AN: Set immediately after season 11, episode 4, Baby, though at this point I don't have any plans to delve into the whole Amara situation. The guys are actually still on the road and trying to get home to the bunker and to Cas, who's recovering from Rowena's mad dog spell.

I know it's been a minute since I put something out here, but writer's block has been dogging me. I have 3 other things I want to write or have promised to write, but they aren't happening. Luckily, Janice is as good at cheerleading as she is at beta-ing.

The quotes at the beginning of each chapter are all from Johann Wolfgang von Goethe because I am a giant nerd. More about Goethe at the end of this chapter.

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The man with insight enough to admit his limitations comes nearest to perfection.

In retrospect, thinking they'd be able to make it all the way back to the bunker with the car the way it was had been a pipe dream. Hell, Sam thought it was a near miracle that they didn't get pulled over. They'd limped along pissing off other drivers by going 45 down the highway ("If I go any faster, shit's gonna start falling off," Dean had said, and Sam couldn't disagree.)

They'd barely gotten into Idaho before Sam had had enough. "Find us some place to stay," he said for at least the fourth time. Dean looked even worse than he had when they'd set out (and that was really saying something) and the whole car trembled with every curve. "And do it before you pass out or the car completely dies."

Dean gave him a half-assed glare that was made even more pathetic by the bruising and swelling all over his face. "I'm not turning around," he said grudgingly, his way of giving in. Sam didn't argue, though they'd just passed a small town.

He pulled his phone and called Cas, putting it on speaker.

"Sam? Is everything alright?"

"Yeah, we're fine," Sam said, not lying too much. Dean made a soft scoffing sound but didn't otherwise disagree. They were alive and relatively unscathed for being immediately post hunt. "The alpha Nachtzher is dead and we're heading back, but the car took a beating. We need to stop and find some place to fix her up before we can get the rest of the way back."

"How can I help?" the angel asked eagerly. He clearly felt guilty as hell for not being with them and for "letting" himself be affected by Rowena's spell. "I could come –"

"No, no. It's okay. Just look something up for me, could you?" Sam said quickly. He knew Cas would do anything to feel useful, but he didn't want him to overextend himself while he was still getting better. "We didn't take (bring??) along Dad's journal, but I'm pretty sure he mentioned a Hunter near where we are right now, a little east of a place called Ontario, Idaho."

Dean eyed Sam, then mouthed "Foster?" Sam nodded. He only vaguely recalled meeting the man when he was very small, but according to Dad's journal, he'd helped Foster out a few times. There was even a phone number next to his name on the page about selkies.

"His name's Foster," Dean spoke up. "Text Sam his phone number once you find it."

"Of course. Or I could come and bring you the parts you need. I can drive out to you," Cas offered over the sound of pages turning.

"Nah," Dean said before Sam could. "We're still a long-ass ways away from Kansas. If this Foster guy has a place we can hang out, great. If he's dead or something, we'll find a motel and figure it out from there. You still need to rest up."

Cas, predictably, disagreed. It was pretty clear that he didn't believe that they were uninjured. Sam let them argue for a few moments, feeling impossibly tired. He had bruises and small wounds all over and his ribs ached more the longer they drove. He needed to stretch out and sleep for 24 hours or so.

"So can you get that number, please?" he interrupted suddenly, talking over both Dean and Cas. "Otherwise, I'm gonna make Dean pull over and we're sleeping in the car." He knew that was a pretty idle threat between the lack of a back window and blood and glass pretty much all over the place, but Cas didn't need to know that.

"Yes, I'll text it right over," Cas said quickly, probably correctly reading Sam's unusual rudeness as a sign of his exhaustion. "Let me know where you will be staying, please."

"No problem, and thanks," Sam sighed, hanging up. Dean was eyeing him managing to be both suspicious and concerned at the same time. Sam gave a small shrug and responded honestly, "What? I'm beat and you look like shit."

"Fine. We'll stop. I need to figure out what's rattling in the undercarriage anyway," Dean grumbled. Then, more neutrally, "You okay?"

Of course, Sam wasn't most people's definition of "okay," but Dean was asking if Sam had any injuries serious enough that they wouldn't heal on their own with time or couldn't wait a few days until they saw Cas again.

"Yeah, just tired and not interested in driving all night with the car falling apart around us." Sam turned to get a better look at Dean's battered visage. "How 'bout you?"

"I just feel like I lost a bar fight," Dean threw out dismissively. "Not that that ever happens. I'm fine." Sam's phone dinged. "Call Foster. He was still kickin' around and taking Bobby's calls back when we were looking for Eve, so who knows? Maybe he's still topside."

Sam hadn't known Bobby was still in contact with the other Hunter. With a nod, he called the number their friend had just sent and put the speaker phone on again. It rang twice and clicked over to voicemail.

"I don't answer the phone," a gruff male voice began. While Sam didn't remember much about Foster, the age of the man speaking seemed about right, as far as you could tell such things over the phone. "Give me a good reason to call you or get off the line. Don't try to sell me anything and don't waste my time!"

Dean was smirking by the time it beeped. It was the kind of message they'd have expected from Rufus, maybe even Bobby or Dad.

"My name is Sam Winchester," Sam started. He didn't like to give away too much over the phone, but he was pretty sure Foster wouldn't call back if he didn't know exactly who he was calling. "You knew my dad, John. My brother Dean and I were...working in Oregon and ran into a little trouble. If you know someplace nearby we can stay while we fix the car, we'd appreciate it." He hung up and pulled up a map of the area on his phone. He didn't have much faith that Foster would help them in the middle of the night, even if he were still living and in the region and the phone number was correct. But to his surprise, the phone rang less than five minutes later.

Sam answered it on speaker automatically. "Hello?"

"Winchester!" snapped the voice from the voicemail message, sounding old and cranky but not weak in the slightest. Yep, classic crusty old Hunter.

"Yessir," chorused Sam and Dean automatically.

There was a brief, rusty chuckle. "Well, you sound like John's boys, but you better prove it's you before I tell you fuck-all."

Sam thought for a moment, trying to recall their one and only meeting. At the time, he'd only recently learned about the world of the supernatural by snooping through Dad's journal. "When my dad met up with you when I was a kid, you told me monsters had been around longer than people, and I asked you if you thought they ate dinosaurs."

Foster snorted loudly. "That's right. And when I told you ogopogos probably did, you gave me a whole list o' dinos that were bigger than 'pogos."

"Plus, you gave me my first taste of rum," Dean chimed in. "I thought I was hot stuff, even though Dad said real men drank whiskey."

Foster hummed, sounding amused. "Okay, if you ain't the Winchesters, you did your research anyway. If you're shifters or something, I'll figure it out and blow your heads off, believe me." There wasn't an ounce of doubt in his voice. "Come to this address and don't touch the bottom step on the porch. Knock, no matter what time it is, and you can stay in one o' the cabins." He rattled off an address and hung up.

Sam smiled a little and looked up the address, licking a drop of blood off his split lip that had broken open sometime during the conversation. "It's…less than an hour away," he reported with relief. "Even at this speed."

"Don't knock Baby," Dean warned, though he looked as relieved as Sam felt. "She saved my life, you know, and got beat up for it." He patted the dash. "She'll get us there."

It was only about forty minutes until they were pulling up in front of the building at the address they'd been given. If they hadn't been looking for a Hunter (probably retired, but still), Sam would've doubted that they were at the right place. But the rustic but solid, lonely cabin in the woods off a narrow gravel road with just one weak mercury light to break up the darkness looked very in character. It was similar to, if much nicer than, Rufus' cabin.

"Definitely Hunter chic," Dean commented, mirroring Sam's thoughts. He and Sam climbed out of the car, both moving stiffly, and stood for a moment. It was both to allow themselves to loosen up tight joints a little and to let anyone who was watching a chance to see who they were. Hunters were notoriously paranoid, after all. (And since they were the same, they took their guns with them, though they didn't draw them.) They carefully avoided the bottom step, then stood to the side as Dean knocked firmly. "Winchesters," he announced.

"Just a sec," said Foster from inside. After a pause, he said, "Now you can come in."

Dean, as usual, led the way.

The cabin was the style with one large room that served as kitchen, dining room, and living room, with a curtained off area that was likely Foster's sleeping area. One door led outside to the back, Sam supposed, the other to a bathroom. It was all quite a bit cleaner than Sam had expected.

The man who could only be Foster was standing next to the bedroom area, leaning on the style of cane that could stand on its own. He was completely white-haired, not heavy but still broad and nearly as tall as Dean, wearing denim overalls and a faded flannel shirt. He was also missing one leg above the knee and there was a wheelchair against the wall behind him. A border collie with two different colored eyes sat on the floor next to him, watchful but quiet.

"How many tests did we just pass?" Dean asked with an easy grin, though Sam knew he was cataloging everything just in case this "old friend" wasn't actually friendly.

"A lot more than you think," Foster answered. His eyes flicked up and Sam saw that there was a devil's trap etched into the ceiling.

"Mind taking a sip of holy water?" Dean continued, not really asking as much as telling. He drew his flask and walked over to hand it to the older man. Sam tensed, watching intently in case Foster tried something. But he willingly took a drink. Out of courtesy, Sam and Dean did the same.

"Who's who?" Foster asked when they were done, waving them toward the couch to their right and lowering himself into the wheelchair. The dog laid down at his side.

Dean introduced them and they sat. "You said you have a place we can crash?" Dean asked and Sam fervently hoped they wouldn't by sleeping on the floor.

"Yeah. There's some cabins out back. They're dusty but otherwise ready to go, sheets and blankets in the closets, cans of soup and stuff in the cupboards. Use whatever." He eyed them critically. "There should be a first aid kit in the cabinet under the sink. Just be sure to replace what you use."

He leaned back and folded his hands over his chest. "After a dobbin blew me out a third story window and I lost my leg – did you know those suckers explode when they die? – I married my home health nurse. Only had her a couple years before cancer took 'er, but she left me this place.

"Don't look so suspicious, Dean. Betty's the one who suggested I put up Hunters who need it sometimes. 'Sides, your dad saved my ass once. Sorry to hear about him. Singer too. He helped me out a coupla times. The hunt that got you lookin' like a pair o' punching bags done or do we need to put up extra protection?"

Sam found himself relaxing. If this guy was some kind of fake, he was the most convincing one they'd encountered in a very long time. "Thanks. And no," he answered. "It was a Nachzehrer, but Dean killed the alpha and everyone else went back to human again."

"Huh. That's a new one for me. Well, nearest cabin's forty yards or so straight back. They're all empty now, so take your pick. I got a small pack of wolfhounds roamin' around keepin' an eye out. They won't bother you unless you hurt 'em. Park outta sight, wouldja? Just in case."

"If you knew Bobby, you must've known his old partner," Dean said, not budging. He apparently wasn't ready to trust Foster just yet.

"Rufus Turner?" Foster's mouth twisted up. "He knows better than to show his face to me. Last time that bastard was here, he drank all my booze, hit on my wife, and puked all over her garden. Ruined a whole batch o' her pole beans. So don't think of inviting him here or I'll set the dogs on 'im."

"He's gone," Dean said. "What about – ?"

"What about you let an old man get back to bed and you can quiz me in the morning? You passed the traps, so you're human, and Goethe likes you, so I trust you enough to let you stay." Foster gestured toward the dog, who had perked up his ears at the word Goethe. "I don't care if you trust me back or not, leave or stay, but I'm getting back to my beauty rest."

"Fair enough," said Dean, and the brothers both stood. "Thanks. And for what it's worth, sorry about your wife."

Foster nodded, and as they turned to go back out to the car, the dog padded over and let Sam pat his head. "I assumed you named him because of his eyes?" Sam asked over his shoulder.

Foster chuckled lightly, standing more easily than Sam would have expected. "I would have figured out which brother you were from that question alone. Yes, Einstein. Sleep well and don't worry about protections. Nuthin' supernatural will get in. Can't promise the same about dinosaurs, though!" Sam had to laugh at that, but Foster wasn't finished. He pointed at Dean. "As for you, check your brother's left side when you tape his ribs and let him wrap your arm to keep the swelling down. And if you decide to stab me in my sleep, don't hurt the dogs."

Sam could see Dean was fighting a smile. He gave Foster a jaunty salute. "Yes sir, Captain Foster, sir."

Foster snorted. "Night, pups."

Sam wasn't surprised that Dean selected a cabin quite a ways from Foster's home. It wasn't as large as the former, but laid out in a similar way. Two double beds took up much of the space to the left and two overstuffed chairs sat where Foster had had a couch. The floor was almost completely covered by a thick braided rug in shades of blue and gray. The kitchenette was decent-sized with a microwave and large electric griddle. It was dusty, as they'd been warned, but not bad, and had a cozy feel, especially when Dean lit the logs already laid in the fireplace.

Sam peeked in the kitchen cupboards and found simple dishes, a couple pans, and the shelf stable type of food he'd expected. The fridge was running but held only a six pack of cheap beer. It was a whole lot nicer and better stocked than Sam had expected. Next, he found a large pile of sheets and blankets between the beds. He shook out the top one and grunted as his ribs protested the move.

"Set that down and let me see those ribs," Dean directed, shaking the boxed first aid kit that he'd found. Sam grumbled for form's sake but sat and took his shirts off, shivering a little in the cool air. He wasn't surprised by the sheer amount of bruising that had appeared on his torso, and he wasn't impressed when Dean checked (again) to be sure that none of the ribs were actually broken. Of course, Dean was equally unimpressed when Sam checked (again) to be sure that his arm wasn't broken.

It took a while to get everything cleaned up and taped up and checked over and bandaged, and by the time they were finished with that and making the beds, it was pleasantly warm in the cabin. Sam said as much as they wearily started chalking up protections around the place.

Dean, glancing past the heavy, simple black curtains covering the only window nodded. "Yeah. But do you get the feeling this is…"

"...too good to be true?" Sam finished. He had to work hard not to sigh. He was so damn tired, and they were both beat to shit and a long, long ways from home. The thought of being able to truly rest and take a couple days to get the car (and themselves) fixed up before finishing out the road trip sounded beyond wonderful. But Dean was right. More often than not in their lives, things that seemed perfect turned out to be exactly the opposite. It seemed like a great spot to be in, but they knew better than to relax completely.

"Yeah," said Dean. He dropped the curtain. "But...we both remember Foster. He didn't know we were coming. He didn't react to the holy water and the devil's trap looked legit. I dunno. Let's stay the night at least, but be on our guard." He ran his hands down his face and cursed when one finger caught the edge of a butterfly bandage. "Besides, you look like you tried making out with a woodchipper and Baby really needs some TLC."

Sam gave Dean a flat look. "You look like you pissed off a mountain lion. With a meat grinder." He shrugged. "My gut says Foster is who he says he is, but if you get a bad feeling, we could head out in the morning."

"We'll see. I think he's on the level, and if he's not, we'll handle him." Dean climbed into bed without taking off the rest of his clothes. "I hope he's cool. I like the old guy."

Sam shot a text to Cas, turned off the overhead light, and carefully laid down. "Me too."

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AN: Johann von Goethe was a German writer and scientist known for having complete heterochromia – different colored eyes. I chose him because he wrote the book for which the "Werther Effect" was named and the best (IMO) version of Fauste, the story of a man who makes a deal with the devil.