Author's Note: So I got several favorites and followers after that last chapter and I just wanted to say hello to all of you. :3 You're all beautiful. Thank you for deciding to read this piece.

I actually really love you guys for doing that okay?!1?

~Chapter 4~

"Dean Winchester, what have you gotten yourself into?"
Dean was taken aback by the sheer ice in his partner's tone and the matching bitterness and confusion in his blue eyes. What had he gotten himself into? "Nothing."

Cas clenched his fist again; glancing down at the ground as if trying to think of some retort that Dean knew was coming, but it didn't come.

"Then why do I not believe you?"

Dean swallowed; that was a good question. The questions Cas had asked while they were still at church had been good ones too, but what was there to say? He had really gone to the bathroom in the first place, but on his way there had noticed bits of broken stained glass all across the carpeted floor. When he had followed the trail of glass – not noticing the bathroom when he passed it – he easily found where it stopped: a locked door. It was probably only a closet, based on the fact that he had never seen anyone go into it for something other than cleaning supplies or toilet paper for the bathroom.

"Dean."

"What?"

"Answer me. What did you find?"

Dean shook his head, wanting to drop the matter as soon as it had picked up. How could he have gotten so distracted from his current life like that? Wasn't a regular life, the apple-pie life with Cas and little Jo good enough for him? Wasn't it good enough that he didn't need to get so easily sucked back into hunting?

"It's nothing that you need to worry about."

The look that passed over Cas's face, if only briefly, was heartbreaking to see. It sent him flying back to the first time he had seen him, in that apartment in Bismarck. Sam and Dean had swooped in around the corner of the hallway where they had been waiting for a potential attack on this floor. The demon or vengeful spirit that had been toying with the building was making its way up the floors, starting with the homes on the first floor. Now it was at level six, where Cas had been living. Dean had rushed forward at the sound of a slamming door, Sam at his heels. The spirit had possessed some middle-aged lady who was currently busting holes in the door and whacking at the lock with a butcher knife slick with blood. She hadn't even noticed the Winchesters when she succeeded in severing the lock from the door and stomped forward, still brandishing her giant knife.

The brothers had sprinted after her, weapons in hand; Dean had expected to find her mid-swing at someone's neck, creating a bloody mess that would later be reported as an unexpected and tragic murder. But instead of finding that, there was Cas, shaking and holding a baseball bat over his head, an unreadable mix of sadness, fear and alarm in his distinctly blue eyes while the figure of the lady lay on the ground in a heap of limbs.

That same face, minus the alarm, was the look on Cas's face now and Dean immediately felt guilty. This was his fault: he had inadvertently and far too quickly brought that fear and sadness back to his husband without even trying. It was so typical of him though, to ruin someone so easily like that –people had walked out of his life left and right all the time, whether it be by their own conscious choice or not.

"Cas, look," Dean started up again, taking a step towards him, attempting to reach for a hand that wasn't there anymore. "you were right, I did find something, but I'm not going after it."

The words sounded weird coming out of his mouth, as he knew full well that had he found this several years ago, there would've been no way that he would leave a case out in the open. But things were different now, so he had to. Maybe he could get Sam on it and–

"Are you sure?" The look on Cas's face was more than quizzical, his head cocked slightly.

"Yeah."

Dean smiled encouragingly at his partner before walking past him and up the stairs, shaking his head.

/

Jo didn't want to go be by herself in her room, that was no fun. The only thing she wanted was for Papa to stop being mad at Daddy. She could tell when Papa was in a bad mood with someone because he got really quiet and if someone said something he didn't like, his hand would ball up and his knuckles would be all white. It didn't look like it felt good and Jo didn't understand why he did that.

She had crept out of her room after about five boring minutes of trying to play with her toys and squatted at the top of the stairs behind the railing. She sometimes did this when she wanted to hear what Daddy and Papa were doing, and if they were standing in the living room and she was quiet, they couldn't tell she was there.

They were talking quietly though, so Jo couldn't really understand what they were saying, but Papa sounded mad. Daddy's responses were softer and more tired than she was expecting, but eventually they both got really quiet. What were they talking about?

After a while, they weren't even talking at all, just staring at each other. Were they talking to each other in their head? Could they see Jo from here? She clutched the wooden railing, hoping that they still couldn't see her spying on them.

Then she could finally hear them and what they were talking about confused her even more.

She could only hear the end of Daddy's sentence: "I'm not going after it." Going after what?

Another pause.

"Are you sure?" It was Papa now.

"Yeah."

They didn't say anymore and Jo's head was filled with a million different questions, but she couldn't stop and think about them for very long: Daddy was coming towards the stairs!

Jo crawled across the hallway as fast as she could, her bare knees bumping against the floor as she reached her bedroom and closed the door almost all the way.

Daddy didn't seem to notice though, and from the spot she was sitting in, behind the jarred door, she could seem clearly, walking slowly up the stairs. He looked very tired, much more tired than he was before they went to church. Why was he so tired?

He did that thing with his hand where he rubbed his chin like he was feeling his stubbly face, but Jo knew better. Daddy did that when he wasn't feeling good, and she couldn't figure out why he would feel like that. He walked straight into his and Papa's room without closing the door behind him. Jo could still see him as he got his cell phone off the nightstand and dialed something into it.

"Hey Sam."

Sam was Daddy's little brother. Uncle Sammy sometimes visited at Christmas and he sent Jo birthday presents every year. He seemed like he was fun, but he was quieter than Daddy and he seemed to work all the time. So why was Daddy calling him?

"I'm fine, really."

A pause.

"Yeah, but I've got a case for you."

A case? What's that? The only thing that Jo could think of for the word case was suitcase and that didn't seem right. Why would Daddy have a suitcase for Uncle Sammy?

"The church we go to. Sioux Falls."

Why was Daddy talking about church?

"Not sure. I found some broken glass, sulfur and a seriously busted supplies closet."

A pause.

"Well I don't know what it is, Sam, that's why I'm calling you."

Another pause.

"No, I can't handle this one."

Pause.

"Won't."

Short pause.

"Because Cas is worried about it, okay?"

Pause.

"Sam, shut up. Are you going to help me out or not?"

Pause.

"Good." Daddy hung up and placed the phone back on the nightstand where it was before. Jo could see him lay back now, probably about to take a nap. He did that sometimes.

Only a few moments later, Jo heard another pair of feet start coming up the stairs: it was Papa. He kept rubbing his face and running a hand through his hair, as if he was trying to fix a strand that was sticking up really tall, but there wasn't anything like that. His face was all red, Jo saw as he passed her door, heading into the bathroom. The door clicked behind him and a few seconds later she heard the shower turn on. Papa didn't come out of the bathroom for a while, and when he was going back into his room, Daddy was on his way downstairs and they didn't say anything to each other when they passed.

Jo hoped they weren't having a fight.