Chapter 1

The day before

The world had gone very still for Dean. Jack's face, upturned, so child-like in his desperation and fear and grief. Was it grief? Did this kid actually grieve for Mary Winchester? Soul or no soul, did he actually care for her? Or was he just desperate for forgiveness, afraid that Sam and Dean would never move past this. Because he was afraid they'd hate him or something. He was crying hard, out of control, like Sam as a very, very little kid. Dean wasn't sure he'd ever been that young.

Dean had no answers. He had no words. The closest he could come to a coherent answer to this fucking obnoxious question, a question that only served to make Dean hurt more—was to remind the kid, and everybody for that matter, that when he'd had the chance, Dean had failed to kill Jack.

Everything was in slow motion.

A phone rang. Dean's. In his pocket, though the sound seemed like it was coming from miles away. It wasn't hard to ignore. He didn't turn it off. He just let it ring. He turned to walk away from this scene, this display of human emotion, these selfish cries, this selfish bullshit coming from a child who probably did feel awful, but people asking to be forgiven, it was always about them. He'd had it up to here with people and their bullshit and his sense of responsibility for ... everybody, and the need to take care of this whiny, petulant, rule-breaking child. No, not a child. A murderer. Somehow, it was harder to look Jack in the face, now that he actually felt bad. Now that it actually seemed like they had the real Jack back.

Cas grabbed Dean as another phone started ringing. Farther away, but a familiar ringtone. Metallica. Cas was holding onto Dean's shirt. Dean glared at the freaking angel. Sam was babbling about forgiveness, not offering it or saying what he thought about anything, but babbling about the concept, and what it meant. Like he was writing a damn college paper.

Dean wondered, absently, what Sam really thought. But that was one conversation he wanted to avoid like the plague, or the Croatoan virus. That was the conversation that could break him, hearing about his little brother's pain, about what Sam really felt when their mother died, again, before he could really, truly get to know her.

Just another thing to add to the list: shit he failed in protecting Sam from. Maybe Dean should have killed Jack, back when he was first born. Maybe it wouldn't have worked, but if he'd taken the shot, and succeeded. Or he could have stopped the whole resurrection thing.

A third phone rang. He pulled away from Cas. Now Cas was shouting at his back. He ignored the whole lot of them. He couldn't fix this. Nothing that he said could do a damn thing, other than to make the son of Lucifer cry. Because there wasn't one drop of blood within Dean's body that would let him tell Jack that he forgave him. Not now. Not yet. Maybe not ever.

He couldn't fix Jack. He couldn't fix Sam. He couldn't give Cas the win he was looking for.

But he could answer his damn phone. He jogged down the hall, got it just in time. "Yeah?"

"Dean?" somebody asked, sounding like he was about to cry. He sounded young. Barely more than a kid. Great. This was just what he needed.

"Who's this?"

"You're Dean? Dean Winchester?"

"Depends who's asking."

Sobbing, muffled sobbing. Great.

"Hey," he said, softening. "It's okay. Yeah, I'm Dean. Just tell me who you are, where you are, and how you got this number."

The voice on the other end got steadier, calmer, as if this kid was making himself chill the fuck out. "My name is Ben Braeden. Do you know who I am?"

#

There was no picket fence. And the current Braeden house was smaller than either of the houses he'd lived in with Lisa and Ben. But it was still so fucking apple pie. Pale yellow siding with a red roof. Lawn neat and trim. Hedges trimmed. Flowers planted in neat rows in front of the house. The names of the flowers came back to him. Tiger lilies, orangey and badass looking, for flowers, Lisa's favorite.

They pulled up in front of the house and they both just sat in the Impala, staring at the apple pie life that they knew they were going to destroy.

"Any chance we don't tell her?" Ben asked.

Dean shook his head. "She might already know."

"She's the one who checked me into the fucking mental hospital!"

Dean sighed and put a hand on the kid's shoulder. Miraculously, Ben didn't flinch it off. "Yeah, well, she's a wily one. She might know and think that she did the right thing because, I don't know Ben. Moms are weird. Lisa, she's, you know, fierce, she'd do all sorts of crazy shit to keep you safe." Thinking about Lisa was painful. Seeing her might be like getting ripped by a hell hound. Part of him wanted to just drop the kid off and drive away, but he couldn't. He had to figure out what was going on here. "Besides, if she doesn't remember me, she's going to have too many questions about you getting out. You really want her driving you back to that hospital and telling the doctor that you don't have an uncle Dean Jagger in the FBI who checked you out against doctor's orders because he's a dick? And if you don't show up here, you don't think they'll call her and check up on you, and then we've got an actual FBI manhunt to dodge? For now, at least, until I can get some backup here to clean up whatever mess I make of this freaking shit show, I'm going to have to talk to Lisa."

Ben let out a muttered stream of curse words. But finally he nodded. Seemed to steel himself against the world in a very Winchester fashion. And shoved open the passenger door. The hinges creaked like they always had.

A moment later, Dean sprung from the car and was walking toward the door. Almost running. Weirdly excited now. Wishing for, he didn't know what. Probably something impossible.

"You still live here with your mom?" he asked when they got to the door.

Ben shook his head. "I'm in the dorms. But I've got a key."

The kid started to fish a key from his pocket, but Dean held up a hand. "First rule of talking to an uncooperative witness. Minimize the amount you shock them. She thinks you're still in the loony bin. And you, well, calm the fuck down. I know you're still pissed at her, but maybe suck it up, just stand there and be contrite as shit, and let me do the talking."

"Because you 'lie professionally'?" Ben put air quotes around the last two words.

Dean laughed. "Did I actually say that?"

The kid laughed and nodded.

Dean shrugged. "Yeah, that's most of what I do, besides the whole killing monsters thing. But, whatever. We're not lying here, not really. We're shaping the narrative. And you, smartass, are a friggin civilian, so you're going to shut your pie hole and let the master work." Ben rolled his eyes. "I saw that," Dean said as he knocked on the door. Firmly but not too firmly. No need for a hard, police-type knock. No need to freak her out with a needless show of asshole authority.

Lisa opened the door in record time. She was exactly the same, other than a few more lines on her face and a couple streaks of gray in her dark hair. Dean had almost forgotten how goddamn beautiful this woman was.

But she had a blank look on her face when she looked at Dean. She didn't know him. Dammit. Though possibly that was better. Not for Dean's ego. But for all logical scenarios of this not turning apocalyptic.

Then she noticed Ben cowering behind Dean. The kid was his exact height, but skinnier. Her expression changed. Hardened.

Lisa was pissed.

Great.

A moment later Lisa's expression changed again. She fell apart, stepped out past Dean like he was nothing, until she was hugging her grown son like her life depended on it. As she pulled away from the kid, she was crying.

"How did you get here?" she said. "You're supposed to be in the hospital. Getting better. Honey, I'm thrilled to see you, but you need help. You're supposed to be safe."

"I checked myself out."

But Lisa just shook her head. "They told me they wouldn't let you go with another court appearance. This is serious, Ben."

Only now did she really look at Dean. "And who are you?"

Dean bit his lip. Then he plastered on his signature FBI smile, charming but professional. "Lisa, my name is Dean Winchester. And if you don't recognize me, well, just let me in, and I can explain." He'd come alone because it seemed like something that he needed to do, and because he couldn't look at any of his screwed up family right now, but suddenly he was questioning this whole doing it himself thing. Would be nice to have Cas here to do another memory wipe and be done with this whole thing. Get away from all this torment and longing when he looked into her eyes. This was the woman who could save him or ruin him. For all intents and purposes, Dean was staring at his ex-wife.

She narrowed her eyes. Suspicious. Still not knowing him. "What are you doing with my son?"

Dean flashed another charming smile. Then he reached into his breast pocket for his fake credentials. Lisa flinched. In one fluid motion she grabbed the kid, shoved him inside the house, then pulled a .45 from the back pocket of her jeans. Almost casually, she pointed the gun at Dean.

Great.

He'd taught her how to use a gun, given her countless lessons, promising that she'd never need them, but it would make him sleep better at night. She was a good shot.

Great, great, great.

Obviously, Lisa Braeden knew that something was up, or she wouldn't be answering the door armed. Which might not turn out to be the worst thing in the world, provided she didn't blow his head off before he could convince her he was one of the good guys.

Hands up in front in a gesture of surrender, he said, "Come on, Lisa. Don't make this messy."

She took off the safety and cocked the gun.

"Ms. Braeden, you just pulled a firearm on a federal agent. So let's all take a breath, lower the weapon, and let me show you my credentials."

Lisa's hand shook just a bit.

Dean reached into his pocket again, withdrew the badge. Still keeping one hand on the gun, she reached for his fake badge.

"How do I know this is real?" she asked, voice wavering.

"Lis, could you just let me inside and I can explain?"

"Mom!" Ben hissed. "Do you want the whole neighborhood to see you waving a gun around like a crazy person? At an FBI agent?"

Dean's phone took this inopportune moment to go off. Keeping his eyes on Lisa, he reached into his back pocket and pulled out his cell. "Sammy, not the right time. Lisa's trying to blow my brains out."

Sam laughed. He actually laughed. "Really?"

"Yup."

"That just made my day. Look, man. Cas is about a day's drive from you. He was fretting a bunch, and then he just insisted. He wants to help."

Dean breathed a sigh of relief. As much as he didn't want to talk about Jack, he had to admit that he needed his best friend here, for his mojo but also just, here. "Thanks, man. Now how about you get off the damn phone so I can sweet talk my way into making her see she shouldn't scramble my custard?"

Sam laughed again.

"Not funny, Sammy." And he hung up on the little brat.

Turning back to Lisa, who had lowered the weapon but not put it down, Dean said, "Lis, we know each other. You just don't remember."

She frowned. "Did you take my son out of the mental hospital where he was supposed to be, where he was supposed to get better?"

Dean nodded.

"Did the doctors think that was a good idea, Mr. Federal Agent?"

Dean shook his head.

Lisa glared at Dean and said, "Ben, get in my car. You're going back."

Ben let out this very teenager-sounding sigh. "Come on, Mom."

"If the doctors want you in the hospital, it's for a good reason."

"Lis!" Dean pleaded.

"Don't call me that."

"Don't you remember him, Mom? He's the guy from the dreams, my visions. He lived with us for a whole year."

Dean cocked his head to the side, watching her, just taking her in. She was such a badass, and he'd never realized it. "Lisa Braeden. You had an imaginary friend named Sully—by the way, I know I gave you shit for that, but turns out he's real, I met him, and I can introduce you."

Her eyes went wide. Dean went on. "You cheated on a math test in eighth grade, but you were so paranoid your folks would find out, you broke into the school to swap out your fake answers, and then you got caught. You only ate green foods for the first three months you were pregnant with Ben. You told your sister that you'd take single motherhood over her perfect husband any day, but you cry every father's day. We had this amazing weekend in 1998, but it didn't get deep until nine years later when I saved Ben from a changeling. You're the only woman I ever even thought about giving up the life for. And—" he leaned in close so the kid couldn't hear. "Lis, you do this thing with your tongue in my ear that ought to be illegal because it makes me shiver and collapse every single time."

Lisa looked like she was about to collapse. She nodded, at what he wasn't sure. Then she lowered the gun completely, stepped aside and gestured for him to enter. Dean gulped in one last breath of free air, before stepping inside. As he crossed the threshold, something clicked, like a wind rushing inside with him, tying him to this place. To the kid. To her.

Ben followed closely, bumping into Dean, who bumped into Lisa, who gasped and dropped the gun. Luckily it didn't go off. Dean sighed, picked up the gun, walked into the kitchen, and deposited the firearm on the kitchen table. He sat down. After a moment, Lisa sat down next to him, Ben across from them.

Dean reached a tentative hand towards her. She didn't flinch away. He let his skin brush up against Lisa's. And then, it was like electricity between them. She screamed. He pulled away, but she grabbed his hand, wouldn't let him go. Her grip was a vice. She was howling in pain. Even for Dean's messed up life, this was weird.

"Mom!" Ben shouted, glaring at Dean, like he was doing this shit.

Dean looked at the kid, feeling helpless and stupid. "This ain't me, Ben."

After what felt like a lifetime, Lisa grew quiet. She looked at Dean like she was looking at a ghost. "Dean?" she asked, and he could tell she remembered him. That physical touch must have jolted her memories. "You're back?"

He nodded.

She looked like she was about to kiss him. Then her face hardened, twisted. She let go of his hand and slapped him hard across the face. Very hard.

He probably deserved it. Didn't flinch. Didn't react. Just waited.

"Why did I forget you?"

Dean bit his lip, not sure what to say.

"WHY?"

"Look, I have this angel friend—"

"Castiel, I know."

"He wiped your memories."

"Why?"

"You got possessed by a demon and you almost died."

"I remember that. But what does that have anything to do with you taking my memories from me? Mine. Those were mine. You took a piece of me."

"You would've died if Cas hadn't gotten there in time. It was all on me. They used you to get to me. I couldn't—"

Lisa looked murderous. "Free will. It's just for you?"

"It was for your protection."

"Bullshit."

"Lis—"

"Wouldn't that just make me a sitting duck? Ben too. Us not knowing anything? This was for you, Dean. It wasn't for me. You wanted a clean break. Don't sit there looking sad and act like you did this for me."

Dean didn't have an answer for that, though his heart was crying out that he'd needed the break. That Ben's face when he thought Lisa would die, when he blamed Dean, his face had been enough to bury Dean. He didn't tell her that her possession was just one day in a line of bad days, that the world had been burning, again, and he'd not been in control of anything, and he couldn't deal with loving her, with the chance of seeing her again. He didn't tell her that this was one thing he could do, one piece of the puzzle he could fix. He didn't tell her that losing her had been so hard, he wanted a clean break so there was nothing to go back to. So he wouldn't be tempted to see her. That life was a fantasy, and since he couldn't truly have it, he didn't want there to be even a chance, or a hope, or a dream, or a phone call from Ben when she went on the next third date.

"Fuck you," Lisa said. She didn't shout. She didn't seem angry. She just seemed sad.

Lisa got up from the table with a jerk, sending her chair flying behind her. She ran up the stairs. Upstairs, a door slammed behind her.

Dean put his head in his hands.

"Dean?" the kid asked, tentatively. "What are you going to do?"

"Pressure in this situation will only make it worse."

"This isn't a job."

Dean looked up at the kid and shrugged. "I know."

"Are you my dad?"

Shit.

"No answer? Seriously?"

Dean sighed. "Ben, I honestly don't know. She always said no."

"But what do you—"

He put his hand up. He couldn't, he just couldn't. "Let's get through this shit show first. Besides, you wouldn't want me. Believe me, you're better off without ... that."