Present day

Oklahoma City, Oklahoma

What nobody had ever told Dean, was that a salt-and-burn was never simple. Never.

You had to scrounge through old news clippings looking for the right facts, make sure you didn't totally blow your cover talking to locals, and that most spirits usually popped up right before they flamed out.

Especially that they always popped up- like Angelina Simmons, per the moment-out of the damn thin air, and gave you a nice big lift off that hurt a hell of a lot when you finally landed.

With a groan, Dean pulled his body upright. After a few too many shots, and a romp with "The Terrible Twosome", Tina and Tracy- who were pretty damn twisty- the multitude of activities he'd participated in just didn't mix well together. Blinking a couple of times, Dean rolled over and pushed himself onto his feet.

All he had to do was get from point A (also known as where he was standing) to point B (which meant getting past not so angelic Angie) light some matches, and throw them onto the gasoline-saturated, heavily salted bones.

Easy my ass.

Reaching into the waistband of his jeans, he pulled out his old sawed of shotgun. He had no need for new and shiny objects. Old and trusty worked just fine.

Cleaning Angie-not-so-Jolie out of the way with a few rock-salt rounds, Dean dug through his coat pockets for the matchbook. Grasping a hefty amount in hand, he ripped them down the coarse paper, the friction illuminating the air with sparks of flames. With a flick of the wrist, the matches landed over the broken bones, lighting up the corpse in a roaring fire.

Rubbing the middle of his back, Dean surveyed his handiwork. Mentally ticking of the hunt, he looked at the piles of unearthed dirt with a grimace.

Working solo really had its down falls.

After a grueling hour of filling in the grave, Dean had finally completed the task. With legs that dragged as if there was an additional weight around his ankles, Dean finally made his way back to the Impala.

If there was anything that had stayed consistent in his life, it was Baby. The smooth metal exterior shone from the moonlight, the chrome finishes giving a special twinkle in the night light. After throwing the shovel and other items into the trunk, Dean slid in behind the wheel of the car. He could practically feel her hugging him back as the leather molded to his body. Putting the car in drive, the roar of the engine was equivalent to the sound of tweeting birds on a warm summers morning.

This was home.

After Sam and John had left Dean in the dust, it was like a kick to the crotch. You could sympathize when it happened to someone else, but it was a whole 'nother realm of agony when it hit you.

Not knowing anything but following orders his entire life, he'd picked up the slip of paper and made his way onto the next hunt. The only rule he had broken was calling Sam. Because there was no way that heaven or hell (or John Winchester) could keep him from talking to his brother. The only thing he hadn't counted on was that Sam would be the one to keep the connection broken.

Not a single time did Sam pick up the phone. Not. One. Time.

That was the breaking point. Dean could take the fact that Sam was going to school. He was so damn pigheaded that he knew one way or another his little brother was going to make his dreams reality. He'd just never thought that Sam's dreams didn't include him. Having Sam leave him behind in the dark was as bad as mourning for a lost loved one. He still felt the clench in his chest at his name and felt the sting of tears in the back of his eyes.

After finding no middle ground with Sam, Dean tried to at least look at the situation in some good light. He still had his dad around, he still had some family. He just needed to reconnect with John quickly.

Wrong.

The last time Dean had seen John face-to-face was four and a half to five years ago, after John had killed the yellow eyed demon.

He'd received a short voicemail telling him to meet up in a hole-in-the-wall diner in Portland, Oregon. The weather had been dreary by the time Dean had arrived for a late breakfast at the diner. Already situated in the booth was John Winchester himself. Little had changed about the man; maybe his face was adorned with a couple more creases or bruises, but it was the look in his eyes that still held the same military man. Dean sat himself on the other bench of the booth when John didn't rise to greet him. John gave a monologue that lasted fifteen minutes at most before leaving. The only two main points Dean was able to make out were,"The demons dead. I caught up to him around Wyoming and shot the son of a bitch straight through his twisted piece of shit for a heart," and "I think it'd be best we go our separate ways now. God knows you're too damn old to be holding onto the tail of my shirt every place I go. More cases are covered if I go my own way and you find something to do on your own. I don't have room for hungover mistakes."

That was the last time Dean had talked to John. Any attempt at calling his phone ended with dial tones and voice mails.

It was, in fact, the final nail in the coffin. There was no place for him in either John or Sam's lives if he wasn't wanted, which they had made painstakingly clear. He was just an extra bed to pay for or a waste of time.

In most ways, Dean had then left the world of hunting. He would grab odd jobs at auto shops, and hustle pool when all that was left was spare change. He kept an eye out for anything sounding suspicious, or of supernatural quality, in case he needed to make a pit stop.

Dean kept away from the hunter friendly bars, the sympathetic gazes the others cast towards him enough to make his stomach revolt.

The only 'relations' he took part in lasted for an evening, occasionally into the morning at most.

He wasn't attaching his strings anywhere in hopes of finding a home, then having it pulled out from beneath him.

He was better off alone.

By ten o'clock the next day, Dean was ready to head out of town.

He had just one last stop at his P.O. box before he hit the road.

Stepping into the well air conditioned room, he made his way over, shoving his key into the appropriate slot. After a couple of twists and tugs, the box was open. Grabbing the thin stack of mail, he rifled through it until he pulled out an envelope of finer quality than the rest. Shoving the rest under his arm so he had both hands to work with, Dean starred at the letter addressed to him with a furrowed brow. The letter lacked the I.D. of whoever had sent it.

With a shrug of his shoulders, and a mumbled "Maybe it's my lucky day", Dean tore open the envelope. Maybe it was some hot vacation or misplaced money. Instead, he pulled out what many would find to be a beautiful invitation.

Dean could feel the blood drain from his face, and his stomach begin to flop like a fish out of water.

In neat cursive, surrounded by perfect swirls of decoration, the card read:

Mr. and Mrs. Moore request the honor of your presence at the marriage of their daughter

Jessica Lee Moore

and

Samuel Winchester

With a slam, Dean closed the box. As soon as it had clicked shut, he began to smash the top of his head on the hard shell of the box a number of times.

Taking a deep breath, he let his forehead rest on the cool metal in silence.

Tilting his head towards the ceiling, as if he were addressing God himself, he moaned, "Is this your idea of luck? 'Cuz man does your timing suck. Stupid damn luck."

A/N: I was happy to finally be able to squeeze out another chapter this week since my timing usually is rather terrible and unpredictable. So here is something to read as you finally reach the weekend! Little bit of a cliffy, but more to come! Hoorah!

On a side note, thank you for the reviews, follows, favorites, etc. I thought that I would post a story that maybe, maybe, would get a teeny tiny amount of attention. Then I was shocked to see the amount of followers sky rocket past my goal! So thank you to the moon and the stars for reading my little story out of all of the others. I truly appreciate it.

As you leave, don't forget to write a quick review! I love any sort of feedback, because I really do try to acknowledge what you guys think.

Thanks and have a lovely weekend y'all!

Love, Indigo