Three Months Later:

Bobby Singer: Early 40's

Dean Winchester: 26 years-old

Jasmine Rhodes: 23 years-old.

Puzzle Piece:

A TRIP DOWNTOWN, BACK UPTOWN

He gasped awake, a long, drawn in breath. The force of it brang his body upward, only to thud back down as his face collided with something solid a foot above him. He lay on the hard surface, his breath coming in wheezing snaps, scratching against his parched throat. Frantically, he stretched out his hands around him; they collided with more hard surfaces barely even a foot around him. He shoved his hands in his jean pockets, fumbling with his lighter. His fingers were shaking uncontrollably and it took him several tries to get a spark.

Finally, a flame flickered into life and lit up the surrounding area, which wasn't that much to begin with. He knew instantly what he was in and it made him panic - a coffin, he was in a coffin. And it wasn't even one of those plushy fabric kinds, the ones rich people get buried in. He yelled on the off chance that someone might hear, but it was no use; it was like sandpaper against his vocal cords, the only sound a rusted croak.

Dean's lighter flickered out and he smashed his fist against the top of his coffin in frustration. He winced as dirt trickled onto his face. His brow furrowed dirt? Did that mean he was buried; literally six feet under? And that bewildered him even more - he was supposed to be dead, wasn't he? They should have burned his body; the traditional Hunter funeral - though he was a little glad that they hadn't at the moment. He had sold his soul to save Jaz after

Sam had killed him; he had been desperate - the Demon wouldn't give him ten years, so he bargained. It didn't turn out to well, when he only got a month - like he said, he was majorly desperate.

But it still didn't make any sense as to how in the Hell he was alive. He winced and cringed at his choice of words; he didn't want to remember the place he had been. He didn't want to remember the pain and suffering, the monsters that were lurking down there, but now lurked some where in his mind. He shook his head, he had to get out of this box and find Jaz and Bobby.

Dean took a slow and deep breath, holding it in for a moment before breathing it out just as slowly. He tensed, bracing himself before his fist shot up, smashing against the wooden lid. He hit it about five times before the lid finally broke and dirt started to pour inside. His knuckles bloody, Dean tore the wood away; his fingers now bloody he wormed his way up through the hole and six feet of dirt.

His hand made it out of the grave first; popping into the air, grasping - it how the zombies did it in the movies, Dean hated those things. When he finally got his head out, he gasped, sucking in the fresh, warm air that surrounded him like a blanket. He took deep breaths, falling to the ground, exhausted from the dig.

Finally he caught his breath, stumbling up right he froze, his eyes widening. Surrounding him was the woods, or what could have been considered the woods once upon a time - a time that wasn't right now. The trees all surrounding his grave were blown down away from it, as if a nuke had gone off.

Despite that fact, Dean could recognize this place anywhere. After they had found Jaz, back when he was still Jasmine, they had stayed at Bobby's for quite awhile. During that time, to help train Jasmine as well as have her familiarize herself with the salvage yard and surrounding area, Dean would take her out. One day they were in the woods, a few miles away from the house, with no real destination they came across a small clearing. The grass was lush and green, different colored flowers were scattered around. The canopy above was just thick enough so that when the sun was out, individual beam of light shone through. Dean thought that it was girly and dorky, but because Jasmine loved it, he did too. And to claim it as their own. Jasmine had the idea of carving their names into the big purple lilac tree that adorned the center of the clearing.

Now, it was a BIG clearing. It was open now that all of the surrounding trees had fallen and the ground was covered in the peddles from the lilac tree. Which was no longer in the middle that was where the resting place for his recently vacated grave. Jaz was going to be pissed, but there was nothing that Dean could do could for this place.

There was a clean stream near by, so he'd get a drink to quench his parched throat before hiking back to Bobby's.

Bobby stood at the door of the safe room that he integrated into his basement. The iron walls that were once covered in many weapons that would destroy the supernatural, were now covered piece after piece of paper. What was drawn on those piece of paper worried him to such an extent that he had no clue as to do to solve it.

It had been three months - four if you wanted to count when the event took place at the beginning of the three. Sam - Bobby shook his head - Sam had killed Jaz and Jaz in turn killed him. Bobby knew that Jaz wasn't lying about that fact, as much as Bobby wanted to deny it. Jaz had learned his lesson after not saying a thing about being cursed by the witch. Bobby didn't want to have to acknowledge the fact that Sam had killed family, but it was too late to deny that now - it felt like years since that day. Jaz had been dead, Bobby had seen the body. Dean had lost it; going to the crossroads and making a deal with a Demon. Trading his soul with just one more month of life, for Jaz to be alive again.

Of course Jaz had no idea and Dean say a word, but neither did Bobby. Though the grizzled Hunter had confronted Dean about it, neither told Jaz. So when the night came, a month later a midnight; Dean was torn to shreds by Hell Hounds.

Still, three months later and Jaz still didn't know that Dean had made a deal for his life. Jaz had lost it too, though he not going around making any deals like Dean had, but instead he shut down.

Bobby had to tell him to eat, literally sit down and make sure that Jaz took every bite. Bobby had to tell him to shower, everything. Jaz didn't talk, and he wasn't the type not to talk. He was pale and thin, dark bags under his eyes, his dark hair was longer than usual and he barely shaved. Bobby had made best friends with the liquor store in town, but Jaz didn't touch a single drop.

And then he started to draw. Bobby had never known Jaz to be an artist, but he could have made a career out of it if he hadn't taken up Hunting. Bobby was sure that it was the drawing that disturbed him the most. Eyes; but not just any type of eyes, they were Red eyes - Crossroad Demon eyes.

There was pounding on the upstairs door and Bobby glanced up the stairs on habit, Jaz didn't seem to notice. He was on his knees on the floor, leaning forward over his pad of paper. He was wearing a simple shirt and tract pant, his feet bare and tucked under himself. Bobby turned and stomped up the stairs; still having no clue as to why Jaz chose the panic room. Maybe it was because he thought that if he stayed in there, then the monster that got Dean wouldn't get him.

Bobby didn't know what he had expected to find on the other side of the door, but it definitely wasn't that. Bobby took multiple steps back until his back hit the wall as Dean took a step over the houses threshold.

"Long time, no see," Dean gave Bobby a tired grin.

Bobby didn't smile back and instead gripped the handle of the silver knife from the table at his side. He lunged at

Dean, his knife ready to slash downward, ready to kill whatever this thing was that had taken Dean's form. He just thanked God that Jaz was so out of it right now, because if he saw this, Bobby wasn't sure what would happen. Dean was prepared though, tired as he was. He grabbed Bobby's wrist before the knife could cut off any of his precious skin, and with some resistance he twist Bobby's arm behind his back. Dean squeezed his wrist, causing Bobby to release the knife. He grabbed it just in time as Bobby broke his hold, twisted around and shoved him into the library. Dean stumbled, grabbing a roller chair against the wall and with his momentum, spun and pushed it between him and Bobby.

"Whoa!" he held up his hands as Bobby went to lung for him again, one palm held up and the other gripping the silver knife.

Bobby didn't lung, but held his ground. "Revenant!" he bellowed.

"What?" Dean exclaimed in surprise. "I ain't no Revenant!"

"That just what a revenant would say," Bobby countered gruffly.

"Fine, would a Revenant do this?" quickly he rolled up his sleeve and pressed the sharp edge of the knife against the flesh of his upper arm and slowly dragged it across. Dean held it out for Bobby to see as blood welled around the cut, and when it didn't sizzle or crackle Bobby seemed to relax.

"Damn, boy." Bobby breath out pulling Dean into a crushing hug. "It's good to see you."

"I'll bet," Dean squeezed him back.

"But how?" Bobby pulled away.

All Dean could do was shrug shoulders. "Your guess is as good as mine. One second everything was dark and then I woke up in a hole." he shook his head. "You should have seen it, Bobby, it was like a nuke-" he stopped suddenly as he got a face full of Holy water. "I'm not a Demon either," he drawled.

Booby shrugged his shoulders, "You can't be too careful." "But you were dead," Bobby said. "Six feet under."

"Yeah," Dean cocked his head. "Why is that? Not that I'm not glad or anything . . ."

"I wanted to give you a Hunters funeral; salt and burn." Bobby told him. "Jaz wouldn't have it."

"Jaz," Dean said suddenly, his back going ramrod straight. "Where is Jaz?"

Bobby . . . He glanced away; what was he supposed to tell Dean?

"What?" Dean demanded, taking a step towards Bobby. "Where is he?"

"He's in the panic room," he barely finished before Dean was off like a rocket. "Dean!" he yelled, but it was already too late. "Balls," he cursed.

Dead dead dead dead dead dead dead dead dead dead dead dead dead dead dead dead dead dead dead dead . . . It had been bouncing painfully around in Jaz's head for three months now, so much that it became a mantra. He had tried shutting down, tried to block everything out - but that one word just wouldn't shut the Hell up!

Then the red eyes came and he could stop them either, they were the same eyes that he had seen after Sam had stabbed him badly. He figured that he had been on the very edge, teetering between life and death. Thankfully, he had chosen to fall on the life side, because other he had no idea how Dean might have taken it. Jaz was sure that Dean would have taken it better then he himself had. He was a mess, couldn't sleep, didn't want to eat, didn't have the energy for a shower. His hair was just blah and he was even wearing stubble.

The only way he could make things hurt less, though hardly by a drop, was to draw them. They watched him, causing him to be paranoid and tense. His head pounded and something wet plopped onto the page he was drawing on. He tried to wipe it away, but it only smeared onto the page. He kept sketching, sketching, sketching . . . he wiped his nose on his sleeve, the blood staining the material. Dead dead dead dead dead dead dead dead dead . . .

"Jaz . . ."

Dead dead dead dead dead dead dead dead . . . Jaz was hearing things, that was all. It would be the first time today either - a few hours early, he had to go to the bathroom, it was the only thing that Bobby didn't have to order him to do. He didn't know why he did it then, he never had before, but as he past the window, he stopped and lifted the curtain away. The sky had been blue a blue he had never seen before, it was like liquid but solid at the same time; that was when he saw it, or him would be more accurate. It was a man, just standing there on the hill that lay out the window; the way the sun was it made it hard to make out any real pacific. Though Jaz was pretty sure the man was wearing a pail trench coat; Jaz had shaken his head the possibility he was hallucinating, and sure enough when he had looked again, the man was gone, a strong wind rustling the trees. Jaz had heard a voice too, but it had been to faint and soft to hear.

Dean was gone and he was just loosing it - going crazy . . .