NB: For the purposes of this fic, Charlie did not go to Oz

"Don't cry child, you've got so much more to live for.

Don't cry child, you've got something I would die for

And if it comes to the rain, just be glad you'll smile again

'Cause so many don't.

And so many go unnamed."

- Failure, Laura Marling

Lewiston, Pennsylvania

"So, what's with the Mr Angsty McSelfcut routine?"

"And what exactly is that supposed to mean?"

"You're drinking alone in a bar, and it kind of smells like pee in here, really not the place you're going to find a busty Asian beauty to take home for the night, unless you're ok with walking away with an STD as well."

"Busty Asian beauty?"

The woman smiled, "Did I guess wrong?"

"No, you were uncomfortably accurate."

"What are you doing here Dean?" Charlie sighed, her brow furrowing in frustration. "I know you have a lot to deal with. But it doesn't mean you have to revert to an acute case of alcoholism every time the shit hits the fan. You're allowed to talk about these things…"

"How'd you find me anyway?" Dean questioned, ignoring the red head's previous statement.

"I was in the neighbourhood and whenever you send me a text message leading with 'If you weren't a lesbian…' I know you've been drinking and I pretty much always have a tab on you and Sam so it wasn't exactly difficult."

"You keep a tab on me?"

"Be serious Dean – I can find anyone. And I'll repeat my question, what are you doing here?"

"Charlie, you don't have to do this…"

"Do what?"

"Be here."

"Hey, you quoted Han Solo to me when I was admitting some big personal stuff to you, obviously we're soul mates." Charlie rolled her eyes, a small laugh escaping her lips.

"Charlie, I didn't mean for you to drop everything and…"

"Well I did, and I'd do it again Dean. That's what friends... family do."

"Charlie…"

"Dean, a friend will help you move, a real friend will help you move a body and family brings the shovel. And I hate to say it, but I'm going to be there with the shovel every time."

"Every time?"

"Yeah." Charlie shook her head, "So stop dancing around my question. What's up?"

"I was working a case."

"Sam?"

"We're on a break." Dean rolled his eyes before taking another swig of his beer.

Charlie raised an eyebrow.

Two Weeks Earlier

New Haven, Connecticut

Dean pulled awkwardly at his collar, a string quartet were playing quietly in the background as the vast crowds of guests were ushered into the large atrium awaiting the start of the charity gala. To say that Dean felt uncomfortable was an understatement; he was dressed up in a ridiculous suit, complete with bowtie and cummerbund. The smell of old-world money and cigar smoke was thick in the air and for a second it was all he could do to breathe.

The usual, reassuring presence of Sam was gone. The passenger seat of the Impala had been sitting vacant for the past 100 miles or so. Dean swallowed heavily, words had been spoken, truths revealed and a hole had been torn out of his chest. And for a brief, excruciatingly painful moment it had seemed like he would break under the weight of it all. He'd managed before – somehow or other he'd muddled through. But now there was a gaping void between them filled with the mistrust, resentment and anger. Their relationship had turned in on itself, imploded in the most spectacular of fashions.

And the kicker was Dean had been doing it for Sam. It was always for his brother. Whatever it took – it didn't matter. But maybe that was the problem? He seemed to lose all perspective when it came to his brother. Despite the number of times the Winchester's had saved the cheerleader and saved the world, if presented with a choice Dean would always save Sam. They'd had an opportunity to end it all, to close the gates but Dean would have seen the world burn rather than lose his brother.

But it wasn't motivated entirely by sense of altruism, not when he looked hard enough…. Dean suppressed a shudder. Tonight wasn't the night for an introspective – he had a job to do and unjamming the stopper on several years of misplaced anger and emotional car crashes was not the best way to go about it. Tonight was about the hunt and if Dean Winchester was good at anything, it was compartmentalising.

Grabbing a glass of something crisp and bubbly from a nearby waiter the hunter quickly knocked back the drink, doing his best to mask a hiss of distaste. Give him a cold bottle of beer any day. Better yet, a bottle of whiskey.

Spotting a bar near the back of the room Dean quickly made a beeline towards it; the auction was due to start in an hour. He needed to find an alternative to champagne if he were going to survive the night. Small talk and socialites – it wasn't exactly his idea of a good time.

"Whiskey." Dean barked at the closest bar tender.

"We have a wide selection of single malts Sir…."

For a second Dean stared blankly at the boy in front of him, he didn't often frequent establishments that gave him a choice, most nights it was a bottle of bargain basement booze and a bag of ice chips "Whatever's the most expensive kid."

"Sure thing Sir," the bartender nodded smartly as he placed a crystal tumbler in front of the hunter.

A cloud of Chanel No. 5 suddenly surrounded the older Winchester, causing the man to stiffen slightly.

"Come to these things often?" A woman's voice questioned softly from over the hunter's shoulder.

Dean smiled into his glass.

"You'd be surprised."

Glancing towards the newcomer Dean cast an appraising eye over the stranger; she was in her mid 60s, her long silvery hair pulled elegantly into a bun at the nape of her neck, diamonds littered her décolletage and swathes of blue fabric draped around her body elegantly.

"Dean." The hunter offered his hand, a small smile pulling at his lips.

"Lucy," the woman grinned, taking the hunter's hand in her own. "Is there anything you're particularly interested in tonight?"

"The, uh, dress…"

"Sophie Wainwright's?"

"Right, the ball gown."

"Horrible what happened to the girl." Lucy took a sip from her glass. "You don't strike me as a man that would be interested in a dress Dean."

"I'm here on the behalf of an interested party."

"Girlfriend?"

Dean laughed, "Client."

"A client?"

"I normally specialize in the procurement of unusual artifacts but this is an exception."

"Procurement? You make it sound like you steal them."

"You have no idea," Dean muttered.

Looping her arm into the crook of Dean's elbow Lucy gently steered him towards the crowds, "Be a dear and help me into the other room wont you?"

"Err," Dean muttered softly before downing the rest of his drink. "Sure."

Pulling down her skirt Natalie Crawford grabbed the closest tray of canapés before pushing through the double doors and entering the softly lit ballroom. Walking sedately about the room her eyes fixed on the various display cabinets as she limply held out the silver tray in front of her, various hands snatching out to grab whatever delicacy she was currently ferrying around for the crowd's delectation.

Finally when the last crab puff had disappeared into the mouth of a beady eyed, chubby cheeked woman Natalie was free to study the remaining lot. Her brown eyes were narrowed as she took in the glass box housing the blood red ball gown. Why anyone would want to buy a dead person's dress was beyond her but apparently in these crowds there was a real market for that sort of thing.

Without really paying attention to her surroundings – something her uncle had consistently tried to drum into her head, although this was normally in the context of riding her bike – Natalie was pulled to one side. A rather irate looking man with a severe case of male pattern baldness thrust two bottles of wine into her hands.

"Check if anyone needs a refill."

"A refill?" Natalie parroted somewhat stupidly, her gaze still firmly transfixed on the beautifully tailored dress.

"Yes. 'Red or white, sir?' And depending on the answer you give them a glass of Sancerre or Chateauneuf de Pape. Think you can handle that?"

"Yes Sir," Natalie replied mutely, dutifully bobbing her head before once more joining the mass of circulating bodies.

Natalie had been passing through New Haven on the way to her uncle's, fresh off a hunt involving a particularly vicious wendigo and numerous tourists in the Porcupine Mountains, when she had veritably stumbled across a story involving several gruesome deaths. She'd had an overwhelming urge to ignore the article, Natalie was tired, the shoulder she'd dislocated on her previous hunt was playing up and not for the first time she wished she had her own bed.

But things like beds and bookcases were only useful if you had an apartment to put them in. And for all intents and purposes Natalie was homeless, the battered Mitsubishi she drove, whilst probably the most reliable car in the world, did not make a home.

Her Uncle Tom thought she worked for Pfizer, a travelling drugs rep with next to no scruples, paying her dues before she could work her way up the corporate ladder. The few occasions she saw him she presented a very heavily edited version of her life. More often than not it was only the descriptions of the seedy motels that stayed the same. The topic of partners and babies was painfully skimmed over, but thankfully the excuse not to have a boyfriend was the same for her actual day job and the fake one, too much time on the road. No real fixed roots.

And children? They weren't a good idea – not right now at least. At this point Natalie's uncle would undoubtedly change the subject, the issue of family was something they both steered clear of. The two of them were both painfully aware that their side of the family tree had been brutally cut back over the past decade. Tragic fires would do that to a family Natalie smiled ruefully just as she came to the end of her second circuit.

"Excuse me dear!"

Spinning round Natalie attempted to force what could be termed loosely as a grin across her features. It wasn't that she was relying on the catering company for reemployment but these things tended to go better when she didn't rock the boat.

"Red or white?"

"White, please."

Natalie nodded before looking toward the older woman's companion, "Sir?"

"Oh I'm good thanks."

"Sure I can't tempt you?" Natalie prodded.

"Working." The man shrugged, a half way apologetic smile tugging at his mouth, his green eyes crinkling at the corners.

Natalie sucked in her breathe, as a particularly indecent image shot across her vision, doing her best to mask it with a laugh she addressed the man once more. "I'd love to know what line of work has you schmoozing with the glitterati."

"Its kind of the family business."

"Where do I sign up?"

"There's a pretty rigorous vetting process." The man replied somewhat lasciviously as he stressed the word 'rigorous'.

Natalie laughed, "Maybe I'll pass. And if you'll excuse me, there are plenty of other people here who will be welcome of the wine, considering they're not on the job."

Bobbing her head Natalie smartly turned around and walked back into the sea of well-cut dinner jackets. Shaking her head the hunter mentally admonished herself, it didn't matter if the guy was in possession of phenomenal bone structure – she was here for a job, flirting with pretty rich boys wasn't going to do her any favours.

"And if I have your attention, I'll begin the bidding on our first lot." The auctioneers voice was a faint whisper as Natalie made her way back to the kitchen. Thankfully the winners of the various items wouldn't be taking their prizes with them tonight; they'd be stored in the building until the following morning. That left her a window of just over 9 hours to torch the dress.

As it transpired following a large amount of digging, Sophie Wainwright had been brutally murdered by her husband. The circumstances of her death whilst public record, were rarely discussed. The use of vitriol in the killing was washed over, the small, privileged community she had belonged to closed ranks.

And with the women Sophie had once termed friends dropping like flies Natalie soon put two and two together. Unfortunately for the hunter, Wainwright had been cremated. But the fact that Natalie could trace the dress's ownership back through the circle of dead friends was somewhat of a giveaway.

Later

Dean's boots echoed on the well-polished hard wood floors. Duffle bag slung over his shoulder, sawn off shotgun in one hand, a flashlight in the other – the hunter stalked the empty halls. Just as Dean started down one hall, a strange scuffling sound was being issued from the storage area, the hunter stiffened, the one guard was occupied on the top floor, there shouldn't have been anyone else in the building save him. Slowly raising the shotgun, his finger hovering over the trigger Dean quickly spun into the room. Taking great pains to remain silent Dean walked slowly over the threshold, in a few steps he had crossed the floor, the barrel of his shut gun pressed lightly against his fellow intruder's back.

"Jesus Christ, what the hell are you doing?"

"I could ask you the same thing," Dean growled, his green eyes narrowing as he took in the waitress from earlier who was currently attempting to pick the lock on the cabinet that housed the coveted dress. Her mane of curly locks was piled on top of her head, leaving the delicate neck of her skin exposed. Dean shook his head, he wasn't normally this easily distracted, he needed to pull it together.

"I forgot my cell phone."

"Right, you forgot your cell phone in a locked display cupboard. And rather than admit to an honest mistake you're trying to jimmy open the lock in the middle of the night." Dean said in sarcastic whisper, his eyes flicking towards the open door.

"Maybe you could stow the sanctimonious crap, seeing as you've got a loaded gun pointed at me. What excuse were you planning on using?" Natalie spat, as she slowly got to her feet, brushing down her jeans as she did so.

"You wouldn't believe me if I told you," Dean offered. "Normally I wouldn't give a crap if you wanna steal from the rich and famous, but I kinda need that dress."

"I wasn't trying to steal it…" Natalie turned to face Dean, her arms folding across her chest, brown eyes narrowed in distaste.

"I need to burn it." The two strangers suddenly spoke in unison.

Dean's eyebrow quirked, "You need to burn the dress?"

"Don't say it that tone, and don't try and make out like I'm the weird one." Natalie shot back.

"Fine." Dean held the shotgun up in surrender. "Let me have a look at the lock."
"I would have had it if you hadn't interrupted me." Natalie muttered under her breath as she busied herself pulling out salt and lighter fluid from her bag.

"You do know this is alarmed right?" Dean suddenly questioned, the lock pick slowing in his hand.

"I've taken care of the alarm." Natalie rolled her eyes, "This isn't my first job."

"Security cameras you too?"

"Yeah, what did you think they'd just decided to put them on loop for the rest of the evening?" Natalie hissed as she thrust the salt towards Dean.

The other hunter rolled his eyes, "You think maybe you could can the snark? Wait, why are you giving me the salt?"

"So you can douse the thing with it and burn it?" Natalie replied, shaking her head in disbelief.

"Right, we're gonna set fire to a dress in a room with next to no ventilation. So unless you somehow managed to disable all the smoke detectors too, I'm pretty sure some sort of alarm's gonna go off." Dean slowly offered back the salt, his eyes assessing the woman in front of him. "This might not be your first hunt but it ain't too far off."

"Shut up." Natalie pushed her way forward; quickly pulling the dress from its stand she thrust it into her bag. "Back alley it is then. You coming?"

Dean stood stationary for moment before rolling his eyes, "Only to stop you from getting caught."

"I would have realized before I did anything. Besides have you seen the security guard? Its not as if he's in the best condition to be giving chase."

Dean gave a hollow laugh, "And I thought you were just a waitress, people have a funny way of surprising you."

"Whatever, " Natalie rolled her eyes. "I think it's safe to say that he's not going to turn into Usain Bolt."

"Move it," Dean gestured with his head cutting short any further conversation before the two made their way to the loose vent Dean had used earlier to gain entrance to the building.

The pair soon emerged into the crisp night air, Natalie's eyes flitting towards the '67 Chevy Impala that was currently parked on the curb.

"Get in." Dean growled, breezing past Natalie as he moved to the driver's side of the car.

"How many miles to the gallon does this thing get?" Natalie questioned, as she sank into the worn leather seat.

"Oh, and I suppose you recycle too." Dean snapped back as he gunned the engine.

"Would it hurt you to think about the environment?" Natalie asked, her bag and the dress it was holding placed delicately on her lap.

"I have a lot on my plate right now, so sue me if I don't separate my plastics from my cardboard." Dean grunted as he banked the car, the tires squealing in protest as the vehicle careened down the road.

"I'll just shut up then."

"Yeah, you do that." Dean replied, his jaw a hard line, his eyes fixed firmly on the road ahead.

It wasn't long before Dean was pulling over, killing the engine the hunter stepped out into the street, motioning for Natalie to follow suit. Snatching out the dress from her bag Natalie quickly poured a copious amount of salt over it, glancing upwards she hissed. The ruined face of Sophie Wainwright was staring directly at her, one mottled hand raised as she inched towards the two hunters.

"Hurry up with the lighter fluid, looks like we've got company." Natalie muttered, striking a match just as Dean was pouring the last of the liquid over the red dress. As the flame touched the gown and quickly spread across the rich fabric the apparition began to falter, fire wrapping around the ghost's limbs before the being ceased to exist. Vanishing from the night air, the smell of singed fabric all that was left in its wake.

"Where'd you leave your car?" Dean suddenly asked, as he hastily repacked his bag and threw it into the back seat of the Impala.

"I left it at my motel, I could do with a ride back though." Natalie rubbed her eyes with her hands before fixing Dean with a hard look. "My name's Natalie."

"Dean." The hunter scratched the back of his neck in an attempt to stall for time as he tried to string some words together.

"Winchester?" Natalie interjected before the man could finish what he'd been about to say.

"How'd you know?"

Natalie snorted, "Your reputation precedes you."

"Right. Well you gonna get in the car or what?" Dean asked somewhat gruffly as he wrenched open the door.

Natalie allowed herself a small smile before once more climbing into the Impala.

"Thanks." The girl muttered shortly, her eyes downcast, hands placed in her lap as she attempted to conduct a conversation with another human being that wasn't predicated around flirting. "How'd you figure out it was the dress?"

"This isn't my first rodeo kid."

"Do me a favour Dean, and don't patronize me." Natalie bit back, her brown eyes flaring in anger. "I'd have you on your back before you could blink."

Dean barked out a laugh, "We'll have to test your theory sometime, although I can think of something far more enjoyable to do with you on a floor mat."

Natalie sighed, "Has anyone ever told you that you're a jerk?"

"I'm supposed to call you bitch first."

Natalie frowned, "And you've actually slept with a woman?"

"Scariest thing I've ever done."

"Sorry, what?" Natalie spluttered. "You're telling me that having sex with a woman was the scariest thing you've done, you who hunt monsters for a living?"

"I don't mean just any woman. I mean the woman…"

"Irene Adler?"

"Sorry, who?" Dean asked, evidently confused.

"Clearly you're not a Sherlock Holmes fan."

Dean shook his head, as he took a left. "I mean sleeping with a woman you care about – connect with on some fundamental level. I'm not talking about the girl you loose your virginity to. Jesus…. You've actually got me talking like a chick."

"Dean. Sleeping with a woman that you 'connected with' cannot be the scariest thing you've done…."

"Hey, don't confuse it with the scariest thing that's happened to me. That's something entirely different…." Dean paused for a moment as he pulled the Impala into the motel's parking lot, he could almost feel the weight of Sam's dead body in his arms – taste the tang of metal and blood in the air. Shaking his head the hunter recovered his stream of thought.

"And the stuff I do for a living, the hunting, my dad taught me to throw myself into those situations, it's all second nature, you cant be scared of something that you don't give yourself time to think about. Plus my family was pretty small after my Dad died, so 'sharing' with my brother, wasn't exactly scary, just something I didn't look forward to. Putting yourself on the line like that, emotionally, with someone who isn't family – that's scary."

"You use the word 'family' like it's some sort of gold standard." Natalie sighed, her eyes flitting towards Dean – unsure of how far she could push a virtual stranger. "How much do you do or accept in the name of family?"

"Nothing's enough for family," Dean replied simply, his jaw clenching somewhat.

"I'm gonna go out on a limb here and say that you'd do anything for your brother. Maybe too much…." Natalie petered off, her eyes now firmly fixed on her hands.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Dean replied somewhat defensively, his hands tightening around the steering wheel of the motionless car.

"I dunno, just that after my parents died I carried around a whole lot of guilt. It was a misplaced sense of guilt and for the longest time I was driven to do stuff…"

"This isn't about guilt…" Dean quickly countered.

"Then?" Natalie pressed. "You 'fall into' a career in retail – you don't fall into hunting. And believe me it takes an insane amount of motivation to do what we do and that normally comes from a dark place. "

"Look our Dad was pretty big on the revenge thing. And so were we – but most of the time, it was about saving people, hunting things…" Dean tailed off, his eyes darkening as he stared pointedly out of the window.

"The family business?" Natalie finished shrewdly, Dean nodding slowly to confirm.

The two fell into silence, Natalie humming 'Hey Jude' softly under her breath as she attempted to frame her next question the right way. Finally Natalie looked towards Dean, her hand inching towards his arm but staying short of actually touching him. "Do you only see yourself as a hunter?"

"I might as well have cards printed that say 'Dean Winchester – Hunter'. Not that I'd give them out to anyone." Dean scratched his head, shuffling in his seat. "That's all my dad ever taught me, how to hunt things and protect Sammy. That's all I can do…"

There was a break in Dean's voice and instinctively Natalie's hand went to his lower arm. Her slender digits wrapped around his limb and before she could think better of it she squeezed.
"I doubt that's true…"

"You don't even know me. Just my reputation – and that's all based on me being a hunter anyway," Dean let loose a shuddering breath, running a free hand through his hair.

"Actually I heard you were kind of an ass."

"Really?" Dean laughed, clearly getting a kick out of the idea that somewhere, some hunters were swapping bar stories about how much of a dick he was. "What else they say?"

"Oh they say a whole lot about what you've done, you're resume reads like a fucking book…."

"It is a book…"

"Sorry what? You wrote a book?" Natalie demanded, her head snapping round to stare at Dean.

"Well there was this guy called Chuck. It was like his cable was plugged into our lives. He literally had visions of us doing everything; he decided to write it down. There's this whole crazy part of the Internet that's kinda obsessed with us."

Natalie nodded, as she pulled out her phone, "So what are these books called?"

"Supernatural." Dean replied on reflex.

"Huh."

"What?" Dean asked, his eyebrow quirking.

"I can see why they say there's a thing about you and Sam."

"What thing? And what do you mean?"

"'Dean could feel his desire for Sam burning in the pit of his stomach, a raw passion that knew no bounds. The need was all consuming, the relentless urge to…'" Natalie deadpanned as she glanced over to her companion, a large grin spreading across her features as she noticed his reaction.

"Stop. Please just stop." Dean begged, his eyes looking pained.

"Oh you're no fun," Natalie giggled. "So, this uh Wincest – people don't say anything like that."
"Then?"

"That maybe you're a little codependent… dysfunctional."

"Codependent, that's not bad right?"

"Like you said, I don't know you. But I'll say this, your calling is hunting and your directive is to protect Sam. Being a hunter defines you. And how well you look after your brother – that's how you measure your self worth. Look, it's not a bad thing to care so much, to love so much. But you can't just keep giving, because eventually you'll have poured everything you have away."

"It wouldn't matter, because they'd be alive." Dean replied, his voice soft.

"And what about you?" Natalie spluttered. "I mean ignoring how little you place on your self worth for a second, what about survival, self preservation?"

"I hunt monsters, self preservation doesn't exactly go hand in hand with that."

"Touché," Natalie smiled. "Maybe I just should just stick with – I wish I had someone who loved me that much."

"Your parents?"

"Dearly departed." Natalie shrugged, "It's been a while. It doesn't hurt every day anymore."

"I'm sorry."

"Not your fault, you cant save everybody right?" Natalie shuddered, the smell of burning flesh suddenly all too real.

"I'll always try."

"Dean." Natalie said, her voice suddenly hard as she turned in her seat to directly face the other hunter, her hand reaching out to his chest.

"You might be all kinds of messed up. You might have some serious issues, but Jesus, this…" Natalie pressed down against Dean's torso to drive home her point. "This makes you so selfless. It makes you a good man. And you know what – no one can tell you that enough. Because Dean Winchester – you're one of the good ones and don't be so eager to throw your life away. "

"You sure about that after half an hour talking to me? I'm pretty sure I would have hit on you more if you'd stuck around with the wine."

Natalie shoved Dean's shoulder, her eyes narrowing somewhat. "Yes. Because behind the machismo…. Dammit. I know the word of a total stranger might not mean anything to you. But…"

"Thank you." Dean quickly interjected.

Natalie smiled, "You're welcome."

The two hunters had removed themselves from the confines of the Impala, and now stood in a somewhat awkward silence. Shuffling her feet Natalie squinted up at Dean, her hair being buffeted about her face by the wind.

"Thanks for earlier," Natalie gestured vaguely over her shoulder with her hand.

"Yeah you too…"

On impulse Natalie took a few hurried steps forward, her hand resting against Dean's chest as she pulled his head down towards hers. Placing a chaste kiss against his lips she smiled into his mouth before pulling away.

"One for the road. Stay in touch Winchester."

Now

Lewiston, Pennsylvania

"Dean… did you sleep with her?" Charlie questioned, doing her best to mask the exasperation.

"What? No!" Dean exclaimed, looking mildly offended at the thought.

"Well, regardless. She's right you know."

"About?"

"You are one of the good ones."

A/N: I stopped writing this in order to watch Tuesday's episode - genuinely don't remember going to be on such a downer. Anyway, I thought Dean needed to talk some things out.

I hope you enjoyed this anyway! Let me know what you think!