A G.E.D.

Dean stood in the middle of his room, taking in the stuff that had piled up over the last seven months on the island. In his old life, everything he owned could fit in a duffel bag and the trunk of the Impala, no problem. But now, looking around, he realized moving from Midnight to his new place on Godiva Street wasn't going to be as simple as throwing a bag over his shoulder.

Now there were boxes. Just two, sure, but that was already more than he was used to hauling around. He'd had a similar setup at the bunker, but that was different. It was a base of operations and a place you recovered between hunts.

He'd spent more time in this room than he had on the road these past months. Met his neighbors. Shared meals. Burned a bunch of mutant french fries that came to life. And it hit him that this room wasn’t just a pit stop anymore.

Without any tape to seal the boxes, he folded in the flaps, tucking them in so they stayed shut. He slid the boxes out the door into the landing, then paused, giving the room one last once-over to make sure he hadn’t left anything behind.

He stood there for a moment longer than he meant to, then let out a breath and said, almost awkwardly, "Thanks, Midnight."

And yeah, that felt weird. He shrugged then turned and walked out, closing the door behind him.

[Last post in Midnight before officially moving to Godiva. Feel free to catch him on the way out]

Another day, another day stuck in front of the computer as Dean went through his daily news feed of the weird and unnatural stuff that could be just weird or something “weird” that Dean had to deal with.

Maybe it was because he was distracted by a certain article (“Small town shocked by death of exploding heart of beloved friend”) that he didn’t look too closely at the phone that was ringing. It was the old number of Bobby’s that Dean had given to Krissy the other week in case she needed backup from the local sheriff’s department.

So, he didn’t even look at the caller ID when he picked up the phone. “Federal Bureau of Investigation. Tom Willis speaking.”

( He really should have looked at the caller ID )

When he hung up, he let out a long sigh. It felt so good to talk to Jody, but there was now one more person out there who knew he was alive.

“Yeah, that’s not going to bite me in the ass,” Dean said aloud to himself before turning back to his research.

Dean woke up around 3:00 AM. And though he tried to go back to sleep, his brain betrayed him and kept percolating thoughts about…

Well. Everything.

He pulled himself out of bed; got some coffee and started his research binge. Still no sign of anything he really wanted to find but one thing did catch his attention:

Two strange deaths in Missouri. Near a certain boat dock that Dean was very familiar with.

Dean groaned. Now it clicked. He went back and double checked the other deaths in other locations and it started to come together.

The question was where it was going to happen next.

[Open but availability is spotty today]

Dean had come home and barely had the energy to get out of his suit before passing out on his bed last night.

Thank God he wasn't sleeping in the nude.

Dean came back to his room after his date with Jane and...

Sat. And drank. And brooded.

Finally he let out a long sigh and bowed his head. He should probably ask Jane about this first but he knew what the answer might be and didn't want to get her hopes up.

"Castiel who art in... someplace. I need your help."

( And then the Angel learned how to send text messages )

[That Dean texted someone is okay for broadcast. The rest NFB. NFI. Warning: Talk of cancer under the cut.]