Not Until We Are Lost

The drive to Electric City had been long, but mostly uneventful. As far as Winchester road trips went, this one went down without anyone losing a soul, or dying, or returning from the dead, or making any deals with anything.

It was nice. Dean might never admit that out loud, but it was nice.

He hadn't done much since arriving; he'd been scoping out the place on a low-level, keeping in touch with Bobby. Looking for tips on the werewolf kid and that multi-colored slayer chick. So far, no dice.

Jo'd gotten interesting information, though. She'd told him all about her meeting with Simon, what his theories were.

And she'd told him all about his daughter being blackout drunk and carried back to her motel room by a guy he'd seen back in York.

Jo's feathers were ruffled, and honestly, so were Dean's. She might not be born yet, technically speaking, but Mary was his kid. He didn't know this guy. And he figured if most people were the betting kind, they'd bet he'd grow into the kind of father that had a shotgun and shovel and a facial twitch.

He'd done his best to remind Jo that Mary was--currently-- a grown woman. And then, a day later, he'd gone over to the motel room to see her. Find out more about this guy.

He knocked and waited, hands tucked into his jacket pockets.