It's well after three in the morning when the police finish scouring the house and questioning Jenny, Dean, Sam, Seri and Missouri about the events that took place there that night—Missouri being the one who really holds them all together, while Ritchie, oblivious, plays in the middle of the dark yard. They stick to the cover-story: someone broke in, Sam and Dean were friends from out of town staying over who tried to help, and Missouri was driving by and witnessed the whole thing.
The police buy it hook, line and sinker, mostly because Jenny is on the verge of tears and Sam can barely keep his chin from nodding onto his chest, so tired he's leaning on Dean by the time the police officers get in their cars and go. But that was Sam—he'd been awake for days now, struggling to get through this one case.
Dean offers to take Jenny out for a coffee while Sam and Missouri look after the kids and she obliges, gratefully. But somehow things never turn out the way you want them to and they end up at a bar getting smashed. That's how Dean finds himself apologizing to her for everything. And how Jenny grabs his hand and tells him he has nothing to be ashamed of, because he saved her, saved all of them.
And Dean, thinking he wasn't the one who pulled both kids out, wasn't the one who came up with the cover story, wasn't the one who nearly died—Dean just says, "Nah. That was Sam."
They drive back in silence and go inside, waking Missouri, who's sitting in a rocking chair near the door. Missouri wordlessly rises and takes Jenny's arm, guiding her to the couch, heaping blankets on her. Dean stands awkwardly in the doorway, more than a little drunk and more than wishing he could forget he ever saw his mother's ghost, wishing that they had never come back to this house in the first place.
Missouri comes back, eyes rimmed red with exhaustion. "You get some sleep, too, Dean. You've earned it."
Dean looks at Jenny, already snoring softly on the couch, and nods. But before he can think about sleeping himself, he asks, "Where's Sam?"
Missouri nods into the adjacent room. "Just through there."
Dean goes, and the sight that catches him dead on the other side wouldn't mean as much if he wasn't almost drunk.
Sam's sitting with his back to the wall, Seri under one arm with her knees curled against his thigh, arms crossed on her lap and her head on his chest. Ritchie is tucked against Sam's other side, Sam's gangly arm pulled protectively around him, his little head wedged into Sam's armpit. Sam's cheek is on Seri's hair and he's sleeping, so peaceful he looks like a kid, too. But then again, that's just Sam.
Dean aches for his brother's innocence. Wishes he could find it, where it went, and get it back.
Instead Dean walks across the room, crouches down and thinks about waking them up. Floor can't be comfortable, at least not for Sam.
But while he's watching, Seri curls closer and buries her face in Sam's shirt. And in his sleep, Sam tightens his hold on her.
And Dean realizes that if there's one thing he's ever managed to teach his brother, it's how to save people. Sam is the saving part, and Dean is the hunting part. Two and two together, and that makes family.
Dean scoots around to sit on Seri's other side, trapping her between his outstretched leg and Sam's, leaning over until his temple thumps on the scruffy top of Sam's head.
Back in the old house, where Dean used to sit by his brother's crib and sing him songs and tell him stories. And with his eyes at half-mast, Dean thinks that Jenny and the kids might be okay here. And if anything ever happens…well, that's what him and Sam are here for.
Smiling to himself, Dean closes his eyes.
It's the best sleep he's had all month.