Dean watched as Sam left, waited until there was silence for about thirty minutes before he took the silver ring off, awkward because it was on a different finger than he usually wore it on. The light coming through the windows was enough to see by. The inscription winked. He had a sudden fear of J.R.R. Tolkein’s literary One Ring, but pushed it aside as he read:

Noblesse oblige.

Dean studied it for a moment before returning the ring to his finger. He didn’t need a dictionary to know the meaning of the word. Noblesse oblige was tied to royalty or high birth. It meant stronger people needed to be honorable, generous and responsible for the weak. But, what did it mean as applied to him?

The ring hadn’t been inscribed by Caleb, Mac or Sam. He'd been unconscious less than twenty-four hours. Dean twisted his ring. There was something special about Jim's pond. It was why he had been drawn to it, sought it out when he needed to get away and find some peace. She was always there, but this time she appeared to him instead of whispering to him. It wasn't lost on him that the Lady Du Lac had used a French name and noblesse oblige had roots in the French language. She wore the ring herself, two of them, but he didn't understand the meaning. Was she the source of the rings? And what had he been chosen to do? He wasn’t about to allow anyone to exact another promise from him. However, it seemed that she was making promises to him.

There was another lingering thought. When he woke up he had lost his father—again. His father's rising had been a dream; therefore the Lady of the Lake had been a dream - or not. He rallied around the confirmation of her existence. Without it there was the distinct possibility he was insane or worse - hopeless.

If she was real, and the proof was in the inscription, then John Winchester had been real too. And maybe that trip into dreamland was about Dean and his father having just the moment of understanding. Still, he harbored hope for his father's return. In introspection he thought about having the chance to see his father again, and what he would do differently with their time together. There would be limited accusations and immediate forthrightness.

Dean sighed. He noticed his duffle bag had been brought in. He removed the IV, and tied a knot in the tubing. He slowly slid his body over to the edge of the bed, curled into a fetal position and rested a minute before sitting up. Using the bed to hold him up, he made his way to the bag, crouched in front of it. He dug through with his uninjured hand until he felt the Velcro pocket he had added to his duffle. Inside was a velvet pouch. Awkwardly, he spilled the contents of the pouch - Jim's ring. Caleb had given it to him after the pastor's death. The Guardian's ring was different, not a plain band but one with symbols etched on it. Dean tilted it so he could check inside the ring. The same words were inscribed: Noblesse Oblige.

Dean fell back into a sitting position. The impact jarred his wounded body. He brought the ring to his forehead. "Oh, God, Jim." He knew the ghost of the dead minister would not visit him. He returned the ring to its hiding place, and used the bed to hoist himself up.

He was tired, odd after having been unconscious for so long. But, his dream had been very active. Dean succumbed to sleep, if only to stop the thoughts running through his mind and the hope he could revisit what he touched upon when unconscious.

Three hours later he was up, placing one foot then the other gingerly on the wood floor. He stifled the groan caused by his protesting ribs. He craved a shower. He looked at his splint. A rinse would have to do, and then a cup of coffee. He shuffled into the bathroom and filled the sink with water. He found a washcloth and cleaned up, wetting the bandages around his ribs slightly. Ten minutes later he felt a bit cleaner and refreshed. He kept on the pajama pants he was wearing, wondering if they were Caleb's. He added his own hooded sweatshirt.

Carefully he went down the stairs, holding an arm against his ribs in the poor attempt to keep pressure off of them, standing upright placed a strain on his whole body. In the kitchen, there was a cup of coffee left waiting for him in the carafe. He poured it into his mug and set up the coffeemaker to make more.

Dean took his coffee out to the porch and settled in the old swing. He looked up and noticed the metal chains were rusting. He would have to change them while he was here, a swing shouldn't be allowed to get rusty. Dean figured everyone was asleep until he saw Mackland coming out, keys in hand.

"Hey, Mac," he stated so he did not startle the older hunter.

Ames frowned. "Shouldn’t you be in bed?"

Dean would have shrugged his shoulders, but it would be painful. "Probably, but I have an in with the doctor. . ."

Mac sat down on the swing along side the younger man. "I was just heading out to buy some medical supplies. I'd like to cast that arm."

Dean lifted the splinted arm. "Just as long as Sammy or Caleb don’t get to pick the color or write on it."

Mackland smiled. When the boys were younger they used casts as ploys for revenge. He doubted things would change even if they were older. "You can count on me."

Dean patted the older hunter's leg. Mackland had proven his commitment to the Winchesters. "I know I can."

Ames was hoping that he would not be shut out. "But you don't want to talk."

Dean knew there was so much he should speak about. He had a lifetime of thoughts - recent and old. But if he spoke of them, then the spell would unravel. He was keeping his own counsel on certain subjects. "Not really."

Mac was taking a guess, believing the younger hunter needed validation concerning John's unlikely resurrection. "Dean, your father loved you and was proud of you."

Dean embraced the peace he had made with his father. The momentary tranquility would be lost soon enough; the demon hovered over the Winchester's lives. "That's what he said."

Ames was a little surprised at Dean's calm behavior. "Good, you should believe it."

Dean decided to share a portion of his dream with a smirk. "You also drank—a lot." He waited for Mackland's reaction; the man was a notorious teetotaler.

The doctor shook his head vehemently. "Well, that you shouldn’t believe." Mac stood up. "I'll see you when I get back."

"A date with some plaster. I'll look forward to it."

Dean watched Mackland drive away, and finished his coffee. He placed the cup on the porch's planked floor. He looked at the horizon and wondered if he would ever be able to forget everything and be ‘just Dean’ once more. The Dean without the craziness that he had witnessed from the point of his father's resurrection to the appearance of the Lady of the Lake. However, that Dean no longer existed. He was too affected by the dream. He didn't know how long he remained lulled by the glimmering sun, but the screen door opened again and Caleb stepped out.

"Mac left," Dean said.

Reaves studied the younger hunter, and his relaxed appearance. "How are you doing, Deuce?"

"Alright." Dean drawled, shifting positions slightly. He was getting too comfortable on the swing, but the gentle sway helped ease the pain of his injuries.

Caleb joined Dean on the swing, giving it a push which garnered him a glare from the injured hunter. "Still feels like the twilight zone?" Caleb picked at his palm, attempting to remove a splinter he'd carried with him from Knoxville.

"A little." Dean looked at Caleb's palm as the older hunter worked out the sliver. "Guess I still think Dad is going to show up." He thought conversation would invoke his father to appear in Jim's front yard like a desert mirage.

Caleb flicked the splinter away, then sucked the stinging cut. "What was Johnny like?"

Dean found Caleb so transparent sometimes. The older hunter was also looking for otherworldly guidance, having some doubt as to his true path. It made Reaves as normal as the rest of them. "We thought he was like Superman and could fix everything, but he was still an asshole."

Reaves deduced he was included in the 'We.' It was strange to have been a fixture in a dream, but Caleb smiled. "So, nothing changed."

"Pretty much." Dean nodded.

Caleb leaned forward; placing his elbows on his knees then turned his neck to look at Dean. "Good to know he hadn’t become a saint or anything."

"Still, it was nice having him back." Dean relished the feeling of realization that John was alive.

"Yeah, I miss him too." Caleb conjured a picture of John in his mind.

Dean felt he could risk divulging his thoughts. There was no overriding instinct to keep them hidden. "I think if he had a second chance he'd be better than he had been."

"What's better than an asshole with a Superman complex?" It would have been a complete metamorphosis for John to lose the driven soldier within himself.

Dean paused and rubbed the calluses on his left hand. "A dad."

Caleb was stunned into silence for a moment. John probably would not have wanted anything more than to be just a father to his sons. His last act on this earth had proven that truth. "Probably would have lasted a day." Reaves smirked, using humor instead of pathos. He felt the need to tread carefully.

Dean understood, appreciated the gesture and went along with the funny remark. "Maybe two or three, tops."

"You're an optimist." Caleb sat back, seeing the depths of Dean's own transformation to another notch of maturity.

"Guess so." Dean closed his eyes for a second, then opened one eye. "Dude, in my dream you were all fanboy over him."

"Was not." Caleb argued. He hadn’t lived the dream, but he knew his personality enough to know he always had a sense of decorum.

The younger hunter smirked. "Whatever, Damien. I was there."

"It was your dream." Reaves took the opportunity to probe deeper. He wanted some answers to his confusion. Did Dean know about the link between him, Jim and The Guardian position? "Anything else happen?"

"What? Like Jessica Beil paying me a visit or something?" Dean let the subterfuge spill off his lips. It seemed as though Caleb had an inkling of the truth. The Lady of the Lake was sacred for now.

"No, unless there were twins involved, I don’t want to know." Reaves's mind filled with the image of water. He frowned. "It's just… never mind." There were secrets locked in the recesses of Dean's mind which Caleb would never be privy to again, and suddenly he missed the free access he once had.

"Okay," Dean steered the conversation back on course, to his brother. "Sam still sleeping?"

It was amazing how Dean could not be diverted from his primary mission in life. "Last time I checked." Sam was curled on his side, taking up Caleb's bed which relegated Reaves to the couch for a nap.

Dean leaned forward. "Think I freaked him out a bit with the whole Dad thing."

"You did." Caleb agreed. He also knew Dean's conversation afterward had set the younger Winchester at ease, giving him some buoyancy. "But he's good."

"He is, you know -- good." Dean said his daily affirmation out loud to encourage the belief. He had been drifting away from his center for awhile, but never away from Sam.

It was interesting to see the hopefulness in the young hunter. Caleb assumed his trip to dreamland with his father had helped the hunter's perception. "Your dad tell you that?"

"Didn't have to." Dean gave a half-assed grin. With a groan he attempted to stand up, succeeding in getting to his feet, bending at the waist until he felt his body had acclimated and then stood up fully.

"You okay there, Deuce?" Caleb said with a chuckle, and grabbed the younger man's elbow to provide assistance.

Dean hurt in so many ways, but his burden was lightened if only for a day. "For right now I am."

Onto Chapter 8
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