That evening, Martha cooked for everyone.
It was the first proper meal she had prepared since the tornado.
They ate outside beneath temporary lights.
Someone brought a guitar.
Someone else brought coffee.
Martha sat beside Dean.
"You know," she said, "Walter would have liked this."
Dean nodded.
"I think he already does."
Martha looked at him.
"Don't say things like that."
"Why?"
"Because they make me want to believe them."
Dean smiled.
"Maybe that's okay."
The peaceful rebuilding didn't last.
A week later, the county announced that several roads would remain closed.
A supply truck carrying building materials never arrived.
Then another disappeared.
Rumors spread.
Someone was stealing relief supplies.
Martha didn't care about rumors.
She cared when a truck meant for three families failed to arrive.
Dean took the matter seriously.
He organized riders to escort the next shipment.
Martha objected.
"You aren't police."
"No."
"You aren't deputies."
"No."
"Then don't act like them."
Dean looked at her.
"We're not hunting anyone."
"Then what are you doing?"
"Making sure the supplies arrive."
Martha nodded.
"Good."
The convoy left at dawn.
Hours later, it returned.
The truck was safe.
But someone had tried to block the road.
Dean refused to say much.
Martha noticed his expression.
"What happened?"
"Nothing you need to worry about."
"Dean."
He sighed.
"Someone wanted the truck to stop."
"Why?"
"We don't know."
Martha looked toward the damaged town.
"Then find out without becoming what they expect you to become."
Dean stared at her.
"That's good advice."