A/Ns: This chapter is a little late because I've been majorly struggling with motivation lately. Not so much with the story (there's absolutely no worry about abandonment here), but life in general. Burn out is returning now that I'm back at work; I have so little time and, worse, so little energy when I do have time. The good news is that my contract is up at the end of March and I am taking more time off to recover! The bad news is that until the end of March, my output levels are going to drop significantly, and I want you all to have ample heads up that that is coming.

Chapter Reference – Jo's Apartment Hunt: The boys (Andy included) showed up to a hunt after Jo called them, but after she was kidnapped by the ghost, Ellen showed up for the world's most awkward family road trip back to the Roadhouse. See Chapter 66 and 67:Season 2, Chapters 33 and 34 for a refresher.

Quality Warning: This chapter got a slightly better edit than last chapter (and oh boi, I re-read that one and gaaaah the errors in are just…. I could tell which sentences I added post-edit because there were full-on missing words every time. Every damn one. Good god Gertrude) but it's likely there's still some things I missed.

(Btw, I'm very slow to get back and edit chapters, but feel free to point errors out. I take no offense to it and if you leave it in a review/comment for that chapter, it makes finding it suuuper fast later on :D)

(One of the things that was on that butt-broken phone were dozens and dozens of screengrabs of the story as I read through it on my phone and highlighted all the errors to fix. Sigh)

Chapter Warnings: Lots of chatter and a break from all that damn action for once ;D

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The Road So Far (This Time Around)

Season 2: Chapter 66

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"We have to go back, Dean. We have to go back to Cold Oak."

Those were the first words out of Sam's mouth as they climbed back into the car outside of Ava Wilson's apartment on the southeast side of Peoria. Dean didn't disagree, but his stony silence in the face of Sam's adamancy wasn't exactly the rapid agreement the younger Winchester had been expecting (or going for).

"She could be in trouble."

Oh, she was definitely in trouble, the older hunter thought, hands wrapped tight around the wheel as he pulled away from a crime scene they most definitely did not want to get caught leaving. They'd call it in (anonymously, of course) as soon as they were out of the city.

"If Azazel's grabbed more kids, we have to get to Cold Oak," Sam insisted again, practically vibrating with pent up adrenaline and anger. He was so damn sick of Yellow Eyes ruining lives, so tired of not being able to stop it. Of feeling responsible. Well, this time, they would stop it. This time, no one else would die or bleed in that damn mining town.

"Azazel's gone, man." Dean didn't meant to snap, but he was tired. And not the type of tired that sleep would fix. He knew this type of tired and, damnit, they were supposed to have years before they reached that point. Years! "It's been a week and a half, Sam. Ten days since zombie land! Since Andy went missing, and we almost lost Cas, and you got friggin' dosed with demon blood again. A fucking week and a half, alright? Azazel's locked up tight in Hell, not out kidnapping friggin' kids, okay?"

Sam was quiet. Too quiet. "Ava's missing and her fiancé was torn to pieces."

Dean closed his eyes against the reminder. Damnit, he knew that. He wasn't trying to say…. What was he trying to say? The evidence was clear as day; either Azazel was topside again (and their sacrifices – Cas's sacrifice – in Rivergrove had meant crap) or he had other demons doing his dirty work. Dean knew from experience both were a possibility.

It just wasn't…fucking fair. That they never got a break, even when they fought tooth and nail for the few wins they did get.

"I get it, alright?" Dean sighed, reminding himself that he wasn't mad at his brother. This wasn't Sam's fault any more than it was his. "But neither of us have had more than a couple hours of sleep in the last two days, alright? It's been crisis after crisis, and we can't keep going like this. We need a break or we're gonna slip up, Sammy. The kinda slip up we can't afford."

Plus, his Timey Sense was sitting thick and heavy in his stomach, not unlike dread, and Dean didn't know why. Which had him wary and on edge, hesitant to act because who the hell knew what the right call was when his gut got this way. Something about the timing was off, he knew that much. Ava had been missing for months before the battle royale last time. He was pretty sure Sam had mentioned her name after everything…worked itself out (at which time, Dean had only been registering about a quarter of the things going on around him, too busy staring at his not-dead brother and drinking in the sight because he only had a year left to do that).

Ava couldn't have been at Cold Oak the whole time, right? Which meant she might not even be there now. And if she had, then she'd survived that month last time. There wasn't much reason to think that would change, right?

"We're eight hours from Bobby's," Dean countered when his brother fell silent. It was an understanding silence, even if it was still angry. Anger at the unfairness, at the lack of control. Dean got it. Oh, did he get it. "It's on the way to Cold Oak, anyway. We get there, we crash for five, six hours, and then we hit the road again."

Beside him, Sam stared at his lap, jaw clenched tight and fingers curled into fists. Dean wasn't wrong. He knew his brother wasn't wrong, but it still wasn't right. If there was one thing that could piece Sam's anger – poke through his own helplessness and frustration – every time, though, it was his big brother sounding so defeated.

Sam saw Dean's gaze dart to the rear view mirror, checking on the angel still passed out in their backseat. That was worrying Dean too. Angela (or Cas?) had slept right through their two-hour mad drive to Peoria and the fifteen minutes they'd been in the apartment, in and out of the car without trying to be quiet. She'd never woken. Never even twitched. Dean had no idea if that was what the knots in his stomach were on about, but it certainly wasn't helping.

"Besides, Cas isn't in any condition to go anywhere," the older Winchester muttered, turning his eyes back to the road even as Sam glanced over his shoulder at the sleeping angel too.

"What happened to her?" The question was quiet, soft in the way that people tried to be when they were considerate and sensitive. Dean hated it.

"I don't know," he replied tersely, keeping his eyes locked forward and not checking on the angel, repeatedly. Not like looking at her was gonna change anything. "I've never seen a trap like the one in Rivergrove, man. Cas said it…damaged his- uh, her core, or something."

Sam's mouth twitched towards a frown and he had to keep himself from glancing at the backseat again as well. "She'll be okay, though. Right?"

His brother shrugged, a defensive gesture Sam was used to seeing when Dean was angry about his lack of knowledge or control over a situation. The younger Winchester could relate all too easily. "She said she was healing. That those cracks were mended, just tender. And keeping 'em healed was exhausting."

Which explained why they had a sleeping angel in their backseat.

"She just needs rest," he added needlessly, for his own reassurance as much as his brother's.

Sam sighed, flexing his fingers and trying to release the tension that clung to his system like a parasite. He knew, probably more than his brother did, that Dean wasn't just talking about Cas. He really wasn't wrong; Sam was exhausted himself, in a way that worried him a lot more than one night without sleep should. They did need a break. They just couldn't really afford one.

"Okay," he agreed, still quietly, but he nodded with more resolve than his voice could convey. He glanced over at his brother. "We'll head to Bobby's. Cas will probably heal faster in a bed than in the car, anyway."

Hooked up the machines that would keep Angela Garrett alive and comatose-ed (totally a word) so that Cas didn't have to.

Out of the corner of his eye, Sam watched the tension inch out of his brother bit by bit. Dean had been worried he'd fight him on it. That Sam would put Ava at a higher priority than Castiel. The younger Winchester should have known better. There was something between his brother and Cas, and it always put Dean so on edge when he had to defend it. Probably because he didn't like acknowledging it was there. Like Cas might mean more to him than she did to anyone else and that wasn't okay.

Sam sighed internally. Not just because he had to tread his brother's emotionally stunted land mines. Sure, he was annoyed as he always was to jump through hoops to keep Dean from shutting down on him, but it also hit the younger Winchester hard – hard enough to knock that anger out from under him – to see his brother so worried. Worried for Cas, worried his worry would make him weak, worried that Sam would blame him for that worry.

Classic Dean Winchester, insisting he face the world alone and then refusing to admit it was a lonely road.

"Dean…" Sam hesitated, realizing he didn't really know how to put any of what he needed to say – what his brother needed to hear – into words without Dean automatically shutting down because of it. "I know this…all of it…. Dude, it sucks."

Dean, expecting Samantha to give him a cross between a lecture and a heartfelt plea to embrace his inner uterus, let out a bark of laughter. It was bitter and huffy, but such a Winchester form of agreement that Sam quirked a smile at it, too.

"None of this is fair or easy," Sam continued, trying to voice his own frustration and fears and love, and not really having the right words to do it. He wasn't even sure the right words existed. "But you're not alone, alright? We're in this together."

Dean glanced sidelong at his brother.

Crap. They were having a moment, weren't they?

Damnit, they were. Sam snuck it up on him with a fake-out – even wrangled a laugh out of him, that bastard – then went and turned it into a moment. Dean knew it because his stupid, traitorous eyes started stinging and the back of his throat felt tight (and a friggin' highschool playwright was whispering about the power of brotherly love and B.M. scenes.)

(Not. Helping.)

Only Sam could do this to him. Take their mutual anger and turn it into…something else. Something manly, of course, not anything gooey or warm at all. Something that smelled like the color brown, damnit, and not rainbows and unicorns. (Dean was not using the 'L' word. Fuck that. This was not a chick flick, there was no melodrama here, boy or otherwise. This was an action packed, guns-blazing, obscenity flying, mother 'effing shitshow, was what it was. No chick flick moments, no brotherly love. At all. Nope.)

(Damnit, he was too goddamn tired for this.)

In the midst of all his not-thinking-about-it and not-answering-because-feelings-eew, Dean frowned. Something between his brother's words and his inner manliness chasing that playwright away with a baseball bat, Dean's thoughts hit a little speedbump that turned him in an entirely different direction.

They weren't alone, were they? Dean was from ten years in the freaking future. He should know that, better than the Dean from 2006 ever had.

"Call Ellen," he said suddenly, causing his brother to look over at him with raised, questioning eyebrows. "You're right, we're not alone. Screw Gordon; we have Roadhouse connections, too. Maybe Ellen can find someone – a coupla hunters – to send ahead of us. Check out Cold Oak. We'll meet 'em there tomorrow."

Because the Winchesters really did need a break, but Dean also understood Sam's edginess and worry. Ava didn't deserve whatever was coming her way. If there was any way they could spare her it, they'd do it.

Sam, deciding to let Dean have his narrow escape from the 'moment' (because he had a good point and Sam really was worried about Ava), and instead held up his phone. He hadn't wanted to leave it behind for the cops to find, useless as it was to the Winchesters now. He showed it pointedly to Dean, the bullet hole that went straight through the device, having split it almost in half. The damage was clear even in the dark light of early morning.

"Shit," Dean swore, glancing between it and the road. No wonder Sam's phone had gone straight to voicemail. "That the one you took in the chest?"

He'd picked a couple pieces of plastic out of the wound when he'd speed-bandaged the thing, but it hadn't occurred to him to ask. Honestly, Dean had other things on his mind at the time and Sammy was alive, so the cause of the damage hadn't been as much of a priority as patching it up quickly so he could keep it that way.

Dean dug out Bobby's phone from his jeans, tossing it over to his brother and decidedly not thinking about the hell-of-a close call that shot must have been. Didn't matter, Sam was alive. The younger Winchester flipped the device open, going through the contact list before locating the Roadhouse's landline.

"Boys?" Ellen's voice was clearly worried, loud in the silent car as Sam held the phone between them, already switched to speaker. "Tell me you're alright."

Dean winced. Right. The last Ellen had heard from them, he was demanding Ash hack Gordon's phone for a GPS location because he'd tried to take Dean out (had taken Dean out, but Ellen didn't need to know that) and Sam was definitely next. Now it was barely five o'clock in the morning – only a handful of hours later – and the barkeep had answered on the first ring.

Crap.

"We're okay," the younger Winchester spoke up immediately.

At the same time Dean said, "Sorry, Ellen."

There was a relieved – and definitely irritated, mama bear – sigh on the other end of the line (that made Dean's heart ache only a little. Just a little). That woman absolutely had her hand on her hip right now (and dark circles under her eyes too, no doubt). Dean winced again.

"Tell me what happened."

"Short version? Gordon Walker's an asshole." Despite the look he got from his brother, Dean didn't regret saying it. Shit was the truth.

"We're fine, Ellen," Sam cut in, still sending Dean a patented bitchface (#9, the short version of which was basically, 'Shut up, Dean'). "Gordon…uh…" The Samsquatch trailed off, that look morphing into something more cautionary. Questioning. "He found out about us. That we're…psychics."

Dean suddenly pulled his head back, face all sorts of affronted. He split his attention between his brother and the road, and mouthed, "That's why he iced me?! Son of a bitch. That goddamn, no good-"

"He said he got found us through someone at the Roadhouse," Sam continued over the near-silent tirade his brother was on. Dean beat on Baby's wheel when just mouthing the words weren't enough of a release.

Ellen let out a haggard sigh, frustration and regret tilting her head back, phone pressed more to her neck than to her ear as she took a moment. "I'm sorry, boys."

"Not your fault," Dean spoke up, still looking hella pissed, but not holding it against the barkeep. It surprised Sam, who was used to a similar volatility, only with a lot less control over who it got unleashed on. "You don't control those people."

She shouldn't have been surprised that those were the next words she was going to say, lips open and forming the first syllable and everything. Right. Psychics. Ellen huffed, readjusting the phone against her ear. She still felt like crap about it, but Dean was right. She oughta listen to him.

"Where's Gordon now?" Ellen asked, unsure which answer she was hoping for. A dead hunter often brought out the worst in other hunters. A dead hunter by another hunter's hand was going to be a real problem. But Ellen was no fan of Gordon Walker and certainly wouldn't be mourning his loss.

"Jail."

Ellen's eyebrows climbed towards her hair. "Jail?"

"Yeah," Dean continued and the smirk on his face was audible through the line. "Sammy's idea. Son of a bitch's going away for a couple years, at least, on all those unregistered weapons."

"Not to mention the live grenades," Sam added with a snort, something between bitter and amused. Ellen, however, was too busy curling a fist over her heart, which had skipped a painful, terrified beat. She took it back, she was more than okay with Gordon Walker turning up dead.

"Grenades?"

The two boys quieted awkwardly at the concern – and definite anger (of the mama ear variety) – in the woman's voice. Dean glanced at Sam, unsure what to say, and the younger Winchester looked like he was cycling through his default perfect-son-with-puppy-dog-eyes responses that he kept on him like an encyclopedia of sympathy and understanding.

"Like I said," Dean decided to spare Ellen the chick-flick moment she couldn't have possibly have meant to walk into, "Gordon's an asshole."

The look Sam sent him was totally worth it, because it had gone from the judgmental range of bitchfaces to the rarer, understanding end of the scale.

"But you boys are alright?"

Dean cleared his throat on instinct, now cycling through his own array of responses to that question. 'Sure?' 'Not really.' 'Sam's been shot and we got a sleeping angel in the backseat.' 'Well, I was dead, but hey, I got better!'

"Yeah, Ellen. We're okay," was Sam's far more tactful reply. "But we do need something from you."

"Anything."

"Can you find a couple of hunters – ones you trust – to check out a mining town in Black Hills, South Dakota?" Sam tried to switch from the call to a web app, hoping to bring up a map, but Bobby's phone was too old. It didn't even have an internet application. Well, Sam thought, going for optimism, no matter how weak, at least they had a phone. "I'll send you the coordinates in a text. The town's called Cold Oak."

"Okay, sure, I can get someone on that," Ellen said automatically. It was clear she was writing it down from the sound of a pad of paper crinkling and her slightly distracted tone. There was a telling pause in the middle, in which Dean could practically hear her brain grinding away. He could picture her straighten up, ignoring that pen and paper she'd been scribbling on, to grab the phone from where she'd pinched it between her shoulder and ear. "Wait, isn't that the haunted town near Mt. Rushmore? The one the townsfolk all abandoned a century ago?"

The brothers exchanged glanced.

"Yeah, that's the one," Sam answered, trying to keep his voice totally normal. Like this was just your average, ordinary, hunter-buddy request.

Ellen wasn't buying it for a second. The judgmental silence was utterly telling. "Okay, why there?"

Dean licked his lips nervously. This was the part of this conversation he'd rather not have but knew he couldn't avoid. They were getting to the point of toeing a dangerous line with Ellen: how much they were willing to tell her versus how much she was going to figure out on her own. Or, at the very least, she'd know they weren't telling the whole truth. Ellen had called them out on that pretty damn quickly the first time around (and with a pretty sharp tongue, Dean remembered).

The older Winchester leaned slightly towards the phone in his brother's hand, choosing his words carefully (something he was not historically good at). "The yellow eyed demon is kidnapping kids- uh…psychics. Like Sam." And like him, according to the lie they'd told Ellen, though he couldn't really say that out loud, could he? Because Azazel wasn't going to nab him, and when he didn't, would Ellen have questions Dean couldn't afford to answer? The hunter shook his head. Problem for another day, among all the others. They had enough on their plate right now. "We think he's taking 'em to this town."

"What for?" Ellen definitely had that way-too-smart-for-her-own-good frown firmly in place now. Dean could see it, even several hundred miles and a phone call away. 'I just run a saloon' his ass, Dean 'd have to remember to take a sip of something the next time Ellen declared she wasn't a hunter, so he could spit it out at whoever was nearest. Hopefully not Ellen, though. Dean liked to live, uncastrated.

"We, uh," Sam shot his brother an only slightly panicking look, "we don't really know."

The non-verbal frown increased, and Dean winced in the front seat at the heavy silence. They should have thought up a lie before they called her. "Well, how do you know he's taking them there, then?"

Damnit, Ellen. The older Winchester tightened his hand around the steering wheel. They really needed her to just trust them on this.

"Because he already tried to take Andy," Dean bit out. Beside him, Sam went still, no doubt remembering the same thing Dean was. A lot of blood, a mangled neck, and their friend shivering and shaking in their arms.

Now Ava could end up the exact same way.

"That kid that was with you on Jo's hunt?" When the Winchesters didn't answer right away, staring at the phone and the road in equal parts, Ellen sighed. She'd gone a little overboard on the mama bear shtick that trip – not that anyone could blame her, mind you – but she hadn't made the best impression on the boys or the kid they'd had tagging along with them. Her explode-rather-than-stay-silent daughter had been suspiciously tight-lipped about that boy. Now at least she knew why. "Didn't realize he was a psychic."

That might also be because she'd sat in Jo's car on the edge of the cemetery while they finished excavating H.H. Holmes, refusing to speak until they were done and on their way safely back to the Roadhouse. Long past that, actually. By then, it was screaming more than talking and the topic of conversation (yelling match) most definitely wasn't the scrawny kid following the Winchesters like a lost puppy.

"He's like me, Ellen," Sam spoke up, voice quiet and tinged with all sorts of emotions. Ellen could only place the guilt, but she also noted it was the fourth time she could think of that one of the Winchesters isolated Sam as something other than Dean. Like Dean wasn't the same sort of psychic, or something. She knew they were lying to her, she just didn't know what about at this point. "Azazel targeted him a week ago, and now he's gone after another one. A girl. Ava. She doesn't deserve what he has planned for her."

For any of them.

Ellen was quiet for a good stretch. "And she's there? At Cold Oak?"

Dean looked over at Sam. She shouldn't be. Ava should be home in bed, with her fiancé and her normal life. Because Cas had kicked Azazel's ass back to Hell. They'd changed the timeline, damnit, and wasn't Time supposed to throw a hissy fit when they did that? Where was their hissy fit? This was exactly what had happened last time. Azazel should still be stuck in Hell. Even if he managed a ticket on the express train out, Dean knew it wasn't that easy to escape Hell. Only the Crossroads Demons got free passes; everyone else had to find holes to slip through, which weren't big or easy to find. Or, of course, they could flood a Hell Gate once they got it open. And Dean was sure as shit keeping an eye on the one in Fossil Butte. Bobby'd had someone checking those railroad lines once a month since Dean slipped up and had to tell the older hunter everything that was coming.

So Azazel should still be in Hell, and Ava should be back at home, in bed. But she wasn't. Which meant Azazel was topside or he had other demons doing his dirty work, with orders in place well before Cas had kicked his ass to the curb.

Damnit.

"We don't know," Dean hedged, though it was technically the truth. "But it's where he took Andy, so it's the best lead we got."

Ellen blew out a breath of air, but Dean could tell they'd talked her into it, hopefully without any more pushing for details. "Alright. I'll make a couple calls. Asa Fox was working a case in Montana. Jo was with 'em, last I heard. They may still be in the area."

The speed at which Dean stiffened into a rigid statue would have been impressive if it wasn't so damn warranted.

"Ellen, no-" Sam started at the same time his brother gruffly said, "Nevermind, we'll go ourselves, it's fine."

"Now wait just a damn minute," the woman snapped, silencing both Winchesters. "I don't like it either, but they're the closest. I'll make other calls, but if you boys are asking for someone to go in your place then I'm willing to bet you got a damn good reason. You want someone there tonight, they're likely it."

Baby's steering wheel creaked under Dean's white knuckled grip, and Sam sat in quite guilt beside him. The fact that Jo wasn't at the Roadhouse – that she was out hunting – was as much on them as it was on Jo. They'd all but told her to – certainly encouraged her to – the last time they'd seen her.

"Now, why can't you boys go yourselves?" Ellen's voice shifted from don't-mess-with-me to something dangerously bordering on concern. Dean didn't like it. Definitely didn't feel like they deserved it.

"We're fine," he insisted for the second time that night. "Forget it, Ellen, we'll go to Cold Oak-"

"We've had a rough week," Sam cut in, voice betraying how tired they both were. Dean shot him a glare, but Sam just ignored him. It was Dean who'd said they needed the break, Dean who'd pushed for it. And the older Winchester hadn't been wrong. They couldn't afford to make mistakes, not with the stakes – an Apocalypse and the end of the world – so high.

Besides. Ellen deserved the truth. At least some version of it.

"We're running on an adrenaline streak and no sleep," Sam continued, staring at the phone and hoping honesty was an apology enough for Jo. Speaking of Jo. Sam's eyes dropped from the phone. He hadn't realized she'd left home. She hadn't called them in months. "I'm sorry, Ellen. We're probably the last people you want to hear from right now."

The barkeep let out another sigh, haggard and weary this time. "Much as I'd like to blame you boys for it, I can't. She's good. Hell if I want to admit it, but she is. My baby girl's a damn good hunter and she was always going to be, whether I liked it or not. Too much like her daddy." Neither of the Winchester boys dared speak, and the woman sniffed sharply down the line, composing herself. "And Asa's one of the best. He's keeping her safe."

Dean glanced over at his brother almost hesitantly, both of them in a completely different mood than they had been a moment ago. Funny how easy it had been to send a couple hunters they didn't know ahead of them into the fray. Hell of a lot harder when it was Jo. Dean was mentally beating back images of that girl walking into another abandoned town. Beating those bloody images back with a god damn crowbar.

Why the hell was Ellen agreeing to this?

(For the same reason's she had walked hand in hand into that same damn town – that same damned fate – with her daughter all those years ago.)

"You tell them recon only, alright?" Dean turned his gaze back to the road, fiercely ignoring the knot in his gut as he all but agreed to putting Jo in danger. Damnit. A couple of psychics they didn't know weren't worth Jo's life. But he knew Sam's tone, knew he was the one who actually cared about rescuing Ava Wilson, and he was the one making this call. Dean didn't like it, but he would, at the least, respect it, because he hadn't been wrong; they were running on fumes. "They see anyone in that town, they call us. These psychics are powerful, Ellen. If there's even one of 'em in that town, they don't go in, you got that? We'll be there by midnight."

"Alright." Ellen didn't exactly like his tone, especially considering she was sending her daughter into whatever the hell mess this was (a Winchester mess was exactly what it was), but she could at least appreciate Dean's worry for Jo. "Look, they'll be at least a couple hours themselves, Dean. Why don't you boys take that break, get some sleep. It sounds like you need it. You can meet them there tomorrow morning."

When nothing but silence persisted in the car, Ellen rolling her eyes became practically audible.

"You're no good to my daughter dead in a ditch cuz you fell asleep at the wheel."

Dean clenched his jaw hard enough to start a headache behind his temples, the lines of his body tense. But, once again, everyone in the car seemed to have a valid, frustrating-as-hell point. This would be a hell of a lot easier if Ellen would just be pissed at them for getting Jo involved in yet another suicide mission.

He could tell by the set of the barkeep's tone that that wasn't gonna happen anytime soon. He'd lost this argument before he'd even realized there was one to be won. "Yeah…Yeah, alright, fine."

Didn't mean he had to go along with it, though. They'd be there at midnight, regardless of what Ellen thought they needed or what Asa Fox could handle or what he said he'd do. This was Jo they were talking about.

"Anything else they should know about?"

"Yeah, there's an Acheri demon in the woods surrounding the town," Sam piped up, hand fidgeting in his lap. His brain was miles away, trying not to touch Andy's mangled neck as the kid sobbed into his shoulder. "Tell them to bring red ribbons or handkerchiefs."

"Will do."

"…Ellen…" Dean hedged again, ready to tell her once more, not Jo. Anyone but Jo. But Ellen cut him off.

"It'll be fine, Dean," she said, voice as firm as a worried mother's possibly could be. "Recon only, like you said. They'll find your girl."

"Thanks, Ellen," Sam said quietly beside him, since Dean's throat wasn't really working anymore, maybe from anger, worry, or actually having someone give a damn about him. Probably all three. "Oh, and call us on Bobby's cell. Both of ours are, uh, out of commission."

There was a huff down the line, like Ellen knew what that meant (she didn't, but she could probably imagine. The sorts of stories hunters came back with. 'My phone went down in a swamp fighting a voodoo witch.' 'Mine ate it on a werewolf. Literally. The werewolf ate it.' 'Bucky lost his to a chupacabra. Had to gut the damn thing just to get it back. 'Course, by then it didn't work worth a damn!').

"I'll call you back when I hear from them." Then she was gone, the line clicking dead, and Sam lowered Bobby's phone. Dean's hands were still white on the wheel.

"We take turns driving to Bobby's," he said abruptly, eyes so fierce on the dark asphalt ahead that Sam wouldn't have been surprised to see it catch on fire. "Two hour shifts, other one sleeps. We get Cas set up, get an hour or two in a bed, and head back out."

It wasn't much – it probably wouldn't be enough – but it didn't matter. If Jo was heading to Cold Oak ahead of them, then Dean was going to shrink down that time as much as he possibly could. They had to get Cas to Bobby's, that wasn't a choice, and the Salvage Yard was on the way anyway. They could each catch a couple hours restless sleep on the drive there, another hour at Bobby's if they could spare it, and from that they'd be able to drive another seven, splitting that with naps too.

It wasn't great and they definitely wouldn't be in the best shape when they got there, but it sure as hell was better than letting Jo fight their battles for them with no clue what she could be walking into.

-o-o-o-

Bobby's phone started ringing about twenty minutes later, and Sam frowned at the unsaved number coming up on the screen. He glanced at Dean, wondering if they should answer Bobby's cell with an unknown contact calling. His brother just shrugged unhelpfully and so Sam flipped the phone open, pressing it to his ear.

"Hello?"

"Nice of you idjits to let me know yer alive," Bobby's dry voice came through, causing Sam to flinch. "You know, after yer angel lady came-to choking on medical equipment in the middle of the night, screaming bloody murder for a phone."

The unknown number must have been one of Bobby's landlines. Of course he wouldn't have those programed into his own cell.

"Uh…Sorry, Bobby," Sam answered, voice truly contrite as he lowered the phone, switching it to speaker. He saw Dean stiffen, his shoulders climbing towards his ears like a child who knew he'd just gotten caught being bad and was in for a whooping. "We've been a little, uh…things have been kinda hectic."

"I'll bet," came that same dry tone. Oh yeah, both Winchesters knew they were in big trouble. "So hectic you only had time to call Ellen Harvelle 'stead of the guy yer angel woke up at two in the morning again, with another disappearing act. No, I had to hear it from Ellen that Gordon Walker was after you. Oh, and that, thank yer lucky stars, you boys were alright."

The bitter sarcasm was like acid, each word dripping on their skin and burning clear through to the tender flesh beneath. Dean winced again, eyeing the phone like it might explode on them. "Sorry, Bobby. We should have called."

"Yeah, you should have." There was a tone shift somewhere in the silence, and finally the gruff old hunter sighed. "You gonna tell me what went down?"

"We can tell you when we get there." Dean's grip on the steering wheel loosened for the first time in about an hour. His fingers ached but he ignored it. The pain felt earned and deserved.

"Yer coming back?" The way Bobby said it, the words might have been 'About damn time,' even though they'd only just left the Salvage Yard two days ago.

"Not for long," Sam answered, sounding apologetic. "We met another psychic, Ava Wilson. She's gone missing. We think Azazel might have taken her back to Cold Oak."

The silence on the other end of the line was telling and both Winchesters realized, belatedly, that Andy was probably listening in. Shit. Well, nothing for it now.

"We gotta drop Cas off. She's hurting. Needs time to heal up." Dean moved right along, refusing to let anyone on that call linger on that damn, cursed town. "We need some sleep, too. Much as we can afford."

"Alright," Bobby responded after another pause and a sigh. "Your beds are made up. The kid's been camping in one of 'em, but I got extra sheets."

"Don't worry about it," Sam answered at the same time Dean said, "I can sleep on the couch."

They could hear Bobby snort, which probably meant Andy was making a similar, if not silent version, of the same offer. "Right, well, you boys just get here."

"Will do, Bobby," Dean answered, pushing through that little bit of choked-up emotion he always got at their gruff-as-hell, surrogate father expressing care and concern. Well, in Bobby-fashion, of course, but still. Dean could hear it in the man's tired voice. They probably hadn't gotten much more than Ellen tonight. "Get some sleep. We'll be there in a couple hours."

Sam flipped the phone closed once Bobby hung up, setting it on the seat beside them. The two brothers exchanged relieved glances. That could have gone much, much worse. The majority of their hides remained un-flayed and still attached to their bodies. Miracle of miracles. That was getting off downright easy in a Winchester-Singer world. Now they just had to hope Bobby wasn't saving the verbal lashing for when they showed up in person.

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

A/Ns: Not the most exciting chapter, but I think after the last nine weeks we've earned ourselves a break, no?

Up Next: The Winchester-Singer-Gallagher-Garrett household gets a chapter of chatter and rest, more of the first than the second because, let's be honest, sleeping is pretty boring to write/read about. Unless you're Dean and sleeping means you dream of two different versions of your angelic best friend seeking conference with one another. In which case, sleeping is just another form of chatter ;D

Updating Schedule: I have a friend visiting next weekend, so I may not have time to get a chapter edited and posted. However, he's a writing buddy so, who knows, we may spend plenty of time writing. I will do my best!

I do want to give as much heads up as possible on the schedule going forward. After the next chapter (our 100th chapter, guys!) I will be switching to a two-week posting schedule. In addition, there may be the odd patch with a longer wait. My job wraps at the end of March, but so does my time in this city (and country it just so happens), and I will be busy dealing with packing up my life and planning the move. So until mid-April, my posting schedule is going to be a tad unpredictable. I'll keep you guys as updated as possible during chapter posts, and please remember to check my profile for information if I go missing an extra week. (I will also try to answer reviews and pokes to keep you updated that way too!)

Thank you for all your support! I'm so glad so many people are enjoying this story :)