A/N: Thank you all for reading. I'm having a blast writing this story. I've actually gotten to some dialogue, so I hope you all like it. All feedback is appreciated!

Disclaimer: Usual stuff. Don't own the characters as much as I may want to.

Chapter 2

The sun was just rising as I approached the salvage yard on foot. I had ditched the stolen truck a few miles out, not wanting to lead authorities straight to me.

The snow had thinned out an hour ago, only about an inch left on the ground. My bare feet were cold, but my soles were thick from me being essentially shoeless for a couple centuries. I'd had hours to realize I couldn't be in the pit anymore. I was back on Earth.

As much as I wanted to push my questions aside, I couldn't bury my confusion about what was happening. How was I out? More importantly, who got me out?

If Dean had made another deal, I'd be the one to strangle him back to Hell.

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"Think it worked?"

Bobby looked up from the still burning bundle of herbs in his hands. "No way to know yet, I guess." He tossed them into the fireplace, took a swig of whiskey straight from the bottle, and picked up the phone.

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I'm not sure what I expected from Bobby's place, but it wasn't for everything to look exactly the same. There was still the ugly yellow Mustang without tires by the front gates, still the rusted out shell of an SUV by the garage.

There was even still smoke coming out of the chimney, smelling faintly of sage.

Not wanting to go in unprepared, I circled the house and looked in the windows. Empty beer bottles still lined every counter, dirty dishes piled up in the sink, and books full of obscure knowledge covered the ground.

My palms itched. I hadn't held a book in so long, I could barely remember the feel of ink beneath my fingers.

A familiar roar penetrated my thoughts. I instinctively crouched down and crept towards the front of the house.

The man stepped out of the sleek, black car and ran a loving hand over the hood, as if he hadn't driven her in a long time. I could feel my heart pound harder.

He looked good, I thought. Not the pulpy mess that was my last image of him. But I had tried not think of him bloody and broken when Lucifer wasn't toying with me. Instead I held his dream in my mind, using it as a charm to ward off Dean's screams while the devil rolled his eyeballs around in his hand.

The only time we'd used the African dream root, my brother had laughed off his fantasy of Lisa sitting, beckoning him towards a serene picnic. But I liked to imagine Dean sitting there, eating grapes and laughing with her. His only worry in the world was how much time he had before picking Ben up from baseball practice.

He looked tired though, and I couldn't help but feel a pang of concern in my chest. Dark circles ringed underneath his eyes and he looked like he'd slept in those clothes. I couldn't guess at his thoughts when he looked silently at the house before walking inside.

I took a deep breath, letting it out slowly. I hadn't expected to need to deal with Dean so soon. All I wanted was a safe place to hunker down for a couple days and figure out what was happening. Now I had to choose. Was I ready to face my brother? I looked down at my hands, covered with swirls of scars. Was he ready to see me?

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Dean took a moment to look over the entryway, disconcertingly familiar. It had been eight months since he'd stood in this house. Eight long months and he wasn't sure how he felt about being back.

"Bobby!" He shouted into the house. He heard a curse and a shuffle of papers and he walked into the living room.

"You got here quick," the grizzled hunter said, nonchalantly sliding some papers under a book. Dean couldn't help his sudden curiosity. Bobby didn't have a subtle bone in his body.

"I was nearby. I got your message and figured I could stop by." He'd been taking the Impala out for a cruise, trying to silence Sam's unending screams in his nightmares. Dean put his hands in his pockets and stepped further into the room. "Haven't seen you in a while."

"Damnit, boy," Bobby muttered and stepped around the desk. He grabbed Dean's shoulders, pulling him into a gruff hug. "It's good to see you, Dean, but you didn't have to come here. I know you've got a nice life in the suburbs." His eyes flicked to the closed kitchen door and back to Dean's face.

Stifling his smirk at Bobby's discomfiture, Dean idly picked up some of the papers littering the old hunter's desk.

"Watcha working on? Your message said you had a question for me."

"Did I?" Bobby shifted uncomfortably, eyes flitting around the room. "Oh I was just going to say—"

"I'll bring some Windex with me next time, Bobby," came a voice from the kitchen. "Your house really needs a good clea—oh!" The woman stopped talking when she opened the door and saw Dean standing there.

"Lisa?" Dean exclaimed. "What the hell are you doing here?" She definitely wasn't pulling a long shift at the hospital like she'd told me.

She tucked a curl of her hair behind her ear, a nervous gesture, before walking over and brushing a light kiss over Dean's lips. "I'm sorry, I didn't know how to tell you any of this."

"Any of what?" Dean asked suspiciously, though his anger had dissipated with the touch of her lips. He hadn't thought Lisa even knew who Bobby was, let alone expected her to walk out of his kitchen.

"She's been helping me," Bobby shrugged, looking relieved.

"Helping with what?" Dean couldn't help his flash of concern about Lisa being put in danger. He ran his gaze over her lithe body, looking for injuries. "I swear if one hair on her body is hurt, I'll run you over with the Impala, Bobby."

Lisa rolled her eyes and pulled out the papers Bobby had tried to hide. "No, nothing like that. I didn't want you to get your hopes up before we had anything," she said, handing to papers over to Dean. "But we found something."

Flipping through the pages, he wasn't sure what he was seeing. A lot of Latin, some intricate diagrams, an innocent looking list of ingredients. "What is this for?"

She fidgeted, looking to Bobby for some help that wasn't coming. She sighed. "I knew you weren't happy and I couldn't keep not doing anything about it."

Dean opened his mouth to say of course he was happy, but Lisa raised her hand to stop it.

"No, it's been eating you up inside and I've never blamed you for it. Sam's sacrifice, him being in Hell," Dean flinched at the pain in his chest at the reminder. "You haven't slept a whole night in all the time we've been together. Did you think I wouldn't notice?" Lisa shrugged. "I've been working with Bobby to find a way to get him out."

Feeling equal parts hopeful and wary, Dean looked back at the papers he was holding. "Did it…have you found a way?"

Lisa took his hand in hers in a comforting gesture. "That's why Bobby called. We only just finished the ritual. You weren't supposed to know about this so soon, but we figured if it worked, you would be the first to know."

Dean shook his head. "I haven't seen anything." A sudden thought occurred to him and he turned to glare at Lisa. "You didn't make a deal did you," he accused.

She rolled her eyes and raised an eyebrow. "I love you, sweetheart, but I'm not stupid. Of course we didn't make a deal."

"Give your angel friend a call," Bobby butted in.

With a fresh swell of hope Dean closed his eyes. "Cas? Uh, I have a question for you and I really hope you can help." He waited a couple seconds before opening his eyes and looking around the room. No angel. He shrugged. "Guess Cas has more important things—" The flutter of a trench coat behind him made him break off and spin to face his old friend.

Before he could ask anything though, the angel cocked his head to the side and asked, "Why is Sam standing outside?"