A.N. Just a quick short chapter before I go on to the next. I like short chapters, honestly.

Sandy was holding a picture of him. Well, specifically a picture of Dean Winchester, leaning against the hood of the Impala, a rolled up paper bag like a cigar clenched in his teeth, holding his sawed-off against his hip like a gangster.

They had been in a motel parking lot, somewhere in Illinois, and Castiel had become fascinated with taking pictures. Dean had humored him with a pose or two before becoming annoyed with Castiel's desire to photograph his feet, hands, and eyes endlessly. He remembered the last frame had been a shot of him sleeping, shirtless, tangled in bed sheets. At first he'd just shaken his head, but after relentless teasing from Sam, he'd gotten short with Cas and the camera disappeared.

He almost laughed looking at the picture again, before remembering that Sandy was still staring at him and someone was waiting for him outside; Someone who may or may not want to kill him. Demons, angels, angry hunters… didn't matter. He closed his eyes. He realized he could never run far enough.

"Rob? Who is Dean? Is this you in this picture?" Sandy demanded. He'd have to answer her somehow… But what the hell was he supposed to say?

"Who's out there, Sandy?" He asked, his voice very quiet.

"Rob-"

"Who, Sandy? Who is out there?" He repeated, his voice harsh.

She froze, looking at him oddly. "I don't know, some guy who looks like a cop or something. Not too tall, black hair… a trench coat…"

"A trench coat?"

"Yeah… I mean… who wears a trench coat in May in California?"

Dean let out a snort. He rubbed his face and shook his head.

"Rob?" Sandy hissed.

If HE was here, he knew his days in the sun had ended. There was no going back.

"Sandy… That guy is a… an old partner of mine. My brother and I… and him… it was sort of a family business-"

"You were in the mob?" Sandy hissed.

"No, no… nothing like that." Dean let out a sigh. "If he's here for me, its not for a social visit. I have to go back with him. Take up the ropes again."

"Rob, I don't understand…" Sandy frowned.

"I gotta go, Sandy. Tell your dad thanks for everything." Dean stood and picked up his board, turned to look at Sandy, gave her a weak smile and a wink.

"Rob? Rob!" Sandy yelled after him as he pushed the door open and walked out into the shop to face the music.

He stood awkwardly in front of the counter, staring up towards the ceiling, his clear blue eyes fixed on something that probably only he could see. Dean couldn't help but take him in. Same black hair that looked like it hadn't been combed in a while, same five-o-clock shadow, same slightly rumpled clothes… He turned his head slowly to stare when Dean walked out the door. Dean cracked a smile at the look of open surprise on his face.

"You've changed." Castiel said in lieu of a greeting, observing Dean's long hair, bronzed skin, and swim trunks with flip flops outfit.

"You haven't." Dean replied.

"But I have. Just not in ways your eyes could perceive."

"So how does it feel to be one of the big dogs now?"

"I do not feel like a dog, Dean." Castiel frowned.

Dean shook his head and laughed softly. "Come on, Cas. We have a stop to make first." He led Castiel out the door, but only the angel stopped to look back.