A/Ns: Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays to all you beautiful readers! (extra presents and joy to my wonderful, amazing, encouraging reviewers/commenters :D) I am once more in an airport. It's kind of ridiculous how many of these chapters go up in airports around the continent….

Chapter Reference – Persephone and the Impala Hex Bag: Quick reminder that Persephone broke into the Impala back in Sturgis, the first night Andy was in the hospital. She dismantled the hex bag, leaving it spread out on the hood of the car for the boys to find as a warning to be more careful with it. See Chapter 84 for a refresher.

Editing Warning: This chapter feels off to me, but I think it's just the compacted/bounce-around way I recapped time passing at Bobby's. (I also wrote this chapter three separate times and kept having to edit the different versions together. I think it shows…) Anyway, not 100% on it but am out of time to edit further, so feel free to share your thoughts.

Chapter Warnings: The boys enjoy (well, sort of) their last bit of downtime before the hectic life of a Winchester picks back up with a big bang. Well, a vision of a big bang. Well, okay, someone else's vision of a big bang.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

The Road So Far (This Time Around)

Season 2: Chapter 55

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

Andy gave Bobby a big hug the moment they walked in. If the gruff old hunter was trying to hide the way it warmed his cheeks or brought an embarrassed, awkward smile to his face, he failed miserably. Coming into the house behind the kid, Dean snorted, covering it up with an awkward cough when he got one hell of a glare for it. Behind him, Sam was caught somewhere between a smile and a smirk at the scene. Dean would have called it sweet enough to rot teeth, which was only half of Sam's amusement. Then the kid was pulling back and Bobby found himself accosted by images too fast to register, let alone interpret.

"Ack," the older hunter grunted with a wince, hand raising to rub at his temple and the fading spike of not-quite-pain that had jolted through it. Realizing what he was doing, Bobby covered the move by grabbing at his cap and re-adjusting it on his head. Both Sam and Dean shared a sympathetic look, having warned him well ahead of time.

"Yeah. He does that now," Dean griped, though there was a half smirk on his face as he came to stand next to Andy, tossing his go-bag on the couch.

"You kind of get used to it," Sam reasoned as well, offering a one shoulder shrug while Andy gave each of them a mock glare in turn.

"Yeah, well, that might work for us, kid, but it won't fly with the rest of the world." Bobby reached behind him to his desk, snagging a book off the surface and tossing it to Andy. The psychic caught it – a touch clumsily with his bandaged hands – and stared down at the cover with a curious expression.

Sign language. Andy blinked down at the book on the silent language. He…hadn't even really thought about communicating with the rest of the world. Hell, he didn't really interact with anyone except the Winchesters and Bobby. Except, well, maybe on cases. But…he hadn't really thought he'd be hunting anymore. At least, not for a while. Maybe not ever, if he was being painfully honest with himself (which he'd only been once since waking up in the hospital. While the time was coming to revisit that thought, Andy didn't really feel up to it right this second). He supposed it was only practical to assume there would be times he'd talk to other people again. At least, it would be good to maybe have the option?

He glanced between the brothers and Bobby. Sam, ever the bookworm, held his hand out and Andy passed the book over. The sasquatch started flipping through it.

"There's videos on the web," Bobby continued, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning back against the edge of the desk. "Pro'lly easier to learn that way. Always been more of a book guy myself.

Which was an understatement, given the shelves and shelves of books that lined this room alone, not to mention the stacks of books in the corners throughout the house and half the basement. Bobby wasn't just awesome, he was a force unto himself. Andy thought he was intimidating as hell when he wasn't busy being a kind of awesome surrogate uncle.

"I'll learn with ya." The older hunter nodded with his head towards the book, still in Sam's arms. "That way you got someone to practice with."

Andy wasn't quite sure what to say to that. It made his chest all warm and gooey to think the old hunter cared enough. Although it was definitely in the stern, disciplinary manner of a vice principle who took his job too seriously. Andy didn't really like that prospect of this apparent deal, but still… The kid smiled widely, and sent an image of a thank you card he'd once seen in Tracy's shop and always liked. Never had the opportunity to buy it or give it to someone, though.

Bobby winced again, but at least he didn't raise his hand to his head this time. Instead, he raised it to his chin, palm flat and fingertips touching skin. Then he lowered it straight in front of him, meeting his other palm.

Andy blinked.

"It means thank you," Sam offered helpfully, glancing between the book in his hands and Bobby. He wouldn't be surprised if the older hunter had already made it entirely through the lessons and was already semi-literate.

The psychic scooted over to the younger Winchester, looking over his arm at the page covering basic interactions and manners. He read it for a second, then looked up at Bobby and made the gesture for 'you're welcome' the best he could with his wrapped hands.

Bobby snorted, and Dean used the wide grin spreading across his face to hide the fact that he was struggling with way too many emotions, bordering on the frightfully feely. He clapped a hand to Bobby's back, making the old hunter grunt and shift against the desk.

"You're the best, Bobby."

The hunter just rolled his eyes, pushing off the sturdy surface and grabbing the book out of Sam's arms. He tossed it back onto the desk. If he was gonna have a house full of kids being, well, kids, then he was at least gonna put them to work, and it was well past dinner time.

-o-o-o-

Dean brought the burgers in off the grill, kicking the back door closed behind him. He set the cutting board full of patties down on the counter beside Sam, who was making up buns with all the condiments. Next to him, Andy was in charge of toppings. Which was a terrible idea, it turned out. In order to know what each of them wanted, the three hunters got accosted with pictures of lettuce, tomatoes, onions, pickles, and, the one that got everyone to stop what they were doing and look at the kid, potato chips.

'What?' Andy mouthed at all of them when he realized they were staring. He shrugged his shoulders defensively. 'It's good!'

A couple feet away, Bobby made the signs for both those things with a pointed look. Andy managed to look both sheepish and put out at the same time. But he did repeat them, a bit unsurely and to the best of his ability given his four main fingers on each hand functioned more like one big penguin flipper while bandaged, and one of those flippers was waving around a butter knife. Bobby seemed to deem it acceptable on a basis of effort over success.

They ate dinner in relative silence between the four of them, the exhaustion of the last week catching up like dead weight. Dean made it through his entire burger (potato chips and all, which he did have to begrudgingly give to the kid; it was a good addition) before he called it, body reminding him just what it had survived over five days. Sam only got halfway through his meal, bun still sitting on the kitchen counter in favor of two large pieces of iceberg lettuce (the weirdo, Dean had said, Andy had pictured, and Bobby had translated into sign), but he did manage not to nod off at the table until Dean stood up first. The younger Winchester pulled a 'this is his idea, I'm just going along with it' move and followed along like he wasn't just as exhausted as his brother. Andy nodded to both of them when they seemed hesitant to leave him alone. Not like Bobby was gonna bite (okay, he might bark, but Andy could handle it…probably). The two of them had been protective enough around him to last the only child a lifetime; he sure as hell could survive the rest of the evening alone with one gruff, old hunter.

The Winchesters dumped their plates in the kitchen, Sam promising to clean up in the morning and Dean knowing Bobby would do it long before they ever got to it, then headed upstairs. The ceiling above Bobby and Andy creaked about for all of five minutes before everything went dead silent.

Andy glanced at his new roomie. The two stared at each other in the silence, one an actual mute and the other an elected mute. Andy offered a wide, overly-faked smile and Bobby just snorted, getting up to clear his plate.

-o-o-o-

Dean checked on Angela on his way to his and Sam's room. The sasquatch gave a cursory glance to the woman and the room, checking the machines from afar, though he was confident Bobby knew what he was doing. Sam wrapped a fraternal hand around Dean's shoulder, squeezing quickly, before he continued on his way down the hall.

The older Winchester stood in the doorway, as if entering the room might break some silent spell, and stared at the sleeping woman. Bobby had said there'd been no change but, with a braindead patient in a coma, that was a good thing. Not a telling thing, of course. They had no way of knowing if her soul was still attached to her body. Not without some spellwork of their own.

"Come back to us, Cas," he whispered to the silent room once he was sure Sam was out of earshot. Then, with a sigh, he pushed off the doorframe and headed to his own bed to get some much needed sleep.

-o-o-o-

Sam slept for fourteen hours. Dean kept it to a much more reasonable nine (which was already absurd for him), but the truth was, neither of them had really processed everything that had happened in the last week. Rivergrove felt like months ago, even if it was what had kicked all of this off. It made Dean's growing itch to get out there and find Cas all the more present. It had only been a week, but it felt like a lifetime. A lifetime where anything could be happening to the angel.

Cas could already be dead, and they'd never even know.

The Winchesters didn't talk about it. Not about their wayward angel, not about the three hundred and seventy people they'd lost in Oregon. Not about what Andy had gone through in Cold Oak or even the fact that the FBI was on their tail. Not more than was needed to fill in the blanks for Bobby. The old hunter had been keeping an eye on the news channels and tabloids ever since the zombie town. It took two and a half days, but eventually, something did turn up. It started in the tabloids. A town nuked by a secret government military test. Whole town wiped from existence. Three hundred dead or missing, and no one willing to talk about it or claim responsibility.

It was four days before an actual story emerged from a more reputable source. Rivergrove, Oregon had been the site of a tragic gas explosion. The entire town gone up with no survivors. Just one of those natural, terrible disasters that history would remembered and pretty much no one else. The story remained ridiculously hush hush despite the terrible nature of the accident and the number of lives lost. Only a few newspapers covered it nationally, a couple more in the State itself. Bobby kept it to himself until the boys arrived to hear it in person. No need to trouble them while they were in the hospital with the kid.

Hearing about it now, Dean had no doubt in his mind that Heaven was responsible, for both the disaster and the lack of attention or outrage it received. He'd heard firsthand what Heaven liked to do to towns that needed eradication. The hunter's fists clenched at his sides at the reminder of Uriel, of Cas and that damn Halloween town the two angels had almost wiped off the face of the earth.

He'd had to leave the room, eight little crescent marks dug into his palm and welling up red. The older Winchester went back upstairs to sit in Angela's room and stare at an unmoving vessel.

That same day, once Sam had woken from his 'beauty sleep' as Dean called it, the younger Winchester talked to Bobby about getting someone unassociated with them to call in a tip on Amanda Figuerro and Scott Carey's whereabouts. While the Winchesters slept, Andy did some digging through the University of Berkley's website, specifically their women's softball team, until he'd found her. Staring at Amanda's picture, the young woman smiling in a uniform, bat raised up on her shoulder, and realizing he'd been involved in depriving the world of that smile, had resulted in a meltdown that he'd tried to hide from Bobby. Tried being the key word, as the older man had come running at the first sounds of choking. He'd been so relieved the kid wasn't dying of some throat-related thing that he didn't care if he got covered in slobber and snot as the boy fell to pieces against his chest.

They hadn't spoken to the brothers about it. Some things stayed between men.

Bobby agreed to find a hunting buddy with no traceable relationship to the Winchesters who could call the Custer Police with names. Hunters knew how to leave anonymous tips, so he needn't worry about it getting traced at all, let alone back to them. Andy thought he would do better knowing their families wouldn't be left wondering what had happened to them. The truth might be terrible, but he personally thought not knowing, left hoping and wondering and imagining, for years, would be so much worse.

He wished he could apologize to the families in person, but he knew that wasn't an option. Knew from enough reading on philosophy, psychology, psychiatry, and trauma (some of his favorite subjects in a previous life), along with the assurances of the Winchesters and Bobby, that it was guilt urging him forward. What had happened wasn't his fault, and laying himself at the feet of Amanda's parents wasn't going to do anybody anything good.

Especially since the FBI probably thought he was the one who killed them. Him and the Winchesters. Yeah, that part wasn't helping with the whole guilt thing, either.

Bobby placed the call and Andy tried to let it go. He knew it wasn't going to be that easy, and on the second night when the older hunter stumbled in on another panic attack, he offered the kid a post it note with the number for a therapist who knew the life. He told him they'd figure out the talking thing, but if Andy needed someone who actually knew their shit enough to help him…they'd get it for him. Andy had taken it with shaking hands and a weepy nod.

That night, a floor above and a dream away, Sam woke to Dean yelling out Cas's name. The adrenaline in that cry had him on his feet, knife in hand, before he realized it was only his brother and there was no danger. Well, no immediate danger. Dean was sitting up on the bed, heaving for breath, hand clutching at his chest like he was having a heart attack.

"Dean?"

It took the older Winchester two more calls and a jerky head turn before he responded. "I'm fine."

They both knew it wasn't true, but Sam didn't push. Dean just bit down on his tongue and clammed up anytime Sam had asked the past few days. Eventually, the younger hunter laid back down, feigning sleep. Dean waited more than half an hour, Sam purposefully slowing his breath, before the older Winchester climbed out of bed and went and sat in Angela's room.

Lying on his side, back to the door, Sam stared at the moon out the window and listened. His whole body was tense, despite him trying to let the tension go. He was waiting to hear his brother's footsteps on the stairs, the front or back door open, the rumble of the Impala as Dean left him behind. But the older Winchester stayed in Angela's room until dawn, then went downstairs, put on a pot of coffee, and started cooking breakfast.

The younger brother knew the number of nights left before Dean did take off were dwindling fast. He closed his eyes and prayed to Cas again, hoping she would return before that clock ran out.

Sam woke up the next morning, only a handful of hours later, with a fever. It was nothing he deemed worth worrying about or mentioning. It took till evening for the tremors to set in, and by then Sam couldn't tell if it was the low-grave fever of a common flu, withdrawal, or the panic attack he'd just barely kept at bay for the last twelve hours at the thought of going into withdrawal again.

Dean noticed that night, but didn't say anything until the two were up in their room, readying for bed. Sam didn't have answers for him, so he was being honest when he told his brother he didn't know. It didn't feel like last time, but the amount of blood from last time to this time was vastly different. So was the time. It had taken a month at least after the whole jar. This might just be a cold.

Dean chewed on the inside of his cheek and Sam laid down. His dreams were as fitful as his brother's, and neither Winchester got much sleep that night.

Day three showed no improvement on the fever or the shakes, but Sam didn't get worse. Bobby pumped the kid full of vitamin C, Andy played nursemaid to the point where Sam told him to back off, it was only a cold. Their resident Jedi just grinned that shit-eating grin in response to the youngest Winchester's crankiness. The kid reminded him via multiple headache-inducing images, just how much of a pain in the ass the Winchesters had been for those four days he'd spent in the hospital. Sam conceded that point, but still insisted he was fine. Withdrawal or cold, it didn't seem to be getting worse.

His fever broke by dinner that night, and the entire Singer-Winchester-Gallagher household breathed out a relieved breath.

It was on their fourth morning there, the four of them sitting at the kitchen table eating breakfast like some sort of warped concept of a normal family, that Bobby brought out a dark blue folder and both Winchesters straightened. The older hunter tossed it on the table between them. Sam glanced at Dean before he picked up the case, flipping through it.

"It's not much," Bobby mentioned, tone purposefully casual. "Hunter buddy of mine called it in. Said he caught wind of it but ain't close enough to go himself."

The way the two boys glanced at each other now, Bobby was glad he'd opted not to bring it up until he'd seen both boys start to fidget. He figured three days was plenty of time for a hunter to sleep, rest up, and then become restless. Even with Sam's 'cold'. Dean spent too many hours checking in on Angela, sitting in a chair by her bed or standing in the doorway, muttering under his breath all the while. Sam rubbed the back of his neck, right where Dean said he'd taken a syringe full of demon blood and Croatoan virus. The kid complained about it like an ache from a good flu, but Bobby was pretty sure it was something else entirely. He'd also spotted Sam's new habit of pressing on that mostly healed wound on his palm, too. Bobby had found him, more than once, standing in the middle of a room, looking lost, rubbing at that freshly pink and white line. That one, though, the kid was aware of. Sam would often stop if someone else was around; it was the first and most blatant sign of any tell. A worrying one, at that.

Bobby had been keeping a careful eye on both of 'em and knew it was time for them to move on. Before Dean did something stupid (in his house) trying to get that angel of his back, or Sam got too caught up in his big brain and small sense of self-worth.

Sam passed the folder to his brother, already knowing they'd take it. But Dean glanced up at Andy. The kid was just frowning curiously, trying to read the file from across the table and failing. He might not be capable of hunting right now – hell, he might not even want to hunt ever again – but he couldn't seem to kick the curiosity bug.

Kid would make a fine research assistant, Bobby reasoned.

"Looks like a possible werewolf," Sam filled in the rest of the table, considering Dean still hadn't looked through the research Bobby had done. "In Lafayette, Indiana."

Dean shrugged, finally glancing at the thing before handing it back to his brother without seeing a word of it. That description alone wasn't enough for the timey senses to go on, but they'd been through that town a time or two. He glanced at Andy again, and this time the kid caught the look. He returned it with expectantly raised eyebrows. When Dean didn't react, Andy added a shooing motion with his hand. The older Winchester chuffed, going back to his egg sandwich.

"We'll look into it. No promises, though," he said through a mouth full of food, making Andy grin and Sam roll his eyes. Across the table, Bobby just shrugged. He had other hunters he could call if the boys decided they weren't ready to leave Andy yet. Bobby was pretty sure he knew what their answer would be, though.

-o-o-o-

"You sure about this, kid?" Dean asked, voice low, as he stood in the den that afternoon with Andy, go bag re-packed and flung over his shoulder. The kid just raised that same eyebrow his way and Dean could hearthe little brother sarcasm in the silent room. "Bobby's got other hunters. We don't have to go."

Andy rolled his eyes and made the shooing gesture again. The first few nights had gone better than he'd thought they would. On their way to Bobby's, the Winchesters had stopped halfway between Sturgis and Sioux Falls to fill Andy's prescriptions, Dean purposefully driving an hour north of the shortest route in case the FBI could track that shit (which Sam said they probably could). Andy had expected a downgrade in painkillers, but Dr. Richards had not slacked off. Nope, he'd been in high heaven for six solid hours that first night. Sure, he had to sleep propped up as per Sam's home-care and out-patient packet, but with how fuzzy his mind and body had been once the meds kicked in, Andy hadn't even been all that bothered. It wasn't much of a change from the hospital, after all.

Four days later and he'd progressed to a thirty degree angle instead of a seventy degree angle. Life was going great!

The kid raised a hand, thumb sticking straight up, as he smiled at Dean. He shoved his smartass default to the side temporarily, letting his sincerity behind his shooing them out come through. He'd be fine, and the Winchesters should be out doing what they did best. They were wasted milling about Bobby's house all day, waiting for him to break like glass while they crammed their own issues as far down into their respective psyches as they could.

Dean glanced over at Bobby as the older man came into the room, arms crossed. Sam, who'd been packing his stuff in the car, followed just behind. Bobby gave a reassuring nod, no words needed. He'd take care of the kid. The older Winchester smiled, though it didn't feel quite right on his face. He put a hand on Andy's shoulder and squeezed.

"We'll be back in a couple of days."

"If that," Sam added, the folder with Bobby's research in hand. It really didn't look like much of a case, if it even was one. They might be able to knock it out in a day and spend most of their time driving.

Andy nodded before his eyes narrowed in concentration, and all three got a clip of an old black and white film. The images never came with sound, something Andy said he was going to work on (Bobby had looked grumpy as hell at that idea, though he did reluctantly agree to help the kid with it), but Dean knew the film well, with or without the soundtrack.

'Stay out of trouble, kid.'

Dean rolled his head, but squeezed Andy's shoulder again. Message received. He dug into his coat pocket, pulling out the same hex bag they'd kept on Andy when he'd been in the hospital. He tossed it to the kid, watching him catch it clumsily with bandaged hands.

"You keep that on you at all times," he ordered. A 'stay out of trouble, yourself', in not so many words. Andy looked down at the hex bag, hefting the minor weight of it in his palm. The kid nodded at him, tucking it into the pocket of his hoodie. Then, with a wink and absolutely no emotion that was not manly as all hell, Dean headed out of the den past Sam, bumping into him fraternally on the way.

Andy caught Sam's eye when he was done shaking his head at his older brother's definitely younger antics. With his free hand, Andy raised two fingers to his own eyes, then pointed to Dean's retreating figure.

'Keep an eye on him.'

The younger Winchester nodded, coming forward to give Andy a hug farewell himself. The kid pressed his head into Sam's chest, a good foot shorter than the beanstalk of a man. Sam rested his chin on Andy's head for the briefest of moments. The kid gave good hugs, and Sam only felt a little guilty taking advantage of it, coming from a family of back-slapping and almost-died man-hugs only. "I'll watch out for him. You take care of yourself, Andy. We'll be alright."

Their resident Jedi patted his back in answer. As Sam pulled away, he held out his own parting gift for the kid. Andy blinked at the Persian sleep coin, held between Sam's pointer and middle fingers. He shook his head, pushing Sams' hand back.

"Take it," the younger Winchester insisted, grabbing Andy's hand and placing the coin in his palm. "With Azazel in Hell, you might not even need it."

And maybe Sam wouldn't need it either.

The look the Jedi skewered him with said he knew just as much and had half the faith about it that Sam did. But the younger Winchester only smiled, closing Andy's fist around the coin. He knew how much the boy struggled with dreams, whether or not a yellow-eyed demon featured in them.

"Keep it safe for me."

Then Sam headed out to join his brother in the Impala and the Winchesters left for the next hunt.

-o-o-o-

Andy and Bobby watched the boys head out from the front door. The coin was hot in Andy's fist, pressed into the depths of his hoodie's front pocket. His other hand gripped the hex bag just as tightly, and he tried not to think of the items like farewell gifts. Just…precautions, was all. Until the Winchesters got back.

As the Impala turned onto the main road and the trail of dust from Bobby's dirt drive finally settled, the kid turned to his roommate-slash-landlord. He gave the man a thumbs up and that same wide, purposefully weak smile from the first night, this time waggling his eyebrows.

Bobby rolled his eyes, signed something Andy only got half of, and headed back into his house. The kid had to chase after him to learn what he'd said (and then spent another five minutes as the older man corrected his hand positions and drilled them into his head until he'd never forget. Bobby was a slave driver when it came to learning, man.)

-o-o-o-

Lafayette turned out to be a total bust.

"Dude," Dean groused as they got back to the Impala, parked on a rain-soaked street on the west side of town.

"I know," Sam griped right back, trying to head his brother off before Dean got into one of those rants where it was all the smart one's fault (that's how Sam liked to see it, at least, since usually it was just Dean blaming anyone but Dean, and since Sam was the only target around that meant Sam, and if Sam was always going to get the blame for everything that didn't go Dean's way, he was at least going to set the terms of why he was blamed for everything).

"There's no werewolf here," Dean continued, tone still one of condescending petulance. Sam knew it well. The hunter wrapped his hand around the driver's side door, opening her up with a beloved groan of metal hinges. It improved his mood just the tiniest of smidges.

Sam gave Dean a smile over the roof that was absolutely not a smile and opened his own door. "I'm aware, Dean."

A guy had been stabbed in a parking lot two days ago. No big deal, Right? Except that for a week before the guy's death, there'd been animal attacks reported every night, bouncing between two different parks that not only neighbored where the guy lived, but also where he died. Like clockwork, the attacks stopped the night the guy got himself murdered. Couple that info together with the autopsy report of a silver-dipped blade being the murder weapon – the coroner had found the broken tip of the knife lodged in one of the guy's vertebrae – and ipso presto, you got yourself a werewolf case. A finished werewolf case, you'd think, with no regrets but the sloppy work of a hunter who didn't know how to clean up at the end of the job.

(The boys hadn't realized the possible werewolf was already dead until they'd gone to the coroner and learned about the knife).

Only, nope, not a case at all. Turns out, there dead werewolf wasn't a werewolf to start with. Just a dude stabbed in a parking lot and some really aggressive local wildlife.

"Actual animal attacks." Dean was back to grousing. "In a full-fledged city. In Indiana."

They'd checked. Twice. Sam had even gotten chased by the damn-near rabid raccoon responsible for the first attack. Dean wished he'd gotten it on video. They could be millionaires by the end of the week with that shit.

"I know," Sam repeated, climbing into the car. He hadn't found the animal attacks nearly as ironic or hilarious as Dean. Then again, Dean hadn't been chased by the damn scariest raccoon Sam had ever seen. Seriously. It had definitely gotten into something. The city did have a drug scene and, somewhere, Sam was very certain a tweaker was missing his stash.

"Go figure," the younger Winchester added as Dean slid into the Impala beside him, closing the driver's side door.

"Okay, but, what I don't get is someone stabbing the guy in the parking lot with a silver tipped knife." Dean shook his head, sliding the key into the ignition but not turning her on just yet. "Like…did some hunter fuck up and kill a nobody?"

Sam shrugged, but he hoped that wasn't the case. Most hunters made damn sure they had the right guy before doing something as permanent as killing them. At least, Sam hoped the majority out there did. "Maybe it was just silver coated. Ornamental, you know?"

Or maybe the coroner had been mistaken, or the lab guy who ran the blade.

The older Winchester shook his head, reaching forward to turn the ignition. "What normal person kills another normal person with an ornamental blade? Normal people, Sammy. I'm telling you, they're the real scary ones."

Sam shrugged in lieu of shaking his head, but there was a crooked smile in the corner of his mouth. "Maybe it was some crazy guy hyped up on the occult. Watched too much Buffy the Vampire Slayer or something."

There was something about the way he said it. Just a little lilt in the words that Dean picked up on it in an instant. He glanced his brother's way, eyes narrowed but brows all sorts of judging.

"You watch Buffy the Vampire Slayer?" The older hunter accused before breaking into absolutely-judgmental laughter, sliding Baby into gear. "All the crap you gave over the years about the family business, and you spent your down time at Stanford watching Buffy, the Vampire Slayer?"

"Shut up," Sam grumbled, already regretting having said anything. "It was Jess's favorite show for, like, all the years we were dating."

She'd had the entire DVD set, so he hadn't even escaped it once the show went off air. Not that he'd ever stood a chance. Jess had looped him right into 'Angel' next. It had been…pretty okay. Okay, fine, better than he'd have admitted, given the subject matter. Actually, if he were being honest, the characters had been interesting enough, the writing pretty funny, and-

Sam sniffed defensively. "Besides. Like you didn't watch it."

"Yeah, of course I did; the lead chick was hot. But I didn't watch it on purpose." Dean gave his brother a pointed look as they pulled away from the curb. "That's the sorta thing you get into cuz you fell asleep watching something good – like Dr. Sexy – and woke up to Buffy. You don't turn the hot blondes off, Sammy. That's the kinda thing a real man follows through on."

Sam might have rolled his eyes, shook his head, even groaned, but he was too busy making a face. "Who's Doctor Sexy?"

Dean's jaw flat out dropped, and he turned to slowly to his kid brother – so slowly that Sam immediately regretted whatever life decision had led him to that moment – with eyes comically wide and face a live rendition of the Scream mask.

"Uh…Dean?"

Then the older Winchester's expression shifted, a slow motion light up of a kid's face on Christmas morning. Sam was regretting asking even harder now.

"What year is it?"

Sam blinked at the unexpected question. Though, given his brother was a time traveling hunter from ten years in the future, it wasn't an unheard of question these days.

"Uh…"

But his brother was already six steps past his own words. "Oh, man, I think it should be out, right? It's two thousand and six. The first season should be on air!"

The brunet was slowly leaning further and further away from the older Winchester, until he found himself pressed into the corner of the car, regret a hardcore part of his younger brother life right now.

"Oh, you're in for a treat, Sammy." Dean's foot turned to lead on the gas pedal. Forget the bust of a hunt or being stuck in Lafayette for a night because they'd already paid for a motel. They had a new life purpose! "I am going to introduce you to Dr. Sexy, M.D., the sexiest damn doctor the city of Seattle has ever seen or ever will see again."

Sam looked like he'd rather be hunting down a killer werewolf or facing the crackhead raccoon again.

Dean ignored him, turning bright eyes shining with excitement back on the road. "Shaddup, it's based on a book, or something. That makes it good. You'll love it."

-o-o-o-

Sam feigned sleep somewhere during the second episode, snores so loud and obnoxious they were obviously fake. Dean had managed to find a channel showing back-to-back episodes of the first season. His excitement had flat out caused the younger Winchester to leave the room under the guise of 'getting ice', despite the room having no ice bucket and the motel no ice machine.

The hunter actually did fall asleep, for real, by the time the second episode ended, leaving Dean alone with the next doctor show the channel switched over to. It wasn't as good as Dr. Sexy, but Dean found himself mindlessly watching it all the same. Emphasis on mindless.

It figured, this whole case being a bust. Dean could have used a good hunt. Could have used a good distraction.

Now he was sitting in a cheap motel room that wasn't home, wondering if Andy was alright back at Bobby's, wondering if Angela was alright and knowing she was because comatose patients didn't change, and ultimately staring at the flickering screen of a TV he hadn't bothered to turn off despite the fact he really wasn't paying it any attention. Sam slept on beside him. Dean didn't want to sleep. Didn't want to have the same damn dream he'd been having since Rivergrove. Hell. The screams of the damned, his own included. Fire licking at his skin, hooks dug deep in his flesh. Then, always Cas in the library without his coat, those damn sleeves rolled up like they never had been before. Sam's breathless realization that that wasn't their Cas. Those blue eyes consumed by vicious, deadly red.

Some nights Dean saw the blade slip into Not-Cas's hand. Some nights he felt that sword slide between his ribs, looking for a heart that wasn't there because the black hole behind his sternum had devoured it. Some nights he watched Cas kill Sam first. Those were the nights he usually woke up screaming.

The older Winchester raised his arm, remote in hand and switched off the TV. Dean rubbed at his chest in the semi-darkness, sick of the damn empty that lingered there. It was a constant reminder of what wasn't there. If he had lost Cas – his Cas, that sliver of grace, that shadow of his best friend that had been with him through this all – if that Cas was gone…if Dean had lost him, again…

He dropped his hand from his chest and glanced over at Sam, softly snoring away. If Cas was gone, his Cas, then he refused to lose the other one, too. He couldn't lose them both. Wouldn't. Sam knew that. Sam understood that. Staring at his younger brother, off in dreamland for real this time, Dean chewed on his inner cheek as he contemplated the stupidity he promised his brother he would try not to do. Even if it might work. Even if it could get them Cas back.

Fuck it. Stupid-but-it-worked-out-in-the-end was kind of his thing. Coming to a decision with a flurry of silent motion, the hunter climbed off the bed, grabbing his shoes and pulling them on.

Dean might have promised he would tell his brother before he did anything stupid, but Sam hadn't been getting much more sleep than him. He needed the rest. Plus, Dean was still pretty sure Sam was going to insist on going with him. Follow him, at a minimum. And this was a stupid, stupid plan. Summoning Cas levels of stupid, with all the same risks but an added bonus challenge of it not being friggin' Cas they were summoning.

One Winchester had to survive it. Sam couldn't come with him. Not this time.

Still, he'd promised… Dean stood from the bed, walking over to the desk and opening the only drawer it had. There was a notepad, standard motel fair, and pen inside. He slapped them onto the desk, wincing at the noise and glancing at his brother. Sam slept on. Like Dean had thought, he needed the rest.

The hunter put the pen to paper, then hesitated. What the hell to write. He frowned at the ache in his chest, which felt a lot like guilt. But he knew it wasn't guilt. There wasn't anything in his chest right now; that was the whole problem. Pushing aside the little voice in his head that said this was an awful lot like a secret, he scribbled a quick note for his brother.

It wasn't a secret. It was just a delayed heads up, was all.

He left the pad and the pen on the nightstand. Should be the first thing Sammy saw when he woke up, right next to the hex bag they now kept with them at night, rather than leave it in the Impala. Dean might not like the warning they received at the motel in Sturgis, but he also had to give it some validation. Whoever had left it – be it Ruby or their mystery Pagan – they'd had somewhat of a point.

Much to the hunter's absolute loathing to admit.

Dean stared at the pad of paper, his scribbled handwriting not even readable in the dark. It wasn't a secret, he insisted, unsure exactly who he was trying to convince. He'd told Sam exactly what he planned to do. Besides, it might not even work. No point dragging both of them into it. And he was telling Sam. That's what the note was for.

Right.

Dean grabbed his coat, Baby's keys jingling softly in one of the pockets, and slipped out the door. He was gonna get a message to Cas. That was all. If it didn't work…well, that would be it. One and done. One try, Dean told himself as he closed the door as quietly as possible, hunching his shoulders against the frigid Indiana night. One try, and if it didn't work then he'd come right back, maybe with Sam none the wiser.

-o-o-o-

Sam woke to the sound of the motel door snicking closed. He sat up, more out of instinct then actual wakefulness, but as he took in the dark room, his brother's empty bed, and the notepad sitting on the nightstand between the two beds, he realized what had woken him up.

"Damnit, Dean," he muttered, swinging he legs off the bed, feet planted firmly on the ugly carpet below. He reached over, snagging the note. It didn't say much, and Sam sighed, running a hand over tired, sleep-puffy eyes. He glanced at the motel door, knowing he could still probably catch his brother if he left now…

Technically, he'd given Dean his blessing to go be an idiot and the idiot had, sort of, told him he was doing it, like requested. In the most cowardly, cheap-ass way possible, of course.

Sam tossed the notepad back onto the table, something between vexation and frustration making that buzz beneath his skin stir with interest (a confirmation that the damn cold back at Bobby's had been the flu), but not enough to make him follow after his brother. He'd told Dean he would stay behind for this one. Even if the older Winchester had made off like a sneak, Sam hadn't exactly been blindsided by it. He'd been expecting it to happen every night since the Sturgis Hospital staff had told them Andy would live.

The buzzing in his veins and in his ears was, unfortunately, enough to wake him up. Sam stood from the bed, rubbing at his sleep-mussed hair and trying to shake loose that vibration just beneath his skin. It was a sensation he was really, really, starting to hate.

A knock on the door caused the tall hunter to pause, looking over at the object in question with nothing short of surprise. Then the shock disappeared, shifting almost instantly into exasperation. Sam moved around the mattress, crossing the room with bitchface locked and loaded (when he saw it, Dean would probably label it a number five, or whatever stupid numbered list he kept in that brain of his). Sam pulled open the door with a little more force than was strictly necessary.

"You seriously ditch me in the middle of the night and forget your room key?"

But it wasn't his older brother on the other side. It was a woman: Caucasian, young, maybe his age at most, with big doe eyes and shoulder-length brown hair. Sam didn't recognize her, but by the way those pale eyes widened, pouty lips parting in a surprised intake of air, and the mix of awe and fear across her round face, she certainly seemed to know him.

"Oh my god," Ava Wilson whispered, staring up at the spitting image of the man she'd seen die in her dreams last night. "It's you. It's really you…. You're in danger!"

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

A/Ns: Okay, shit ton of notes today. Please read through at least the FULL CAPS ones, guys!

Ava Wilson: But…But…Gordon's supposed to go after Dean! Why is Ava having visions of Sam still, you could have written her out of the story, damnit, Silence! [insert no-good-dirty-rotten grin here] For those of you not a huge fan of this character, and it seems like quite a few of you, I do feel ya. I liked her introduction more than her end result, so I'm gonna try to nudge her storyline a little back towards that first personality without going outside of what canon defined as her character. :)

Andy at Bobby's - 'Kid would make a fine research assistant': Okay, ChangelingRin, that line was JUST FOR YOU and all your pushing. Are you happy now? YOU'RE WELCOME. XD

(Also, thanks for all the pushing, friend ;))

Up Next: Who's been missing Cas? Yeah? Yeah? Well, too bad for you! No, I'm joking, even I'm not that cruel (usually). Cas and Heaven and Uriel are UP NEXT!

(*cough* finally *cough*)

ARC WARNING: We are now in a new arc: the I-can't-tell-you-its-label-yet-because-we're-not-actually-far-enough-in-to-do-so-without-spoilers arc! This arc is going to be a turbulent, high speed, roller-coaster type ride that spans chapters 56-64. We will be jumping back and forth between what's happening to Dean and what's happening to Sam, and there is a looooot happening with very little down-time for chapter cuts. Which means we're also looking at cliffhangers of various degrees for a while, too.

If you are the kind of person who does not enjoy waiting a week in between high-speed, turbulent, roller-coaster type cliffies, I recommend stowing this story for the next two months and coming back to read all at once!

(Note: It would be very nice of those people to leave a comment this chapter, though, so I don't feel the drop in readership and get discouraged by it, as I am being oh-so-nice in warning you ;) hint hint)

For everyone else, this has been your warning, you are now warned!

MILESTONE APPROACHING: Damnit, guys, this chapter had enough notes already! XD We are THREE freaking kudos away from 1,000 likes on A03. Holy shit, guys! I was totally ready to tell you all that back when we were ten away, figuring I had at least another week before we crossed the threshold. But then this week you all were like "TO HELL WITH YOUR PLANS, SILENCE, LIKE LIKE LIKE LIKE LIKE. WE'LL SHOW YOU HOLIDAY SPIRIT, WOMAN."

Hahah, not that I'm complaining! ;) However, we all know what Milestones get us: back-to-back chapters! Not gonna lie, I was totally not prepared for that to happen *over Christmas*. I have no idea if I'm going to have time to edit two chapters by next week. I wasn't even sure I was going to post over Christmas at all . But I might be able to swing it (mostly I just don't know how much down time I'll have with family. Could be tons!)

So here's the deal: you guys get those last three kudos in and I will do my *absolute best* to get you two chapters next weekend.

(P.S. Good. Damn. Timing guys. The first of Cliffhanger Row starts *majorly* next chapter.)

(P.P.S. Um…just a friendly heads up…Cliffhanger Row does not *end* by next next chapter… I did mention a high speed turbulent roller coaster type ride for, like, eight chapters, yes?)

(P.P.P.S. We are also 109 reviews away from 2,000 reviews on ff dot net . Which means we are primed for back-to-back-to-back chapters (where your author dies an exhaustion, editing-related death, but with a big damn smile on her face). Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year indeed? Keep an eye on those numbers, guys, and you may get through this entire eight-chapter cliffhanger ride in, like, half the time XD)