Since John was staying, they didn't leave Colorado that night like they had been planning. Instead, they stuck around so John could fill them in on his hunt for the demon.

Simply being in the room with him the next day after John had put all of his research out on the desk and up on the wall for them to see, Deja felt unwelcome, not by Dean or Sam, of course, but by John. This was their family's hunt, what they had been working on for twenty plus years, and she had never even crossed paths with this thing. In John's eyes, she had no right to be there.

But in Dean and Sam's, she did, and she had agreed to stay for Dean, at least.

Still, if she continued to be unwelcome, she might have to break that promise to stay, because she wasn't going to stay somewhere she wasn't wanted and cause trouble between the Winchesters. Not only that, but she stayed with the Winchesters because she enjoyed it, she loved being around Dean and Sam, and she felt comfortable with them. With John, that was disappearing, and if that feeling of comfort was really over, well, she'd have lost her reason to stay.

Currently, however, the feeling of comfort wasn't her priority—right now she was listening to what John had to say about his hunt for the demon, quietly looking over all the information that was pinned to the wall while John briefed the boys.

"This is everything I know. Look, our whole lives we've been searching for this demon, right? Not a trace, just…nothing. Until about a year ago. For the first time, I picked up a trail," John informed them. Dean came over to stand by the desk his father was sitting at, looking at what was spread out there.

"That's when you took off," Dean commented, and John nodded, chewing absently at his thumb.

"Yeah, that's right, the demon must have come out of hiding or hibernation."

"All right, so what's this trail you found?"

"It starts in Arizona, then New Jersey, California—houses burned down to the ground. It's going after families, just like it went after us."

"Families with infants?" Sam asked where he was standing across the room by the motel rooms little kitchen area, leaning against the counter.

"Yeah, the night of the kid's six month birthday."

Sam's eyebrows rose. "I was six months old that night?"

"Exactly six months," John answered. Deja could see Sam growing increasingly agitated, and she felt worry bubbling in her gut.

"So basically, this demon is going after these kids for some reason." Sam gave a bitter laugh of disbelief. "Same way it came for me?"

When no one answered him, Sam continued. "So, Mom's death, Jessica, it's all cause of me?"

"We don't know that, Sam," Dean said tiredly, and Sam snapped up like a suddenly uncoiled spring.

"Oh really, cause I'd say we're pretty damn sure, Dean!"

"For the last time, what happened to them is not your fault."

"Yeah, you're right, it's not my fault, but it's my problem!"

"No, it's not your problem, it's our problem!"

"Okay," John said suddenly with a calm and level voice that was a stark contrast to Sam and Dean's rising tones, getting up from the desk and effectively silencing the two boys. "That's enough."

Sam and Dean exchanged one more look, though didn't argue any further as their father had spoken. Deja watched Sam for a few moments, studying his movements, his expression.

She was going to have to try and talk to him alone later.

"So why's it doing it?" Sam asked eventually, making his way back to his spot, voice still agitated but at least he was no longer outright yelling. "What does it want?"

"I wish I had more answers, I do. I've always been one step behind it. Look, I've never gotten there in time to save…" John trailed off, unable to voice the failure out loud, to speak of the families that the demon had destroyed as it had once destroyed the Winchesters.

"All right, so how do we find it, before it hits again," Dean eventually said, steering everyone back on track and keeping the awkward silence from continuing any longer.

"There's signs. Look, it took me a while to see the pattern, but in the days before these fires, signs crop up in an area. Cattle deaths, uh, temperature fluctuations, electrical storms…"

The stronger the demon, the more ruckus in nature they tend to make in nature around the area their visiting, Deja thought, studying the natural disturbances John was talking about since that was most of the information on the wall.

"And then I went back and checked, and…"

"These things happened in Lawrence," Dean filled in when John didn't finish the thought.

"A week before your mother died," John said with a nod, turning to Sam. "And in Palo Alto…before Jessica. And these signs, they're starting again."

"Where?" Sam asked lowly.

"Salvation, Iowa."

******************************

Deja's stuff was still mostly packed, so she was done and ready to move long before the Winchesters were, taking the time to do a quick checkup on her Stingray before she simply waited, leaning against the Corvette. It didn't take long, most of the stuff still up in the room belonging to John, and soon they were all loaded up and ready to go. Before Sam could get into the Impala, though, Deja stopped him, which of course drew Dean's attention as well.

"Hey, Sam, why don't you ride with me this time—I wanna talk to you," she said with a gentle smile, earning a surprised look from Sam and a suspicious one from Dean.

"What, you trying to get Sammy alone?" Dean asked.

"Yes, Dean, I'm sorry, but I love your brother, and I want to profess my love to him with a long-winded speech," Deja said sarcastically, getting an amused snort out of Sam. "Calm down, hot stuff, you're still first in the running."

Without any clarification on that analogy, and studiously ignoring John by his truck as he observed their conversation, Deja turned back to Sam, jerking her head back towards her car. "C'mon, hop in—I'll drag you by your ear if I have to, and you know it."

"All right, I'm coming," Sam chuckled, shutting the door to the Impala and making his way around her Corvette. Dean gave him a Dude, what about me, gesture, and Sam just shrugged in answer before getting in the passenger's side of Deja's car.

Deja waited until they were on the road, taking up the rear of the three car line and pointing to the floor of the passenger's side where she had a roughly half-finished twelve pack of cherry Dr. Pepper sitting.

"There, you drink, I'll drive," she said casually. Sam rolled his eyes.

"That's a terrible joke, you know."

Deja shrugged. "Well, not all of my wisecracks can be gold."

"Right…" Sam returned, shaking his head and not picking up a can of soda. "So, you said you wanted to talk—when does the talking start?"

"Well…I was going to ease into it, but if you want to jump feet first into the conversation, it's your choice."

"Do you always beat around the bush like this?"

"I've grown used to talking with Dean—there tends to be a lot of roundabout talking with him," Deja chuckled softly before she sobered, warming up to being much more direct. "It's about what you said in the motel."

Sam frowned, thinking back to the conversation between the three Winchesters. "What part?"

"About blaming yourself for their deaths," Deja said softly, eyes riveted on the road while she let that sink in. After a few moments, she glanced at him. "I get it."

Sam snorted softly—bitterly—and looked away. "No, you don't."

"Wanna bet?" Deja asked, eyebrows raised. She kept casting her gaze from the road to Sam—since she couldn't give him full, undivided attention while driving—until he finally looked at her again, and she let him see how serious she was. "Sam, those witches that slaughtered my family all those years ago—they wanted me. So yes, I do get it. And I'm not going to tell you it's not your fault because I know that no matter what anyone says, you'll keep that blame until maybe one day you can let it go. Until then, you can't let it eat you up, you can't keep thinking about it, or that guilt will drown you."

Sam sighed, mulling over her words in silence before he spoke. "And you? Have you let it go yet?"

Deja didn't look at him, keeping her gaze forward as a long silence stretched between them before she finally answered him. "No."

"How do you do it, then? Cope, carry that blame, deal with it, whatever you want to call it?" Sam asked. Deja shrugged, knowing he was looking for advice in this area.

"Everyone's different, Sam. I've just always been good at distancing myself from emotions and people, and when that's not enough…well, I take the unhealthy route of alcohol consumption until I forget. I strongly suggest not falling into my habits and looking for another way to cope, if you can find one. Mine works for me, but it's not that great." She sighed, glancing over at the younger Winchester brother again. "Though it does help to focus the blame on the people that did it instead of the reason why they did it. I suggest starting there."

Sam swallowed, giving no verbal answer and only nodding to let her know he heard her, his brows furrowed in thought as he gazed out the window watching the scenery roll by. A thoughtful silence fell between them, and when it was clear the conversation wasn't going to be picked back up, Deja put in one of her CDs and let it fill that silence.

****************************

Just outside Salvation, Iowa, John suddenly pulled off to the side of the road, prompting their small train of cars to follow. As each car engine shut off, everyone got out of the cars, all looking to John to see what was going on.

"Damn it!" John swore, slamming the door to his truck behind him.

"What is it?" Dean asked as Sam and Deja approached, concern etched on their faces.

"Son of a bitch!" John cursed again, slamming his hand against the bed of the truck.

"What is it?" Dean repeated.

"I just got a call from Caleb."

"Is he okay?"

"He's fine—Jim Murphy's dead."

Shock fell over both boys' faces. "Pastor Jim?" Sam asked incredulously. John nodded. "How?"

"Throat was slashed, he bled out. Caleb said they found traces of sulfur at Jim's place."

"A demon," Dean said steadily, holding his father's gaze. "The demon?"

"I don't know. Could be he just…he got careless, he slipped up. Maybe the demon knows we're getting close."

"What do you want to do?"

"Now we act like every second counts. There's two hospitals and a health center in this county. We split up, we cover more ground. I want records. I want a list of every infant that's gonna be six months old in the next week."

"Dad, that could be dozens of kids. How the hell are we gonna know which one's the right one?" Sam asked, doubtful.

"We'll check them all, that's how," John answered shortly. "You got any better ideas?"

Sam shook his head. "No, sir," he said quietly.

One some unspoken command, they each started to make their way back to their cars. John stopped at the end of his truck, seemingly taking a moment to breathe.

"Dad?" Dean asked, concern laced in his tone that made Deja stop and worry for John for a few moments.

"Yeah…it's Jim," John said simply, turning back around and shaking his head. Apparently, this Pastor Jim was a close friend of the Winchesters. "You know, I can't…"

A heavy silence fell across the group, and for once, Deja saw every Winchester there vulnerable, the boys probably because they were seeing their father so vulnerable at the moment.

"This ends now. I'm ending it," John eventually said in a firm voice, a dangerous glint in his eyes. "I don't care what it takes."

Deja frowned, unable to help the concern that flashed through her at his words, watching as John went back to the truck.

Some prices…some prices were too high to pay.

*****************************

When they split, Dean and John took the two hospitals while Deja and Sam doubled up on the Salvation Medical Center, both of them doing much more damage together on the records and able to get their job done much faster.

Unfortunately, their list of soon to be six month old children was not small, though it was a start, and something they could work with.

Checking each baby each night and trying to be there in time to prevent a tragedy and catch the demon, however…Deja didn't think they could do that. They could try, but even between four hunters…it was impossible.

At least they had somewhere to start.

Walking out of the medical center and heading for where Deja parked the Corvette, Sam was looking through the names in their little notebook, looking for someone who stood out. They were almost to the street when he suddenly froze, hissing in pain and pinching the bridge of his nose like he had a migraine.

But migraines didn't come that suddenly, migraines built up over time.

"Sam?" Deja asked in concern, watching him closely. Sam didn't answer, hand moving up to his forehead as he squeezed his eyes shut, jaw clenched.

"Sam," Deja repeated, now at his side with a hand on his shoulder. He blinked a few times, rapidly, like he was trying to get some image out of his head. He looked around, still doing the same pained ticks and wiping his hand on his jeans nervously before he suddenly doubled over in pain, hands on his temples. "Sam!"

He's not…is he having a…vision? But that doesn't make sense, he's just a regular guy, why would he…He did seem pretty interested when I mentioned my psychic tendencies in Illinois, was he interested because he has them too?

Well, if it's a vision…

"Sam, deep breaths, focus…" Deja coached him, putting a hand on his head instinctively, concern etched on every line of her face. She wished she could do more than a pithy head massage to help, but they were in the middle of a crowded sidewalk, so she'd have to work with what they had. Gently, she grabbed his arm and led him away from the immediate public eye, pulling him under the shade of a tree a few paces away from the medical center. His eyes were still squeezed shut, face twisted in pain, and the occasional hiss making it past his lips, but other than that he hadn't snapped out of it yet. "C'mon…ride it out…"

Finally his eyes opened again and he let out a short gasp, the aftershocks no doubt still hurting but the worst of it over as his eyes focused on reality around him once again and Deja let her hand drop away from his head.

"A train," Sam murmured before he could even register Deja was still with him, blindly reaching for his bag.

Well, there were no trains around here, so he had to be talking about whatever he'd seen.

"A train? Where? Sam, what did you see?" Deja asked as he pulled out a map. He paused when she spoke, suddenly unsure.

"I, ah…um…" he fumbled, struggling to explain himself. Deja held up a hand to stop him.

"Let's make this easier and skip the what things you're seeing and how, skip all that background information for now, and you simply tell me what you just saw in your vision," Deja said seriously, catching his gaze. Sam looked shocked she wasn't demanding answers, but started giving her a rough explanation as he unfolded the map he'd dug out.

"There was…a nursery—a girl's nursery, there was a music box and night light with ballerinas on it—and a baby in a white crib. And a woman with dark hair in a night gown, and she was looking out a window while a train went by…a dark figure, I only saw that briefly just a few flickers…"

"You saw who the demon's going after next, didn't you," Deja asked quietly as he opened the map for both of them to look at. "It must be a house by the train tracks, then. Think you could recognize the woman or the window of we saw them?"

"Definitely," Sam replied. "Look, there's train tracks running down one side of Grace Avenue and near Violet Avenue. That train was loud enough it has to be around there."

"Then that's where we'll go. We'll take my car to the area, it'll be faster," Deja told him, already moving in the direction she parked her car while Sam delved into his thoughts—no doubt about his vision—and continued looking at the map.

Once they were in the car, Deja kept one eye on him and Sam gave directions, Deja going slow enough he could get a good look at houses they passed. She kept waiting for another episode to happen, but so far nothing.

They were in a rather densely populated urban area by the tracks when Sam suddenly grabbed at his head again, and Deja instantly pulled the car off to the side of the road near a park. "Deep breaths, Sam, tell me what you see," Deja told him, leaning over to put a hand on his shoulder and give him something to keep him semi-anchored to reality.

"The music box again," Sam narrated, eyes squeezed shut. "The woman, she's going to the window cause of the train…now she's outside the nursery going in and…there's…someone standing over the crib."

Suddenly it was over, and he simply sat in the passenger's seat rubbing his temple. Deja sighed, getting out of the car. "C'mon, let's go on foot from here—if you're having another one we must be close," she reasoned, and Sam got out of the car to follow her.

They were making their way past a public park when Sam suddenly stopped, staring at a house across the street. "That's it—that's the house, that window…" he declared, eyes drifting from the two-story house to a dark haired woman walking on the other side of the street with a stroller as his voice dropped to a quieter tone. "And that's the woman I saw."

Deja looked across the street at the dark haired woman carrying an umbrella, a bag, and pushing a stroller, then tugged gently on his arm. "Let's go meet the neighbors, then," she murmured, quickly crossing the street with Sam close at her side. Once they reached the woman, she put on a bright smile, coming up beside the woman.

"I'm sorry, I saw a stroller and I had to come see," she said bashfully, Sam still at her side. "May I?" she asked, nodding towards the covered stroller.

"Oh, of course," the woman said politely, and Deja crouched down to see the baby girl within, smiling for real at the wide eyed child in front of her.

"Hi, sweetheart! Aren't you a gorgeous little thing," she cooed while the baby blinked up at her, sucking silently on her pacifier.

"Here, let me hold that," Sam said politely, gesturing to the bag she was barely holding to with the same hand she was using to push the stroller. He nodded pointedly towards the umbrella she was holding in her other hand. "You look like you don't need that anymore," Sam offered.

"Oh, thanks," she said, handing him the bag while she collapsed the umbrella.

"What's your name, beautiful?" Deja asked the baby with a smile, the child's eyes still riveted on her.

"It's Rosie," the woman told her, and Deja's smile grew even bigger.

"Rosie—that's a very pretty name," Deja told the baby, resisting the urge to gently bop her nose or tickle her hand or anything like that. Instead, she looked up at the mother. "I'm Deja—this is Sam."

"Yeah, we, ah, just moved in up the block," Sam said, offering his hand for the mother to shake.

"Oh, hey—I'm Monica," she introduced herself, looking between the two while Sam handed her bag back. "Welcome to the neighborhood. You two have kids as well?"

"Nah…not yet, anyway," Deja said, rising to her feet and still smiling faintly at Rosie. "She's so precious," Deja sighed, keeping up with her gushing over the child.

"I know, she—I mean, she never cries," Monica said proudly, a smile on her face as well now. "She just stares at everybody. Sometimes she looks at you and I swear, it's—it's like she's reading your mind."

"What about you, Monica, have you lived here long?" Sam asked, smiling slightly at the sight of the two woman talking babies.

"Ah, my husband and I, we bought our place just before Rosie was born."

"How old is Rosie?"

"She's six months today."

Sam's smile faltered for a moment, so Deja swept in to save the moment.

"Six months! Wow, she's getting so big then—you'll be crawling around and walking before your Mommy even knows it," Deja cooed at Rosie.

"She's growing like a weed," Monica agreed.

"Monica…" Sam said hesitantly, his suddenly somber mood obvious.

"Yeah?" Monica asked, picking up on his drop in mood.

"Just, uh, take care of yourself, okay?" Sam told her, and Deja took a step closer both as a silent support and as a sign she was ready to get going as well.

"Yeah, you two, Sam, Deja. We'll see you around," Monica said pleasantly.

"Yeah, definitely," Sam answered, the three easily parting ways. While Deja and Sam crossed the street, a car pulled into the driveway of the house, and Deja heard Monica cooing to Rosie.

"Oh, there's Daddy!"

Deja and Sam reached the other side of the street, Sam looking back to see Monica's husband give her a cheek, the perfect picture of a normal family completely oblivious to what was in store. Deja gently touched his arm.

"They'll be all right—we'll make sure of it," Deja told him softly.

"Yeah…" Sam murmured, though he didn't sound very confident. Suddenly he doubled over again, making a more audible sound of pain as he clutched at his head.

"Sam!" Deja exclaimed as he stumbled, and she caught him by the arm, forcing him to lean against her as she pulled them towards the car.

They needed to get out of the public eye and back to the motel Dean and John were going to meet them at before they made a scene.

And on that note, she needed to call Dean and tell him what was going on.

*****************************

Once everyone was back at the motel, the explanations started.

Apparently, John didn't know this particular fact about Sam, either.

So, presently, Sam sat at the table in the little kitchenette area of the motel room, head in his hands as it was still hurting from the last vision he had. Dean and John were sitting on different beds watching Sam and processing what they'd just been told, and Deja was setting a glass of water and some painkillers in front of Sam, putting a hand on his head and giving it a gentle rub.

"Take it easy till the headache goes away," Deja told him, keeping her voice soft and making sure there weren't any bright lights that would agitate the pain. Sam nodded, downing the painkillers and half the water once she'd given it to him.

"A vision," John finally said incredulously, staring at Sam while Dean looked on in clear anticipation.

Sam sighed, clearly not wanting to go through it again but relenting since it was his father. "Yes. I saw the demon burning a woman on the ceiling."

"All right, and you think it's gonna happen to this woman you met because?"

"Because these things happen exactly the way I see them," Sam said flatly. Dean stood up, taking over for his still-in-pain brother as he made his way into the kitchenette area as well.

"It started out as nightmares, and then he started having them while he was awake," Dean explained, leaning around Deja to get to the coffee maker. While she shuffled out of the way, his fingers clutched to hers in a brief passing squeeze.

A silent thanks for keeping an eye on Sam while he had a vision that made him feel like his head was being split open.

"Yeah…" Sam said softly. "It's like…I don't know, it's like the closer I get to anything involving the demon, the stronger the visions get."

"All right, when were you going to tell me about this?" John asked, how upset he was clear in his tone.

"We didn't know what it meant," Dean said simply.

"All right, something like this starts happening to your brother, you pick up the phone, and you call me," John ordered angrily.

Dean set down the coffee pot with a clatter, which masked Deja's soft snort as he turned around to face John. "Call you?" Dean asked incredulously, stepping forward with notes of anger vibrating in his voice as well. "Are you kidding me? Dad, I called you from Lawrence, all right. Sam called you when I was dying!"

John's gaze flickered towards Deja, who only watched the man silently from where she stood in the kitchenette, keeping her judgements to herself.

"I mean, getting you on the phone—I've got a better chance at winning the lottery," Dean finished.

John looked to Sam, who wouldn't meet his eyes. John looked down at the ground, nodding slowly. "You're right."

Dean seemed a little taken aback to hear John say as much, though he didn't say anything, and John continued. "Although I'm not too crazy about this new tone of yours…" John said, gaze sliding towards Deja again, the implications of that look clear to her before he looked back at Dean. "You're right. I'm sorry."

"Look, guys, visions or no visions, the fact is, we know the demon is coming tonight. And this family's going to go through the same hell that we went through," Sam interrupted, successfully changing the topic of the conversation as Dean returned to making his next round of coffee, sharing a brief look with Deja that caused her to have to resist the instinct to move a little closer to him.

"No, they're not," John said firmly. "No one is, ever again."

Before anyone could say another word, Sam's phone—which was sitting on the table in front of him—started ringing. Dean turned around to lean against the counter beside Deja, taking a slow drink from his coffee while John ran his hands over his face and Sam answered his phone.

"Hello?" Sam asked, waiting a few moments. "Who is this?"

Suddenly, he straightened. "Meg."

Deja and Dean both tensed at the name. "Pixie Bitch?" Deja blurted, earning a strange look from John.

Whoops, said that out loud…

"Last time I saw you, you fell out of a window," Sam said lowly while Dean looked outside their window on instinct, John rising from the bed to start making his way over to Sam. Deja couldn't hear what Meg was saying, but she could get the gist of it from what Sam said. "Just your feelings? That was a seven story drop."

Meg must have spoken again, and Sam looked over at John. "My dad. I don't know where my dad is." While Meg answered, voice a little louder so that Deja heard a dull murmur from the phone, John approached Sam, holding his hand out for the phone. Sam reluctantly handed it over.

"This is John," John said, turning away and starting a slow walk back into the room with the beds. After a brief pause where he hung his head, he spoke again. "I'm here."

There was another long pause, and then John's entire demeanor changed. "Caleb?" he asked, voice surprised and worried—emotional, even if it was only a little. "Caleb. You listen to me—he's got nothing to do with anything, you let him go…I don't know what you're talking about…Caleb—Caleb!"

It didn't take a genius to figure out what had just happened.

The Winchesters were down another family friend.

"I'm gonna kill you, you know that?" John growled, running a hand down his face as he listened to what Meg was saying next. There was a long pause while John struggled with himself to give Meg an answer to whatever she was asking for, and then, after a painfully long time had passed, he answered. "Okay…I said okay. I'll bring you the colt."

What and you've got to be joking were no longer strong enough phrases to communicate what the expressions of Dean, Deja, and Sam said—Sam especially, since he had the most obvious reaction to John's words.

John shook his head at something Meg said. "It's gonna take me about a day's drive to get there…that's impossible. I can't get there in time and I can't just carry a gun on a plane."

Finally, John hung up, and with that their night got even more complicated than it already was.

*****************************

"So, you think Meg's a demon?"

They were on a clock, they were stuck at a split in the path before them, and there was a tough choice to be made. Not only that, but the choice was in John Winchester's hands, since Sam and Dean looked to him for what to do and Deja was just along for the ride.

The thought kind of scared her, and she wondered what the oldest Winchester was going to do now that Meg had given him her ultimatum.

Meg gets the colt by midnight, or demons start killing the Winchesters' friends and associates one by one.

But they needed the gun tonight to stop Monica's family from dying.

"Either that, or she's possessed by one. It doesn't really matter," John said in answer to Sam's question. Dean walked up to stand beside Sam, expression serious.

"What do we do?" Dean asked.

"I'm going to Lincoln" John said simply. The reaction was instantaneous.

"What?" Dean said lowly.

"It doesn't seem like I have a choice. If I don't go, a lot of people die, our friends die," John returned stiffly.

"Dad, the demon is coming tonight for Monica and her family. That gun is all we got, you can't just hand it over," Sam fumed.

"Who said anything about handing it over? Look, besides us and a couple vampires, no one's really seen the gun. No one knows what it looks like."

"So, what, you're just gonna pick up a ringer at a pawn shop?" Dean returned sarcastically. John shrugged.

"Antique store."

Dean was taken aback, shocked that John actually planned to do what he'd just suggested. "You're gonna hand a fake gun to Meg and hope she doesn't notice?"

"Look, as long as it's close, she shouldn't be able to tell the difference."

"Yeah, but for how long? What happens when she figures it out?"

"I just—I just need to buy a few hours, that's all," John said softly. Deja straightened from where she still stood in the kitchenette, silent behind the three Winchesters.

"You mean for Dean and me," Sam said softly, voicing what Deja had just realized as well. "You want us to stay here…and kill this demon by ourselves?"

"No, Sam! I want to stop losing the people we love, I want you to go to school, I want—I want Dean to have a home!" John snapped, voice strangled with emotion the more he spoke. John turned away at the last sentence, and Deja ducked her head low, lips parting slightly.

Home…when was the last place she'd had a home? Then again…with Sam and Dean, especially with Dean…she felt a semblance of home. And she was beginning to feel like a semblance was the closest she'd ever get.

Across the room from Deja, John stifled a sob, shocking everyone in the room. "I want Mary alive…" he said mournfully, taking a moment before he turned around, staring Sam and Dean down. "I just…I just want this to be over."

****************************

Deja's Corvette was left at the motel, and she rode with Dean to go get their fake colt while Sam stayed with John. Not one word was spoken between the two of them—Deja had no idea what she would have said if they would have struck up conversation. She'd lost count of everything that needed to be said between them, and she doubted she'd ever be able to say it all at this rate. Still, on the way back from the antique store, when the silence was starting to grow unbearable as the tension for what was to come grew, Deja let herself do something she hadn't done in…a while.

Timidly, she slipped her hand across the seat, fingers outstretched until they found the side of Dean's hand. Dean was so wound up with anticipation and tension by then that he jumped at the contact, looking at her in surprise when he realized it was her. Without saying a word, she slipped her hand into his, Dean giving ground effortlessly and allowing her to even tug his hand closer in her direction. She twined their fingers together easily, her hand on top, and then gave his hand a reassuring squeeze, looking up at him to catch his green eyes.

It'll be okay, I promise.

Dean looked at her as long as he could without crashing the car, returning the squeeze and running his thumb along the side of her hand. His lips parted slightly, like he was about to say something, but instead he stopped himself, deciding not to let an attempt at words ruin the moment. Instead, he nodded, holding tight to her hand the rest of the way to the rendezvous point where they were supposed to meet Sam and John before everyone split up and went their separate ways.

After Dean brought the Impala to a halt a few paces behind John's truck, they both reluctantly let go so he could put the car in park and shut off the engine, both of them getting out without any hesitation.

They were still on a clock, and John had to be in Lincoln in a few hours.

"Did you get it?" John asked as they approached him and Sam.

In answer, Dean pulled the brown paper bag that had the antique colt wrapped inside out of his jacket pocket, giving it to John with a sense of finality in the air as he did so. Deja took a step closer to Dean, partially for warmth from the nippy air while she pulled her jacket closer around her, and partially as silent support in case he needed some.

"You know this is a trap, don't you?" Dean asked as John pulled the gun out of the bag. "That's why Meg wants you to come alone. Someone should go with you—Deja could, she…witches and demons are her specialty," Dean tried.

"I'd rather she was here helping you boys, you'll need it. I can handle Meg. I've got a whole arsenal loaded—holy water, Mandaic amulets—"

"Dad…" Dean said seriously, cutting John off.

"What?"

"Promise me something?"

"What's that?"

"If you won't take her with you…then if this thing goes south, just…just get the hell out. Don't get yourself killed, all right? You're no good to us dead," Dean said quietly. Deja discreetly leaned closer to Dean so their arms were touching, and though he didn't acknowledge the movement, he didn't pull away either.

John nodded slowly. "Same goes for you." He sighed, pulling out the real colt. "All right, listen to me. They made the bullets special for this colt. There's only four of them left. Without them this gun is useless. You make every shot count."

"Yes, sir," Sam said firmly.

"I've been waiting a long time for this fight…" John mused, the silence between all of them broken only by the whistle of a train in the distance, a lone bird, and the wind. "Now it's here, and I'm not gonna be in it. It's up to you boys now. It's your fight. You finish this. You finish what I started. You understand?"

Sam and Dean's serious expressions were John's answer, and once he had that answer he handed the real colt off to Dean, who held it with such reverence it could have been his firstborn child.

"We'll see you soon, Dad," Sam said, though it sounded like he was saying it to make everyone there believe it was the undeniable truth.

In all honestly, none of them wanted to see John go by himself to walk into a trap with a false gun.

"I'll see you later," John said with a bittersweet smile, clapping Sam on the shoulder before he made his way to the driver's side of the truck. Deja pretty much clung to Dean's side, standing with him and watching John's truck disappear into the distance.

"Later," Dean eventually said to the empty air once John's truck was no longer in their sights.

*****************************

Deja's Corvette remained at the motel for three reasons: one, two cars were more noticeable than one, two, black blended into the darkness far better than white did, and three, they wanted to stick together. So, Deja was with them in the Impala, occupying the back seat as they watched Monica's house from across the street. The colt lay between Sam and Dean in the front seat, ready to be snatched up at a moment's notice. It was mostly silence between them because of the seriousness of the situation, and despite everything weighing down on them, Deja could at least appreciate the fact that it was just the three of them again.

But she could only appreciate it briefly because of the thought of where the third Winchester was about now.

"Maybe we can tell them there's a gas leak," Sam suddenly said, breaking the silence. "Might get them out of the house for a few hours."

"Yeah, and how many times has that actually worked for us?" Dean returned.

"Yeah…" Sam relented, falling silent for a few moments before he came up with another idea. "Could always tell them the truth."

Dean paused, looked at him, and said, "Nah," rather dramatically the same time Sam groaned and said, "I know, I know, I just…"

Sam sighed, shaking his head. "With what's coming for these people—"

"Sam, we've only got one move, and you know it, all right? We got to wait for that demon to show itself, and then we get it before it gets them," Dean reminded him.

Dean had just looked back to the house when Sam spoke again.

Deja didn't mind the talking, but Sam really needed to work on his choice of topics.

"I wonder what Dad's doing," Sam mused out loud.

"I'd feel a lot better if even one of us were there backing him up," Dean admitted, gaze distant for a few moments.

"I'd feel a lot better if he were here backing us up," Sam replied, and thankfully a silence descended between the three of them again. Deja remained reclined in the back seat, gazing at the house without making a sound.

"You still alive back there, Deja?" Dean asked at one point, and Deja snorted softly.

"I'm still here, just…waiting. I promise to warn you if I start to fall asleep or something," she said quietly, proud that she managed to get a little bit of a chuckle out of Dean with the joke.

Time continued to pass slowly all three of them simply watching the house, the street, keeping an eye out for signs of a demon nearby or some disturbance in the house. They watched as all the curtains were drawn, and one by one the lights went out inside…

"This is weird," Sam said suddenly, drawing their attention again.

"What?" Dean asked.

"After all these years we're finally here. It doesn't seem real."

I wonder if it will feel that way for me…

"We just got to keep our heads and do our job like always," Dean said casually. It was somewhat amusing to see the stark difference between the two, where Sam wanted to talk about the deep moving stuff and Dean seemed to just want to sit in silence, focused entirely on the job.

"Yeah, but this isn't like always," Sam said.

"True."

"Dean, ah…I want to thank you."

Dean stared at Sam for a few long moments. "For what?"

"For everything. You've always had my back, you know? Even when I couldn't count on anyone, I could always count on you. And now…I don't know, I just wanted to let you know. Just in case."

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, are you kidding me?" Dean asked incredulously.

"What?"

"Don't say just in case something happens to you, I don't want to hear that freakin' speech, man! Nobody's dying tonight," Dean argued. "Not us, not that family, nobody! Except that demon. That evil son of a bitch isn't getting any older than tonight, you understand me?"

A heavy silence fell, Sam only nodding to give an answer. After that silence dragged on for a few minutes, Deja spoke up.

"And on that note, if either of you try to give me the last night on earth speech, I will smack you in the back of the head." Sam and Dean both turned around to give her slightly irritated really looks, and she gave them an innocent expression in return. "Badly timed? Sorry, had to say something to break the tension…I am still back here, you know."

Dean rolled his eyes, turning back to face forwards again. "Wow…"

"Just reminding you," Deja said casually, letting the car fall back into silence now that they'd been reminded of her presence.

It made her feel awkward when they forgot she was with them.

*****************************

After it passed midnight, Dean tried calling John.

No answer.

"Dad's not answering," Dean finally announced after what felt like the five hundredth call.

"Maybe Meg was late," Sam suggested. "Maybe cell reception's bad."

"Yeah, well…" Dean said with a sigh, shaking his head.

Suddenly, a high pitched whine mixed in with static started to come from the radio, and Deja sat up from her spot in the back seat, staring at the radio in the front.

"Dean, wait…listen," Sam said slowly, messing with the dial when the sound faded slightly. It picked up in intensity, and Deja felt the hairs on the back of her neck stand up.

"Guys, that's a sign," she said seriously, hand reaching out slowly to touch the door handle as she looked back at the house. The wind started to pick up outside, and only one light flickered before Deja was opening the door. "Get out—it's here," she said seriously, all of her sense immediately going on high alert as she got out of the car. Sam and Dean were only a heartbeat behind her, though she had to let Dean in front of her dash towards the house since he was the one with the lock picking kit and she didn't feel like trying to pick a door with a bobby pin when he had a kit.

It only took Dean a few moments to get them inside, though it felt longer with Sam looming anxiously over them. The entire house was dark, the power having officially gone out, as Sam and Dean took the lead—this was their family's lifelong case, she wasn't about to get in the way, she was only an extra buffer, simple support—Sam holding the colt at the ready.

Movement registered just barely in Deja's line of vision, and suddenly she leapt back with Dean as a baseball bat came swinging through the air they'd both been standing in a second ago, smashing into a lamp and sending it shattering to the floor.

"Get out of my house!" Monica's husband shouted, swinging at Dean specifically this time. Dean caught the bat, dropping his other hand to the man's arm as he continued to shout the same sentence over and over, the two struggling for the weapon. Dean finally just swung the man around, pinning him to the wall with his own weapon.

"Mr. Holt, please," Sam pled, Dean quickly taking over.

"Be quiet and listen to me," Dean ordered quickly. "We're trying to help you, okay?"

"Charlie? Is everything okay down there?" they all heard Monica call down the stairs.

"Monica, get the baby!" Charlie all but screamed, and Deja cursed.

"Don't go in the nursery!" Sam shouted, though Deja was pretty sure it was probably too late.

"Dean, get him out of here!" Deja ordered, jabbing a finger at the pinned Charlie as Sam sprinted up the stairs. Deja followed after him, not about to let him go into the same room as a demon without any kind of backup, even if he did have the colt.

"You stay away from her!" Deja heard Charlie shout behind her, though by the sudden muffled sounds of impact she heard, she was pretty sure Dean had just temporarily knocked him out or disabled him somehow.

Good, one less thing to worry about.

Deja sprinted down the hall just as Sam fired the weapon, though she was pretty sure Sam missed since she felt no pulse of energy this time, and the dark shadow that had been by the crib evaporated instead of falling to a heap on the floor.

It was still somewhere, but right now their priority was the family.

"Where the hell did it go?" Sam cursed as Deja skidded into the nursery.

"My baby!" Monica was shrieking as Sam turned to her, and Deja quickly passed them to end up at the crib, gingerly gathering little Rosie into her arms with tender care, blanket and all. She hadn't even pulled her out of the crib yet when it spontaneously combusted, the flames quickly spreading faster than it should have been possible.

"Deja!" Sam shouted when he saw the flames leaping towards her hands and Rosie, but she was already moving, Rosie clutched to her chest.

"Go, I got her," Deja ordered, and she followed close on Sam's heels as she, Sam, and Monica rushed out of the room, Rosie not even crying despite the chaos, fire, and shouting all around.

The house was already rapidly filling with smoke, the nursery behind them swiftly devoured by the spreading flames, but they were already ahead of it, fleeing down the stairs and out the door just as something in the nursery caused a fireball to shatter the windows in the nursery.

"You get away from my family!" Deja heard, looking up to see a furious Charlie being held back by a relieved Dean.

"No, Charlie, don't, they saved us!" Monica told him, voice strangled with emotion as she turned to Deja and Sam. "They saved us…"

Carefully, Deja handed Rosie to her mother, amazed that the child still hadn't made a peep with everything going on. Dean let Charlie go as well, and the family grouped together, Monica looking at the three hunters with clear gratitude.

"Thank you," Monica whispered.

Sam glanced back at the house, suddenly going rigid. "It's still in there," he growled, and Deja saw him tense up just in time to reach out and grab his arm as he threw himself back in the direction of the house.

"Sam, no!" Dean shouted, grabbing the other arm and coming around to block Sam's path as well. Sam railed against the combined restraints of Dean and Deja, eyes fixated on the shadow that seemed to be watching them from the flames inside the nursery.

"Let me go! It's still in there!" Sam hollered.

"It's burning to the ground—it's suicide!" Dean yelled at him.

"I don't care!" Sam thundered.

"I do!" Dean snapped, planting himself firmly between Sam and the house while Deja restrained Sam from behind. Sam finally stopped fighting them, glaring up at the burning nursery with barely contained fury. Deja and Dean barely had a chance to look back up to the shadow watching them from within before it disappeared.

At least the family was safe.

*****************************

"Come on, Dad, answer your phone, damn it."

Once Monica's family was for sure safe, Dean, Deja, and Sam had returned to the motel. Sam was still furious, though he was managing to keep from having an outburst, and Dean seemed like he was being torn in different directions with different worries. Deja would have been doing something to help ease Dean's stress, but he was pacing, moving around too much for her to even attempt anything.

Sam had so much pent up anger she was worried poking at it would cause him to erupt, even if she was just trying to help, so she figured it was best just to leave him be.

"Something's wrong…" Dean said, chewing on his lip as he stared at the phone in his hand. Before Deja could offer any words of comfort, support, or reason, Dean looked at Sam, who was completely silent despite the fact their father still wasn't responding. "Did you hear me? Something's happened."

"If you had just let me go in there, I could have ended all this," Sam said in a dangerously quiet tone of voice.

"Sam, the only thing you would have ended was your life," Dean scolded him.

"You don't know that."

"So, what, you're just willing to sacrifice yourself, is that it?"

Sam rose to his feet. "Yeah. Yeah, you're damn right I am."

"Yeah, well, that's not gonna happen—not as long as I'm around."

"What the hell are you talking about, Dean? We've been searching for this demon our whole lives. It's the only thing we've ever cared about!"

"Sam, I want to waste it, I do, okay? But it's not worth dying over!" Dean snapped, getting right in Sam's face.

"What?" Sam asked, as if he couldn't believe the perfect sense coming out of his brother's mouth.

"I mean it! If hunting this demon means you getting yourself killed, then I hope we never find the damn thing!"

"That thing killed Jess. That thing killed mom."

Dean looked Sam right in the eyes, unwavering. "You said it yourself once," Dean said steadily. "That no matter what we do, they're gone, and they're never coming back."

Sam suddenly grabbed Dean, swinging him around and pinning him to the wall. "Don't you say that! Don't you—not after all this! Don't you say that!" Sam shouted at him. Deja was on her feet as soon as Dean impacted with the wall and she grabbed a fistful of Sam's shirt, pushing him away from Dean with all her might.

"Sam! Stop it! Now!" she shouted. It caught his attention, considering she'd never yelled at either of them like that before. "You still have family, Sam! Wake up! Quit trying to die for what you once had, and try living for what you do have!"

Sam stared at her, still breathing heavily, still mad…until Dean spoke up.

"Sam, look…" Dean said quietly from where he still had his back to the wall, Deja's other hand resting on his chest. "The three of us—that's all we've had, till Deja came and made it four. And it's all I have. Sometimes I feel like I'm barely holding it together, man. Without you and Dad…"

"Dad," Sam breathed shakily, finally backing off as the combined efforts of Dean and Deja finally got through to him. Sam turned away, getting control of himself while Dean sagged against the wall, looking like he'd just been put through the meat grinder and had the fight squeezed right out of him. Deja drew closer to him, brows furrowed in concern and heart breaking at Dean's tone and words as she started to gently rub from his chest to shoulder and back again in a steady pattern until he trapped her hand to his chest, giving it a weak squeeze before pulling her fingers to his lips for a brief kiss in thanks. As he trapped her hand against his chest again, Sam turned back around. "He should have called by now. Try him again."

Dean swallowed the emotions that had risen to the surface in the past few minutes, licking his lips as he redialed the phone in his other hand, bringing the phone to his ear and waiting.

This time, Deja was close enough she could hear the person on the other end when someone picked up the phone.

But it wasn't John.

"You boys really screwed up this time," came Meg's voice.

Instantly, fear flashed across Dean's face, his grip on Deja's hand tightening as he looked to his brother. "Where is he?" he asked Meg, a tremble in his voice.

"You're never gonna see your father again," she answered, and with that, the line went dead. Dean trembled slightly underneath Deja's fingertips, and as soon as the phone snapped shut in his hands he was moving.

"They've got Dad," he said shakily, pulling away from Deja to pace by his bed, a storm cloud of fear, worry, and an utter loss as to what to do on his face mixed in with several other unreadable emotions.

"Meg?" Sam asked, though it was rhetorical as he went right into the next question. "What did she say?"

"I just told you, Sammy." Dean ran a hand down his face, trying to shove all of the raging emotions aside and focus on the now. "Okay…okay…"

Dean looked around the room, picking up the colt and shoving it in the back of his jeans before he bolted to the hardly unpacked duffel he'd left on his bed, already a blur around the room as he packed up what little was lying about the room.

"What are you doing, Dean?" Sam asked.

"We got to go."

"Why?" Sam demanded, his anger resurfacing.

"Because the demon knows we're in Salvation, all right? It knows we've got the colt, it's got Dad, it's probably coming for us next!" Dean rushed, shrugging on his jacket.

"Good! We've still got three bullets left, let it come!"

"Listen, tough guy, we're not ready, okay! We don't know how many of them are out there. Now we're no good to anybody dead—we're leaving. Now!"

Dean didn't wait for any more protests from Sam, brushing past him and heading right out the door. Deja was close behind him, only pausing long enough to address Sam with a few words. "He's right—we have to go—grab your stuff and let's go."

Her stuff was already in the Corvette, so she simply tossed the keys to the motel room on the ground by the door, figuring Dean was going to be in such a hurry to leave they weren't going to go through the check out process no matter how fast or slow it could be. He'd already thrown his duffel in the back seat, and Deja barely managed to stop him as he was coming around to the driver's side.

"Hey," she said seriously, trying to get his attention as he moved to step around her.

"Deja, not now, we've got to—"

"Dean, breathe. I know. We've got to wait a few moments for Sam, anyway," Deja said, cutting him off.

"What?" he asked shortly, staring down at her.

Deja searched his gaze—his panic stricken, worried, tense gaze—and without any warning or asking for any permission like she normally would in a tense situation like right now, Deja simply wrapped her arms around him, one hooking up around his waist, the other hooking down over his shoulder, meeting somewhere in the middle as she buried her face in his neck. For once, he was resistant at first, still too pent up, worried, and in a rush to leave, but they did have a few moments while they waited for Sam, and Deja wasn't going to let the chance slip by, so she held fast. Eventually, he gave in, returning the full hug and burying his face in her shoulder. Once he got to that point, it seemed he realized he had support, and there was no one else around to see them, and his arms constricted around her like he was clinging to a lifeline, crushing her to himself. She didn't mind, and she held him just as securely.

"Tell me you're not going anywhere," he murmured into her shoulder, his voice still shaky from his raging emotions.

"Your Dad's in trouble—there's no way in hell I'm leaving," she reassured him, rubbing his back slightly to reassure him more. "Lead the way—I'll follow you."