dropping from his mouth. He stopped in the centre of the library and spun around to look at us.

"What's that smell?" Dean asked suddenly, sniffing the air. "Is that soap?"

At the question I started to notice our surroundings, first with the bookshelves: no longer dusty and stacked haphazardly with old tomes, they were clean and orderly, the books put away in what appeared to be alphabetical order. The desk by the wall was pristine, everything neatly stacked in ordered piles. I frowned as Dean continued.

"Did you clean?" He asked.

"What are you, my mother?" Bobby retorted. "Bite me!"

"Bobby, seriously," Sam said beside me, his voice concerned.

"I been working. You know, trying to find a way to stop the devil," Bobby replied. The comment was an obvious ploy to distract us, but I wasn't going to be fooled. Something was going on here - Bobby's bed, usually messed up, was made neatly under the only window in the room – a window that was free of the years of grime usually covering the glass.

"Find anything?" Dean asked, following the hook.

"What do you think?" Bobby replied with a shake of his head.

I crossed my arms and glanced toward the kitchen – the pocket doors were closed. Now that was unusual.

"Bobby, it's just… there's a case less than five miles from your house," Sam pointed out, moving to sit on the edge of the desk.

"What, the – the Benny Sutton thing? That's what this is about?" Bobby asked.

"You knew about this?" Dean asked sharply.

"Hell, yes. I checked into it already. There's nothing here," Bobby said with a shrug.

"You mean other than a witness who saw a dead guy commit murder," I pointed out, looking him over. Now that I was paying attention, Bobby seemed a lot cleaner too…. His hair slicked back neatly, no hat, and his clothes looked recently washed and pressed.

"What witness?" Bobby asked. "Digger Wells?"

"Yeah. So?" Dean asked.

"So, he's a drunk," Bobby replied. I smirked – a lot of people said that about Bobby too, and had said the same about John once too, when Mary had died.

"Well, what about the lightning storms? They look like omens," Sam pushed.

"Except in February... in South Dakota... in storm season." Bobby said. He shrugged. "Guys, I thought it was something, too. Sometimes a cigar is just a cigar."

He was too casual, I decided. Playing the game, just like we did with the Sheriffs, and the police chiefs, and the detectives… anyone who got in our way. Something wasn't right here. I moved slightly behind Bobby, as if to pick up a book from the shelf nearby. I glanced at Dean, seeing him watching me, so I paused to run my finger along the top of a bookshelf, lifting it up to reveal no dust. Dean raised an eyebrow at the movement, and then his brow furrowed as he started to pay closer attention to our surroundings.

"So who killed this guy?" Sam asked, his face passive. He'd seen the movement too, and I saw his eyes flicker to the left where Bobby's bed was neatly made, but he quickly turned back to the man in the chair, keeping his attention.

"Take your pick," Bobby replied. "This Benny Sutton guy was a grade-A son of a bitch. There's a list of the living a year long wouldn't mind putting a cap in his ass.

"So, you're telling us... nothing?" Dean asked, crossing his arms.

"Sorry. Looks like you wasted a tank of gas on this one," Bobby said.

"Great," Dean muttered. His eyes locked with mine, and I inclined my head toward the closed kitchen.

"Well," Dean continued. "Least we can grab a beer, and crash here for the night."

Bobby's head shot up at the comment, and he looked at Dean as the latter started for the kitchen.

"No, uh, sorry… guys. I'm out of beer, and the place is a mess since you left," he said.

Sam stood up and looked around the room. "Looks pretty clean to me Bobby."

"Yeah well I been tidying up, but only on this floor, I can't obviously get up the stairs to do your rooms," he said, scowling.

"Bobby, we wouldn't expect you to. We're capable of cleaning our own rooms," I said, moving to stand next to Dean.

"Yeah well, it's embarrassing all right?" Bobby snapped. "Now, I got a woman coming in to help clean up around here, but she's not got to the rooms upstairs yet, okay? I'd just… I'd feel a whole lot better if y'all crashed somewhere else right now."

We'd never been turned away from the house before, and he knew it. But we had to play the game – what would John do?

"Uh, sure thing Bobby," I said, smiling at the boys. "I mean, you know I'd be happy to help out?"

Bobby sighed. "I know baby girl, but you guys got enough on your plate right now, I don't like askin'"

It seemed legitimate enough. I nodded, and leaned down to kiss his cheek. "Okay Bobby, we'll uh, we'll leave you to it then, okay? We can stay in town until tomorrow and then head to Ohio."

"Yeah," he nodded back at me, and I detected a slight sigh of relief. He turned to look at Sam and smiled tersely. "You look good boy, how do you feel?" The question hung heavily in the air.

Sam didn't even blink, nodding back at our second father in his wheelchair. "Yeah, I feel good Bobby, thanks." There wasn't anything else to say – we all knew Bobby was talking about the detox from a few weeks back. Sam had been in rough shape when we'd gotten here, and he'd been a little shaky when we'd decided to head out again only a week ago.

"Good," Bobby said. "Well, I got things to do. You guys have a safe trip to Ohio okay?"

"Yeah," I said, keeping my smile friendly, but not too friendly. "We will. You take care of yourself Bobby."

Back on the Road

We were miles down the road before any of us spoke. When we finally did, it was all together.

"That was soap..." Dean began.

"Did you guys see..." Sam added

"It was too clean," I agreed, nodding at them both.

"I've never seen that house without dust," Dean said, finishing it for us. "Or those doors to the kitchen closed."

"What do you think is going on?" Sam asked.

"I don't know..." Dean muttered

"But we definitely agree, something is going on around here?" I asked, looking from Sam to Dean's tense face. His jaw clenched, the muscle in his cheek twitched as he stared at the blacktop ahead of us in the darkness.

"Yeah, but what?" Sam asked.

Suddenly Dean veered the car to the side, pulling on to the shoulder of the road.

"Dean?" I asked.

"What's up?" Sam added.

"Isn't that the graveyard back there?" He asked. I frowned, getting my bearings. We'd driven for a few minutes, heading back into town. There had always been a church nearby and … I nodded, smiling at him.

"St Anthony's cemetery," I confirmed. "You're right."

"Bobby already checked it out," Sam said.

"And we already agreed he's hiding something," Dean replied.

"You think he's hiding something to do with the case?" I asked, looking at Dean.

"I got no idea," he replied. "Maybe, or maybe he's just got a new love interest, but either way the man isn't infallible."

Sam chortled behind us in the back seat and I looked curiously at him. "What's so funny?" I asked.

"Big word there Dean," he said, sniggering.

I grinned at the comment, seeing Dean throw his hands up in the air.

"Really?" Dean asked. "You're seriously picking on my vocabulary right now?"

"Ooooh, another big word," Sam laughed. I tried not to smile, to keep my solidarity with Dean, but it was hard; as much as he tried to play himself off as the dumb, laid-back jock, we both knew Dean was smarter than he let on – and moments like this proved it. Calling Dean out on it seemed to bring Sam as much joy as it brought me pride.

"Oh for..." Dean sighed. "Shut up – the both of you!"

"Hey, I didn't say anything!" I protested.

"Yeah yeah, you didn't have to sugarpie," he said, though his smile belied his complaints. "Come on," Dean said, turning the car around and pointing it toward the cemetery. "We'll take a peek, and if we find nothing we'll hit the road. Can't hurt."

St. Anthony's Cemetery

I watched my white, foggy breath crystallise on the cold night air as we started to wander around the cemetery with our flashlights. Sam veered to the left, disappearing into the tree line with a shovel in one hand, his light in the other; Dean and I stuck together, an unspoken agreement that had been our status quo since his return from Hell. We went together, or not at all. At least, that was the plan… sometimes plans changed, I thought ruefully.

Dean shone his light around at the various headstones in front of us, whistling cheerfully as we walked, using a shovel as a bit of a walking stick. I shivered against the instinctual crawl up my spine that graveyards always gave me. As if sensing my discomfort, Dean threw me an apologetic smile, his whistling falling to silence.

"You think you'd be used to these places by now," he said with a little grin.

"Night time, creepy old graves, and a possible zombie on the loose. What's not to love?" I retorted with a smile of my own.

Dean winked at me and reached out, taking my hand in his. He was warm to the touch, and it was a welcome sensation against my chilled fingers. I squeezed his hand in silent gratitude for the care he always showed me, and continued to hold on to him as we moved through the graves.

"Hey guys!" Sam called out from about twenty yards away. "Over here."

We were instantly on alert, Dean dropped my hand as we moved to single file through a row of gravestones. We reached a couple of small green bushes, and on the other side overturned dirt in front of a granite headstone that belonged to Clay Thompson: the very same man accused of killing his own murderer.

"That look fresh to you?" Dean asked, looking over the scene.

"Yeah," Sam said, nodding.

"Dammit," I sighed, dropping my light down to my side. "What I wouldn't give for a dead end right now."

"Sorry sugarpie, looks like we get to dig instead," Dean said, punctuating his statement by ramming his shovel into the ground. The boys set to digging up the soft soil beneath their feet. It didn't take long, which was never a good sign, and before we knew it we were staring down at a coffin that looked like something had clawed its way out.

Sam tossed his shovel out of the hole, and leaned down to raise the mangled lid. Beneath it, our lights revealed empty satin lining.

"What is going on here?" Sam asked, frowning and standing up.

Dean shook his head, crouched by the graveside and held his flash light up. "I don't know," he said. "But something stinks."

"So…. Wells may have been right about what he saw. A man, covered in dirt, going into that trailer and killing the vic," I said.

Dean nodded, staring down at the grave. His shoulders were set, and he was taking long, deliberate breaths. Sam hauled himself out of the grave, and I took the opportunity to reach out and squeeze Dean's shoulder, drawing him out of his thoughts, my expression silently asking him if he was okay.

Taking a deep breath, Dean shook his head clear and pulled himself up to full height. "I'll tell you one thing. You crawl out of a grave, you're covered in dirt…" His voice trailed off. I smiled encouragingly at him.

Following the initial shock of Dean being free of Hell, he'd started to recount his experiences shortly after – one of them being that he'd had to dig his way out of his own grave. I watched him carefully, making sure that he wasn't about to slip back into a memory that left him lost and confused, but I needn't have worried – Dean was handling his Hell memories a lot better these days.

"So, what now?" I asked, looking around. "I mean, the man has already killed once, he could be anywhere."

"Well, there haven't been any other reports of any attacks," Sam said, starting to shovel the dirt back into the grave.

I picked up the other shovel and helped him refill the hole in front of us. "Yeah, but if he's a zombie… surely it's only a matter of time before he kills again."

"Well," Dean cut in, his face a little troubled. "I know where I was headed when I got out."

I paused, straightening up to look at him.

"I came looking for you," he added, eyes meeting mine with a slightly anguished expression.

"Did Clay have a family?" Sam asked.

"Yeah, he did," I replied.

Clay Thompson's House

We'd left Sam to finish up filling in the grave, with assurances from him that he would catch up. I didn't argue much, my mind more on wanting to get out of the creepy cemetery as soon as possible. I had the impression Sam wanted to give us some time, following Dean's discomfort at the grave.

By the time we pulled up in front of Clay's house, it was late and all the lights in the house were off. Dean killed the engine and sat staring at the house for a moment.

"Hey, you okay?" I questioned, leaning closer to him. He nodded silently, still watching the house.

"Yeah..." he said after a moment.

When he looked back at me, I could see the hesitation in his eyes, the uncertainty.

"What's wrong?" I asked.

"I don't know. I just… man. That could have been me, you know?" He said.

"What? Dean, this is a completely different situation," I pointed out.

"Is it?" He asked. "I mean, we don't know who's raised this guy, or why. We didn't know that about me either. I didn't know if I was demon spawned, or something else when I crawled out of that hole. I could've… I would never have forgiven myself if I'd hurt you."

"Dean, this is a completely different situation," I reiterated. "And you would never do anything to hurt me."

Even as I said it, we both knew that as much as we wanted it to be true – Dean's intentions versus the reality of what he'd been through in Hell, and the aftermath that followed, were two different things. He didn't mean to, but he did hurt me after his return from Hell – several times, and he struggled with that knowledge every day.

I reached a hand out to cup his cheek, leaning forward to press my lips against his in a soft kiss. "Come on, let's just go check the house. We can deal with the rest once we know what's going on."

With a small sigh, he nodded, pressing his face back into the palm of my hand and closing his eyes for a heartbeat.

"Okay," he agreed.

It didn't take much to pick the lock and get entry. Within moments we were stepping into a dark foyer, ears peeled for so much as a mouse. But all was quiet.

I closed the door behind us, following Dean as he led the way into a modest living room sporting a fireplace. Shining my flashlight up on the mantle, I saw at least a dozen framed photographs of Clay and a woman and children, happily smiling for the camera.

Dean paused, looking over at me and inclined his head toward the kitchen to our left. I nodded, and separated from him, moving with silent ease from one room to the other. I flicked my light around, seeing white cabinets, the countertops were pristine and bare, not a dirty dish in sight. Suddenly, behind me I heard a smash as something hit a mirror or window.

Springing into action, I hurried back toward Dean, raising the shotgun I was carrying and taking aim. As I rounded the corner, I saw Dean punch a man in the stomach, and he fell to the floor.

"Don't shoot me! Please! There's money in the safe," the man said, holding his hands up in the air and cowering before us.

"We don't want your money," Dean said. The man looked sharply up at us.

"What do you want? Anything. Please..." he ducked his head back down again, but I was sure I was seeing it right. This was the same man in the licence photo… in the pictures on the mantle; the only difference was that he seemed awfully pale skinned.

"You're Clay Thompson, right?" I asked.

He looked up at me, and I pointed the light away so it wasn't in his eyes.

"Who are you?" He asked, raising slowly to his feet, his eyes locked on me.

"Um, FBI," I replied, caught off guard.

"FBI? Oh, my God. This is about Benny," he said calmly.

"Wha… what about Benny?" Dean asked beside me.

"He killed me! He shot me in the back! I'm supposed to let him get away with that?" He said, throwing his arms out to the side. I was stunned, he wasn't behaving like any zombie I'd ever seen.

"Hold up," Dean said, frowning at the man. "Are… are you confessing?"

"Please. I'll go with you. Just… just don't wake my kids," Clay said. Dean turned to look at me, the confusion plain in his eyes. I didn't even know where to start, I just kept the gun pointed at him as my brain spun its wheels to catch up.

"Y-you'll go with us where?" I asked.

"Jail," Clay said.

"Let me get this straight. You're Clay Thompson, and you died five years ago?" Dean said.

"Yes."

"And three days ago you climbed out of your grave, and you killed Benny Sutton?"

"Yes," Clay nodded.

"So you are, in fact, a dead guy," Dean finished, tossing me another look.

"I guess. I – I – I don't know what I am," Clay replied. I was feeling worse by the minute. Something was terribly wrong here. Zombies didn't act human. They killed without remorse or thought; they didn't hold conversations; they didn't rationalise their actions with other people.

"Clay?" A woman's voice sounded from the hallway, and I spun around to see a pretty blonde standing in the arch to the livingroom, arms wrapped around herself. "I called 911."

"It's okay, honey. These people are the FBI. They're here about Benny," Clay responded, holding his hand out toward his wife.

Dean was thinking in overdrive. I could practically read his mind as he considered all the angles, the options, and the careful consideration of what we would have to do next. We had a walking, talking living corpse in front of us… every instinct in our bodies was to kill it.

"Why don't you come with us, Mr. Thompson? I think that'd be best," Dean said finally.

Clay nodded, and took a moment to reassure his wife that things would be all right. I swallowed back a lump in my throat as we followed the man down the steps of his own home toward the Impala. Dean was one step ahead of me, and I hurried to reach out as he pulled his pistol from under his jacket.

"Dean," I said, my voice urging caution. "I don't know…"

"He's a monster," Dean replied.

"He's a… soccer dad," I responded..

"What do you want to do with him?" Dean asked.

I didn't get a chance to respond as a light suddenly shone in my eyes.

"Freeze!" I heard Sheriff Mills yell. "Drop your guns!"

"Whoa," Dean exclaimed, raising a hand up to the light in his eyes. "Whoa, whoa, whoa. All right. Hey." We were looking down the barrel of a gun, and I quickly moved to put my own on the ground, Dean copying.

"Remember the guy you said that was dead and couldn't possibly commit murder? There he is," Dean said, pointing to Clay.

Mills holstered her gun, glancing from Dean to Clay, and then back again.

"And?" She asked.

"'And'?" Dean scoffed. "And you're welcome – for catching the undead killer zombie."

"Whatever he is or isn't, that don't give you the right to shoot him in the middle of the street," Mills said, walking quickly behind Dean and grabbing his arms. She slapped a cuff around one wrist, and then the other before I could so much as protest.

"Shoot me?" Clay exclaimed.

"You're free to go, Mr. Thompson," Mills said.

"Free to go?!" Dean said.

"I can't believe you were gonna kill me," Clay argued, looking at Dean. The latter spluttered, looking at me in disbelief.

"You're a zombie!"

"I'm a taxpayer!" Clay retorted.

I couldn't even get a word out. I was flabbergasted, seeing Dean cuffed, and then finding myself in the same situation a moment later. Sam came round the corner in a car he'd obviously stolen, and cruised past us, taking in the scene before shaking his head and continuing on.

"Well this is just great," Dean muttered next to me as Mills pushed us toward the squad car.

Jail Cell

At least we'd been locked up together. I felt my chest constrict a little at the thought of what might happen if these overzealous, zombie loving cops were to figure out who we were. Yes, our records had been expunged – mostly – thanks to Henrikson, but I couldn't help but worry that there was some real FBI agents out there looking for us. If they found us, this could be the last time I would get to see my husband.

I took a couple of short breaths, closed my eyes, and worked to calm my nerves.

"Hey, hey," Dean said, seeing the action. He stood up, coming to place his hands on my arms, squeezing softly. "Have you seen this cell? We could get out of here with our eyes closed and one arm tied behind our back. Not to mention that Sam is out there working on springing us right now."

"I know," I said with a soft breath. "I… I know."

Dean sighed, and pulled me into his arms, locking them around my back.

"You know I can pick the lock right now if it makes you feel any better," he murmured into my hair. I couldn't help but smile, giggling a little as I pulled back enough so I could look at his eyes.

"No, that's okay," I said. "But maybe later."

He nodded solemnly, looking at me and then out toward the swinging doors separating us from the open office beyond.

"So, what? Sheriff's on the take?" He asked, stepping back slightly, but not letting go of my arms.

"I don't think so," I said, shaking my head. "You really think the zombies are paying her off?"

Dean shrugged, kissing my forehead and then moving to sit down again.

"I don't know!" He announced, throwing his arms in the air. My focus was suddenly on the room next to us as an officer breezed past the cell with a handcuffed man in front of him, and pushed open the doors. I saw two familiar faces, one which turned to look at me with a frown, his arms crossed over his chest.

"Hey," I said, glancing at Dean. "It's Sam."

Dean leaned forward, taking in our tall brother standing by a desk, and next to him was none other than Bobby, speaking to Sheriff Mills as she leaned against her desk.

"What the hell is going on here?" I asked.

"So, what?" Dean agreed. "Now they're friends?"

As if they'd heard us, Bobby and Mills both turned to look through the open doors at us, and there was a resignation in both their shoulders that told me this was a story that had a lot of complications to it.

Police Station

A short while later we were free of the cell, and Sam was wheeling Bobby toward the exit, Dean and I following closely behind.

"Bobby, I thought the Sheriff hated you," I said as we rounded a corner and out of sight of the officers in the main room.

"She did," Bobby said, his mouth twitched upwards. "Until five days ago."

"What happened five days ago?" Dean asked. He looked over at me, I was already doing the math, we'd only been gone a week at best, missing this latest phenomenon by a matter of days.

"The dead started rising all over town," Bobby replied. Sam looked astonished at our surrogate father.

"So you knew about this?" Sam asked.

"Yep."

Dean rolled his eyes and turned to look at Bobby.

"I think what Sam meant to say is, you lied to us?"

Bobby sighed, his hands dropping down to the wheels on his chair so he could push himself ahead of us, and spin around.

"Look," he said. "I told you there was nothing here. And there isn't. Not for you."

He was telling us was there wasn't a hunt. I wasn't so sure.

"Bobby, that's not exactly true…" I said, crossing my arms over my chest. Sam cleared his throat as an officer walked past us, our voices falling silent for the moment.

"There are zombies here," Dean added, as soon as we were in the clear again.

"There are zombies... And then there are zombies. Come with me," Bobby said. With that he turned and wheeled out of the police station.

"What the hell is going on here?" Dean asked as we stared after him.

"I don't know, but something tells me we're about to find out," I replied, taking his arm and slipping mine through it. "Come on."

Bobby's House

Sam had driven Bobby back to the house, Dean and I not far behind in the Impala.

"I don't like it," Dean said as we pulled up and Sam helped Bobby get inside. "I got the heebie jeebies like the boogie man is about to jump out of the closet at us."

"Yeah…" I agreed, looking up at the front porch with a frown. "Look, we just gotta stay alert, whatever this is, we will figure it out and we'll deal with it."

Dean turned to smile at me, leaning over to kiss my lips quickly. "At least there's two of us with our heads on straight around here."

I smiled in reply, looking back to the house as Sam appeared on the porch, looking at us with a frustrated shrug of his shoulders.

"We're being summoned," I said with a nod. Dean looked at his brother and sighed.

"Yeah, yeah… we're coming," he muttered, and with that, pushed open the driver door and climbed out of the car. "God I'm tired," he added as we entered the house.

Bobby was waiting for us in the entrance, and turned to lead us into the library when we joined Sam.

"So, uh, Bobby…. You want to tell us what the hell…." Dean's voice dropped off as a young woman with softly curled blonde hair and pale skin walked into the room from the kitchen, carrying a plate, which she placed on the dining table, now occupying the centre of the library with a tablecloth on it.

"Oh, hey," she said, with a big smile, her eyes darting between Bobby and the rest of us. "I didn't realize you were bringing company."

My stomach sank.

"It's four a.m., babe. You didn't need to cook," Bobby said with a little smile.

"Oh, please! I'll get some more plates," she said with a dismissive wave of her hand, walking quickly back toward the kitchen.

"Who was that?" Dean asked, watching her leave.

I already knew who it was… had seen photos, heard her spoken about in many an overnight stay in this very house.

"Karen. My wife," Bobby said.

"Your… new wife?" Dean asked hopefully.

"My dead wife," Bobby clarified.

"That's Cole's mom," I added, feeling myself pale a little. "Does she know?" I added, looking at Bobby.

"Who, Cole?" Bobby asked, I nodded.

"No!" He said, shaking his head, smiling as Karen walked back into the room and started to put three more plates around the table before disappearing again. "I mean, I called her, but she ain't answering as usual…"

That had been the case with Cole for a while now, she was up to something, I could feel it in my bones, but whatever it was she was keeping her cards close to her chest. After joining us in our return trip to 1978, she'd disappeared following her near death experience. Bobby had seen her a few times, taken JJ for a week here or there, but mostly she was a lone wolf.

"You know, maybe that's for the best," Dean commented. "You know how she is around… uh… zombies."

We all grimaced, thinking about the last time we'd had to deal with a plague of zombies in North Dakota, it had been almost a decade ago, and I still couldn't get the image of Cole, her hair matted with blood and gore, out of my mind.

A short while later….

We hadn't slept. It had been all small talk and niceties with Karen in the room, and then she'd noticed how sleepy we were starting to look and offered to get us an early breakfast.

I could feel the fatigue eating away at me as I watched the morning start to light up the sky over the horizon through the window over Bobby's bed. The mattress felt comfortable under me, but I refused to lie down. An uneasiness had settled into my bones and I was chilled, even as warm streaks of pink and gold flashed up from the mountains.

Dean, Sam and Bobby were all seated around the dining table; Dean was digging into a helping of apple pie as Karen fussed over us all.

"Mmmm… mmmm!" Dean said, swallowing a mouthful of apple and smiling at Karen. "This is incredible, Mrs. Singer."

"Thank you, Dean," she smiled back at him, moving to place another piece of pie on an empty plate in front of Bobby.

Sam frowned at Dean's enthusiastic comment and Dean flashed him a pointed look. "What?" He asked, looking at the pie. "It is."

"It's great, Karen," Bobby said as Karen served him his share of the pie. "Thanks. Could you, um, just give us a minute?"

Karen nodded, flashing the boys a smile before leaving the library and closing the pocket doors into to the kitchen. As soon as she was gone, the boys pounced.

"Are you crazy?!" Dean asked. "What the hell?"

"Dean, I can explain," Bobby placated.

"Explain what? Lying to us? Or the American girl zombie making cupcakes in your kitchen?!" Dean snapped.

Bobby glared at Dean, leaning in with a warning glance. "First of all, that's my wife, so watch it."

"Bobby, whatever that thing is in there, it is not your wife," Sam pointed out.

"And how do you know that?" Bobby asked.

"Are you serious?" Sam asked.

"You think I'm an idiot, boy? My dead wife shows up on my doorstep, I'm not gonna test her every way I ever learned?" Bobby chastised. I frowned, dropping off the bed to the floor and moving to sit at the remaining seat by the table.

"She doesn't look like anything we've ever seen," I pointed out. "They almost look… normal… yet…" Not. There was something off about it.

"So what is it? Zombies? Revenant?" Dean asked.

"Hell if I can tell. She's got no scars, no wounds, no reaction to salt, silver, holy water…"

"Just like you," I said to Dean, swallowing hard.

"Uh, I think it's a lot different to me!" Dean protested. "We now know what raised me, and why." He turned to Bobby.

"Bobby, she crawled out of her coffin," Dean muttered.

"No, she didn't. I cremated her. Somehow, some way, she's back," Bobby replied. I felt my gut sink.

"That's impossible," I said.

"Tell me about it," Bobby agreed.

"You bury her ashes?" Sam asked.

"Yeah," Bobby said. "In the cemetery. That's where they all rose from."

Dean locked eyes with mine. "You thinking what I'm thinking? Your favourite movie," he joked, grinning at me. "Good old Pet Cemetery."

I shuddered. "Shut up Dean, this isn't funny."

"You're right," Sam agreed. "It's not."

"How many have risen?" I asked Bobby. We had to get a handle on this before it got worse.

"15, 20, I made a list," he said, reaching into his shirt pocket and pulling out a piece of paper, handing it to Sam. "Uh, there's Karen... Clay... Sheriff Mills – her little boy came back."

"And there's been no signs?" I asked, "no omens?"

"Well, there were the lightning storms," Bobby said. Dean threw his hand in the air, dropping it back on to the table in frustration.

"That's what we said. What else?" He asked.

Bobby looked around the table at all of us, seeing that he wasn't going to get away with sticking his head in the sand. With a couple pushes on his chair, he was at the desk and reaching for a large, old Bible. I recognised it from years of flipping through its dusty pages.

Turning to a page where he'd bookmarked with a post-it note, Bobby started to read.

"And through the fire stood before me a pale horse. And he that sat atop him carried a scythe, and I saw since he had risen…"

I cut in, I knew it. "and they, too, shall rise," I finished, "and from him and through him. It's Revelations."

"So, what, Death is behind this?" Dean asked, frowning.

"Death, Death? Like "Grim Reaper" death?" Sam asked.

"It would make sense," I said with a short nod. "We've had War… Famine…"

"Yeah," Bobby agreed.

Dean wearily ran his hand over his eyes, rubbing at them. I could feel the exhaustion, the resignation rippling off him. "Awesome. Another horseman. Must be Thursday."

"Bobby…" Sam said, standing up and walking around to the desk, picking up the bible where it had been placed back down. "Why would Death raise 15 people in a podunk town like Sioux Falls?"

"I don't know," Bobby said with a shrug.

"You know, if Death is behind this, then whatever these things are... it's not good," Dean said. He looked at Bobby, seeing the reality sink in. I bit my lip, my heart breaking at the vulnerable look on Bobby's face. "You know what we have to do here," Dean added.

"She doesn't remember anything, you know," Bobby said.

"What do you mean?" I asked, looking up sharply.

"Being possessed, attacking Cole… me killing her... her coming back," Bobby replied.

"Bobby…" Dean said.

"No, no, don't "Bobby" me," came the reply, Bobby's face twisting into a resigned look. "Just... just listen, okay?" He tilted his head toward the kitchen. In the other room we could hear Karen moving around, humming to herself.

"She hums when she cooks."

"Yeah?" Dean asked softly.

"She always... used to hum when she cooked. Tone deaf as all hell, but... And I never thought I would hear it again."

I sucked in a short breath at the comment, Dean turned to look at me and I bit my lip. I knew exactly what Bobby was going through. The DVD of us that Dean had made for me on our honeymoon, had been the only thing getting me through the time he'd been in Hell. And yet it almost broke me, the reminder of what was missing from my life when he was gone. I didn't want to think about losing him ever again.

"Look, just read Revelation," Bobby said. "Beth, you know it inside out, you know the dead rise during the apocalypse. There's nothing in there that says that's bad! Hell, maybe it's the one good thing that comes out of this whole bloody mess."

"And what would you do if you were us?" Dean was asking.

"I know what I'd do. And I know what you think you got to do. But... I'm begging you. Please. Please. Leave her be," Bobby said, his voice breaking and tears welling in his eyes.

Diner

We'd gotten out of there. It was too much to take, and seeing Bobby beg for Karen's life wasn't doing any of us any good.

I was sitting next to Dean at the diner's counter, my hands wrapped around my coffee mug as I stared into the milky brown substance. I desperately needed the caffeine to clear my sleep deprived head, and beside me Dean stifled a yawn as he nursed his own coffee.

"So, what are you thinking?" He asked, looking at me.

I swallowed hard before I raised my eyes up to his. I was choking on the whole thing, and I knew it.

"I don't know Dean…" I started. "I mean, if it were you, and the situation reversed…"

"You'd do what had to be done," he insisted.

"Would I?" I questioned. "I'm not so sure about that. I keep thinking back to when you were in Hell. I'd have done anything… anything, to get you back. And you just showed up on my doorstep…not all that different to this…"

Dean bit his lip and reached out to take my shaking hands in his.

"... I don't know Dean," I whispered. "I don't know that I could do it."

"This is different," he said.

"How?" I asked. "Because an angel raised you?" He nodded.

"We don't know that this is all that different."

"They've been raised by Death," he countered. "Death isn't an angel."

"Did you see Bobby's face?" I changed the subject, looking down at Dean's hand holding mine. "Haven't we been through enough?"

He didn't have an answer for me. We sat, looking at each other forlornly while Sam returned to his seat after having been to the bathroom.

"So, what do you think?" Sam asked, his gaze taking in our whole demeanour.

Dean sighed, squeezing my hand lightly before picking up his mug again.

"There's nothing to think about," he said. "I'm not gonna leave Bobby at home with the bride of Frankenstein."

"Then what do you want to do? Just walk in there in front of Bobby and blow her skull off?" Sam asked with an amused look.

"He's likely to blow ours off - or am I the only one who remembers the day Bobby found out about Dad and Cole?" I asked. We'd all been a little shocked to return home to Bobby waving a shotgun at John, while Cole had been packing her truck.

Dean frowned at me, and then shook his head. "If she decides that Bobby's face is the blue plate special, I'd like to be there."

"Well, I can't even think straight I'm so tired," I said in resignation. "If we're at Bobby's we can maybe at least get in a nap."

"Fine," Sam said with a nod. "You guys head back, I'll see what else I can find out."

Bobby's Salvage Yard

I hadn't made it to the bedroom. Dean had decided to stake out the house from the salvage yard, and parked in amongst the scrap metal and abandoned vehicles. The sun was out when we arrived, and I was taking advantage of how unseasonably warm it was by lying on the front of the car, head up on the windshield. Beside me, Dean was leaning against the Impala, staring at the house.

"Who would have ever thought this place would be like home to us?" He asked randomly, and I chuckled with my eyes closed against the warm sun.

"There's a lot of things I never thought I'd be doing when I was a teenager, that I do now…"

Dean reached out and pulled on my legs, drawing me across the hood of the car with strong, confident hands.

"Eeek! What are you doing?" I laughed, opening my eyes and instinctively putting my hands out to catch myself on his shoulders as he drew my legs apart and then wrapped them around his waist. He grinned, and leaned in to kiss me now that he had me pressed up against him.

"This," he answered, his lips pressing to mine in a firm, decisive kiss.

"Mmm," I murmured into his lips, wrapping my arms around his neck and pulling him slightly closer. "I like this."

"Uh huh," Dean agreed, tipping my chin up slightly to deepen the kiss.

Suddenly we sensed movement to my left, and jumped - me letting out a slight squeal of surprise - when Karen appeared beside us with a smile.

"Oops. Did I scare you?" She asked, looking kindly from me to Dean as he hurriedly pulled away from me and ran a sheepish hand through his hair.

"No. No. No. There's... nothing scary about you at all," he said with slight sarcasm.

"Feel like some lunch?" Karen asked.

"Uh... we're good. Thanks," Dean replied.

She smirked dismissively at him and inclined her head toward the house, starting to walk away. "Come on, there's more pie."

I exchanged a confused look with Dean and slid off the car.

"Um, I'm not sure that Bobby wants us inside," I said, moving to stand next to Dean.

Karen stopped and smiled back at us. "Guess it'll have to be our secret, then, huh? Come on."

Inside, Bobby was asleep in the armchair in the library. Karen ushered us into the kitchen and cut a piece of cherry pie for Dean, presenting it to him on a plate. She slid the doors to the kitchen closed and Dean leaned up against a desk that had been moved to make room for the dining table in the library.

Karen smiled, passing me a plate of pie as well, and I returned the smile, glancing around the kitchen. Every surface had a pie on it, or the beginnings of one. I frowned, considering this scene.

Dean took a bite of his pie and cleared his throat after swallowing. "I'm gonna go out on a limb and guess that you like pies. Did you bake all these?"

"I don't know what it is. Since I got back, I can't stop baking," Karen said.

Obsessive behaviours linked to the past, I thought. Routines that we held onto in life.

"You bake all these from scratch? When do you find time to sleep?" I asked.

"I don't. Must be the excitement," Karen said.

Well, at least that explained the 4am pie baking.

"Or being dead," Dean replied, deadpan.

Karen paused at the bench where she was rolling out pastry. I watched her hesitate, her hands shaking slightly as she contemplated her reply.

"I know you don't trust me," she said, turning around to look at Dean.

"Why would you say that?" He asked.

"Come on, Dean. That's why you're here, isn't it? Keeping an eye on me? I know who you are. Just like I know Bobby's not the same mild-mannered scrap dealer I married. You hunt things…" She glanced at Dean and then me. She was exceptionally calm, as if she'd been giving this all a lot of thought.

"I – I'm a thing. I get it," she said.

"So then you know that Sam, and Beth, and I would never let anything happen to Bobby. That he's like a father to us," Dean said.

"I understand. And he's lucky to have you looking out for him, Dean. But you're not the only one," she replied.

"Is that so?" He said.

"That's right," a voice sounded behind me from the other doorway into the hall. I jumped, silently cursing myself that she'd managed to sneak up on me. I turned to see Cole leaning up against the wall, arms crossed over her chest.

"Cole?" I asked. "When did you get here?"

"A few hours ago," she said, taking a deep breath. "Dad… and Mom… they filled me in on what's going on around here."

"Yeah well, that's just peachy," Dean muttered. "And… you're on board with all this?" He put his pie down on the table and moved toward Cole and I.

"On board with what, Dean?" Cole countered, her eyes flashing. "With my Mom being alive?"

"With your mom being a zombie," Dean pushed.

"Guys…" I felt myself shrinking in the wake of their bravado.

"Dad's tested her!" Cole retorted. "She's not anything we've ever seen before!"

"That doesn't mean this is a good thing!" Dean snapped.

"Yeah? Well, I'll tell you one thing Dean, you're gonna have to go through me!"

"Don't tempt me," he growled.

"Just like your father," Cole snarled back. "If he were here… if it were him standing in front of you…"

"I'd be saying the exact same thing, sometimes dead things should stay dead!" Dean cut in.

Cole sucked in a breath and scowled at him before looking at me.

"Well… I guess it's a good thing Beth never felt the same way, isn't it?" She said, her voice going cold and hard.

"You guys, this isn't the time," I said softly, biting on my lip.

"This isn't the same thing," Dean added, though I could see him wavering. His eyes darted toward me, then over to Karen. He ran a frustrated hand over his face and sighed, turning back to Karen.

"I remember everything, you know," Karen said, cutting in, drawing our attention away from the conflict. "When I died. That demon taking over my body... and the things it made me do." She looked sorrowfully at Cole. "How it made me attack my beautiful baby girl."

Cole looked pained and pushed past me to hug her mother. "It's okay Mom."

Karen took a moment to wrap her arms around Cole, burying her face in the woman's rich blonde curls. After a few deep breaths she pulled back, nodding at Cole.

"Bobby had no choice but to... Well, you know what he did. But I can see it in his eyes when he looks at me. The guilt. It weighs on him."

"So why don't you just tell him you remember?" Dean asked. My mouth twitched upwards.

Karen smiled at him indulgently. "He's my husband. My job is to bring him peace... not pain." She looked over at me.

"If the situation were reversed, wouldn't you want to save Beth from having to live with that kind of guilt? To save her the hurt you were going through? That's what love does, Dean."

It was exactly the same reason Dean hadn't told us about his Hell memories, until it had become apparent there was more to it than he was letting on. Sighing, Dean nodded and crossed his arms unhappily.

"Okay, fine. But this isn't normal," he said, looking at me. "Let's go find Sam, I need some air."

Diner

We'd met Sam in town after he'd been going around to the homes of some of the people who had risen. He'd just narrowly escaped a rabid Mrs Jones when the woman had launched herself at him, trying to chew his face off.

"I'm telling you guys, this is bad news," Sam said, leaning heavily on the table.

"Okay, slow down, tell us what happened," I said, reaching out a hand to pat him on the arm.

"Okay," Sam said, sucking in a breath and falling silent as the waitress brought us the coffees we'd ordered. When she left, Sam looked from me to Dean, and shook his head.

"So I went to a couple of these people's places - most of them were fine. Living normal, ordinary lives, aside from the fact that they were dead a week ago."

"Right, so no indications of anything bad?" I asked.

"At first, no, I mean even the Sheriff and her little boy… I saw them through a window, they were all sitting on a couch and reading a book," Sam replied.

"Yeah, but not Mrs Jones?" Dean asked, frowning as he took it all in.

"No. She was… sick, or something?" Sam said. "There was blood on the front step when I got there, so I let myself in expecting the worst. I found her in the living room on a daybed, coughing - she looked like she had the flu or something."

"Huh," I said, sipping on my coffee. "Did she talk to you?"

"Barely. She couldn't get a word out, kept gesturing for me to come closer," Sam replied

"Well that ain't ever gonna end well," Dean chimed in. Sam chuckled and nodded at his brother.

"That's exactly what I said! And before I know it, she's pushed me across the room and jumped on me, all teeth and … drool." Sam grimaced, wiping his perfectly clean face, as if he was reliving the moment when she'd slobbered all over him.

"She was rabid," Sam said. "I had to shoot her in the head. And when she fell down on the floor, that's when I saw the husband."

"Dead?" Dean asked.

"Eaten," Sam said, taking a big gulp of his coffee.

"Ew," Dean said, grimacing. "Oh I'm glad that was you and not me."

"Yeah, thanks," Sam said, sighing. "So… what about you guys, you find anything?"

Dean shook his head and leaned back in the booth, groaning.

"Well, Wonder Woman is on the scene, all hellfire and brimstone," he said.

"Cole?" Sam asked. "Cole's here?"

"At the house," I said with a nod. "She arrived a few hours ago."

"How is she?" Sam asked.

"How do you think she is?" Dean asked. "She's delusional, just like Bobby."

Sam sighed.

"Yeah, it doesn't look good. We should check some of the other people on this list," he replied.

"It's getting dark," I pointed out as the sun started to dip below the horizon. "We should probably talk to Bobby and Cole first."

"Oh I am not looking forward to that conversation," Dean muttered. His scowl turned to a smile as the waitress walked over, balancing three burgers on plates which she placed in front of us.

"Thank you very much," Dean said, reaching for his almost immediately. "Hello beautiful," he added to the burger. "Have you missed me?"

Sam and I laughed, watching as he took a big bite, relishing the delicate balance of flavours.

"Oh… mmmm… this is…" Dean talked around his mouthful of food. "Heaven."

Bobby's House - later

"Keep your damn voices down. Karen's upstairs with JJ," Bobby said as we all piled into the library.

"JJ?" I asked, looking out the archway to the stairs. "Is Cole with them?"

"Yeah, she is. What the hell is wrong with you lot?"

Dean scowled at him, lowering his voice as he took a step closer to Bobby.

"Oh, I'm sorry. We're a little tense right now. Who's old lady Jones?"

Bobby stopped short, facing us and frowning. "The first one to come up."

That had been what we suspected. There hadn't been much order to Bobby's list, but old Mrs Jones had been at the top of it. I'd assumed that he'd written them down in order of their rising.

"First one to go bad," Sam pointed out the obvious.

Bobby waved it off with a huff. "Ah, she was always a nutty broad."

"Nutty how?" Dean countered. "Nutty like the way she ate her husband's stomach? Was that the level of nutty she was in life?"

"No," he said softly.

It was a low blow, but had to be done. Bobby hadn't heard the news, and as it sank in, we could see the shift in his attitude.

I heard the creak in the bottom stair, and turned to see Cole listening in. She had her arms crossed over her body, a wariness to her posture as she moved silently into the library.

"Look, Bobby, I feel for you. But you have got to acknowledge that you're not exactly seeing this straight!" Dean pushed.

"Bobby, whether you admit it or not, these things are turning. We have to stop them – all of them," Sam added.

"Sam's right," Dean agreed. "This is about to all go bad, we're sitting on a ticking time bomb here."

"Dean, I don't care what you think, this is my family you're talking about. And I'm warning you, make one move to hurt my mom… I'll put you back in the ground myself, you hearing me?" Cole threatened, her eyes dark.

Without warning Bobby pulled a gun out from beside him in the chair and resting it on his lap.

I pushed off from where I'd been leaning against the door and frowned.

"Bobby what are you doing?" I asked.

"Time to go," he announced. The look on his face was chilling, he was dead serious.

"What?" Dean questioned,his mouth dropping open with a look of surprise.

"You heard me," Bobby said. "Off my property."

My heart was racing. This wasn't the first time we'd had that kind of ultimatum here, but the last time it had been John on the receiving end, not us.

"Or what? You'll shoot?" Sam asked sadly.

It seemed absurd!

"If Karen turns, I will handle it my way," Bobby's voice was stilted, and he clearly was struggling to keep a handle on his temper.

"This is dangerous," Dean said.

"He's right," I agreed, turning to look at Cole. "For God's sake Cole, think of JJ… "

"We're fine," Cole insisted, and I saw her reach to the back of her jeans, and pull out her own pistol, holding it beside her leg.

Dean scowled and moved to put himself between me and Cole, glaring at her.

"You want to start aiming that thing around Cole, you better make real sure you know who you're dealing with," he said darkly.

"Dean…" I reached out, touching his arm and shaking my head.

Bobby cocked his gun, the click rang out in the room.

"I'm not telling you twice," he said.

"Okay fine," Dean said. "We're going. But when this all goes pear shaped, it's on you Shortstack!" He punctuated the statement by pointing his finger at Cole.

"I sure hope you know what you're doing," Sam said sadly.

"Cole," I said, turning to her. "Don't leave JJ alone with her, huh? You're putting him in danger."

"Don't tell me how to parent my own kid Beth," Cole snapped. "You've got no idea what you're talking about."

"At least I'm thinking about your kid!" I retorted, stepping past Dean toward her.

Crack!

The sound of Cole's hand connecting with my cheek resounded through the room. Dean's arms, trembling with tension, came around me and he pushed me sideways into the hallway. He looked as if he might kill Cole, so I shook my head slightly at him and gripped his arm tightly so he wouldn't leave my side.

"What the hell?" Sam exclaimed.

"Get out," Cole said, this time she raised her gun at Dean and I.

"Watch yourself sister," Dean threatened.

I tossed Cole a furious look, saying, "so much family..." It was a low blow, and Bobby's face crumpled at the comment, but I was done. "I guess blood really is thicker..."

I didn't wait for a reply. I pulled away from Dean and walked out the front door toward the car. I didn't look back, not this time.

Suddenly this place didn't feel like home at all. It was just a mountain of painful memories - and I couldn't get away fast enough.

Impala

As soon as we were out of the salvage yard and down the road half a mile, Dean pulled over to the side of the road, reaching out to touch cup my still stinging cheek in his hand.

"You okay?"

"That was crazy!" Sam said from the back.

"I swear I'm gonna…"

"I'm okay," I cut in. I felt like my heart was breaking in two. But we had a job to do.

Dean moved his hand to get me to look at him, watching with eyes full of concern. I stared back at him, feeding all my emotions into that exchange and after a moment he sighed.

"I'm sorry," he whispered.

"It's okay," I whispered back.

"None of this is okay," Sam muttered, sitting back in his seat and running a hand through his hair. "So they go Full Metal Jacket on us? We're their family.."

"Not anymore," I said quietly.

"Okay, let's not get carried away," Dean said, looking back at Sam. "Family is family, whether we're talking or not."

"So what now?" Sam asked. "Do we go back there?"

"No," Dean said with a short shake of his head. "The way I see it, there's two of them and one zombie. They're hunters, they can handle this. And we got a bunch of zombies about to turn this town into a giant chew toy,"

"So, then we head to town and rescue everyone else?" Sam asked.

"Sounds like," Dean snorted.

"It's a big list, we're gonna need some help," Sam said.

"We can talk to the Sheriff," I offered. If nothing else, she'd at least seemed fairly competent at her job.

"Uh, last time I checked, the sheriff was pretty pro-zombie," Sam commented, looking at me.

"Well, I guess we'll just have to convince her," I said with a smile. "Use those puppy dog eyes to our advantage Sammy."

Sam rolled his eyes at the comment, but leaned forward with a smile. "Okay then. We stick together, let's do this."

Sheriff Mills' House

As we pulled up to the house it was quiet outside. The front porch light was on, and the curtains to the living room were still open. Inside, we could see the Sheriff's son silhouetted against a light inside. It was hard to make out what was going on, but the way the kid was standing, moving, was enough to put Sam on high alert.

"Come on," he said, getting out of the back seat quickly and approaching the door.

Dean and I climbed out, going to the trunk and opening the armory. Shotguns, they would come in handy, it was as if we were reading each other's minds. But in reality, we'd just done this so much over the years that it was second nature.

"I know you're not okay," Dean said, opening the barrel and emptying it of rock salt shells, only to replace the bullets with real ones.

"Dean…"

"We'll talk about it later," he added. I stopped what I was doing and looked at him through watery eyes.

"Okay," I whispered back.

"Dammit," he cursed, wrapping his free arm around me and pulling me in to plant a kiss against my forehead. "I'm sorry, that was not right..."

I sniffed back the hurt, and nodded, closing my eyes for a moment as I leaned in to him. "Yeah, but she's hurting too."

"It's not an excuse," he answered curtly.

I looked up and smiled at him, getting a smile in return. Just as Sam and Mills came running out of the house, Sam practically pushing her as she frantically tried to go back inside.

"My husband!"

"Leave it!" Sam said, holding her. "He's dead!"

She froze, sucking in a breath as Dean and I joined them.

"That was not my son!" Mills said.

"You're right. It wasn't," Sam said.

"Listen, Sheriff. Your town is in danger. People are in danger, and we need to help them now," Dean cut in, straight to the point.

"Can you do that for us?" Sam asked as the Sheriff shook her head in combined disbelief and horror. "Can you focus for me, Sheriff?"

Mills was glancing furiously between the house and the street, to the car, to Sam, and then back to the house. She ran a hand through her hair, pulling on it as if it were the only thing keeping her sane.

"Sheriff?" I asked gently, putting a hand on her arm. "Are you with us?"

Mills seemed to snap out of her thoughts with the contact, and looked at me, then asked "how do we put them down?

"Head shot," Sam replied.

Mills nodded, and then finally seemed to kick into officer mode. "We're gonna need weapons," she said. Dean and I held our shotguns in the air and shrugged.

"We can start by rounding up everybody we can find," Sam suggested. "Where is there a safe place we can take people?"

Mills thought about it for a moment and then replied, "jail."

"Right," I said with a nod. "Good."

"Yeah," Sam agreed. "Just, um…" He hesitated, taking out his gun and looking sadly at the Sheriff. "...give me a minute."

Mills looked as if she was going to argue for a moment, taking a step toward Sam. I thought maybe she wanted to do it herself, but then she stopped, looking down at the gun in Sam's hands.

I looked at Dean who was frowning at the thought of what had to happen next. He seemed to breathe a sigh of relief when the Sheriff stepped back, nodding for Sam to continue.

"Come on," I said as Sam walked toward the house. "We'll drive you to the station."

As we turned to the Impala a gunshot was heard coming from the house. I jumped, as did Mills, a startled gasp escaping her mouth as she blinked back tears.

Police Station

Sam had taken control of the situation, which was not common for us. Dean was uncharacteristically quiet. He'd called Bobby once we got there, but hadn't gotten an answer. He was on the phone to Cole this time, I didn't expect her to pick up any more than Bobby had.

Mills had the cabinet in the rear of the station open, and was taking out guns for the people in the room. I stared at the mismatched group of people- anything from young teens, to parents, to children and elderly and a handful of able-bodied adults who might actually be able to get the job done.

"All right, if I hand you a gun and you see a dead person, I don't care if it's your friend, your neighbor, or your wife, you shoot for the head. That's the only way we survive," he said, and as he finished he handed a rifle to the man next to him.

"Uh, you mind telling us who the hell you are?" He asked.

"Friend of Bobby Singer's," Sam replied with a smile.

The man smirked. "Town drunk."

Sam's smile dropped. "No, I – I thought… he was the town drunk," he said, nodding at Digger Wells who was sitting in a chair.

"Who told you that?" The man asked.

"Bobby Singer…." Sam said. You could have heard a pin drop it was such a strange comment to make. Clearly no one in Sioux Falls saw Bobby the way we did; and that was exactly the point, I told myself.

"Okay, everyone stay sharp," Sam announced, grabbing his gun from the desk he'd left it sitting on. "I'll watch the front door."

With that Dean started walking toward the back of the station and I followed behind.

"What makes you think they're going to come after us here?" I asked as we took position by the exit.

"I have no idea," he replied. "There's a lot of people in town…"

We fell silent for a moment, watching as Sam stalked through the room behind us, checking windows. He met our gaze and shook his head.

It was dead.

"You know, the last time we were in a situation like this… I was asking you to marry me," Dean said with a grin. "In fact, that was almost 2 years ago to the day."

I gaped at him.

"What?" He asked, suddenly looking a little self-conscious.

I chuckled and leaned in to kiss his cheek. "You never cease to amaze me," I whispered softly.

He blushed slightly, a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth as he looked down at his feet. It was as if he knew he'd done something right, something he thought he got wrong most of the time - but nothing could have been further from the truth.

I looked out the window of the door again and sighed. "Something's not right."

Suddenly Dean's phone started ringing, and he pulled it out of his pocket, looking curiously at me as he flipped it open. "This better be good Cole."

There was a pause, and then I saw panic cross his face.

"Wait, wait wait… JJ… what's going on?"

My head shot up and Dean's eyes narrowed. "Okay, just sit tight, all right? We're on our way."

As he hung up the phone he shared a worried look with me, calling out "Sammy!"

Sam appeared near us with a questioningly look, the Sheriff beside him.

"Time to go," Dean said. "They're not coming here."

"Well where are they?" Sam asked.

I was already pushing through the doors, heading toward the Impala.

"Where do you think?" Dean replied, hurrying to the car and sliding into the driver seat. Sam and Mills followed, and got in the back seat, I joined Dean in the front with a heightened sense of urgency. The night seemed vast and angry, and we were too far from the fight.

Bobby's House

The ground was littered with corpses when we arrived. Bobby's van was abandoned, Dean giving it a quick search over. It was too quiet - no gunfire, nothing.

"Where are they?" I asked, looking around, my shotgun pressed to my shoulder in ready for an attack.

"Check inside," Dean said. "Sam, Sheriff, you guys check the perimeter."

I didn't wait for further instructions, moving quickly up the steps. Steady. Careful. We didn't know what we were about to walk into.

Dean motioned for me to move down the hallway toward the kitchen, and he veered to the side to go through the library.

There was a commotion ahead, and my heart started to thunder in my chest. I rounded the hallway to the end of the line, where an old broom closet was located, and saw a good dozen people clamoring at the door.

Movement to my left, I swung the gun to find myself face to face with Dean, holding his hand up in warning. I let out a breath and dropped the gun, flashing him a look of relief. He then looked to the closet, we were completely invisible to the group of zombies hellbent on getting past the door in front of them.

Then the door opened, and I saw Cole raising the butt of a shotgun and hitting people in the face. She was clearly out of ammo.

"Get down!" Dean yelled, taking a step closer. He waited for Cole to duck back into the closet, and then shot the nearest zombie in the back of the head.

I took aim, letting out a breath and then squeezing the trigger on the nearest zombie to me. One by one, we took them all out. They didn't even turn around, focused solely on the people in the cupboard. It made it easy for us - the zombies were all dead inside of thirty seconds.

Then dead silence.

I caught my breath, watching as Cole stood up and looked tentatively out the door. Beside her, Bobby was in his wheelchair, looking pale and panicked. After a moment, JJ stuck his head up from behind Bobby, I breathed a sigh of relief when I saw his scraggly blonde hair.

"You okay?" Dean asked,

Cole nodded wordlessly, then reached out for JJ, drawing him close to her. Next to them, Bobby was staring out in silent horror.

I looked at the three of them in the closet, then all the bodies at their feet and I felt nothing but pain. I couldn't speak to them, I simply had to get out.

Reassured that JJ was safe, I turned on my heel and walked out of the house. And I kept walking, I didn't stop until I reached the car. I climbed into the familiar front seat and I sunk down low, still holding my gun for safety, but allowing myself to fade into the darkness of the Impala, and the safety it offered.

Next Day

Cemetery

Daylight had not shed any light on my mood. Dean, Sam, Mills and the townsfolk had worked hard, building a huge pyre in the cemetery, and then going on systematic searches of the town to make sure that we had killed all the zombies.

I found it hard to move.

Only when the fire was lit did I climb out of the Impala, walking over to where Dean was standing with Sheriff Mills and Sam. They were all staring at the flames as they licked their way up the thick wood to the wrapped corpses on top of the structure.

Seeing me approach, Dean smiled and wrapped his arm around my waist, pulling me into his body. I welcomed the warmth, slipping my arm under his jacket and around him.

"Well, if there's any zombies left out there, we can't find them," he informed me, before turning back to the fire.

"How are the townspeople?" I asked, looking over at Mills.

"Pretty freaked out. Hell, traumatised," she replied with a shrug. "A few of them are calling the papers. As far as I can tell, nobody's believed 'em yet."

Dean nodded; this was nothing we hadn't seen before. Sometimes it was a good thing that people didn't know what went bump in the dark, it made it easier to cover up the truth when it bared it's ugly teeth.

"Would you?" Sam asked Mills, smiling a little wistfully. She immediately shook her head negatively.

"How are you holding up?" Sam questioned after a moment.

Mills opened her mouth to speak, tears welling in her eyes as she contemplated what to say. She shook her head a couple of times, looking back at Sam before shrugging softly.

Sam's soft brown eyes looked back at her sadly, and we all fell silent. There was nothing to say. It was all too hard.

"Is that everyone?" I asked finally, looking at the fire.

"All but one," Sam replied softly.

He was talking about Karen, of course. After we'd rescued Bobby, Cole and JJ from the onslaught of zombies, Bobby had kept her body there - and when we'd left to see to the rest of the town, Cole had been busily building the funeral pyre for her in the salvage yard.

Salvage Yard - Bobby's House

By the time we got to Bobby's, Cole and JJ were nowhere to be seen. I didn't know if they were in the house, or if she'd done a runner like she often did.

Right now, I didn't much care.

I couldn't go close to the pyre. It was all a bit too real after having burned John's body like we had. I stood back, sitting on the hood of an old car, hovering on the periphery as Dean and Sam joined Bobby at the smaller fire with Karen's body on it.

They were silent for a moment, shoulders slumped on all three of the men as if they weight of the world were bearing down on them.

Finally, Bobby spoke, turning his head sideways to look from Dean to Sam. "So, thinking maybe I should apologize for losing my head back there."

"Bobby, you don't owe us anything," Sam said.

"Hey, look, I can't even imagine what you're going through, but... At least you got to spend five days with her, right?" Dean asked.

Bobby sighed. "Right. Which makes things about a thousand times worse. She was the love of my life. How many times do I got to kill her?"

"Are you gonna be okay, Bobby?" Sam said, his eyes worried cast at the man in the wheelchair.

I bit my lip, watching him. He shook his head ever so slightly. It was devastating. I knew what it was like to lose the love of your life, I knew I wouldn't have done anything different to what he'd done. I wasn't angry with Bobby - not really - I was hurt. But then again, weren't we all?

"You boys should know... Karen told me why Death was here." Bobby said, avoiding the question.

"What do you mean?"

"I know why he took a stroll through a cemetery in the sticks of South Dakota," Bobby replied. "He came for me."

I sat up and paid attention, but I didn't go closer. I was frozen to the spot.

"What do you mean, you?" Dean asked, frowning.

"Death came for me. He brought Karen back to send me a message."

"You? Why you?" Dean pressed.

"Because I've been helping you, you sons of bitches," Bobby said, looking up at Sam. "I'm one of the reasons you're still saying no to Lucifer, Sam."

Everyone paused, Dean's brow creasing as he mulled this statement over.

"So this was like a hit on your life?" He asked after a moment.

"I don't know if they wanted to take my life or... my spirit. Either way, they wanted me out of the way," Bobby said.

"But you're gonna be all right. Right, Bobby?" Sam asked.

I couldn't hear any more.

The part about taking our spirit was more than I could contemplate right now. I wondered if Bobby could get past this… it was almost as if we had all been through more than we could bare. Even Cole.

With the thought of JJ and his mother, I took a deep breath and moved away from the pyre. No one moved to follow, and for this I was grateful.

I rounded a pile of cars in the familiar scrap yard, making my way to the makeshift gym in the old shed at the back of the property. Behind it was the garden Sam had created for Dean and I after our baby had died.

I fell to my knees in front of the magnolia tree he'd planted.

Too many years of pain and hurt.

I knew if I dug I'd find the capsule of my son's ashes. And suddenly I knew what I had to do. But I was so tired. I leaned forward, pressing my forehead to the ground. Most of the year it was grass, but this was February. There was nothing but dirt and dried leaves. I inhaled deeply of the mustiness beneath me, the dank wet ground seeping into my knees and my soul.

Beside me a shovel dug into the ground, and I looked up to see Dean.

"You might need this," he said quietly.

"How did you know?" I asked, looking at the baby angel statue covering where I'd need to dig.

"I know you," he replied simply. "And this..." he gestured to our surroundings. "... it's not home anymore."

I wouldn't cry, I told myself. I wouldn't subject myself to the pain that the last few hours had put me through.

I felt empty inside, as if I'd had everything I'd ever known ripped out of me. I nodded, looking up at the one person who'd always been there for me, my rock.

"So let's take our baby home," he said after a moment, leaning down to kiss my forehead.

Dean helped me to my feet, and then took up the shovel, ramming it into the ground. It wouldn't take long to reach the ashes. Sam rounded the corner, a range of emotions passing across his face at the sight before him.

"You need some help?" He asked finally, coming to put his arm around my shoulders and squeezing me against him. "Are you okay?"

I smiled and nodded, putting my head against his shoulder and leaning into him.

"We will be," I said after a moment.

"What about Cole? Bobby?" He asked. "This seems kind of final."

I watched Dean dig into the ground and then finally spoke. "Another time. They did what they had to do, and now I'm doing what I have to."

Sam's expression was tinged with sadness. This was not the first time he'd had to choose between his blood family, and the one Bobby provided us. Last time it had been Bobby, it had been Stanford, and rightly so. This time, I was glad he was sticking to us.

"Okay," Sam said after a while, thinking it over. "Whatever you need to do."

Dean lifted the small urn of ashes out of the hole, passing them to me, and then quickly covered the hole in. Sam watched all of this with a pained expression, as if he wanted to apologise yet again for his part in Patrick Jr's death, yet couldn't find the words.

"It's okay Sam," I whispered. "Come on."

With a nod, Dean picked up the angel statue, and together we all returned to the Impala. Sam took the ashes and settled into the back seat with them and the statue, leaving the front seat for me.

I pulled a blanket out of the trunk, and wrapped it around me in an effort to shut out the chill that was seeping into my bones.

"Did you want to say good bye?" Dean asked, nodding to the house where obviously Bobby had returned.

I swallowed, looking up at the front porch and shook my head.

"No."

I couldn't help but feel as if we'd turned a corner in our lives. One that had left us hanging on to old sentiment which would do us harm. I couldn't be angry at Bobby, he was hurting as much as any of us - and I would call him in a day or two.

Cole was another matter. Her pain was destructive when she lost control. I thought about how she'd pushed us away in the wake of John's death. Hellbent on her own personal crusade to save him from Hell. We'd done that, his soul was free of eternal damnation, just as Dean was. But he wasn't coming back, and Cole wasn't letting go.

I couldn't be a part of that self-destructive path right now.

Dean was right, we'd come around eventually, but not today.

Silently he nodded, and held the door as I climbed into the front, slipping down in the seat and snuggling into the blanket.

-EPILOGUE-

Blue Earth, Minnesota

Sam's POV

When we'd left Sioux Falls I'd had no idea where we were going. I should not have been surprised to find Dean point us to Blue Earth. This was as much a home to us in our childhood, as Bobby's had been. It had been where Dean and Beth first met, where they had married, where she had come to grieve when he went to Hell.

I suppose in my own selfishness, I'd forgotten that it had also been their home when they'd tried to leave hunting behind. It had been their refuge from the world until I'd pulled them back in.

Since Pastor Jim's death, the church had sat unattended by the masses. Jefferson had inherited the property from Jim, and he had given it to Dean and Beth when they married. It was a home now, not a church, though the chapel was still kept as it always had been - a welcome addition to the dwelling next door with the main house.

Inside the chapel Beth seemed right at home; almost happy, I could say.

She opened the shutters to the windows, letting the sunlight stream in through the lead-light windows. Even Dean seemed comfortable here.

I watched as they moved about the chapel, working together and placing their baby's ashes under the huge angel statue Beth had always loved so much. It sat atop a heavy wooden table, enclosed with doors, and along with the little baby angel statue, they placed both inside to keep them safe.

After a moment of looking up at the bigger angel statue, Dean took Beth's hand and whispered into her ear. She smiled back at him, and wrapped her arm around him, leaning her head into his shoulder.

I sighed. If only I'd been able to settle down here with them when they'd asked.

We would still be here, living a normal life - just like I'd always wanted.

As I took a few steps toward them, I heard Dean saying something to Beth quietly, looking at her seriously. By the time I reached them he finished with "today, tomorrow and forever."

Beth smiled back at him, kissing him softly. "Today, tomorrow and forever," she repeated after him.

With a start I realised it was the end of their wedding vows.

Then I remembered the date, and I cursed myself for forgetting.

As Dean and Beth turned to look at me, standing awkwardly in the middle of the aisle, I smiled, and then moved to embrace them both.

"Happy anniversary guys," I said. "Welcome home."

AUTHOR'S NOTES

Song is Incomplete by Backstreet Boys

Hope you enjoyed this variation of Dead Men Don't Wear Plaid. And yay, introduction to Jody Mills!

Thanks to everyone who has taken the time to write or review, I appreciate each and every comment.

Life has been busy, but good. And we're moving again in a few months so about to get hectic - not just busy! I will endeavour to get the next episode out as soon as I can :)

Welcome to the new readers - hope you're loving Dean & Beth as much as I do, and welcome to the ship.

As always - please drop me a line or a review and let me know how you liked the chapter. Many many thanks!