Coincidence

by JudyH

A random stop in a small town leads to a missing persons case with connections to the Winchesters too coincidental to ignore. Thanks to Val for the beta on this. She knows I play fast and loose with commas and the space bar .

COINCIDENCE

***Coincidences are puns of destiny. In the pun, in the coincidental happening, two strings of events are knitted together by invisible hands:Arthur Koestler (1905–1983)***

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"Are you gonna finish that?"

"Hmm?"

"I said…" Dean reached over and snagged a slightly soggy French fry from Sam's plate. "You're wasting perfectly good food here."

"Help yourself." Sam's eyes remained fixed on the flickering laptop screen, his untouched meal pushed to the side.

Dean sighed and glanced around the mostly empty diner. He pushed back from the table, absently wiping the grease from his hands as he suppressed still another sigh. Another dingy diner, another back roads town…another day in paradise. Sometimes he couldn't help but wonder what it would be like to come to a town…and not find some evil lurking, waiting. Waiting for the opportunity to take lives, souls, rip them apart, drain them dry, destroy any goodness, showing no mercy….

God, he was tired…where did that come from?

He gave himself a mental shake and took a deep breath. At least there was nothing going on in this town. It was only a stop along the way, to refuel, eat a little greasy diner food and give Sam enough time to do his endless internet research on their next hunt.

"So," Dean said, watching Sam nod his head and close down the laptop. "You think this haunted courthouse thing is the real deal?"

"Looks like it," Sam replied, absently popping a cold fry into his mouth and then grimacing as he spit it out into a napkin.

"Told you to eat a half hour ago while it was still edible."

Sam pushed the plate away. "I don't think this was ever edible."

"Okay then. How far are we from Richmond?"

"About three hundred miles, I think. Might be a nasty drive, though. They got three inches of snow and ice last night, some strange late season storm." Sam stretched his neck back and even Dean could hear the stiff tendons pop.

He's tired, too. "Well, too far to drive tonight, anyway. Let's get a room and get some sleep."

Sam nodded, looking around for their waitress. "I'm down with that." He noticed that they were the only customers left in the small café, even though the sign on the door said they had two hours left before closing time. As if she had been watching them, a young woman stepped out from behind the counter, pulling an order book out of her apron as she approached their table.

"Can I get you anything else?" she asked. Before the brothers could answer, an older woman with salt and pepper hair stepped out of the kitchen and stopped at their table.

"Can I help you close up?"

"No, I'm fine, Rita. You go ahead." Dean noticed the tremble in the girl's hands as she tore off their ticket and placed it on the table. "I'll see you at the vigil."

The older woman patted the waitress's shoulder before walking away. The trembling hands disappeared into the faded apron as she waited for her last customers to reply.

"Are you okay?" Sam asked softly.

"Yeah," her smile was watery but sincere. "I'm fine."

Dean placed a twenty on top of the bill and glanced up at her. "That lady…she said something about a vigil?"

The young woman took a deep breath as if to respond, then paused, glancing at each brother in turn as if gauging their sincerity. Dean caught the look and smiled.

"I'm sorry. My name is Dean and this is Sam."

"Amy." She withdrew a now steady hand from her pocket and shook each brother's hand in turn. "We're…ah…we're holding a candlelight vigil down the street tonight for a friend of mine."

"What happened to her?" Sam asked.

"We don't know." Amy stepped away from the table, turned the lock on the front door and stepped to the register to get Dean's change. "Nobody knows. She just disappeared."

"How long ago?"

Amy glanced out the window, her eyes vacant and misted. "Over a month ago."

The brothers exchanged glances. "Any chance she just decided to take off?"

"No." Amy returned and laid the change on the table. "She had no reason to leave. Besides, her dad was sick and she was taking care of him and her brother. She never would have left them." Her voice broke on the last words, and Dean reached out and pressed the money back into her hands.

"You keep it."

The waitress nodded and swiped away a tear. "Thanks." She blew out a shuddering breath, then started clearing the table. "It's just…she was my best friend. I knew her better than anybody. We shared a lot, you know? And to have her just vanish like that…."

"What did the cops say?" Sam asked.

"What could they say? No evidence of foul play, no body. Her money, car ,cell phone, everything was accounted for. It's like she just went home one day and vanished." She turned around and gave the two young men a sheepish look. "But nobody does that…just disappears without a trace. Do they?" As Amy carried their plates back to the kitchen, the brothers exchanged a look.

"Stranger things have happened," Sam said with a sigh.

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"What a dump," Dean grumbled as he tossed the remote control onto the bedside table. "They don't even get HBO here." He leaned over the far side of the bed, reaching for something on the other side. He leaned back on the headboard, squeezing the bag he held until the seal broke with a loud pop. Sam jumped and Dean grinned.

"Don't get crumbs all over my bed," Sam groused as he turned back to his computer.

"Chee-Tos don't have crumbs, they just turn your hands all orange." He made sure Sam was looking before he made a production out of wiping his orange coated hands on the worn bedspread.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you."

"Do what?" Dean grinned.

"Wipe your hands on the spread. Haven't you heard what they say about what goes on in motel rooms on the bedspread?"

"Oh."

Sam suppressed a grin of his own as he glanced over at his brother. "You, of all people should know all about that. Hey, where ya going?" he asked in an innocence soaked voice as Dean launched himself from the bed, chucking the half eaten snack in the trash on the way.

"Going to wash my hands, if you must know," came the muffled reply from the bathroom.

Score a point for me, Sam thought as he turned his attention back to his laptop.

Dean emerged several minutes later and sank down on the side of the bed, glancing over Sam's shoulder. "So what'd you find?"

Sam slid the laptop around so his brother could read over his shoulder. "This was in the Raleigh News and Observer about a month ago. Her name is Sharon Walker, age 23, single, worked as a nursing assistant at a local doctor's office part time while putting herself through nursing school. According to the police report, she was last seen heading home after work one day, and no one has seen her since. When she didn't show up for work the next day, a friend went to her house to check on her, and she wasn't there. Her house was locked up tight, her car was in the drive and her purse and cell phone were in the house. But she was gone."

"Just like Amy said," Dean said. "No signs of a break-in?"

"No, nothing. There's a few more follow up articles over the next couple of weeks, but they're mostly stories about her friends putting up posters, things like that."

"Hmmm." Dean stood, stripped the cover from the bed and tossed it into the corner before settling back against the headboard again. "What?"

"Nothing," Sam grinned before turning his attention back to the screen.

"So why are you so interested in this, Sam? It's a sad tale, true, but unfortunately it happens every day. People take off, it's nothing new."

"I don't know," Sam stood and stepped over to the window, gazing out thru the dingy sheer curtain into the night. "Amy said her dad was sick and she took care of him. She had a job, friends. Can't see why someone like that would just run off and leave it all, without a word to anybody."

"There's something else that maybe you haven't considered"

"What?"

"Suicide."

Sam immediately shook his head. "That's the same thing as running away…."

"Only a little more permanent," Dean said.

"I just don't think so. She sounded like a very responsible person. That would be just as cruel to her family as packing up and running away."

"Sounds like she had a lot of responsibility on her shoulders, too. You know, working, going to school, taking care of her family. Maybe it just got to be a little too much. She could have taken a gun, gone off into the woods, ended it all. It might be months before somebody found her." Dean studied his brother's back as he continued to stare out the window. "Anyway, I don't see how we can help here, if that's what you're thinking."

"Why not?" Sam turned from the window. The sight of the small group of people, huddled together in the early April chill, candles flickering like fireflies in their hands as they had driven past the town square on the way to their motel replayed in his head. "It's what we do, you know…do a little research, talk to some people."

"This isn't a case, Sam. There's nothing supernatural going on here."

"Maybe not." Sam returned and flopped back down into the chair. "But helping people is part of what we do, and I think these people need some help. Besides," he switched off the laptop, grabbed his duffle and headed for the bathroom. "That courthouse is over 200 hundred years old. It'll still be there when we get there."

Yeah, why not? Dean leaned back and reached for the remote again. Might be nice to do a job that didn't include having some spirit chomping at our asses for a change. "This wouldn't have anything to do with a cute little waitress, now, would it?"

"No." Sam stuck his head out of the bathroom door. "How about it? Just a day or two. If nothing turns, we move on."

"Well, hell, "Dean finally said. " It's damned cold in Richmond this time of year anyway."

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The dream came that night.

Sam knew he was dreaming. It wasn't a vision; there was no pressure in his skull, no pain, no scenes playing out like a movie in his head. These images were disjointed, disconnected, flashes of light and sound like flipping the channels on some cosmic tv set. He sensed that he was in the dream, and yet he seemed to be watching, not participating.

At first there was silence; eerie, heavy with anticipation. Then a swirl of smoke, followed by a noise that soundly vaguely familiar; eardrum shattering booms like thunder that shook the walls of the shadowed room. He heard voices; his brother's, and another one, softer, almost like a whisper in the darkness. The smoke cleared; from across the room a myriad of colored lights flickered and danced, casting a kaleidoscope of colors across the dusty floor.

The silence descended again. As Sam gazed up at the lights, he smiled. He felt at peace, warm, like a child drifting off to sleep in the security of his warm, safe bed.

And then he woke to the sight of his brother dangling a Styrofoam cup in front of his face.

"Rise and shine, sweetheart. I have nectar of the gods here." Dean chuckled at his brother's half hearted attempts to focus his sleep weighted eyes. "Or as close to Starbucks as you can get out here in the boonies."

Sam swung his legs over the side of the bed and accepted the cup, sipping it in silence. "I was having the weirdest dream."

"Dude, all your dreams are weird." When his brother didn't respond, he continued. "You mean vision kind of weird, or sitting in history class in your underwear weird?"

"No, not a vision," Sam replied, seeing the immediate relief in his brother's eyes. "It didn't make a lot of sense. Just sounds and voices and….lights."

"Lights?"

"Yeah, like…like Christmas tree lights."

"Well, that settles that, then." Dean tossed his empty cup into the trash and rose. "Not a vision then."

"And how did you figure that one out?" Sam rose groggily from the bed and headed for the bathroom.

"Because it's April, college boy. Your visions have always been about something about to happen, like right now. Christmas is eight months away. So chalk it up to bad pepperoni on that pizza last night and let's get going. We've got a missing girl to find."

Sam stopped in the doorway and looked back. "So, where do we start? And more importantly, who are we today?"

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"My receptionist said you're reporters from the News and Observer," the elderly physician said as he shook hands with each of the young men in turn. He settled into a chair behind the desk and nodded. " I guess this is about Sharon."

"Yes sir," Dean replied as everyone sat down. "We're planning to do a follow-up story on Miss Walker, and we were hoping to get some background information from you."

"She was a sweet girl. I started my practice here when she was small, so I guess I knew her most of her life."

Sam caught the use of the past tense in the doctor's voice. "Do you have any thoughts on what might have happened to her?"

"I wish I did. She worked for me here, in the office. She was going to night school, taking classes to help her get into nursing school in the fall." His eyes slipped out of focus, remembering. "Ever since she was little, she talked about becoming a doctor when she grew up. But the money wasn't there for medical school, so she decided on nursing school instead. I told her that I could help her with the expenses, and the only way she accepted was to make it a loan. Made me sign loan papers and everything," he said with a wistful smile. "She would have made a great doctor. The patients here loved her; sometimes I think they came here to see her instead of me. She definitely had a gift for healing."

"And her dad, he was sick and she was taking care of him?" Dean asked

The doctor nodded. "Jack Walker was a good man…damned shame."

Sam caught the past tense reference again. "Was?"

"Yes; he died a week after Sharon disappeared. He had improved dramatically, I can't explain it. But without her here, it's like he just gave up."

The three men sat in silence for a moment, then Dean spoke again. "There's a brother, right?"

The physician frowned. "Yeah, Kevin. A worthless piece of humanity…but don't quote me on that."

"Not cut from the same cloth as his sister, I gather?"

"Not by a long shot, although I can't say it was entirely his fault. He had problems of his own…problems I don't feel I can get into. Now, if you don't mind, I still have patients waiting."

The brothers nodded and rose to leave. "Thanks for your time, sir," Sam said as they turned for the door.

Dean paused and turned back as a thought struck him. "You know, we are new on this story and all, so I can't remember one thing. I don't recall anything in the previous stories about Sharon's mother, how she's taking all this."

"Well, that's a sad story all on its own," the doctor replied. "Sharon's mother died when she was a baby…house fire, I believe."

Dean felt Sam stop breathing beside him. "A fire?"

"Like I said, I moved here sometime after it happened. But I heard that an electrical fire started in Sharon's nursery. The husband got the kids out, but the mother wasn't so lucky. Damned shame."

Dean glanced over at Sam's pale, stricken expression. "Yeah," Dean breathed. " A damned shame."

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"Don't try to tell me this is a coincidence," Sam said as he stared out the windshield of the Impala.

"Okay." Dean drummed his fingertips on the steering wheel as he watched the color finally returning to his brother's face. "But it probably is."

"Dean, she's the same age as me. Her mother died in a fire…."

"All I'm saying is, if you do a little research on that trusty laptop of yours, you could probably find statistics on how many people died in house fires in 1983. Don't try to see something that's not there, Sam."

"And don't ignore what's right in front of you."

"Come on," Dean said as he started the engine and pulled smoothly out of the parking lot. "You think too much. Everything that happens in this world is not an omen, and every bad dream is not a vision. How about we go talk to the brother?"

"Are we still cub reporters from Raleigh?" Sam recognized his brother's attempt at redirection, but his thoughts still remained on the circumstances of a girl's life that strangely mirrored his own. Coincidence, my ass.

"As long as it works."

"Okay, tell you what," Sam said. "You go talk to the brother. Let me out uptown at the newspaper office. If we're supposed to be working on this story, we should at least sound like we know some of the facts."

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Dean pulled up in front of the Walker residence and killed the engine. It was an older home in the classic southern style: white clapboard siding, peaked roof and columns supporting a screened in porch. It had the look of a comfortable home that had fallen onto hard times: slivers of peeling paint hung in neglect from several sections of the house, the gutters overflowed with leaves and debris and one shutter barely hung from its hinges. The yard desperately needed mowing and the flowers beds were neglected and overgrown.

As he studied the house, the front door opened and an older woman emerged, carrying a cardboard box and struggling with the heavy door. Dean jumped out, ran up the sidewalk and braced the door with his shoulder.

"Let me help you with that."

The woman looked up in surprise, then smiled. "Thank you. I was wondering how I was going to manage that." She passed the box over, then turned back to the house. "Could you just set it by my car over there? "

He placed the box on the ground next to an older sedan. When he returned to the house, the woman was standing on the porch, talking to a dark haired young man in the doorway.

"Now, honey, you remember…anything we can do for you, you just call, ok?"

Dean stood on the lower step, watching as the young man nodded. She smiled at Dean as she passed. "Thank you for your help, young man."

"No problem, ma'am."

Dean noticed the woman's trunk, as well as the back seat, were laden with boxes. " Are you moving?" he asked the young man still standing in the doorway.

"No," he replied in a soft voice. " She's from the church. I lost my dad recently and decided to donate some of his stuff…clothes, fishing gear, stuff like that." It then seemed to occur to him that he was talking to a total stranger, and he stepped out onto the porch. "Can I help you?" he asked.

" I hope so," Dean started, then hesitated. The young man was distracted, obviously not handling well the process of going through his recently deceased father's things. Maybe today was not the best day to have a pesky "reporter" appear to bring up another family tragedy.

"Well, you see, I'm from the News and Observer. We're working on a story about your sister, and…."

"Why?" The young man's voice turned cold, no longer distracted as he studied the man in front of him with narrowed eyes.

Dean blinked at the sudden change of demeanor. "It helps to keep stories like this in the news. You never know when someone will remember something, or a tip will come in."

"Sharon is gone, that's all there is to it." The younger man…Kevin, that's his name…growled as he stepped closer. Dean held his ground.

Dean recognized the flash of anger in the distraught brother's eyes. This was not going the way he had hoped. Since the fact finding interview he had come for seemed shot to hell now, he figured he might as well go for it.

"What do you think happened to her, Kevin?" he asked softly. He got the response he would have bet real money on.

In two steps, Kevin was across the porch and in Dean's face. "Get out of here." The venom in his voice was only exceeded by the fire in his eyes and the clenched fists at his side. "Stay out of my family's business. Get out and don't come back here."

" I'm just trying to help here."

"Help yourself and get the hell out of here. Now."

Dean held up his hands in a surrendering motion. "No problem. I'm gone." He turned on his heel and walked back to the Impala. As he settled back behind the wheel and fired up the engine, Dean glanced back at the furious young man, fists still clenched as he glared across the drive.

"Definitely got some anger management issues there, my friend," he said to himself as he drove away.

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"Where are you?" Sam's voice echoed from the cellphone.

"I'm on the way back to the motel. How about you?

"Walking back from the newspaper office. How about we meet at the diner? I got some stuff to read through. You have any luck with the brother?'"

"Not much. He wasn't exactly in the caring and sharing kind of mood."

"Can't say I blame him. He's lost his entire family in a short period of time."

"Yeah, but he was friendly enough until the subject of his sister came up. Then he just kinda Hulk'd out on me."

"Defensive?"

"Or protective, hard to say." Dean stopped at the town's one and only stop light, then swung the Impala back onto the main street. "Diner, eh? Bet Amy is working her shift right about now."

"I hope so. I want to ask her some more questions."

Dean sighed. "You're missing my point, bro. She is cute…."

"Give it a rest, Dean. We're working a case, that's all. I'll be at the diner in a couple of minutes." The click in his ear told Dean that his brother wasn't going to take the bait. He lay the phone down on the seat with a smile.

"What's the case got to do with it? She's still a cutie."

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Sam found an empty booth near the back of the diner and sat down, facing the door. He caught Amy's eye as she emerged from the kitchen. She nodded as she passed, carrying a food laden tray to a table near the front. After several moments, she approached his table.

"Hi, Amy," he smiled. His expression changed to confusion when she frowned back at him.

"Did you want to order something?" Her voice was stilted and cold.

"Ah, maybe later. I was hoping you'd have time to take a break, talk with me a while."

"I think I've talked to you enough." She turned to leave, only to have Sam reach out and grab her hand.

"What's wrong?"

"You want to know what's wrong?" she glanced around when her raised voice turned several heads in their direction. " I don't much appreciate being lied to."

"What? Wait a minute…." He rose from the table, following the distraught waitress as she pulled away and strode down a narrow hallway leading to the kitchen. She turned on him with fury in her eyes.

"I made a phone call…to your newspaper. Seems they never heard of you and they don't have anyone working on a story about Sharon right now. So, why are you doing this?'

Oh, crap. "We're trying to help, that's all."

"Yeah, right." She turned toward the kitchen door and Sam grabbed her hand again to turn her around.

"We never lied to you. You didn't ask why we were here, we only told…"

"Dr. Cole," she interrupted. "He comes in for lunch every day, told me all about the two nice young reporters he had just talked to."

"Amy, listen to me. We had to tell him that; he wouldn't have talked to us otherwise. You've gotta believe me." He hesitated, wondering just how honest he could be with possibly the best source of information they had. " My brother and I, we can help. I know we can. It's…kinda what we do."

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Dean held the door open for two older ladies leaving the diner before stepping through the doorway. He glanced around, spotting a sheaf of computer printouts and his brother's jacket tossed over a table in the back. As he made his way down the narrow aisle, he saw Sam and the young waitress, obviously involved in a heated discussion near the back door. The murmur of voices and the clinking of silverware masked their words, but the tension between them was palpable.

He slid into the booth and picked up the top sheet, frowning as he began to read. I should have known, damnit. You just couldn't let it go. He glanced up as Sam slid into the booth across from him, his face contorted in a frown.

"Trouble with the little lady?" Dean grinned.

"Yeah, she's pissed." Sam blew out a long breath. "Wants to know why we're pretending to be reporters."

"Oops."

"I don't think she's gonna be talking to us anymore."

Dean held up the sheet of paper he had been reading. "You wanna tell me about this?"

"It's…ah..research. Took me over an hour to get all that together."

"I'll bet it did." Dean leaned forward. "Especially since you had to go all the way back to 1983. This is about the fire that killed Sharon's mother. I thought you were researching our case."

"I am." Sam straightened, but didn't look Dean directly in the eye. "It all ties in."

"No, it doesn't. Sam, I see what you're doing."

"Really? And just what am I doing?"

Dean sighed. "You're trying to make some kind of…connection between you and this girl. It's a freaky coincidence, that's all it is."

"I don't believe in coincidence," Sam said, almost too softly to be heard over the muted restaurant noise.

"And I don't believe in that touchy feely 'everything happens for a reason' crap," Dean said. "Sometimes things just happen."

"Yeah, they do," Sam sat forward. "They happen to people like Max Miller, and Scott Carey…Andy's brother…and Ava."

Dean fought the urge to reach across and shake some sense into his overly compassionate, take everything to heart little brother. "So, you don't believe in coincidence. I guess the next thing you're gonna tell me is that our coming here wasn't a coincidence, either. That some supernatural force brought us to this little Podunk town In North Carolina to save this girl."

Sam paused. "I…don't know."

"Exactly." Dean sighed and shook his head. "It's been over a month, Sam. Chances are, she's gone."

"Yeah." Sam studied the faded tablecloth for a moment. "It just doesn't feel right to just walk away and not try to help."

"We did try. You tried. Sometimes that's the best you can do."

A shadow fell across the table and both men looked up. Amy cleared her throat as she slid two menus across the table, her eyes downcast and sad.

"I get a break in thirty minutes," she said softly. " We can talk then, if you want. In the meantime, can I get you anything?"

Sam offered a relieved smile. "I'll take a coffee, thank you."

Dean leaned forward. "You got any pie?"

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The three young people walked to a small park across the street from the diner. No one spoke until they had settled onto a wooden bench that creaked under their combined weight. Amy still refused to look either brother in the eye, but the anger she had unleashed on Sam earlier seemed to be gone, or at least under control.

"What made you change your mind about talking to us?" Sam asked.

"I would do anything to help get Sharon back." Amy saw the glance the brothers exchanged and sighed. " I know, she probably isn't coming back." Her voice trembled, and she paused for a moment. "I have to know what happened to her. I just can't let her go without knowing."

"Amy," Dean said, and the girl finally looked up. "What's the deal with the brother?"

"Kevin."

"Yeah. I had a little…conversation with him today. He really needs to work on his people skills."

"I'm surprised he talked to you at all," Amy said.

"Well, it was more of a 'get out or I'll take you out' kind of conversation."

"That sounds about right." Amy frowned, twisting a tissue in her hands. "He used to be a good guy; he butted heads with people a lot, but he idolized his dad. So when Jack got sick, I guess he didn't take it very well. That's when he and Sharon had..I guess you would say a falling out."

"Why?" Sam asked.

"The doctors said Jack was terminal, that the best thing for him was to just make him comfortable. Kevin agreed; I guess he didn't want to see his dad suffer. Sharon refused to accept it; she kept taking their dad to different doctors and they all said the same thing. That's when Kevin started drinking, getting into fights, doing all the things that their dad would have disowned him for, if he had been well enough to notice."

"And Sharon?"

Amy smiled. "She told me that the doctors were wrong, that she was going to take care of her dad and everything would be alright…that her dad would live."

Sam smiled sadly. "But it didn't happen."

Amy looked up, her eyes bright. "Yes, it did. He did get better. Sharon moved back home and started taking care of her dad. Within a few weeks, he started improving. The doctors couldn't explain it, no one could. Except Sharon; she said…." Amy hesitated and looked away.

"What did she say?" Dean asked.

"It's crazy, what she said. If I told you, you wouldn't believe me."

Sam tilted his head into her line of vision. "You'd be surprised what we'd believe."

Amy took a deep breath. "She said she healed him."

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No one moved or spoke for a long moment. Sam sat back on the bench, speechless. Dean frowned at the girl.

"I know how it sounds. But Sharon believed it, and I saw it for myself. He was getting better every day. Sharon was wearing herself out taking care of him, but you should have seen the look in her eyes the day he walked into the church by himself and got up in the pulpit."

"The pulpit?"

"Yes," Amy said. "He was the minister at the baptist church outside of town."

Dean glanced over at Sam, who still had not spoken or offered any more questions. "And what did her dad have to say about his miraculous recovery?"

"I don't think her dad was well enough at first to understand what she was doing for him," Amy replied softly. "But Sharon believed that she had a gift from God."

Sam stood suddenly and took a step away from the bench. "Not from God," he whispered as he turned away.

Amy looked up. " I know how it sounds. All I know is that within a week after Sharon…disappeared…he started going downhill. A week later, he was gone."

Dean nodded, his eyes fixed on the tension stretched muscles of his brother's back and the slump of his shoulders. When the silence stretched on for several long moments, Amy finally cleared her throat and stood.

"Well, my break time is over. I have to get back to work."

Sam turned and nodded distractedly. "Yeah, we'll walk you back. I appreciate your taking the time to talk with us again."

"I still don't understand why you're taking such an interest in all this," Amy said as they crossed the street.

"Well, like I said before…" He caught Dean's warning look over his shoulder. "We've helped out on cases like this before."

"Yeah," Dean said, anxious to divert the conversation before Sam revealed too much about where their "cases" usually took them. "We'll be staying around for a bit, see what we can turn up."

"Thank you, thank you so much," Amy's eyes were round and wet as she glanced at each of them in turn. She headed into the diner, tossing a shy wave their way as she disappeared through the door.

Neither brother spoke as they climbed into the Impala. As Dean pulled away from the curb, Sam broke the silence.

"I think…" he paused and Dean glanced over.

"You think what?"

"I need my computer, got to do some research. But I think I know what Sharon is."

Dean drummed his fingers on the wheel. "What she is?"

Sam sighed, resignation in his voice when he spoke. "What she…was."

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The constant tapping of the computer keys was slowing driving Dean up the wall. Sam had offered no explanation of his budding theory since their return to the motel room two hours before. Just as Dean was deciding whether to toss the remote at the television or at his obsessive brother's head, Sam finally sat back and looked up.

"Please tell me you found something."

"I did,"Sam said. "I think Sharon was an empath."

"Empath? Sounds like something from an old Star Trek ep."

Sam nodded. "It's been used in a lot of sci-fi and fantasy fiction through the years, but it can be the real deal. People who can feel other people's emotions, their pain, and sometimes…."

"Sometimes?" Dean dropped onto the bed and peered over at the computer screen.

"It's been said that some people actually have the ability to take other people's pain into themselves. It would explain faith healers; the real deal faith healers, not the charlatans." Sam paused, glancing over his shoulder at his brother. "It would explain how Sharon's dad suddenly made a miraculous recovery after she took over his care."

"Or it could be just a coincidence."

"Man, don't give me that argument again." Sam said as he slammed the laptop shut and rose to his feet. " Why are you so determined to make light of all this?"

"Because it's just freaking weird, that's why." Dean rose as well and faced his brother. "We weren't even supposed to be here; we were on our way to Virginia, remember?"

"Maybe we were supposed to come here."

"Why? Just tell me why."

"Why did we find Max? And Andy and Ava? Out of all the places we go and the people we've met, what are the odds that we would just randomly come across all these people like me?" Sam paced the room, shaking his head. " Every time, we get there too late. People die or disappear and I haven't been able to stop it."

"You?" Dean asked. "You haven't been able to stop it? What makes these people your responsibility?"

"I wish I knew. I just know that maybe this time we can make a difference."

"Did it ever occur to you that we are too late here? This girl was gone over a month before we even got here. We're not going to find her, Sam."

"We're here for a reason," Sam said, the challenge evident in his voice. " I feel it. If you don't want to help, that's fine. Leave me here and go on to Richmond, I'll catch up."

"You are crazier than you look if you think I'm leaving you anywhere again." Dean turned away, the memory of windows shattering under the force of automatic weapon fire from a crazed hunter's gun still too fresh to file away. "I said we'd stay, as long as there was some reason to. Find some reason, Sam, or stop obsessing over saving the world."

"I have to see this through, Dean." Sam threw himself back into the chair, his frustration putting an edge in his voice that set Dean's teeth on edge. "There's just something…unfinished here, I can feel it."

"Oh, God, here comes the destiny speech again." Dean turned away, grabbing the car keys from the dresser as he passed. "Look, it's getting a little too close in here for me. You keep building your paranoid theories. I'm going out for a beer." He turned at the doorway, pausing as he saw the disappointment in his brother's face before Sam turned away.

"Sure, you go ahead." Sam opened the laptop again, refusing to meet Dean's eyes. A moment later, the door slammed and the only sound in the room was the crash of the doomed remote as it crashed against the bathroom door.

SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS

It hadn't been all that hard to find the only bar in town. When all the respectable businesses go dark and their employees find their way home, the less respectable establishments cast their nets and lure in their prey. There was something strangely comforting in the allure of neon lights, smoke filled rooms and the smell of stale beer that always made Dean feel at home. Every bar was different and every bar was the same; too many people in too small a space, all looking for something. A game, a hookup, a chance to leave the world behind for just a little bit.

Dean was finding none of those tonight. His third beer was just as bitter as the first; none of the girls casting glances his way were getting more than a polite smile in return, and filling his gut with alcohol was not having the numbing effect he'd been hoping for.

He studied the water stained circles on the tabletop, left by countless shot glasses and beer bottles over the years. Circles, always circles. Never a straight line, from point A to point B, just endless circles, bringing you back to the same point you started. Their lives were like that, it seemed. Their father's endless quest to find a demon - THE demon - seemed no closer to fruition than the day Mary Winchester died. Their dad was gone now, and the two of them always seemed to be one step..or two.. behind, following vague clues, fighting the odds, and yet never seeming to be any closer to their goal than when they started.

Dean waved away the bartender when he approached with another beer. It wasn't going to help, not this time. His brother seemed to be caught in a circle of his own, and not one of his own making. Sam seemed determined to take on responsibilities way beyond his capability to bear; not only for the deaths of their mom and Jessica, but for every doomed person they arrived too late to save along the way. He seemed to think that saving someone else should provide the answer as to how to save himself, and no arguments from his older and definitely wiser brother had swayed him from that mind set.

Dean tossed a bill on the table and rose to leave the smoky tavern. Sitting in a bar, drinking away their gas money wasn't going to solve this case. If anyone could ferret out something the cops had missed, he knew his brother was the one to do it. And the family and friends of the missing girl did deserve closure; if they could help with that, it wasn't too much to ask, and maybe it would help soothe his little brother's soul a bit at the same time. And at least there weren't any nasty-ass demons involved this time…

As he reached for the door, it swung out from under his hand. Dean automatically stepped aside to let the new customer enter. He lifted exhausted eyes to meet another set of eyes filled with dark fury.

"What the hell are you doing here?" Kevin Walker blocked the doorway, an arm across Dean's chest.

Dean stepped back, a puzzled expression on his face at the obvious ferocity in the young's man voice. " Just getting a drink, man. What's your problem?"

"I don't have a problem," he snarled, shoving back against Dean's chest. "But you're gonna have one if you don't get out of here."

"Town's not big enough for the both of us? Sounds like a bad John Wayne movie," he shoved back, grinning in satisfaction as Kevin's back slammed against the unforgiving frame of the doorway. Several customers near the door stumbled away from their tables, removing themselves from the confrontation about to take place.

"You've been going around town, talking to people about me, spreading lies."

"Man, I don't even know you."

"That's right, you don't." Kevin's face grew darker, his voice rough. Dean could smell the whiskey on his breath and decided that his adversary had pulled down a few drinks of his own before his arrival. "You come here, start sticking your nose in where it don't belong, you've liable to get it cut off for you." He reached for Dean's jacket, only to have his prey step back out of reach.

"I don't know what you've heard, but we're here to help find your sister. That's all." The words had barely left his mouth when the irate man launched himself at Dean, sending them both sailing across the barroom floor.

Dean's back connected with something hard and unyielding and his breath left him with a whoosh. He was vaguely aware of a vicious yank on his collar before his head snapped back, his jaw exploding in white pain. Enough of this crap, he thought as he shoved against the weight pinning him to the floor. Instinct took over and he held nothing back in the roundhouse swing that crunched against the cheekbone of his attacker. He felt the other man's weight shift and took advantage of it by bringing a knee up into the body above him, hoping for contact with a vulnerable spot. His attacker responded with another blow, this time to Dean's temple, and his vision grayed out for a second. He lost focus, falling back against the cold plank floor, waiting for the blow that never came.

From a distance, he heard the growl of a deep voice, and then Walker's weight lifted from Dean's prone form. He tried to concentrate on the words through the fog that threatened to envelop him.

"…told you before I was gonna call the law on you if you started another fight in here, Walker." Dean opened his eyes and tried to focus on the sound of the gravel voiced bartender standing over him, wielding a large and obviously frequently used baseball bat. He heard a cough and a gasp from his right, sensing rather than seeing Kevin Walker's hunched form propped against the tavern's front door. " Now get the hell out of here and don't come back."

A few mumbled profanities later, the door opened and then slammed with a vengeance. Still lying on his back, Dean looked up into the unsympathetic eyes of the hulking bartender.

"You okay there, dude?"

Dean took a deep breath, decided nothing essential was broken. "I'm good," he wheezed.

"Good." The bartender turned on his heel and stalked back behind the bar, the bat clattering to the floor behind the counter, the man on the floor already forgotten. Dean rolled over on his side, blinked once to clear his vision and then again as he looked up at the disinterested bartender who was already back to wiping the bar. "Thanks for your help," he said as he clumsily rose to his feet. "Don't bother, I'm fine." The narrowed eyes that turned his way not only told him that his sarcasm was about to get him another look at that bat, but that he had worn out his welcome as well.

He staggered to the door, noting that the distance to the Impala parked just outside looked twice as far as it had when he had parked it there. He wondered if Walker was waiting outside, ready to bash in the rest of his skull. But no one crossed his path on his slow trek to the car; sliding behind the wheel, he fumbled with the keys, finally got the motor going, and eased slowly out of the gravel lot.

Pulling up in front of the motel room, he cut the engine and finally allowed himself to take a breath. He stared at the peeling paint on the motel room door for a moment, then slowly dragged himself out of the Impala, fumbled the key into the lock and went inside.

SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS

Sam glanced up as the door opened, his brother's silhouette framed by the faint light from the parking lot. He sat back from the computer, watching as Dean eased the door shut and walked slowly past his chair toward the bathroom. When the overhead light illuminated his face, Sam stood up.

"What happened to you?"

"Ran into a door." Dean kept walking into the bathroom, leaving the door open as he stepped to the grimy sink and began splashing water onto his battered face. By the time he emerged, Sam had retrieved the first aid kit and was waiting beside the far bed.

Dean eased down slowly, grimacing as he worked his jaw from side to side. Any other time he would have snatched the gauze and antiseptic from his brother's hands and taken care of it himself, but his face hurt, along with his back and his head and it just wasn't worth the effort. Sam sat down across from him, easing his long legs into the space between the beds and went to work.

"This door have a name?" Sam asked as he tossed aside a bloody gauze and unwrapped a butterfly bandage.

"Ow…watch it."

"Sorry. Name?"

"Yeah. Kevin Walker."

Sam paused. "What is it with you and this guy? What'd you say to him?" He sat back and studied his handiwork, called it good and started collecting the debris from the bedside.

"Nothing." Dean raised a hand to touch the bandage on his temple, only to have his brother swat it away. "He saw me and went ballistic. I didn't do anything."

Sam placed both hands on either side of Dean's face and studied him closely. "What are you gonna do, kiss it and make it better?" Dean pushed him away, but Sam grasped his shoulders and held him down.

"I'm checking your eyes, Mr. Macho Man, now hold still."

"I'm fine"

"Sure you are." Satisfied with what he saw, Sam gathered up the kit, tossed the bloody supplies in the trash and sat back. "So, who won the fight?"

"The guy with the Louisville Slugger."

Sam's eyes widened. "He had a bat?"

Dean started to shake his head, then thought better of it. "No, the bartender did. He threatened to shag Kevin out into center field."

"And where were you during all this?"

"Doing my impression of home plate." Dean sagged back onto the bed with a ragged sigh and closed his eyes.

Sam watched for a moment, finally deciding that Dean wasn't going to exert any more effort to move. With a sigh, he tugged off his brother's boots and placed them on the floor next to the bed. He glanced over at the discarded bedspread in the corner, then reached over and pulled his own coverlet off the adjoining bed and covered his now snoring brother with it. Then he switched off the overhead light, powered down the laptop and fell into his own bed with a resigned sigh.

SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS

That night, the dream came again.

This time, it was different.

It started the same way as before…a dark, high ceilinged room, flashes of light and rumbles of thunder in the background…voices, muted and soft. And in the background, flickering colored lights cast a kaleidoscopic reflection on the shadowed room and its inhabitants.

But then, one voice echoed in the background, growing louder and clearer as it drew closer…

I'm here….I'm here….

And another voice…get away….

And then a silhouette, framed against the kaleidoscope of lights, one Sam knew better than his own. The angle was all wrong, as if he were seeing Dean from a distance. He was just standing there, looking down, a horror stricken expression on his face as he raised his hands…hands that were shaking and covered with blood. The rumbling in the background became a roaring that filled the shadows as Dean sank to his knees with a painful gasp, while the whispers in the background grew louder, until they drowned out the roaring and the words that no longer made sense.

"I'm here…I'm here…."

SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS

"Hey! You gonna sleep all day?"

Dean blinked once, frowning against the blinding light in his eyes and the extremely annoying chipper tone of his brother's voice. "Can I?" he groaned, grabbing the pillow underneath his head to shield his eyes. He immediately saw - and felt - the error of his ways when the slight pressure awakened a myriad of aches and pains in a face that felt stretched and sore and wrong.

"No, you can't." Sam yanked the pillow from his brother's face and inspected the damage. A swollen lip, a purplish cheekbone and the beginnings of a spectacular black eye; all in all, not a pretty sight. But at least he had slept soundly through the night; the pain pill Sam had slipped into Dean's hand around midnight had seen to that.

At least one of them had gotten a good night's sleep. Sam had awakened long before dawn, the disturbing dream still fresh in his mind. After that, his brain had refused to slow down, so he had settled in with his laptop, aimlessly surfing the web while his brother slept the leaden sleep of the well medicated a few feet away.

"What time is it?" Dean rolled over and finally sat up, swaying slightly as his feet touched the floor.

"Almost eleven."

"In the morning? Why'd you let me sleep so long?"

"You needed it."

"You slipped me something, didn't you?" Dean squinted against the room's harsh fluorescent lights as he stumbled toward the bathroom.

"Like I said," Sam replied as he watched his brother's unsteady progress. "You needed it."

Dean stopped at the bathroom mirror and regarded his reflection in the glass.

"Wow."

"Yeah, wow. Glad you're impressed," Sam said as he rose from his seat and put the laptop away.

"No," Dean said as he turned on the shower spray. "Impressed is what Walker's face is gonna be, next time I cross paths with him."

"Yeah, well, you seem to have made a really big impression on him so far," Sam said as he stopped in the doorway.

"About that." Dean stepped around Sam, reaching into his duffel for clean clothes before reentering the bath. "How come the one person in town that should be happy to have someone helping him is the one person who seems to want us out of the way?

"Not us, Rocky. You." Sam grinned as Dean shut the door in his face with a definitive slam. "I guess you just have that effect on people."

SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS

"Wow," Amy said as she slid into the diner booth next to Dean. "So it was you that mixed it up with Kevin last night. Does it hurt?"

The brothers exchanged glances. "News sure travels fast around here," Dean said, sipping his coffee with a grimace at the burn inside his cheek.

"Well, the same guys that go out there and get plastered at night come in here for coffee to sober up in the mornings. I heard about it as soon as I got in. I figured it had to be you they were talking about."

"What's the deal with Kevin, Amy?" Sam asked around a mouthful of fries. "Has he always been so hostile?"

"No, not as bad as now, anyway." She absently swiped at a few loose crumbs on the tablecloth. " When his dad got sick, Kevin kinda…lost it. He idolized his dad, thought he was invincible, you know? His dad had raised him and Sharon single handedly since their mom died, and now his dad couldn't even feed himself. He just seemed angry all the time."

"Even with Sharon?"

Sam felt both sets of eyes at the table swing up to him. "I mean, how did they get along? Did Kevin know about what Sharon thought she could do…the healing thing, I mean?'

Amy looked puzzled. "I don't think she ever told her brother about that. I think it scared her sometimes, what she could do."

"Yeah, I can understand that," Sam said as he glanced away.

Amy stood and straightened her apron. "I better get back to work. Let me know if there's anything else I can do. Oh, and Dean?"

"Yeah?"

"Stay away from Kevin. Whatever's going on with him, he's getting worse; more out of control. You two both take care." She smiled sadly at them before retreating back into the kitchen.

"What's going on in that brain of yours, Sam?"

Sam shook his head and sat back. "I've just been thinking about what you said. Kevin should be glad that someone is trying to find his sister. Instead, he's trying to get rid of us. I don't want to think that way, but…."

"You think he had something to do with her disappearance? Come on, Sam, he's her brother."

"Yeah, and she went home from work and was never seen again. Chances are only two people saw her after that: her dad…"

"Who's definitely not gonna be much help," Dean said.

"And Kevin."

SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS

"So, you think it's more than just grief over losing his sister and dad that's making big brother go all nutso?" Dean looked out the window of the Impala at the neglected house across the street.

"It's a theory."

"Yeah, well, it's cold out here. What are you expecting to see? Walker coming out of the house carrying a body? This is a waste of time."

"I'm still waiting to hear your theory." Sam replied.

"When I get one, you'll be the first to know." Dean eased his head back on the seat and closed his eyes. "Sure, the guy is an arrogant prick, but it takes a special kind of crazy to kill your own family."

His brother's words struck a chord in Sam's soul that he didn't want to hear, to feel. Snatches of conversations past…If I ever turn into something I'm not….He said I might have to kill you, Sammy….I'd rather die…. "Not if you have a good reason."

Dean's eyes blinked open at his brother's whispered words. He glanced over with a frown. "What?"

"Nothing." Sam shook his head and sat up in the seat. "He's obviously in for the night. Let's go."

"Smartest thing I've heard you say all day," Dean said as he reached for the keys and brought the Impala to life.

SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS

Something was definitely off with his brother. Dean had been watching Sam stare at different points on the wall for the past hour. Anytime his little brother was that still and contemplative, he felt uneasy.

"I'll ask you again," Dean said, tossing the remote onto the bed. "What's going on with you?"

Sam blinked once, then swung his legs over the side of his own bed to face his brother. "I had a dream last night."

"So did I," Dean smirked. "But I don't think you're old enough for the details yet."

"Get serious, would you please? I've had it a couple of times since we got here. It figures in somehow, I just can't get it straight in my head." Sam got a distant look in his eyes, then focused back on the present again. " I think she's talking to me…in my dream."

"Who? Sharon?"

"Yeah. I keep hearing this voice, saying I'm here. Over and over, I keep hearing that."

Dean frowned. "And where exactly is here?

"I don't know. A big building, dark, with colored lights."

"Colored lights? You mean, like Christmas lights?"

"Yeah, I think. There's flashing lights and a lot of noise and…." Sam paused, his eyes distant again.

"And what?"

"And you." Sam's eyes widened as if he had just recalled something that had escaped his memory before. "I see you…I think you're…hurt. I see blood on you, on your hands."

Dean hadn't been expecting that. "You did?"

"Yeah."

"It's just your over protective side kicking in again, Sam. You saw me get my nose bloodied last night, and that overworked imagination of yours kicked in, that's all."

Sam shook his head. "I don't think so."

"So what's your point? You think we should just pack up and get the hell out of Dodge?"

Sam shifted in his seat. "That's exactly what I think."

Dean sat up, staring at his brother in disbelief. "You're kidding me, right? You bug the hell out of me for days now with this obsession of yours…" He saw Sam wince, but continued on. "And now because of a dream, you just wanna turn tail and run? What happened to solving the case, making the world safe again?"

"Don't make fun of me."

"I'm not, Sammy. I'm just trying to understand what's got you so spooked all of a sudden, that's all. After all, I'm the one with the psychotic guy on my ass."

Sam sat silently, studying the floor, barely breathing. The anguish in his eyes when he finally looked up twisted a knot in Dean's chest.

"You know about my dreams before Jess….I ignored it then. I could have done something about it and I didn't."

"Listen to me." Dean leaned forward, trying in vain to catch his brother's eye. "There was nothing…nothing…you could have done to prevent what happened then, and you know that."

"I know how I feel, Dean. If it means walking away from this case, then I'll do it. No case is worth making that kind of mistake again. I won't do it, I won't."

Dean sat back with a sigh. His brother had the strongest sense of justice of anyone he knew. To offer to walk away when only hours before, he had come up with their first plausible suspect, well, it had to be tearing him up inside. "How about I promise to stay away from old, dark buildings and Christmas lights?" When Sam merely shook his head, Dean continued.

"You want to see this through, I know you do. And if Kevin had anything to do with it, I want to be the one who kicks his ass and calls the cops. You said she was talking to you in your dream. Well, I think you're right."

Sam glanced up, obviously confused by his brother's sudden about-face. "Since when?"

"Sam, if you're gonna believe part of the dream, you gotta believe all of it. Maybe she is here…somewhere…and she wants you to find her, or at least find her killer. Justice, bro, served up all around."

"I…I don't know."

"Sure you do." Dean leaned back against the headboard and picked up the remote again. "Listen, I hear what you're saying, I do. But I also heard what you said about maybe Kevin being the last person to see her alive."

"Okay," Sam sighed. "But it's not gonna be easy, tailing this guy. He's paranoid as hell, and he knows what you look like and what you drive. No way you're gonna be able to stay under his radar now." Sam thought for a moment, then looked up. "But I can."

Sam reached over to the bedside table and grabbed the telephone book. He quickly found a number, pulled out his cell phone and dialed.

"Hi, is this Amy?…Yeah, this is Sam." He glanced over at his brother. "Oh, he's okay…Listen, I have a question for you…and a favor to ask." He motioned toward the pen lying next to his laptop; Dean leaned over and tossed it to him.

"Where does Kevin Walker work?….Okay, where is that?" He scribbled a few lines on the back cover of the phone book and nodded. "Now for the favor….Can I borrow your car?" He saw Dean frown in his peripheral vision as he continued. "Just for a few hours tomorrow. We both need transportation to check out a couple of things….Thanks, Amy. See you tomorrow."

"Why do we need her car?" Dean asked.

"We don't. I do. I'm gonna tail Walker while you do some detective work."

Dean sat up and swung his legs over to stand. "So, what? You're my bodyguard now? I see what you're doing, and I don't need a damned babysitter."

"Dean, the guy is paranoid, possibly psychotic. Next time, it might not be a fist he hits you with, it might be a tire iron."

"I can take care of myself. Always have, always will." He strode to the mini fridge under the counter and snatched out a cold beer.

"Never said you couldn't," Sam said. "But he hasn't seen me yet. I can keep tabs on him while you do a little snooping around. We need to get into his house; there might be something there."

"And if I don't agree?"

"We could always leave town." Sam left the ultimatum hanging, waiting.

Dean sat down on the edge of his bed with a sigh. "This dream really has you spooked."

"I don't get spooked," Sam said. "I get…apprehensive."

"Same thing, bigger word, that's all."

Sam shrugged, conceding the point. "So we're good?"

"Always." Dean clapped his brother on the shoulder as he passed him the beer he held and reached under the counter for another.

"So, we watch him, lean on him a little, see if he breaks. And in the meantime…."

"What?" Sam looked up and met his brother's eyes.

"We just keep doing what we do best."

"Which is?" Sam asked with the first hint of a smile that Dean had seen in a while.

"You watch my back, I watch yours…simple."

Sam watched as Dean cranked up the volume on the baseball game on tv and settled back on his bed. "It's never that simple," he said in a voice too faint to be heard over the cheering of the crowd.

SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS

"I don't think getting up close and personal with the cops is in our best interest, you know," Dean said around a mouthful of chips as they waited in the diner parking lot.

"We haven't seen the police report on Sharon's disappearance yet. We need it."

"Yeah, I guess." Dean glanced over his shoulder at the traffic in his rear view mirror. "You know, you could go get us some breakfast while we're waiting."

"You just ate." Sam gestured at the crumpled bag in his brother's hand. Before Dean could reply, a light blue Mustang pulled up behind them; Amy's wave filled the mirror. "Besides, there's my ride."

"Okay."Dean tossed the empty wrapper into the back seat. "First, the police station, then the psycho's lair."

"Drama queen," Sam smirked as he opened the door. "Walker is working a construction job just outside of town. I'll keep an eye on him, make sure he stays put. Keep your cell on; if he makes a move, I'll let you know."

"Yeah, whatever," Dean grumbled. He watched as the young waitress climbed out of the car and met Sam with the keys. He knew Sam was right; continuing to push Walker's buttons, not to mention breaking into his house, was bound to light the fuse of an already dangerous time bomb. It just irritated him to no end that Sam felt like he needed to run interference for him. But getting his bell rung again wasn't something he looked forward to, so for the time being, if his brother wanted to play bodyguard, he would go with it. For now.

SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS

"Nice car."

Amy smiled as she handed Sam the keys. "It needs new brakes and a paint job, but it gets me where I need to go."

Sam slid behind the wheel, easing the seat back to accommodate his longer legs. "Thanks a lot. I'll get it back to you before you get off work."

"Actually," Amy said as she circled the car and slipped into the passenger seat, "I'm off today. Could you give me a ride back to my place?"

"Sure." He pulled out into traffic, then glanced over at her. "Unless…."

"What?"

"Wanna take a ride?"

SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS

The trip to the small police department had been more productive and less stressful than Dean had anticipated. His fake journalist ID got him in to see the police chief, who in turn had been more than willing to let him read the woefully slim file on Sharon Walker's disappearance. It had been complete, as far as it went. Other than a search of the Walker residence and interviews with family and friends, it had gone completely nowhere. Nothing had stood out in the interviews; Dean had paid special attention to the section concerning Kevin Walker. There was nothing there that raised any red flags with the police; it was simply a disappearance with no body, no clues, no theories. Sharon Walker had simply vanished.

Dean sat in the Impala for several minutes, staring off into the distance, thinking. They could be wrong about the brother. Maybe he was just a self centered asshole who liked picking fights and antagonizing people. Maybe he had been harassed by the police and the press and he just wanted to be left alone. But something wasn't right about the guy. If Sam had disappeared…oh, yeah, he has…Dean would move heaven and earth to find him. Any offer of help would have been gladly taken and appreciated. He would have been out looking for him, not going on with life and work like nothing had happened.

His cell phone chirped, breaking into his reverie. "How's the spy business going?"

"It's boring,"Sam's voice sounded from the phone. "He's replacing shingles on some old lady's house just outside of town. Doesn't look like he's going anywhere anytime soon."

Dean heard a voice in the background and smiled. "Can't be that boring, Sam. Sounds like you have company."

"Yeah, well, Amy's not working today. She rode along to keep me company for a while."

"Just don't get too distracted, out there all by yourselves."

"Dean…."

"I'm off to the Walker place now. I'll call you back if I find anything."

SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS

Dean locked up the Impala and set off on foot. It wouldn't do for a nosy neighbor to see a strange car in the drive, so he left it in a food mart parking lot a few blocks away. He walked by the house, studying the surrounding homes for spying eyes before circling around to the back yard.

The door on the rickety back porch was surprisingly easy to jimmy open, and in a few seconds he was inside. He wasn't quite sure just what he was looking for. Chances were slim that he would find the missing girl's body inside the freezer, but he lifted the lid and looked anyway,finding nothing more unusual than a six month supply of cheap frozen pizzas.

The rest of the house was more of the same; dusty furniture, trash overflowing with beer bottles and fast food wrappers, laundry piled in the hallway. He stood in the cluttered living room, trying to place the feeling that something wasn't right. He had missed something, he knew it. What that something was irritated him like a sore tooth.

Dean strolled quickly through every room in the house again, trying to place what made him feel uneasy. As he headed for the back door, it came to him in a flash. He knew what was bothering him. It wasn't what he had seen there…it was what he hadn't seen.

As he slipped off the back porch, Dean scanned the back yard. He walked the perimeter of the overgrown lot, walking between the massive pines that sheltered him from the view of nearby windows. A blackened barrel, obviously used to burn trash, leaned sideways on a brick platform. He looked around again before picking up a long stick and poking around in the ashes. But there were no bones, no ghoulish skull grinning up at him from the rubbish. That would have been too easy. Just as he decided to toss the stick onto the pile, it snagged on a charred piece of cloth; he pulled it out and it fell apart onto the ground. More pokes into the ashes uncovered more personal items: blackened picture frames with shards of glass still attached, a small jewelry box, warped from the heat, a single shoe.

A sick feeling crept up his spine and settled in his stomach. The discarded items in the firepit only reinforced the impressions he had gotten inside the house. Tossing the ash covered stick across the yard, he quickly strode to the street and back to the Impala. "Time to put our heads together and bring this bastard down," he growled as he drove slowly past the place where a murderer's secrets were finally coming to light.

SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS

"Can I ask a question?"

Sam sat back in his seat, lowering the binoculars from his eyes. "Sure."

Amy peered through the window, trying to focus through the shrubbery that hid her car from view. "Why are we watching three guys replacing a roof?"

"Well, actually, we're only watching one."

"Kevin."

Sam glanced around, hoping that the owner of the house in whose driveway they sat didn't return home anytime soon. The drive was close enough that Sam could keep his prey in view, and hopefully far enough away that they wouldn't be spotted. "Got it in one."

Amy waited a beat, and when Sam raised the glasses again, she leaned forward. "Why?"

"Well, my brother's checking out some stuff, and…."

"Stuff you don't want Kevin to know about."

Sam nodded, his attention focused on the dark haired man passing shingles up from the bed of a large pick-up truck. "We just thought it would be a good idea to keep an eye on him."

"Do you really think he knows what happened to Sharon?"

Sam sighed and glanced over at the girl's whispered question. "It's a possibility."

"You think…" her voice was thick with emotion. "You think he…killed her?"

"We just don't know yet. You said yourself that he wasn't acting right, had been acting strange for a while now, right?"

"Yeah." Amy studied her hands. "Sharon didn't want anybody to know, but…."

"But what?" Sam lowered the glasses and turned around to face her.

"Kevin was diagnosed as manic depressive years ago. He was on medication, but sometimes he refused to take it. When he was off his meds, he was like a completely different person…paranoid, you know, and sometimes just plain mean. "

"Could explain a lot."

"But he's her brother."

"I know." He sat up in the seat, refocusing his eyes on the house down the road. Walker was no longer unloading supplies; he was standing next to the truck, his attention focused clearly on the Mustang parked behind the hedge. "Uh oh," Sam said as Walker climbed into the truck, spinning gravel in his wake as he sped out of the yard and directly toward their position. "Time to go."

"You think he saw us?" Amy pressed her face against the glass and squinted against the glare.

Sam started the car and pulled out onto the blacktop. "How fast can this thing go?" he said in response.

SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS

Dean pulled into the space outside their motel room and shut off the engine. Before he could reach for the door, his cell phone rang.

"Dean, I think we've got a problem."

"Just one?"

"Well, one kinda big one. You need to get out of the house now."

Dean frowned at the anxious tone of his brother's voice, his apprehension growing as he heard the faint squeal of tires on pavement across the connection. "I'm already back at the motel. What's going on?"

"Need to brush up on my spy skills, I guess." Another squeal of rubber was followed by a soft "Sorry," obviously directed not to his brother but to his passenger.

"He saw you, didn't he?"

"Yeah." Sam's voice was clipped and tense and Dean's apprehension kicked up another notch.

"Okay, where are you now?" he asked as he brought the Impala's engine back to life. Several long seconds passed with no response, then finally Sam's voice sounded over the line.

"I think we're okay now. He took off after us, but Amy took us through some wicked twists and turns and I think we lost him. We're headed back to town now."

Dean blew out a relieved breath and sat back against the leather seat. "Okay, haul ass back here and let's compare notes. Don't stop for anything, don't take Amy home; bring her with you. If he recognized her car, he might be heading there."

"Sounds good to…."

Dean sat forward again, phone pressed tightly to his ear. "Sam? You still there?"

"Damn…I think he just found us."

"What's going on? Sam?"

SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS

The wheels of the Mustang screamed as Sam navigated yet another twisting turn on the isolated blacktop. He thought they were nearing the town limits, but he wasn't sure and Amy wasn't saying anything, just hanging on for dear life, her hands wrapped around the seat belt in a death grip.

The cell phone lay abandoned on his lap as he fought the wheel, glancing back at the oversized black pickup roaring up in the rear view mirror. The small car was fast, but it was no match for the hulking machine that closed the distance in much too short a time, slamming into the rear bumper and propelling the Mustang into the opposite lane.

The noise was horrific; metal grinding, brakes squealing, the choked scream of the terrified girl in the passenger seat. Sam fought the wheel, steered the car back into the right lane, only to be violently propelled in the opposite direction as their pursuer rammed them again. The tires hit the shoulder of the road, gravel and mud flying out in all directions. Unable to slow the car down, Sam simply held on to the wheel as the pickup pulled up alongside and turned into the rear quarter panel, sending the Mustang into a spin. The impact sent Sam's head crashing into the window as the battered car spun around, slid front end down into the ditch and came to a bone jarring stop.

From a distance, Sam could hear sobs, but he couldn't seem to place their source. He lifted his head from the spider webbed glass, trying in vain to focus his eyes. Everything was tilted and distorted; he laid his head back and tried to remember where he was and what had happened. Someone tugged on his sleeve and he turned his head, unable to recall who the terrified young woman was beside him. One thought sluggishly fell into place, and then another.

"Amy." The name felt right, the face now slowly coming into focus.

"Sam," she tugged on his sleeve again. "Wake up, please, please wake up."

Another thought fell into place as he lifted his head again, feeling something warm and wet sliding down his face and neck and soaking into his collar. He leaned forward, wrenching the ignition key back and forth in a vain effort to get the wrecked car started again. His heartbeat drummed in his ears, keeping rhythm with the pounding in his head. And in the background, even louder than his pounding heart, came the smooth rumble of a large, powerful engine. It grew closer and closer until it drew even with the mangled car; metal screeched as a door swung open and the driver approached, peering into the interior before yanking the door open with a vengeance.

"Sam, stop." Dean leaned over and pried his brother's hand from the unresponsive ignition key. "This baby ain't going nowhere." He pressed Sam back against the seat, grimacing at the laceration at his temple that leaked a steady flow of blood into his hair and down his face. "Amy, what happened?"

"K-Kevin," she stammered, delayed shock obviously setting in. "He tried to r-run us down."

"Where'd he go?" Sam's voice was no more than a whisper.

"So, you're back, eh? Don't touch it." Dean swatted a shaking hand away as Sam reached for his head. "That's a good question. Where did he go?"

"He…he took off. He s-stopped, like he…like he…" Tears shimmered down her cheeks as she glanced over her shoulder at the now deserted highway. "I think he s-saw you coming. He took off just b-before you g-got here."

"Are you okay?" Sam shifted in his seat and finally grasped the steering wheel to pull himself upright.

"I'm okay," Amy replied, her voice a bit steadier. "But look what the bastard did to my car."

SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS

Dean entered the darkened motel room, shutting the door softly. He glanced over at his brother, who sat slumped on the far bed, eyes closed with a towel wrapped ice pack against his head. He tossed a fast food bag into Sam's lap and peered into one of his own.

"You okay?"

"Yeah," Sam replied as he dropped the ice pack and gingerly touched the butterfly bandage on his temple.

"Sure you are," Dean replied, dropping down on the opposite bed with a sigh. "You look like crap, by the way. Just thought I'd let you know that."

"Thanks," Sam replied, matching his brother's sarcasm with a volley of his own. "Never felt better." He rose slowly, tossed the ice into the bathroom sink and returned to his seat again. "And you're sure Amy's okay?"

"She's fine," Dean said around a bite of his bacon cheeseburger. "Pissed about her car, but fine. Helga picked her up and took her to the police station to file a report for her insurance company."

"Helga?"

"You know…Rita…the big, kick-ass cook from the diner? Turns out she's Amy's aunt. She's gonna stay with her until this all shakes out."

"Good." Sam unwrapped his sandwich, stared at it for a long moment, then rewrapped it and tossed it onto the bedside table. "I never should have taken her out there with me. That psycho could have killed her."

He could have killed both of you. Dean caught himself before the thought could reach his lips. "Well, you didn't know he was gonna go all Mad Max on you."

"Yes, I did. Look what he did to you in the bar."

"Yeah, and I still owe him one for that." He tossed his empty wrapper into the trash and cast a sideways glance at the sandwich Sam had pushed aside. He picked up the burger and handed it back. "Eat."

Sam rose again, retrieved two soft drinks from the mini fridge and passed one over to his brother. "You never told me…what'd you find at the house?"

"Not much," Dean shrugged. "And that bothered me. It took me a while to figure out why." He paused and fixed his brother with a pointed stare until Sam finally sighed and made a halfhearted attempt to consume his sandwich.

"The guy's definitely not gonna win any housekeeping awards, and that's understandable. But the thing is…"

"Yeah?"

"Amy said Sharon had moved back in after her dad got sick, right?"

Sam nodded. "Yeah, she gave up her apartment almost a year ago."

"Sam," Dean leaned forward. "There wasn't one thing of hers in that house; no clothes, jewelry, personal items, nothing. She just went missing a little over a month ago, and it's like she never lived there at all. Everything that belonged to her is gone. And I found some burned stuff in the back yard; clothes, pictures."

"That's strange," Sam said. "It's like…."

"Like he knew she wasn't coming back. More than that…it's like Kevin tried to 'erase' her or something."

"So maybe all this anger he's been acting out wasn't because his dad got sick. It wasn't directed at his dad at all." Sam tossed the half eaten burger in the trash. "But the question is: what reason would he have had to hurt his own sister?"

"That is the question of the day."

"You find anything else?" Sam asked.

"Nope, no bloody glove, nothing."

Sam sighed and eased himself back against the headboard. "So now what? We wait for psycho boy to come after us with a chain saw?"

"To be honest," Dean looked around for the remote before settling back on his own bed.

"I kinda hope he does. I've probably got something in the trunk of the Impala that'll trump anything he brings to the table. He has no idea how outgunned he is."

"Messed with the wrong brother, eh?" Sam grinned.

"Damn straight."

"Make that 'brothers'. I'm right there with you on this one." He watched one channel after another flicker by on the screen before speaking again. "Dean, do you remember the Poe story, The Tell Tale Heart?"

Dean paused in his channel surfing. "Isn't that the one where this guy hides a body under the floorboards of his house and then invites the cops to sit right over the spot?"

Sam's eyes widened. "You actually remember that from school? I'm impressed."

"Don't be. It was on the late show a couple of weeks ago; a double header with Abbott and Costello Meet Frankenstein, I believe."

Sam blew out a long suffering sigh. "My point is this: the guy's conscience finally drove him crazy, well, crazier than he already was. Kevin is right on the edge right now. Turns out he's supposed to be on some high powered medication for a bi-polar condition, and obviously he's not taking it anymore. It might not take too much more pressure to kick him over. We just gotta stay on his ass until he breaks."

Dean nodded. "He won't get the drop on me this time. He blindsided me in that bar, and I still owe him one for that." He glanced over at the bruised features of his brother. "And now I owe him two."

SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS

The afternoon passed slowly, as Dean alternated between pacing the floor and gazing out the bug spattered motel window. Sam had fallen into a restless sleep after finally giving in and swallowing one of the same pain killers Dean had surrendered to after his own encounter with Walker at the bar. The itch to go out and dispense some personal retribution had taken second place to making sure his brother recovered; then the two of them would be back on the hunt.

He opened the door and stepped out into the early evening chill. Storm clouds had been steadily gathering all afternoon. Now the skies hung heavy with ominous, murky clouds and thunder sounded off in the distance. As he turned to return to the room, an older model sedan pulled up behind the Impala and coasted to a stop.

The door opened and Amy stepped out, speaking a few words to the older woman behind the wheel before she closed the door. Dean recognized the cook from the diner; he leaned down and waved, frowning when the woman ignored him and drove away.

"Don't pay Aunt Rita any mind," Amy smiled as she came closer. "She's not mad at you. But you better hope somebody finds Kevin before she does."

"Over protective much?"

"Oh yeah." She brought a large sack out from behind her back. "I brought you dinner."

"That's great," Dean smiled. "But you're sure she trusts you here with us?"

"She's gone to run a few errands. I convinced her I was safe with you two." She glanced around the empty parking lot. "Where's Sam?'

"Inside, sleeping."

Amy frowned. "Is he okay?"

"He's fine," Dean answered as he peered inside the bag. "He's got a hard head."

"Obviously, you both do,"Amy said as she leaned against the door frame. "But that's not what I came by to tell you."

Dean pushed open the door and stepped aside for Amy to enter. The creak of the door's rusty hinges woke Sam, who sat up blinking sleepily at the two shapes in the doorway.

"Rise and shine; our angel of mercy brought us dinner." Dean placed the bag on the counter and retrieved three soft drinks from the fridge.

"Hi, Amy," Sam said, wiping the sleep from his eyes. "You didn't have to do that."

"I know," she said. "But you two look pretty scary; you'd scare away my customers. And besides, I thought you should know what's happening with Kevin."

Sam caught the sandwich Dean tossed him in midair. "What kind of half assed story did he have for the cops?"

"That's just it. The police sent a couple of deputies out to find him, and he's gone."

Dean paused mid bite of his own burger. "What do you mean, gone?"

Amy sat down, her own meal forgotten. "He's not at home, the guys at the work site haven't seen him and he's not at the bar. Nobody's seen him; I guess he's hiding out or something. Which means, you guys need to be careful. He could be anywhere."

"He'll pop his weasely little head up sooner or later, and then his ass is mine," Dean said as he finished off most of his meal and reached for the soda.

"Look," Amy said. "I'd like to be in line for that, too. But how's that gonna help us find out what happened to Sharon?"

"Us?" Dean and Sam said in unison.

"Well, yeah," the young woman said, disbelief raising her voice an octave. "I was there this afternoon, too."

"No." Dean gathered his trash and tossed it into the bedside can. "You are going home with Rita and staying there until this is all over."

"Come on, guys…."

"Not a chance," Sam leaned forward. "We'll take care of this guy. We can't do that if we have to worry about you."

Amy crossed her arms over her chest, her lips in a childlike pout. "That is so not fair."

"Well, that's the way it is." Dean crossed the room and peered out the window. "That storm is getting closer. I'm gonna go get…some stuff from the car before the bottom falls out. Be right back."

Sam smiled at his brother's verbal slip. He knew the "stuff" Dean referred to included the weapons locked safely away in the trunk of the Impala. If their adversary was out there somewhere, it was a sure bet he knew where they were. There was no such thing as being too careful.

As the door squeaked softly shut, Amy took a deep breath, her hands twisting nervously in her lap. "I'm scared, Sam," she said softly.

"Don't be." At Amy's incredulous look, he continued. "He's dangerous, I know. He's already proven that. But my brother can be pretty bullheaded when he get pissed off. This guy doesn't stand a chance."

"Over protective much?" she smiled, echoing Dean's earlier words.

Sam returned her smile as he massaged his temple, where his headache from earlier seemed to have settled in once again. "To a fault, sometimes. But we look out for each other. It comes with the territory."

A sudden flash of lightning illuminated the darkened room, followed closely by a clap of thunder that shook the windowpanes, and then the lights flickered out. "Oh, great. That storm's getting closer," Amy observed, crossing to the window to look outside. "Lightning must have hit a power line somewhere." She could see Dean's silhouette, leaning into the open trunk of the Impala as another flash of lightning split the sky. "Looks like it's gonna be a bad one."

Another boom of thunder drowned out Sam's reply. "So, what do you plan to do next?" she asked, still gazing out the window at the approaching storm. When there was no reply, she turned, blinking as her eyes adjusted to the dim light of the motel room again.

"Sam?"

SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS

Dean glanced up at the threatening skies as he shoved two handguns into the deep pockets of his jacket. Darkness had fallen quickly; the air was warm and heavy and carried the scent of the approaching storm. When the second flash of lightning lit the clouds, followed almost immediately by a deafening roll of thunder that rolled on for several seconds, he grabbed as much extra ammo as he could hold and shoved them into his jeans pocket. As he reached for the trunk lid, he paused as a sound…a voice?… carried to him over the howl of the increasing winds. Dean listened for a moment, hearing nothing else. Now who's spooked? He shook his head as he slammed the trunk lid down and took another look at the ominous sky overhead.

The unnaturally humid wind caught his collar, sending a chill down his spine, and he glanced around in spite of himself. Something didn't feel right and it was more than just the electricity in the oppressive air. Then he heard it again; a voice, shrill and panicked and he automatically turned toward the sound.

Amy stood in the doorway of the motel room, glancing back over her shoulder. The wind whipped her hair around a face that, even from where he stood, glowed unnaturally pale in the fading light. She called his name again and Dean took off in a dead run.

"Dean!" She met him outside the door and grabbed his arm in a death grip. "There's something wrong with Sam!"

SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS

The frightened waitress stepped aside as Dean barreled past her through the open door. He skidded to a stop, falling to his knees beside the huddled form of his brother on the floor.

"Turn on the damned lights," he growled over his shoulder.

"Can't," Amy replied, her eyes glued to the scene playing out in front of her. "Power's out." She reached over and yanked the grimy curtains open, allowing a bit more light to filter into the room.

Sam was curled into a ball, his forehead jammed into the stained carpet, the palms of his hands pressed against his temples. Dean could hear the choking gasps of pain, see the tears in the corners of his eyes, and he knew without asking what was happening. As he reached for his brother's shoulders, Dean remembered they were not alone. Oh, great…how do I explain this?

"Amy," he said as he glanced over his shoulder at the terrified woman in the doorway. "It's just a migraine. He's had them before. Grab that bucket over there." He gestured to the small dresser. "Go get us some ice, okay? Ice packs are the only thing that helps."

"Oh…okay." After the girl took off in a run for the motel office, Dean leaned over his prostrate brother again.

"Sam? Come on, man…breathe through it….let me help you up…."

Dean lifted Sam's uncooperative weight off the floor and clumsily deposited him on the nearest bed. Sam's eyes were tightly closed, his face sweaty and pale. Dean pushed him back on the bed and waited for the vision to end.

A long minute later, Sam opened his eyes and blew out a shaky breath. His unfocused eyes gradually tracked across the water stained ceiling; he blinked the moisture away and turned toward the fuzzy shape sitting on the side of the bed next to him.

"Bad one?" Dean asked softly.

"Aren't they all?" Sam closed his eyes against the phantom pain that still burned across his retinas, grateful for the semi darkness that cloaked the room. He shifted up in the bed, eyes still squinted against the light from the open doorway, and sagged against the headboard.

"So, what did you see?" Dean had learned from painful experience that questioning the source or the validity of Sam's visions was simply a waste of precious time. As much as he hated to see the pain the visions put his brother through, the information they provided had given them an advantage more than once. So he waited until Sam's eyes cleared and he found his voice again.

"He was angry, yelling at her…."

"Stop it, Kevin, you're hurting me." The girl wrenched away from her brother's bruising grip and turned to face him. "You're acting crazy."

"I'm not crazy. You and Dad and those doctors, you're the crazy ones." He advanced on her and she took a step back.

"We're just trying to help Dad…and you."

"I don't NEED your help, and Dad?" He stopped, blew out a tortured breath before stepping toward her again. "You're killing him."

"No," she said softly. "I'm helping him. You've seen it, you've seen how he's getting better."

"Yeah, I've seen it." Kevin whispered. "I've seen what you do." His smile was cold as he saw the surprise in her eyes. "You didn't know I've watched you, seen you go into his room at night. How you put your hands on him and…and spewed all those evil words."

"I was praying for him, Kevin."

In a flash he was upon her, his large hands wrapped around her fragile neck. "But who were you praying to? Not God, not the God Dad believed in. Not the God I believe in. You're evil. You were saving his body and taking his soul."

The girl gasped, her nails raking her brother's hands as they squeezed the breath from her body. "That's…that's not t-true. Please, Kevin, let…let me go…"

He watched as her eyes fluttered and closed. He released his grip, watching as she collapsed to the floor, choking and gasping at his feet.

"I can't let you go," he said as he dragged her to her feet and down the narrow aisle. "But there's one thing I can do. It's what Dad would do if he were here."

Sharon glanced up into the madness glazed eyes of her brother. "Why did you bring me here?" she whispered.

"To save you."

"I saw how he did it." Sam's voice was no more than a whisper. Dean leaned forward to listen over the whistle of the wind blowing through the open door. "He…drowned her."

"Drowned? How? Where? In a river, what?"

"No." Sam said, his eyes unfocused and bleary. "In a pool…no, not a pool. A pit or something. It had doors and water in it."

"Well, that's crystal clear," Dean said as he sat back. A gasp from the doorway caught his attention. He turned to see Amy, ice bucket clasped to her chest, eyes wide in horror.

"What do you mean, you saw it? How…?" She started backing away, the bucket crashing to the floor.

"Oh, crap." Dean sprang from the bed, catching the girl's arm before she could flee. "Amy, wait a minute."

"No, no!" She fought against Dean's hold; he finally grabbed her shoulders before bodily tossing her into the room and quickly slamming the door.

"Please, I j-just want to g-go…please." She huddled against the closet door, cringing as Sam rose from the bed.

"Amy, we didn't have anything to do with it." He exchanged a glance with Dean before continuing. "When I said I saw it…I wasn't there when it happened. I…"

"Sam…."

"She needs to know, Dean."

Dean shook his head and paced to the far side of the room. Sam sat back down on the bed, watching the tearful girl for a moment until she composed herself.

"Amy, you knew Sharon had…abilities. Well, I do, too. Sometimes I have…premonitions…or visions. Whatever you want to call them; I can't control them and I can't explain where they come from. That's what happened here a few minutes ago. That's what you saw happen to me."

A sudden crack of lightning lit the room, followed by a rumble of thunder that shook the walls of the room. Amy glanced at the window, then back at the brothers, her face streaked with tears. "You.. you saw what happened to her?"

Sam nodded. "Yeah, I did."

"But it's not gonna help us much,"Dean said from across the room. "We still don't know where it happened or where her body is now."

"Amy," Sam leaned forward. "I saw something, like a pool, but smaller…it only had a little water in it, and it had doors. Do you know any place like that?"

"Doors?" she asked as she stepped forward, hesitating only a moment before sitting down on the bed across from Sam. "What kind of doors?"

Sam closed his eyes, summoning the image back in his memory. "Double doors, like a root cellar has. But it wasn't a cellar. The doors were set in the floor, and there was a rug or something over them."

Thunder boomed again as sheets of rain began to pound the metal awning over the doorway. Amy stood, peering out into the rain through the bug spattered window.

"Oh, my God." She turned, her eyes wide.

"What?" Dean stepped forward as Sam rose from his seat.

"I'm not sure, but…" Her face was pale in the fading light. "I think I know where you're talking about."

SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS

The town looked like an abandoned set from The Twilight Zone; the power failure had turned the streets into a rain washed canvas of monotone gray. An occasional candle or hurricane lamp cast pale light from a few windows as they passed; otherwise the town looked essentially dead, sucked of color and life. The storm drains had given up on trying to keep up with the torrents of water surging down the gutters as standing water from either side of the street slowly crept across to meet in the middle.

Dean crept through the intersection, peering through the rain misted glass at the useless stop light swinging in the wind. No one else seemed inclined to be driving around to t-bone them, so he continued down the street, flood water splashing up at regular intervals underneath the floorboard of the car.

"This could have waited until the storm lets up, you know," he grumbled to his water soaked passengers.

"No, it can't." Sam wiped a water logged sleeve across his dripping hair. "If Walker's on the run, we need to find something right now to stop him." He turned to the girl in the back seat. "Tell me about the church."

Amy shivered as she sat forward. "I could be wrong, but what you're describing, it sounds like the old baptismal pool in Pastor Walker's church. They don't use it anymore; it was leaking ground water into the pit, and the health department said it was unsafe. They use the baptismal at the Methodist church now."

"And it's in the floor of the church?" Dean asked as he wiped a stream of rain water from his temple.

"Yes, under the pulpit. It has doors that fold up and back to open it up, and the pulpit carpet covers it up."

"Think that could be it?" Dean glanced over at Sam.

"It could be. I'd have to see it to be sure."

"What…" Amy's voice trembled as she saw the glance the brothers exchanged. "What do you think you're going to see?" She sat back as they exchanged another glance. "Oh, God…you think that's where Sharon is? Under the floor in her own dad's church?" She made a choking sound and Sam turned around, concern coloring his features.

"Amy, I don't know, but…" he hesitated, then continued. "I think something happened there. Dean and I…we're just gonna check it out. But first, we're gonna take you home. We'll let you know…."

"No, you won't." She propelled herself back against the front seat so quickly that Sam jumped back against his door. "I'm going with you. I'm not going home to sit in my house in the dark while some psychotic nutcase is running around loose, while you guys go fumbling around in the dark, looking for…whatever it is you're looking for. I am in, and that's it."

"And if we don't agree?" Dean frowned at her in the rear view mirror.

"Then you could be riding around all night, trying to find the right church out here in the dark. There are a dozen country churches in this county. How much time do you want to waste trying to find the right one?"

No one spoke for a moment, the swish-swish of the wipers the only sound in the car. Finally Dean mumbled a terse "Damnit" before looking in the mirror again. "Okay, here's the deal. You show us where the church is, we go in, check it out and you," he paused, glancing over his shoulder to make sure she was paying attention. "You do not get out of the car. No matter what. Deal?"

Amy sat back, rubbing her damp arms against a sudden chill. "Deal."

"Looks like the power's out here, too," Dean said as he wiped moisture from the windshield and peered outside. "Is this rain never gonna end?"

"We get storms like this a lot in the spring,"Amy said as the Impala turned into the church parking lot and rolled to a soggy stop. "Power goes out a lot, too. We're used to it."

"Terrific." Dean glanced over at his abnormally silent brother. Conversation over the past twenty minutes had been limited to the girl's verbal directions to the small country church where they now sat. It occurred to Dean as he watched the lightning streak across the sky that Sam hadn't uttered a word since they left town. "Are you ready?"

"What?" Sam blinked, obviously distracted.

"The church." Dean inclined his head toward the faint outline of a building looming in the mist. "You going with me or not?"

"Yeah, sure." Sam popped the door open and stepped out into the rain. Dean opened his door, climbed out and then stuck his head back in. "You remember what I told you." He ignored the glare from the girl in the back seat as he continued. " If you get out of this car before we get back, I'll leave you here to walk home. Understood?"

Sam rounded the car and waited by the trunk, a faint smile on his face. Usually Dean was the charmer with anyone in a skirt, but he wasn't wasting any of the fabled Winchester charm on this one. He saw Amy fall back on the rear seat, arms crossed in petulance before he popped the trunk and pulled out a pair of large flashlights. Dean joined him at the rear of the Impala just as another bolt of lightning lit the sky, followed almost immediately by a ground shaking roar of thunder. He glanced up at the church, shivering in the wind as a trickle of rain water slipped down his collar and down his back.

Something didn't feel right; it was more than the violence of the storm and the shroud of darkness that surrounded the deserted church yard. It was a feeling Sam was familiar with; the adrenaline rush, the tickle of fear before the climax of a hunt. As he stood, staring through the rain at the looming silhouette of the church, he felt something more, something almost tangible; something akin to déjà vu. Everything around him felt familiar; the thunder, the church looming in the darkness, the apprehensive feeling that something was wrong.

Sam didn't realize that his brother had already slipped away into the darkness until he heard a muffled hiss from the shelter of the awning by the side entrance. "Are you coming or what?" he heard from the shadows. With a deep breath, he closed the trunk, gave the wide eyed girl in the back seat another glance, then set off into the storm.

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"What were you doing, meditating?" Dean asked as they stood shoulder to shoulder, backs pressed against the weathered wall. "I'm getting tired of being cold and wet, so let's get in there, check the place out and go."

Sam nodded and pushed away from the wall. As he turned, a flash of lightning lit the landscape and he pulled back again, tugging on Dean's sleeve.

"What now?" he grumbled, then turned to look over his shoulder in the direction Sam has been heading. Another streak of lightning illuminated what Sam had already seen: the rear half of a black pickup, parked near the rear entrance of the church.

"That's Walker's truck," Sam hissed in his brother's ear.

"So, now we know where he's been hiding." Dean shifted the flashlight to his left hand and pulled his gun from his waistband with his right. "Let's go get him."

"What? No…wait." Sam pulled on his sleeve again and Dean pulled away, casting an irritated glare in the general direction of his brother.

"Why not?"

"Look, if he's here, let's just call the cops and let them come get him," Sam said, staring up at the rain pouring from the eaves and down the metal gutter. "This isn't our kind of gig."

"Since when?"

"Since..since now." Sam stared out into the rain, refusing to meet his irate brother's eyes.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" Dean hissed. "First, you're all gung ho to find this girl's killer, then you have a funky dream and you're ready to leave town. An hour ago, you had to get out here right now to check this place out, and now you don't want to go in. Would you pick a scenario and stick with it?"

Sam fell back against the rough weatherboarding of the church wall and wiped a trickle of rain from his face. "All I'm saying is let the cops handle it. I've got a bad feeling about it. I don't think we should confront this guy."

Dean stared at his brother's shadowed profile in disbelief. "Sam, he's probably in there, destroying evidence. Hell, he could be moving the body and then we'll never find it." Another flash of lightning illuminated the sky as he waited for a response. When none came, he sighed and turned in the general direction of his brother's shadowed form. "Okay, how about this? We call the cops, tell them we found him and then we make sure he doesn't leave in the meantime."

"You're still going in." Sam said softly, resigning himself to the fact that his brother had made up his mind and was going in the church, with or without him.

"We can't watch all the doors. We gotta go in." Dean slipped his gun back into his waistband with a sigh. His brother's attitude was so out of character that he wondered for a moment if there was some merit to his argument. He couldn't recall a time when Sam had ever hesitated to cover his back on a job; if he was this hesitant, there had to be a reason.

A momentary lull in the icy wind carried the sound of Sam checking his weapon before he spoke again. "Okay. Front or back?"

That's more like it. Dean stepped away from the wall and slogged through the mud to the front steps of the church. "Truck's in the back, so he probably went in that way. So we go in the front."

They took the slippery steps two at a time, and paused outside the heavy oak doors. The doors were unlocked and swung open silently on their hinges. As Dean slowly eased through the entryway, he felt a firm hand on his shoulder, and a breath in his ear.

"We stay together, stay close, ok?"

"Not a problem." Dean waited for Sam to follow, then let the massive wooden door slide shut behind them.

SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS

The first thing Dean noticed was the soft, muted light diffusing through the cavernous interior of the church; light where there shouldn't have been, since the power was still out. He took a step forward, taking in the multitude of candles burning in the sanctuary. The candelabra stands in the pulpit, the wall sconces lining the outer aisles, dozens more lined up on the altar, all were flickering and hissing as hot wax slithered down to pool on the carpet.

A movement near the pulpit halted the brothers in their tracks. The indistinct shape of a man, kneeling in front of a line of crackling, flickering candles, was barely visible through the shadows surrounding him. Dean inclined his head toward his left; Sam took the cue and went right, each taking a narrow aisle, their backs against opposing walls.

Lightning flashed outside, followed by a window rattling boom of thunder that shook the old building. Wind whistled around cracks in the old stained glass behind Dean's head; he glanced over to track his brother's progress, hesitating when he realized the darkness of the church had swallowed any indication that Sam was nearby. When a silhouette passed under a fluttering candle, Dean relaxed and turned his attention back to the scene in front of him.

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The man's head was bowed as if in prayer, oblivious to the two men who silently approached him on either side. A faint mumbling carried to their ears, barely audible over the furious sound of the storm outside.

"Kevin?" Sam spoke softly as he stopped next to the first pew.

"Yes?" The voice was soft, muted, and strangely monotone.

Sam glanced over at Dean, whose "What the hell?" expression was plain to see in the muted candlelight. He took another step toward the man, who had neither reacted to their presence nor moved at all since their approach. "What are you doing, Kevin?"

"I'm praying for his soul."

"Your father?"

Walker's shoulders tensed as he raised his head slightly. "You know, every Sunday, for twenty years, he stood in this pulpit. He saved more people than I can count." His voice broke as he continued. "He was a good man."

"I'm sure he was," Dean said as he advanced another step. He caught Sam's eye and tapped one finger against his own temple. Sam understood the motion; Amy had said that the young man suffered from manic depression. They had seen his manic side, in his unprovoked assault on Dean in the bar, and his uncontrolled road rage against Sam on the highway. Now they were witness to the opposite pole of his mental state.

"I tried to save him, I did." Kevin's shoulders shook as he hung his head again. "But I was too late."

"Kevin, he was sick. The doctors…."

"The doctors said there was no hope, and he accepted that. I accepted that." Walker stared unblinking at the flickering flames. "She should have let him go."

Sam frowned and took another step forward. "Your sister, you mean?"

Walker suddenly straightened as if to rise to his feet and both brothers tensed. Sam stepped back against the wall as he saw the gun cradled loosely in the young man's hand. He caught the motion of Dean reaching for his own gun as Kevin remained facing forward, staring at the empty pulpit. He made no move to raise the weapon, and suddenly Sam understood. The melancholy sadness in the disturbed man's demeanor was that of a man who had come to the end of the road. Walker had come there to pray for forgiveness before he took his own life.

"She was evil, an abomination." Walker's voice rose slightly, tinged with anger. "The kind of thing that Dad warned us about his whole life."

"Why?" Dean asked. "Because she wanted to help him?"

Walker turned then, his eyes narrowed in fury. "You weren't there. You didn't see the evil things she was doing."

"She was trying to save him." Sam stepped forward again, ignoring the warning glare his brother cast his way. "How could it be evil if she was taking his pain away?"

"She was taking his soul!" Walker screamed, his fists clenched as he suddenly rose to this feet and took a step toward Sam. The sound of the safety release on Dean's weapon echoed through the church, but Walker paid no heed. "Every time she…touched…him, she was breaking God's law. She had no right to give life. Only God can do that. She was the devil…she was doing the devil's work."

"And you couldn't let her get away with that, could you?" Dean said, and Walker turned toward him with a blank, unfocused stare.

"She wasn't my sister anymore." The young man looked up at the ceiling, oblivious of the gun trained on his chest. "She was evil…she had to be stopped." He paused, a strangled sound, almost like a laugh, bubbled from his lips. "It's what you would do…it's what anybody would do."

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Dean felt the sudden urge to turn away from the agitated young man. He had heard Sam's soft intake of breath and fought the urge to look his way. The last thing they needed right now was to have the ramblings of a disturbed man remind Sam of his uncertain future where his own abilities were concerned.

"Where is she, Kevin?" he asked. "We can help you with all of this. You just have to tell us where she is." He watched as the anger drained from the young man's face and the expression of sadness and despondency returned. Without a word, Walker sank back onto his knees, his head bowed, as if a switch had been thrown in his twisted psyche. The mumbling began again as Kevin withdrew back into his own tortured world.

The brothers each blew out a long breath as Dean slowly returned his weapon to his waistband. He studied the broken man before him before turning away to return to the entrance of the church. If the baptismal under the pulpit held the answer they were seeking, there was no way they would get past Walker to check it out. Maybe his brother was right; it was time to call in the cops and let them handle it. He was reaching for the door before he realized that Sam wasn't following. His brother still stood at the front of the church, staring down at the prone young man at his feet.

"Sam, let's go," Dean hissed, his voice drowned out by a rolling clap of thunder that shook the heavy doors where he stood. The sudden silence that followed allowed his brother's voice to carry to him through the dimly lit sanctuary.

"How do you know?" he heard his brother say. "How do you know that Sharon's ability was evil? Everyone says she was a good person; I'm sure she loved your dad just as much as you did."

What the hell is he doing? Antagonizing an armed mental case is just plain suicidal. And then it hit him. Maybe Sam didn't know he was armed; Kevin had held the handgun against his side during their conversation. In the half light of the altar candles, he had remained in the shadows. Dean started down the center aisle, determined to pull his brother out of the building bodily if need be. Something in Sam's voice had sounded off; the sympathetic tone he had used before had now morphed into something more aggressive, more belligerent.

"You were wrong, Kevin." Sam had moved to stand directly next to the kneeling man. "Your sister had a gift, and she was using her gift to help people, to help your father. And he was getting better, getting stronger. Your sister did that, Kevin. And when you killed her, you killed your father, too."

Walker looked up then, anger flaming in his expression as Sam continued his verbal attack. "If you hadn't done what you did, your dad would still be alive. Now you tell me…who's the evil one?"

Lightning flashed, followed immediately by another boom of thunder which drowned out Walker's response. Something in Dean's peripheral vision caught his attention, and he glanced to his right.

The candles on the windowsill, on the altar, everywhere he looked, had blazed up, impossibly bright and strong, their flames casting a dizzying reflection on the stained glass. The sudden flare of illumination from scores of blazing tapers seared his retinas as he slowly turned in a complete circle, squinting against the white light that filled the room.

Dean turned toward his brother, saw the moment that Sam looked up, the unresponsive target of his verbal attack forgotten as the room took on an unearthly brilliance. The flames that surrounded them burned fiercely, and yet no wax dripped from their holders. Why does it always have to be fire with us? It brought back too many unpleasant memories: of two horrific nights, years apart, when he had carried his brother from the flames. And then there was the night Meg had unleashed the shadow demons. They had emerged bloody and beaten that night; only his brother's quick thinking had illuminated the room and saved their lives. It was obvious, however, from Sam's stunned expression as their eyes met across the room that, this time, someone… or something…else was in control.

As the candle flames grew impossibly higher, the image it brought to mind stopped Dean in his tracks, as each individual pane of colored glass seemed to hold the light and reflect it back into the room. He turned slowly as the room brightened, each candle flaring and sparking, the flames reflecting back from the windows like sparklers on the 4th of July.

Like Christmas lights….

SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS

Sam heard his brother's soft "What the hell?" as the candles behind him and in front of him and throughout the entire church suddenly blazed up as if fueled by an unholy source. He felt the smoldering singe of heat on his neck as he backed away from the young man on the floor, who now gazed up at the ceiling in rapt wonder. "It's a sign," Walker cried out, his hands raised to the ceiling as if to receive a heavenly message.

"A sign we need to get the hell out of here," Dean growled as he ran down the aisle and grabbed his brother's shoulder. "Come on, Sam…."

It only took Sam a moment longer to realize they were in a situation they were not equipped to handle; a couple of flashlights and handguns weren't going to be a match for this. After one last glance at the oblivious man behind them, he turned to follow his brother up the aisle. A loud click sounded in front of them, followed by identical metallic snaps echoing from every wall in the sanctuary. Dean reached the door first, recognizing before he reached for the handle the sounds of window and door locks sliding into place. He tried the door anyway before turning back and blowing out a frustrated breath.

"Locked?" Sam asked. "Who locked the doors?"

Dean shrugged. "Guess we're not leaving after all."

The room suddenly darkened again, returning to its previous muted level of light. Sam turned back to gaze at the candles that now cast only a faint glimmer into the cavernous room, each one barely holding a flame as they returned to their previous state. It was like nothing out of the ordinary had happened at all.

"What the hell was that?"

"I don't know," Dean replied, staring at the candles that showed no sign of their explosive display. The only indication left of what they had just seen was a pall of heavy waxy smoke that hung heavy in the stale air. "Not a demon."

"How do you know?"

"Look around, Sam. This is holy ground. It had to have been…."

"Sharon." Sam finished his thought "She is here…just like she told me in my dream." He took one step toward the nearest window and stopped, staring up at the stained glass prism that caught the faint candle light and reflected it back onto his pale features.

"It looked like…."

"I know." Dean had hoped he was wrong, that the imagery of flickering lights in Sam's dreams and the shimmering kaleidoscopic scene before them were just coincidence. Their eyes met in the near darkness, and Dean could tell by the panic in his expression that his brother was seeing more than candlelight and stained glass; he was seeing blood and fear and pain.

"We've got to get out of here." Sam backed toward the exit, his hands wrapped around the brass handles of the heavy oak doors. "We can't stay here."

"I already tried it, but be my guest." Dean watched as Sam shook the doors which still refused to allow their passage. "Somebody doesn't want us to leave."

"But if we stay…."

"We don't have a choice right now," Dean whispered, stepping closer to his obviously distressed brother. "Just stay close. I don't think our friend down there is firing on all eight cylinders anymore."

"So all we gotta do is get that gun away from him and we'll be okay."

"So you did see the gun…."

"Of course I did." Sam frowned, giving the door one last shake.

"And you were provoking him, anyway? Are you crazy?" Dean shook his head in disbelief. "He's down there, rambling about murder and signs from God, and you wanna just walk up to him and take a gun out of his hands? After what you told me about your dream? What were you thinking?" Dean knew he was rambling; any other time, he would have been embarrassed to be freaking out this way on a case. But everything was playing out in front of them now the same way Sam had seen it in his dreams. The only thing missing now would be him, on his knees, staring at his own blood covered hands as something otherworldly closed in on them.

Sam took a deep breath. "Look, I think he came here to commit suicide, Dean. He's beyond our help. And let's not forget we're locked in here with a spirit that wants to turn us into one big barbecue."

"Are you done?" Dean brushed past him, irritation flooding his voice. " 'Cause I think we got a problem here." He pointed over Sam's shoulder and his brother turned to look.

During the brief conversation, they had taken their eyes off their prey; he now stood halfway up the carpeted aisle, feet planted in a shooting stance, his weapon trained in their direction. At that distance, there was no way he could miss hitting one of them. Dean cursed under his breath, feeling the useless weight of his own weapon settled into the small of his back like a stone.

"Why are you here?" Walker took another step, his weapon weaving between the two of them. He waved the gun at the smoldering candles on the wall. "How did you do that?"

"We didn't do anything, Kevin," Dean said as he slowly reached over and gave Sam a slight push to the side. "I think you know who did. We know she's here. We know you left her here." He took another step to the left and sensed his brother's half step away from him at the same time. Another couple of steps would separate them enough that Walker would not be able to keep both of them in his line of fire.

"She's not at peace, Kevin," Sam said, halting his movement as the gun swung in his direction. "And neither are you. We can help both of you if you'll let us."

Keep talking, Sam, Dean thought as he slowly eased his hand back to grasp the grip of his weapon. Get him to look your way for just a second; that's all I need.

The second he needed came a half second too late. Walker's eyes narrowed as one word venomously hissed from his lips:

"No."

Blue fire erupted from his hands, followed by a deafening report that echoed through the sanctuary. Sam reached out and shoved his brother to the left, toward the cover of the last row of wooden pews. Dean dived to the floor, unable to see exactly where his brother had sought cover as he fell in the opposite direction, seeking cover behind the seats that shielded them from their assailant.

Dean now had his weapon in hand, but was unable to lift his head long enough to see the shooter in the near darkness. A spray of bullets slammed into the wall behind them, splintering the wooden benches that separated them. A deafening blast sounded to his right; Dean recognized the sound of his brother's gun, followed by a muted thump, and then nothing at all. The echoes of the gunshots blended with a boom of thunder in the distance, and then all fell still with the church, the only sounds those of the storm outside and the candles that sizzled and flickered in the pall of the darkness within.

SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS

Dean lay face down on the worn carpet, his ears ringing from the gunfire. He listened, his weapon gripped firmly, for a sign of movement from the crazed gunman. After a long moment, he slid forward underneath the last row of seats, peering into the darkness as he crawled slowly forward.

"Sam?" He called softly, not wanting to give away his position if Walker was still gunning for them. "You all right?" He froze, his heartbeat pounding in his ears. "Sam?"

He closed his eyes in relief when he heard a soft "Yeah" from somewhere behind him.

"Where are you?"

"Back here."

"Could you be a little more specific?" Dean whispered as he reached the center aisle, still on his belly. He peered around the pew in front of him and blew out a long breath, then slowly rose to his feet.

The soft glow of candles cast an unearthly glow around the sprawled body of Kevin Walker. The ethereal effect was destroyed by the spatter of blood, bone and brain tissue that haloed around what was left of his skull as he lay in front of his father's pulpit. A head shot in half darkness at twenty feet. "Nice shot, bro," Dean said as he moved down the aisle. "Nice to know you paid attention when I taught you how to shoot." Dean felt his stomach contract as he stepped around the gore and took the narrow steps that carried him onto the stage. "Guess it's time to see what's behind door number three," he said as he knelt down, pulled the thin carpet away from the hidden door and gave the handles a mighty yank.

Keeping his dinner down at the sight of Kevin Walker's destroyed features was a cake walk compared to the bile that rushed to his throat at what lay inside the abandoned baptismal pool. It appeared to be empty, only six inches of foul, brownish black water barely covered the bottom of the pit. The stench that rose from the bottom hit Dean in the face like a wet, filthy rag, and he turned his head away to catch his breath.

"Oh, man," he whispered as he turned the beam of his flashlight into the dark recesses of the pool. The smell had been enough; one he knew only too well: the rancid scent of death and decay. The body was black now, bloated and distorted, too heavy with the gases of decomposition to resemble anything remotely human. It lay on the bottom of the pit, the only recognizable feature that identified it as human was the matted mop of dark blonde hair that floated in the scum covered water like a veil.

"You were right, Sam," he called out as he rose to his feet. "She is here. She's been here all along." An uneasy feeling crept down his neck and under his collar as he turned and peered into the darkened church. What's taking him so long to get up here and check this out?

He stepped off the platform, giving a wide berth to the mangled form in front of the altar. As he strode up the darkened aisle, a sick feeling of foreboding urged him to hurry his steps. That little voice in his head that rarely steered him wrong was screaming at him now; something told him that this wasn't over yet. Walker was no longer a threat, but now there was a new player in the game: the entity that had locked them inside the church.

Dean swivelled his flashlight from side to side, its piercing beam barely reaching the ruined back wall of the sanctuary. Other than the steady patter of rain on the roof and the flicker of the half gone candles, there was no light, no sound. Then he heard it: no more than a soft, shuddering breath from behind the last pew on his left. He turned the beam toward the sound and his own breath caught in his chest.

Sam stood in a half crouch at the rear wall of the church, arms wrapped around his body, leaning back against the bullet pocked plaster behind him. The flashlight beam shone into his eyes and he turned his head away, wincing at the blinding light. Before Dean could cover the last few feet separating them, Sam doubled over and slid down the wall without a sound.

"What the hell…." Dean dropped to his knees, nearly dropping the flashlight to the floor and cursing the near darkness that prevented him from seeing what had happened to his brother. Sam's flashlight lay near his feet; Dean grabbed it, switched it on and placed both of them on the floor side by side, their narrow beams melding to give the narrow aisle as much light as possible. He then reached over and gave Sam's shoulder a shake.

"What happened? You hit your head or something?" Dean leaned over, grasping his brother's shoulder to turn him over. Sam rolled limply to his back, a soft inhale of breath his only response. Dean reached out a hand to steady him, recoiling in shock when his fingers sank into the wet, sticky front of Sam's shirt. He didn't need the pale artificial light of the flashlight beams to recognize the viscous feel of blood…and a lot of it.

Dean stared at his blood covered hands for a moment, his brother's words echoing in his head…"I see you…I think you're…hurt. I see blood on you, on your hands." The lights, the dark building, the blood…everything from Sam's dream had played out, just as he had predicted. Except…it wasn't Dean's blood that covered his hands and soaked into the worn green carpet. It could have been, probably would have been, except for the strong hands that had pushed him out of the line of fire at the last second.

Dean pulled out his cell phone, frowning as the display refused to light up. He switched it off and on several times before tossing it down on the floor in disgust. He then patted his brother's pockets, finally locating Sam's cell. He swore in disbelief as the second cell phone lay dead in his hands, as unresponsive as his own. "What the hell…." He could understand not getting a signal out ten miles on the other side of nowhere, but to have both phones go inexplicably dead at the same time was more than just coincidence. The only explanation that made sense was one he didn't want to consider: how many times had electrical disturbances been their first clue to the imminent appearance of some sort of spirit? And why now? The locked doors, and now the phones…and no weapons to fight what lurked in the shadows. What the hell was he going to do now?

"Okay, first things first." Dean grabbed the nearest flashlight and pinned it next to his side to aim the beam toward his brother's still form. "Damn it, Sam…why didn't you tell me?" He tugged layers of shirts away from the wound, but the pale light refused to allow him a better look at just how bad the injury was. He yanked his overcoat off and rolled it into an impromptu pillow, lifting his brother's head and placing it gently back down on the jacket. His flannel shirt came off next, leaving Dean shivering in the damp confines of the unlit, unheated church. The flashlight had fallen to the floor again next to Sam's cheek; the eerie beam cast such a ghastly shadow on his brother's ashen features that Dean grabbed it up and wedged it under his arm again. He leaned forward, pressing the shirt against the bloody wound in his brother's chest, while seeking and finally finding the weak, racing pulse in his throat. And through it all, Sam lay, unmoving, unresponsive and still.

A pulse of lightning flashed outside, followed by a resounding boom of thunder that broke the silence, as Dean took a deep breath and looked around the dim interior of the building. They were in a dire situation, for sure: no power, no phone, with two dead bodies, his brother unconscious and bleeding out on the floor…and let's not forget the newcomer to the game: the spirit that had suddenly decided it wanted to play with fire…as if things weren't already bad enough….

A click sounded in the darkness behind them, and Dean stiffened, his hand automatically reaching for his gun. A cold draft wafted around his face, followed by a thin beam of light that swung around the room before settling on his face. He blinked against the glare, finger tightening on the trigger, until a trembling, familiar voice gasped at the destruction in the room. "Dean? Is that you?"

SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS

"Amy!" Dean sank back down to the floor in relief, the gun dropping from shaking fingers. "How did you get in? That door was locked."

"Locked? No, it wasn't," she glanced down at the bloodied figure under Dean's hands and inhaled sharply. "Oh, God, I thought I heard shooting, and I know you said don't get out of the car, but…."

"Never mind that." Dean turned his attention back to applying pressure to the ever widening bloom of red that spread across his brother's chest. "There's a first aid kit in the car, under the front seat. Go get it…and here," he tossed Sam's cell toward the distraught girl. "See if you can get this to work outside, call 911. Call somebody, please…."

As Amy reached out to catch the airborne phone, the beam of her light swung down the narrow aisle of the church. She let out a choked cry as the light filtered down to where Kevin Walker's bloodied remains lay near the foot of the altar. "Kevin? No…" she took a faltering step down the aisle, staggering against the splintered pews.

"Amy!" Dean's angry voice echoed off the cavernous walls of the darkened sanctuary. "You can't help him. I need you to help me, now, okay?" he added softly as she turned, her eyes wide and luminous in the glow of the flickering candles that surrounded them. "Sam needs help."

"O-Okay…I'm s-sorry," she stuttered as she turned back toward the door. "I'll be right back." Dean felt the icy draft slide against his skin as the door opened again and then closed softly behind the girl. Then there was only silence: the silence of ethereal candlelight, of madness and violence and death.

"You'd think I'd learn to listen to you after a while," Dean said softly as he watched the macabre spread of crimson seep through the cloth underneath his hands. "You knew something was gonna happen, didn't you? Only…." he stopped to take a deep breath. "You thought it was gonna be me. If I had listened to you, this wouldn't have happened…."

A sharp intake of breath, followed by a low groan, brought Dean's head down to within inches of his brother's. He shifted the flashlight pinched up against his side until its failing beam fell across Sam's waxen features. "Come on, Sam…wake up…you can do it."

As if he had been waiting for his brother's command, Sam slowly opened his eyes. Unfortunately, his return to consciousness was accompanied by a sudden rush of pain. Dean saw it in his eyes as Sam gasped and tried to curl into a fetal position.

"Don't do that." Dean maintained his grip on the makeshift bandage with one hand as he pushed down on Sam's shoulder with the other one. "Lie still…don't move."

Sam blinked heavily, obviously trying to focus on his brother's face in the darkness. "Forgot…to duck," he whispered breathlessly.

"Yeah, looks like. It's not as bad as it looks, though." Dean batted away the bloodied hand that was trying to claw its way under the sodden shirt. No, actually, it's worse. He glanced up at the exit doors behind them. They were locked, I know they were. The eerie feeling that they were not alone sent an involuntarily shiver across his shoulders as he glanced around into the shadowed confines of the church. It was as if whatever had torched the candles and locked the doors was lurking in the darkness, watching and waiting…but for what?

"Dean?" Sam's voice was no more than a whisper, and Dean leaned down to hear him. "You get him?"

"No, little bro, you did. Damn good shot, too." He increased the pressure on his brother's chest and Sam gasped in response, his face leeching even whiter in the pale candlelight.

"Dead?"

"Deader than Elvis. Now stop talking and rest. Help is on the way."

Sam nodded slowly, closing his eyes, his breaths ragged and fast. Dean frowned and leaned forward again. "How'd he get you, anyway? You went down behind the bench same time I did."

"He…had you…" Sam took a breath, held it, exhaled slowly, then took another. "I didn't think…he could see me."

"So, what? You stood up and let him take a shot at you instead? Damn it, Sam."

"…Not…exactly…didn't…w-want to k-kill him…"

"You didn't have a choice." Dean watched as Sam's eyes closed again. What now? Should he try to get Sam to the car and take him to the hospital himself, or wait and hope Amy had been able to call for help? Patience had never been a strong point with him, however.

Decision made, he shifted his weight to ease the pins and needles in his legs and started to rise. As he slipped one arm under his brother's shoulders and the other under his knees, the room brightened suddenly, flames blazing once again from the dozens of tapers encircling the room. Damn it, not again…not now.

An icy draft touched his shoulders as the entrance door swung open behind him; Dean watched as the frigid draft did nothing to extinguish the blinding flames that surrounded them. He lowered Sam's limp body back to the floor again, his eyes widening in disbelief as a figure began to take shape near the pulpit. It seemed to float down from the stage, fading in and out of view as the candles nearby flickered and sparked. A soft groan brought Dean's attention back to his brother; without taking his eyes from the apparition, he sank to his knees again, grabbing the blood soaked shirt from where it had fallen, he applied pressure again to his brother's wound. A soft gasp from the doorway told Dean that Amy had returned; her muttered "Oh, my God" told him she was witnessing the same manifestation as he.

The features of the apparition slowly came into view as the phantom form moved down the aisle. It was obviously female, young, or had been at one time. Soft blonde hair billowed out around a pixie face, a face now painted in sadness and despair. The spirit paused beside the body of the young man lying in the aisle; Dean leaned forward as a soft whisper seemed to emanate from the specter as she gazed down, but he couldn't make out the words. When she raised her head, the crystalline glitter of a tear seemed to shimmer down her ethereal cheek, only to disappear a second later.

"Amy," Dean whispered to the girl behind him, his gaze transfixed on the spirit in front of him. "Get out of here. Now."

"No."

Dean felt the girl's nails dig into his shoulder as she sank down beside him. " Oh, God, it's Sharon. How can….?" The young waitress blew out a shuddering breath. "I want to stay. She won't hurt me."

"You don't know that. We just put her brother down," he growled, frustrated at the fact that now he had still another person to shield from the wrath of the murdered girl. He thought about his useless gun, lying next to his brother's prone body; about the fact that they had come into the church totally unprepared for this. He tensed and started to rise as the shimmering figure floated toward them, her face cloaked and unreadable.

"S-Sharon?" Amy whispered, her trembling voice choked as she spoke to her resurrected friend. Dean felt the girl's hand fall from his shoulder as he stood and placed himself in front of Sam and Amy. The ghost's gaze moved from his face to that of the girl huddled behind him. He watched as Sharon's expression changed from sadness to affection as she smiled at her earthbound friend.

"Yes." The apparition's voice floated through the darkness, and Amy sobbed, her nails latching onto Dean's arm again as she peered out from behind him.

The figure took another step, her attention now fixed on Sam. Dean reached behind him, pushing Amy back toward the exit doors as he faced down the advancing spirit. "Get away from him," he hissed. The girl was close enough now for Dean to see the livid bruises encircling her pale throat. He strangled her. The thought of it twisted yet another knot in his gut. The son of a bitch strangled his own sister.

As if reading his mind, the spirit's hand came up to touch her discolored throat. "You're right," she said softly, tilting her head to one side. "My brother did this to me. I tried to make him understand who I was, what I was, but I just couldn't." She glanced down, her expression thoughtful and resigned. "You understand, don't you?"

"Yes."

Dean whirled as his brother's breathless voice carried across the aisle. Amy had knelt next to Sam again, maintaining pressure on his wound. Dean kept his eyes on the spirit as he returned to his knees, taking the blood soaked makeshift bandage from Amy's hands. Sam's face was completely drained of color, his eyes half open and unfocused and his respirations unsteady and weak. He moved his head toward the presence hovering over them and he struggled to speak.

"I…do understand." His eyes closed again and Dean reached out, spreading a smear of blood across his brother's throat as he searched for a pulse beat that was barely there.

"I can help him."

"No."

"Dean…." Amy said, her wide eyes still transfixed on Sharon's ghostly figure hovering over them. "She won't hurt him."

"You don't know that."

"Yes, I do know." Amy grabbed his arm again for a moment before Dean shook loose from her grasp.

"Did you call 911?" he growled, meeting the spirit's unblinking gaze.

"All the emergency units are out on other calls, Dean. They may not be here for a long time."

"Let me help him," the ghostly figure repeated, moving ever so closer to the trio huddled on the floor.

Dean glanced up to meet the compassionate eyes that waited patiently for his response. The denial was already on his lips when he felt his brother's hand brush against his sleeve. Sam's eyes opened again, his gaze fixed on Dean's with an intensity that took his breath. He knows he's dying. Oh, God, what do I do?

"It's…okay," Sam breathed as his eyes shuttered close once again. The unwavering trust in those eyes, the steadfast faith in his older brother to do the right thing, brought a lump to Dean's throat that he couldn't breathe around. A decision had to be made, and only he could make it.

Dean took a deep breath and straightened his spine, staring into the glittering eyes of the specter. "Okay." He lifted his hands from his brother's body, only to have a tiny, shimmering hand extend toward them.

"No, don't move your hand. Keep pressure." The ghostly form placed her hand on top of Dean's and closed her eyes. Dean shivered as a feather soft weight settled on top of his much larger hand. His eyes widened as a faint blue light flickered underneath her palm and a slight sensation of heat began to diffuse between his fingers and travel up his extended arm. He fought the urge to pull away from the power that issued from its host and into his brother; only the faint echo of mirrored agony kept his hands still as the phantom fought to save his brother's life.

He watched in awe as the wraith's body contorted in pain, bending almost double as she maintained the pressure of their joined hands. Then the sensation changed; Dean felt the movement of the girl's power change directions, flowing back through his hand and into her body like water siphoning down a drain. He blinked as she straightened her back, removed her hands and rose smoothly to her feet.

"That is all I can do." She gazed down, smiling sadly. " Help will be here soon."

Dean nodded stiffly, lifting the compress from his brother's chest. The wound had stopped bleeding, but Sam still lay pale as death and deeply unconscious. Dean checked his pulse again and found it beating a bit stronger than before. He lifted incredulous eyes to the supernatural healer, his eyes suddenly unable to focus on the girl's form hovering over them.

"Thank you," he whispered. "Thank you."

"I should be the one thanking you," the apparition said softly. She turned for one last look at the body of her brother. As the candles at the windows flared one last time, she closed her eyes and vanished. The church fell deathly quiet; in the distance, the wail of a lone siren could be heard drawing closer.

Amy rose to her feet, her face streaked with tears as she gazed down at the brothers. "I'll…I'll go flag them down." Not receiving an answer, she turned and stumbled out the front door.

Dean felt a wave of dizziness as the adrenaline that had sustained him over the past hour morphed into a blanket of exhaustion. He sat down and lifted Sam's head into his lap, unable to resist the urge to feel the strong pulse of his brother's heart for reassurance. What he had seen and felt, as the unworldly healer touched him, it was something he had never witnessed; he wasn't sure he believed such things were possible. But he had seen it, had been a part of it, and his brother was still alive and breathing because of it.

"I can see me losing a lot of sleep over this one, little brother," Dean said softly, as the doors behind him swung open and the blessed voices of rescue filled the room.

SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS

Dawn came slowly, but surely, sifting through the blinds of the waiting room where Dean stood at the window, staring at nothing, his mind elsewhere entirely. It had been a long night, filled with the controlled chaos of paramedics and police and doctors with tired expressions and words that meant nothing whatsoever. The cops had given up on questioning him at the scene, promising to return when both brothers could give them the answers they sought. He barely remembered the trip to the hospital, only the sight of his brother's pale features under an oxygen mask as he was whisked from the emergency department to a waiting surgery suite. Then the clock had stopped; only the steadily increasing glow from the window hinted at the fact that quite a bit of time had passed. He was considering harassing the harried nurse at the desk one more time for non existent news when he heard a familiar voice behind him.

"Any word yet?"

Dean turned, smiling wearily at the diminutive young waitress at his elbow. "Not yet. They said it would be a while, but…." He settled into a nearby chair, and Amy perched on the couch in front of him. "Why are you here? It's pretty late."

"No, actually, it's pretty early. I just got through giving my statement to the cops. Besides, if I was home, I'd just be lying awake worrying. I'd rather be here with you." She studied the exhausted features of the man in front of her. "He's gonna be all right, you know."

"I hope so. " Dean smiled, leaning back against the seat. "By the way, I'm glad you're here. I wanted to thank you. You did good tonight."

"Thank me?" Amy shook her head in confusion. "If it hadn't been for me, none of this would have happened."

"Oh, I don't know," Dean said as he stared up at the ceiling. "Sam and I have a way of stumbling into things. He said it wasn't a coincidence that we ended up here. I'm starting to believe he was right."

Amy sat for a moment, then leaned forward. "Can I ask you a question?"

"Sure."

"What we saw tonight…."

Dean glanced down into the girl's wide eyed gaze. "It was real."

"I know it was real, I saw it…saw Sharon. We all did…but…" she hesitated as if unsure how to phrase her question. "You didn't seem all that freaked out by it. You two see things like this all the time?"

Dean sat forward, massaging the tense muscles in his neck. "Actually, what we saw tonight was pretty tame. Most of the freaks we deal with aren't very friendly."

"Then why do you do it?"

"Sometimes I wonder about that myself." It was time to divert the conversation. "You seemed to deal with it all pretty well yourself."

"Oh, don't let me fool ya," Amy said with a smile. "I was oatmeal inside."

Dean's response was stilled by the appearance of a vaguely familiar face at the doorway. It took a few seconds for Dean's weary brain to connect the face with the surgeon he had spoken briefly with before his brother had been wheeled away. Amy stood as Dean rose and met the doctor at the door.

"He's doing well," the surgeon said before the question could leave Dean's lips. "The path of the bullet wasn't nearly as extensive as we had thought when we opened him up. He did lose quite a bit of his blood volume, but we are taking care of that. Barring any unseen complications, your brother, with quite a bit of rest, should be just fine. If you'll follow me, you can see him for a minute. Recovery is usually off limits to family, but at…" he glanced at his watch. "Five am, he's got the whole suite to himself." The doctor turned to lead the way and Dean took a step to follow him.

Amy had risen to stand beside him, and with the doctor's words, she glanced up. She saw Dean close his eyes in relief, then sway dangerously as the impact of the night's stress caught up with him. She quickly snaked one arm around his waist and waited for him to steady himself on his own. After taking a deep breath, he nodded to the doctor, then turned to Amy with an weary smile.

"Told ya," she grinned up at him. "Tell Sam I'll come and see him when he's up to it."

"I will." He leaned forward and wrapped his arms around her in a heartfelt hug. "Now go home and get some sleep." He turned to follow the surgeon's path down the hallway, disappearing through a set of swinging doors at the end.

Moments later, Dean stood at his brother's bedside, squinting against the harsh fluorescent lights of the post surgical ward. Despite the IV lines, monitors, and other equipment that Dean was too distracted to pay much attention to, the relief of seeing Sam alive, breathing, no longer gasping for breath and covered with blood, was like lifting a weight from his shoulders. A weight he carried without complaint, except in times like these, when it sometimes felt too cumbersome and overwhelming to bear. Maybe it's because we're not carrying it together. The thought was just that, a thought that he would keep to himself and forget about entirely once their balance was restored and life, as skewed as it was for them, went on.

There was one thing that needed to be said, however, and considering Sam's heavily medicated state, now seemed as good a time as ever. Mindful of the lines and tubes, Dean leaned over, his words rasping and rough with exhaustion.

"Thank you, little brother," he whispered over the hiss of the oxygen feeding into the mask lying against his brother's cheek. "Thank you."

SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS

"I am never complaining about diner food again."

Dean looked up from his newspaper, grinning at the disgusted look on his brother's face as Sam pushed away his hospital tray in disgust.

"When did you say the doctor is gonna let me out of here?"

Dean put the paper aside and propped his feet on the bedrail. "Tomorrow, or the next day. It all depends."

"On what?"

"On whether you eat your veggies like a good boy so you can grow big and strong."

Sam stared down at the gelatinous goo in his plate. "There's no way any of this could pass for a vegetable. Even I don't have that good an imagination."

Dean leaned back, smiling as he closed his eyes. He was as anxious as Sam to leave this hospital, this town, in his rear view mirror as soon as possible. Leave it to the infamous Winchester luck to stumble into a job on the way to another job. This one had been demon free, for a change, but it had been as harrowing as any hunt they had ever taken on. The case was closed, they had survived, and Sam was back to his normal, whining self. Things were definitely looking up.

"You know," Sam said, reclining back onto his pillow. "I've been thinking."

"Uh oh," Dean replied without opening his eyes.

"Shut up, smart ass. It's not like I can do much of anything else right now."

"True."

Sam shoved his brother's feet off the rail and shifted onto his side to face him. "Remember when we were talking about the Poe story, about the guy that murdered the old man and hid his body under the floorboards?"

"Vaguely."

"The thing I remember most about that story is how the guy, the murderer, never denied he did it. In fact, he felt justified in what he had done."

Dean opened his eyes and rolled his head toward his brother. "What's your point?"

Sam shifted in the bed, fiddling with his IV line, his eyes diverted. "Kevin never tried to hide what he did. He admitted it right away, like it was okay that he killed Sharon. Like…like she deserved it or something."

Dean saw where the conversation was headed; he had been expecting it for a while. "Kevin was a few froot loops short of a box, Sam. You know that."

"He was sane enough to realize what he had done. He wasn't so far gone that he didn't know right from wrong. He really thought he was doing the right thing, just like his sister thought she was doing good."

"Again, I ask: what's your point? No," Dean sat up and made sure his brother looked his way before continuing. "Don't answer that. Just listen to me and listen good."

He leaned forward. "What he did, there's no justification for it, none at all. It doesn't matter what his sister did, no matter what she may or may not have done or become in the future. His brain was seriously twisted, Sam. He went off the deep end, that's all. It really didn't't have anything to do with Sharon's abilities. He was a walking time bomb."

"Maybe," Sam said as he stared up at the ceiling. "All just one big coincidence, eh?"

"Absolutely." Dean picked up the paper again, signaling his intention to end the conversation. The promise he had made to Sam all those months ago, to be the one to end him if the demon's plans for him overtook him…it was never discussed but never forgotten, either. As far as Dean was concerned, it was a closed subject. There was nothing…nothing…that could ever cause him to keep that promise. It was a promise made, never to be kept, only spoken to give some measure of peace to his troubled brother's mind. It was a broken promise he could live with.

He glanced over at Sam, smiling as his brother's eyes closed in sleep. His stiff joints popped audibly as he rose from his chair, tossing the newspaper into the trash as he crossed the room and switched off the overhead light.

"You worry too much, bro," Dean said softly as he eased the door open, his mind already anticipating a hot shower and a warm bed back at the motel. "I told you before, as long as I'm around, nothing bad is ever gonna happen to you. And that's a promise I plan to keep."

SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS

"Are you sure he's ready for this?" Amy whispered as she and Dean stood in the doorway, watching Sam slowly ease into the wheelchair while a nurse droned on about antibiotics and fluid intake and what not to do for the indefinite future. "It's only been a week."

Dean smiled at the "get me out of here" look that his brother desperately threw his way. "I have to get him out of here. If I had to listen to him whine and complain much longer, I was gonna hurt him myself." He grinned back at his chair bound brother's exasperated frown, knowing he had heard the comment. The smile fell away as Sam nodded for the fifth time at the long winded nurse, trying to appear as if he was paying attention. He was still pale and weak, but getting stronger every day; it was definitely time to move on.

"Oh, I almost forgot," Amy said as she reached into her purse. "This is for you." She handed Dean a bulky envelope. He glanced at the content, then looked up in surprise.

"What is this?"

"The reward money for solving Sharon's murder. I started a fund after she disappeared." Amy's eyes grew misty as she stared down at the floor. "You and Sam definitely earned it. I know you don't get paid much in your…line of work."

Dean handed the envelope to Sam as he steered the wheelchair down the hall toward the exit. Sam peered inside, then glanced up. "Whoa."

"Yeah," Amy said, sniffing in an effort to regain her composure. "A lot of people knew Sharon. It wasn't hard to get people to contribute."

Dean left the two of them at the curb as he trotted across the parking lot to bring the Impala around. Amy set the brake on the chair and moved around to face Sam.

"There's one thing I don't understand about all this."

"What's that?" Sam asked.

"Why would Sharon lock the doors to the church? Why would she trap the two of you in there with Kevin?"

"I don't think she intended to trap us. I think she wanted to trap him. She must have known we were there to get him and she didn't want him to get away again."

"I guess that makes sense," she said. "As much as any of this makes any sense. You know, six months ago, if someone had told me spirits and supernatural powers were real…."

Sam smiled. " I know. Sometimes, I see things and I still don't believe it."

"How do you handle…what you do? The things you see?" Amy looked away, watching as the sleek black Chevy edged closer to the curb. "Sharon said she couldn't tell anybody what she could do. I think I was the only other person who ever knew. She was afraid that people would look at her…different, you know?"

Sam slowly nodded. " I do know. But she had you to talk to, to help her feel normal." He smiled fondly as his brother eased to a stop in front of them. "Sometimes, having someone believe in you makes all the difference. You did that for Sharon. You should feel good about that."

"And your brother does that for you."

"Does what?" Dean asked as he rounded the back of the car and reached for his brother's elbow, lifting him slowly out of the chair.

"Hovers…constantly," Sam said as he settled into the comfortable seat with a sigh. "I think he was Florence Nightingale in a previous life."

Dean tossed Sam's bag into the back seat, thumping the back of his brother's head before slamming the door. "I do not hover. Your convalescent days are over, lazy bones. Time to start pulling your own weight again."

Amy smiled at the comfortable banter that had been so obviously absent over the past week. She wasn't fooled for a moment; she had seen how Sam's close call had affected both of them. She was genuinely going to miss them both when they were gone.

Sam extended a hand out the open window and Amy took it, squeezing before bending down and impulsively kissing him on the cheek. "You take care. I'll never forget you."

"Same here," he replied as she turned to his brother standing by the passenger door. She aimed a chaste kiss for his cheek as well, pleasantly surprised when Dean cupped her chin and placed a lingering kiss on her lips instead.

"If you're ever back this way…." she whispered.

"You can count on it."

SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS

They were officially off duty, at least for a few days, a couple of weeks if he could restrain his little brother for that long. They had been pushing the envelope for a while now, what with Gordon and his crazed mission to hunt Sam down. And then came along this whole thing in a town where they had simply stopped for a meal and stumbled headlong into a case more dangerous than any they had faced before. Coincidence? Dean was beginning to rethink his opinion on the whole issue, not that he would ever admit that to his brother. Right now, a few days to relax and regroup sounded better every time he thought about it.

Yeah, it's time to step back and catch our breath, just for a little bit.

"Well, that was a first," Sam said as the Impala picked up speed on its way out of town.

"What's that?" Dean asked, his eyes on the road.

"A waitress left untouched by the legendary Dean Winchester. Got to be a first for you, man."

Dean considered this. "Yeah, but she did give me an open ended invitation. You never know, next time…." He glanced over at his brother, smiling at the way Sam had turned his face into the morning sun, as if inhaling it. "She's a good kid."

"Yeah, she is." They rode on in comfortable silence for a while before Sam spoke again. "Where are we headed, anyway?"

"Well, we could head up to Bobby's. You still have to take it easy for a while."

Sam rolled his head over to frown at his brother. " Bobby's place is a four day drive, Dean. Besides, the Weather Channel said they got five inches of snow and ice there last night."

"Or we could head for the coast. Get a nice oceanfront room; we can afford it for a change. We could be there by suppertime. Sun and sand and…"

"Bikinis," Sam finished for him. "You are so predictable."

"I prefer consistent." He fiddled with the radio, finally switching it off as he saw his brother's eyes begin to close. "Your choice, bro. Beach bunnies or Bobby. Take your pick."

"Ask me something hard next time." Sam closed his eyes and promptly fell asleep, aided by the pain killers Dean had forced on him before their exit from the hospital. He looked uncomfortable, curled up against the door. But considering the alternative….Dean pushed that thought away and gave the Impala a little more gas.

END