By: Maygin (I'm baaaaack)

Summary: "The only thing necessary for the triumph of evil is for good men to do nothing."

- Edmund Burke (1729-1797)

Warning: There is no warning. I just wanted a place to put my excuse as to why I used the title I did. I wrote this way before the show "Hero's" actually came to be. In fact I started writing this way back in June or July I think. It's been a long time coming and I don't even know if it's worth it. However I had a blast with it and I think you might too. It's AU – but don't let that turn you off, because… actually I have no good reason other than I think you'll enjoy it! This could possibly turn into more stories along the road – actually I've already got several ideas I'm tinkering around with so yeah.

Disclaimer: I am not making any money off of nor do I own anything supernatural… other than my roommate.

BIG FRIGGIN Thanks To: Carikube – whose life I rudely invaded and asked if she would beta this story for me. She was AWESOME! Gave me all the right encouragement I needed to keep going when I got stuck or wasn't sure about something. So thanks girl!

As always – don't forget to review… don't make me full-on-Obi-Wan you ;)


Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

-Dylan Thomas


Dean pressed his fore-fingers into his eyes and rubbed slowly letting out a rugged, weary sigh; refocusing on the blue screen dully illuminating the heavily curtained, dark room.

"Winchester," moaned a clearly annoyed voice from the other end of the room, "would you give it a rest already? Some of us are trying to sleep here."

Several more grunts from around the room added their own sentiments of agreement. Dean rolled his eyes with a smirk and closed the laptop, rising from the small table and grabbing his shirt from its resting place on his chair. "Bunch of babies." he murmured as he headed towards the room's exit. He paused at the doorway as one particularly colorful remark carried across the room. Flicking his hand across the light switch, he went his merry way down the stairwell, grinning openly at the loud protests and curses following his exit.

He pushed the stairwell door open and trailed comfortably into the large, sun-lit room, his footsteps echoing off the walls. He looked towards the back wall and slowly made his way over, eyeing the large red trucks resting peacefully to his left as he walked. He paused, reaching over and pushing a large hose-line back into its proper place in one of the truck's side compartments.

"Here comes trouble."

Dean smirked at the occupant behind the desk along the back wall of the garage, giving his t-shirt a good shake before pulling it over his head.

"Alright I don't know what it is you did this time but I want at least twenty feet distance from you at all times."

Dean held his hands out giving an incredulously innocent look to the young woman who was currently pointing a pair of scissors at him. "I didn't do anything," he plea-bargained.

The woman gave him a flat look. "Last time you said that I ended up with kitchen duty for a month."

"What'd you expect? You're the only girl in this outfit." Dean quickly dodged the stress ball that whizzed by his head. "Geeze woman! Midol much?"


"Just-" Dean held a supplicant hand up, "could you put the scissors down? You're gonna put my eye out with those things."

The woman smirked as she dropped the weapon back into the mug filled with pens. "It wasn't for your eye."

Dean leaned forward on the desk a sly smile lighting his eyes. "I didn't realize you were such a kink Marris."

"Must your mind permanently traverse the gutters?" she said with long-suffering.

"Just waitin for you to join me."

"That'll be the day," she muttered, making a scribble on the paperwork splayed across the desk. Dean flicked at the Dalmatian bobble-head resting on the edge as he straightened and moved towards a neighboring desk. He sat down heavily in the chair behind it and stretched; rubbing his hands over his face.

Marris leaned her chin on her fist and inspected the other man closely. "What's with the bags?"

Dean looked at her expectantly for a moment before throwing his hands up in question and looking around him in an obvious show of confusion.

She let her arm drop to the desk and took in a deep breath, preparing for battle. "The bags under your eyes." Dean dropped his hands and swiveled his chair to face the desk before him. He snatched a pen from an identical mug and opened one of the many manila folders resting along the side. Marris tapped her pen expectantly on the old wood as she watched him. "There was nothing you could do," she said stated quietly.

"Yeah." He said some-what detached, shuffling through the papers. "That's what they keep telling me."

"Maybe you should listen to them."

"Maybe someone should do their frickin job and catch this guy," he shot back angrily.

"They're trying Dean."

Dean dropped his pen and turned towards her, anger and frustration clear in his eyes. "They're always trying Marris. They've been trying for the last forty years. Wars have been won in less time than that!"

Dean's voice rang throughout the garage followed by silence. Marris fingered her pen, lips pressed firmly together in quiet acceptance to her friend's anger. Dean sighed loudly and ran his hands over his head as he leaned forward on the desk. "Sorry," he mumbled.

Marris looked at him thoughtfully. "For what?"

Dean let his arms fall to the desk top and turned tired eyes towards her. He didn't answer. He didn't need to; they both knew it was a loaded question. Marris dropped her gaze and started rifling through the papers in front of her. "Your dad called earlier."

Dean started shuffling through his own papers as well but paused at her announcement. "Why didn't you come get me?"

"Because I thought you were sleeping..." she triumphantly pulled a small sticky note from amidst the pile and stood "like you were supposed to be doing." She walked around to stand before his desk, holding out the small note with a number scribbled on it. "Find anything?" She asked; her tone quietly respectful once more.

Dean reached forward and accepted the phone message with a sigh. "No."

Marris gave a small nod. "You will."

Dean looked up again and watched her walk away, disappearing through one of the side doors.

"And get some sleep;" the woman's voice carried back through the doorway, "You look horrible."

Dean frowned, yanked a pink highlighter from the mug and chucked it at the Dalmatian bobble-head resting innocently on the opposite desk. He gave a vindicated nod as it clattered noisily to the floor.

Facing his desk again, he turned the sticky note over in his hand and stared at it. His gaze glanced towards an old brown folder stuffed with papers sitting on the corner of the desk. Several newer looking papers and pictures were paper-clipped to the front of it. He sighed and picked up the receiver on the phone next to his arm and started dialing. It didn't take long for the other end to pick up. "Yeah, Dad it's me." Dean picked up a pen and let his nervous energy out on it against the desk, the tapping sound somewhat soothing. "Yeah I'm fine." He listened calmly to the voice on the other end. "No... he got away." Dean dropped the pen and rested his forehead against his hand, shielding his tired eyes. "...there was nothing we could do."


(So what do you think? …sound like something you could get into?)