Chapter One

Dean had a lap full of kindergarten teachers, and he wasn't complaining.

They were in Somewhere, Midwest. The third beer had gently plucked the particulars from his mind as it washed down two mediocre burgers. Sam was on the phone outside, where he'd been for a long time. Sometimes Dean saw his head going back and forth out the window. The second burger belonged to Sam, but since he wasn't coming in and the burger was going cold, Dean gave it a loving home.

The fourth beer appeared without him asking, the bartender assuming he wanted one and Dean feeling no need to quibble over that assumption. He was halfway through it when the party came in, six women enjoying their ten-year high school reunion from Somewhere. They assumed he'd graduated from there too, and ordered a shot for this new but old friend whose name they'd forgotten.

Micki was on his left knee. He thought that her name was Micki, but she might have said Minnie. That was very funny after the shot. She had extremely long hair, and her legs were even longer. On his right knee was Candy, or maybe it was Susie. She was short and plump where Micki or Minnie was long and leggy, but it was a sweet plumpness, warm and soft, soothing yet sexy. They posed for a picture together, toasted Somewhere High in Somewhere, Midwest over fresh shots, and the women walked their fingers up his chest and confessed that they didn't usually sit on strangers' laps.

"But we all went to school together," Dean protested, so they stayed because they'd been friends long ago, and wasn't he in Mr. Schuber's class? Of course he was! He sat in the back.

"Oh, I remember you now!" Candy or Susie squealed. One of them taught kindergarten here and another taught kindergarten there, wiping little noses and reading stories about bunnies.

They asked what he did for a living, and booze made him clever. "Isn't it obvious? This is a professional Santa's lap!"

"I love Santa!" Candy or Susie cried. They giggled and bounced a little to test its professional nature. Dean was happy, the nasty kill of the day far from his mind. Micki or Minnie confessed that she'd been very naughty this year, her lower lip protruding and her big blue eyes boring into his.

The door swung open and Dean paid no attention. He had a belly full of passable burgers, there were lips smacking his cheeks and whispers about leaving out a stocking to be stuffed, his life was good, so damn good, and then Sam was there to ruin it.

"Dude," Sam chastised. On his forehead was the constipated furrow that meant the phone call had not gone well.

"It's Christmas!" Dean said plaintively.

"It's September, and we've got a case," Sam said.

"Ooh, but he's too tall to be your elf!" moaned Candy or Susie.

Pushing up from the stool, Dean steadied himself on the pretense of steadying them. "I've got to go. Secret Santa stuff."

"See you Christmas night," whispered Micki or Minnie, and as soon as this case was over, Dean was coming right back to this bar in Somewhere, Midwest. He walked out the door singing Jingle Bells.

Sam had to drive, which he did with a perturbed set to his lips. They cruised past the motel where they'd been planning to get a room. Watching the car get on the freeway in hazy interest, Dean said, "You know what your problem is, Sammy?"

"No. What is my problem?"

"Your brain is too full. You have to drink too much to wash it clean. Mine washes out real fast. I bet four beers in, you could still me the quadratic equation. I can't even tell you that when I'm sober. Where are we going?"

"Archimedes, California."

Dean blinked while his brain processed the information. "Tonight?"

"Dean, I just got off the phone with Garth, and he's fresh off the phone with some hunter working a vamp case about a hour north of San Francisco. He passed through Archimedes and saw . . . well, this." Tapping on his cell phone, he gave it over.

Dean was suddenly sober, or at least a little more so. It was a picture of a city street, stores running along the left side, and there was a man walking down the sidewalk. He was moving away from the camera, but his head was turned to the side. "That's Dad." It would be unbelievable if the picture weren't such a clear shot. That was Dad dead to rights! "But younger. I mean, that's a younger Dad. When was this picture taken?"

"Yesterday."

Dean stared at the man in his early thirties. "Coincidence? What else did that hunter tell Garth?"

"His case was hot, so he just snapped the picture and followed for a few minutes. That . . . that doppelganger Dad walked up the road and to an elementary school on the next block. Ronald P. Shingman Elementary School in Archimedes, California. The hunter got a better look when the guy turned at the door to look out to something. It was Dad. Then the hunter had to move on, but he sent the info along to Garth."

Widening the picture, Dean squinted as the car rolled out of Somewhere, Midwest. "It could be some relative we never heard of. Any Winchesters live in this Archimedes?"

"No. I figure we can make it in two days if we don't stop except for food and gas."

"This is all under your skin," Dean said. It was under his, too.

His brother's hands tightened on the steering wheel. "I don't like a demon walking around in Dad's form. That's messed up. And I don't see why. If a demon were trying to manipulate us into coming to Archimedes, wouldn't it use the form of an older Dad? You heard of any kind of demon who does that?"

He hadn't. Swallowing on the fluttering in his stomach, Dean said, "Sometimes people just look alike."

"Sometimes. And sometimes there's something else going on."

"Drive, baby, drive," Dean said, and Sam sped up.