Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural. It owns me.

A/N: I apologize if these chapters seem to be going by pretty slowly, but it just seems like the way the story ought to go. More plotfulness and action to happen in the next chapter, I promise. Thank you so much to those who reviewed! It really brightened my day.

Extra Special Thanks: To Merisha for once again beta-ing for me (and making me laugh out loud with her comments) and KaoruKamiya307 for reading and offering surprising input.

Chapter 2:

An hour later, encouraged by the distinct lack of fire and brimstone falling from the sky, Dean pulled into the parking lot of a small mom-and-pop looking place, paint peeling around the door frame, weeds cropping up through the pavement, looking entirely small and lonely next to the bright, flashy mini-mart and liquor stores that flanked it. Sam slipped out of the car and headed into it, and Dean only just managed to catch up before the hardware store's door slammed in his face.

"Sorry, sirs," a youngish-looking girl piped up from behind the counter. "We're closing in five minutes."

"We'll make it quick," Dean promised, scanning the aisles for Sam. He needn't have bothered, though. Sam was already heading back, a shiny new shovel clutched tightly in one hand. Without looking at the cashier, he dug a twenty out of his pocket and dropped it on the counter.

"Keep the change," he muttered, heading back out to the car. Grimacing, Dean followed and slid into the driver's seat as Sam tossed the shovel in the back and returned to the passenger seat. The tear tracks had dried, but his eyes were still red, his face still pulled into that stony mask. This wasn't right. This wasn't his Sammy. Sammy would be raging and yelling and trying to resolve whatever this was. No, this was the new-and-improved Sam Winchester. Hard. Cold. No more angsting for him.

Dean took them back on the road, back into the tense silence that was beginning to suffocate them. For a moment he considered music, but the thoughts of heavy base and screaming guitars only made his head throb again.

"What's the shovel for?" he asked, eyes never leaving the road.

Sam didn't reply, didn't even react. Good. Dean probably didn't want to know. But after a moment, the younger Winchester's Adam's apple bobbed, and he opened his mouth, licking his lips as he searched for the right words.

"It's... It's for..." He pressed his lips into a thin line, brows furrowing. Something familiar came into his eyes, a deep, aching pain that could only be Sammy clawing to the surface. "There's a... dead girl. In the trunk. She was possessed by a demon."

Well, that just sounded like all kinds of fun, didn't it? Must have been some party Sam and Ruby had while they were away. Dean clenched his teeth, fighting back the urge to ask why the hell he'd kept the body. Just another thing he probably didn't want to know. Nodding tersely, he felt himself say:

"Okay. We'll take care of it."

As though it was the most normal thing in the world. For them, it was.

"That's it?" Sam breathed.

"For now," Dean replied curtly.

Somewhere around midnight, they pulled off onto the side of the road and wandered into a sparse field. It didn't look like anybody owned it, or if they did then hopefully they wouldn't come poking around for a while. Sam wandered out alone and began to dig and dig and dig, until he was plastered with sweat and dirt and fresh tracks of tears. Dean almost offered to help him, make him sit down, take a breather, but he knew better. This was Sam's mess, and he had to clean it up. Alone.

In the meantime, Dean could begin forming a plan. First things first, he called Bobby and filled him in. The wizened hunter called him every name under the sun, 'moron', 'idjit', 'sonuvabitch', cursed the angels down from heaven and the demons deeper into the pit, Sam was a moron and he was getting too old for this shit. But it all boiled down to one cold fact; Bobby didn't know what to do any more than they did.

With that said and done, Dean found a map in the glove compartment and began the arduous task of figuring out where the hell they were, and how long it would take to reach South Dakota. As luck would have it, they'd been going in the right direction, but it would still be one helluva drive to get to Bobby's. Dean sighed and rubbed his eyes. Coffee. He was going to need coffee.

The telltale crunch of boots against the grass jarred Dean from his planning. Sam approached and, woodenly, opened the trunk. The girl inside had probably been pretty in life. Dark hair, plump lips, a gentle sort of face that just made a man want to smile when he laid eyes on her. A real girl-next-door type, dressed in scrubs to boot. Must have been a nurse or a doctor or some kind of do-gooder, just trying to make the world a better place. She was pale though, her lips bloodless. Judging from the ragged cut across her jugular, he could guess why.

Sam stared down at her with a pained expression on his face, and for a minute Dean thought he was going to lose it. But the stoic mask returned and, gently, he pulled her out of the truck, cradling her close.

They lowered her into the ground, and Sam wrapped his jacket around her as some sort of makeshift funeral shroud. Looking down at her, Sam's lips twitched, and he faltered, almost slipping out of his careful composure.

"I'm sorry," he gasped raggedly. Then, he grabbed the shovel and began the slow, arduous task of burying his victim.

o-o-o

When Jimmy had eaten what felt like half his body weight in soon-to-be-discarded leftovers (with minimal gawking from Chuck, who seemed more intent on typing something meaningful and prophet-like into his laptop, with limited success), he leaned back and closed his eyes, feeling oddly comfortable. Sure he was stiff, covered in scrapes and bruises from Castiel's scrap with the archangel, reclining in a hard wooden, poorly cushioned chair, and likely to throw up soon from eating too much bad food, but he was full, warm, and relaxed for the first time in a long time.

When he felt human again, Jimmy borrowed Chuck's cell phone and dialed the first number that came to mind.

By the first ring, he began to doubt the wisdom of it. After all, the last time he'd seen them, everything had gone to hell. Amelia had been possessed by a demon, he'd been shot and unable to lift a finger to help anyone, and Claire had become Castiel's vessel; the last thing he would have ever wanted for her. And he'd never even had the chance to say goodbye before he was once again chained to that burning, bright comet.

Now that it was all said and done... it had been hard enough trying to win them back when he could pretend he was crazy. Now they knew exactly what he'd been doing, and that he had brought that evil into their lives. Amelia would be justified in never speaking to him again. All the explanations he'd offered, the smiles, the promises. That had all been a demon. The last time he'd really spoken to Amelia, she'd thought he really had gone insane. Not that he could blame her. He had locked them in the pantry and started spreading salt all over the floor. God only knew what she'd thought when she saw him standing up after that gunshot wound, the angel's words coming out of his mouth. For the briefest of instants, he had glimpsed her face through the white-hot haze of Castiel's spirit. There had been no recognition in her eyes.

Second ring. Maybe he should just hang up. Neither of them was going to answer anyway, Chuck's number would show up as Unknown on the caller id. That was assuming they hadn't moved. Or that they were still okay. God, what if one of the demons managed to escape? What if some of them knew that Claire was a potential vessel? Anything could have happened to them! Sure Cas had promised they would be safe, but there was only so much he could do, what with the apocalypse and everything.

Halfway through the third ring, someone picked up.

"Hello?"

Jimmy sagged in his seat, relief washing over him like a tidal wave.

"Ames," he breathed.

There was a pause on the other line, then a tentative whisper.

"Jimmy? Is that you?"

"Yeah, yeah, it's me," he croaked, a smile tugging at his lips even as his vision blurred. At that point Chuck had the grace to unplug his laptop and sneak out of the kitchen, giving Jimmy the privacy he needed with his wife. He'd have to thank that man later. For everything. "God, Amelia, it's so good to hear your voice."

"How are you... you again, I thought..."

She'd thought a lot of things, he was sure. Jimmy racked his brain for something, anything he could say to offer her a bit of comfort, but came up empty. What was he supposed to say?

"I thought you would be gone forever." Her voice hitched on the last word, and suddenly he wanted to hold her more than anything else in the world.

"So did I. I-I don't know exactly what happened, but I'm back again. And I swear, I'm not going to make the same mistake I made last time, I just wanted to know that you and Claire were all right."

"We're fine." She was trying so hard to sound calm, but he could hear the emotion in her voice. She was probably crying over there on her side of the line. "Claire misses you."

"How is she?" he asked thickly.

"She's holding her own. I mean, what happened in that warehouse, it definitely shook her up. But she's starting to come out of her shell again. She doesn't stop talking about you or Castiel. I think it's her way of coping, you know?"

Jimmy swallowed.

"Can I talk to her."

"Yeah, gimme a minute."

Footsteps clacked on the other end, followed by the creak of a door opening and a soft exchange of words, then a voice.

"Daddy!"

Jimmy closed his eyes and took a shuddering breath.

"Hey, baby," he said shakily. "How are you doing?"

"I'm fine. Where are you?"

"I'm..." he paused, suddenly realizing that he didn't actually know where he was. Clearly he was in the United States, and in a kitchen, but past that... "I'm with a friend," he finished lamely.

"Are you coming home?"

The euphoria that had come from hearing her voice vanished. Jimmy grimaced.

"No, Claire, I can't. If anything, it might be even less safe than it was before."

"But those guys, when they found out I could be a vessel, they taught us all the stuff. Like, the symbols mom painted under the rug and the salt. They even told us how to find these Latin chants to make holy water in case the demons come back."

"That's great, sweetheart," he said honestly, and at what point in his life did it become a good thing that his wife was painting devil's traps on their hardwood floors and his daughter was making holy water? "But most of them don't know about you. They know about me, and I don't know how long those defenses will hold up with me around."

"But what about Castiel?" she pressed in a small voice. "If things ever got really bad, he'd come back to help us, wouldn't he?"

"I don't know. I don't think so. I think he's in pretty big trouble right now, and this is just safer."

An uncomfortable silence settled. A few years ago, Claire might have cried and whined and demanded a better answer. But she was growing up, faster now than ever before. If only he could turn back time, go back to when she was just his baby girl.

"Do you miss him?"

Jimmy's brows rose.

"Castiel?"

"Yeah."

"No, not really," he admitted. "I mean, I want him to be okay. But he and I didn't exactly get to know each other. Why, do you?"

"No, not really," she replied, and he could hear the barest hint of a smile in her voice. "But I feel like we should, you know?"

"Yeah, I know what you mean." It wasn't a total lie. He sort of understood where she was coming from. Maybe when he'd had more than a day or two to think about it, he'd come to the same conclusion. "But sweetheart, I don't really want to talk about Castiel or demons or anything like that right now. Tell me how you've been. Not just this last week, I mean all year. How's school? You still into history? How did your soccer tryouts go?"

For the next hour, he and Claire pretended they were just a regular father and daughter, talking about everything they could think of. Chuck came in at some point, when they argued about which cartoon was better; Rocky and Bullwinkle or Tom and Jerry, but he gestured for Jimmy to continue as he heated up some water on the stove and returned to the other room, instant-coffee in hand. He wanted the conversation to last forever, knowing full and well that, with the way things had been going lately, it could be the last chance he'd have for a long time to speak with his daughter. But he still needed to talk to Amelia.

Reluctantly, Claire returned the phone to her mother. They shared pleasantries. Amelia was proud of how Claire was holding up. She'd gone and asked for that promotion like she'd intended for so long, so they were financially secure. Their neighbors were shaken, but all right. She was thinking about getting a dog to keep Claire company. He wished he had similar news to share with her. At last, they boiled down to the uncomfortable reality of his situation.

"What are you going to do now?" she asked.

"I dunno. I mean, I guess see if I can find the Winchesters again, help out if I can."

"Oh, that reminds me. They left me a number to call in case we needed their help. Here, do you have a pen and paper?"

"Gimme a sec." Jimmy stumbled around the train-wrecked kitchen for a few moments before finding a napkin and a marker. "Okay." He scribbled down the number and pocketed it, making a mental note to call that number next.

"You really can't come home?" she pressed.

"No, it isn't safe," Jimmy sighed. "Believe me. If I thought I could, I'd be on the first bus home in a heartbeat. But I don't want to bring that evil back into our house. Not if I can help it."

Amelia laughed suddenly, mirthlessly. Jimmy's heart twisted in his chest and he leaned heavily against the counter.

"Ames?"

"God, Jimmy," she groaned. "How did we end up like this? I mean, of all people, why us? Why you? You spend most of your time not being you, and I wake up every morning afraid the same thing's going to happen to Claire and... did she tell you? I spray painted symbols on the floor to catch demons if they break in. The hardwood floors, Jimmy! For God's sake, the reason we haven't gotten a dog by now is because I was afraid of messing them up."

"I know, Ames," he sighed heavily. "I know, I'm so sorry."

"I just want us to be a family again." The laughter had died from her voice, leaving only bare weariness. "It's not that I'm not still mad at you. I am. But I want you here so we can get over this and go back to the way things were."

"I don't think we can," he told her raggedly.

"Yeah. But I wish it anyway."

Jimmy shut his eyes and held the cell phone tightly against his ear, ignoring the heat that had come from its overuse. That was all he wished for, too, and damned if he wasn't going to try his hardest to make it come true.

"I love you, Amelia," he murmured.

"I love you, too." It wasn't just a response. Underneath the pain and the loneliness, he could hear that she still meant it.

"You should go," she said after a long moment. "Call those boys, figure out what you'll do next. And Jimmy?"

"Yeah?"

"Do something for me."

"Anything," he promised. You want the moon? I can do better. I'll get you the whole galaxy if you'll just smile again.

"I want you to call as often as you can. Even if you're down to your last quarter or all you get is an answering machine, you call. I don't want to spend another year wondering where you are."

"I promise."

They said their goodbyes. Amelia promised to give Claire an extra kiss goodnight from him, he promised to stay safe, and then they hung up. Jimmy stared down at the phone, feeling suddenly very small and alone. And wasn't he? He wasn't a hunter or a prophet or anything even remotely like that. He was a salesman, a family man, a regular guy who had been ripped from his safe place and dropped unceremoniously into a world where he didn't belong. If the universe was at all right, he'd be allowed to return to his nice, safe home and be done with all of this.

But the universe wasn't right, or just, or fair. The angels weren't necessarily good guys, and he had to do what it took to survive now.

Heaving a sigh, Jimmy pulled the napkin out of his pocket and dialed the number.

o-o-o

R&R

TBC...