Before This Night Ends

Reflections

Dean pressed the lukewarm cup between his hands, half-full of cheap hot-chocolate he didn't remember drinking. His mind felt blank and completely empty of anything and everything. People came and went, asked questions and frowned when silence met them. Dean's eyes were downcast, and he hunched in on himself, taking up as little space as possible.

The inside of his mouth tasted gritty and too-sweet.

Outside, snow still fell.

In the very distance, the sun was beginning to rise, groggy with the winter chill.

Dean slowly scratched the spots of dried coffee or hot chocolate from the waxy wooden table, eyes fuzzy and unfocussed. If he thought anything, the thought didn't stay long.

There was a hesitant click of the door opening, a plump woman with frazzled hair and hasty eyeliner tottered through. She smiled tiredly when she saw them, giving a little wave.

"Good morning boys," She whispered. "It took us a while, but we dug through your... anyway, we found a emergency number and we contacted someone. Do you know a Bobby Singer?"

With effort, Dean nodded jerkily.

She pressed a hand to her chest, reluctant to leave. Her lips thinned and she peered around Dean to Sam who was curled in a tight ball like a cicada.

Dean's head jerked up as a thought that had been floating around his head solidified. "W-What will happen t-to Dad's, to Dad's notes?"

She looked at him, surprised. "Oh... I don't know for sure. They'll probably be yours. Unless it's mentioned in his will..." She seemed to startle herself, and blinked quickly. "Don't worry about it," She added.

Dean's eyes sunk back to the floor, but as the woman left quietly they fixed upon the falling snow.

He stared out into the wilderness of the night, and made a decision.

A decision that would change everything.

*

Yet another summer had sped by, hitting Massachusetts with all the heat and fires of hell for around three days before it sped on, autumn settling in for the long haul without complaint. Sam watched the sun set from his sleepy apartment, the only light pooling from his matrix screensaver, tinting the entire room green.

Jess was asleep upstairs. The ring was in his jacket pocket in the other room.

Dean sat opposite him.

Sam tore his gaze away from the window.

Dean picked a floral coaster, dangling it from a finger and thumb. "Cute," He grinned.

Sam snatched it and placed it firmly back on the table. "Why are you here, Dean?"

Dean's grin was intact. "Do I have to have reason?"

"That's not what I meant," Sam said, impatiently. "What's wrong?"

Dean sighed with a strange expression that sat awkwardly on his face. He rubbed his face, trying to find words.

The wind picked up litter and leaves alike, spinning them into the air.

"I'm going away." Dean said, quietly.

Sam raised an eyebrow. "You're always going away. I'm surprised you stayed in one place long enough to finish school."

"No, I-" Dean rubbed his eyes. "It's different this time. I'm going to England."

Sam blinked. "England? Why?"

"There's something I need to do."

*

"All of them? The entire branch?"

"Yes, sir."

Mycroft resisted the urge to bury his head in his hands.

The microchip containing WR-31's agent's data had only been vulnerable for around three hours before it was intercepted, but all agents mentioned would be immediately funnelled into witness protection and have their data expunged.

Sentiments like Precaution and Can't Be Too Careful haunted him at every turn, but he understood fully the need for them. He would never cut corners; failure would never be his fault. He would build Rome in a day if he needed to. But it was still irritating.

Mycroft dismissed Yvette with a polite gesture and flipped open his computer.

He had some hiring to do.

*

Dean shuddered, tensing an arm around a hand-railing.

His stomach churned, threatening to spill what little he hadn't already part with violently a little earlier. His insides felt cold and clammy. He kept his carry-on tight to his side, the plastic rim jutting painfully into his ribs.

God, did he hate flying.

He managed to force himself forwards, one foot in front of the other.

Dean bought a chilled sandwich at the airport cafe which he binned after a few bites.

Flagging down a taxi, he decided to bite the bullet and get right down to business. He wasn't really interested in whatever passed for attractions in London anyway, it was too crowded.

The taxi driver raised his eyebrows when Dean told him the address, repeating it back to him.

"Scottland Yard it is, sir."