All things Kripke belong to Kripke; including the Winchester brothers, all Supernatural characters, Angels and Demons alike, and even the Impala. I'm just going to borrow them for a while, have my evil way with them and I'll eventually give them back (sigh) mostly intact - maybe just a little dented, or scratched…

This story takes place after the Season 5 finale, Swan Song, so expect some spoilers up to and including this episode.

You can probably take the hunter out of the hunt, but seriously, take the hunt out of the hunter? Dean had promised Sam he'd try though. 'You go live some normal Apple Pie life, Dean. Promise me!' Dean was trying… really, he was!

He staggered up the stairs, completely forgetting how many steps there were and snagged his boot on the top tread. He hit the ground hard, smashed onto the porch floor with a huge thud and an even louder grunt of pain. Damn it! Like he wasn't already hurting! He was physically trashed and this little stunt hurt like a freaking bitch! His vision swam in and out in a pyrotechnic display. He squeezed his eyes shut, desperately trying to keep himself from passing out… again. He was pretty proud of himself; he'd at least made it back, umm, home (although it still didn't really feel like home), and mostly in one piece. And even though he had no idea how he'd managed the task, he'd obviously made it back without crashing the Impala into some tree, or an oncoming car, or into a ditch. So kudos to him! But hell, it pretty much felt like every bone in his body was busted, every muscle bruised and abused, and that sticky wet stuff, that he knew was blood, was everywhere! He was alright though… he was always alright… really. Ok, so there was a lot of blood – head wounds always bled a lot, and maybe a few bruised ribs – nothing that wouldn't eventually mend – but he was ok. All good!

Man, who was he kidding? Son-of-a-bitch; he hurt!

Damn it, was he rambling to himself? Must be concussed too…

It took a few minutes before he dared move again. He had to wait until the residual waves of pain and the persistent sensation of hurling had passed not to mention he had to be sure none of his limbs were about to entirely snap off before he even tried to move. 'Just suck it up Winchester!' he scolded himself. Damn it, he could do this! He reached out and tentatively lifted himself up onto one elbow, hissing when antagonised pain stabbed at his side. Shouldn't hurt so bad, surely? Maybe he'd actually busted a rib or two! Legs still seemed intact though, and functional, and that had to be good… right? Meant he could kind of claw and drag himself to the front door. He managed to prop himself up against the door jamb and leaned back with a sigh of relief and accomplishment. He gazed longingly at the doorbell for a while, he even tried to lever himself up high enough to reach it. In the end he just banged on the door. Then, with all his energy consumed and depleted, he collapsed back against the wall, with his arm wrapped protectively across his abdomen and hoped Lisa was still home, and hadn't already left without him.

It should have been easier than this, surely…

'You go find Lisa. You pray to God she's dumb enough to take you in. You have barbecues, and go to football games. You go live some normal Apple Pie life, Dean. Promise me!' Sam had pleaded the point with him, what seemed like a life-time ago.

Well, little brother, I'm trying, I really am…

~~~~~oooOOOooo~~~~~

He was late… again. Not that she had expected anything different. She had learnt not to rely on him too much, not any more: certainly not with appointments or engagements, not with anything that had him mingling with her friends. He'd changed, a lot. He still looked like the man she once knew, but something had died inside of him. All that was left was a vague resemblance, just a shell. Gone was the witty, humorous, and full of energy, extroverted, womanising Dean Winchester of old. In his place was a reserved, withdrawn, brooding, lifeless imitation.

He tried though. He really did try to act… 'normal'… if that was even possible for him. He attempted to put on a brave face for her and her son – in fact he actually managed to pull it off in front of Ben. His laughs and smiles all seemed genuine when Ben was around, like somehow he managed to relax, and let his guard down a little. But for the most part she could see in his expression that it was all a façade. Somehow his smiles never quite made it all the way to his eyes anymore. He'd lost his spark, his effervesce. She wasn't sure it would ever come back. Still she hoped that one day maybe she and Ben could help him enough to put the sparkle back. If he stayed that long.

'It's okay. It's gonna be okay.' She'd promised him, she only hoped that promise would come true. She could be patient, and she could wait, but she wondered if he could.

She still didn't really know why he'd come back to her. Or why he'd seemingly walked away from his old life. Because, as far as she knew, he hadn't 'hunted' at all since he'd first knocked on her door asking for the beer she had promised him. He still hadn't spoken a word about what had happened to bring him to her door, so she knew it was bad. More so, he hadn't mentioned his brother at all, which probably meant he was gone… in the never coming back, ever again, probably 'dead' kind of gone. She wasn't sure he could survive loosing Sam and at the same time abandoning the only life he had known from childhood. He was addicted to it, and to Sam. The hunt and Sam, was all he'd ever had worth living for. They were everything that made him, him.

There was a restlessness about him now-a-days, probably from years spent always on the move. Years spent living a life on the edge, never knowing if this day would be his last. Obviously you can take the man out of the hunt, but you can't take the hunt out of the man. She'd noticed the way he routinely turned his attention to the more unusual TV news broadcasts. She could see in his expression as possible scenarios and culprits ticked over in his mind. She'd observed him reading the obituaries in the news papers, right after reading any other obscure articles that had raised a possible 'supernatural' flag. And yet he still hadn't acted on it, hadn't as yet left her to go and track down what he knew was out there. But she never queried him about it; in reality she didn't want to. She didn't want to know that he was itching to return to the life of a hunter. But she also understood that it was so much a part of what made him who he was. She wasn't sure he was even made to live a normal 'apple-pie' life. It was like caging a wild animal.

She hated the thought that maybe one day he would need his old life back, more than he needed her.

She couldn't quell the insecurity that came with watching him fall into old routines and habits. She couldn't convince herself that she could be enough to keep him grounded, or keep him from the hunt. It was who he was; a hunter, through and through, and she could never change that. She couldn't even delude herself into thinking that he could give it up: certainly not for ever and probably not for much longer. She suspected that one day she would come home to find him gone.

Maybe he was gone already, maybe today was the day he would go. All the same, she didn't want to believe that he could take off without so much as a good bye a least.

No, he was probably just held up at work, or stuck in traffic, or just couldn't decide which wine to buy…

She held her breath when she thought she heard the Impala pull into the driveway, but she had her music playing so loud that she wasn't sure. She waited a few minutes, listening for the sound of the front door, hoped he would soon be striding down the hallway. But he didn't come. So he probably wasn't home… yet.

She finished applying her lipstick, pursing her lips together to smooth the colour out. She grinned to herself, pleased with her overall appearance. If her outfit and extra-alluring make up didn't go a long way to making him want to stay, then their night alone should! They hadn't actually done 'it' as yet, not that she hadn't wanted to. She still fanaticised about the weekend they spent together a good decade ago. But she also knew he hadn't been in the right state of mind for any kind of sexual exploits. So she hadn't pushed him. She knew he would come to her when he was ready. Didn't mean she couldn't stack all the odds in her favour though! She turned from side to side, running her hand down her taught, flat abdomen. She tucked the top of her black, lacy bra back beneath the strapless bodice, admiring how the cut of the dress and the contours of her bra gave her quite an impressive cleavage. She still had a 'to die for' figure! Except maybe her arse… she never could loose as much pregnancy fat off her arse as she'd have liked. She frowned, contemplating changing her dress, again. No, she decided, he liked this dress…

Then she heard it; a bang. She listened closer, and as Guns 'n' Roses' 'Sweet Child o' mine' came to an end she heard another thump, followed by another. One last tap followed just as the intro to 'You're Crazy' started. But someone had knocked, or banged, on the front door, she was sure.

Maybe his arms were full and he couldn't juggle the wine and his keys to unlock the door…