Chapter Text
Dean sipped his coffee and forced his leg to be still. It was quiet, the calm before the storm. He hated this time of the year. He'd always tried to be south, somewhere warm and changeless. Someplace where the scent of burnt debris didn't linger in the air. Sammy was with Dad and that was good. None of them should be alone right now, but well, he had the least to lose.
Grunting, he got up and started rummaging through Tim's desk. Grabbing the service pistol, he moved to Tony's desk doing the same thing. Dean paused a moment before bypassing Gibbs' desk and going back to his own. He cleaned off the desk and placed the three pistols, plus his own before him. Next came the cleaner. Dean took a deep breath and got to work.
* * *
Gibbs came around the corner of Ziva's desk and frowned. DiNozzo and McGee were discussing weekend plans, Ziva wasn't at her desk and Winchester—he seemed to be cleaning everyone's weapon.
“Lose a bet, Winchester?” He asked, sitting down and checking his own weapon. Still in the drawer, where it belonged.
“No, sir,” Winchester replied not looking up from the barrel he was cleaning.
“Then why are you cleaning your teammates weapons?” Gibbs shot back. He noticed the matching frowns on McGee's and DiNozzo's face. Tony reached over to check his weapon. Gibbs shook his head.
“Mine are at home.”
Mine plural. Gibbs wondered how the youngest member of his team was doing with permits.
“You know, I have a certain way I like mine--” Tony started.
Winchester placed a gun at the edge of his desk. “Done,” he said, not looking up.
“How many are left?” Gibbs asked.
“Finishing mine now,” Winchester replied.
Gibbs nodded. The boy was still a mystery after five months on the job. He was still working on the 'sir.' There was something significant about the cleaning, he could sense it. “Grab your gear,” he said as Ziva walked back to her desk. She passed Winchester's desk and grabbed her gun from the desk.
“Thank you.”
Winchester looked up at her. “You're welcome.” He put his own gun in the holster at his waist and grabbed his gear.
“Where to, boss?” DiNozzo asked.
“There was a fire at a Marine major's house. The major swears he saw someone in the house just before the fire broke out.”
“Arson?” McGee asked.
“Maybe. Winchester! Coming?” Gibbs yelled, seeing the younger man falter. He looked pale and Gibbs wondered if he'd been hunting on his days off again.
“Yeah, sure,” Winchester said faintly, catching up.
* * *
“DiNozzo, Ziva talk to the fire chief. McGee, pictures. Winchester, you're with me.” The group scattered off to their respective jobs. Gibbs turned and saw Dean staring at the house, the black streaks coming from the windows, the waterlogged ground.
“You all right?” Gibbs asked softly. Dean had been silent the entire ride over, not even flinching at Ziva's driving.
Dean nodded, turning away from the building and giving Gibbs a tight smile. “Yessir. What do you need me to do?”
Gibbs slapped Dean upside the head. “Don't sir, me.”
Dean smirked, a small one and nodded.
“I want you to talk to the family. Find out what happened, see if you can get a description of our suspect.”
Dean nodded and moved toward the family. Gibbs watched as Dean talked to them. He had to admit Dean was excellent in this regard. He knew, almost instinctively, the right tone to take with the victims.
“Just one last question, how old is your daughter?” Dean asked. Both Gibbs and the major frowned.
“I don't see--”
“She'll be six months on Thursday,” the major's wife answered.
Gibbs saw a tight smile come over Winchester's face and he wondered about it. For just a second the boy looked sick to his stomach before the mask settled again on his face.
“Thank you for your time,” Dean said, before giving Gibbs a look. They turned back toward the others.
“What was that about?” Gibbs asked quietly.
Dean shrugged. “Just getting all the information.”
“You needed the age of the baby?” Gibbs asked.
“The intruder was in the nursery, it seems, at the moment, to be two separate events. Knowing how old the baby was might help us narrow down our lists of suspects.”
Gibbs nodded. He didn't buy it, Dean had been too intent on the answer for it to be a hunch. He knew, or suspected something, the only question was what.
* * *
“You notice anything strange about the new guy?” DiNozzo asked as they made their way through the house.
“You mean how he cleaned everyone's gun this morning?”
“I meant more about the lack of complaining about your driving and how Gibbs had him do the interviews but yeah, the gun cleaning thing was weird too,” DiNozzo answered.
“There is nothing wrong with my driving, Tony,” Ziva snapped, looking through the wreckage.
“Sure if you were a formula one driver,” Tony replied with a smirk. It was an old joke between them, more something to pass the time than serious ribbing. There was silence for a few minutes before Tony mused, “I wonder if McGee knows.”
Ziva shook her head. “I would put money on Abby knowing. They're good friends. I've seen them around town on the weekends.”
“Really? Wow, I didn't really see Dean as Abby's type, but she did date McGee.” Tony said.
“Why must it always be about sex with you?” Ziva asked.
“What else is there?” Tony retorted.
Ziva shook her head.
* * *
“What did you find out?” Gibbs asked.
“The fire started in the nursery, preliminary reports point to the crib. Think someone was trying to kill the baby and make it look accidental?” McGee asked.
“Do we know what started it?” Gibbs asked.
“Not yet. We took the samples down to Abby to analyze. The crib is nothing but ash,” McGee replied.
“How did the fire move?” Dean asked, clearing his throat first. Gibbs turned and wondered again if Winchester was hunting on his days off.
“Move?” Ziva asked.
Dean nodded. “How did it move? From the crib to where? Did it go across the floor, indicating an accelerant was used? It did go straight up the walls toward the ceiling? How did it move?”
Tony blinked and looked at Gibbs before answering. “I, uh, don't know. What's the deal?”
Dean shook his head. “Nothing. Just hoping it would be easy. If the fire followed the fuel it would help determine if someone was really in the house.”
“Never take the easy way,” Gibbs replied. “Always go where the evidence takes you. You believe there was someone in the house?”
Dean shrugged. “At this point, I don't see why a Marine major would lie. If he was trying to kill the daughter, why would he save her? If the room is as destroyed as Tim's pictures suggest, we'd never know if he went in or not. He could say someone was in his house and lit the fire.”
“It would look suspicious if he didn't try to save her,” Ziva suggested.
“Maybe he did. You said yourself, the fire started at the crib. Wouldn't take long to kill the baby. He had to save the rest of the family. Good of the many and all that.”
“You have thought way too much about this,” Tony said, a sharp look crossing his face.
“Saw a lot of shit working with my dad,” Dean retorted. “Trained to think of those things.”
“You're making sense,” Gibbs replied. “Winchester, go help Abby with the fire forensics. I want to know exactly how that fire started. Baby cribs don't spontaneously combust.”
“Yessir,” Dean said softly.
“Stop sirring me. We're not in the military, Winchester.”
“Yessir,” Dean answered, a hint of his usual smirk on his lips.
Gibbs sighed. “I want some kind of proof there was someone in that house. Find out why someone would want a six month old dead.”
* * *
“Hey Dean. Come to make sure no more ghosts move in?” Abby asked.
“Something like that. Gibbs sent me down to help out.”
Abby gave him a smile. “Are you calling him sir again?”
Dean grinned. “Can't help it. It's a respect thing. Dad drilled it into my head even before the career change.”
Abby laughed. “That's so sweet. You should definitely tell Gibbs that.”
Dean shook his head. “Or not. What do you need from me?”
They worked in relative silence, the music, while not the metal he preferred, was something Dean could live with. He was the only person that got away with insulting Abby's music. Abby showed Dean how to work through the evidence, process it through various machines. Dean soaked it up, carefully documenting everything both for the case and for his own investigation.
Two hours later and Abby was on her second CAF-POW and getting frustrated.
“Abbs, what do you have for me?”
“Nothing, Gibbs. That's the problem,” Abby replied glaring at the screen in front of her. “There's absolutely no reason for the crib to catch on fire.”
“All of your tests?” Gibbs asked.
“All negative. If there was something used it burned hot and quick and there's nothing left. Also I tried to find the flash point, where the fire started, it was the entire crib. All at the same time. The weirdest thing, Gibbs? The floor was burned after the crib.”
“The entire crib went up before the floor?” Gibbs asked.
“Looks like,” Abby said taking a sip of her drink.
“Where's Winchester?”
Abby winced. Gibbs didn't sound happy, which rarely boded well for anyone. “In the bathroom. He said he wasn't feeling well. I think he's been trying to cook again and it backfired.”
Gibbs nodded and Abby wondered how many problems she just created for Dean. Before Abby could rectify the situation, Dean came back into the lab wiping his mouth and still looking decidedly pale.
“Sorry about that, Abby. I guess I'm not as good of a cook as I thought.” He trailed off noticing Gibbs in the lab.
“You sick, Winchester?” Gibbs demanded.
“No, sir,” Dean answered, straightening.
“If you're sick, go home. You're no good to me sick.” Gibbs told him. If anything Dean snapped even more to attention. Gibbs thought he even heard Winchester's spine snap to precision.
“I'm fine.”
Gibbs nodded. He stepped up to Dean and smacked him upside the head. “Don't lie to me. Go home. Get some rest.”
Dean sighed. “Yes, sir.”
* * *
Dean heard the knock at the door and frowned. He wasn't expecting anyone. Dean looked back up at the ceiling, the protective circle half finished. It was the best place to put it, it was where Bobby had put it. Demons tended not to notice it until it was too late, which is exactly what you wanted to happen when you were dealing with demons. They were much easier to exorcise if they weren't trying to rip your heart out while you were doing it. He thought about ignoring the knock, and thought better of it. If it was Abby, Tim or, Christ, Gibbs, ignoring it would only get him a broken lock and a hefty explanation to the landlord. Besides, he told himself, demons don't knock.
Dean dropped off the ladder and wiped his hands. The greasy substance left smears across his jeans. He stuck his service pistol in the back of his jeans and unlocked the door. He didn't bother with the chain, in his vast experience it never seemed to hold anyone out that was determined to get in.
“Hi. How're you feeling?” Abby asked.
Dean stared at her for a minute before quietly saying “Christo.”
Abby frowned at him. “I brought dinner.”
Dean stepped aside and let Abby into the apartment. “Watch the salt,” he mumbled.
Abby didn't say a word but made sure not to disturb the salt line. Out of all of them, she was the most comfortable with his strange quirks and habits. She handed him the Chinese take out and Dean grinned. It was stupid, silly really, but it touched him that she remembered. One of the first late nights they'd had, Tim had ordered Chinese and Dean had let it slip that Dad has always gotten them subgum chicken when they were sick. It was something just about every town had and it was plain enough that it usually stayed down. Tim had been horrified by the notion but then Tim had been raised by two parents that didn't hunt down the things that went bump in the night.
“Thanks, Abby,” Dean said as he made his way into the small kitchen to grab plates. When he came out, plates, silverware and two beers in hand, he found Abby staring at the half finished protective circle.
Abby looked over at him, a worried frown on her face. “Are you expecting company?”
Dean swore. This case was driving him crazy and, of course, Abby wouldn't miss the name of God thrown at her. She might not know a protective circle, and he didn't put it past her to have read the Key of Solomon, but she knew that it wasn't something he usually had on his ceiling. The salt lines usually weren't that thick. He never should have let Abby in, not because she was a threat, but because she was too friggin' smart and she was going to figure all of this out and she had Sam's freakin' number. She denied it, but he knew. His psychic, geek brother was good, but not that good. Not good enough to just take care of shit that Dean had no idea he even needed to take care of. Not all the way from California. Not without a spy, and Abby had to be it.
“Can't be too cautious,” he replied and winced internally. That was lame even to him.
“You really don't have food poisoning, do you?” Abby asked,
Dean was going to have to tell her something and fast. Not the truth, but something close to it. Something that could be passed off as the truth. “It's the case,” he said quietly. “The crib today.” He sat down on the couch and scrubbed his face. “Sam's crib went up in flames. Dad almost didn't get to him in time.”
Abby sat down next to him. “I'm sorry. Gibbs would let you work a different case if--”
“Nah, I'm fine, Abby. Really. It was just, dude, I wasn't expecting everything to come back.” Dean said, and it wasn't a lie. Not exactly, just a stretching of the truth. He hoped it was enough to keep them away. No one could know what was really going on. No one.
* * *
Dean rubbed his eyes. He'd been at it since Abby had left. Weather reports had all come up normal and there were no odd cattle mutilations. No mutilations at all. Dean had printed out everything he could find, everything he could remember about the Demon. He didn't, couldn't believe it was back, but everything was adding up wrong. The date, the crib, the baby. It was all pointing to the Demon. Dean had briefly considered calling his dad and asking about the colt. He knew he wouldn't get away with not telling the eldest Winchester what was going on. It wasn't as if he could call Sam and ask about visions. It would be a dead giveaway and he'd end up with both of them on his doorstep. No, he couldn't do that to them, not when life was getting back to normal. Dean had to do this on his own.
Which meant research. He was getting better at it, learning what to search for and where to find it. He'd looked at everything again, the evidence, the weather patterns, odd murders, he'd even called the local priest and asked if there'd been an increase in possessions. Granted he hadn't used his real name, he couldn't let this get back to Gibbs, and the priest had been more disturbed than helpful. Dean considered calling Bobby, but calling Bobby meant explaining things, things that would eventually get back to Sam and Dad.
No, he was on his own this time out. He could do this. He'd been raised for it and it wasn't like he'd been slacking with this new life. In fact, NCIS was probably the closest thing to the family business. He could do this, he just needed to focus. He had to save this family from the same fate. No one else was dying from this sonuvabitch. No one.
Dean glanced at the clock, surprised to find it was almost seven in the morning. He grunted and started cleaning up the files he'd printed out. No use letting everyone see what a crackpot he was. Sighing, he scrubbed a hand over his face and closed all the files on his computer.
“Looking at porn again, probbie?” DiNozzo asked coming around the corner and sitting at his desk.
Dean was about to answer when his cell rang. “Winchester,” he said while flipping off DiNozzo.
“You answer the phone with Winchester? Man what have they done to you?”
Dean clenched his teeth. The one person he'd rather not talk to at the moment. “You called my cell, dude. The one I got from work?” There was a pause.
“Everything all right, Dean?”
Dean sighed. Stupid, psychic, pushy younger brother. “Everything's fine, Sam.”
* * *
DiNozzo told himself it wasn't really eavesdropping. He was gathering intel on the new guy. He would need all the intel he could get. He could only hear half of the conversation and Winchester seemed determined to keep Tony out of it.
“I can't go. I'm in the middle of a case.” There was a pause, then, “yeah, I know, Sam. I get what you're doing, I do.” Another pause, probably Sam responding.
Something was going on, something Dean obviously didn't want to do. DiNozzo wondered what it was. A wedding? Maybe Daddy was getting remarried to some tramp and Winchester wasn't happy. That made sense. Or maybe it was the brother. Could be doing something Dean didn't like. Maybe it was some kind of reunion. With wacky relatives. Maybe Dean was the wacky relative and no one wanted him there. That, that was probably it. At least that's what he'd ask about. He almost missed Dean's reply.
“Dude! This has nothing to do with Lawrence. I'm on a case and can't go!”
DiNozzo hadn't thought Winchester was gay, but he sure sounded like it. Maybe the brother was and Winchester was against it. Old flame maybe. He'd have to ask about that too. He waited until Dean snapped the phone shut. Dean glared at Tony, almost daring him to say something, which of course made Tony want to say something, he just wasn't sure what.
“Problems?” He finally asked, deciding to be subtle.
“No,” Winchester snapped.
“You sure? Because it certainly sounded like domestic dispute to me. You and Lawrence have a falling out? Maybe over some wedding you were supposed to go to?”
Winchester was staring at him like he'd grown another head. That wasn't the response he'd been hoping for.
“Not that there's anything wrong with that, but really you should take into consideration how Lawrence feels about this.”
“DiNozzo, shut up,” Gibbs said, coming into the office.
“Yes, boss,” DiNozzo replied, immediately sitting back down.
“Thought I told you to go home, Winchester?” Gibbs said.
“I'm fine,” Dean answered.
DiNozzo and Gibbs both stopped in surprise. DiNozzo had never seen anyone, except the director, back talk Gibbs. It just wasn't done.
“Did you even go home last night?” Gibbs asked.
“Went four days without sleep in Tulsa once.”
DiNozzo waited for the explosion that was sure to come. Winchester had back talked twice now. Was he looking to be fired?
“Look at me when I'm talking to you,” Gibbs snapped. He paused and DiNozzo couldn't help but watch. It was like watching a train wreck.
“We got a problem here, Winchester?” Gibbs asked, leaning into Dean's personal space once Dean finally raised his head.
“No, sir,” Winchester replied. DiNozzo had to give him credit. He didn't flinch under Gibbs' pressure.
Gibbs nodded. “You got a problem you come to me, got it?”
Dean nodded slowly. “Yessir,”
DiNozzo had to wonder exactly how Winchester got away with sir.
* * *
“What've we got?” Gibbs demanded.
“Looked into the family. Neither have any history of mental illness, no problems financially, well other than he's a Marine--” DiNozzo shrugged.
“What else?”
“The major couldn't give us a good description of the intruder,” Ziva reported. “I don't know, I think he's making it up.”
“Why?” Gibbs asked. There was no heat in the question, he wanted to know Ziva's reasons behind it.
“Maybe he doesn't want another child. Maybe it's not his and he's making up an intruder because he was caught.”
“There's nothing to indicate it's not their child,” DiNozzo retorted.
“I believe him,” Winchester said quietly.
Everyone turned to him. He shrugged and took the remote from Ziva. “I looked into cases similar to these and found cases going back thirty odd years. Fire starts in the nursery. Surviving parent, usually the father, always sees someone, same vague description. Couldn't get a good look at it, long coat, short hair, couldn't tell you if it was male of female.” He flashed the files on the screen.
Gibbs nodded. “What's the connection between the victims?” There was a brief hesitation before and Gibbs knew Winchester was holding something back. There was a niggling at the back of his head, telling him that he should know this.
Dean swallowed. “I'm not sure. Different ages, different backgrounds, different states.”
Gibbs frowned. “DiNozzo work with Winchester, see if you can't find a pattern in these cases. Ziva, I want to know everything there is to know about this family. McGee work with Abby, I want to know exactly what started that fire.”
There was a bustle of movement as everyone wandered off to their assignments. Gibbs looked over their work. The evidence was slim. Cribs didn't spontaneously combust and it wasn't as if a six month old had enemies, similar cases or not. He had Ziva running the family. Gibbs looked over to Winchester, the boy was locked up tighter than Fort Knox. He knew something about this case, something he wasn't sharing. The question was what. Gibbs didn't like prying. He'd rather his team come to him and trust him with their problems but this time he'd have to dig. He needed one hundred percent from his agents. Personal problems had to be dealt with or put on hold during the case.
Frowning, Gibbs started searching Winchester's background. While some of it was pure bullshit at least half of his background had to be true to get past the bullshit detectors and obtain his clearance. Gibbs would start there. A tickle of memory bothered him. He should know why this was spooking Winchester, but he couldn't place it. He'd find it, he would.
* * *
“You really think there's some kind of connection between these cases?” DiNozzo asked, pulling another case from the pile. Winchester just grunted.
DiNozzo raised an eyebrow. “You could at least answer me.” he snapped, trying to sound harsh. The problem with Winchester, as Tony saw it, was lack of respect. McGee feared him, Ziva respected his experience, Winchester? Neither and it left DiNozzo floundering. Not that he'd ever admit it. He was senior field agent, after Gibbs. He had a reputation to up hold. A reputation that included hazing the new probbie.
Winchester looked up at DiNozzo and said, “Yes, I think there's a connection.”
“Why?” DiNozzo asked pulling a random file out of the stack. “How does a mechanic in Kansas have anything in common with a Marine major?”
“Besides seeing the same shadowy figure, the fire starting in the baby's room and the infant being six months old? What else do you want?” Winchester replied.
“It's a start, but not enough. Why them? Besides the crime itself, what links them?” DiNozzo replied. He would admit, only under torture, that the kid had good instincts. But instincts only got you so far. Then you had to back it up with facts.
Winchester frowned and pulled another file. Searching for what he didn't know.
"Take the mechanic. What does he have in common with the major?" DiNozzo said, grabbing the file he had started with.
Winchester looked at the file in his hand and his jaw tightened a bit. "Father was a marine in Vietnam, married his high school sweetheart."
"Ok, so they were both Marines. How does that figure into him killing his wife?" DiNozzo asked.
"He didn't kill his wife," Winchester snapped, a little too heatedly.
"Oh come on! He's a mechanic, he's not making that much money and hell he's living in Kansas. Wife was probably doing the mailman, as suburban housewives do, and maybe he came home early, found her in bed with another man. Could tip him over the scales," DiNozzo said, slapping the file down.
There was silence for a long minute, where the only thing coming out of Winchester's mouth was some heavy breathing. Finally, Winchester said, "She was killed in the nursery. Why would he wait over a year to kill her? Why wait until the kid was six months old?"
"The guy could have thought the kid was his. Got a blood test back and found out it wasn't. Kill the wife and the bastard kid in one fell swoop."
Another silence. Then, "why would he save the baby then? If he wanted to kill them both?"
"Remorse? Figured it'd go down better if it was just the mother. Who knows? Maybe the guy just screwed up. Men who kill their wives are crazy, do they need a reason?"
Before DiNozzo was really sure what was going on, Ziva was between them, a hand on Winchester's arm.
"He's not worth it," she said.
There was a long moment of silence before Winchester looked at her and nodded slowly. Like he really didn't want to agree with her. DiNozzo frowned, knowing he'd missed something but not sure what. Ziva let go and before DiNozzo could process everything he was lying flat on his back and his face felt as if he'd been hit by a frying pan.
Gibbs reached down and helped him back to his feet. He shook his head at DiNozzo and then turned to Winchester. "You don't shoot my people. Even when they deserve it."
Winchester nodded, "Ok, yeah. I got it."
DiNozzo still wasn't sure what just happened.
* * *
Dean paced inside the elevator. Go cool down, Gibbs had said. He chuckled harshly to himself. Like that was going to happen. Between the stupid case and the time of year, it would take elephant tranquilizers to cool him down. What he needed was to go and kill something. Preferably something evil, but at the moment he'd take DiNozzo if Gibbs would let him. Arrogant ass. There were certain things you didn't do around a Winchester. Insult Mary was top of the list. It tended to make a Winchester foul. And wanting to kill things.
Unfortunately, there was really not much left to hunt. He'd taken out most of the crap in the area and there was no way he could get farther than an hour away. Not in the middle of a case and not with Gibbs already breathing down his neck. If he couldn't even figure out a way to Lawrence, and why the hell Sammy wanted to go there was beyond him, he wasn't going to be able to hunt in Texas or Oregon or hell even Maryland. Dean was stuck, plain and simple. Trapped in a cage of his own making.
Yes, Dean knew he shouldn't have blown up at Tony. He didn't know he was talking about Dean's mother. But damn, it had hurt. Hearing that arrogant ass talk about his mother that way. Like she was some cheap whore, like she deserved it. That had been worse than the cracks about his father. Cracks about Dad he could handle, his father wasn't exactly a saint. Dean slammed his hand against the side of the elevator and then rubbed it through his hair. This wasn't helping him to calm down. He needed out, he needed--his cell phone rang. Dean flipped it open without checking the caller id, ready to tell whoever it was to piss off.
"Dean?"
Dean froze. Just for a second, because really the absolute last person he'd expected it to be was John Winchester.
"Dean, you there?"
"Yeah, Dad. I'm here. What's going on?" God, Dean hoped his dad couldn't hear the shake in his voice.
"You all right?" Apparently the shake had been heard. Dean had to come up with something fast.
"Yeah, I'm fine. Just tired," he lied and hoped his dad wouldn't see through him.
"You talk to Sam yet?" There had been a brief moment of hesitation. As if Dad wasn't quite sure how this was going to go down. He wondered if they both thought him that fucked up.
"About Lawrence?" Well, he could be cagey too. "Yeah.”
“Well?”
“I can't go,” Dean replied. So much for cagey.
"Why?"
Dean sighed. Prepared himself to have it out with his dad the way he'd had it out with Sam. "Because I'm working a case, Dad. I can't just leave in the middle of it."
"You could take time off," Dad replied quietly.
"I--that's not how it works, Dad," But really, Dean had no idea how it worked. Not exactly. The downside of never having gainful employment before now.
"It's been twenty-five years, son. Don't you think it's time to face this?"
Oh, Christ, is this what it was about? Him and his refusal to see his mother's grave? What did it matter if he hated the city and promised himself to never go back? What was gained by staring at her headstone anyway? Dean wiped a hand over his face. He really didn't need this today.
"Even if I left today I wouldn't get there in time," he said quietly.
There was silence on the other end. The elevator dinged and the doors opened. Dean couldn't do this, wouldn't have this conversation where people could over hear him. People that included his father and brother. "I gotta go, Dad."
"Dean,"
"I have to. I'll call you back later."
"Dean, don't you hang up--" Whatever else was said, Dean didn't hear as he stepped out into the hallway.