It was cool out, and the breeze that drifted through the Stanford campus brought dead leaves and the smell of fall with it. Halloween was only a few days away so students were dressed in various costumes. There were vampires, werewolves, ghosts; some people were even dressed as fictional characters. She couldn't name them all, but Finch was able to pick out Daphne Blake and Superman. Naturally, Dean's favourites were the slutty costumes. The nurses were one of the best, but he liked the soldiers and magicians too. Playboy bunnies were the absolute best, apparently, but there were none walking around during the day.

It took quite a bit of lying to find out where Sam was. They wandered around campus with a binder full of papers, saying it belonged to Sam Winchester and they were trying to get it back to him. Most people didn't know who he was, but eventually they found someone who did. I have no idea where he is right now, the young guy told them, but he's going to the Halloween party on campus later, you can give it to him then.

They decided that would have to do. The guy gave them the location after they explained they were both new to the school and didn't know their way around the campus very well. They both thanked him and wandered around for a little bit to keep up the act, then went back to the impala.

At Finch's request they stopped and grabbed something, then went and parked near the campus bar and waited. They briefly talked about the elephant in the room; John. The rule was whenever you go out on a solo hunt you check in once a week. It had been nearly a month since John last contacted either of them. They had checked all his usual places and spoken with the few friends he had, but no one had seen him. No one knew where he was.

With nothing else, Sam was their very last resort.

They hadn't spoken to him in the two years he had been gone. Finch tried but he was constantly busy with classes so the phone calls became further and further apart until she decided to wait for him to call first, that way he would definitely have the time. He never did call.

But now they needed him.

Eventually they saw Sam walking up the sidewalk with a small group of people his age and for a moment she wanted to leave right then and there. He looked so much happier here than he ever did out on hunts with them. She didn't want to take that away from him. But John was missing and she couldn't help Dean the way he needed so there wasn't anything else they could think of.

The two of them sat in the impala for most of the evening, watching drunk college students stumble out of the bar and into cabs. They rated the costumes they saw until early in the morning, around 2ish, they watched Sam walk out. He had his arm around a pretty girl's shoulder, both of them laughing.

They followed the two of them off campus at a careful distance. The plan was that once Sam dropped the girl off at her home, they would step in and talk to him. Unfortunately that didn't work out. The two went into the same building and appeared a few minutes later in the window of the same apartment on the fourth floor.

In the shadows of a great tree, with Finch leaned back against the truck, Dean muttered out a quiet, "dammit."

They stood there for quite a while waiting to see if the girl would eventually leave. When it reached 2:30AM, it became very clear that wouldn't be happening.

"We could wait 'til morning," Finch murmured.

Dean shook his head. "We already don't have enough time. Dad could die if we wait 'til morning."

She was very careful in keeping her thoughts to herself. And what a tragedy that would be.

Instead she sighed. "Okay, so what's the plan then?"

He looked over the apartment building with narrowed eyes for a good few minutes before making a decision. He pointed at the fire escape.

It was old and rickety; the frame of it rattled in the wind.

"You're kidding," Finch scoffed.

"Nope," Dean grinned.

"You want to break into their home?"

"What?" He raised his arms in mock defense. "If he can't handle us then we shouldn't be coming to talk to him at all."

Finch swore under her breath. "You think I can climb that with this stupid thing?" She asked, gesturing to her bad hip.

All she got was a small shrug. "You can wait down here then." And then he made his way across the parking-lot.

"Crap," Finch muttered as she followed after him. "You can wait down here then," she mocked him. "Yeah sure, like I'd actually do that...asshat."

The fire escape was just as worrying up close as it had been from afar. The steel was black and rusted. Many of the safety bars around the steps were bent out of shape. It creaked and groaned with each step Dean made above her.

Finch looked up at it for a moment, and then sighed. "Crap," she muttered again, and began the climb.

It wasn't nearly as harrowing on her leg as she had expected. There was a definite strain, and it was aching by the time she made it to the fourth landing where Dean waited for her. It was definitely getting better because there wasn't much stiffness left.

He only needed a moment to jimmy the lock on the window that opened right onto the escape. The two of them had contests over who was the fastest at lock picking. Dean was better, as his hands didn't shake the way hers did, but she was close behind.

They didn't have to argue over who would go inside first and Finch held onto his arm to keep steady as she maneuvered her way in. Her worn boots made a dull thud on the hardwood floors, and a small hiss of pain left her mouth when she bent her legs at the hip to get over a bookcase, but she kept herself quiet otherwise.

Dean, on the other hand, knocked over a stack of books with his ass as he slid over the top of the shelf. He didn't fall over which was definitely better than nothing, but it certainly didn't work in their favour.

If it were possible to punch his arm without creating any more noise, Finch would've done so. Instead she dragged them both away from the window and into a dark corner. The idea of testing Sam's skills didn't sit right with her. She'd much rather speak to him in broad daylight.

That was now out of question.

They had come into his home without warning, and she knew Sam was fully capable of handling intruders. John made sure of that. They had all run through spontaneous drills as a kid until he knew that his three kids were going to be more deadly than anyone breaking in. Sam wasn't just protecting himself now. The pretty girl and his new life were on the small list of things he would defend until he died.

No, there was no way this could end peacefully.

Barely-there footsteps moved across the floor from what was likely the main bedroom, and paused at the juncture of doorways. Grinning, Dean held up one finger over his lips to her.

In the last decade they had learned to read each other's body language so she didn't have to use her mouth to say: oh yeah, because I'm the one who needs to learn how to be quiet. He just waved her off and quietly darted to the opposite side of the room.

It was obvious he wasn't trying to sneak. The living room they were in had no door, only long strings of beads hanging to give some semblance of privacy. Sam could see into the room as easily as they could see him; based on the figure behind the swinging beads, he was in shorts and a tee shirt and held a baseball bat over one shoulder.

Finch lifted an arm to warn Dean, then paused.

If he wants to see how much Sam remembers, why should I get in the way? He should have an authentic experience...especially since he's stupid enough to have us break into his apartment in the middle of the night.

So she leaned back against the wall with folded arms and watched everything unfold.

Dean, who ignored the shape of his brother behind the beads, moved to the door leading into the next room. Sam silently went farther down the hall and went silent. The dividing door was locked, so Dean pulled out a bent paperclip and quickly picked it. Then he nudged it open, waited a moment, then wandered through.

In the two years he had been gone, Sam hadn't missed a beat.

When Dean hit the bat aside, he was quick to change his attack into hand-to-hand. It was hard to see what was going on in the dark, but it was only a few seconds before Dean was throwing Sam back into the living room where she waited.

There was a series of kicks and elbows, a slap to the back of the neck and then Sam was pinned on the floor. "Woah, easy tiger," Dean chuckled.

The recognition was almost instant. "Dean?" Sam breathed out. The surprise quickly turned to irritation. "You scared the crap out of me."

"That's because you're out of practice," Dean scoffed. Finch grinned to herself as Sam flipped him over and put a hand at his throat. Dean grunted quietly as his back hit the floor and then pursed his lips. "Or not." A short, humourless laugh. "Get off me."

Sam kept his brother pinned to the floor. "Why are you breaking into my apartment?" He demanded quietly.

Like the shit disturber he was, Dean held his hands up mockingly in defense. "Hey, it wasn't just me."

""What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

Dammit.

Finch pushed herself off the wall and stuffed her hands into the pockets of her jacket. "I just sit in the car and go where he goes," she sighed, shooting Dean a look that he quickly avoided. "I had nothing to do with this."

His eyes widened in surprise. "Finch?"

She smiled at him. "It's been a while, huh?"

Slowly he moved towards her, as if he weren't sure what she would do.

A little part of her was upset with him for cutting complete contact with not just John, but herself and Dean as well. The rest of her understood. If she ever met someone normal and more naive to the horrors of the world, she wasn't sure she would want to keep in contact with any hunters, either.

It wouldn't matter who she met. John, she could live without. She was grateful he saved her and that would never change. Her anger towards him far outweighed that.

For the way he treated his children; Dean like a puppet, Sam like a traitor.

His complete disregard for the burdens he placed on them as children.

The way he called himself a father when he did nothing to raise the boys after their mother died.

The way he called himself their father only when it was convenient to him.

Finch knew full well she would survive just fine without John Winchester in her life. It would be a different story with her boys.

It looked like Sam had gotten on just fine without them.

Still, she moved forwards and held her arms open for a hug. "Hey," she murmured as he pulled her in.

"I can explain it," was his response.

She pulled away first. "There's no hard feelings, bud, you've got nothing to explain." The bandages over her hip were somewhat crumpled out of place from the climb up, so she took the opportunity to adjust it.

Sam didn't seem to agree when he stepped away, but he didn't respond. Instead, he took a moment to look them over. Compared to the somewhat more put-together life he had created for himself, their ripped jackets and stained hunting boots were a drastic difference. He studied their boots for a moment and then frowned as he hauled Dean off the ground with one pull. "What the hell are you guys doing here?"

Before she could respond she was cut off. "Well I was looking for a beer," Dean joked and gave his brother's arms a quick tap.

Finch rolled her eyes and leaned into Sam's side, resting the side of her arm on his shoulder.

The living room light flicked on. "Sam?" A woman's voice called.

The pretty blonde girl. She was roughly Finch's age, maybe a little younger, with the obvious long blonde hair and pretty blue eyes. She was only a little bit shorter than herself — probably around 5'6 — and was wearing a 'Smurfs' tee shirt as well as a tiny pair of sleep shorts.

There was a brief moment of silence as Sam processed what was going on. "Jess, hey," he murmured, blinking away sleep. "Um...Dean, Fin, this is my girlfriend, Jessica," he introduced.

A quick glance over at Dean was enough for her to cross the room towards him. As she did, Jessica asked, "wait. Your brother, Dean?" She asked

Dean grinned and took a couple steps towards her. "You know, I love the Smurfs," Dean grinned, pointing to her T-shirt. "You know, I've got to tell you, you are completely out of my brothers league."

Finch reached his side then, having been slowed down by her leg, and gave him a good punch on the arm.

Clearly, Jessica was uncomfortable. "Just let me put something else on."

"No, no, no, I wouldn't dream of it, seriously." Dean shook his head lightly, and yet again,

Finch punched his arm again and pulled him back."Dean," she warned.

The look she gave him was enough to return to the purpose of them breaking in. "I've got to steal your boyfriend here, the three of us need to talk about some important family business, but uh, nice meeting you."

Jessica smiled awkwardly in response and moved to leave the room. "No," Sam stated adamantly, moving to stand next to his girlfriend. "No, whatever you two want to say, you can say in front of her."

That hadn't been part of the plan.

A shared look went between the two and after a moment, Finch shrugged.

Dean turned to face his brother, stepping back to her side. "Okay," he shrugged, not-so-discretely elbowing her in the side. "Dad hasn't been home in a few days," he told them honestly. Finch dug into her pocket for the package she'd placed while they were in the  car and discretely opened it, narrowing her eyes.

The look he received clearly said I'm gonna salt your pie for the rest of your life.

In that brief exchange, Sam shrugged. "So he's working overtime on a miller shift, he'll stumble back in sooner or later," he scoffed, shaking his head while glancing over at Finch once again.

The bite she took from her cookie made a brief crunch that cut through the tense silence.

They all turned to look at her.

So the cookie isn't a soft one, fine, move on.

She smiled awkwardly at them and took another loud bite from the cookie.

Dean just shook his head and grimaced. "Dads on a hunting trip, and he hasn't been home in a few days." He repeated, smiling pointedly at his brother.

Her boys watched each other closely for a long moment before Sam's questioning eyes moved to her. Finch nodded her head to him, and he took in a sharp breath.

He could stay as far away from his family wanted, but he would forever know what that meant. "Jess," Sam swallowed, removing his arm from her waist. "Excuse us."

He quickly changed, grabbed a jacket and stuffed his shoes. Jessica went hesitantly back to bed. Sam promised her everything was fine and locked their front door behind him.They silently followed him to the stairs. "You guys can't just break in, in the middle of the night, and expect me to hit the road with you," Sam hissed, following behind Dean as the trio exited the building.

"You're not hearing me, Sammy," Dean sighed. They waited at the middle landing for Finch, who was a few steps behind them. "Dads missing, I need you to help me find him."

Sam scoffed. "Do you remember the poltergeist in Amherst?" Sam asked. "Or the Devil's gates in Clifton? He was missing then too. He's always missing, and he's always fine.

Since they hadn't started on the next flight of stairs, Finch took the opportunity to lean against the railing and take some weight off her hip.

"Not for this long," Dean huffed. "Now are you going to come with us or not?"

The response was instantaneous. "I'm not," he snapped.

"Why not?" Dean asked in exasperation.

Sam gave the both of them a sharp glare. "I swore I was done hunting for good."

"Come on," Dean scoffed, continuing on his way down the stairs. "It wasn't easy, but it wasn't that bad."

Finch grumbled as she started going down the stairs again, silently cursing a wendigo that was already dead. Damned thing deserved worse than a thrown emergency candle. Deserved a bonfire for making a set of friggen' stairs this difficult.

"Yeah?" Sam demanded, following him down the stairs regardless of his previous answer."When I told dad I was scared of the thing in my closet, he gave me a .45."

"Well what was he supposed to do?" Dean grumbled, and Finch yawned as she moved to walk beside him.

"I was nine years old," Sam scoffed in disbelief. "He was supposed to say don't be afraid of the dark."

"It was a pretty dick move, Dean-o," she huffed.

They had reached the bottom now, and only had to wait a few seconds for Finch to catch up.

"Don't be afraid of the dark, are you kidding me?" Dean scoffed, holding the door so the two could duck outside. "Of course you should be afraid of the dark; you know what's out there."

"Exactly," Sam huffed. "The way we grew up after Mom was killed along with Dad's obsession to find the thing that killed her, and we still haven't even found the damn thing." Dean rolled his eyes and glanced down at Finch, who had grabbed his shoulder for support as they paused again. "So we kill everything we can find," Sam scoffed while rolling his eyes. Finch hummed quietly, shaking her head. The two had found something to argue about within a timespan of five minutes.

The response was almost cold. "Save a lot of people doing it, too."

Sam stared at them both, incredulous. "Do you think mom would have wanted this for us?" He demanded. "The weapon training? Melting silver into bullets?" Man, Dean, we were raised like warriors."

Now that they were outside they had another short set of stairs to climb. Finch cursed at those too.

They all came to a stop at the trunk of the impala. She was grateful the exit Sam was much closer than the fire escape. They were essentially blocking the entrance to the stairs. "So what are you going to do; are you just going to live some normal, apple pie life?" Dean demanded, somewhat glaring at his younger brother. "Is that it?"

"No, not normal; safe," Sam snapped.

Finch shook her head and yawned again, grimacing as a dull ache flared up in her injured thigh. All the climbing up the fire escape and coming down all those stairs really aggravated it.

"And that's why you ran away," Dean scoffed almost mockingly. "I get it."

It broke her heart to see Sam fall quiet, his shoulders hunching in a way that, when they were kids, meant she would read to him until he fell asleep. She was willing to bet he didn't want her to do that anymore. "I was just going to college. It was dad who said if I was going to go, I should 'stay gone' so that's what I'm doing," Sam said quietly, and Finch grimaced.

The bitter memory of a broken nose and driving aimlessly in the impala was something she never wanted to think of again. It was beyond a doubt one of the worst days she remembered living.

"Please, you two, just stop," Finch sighed, but her pleas fell on deaf ears.

"Yeah, Well, Dad's in real trouble now, if he isn't dead already. I can feel it," Dean argued. He paused for a moment, debating on whether he truly wanted to say what he was thinking. "I can't do this alone."

Sam scoffed and folded his arms over his broad chest. "Yes you can."

"Yeah, well, I don't want to."

"You have Finch with you," Sam then pointed out, raising his brows.

"Finch is hurt, Sammy," Dean snapped, glancing down at her right thigh that was slightly bigger because of the thick bandage. "If you think for a second that I'm letting her work a case with just me for backup then you are dead wrong."

Sam looked to her for confirmation. She didn't have to open her mouth because he scanned her over and immediately focused on her right hip. It wasn't overly obvious, but all the bandages on her hip made her jeans fit a little more snug than usual.

Finch shrugged at Sam, internally appreciating the worry that crossed his face, and then scrunched her nose at Dean. He ignored her.

She could say a million things to protest, like she had survived a torturous hell for a chunk of her childhood and was so traumatized she remembered nothing of who she was. She could force him to let her come along – which she already was – or promise to stay in their motel room the entire time.

Dean still wouldn't let her help.

Besides; he knew she couldn't stay cooped up for that long.

The silence continued long enough for things to become awkward, and then Sam sighed. "What was he hunting?"

Dean didn't waste anymore time and began digging through the utter chaos that was the trunk's weapon cache. "Alright, let's see; where the hell did I put that thing," he muttered.

While they waited, Sam filled the silence. "So when Dad left, why didn't you two go with him?"

"I was working my own gig, this voodoo thing down in New Orleans," Dean answered without looking up. He still hadn't found what he was looking for.

"What about you?" Sam asked as he turned to Finch.

"Well," she murmured quietly. "I was in the hospital."

When his brows furrowed, she lifted up the bottom of her shirt so he could see the bandages Dean had gone overboard with that morning. He would never admit it, but he was the worst mother hen when it came to his family.

"Jesus," Sam grimaced.

Finch raised her brows and gave him a humourless smile. "Yeah. I was too doped up to put my own panties on."

Sam cringed and raised his brows. John Winchester had never let them go to the hospital; unless there was some rare occasion that they were in a situation where someone was about to die. He clearly didn't appreciate her example, either.  "Dad let you go on a hunting trip by yourselves?" he mused.

Finch nodded and let out an extensive yawn, while Dean seemed slightly offended. "I'm 26, dude," he grumbled. Then he smiled. "Here we go."

As he pulled out a small folder that surprisingly made it unscathed, Finch pushed herself off the impala and moved her weight onto both legs. She reached out and grabbed his arm instinctively, knowing the ache would worsen at the sudden return of pressure.

In response, Dean lowered himself to lean against the impala so she wasn't trying to hold herself up. This way she could lean onto him if she needed to. He absentmindedly reached his arm out behind her and held onto the door handle closest to him, ready to dart out and grab her if she buckled.

It hadn't happened in ages, but he still worried.

A frantic mother hen taking care of her clumsy chick.

Whether he was aware he did it or not, Dean began his explanation. "Dad was checking out this two lane blacktop just outside of Jericho, California. About a month ago, this guy — they'd found his car but he'd vanished; completely MIA.

"So maybe he was kidnapped," Sam suggested reasonably.

Finch shook her head. "We thought so too, but figured if John was looking into it there was more to find.

Dean handed him a sheet from the folder; photo copied clippings of the missing men they had found. "Here's another one, back in April—" another two pages "—Another one in '04, '03, '98, '92 — ten of them over the past twenty years."

"All men, all in the same five mile stretch of road," Finch concluded. She rubbed slightly at her hip, trying to ignore the fading ache.

"Started happening more and more," Dean continued, glancing over at her with a silent question. "So Dad went to go dig around. That was about three weeks ago."

She waved him off. "No messages, no texts, not even a freakin' letter...not that we have a post box, but still. We've heard nothing."

"That's when we knew something was up," Dean muttered quietly and pulled the tape recorder out of the back. The two recorded it as soon as they heard it so they would be able to adjust the speed or the frequency. "Anyways. We hadn't heard from him for a while, which was bad enough. Then yesterday, he left me this voicemail."

"Dean," the garbled voice of John Winchester spoke through speakers. "Something is starting to happen. I think it's serious. I need to try to figure out what's going on." Finch bit at the inside of cheek. There was some more indistinct talking before John's voice became clear again. "Be very careful you two, we're all in danger."

"You know there's EVP on that?" Sam commented, a thoughtful frown taking over his irritation.

Finch couldn't help but grin

"Not bad, Sammy," Dean chuckled. "Kind of like riding a bike, isn't it."

"Sure," Finch muttered to herself, but caught their attention anyway. "If the bike was on fire and you were in the middle of a desert sandstorm."

Without faltering, Dean elbowed her in the side and continued on with what he was saying. "Anyways, me and Missy-the-crazy-genius over here decided that we should slow the message down and run it through a GoldWave, take out the hiss, and this is what we got."

Finch elbowed him back as he pressed a few buttons on his tape player.

"I can never go home."

A shudder ran down her spine, same as the first time she heard it.

The young woman who spoke was sad, more or less distraught. She sounded young, and from the pause after the word never it almost sounded as if she were crying. It came out in a heartbroken, breathy sigh.

Sam furrowed his brows. "Never go home," he repeated.

"Still gives me the creeps," Finch grumbled.

Dean patted her arm as he tossed everything back in the trunk and shut it. "You know, for almost two years, we've never bothered you, never asked you for a thing." He looked to his brother as he sat on the hood of his car.

It was hard for them both, having to bring Sam into hunt.

It was awful with him being away and completely disconnected. Having seen how happy was with his college friends and girlfriend, Finch felt worse about asking him to give that up for a weekend.

Sam sighed and took a glance back at the College building. "Alright, I'll go," he decided. "I'll help you find him."

Finch grinned as she tried to ignore the guilt and slung an arm around his side in an awkward hug. "It'll be just like old times, yeah?" She hummed, then furrowed her brows. "Well, except for you being the tallest now."

Sam forced a smile as he stared at Dean. "But," he continued, bringing her back to the conversation at hand. "I have to get back first thing Monday. Just wait here."

"What's first thing Monday?" Dean asked his brother curiously.

Finch heaved out a sigh and reached for her bottle of tylenol in the glovebox. She swallowed two with the remnants of

"I have an interview," Sam answered vaguely, and Finch rested her head on Dean's shoulder.

"What, a job interview?" Dean snorted. "Skip it."

Sam shook his head adamantly. "It's a law school interview, and it's my whole future on a plate."

"Law school?" Dean repeated while raising his brows.

He nodded. "So we got a deal or not?"

"Deal," Finch shrugged through a yawn without giving Dean the chance to say anything. Sam left to quickly pack a bag. "I call dibs on the back seat," she told Dean through a yawn. "I'm tired."

"Alright," Dean nodded. "How's your leg feeling?"

Finch thought of the angry scars that now marred her body, and she shrugged. "It's been better, but it doesn't hurt as much as it did before." She laid down in the back seat and used her black bomber jacket as a pillow.

To put it bluntly, Finch was absolutely exhausted.

She hadn't slept much once they left their motel that morning, and with the anxiety over the conversation with Sam, she had been a little overboard on caffeine. It was mostly out of her system now, and was replaced with the demanding need for sleep.

It wasn't her first nap in the back seat and it certainly wasn't going to be her last, and Dean knew just what she needed to be comfortable. "Do you want your bag or something in there to prop your leg up?" he asked.

Finch yawned. "That's actually a good idea, Dean-o" she mumbled and adjusted the way she was laying. She gave him an annoyingly sweet smile. "Could you grab it for me?"

He rolled his eyes but got it anyway.

"Lazy," Dean chuckled as he moved a motel pillow under her leg, but she was already asleep.

It felt like only moments had passed when she was woken up.

She could've slept for ages longer, but the sun shone brightly through the window and warmed her face. She could sleep for a few minutes longer. They'll wake me up when–

"Hey!" Dean yelled. "You want breakfast?"

Shit.

"No thanks," Sam responded quietly.

They were parked next to a pump at what could've been the shittiest roadside gas station Finch had ever seen in her life. Dozens of posters were pasted over the walls outside to hide the fact that the wood paneling was falling off. The windows were shaded with a layer of grime from the dirt lot the building was in.

Dean was on his way out of the station with three bags of chips and a handful of candy.

"How long was I asleep?" Finch asked through a yawn.

Dean tossed her a roll of mentos and snickered. "The whole ride."

"How'd you pay for that stuff?" Sam asked before she could respond. Dean wandered towards the gas meter. "You, Fin, and Dad are still running credit card scams?"

"Yeah, well, hunting ain't exactly a pro-ball career," Dean shrugged carelessly.

While leaning forward and setting her chin down on Sam's seat, Finch shrugged. "I don't think I've received a paycheck since, well, ever."

"Besides, all we do is apply," Dean shrugged. "It's not our fault they send us the cards."

Finch snickered quietly, then yawned.

"Yeah?" Sam scoffed. "And what names did you write on the application?" He asked as he climbed out of the Impala. Finch smiled faintly at their sibling-like behaviour as she rolled down her window.

"Bert Aframian and his son, Hector," Dean shrugged.

"I'm the youngest in the family," Finch beamed. "24 year old Sofia Aframian."

From his spot against the impala door beside her window, Dean smiled fondly and handed her coffee in a takeout cup. "We scored three cards out of the deal," he grinned mischievously.

Sam rolled his eyes with a snort. "Sounds about right."

"Hey, we've got to get money somewhere," Finch mused as Sam rifled through the box of Cassette tapes.

"I swear, man," Sam scoffed. "You've got to update your cassette tape collection."

Immediately, Dean was offended. "Why?"

"Here we go," Finch laughed, leaning back in her middle seat as she watched the scene unfold out of amusement.

Dean worked his way into the driver's seat with a deep frown.

"Well, for one; they're cassette tapes," Sam snorted with a raised brow. "And two; Black Sabbath, Motor Head, Metallica—"

"—Hey," Finch flailed her arms to catch his attention. "Don't diss Metallica."

Sam rolled his eyes but still smiled. "I'm just saying," he shrugged as Dean took the tape back. "It's the greatest hits of mullet rock."

"Business in the front, party in the back," Finch agreed with a grin, slouching lazily in her seat again. She rubbed absently at her hip.

The keys twisted in the ignition. "Yeah, well," Dean huffed," house rules Sammy; driver picks the music, shotgun shuts his cakehole."

Finch frowned, tilting her head to the side. "What about back seat rules?" She asked curiously.

Dean shot her an obviously fake smile through the rear view mirror. "They just sleep," he snickered.

Finch rolled her eyes and discretely flipped him off.

"Sammy is a chubby twelve year old," Sam then corrected his brother, cutting into the conversation. "It's Sam."

She couldn't help it.

"Whatever you say, Sammy," Finch grinned as Dean cranked the radio, laughing loudly as Sam pursed his lips in annoyance.

"I'm sorry, can't hear you," Dean mocked. "The music's too loud."

Finch sang loudly as they pulled out of the small gas station, drumming her fingers on her legs until her thigh began to ache, causing her to settle for the leather seat she sat on. She could see Dean watching her as she laughed, at how happy she was.

Ever since she'd gotten out of the hospital, she hadn't been herself. She would be the first person to tell you that. But now that Sammy was back, even just this once, everything felt right.