Disclaimer: Nope. Supernatural isn't mine. Hopefully Kripke won't mind if I borrow them for a few (just three chapters *puppy eyes*)

"Sammy," a voice says. "Sammy, wake up!"

As Sam Winchester opens his heavy eyelids, the blurry face of his older brother, Dean, stares back at him. He blinks and sits up.

"What, Dean?"

Dean sits across from his younger brother, eyes closed, hunched over a small black plastic device.

"Homicide came over the radio early this morning," Dean says uncomfortably. "Sounds like our kind of thing."

Sam frowns; blinking the sleep from his eyes a few more times. "What do you mean, our kind of thing?"

Looking down at his feet, Dean answered, "Well, victim was found in her car, head spun 360 degrees, the only sign of forced entry was a word, written across her collarbone in an unidentified substance." Dean grimaces slightly, and if Sam wasn't mistaken, he sees a flash of pain in his brother's eyes. "Described as a 'tar-like black goo that reeked of sulfur,'"

Sam immediately sobers. "What did it say?"

"Winchester."

When they finally arrived in Jericho, California, it was not a pretty sight. Not much was known about the woman, except that her name was Cate Squire, she was twenty-six years old, former military, and that she was more scared at the moment of her death than a four-year-old who finds a monster under their bed.

Dean and Sam teetered uncomfortably, eyes glued to their own name branded on her.

"Think it's a haunting?" Sam asks, looking down at his brother. Dean's eyes are dull.

"Yep," he says, not looking up at his brother.

A loud cough behind them causes both of the brothers to turn around, jumping at the sound. The two boys turn to face an old man.

"Sheriff Pierce," the man says, extending his hand gruffly, "and you are?"

Dean swallows uncomfortably. Not taking the man's hand, he pulls his badge out of his blazer pocket. Sam does the same. "Agents Henley and Jones. We're here investigating the murder of Cate Squire."

"Yeah," Sheriff Pierce says. "Real tragedy. First her broth'r, now her. Dad's a real wreck now."

Dean and Sam exchange looks. "Her brother?" Sam asks, frowning.

The sheriff rolls his eyes. "Yeah. Brother. Troy Squire. Mysteriously disappeared ten years ago, never found. Don't you guys know about this already, being FBI an' all?"

"Yeah," Dean affirms. "We were going to visit Mr. Squire now, Sheriff."

The sheriff nods, clearly not entirely believing the two boys. "Do I know you from somewhere, Agent Henley? You look really familiar."

Dean closes his eyes, thinking for a moment. Troy Squire, Troy Squire, he thinks to himself, where have I heard that before? Suddenly, Dean remembers. Aw, hell.

"No," Dean says, a little to quickly for Sam's taste. "I don't think we have met before." Dean looks at his watch. "Now, if you'll excuse me, Agent Jones and I were about to be on our way," he says, sending a pointed glare towards his brother.

The sheriff smirks and walks off.

"What the hell, Dean? He could have given us some real insight!" Sam whispers, voice hushed.

Dean rolls his eyes. "Dude. Does the name Troy Squire sound at all familiar to you?" At Sam's blank face, Dean shakes his head. "Constance Welsh. Woman in White. Nine years ago!"

Suddenly, Sam's eyes widen. "Oh, God. Was that…" his voice trails off.

Dean takes a deep, sharp breath. "Five-o," he mumbles. "What do you think? Brother gank his sis?"

Sam nods. "But why?"

"I don't know. But we gotta find out."

Sam and Dean stay in the town for a few more days, and they question the father, Amy Hein (who had lost the heavy eyeliner and hair streaks, and exchanged them for a husband and a one-year-old), Cate's longtime boyfriend, as well as many of Troy and Cate's friends. But yet, nothing turned up.

"So get this," Sam says, sitting down on the motel bed. Irony is, they were in the same room as they had been nine years ago, and there were still little bits of salt stuck behind the bed.

"Yeah," Dean asks gruffly, sitting on the bed opposite his younger brother. "What gives?"

Sam sighs, turning the laptop and showing Dean a photo of an old forest. "Some kids were playing in the woods few weeks back, and they found a bloody necklace. DNA results matched to Troy Squire."

"Great," Dean exclaims. "We salt and burn it, and the son of a bitch goes bye-bye."

Sam sighs. "Not that easy. See, problem is, it was stolen from the police station. Wanna guess when?"

"Night of sister's death," Dean says, looking down at his feet. Sam nods. "Well, damn," Dean says angrily. "Now they're mobile."

"Yep," Sam says dejectedly, thinking back to the time that Bobby stole the flask and snuck into Roman Industries. "So what now?"

"Salt and burn the sis, and keep on moving. He's gotta have motive somewhere. Maybe… I don't know," Dean says, looking down. "I don't know why he's rising, I don't know why he's doing this, I don't even know if it's him for cryin' out loud! It's only a hunch!"

"But there's no one else dead in her family. No one else who has had contact with the Winchesters that she knows are dead! Dean, it's obviously him and it obviously is involved with us. I know you like to think that we save more than we kill, that we're heroes, but open your eyes, Dean!" Suddenly, Sam was cut off by the police scanner.

"187 near Lost Creek Trail, Blackwater Ridge, Colorado. Special circumstances, serial message left with unidentified subject. 11-10."

Dean paled. "Wendigo," he mumbles, remembering the incident with Tommy Collins from nine years ago.

Sam immediately picks up the radio. "10-4," he says superficially into the speaker, letting them know he's taking care of it, and a beep answers him, saying his message was received.

"Let's go."

For most of the ride, the boys sit in silence. But, as they cross the Colorado state border, Sam has an idea.

"Dean, where were some of the big cases that you and Dad worked while I was in Stanford?" he asks, pulling his laptop out of his bag.

"Uh, we got a werewolf coven in Toledo, a rugaru in Stoneridge, a skinwalker in Fallbrook, a shtriga in New Orleans—"

"Okay, Dean, that's enough," Sam says, motioning his brother silent. Dean rolls his eyes and turns back to the wheel.

Sam takes a deep breath. "One in Boulder?" he asks.

Dean nods. "Djinn," he says, a hint of pride in his voice.

"Graceville?"

Dean frowns, nodding. "Ghoul," he mumbles.

"Oh, God. Dean, there are hundreds of these. It's something of a mystery to the feds. Callin' him the 'Teardrop Killer' because he's evaded them for ten years, leaving only—"

"A single black tear, down the cheek," Dean finishes.

"Yeah," Sam says, looking dismayed. "And you say you've worked cases in all of these places?"

"Yeah."

"Dean, what do we do?" Sam asks.

Dean sighs. "I don't know. I guess… I guess we head to Blackwater Ridge. Start there," he says reluctantly.

"Okay."

After a few minutes, Sam falls asleep in the passenger seat. In his dream, he's back in Hell. The faces, the ghosts that he knew surround him, everyone he loves is taking a swing, and Sam is begging for them to stop. He finds himself sobbing, pleading like a child, just hoping and hoping his father will stop.

"You were the accident, the mistake that was never supposed to be born!" his dad snaps, swinging the belt, hitting Sam across the chest. Now, Sam Winchester has taken a lot of crap in his life, and not just from his dad. He's been shot, been to Hell, Purgatory, been personally tortured by more demons than he cares to count, Lucifer himself included. But this belt, this belt, not made of spikes, or poison, or anything lethal, just the leather belt, was what broke him.

This was the side of himself that Sam prefers to hide from Dean. He's seen what Hell did to his brother. Hell broke Dean. So, when Sam went to Hell, he knew how much it hurt his brother to know that he was in there for one hundred years. One hundred years of torture, not from Alastair, but from Lucifer. If 4 months of classic Hell broke Dean, who knows what a year of cage Hell did to Sam. Because, as much as Sam needed someone to talk to about what happened down there, he knew how guilty his brother felt about leaving him down there. He knew he couldn't add to the pile of misery that was Dean Winchester.

So Sam keeps quiet. Plays it off that he couldn't really remember, that it was kind of hazy. Of course, at first, this was true, but sometime while Sam was in Purgatory, the memories came back, sharp and clear. And they hurt more than anything.

"Dean was a good son. Dean was loyal. Dean actually cared about family. You were just the selfish little brat that was never meant to exist." John takes another swing, but a hand catches his.

"Now, now, John, there's no reason to damage the meat. Not before the big finish, anyway," a new voice says. Sam may not have been able to see the face, but he knew that voice better than anything. A burning fury filled his veins, giving him the strength to speak strongly again.

"Azazel," he spits, hazel eyes coming into contact with yellow.

The elder demon smiles. "Hello, Sam. It's so good to see you again."

Suddenly, the faces surrounding them are gone, and it's just Sam and Azazel, face to face.

"What do you mean, 'big finish'?" Sam asks, trying to keep his head straight.

Azazel chuckles softly. "Now, Sam, I need you to listen, and I need you to listen closely. Okay? When you wake up, I want you to give your big brother a message for me. I want you to tell him that I'm coming, 'kay? Can you do that for me, Sam? Can you tell him I'll be there soon?"

Sam goes extremely pale, his eyes wide. Azazel simply laughs, and all goes black.