CHAPTER ONE

Bobby shuffled downstairs, yawning and scratching his balls.

There was another knock on the door, louder this time.

"Hold your damned horses!" he bellowed. "I'm comin'!"

Ticked off now – he'd been up until almost dawn trying to find out how to kill a soul-sucking eidolon for that damned Rufus – he stomped to the front door and flung it open, glaring at the uniformed man standing outside. "What the hell do you want?"

Mr. Speedy Delivery gaped at the man standing in front of him. "Uh . . . "

Bobby gritted his teeth. "What?"

Mr. Speedy Delivery, keeping his eyes well above waist level, motioned to Bobby's open fly. "Um . . . "

Bobby looked down, rolled his eyes and zipped himself up. "Happy now?"

Mr. Speedy Delivery, eyes safe now from whatever might be lurking behind Bobby's fly, held out a package. About the size of an oversized paperback, it was wrapped in plain brown, extremely beat-up brown paper.

"Robert Singer?"

Bobby nodded reluctantly and the man held out a clipboard. "Signature, please?"

Bobby ignored the clipboard and took the package, examining it carefully. His name and address, in vaguely familiar handwriting. No return address.

Speedy poked the clipboard forward again. "Sir?"

Shooting a "quit bugging me, kid" look at the man, Bobby snatched the clipboard and scribbled something illegible across the bottom of the page. Then he stepped back into the house and slammed the door.

Huh.

Examining the package, Bobby frowned, puzzled.

The wrapping paper was old butcher paper. The kind his mom had used to wrap meat in before she stuck it in the freezer. There was a lot of tape on it - some old, some new – clearing having been wrapped around the package at different times.

Curious, he tore the tape off and ripped open the paper, revealing a spiral bound notebook, filled with more of the same familiar handwriting from the front of the package.

He opened it to the first page.

"Hey, Bobby! It's us. Sam and Dean."

"What, you two idjits forget how to pick up a phone?" he grumbled, a wisp of unease curling up the back of his neck.

"Listen, don't freak out, but Dean pissed off another witch and she cursed us into the sixteenth century . . . "

Bobby clapped a hand to his forehead and groaned.

"Oh, balls!"

"Oh, crap!" Dean ducked down deeper into the ditch, pulling Sam down with him. "Get down, ya freakin' moose!" he hissed. "You tryin' to get us killed?"

"Are they coming?"

"Well, I'm sure they freaking will be!" Dean snapped, running an agitated hand through his spiky hair. "They haven't burnt this week's witch quota yet! Jesus, Sam, what the hell were you thinking, arguing with that priest about predestination?"

Sam rolled his eyes. "Oh, yeah, and he reacted so much better when you told him that all angels were dicks – "

"Quiet!" Dean clapped a hand over his brother's mouth. "I hear something!"

He took a cautious peek over the top of the ditch and groaned when he saw a crowd of dirty-faced, pitchfork-waving lunatics coming over the top of the hill, a furiously shouting priest stomping along right out in front of them.

"Damn it!" Dean looked around wildly for an escape and saw a whole lot of freaking nothing.

Just a lot of empty land and a few ratty-looking sheep standing around, chewing whatever it was they were chewing.

And of course the aforementioned rabble looking to separate the Winchesters' heads from their necks.

Wait.

Dean's eyes brightened.

Oh – Hell – Yes!

A man on a tall, rawboned horse – strike that, a monk on a horse, complete with cassock, tonsured head and crucifix – riding slowly toward them.

"About time we got some fucking luck!" Dean muttered. He scrambled out of the ditch, Sam close behind him, and headed at a dead run for the rider.

The rabid rabble spotted them as soon as they emerged from the ditch and a chorus of unholy yips and howls rose to the sky. The crowd broke into a run, with the priest, despite his pendulous belly, holding firm to his position in front.

At the sight of the two fleeing men and the crowd boiling behind them, the monk's jaw dropped. He tried to pull the horse around in the other direction but, not used to using his muscles for more than turning the pages of his Bible, he couldn't get the animal to do more than come to a dead stop.

Panicking, he lost his head and started kicking the animal. The horse, an evil-tempered bay, swung its head around, rolling an astounded eye at its rider, and took a savage bite out of the monk's thigh.

"Jesus!" The monk whacked the horse on the top of its head with his wooden crucifix and the animal swung its head around for a bite on the other side.

"Mary!" The monk dropped his crucifix and crossed himself.

At which time Dean grabbed the monk's arm, jerked him down from the horse and sent him sprawling to the ground.

"Joseph!" The monk squealed, covering his head with his arms.

"Sorry, dude!" Dean apologized breathlessly. " Lynch mob!"

Eyes popping, the monk struggled back to his feet and spun to face the approaching mob. They were close enough that the shouts of Witch and Burn and Kill were clearly understandable and not a few of their shouts were directed at him.

Knowing from past experience that once a mob got is blood up, they tended not to give a crap who they roasted, the monk deserted his horse and ran like hell, bare legs flashing underneath his robe.

Cursing, Dean scrambled up onto the horse and reached down to Sam, hauling him up behind him.

"Giddyap!"

The horse looked back at them in confusion.

Dean glared at him. "Damn it, move, you worthless sack of hair! Or I'll turn your dumb ass into soap!" He drummed his heels into the animal's sides.

Dean's kicks being much stronger than the monk's, the horse lunged into a jolting trot, heading straight for the mob.

"Oh, shit!"

Dean hauled frantically on the reins and got the animal turned in the other direction, but the speed the horse was moving at wouldn't keep them out of the mobs' hands for more than a few seconds.

Sam darted a frantic glance over his shoulder at their pursuers, now not more than a hundred yards away. Raising a big hand he slammed it down on the horse's ass.

"MOVE!" he bellowed.

With a startled whinny the beleaguered horse broke into a dead run, Dean and Sam bouncing back and forth on top of him.

The crowd soldiered on for a few minutes but when the horse and its fugitive load disappeared into the distance, leaving nothing behind but a cloud of dust, they ground to a disappointed halt, panting and cursing.

The monk, however, was still in sight, pounding across the barren fields.

With a rousing shout, the priest raised his crucifix and gave chase, breathless congregation close behind him.

FYI, the sixteenth century sucks, but don't worry, we didn't stay there long.

It looks like the witch put some kind of boomerang time travel spell on us! She didn't just sending us back to one time - we're going back and forth to different times and places. Guess the freaking skank was a lot more powerful than we thought she was, huh?

Bobby lowered the letter. He went into his study and pulled a bottle of whiskey out of the desk drawer and poured himself a stiff drink, draining it one quick gulp.

As the liquor burned through him, he blew out a breath and shook his head dolefully. Then, after careful consideration, he poured another one and sent it after the first.

Ready now for more bad news, Bobby flopped down on the couch and settled in to read.

The boys rode hell for leather down the road, empty fields stretching out in every direction around them.

After a few miles, Sam cast a look behind them. No monk. No priest. No mob. "Pull up, Dean, pull up! We lost 'em!"

After taking a quick look himself, Dean hauled back clumsily on the reins. "Whoa, Seabiscuit! Whoa!"

The horse slowed and fell into a slow walk, huffing out a weary snort.

Dean sighed and shifted uncomfortably in the saddle. "Freaking witch."

Sam snorted. "Well, you're the one pissed her off, Dean! Again! Once, just once I'd like to see you keep your trap shut when we're hunting witches! But no, you've always gotta mouth off!"

Dean said nothing, just shifted position again, trying to ease his aching ass.

They rode on in silence.

The road seemed to stretch on forever. The land around them never changed.

Empty fields. No towns, no houses, no people.

When the sun started to go down, the horse decided it was done. It stopped in the middle of the road and nothing - slapping hindquarters, ferocious glares, soap threats - nothing would get it moving again.

The boys climbed off the stalled horse and looked at each other.

"Truthfully," Sam ventured, "I'd rather walk. My ass is killing me."

Dean smirked, but there wasn't much humor behind it. Sam's wasn't the only unhappy ass in the vicinity. "Yeah, me too."

They started walking on down the road. With a relieved huff, the horse ambled over into the field beside the road and started to graze.

Hours passed with more of the same. Nothing. Just miles of empty road.

The moon was hidden behind clouds and there was nothing but darkness. A darkness unleavened by moon, stars or the reflections from a human population.

Sam glanced sideways at Dean. "Any ideas?"

"I thought about calling Cas," Dean admitted. "But we don't know if he'd hear us in this century. Or if he did, if he'd know us. Or if he could even get us back that far."

"Sucks," Sam said gloomily.

The only good thing about the sucky situation was the fact that it appeared to be summer. As the night wore on, though the temperature dropped a bit, it wasn't enough to make them uncomfortable.

After they'd been walking for something more than forever, Sam said, definitely not whining, "We should stop, get some sleep – "

"Where?" Dean said grumpily. "You see any Motel 6's around here?"

Sam flushed. "We need to rest, Dean. We're both exhausted."

"On the ground? What about snakes? You think about that?" Dean looked into the darkness around them and shuddered. "You really wanna wake up snuggled up to a rattlesnake?"

"No, but – "

Dean stopped and looked around. "Did you hear something?"

Rrrrrrrrroooowwwoooooorrrrr . . . .

"Was that you?" Dean asked uncertainly.

Rrrrroooowwwoooorrrr . . . .

"Fuck, no!" Sam exclaimed.

"Great. Just great."

Dean pulled out the one knife they had between them and the two hunters put their backs together, searching the darkness.

"What the fuck is it?" Sam hissed.

"Shut up!"

The sound of footsteps shuffled closer in the darkness.

Another low growl, this time closer.

Wolf, maybe. Or a bear. Sam strained his eyes into the darkness. Can't be a freaking lion, no matter how big and bad it sounds. Can it?

"Keep close to me, Sammy," Dean whispered.

There was a loud shriek right next to them.

Something slammed into Sam, taking him to the ground, Dean's voice a harsh shout above him.

Before he could move, before he could even think, a pair of strong hands grabbed Sam's hair and slammed his head into the ground, once, twice, stunning him. Then the weight was pulled off him in unison with another angry shout from Dean and Sam lay still, trying to get his brain working as the battle raged around him.

After a minute, woozy as hell, he made it to his knees. "Dean?"

Whap!

Sam was knocked flat again when Dean and whoever the hell else it was fell on top of him, invisible hands, knees and elbows knocking the breath out of him.

There was a sudden, deep groan and one of the figures slumped to the side, groan trailing off into a rattling breath and silence.

The second figure bent over Sam.

"You okay, Sammy?" Dean said anxiously.

Still trying to pull air into dazed lungs, Sam fumbled for his brother's arm, grabbing weakly onto it.

"Jesus," Dean muttered. "Let's get you up." He helped his brother up from the ground, rubbed a hand soothingly over his back until Sam got his breath, and his voice, back.

"What the fuck was that?" Sam wheezed.

"Dead, whatever it was." Dean fumbled in his pocket and brought out a lighter. After a couple of clicks, a small flame caught and rose and the two stared down at the still figure on the ground.

A man, bearded, filthy, clothes ragged and torn and thin, he was so thin.

But just a man.

And yes, dead, Dean's knife sticking out of his chest.

Sam rubbed the back of his head, wincing when he touched a couple of lumps. "What was he doing out here? What do you think he wanted?"

"You always got the big questions, Sammy," Dean said wearily. "Does it matter?" He bent over the body.

"What are you doing?"

"Seeing if he's got anything we can use," Dean said, not looking up. He went through the man's clothing but came up empty. "Looks like he's got even less than we do." He pulled his blade out of the corpse's chest, wiped it off and stuck it back into his pocket. "If this guy had been in better shape, we might be the ones on the ground right now."

He stood back up, stared down at the body.

"Dean?" Sam asked awkwardly. "You okay?"

"Yeah." He shrugged, expression blank. "It's not like I had much of a choice."

With a jerk of his head, he gestured toward what passed for a road and the Winchesters moved on into the night.

Bobby stood in the middle of his library and looked around. Where, exactly, had he put the section on "Time Traveling Spells"?

Oh, yeah, right next to the section on 'Are You Fucking Kidding Me.'

Awesome.

CHAPTER TWO

Clang!

Sam jerked halfway to his feet before even realizing he was awake, then gasped when a hard hand grabbed his shoulder and pulled him back down.

Stiff and aching from sleeping on the ground, he groaned out a protest, but Dean, eyes urgent, slapped a hand over his mouth.

Quiet! He mouthed.

Sam nodded his understanding. Then his eyes widened and he looked around, bewildered. What the – wherethehell were they?

They'd gone to sleep on a flat, treeless plain in the early dawn hours.

Now they were in a forest. Deep inside by the look of it. He could barely see the sky through the thickness of the trees overhead.

He looked at Dean, eyes questioning.

Dean shrugged. No clue.

They jerked around at the sound of another loud clang, followed by a series of muffled shouts.

Signaling to Sam to follow, and making damn sure to keep low, Dean wove silently through the trees, moving steadily toward the continuing, sporadic, sounds of battle.

The sounds got closer, more savage. Close behind Dean, Sam started to wonder about the intelligence of deliberately hunting down something that might get them killed.

That thought stopped him in his tracks while he silently laughed his ass off, then he hurried to catch up with his brother, who was gesticulating at him frantically.

Catching up, Sam grimaced an apology, but Dean waved it off and pointed around the ragged oak tree they were crouching behind. "You're not gonna freaking believe this!" he hissed.

Just a tad apprehensive, Sam peered around the tree.

Holy shit!

Knights!

Knights in armor!

Knights in freaking armor knocking the crap out of each other!

Helmets with visors, plate armor, swords - the whole deal!

Awesome! Sam mouthed, grinning back at Dean.

He looked around for a film crew, though he knew damned well this was real. The swords were real, the grunts and curses coming out of the combatants were real. Fuck knows the blood on the ground was real.

One of the fighters stumbled and the other, looking a lot less tired and definitely less bloody, knocked his opponent's sword out of his hand and forced him to his knees with a sword at his throat.

Both figures stilled, staring at each other.

"Do you yield?" The victor's voice was calm, cool. He didn't even sound that interested in what the answer might be.

There was silence for a long moment. The answer, when it came, was short and final.

"Never."

In the next second, Sam gasped as a gout of blood sprayed through the air and the second man was flat on the ground, head neatly separated from his neck.

The winner of the bout spun around, sword rimmed with blood.

"Who goes there?"

Dean glared at Sam, who grimaced an apology.

The knight took a step toward the trees.

"Come out!" He pulled off his helmet, revealing a man of about thirty-five, dark, handsome and clean-shaven.

When he got no reply, the knight slowly lowered the sword to his side. "Come out. I mean you no harm."

The Winchesters looked at each other and shrugged. Not like they couldn't outrun this guy if they had to, what with all the armor.

They stepped out from behind the trees into the clearing, Dean positioning himself just a bit in front of Sam.

The knight looked at them curiously. "Who are you, strangers?"

"I'm Dean. This is my brother, Sam. We were traveling through and we, uh – " Dean shrugged. "We got lost."

"A curious place to lose oneself." The stranger stared intently at Dean. "Most who come to this place come to fight." He nodded to his late opponent. "Or die."

"Not us," Sam said, not liking the way the man was scoping Dean out. "We were just – we heard you guys fighting."

"Why'd you kill him?" Dean asked, curious.

The knight dropped his sword to the ground along with his helm, stretching out his neck and shoulders. "He wished to pass and would not pay the toll," he replied indifferently.

"Whoa," Dean said, taken aback. "Harsh."

"Can we ask - who are you?" Sam said.

"I am the Black Knight."

"Nee!" Dean gasped involuntarily. "No way!"

The Black Knight raised his chin and looked at him arrogantly. "I am he. Do you call me liar?"

"Oh no, no," Dean assured him. "I was just surprised." He nudged Sam, impressed. "Dude! The Black Knight!"

The knight's gaze swept up and down Dean's body, lingering southward.

"I heard," Sam said tensely. Something was creeping him out about this guy. Something more than the headless corpse on the ground, more than the freaking Black Knight checking out his brother's nether regions. "We need to get going."

The knight's gaze leapt back to Sam and his eyes hardened. "You said you were lost. Where will you go?"

"We'll find our way," Sam said.

The knight looked again at Dean, seemed to hesitate, then pulled off one of his gloves, wiping the sweat off his face with his forearm. "Perhaps you would care to dine with me before you go?"

As if on cue, Dean's stomach growled. He grinned.

Before his brother could speak, Sam spoke up. "No, thanks." His tone was polite, but firm.

Dean looked at him and raised a querying eyebrow.

"Trust me," Sam took hold of his brother's arm, squeezing hard.

Dean nodded, starting to get the message that something was seriously out of whack.

The knight tossed the glove to the ground and started tugging on the other one. "Normally I would have the help of a servant to remove my armor," he said casually. "But he died a few weeks ago. I am in need of a new man to service me. You will stay."

He wasn't looking at Sam. And the way he was staring at Dean made it pretty damned clear that "service" had a double meaning here.

Finally, Dean got it.

"Oh." Dean took a step back. "No, thanks. Appreciate the offer, but me and my brother, we gotta get goin'.

"No." The knight's tone was mild but firm. "You will stay." The second gauntlet was tossed to the ground and he started to work on the buckles for his chest armor.

Sam darted forward abruptly and gave a violent push to the knight's chest. The man fell back, grabbing at Sam as he went down, but Sam danced back out of the way, grabbing up the man's sword, and then the dead man's sword as well.

"Thief!" The Black Knight struggled to rise but fell back, helpless.

Dean burst out laughing. "He looks like an upended turtle!"

Sam gave his brother an impatient look, then said to the knight, "Look, I'm not stealing it. I just want to keep my head where it belongs. We'll leave it a little ways out." He handed one of the heavy weapons to his still-chuckling brother. "Come on, let's get out of here."

"You! Boy!" The knight pointed arrogantly at Dean. "You will stay!"

Dean scowled at him. "Bite me, dude."

The knight grinned at him, expression suddenly feral. "I will."

"Ew." Dean made a face. "Maybe we should kill him, Sammy. He looks like the kinda guy to hold a grudge. I don't want him crawling into my boxers down the road."

"No, Dean, we can't!" Sam's voice was firm. "We can't disturb the timeline. We can't disturb so much as a blade of grass. It could change history. Hell, if we do too much damage, we could disappear ourselves."

"But that guy last night – " Dean protested.

"Like you said, we didn't have a choice, then."

"Fine!" Dean huffed. "He lives! But – " He stomped over to the Black Knight and gave him a hard knock on the head with the pommel of the sword. "That oughta keep him for a while," he said, satisfied. "Okay, Sammy, we're outta here!"

Keeping an eye out in case the Black Knight's head was harder than it looked, they hid the swords in the forest a half mile away, in the middle of a cluster of blackberry bushes.

Freaking starving, the boys stuffed themselves with the huge, juicy berries until they couldn't eat any more. Then, mouths black with juice, they filled their pockets and trudged on through the forest.

"This really blows, Sammy," Dean said glumly. "First that whack job priest tries to get us strung up, then Sir Spanks A Lot wants to make me his bitch. Freaking witches."

"Hate to tell ya, Dean." Sam slung a comforting arm around his brother's shoulders. "But things could be worse."

"Yeah?" Dean raised a skeptical eyebrow. "How?"

"Well, I haven't seen any clowns and planes haven't been invented yet," Sam said lightly. "So count your blessings, okay?"

CHAPTER THREE

After we got away from that ass hat Black Knight we spent two days of tromping through the woods, getting munched on by every kind of gross creepy crawly you can imagine. Then one night we went to sleep in the middle of the forest and woke up the next morning in some hick town called Fall River, Massachusetts . . .

"June 1892." Sam looked at the name of the newspaper. "The Fall River News." He frowned. "Fall River, Massachusetts. Why does that sound familiar?"

"No clue." Dean looked around at the wide city street, the trolley going down the middle of the street, the red-brick buildings, the majority of which had two or three stories at most. "But at least we're a little closer to our own century."

Most of the people bustling up and down the street, intent upon their day's errands, completely ignored them. The few who did pause long enough to actually focus on them glanced away quickly and then hurried on by, averting their eyes.

Looking at Sam and then down at himself, Dean could see why. The two of them had been sleeping on the ground for days, eating little more than berries and the occasional squirrel or rabbit. They looked rough around the edges and probably a little dangerous.

His stomach growled and he nudged his brother. "Come on, I'm freaking starving. We've got to find something to eat."

"Gimme a sec," Sam muttered. Eyes wide, he was devouring an article on the first page. "Holy shit!"

A passing woman glared at him in affront but Sam was so enthralled by what he was reading, he didn't even notice her.

"What?" Dean craned forward, trying to see.

"You're not gonna believe this." Sam eagerly shoved the newspaper at him, pointing to the article. "Check it out."

Dean looked curiously at the article and then grabbed it. "You're fucking kidding me!" His stunned face morphed into a gleeful grin. "Lizzie Borden!?"

"On trial right now!" Sam emphasized, wide-eyed. "In the courthouse! I knew there was a reason Fall River sounded familiar!"

Dean skimmed through the article. "Okay!" Dean folded up the newspaper and poked Sam's chest. "Look, man, I know we said we were gonna look for work to tide us over until we jump again, but come on! We gotta go check that chick out!"

Sam nodded, then his face fell. "We probably won't be able to get in. Murder trials back then –"

"Back now."

"Fine, back now, they were spectator sports and this one was huge. The courthouse will be packed. Standing room only, if that."

"Who cares?" Dean scanned the street, found what he was looking for almost immediately and jogged across to the other side.

Sam watched in alarm as Dean approached a blue-uniformed police officer. Dean motioned to the newspaper and asked a question, then listened closely as the officer nodded and pointed down the street, giving directions.

Dean gave the officer a salute, then made his way back to Sam. "Got it. Courthouse is just a few blocks from here."

"Dean."

"What?" Dean looked at him in surprise. "Cops aren't looking for us here." He smiled pityingly at his brother. "The police officer is our friend, Sammy."

Sam smacked him on the head. "Jerk."

"Yeah, yeah." Dean pulled Sam around and propelled him down the street, narrowly missing a man riding a unicycle.

"Come on, he says no way we'll get in, but court is closing in half an hour. If we hurry, we can get there in time to see Borden taken back to her cell."

Lizzie Borden took an axe

And gave her mother forty whacks.

When she saw what she had done

She gave her father forty-one.

"Actually," Sam said, dark eyes glued to the courthouse door. "It was her stepmother and she only whacked her 19 times."

"Okay, that's not too fucking creepy." Dean gave him a look. "How the hell do you know that?"

Sam shrugged. "Wikipedia."

"Of course. So how many times did she whack Daddy Dearest?"

"Eleven."

Dean shook his head sadly. "I can't tell you how disturbing it is that you – hey, here she comes!"

The courthouse door opened and the crowd surged forward, carrying the brothers with it. A small knot of blue-coated police officers appeared, surrounding a short, plumpish woman with dark hair. By her side was a distinguished-looking older man with a case in his hand and a pained expression on his face. Probably her attorney, Dean thought absently.

At the sight of the accused murderess, the crowd hushed for a moment, then erupted into loud outcries.

"Good luck, Lizzie!"

"God bless you, girl!"

"We're praying for you, Miss Borden!"

As the police pushed through the crowd, they came within just a few feet of Sam and Dean. Sam towered over the rest of the crowd and Lizzie Borden, eyes cast demurely down to the ground for the most part, happened to look up just as she passed.

She stopped, for just a moment, her eyes on Sam's.

Then her companion put his hand under her elbow, urging her forward, and they continued on toward their waiting carriage.

"Dude, Lizzie Borden totally just cougar-eyed you!" Dean exclaimed. He smacked Sam on the arm in congratulations.

Embarrassed, Sam socked his brother back and continued to watch as Lizzie climbed into the carriage.

After she settled in, she looked back, easily finding Sam's tall form in the crowd. Her lips curved in a small smile as their eyes met again. Then her carriage started to move forward and she turned away.

"Dean!" Sam cursed and surged forward, trying to get to the carriage. The crowd around him shoved back and a couple of police officers started towards them, billy clubs in hand and stern looks on their moustachioed faces.

"Sam, what the hell!" Dean gave the policemen an apologetic smile and took his brother's arm in a hard grip, towing him out of the crowd and into an alley facing the street.

Sam tried to pull away, twisting around to stare after the departing carriage. "Dean, wait!"

Out of sight of the crowd, Dean released his brother. "Come on, man, focus! What's going on? You trying to get us busted? 'Cause I don't want to get locked up here!"

"Her eyes - Dean, her eyes!" Sam's face was pale. "They were black!"

Dean froze.

Sam took a breath and got it out in one shot. "Dean – Lizzie Borden is possessed by a demon!"

Dean's face went white, then red. He hardly seemed to breathe. Then it broke. "What the hell is this!" he bellowed furiously. "Did that freaking witch send us on a goddamned Evil Through The Ages Tour, or what?!"

"Dean!"

"Come on! First it's the damned priest and the rabble from hell! Then the pervy Black Knight! And now Lizzie Borden is a demon?" He strode away from Sam, back toward the busy street. "Screw this!"

Sam ran after him. "Wait, Dean, stop! We have to help her!"

Dean spun around, face aghast. "What?"

"Lizzie Borden! We have to help her!"

"Are you out of your salad-tossing, granola-munching, wheatgrass-chugging mind?" Dean shouted. "What happened to not messing with the timeline? What happened to not freaking disturbing a freaking blade of grass?"

"But, Dean – "

"No, Sam."

"Dean, please!"

"No, Sam!"

"We just –"

"NO!"

Marshal Walter Newton of Fall River had had a lot of practice saying no lately. He looked wearily at the two men standing in front of his desk and briefly considered retiring.

"We'd like to see Miss Borden, please," Sam said politely.

"I'm sure you would," the marshal said snappishly. "But Miss Borden ain't entertaining newspaper men today! You'll have to go through her lawyers for that."

"We're not reporters," Sam answered, glancing sideways at Dean, who'd pushed for going in as just that.

Dean rolled his eyes, but kept quiet.

"We're friends, from Boston," Sam continued. "We saw her earlier today at the trial."

"Oh." The marshal chewed that over, eyes going over the two consideringly. "You two're dressed awful funny for gents from Boston."

"We've been out west," Sam improvised swiftly. "My family wired to let me know what happened and we came back right away." He smiled, gesturing apologetically at his clothes. "We didn't even stop to clean up."

Marshal Newton thought he smelled a romance. Tall, good-looking young man, even if he did dress like a hick. Wouldn't have thought a plain young woman like Miss Borden could attract a man like this, but she did have a wagonload of money now her daddy was dead . . .

"Well, I guess I can ask if Miss Borden will see you," he said at last. "You two wait here. What name should I give her?"

Sam smiled. "Winchester."

They didn't have long to wait. Soon enough the marshal was ushering them into the back of the station where one block of cells had been cleared out so that their sole female prisoner would have some privacy.

Her cell was plainly appointed, but they could tell some trouble had been taken to make her comfortable. A rocker crowded the small space next to the bed and curtains covered the bars at the window.

Seated in the rocker, Lizzie Borden watched them from inside the cell, languidly waving a fan back and forth. A faint smile appeared on her face when she saw Sam.

"Here they are, Miss Borden. Can't let them inside, of course," the marshal said, almost apologetically. "Wouldn't be proper. They'll have to stay out here."

Lizzie said nothing, just nodded.

"Thank you, Marshal," Sam said, unable to take his eyes from the woman's face.

When the marshal left, Sam stepped up to the bars. "Thank you for seeing us."

Lizzie nodded. "I saw you earlier, at the courthouse." She gave a coy little laugh. "When the marshal said someone wanted to see me, I had a feeling it was you."

"Do you know who we are?" Dean asked.

Lizzie cocked her head and her eyes crinkled with humor. "Oh, I do hope you're not reporters!" She raised her hands in a helpless gesture. "I promised my attorneys I wouldn't talk to any reporters without them."

"Christo, bitch!" Dean spat out.

Lizzie flinched back. Her eyes flashed black, then back to brown. "Hunters!" she hissed. She lurched up from the chair, face twisting in an ugly sneer.

Sam didn't wait. He didn't know how much time they had before the marshal came back to take them out. He took a breath, and started to recite.

"Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus - "

With the first words, Lizzie threw herself against the cell wall in a vain attempt to escape, mouth opening in a howl of fury. "NO!

As Sam continued to recite, she let out a series of choking gasps, then rushed forward, reaching through the bars, trying to claw at him. Dean pulled his brother back from the bars.

"spiritus, omnis satanica potestas, omnis incursion infernalis adversarii – "

"I won't leave!" she shrieked, clenching her fists. "No!"

" . . . omnis legio, omnis congregation et secta diabolica – "

Dean heard the sound of fast-approaching footsteps. "Hurry it up, Sam!"

"Ergo, draco maledicte. Ecclesiam tuam secure tibi – "

Screaming, Lizzie fell to the floor and started to convulse.

" - facias liberte servire, te rogamus audi nos," Sam finished in a rush.

Lizzie's back arched, lifting her off the floor. As a last horrific convulsion shook her body, her mouth gaped open and a great cloud of black smoke poured out of her mouth and streamed up to the ceiling, exiting through the window in the back of the cell.

The door opened and Dean turned to the marshal, who was coming in at a run, followed by a deputy. "Quick! She needs a doctor!"

The marshal barked an order at his deputy and the man rushed off. Then the marshal came forward to the cell, pushing the Winchesters out of the way and hurriedly keying the cell door open at the sight of the prostrate woman.

"What the hell happened?"

"She was talking about her father, about how she missed him. How upset she was that anyone would think she'd killed him," Sam said, eyes on Lizzie as the marshal knelt beside her. "She had a seizure."

"A seizure?" The marshal twisted around to look at him.

"A fit." Sam saw that Lizzie was starting to move. "Marshal, we should go. Please, apologize for us to Elizabeth. We didn't mean to upset her."

The marshal nodded, waving them away and turning back to Lizzie, who was now hysterically crying. As they left, they passed the police officer coming back with a stocky dark-suited man carrying a black bag.

The two brothers were silent as they exited the police station and walked out into the street. It was dark but there were still a fair number of people outside.

"Thanks, Dean. I know you didn't want to . . . " Sam trailed off awkwardly.

"Well," Dean shrugged. "What the hell. Not like we had big plans. Maybe she can have some kinda life now."

Sam looked sad. "They'll acquit her in an hour and a half and she'll spend the rest of her life being ostracized."

"Well, we did what we could for her. I just hope she's smart enough to keep her mouth shut," Dean said. "Otherwise she'll spend the rest of her life in a straitjacket."

Sam looked at the passersby. "Listen, Dean, I don't know how long that witch is gonna keep us here, but we have no money, no place to sleep, no food and I am starving. We gotta find jobs."

"Screw the jobs, Sammy." Dean shoved his brother playfully. "I've been thinking. I'm pretty sure I saw a couple of pool halls on the way over here. What do you say we go hustle up a little action? If I can't beat a couple of backwater 19th century hicks, I'll retire my pool cue!"

Bobby went to his computer and googled Lizzie Borden.

A ton of crap came up for the unfortunate woman but, although he spent a good hour going through the material, he saw nothing about a demon.

Apparently Lizzie had been smart enough to keep her mouth shut.

CHAPTER FOUR

Sam pushed his way through the bushes, frantic, terrified.

"Dean!"

He'd woken alone. During the previous jumps, he'd never woken alone before.

Why this time, why now?

Was Dean still back in Fall River, searching for Sam? Was he here somewhere? Or had he been dumped in some other place, some other time?

"Dean!"

A little moan escaped him and he thrust it back, fighting for control. Losing it wouldn't help him find his brother. And he would find his brother!

Sam heard a heavy movement somewhere ahead. Way too big to be Dean, but maybe he was there, too, maybe. He rushed forward, pushed through a large, spiky bush, the leaves stabbing into him like blades, and then plunged into the middle of a clearing.

"Dean!"

Sam came to an abrupt, horrified halt.

He looked up.

And up.

And up.

"Holy crap!"

With a roar, the massive creature bounded toward him, jaws open, small foreshortened arms held tightly at its sides.

"Shit!"

Sam spun and headed back for the trees, arms pumping, feet flying. Fear driving him, he ran faster than he had ever run before.

Faster than the time the zombie chick had chased him.

Faster than when Charlie Bowdry and his three friends had chased him, intent on a kicking his eleven-year-old ass.

Faster than when he'd scratched the Impala's bumper and Dean had chased him, determined to pummel him.

Faster than - oh, shit, faster!

Fast wasn't fast enough. The tree line was too far ahead, the air was thick and muggy, slowing him down even more and shit the ground was too damned wet. He was slipping and sliding when he really just wanted to run damn it run and this motherfucking monster was too damned fast, shit, no, shit!

Chest heaving, eyes bulging, Sam tried to pull just a little more speed out, but he could feel the monster getting closer, could practically feel its rank, stinking breath on his neck, fuck, he was toast, he was dead, this sonofabitching bastard was going to eat him -

The beast ground to a halt and swung around.

Noticing after a few feet that the ground was no longer shaking behind him, Sam, still running, cast a quick look over his shoulder, then stopped and turned, mouth hanging open, lungs sucking in air like a defective bellows, eyes disbelieving and absofreakinglutely horrified.

Dean, the stupid son of a bitch, was standing on top of a huge boulder, throwing rocks at the monster and the monster, in turn, was taking curious, mincing little steps toward him, jaws taking little stabs at the rocks as they hit him.

"Oh, God," Sam breathed, appalled. "Dean."

"Sammy, run!" Dean shouted, throwing another rock and then looking for another.

Crap. No more rocks.

He took his jacket off and started waving it over his head, dancing around on top of the rock, practically shaking his ass at the beast. "I've got a bolt hole over here! Sam, run, get to cover!"

Every cell in Sam's body wanted to run to Dean, wanted to shield him, somehow, protect him.

Dean.

He hesitated, took a step back toward his brother. Toward the monster.

"Sam, you dumb shit, run!"

Sam ran.

Two days later. Still in Dino Hell, but at least they hadn't been eaten.

As Dean put it - Bonus.

The two boys were crouched in the back of a cave, munching tiredly on the last of the fried bread they'd stashed in their pockets that last night in Fall River.

"What are you having?" Sam asked at last.

"Cheeseburger," Dean answered, swallowing the last of the stale bread. "With extra onions. And bacon. Lots of bacon. You?"

"Caesar salad." Sam closed his eyes, did a conjuring. "With lots of chicken. And tomatoes. And cucumber."

"Sounds good." Dean took a sip of water from the canteen they'd picked up in Fall River. "Want some?"

Sam shook his head.

"Come on, Sammy, we've got enough water left for a few more days," Dean argued. "It won't do you any good to –"

"Dean," Sam interrupted. "It's okay. I just want to wait 'til later. When my stomach wakes me up, if I give it some water, maybe it'll let me go back to sleep."

"Oh." Dean put away the canteen and settled back, leaning his head against the wall and closing his eyes. After a minute, he said, "What are you gonna have for dessert?"

"A redhead," Sam said with a straight face.

Dean did a double take, then laughed in delight. "Any redhead in particular? Or any old redhead we happen to come across?"

Sam sighed in happy reminiscence. "There was this girl my first year in Stanford, before I met Jess. She sat a few rows ahead of me in English literature. She used to wear these tight black sweaters. Drove me crazy."

Dean opened his mouth.

"And before you ask," Sam cut in, "No, I never asked her out."

"How come?"

Sam shrugged. "I hadn't been there that long. Wasn't really all that comfortable talking with strangers." He gave Dean a wry grin. "Even hot redheads." He nudged Dean. "Come on. What are you having for dessert?"

"A blonde, a brunette and a redhead," Dean answered, waggling his eyebrows a la Groucho.

They laughed together, then a muted roar from outside ripped through the cave and they went quiet, listening to see if the sound would come any closer.

Dean felt Sam shudder against him. "He can't get in here, kiddo."

"I know." Sam tried to smile. "Sorry."

"No need to apologize, baby brother. Bastard gave me a few bad moments, too." Dean grinned wryly at him. "Man, what I wouldn't give for a rocket launcher!"

Sam's smile was a little more real this time. "I hear that!"

"Fucker's aren't nearly as much fun in real life as they are in the movies." Dean said, listening to another roar. This time it was definitely further away. They both relaxed.

"Let's get some sleep." Dean pulled Sam up against him. "Maybe we'll be gone in the morning."

They curled up against each other, combining their warmth against the dank chill of the cave.

"What do you miss most?" Sam asked quietly.

"My baby. You?"

"Hot baths."

"Oh, yeah," Dean groaned. "And cold beer."

"Soft beds."

"Zeppelin. Pie."

Sam sighed.

"I'll tell you one thing, Sammy." Dean said a little while later.

"What?" Sam said sleepily.

"Never watching those damned 'Jurassic Park' movies ever again."

"Me either."

"Freaking witches. Freaking dinosaurs."

CHAPTER FIVE

We were there longer than the jumps before. More than a week. All we could think about food. Cheeseburgers and French fries and steak and mashed potatoes and green beans and hot dogs and mac and cheese and pie, lots of freaking pie, topped with a ton of ice cream and whipped cream and more cheeseburgers and roast turkey with stuffing and more mashed potatoes with a boatload of gravy.

God, Bobby, we were so freaking HUNGRY! If we could've killed that bastard T-Rex, we would've roasted his ass and eaten him whole!

The next place was better. A LOT better. Think we ended up there by mistake, though. I mean, come on, who sends a man to a brothel as a punishment?

Dean yawned into the mouth of the young woman seated on his lap. She stiffened. "Am I boring you?"

He smiled an apology and kissed her lightly, brushing a wispy curl away from her face. "Sorry, Vi. Didn't get a lot of sleep last night."

"Tell me about it!" Violet snorted. "Lucky came in last night with some of his boys; kept half the girls busy till morning." She canted her head sideways, studied Dean. "Good job you weren't here. He don't half hate your guts."

He shrugged indifferently. "So?"

"So, people Lucky Luciano doesn't like have a bad habit of gettin' bumped off!" she said tartly. "What's his beef with you, anyway?"

"No clue." Dean shrugged. "Guess he just doesn't like my face."

"It's a nice face." Violet sighed. "Fine, keep your secrets." She gave him another little kiss, snuggled deeper into his lap. "So where were you last night?"

"With my brother, over at Stella Star's." He saw Violet's face fall and chucked her teasingly under the chin. "Hey, come on, sweet face. We were just playing cards."

"Why couldn't you play here?" she asked sulkily.

"Polly." Dean's smile was sardonic. "She knew Lucky was coming, wanted me out of the way."

Violet snorted. "I think she just wants you for herself." There was more than a touch of jealousy in her tone.

"Don't worry, baby, she's not my type." He kissed her, swiftly but thoroughly, then stood, placed her onto her own feet. "Gotta get going. Need to get some shut-eye. I'm on duty tonight."

"Sam, too?"

"Yeah. You got something going with my baby brother?"

She giggled. "Well, he is awfully easy on the eyes, but no. I was thinking Polly might like him. Give her something to think about besides you."

Dean had to laugh at the thought of Sam cuddling up next to the tough as nails madam. "Don't say anything like that to Polly, Vi. If she makes a play for Sam, he'll head for the hills."

"Want to get together tonight after work, lover?"

Giving her a casual kiss, he said, "Sounds good" and headed for the stairs and bed, whistling cheerfully.

Watching him spring lightly up the stairs, Violet went reluctantly to the door leading to the parlor; after Dean's kiss she was more reluctant than ever to go to work.

One of her regulars was due soon, old Judge Corso. Eighty if he was a day. Fat, with hair curling out of his ears and breath that stank of rotten teeth.

Going from Dean to the arms of that old goat – Violet sighed. Just think of the money, she told herself. A few more years of old goats and she'd have enough saved up to start a house of her own.

Then she could choose who she lay with.

Young men. Young good-looking men with strong, smooth bodies and kisses to drive her crazy. Men like Dean . . .

Of course, it wouldn't be Dean. Not for long, at least. He wouldn't be around that long. Firecrackers like him never were. He'd leave, and take his studly brother with him.

Violet entered the parlor, kissed the judge on the cheek, and thought about the money.

That evening . . .

Sam stood watching in the corner of the parlor, making sure that none of the "gentleman callers" got nasty with the girls.

Most of them didn't.

If they got shirty, he'd clear his throat and give them the evil eye. They'd calm down pretty quick. Those that didn't calm down, because of booze or whatever dope they were slamming, well, he was big enough, strong enough, to get them out of the house.

And Dean was always around if more muscle was needed.

Dean.

Sam sighed at the thought of his brother.

Dean fit in well here. Too well.

Like in that prison they'd been in for a few days back in – where, Green River? – his sibling blended in seamlessly, as if he'd been made for the place, and the time.

Not that Dean wanted to stay, of course. No, he wanted to get back to their own century just as much as Sam did. It was just that Dean had a talent for fitting in, no matter where he was.

Sam broke off from his thoughts long enough to break up an argument between two drunks over who got to go with dark-haired little Janine first (flipping a coin settled that) and decline, as graciously as he could, invitations from three separate ladies to join them after the night's work was done.

Then back in position in the corner, Sam settled back into his brood.

The romance of the roaring twenties was a big pile of crap. The place where they'd been dumped – New York City – was just as big a dump as most of the other places the damned witch had dumped them in.

The city, at least this part of it, was filthy. Most of the people were worse than dirt poor, thugs and murderers were revered, cops were crooked and life was goddamn cheap.

All he wanted to do was get back to a place that made sense to him. His life might not have been perfect back in his own century – hell, most of it had sucked – but it was familiar. It was what he knew.

Damn it - he just wanted to go home!

The doorbell rang and he heard the babble of voices as a group of men came in.

They didn't pause at the parlor, simply passed by, and then went straight upstairs. One of them looked in as he passed and Sam recognized Lucky Luciano. Then the gangster passed out of sight and continued upstairs.

Brought out of his comfortable brood by the arrival of the gangster, Sam shifted uneasily in his place.

Dean was upstairs, getting ready to come on shift.

Luciano was upstairs.

Not good.

Sam had recognized Luciano's name when he first met him. He was a notorious gangster, and a close friend of the madam here, Polly Adler. The hot-tempered Luciano had gotten into a tiff with Dean their second day here and the two had nearly come to blows

Sam sighed. Only his brother could manage to put himself in mortal danger from a notorious killer five minutes after meeting the man.

Not that Sam didn't think his brother could handle Luciano on his own, but the creep didn't fight his own battles. His rabid pack would be in on it as well.

Sam hurried for the stairs.

Dean stepped out of his room, hands expertly straightening his tie. As he went toward the stairs, one of the doors opened and a large hand reached out, grabbed him by the shoulder and tugged him inside, slamming the door behind him.

Pulling away from the man who'd pulled him inside the pleasure room, Dean looked around the room at the five men standing in a circle around him. They reeked of booze and sex.

His eyes stopped at a familiar sneering face and he snorted. "Hey, Lucky," he drawled contemptuously. "See you brought back-up this time."

Luciano smirked. "They're just here in case your brother decides to butt in." He flexed his muscles. "I don't need any help with you."

"Oh, yeah?" Dean grinned and sent his fist flying into Luciano's jaw, sending the man flying back against the wall and then down to the floor.

Holding his jaw, Luciano stared angrily up at Dean.

"You sure about that?" Dean asked cockily.

Luciano's lip curled contemptuously and he flicked a glance at one of his men. "Get him!"

Sam heard the sounds of battle as he started up the stairs and he broke into a run.

Coming into the upstairs hallway, he saw a couple of girls and their customers standing a little ways down, gawking at a door from behind which he could hear crashing and angry shouts.

He couldn't hear Dean, but his brother had to be in there. No one could piss people off as fast and hard as Dean could.

In a few quick strides Sam was kicking the door open.

Inside, there were two men unconscious on the floor and two other men holding Dean's arms with Luciano plowing a heavy fist into Dean's stomach.

With a growl, Sam plunged forward and grabbed the surprised gangster by the back of the neck, flinging him, head first and hard, into the wall.

The gangster out for the count, Sam faced the men holding Dean and kicked one of them in the balls.

The man screamed, or tried to, and collapsed to the floor, leaving Dean, a little pale and pissed as hell, to take out the remaining man with a swift right cross.

Everybody was out cold but the Winchesters. And the guy Sam had kicked in the balls. But he didn't look like he was going to be any trouble any time soon.

"You okay?" Sam asked.

Dean nodded, holding his stomach. "Yeah, he only got a couple of shots in." He looked at Luciano. "What an asshole."

"Yeah, well, he'll come with a gun next time."

"Time to split, I guess," Dean said resignedly.

"Unless you're impervious to tommy guns."

"Nah, not so much."

"Jesus H. Christ!" Polly Adler burst into the room, staring aghast at the gangsters lying in various stages of collapse around the room. "What the hell did you do?"

Dean shrugged apologetically. "Sorry, boss. He kinda asked for it."

"Damn it! Always with the mouth!" Smacking Dean in the head as she went by, Polly went to Luciano and checked him out. He was unconscious and his head bloody, but he'd live.

Rising, Polly glared at them, hands on hips. "You idiots. Do you know what he's going to do to you?"

Dean hazarded a guess. "Uh, kill me?"

"Yeah, genius, kill you! But not right away," Polly said acerbically. "He's going to want to play with you first, and not in a good way." Shaking her head, she pointed to the door. "Get the hell out of my house."

"Can we have our pay, first?" Sam asked.

Luciano stirred, groaning and Polly shook her head. "Sorry, boys, no time for that. You need to go."

Sam and Dean didn't move, just stared at her, waiting.

Muttering under her breath, Polly pulled a tattered little purse out of her pocket and pulled out a few bills. "Now. Go."

The Winchesters went to their rooms and got their few possessions together, then swiftly went downstairs. They could hear the sounds of men groaning to life in the pleasure room and knew they were running out of time.

Violet caught them at the front door, tears rolling down her face. "Dean!"

Dean caught her in a hard hug. "Sorry, Vi. Gotta go."

Violet had tears rolling down her cheeks and a fat roll of bills in her fist. "I know, baby. Here, take this. You gotta get out of town."

"Violet . . . " Dean gently kissed away her tears. "Sweetheart, I appreciate that, but you keep that. We've got plenty." He tucked the bills down the front of her dress and looked at Sam, nodding toward the door.

With a speaking glance – hurry - Sam went outside.

Dean could hear Luciano shouting upstairs. He took Violet's face into his hands and looked into her eyes.

"Vi, you're too good for a place like this. You need to get out of here, go home to your family."

"But I hate Oklahoma!" Violet choked back a sob.

"I know, but . . . Listen, Vi, money's gonna start getting real tight around here in a few years. Save up all you can and get the hell out of here. I mean it, go to Oklahoma, or to your sister in Pennsylvania."

"I don't understand – " she protested.

"Just trust me, okay? Get the hell out of New York. You don't want to turn into Polly, do you?" Dean kissed her one last time. "I gotta go. Take care of yourself, Violet."

With a last, regretful look, he slipped out the door.

OOOOOOOOOO

We've been here almost two months, Bobby, and we're starting to get a little freaked out that this might be our last stop. That's why we wrote all this down, so you'll know what happened.

We'll do what Samuel Colt did, take it to some company we know is still around in your time.

If we don't get back, know that you're the closest thing to a father we've ever had. Dad wouldn't like to hear that, but it's the truth.

Hope this isn't good-bye.

Dean

Sam

Bobby dropped the notebook to the desk and slowly slumped forward, burying his face in his hands.

CHAPTER SIX

Sam woke. It was cold. And they were outside. Which meant they'd jumped again. He steeled himself against hope and reached a hand out to wake his brother.

"Dean. We jumped again."

Dean groaned and rolled over onto his back, staring up at the sky. "Why can't we ever wake up in a nice, warm bed?"

"Cause that's not how Winchesters roll," Sam said. "At least it's not raining. Or snowing."

"If this is another speech to count my blessings, I don't want to hear it," Dean answered grouchily. "The only thing that's gonna make me feel better is waking up in a century where I can get a cheeseburger without someone trying to kill me."

"Are you kidding? You've never had that!"

"Damn it, you know what I mean! I just wanna go home."

Sam was silent for a minute. "I know. Me, too."

Dean sat up, stared around. "Pretty close to dawn."

"Yeah."

"Soon as it's light enough, we'll take a look around, see what's what."

"You hungry?"

"Nah," Dean answered. "I ate right before bed last night. We don't want to waste our provisions, not until we find out where we are."

Provisions, Sam thought wearily. A couple pockets full of biscuits, raisins, beef jerky and a few apples. "Yeah, okay."

They sat waiting for the dawn. As it approached, the birds started their early morning clamor.

"When we get back," Dean said, staring at the branches above them. "I'm never getting up before dawn again. I don't want to hear one of these cheerful freaking buggers ever again."

Sam stiffened. "Dean. What – what the hell is that?"

"What?"

"That." Sam pointed into the shadows of the surrounding trees.

"I don't see anything," Dean said, peering intently.

A woman's voice came out of the darkness. "I'm pretty sure he's talking about me."

Both Winchesters jumped to their feet, knives instantly in hand.

A ball of light, about a foot in diameter, appeared above them. In the reflected light a woman appeared, floating in a seating position, legs crossed, about seven feet off the ground.

They recognized her instantly as the witch that had sent them on their slingshot trip through time. The witch they'd tried to kill.

Instinctively, Dean took a step forward, raising his knife.

"You sure you want to do that?" the witch asked acidly. "You really want to go on another little trip?" She glowered at him, eyes opalescent fire, until he dropped the knife. Sam followed suit.

"About damned time you started being smart." she said. "Your problem, boys, is that you're too quick on the draw. You hear the word witch and decide it equates with evil."

Dean opened his mouth and Sam punched his arm, hard. "Shut up!" he hissed.

Rubbing his arm, Dean glared at him and then turned his attention back to the witch, who was watching them calmly.

"If I were evil, I'd have teleported you into a volcano, not sent you on a vacation."

"Some freaking vacation!" Dean spat angrily.

"I was right there with you. You were never in any real danger," she said with a dismissive wave.

Dean sputtered in protest, so outraged he couldn't even get the words out.

"We were almost eaten!" Sam said explosively.

She laughed. "That t-rex did have some quick on him, didn't he?" A sigh escaped her at the not-appreciative expressions on their faces. "You've got no one to blame but yourself. If you had bothered to ask before you tried to kill me, I'd have told you that I took care of the black witch right before you hit town."

"Why the hell would you do that? Kill another witch?" Dean curled a lip in contempt. "Stealing her –" At the look on her face, he clamped his lips shut.

"We don't need your help policing our kind, hunter." Her face was grim. "Our wheels may grind slowly, but they grind exceedingly fine."

"What do we have to do for you to let us go home?" Sam asked quietly.

Her lips curved in a smile that held very little humor.

"Think before you shoot!"

There was a brilliant flash of light and she was gone, leaving only her voice floating on the air.

"Don't make me rethink that volcano, boys."

OOOOOOOOOO

Bobby jerked awake. He lay still on the couch for a minute, trying to figure out what had woken him.

There was a loud knock on the door.

Bobby groaned. What now?

"Go away!"

And now an positive fusillade of crashing knocks resounding through the house, pulling him up off the couch with a homicidal scowl on his face, dumping the spiral notebook onto the floor.

"Balls!"

He flung the door open and stopped, mouth hanging open, eyes wide with shock.

Dean Winchester was standing on his front porch, a wide grin on his face, Sam beaming happily beside him.

At the pole-axed expression on his foster father's face, Dean burst out laughing. "Hey, Bobby! What's for breakfast?"

Bobby closed his mouth, opened it again. Nothing came out. With an incoherent bellow he stepped forward and scooped both boys into his arms.

"Idjits!"