Title: Nothing and Everything

Part Two: Retribution

Chapter 35

~~~~~~~~~~

When they were all settled in Lacey’s small living room, with beers and a bowl of chips that she’d put together, Lacey sighed. “I’ll start at the beginning. I met Bill Harvelle in a biker bar.” Her smile hinted at fond memories. “He’d been traveling for days, hair all wild and a good growth of beard, yet there was something about him. Some hunters have that appeal, you know?”

Sam looked at Dean, puzzled. A lot of hunters were in need of a shower and clean clothes when they blew into town. Dean shrugged.

Lacey must have seen Sam’s puzzled look, for she quirked a brow. “Or, maybe you don’t. I was looking to check back in with the hunting community and he was convenient at first, a new contact in a field that had changed since the last time I’d looked in on it. Through him, I met Aaron, then Neal and Patricia. They were close, all of them, though I got the feeling part of Neal and Aaron’s friendship was mostly to thumb their noses at their parents. There was some sort of rivalry between the Campbell family and the Bennett family, one that had started a long time before then.”

“We knew about the rivalry.” Sam took a drink of his beer, then set it on one coaster on the coffee table. He’d taken it to be polite and put her at ease, not to actually drink it himself.

“It was a silly thing when I finally learned the details, something about a missing piece of parchment that the Bennetts accused the Campbells of stealing and the Campbells denied ever doing that…. I digress, however, and I think I need to go a bit further back. Quite a bit actually.” She relaxed back against the couch cushions, crossing her legs and resting her beer bottle against her knee. “A long time ago, I aided a couple hunters in trapping the soul stealer, or soul eater as he’s known in some regions.”

“It’s the same creature?” That was something they’d speculated about.

“Yes. One and the same. We’re talking centuries ago and the location was approximately Siberia. It’s not where he originated, only where we ran him down.”

“The ritual,” Dean prodded.

She shook her head. “I’ll get to that and you’ll understand why I don’t just tell you what I know about it. The first box was transported all over Europe for centuries. For awhile, the Roman Catholic Church even had it, but their involvement, and how it was retrieved, is a story all on it’s own.”

Sam swallowed his inquiry on that, though it was a tantalizing tidbit of information. He suspected she could be easily distracted in past events. “Did you give the hunters the symbols and words?”

“No. They already had those. I’d been rendered powerless by Michael long before this incident. The box was opened in Italy over a century later and when the soul stealer was returned to the box, an enterprising hunter added to the spell, and brought the box to Spain, where he was freed again when a carriage accident smashed the box. A new one was made, he was captured and gradually, his prison was brought to this country.”

“And every time it’s been Campbell kin putting him back under?”

“Bloodline, if not name. The original hunters took an oath. Oaths were a big thing for many centuries, unlike now, where men swear oaths they don’t mean and renege at the drop of a hat. They promised to remain vigilant and take care of the threat if he was released. Then the Bennett and Harvelle lines were added in later incidents, joining forces to take care of him.”

“He goes after the bloodlines?” Shifting in his seat, Dean leaned forward, forearms on his knees. Sam could tell that Dean’s thoughts were racing over the information just as fast as his were, trying to put it all together in something that made complete sense.

“Out of revenge for them having bound him from my understanding. He’s a bloodthirsty creature.”

“The ones who bind him, does it have to be people from those bloodlines?” Dean asked the question before Sam could. “Or can it be any old hunter who has the information?”

She frowned, teeth grazing her lower lip. “I don’t know. I’ve never heard that it has to be those of that bloodline every time, merely that if your bloodline ever had a hand in binding him, he’d eventually hunt you or your descendants down…and it’s playing out.”

“What do you mean?” Dean also set his bottle down, mostly untouched.

“Well…. I keep my ear to the supernatural world a bit more these days. Events the past decade have made that a wise decision. I heard about what he did to the Leshie that helped a century ago. And the Lugat? Helped as well. He’s settling old scores and said as much to me when he had me down on the ground trying to rip my vessel’s soul from me. He seemed so certain that he had all the time in the world to deal with all of us, a far cry from the last few times he tried to kill me.”

Sam perked up at that. “But you’re obviously unharmed and have remained unharmed. He couldn’t take the soul and even ran away without killing you. Why is that?”

She drew in a deep breath. “Because the souls of filled angelic vessels are out of bounds for him. They’re the only souls he can’t take as food. I may not count myself as an angel and heaven may not either, but I have enough of the power remaining to keep my vessel’s soul safe. Watchers were angels just like the rest of them, with a need for a vessel when on earth. My vessel’s soul is still with me, though I can barely feel her there.” Her gaze lowered briefly to the table. “Another bit of Michael’s judgment on me. He found it highly important that I remember she was there.”

“Does that rule about filled vessels stretch to archangel vessels?”

“Perhaps, but there aren’t any filled archangel vessels that I know of. I heard about Gabriel, Michael, and Raphael. That’s all of them. I mourned for them, especially Michael and Gabriel.” Her attention slid over to Sam. “However, a strong will seems to repel him. Aaron had a strong will. He had to have to go up against his father over the years. The two fought like crazy over everything. Two opinionated men….” Lacey set her beer bottle on the table. “I’m sorry, I don’t know the rules for archangel vessels, if they can be taken when not filled or not. I’m not ‘in the know’ you understand. Anyway, he killed Bill’s parents, then came for me. I left. End of my story.”

A sliver of annoyance pierced Sam. “And the ritual? What do you know about it?”

“I know that even if I told you the original form, you couldn’t use it. It was changed every time it was used, hunters improving it, making it stronger by this word and symbol or that herb. It’s virtually unrecognizable from the original form.”

He drew out the pictures they had and handed them to her, along with a marker. “Circle anything you don’t know, or what’s changed.”

She took them and spread the pictures on the table. “You’re serious.”

“Damn serious,” Dean told her.

As she studied the pictures, her face paled. “The symbols here, here, and here.” She circled them carefully.

“Yes?” Sam leaned forward somewhat eagerly, hoping they were about to have confirmation of what they’d suspected for awhile now.

“They’re an ancient language most humans know little of called Enochian. This particular form is the oldest Enochian I’ve ever seen. I’m not sure what the symbols mean exactly.”

Dean smiled. “Thanks for the confirmation.”

“Can you guess for us?”

Her glance up at Sam was honest and open. “I can try, but my translation may be very off. Like I said, they’re ancient and changed from the original symbols and it’s been a very long time since I’ve read Enochian at all.”

“There was Enochian on the original?” Implying that someone had gone further back, perhaps for more power.

“Yes, of course. The symbols were one of the things we weren’t supposed to share. Men were supposed to come up with their own ways to deal with him and we interfered. You could even say our symbols made him more powerful when he was inevitably released.”

Dean held up a hand, suspicion in his eyes. “Are you telling me you guys are responsible for him being that soul munching machine he is today? That without your Enochian symbols he would’ve maybe eaten a couple people every now and then and been good?”

“Yes. That’s what I’m saying.” She sat up straight. “I did say Michael was right to discipline us, Dean. The passing of time has shown to me how our actions changed the balance. We were wrong and I’ve been trying to help on this issue ever since.”

“Once more, you angels make the mess and we have to clean it up.” He looked at Sam. “Can I kill the bitch, Sam?”

“No.” Though this information annoyed him as much as it did Dean. “The translation, Lacey?”

“The originals gave the ritual enough power to bind him and keep him bound, yet when he was released, he had to pass through the remnants of that power. These look like protection symbols almost, wards, the sort that can keep out demons and other creatures. They’re power symbols certainly, I’m just unsure what they do.” Her voice faltered as she spoke. “I’m sorry, I don’t know. If I did know, it’s one of the things Michael made me forget.”

“And the rest of the symbols?”

She circled two more symbols. “These are new from the last incarnation of the spell and I’ve never seen them before. Do you have the spoken part of the spell with you?”

Sam brought out a final paper from his jacket and handed it to her. “That’s what we’ve got so far.”

With the marker, she circled two words and drew arrows to different places in the order. “These two go here and here.” Four more words were circled. “These weren’t in the last incarnation of the spell either. Aaron must have added them and those symbols.” She hesitated, finger touching a picture of the smashed box lid. “What’s this dark spot on the lid? Was it paint, dirt, grease?”

“We don’t know. Could’ve been old blood maybe.” It was another thing they’d been speculating on, whether that smudge was intentional or an accident and what it could be. Sam’s mind kept going back to the idea of it being old blood.

“I’ll circle it anyway. You did say anything different.”

Though they prodded further, that was all she could tell them, which was a sight more than what they’d had. They now knew what they needed to focus on.

She got up and returned with a fresh beer for herself, not appearing concerned that they’d barely touched their beers. “I’m going to guess you want to know about them all now.”

“If you could.” Dean sat back. He was a bit more relaxed now that their main business was finished. “We don’t know many people who really knew them.”

“The only ones we know of have a parental bias.”

“Okay. Neal and Patty Campbell. They were very in love. It was one of the first things anyone noticed about them. Neal came from a long line of hunters and Patty did, too. They were extremely loyal. Bill was good at the job and carefree…until his parents died, and Aaron….” She sat down, her gaze suddenly gone intense like Castiel’s did, the green of her eyes super bright. “It’s him you really want to know about right now. The others are peripheral.”

How did she know that? Was it the last tiny bit of angel in her that told her?

“Aaron was smart and attractive, arrogant yet sweet, and trouble.”

“Trouble? How so?” Did she mean in a bad way?

She laughed, features relaxing into a smile. “Oh, I didn’t mean it to sound bad! Aaron was just so curious about everything. If he got an idea, he’d research it to death. He’d look into anything, like he didn’t comprehend the danger to himself. Even when Bill’s parents were killed, I don’t think he realized he was in danger. Fearless, I guess is what I’m trying to say. He was fearless.”

Not entirely true according to his journals. Aaron Bennett had suffered from some fears, but he’d done the jobs anyway. Sam realized that they already had an understanding of Aaron that this woman didn’t have.

“He knew more about esoteric lore than most humans and had the smarts to remember it. It came in handy. He loved the job, loved that he was helping people.”

Sam glanced at Dean. Would Aaron have changed his tune as the years had gone by? Would he, like they, have gone through a long period of dissatisfaction before finally finding the enjoyment of the life again? If he’d lived through Mia’s attack, would he have begun to feel discouraged by that? Or would having Gwen with him have bolstered him, gotten him through rough times?

“But he could be a know-it-all jerk. It sort of goes with the intellect I think. When did he die?”

“Early eighties.”

“How old was his daughter?”

“About a month.”

Sadness crossed her face. “I’m sorry he didn’t live to see her grow up. I think having a family would have matured him in a way he needed.”

They talked for awhile longer, but Lacey was done giving out information. She made references to watching all of her human friends die around her and wished them luck in stopping the soul stealer.

“You could actively help us,” Sam suggested.

“I’ve given all the help I can. I’m obsolete in regards to him.”

If Aaron had made all those changes, Sam thought she was right. She was obsolete and they were still on their own.

~~~~~~~~~~

Talking with Lacey had taken some of the tension from Dean. While they still really had a big pile of nothing, they had less of a pile of it than before and Sam kept telling him they were making progress even when it didn’t seem like it. Their soul stealer board had spilled across onto the second half of the cork wall and was starting to bleed onto other walls, too. He supposed it was a good thing. It meant that they were getting closer to being ready to face him. Once that happened, they’d have to find him, though Dean suspected he was going to find them. It was always what seemed to happen, usually before they were ready.

Getting up, he went to the wall, studying the ritual pieces and the corrections they’d made. He’d be glad when they got this mother contained again and could devote energy to other things.

Turning, he moved a newspaper and spied some charts beneath it that didn’t look familiar. Picking them up, Dean studied them. For a moment, he couldn’t make heads or tails of any of it, but then he understood, eyes widening with disbelief. No. It couldn’t be. Yet the more he looked at it the more he was certain what he was seeing. The span of charts was from mid-October to now, mid-January. He slid a speculative glance Sam’s way and laid the charts down, suppressing a grin. He was right, he knew he was. Sam tilted his chair back a fraction further, deeply engrossed in the book he held. When the chair was in the most precarious position, balanced on the back legs, Dean asked as casually as possible, “You got Gwen knocked up yet?”

He was rewarded with Sam and the chair going over backwards with a yell from Sam as he lost his balance. Sam hit the floor hard, his head only inches from the wall. Items on the bookshelves rattled and Sam groaned.

Gwen, then Jo appeared on the stairs. They appraised the situation at a glance, Jo rolling her eyes and heading back downstairs without saying anything. Gwen came up the rest of the way and stood at the top of the stairs, her hand on the railing. “You okay,” she asked, concern in her voice.

“Uh-huh,” Sam managed to gasp out before sucking in a wheezing breath.

“I told him not to lean that chair back like that.” Actually, he’d never said that and tended to lean chairs back that way himself. Dean studied her, searching for anything different about her that might indicate their efforts had been successful already. She didn’t look any different, no weight gain or ‘glowing’ look about her that Jo had claimed was just extra perspiration.

“Right. Okay.” She left them alone and when Dean heard the door at the bottom of the stairs shut, he sat down and waited for Sam to get off the floor.

“Tell me she knows.”

“Of course she knows.” Sam righted the chair and sat down. “How did you know? We’re not telling anyone we’re trying.”

“I am a trained investigator.” Picking up the charts, he laid them in front of Sam.

He sighed. “I should have thrown those away.”

“How long you been seriously talking kids with her?”

“Awhile.”

“Awhile? How long is that? One month? Two?” He indicated the charts with a hand.

“Since about Christmas.”

Dean nodded. “I see.” Yet the charts were for two months before Christmas.

“It seemed like time,” Sam said, avoiding his eyes.

“Sure.”

“I mean, she can’t have vessels. Cas already said that.”

Rather than try to drag any further explanation from him, Dean went with one-word answers and grunts, letting Sam say what he wanted without prodding. “Mmm.”

“And I talked to him about, you know, about me. He said it’ll be okay, that any kids will be fine.”

Sam said it like he thought it was a lie. Maybe it was. For Sam’s sake, he hoped Castiel hadn’t lied. “Uh-huh.”

He went quiet, then crossed his arms on the table, the subject shifting abruptly. “Dean, something’s up with Cas. When we were talking…. He said he’d meant to tell me before that he was sorry she got hurt and he’s glad she’s okay now. I thought Cas was concerned about Gwen, but the wording, the way he said it has been bugging me. He said he was sorry she ‘had to be hurt’. Like it was part of some plan. That make sense to you?”

Dean crossed his arms on the table as well. He’d refrained from talking about the events that had led to Gwen’s extended hospital stay, not wanting to bring it all back for Sam or Gwen, but maybe it was time to do just that. “It may have been. Think about it.”

“About?”

“The pieces.” Getting up, he found the notebook he’d been keeping all of his thoughts on the subject in and opened it. He began to lay it out for Sam, those things he’d noticed, all those jagged edges that fit together far too smoothly. “I think we were all manipulated, especially Gwen.”

“By Cas?”

“I don’t know. I don’t think he’s got that kind of power, to make all of that line up, nor do I see him manipulating us willingly. He may be running the place, but he sure didn’t get a power boost up to Michael’s levels and I think it’d take those sort of levels or higher to coordinate all that.”

“What’re you thinking then, if not Cas?”

He flipped pages, looking at all of the information, some even things he wasn’t sure were connected. “Who do we know that’s concerned with natural order and manipulates people like pawns on a damn chess board?”

Sam looked away and sighed. “Death. Wonderful. Just what we need.”

“Exactly. Cas never did elaborate on New Heaven, but since Death was far more powerful than any of the angels, needed binding to do Lucifer’s bidding, and is now loose? I’ll bet you a crisp new hundred that he’s the one pulling the strings this time, working things out to whatever is in his plan.” If it was Death, he was probably still manipulating matters.

“So you think Cas is a pawn too?”

“It wouldn’t surprise me. That nerdy little angel may have won the war, but I think he can still be bullied by Death and anything else higher than he is.”

The plan was to talk to Cas, but just like last time, he didn’t answer. It was frustrating when he did that. Dean made a resolution to discuss that tendency with him when he finally did show up.

A few days later, as he and Sam were watching tv, Jo dropped a couple file folders between them on the couch. She had Jack propped on one hip. He was playing half-heartedly with a ring of car keys that Dean thought looked rather like his.

“What’re these,” Dean asked, picking up the top folder.

Sam picked up another one and opened it.

Gwen leaned on the couch. “Doppelganger in Tennessee.”

“Disembodied voices in New Hampshire and gremlins in Iowa.”

Dean glanced back at Jo. “The cars?”

She rolled her eyes. “There’s…something…on…the wing of the plane!” Jo delivered the line in a passable Shatner, albeit in a higher voice.

“Oh, those sort of gremlins.”

“Yeah, smartass. Those sort of gremlins. Looks like it might be an infestation even.”

Gwen came around the couch and sat on the arm of it beside Sam. “Last sign of an infestation was eighty years ago.”

“Hibernation period?” Sam flipped pages. “Could be a nest just woke up or eggs that hatched.”

While the last thing Dean wanted to do was investigate airplanes, Sam had that look in his eyes…and was reaching for his iPad to start actual research.

“So?” Jo’s brows rose.

“So what?”

“Get packed.”

Dean slid down on the couch a little, stretching his legs out. “Disembodied voices could be something.” He held up his hands. “Let me have him. Come to daddy, buddy.”

Jo eased Jack down to him. It was obvious it was nearly nap time, as Jack snuggled right down against his chest, letting go of the ring of keys to curl his hands around the fabric of Dean’s shirt. He yawned and sighed, going boneless and limp in seconds.

“The voices are probably man-made. They usually are.” Sam made a grunting noise, busy at his task now.

“But the doppelganger….” Dean wiggled a foot.

“Gremlins, Dean. We’ve never looked into actual gremlins before. This is an opportunity. We’re taking it.”

“Bump it to Sophie. Give her something to keep her mind off Mick a little.”

“Give her the disembodied voices,” Gwen suggested. “Her dad went back to Alaska so she’s on her own.”

Chris had decided there was nothing he could do for Sophie and, while he loved her, being around her the way she was now hurt. She wasn’t the same daughter he’d raised and it had hit him hard. Dean could relate. Dealing with Sam when he’d been fully soulless had been horrible. He wondered how much worse it was for a parent to witness that sort of behavior. Sophie wasn’t completely without her soul, but the difference in her was enough to be obvious.

“Sounds like a plan,” Sam said.

“Sam.” Dean rolled his head on the couch cushion to look at him.

Sam pointed at him. “New experiences.”

“Like I haven’t had enough new experiences in the past year? Feeding a baby, clothing a baby, bathing --”

“On the job, Dean.”

“Oh. Those sort of new experiences.” He looked at Jo. “Gremlins it is.”

Three days later, Sam pushed the last bite of chicken around his plate an announced in an almost guilty tone, “I don’t think it’s gremlins.”

Glancing up from the remains of his greasy meatloaf, Dean wondered if he should take antacid now or wait until the indigestion already evident really reached a fever pitch. He should’ve gotten a burger. The bun would’ve soaked up the grease much better than the tiny stale dinner roll he’d gotten with his meal. “You got me all excited for gremlins and now you’re telling me it’s not gremlins?”

“Yeah.” He handed over the iPad. “Take a look at that. It’s a local legend, a forgotten local legend at that. I got a vague story from a girl at the library and she gave me that link.”

The page wasn’t long and took seconds to read. “You think it’s a ghost?”

“Maybe.”

“The ghost of an engineer who went postal.”

“Could be.”

“Okay. I’d buy that if it was just the airplanes that he did work with, but it’s the cars, trains, buses. If it has a battery and travels it’s not working.” Including his Impala. Poor baby, stuck at the motel while he and Sam had to hoof it all over town. They were both getting blisters. Dean snapped his fingers. “I got it. It’s Horace Pinker.”

Sam stared at him a beat and shoved his plate to the side, abandoning the last couple bites of green beans and potato. “I weep sometimes for your taste in movies.”

“What? Shocker is a classic.”

“In your opinion.”

“Fine Ebert. Gwen liked it.”

“She may have been on the other end of the call last night as you and Jo synchro-watched the movie, but that doesn’t mean she liked it.”

“She said she did.”

“In a sarcastic tone.”

“No.”

“Yeah. She didn’t like it.”

“How did I miss that?”

“Probably because Jo was saying things to you that were completely inappropriate for speakerphone.”

Dean grinned at the memory. “They were wildly inappropriate, weren’t they?”

“I needed ear bleach.”

“What do you think of the concept though? Could it apply here?” He shoved his own plate aside.

“Of course it could. You know that.”

“Then let’s take a closer look at that engineer.”

He flipped a few bills on the table, paid the check on the way out, and headed towards the town hall. There had to be some sort of record of the engineer somewhere.

~~~~~~~~~~

As with Dean’s usual closer looks, this one ended in salting and burning bones and Dean and Sam both getting thrown around the cemetery. They’d broken into a caretaker’s shed for shovels rather than carry their own all the way from the motel and nearly gotten caught twice while digging.

Sam limped through the drugstore across the street from their motel, putting items in a basket. His left knee and ankle protested walking. They were probably both sprained. Dean had been going to call Jo while Sam was out and he dallied a few extra minutes before heading back, letting them have privacy to say whatever lovey-dovey or explicit things they wanted. He opened the door and stepped inside the room.

Dean was still in the chair he’d been in when Sam had left, sitting as straight as possible so his ribs wouldn’t hurt as much. “You think dad ever did this?”

“Did what?” Sam unpacked the bag he’d carried in. A few medical supplies and snacks. “Dealt with a rib injury?” He looked at Dean, waiting for Sam to help him with the bandage, and opened a new bandage. They needed to have a checklist for the medical kit. The elastic bandage hadn’t gotten put back in the last time it had been stocked. A little guiltily, Sam realized it had been his responsibility. What had been going on that he’d missed it?

“No.” He shook his head, hand raising his phone a little. “Sat in his motel room heartsick and worried because even if he left right that second, he’d never get wherever he’d stashed us in time to comfort his sick kid.”

Easy translation there. “Jack’s sick.”

“Oh yeah. Not a little ear infection this time. He started puking in the middle of the night, then the fever and diarrhea kicked in. Jo took him to the clinic. They said he should be fine, but if the fever doesn’t go down after ‘x’ number of hours, she should take him to the E.R..”

“We’ll be leaving soon.” He went to work wrapping Dean’s ribs, taking care not to wrap too tightly. “You give Jo the heads up about your ribs?”

“And give her something else to worry about? She’s still fussing over the healed hole in my arm and add this to Jack? No.”

“She’ll find out as soon as we walk in the door.” Dean wasn’t going to be able to drive for long in comfort or even ride in comfort. In fact, doing much of anything was going to hurt for awhile, even breathing.

“As long as she’s not worrying over me too.”

He finished and sat back. “To answer the question: yes, I think dad did this a lot. If it wasn’t me sick, it was you, or both of us. Ear infections, eye infections, colds, the flu. He did worry about us.” Time, and the lens of maturity, had brought a new clarity to Sam’s memories of John Winchester. “You know he had to have.”

One brow twitched upwards. “Yeah, sounds like I’m nothing like dad at all.”

He chuckled. “What was it Jo said once? That being like him wasn’t necessarily a bad thing? He did the best he could in a series of bad situations? You’re doing all you can, Dean.”

“Doesn’t feel like enough.”

“Is Jo complaining?”

He shook his head. “Not once.”

“She’s not exactly silent, you know. If she felt like you weren’t pulling your weight, she’d say it loud and clear.” Getting to his feet, he began packing. “Besides, the last ear infection you stayed back. You’re there more than you think you are.”

“Am I now?”

“Sure. You were there for his birth and his first birthday. You were there the first time he clearly called Jo ‘mama’ and when he took those first steps.” Several staggering steps across the living room before Jack had fallen. “You’ve been there a lot. He’s a happy, social baby, unnaturally so. Kids who feel neglected aren’t like that. They draw in, even as young as he is.”

“Look who’s the child expert now? Which reminds me, how’s operation sperminate going?”

“Just fine.” He really didn’t want to talk about it and shut down the conversation as quickly as possible. He loaded the car, then got Dean in the passenger seat -- with much grumbling and complaining from Dean.

Nearly five hours passed.

“What made you decide you wanted kids after all?”

Sam glanced at Dean. The question sounded casual, but Sam knew it was merely a continuation of their earlier conversation and thought on the question as he slowed down to go through a small town. “I’ve always wanted kids. On some level anyway.”

Dean snorted, then pressed a hand to his ribs and groaned. “Damn it, I can barely move or even breathe.”

“Tell Jo yet,” he asked, though knew Dean hadn’t. He was going to hold off until Jo could see the bandage for herself.

“No. Don’t change the subject. Since when do you want kids? Last year you practically spit whenever the subject came up.”

He sped up heading out of town and when he was back at highway speed said, “I really have always wanted kids.”

“Yeah right.”

“I have,” he insisted, stretching his left leg a little to ease the growing ache there. It was true. Just because he’d had the threat of passing on demon blood hadn’t meant that want had disappeared. He’d always hoped to have kids of his own some day. Until the revelation from Castiel, it had been only a dream. Now it was possibly a reality.

“Bull. You avoided Jack for weeks. Jo had to trick you to get you to hold him. Not the behavior of a man who wants kids. Spill. What changed your mind?”

He shifted a little in the seat, not wanting to delve too deeply into this topic. “I don’t know. A lot of things, I guess. I’ve watched you and Jo with Jack for a year --”

“And watched Gwen with him. That was it, wasn’t it? She was what got you wanting kids. You saw her and that got the ball rolling in your melon.”

There was that, for sure. The sight of her holding Jack had seemed so right at times. “She does want kids and honestly, she doesn’t have too many more years left that she can have them.”

“Uh-huh.”

Dean’s non-answer said volumes and Sam sighed in resignation. “Okay, what was the bet with Jo?”

He chuckled, groaning once more on the heels of it. “Jo bet a year and a half, I bet two before you two started in on a baby.”

“Money?”

“Jo and I deal in other kinds of currency with each other, Sam, a thing I’d think you, as a married man yourself, would understand.”

“Jo won, you know.”

“Happens on occasion. I think I can deal with the consequences.”

Sam didn’t think about what those consequences were. He could guess by the cat-ate-the-cream look on Dean’s face. “We agreed to try for six months.”

“Bet you fifty she’s preggers by next month.”

“I’m not betting on when my wife will get pregnant.”

“Spoilsport.” He shifted in the seat. “You know, the first time you hold your baby, you’ll be in complete love with it.”

“So I’ve heard.” Dean had made just that remark the day Jack had been born.

“Yup.” He nodded. “The first couple days are a whole new world of experiences, some good, some…different. Then the sleep deprivation kicks in and you start having to deal with colic --”

“Jack never had colic.”

He raised a finger. “Don’t interrupt. He could’ve. Where was I? Oh yeah, the fun things. Putrid diapers, projectile vomit --”

“We deal with worse on the job.”

Dean chuckled, groaned, and pressed one arm to his ribs. “You just have to experience it, Sam. Trust me. Babies are a completely different experience. The first time you bathe your baby who has managed to completely cover himself with his own crap --”

“Way to sell fatherhood, Dean.”

His grin faded. “There’s nothing like it. You think he’s okay?”

Sam glanced at him. “I’m sure if Jo had to take him to the E.R. she would’ve called.” He pushed the pedal a little harder, like he knew Dean would do if he were driving.

~~~~~~~~~~

Dealing with a sick child wasn’t Jo’s idea of a good time, but it was necessary as a mom. She wondered if this was what it had been like for her mom and was glad when Sam called to say they were only an hour out. Jack was better, his fever broken only a few hours earlier. It had apparently been a forty-eight hour bug.

When they came though the door, Jo hugged Dean with her usual amount of joy at seeing him home alive. He made an odd noise and she leaned back, noting the way he was gritting his teeth. “Was that a pained gasp?”

“No. Why would you think that?”

Suspicious now, she hugged him again, focusing her attention on his midsection. This time he let out a yelp of pain and even panted for several seconds before drawing in a slow breath.

“Told you to tell her before we got back.” Sam finished bringing in their bags and dropped them on the floor.

“Tell me what?”

“It’s nothing,” Dean insisted.

Thoughtful, Jo reached out and yanked up his shirts, revealing his ribs wrapped in an ace bandage, or two rather, since the entire area was covered. She touched a tentative hand to his stomach. “What the hell is this?” She let the shirts drop. “And don’t say nothing.”

“Cracked ribs.” Sam accepted Gwen’s greeting, the kiss he gave her making a convincing argument that they must still be newlyweds. He lifted her against him.

“Dean? What happened?”

He grasped her arms, squeezing gently. “They’re bruised, not cracked. If they were cracked, I wouldn’t be wearing the bandage.”

Gwen leaned back from Sam long enough to comment, “Not a big difference where ribs are concerned. A lot of pain either way.”

“Did you get thrown against a wall again?” She ignored Sam and Gwen’s reunion beside her. A body would think it’d been months since they’d seen each other instead of nearly a week. They were all over each other.

“More like a few gravestones.” He said it like they were nothing.

“Just a few gravestones.” Jo wet her lips and shook her head. She knew from personal experience how much getting thrown into a single gravestone hurt, let alone more than one.

Gwen whispered something in Sam’s ear, giggled, and slid from his embrace, moving quickly towards their bedroom. Sam looked at them, “Uh…we’ll be,” he gestured at the doorway, following her, “you know,” nearly tripped over the footstool, “in there awhile.” Their door slammed behind him.

“We got the job done.”

“You’re out of commission until that heals.”

“Am not.”

“Yeah? Can you drive? Get in and out of bed without screaming? Um…breathe without it hurting?”

His mouth opened and he shrugged. “Sort of?”

She smiled with more than a little smugness. “You’re staying here and resting. I’m going out until you’re healed.”

“How am I going to lift Jack if moving hurts?”

“Sam can help you.”

When Sam and Gwen finally emerged from their room hours later, Gwen, Sam, and Jo put together a plan for the next month.