A/Ns: Well, my brain is kinda fried today. It's been a whirlwind of two weeks for me. Big things happening when big things were not supposed to be happening. I'm supposed to be *relaxing* C'est la vie. Anyway, you'll get to read all about it in the end notes when I ramble and babble. Hope everyone is doing good and staying safe!

New Readers: WELCOME! We have had what feels like a swell of new readers the last two months, but particularly this week. It's awesome. Thanks for checking out mah little beast of a story and sticking with it for, uh, like seven hundred thousand words or something (good god. And we're in what season? *head thud*)

Reviews: I have become quite terrible at replying to reviews/comments, which I am most ashamed of but I also know the priority is getting new chapters up for you all :D Anyway, if you haven't heard from me, know that you guys are still keeping me going, new and old readers alike. Seriously, you guys are amazing. Thank you SO MUCH for your time and your words and your encouragement.

Chapter Warnings: Dean's having a panic attack, Cas is calming him down while also, uh, doing absolutely nothing as a comatose-slash-healing-tranced angel in a hospital bed. Jo's sneaking and teasing. Sam's eating salad. Just another night in the Singer household.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

The Road So Far (This Time Around)

Season 2: Chapter 73

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

Dean didn't really know how he ended up in Cas's room, staring at the comatose body of Angela Garrett. He'd had taken the stairs two at a time, heart pounding in his ears like he was being chased by the hounds of hell themselves. The rest of him felt pretty much par for the course, as well. Blood rushing, veins pumping, skin tingling, adrenaline spiking. He couldn't breathe, his chest was tight and his stomach was a black hole, and yet still he wanted to throw up.

He backed himself into the first wall at the top of Bobby's stairs, then doubled over with a hand on his knee and the other on his chest, heaving shallow, rasping breaths towards the floor. What the hell was happening? Was he having a panic attack? In Bobby's house? Literally the safest place in North America, second only to the bunker (which was so damn safe they couldn't even currently get inside)? What was wrong with him?

Body busy panicking, brain busy trying to figure out why, Dean didn't actually realize he'd slowed his breathing 'til he realized wasn't breathing loud enough to drown out a freight train. That was when he noticed he could hear the steady intake and whoosh of a ventilator. A rhythm he was breathing in time to.

Dean straightened in the hallway, rubbing a chest that felt like it had taken a battering ram straight to it, and headed for the partially open door to Cas's room with the kind of speed that suggested desperation but the caution that said straight up paranoia. The ventilator wasn't loud, but it was a steady rhythm, impossible to ignore now that he'd noticed it. Without letting himself think too hard about it (thinking was a big no-no that immediately ratcheted up all the pounding and pulsing and buzzing and breathing and he was done with that now), he walked into the angel's room, stopping at the foot of the bed and watching her breathe.

In and out, in and out.

Dean didn't even know how long he stood there, just watching the rise and fall of the woman's chest. He told himself he did it to match his own breathing, to make sure he didn't start freaking out again. He told himself it was like before, back in the first days they'd hooked Angela up and Dean was terrified she'd stop breathing and they'd have killed some innocent woman. He was just making sure she kept breathing. That they both just kept breathing.

And if he found himself wishing – wondering – that he could somehow get back into that dream with the two of them and the bunker, where he'd felt safe and the furthest from lonely he'd ever been, well…no one was around to give him shit for that wish. Or see him rub knuckles over his sternum in a steady circle, trying to create some of that missing warmth.

"So, that her?"

Dean jumped hard enough to knock his knee and his flailing arm both into the metal railing of the hospital bed with a ridiculously loud clatter and a good dose of pain. He spun around to find Jo standing a foot inside the doorway, looking at him with wide eyes and what were definitely judgmental eyebrows.

"Jesus, Jo."

"Sorry," she said, sounding far from apologetic as she bunched her shoulders up. Her hands were tucked in her jeans again, revealing a long stretch of skin along her torso with the shrug. Dean's eyes darted down to the expanse of soft, pale skin, an inch strip exposed by the way her shirt rode up with her shoulders. "Figured if you heard me coming, you'd run for the hills."

Her expression turned at least a modicum – really, the tiniest of bits – sheepish (and a lot expectant, still judgmental as shit and damn this woman he never could seem to fault). Dean cleared his throat, dragging his eyes away from her and her stupidly exposed skin that he somehow still found himself completely attracted to despite repeatedly reminding his little head that he thought of Jo more as a sister.

(Okay, that wasn't quite right. There wasn't a word for what he and Jo were. Had been. Would be? No, wouldn't be. Because if there was a word, it was more like star-crossed. Something simple and pure, that came together but bounced apart like repelling magnets. Not meant to be, even though all that possibility was right there, waiting patiently (tauntingly, Dean thought) just out reach.)

The hunter sighed, turning back to stare at the passed out angel so he didn't have to look at Jo. Whether she followed his lead out of graciousness or curiosity was anyone's guess. As she came up beside him, he conceded grumpily, "I wouldn't have run for the hills. I'm not a coward."

Her sidelong glance, endlessly amused with that same eyebrow still raised, made him grumble all the more. Alright, fine, he wouldn't have run but he might have…snuck away. Awesome. So he'd be a sneak over a coward. Fan-freaking-tastic.

"That Cas?" Jo asked, thankfully changing the topic (and damnit, he would not be grateful for her changing a topic she'd picked in the first place! After following him. He wasn't the sneak, she was the sneak!)

(And why was he having this argument in his head like a five year old? One who'd pulled his crush's pigtails and got punched in return and was now pouting about it. Friggin' ridiculous.)

Dean eyed her warily from his periphery. When he turned more fully to her, it was with a mask of confidence and pure diversionary tactic. "You seriously think an angel would be strapped to a hospital bed?"

Because he didn't want her to know the angel was currently strapped to a hospital bed. He trusted Jo, he really did, but for some reason that he really wasn't up for exploring, he didn't know if he trusted her with Cas.

(And how silly was that? Like he continuously insisted to everyone around him, Cas wasn't his. There was no sharing him – er, her – with others because she wasn't friggin' his to pass around.)

Dean sighed internally, brain cloudy with frustration and irritation and impatience, all because there were feelings going on up there and, damnit, he didn't have time for them, let alone to sort through or make sense of any of it.

Cas was like a secret this time around. His secret that he had to keep, or he risked losing it. Losing her. Not to Jo or other hunters, but to Azazel. Damnit, Azazel had almost taken the angel out – taken her from Dean – once already. Twice if you counted that chest explosion in Michigan. And it was only going to get harder from here on out. Experience had taught Dean that and taught it well. That yellow-eyed bastard had taken his father from him, would take Sam from him no matter what he did to try and stop it (and fuck it all, but he would stop it. Somehow). That son of a bitch wasn't getting Dean's angel too. Fuck that, and fuck anyone who gave him shit keeping Cas close to his chest (literally, some days).

Dean wasn't losing anyone else he cared about to Azazel or to Hell. And Cas felt like one of the few he actually had some control over.

Jo, oblivious to all that going on in Dean's head, shrugged one shoulder nonchalantly. "My mom likes to say I'm an idiot but I'm not stupid." She quirked a grin his way which was returned out of force of habit but not backed by much. Jo looked back at the angel, starting to get a hint of the headspace Dean was floating around in. She cleared her throat, tone a little more serious. "You said the uh, vessel?-" and here Dean gave a small nod at her expectant look- "she took was in a coma."

Damnit, he had said that. He'd been trying to defend Cas, not give away she had a weakness. Double damnit, of course Jo knew this was Cas. Andy had sent her a friggin' picture, the two of them all cuddled up together, and Dean had all but labeled her as the woman comatose'd upstairs. The hunter managed to tilt his head back, throat rumbling with an angry growl even while his cheeks reddened.

(It was an interesting combo, Jo thought personally.)

It was a damn good thing it had just been friends down there in that kitchen while Dean tried to defend Cas's need to take a vessel and inadvertently alerted half the room to her vulnerability. He and Sam and Bobby had all silently agreed (Andy too, extra emphasis on the silent part for him) that they wouldn't mention Cas was upstairs. It was bad enough they were telling hunters almost abstractly that angels existed and one was on their side, but if they'd mentioned she was upstairs, within view or reach, they'd find themselves contending with curiosity at the best and a whole lot uglier at the worst.

Dean wanted to bang his head against something hard. He resisted by reminding himself there were friends downstairs. Just friends. Down there and in this room with him.

"Yeah, that's Cas," he mumbled, trying not to feel like he was somehow betraying the angel by admitting it. Was he just being way too protective? Damnit, was this that chauvinistic thing rearing its ugly head again? Would he feel this same way if it was Jimmy Novak's body lying there instead? (Not that that even made any sense. If it was Jimmy, he wouldn't be lying in that hospital bed, therefore Dean and Jo wouldn't even be up here talking in the first place.)

God, he hoped it wasn't that and hoped harder Jo wouldn't pick up on it. One lecture about vessel equality from Cas and about half a dozen more about women's rights and suffrage (like it was nineteen friggin ten) from Sam had been more than enough to last a lifetime. Dean did not need more (and definitely not from Jo of all people. She wouldn't stop at the verbal ass-kicking, he was sure). The subtle twinge in his chest sure wasn't doing much to help, either, and he poked at it irritably (conveniently ignoring the fact that he was happy to be feeling anything at all from Chest Cas).

"She gonna be okay?" Jo received another sidelong look which she couldn't quite read (protectiveness? Defensiveness? Who knew Dean Winchester was so…touchy). She buried the urge to poke him for it and instead shrugged. "Not stupid, remember? She's hooked up to more machines than a hospital even has. And from the way you went full Mama Bear back there on Bucky of all people…I kind of got the impression she might be, you know, hurting."

"I did not go Mama- I do not go Mama Bear on people," Dean all but growled. He friggin' watched the way Jo's shoulders tensed up with restrained amusement and growled again, for all the good it did him. As his eyes landed back on his injured friend, the fight in him deflated and he sighed, scrubbing a hand through his hair with a half-hearted sigh of defeat. "Azazel tried to catch her in a trap."

"Like a devil's trap, but for angels?"

"I don't know, I didn't get a good look at it." He lowered his hand back to his chest before dropping it completely, realizing what he was doing and that Jo was eying him for it. "Think it was more painful than that. She took a beating from it. I got her free and we bolted before I got a good look."

Not that there'd been much to look at after Cas exploded half that damn gym, taking Azazel with it. After that, they'd had bigger things to worry about. Like the angel squad that no doubt showed up to sniff around.

"Jeez," Jo shook her head, closing the last foot between her and the bed, resting a hand on the metal railing, eyes still on Cas. "I can't imagine the kind of power it takes to bring down an angel."

Coming from anyone else, it might have made the man from the future tense. But this was Jo, and Dean saw past that that tough exterior – to the woman beneath trying to be a hunter more than herself – to the actual concern beneath. Jo cared. That's who she was, no matter how she tried to bury it beneath guns and knives and pure female badassery. And yeah, those all might be the things that turned Dean the hell on around her (always, without fault), but they weren't the reason he loved her.

But her question took him away from those thoughts. Back to a terrifying dark night, to the stupid florescents of a high school gym and lightning forking through the air, shattering every window and bulb. He could still see the bright flashes of wings as they – as Cas – was speared by those streaks of light. Could still hear Cas's screams. Dean tried not to think about how that would have ended if he hadn't stayed conscious through the beating. If Cas hadn't managed to heal him first.

He sucked in a breath and shook his head. "Nothing good, that's for sure."

Jo was giving him the side eye again. Dean tried not to twitch under that gaze. What was it with Harvelle women and their piercing friggin' looks? Like expectancy and judgement and understanding all wrapped up in one unblinking stare. Made no damn sense and wasn't friggin' fair, to boot.

"She'll be alright though?"

Dean huffed out a laugh, thinking of Cas and her – well, his at the time – annoyed glare in that parking lot, hovering over Dean's bloodied corpse as the soul of the man dared suggest she – he – didn't have it in him – her? – to bring Dean back.

'I will be weakened.'

He thought of the half dozen other times he'd heard that. Those stupid words that meant anything from 'gonna need to take a nap' to 'I'll be coughing up blood for the next three days'. In this case, at least they were somewhere in the middle.

"Yeah," he breathed out with a headshake that was more amusement than worry by sheer will. "She's healing right now."

A peaceful silence settled between them.

Too peaceful. Too settled. Dean's eyes narrowed.

"You know," Jo finally broke it and he could already hear the smile in her words without seeing it growing on her face (despite her mediocre efforts to hold it back).

"Jo," Dean countered immediately, warningly. He didn't know what she was going to say, but he knew that type of silence. It was gonna be nothing good for him.

"I thought she looked a little old for you in the picture," she kept going, heedless of his warning. Her words were thick – clogged – with that smug little grin. "But now…"

Dean pulled his head back, entirely unsure which to be more offended by. The fact that she was bringing up The Photo, the fact that she'd seen The Photo, the fact she was calling him a cradle robber (and what exactly did that make her?), or the fact she was calling him old. There was just so much to choose from.

(And how, how, for even the last five seconds, had he forgotten about that damn photo?! Oh, right, because he'd been distracted by friggin' apocalypse Story Time! Well, that and panic attacks, but he wasn't acknowledging that last one had happened.)

"No, really," Jo interrupted before Dean could even get his mouth fully functional. "It'll be good for you. You know, someone your own age instead of a day over jailbait."

"Hey!" Dean barked, though any heat that it actually carried bounced off her shaking shoulders and shit-eating grin like a goddamn, impenetrable force field. "I'll have you know I like women of all ages. I'm an equal opportunity lay!"

The words had sounded good in his head, they really had. A strong defense, a stance of equality. A decent womanizer! And that's sort of how they came out…right in tandem with the utter lack of denial that he and Cas were a thing. Which they weren't. Damnit, he'd been dreaming, alright? That was it. And it took climbing into bed with the angel because the chair Dean had wanted to stay sitting right in hadn't worked out so well for him!

Damnit. Dean sighed and weighed the pros and cons of going out back to go dig an ever bigger hole and curl up to die in it. He was too busy thinking which junker in Bobby's yard probably had the softest dirt for digging under to notice the silence. The second silence. A long silence. The expectant kind that sat, just waiting on the edge of a joke he'd walked himself right into.

"…Just women?"

Dean's head whipped around and his eyes laser-focused on the woman standing next to him, currently giving Angela Garrett a run for the title of Devil Lady. "What the hell, Jo!"

She had the audacity to look innocent of all things. Oh, Jo and Angela had better never meet, because if they did, Dean would just save everyone the trouble and shoot himself in the head.

"It's just, I couldn't help but notice…" Oh, oh, he was very sure she could have helped a lot of things, "…the Castiel in your world was a guy. And since you two are all cozy in this time, and you've only been here for like…a year…"

Dean turned on his heal and left the room.

"I'm just saying it would explain some things!" Jo called after him, voice so full of laughter she actually struggled to get the words out.

Dean was not having this conversation (with Jo, or anybody else. And, for that matter, what the hell was going on? Was everyone drinking the gay Kool-Aid or something?!) At least she didn't seem serious about it, unlike the Devil Lady they left behind in the hospital bed, who was probably cackling even in unconsciousness (Dean just knew it). Which is why Angela was retaining her title and Jo would just have to try for it another day.

"Come on, Dean!" Jo followed after him, still laughing with the payback of years of bad jokes she didn't even know existed between them. "I thought you were an equal opportunity lay!"

-o-o-o-

The two hadn't been gone for long, maybe twenty minutes by the time they came back downstairs, Dean stomping and Jo following with less-than silent chuckles, punching him when they got to the landing with a look that said 'get over it, you know I'm just kidding and the longer you pull the sourpuss face, the longer I have rights to make fun of you for it.' Yeah, Dean knew that face well too. He glared at her for it though. For reasons (and only one of them was her being mostly, sort of, partially right).

The others were still in the kitchen. Ellen and Bobby were in a quiet but heated discussion about something over in their corner of the kitchen table. Dean could guess what (what else, but apocalypse plans?) but really wasn't up for getting involved. At first, panic flared – that legal pad was still out on the table, available for just anyone to grab, to see, read, know – but Bobby caught what must have been quite the stricken look on his face and shook his head ever so slightly, eyebrow cocked. He laid a hand on that stack of notes, inching it just ever so much closer to him. Dean got the message. Bobby wasn't an idiot. He wasn't spreading information like a wildfire or letting anyone feed off anything they shouldn't.

Ellen remained in the dark about her daughter's fate where Dean came from (and hers, too, but Dean knew which one the Harvelle woman would actually give a damn about). Good. The man from the future planned to keep it that way. Wasn't gonna happen this time, so no one needed to know.

Someone had broken the ribs back out, as well as the next round of beers. There were a couple bags of chips open on the kitchen counter, reached for occasionally here and there or passed around when called for. Sam was munching on a salad that he hadn't done much more than pick at earlier. Andy was eating a bowl of ice cream (because of course he was) as he chatted with Asa and Bucky in half Sign, half haphazard gestures. Given the shaking heads, failed attempts not to laugh, and, in Bucky's case, shouting of random answers like they were playing a game of charades, it wasn't so much of a conversation as it was code breaking.

So, yeah, life was almost normal despite everything this group had learned tonight.

Some wonders never cease, huh? Dean thought, not entirely sure if his brain was being sarcastic or not. Either way, the fact that all these people – his future family – were still here, discussing the apocalypse like they believed him, believed in him, and were possibly on board to help…. Dean knew better than to knock it, sarcastic or not. He was damn lucky, was what he was.

He had to pass between Andy and Asa, interrupting their, uh, 'conversation', while Jo still followed right behind. He figured he could begrudgingly get her a beer as well. Very begrudgingly. Andy smiled lazily as Dean stopped right in front of him – purposefully in front of him – and glared until that smile grew into nothing short of a little brother's shit-eating grin. Dean was getting a lot of those lately.

"You're dead," Dean said incredibly evenly, holding Andy's half-lidded eyes. The kid had definitely taken a sabbatical of his own while they'd been upstairs, seeking out some comfort of his own in the form of good old Mary Jane. For once, Dean couldn't even fault him.

Not that he'd let the kid know, of course. Nope. He held that reddened gaze for a second longer, his own eyes narrowed in a promise of big brother bodily harm, then he turned for the fridge to get those beers.

Andy responded with, 'Who, me?' and, 'Whatever do you mean, Dean?' as well as, 'I didn't do anything!' and 'Oh, so Jo brought up the picture finally, huh?' All at once, in a series of images that were (mostly) in order and actually (somewhat) discernible. Apparently, the kid had been practicing. The images also, given the way the entire room around them both simultaneously silenced and seemingly flinched as one, didn't go just to Dean.

Guess he hadn't gotten much farther on the whole sending images to one specific target front.

The room stayed in that stunned silence for another beat before it erupted in chaos.

"Gah!" Bucky spilled his beer half across the table and into his lap.

Asa was holding his head and shaking it at the same time. "What the hell was that?"

Jo stuck her head out from behind Dean, blinking at Andy in surprise. "Was that you, Andy?"

"Oh, uh, yeah…" Sam sent an apologetic look around the room on behalf of their resident Jedi, who looked more sympathetic than apologetic, but that could just be the stoned expression on his face. "Andy does that now."

"Now?" Ellen practically barked, massaging at her forehead. The headaches Andy caused never lasted long (well, unless you were Sam, who seemed to have a natural defense against his powers, which included a headache all its own, but the younger Winchester hid it well) but they were annoying anytime they flared up. Like a phantom pain you knew you felt a minute ago, even if you weren't feeling it now. Especially if you didn't know one was coming. "What the hell did he do before?"

Ellen knew the kid was a psychic, but she'd never gotten much out of Jo regarding him, and the boys hadn't bothered with specifics when they were busy telling her about Cold Oak and their missing girl.

"Oh, he was a total Jedi," Jo answered with a wide grin. Andy leaned over from his spot on the counter and held out his fist. She gleefully bumped it with her own, offering a wink that had that lazy smile getting even lazier. She just laughed and turned to her mom. "He could make people do what he wanted with just his voice."

"Until someone wised up and took that away, I see," Ellen said somewhat caustically. She got multiple, immediate frowns for her effort and realized only belatedly (though hell if she would take it back) that these boys (and even Bobby) seemed to care about the kid more than just some random stray would suggest.

"What the hell, mom!" And apparently her daughter as well. Jo was frowning at her possibly the hardest of all of them. She crossed her arms over her chest and Ellen wondered just how much time she'd spent with the Winchesters. Because it sure seemed more than Ellen had been aware of. Or, perhaps, comfortable with. "Not cool."

Over her shoulder, Andy waved it off, catching Jo's attention too. She looked ready to argue, but the kid shrugged, the bandages around his neck more obvious than ever with the movement. A second image accosted them all. A bumper sticker with the words 'Shit Happens' slapped across them. Still at the table but in the closest seat, Bucky choked on his beer.

"He's family, Ellen," Dean stepped in while Jo rolled her eyes and gave Andy a look (possibly a look that said 'stand up for yourself, you idiot.' She just got that same lazy smile and an exaggeratedly slow wink in return. Jo looked caught between hitting him and throwing her arms up in surrender).

Ellen Harvelle drew up with a blink of surprise. She knew what that word mean to a Winchester. Forced to reevaluate, the woman glanced at Andy, who was grinning at her daughter like a harmless puppy. Truth was, she was less than comfortable with a person able to control anyone with his voice alone (particularly a person building a very obvious friendship with her daughter). The hesitancy must have shown on her face.

"Back off, El. Boy's a good kid," he'd muttered low enough that the words were just for her. Ellen cast him a side glance, but Bobby was close, eyes buried beneath a furled brow. Ellen took in a breath. Okay. She trusted Bobby, and hell…she might not want to, but she trusted those boys to. And even her daughter, though her worry as a mother almost always trampled right on over that.

Ellen nodded and backed off, as requested.

"So you don't really need Sign, do you?" Asa asked in the lull that fell over the group, not quite calm but not too uncomfortable either. Bucky was still cleaning up the spilled beer, Jo was still glaring at her mom, but Andy gave Asa his full attention. The giant of a man was looking at the kid with obvious interest, backed with a touch of wariness he hid well behind a cheerful smile.

Andy returned the cheerful part a hundred fold, set his bowl on the counter beside him with a clatter of spoon against ceramic, and raised his gauze and band-aide accosted hands. 'Not really,' he said in sign. 'Bobby makes me do it.'

"You'll thank me one day, ya idjit," the older hunter grumbled loud enough for the rest of the room to hear.

"So…you get death premonitions and he got Jedi powers?" Bucky was glancing between the two, hand absently running an already-pretty-soaked paper towel over what was left of the puddle on the table. Andy and Sam shrugged identical shrugs. Off to the side, Ellen shook her head; apparently 'family' hadn't been that far from the truth. Bucky laughed, the first honest, unrestrained noise he'd made since the apocalypse had first come up. At least outside of his and Asa's half-conversation with Andy, who had that effect on people. Bucky looked at Sam, eyes wide but also somehow okay. "Man, you got the shit end of that stick."

Andy cracked up hard enough to knock himself off the counter, silent even as it was. He reached over to Bucky, hand raised high. The hunter looked hesitant for a second, but Andy just flapped his hand and sent a picture of a kitten hanging onto a rope, the inspirational words 'Hang in There' big and bold above the picture.

'Don't leave me hanging, man.'

Bucky chuckled after he was done wincing, still a little wary, but high fived the psychic. Andy beamed like he'd just won an Olympic gold and hopped back up, recovering his ice cream with a gleeful expression, utterly heedless of Bobby barking to get off the damn counter.

Through it all, Jo looked over at Dean and smiled. Smiled, like it was just another night, just another gathering of friends and family. Dean caught the look and couldn't have stopped the warmth that blossomed in his chest if he tried.

-o-o-o-

"I expect check-in's, boys," Ellen said as she stood in the front door the next morning. Asa and Bucky had split late last night to find a hotel. Jo decided to stick around, spend the night with her mom and the boys. The Harvelles had camped out in the den, though by the time everyone actually called it a night, it was pretty much morning. They'd agreed to meet back up before noon, with Asa, Bucky and Jo headed for a possible hunt in Indiana. Ellen hadn't looked happy about, but she'd kept her mouth shut. She had a business that wouldn't run itself to get back to.

"Will do, Ellen," Sam agreed as he bent over for her to wrap him in a brief farewell hug. She patted his back harder than any man Sam had ever known.

"We're all we got," she repeated her words from the previous night as she pulled away, hard but also loving eyes locked on him. They slid over to Dean next and the older Winchester straightened under that gaze. "Shit-storm that's headed our way? Best way to prepare against it is to know it's coming. So you call when you have new information. I don't care how insignificant it is. Got it?"

"Got it." Dean gave her a nod, going in for his own hug (knowing from experience he'd get hit if he tried to get out of it).

"And for God's sake, if your brother goes missing, you call me." The words were only for him, her arm tight around his back, keeping him from retreating. Dean closed his eyes, tightening his own grip before he could think too hard about it or the words that caused it.

"Yes, Ma'am," he whispered, chin tucked over her shoulder. She patted his pack like a mother (and damnit, that thought did not make his insides squirm with the stupid fuzzies) before finally loosening her hold.

"Nothing's gonna happen to him," she promised the one thing she couldn't possibly promise, pulling away. She held Dean by the biceps, eyes as fierce and full of that promise as he had ever seen them. "Or you."

Dean couldn't look away, for all that he wanted to. He eventually had to, if only to hide the way her words were worming under his skin and straight to his heart (and soul). He wanted to believe her, for all that he did and didn't. So he just nodded and she stepped back, dropping her arms from him.

"And you."

Jo gave her mother a raised eyebrow and expectant look when that gaze turned to her next. She stood just to the left of Sam, arms crossed but features somehow still soft. Like she knew this wouldn't devolve into a fight (even if she was ready for one).

"You take care of yourself, you hear?" If anyone noticed the way Ellen's words came out thick, despite the brave face and refusal to voice anything more than that about her daughter's life choices, well, no one in that room was dumb enough to bring it up.

Jo smirked in response but there was a grateful smile buried beneath it. She stepped up to her mother, wrapping her in a hug completely of her own volition. "I will, mom. You don't need to worry about me."

"I'm your mother, Joanna Beth. That's the job." Ellen tucked her head over her daughter's shoulder and held her for an extra long moment. She didn't let up when Jo started to squirm, or pat her back in an attempted signal.

"Okay, mom."

"Right." Ellen pulled back, the look in her eye saying she knew exactly what she'd just done and didn't regret it for a second. She regarded her daughter for another long beat before turning and leaving the house with no further fanfare. She and Bobby had already exchanged their customary farewell over a cup of coffee that morning ('Headed back?' 'Bar won't run itself' 'Be safe. Poor one out for me.' 'Always do, Bobby.')

Jo turned to the brothers as soon as the rumble of her mother's truck faded into the dust and distance. Asa and Bucky would be pulling up any minute now. "You sure you don't want help on this one? I could tag along."

Sam smiled but it stretched across his face wrong. "We don't even know where we're going, Jo. We don't have a lead on Ava."

"Last time we searched for weeks. Never found her." There was bitterness in Dean's tone that Jo was starting to associate with repeated events, even if she didn't know what those events were. "Not much reason to think that'll change."

Not until Azazel came after Sam. Then, and Dean could only hope to a god he didn't believe in, Sam would somehow find a way to tell him where he and the others had been taken. Like he had last time.

(Dean wasn't thinking about the fact that it had been Andy who'd gotten that message to him last time and that, if Sam were to have any hope of repeating the past, the kid would have to be at the new Cold Oak with him. Something he hadn't walked away from and which Dean had no intention of letting repeat this time. And yeah, he was aware there was a problem with that equation. He just didn't friggin' know how to fix it.)

"So…what will do you now?" Jo tucked her hands in her jean pockets even as the rumble of Asa's Jeep became audible on the main road.

"Don't know," Dean admitted with a frustrated sigh. "Cas is out of commission for a while. I guess…we'll start looking for Ava anyway. Pick up hunts on the way."

That's what they'd done last time, at least. And while Dean was getting increasingly frustrated by their default of 'just do what you'd normally do,' it was the advice everyone with any basic understanding of Time kept telling him.

Jo nodded as the engine rumble grew louder. Asa and Bucky were pulling up outside. She stepped forward, leaning up onto her tiptoes to wrap her arms around the two of them together. Both Winchesters had to bend over for her to do it, but they surrendered to the hug before she had to start yanking them down.

"I'm glad you told us," she said from between them, squeezing once before letting go and stepping back. The boys straightened, Sam with a light blush and a much more genuine smile, Dean trying to look like he wasn't touched in the slightest. She was getting to know him so much better than that, though.

"Your mom's right," Sam admitted with a self-conscious shrug of one shoulder. "We need all the help we can get."

Jo eyed him for a moment, head cocked to the side, before she shook it. "It's more than that." She put her hands on her hips, glancing at Dean before looking back to Sam. There was a little quirk to her lips, playful and yet somehow earnest as always. "It's family."

Sam's grin only grew, as did that light dusting of pink on his cheeks. Dean shook his head, blatantly ignoring his own warm and fuzzies doing flip-flops in his chest (and thinking maybe that was Cas in there. He'd forgotten how much the angel had grown to like the Harvelle women after their one night together). He reached out, wrapping one arm around Jo's shoulders to pull her into a hug.

"Be safe," he said, planting a brief kiss to the top of her head. She wrapped her arms around him shortly, and he could feel her grinning into his chest.

"You too." She pulled back as Dean released her, turning a rather demanding eye on Sam, whose eyebrows went up in questioning innocence at the look. "That goes for you as well."

The younger Winchester chuckled even as the front door opened, Asa and Bucky stepping through. He gave Jo a nod, mirroring his brother's words to her mother, "Yes, Ma'am."

Her looked definitely took on the echo of a glare, which made Sam laugh more, but it was interrupted by the morning greetings from Asa and Bucky. Jo's bag was already packed and ready to go, hanging out next to the front door, so there wasn't much left to do but head out.

(Andy had already said his goodbyes that morning, giving her a big hug and a high five. He'd suggested joining them sometime, but had been swatted down (literally, swatted on the back of the head) by Bobby. He, in no uncertain terms, was not going anywhere until he could communicate without giving people a headache. The images that had followed had gotten him another head-slap. 'I meant your hands, ya idjit!')

Jo gave each of the boys a look on her way out, duffle slung over her shoulder. Dean shook his head with a wry grin and a stupidly warm swirl in his torso. Sam sent him a knowing look, which he glared at immediately.

Asa held his hand out to Dean as Bucky followed Jo out to the Jeep. "Well, it was a wild night," he said with a wry grin. Not the usual wild night for any of them – in either of the two usual contexts hunters ran into – but wild all the same. Dean shook his hand with an understanding nod. "You guys need anything, you call. Bucky and I'll be there."

Neither Winchester knew how sure Asa was about Bucky's commitment to their so-called cause, but the guy had seemed to turn a corner by the end of the night. Was almost one of 'em, though the barrier of not-quite-on-board-for-an-apocalypse had remained.

Regardless, Sam shook his hand next with a grateful nod, too. "Take care of Jo for us."

"Always." Asa gave his tall counterpart a playful wink, then both brothers a two-fingered salute as he headed out to the car, screen door banging closed behind him. He climbed into the driver's seat, the glare off the windshield too bright to see the people inside the car, and then they were backing away from Bobby's house and pulling out for the main road.

The Winchesters exchanged a glance as the Jeep disappeared into the distance. Dean let out a haggard sigh, running a hand down his face and leaning his hip against the nearest surface, which happened to be the stairs.

"It could have gone worse," Sam offered in condolence, a rallying but cheap smile on his face. He was feeling as weary as his brother. Neither had slept all that well last night, or gotten much of it between the extended Apocalypse planning with Ellen and Bobby, maneuvering around certain facts that no one needed to know (like upcoming deaths outside of Sam at whatever replacement Hell found for Cold Oak), and the racing thoughts it had left them both with for hours afterward.

Dean dropped his hand from his face, giving his brother a light glare. His gaze drifted back to the open front door, the dusty yard beyond the screen. "You think they actually believed any it?"

Sam shrugged. The answer to that, he thought, probably varied from person to person. "I don't know, I thought they took it pretty well. Don't know if that means they believe it, though," he said instead, crossing the couple of feet to lean against the wall next to his brother, tucking his large hands into his jeans pockets. He tipped his head back against the solid surface behind him. "Does it matter?"

No, Dean thought with another pent-up sigh. It didn't. The Apocalypse was coming, whether or not anyone believed it was.

"Hey!" The call for attention immediately grabbed theirs and both boys turned to find Bobby standing in the entryway to the kitchen, cell phone in hand. "You boys up for a case? Got what sounds like a salt-n-burn in Omaha."

An ampersand, a stack of pancakes, and half a dozen exclamation marks immediately followed Bobby's words, searing across the inside of their eyelids. The Winchesters both winced. Bobby didn't even flinch.

"And pancakes, apparently," the man said with a roll of his eyes. He disappeared back into the kitchen, hollering something at Andy about setting the stove on fire. Dean and Sam exchanged yet another look.

"A hunt sounds good," Sam offered with a small, tight smile. It wasn't like they had anywhere else to be than sticking to a timeline that was ultimately going to screw them over and searching for a woman they both knew they'd never find.

Dean huffed but pushed himself off the wall. "So do pancakes." He raised his voice as they both headed for the kitchen. "You better be putting chocolate chips in those!"

-o-o-o-

They hit the road the next day. Both boys still needed the sleep catch up (and, though they'd never admit it, the downtime) so they stuck around Bobby's for a full day, researching the hunt one of his buddies had called in so as not to completely be 'wasting time' (as any hunter generally called 'resting'). It looked pretty run-of-the-mill ghost, but they'd know more once they got there. It was only a couple hours from Sioux Falls, so they agreed to set out early the next morning.

(It was run-of-the-mill once they got there. Exceedingly so.)

After that, it was back to the grind of everyday routine for a hunter. Catching a case, getting to town, talking with the witnesses, researching at the local library. Nights spent in dingy hotels and days driving place to place, stopping for gas and greasy diner food. Asking after Ava Wilson with a picture Sam had scrounged up from the internet somehow (Dean hadn't asked). No one ever knew anything about her, same as last time.

Dean didn't want to say he disliked the monotony (this was his life, after all, and when the world wasn't actively ending, he usually liked his life), but he was getting twitchy. There was an itch just under his skin he couldn't reach, a curling dread just over the horizon, getting every closer with each day they drove toward it, and its name was the Apocalypse. More specifically, Sam's death date.

December turned to January, the boys ringing in the New Year with a solemn clink of beer bottles, false cheer, and their best efforts to pretend that 2007 wasn't going to be the beginning of the end.

They spent three weeks on the road in total, that stupid itch growing every day. Sam was feeling it too, Dean could tell. And it wasn't just spillover from him. His kid brother was aware of the looming future well enough on his own. It was getting to the point where all they had to do was exchange a look to know how little impact they were making killing some werewolf in Utah or doing a salt and burn in Nebraska.

But they didn't have anywhere else to be or anything else to be doing yet, despite how wrong that felt, day in and day out.

"Yeah, alright, thanks, Bobby," Dean said into his cell before snapping it shut, tossing it on the table with the same growing frustration that he did everything these days.

Across from him, Sam glanced up from the newspaper he was scouring over for their next case, phone in the other hand as he cross-referenced information on the internet. "No change in Cas?"

"Still breathing. Still comatose." Dean shrugged, but Sam could read the concern in the tightness of his shoulders. At least, for once, his brother wasn't rubbing at his chest. He didn't know how Dean didn't have a flat spot in the center of his sternum by now, worn down by sheer repetition.

Sam set the paper down, trying to offer his brother a supportive expression. He guessed he overshot given the grimace the older Winchester immediately adopted in return. "She'll be fine, Dean. She said it could be a couple of weeks."

"One week," Dean corrected. "She said it would be one week, maybe more. It's been four. A whole friggin' month, Sammy."

"It's been three," Sam corrected. "Three weeks and two days, Dean. Give her some time. She was pretty beat up."

'And, you know, raised you from the dead,' the younger Winchester thought, still with a tinge of bitter nausea in his stomach that always came with a reminder of his brother's death. Of that bloody, messy photo on Gordon's phone.

Dean huffed and growled and mumbled, but eventually nodded, shoulders dropping. "I know, damnit. Tell me you have something for us to do. Sick of this town."

Which was a ridiculous exaggeration, considering they'd only been in Dayton, Ohio for the night and a breakfast stop. A stopover from the case they'd wrapped in Zanesville, heading back towards Sioux Falls for lack of a better direction to take. Lately, though, Dean was sick of everything that wasn't progress, and nothing felt like progress.

"Uh, maybe. Check this out." Sam spun the newspaper around. He pointed to an article at the top of the page, complete with a photo taken of the inside of a jewelry store, police tape still stretched across several open, empty cases. "This is the second robbery in Milwaukee in a month. Both of them – the first one was a bank – were done by someone on the inside. A teller at the first one, and uh, the head buyer at the jewelry store. But get this."

Dean looked up from the article, something uncomfortable in his stomach that was usually a precursor to the déjà vu of knowing things he couldn't remember. Sam locked eyes with him, the morbid excitement of a mystery lighting those brown babies right up.

"Both employees committed suicide right after the robbery. Like, the night of." At Dean's sharp frown, opening his mouth to no doubt tell Sam that didn't make any sense, the younger Winchester continued, "But the money was never found. And everyone who knew them – friends, family, coworkers – insist they weren't the type to do it."

"So what do you think it is?" Dean asked, but the question rang hollow. He already knew what it was…he just couldn't seem to remember it.

"I don't know," Sam answered, that tinge of excitement still an undercurrent in his posture and voice. He may attest to not liking hunting much, but kid sure did like the deduction and problem-solving side of it. He typed something on his phone before sliding it across the table to his brother, too. There was another article about a different robbery, this one the bank. "It could be nothing – maybe they're being held hostage, forced to rob their businesses, and then the suicides are faked. But the reports don't mention any kind of nervous behavior. There's a security guard from the first robbery who witnessed the whole thing. Talked to the guy who robbed the place. Uh, Ronald Resnick, from…" Sam took the phone back to skim part of the article, eyes jumping back and forth rapidly, "Milwaukee National Trust."

He slid the phone back around for Dean, who stared at the name with much harder intensity than two typed words should ever require.

"The teller that heisted the place, Juan Morales, was a friend, and the security guard let him in after hours. Said he was acting completely normal. 'Too normal,' is actually what he said. At least until he beat Ronald within an inch of his life." The younger Winchester shook his head, sitting back in his chair. "The guy survived, but he's insisting that wasn't Morales. So…I'm thinking, maybe-"

"Shapeshifter."

Sam straightened, realizing only in that second that Dean's face was slack with that same blankness he always got when preoccupied with future memories. Sam glanced down at the paper, then back to his brother, anticipation and tension growing like a knotted ball in his stomach. It was always a good sign, Sam thought, when they stumbled on hunts they'd done in Dean's time.

"We did this one before?"

"Yeah," Dean mumbled, slowly leaning back in his chair but his eyes were still on the paper and also a decade away. "Yeah…Ronald…With the, uh, the laser eyes."

"Laser- Laser eyes?" Sam was staring at Dean with a frown now, wondering if maybe this wasn't a future thing after all and Dean was just…uh…tired. He'd only had half a cup of coffee at that point. It had been a rough couple of weeks of idleness and frustration.

Suddenly, the older Winchester was up and out of his seat, grabbing his breakfast sandwich right off the plate with one hand and his jacket off the back of the chair with the other. He shoved one in his mouth and the other through an arm. Then he tried to tell his brother they had to go, only through a mouthful of bagel, egg, and bacon, it came out more like, "Whey ghattah ghoh!"

"What?"

But Dean was already headed for the door. Wide eyed and taken by surprise, Sam scrambled to follow, hastily throwing down some money and scooping up his half-eaten muffin. He chased after Dean, lamenting the loss of his glass of orange juice and a calm breakfast, all the while resisting the urge to shout questions after his brother as they left the semi-crowded cafe in a real hurry.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

Dean's Panic Attack: I love writing Dean panicking because his brain literally only supplies physical reasons for discomfort and completely misses all other reasons one might be having a panic attack. Like just telling all of your closest friends and family that you sold your soul, got dragged to Hell where you tortured others willingly, started the end of the world, and, oh, you might go and do it all again in a couple of months. Then to just have them accept that and accept you. But no, honey, it's definitely something physical freaking you the freak out. You go with that ;)

Farewells: I find writing the end of a conversation/parting of ways to be super awkward, almost always. Like, I don't get why, but the minute I have to wrap up a conversation, my brain goes "uh…how does this happen naturally, again?" Ugh!

Up Next: It's time to save Ronald! All Dean's gotta do is convince him to let this whole Mandroids thing go, find and catch a shapeshifter, and *not* accidentally rob a bank this time or hold anyone hostage. How hard can that possibly be!

Up Next TIMING: Okay, I have good news and I have bad news. The good news is Real Life oriented and, sadly, is not actually good news for you. In fact, it's the reason for the bad news . So, I have been offered what is pretty much my dream job (with the downside of it being offered in the middle of Covid so I will be working at home, which I am *terrible* at) and am moving down to Los Angeles! Like…tomorrow. Oi vey. It's been kind of a mad scramble to get things ready. I had to buy a car. Guys. I own a car. And a car payment. And an insurance payment. I'm…like…even more of an adult than I was before. (*whispers* I'm not sure I like it…)

Anyway, two weeks ago when I posted the last chapter, I already had 90% of this one written, and I was so excited thinking I'd actually get a stockpile going again. Yeeeeah. The company reached out literally the next day and I haven't written a word since -_- So, there's probably going to be quite the delay. I'm really hoping that in the in betweens of the hectic whirlwind that is about to be my life ("about to be"?! -_-) , writing will come easy and naturally as an escape from the chaos. If that's the case, it may only be two or three weeks until the next chapter. If that's not the case, it, uh, it's gonna be a while as I get my life settled in a new city, in the middle of Covid , find a place to rent, set up a home office, start at a new company and learn an entirely new software all while stuck in my house 24/7. Hehe…heh…did I mention it's a dream job except for that little tidbit? Oh boy. It's fine, it's gonna be fine. Totally fine. Is it hot in here? It seems hot in here.

I will keep my progress posted on my profile on both sites, and I'll try do to that every Sunday so you guys know how it's going on my end. I've got fingers crossed for both this job and this story, so we'll just see how it goes.

Thanks everyone for bearing with me and for missing this story when it's delayed. Honestly, knowing my writing is wanted is the biggest motivator to keep going.