They drove the Impala over and pulled into the garage. The door was open and Dean called out, "Tom, Tom?"

Tom came to the door, wiping his hands on his overalls. He beamed when he saw the older Winchester. "Dean? Dean! Good to see you boy.” Tom put is hand out and Dean grabbed it in a warm handshake. “I didn’t think we'd ever see you again."

Dean smiled and placed a hand through his hair to neaten it up. He hadn’t seen Tom in three years and the man hadn’t changed-still gray slicked back hair and a stocky build. "Tom, this is my brother, Sam."

"He needs a job too?' Tom gave Sam an appraising nod.

Dean laughed and then sobered up to seriousness. "I'm not here to get my old job back."

"Come on into the kitchen,” the older man placed an arm around Dean’s shoulder and guided him from the garage. Sam followed behind as Tom continued. “It’s Thursday and it's-"

"American Chop Suey," Dean replied automatically. “We need a place to crash while we’re here. We’re writing a story about what happened to Michael Lindstrom.”

“Shame, what happened to that boy. Just don’t understand it-he just went crazy. The pastor said he attacked him and then fell and hit his head on the pew.” The kitchen had a new table, but the chairs were still mismatched. “But, sure, you can stay in your old room.”

Sam had just walked into the back room, but Dean turned him around so they could go back to the car and get their gear.

When they were out of earshot Sam finally confronted his brother. “Passed through? You worked for the man!”

“I needed the money.” Dean handed him a bag from the trunk.

“It’s more than that.” Sam put the bag down on the ground in a gesture that meant he wasn’t moving until he had an answer.

Dean with his duffle on his shoulder, bent down, and picked up the Sam’s bag from the ground. “Sammy, ain’t anything here.”

"Were you here on a hunt?" Sam put his hand on Dean’s chest to show he wanted to finish the conversation.

Dean looked at the hand on his torso in annoyance and gave a terse reply, "No."

"No?" Sam still kept his right hand on Dean, knowing the persistent gesture would aggravate Dean.

Dean pushed his brother’s hand away, and shifted both bags on his shoulder. He walked ahead, leading the way to the upstairs apartment. "It was a vacation," Dean said softly.

Sam followed him up the wooden stairs to the room above the garage. "Since when did this job get benefits like a vacation."

"I hadn’t taken any in awhile- it accumulated." They reached the landing and Dean opened the door.

The room was an open setting with a futon couch, a bed, television and a table. "Why did you go back?"

Dean placed a bag on the futon and the other on the bed. "Dad found me."

"That's it?" Sam sat on the futon, seeing his brother in a different light—a light that spoke of normalcy and belonging.

Dean didn’t turn around. "Yep, I know my place."

"What are you a dog?" Sam said, noticing Dean was looking up at a poster of Virtuian man.

"Just drop it Sammy, we have a job to do.” Dean pushed his emotions to the side, unwilling to let them deter him from his focus of finding out the circumstances of Michael Lindstrom’s death. He cleared his throat, giving himself a moment of composure. “It was a long time ago, and they are just memories." Dean rubbed his stomach. “Chop Suey should be ready.”