While things between Deja and Dean grew more comfortable after their much needed talk, tension between Sam and Dean only seemed to be growing. Sam wasn't talking about John as much, but he had also turned more of his attention on making sure Dean was all right, if Dean needed anything, if Dean was okay—in other words, all the things that Dean did not want to hear and discuss.

Dean hadn't snapped at Sam yet, but it was inevitable, and Deja did not want to be around when he finally did.

More than likely she would be.

As for what she was doing, since Dean definitely did not want to talk about it and seemed to be going through the car repair as a means of therapy, she tried to help in a subtler, not so obvious way. She was simply there for Dean, as she had been in the past, offering him silent support in her presence or a touch when it seemed he was headed for the darker thoughts, or someone brought up John and his demeanor noticeably changed.

When he was irritated, she didn't dare do more than brush her hand against his, or his shoulder—simply because she knew how that macho pride display of his went, and no, he didn't want to share whether he was hurting or not.

Thankfully, she knew he was, and he didn't have to suffer alone. She was there to ease it as much as she could, however she could. Because of that, she stayed close to Dean as much as possible—though still made sure he got some time on his own for the sake of his sanity.

Also, they were no longer just lingering around Bobby's place, watching the Impala slowly come together. Deja no longer had an excuse to go outside while Dean worked on the Impala, as the Corvette was officially fixed and ready for the road again. But ever since their talk, she didn't really need an excuse, did she?

Sam and Dean had also been trying to make sense of John's research on the demon, figuring since he was their dad and they'd known him better, they might be able to make sense of it.

So far, no dice. Which meant it was Deja's turn to look at it, since she was the one with more experience with demons.

She wasn't having much luck either, but she hadn't given up on it quite yet.

John had been an unique man...

None of that was her focus at the moment, however. She tapped her phone against her palm as she approached Dean in the kitchen, working her bottom lip between her teeth. Dean noticed, slowing down and looking at her warily as he pulled a beer out of the fridge.

"You've got that look...what is it?" Dean asked before she had the chance to speak.

Deja let out a soft sigh. "I've got to go on a hunt. I'm probably going to be gone a few days, at least."

The fact that she planned on going on this hunt alone was obvious, by how she'd phrased it and how she was approaching Dean about it instead of just casually telling Sam and Dean she might have a job for all of them.

But this one was one of her personal runs, an attempt for her to keep her past and the other side of her from showing around the Winchesters a little longer, until she was ready—if she was ever ready.

Someone in her network had sent her a text, and she knew she needed to do something now or risk exposure.

Considering the fragile nature of everything going on with the Winchesters at the moment, now was definitely not the best time for Deja's secrets to come out.

Her warning had been in the form of a text.

Whispers you're in South Dakota—Iona's got people looking for you there. Hope it's not true—or that you're already gone.

She'd been in one place too long.

Dean didn't waste time in trying to get her convinced not to go alone. "All right, your car's fixed—Sam or I can tag along."

Deja waved a hand. "Nah, you stay and work on the Impala—you're making good progress. Sam can keep working on your dad's research. Those are both far more important than a small hunt."

"I don't like the thought of you going on a hunt by yourself," Dean said bluntly.

Deja tucked her phone away, shoving her hands in the back pockets of her jeans and offering a small shrug. "Well, if you remember all those decades ago when we met, I'd been solo for quite some time. I'm a big girl, Dean, and I'm used to hunting solo—this will be me in my element. I'll be fine."

"It's also been a while since you had to hunt solo," Dean countered.

"It's been since just after Chicago. Dean...I appreciate the concern, but I will be okay. It's nothing serious, it's right up my alley...I'll be okay."

Dean studied her, jaw flexing like it tended to do when he was agitated or upset. He opened his beer with an audible pop, casting his gaze down as he relented. "All right...we'll be here. Just check in with us, okay? And if you need help, tell us," Dean said pointedly.

It was only fair to compromise.

"I'll call you once I get there, and then daily afterwards, how about that?" she asked. Dean just hummed, raising the beer bottle to his lips to take a drink. Deja leaned in, pulling one of her hands out of her pockets to rest it gently on his shoulder while she kissed his cheek. Dean kept his head down, though she noticed he relaxed slightly after her kiss, eyes peeking up at her under his lashes discreetly. "It'll be back soon, promise."

With that, she made her way up the stairs, feeling Dean's eyes on her the entire way.

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

Dean watched Deja take the stairs almost two at a time, a slight bounce in her hair as it waved back and forth behind her. He almost didn't notice Bobby rounding the corner from his library, an old book in hand.

"She goin' somewhere?" Bobby asked, probably only hearing the tail-end of the conversation.

"She said she's got a hunt she wants to do solo—she's gonna be gone a few days at the most," Dean said, keeping his outward appearance unphased, unconcerned.

When really, inside, he couldn't get rid of the nagging voice whispering what if and trying really hard to give him a mental image of another burning pyre.

He might need more than one beer.

And a lot of alone time with Baby.

Bobby glanced back towards the stairs Deja had disappeared up, then back to Dean, who pretended he didn't notice the weird look the veteran hunter was giving him.

"Be careful with that one," Bobby finally warned, moving to get something in the hallway.

Dean's brows furrowed in confusion, following Bobby down the hall. "What are you talking about?"

"I'm not blind, idjit—I've seen how you two've been actin' around each other lately, and you should watch yourself around her," Bobby continued, walking into the living room and grabbing something else, though Dean wasn't paying attention to the things Bobby was picking up as he made his way around the house. Dean was instead focused on the hunter himself, what he was saying, and was entirely ready to jump to Deja's defense if he needed to.

"What're you getting at, Bobby?" Dean asked a little sharper than he meant to, trying not to bristle just yet under Bobby's warning.

"Don't get me wrong, I like her, she's a good girl—" Bobby turned around, locking eyes with Dean to make sure he was about to get his point across. "But she's a good girl that's got secrets, Dean, and in this profession, they're bound to be pretty damn dangerous secrets."

Dean wasn't entirely sure what to say to that, leaning back slightly with mouth open like he was about to reply, but uncertain how to proceed.

He knew she had secrets. Every now and then he got glimpses into her past, into the part of her she tried her damndest not to let him and Sam see, and he knew there was plenty about Deja that he had yet to learn.

Sometimes, he did worry about what he didn't know about Deja—when he saw her darker side, or when he stopped and thought about how much he really knew, and how much he didn't know seemed to be blinding him with its glare.

"She's got her reasons," Dean finally said. It was all he had to offer, and it was what he'd said to himself in those moments he'd wondered why she kept so much to herself. He had to believe that what they didn't know, they didn't know for a reason, and a good one, at that.

Bobby didn't hesitate to shake that foundation, either.

"Don't we all?"

And he had a point.

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

Deja didn't try to hunt down the people on her trail in South Dakota. It wouldn't do her any good if they went missing in South Dakota, because it would be a huge tip off that she really was somewhere in South Dakota, somewhere she was staying for an extended period of time and didn't want to be found at.

The people tracking her down disappearing in South Dakota would only draw more attention to Deja. So, she drove south, being careful to leave an inconspicuous trail.

Oh no, she didn't have any cash—she had to use a credit card with an alias they knew about.

She was running low on some of her supplies—best to stop and refill at a store owned by a witch who was known to be a bit of a rat, since it was the only place nearby.

Oh, and don't forget to mention asking if that rat knows of anyone in northern Arizona she can go to if she needs another refill.

So she left her barely there trail of convenient moments of chance that led her tails away from South Dakota. She traveled slow enough she was sure that they would catch up to her before she even made it to Arizona, and after two days of scenic travel, she figured it was time to call Dean.

Deja walked back into her motel room at some backwoods motel in New Mexico after she'd finished moving her stuff inside, locking the door behind her and tossing the keys on the bed. Her phone was pressed to her ear, and she listened to it ring as she drew the shades and did her usual sweep of the room.

The phone clicked, signaling she finally had an answer.

"Hey—I was starting to wonder when you'd call," Dean's voice said on the other end. A slight smile flickered across her face.

"Yeah, well, I had to head east, so..." she lied, a little too easily. She shifted uncomfortably almost as soon as the lie had left her lips.

She hated lying to him. She tried not to do it outright every time—she tried to keep it to just not mentioning everything, or going the old Star Wars route and telling the truth from a certain point of view.

She tried to avoid the blatant lies, because she hated them—hated herself every time she used one when it came to Dean.

None of her strategies really made her feel better about lying to him, to any degree. But she feared how he'd react to her secret more than she hated lying to him, it would seem.

"East, huh? Well, at least I know where to go if you end up needing help."

She couldn't wait till she was back, and the lying could stop...

...for the most part.

"I told you, I'll be fine," Deja soothed him yet again, pulling out one of her books and dropping it on the bed in front of her—the one she wouldn't let Dean see.

Deja opened the book, flipping to the empty pages a little closer to the end and passing spell after spell, scribbled in her own handwriting, with illustrations and lists of ingredients, crystals, instructions on any needed rituals...

Her grimoire.

"That doesn't reassure me at all—you can promise that, but that doesn't mean your hunt is going to go the way you planned. I'm telling you, one of us should've come with you, we would have if you'd let us."

"I know you wanted me to take you with me, but really Dean, I'll be fine," she said, not even bothering with the pretext of Sam and Dean wanting to be the ones who wanted her to bring one of them with her.

It had been Dean who she'd talked to, who had pressed for her not to go alone, and who harbored the stronger feelings for her. She was sure Sam was worried as well, but most likely not as much as Dean.

"What about you two—got any leads on your dad's work, yet?" Deja asked before Dean could continue with the topic of her solo hunting. She sat down on the bed, pulling her grimoire up beside her. She'd wait until she was done with her conversation with Dean to get to work, but for now...

As her conversation over the phone continued, Deja aimlessly twirled her fingers through the air, embers flickering to life and leaping from finger to finger before heating up into small flames. She had to resist letting out a sigh of relief since she was still on the phone with Dean—it had been far too long since she'd gotten to use her powers, to practice, to exercise her abilities.

She needed this.

She needed this time to herself, this me time.

"Actually, we do—some chick named Ellen called our dad a few months ago, apparently, said she could help, so Sam and I are going to see what she had."

Deja's eyebrows rose in surprise, even as she started to flick flames into the air, watching the flames die mid-air before they reached anything that could catch on fire. "That does sound interesting—you'll have to tell me what you found—either over the phone or when we both get back."

"Depends on if she has anything or not. So, you never mentioned what this important job was, you just said you wanted to go it alone."

Deja paused. No, she hadn't really fabricated a story for them other than 'a hunt,' had she? "Witches. As it usually is with me. And if not witches, then demons—though I would mention if I was going after a demon," she added, trying not to sound hasty.

Considering the Winchesters' very recent run in with demons, she knew they knew that demons were no small task, and would probably rather tie her up and throw her in the trunk of Dean's car right now than let her hunt a demon alone.

Now was not the time to go solo hunting demons.

There was a few heartbeats where Dean paused before asking for clarification. "You said you're hunting witches—not demons?"

"Right," Deja said, closing her fist and extinguishing the flames she'd been playing with. "What I'm hunting is witches right now. I was just saying what I usually end up hunting are witches and demons. It's just witches on this hunt," she promised him.

Dean sound significantly more relieved after her clarification. He'd seen her handle witches before—then again, he'd been there to see how intense and difficult it could be, so no doubt there would still be worry.

She didn't mind—him worrying for her meant he cared, and she thought it sweet.

"All right, I guess I can handle that," Dean said reluctantly.

"Well, you're gonna have to, 'cause I bet we're in different parts of the country, by now," she told him pointedly. "Anyway, it's gonna be a long day tomorrow, I just wanted to check in like you asked, hear your voice."

"Aww, you miss me that much already, do you?" Dean teased.

"Haha, shut up, or you'll never hear me say something like it again," Deja countered, rolling her eyes.

"Well, just be careful...and—"

"Call you if I need help, yes, Dean, I know," Deja laughed. "Good luck with the Ellen lady. I'll call again tomorrow like I promised."

"Looking forward to it."

"Night, Dean."

"Oh! Before you go, I should mention I finished that pie you made not long after you left, so when you get back..."

"Goodnight, Dean."

He laughed at the tone of her voice. "Night, Deja."

Deja rolled her eyes, smiling as she pressed the end button, snapping her phone shut with a small click. She stayed on the bed for a few moments, tapping the phone in the palm of her hand before she tossed it on the other side of the bed, swinging around with her legs crossed on the bed, pulling her grimoire into her lap.

She wanted to work on the new field of magic she'd decided to put some focus into, to work on blazing a new trail for a school of magic that was sadly lacking.

Ever since Dean had nearly died, Deja had been studying healing magic. She'd kept what Rachel had sent her while she'd been frantic for a cure for Dean, going over what she had been given a lot more carefully now that she wasn't under the pressure of someone she cared about dying and could afford to properly study the school of magic she'd had yet to explore.

She didn't want to be so caught off guard again, so helpless as someone lay dying when she had these abilities.

But she knew where to draw the line.

There was healing magic, a decent amount of it, but her problem was that most of the healing magic was dark magic, and only focused on healing one's self. She wanted white or neutral magic, and spells that could be used on one's self or on others.

That was why she didn't have much to work with, something that had convinced her that she needed to do her own study and practice if she wanted to get anywhere. It also meant that she needed more time to develop her skills in the field, though considering she was traveling with Sam and Dean and spending so much time with them, that wasn't so easy.

So, at the moment, her healing magic was developing slower than Dean moved at 5 a.m. without coffee. It would continue to move slowly as well, since it had been a while since she'd last practiced her magic, and she wanted to work on her core spells, her basic spells she always turned to in a tight spot.

She wanted to work on her telekinesis, of course, she believed every which should have a foundation of telekinesis.

She also wanted to work on her fire magic. The magic she considered to be at the core of her abilities.

Deja had always been good with fire—the first time she'd shown her magical abilities she'd started a fire during a temper tantrum. The ability came almost naturally to her, and she'd learned and developed her fire spells faster than anything else.

Deja flipped through her grimoire, just taking the time to go over what lay within, something she hadn't been able to safely do always being around the hunters at Bobby's house. She was reminded of another fire spell she'd been considering practicing, one that might have to be slightly tabled while she worked on healing, and since she didn't have anyone she could test it with, anyway.

Sighing, Deja closed her grimoire, setting it aside and looking over at the tissue box sitting on the nightstand with the crappy tissues, the kind that left your nose burning after using them. She focused her gaze on the tissue already half out of the box, stretching outwards with her powers and envisioning pulling the tissue up out of the box and dropping it on the smooth wooden surface of the nightstand.

It fluttered in an unseen breeze, but didn't move.

Deja grimaced—she was out of practice.

To help the spell along, Deja lifted her hand, flicking a finger up in the air. This time the tissue responded with the physical movement, the tissue ripping upwards and hovering in the air for a second before Deja let it go, letting it flutter to the surface of the nightstand. She dropped her hand again, studying the tissue with a tilt of her head.

With little more than a blink, a corner that was curled into the air caught aflame, the fire slowly eating away at the tissue but not catching the nightstand on fire under her watchful gaze.

Well, at least she could still start little fires without any gestures. The flames on her hand had been a good indicator for that, but it never hurt to check.

She'd have to practice for a while before heading to bed tonight. Clearly her abilities needed worked on, and she would take this time away from Sam and Dean as an opportunity to do just that. Normally, she didn't use her powers for trivial things, but considering how out of practice she was, she'd probably use her magic even to grab things and open and close doors while she was on her trip.

It would work for practice. And so long as she got her practice in, she'd be able to breathe a little easier...

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

She was almost to Arizona when they finally caught up to her.

She'd been ready for their inevitable arrival, as she'd been going slow so that they could catch up to her, adding to her preparation little at a time and never leaving a motel room she'd booked until she was leaving the area.

That last one was because she didn't want them to cheat and try to off her with a hex bag—she wanted to force a face to face confrontation, force them to pit their skills against hers.

She was lying on her bed, twirling one of her blades in the air with her telekinesis as practice and working on her telekinetic knife throwing (without putting any holes in the walls) when the protective sigils she'd painted onto her door suddenly burned red hot, some powerful spell burning them away.

It was about time.

Deja snatched her blade out of the air, holding it ready to throw in her hand, not even bothering with the gun as there was a likely chance it would be useless against these particular witches.

The last of her sigil burned away, the door flying into the room, and Deja threw the knife as soon as someone appeared in her doorway, the blade sticking in the intruder's upper right chest. Not in the heart, though, so there was a chance they'd still be a problem.

There was an audible sound of pain, though Deja didn't wait to see what they would do next, leaping forward to grab another knife out of her bag, simultaneously sending her lamp flying at the figure with a knife sticking out of them with a flick of her fingers, right into their head. The second witch pushed past the first, a shout and a wave of his hand sending Deja back over the bed. She grunted as she hit the ground, grabbing the blanket and yanking it violently off the bed. It snapped in the air as the witch who'd attacked her stalked closer, and with a clench of the hand holding a wad of the blanket, fire ripped up the fabric, causing the harmless blanket to suddenly become a fiery mass colliding right into the side of the witch stalking closer to her.

Curses filled the air as the man's jacket and pants caught on fire, the witch trying to put them out before they spread too far. She had him, though—the flames were already on him, and that was all she needed.

Deja sucked in a sharp breath, hand raising and a few words of Latin spilling past her lips as her splayed hand slashed to the side, the flames ripping across his clothes to match the motion. The curses switched to screams as the man found himself ablaze, and Deja, not exactly wanting to see, smell, or hear a man slowly burn to death, rolled back over the bed to find the blade she'd dropped when she was thrown back. It was lying on the floor, and as soon as she saw it she called it into her hand, turning as soon as she felt the familiar feel of her fingers closing around the handle. She flipped the blade around, throwing the blade at the blazing witch with a slightly magic-aided throw, just to be sure. The blade lodged in his neck, silencing his screams as his body keeled over.

Deja hardly had time to clench her fist and extinguish the flames so the room wouldn't catch fire when she was blindsided by the other witch she'd thought had been down, a burning slash up her arm telling her he'd pulled the knife out of his chest and had just thrown it at her, cutting her arm in the process.

A quick glance down told her that no, it had not scratched her, it had stuck in her near the edge of her arm, sticking all the way through.

That was going to hurt like a bitch once the adrenaline faded.

This witch didn't bother advancing, he simply hit her with another spell, sending her flying against the wall and crashing into the nightstand, her breath leaving her in a whoosh. A Latin incantation cracking through the room told her she was about to get another nasty surprise, and sure enough, she felt a stabbing fire rip up her lungs, blood bursting past her lips in a violent, unrelenting cough as he held her pinned to the ground.

She tried to send the chair in the room flying after him, no Latin incantations able to make it past her lips to help her in this situation between the blood and the coughing. She was forced to rely on the spells she could cast without words, the fire and the telekinesis. However, when she tried using her telekinesis the witch lunged forward, trapping the arm against the wall before she could finish the motion. Deja was doubled over, unable to breathe from the blood obstructing her airways, but as soon as he was within her sphere, Deja lurched her head up, connecting with the witch's nose.

He reared back, blood spouting from the hopefully broken appendage, Deja momentarily free from the spell he'd cast on her with his broken concentration and injury. She gasped in just one breath, coughing on the blood in her throat before her hand shot out, latching onto him before he could reel too far away from her.

This spell she needed an incantation for, the words bursting past her lips in a hoarse but still legible rattle, pronounced well-enough for the spell to still take effect.

The witch erupted into flames, shoved back by Deja as soon as the flames had engulfed his body as she shied back. She didn't let go of the spell until he stopped flailing, collapsing to the floor and catching the carpet on fire. She quickly put out the flames before they spread to the rest of the room, and then simply...collapsed against the side of the nightstand, breathing heavily and gazing at the charred body in front of her, the smell not as bad as it could have been with the door to her room gone.

A wave of pain reminded her she had a knife sticking in her arm, and she groaned, closing her eyes and resting her head back against the wall.

She needed to do something about that.

But she had to take care of this mess, first—or at least get out of here before someone discovered the burned bodies and the door ripped off its hinges.

All a matter of priorities—did a literal knife sticking out of her arm, two charred bodies, or putting distance between herself and the scene of a crime matter more to her?

It was moments like this that solo hunting got a little tricky.

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

It was harder to do when she was injured, but Deja chose to cover her tracks, first, dragging the bodies out of her room and into the woods near the motel, doing her best to make them disappear before she returned to the motel, grabbed her stuff, and left.

Yes, she drove for a short time with a knife sticking out of her arm, just trying to put distance between herself and the motel before she took the time to stop and treat her wound, as that was going to take a bit of time. Eventually she found a small backroad she could disappear in, pulling off to the side after a few minutes of driving. There, she sat with the door open on the edge of the seat, leaning out of the car to try and avoid getting blood inside.

At least her interior was red.

So far into the unpleasant process—at least after she'd pulled the blade out—her phone rang.

Dean.

Of all the times he could call...

Well, it was going to be worse if she didn't answer. It was better she answered and he find out she was injured and currently in pain than she not answer and he think something terrible happened to her, like death, or capture.

Or death.

Pausing and setting a bloody rag she'd wet down with a water bottle, Deja answered the phone, setting it somewhere where she could hear and talk to him but keep working on her wound.

"Dean...I'd say nice to hear from you, but your timing's a little...awkward," she settled on saying, getting ready to clean the wound now that she had the knife out and had staunched the bleeding a little.

"Why, you in the middle of your case?" Dean asked, and it sounded like if she said yes, he would hang up.

Probably—at least being in the same line of work meant he understood the effort and time that could go into it, and if she said she was busy with the job, she most likely was busy.

"No...case is over. I'm dealing with the aftermath right now," Deja answered, bracing herself as she finally decided to just pour, the burning feeling in her arm causing her to hiss in pain.

"You're hurt?" Dean asked sharply. She could practically feel the intensity of his concerned gaze through the phone.

"Just a bit of a flesh wound, nothing major—and it's far from my heart, so..."

"Don't you Monty Python me—I thought you were going to be careful?" Dean accused. "How bad is it?"

"I already said it wasn't anything serious—just a graze with a knife, nothing more," Deja returned defensively, rolling her eyes at the fact he was referencing The Holy Grail as she started seeking out the stuff she needed to get to work on her stitches.

"Why don't I believe you?"

"Because you know what constitutes as a scratch for me. Don't worry, Dean, I'm okay, I'm on my way back to Bobby's right now." Deciding it was best if she direct the conversation elsewhere before he could scold her for getting injured any more, she did her best to divert his attention to another topic. "What about your case—the one you said that Ellen lady gave you while...what was his name...Ash, looked at your dad's research?"

He'd told her about what was happening on his end in regards to the possible lead in the form of Ellen Harvelle the day he'd met them, and had been keeping her updated on how things were progressing in return for Deja keeping him updated on what was going on with her. Though he didn't know just how censored she'd been keeping her escapades when she talked to him, or how much liberty she was taking with the finer details of her hunt.

Thankfully, now that she was done, the excessive lying could stop.

She hated it—hated every minute of it-and as much as she loved her freedom to practice her magic, she missed Sam and Dean, and she missed the honesty she'd been able to have while around them.

She didn't have the luxury of that honesty when she was on one of these hunts, and suddenly, the escape was also a prison built of her own lies.

"Ah, right, the killer clown—you're missing one hell of a case."

"That weird, huh?" Deja asked, starting on her knife wound with needle and thread.

"Weird is one word for it, sure. Sam's having the time of his life."

Deja rolled her eyes. "Says the man afraid of airplanes."

"Says the woman afraid of spiders."

"Those things are a freak of nature, and they all need to burn, but...Touché."

Dean sighed. She could envision him rubbing the back of his head, forehead scrunched up slightly as he pushed down weariness, maybe even stretched.

Damn it, she missed him...

The boys had grown on her—exponentially.

"Anyway, we're closing in on it, so we should be returning not long after you do," Dean was saying.

"I'll be waiting for you."

"With pie?"

Deja snorted. "We'll see."

"Hey, I've earned it."

"We'll see."

Dean grumbled some sort of complaint under his breath she couldn't quite make out. "Good enough, I suppose," he relented begrudgingly. "In the meantime—take care of yourself, all right?"

"Dean—I'm fine. It's just a few stitches. I'll see you when you get back."

"Until then."

Click.

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

For a while, it was just Deja and Bobby at the house when she returned. It was odd, despite the fact she'd expected it, to be alone in a relatively knew place with a person she was only acquainted with because of recent events. And yet, being back at the house brought a sense of familiarity and even some comfort, with the Impala coming together gradually in its spot in the junkyard and little hints of the Winchesters' recent occupancy lying about the house.

She did, in fact, make another pie while she waited for the Winchesters' return, though she gave Bobby the first slice with a comment that went something along the lines of, 'Dean and I are gonna have to have a chat about how this isn't going to be a regular thing.'

Bobby got a good chuckle from that, something that made Deja feel a little proud. She'd made the surly hunter laugh—a milestone.

Though, for the most part, the two of them stayed out of each other's way. Deja would hide herself away inconspicuously whenever she could and practice her magic, since she only had to worry about one housemate instead of three, and Bobby tended to be busy helping other hunters.

Being around to see just how much the man did in one day certainly had her impressed, and gave her a newfound respect for the man.

At long last the boys returned, their arrival signaled by the terrible whine of some junker car they'd probably had to borrow to make the trip, since Dean was still working on the Impala. Deja went out to meet them—of course—following the plume of dust and the rattling noise their borrowed car created to locate them in Bobby's scrap yard. She slowed down slightly when they came into view, Sam and Dean just then getting out of the car.

She could practically see the tension between them, and it made her wary. Something had happened between them on this hunt—perhaps the impending collision between the two over John's death, the one Deja had predicted would happen eventually. Whatever it was, Sam looked like he just wanted to put some distance between himself and Dean, maybe lock himself away somewhere and think.

He didn't ignore her, however. As the three of them approached each other he gave her a nod and a smile only strained by whatever was weighing on him, murmuring a quick, 'Good to see you again' before he continued on and disappeared.

Dean, however, walked right up to her.

Not knowing what had happened, Deja decided it was best to give him a hug either way, giving him a warm smile she hoped let him know she'd missed him. Her arms wrapped around his shoulders, face burying in his neck with her cheek cushioned on the flap of his favorite leather jacket. She hadn't even finished pulling him close before she felt the warm and welcome weight of his hands sliding across her back and pulling him gently into her, his face in her hair, lips brushing her ear.

"Glad you're back," she murmured, staying in his embrace for the time being, partially because she was very much enjoying it, and partially in case he needed it.

"Nice to see you, too," Dean said as he pulled back, amusement in his tone of voice. Still, there was something in his eyes that made her think that despite the teasing outward appearance, he really was glad to see her again.

Then he spotted the stitches that marked her clearly not just a scratch wound.

"A flesh wound?" he asked, tone a little scathing as he gently took that arm in his hand and lifted it into view between the both of them.

"Wha—it is! It's nowhere deadly or major, it didn't rip open my arm or cause a loss of a limb, it was just a clean cut through, and I've already got it all stitched up!"

"You had a knife sticking through your arm!"

"But it's fine now!"

"That doesn't make it any better! A knife sticking out of your body is not just a bit of a flesh wound!"

"It is when it stuck there," Deja finished flatly, giving him the best defiant, stubborn pout he could manage. "You just got back, do you have to immediately obsess over my healing injury?"

"Yes," he said without hesitation, though he finally released her arm.

"No, you do not," Deja corrected. "I am here to enjoy your presence, not be lectured for something trivial."

"It's not trivial."

"It is—at least a little bit."

"It's not trivial."

"I made that pie."

Silence.

Jackpot.

"You win this round—for now," Dean grumbled as Deja laughed, putting a hand on his shoulder as they started making their way towards the house. Dean put his arm around Deja's shoulders, pulling her to his side in a protective gesture that said 'yes, you win this argument, but I'm not any less worried about you.'

"I'll take it," Deja snickered.

It was good to be back.