Beckett lost track of the hunters. He lost track of the Demons and vampires and vengeful spirits. He realized that on his first normal leap after the hunters, he almost didn't want to solve the problem and leap, for fear he'd end up with another of those hunters.

He discovered Demons could see him just as Angels could, but he always found a way to avoid explaining his situation to any other hunters he might have been with. Which wasn't really hard since his go-to argument was that the Demon was lying and trying to get them to turn against each other.

He had the words for the exorcism memorized by the third hunt. He knew now why hunters were mistrustful of people. Even when he was on a normal leap, he kept himself on alert and knew where he could get salt at a moment's notice.

And suddenly he was more tired than he had ever been.

Leaping for two decades had certainly taken its toll on Dr. Samuel Beckett, but it was nothing compared to having to fight for his life against the supernatural.

Just one more leap, he would tell himself. He had known for a while how to stop leaping, but he had never seen a reason to; he was helping people and making the world a better place than he had found it, and he had thought he could deal with that. But when more and more of his hunts involved a Rugaru or a Wendigo or a Poltergeist, he couldn't seem to enjoy it anymore.

"Why don't you come home?" Al asked gently. Beckett was pouring salt over the bones at the bottom of a grave.

"Just one more," Beckett said, ditching the empty salt box and grabbing the accelerant.

"Even if that means you have to hunt again?"

"Even if it means I have to hunt again," Beckett repeated, dropping a match onto the doused remains.

The thing was, every time Beckett said one more, he was hoping he would get a normal leap. And every time he had a normal leap, some part of him hoped he was done with the hunting leaps, and so he would leap again. And every time he leaped again, he would hunt again, and hope for a normal leap.

"You keep saying 'one more' Sam," Al said. "At some point you have to stop."

Beckett was silent a moment as he watched the flames char their fuel. "Just one more," he said quietly.

As if on cue, there was a flash of blinding blue light, and Beckett felt his body shift. He was no longer upright, instead lying on a couch. There was a book on his chest, as if he'd fallen asleep with it there. He inspected the book, but didn't recognize it. At least it looked like a regular novel. He groaned and shifted himself into a sitting position.

"Feeling better Sammy?" came a familiar voice from across the room.

Beckett felt his whole body stiffen when he glanced toward the voice. Two men leaning over a book, one dark-haired and wearing a trench coat, the other blonde and gazing in Beckett's direction. A thousand thoughts raced through Beckett's mind (Shit. Why? Why these two? I couldn't have had a normal leap? My last leap and I have to spend it with these two clowns?) but all that came out of his mouth was "Oh boy."

The dark-haired man's hand froze over the book. His gaze turned to Beckett unnaturally quickly. Beckett would have been afraid if he hadn't known whose body he was currently occupying.

"What are you doing here?" Castiel asked. His voice was calm, but it sent a chill up Beckett's spine.

"Uh, Cas?" Dean asked. "You feeling okay?"

Cas didn't move his gaze even an inch when he reached out and touched his first two fingers to Dean's forehead. Dean managed to get out a quick "Hey! Wha-" before he blinked confusedly and his gaze on Beckett hardened. "You again?"

"Believe me, this is not where I want to be right now," Beckett said with a hollow chuckle.

"What do we need to do to get you to leave?" Dean asked.

"Gee, thanks," Beckett said. His voice was sarcastic, but in reality he had been wondering the same thing. "I just got here. Al hasn't had a chance to get the stats from Ziggy yet. He probably hasn't even checked on your brother yet."

"Shit," Dean muttered, looking back down at the book.

"What? Another hunt? What is it?" Beckett asked, getting to his feet uneasily. Cas was still staring him down, very clearly not in the mood to deal with Beckett. Though, if the last time they ran into each other is any indication, Cas wouldn't ever really be in the mood to deal with him.

"No case," Dean said. "It's been pretty quiet, actually."

"Pity," Beckett said. "I would actually be able to help this time, and there isn't even a case."

"How could you possibly help?" Cas asked, eyes narrowed.

"You know, I did actually help last time," Beckett said, raising an eyebrow at him. "And I can't even begin to tell you how many hunts I've done since I was here last."

"And you've lived," Dean said, eyeing Beckett with new-found respect and allowing himself to be mildly impressed. "How many?"

"Hell if I know," Beckett replied. He looked around at the massive library around him, not spying any widow to the outside world. "Where am I, exactly?"

"Lebanon, Kansas," Dean said.

"But when?"

"Two thousand eleven," Cas said.

"Lovely," Beckett said, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Alright, so if there isn't a case at the moment, what else can I help with? Might as well do something."

Sam was only moderately distressed when he awoke to find himself in the tiny waiting room.

He was on his feet almost as soon as he was conscious enough to realize he wasn't napping on a couch in the bunker, but when he took a good look around, he remembered how Dean had described his experience almost a year ago when Sam Beckett had briefly taken over his life. This looked exactly how Dean had described the waiting room, so Sam figured that's where he must be.

It was a little disturbing to know that someone else was walking around with his face, especially since that hadn't ended well in the past, but since he knew there was nothing he could do about it (and that Beckett wasn't going to run around murdering people with Sam's face) he decided to just wait it out. Maybe he'd go find a way to transmit to Dean and Cas like Dean had done last year.

Sam looked up when he heard a tumbler turn over in the lock. The door swung open to reveal the old man Sam remembered as Al holding a tray of food.

"Aw hell," Al said, speaking around his cigar, when he recognized who it was.

"Nice to see you too," Sam said. "What am I in for?"

Al sighed, setting the tray down and taking his cigar in his first two fingers. "We're not sure yet. Ziggy's running scenarios, but we have no clear solution."

"Great," Sam said sarcastically.

"Well, what was the case you were working?" Al asked. "That could give us some kind of clue."

Sam shook his head, pursing his lips slightly. "We weren't working a case," he said. "We haven't had a case in two weeks."

"Not at all?" Al asked, disbelief shaping his features.

Sam frowned slightly. "None. Your guy doesn't seem to have very good timing with us."

"No, I guess not," Al said, the gears in his mind working overtime. "Nothing was starting to look weird? At all?"

"Look, Al, the only weird thing is that nothing weird is going on. It happens sometimes. Things go quite for a while." Sam considered this for a moment before amending, "Well, it doesn't usually happen with us. We aren't that lucky. But I'm certainly not complaining."

They were silent a moment, Sam watching for a response, Al trying to sort his thoughts out.

"So Sam's on a leap into one of the best hunters on the planet, and there isn't even a hunt?"

Sam knit his brows in confusion. "You think I'm one of the best hunters on the planet?"

"Don't flatter yourself," Al said with a wave of his hand. He took a pull from his cigar before saying, "We've had leaps with quite a few other hunters, and believe me, some of them would not shut up about the Winchesters."

"That can't be a good thing" Sam said, not buying it. "I know plenty of hunters who want nothing to do with us."

"No, they still don't want anything to do with you," Al confirmed. "But they're pretty impressed with you. They respect you, whether they want to actually work with you or not."

"Well that's encouraging, if not what I was expecting to hear," Sam said, mildly impressed but still a little confused. "Exactly how many hunters have you come across?"

"Enough. More than enough," Al said pointedly. "I've tried to tell that son of a bitch to give it a rest and come home before he gets himself killed, but he's been determined to keep at it."

"Who, Beckett?" Sam asked.

"Who else would I be talking about?" Al countered, starting to get annoyed.

Sam shrugged. "It's the life," he said. "When you get into it, it's hard to get out."

"Yeah, well, he said one more leap, and now we don't have a case to get him out!"

Sam studied Al for a minute, watching the older man drag on his cigar. "Are you and Sam close?" he asked.

"Close?" Al asked, starting slightly at the question. "Yeah, we're close. We've been friends a long time. I've kept him from getting stuck for the last twenty years. Hell, he leaped back and helped me get my relationship with my wife back in order."

A pained look crossed Sam's face. "Then I'm really sorry you had to deal with hunting these things, because there's no way he's still himself after all that."

"No, he isn't," Al said sadly. "So if you come up with anything, and I mean anything, that might be relevant to getting him out of there, you let me know."

"Yeah, sure," Sam said. "But isn't that what Ziggy's for?"

"Ziggy can't solve all our problems, kid."