Author's Notes: Welcome back everyone! Apologies for the delay. I ended up with a family emergency and traveled to my Moms' to help out. Everyone's okay, though it was a stressful and emotionally exhausting time. My moms are the type who conveniently misplace all relationship-based communication skills in stressful situations and I'm the kind of person who just wants everyone to be happy (despite knowing that is not my responsibility). So needless to say I'm a little worn thin at the moment.

(Although, that being said, I am also very proud of myself. I set and respected my boundaries, I put the load down when I needed a break, and I clearly defined what was and wasn't my work to do/job to fix. Thank you, years of therapy!)

Now, on with the story!

Chapter Warnings: Bobby's house is gone, the boys go looking for anything that might have survived, Jody shows up and she is not pleased about the two new strangers in her town, and things get a little… locked up.

The Road So Far (This Time Around)

Season 2: Chapter 102

Sam was the first to move. He walked up to Bobby's side, but the old hunter didn't seem to notice. He was staring at the remains of his house. The home he'd built a life in, shared that life with Karen, and converted to a hunter's sanctuary after he lost her. Bobby couldn't begin to comprehend the loss he was looking at. All the memories, the few comforts left to an old hunter, the knowledge and artifacts. All of it, burnt to ashes.

"Bobby," Sam started, voice soft as he reached out and placed his hand on the man's shoulder.

He startled at the contact, turning wide, watery eyes towards his kid. Bobby didn't have any words. Didn't even know where to begin.

Sam nodded, both in understanding and sympathy, and then walked into the remains of the house. Following his brother's lead (Sam always had been better with this stuff), Dean walked up to Bobby's side as well and offered the same hand on his shoulder.

"I'm…" He didn't even know what to say. Sorry? For getting your house blown up, for destroying your home and everything in it, for getting their friends killed?

God, Ash. He'd thought he was safe because Dean told him he would be. Instead he'd sent him straight to his death. And Ronald, killed again at the hands of something supernatural. Because he'd wanted to be involved, and Dean didn't have enough friggin' restraint to tell him no.

He hadn't changed anything. He'd just made it worse.

The man from the future was resolutely not thinking about Ellen. She was fine. She hadn't been in the house. She'd been headed for the road, headed their way.

It didn't matter that they hadn't crossed paths with her on their desperate flight back to Bobby's house. That didn't mean anything. They just took different routes, was all.

Time wanted to stay the same, and it hadn't taken her the first time. Not here, not now. So Ellen was fine.

Even if Ash and Ronald weren't.

Dean hung his head, unable to look at his surrogate father or the desolation of the man's home. The home he'd shared with the love of his life. The picture of her, the only one Dean had ever found, tucked away in a box in one of the upstairs bedroom closets. The blanket she'd quilted, the one that two little kids had huddled under together while dad was away fighting monsters. The kitchen, filled with the smell of pie – possibly the best damn pie Dean had ever had – and all the memories of the woman who had spent countless hours baking it.

Gone. Because of him. Because he thought he could change things.

Dean dropped his hand from Bobby's shoulder.

Sorry didn't even begin to cut it. The older Winchester shook his head and followed after Sam, looking for…. He wasn't sure what he was looking for. Anything salvageable. Evidence of what had happened. Hope that maybe, somehow, their friends had made it out.

Dean hadn't thought the demons would follow Ash to the Salvage Yard. It hadn't even occurred to him. The Roadhouse had been their target. Only that wasn't true, was it? It had always been Ash and his information they wanted dead and buried, not some hunters' hangout. Demons weren't going to stop because of a location change.

He should have known better.

"Damnit," he growled to himself as he walked through the remains of Bobby's den. Most of it was unrecognizable, now. Black and charred, as useless as it was lifeless. Sam looked over at him from a few feet away. He was standing in front of the door to the basement. Or, where it had once been. The two brothers shared an entirely different kind of mourning through that look.

Ellen had said Ash and Ronald were headed down to the panic room. If they'd been in there when the house went up…

Dean looked away. Well, they weren't likely to find any bodies anytime soon. Not without some heavy-duty digging equipment.

Noise to their left drew both Winchesters to Bobby, who had joined them in the remains. He bent down, picking up a book. Its cover was blackened with soot, singed and unreadable. Bobby stared at the cover for too long (too long for either brother to know what to say, or if they should say anything at all) before he gingerly cracked the book open. Ash and soot tumbled off the cover, sifting to the floor, but the inside of the book, while damaged, had survived a lot better than the outside.

Bobby tucked the tome under his arm with a silence neither brother knew what to do with. Sam turned away, leaving the man to his grief and however he chose to process it. Instead, he focused on the rubble surrounding them, looking for anything else leftover from Bobby's life that might be salvageable.

The younger Winchester tilted his head as something caught his eye. There was a wooden box a few feet from where Sam stood, almost completely buried in the blackened remains of Bobby's belongings. The younger Winchester only noticed it because unlike everything else around them, it wasn't dark with ash and soot. The wood grain and carvings on the surface stood out among the black and char, seemingly undamaged by the fire.

Sam crossed into the den, bending down to pull a box from the debris. Bobby tracked the kid's movement, coming over to join him as Sam dusted the thing off. It wasn't very big, only six inches long and half that across. It seemed to be a simple but well-crafted box with an elongated star carved into the wood (an Aquarius star, Sam's well-read mind supplied). It had taken no damage in the explosion, which in Bobby's house meant only one thing. Sam looked up at the old hunter, who was staring at it with some surprise.

"Protection spell?" he asked, wondering if whatever was inside the box was important to the man.

"Not mine." Bobby shook his head, still staring at the box but now with growing curiosity and maybe just a touch of apprehension.

"No friggin' way."

Both men turned towards Dean, who was standing a few feet away from them, staring at the box in Sam's hand in wide-eyed astonishment. Before either could ask him what was going on, the man from the future had crossed the distance between them. He took the box right out of Sam's hands, popped open the top of it, slid the side off, and twisted aside a panel underneath with surprising ease and a whole lot of familiarity. Sam had been expecting a more complex mechanism or magic to open it, given the protection spell alone suggested great importance.

Inside was a key, which Dean pulled right out, holding up to stare at in pure amazement. Sam wasn't sure he'd ever seen his brother look so shocked in his life. Or so delighted to be so shocked. A wide grin was spreading across his face.

"No friggin' way," he repeated, only this time with less disbelief and more unbridled hope. "Bobby, where did you-? How did you-?"

Bobby offered a helpless shrug, exchanging an equally confused look with Sam. "Found it in that Pinto you boys left."

Dean's brow pinched sharply. "Pinto?"

"The car you stole?" Bobby offered again, an unimpressed eyebrow joining his confusion. "To go have your little chat with God?"

Oh. Dean blinked. Right. He remembered that. Or, well, no, he didn't, because God had apparently wiped his memory of it (the son of a bitch). But that didn't explain how the god damn bunker key – an item that shouldn't even exist in the timeline yet – had somehow gotten into the stolen car-

Oh.

God.

"Son of a bitch!" Dean swore loudly even as a hazy, vague memory surfaced. 'I'm helping as much as I can ,Dean.' He didn't recognize the voice, couldn't picture a face to go with it, but he knew who it was. His gaze shot up to the open sky above them and the time traveler angrily shouted, "Seriously?!"

"Dean." Sam finally got his brother's attention back and, exasperated, threw his arms out. "What is it?"

The grin on Dean's face was nothing short of 100-watt joy. Sam shared another uncertain look with Bobby, who appeared just as clueless.

"The key to the Batcave, Sammy."

Sirens broke the air around them before either Sam or Bobby could ask what the hell that meant. All three men turned, tension back up, as a cop car came screaming down the dirt drive towards them, two more behind it. Sarge started barking from the passenger window of Bobby's truck, and the old man headed out of the remains of his house, towards the flashing lights. The cars came to a hasty stop in a spread-out formation that blocked the men in against the remains of the house.

Sam and Dean exchanged nervous glances as several cops exited the vehicles, hands resting on their gun holsters. Dean hastily stuffed the Bunker key back into its box and tucked it in his jacket pocket before following the older hunter out, Sam beside him.

At the front of the group was Jody Mills, waiting for the three men to exit the damage. Dean had to work extra hard not to stare at one of his closest friends, unsure how he was going to pretend he didn't know her. Lucky for him, her gaze was locked on Bobby, a mix of anger and relief spread across her face.

"Bobby, where the hell have you been?" she began, glaring at him even if her words lacked any real heat. "You weren't answering your phone, we thought-"

Jody cut herself off, took a deep breath, and sighed, closing her eyes briefly and letting go of whatever it was they had thought. Bobby wasn't a corpse beneath the remains of his house. Which meant he just became her prime suspect. She opened her eyes again, switching over to the two men standing on either side of the old mechanic. They were easily recognizable, and Jody swore internally.

She had told him. She had told Bobby Singer what would happen if she saw the Winchesters in her town. And now they show up after a damn bomb had gone off at the Salvage Yard, casualties unknown?

Her hand shifted to her holster, unsnapping the security strap. Dean Winchester – the older of the two brothers if she recalled correctly – honed in on the movement immediately, but he didn't react otherwise.

"What happened?" Bobby asked, voice hoarse. Jody hid a wince. She felt for the man, really. It was clear from his expression – and the fact that he'd gone tearing past her deputy onto an active crime scene – that he hadn't known about the explosion. It didn't clear him as a suspect (a gut impression wasn't evidence, even if Jody trusted her gut with her life), but it went a long way in relaxing Jody's stance.

Her hand, however, stayed on her gun. Those were federal fugitives standing behind Bobby Singer and she wasn't stupid.

"We don't know," she answered, keeping her tone as neutral as possible. "Gas leak, maybe. We haven't been able to start an investigation. An excavator will be here tomorrow. Do you know if anyone was inside?"

They hadn't found any bodies during their preliminary search once the Fire Department had deemed it safe to enter. But Bobby's house had been two stories, and Jody knew there was some sort of basement, as well. They wouldn't be able to confirm or rule out casualties until they could search through and clear out all the debris.

Even as she asked it, praying for a negative from the owner of the property, her eyes scanned across the three men, over to Bobby's truck with Sarge in the front seat and the empty '67 Chevy beside it. Dread filled her stomach as Jody realized a familiar face was missing.

"Where's the kid?" Jody tensed, eyes snapping back to Bobby. Horror stretched across her face, waylaid only by the smallest hope that he just wasn't with them today. "Bobby, where's Andy?"

Sam couldn't help it. His eyes went to Bobby's truck, which was absolutely not the thing to do in front of cops. Luckily, between his grief and guilt-stricken expression, Bobby's look of heartbreak, and Dean averting his eyes completely, Jody's thoughts weren't on the truck.

But they were on the right track, even if she had the wrong cause, location, and motive.

Jody pulled her gun. All three men took a breath, raising their hands or taking a step back. Especially when the other two cops – one of whom was definitely the deputy that had tried to stop them from entering – followed suit.

"Did you two do this?" Jody asked harshly. Her eyes had a sheen of grief to them, but she kept it back valiantly. She had a job to do. One that maybe she should have done earlier. "Damn it, Bobby, I told you to keep them out of my town."

"Hey!" Dean's bark – loud, sharp, and commanding – drew all three guns to him and off of his brother and surrogate father. He was pissed at the accusation (pissed at a lot of things, really) and it helped him forget that he knew this woman. Helped him forget that she should but didn't know him back. He drew himself up under Jody's angry, accusatory glare. "Andy was family. And the people in that house were friends. They didn't deserve to go out like that. You think we would do this? You think we would let this happen? You don't know us."

It hurt like hell to say, but it was easier than he thought it would be. Anger made a lot of things easier for Dean.

"I know you're criminals, wanted by the FBI," Jody responded, gun still trained on the older Winchester. "Which means you're coming with me."

Bobby took a step forward, already opening his mouth to argue (one of the cops retraining his gun on the movement) but Dean grabbed him around the arm to hold him back.

"It's fine, we'll go," he said loudly enough for the Sheriff and her deputies to hear him clearly. Then, lower, he added, "Get to the bunker. Lebanon, Kansas; look for an abandoned power plant on the east side. Take the Colt and don't let it out of your sight."

He hadn't gotten into it with Sam on the drive because the Colt had been safely on his persons at the time and his brother needed sleep, but the next thing they had to do was stop the Fossil Butte Cemetery Hellgate from opening. Hell couldn't make that happen without the Colt, so their top priority was keeping it out of demonic hands. It would be safe in the bunker and then, just maybe, Dean could mean it when he told Sam they stopped the Apocalypse.

As he spoke, Dean passed both box and Colt discretely to Bobby, keeping the objects between their bodies, his own blocking the cops from seeing them. Bobby met his eyes, angry at first, then uncertain, before finally settling on grumpy acceptance. He nodded, items tucked safely out of view in his jacket, and Dean turned back around. He faced Jody Mills, hands up.

"My brother and I will go without a fight," he announced, loud and clear, as Sam diligently stepped up too. "But Bobby had nothing to do with this, so leave him out of it."

"He's not under arrest," Jody confirmed as her two deputies stepped forward to cuff the Winchesters. She kept her gun on them the entire time. "But we will need a statement for all this. So don't skip town."

The last part was directed at Bobby, who just crossed his arms and harrumphed. "Don't know where you think I'd go."

Jody looked less than convinced, leveling an eyebrow his way that said as much. But she grabbed Dean's cuffed hands and hauled him towards the back of one of the deputy's cars. Sam was escorted to the other.

The brothers locked eyes over the hoods of their respective cop cars before hands on their heads guided them into the interiors.

Chapter Break

Jody left the Winchesters in the care of her deputies once they got back to the station, no doubt off to call Special Agent Henriksen. The two officers escorted the brothers to a small block of cells behind the lobby, three in total. Each brother got his own spacious nine by four prison: lucky them.

The first cell was already occupied by a man sprawled across the bench, looking (and smelling) like he was sobering up from one hell of a bender. Dean actually recognized him, having met the man once before: Digger, the town drunk (according to Bobby). Dean, being the lucky winner of the middle cell (it had a window, long but no wider than a foot, running along the top of the wall), left Digger to it and leaned instead against the bars that separated him and his brother. Sam watched, calm and quiet, as the deputies locked his cell then turned and left for the main office just on the other side of the door.

"Look, mine comes with a view," Dean mouthed off immediately, gesturing with his head while waggling eyebrows at Sam. "I musta done something extra special."

The younger Winchester sent him a brief look (annoyed-little-brother in full swing, but not quite Bitchface levels yet). He didn't respond. Instead, Sam settled on his bench, sighing as he leaned his head back against the cinderblock wall.

"Don't worry, Sammy. We'll be out of here in no time."

"That so?" Both Winchesters turned at the voice, Sam rising quickly to his feet once more as Jody strolled through the door. She kept one hand on her gun holster, the other on her hip as she came to a stop in front of them. "I'd like to know how you're planning on doing that."

"Ah." Dean offered a winning smile, neck tinged a little red. He felt like a teenager who'd been caught by his mom while talking about dirty mags or cigarettes. The time traveler tried to ignore that chastised feeling and pulled out the old Winchester charm instead. "You know a magician never reveals their secrets."

"Is that what you are?" Sheriff Mills countered with a raised eyebrow. "A magician, Dean Winchester?"

"Something like that," he offered, though it came out more muttered and self-deprecating than he'd intended. Jody had that effect on him. He hadn't had a mom for much of his life, but he imagined this is what it felt to let one down.

"And are we talking real magic or David Copperfield?" Both Winchesters tensed at that, straightening to attention in a way they didn't usually bother with around law enforcement. Jody tilted her head, hands still on her hips, and looked unimpressed. "Just want to know if I should be prepping for witches or a Tyrannosaurus Rex?"

Sam glanced nervously at Dean, who honestly had no clue how to respond to that. Jody had always been a witty one, but he honestly couldn't tell if she was being serious or blowing off their so-called 'beliefs'. No doubt Henriksen had given her the run-down last time he was in town.

"Hang on a minute," he said instead, pushing off the bars and taking a few steps towards the front of the cell. Jody didn't back away or tell him to back off, so he decided that was probably a good sign. He rested his handcuffed wrists on the door, leaning into them with as calm, non-aggressive body language as possible. "Are you on the level?"

Sheriff Mills just stared back at him, unwavering, giving nothing away. When she finally let out a world-weary sigh, it lifted up the hairs that framed her face, too short to stay tucked into her ponytail. "Andy might have said a few things."

Sam was at the bars now too, puppy dog eyes wide. "Said?"

Jody sent him a look and yup, definitely what it was like to be scolded by your mother. "Did I stutter?"

"Son of a bitch," Dean said, though there was a smile across his face. And maybe it was a little sad at the corners, but so long as no one called him out on it, they'd be all good. He looked over at Sam, who didn't seem to share his mirth, but acknowledged their lost friend with a quiet nod. Dean was still smiling as he shook his head and added, "That kid."

"I'm sorry," Sam offered, voice quiet and words sincere. Jody switched her gaze to him and he couldn't quite meet her eye. "That's a lot to take in."

"Yeah, well… it wasn't my first choice, but it's done. So, answer the question." Two pairs of identically raised eyebrows – and jeez, they really were brothers – turned her way. Jody, unimpressed, clarified, "T-Rex or witches?"

Dean laughed and even Sam quirked his lips at that one. The older Winchester shook his head, shifting to lean his shoulder against the bars, this time the picture of casual. As if they weren't discussing all this through a jail cell. "Neither. Dinosaurs may be the only thing I haven't seen in this life, and witches are skeevy, fugly sons of bitches. We avoid them whenever possible."

Sam nodded from the other cell, though he seemed far less casual about this experience. Jody chalked it up to him being the younger brother, dragged into all this by the older. Henriksen had been very clear; they were both bad news. But he'd also emphasized that Dean was the more dangerous of the two.

"You won't get any trouble from us," Dean announced just then and darn if he didn't sound like he meant it. "We get out of here using unconventional means, you won't know it till we're already gone."

"And what, exactly, am I going to tell Agent Henriksen if you magically vanish from my holding cell?" Jody asked, still looking entirely unimpressed, but both hands were now on her hips, her gun left in its holster.

Dean still couldn't tell if she really believed them or if she was just playing along. It annoyed him more than it should. He could usually read Jody pretty well but, he supposed, that was a woman who trusted him. Who was a friend to him. This one wasn't and every reminder of that ached.

"The truth," Sam responded when Dean failed to.

The man from the future cleared his throat, looking away from the Sheriff so he could get himself together. When he turned back, it was with a rough smile. "Truth should do it. You've got no clue how we did it, you and your men did everything right, yada yada. He'll be pissed, yeah, but there's nothing Henriksen can do about it."

"You won't have done anything wrong," Sam added with a half-smile that was a lot more convincing than Dean's forced one.

Jody stared at them and the older Winchester immediately recognized her expression. That was Sheriff Mills, standing in front of a suspect expecting answers. It wasn't very far off from Mama Jody when one of the girls had done something stupid and she knew that, if she just waited them out, they'd fold under the weight of her judgmental silence.

It had always worked on Dean Winchester like a damn charm.

"You don't have to trust us," he said eventually, unable to help himself.

"Well, good, because I don't." Her words were sharp, clipped. Dean managed to hide the wince pretty well. Not well enough, given that Sam was side-eyeing him like he knew something was up. "But… Andy believed in you."

Now it was Sam's turn to look away, the grief still so fresh.

"And knowing what's out there…" Jody shifted, clearly uncomfortable with that topic, "maybe I'm a little more inclined to believe him."

Dean's eyebrows rose, surprised by that, though the Sheriff was quick to give him a raised eyebrow right back and a look that said 'don't take too much stock in it, kid, you're still a criminal.' But it was Sam, quiet at the bars, head tucked, hair hanging in his eyes, that spoke up.

"He saved my life." Both Sheriff and time-traveler turned to the younger Winchester. He was sniffing, trying to hide watery eyes even as he raised them back up to their current captor. "It was a ghost that got him. He died giving me a chance to escape."

Dean grit his teeth, turning away. Of course he had, the hunter thought. Sam hadn't shared much of the story on their drive. He hadn't been up for it, and Dean hadn't pushed. But that right there was a hundred percent Andy Gallagher. Dean was no less angry or grieving for his lack of surprise.

"He was a good kid," Jody replied softly, eyes downturned and arms dropping to her side. It was her own little moment of mourning for a boy she hadn't known all that well, but she'd seen that he was special. He should have gotten to live a full life. There would always be sorrow knowing that it hadn't worked out that way. Jody took a deep breath, centering her own grief to be processed later, and waited for both men to meet her eyes again. "You didn't blow up Bobby's house, did you."

It wasn't a question. Not really. Still, Dean immediately answered, "Never."

"So what did?" Jody didn't actually want to know. She was pretty damn certain of that. But if these criminals hadn't, then, as Sheriff, she needed to know what had.

"Demons," came the immediate response from the older brother and yup, she'd been right. She really hadn't wanted to know.

"Of course," Jody muttered, though it wasn't so much skepticism as inevitability. Because yes, naturally. Demons, armed with rocket launchers, in South Dakota. Why was she even surprised anymore? "Look, between the explosion and the people you say we'll find in the house… I can't just walk away from this. Andy was a good kid, and he might have vouched for you-"

"We get it," Dean interrupted before she could continue, which was great because Jody wasn't entirely sure what she'd planned to say. "You're just doing your job. The kid tell you anything else?"

She frowned, uncertain what the man was getting at. "Like what?"

"Like… psychics."

Sam looked over at his brother, wary of where he was going with this and trying to get a hint out of him. But Dean kept his eyes on the Sheriff.

"I know he was one, but I didn't ask for more and I don't want to know," the woman was quick to reply, hands back on her hips in Mama Sheriff Power Pose. She meant it, too. The little Andy had told her was plenty enough to turn her world upside down. She didn't need it twisted about any further than it already was.

The older Winchester nodded at that, internally (and externally as well, though he thought he was hiding it better) hemming and hawing.

"Dean?" Sam asked, voice kept low. Of course the Sheriff would hear him, but whatever his brother was thinking, it was clearly bothering him. Sam just didn't know what was going through his head. He had a feeling, though, that Dean knew this woman where he came from and Sam couldn't help but wonder how.

His brother glanced over at him, the hesitation and uncertainty in his eyes looking damn close to heartbreak. Sam frowned. He'd seen that look, or similar enough to it, on and off for the last year. Dean knew Jody Mills well and was trying to decide whether or not to tell her something. Something about the future.

"If you had information," he started, looking away from his brother and back to the Sheriff. "Information you knew someone would want, even- even if it might not change anything…. Would you tell them?"

Jody was regarding the older Winchester very warily. "Where did you get this information?"

The bitter smile Dean shared with her was not reassuring. "I'm psychic."

The Sheriff continued to stare at the man from the future, completely unsure where he was going with this or if she should even be listening to him at all. Henriksen had warned her the Winchesters were incredibly successful con artists.

"What kind of information?"

Dean hesitated and Jody wanted to believe that he was just as unsure if he should be sharing this. But what if he was just that good an actor? When he spoke, he sounded damn torn about whatever it was, and Jody so very much wanted to think it was real.

"The possibly life saving kind."

Jody's gut clenched, probably with dread, she acknowledged, but tried to put aside.

"I want to make it perfectly clear," she said slowly, so no misunderstanding could be had between them. "I don't know you and I don't trust you."

The man in front of her flinched, which she didn't know what to make of, but when he recovered from whatever it had been, he nodded. "Smart."

He didn't even sound annoyed by it. Jody eyed him for a good long moment. "According to the FBI, you are one manipulative son of a bitch."

Dean actually laughed at that, startling his younger brother who shot him a look that very clearly asked, 'Are you crazy?' For some reason, it settled Jody's fears more than anything else.

She had no idea what to make of that, either.

If Henriksen was right and Andy wrong… these boys were more than master manipulators. They were unnaturally talented at it.

"I prefer charming," Dean said with a wide grin and a playful wink. Jody's mama-bear glare was a sight for sore eyes and he reveled in it. "But I hear you."

The sheriff gave it another several moments, observing the Winchesters while thinking it over, before she relented. Even though she was certain she didn't want to hear what he had to say… if it could save a life, it was her responsibility to hear it. With the barest of nods, Jody said, "Alright. Lay it on me."

"Take Owen to a doctor."

Dean wasted no time, wrapping his hands around the bars, trying to put every ounce of sincerity and urgency into his voice. There was every chance it would look as much a ploy as saying it with a straight face, but he didn't care. He had to try. For his friend.

"As soon as possible, Jody."

Whatever she had been expecting, that wasn't it. Jody did not react well – not that Dean had expected her to. Between losing most, if not all of the color in her face and fear then anger clouding brown eyes, her hand went to the top of her gun, hovering over it.

"You-"

Sam took a step away from the bars, clearly nervous at the Sheriff's reaction. He didn't know who Owen was, but he was important to her. Dean was playing a dangerous game, even if his intention was only to help.

"I know," Dean said, swallowing roughly. He looked damn near as hurting as Jody was angry, and he didn't get to look like that. Not about her son, God damnit. "And I'm sorry."

Jody hesitated, opening and closing her mouth, rage still clear in her face and body language. After a tense moment, she turned and left the cell block without another word.

Sam looked at Dean for an explanation.

"Leukemia," his brother said softly, pulling away from the bars only to turn and lean his back against them. He wasn't looking at his brother, gaze far off in another timeline. "He was four. She lost him long before we crossed paths."

Still might, Dean thought, but tried to shove that back down. He didn't know much about Owen, other than the couple of reminiscent stories Jody had shared with them. And he didn't know shit about the things that killed normal people. Would catching it earlier do anything? Or just draw out the agony?

"You did a good thing."

Dean raised his head in surprise, staring at his brother. Sam offered him a weak smile.

"Leukemia is treatable. A lot of kids survive it. If they catch it early enough…" He shrugged, like he knew it was only a place of hope he spoke from, but that was better than the other possibility. "Maybe he'll survive this time."

"That'd be awesome," Dean admitted, thinking about Jody and how good a mom she'd been to Claire and Alex. But he wouldn't get his hopes up. Time hadn't been particularly forgiving of their meddling so far. Why would it give them this?

But Jody was good. She wasn't like them; she wasn't a part of this. She deserved to have this one thing, to keep her family. Maybe Time would finally agree.

"What did you say to Bobby?" Sam asked after several minutes of quiet in which both Winchesters settled into their respective cells. Sam was back on his bench, head tilted back against the cement wall behind him. Nothing about his body language spoke of hope – more like exhaustion and resignation – and Dean tried not to wince at seeing his younger, more innocent brother trussed up in chains for a second time now.

He really wasn't doing a good job at this time-travel, change-it-all-to-protect-your-brother thing.

"When?" Dean, who'd decided the floor looked pretty good, ended up in the back corner, his shoulder against the bars that separated him from his brother.

"Just before we got arrested," Sam clarified, though by his tone he clearly didn't think he should have to.

"Oh." Dean leaned his head against the wall, focused more on how they were going to get out of this place rather than the one waiting for them once they did escape. "Gave him the Colt and the key to the bunker, told him where to find it."

"Bunker?" Sam perked up on the bench, staring at his brother. He was becoming increasingly annoyed with Dean treating this like just another Tuesday. "Like the bunker from the Baku dream?"

Dean, who had turned his head at Sammy's surprise, smirked and went back to lounging against the wall. "That's the one."

"You said it was gone." Sam remembered the conversation from the dream. They had appeared somewhere underground and old, somewhere Sam had never been but Dean was familiar with. He had asked then, what the place was, and Dean had been surprisingly honest about it, and then surprisingly dejected when he'd also told him it was nowhere. That it was gone.

Maybe Dean had been talking about a future event that hadn't happened yet. Only, that's not how his brother had sounded at the time. It had been more like… mournful. Grieving the loss of a familiar place, like it was gone forever, even in this time. And the couple of times it had come up before Sam learned the truth of his time travel, well… Dean had clearly been missing it. It had been home.

Between that and his excitement when they found the box… Sam couldn't help but wonder why they hadn't gone to find the bunker sooner.

"It's on lockdown," Dean replied, like that explained everything. "Bigtime lockdown; no way through the warding."

Other than breaking it completely, but that was not something Dean wanted to do to the safest place on earth. Not with a potential Apocalypse around the corner.

"Except," Dean rolled his head over to look at his brother, grin wide across his face, "with that key you found."

Sam frowned. "Which just happened to be in a random, crappy Pinto you stole?"

"Yeah, not likely," Dean snorted. "It's not even supposed to exist right now. That key was taken by Henry Winchester in 1958 before he jumped through a time traveling closet."

Sam's eyes widened, then bugged entirely out of his head with what Dean said next.

"He was fleeing Abadon." Dean winced at even just the name back in his mouth. God, he hated that demonic bitch. He gave Sam a look that should convey just about everything he needed to know about that particular baddie. "Super badass Knight of Hell that we are going to hope to god we don't meet this time around. Anyway, Henry ended up stumbling out of our motel closet in 2013. Scared the shit out of us. Friggin' time travel, man."

Ironic, he knew. Or maybe just hypocritical at this point.

"Wait. Wait, back up," Sam couldn't quite keep up with all the revelations. He looked caught between a nerd-gasm and strangling his brother for delivering vital – and what-the-actual-hell level information – like it was the weather report. "Henry Winchester. As in-"

"Our grandfather, yes." Dean closed his eyes again, the picture of relaxed. He wasn't, of course, but the cameras trained on the jail cells didn't need to see anything more than that. Not while he was secretly working on a way to get them out of this mess. "Dad's dad."

"The one who ran off one day and never came back?"

Sam sounded like he didn't believe what he was hearing (which, fair). They'd heard nothing good about Henry before he'd shown up in their motel room that day. Dean remembered his own anger at the guy. Sam had been the one willing to at least listen. It had taken Dean a lot longer to come around.

The man from the future – talking about a man from the past who had traveled to the future, and how messed up was this getting – sent his brother an understanding look. "Now you know why."

"Holy shit."

Dean snorted again. "Yeah. He was a Men of Letters. Which makes us Legacies."

He raised an invisible glass to his brother, offering a toast. Not that Sam knew what the Men of Letters – and therefore legacies – even were.

"Wow…" Sam looked stunned and maybe a little overwhelmed. He didn't know what to say. It was a hell of a lot of information to process – a big chunk of which he didn't understand. Sometimes, even though it drove him crazy, he got why Dean didn't tell him everything. It was a lot to take in on a good day.

And, since they were sitting in jail awaiting the FBI to take them to federal prison for the rest of their lives… it had not exactly been a good day.

"So wait…" Sam's brain, rapid firing through the new information, snagged on the first gap in Dean's tale. "How did the key end up in that Pinto if it was supposed to be literally lost in time until 2013?"

The silence was more telling than Dean's actual answer. But he did, eventually, spit it out.

"God."

"What?" Sam, damn near breathless, actually scooted to the edge of his seat, eyebrows up and eyes wide.

Dean wanted to roll his, but resisted. He knew Sam had faith, even if he didn't himself. Experience had taught Dean that if he couldn't respect it, he should keep his mouth shut about it. Things tended to go smoother that way.

"Yeah, I know," Dean muttered, aware that his tone was only, like, one step above an eye-roll. "But don't start thinking he's helping. He's not."

Sam huffed, working his jaw and probably going through the same thing Dean was. 'If you don't have anything nice to say…'

"Kinda seems like he is," was the nicest thing he could come up with.

Dean did roll his eyes then. "If he wanted to help, he'd keep his damn kids from starting the friggin' apocalypse!"

A groan from the third cell stopped both of them before they could get into it any further. They eyed the poor, drunken soul sobering up. He twitched, snorted something that sounded contagious, then rolled over and fell silent.

The two brothers followed suit, though neither seemed happy to settle back into their cells. Sam knew his brother had a bad habit of thinking in totalities. All or nothing, black or white. Either God fixed everything or God did nothing, and no action in between registered. But there was a lot of gray that existed in that area, and Sam believed in the little things.

He wasn't even sure it counted as 'belief' anymore. He had been staring at proof that afternoon: an aquarian star that he'd held in his hand. Given to them by God.

"We need to get out of here," Dean declared, a little too loudly and in a tone that definitely said, 'Moving on.'

Sam sniffed, stowing his thoughts on God and belief for another time. Dean was right, they needed to escape before the FBI arrived. Unlike the older Winchester, though, Sam already knew how they were going to do it.

"I've got a way," he said quietly. The cameras in either corner of the room didn't look like they recorded sound, but Sam didn't want to risk it. Not that it would matter in the end. He wasn't going to be able to hide what came next.

Dean turned to his brother expectantly, eyebrows up. At least until the sound of an incoming helicopter broke the silence, way too low to be just passing by. The older Winchester's eyes snapped to the featureless ceiling, some of his color draining.

"Son of a bitch," he muttered, climbing back to his feet. "I remember that sound."

Even Digger snorted awake as the noise of the chopper grew. It sounded like it was right above them and possibly setting down on the damn roof. Exchanging panicked looks with Sam, Dean climbed on top of the bolted-down bench until he could just barely see out of the narrow, rectangular window at the top of his cell.

"Son of a bitch," Dean repeated, louder this time, as he watched a helicopter land in the station parking lot. The figure that climbed out of the chopper was painfully familiar and utterly unsurprising, based on how the last forty-eight hours had gone for them.

Henriksen had arrived and the asshole was early.

End Chapter

Author's Notes:Aaaahahahaha! There is absolutely no rest for the wicked (well, except for me and the Muse. We've been doing a lot of resting. It's been great. Entirely unproductive, but great.)

That's actually not true. We've been very productive, just not with writing. We spent the last two days planning out all of Season 3! Up until, like… erm… a couple months ago it was largely blank space waiting to be filled in. And up until… um, a day ago? It was all a jumbled mess of events with no particular timeline. But ohhhh haahahaha, I'm so excited. The muse came back with a friggin' bang. We're making alliances, forming no-strings-attached dalliances (I know. What?! I swear it really works though), and guys. GUYS. There is actual Destiel planned. Like. Omg. It's on paper. By the end of Season 3, we'll have ACTUAL DESTIEL.

Jane Austen, hold my beer.

(No, wait, we already did that part)

Jane Austen, it's time to give me back my beer!

Okay *ahem* anyway. Hope you all enjoyed the chapter! I'm sure the boys getting arrested and the FBI showing up was probably not on the Season Finale Radar (*glares at the Muse, because we are supposed to be wrapping shit up, not making it more complicated!)

Also, #SorryNotSorry for taking out Ash and Ronald. At this point, I'm blaming it on Time. Some things have to stay the same and I can not keep every character alive or we'd never get anywhere. There's already too many to keep track of ?

Update Schedule:I am getting scary low on chapter stockpile because I haven't been writing, but I think all the season 3 planning is a good sign. I just really, really don't feel like dealing with Henriksen being an uptight, self-righteous ass at the moment. He's been a pain to write ?ￂﾠ But the Muse and I will get through it! (*mutters* even if I have to strap her to a friggin' chair)

Cheers,

Silence