Dean pulled out a stool from the bar and sat down. He was tired of hunting. How many years has it been? He asked himself. He couldn't remember that far back. It felt as though he had always been hunting. His reflection peered back at him from the mirror behind the bar. Wrinkles lined his face, reflecting not only his age, but also the hard life he had lived. With a sigh, he motioned to the bar keep. "The usual?" the man asked. Dean only replied with a heavy nod.

It had been years since he had last hunted alongside his brother. Everyone expected Dean to be stronger and outlast every other hunter his age by decades, and that was the sad reality. Everyone he had ever loved was gone. He was now the wise old hunter the new generation called on when they were stuck on a case. He chuckled to himself. I guess that means I'm the new Bobby.

For the past few years he had been living out of an old cabin about five miles from the nearest town. It was just far away that he could have some much needed peace and quiet, but he could still go out for a beer and some pie whenever he wanted. His cabin was lined with bookcases with books filled with lore. Some rooms had cabinets filled with different rare items used for calling angels and demons, and lots of salt. His basement had a "safe room" and various weapons to kill any beast. On his reading desk sat a journal he kept. When he wasn't helping with a hunt, he spent his time pouring all his years of experience into this journal. It included things such as how to kill any beast, how to successfully avoid events such as the apocalypse, and his record for pies eaten in one sitting.

Dean had just finished his third drink when a man, somewhere in his twenties, sat down next to him. He looked as though he were full of angry energy, like he thought he had the strength to take on the whole world at once and win. For some reason, the man seemed familiar to Dean. At this point, many people seemed familiar. It was probably just some alternate reality deja vu.

"What's on your mind?" The bar keep asked, pouring him a shot.

"It's just this case I'm working right now. The job's getting to me, you know?" The man grunted in a deep voice. He tossed his head back as he downed the drink. "Another."

"It's that bad, huh? Mind me asking what exactly this case is about?"

"The missing girl, Casey. You've probably read about her in the paper. I'm trying to figure out where she was taken to, but can't find any leads."

Dean's heart jumped a beat. He had read in the paper about a potential case in town. He called up one of the hunters he knew and they sent someone on the case. Either this was just a baffled cop, or this was the hunter in town.

"Yeah I read about that case. She disappeared in her own home. And I hear the alarm didn't go off and no windows were broken. Don't you think it's an inside job?"

"No, I interviewed the family. They didn't do it. There's no doubt in my mind." The man sighed as he downed another shot. Dean began to feel a little restless and jumped into the conversation.

"Well, if you ever need to bounce ideas off anyone, give me a ring." He smiled and handed the man a card with his number on it. "The names Dean."

"Sorry Dean, but I think there's more to this case than you understand." The man pushed the card on the counter back to Dean, stood up from his stool, put a fifty on the counter, and began to leave. "Thanks for the drinks keep." He mumbled as he exited the bar.

"Do you have any idea what happened or something?" The bar keep turned to Dean with interest.

"I used to be in his line of business, but I'm out of the game. Never hurts to ask an old man like me for help." Dean threw some money on the table and headed home.