Epilogue.

“So you ended up with a distraught but repentant millionaire, two dead bodies, and a very angry building beautification committee?” Jim Murphy shook his head at the bedraggled men sitting at his kitchen table.

It was the wee hours of the morning and he had been more than surprised to find the motley crew pounding on his door, looking like death warmed over. “Yeah,” John rubbed a hand over his beard, taking a drink of the strong coffee. “It wasn’t the best of situations.”

“What are you complaining about? You slept through the worst part.” Reaves pointed out, trying to remove Scout’s paws from his lap.

“Yeah, well, if I had been conscious I think I could have come up with a better cover story. One that didn’t involve Mac’s clientele.”

The big black Lab finally shifted her attention to Sam, who had his arms full of Jim’s latest family member. She nudged her black nose under the boy’s arm as Harper Lee, a gregarious Beagle puppy, continued his full frontal assault on Sam’s face, determined to lick the last crumbs of apple pie away. “At least the police seemed to buy the crazed patient story,” the youngest Winchester told his father, as he dodged the persistant, pink tongue.

“Patient?” Jim asked, with an arched brow.

“Yeah,” Caleb shifted uncomfortably. “I told the police that one of Mac’s patients showed up demanding to see him, and that I let her in before I realized she was completely buckets of crazy.”

The pastor scratched at his head. “I’m not sure your father would appreciate that medical term.”

“I don’t think he’ll appreciate finding his home is a closed crime scene either,” Dean snorted around a mouthful of pie.

“Shut up, Deuce.”

“What about this business man? Kline?” Jim asked, expertly maneuvering around the typical sniping.

“He backed up my story.” Reaves shrugged, remembering how he had ‘convinced’ the millionaire to help them.

"Old man money bags was more than happy to play along after he realized he was involved in a double homicide." Dean shoveled in another bite of his pie. "I guess stock prices wouldn't have been too stable if he was plastered on the front page of the Times."

"And what kind of story did you concoct to connect Mr. Kline to the likes of Madame Dellacrois?" Murphy asked, resting his chin on his hand, eyeing Caleb carefully.

The younger man shrugged. “Seems the poor old gal had been dating his recently deceased son, and was completely distraught over Scott’s death. She’d called his old man on her way over to Mac’s, said she was going to join her beloved. She was hysterical and he’d come to check on her.” Caleb sighed. “She attacked him, and Dr. Ames’ good friend, John, also.”

Dean nodded, obviously liking that part. “Dad had to tell the cops that he got his ass kicked by a girl.”

John rolled his eyes. “The story had more holes than a sieve. We're just lucky that money and power like Kline’s can do a whole hell of a lot for your standing and credibility with the police.”

Murphy frowned. “Even that kind of power can’t explain away a gun shot victim.”

“No,” Reaves sighed. “Duran…I had to dispose of until the cops left.”

“Dispose of?”

“Yeah,” Dean waved his fork at the psychic. “Mister Morbid here had a body bag under his bed.” He faked a shudder. “Freak.”

Murphy sent him a curious look and Caleb held up his hands in mock surrender. “Hey, you’re the one who said we should always be prepared, Jim.”

“I’m not sure I had that in mind exactly.” The pastor scratched his head. “And what did you do with the body after the coast was clear?”

“Well…that’s the thing…” Caleb started, but Sam cut him off.

“They want to bury him next to Bunnicula.”

“What?” Jim’s blue eyes widened.

“My rabbit,” The sixteen-year-old said around a jaw-popping yawn. It was obvious that despite sleeping the entire trip to the farm, the kid was winding down. “You know…in the garden.”

“You want to lay Duran to rest here, at my home?” The priest ignored the boys, staring intently at John, as if he were certain it was Winchester’s idea.

“There’s a price to running the castle, Merlin.”

“You do realize this is a safe place- but not hallowed ground. It wouldn’t be right, I’m afraid. And I can’t exactly have an unscheduled burial at the rectory, now can I?”

“What would you have me do, Jim?” John growled. “I couldn’t leave him stuffed under the kid’s bed. The building commission is already going to be pretty pissed at Mackland-stinking up the place would not help matters.”

“Yes, what is this? The third place you’ve either destroyed or gotten him kicked out of?”

“Hey!” John held up a finger. “The beach house in Rockport was not my fault.”

“Still…”

Winchester shook his head. “And I didn’t know the protocol, all right.” He spared a quick glance in Caleb’s direction. “He was in the Brotherhood, damn it.”

“I’m aware.” The priest rubbed a finger over one silver brow. “But I just can’t plant him here, like a beloved pet. There are rites and procedures, even for someone like Duran.”

“There’s the old Castor family burial ground up on Widow’s Mountain.” Sam suggested, hoisting Harper Lee on his shoulder, much to the delight of the pup, who found the teen’s long hair an interesting new chew toy. “No one goes there anymore, but it’s still holy ground.”

The priest frowned. “No one except nosy boys who were told not to be near the place.”

“Those sink holes are a bitch,” Dean said, around a barely concealed grin.

“So was setting your arm with those old shin bones Sammy found,” Reaves chimed in only to receive another glare from Murphy. “Hey, don’t look at me. I wanted to toss Hughes’ ass in the landfill.”

“I think Samuel’s idea is a sound one,” Jim finally said, with a solemn frown. “A new plot shouldn’t be noticed and it is protected land.”

“We can take the four-wheelers up there tomorrow.” John nodded. “As long as we stay off the horse trails we shouldn’t meet anyone.”

“Yes, because I’m afraid I don’t know any multi-millionaires that are willing to vouch for me if you were discovered with a dead body.” Jim huffed, sliding his fingers through his mass of silver hair, causing it to stick up wildly in several directions.

Sam caught his brother’s eye and they both stifled a laugh. Their father shot them a familiar glare and both boys looked back down at their plates. “I think we should turn in then.” Winchester nodded to Sam. “Especially you, kiddo.”

“Yeah, it's past the little guy's bed time,” Dean reached over and rubbed a hand over his brother's hair.

Sam shoved him away. "Dean was hurt worse than me.”

“And your brother’s turning in, too.”

The twenty-year-old's face flushed, and Reaves laughed. “Don’t cry Deuce,” He consoled, smugly. “Jim will probably read you a bedtime story if you’re good.”

“Fu…”

“Dean Mathew Winchester!” Jim snapped, effectively cutting off the blond hunter's intended slur.

“Fu...nny. I was going to say funny!”

John pointed at Sam. “Take that pup out to do his business before you sneak him upstairs.”

Scout whined, again nudging the teen with her head. “You can come too, girl,” Sam assured scooting out from behind the table, starting for the screen door.

“Just keep the flea bags out of my bed.” Dean called after his brother, only to receive a hand gesture that would have had Jim’s ire up again if it hadn’t been carefully hidden behind his back.

“His bed is your bed,” Caleb spoke up. “Because I sure the hell ain’t sleeping with him and his furry girlfriends, and I’m not sharing with you.”

“What happened to the couch?”

“You want to sleep on that lumpy thing, go ahead, Deuce. Knock yourself out.”

“Then what about your old room?” Dean asked. “The one with Leta Ford on black velvet and Poison posters?”

Reaves smirked. “Shut up.”

“Actually I turned that room into an art studio,” The priest explained and both younger men looked at him. “ I’ve taken up the brush again,” he told them with a self-satisfied grin.

“Painting?” The twenty-year-old didn’t catch his groan in time and Murphy gave him an affronted look.

“I’ll have you know, young man, that I have improved vastly since my last encounter with the muse.”

Dean grinned. “No disrespect. But you could be possessed by Michelangelo’s muse, Pastor Jim, and you’d still stink.”

“Remember when he did that mural?” Caleb leaned conspiratorially across the table, bobbed his eyebrows toward the ceiling. “The one with the naked cherubs?”

“Bobby thought it was some kind of satanic protection symbol,” Dean laughed, garnering a sigh from his father, who roughly scooted his chair across the wooden floor.

The ex-marine stood, wondering why somehow coming to Jim’s farm was like walking into a time warp. “Go to bed, boys.”

“I thought that was a rather good replication of Gabriel’s Angels,” Murphy defended, which only made Reaves and his accomplice laugh harder.

“If Gabriel had a bunch of freakishly deformed pigs with feathers…then yeah.”

“Oh, stop, man,” the blond hunter shook his head at Caleb, gasping and holding his side. “I’m still not fully recovered.”

Jim looked at John. “ I really do think we failed somewhere along the line.”

“Don’t look at me,” Winchester shrugged. “You were the one who said that ‘spare the rod’ nonsense was rubbish. And then there was that 'boys will be boy's' sermon you delivered more times than I care to remember.”

“Perhaps I was wrong.”

Now John laughed. “First time for everything. Wait ‘til I tell Mac.”

“Yes,” Murphy raised a defined, white brow, “wait until you tell Mackland.” Jim went on, “About everything.”

Winchester’s grin faltered. “I was kind of hoping you’d do that. I mean I have that job out in Senoa…”

“Go to bed, John.” Jim stood also, waved the other hunter away, dismissing him like an annoying child asking for their tenth glass of water. “Scoot.”

“And you two can clean up the dishes before retiring.” The priest motioned towards the last two occupants at the table and then to the sink.

“But…” Dean started, only to have Murphy hold up a hand to stop him.

“No buts.”

“I was at death’s door only mere hours ago.”

“Yet you seem completely fine to ridicule your elders and torment your younger brother. I’d say the prognosis is good.”

“Great,” Dean muttered.

“Now if you children will excuse me…”

“Jim?” Caleb spoke up, stopping the priest from leaving. “About Duran…”

Dean glanced across the table, noticing all hint of humor had left the dark haired hunter’s face. His green eyes were once again serious, his jaw clenched, and the tense lines around his mouth had returned. “I thought you’d want this.”

Reaves held out Duran’s ring and waited for Murphy to take the silver band.

Winchester glanced down at his own ring. Caleb had retrieved it from Hughes’ pocket before they'd put him in the body bag. He hadn't realized that Reaves had taken the medium's ring as well.

"Thank you," Jim said softly, sharing a sad, almost reverent look with the two of them. He sighed deeply, painfully. "Sometimes there is no choice but to step across that invisible line, I'm afraid."

The twenty-year-old glanced up at the priest, a sudden surge of anger coursing through him. He wasn't sure at whom it was directed but it was there just the same. "There is no line," he snapped, harsher than he had meant. When Jim tilted his head in confusion, Dean merely looked at Caleb who was watching him with hooded eyes, saw what Jim didn't-guilt.

"Perhaps not." The priest cleared his throat, seeming to catch on. He put the ring in his pocket, and patted Dean on the shoulder as he left them alone. "Goodnight, boys."

"You really believe that?" Reaves ran a finger around the lip of his coffee mug, met the younger hunter's gaze again. "About there being no line?"

Dean shrugged, leaned back in his seat. The psychic had been quiet on the long drive to Jim's, which wasn't entirely unusual, but it didn't take a mind reader to know what he was thinking about. "Someone I trusted told me that once, so yeah, I believe it."

The dark haired man rolled his eyes, grinned, despite himself. "Oh yeah? What else did this incredibly wise and handsome man tell you?"

"Well..." Winchester leaned forward, rested his elbows on the table, "this ugly bastard told me that there really wasn't anything such as good, bad, and evil. That there was only doing what needed to be done, and hoping like hell that it was coming from the right place."

"Really?"

The kid looked down, slightly red-faced when it was obvious Reaves was taken back by the fact the younger hunter could recite the six-year-old conversation of theirs almost verbatim. "Then the bitch rambled on like some pussy about all the things people do in the name of love. But in the end, despite the huge chick-flick sentiment, I got what he was trying to say."

"And that was?" Caleb raked a hand through his hair.

"That you do what you have to do to protect what's yours…and sometimes it‘s not pretty."

The older hunter was silent for a moment, then he licked his lips, shifted his tall frame in the chair. "I...I never killed a person, Deuce, you know? Ghosts-yeah, furries-no problem, but a living, breathing human..." Caleb looked away. "It's different."

"Don't think of it that way." Dean waited for Reaves to meet his gaze again. "You didn't murder Duran, you saved me and Sam." The blond forced a grin, knowing it was a stretch, but not having a clue as to what else he could do to make it right. "Semantics, you know." He shrugged. "Besides even you demonic types are powerless when it comes to that great, beautiful, terrible cosmic shit."

Reaves shook his head, palmed his tired eyes. Laughed. It was a whole hell of a lot better than the alternative. He gave the kid a hard look. "And you're sure this guy was ugly?"

"Oh yeah," Dean nodded. "Lyle Lovett kind of ugly."

Caleb held up his bandaged hand, waggled it at Dean, dimple and white teeth flashing. "Terrible thing to say about your own flesh and blood, brother."

Dean groaned. "Don't ever call me that again."

"Hey, looks run in the family."

The blond stood, taking his cup to the sink. "Laugh it up, Dude. But nothing will be very funny tomorrow."

"Really?" Caleb stood, stretched his aching back, and dumped his own coffee. "Why's that, Junior?"

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