And if you had told Dean a year ago that he'd be completely at happy in a kitchen making lunch? He'd have laughed it off. But he was happy there. It was home. They had a little breathing room and he'd found something he was good at that didn't involve killing.

"Least we know it ain't one of Dad's freaky good luck charms he kept locked up."

Food on the table, Dean wandered to the drawer where they kept the old, battered journal. "I'll start here. Maybe it's something Dad ran into before."