"You don't need to check. I know what I'm doing."

Deb watched her brother from the doorway. He was acting strange. Well, stranger. Locked away in his lab for most of the afternoon. She knew he had no new case. But, there is was. That little smile. A skip in the step. Strange.

"Sweetie Pie" Dex licked his lips and was smiling again. Listening to the person on the other end. "The pawn shop, the church, the honeymoon suite, the main event. Can't wait"

What sort of evening was he planning?

He hung up and rolled out of the parking lot

"No. Dexter. You can't do that. Not to Rita." Deborah came out from edge of the building. Vince walked out from the door behind her. "Masuka. Car keys. Now"

"Got time for a quickie Morgan? Well, not quick like over quick. Quick as in now" he fumbled with his words.

"Gross. No. I need to stop Dexter. He has a sweetie pie and a trip to a church and I have to be at work and I will be late and give me the damn keys"

Easier to comply than to ask for a sane explanation, Vince reached into his pocket and handed over his keys.

The station was calling again. Deb frowned at her phone and declined the call. Her stupid brother was taking too long in the shop. They had trays of rings in the window and no one had taken any in for perusal. They must have as many inside to choose from.

"I should just go in there and shoot the dumb bastard. Even my dumb shit brother can't mess up his life when he is gut shot"

She watched. The phone ran again. She rammed it deeper into her bag.

Years ago

She couldn't go into the church dressed like this.

He didn't care, but Mom's rules of respecting the manners part of church, meant she couldn't run after Dean. Not with her pants ripped at the knees and hair flying about all untamed. Probably best she didn't kill him dead in the church too. She had heard a number of times, one of the thou shant nots. All she could hope for was Pastor Jim to spot him as a sinner and throw him out into her path. She would wait. Dean Winchester was going to die today. Deb silently promised.

Jim came out of the big double door. "Good afternoon Deborah Morgan" he closed the large door behind him.

"Hello Paster Jim" she paced a little. Checking to the side of the building. Maybe going to resume the chase.

"While it is always good to see you, why are you here at this time of day?" Jim came down the three steps and sat on the bottom one. Not quite off holy ground. He patted the step next to him. Deb took a look around again. Sighed and went to sit next to him.

They sat for a few seconds

"Christo"

"What?"

"What did he do?"

"He told Tommy. Told him to his face. He didn't even pause"

"His mouth is not actually connected to his brain, what there is of it" Jim laughed. "Gets that from his Daddy. You get your not telling me the whole story, from yours. Who is Tommy? Why does it matter what Dean told him?"

"He. He told Tommy that Dad was a cop. Tommy is a boy at school. Year above and I was just, you know, talking and he was talking back and I laughed and the bang. Shit hit the fan"

Jim cleared his throat.

"Poop hit the fan." Deb looked up through her bangs, hoping not to get turned in.

"Better. Mostly. Another thing you get from your father" Jim looked back at the door. "Lets see. I'll have to make it quick. Kinda in the middle of something. One, you are a policeman's daughter, of which you can tell or not tell people. But, its not a bad thing. Two, revenge doesn't have to come after chasing down that idiot straight away. Be smarter"

"Yes Sir"

Jim stood up. Dusted off his pants "Go back to school"

"Yes Sir"

Jim walked quickly up the middle of the church. Took the baby from Dean. Whispered to Dean "Not possessed. Idiot. Just mad at your big mouth."

Dean smiled and waved to the small group of confused looking people. Moving quickly to the back door of the church.

"non hoc nomen. Nulla non nisi unum. Paenitet" Jim put his game face back on. Used his finger over the baby's forehead, in cross movement "Barry Alan Crompton"

Handing the baby to his mother, he hoped for a better day tomorrow. Or John to pick up and move on again.