Disclaimer: See Chapter One

A/N: Thanks for your reviews. If you're joining me and the boys for the second chapter, I'd love to hear what you'd think.

And, MAZ… I adore you.

Chapter Two: Closing Time

March, 2009

He was wiping the counter with a dirty rag.

He moved his hands in a rhythmic wax on/wax off motion and wondered how long he'd actually been using this filthy rag. A few hours? A coupla days? He wasn't sure anymore. He guessed that was because he really didn't care.

A ten-dollar bill was thrown at him and he saw a hand swish out of the edge of his vision. He snatched the bill off the counter before it stuck to the wetness and gave a friendly wave back. He turned from the empty bar and opened the cash register, apathetically letting the Hamilton fall in with the other bills. He closed the drawer and looked up.

There he was. Staring back. His reflection, trapped in the mirror, and it was always at this moment when the night became naked that he noticed he didn't know the person he was anymore. The blue eyes were the same, the long brown hair still needed a cut but he was older. His skin didn't pull back nicely on its own any longer. There were wrinkles around his eyes, across his forehead. He looked lost. Out of place. The connection to who he once was was gone. If there had ever been one. He rubbed a hand across his jaw and made a fist, placing it next to his chin.

The jukebox kicked to the next vinyl and A Song for Jeffrey started twanging from Jethro's guitar and Jeff smiled to himself. His fist dropped down and his chin fell to his chest. His breathing slowed as he listened to the sounds mumbling into the open area and he realized that he never could understand the words to the song.

"Figures," he said aloud.

The front door scraped and scratched against the floor for a few seconds and then shut with a dull thud.

Jeff let out a sigh, his eyes snagging 1:47a.m. on his wristwatch. Freaking small town drunks. Probably a couple of kids from down the highway trying to pass off a fake ID on him.

He grabbed the dirty rag and turned around, the words catching from loud to soft as they fell from his mouth, "Closing… time."

Two guys were grabbing up stools, hoisting themselves up to lean against the bar, their hands folding on the counter he'd just cleaned.

Blue eyes narrowed and for a minute, he thought maybe a pair of ghosts had just walked back into his life.

"Winchester?" he whispered to them and almost lost the rest of his breath when he saw them both nod. "Oh, God." He took in a much-needed breath and his face broke out into a broad wrinkled grin, his eyes twinkling in the harsh neon lights. "You guys… got big!" he bellowed.

Dean smiled back; Sam shifted uncomfortably, pulling his weight up on the too small cushion.

"Well," Dean thumbed over to the right, "one of us got a little bigger than the other." He nodded to the man and then asked, "You alone tonight, Jeff?"

"Nah," the man pushed away from the cash register and walked the two steps to the bar, "Ben will be here. He just had to run out and tend to Ramona for a bit."

Jeff watched nervously as Dean twirled on the seat of the stool and looked around, his eyes soaking in everything that he had seen before the few times in his life he had visited this hole in the wall. Same floor. Same lights. Same jukebox, Eric Clapton starting in with Promises. It all looked… exactly the same.

Sam didn't look anywhere, just studied his hands, his left thumb chasing the right.

Dean circled around looking back at the barkeep. "Still flipping records on the jukebox?"

Jeff smiled and nodded. "Yeah, forty-fives. We tried out some new stuff, you know, during Curt Cobain, but then he had to go off and put a bullet in his head and the music just got shitty after that."

"The day the music died, huh?"

"Could say that, I guess," Jeff said with a raised eyebrow.

"You got a new clock," Dean observed.

Jeff's blue eyes shot over the hunter's head as he saw the small digital clock in the back of the bar sporting the logo for Schlitz blinking in red dots: 1:53a.m.

"Yeah," Jeff shrugged, "the old place isn't as pretty anymore." He faked a smile. "Shit, I'm not as pretty anymore."

Dean rapped his knuckles on the worn countertop, a cautious tick starting to turn his mouth up.

The bartender blinked a couple of times at the men. The way the younger one stared at his hands, head low, not even saying as much as a hello; the older one, spinning on the stool, his hands shaking without even noticing. It was a disconnect. Two halves looking the other way. Accepting dark with dark and danger with danger and neither one of these brothers even pretended to care anymore what was right or what was wrong.

"Need a drink?" Jeff asked, his eyes staying on Dean's eyes, not his hands.

"Yeah," he breathed, almost more excited than relieved. Jeff was used to the signs.

The older man reached under the bar and grabbed a brown bottle, didn't matter the label, and popped the top off for him.

"How 'bout you?" He directed to Sam.

A quick shake of the head answered him, but he didn't look up.

Jeff grabbed two more bottles, opened both up and slid one to Sam anyways, keeping the third one for himself.

"Bad hunt?" Jeff asked with a small hint of humor.

Dean took a long drink. His eyes skidded over to his brother.

Sam hadn't touched the bottle. But he took a chance and glanced up. "Bad year," he replied.

The brown bottle was raised up from Jeff's hands in appreciation of the words and the blues of his eyes twinkled. "Been bad on everyone, boys."

The door scraped and scuffed along the floor. Neither brother turned from their position, even though they knew the other Timmons brother was blowing in through the front.

"What the hell?" Ben called out. "How long they been here?"

Dean glanced over his shoulder, turning on the cushion as he watched Ben came into view. He wasn't as pretty anymore, either. A life weathered and hardened by booze and smoke and God knew what else had worn all over his face. His belly suffered some damage from too much fast food as well. It was round and pulled his clothes tight around his middle.

"Ben!" Dean waved.

"I don't know many folks who still get themselves around in a '67 Chevy!" He worked his way up to the bar and extended his hand, taking Dean's forcefully in his and shaking for a long minute. He smiled deeply at the hunter holding the grasp longer than needed. Jeff could see his smile shaking at the corners, causing his cheeks to quake. He hoped he was the only one who noticed.

Dean's eyes narrowed. "You okay, man?"

Ben let his hand go and his smile dropped. Jeff watched as he leaned across and placed a warm palm on Sam's back. He patted it a couple of times and waited until Sam looked over, his eyes only touching on the man's features briefly and then falling away again.

The big guy shuffled around the bar and accepted the beer being offered to him from his brother. He took a swig and then leaned towards the boys, his stomach almost pushing his own kin out of his way.

"Who told you?"

Both sets of Winchester eyes inquisitively looked up.

"Told us what?" Dean's hands opened slightly.

Ben took another drink. "We've been looking for you boys for a coupla months."

Dean turned his head to look at Sam. His brother frowned and shrugged back. "What for?" Dean ventured.

There was a flick of a lighter and Ben was inhaling, followed by a round of wet coughs and then one more puff before he tried answering that one. "First, I want to say," and he leaned across the counter even more, closer to each brother, his finger pointing, swaying from one to the other, "I was real, real sorry to hear about your daddy."

Jeff noticed the arch of tension stretch between the boys. Dean's body stiffened and he heard Sam swallow hard. The younger brother cleared his throat and offered up, "It's okay – "

"No," Ben was saying, shaking his head. "No, it isn't. I was there once, too, you know. Lost both my folks. Orphaned and forced to watch this one." He thumbed to his left. "It's never easy. Saying the name of your daddy into the air and knowing he'll never answer you back." His eyes fell on Sam and he smiled through the smoke. "Your dad was a decent man. You know, he gave me good advice once and I didn't take it."

Sam stared back at him, his eyes shining under the dim light. "Yeah? What was that?"

Jeff's older brother looked lost for a second, his eyes vacant, caught in another time. "Doesn't matter. Anyways, I've been calling looking for a little help. Hell, I tried your dad, that old bar Ellen had, Caleb… I tried everybody I knew. All I got was a bunch of wrong numbers and disconnected lines. You hunters sure are hard sons of bitches to find."

"So, this is all just a coincidence?" Dean tapped at the brown bottle. "We're just passing through. No one has called us or anything."

Ben lifted a hefty shoulder. "I only found one hunter. He didn't know how to get a hold of you, but he told me about John. Told me how lots of folks in your profession have been turning up dead or missing. He didn't even know if you two were alive or not. He thought maybe you were dead." His eyes squinted at Dean and he reached across the counter to poke a meaty finger into his shoulder. "But you both look like you're breathing to me. What happened? Music save your mortal soul?"

Dean gave a slight nod. "Something like that."

The jukebox kept cranking and Big Ben kept staring and Dean finished off his drink and looked over at Jeff. The sound of the cap popping off the top of another bottle made his hand shake all over again as the bartender pushed it over. Jeff tried not to notice how Sam had cocooned himself in silence. That he had barely taken a look at his beer. Or at Ben. Or at his own brother.

"Well, what is it?" Dean asked after taking his first drink off his second brew. "What did you need?"

Ben shook his head. His green eyes had gotten smaller somehow, maybe it was the extra layer of fat that had grown on his face in the passing years. Maybe it was the fact that his lids were drooping and bloodshot and the green was just taken over by the sadness they held. "It's Val," he said matter-of-factly.

Sam let out a heavy sigh and Jeff took a glimpse just in time to see the younger man close his eyes. His knee bounced once off the bar of the stool and his face scrunched tight for a few seconds.

"What about Val?" Dean pressed on, ignoring the squirms next to him.

But Ben was looking back at Sam and his face was just as pain-filled as his eyes were. He seemed to mumble something in Spanish under his breath that none of them caught. But Sam wasn't looking up and before anyone could ask what they had just missed, Ben blurted out, "She's haunting the joint."

-O-

March, 1985

"Thanks for your kindness," John Winchester was saying as he shook hands with his hosts. It had been seventy-two hours of quiet days and loud nights in the bar. Not the most ideal place for a young one to rest and ward off a fever, but the kids had adapted rather well to all the noise and at least Sam had slept through most of it.

It was Dean who had been curious to all the happenings outside their door. He'd lay in bed and listen until something in his gut would pull him out. He'd quietly crawl out of his covers, cross over John's body and creak the door open just enough to peep an eye out. The bar would be full of so much laughter and life and music. It was too much excitement for Dean not to want to check out.

The light would always trigger John's senses though, and he'd swoop in and steal the child away from the door, wagging a finger at him in warning. Until it happened again.

"No problem," Ben was saying as John came in from packing the trunk full of duffels. Full of their life's necessities now. "It's actually been kinda nice having you boys stay." He smiled at the hunter as John yelled down the hall for the boys to 'come along'.

"Well," John turned to him as the boys gathered in the open bar, "If I can ever do anything for you, let me know." He jotted down a phone number on a piece of paper and handed it back to the bartender.

The door scritched and scratched behind him and John turned around, his hand coming up like a blade, shielding the morning sun from his lazy eyes. A little girl bounced in, followed by her younger brother and finally their mother who silhouetted the doorframe with her small shape. She was talking faster to the kids than they were running. Her words were coming out in a mix of English and Spanish tangled together in an odd made-up alphabet.

"Benny?" The name fell out thickly accented.

Ben smiled. "Hey, Val."

The woman walked in and pushed past the rugged hunter, barely giving him a look. Just another customer. "I'm going out. You take niños."

Ben was nodding at her. "Okay. Just give me a minute." He gestured towards John. "Val, this is John. The guy I told you about. He and his boys have been staying here. John, this is my fiancée, Val."

Her dark brown eyes swayed over to the tall man and she frowned. Her eyes looked wild and untamed as they kept traveling around the bar as she watched her own children interacting with the young Winchesters. Her daughter was shyly walking around the older boy while the toddlers were trying a game of push and shove.

"How old?" she asked slowly, her tongue pronouncing each word carefully so to be understood.

John glanced over. "Dean's six. Sam's almost two."

She watched the children, calling to her own every so often, "Conchita, play nice. Angel, no, no. Don't hurt."

John watched them, too. It wasn't often his two boys found playmates, even if only for a few minutes.

"Ramona is seven," Val introduced her own babies. "My Angel will be two en Mayo. The second."

John tilted his head, trying to follow her accent, listening hard to the mix of words. "What? Your little boy will be two in May?"

Val nodded, keeping her eyes on the kids. "The second."

"May Second?" John grinned back at her, his face falling to a confused frown. "That's the same day as my little boy's birthday."

Val's eyes snapped up. "Yes?"

"Yes." John nodded.

Both parents turned again to watch their children playing with each other. Ramona was smiling at Dean, her earlobes sparkling with diamond studs, her neck graced with three gold necklaces, one bearing a cross. Angel was gripping at Sam's shirt as he was trying to waddle away. The little boy's dark blue eyes were dancing with delight as he pulled back on the other boy's shirt, causing Sam to tumble to the ground. Angel fell on top of him, giggles erupting from his small mouth. His own strands of gold swayed against his chest as he pulled himself up.

"Donde esta su madre?"

John flicked his eyes to the dark skinned woman. Her hair was jet black and framed the beauty in her face like a painting. She was drop dead gorgeous. And couldn't hold a candle to his Mary. "Dead."

Valentina's eyes met John's and she held tight for a moment. "Sorry."

John nodded. He let a small smile spread on his face. She was interesting. He liked her.

"You got a light?" She asked behind her shoulder.

A lighter suddenly appeared between the two of them and John startled. He had forgotten anyone else was in the room besides he and Val and the four kids.

"You can't smoke around them," Ben ground out.

She fumbled in her purse and pulled out a lone cigarette and placed it to her lips. The flick of the Bic sounded and John saw her take a gentle a jab to her shoulder. Her eyes darkened as she spat out, "Que quieres?"

"No fumar." Ben's voice was solid. Commanding.

With that, the woman sighed. She stashed the lighter into her purse, but kept the stogie out, held in her hands. She waved at the children playing. "Your boy. He is okay?"

John's lips turned down. "Yeah, they're okay."

"Un poco uno… er, uh, the little one?"

John looked over to Sam. He was just standing up again, having been tackled by Angel a few times now. "He's good. He doesn't remember her." Not sure if that was what the woman was asking, but not sure if it wasn't either.

"Is he," she hesitated, her throat working a dry swallow, "is he, different?"

"Different?" John's confusion returned. "Different how?"

She studied the children as she spoke, ignored the clearing of the throat behind her. "Are his eyes okay?"

That was new. John frowned. "I think so. I've never had them tested."

"Val –"

"I mean, do they change?" She gazed up, her eyes wide. Fear and need reaching like long fingers to the man next to her. She looked desperate. Desperate for someone to understand. "Does he change?"

John blinked back and thought about the nights since Mary's death. Holding Sam, rocking him to sleep, feeding him, playing with him. His hazel eyes were his mother's. No one else's. He shook his head. "No."

"You never… see they… look…" she stumbled with her tongue, biting her upper lip. "Yellow?"

"His eyes?"

She nodded.

He shook his head again and slowed his speech down so she would follow. "No. I've never noticed his eyes are yellow." He watched her look away again, watching the children. "Is that what you're asking me?"

No answer. Her arms folded across her middle and she turned a shoulder in his direction. John literally felt a chill in his presence. He glanced behind him and saw Ben staring back at them, a look of regret on his face.

"Is that what she asked me?" John asked.

Ben gave a nod and thumped two fingers to his head.

-O-

March 2009

"How do you know it's her?" Dean asked.

The older man shrugged. "Who else could it be?" He shook his head. "Val's been gone for eighteen years. It's been quiet. Business as usual. And now… well, I've been seeing a lady friend and…" he cleared his throat, "things just keep happenin'."

Dean waited. "What kind of things?"

"Glasses breaking. Music turning on when she comes here –"

"The lady friend?"

Ben nodded. "Gina. Whenever she comes here, it's like the whole place just… comes to life."

Dean looked around. Everything seemed so still and quiet now. "Just when she comes here?"

"Yeah, so she stopped coming."

"Smart move."

"But now," he stamped his cigarette out, "now Gina's" he dropped his voice low, a whisper, like he had secret, "she's pregnant." He lifted his brows and nodded his head in affirmation when Dean pointed his finger at the big guy.

Dean sat back. He felt Sam look up.

"Now it's starting to escalate. Ramona, she… she screams whenever Gina's near her. They can't be in the same house together. And I need them to be together. I can't be running back and forth to two houses, but when Gina's around, it's like Ramona is possessed by the devil."

"Ramona," Sam stopped Ben's story and blinked hard. "Ramona's still the same, then?"

Ben nodded, his eyes soft.

"She never got any better?" Dean could see Sam's throat work up and down and watched as his brother turned three shades of green.

"No."

"Have you tried salting and burning Val's bones?" Dean cut to the chase.

Ben nodded. "Sure, but when I was there something nearly broke my knee. Then I went back. Something cut me here." He pulled his collar down and showed the boys a deep scar near his neckline. "I sent Jeff and..." Ben looked over to his little brother.

Eyes hollow and old, Jeff Timmons looked down and away. "I almost had a heart attack out there. Something… grabbed hold of me and… I thought I was gonna have a heart attack."

Ben pushed off from the bar, standing taller, his stomach filling empty space. He steadied both brothers in his view and his forehead wrinkled over his droopy eyes. "I almost lost him." He hitched in a breath at the thought and blew it away, keeping his eyes pinned on the Winchesters.

"Okay," Dean tilted his head, thinking things through. Take the easy road. Go. Get the bad guy. Keep everyone safe and happy. Celebrate with more beer. "Well, maybe we can take care of it for you. Salt and burn…"

"I was hoping you'd say that." Ben gave a small smile to Dean and then glanced back over to Sam.

The younger hunter was staring back, his eyes cold and detached. His body was pulled inward and closed off.

"How 'bout you, Sam?" Ben challenged.

All eyes landed on Sam and from the expression on his face Dean wished they would all look away. His brother seemed like he wanted to run and hide.

"Sam?" Dean's voice leaked into his invisible walls. "You with us, man?"

"Sure," Sam agreed quickly and turned his head to look at his brother.

Part of Dean wanted to find that place and secure Sam in it. Keep Sam safe from everyone who wanted to hurt him.

Dean's brows drew together, bunching over the bridge of his nose. He felt the urge to lift a hand and place it on Sam's shoulder, but he resisted. He knew if he reached out and actually touched his brother, he'd shake him until he turned blue in the face. Or he'd push him until Sam came back swinging. Or he'd grab hold him and not be able to let him go. The consequences to any of those actions were enough to keep Dean's hands on the counter. "Yeah? Because you look –"

"I'm in, okay? I just…" he looked the other way, passed Ben, passed Jeff and off to the far right. Where nothing greeted him but the recognition of the dark.

Dean sighed. "What?"

Sam's eyes grew impatient. He huffed, aggravated but answered, "Nothing."

Dean turned away and looked back at the brothers. Back where the lamp above cast light down on the counter. He felt puzzled stares anxiously grazing in his direction but he didn't acknowledge them.

He just sat next to Sam. He wondered if he ever did find that hiding spot how the hell would he protect Sam from himself.

Sam let out a small laugh and reassured the apprehensive men. "Yeah, I'm in."

Translations: niños: children/kids

Conchita: an endearment for her daughter

En Mayo: In May

Donde esta su madre?: Where is his mother?

Que quieres?: What do you want?

No fumar: No smoking.

Un poco uno: the little one

Playlist: Song for Jeffrey performed by Jethro Tull and Promises performed by Eric Clapton (in reference to)

Closing Time performed by Semisonic

A/N: Again, I'll be posting chapters every two-three days. Thanks for reading.