It's close to midnight when Elizabeth wakes to find Dean's side of the bed cold. She sits up and squints around her room, but it doesn't take long to realize that her boyfriend's not there. With a sigh, she slips her glasses on and shuffles downstairs in just an oversized tee and her underwear.

She finds Dean on the couch, his feet propped up on the coffee table and a beer in his hand. He's staring ahead of him at the TV, though nothing's playing. He doesn't even seem to notice he's not alone until she rests a hand on his shoulder and all his muscles bunch up in surprise.

"It's just me," she murmurs. He glances up at her, tears caught in his lashes and more of them sliding down his cheeks. Elizabeth drops onto the couch beside him to draw him close, resting his head against her chest so she can rock him a little. "It's okay, sweetheart."

"It's not," Dean chokes out. "Dad's dead and the thing responsible is still out there and we have no fucking leads—" A choked sob cuts him off and he curls into himself, his head falling to Elizabeth's lap. She doesn't know what to say, so she says nothing, combing her fingers through his hair. She wants to make this better, wants to see her boys healthy and happy, but she doesn't know how. "I miss him, Liza. I miss my dad."

"I know you do." Elizabeth glances over her shoulder when she hears a creaking floorboard, Sam standing at the foot of the stairs. His tired, red-rimmed eyes take in everything from the empty beer bottle lying on the floor to the way Dean's sobbing. He's on the other side of Dean in a flash, rubbing soothing circles against his back even as he starts to cry.

"It's not right. It's not right."

"It never is, honey." Tears prickle at her eyes, but she blinks them away. Now's not the time for her to wallow in self-pity. Right now, all her attention needs to be focused on her boys and getting them back to something normal. "It's not gonna feel right for a long time, but I'm always here for the two of you. Not even God could tear me away."

"We'll get through it together," Sam says, rasping. "We…. We'll kill Azazel for Mom and Dad and then we'll take a long vacation right here in Sioux Falls. No cases for a week while we get drunk on wine and watch trashy daytime soaps." Dean sits up with a wet laugh, gazing fondly at his brother.

"You're gonna hate that fabric softener teddy bear," Dean warns. "And you're gonna hate that Victor douche even more. God, I want to rip that cheesy mustache off his face and make him eat it." Dean laughs again and it makes something loosen in Elizabeth's chest. If Dean can laugh like that, then the world will be okay.

"So you've said." They lapse into a comfortable quiet, Sam and Elizabeth cuddling Dean between them so he really does know he's not alone in his grief. "We should probably get some sleep."

"Probably."

"Wanna watch a movie?"

"God yes. I think Bobby's got a copy of Holes on DVD somewhere around here." Elizabeth smiles, pulling said copy out from under the couch cushion. Bobby is protective of his favorite movies; he's got them hidden all over the house like he's afraid Nicolas Cage is going to swipe them. "What else does he have under that cushion?" Elizabeth does a quick mental inventory before she speaks.

"Three dollars in change, a knife, a paperback of Jurassic Park, and that Holes movie," she recites. There are at least three different books hidden around the living room from when Elizabeth was a kid. She's pretty sure See Spot Run is still sandwiched between a shotgun and her tee-ball trophy. "I'll get the movie set up if you two get the snacks."

That's how they pass the rest of the wee hours, murmuring softly, cuddled tightly together like a bunch of puppies, and laughing when Pendansky gets a shovel to the face. Finally, when they hear Bobby moving around upstairs, they turn the TV off and allow silence to wash over them.

"Thank you, guys," Dean says after a long while. "I mean it, thank you. I know this isn't how y'all wanted to spend your night."

"Getting drunk with my brother and sister while watching Holes on repeat is the best way to pass the time," Sam says, smiling. "Don't worry about it, man. It's certainly not the weirdest thing we've ever done."

"That honor goes to spray painting dicks on a wall to piss off a ghost," Elizabeth says smartly. Dean cracks up at that, loud peals of laughter filling the old house to bursting. The sound is contagious, Elizabeth and Sam joining in until they're leaning against each other just to stay on the couch.

"Did I miss movie night," Bobby asks as he comes into the room. He's only dressed in a pair of sweats, his baseball cap firmly on his head as his russet hair points every which way beneath it. Bobby doesn't brush his hair until noon unless he's bailing his kids out of jail.

"Something like that." Bobby hums, shuffling into the kitchen and coming back a moment later with a glass of orange juice. He settles down in his armchair and shoots the kids another glance, suspicious. Like the brushing of hair, laughing before noon is a strange thing in the Singer household. "How was your night?"

"Good enough, I guess. Didn't have any weird dreams." Elizabeth's smile dims slightly at the mention of dreams, remembering her own nightmare in vivid detail; the ruined earth, fire raining from the sky, a snake-like voice that belongs to the man who isn't a man. "What case required you to spray paint dicks on a wall?" The three kids share a look of wide-eyed panic because Bobby isn't supposed to know about Rose Red under any circumstances.

"Uh, it's nothing. It was just a vengeful spirit that didn't like remodeling." Bobby raises one bushy brow and Elizabeth changes the subject before he can probe any deeper. "Wanna watch Holes, Uncle B? It gets even better the fiftieth time." Bobby's brow lowers and then both of them are furrowing in rapid succession and she knows she's screwed.

"You three morons are the ones who burned down Rose Red, aren't you?"

"It was Sammy's fault!"

"Hey," Sam squawks as Dean says," We didn't even want to go, but he made us!" Bobby makes a low noise and then he's pinching the bridge of his nose. The house falls quiet again, the only sound being the cars passing by on the road into town. Finally, when Elizabeth feels like she's going to burst, a cell phone starts to ring.

"I'll get it." She's up and moving before anyone can stop her, rummaging around under the TV stand until she pulls out a dusty cellphone. The battery is dangerously low, but there's enough for her to flip it open and hit accept. "Y'ello?"

"Is this John Winchester's phone," asks a woman on the other end.

"Yep."

"I've been trying to get ahold of that bastard for four months and he can't even be bothered to answer his cell when he finally accepts it? Tell me where he's at so I can kill him my damn self." Elizabeth is shocked into silence, then she's shocked because a woman is actually asking for John. She doesn't think she's ever seen the man show even a passing interest in a woman since Mary's death. "Hello? Is anyone there?"

"Uh, you're a little late to the party."

"What?"

"John's been dead going on two weeks now." The line goes quiet apart from the crackle of static. "I know this ain't the best way to find out about your boyfriend, but—"

"I wouldn't touch that man with a ten-foot pole." There's a sigh, quiet and wistful, and then the woman is talking again. "Who is it I'm talkin' to?"

"Elizabeth Mayson, ma'am."

"Mayson? As in Christopher's little girl?" Elizabeth nods, then remembers the woman can't see it and mumbles an affirmative. "He wouldn't shut up about you and your sister whenever he passed through. I'm sorry about what happened to him."

"Thanks. So did you just call to cuss John out or was there an actual reason beyond that?"

"I thought I could help him with that demon he was chasing all over God's green earth. I'm guessing that he doesn't need the help now."

"Actually, we're pretty sure the demon is what killed him. Me and his boys are trying to find the damn thing if you still wanna help." Another crackle of static and then the woman lets out a soft laugh, a purely motherly sound that makes all of Elizabeth's jagged nerves relax.

"I'll text you my address, Elizabeth. When you get into town, come to Harvelle's Roadhouse and ask for Ellen." Elizabeth hangs up and slowly turns to face the others, waving the phone a little.

"Sorry to cut your lecture short, Uncle B, but the boys and I have to go meet with someone about killing Azazel. I'm sure the lecture was inspired and would make all the great philosophers weep tears of joy, but we need to get movin'." She and the boys are back up the stairs before Bobby can protest, shoving clothes and supplies in their bags before racing out to Elizabeth's car.

"Don't think this conversation is over," Bobby yells from the front porch. He's waving his fist at the cloud of dust the little Chevy's tires kick up and Elizabeth can feel his glare through the metal and seats. She sinks down for good measure, but, nope, it's still there. If looks could kill, Bobby would be the only person left on Earth.

"Do you think he'll forget about Rose Red by the time we get back," Sam asks.

"Not a chance in hell."

The three hour drive feels more like seven once the AC craps out, Elizabeth's legs stuck to her cloth seats by the time they pull into the Roadhouse parking lot. It's a dusty place, which isn't surprising since it's in Nebraska, the heat almost unbearable as they all scramble out of the car.

"I really gotta fix up Baby," Dean complains. "This damn car is held together by duct tape and hope." That's not even an exaggeration, the car is more duct tape than original parts at this point. She loves it, though. Elizabeth pats the hood with a proud little smile. "It's a death trap, Liza."

"Yeah," she admits," but it's my death trap."

"Can we get inside before we melt," Sam complains, already on the porch. The other two scurry after him, desperate for a working AC and maybe something to drink. There doesn't even have to be alcohol in it, Elizabeth would be just as happy with a root beer float. "Wait, is this place even stable?" The Roadhouse is a bit on the dilapidated side, the old boards worn down in places, a depressing gray where the paint has peeled off. The curtains in the windows keep them from looking inside, but they're frilly and vibrant, which means someone still lives here.

"This is the right place," Elizabeth shrugs. "I say we head in and work things out from there." She strides up onto the porch and opens the screen door, keeping it propped against her hip as she tries the front door. The knob refuses to turn, locked tight. "It's locked."

"Real hospitable," Dean grumbles. "Sammy, lockpicks." Sam hands the pouch over to Dean and he bumps Elizabeth out of his way to set to work on the door. He's still cursing under his breath when the door opens and sends him tumbling forward onto the dusty floor. The woman who'd opened the door is middle-aged, a few wrinkles near her eyes the only real sign of her being closer to forty than thirty.

"Doorknob sticks sometimes," the woman says, unimpressed. "You gotta jiggle it." Dean groans, long and low, still lying face down. "You kids want a drink?" Elizabeth and Sam share a look and a shrug before they step over Dean, following the woman over to the bar. "I'm Ellen, by the way. That idiot passed out on the pool table is Ash and my daughter is somewhere around here." Ellen waves in the general direction of a back hall, but Elizabeth is more interested in the fact that this place is actually kind of cold.

"You got any ice cream," she asks, settling down on a bar stool. "Maybe some root beer?"

"Sure thing. What about you, handsome?"

"Uh, root beer float," Sam says. Ellen looks at Dean, who's still lying on the floor. There's a faint crease between her brows and she looks like she's about to go check on him when Dean lets out a soft snore. Ellen's brows meet her hairline as she looks back to the other two. "He had a rough night."

"Should we put him next to Ash?"

"Nah, dude can sleep anywhere." Ellen snorts but doesn't argue, fixing up a couple of root beer floats and setting them down on the bar in front of the hunters. Elizabeth isn't going to lie, the float tastes better than anything she's ever had, it's better than sex, and the moan she lets out is positively indecent. "You okay over there, Liza?"

"S'good," she says around a spoonful of ice cream. "I'm gonna move in."

"God knows I've got plenty of room," Ellen laughs.

"Room for what," a cute blonde asks, coming out of a door behind the bar. Cold air wafts out, rustling fine strands of hair, the thin tank top she's wearing. Elizabeth guesses the room must be cold storage, but she's more focused on the blonde than anything cold now. She straightens on the bar stool, giving the other woman a flirty smile.

"You're not her type, Mayson." Elizabeth never loses the flirty smile, just turns it on Ellen. "You're not mine either."

"Give me time," Elizabeth says. "I tend to grow on people."

"Yeah," Sam snorts. "She's a fungus." Elizabeth is still smiling when she jabs her elbow into Sam's ribs, making the big galute nearly topple off the stool. He scowls down at her, looks ready to push her, when Ellen clears her throat. The sharp sound is so like the one Bobby makes that the pair straighten immediately. "Sorry."

"Sorry."

"Forgiven," Ellen says, bemused.

"These the hunters you told me about," the blonde asks. She's got a case of beer in one hand and the other rests on a narrow hip. She might be a year or so younger than Elizabeth, still boasting traces of baby fat in her cheeks, a little innocence lingering in the brown of her eyes.

"The very same. Elizabeth, Sam, and the one passed out on the floor is Dean." Dean snores like he was waiting for a signal, long and loud, dust swirling away from his mouth in a gust of hot air. "This is my daughter, Jo."

"Nice to meet you Jo," Elizabeth says, smiling again. Jo looks entirely unimpressed, but Elizabeth doesn't mind the blatant rejection. Just because Jo isn't interested doesn't mean they can't be friends. "Let me wake up my better half and then we can talk about old Yellow Eyes." She smacks Sam's arm lightly, a playful thing before she gestures at Dean. Sam rolls his eyes, annoyed at being pulled away from his float. They cross back over to the door, each of them taking up position on either side of Dean.

"How do you want to do it," Sam asks.

"The safe way." Neither are aware of it, but they tilt their heads to the right in the same instant, boasting identical pouts as they think it through. Behind them, Ellen and Jo share a bemused expression. "Stampede?"

"Nah, that only works in a car. Softly?"

"Nah, I'm too hot to be soft." Elizabeth hums, then something bright flickers across her face, her and Sam sharing a devious smile that would make a lesser person tremble in their boots. "You thinking what I'm thinking?"

"Definitely." They move so they're both in front of Dean, standing shoulder to shoulder (or shoulder to elbow considering the height difference) and bending at the waist. At this distance, they'll be loud enough to wake Dean and still far enough away to sprint for cover once he's conscious. "Three, two, one."

"This is the song that never ends," they belt out in unison, jumping back when Dean springs upright. "It just goes on and on, my friends! Some people started singing it not knowing what it was and they'll continue—"

"I will tie you little jackasses up and stuff you in the trunk," Dean groans, scrambling to get his feet under him. Elizabeth and Sam, well-versed with this threat, bolt around the bar and (very sensibly) use Ellen as a human shield. "Get over here."

"No, you're gonna hit me," Sam says, tugging on Jo's arm so they have more cover.

"Samuel Elijah Winchester, you do what I said." Sam doesn't budge, just hunkers down even more behind the women. "Elizabeth Michelle, you know you did me dirty. We don't sing that song, it's bad luck." Which is fair, the last time the song came up in conversation had ended with two concussions, a broken arm, and the grounding of a lifetime. Who knew that eight year olds building their own treehouse could end so badly?

"Your middle name is Elijah," Jo snorts.

"Shut up," Sam mutters.

"Do y'all wanna hear about the demon or not," Ellen asks, brows arched. She's not frowning, it almost seems like she's biting back a smile, but it's hard to tell when Elizabeth is crouched behind her legs. Dean's still scowling as he settles at the bar, Sam and Elizabeth eventually joining him.

"We'll take all the help we can get at this point."

"Well, I can't quite help y'all, but Ash can."

"The guy passed out on the pool table?" Ellen nods and they all glance over at the lump of cheap plaid and old jeans currently sawing logs. "Is there anyone else? Maybe a talented dog that rescues kids from wells?"

"Lassie's on vacation, so you'll have to make do. Ash!" Ash snorts and tries to sit up, but that only leads to him falling off the table in a tangle of long limbs. Elizabeth bites back a smile since it's technically rude to make fun of the dude that's going to help you murder a demon. Ash straightens and stands, his mullet in disarray.

"Is it closing time," Ash asks, his voice still thick with sleep. "Do I need to toss 'em out for you, Ellen? 'Cause I think I can take the blondes, but the big 'un might kick my ass." The three hunters turn in unison to give Ellen and Jo matching expressions of disbelief. This is the guy that's supposed to help them find Yellow Eyes?

"He's a genius," Jo shrugs.

"He's a Lynyrd Skynyrd roadie," Dean returns. Ash glances over at him, winking. There's a hint of flirtation, but it bounces right off Dean today. He's too exhausted to flirt back. Elizabeth makes a mental note to sit on him and force him into a nap later on.

"I'll take that as a compliment," Ash says.

"Go get the research, Ash," Ellen instructs. "These are John's kids." Elizabeth makes a face at that, but she doesn't say anything. The man is dead and she needs to kick the habit of not wanting to be associated with him. If he ever comes back, she'll punch him in the throat and call it good.

"What research?"

"Demon."

"Not llamas?" Ellen lets out a deep sigh of tired mothers everywhere, dipping her chin against her chest. "No problem, be right back." Ash saunters off down a hall, Elizabeth watching for a moment before turning back to her float. The problem with that is that her float is gone, only a faint ring of condensation to show that the glass had ever been there. She follows the trail to her left, then up to the spoon in Dean's mouth.

"You're a brave man, Winchester," she says, entirely serious.

"You love me," he returns, mouth full of ice cream.

"It's a damn good thing." He smiles at her, a bit of foam gathered at the corner of his mouth. Instead of doing the ladylike thing and dabbing the foam with a napkin, she leans over and licks it off. Dean's smile fades as his mouth opens, looking at her in shock like he doesn't remember that she has zero idea of personal space or when displays of affection should happen. Her uncle raised her to fight the dead, he didn't have time to teach her manners.

"Ugh," Sam groans. "Just kill me now."

"Want me to lick you, too?" Sam makes a face that siblings of all ages have mastered, disgust mixed with fondness. The number of times she's caused that expression should probably be concerning. Eh, she'll save it for when she can afford therapy.

Ash comes back downstairs a moment later, carrying nothing but an old laptop that looks about as sturdy as Elizabeth's car; same amount of duct tape, too. She's not gonna lie, folks, the Billy Cyrus wannabe is starting to grow on her. He drops the laptop on the bar and settles down on the other side of Dean, fingers moving over the keys too fast for Elizabeth to keep up with.

"Alrighty, the last time I talked with John was about three years ago before we had a falling out," Ash says. Elizabeth says nothing but the look she shares with Sam pretty much screams gee what a surprise. "He said somethin' about weather patterns and crop circles. Had a giant folder of papers that he refused to let me dig through. Y'all bring 'em?"

"Yeah," Dean nods. "I'll go get them out of the death trap."

"Her name is Betty," Elizabeth calls at Dean's back. "Show some respect." Dean just flips her off as the door closes behind him, the brief flood of sunlight setting dust motes alight. It stings a little more than it used to, her inner vampire throwing a tantrum that she should be in bed right now. Or maybe that's just the insomnia. Or the nightmares.

She shudders at that last thought, remembering that hissing voice that played on a loop. My dearest darling, you're going to break so wonderfully under my hands.

The door swinging open drags her back to the present, no one else noticing her lapse of attention. Dean's got the thick folder Ash had been talking about, handing it over with some reluctance. He glances down at Elizabeth as Ash shifts through the pile, tracing the back of one finger across her cheek.

"You good, sweetheart," he asks.

"Yeah," she nods. It's a lie and he knows it, but he won't press while there are strangers around. He'll save it for later when they're curled up on some motel bed, wrapped up in each other. She can't wait to be in his arms again, has to stamp down on the urge to curl up against him right here and now. "Can you use any of that junk," she asks, diverting everyone's attention back to Ash.

"Uh-huh," Ash murmurs. He looks up after a moment, all amusement faded away. In its place is something serious, something stony and cold. Despite the goofy nature and mullet, Ash is a hunter just like the Winchesters. "It's gonna take some time."

"How much time are we talkin'?" He makes a face, eyes darting around as he does the calculations. The fact that he's doing it all without using his fingers is amazing to Elizabeth who had been placed in special ed for all her math classes.

"About fifty-one hours." Ash stands with John's folder and is nearly out of the room again when Dean speaks up.

"I dig the haircut."

"Everyone does." He saunters out with a confidence that shouldn't be possible, Elizabeth snorting out a laugh. "Keep laughin', girlie," Ash calls from the hallway. "I might let you run your fingers through it if you ask me nicely."

"She's more into pulling hair!" Ash's laugh is as loud and obnoxious as his hairstyle, but Elizabeth loves it. She gets the feeling that the two of them will get along just fine. "Speaking of hair pulling…." Dean raises his brows suggestively, waggling them when Elizabeth gives him a smile.

"I'll pull that pretty hair of yours after you take a nap," she whispers, leaning in so that her lips brush the shell of his ear. Dean shivers, eyes darkening and one strong hand moving to the bare skin of her thigh. Her dress has ridden up a little too high, but she doesn't mind. "How about you be a good boy and find a place to sleep?"

"Yes, ma'am." He's off like a shot, hopping onto the pool table and star-fishing out across it. Her teasing smile softens into a worried one as Dean drops off almost immediately. How long has it been since anyone of them has had a decent night's sleep? Elizabeth can't even remember the last time she slept through the night. Maybe after Zane's car was totaled? Does being knocked out count as sleeping?

"Does he have a mommy kink," Ellen asks, glancing between Elizabeth and Dean with a morbid sort of curiosity.

"Nah, he's just a sub."

"A sub? Really?" Ellen hums, going back to filling sugar shakers while Jo wanders into the kitchen. When Sam doesn't make the usual sound of disgust, Elizabeth glances his way to find him distracted. She follows his gaze, first assuming he's staring at an old police scanner, but then homing in on the manilla folder tucked behind it. There are a few news clippings, some details circled in red with notes in the margins; your basic case file for hunters.

"What's that," Sam asks. Elizabeth, knowing where this conversation is undoubtedly heading, starts chugging the remains of her float. If she's going to work another case then she's going to do it full dammit.

"The scanner?"

"No, the folder." Ellen pulls the folder out, glancing at it once before passing it over to Sam. He digs through it eagerly, a dog looking for a bone or Dean looking for a piece of ass in a crowded bar. It's like he can't get enough of this shit now that John's gone, a constant stream of cases just to keep himself from feeling. It's not healthy and Elizabeth wants to say as much, but what room does she have to complain? Her father died on a hunt, her mother was killed by some douchebag vampire and she's done nothing to stay out of the supernatural world. At this point, she's the kettle and her boys are the pot.

"Do you really think we need another case right now," she asks, letting Sam make the choice.

"People are dying, Liza."

"People die every day, Sammy." He makes a face, sliding a crime scene photo her way. The couple has been brutalized in their beds, eyes staring blankly up at the ceiling with blood and gore splattered around them. There's nothing artful about this display, it's pure violence. She flinches, casts a worried glance Dean's way, then looks back to her brother. "Let him sleep a couple hours."

"I think we should all get some sleep while we can."

Sorry for how long it's been since the last update, y'all. I'm a manager at my job now and they've got me working nights and mornings, so my sleep schedule is more jacked up than normal.