Bleeding Inward

by IMTheresa

Sam and Dean have to find a way to deal with their father's death.

This story was written and published a few years ago. It's set just after John's death and some old friends, who were new at the time, make appearances. But, as always with my stories, the focus is on the brothers. I hope you enjoy this trip back in time...no angel power needed!

oooOOOooo

To spare oneself from grief at all cost can be achieved only at the price of total detachment, which excludes the ability to experience happiness

~Erich Fromm ~

oooOOOooo

"I said I'm fine, Sam!"

And with that, Dean Winchester stalked out of the bar. Sam quickly threw some money on the table and followed, not at all sure Dean wouldn't take off in the car without him. He got outside and, hearing the growl of the Impala's engine, quickened his step. Sam had barely gotten the door closed when Dean stepped on the gas.

Sam knew that his brother wasn't fine. Dean had always been a shoot first and ask questions later kind of guy, but he'd grown even more reckless following the death of their father nearly two months before. Of course Dean, being Dean, refused to talk about it and Sam was increasingly worried about him.

As soon as they'd burned their father's body, it was if he'd never existed. Dean wouldn't talk about him and insisted he was okay. Sam knew that was impossible. Even with the problems in their relationship, Sam missed the man. Dean had grown up worshipping him and doing everything he could to earn his respect. There was no way his death hadn't hurt Dean. Sam recognized the signs that Dean was freefalling, but he didn't know what to do about it.

The short ride back to Bobby Singer's salvage yard was quiet; the car filled with tension. That's how it was a lot these days, Sam thought sadly. Dean went through the motions; he watched movies, he drank, he had sex, and he worked on his car, but Sam was sure there was no real joy in his brother's life.

There had been no medical explanation for Dean's recovery. He'd been released from the hospital with practically nothing to heal even though he'd nearly bled to death in the cabin when their father had been possessed by the yellow-eyed demon, and was thrown from the Impala when it had been hit by the 18-wheeler. By all rights Dean should be dead, yet he wasn't. Their father's injuries hadn't been very severe, yet he had died in the hospital. Sam suspected that was by design, but he hadn't been able to bring the idea up to Dean.

Back at Bobby's, Dean went upstairs and Sam heard a door slam. He stood at the foot of the stairs, considering his options, when he heard the shower start. He turned around and went to the kitchen.

"What the hell is going on?" Bobby growled from his spot at the table. Instead of the usual pile of dusty books in front of him, he had a stack of auto parts catalogs.

Sam sat across from him, absently thumbing through one of the publications. "Nothing."

"That was an awful loud nothing."

Sam and Dean had been staying with Bobby since Dean was released from the hospital. The task of rebuilding the Impala was not a simple one since finding the right parts was daunting. Bobby was helping as best he could by pouring over the catalogs and tapping other sources.

Sam tossed the book aside and leaned back in his chair. "I tried to get Dean to talk to me."

"Oh."

"I don't know what to do, Bobby."

"How about letting him be for a while? He'll come to you in his own time, Sam."

"I guess," Sam said, unconvinced. He looked at the table. "You find anything?"

"Maybe. I'll make some calls tomorrow."

Sam nodded. "I'm gonna go to bed."

"You two gonna be okay in the same room, or should I get you stuff make up the couch?" Bobby's house wasn't small, but most of the rooms were filled with books. When it became obvious that the Winchester boys would be with him for a while, he'd managed to clean out a bedroom and he brought in a couple twin beds for them.

"We'll be fine," Sam assured him, not at all sure that was true.

Upstairs, Sam paused outside the bathroom door, listening to the running water. After a moment, he continued to the bedroom and stripped down to a t-shirt and boxers before slipping under the covers.

He knew better than to try to get Dean to have a serious, potentially emotional, conversation in public, and that hadn't really been his intention. Nonetheless, he should have seen Dean's blow-up coming when the topic turned to Dean's reaction to their father's death.

After a few minutes of staring at the bedroom ceiling, Sam could hear Dean coming down the hallway. Dean didn't say anything when he came into the room, and Sam noticed that he didn't even so much glance in his direction. Dean pulled clean clothes from the duffle bag next to his bed and was under the blankets not long after.

Bobby's house was in a rural area, and their bedroom faced away from the lights of the salvage yard, so when Dean flipped off the lamp and the room was plunged into complete darkness. Sam could hear the squeak of the bedsprings and the rustle of the sheets as Dean got settled. He didn't expect his brother to say anything, and was contemplating an apology when Dean surprised him.

"Sam?"

"Yeah?"

"I'm fine, okay?"

Sam appreciated the gesture, but he heard the plaintive tone of his brother's voice. He didn't think that Dean really believed what he'd said, though he desperately wanted to. Sensing a chink in the armor that his brother normally wore, Sam considered trying to get him to talk again, but suspected it would only end in another fight.

"Okay, Dean."

oooOOOooo

Dean's bed was empty when Sam woke up the next morning. He got dressed and went downstairs, finding Bobby alone in the kitchen. He was on the phone, so Sam only nodded at him as he poured a cup of coffee.

"Yeah, I'll hold," Sam heard Bobby grumble a few moments later. He turned from the window, where he'd been staring at nothing in particular. "Dean's outside with his car."

"I figured."

"He didn't talk much. He didn't eat, either."

Sam sat down across from his friend, but he didn't say anything. Bobby moved the telephone receiver to his other ear. "You don't seem to be handling things any better than your brother.'

"I guess I'm not."

"It's a rough time."

Sam was about to say something else, when Bobby's attention went back to his phone call. He listened to Bobby's side of the conversation about some car part or another, but when it became obvious the call would go on for a while, Sam took his coffee and went back to the bedroom.

After towing the ruined Impala back to his salvage yard, Bobby had cleaned it out. He'd put all of John's things into a box for the boys, and neither one had gone through it yet. Once he told the brothers, Sam mentioned to Dean that he wanted them to go through it together, but Dean had expressed no interest.

Sam had thought that Dean would change his mind once the wound wasn't so fresh, but Sam wasn't sure that Dean hadn't moved even further away from wanting to do it. Dean was spending all of his time working on the Impala. Even when he ran out of new parts, he'd go back over everything he'd already done. Sam knew that Dean was avoiding him, avoiding talking about their father and their plans, but Sam needed to talk.

After putting the coffee cup on the dresser, Sam opened the closet door. He'd put the box on the shelf so it would be out of the way, and now he stared at it as if it were alive. He had no idea what was inside, other than a bad of clothes. His father's journal was safe in his own duffle bag, but Sam realized he didn't even know his father well enough to even guess what kinds of things he might travel with.

Steeling himself, Sam reached for the box, then set it on his bed. He pulled the duffle bag out, and seeing a sealed plastic bag at the bottom of the box, he set the luggage on the floor. He assumed the bag contained items that had been taken from him at the hospital, and he reached for it slowly. Sam glanced toward the hall, hoping to see his brother standing in the doorway, but he was alone.

Sam quickly looked through his dad's wallet, but there was nothing of particular interest. Besides, he'd already spotted the cell phone.

oooOOOooo

Sam found Dean under his car. Dean had already done a lot of work on it, and it looked better, but Sam knew he'd only scratched the surface. There was a lot more to do.

"How's the car coming along?" Sam asked as he stared down at Dean's legs, which were sticking out from under the Impala.

"Slow," Dean responded. He didn't sound angry, which is what Sam realized he'd been expecting. He didn't sound particularly inviting either, though.

"Yeah? Need any help?"

Sam heard him drop something that sounded heavy. "You under a hood? I'll pass."

"Need anything else then?" Sam asked hesitantly.

Dean pushed himself out from under the car and stood up. "Stop it, Sam."

"Stop what?"

"Stop asking me if I need anything. Stop asking if I'm okay. I'm okay. Really. I promise."

"All right, Dean. It's just….We've been here for a couple of weeks now and you haven't brought up Dad once."

"You know what? You're right. Come here, I'm gonna lay my head gently on your shoulder. Maybe we can cry, hug. Maybe we can even slow dance." Dean's tone was acerbic.

"Don't patronize me, Dean. Dad is dead, the Colt is gone, and it seems pretty damn likely that the demon is behind all of this. You're acting like nothing happened!"

"What do you want me to say?"

"Say something, all right? Hell, say anything! Aren't you angry? Don't you want revenge? But all you do is sit out here all day, buried underneath this damn car."

"Revenge, huh?"

"Yeah!"

"Sounds good. You got any leads on where the demon is? Making heads or tails of any of Dad's research? Because I sure ain't. But you know, if we do finally find it….Oh, no, wait. Like you said, the Colt's gone. But I'm sure you've figured out another way to kill it." Dean spewed angrily. "We've got nothing, Sam. Nothing, okay? So, you know the only thing I can do is work on the car."

"Well, we've got something, all right?" He pulled out the cell phone he'd found in the box before Dean could get back under the car. "It's what I came out here to tell you. This is one of Dad's old phones. It took me a while, but I cracked his voicemail code. Listen to this."

Sam handed the phone to Dean, who took it reluctantly.

Dean listened to the message, then looked at Sam. "That message is four months old."

"Dad saved that chick's message for four months?" Dean sounded surprised.

"Yeah."

"Well, who's Ellen? Any mention of her in Dad's journal?"

"No, but I ran a trace on her phone number and I got an address."

Dean looked around, then back to Sam. "Ask Bobby if we can use one of his cars."

oooOOOooo

The brothers headed off to the Nebraska address Sam had found, where they met Ellen Harvelle and her daughter, Jo. Once she realized who they were, and that John was dead, she tried to be a friend to them, but Dean wasn't interested.

He made a half-hearted attempt to flirt with Jo, a pretty young blonde, but he wasn't really interested and ended up backing away from her. If he'd been thinking clearly, he would have realized that it probably wasn't a great idea to seduce the daughter of someone who said his dad had been like family once.

Ellen told the brothers that her bar, the Harvelle Roadhouse, was sometimes a refuge for hunters. They'd eat, drink, and sometimes share information. She often passed along things she heard, which was how the brothers came to find out about the murders in a nearby town.

The found a traveling carnival was at the heart of the killings or, more correctly, the owner of the carnival. They suspected a cursed object was involved because there had been similar murders 20 years before, but what they found instead was an ancient Hindu creature called a Rakshasa. They only needed to feed a few times every 20 to 30 years, so the time in between killings made sense.

Amid angry arguments, the brothers found and killed the beast, and then headed back to the Roadhouse.

oooOOOooo

Dean didn't mind when Sam fell asleep a few miles outside of town. He knew the job had been distracting him from their last argument, but he also knew he'd hurt Sam's feelings. Tired of Sam trying to get him to talk about their father, Dean had wanted to turn the tables. He lashed out, accusing Sam of belated obedience to their dad after spending his life fighting with him. Dean felt bad for hurting Sam, but thought that his words had probably given him something to think about.

Back at Bobby's, the brothers cleaned up and went to bed. They hadn't gotten much sleep in the last several days, and didn't wake up until late the next morning. Dean was grateful for Bobby's presence and he asked them detailed questions about the job as they ate. It was just something else to keep him and Sam from having to talk.

Bobby had tracked down some more parts for him, and Dean was back at work on the car before noon. It wasn't long after that he noticed Sam pacing nearby.

"You were right," Sam said suddenly.

"About what?" Dean asked, not looking at him.

"About me and dad. I'm sorry that the last time I was with him I tried to pick a fight. I'm sorry that I spent most of my life angry at him. I mean, for all I know, he died thinking that I hate him. So you're right. What I'm doing right now, it's too little. It's too late." Sam looked at his brother. "I miss him, man. And I feel guilty as hell. And I'm not all right. Not at all. But neither are you. That much I know."

Dean met his eyes, but he couldn't bring himself to say anything. He saw Sam's resignation. "I'll let you get back to work."

As Sam walked away, Dean could literally feel himself crack. Every nerve was raw, and it was almost as if his skin had been peeled away, leaving him exposed to everything. He stood completely still as despair washed over him like a tidal wave. He wanted to cry out; he wanted to make someone or something hurt like he did.

Without thinking, but still somehow in perfect control, Dean picked up a crowbar and smashed the window of a nearby car. Surprised at how good it felt, he turned the crowbar on the trunk of the Impala. He didn't know if he was really attacking his father or his brother, but he kept hitting the car over and over again.

Then, as suddenly as the rage had taken him over, it was gone. He dropped the crowbar and it clattered to the ground. He looked toward the direction Sam had gone, feeling his lips tremble. He wasn't sure what he wanted to happen next. He didn't think Sam had gotten far enough away not to have heard the noise, but he didn't know if he wanted Sam to acknowledge it, or just let it go.

Dean was tired. Not physically, though beating the car had taken a lot out of him, but emotionally. He just wanted to curl up and sleep forever; or at least until the pain had subsided. Tragedy was supposed to bring people closer together, but losing their father had pushed the brothers apart. That hurt almost as much as the loss itself, and when that thought occurred to Dean, he fell to the ground. He leaned against his ruined car and closed his eyes.

A few minutes later he felt a calm come over him. The pain was still there, but it was in the background. He couldn't have explained it better than that if he was forced, and when he opened his eyes, he saw Sam sitting next to him. Sam must have sensed Dean looking at him. "Hey."

"Hey," Dean whispered.

"Did that help?" Sam asked, no accusation in his voice.

"Kinda." He saw Sam nod. "Wanna take a shot?"

Sam chuckled. "No, thanks.'

They sat in a comfortable silence for a few minutes. "I'm sorry, Sam."

"What for?"

"Pushing you away."

"I'm still here, man."

"Yeah. Thanks for that."

"We're family."

"I don't know what to do with all this, ya know?"

"I know."

"You can't make up to Dad now, Sammy, but I can guarantee you that he didn't think you hated him."

"You think?"

"I know."

"How?" Sam's voice cracked, and he looked very much like a little boy that needed reassurance.

Dean had no intention of telling Sam about the last conversation he'd had with their father; about the secret he had revealed. "I just know."

Sam seemed satisfied with that.

"Looks like I have more work to do on the car," Dean said after another silence. "Wanna help?"

Sam turned to him, surprise evident on his face. "Yeah, absolutely."

oooOOOooo

"I got good news," Bobby said when he joined the brothers a few hours later. If he saw the new damage to the Impala, he didn't mention it. "I found a guy about five hours away who has a '67 Impala in his garage. It was his dad's and it's just been wasting away. He's willing to sell it as is for not a lot of money. I thought I'd head over tomorrow morning and take a look."

Dean wiped his hands on a rag he'd pulled from his back pocket. "That's great, Bobby. I'll go with you."

"Damn straight you will." Bobby's tone had its usual gruffness, but there was no anger. He looked from Dean to Sam, then back again. "How's it going out here?"

"It's good," Dean said. "You know, as good as it can be."

"Uh-huh," Bobby slowly walked around the car, stopping at the open hood. Most of the components had been too damaged to use, so practically everything had been stripped out. "So, look, uh, I was thinking we could all go into town tonight for some real food. You boys up for a steak?"

"Yeah," Sam said. "That sounds great, Bobby."

The old man nodded. "Best get cleaned up, then."

The brothers put away what needed to be, then followed Bobby back to the house. They'd not talked much about their trip to Nebraska, or the people they'd met there, but Sam wanted to. He thought about doing it over dinner, but not if it would make Dean uncomfortable. As it turned out, Dean brought it up himself.

They'd just ordered their meals when Dean cleared his throat and leaned forward, like he was going to talk about something confidential and didn't want anyone to overhear. "Bobby, do you know Ellen Harvelle?"

Sam looked at him in surprise, but said nothing.

"I never met her, but I know of her," Bobby said. He reached for his beer and took what Sam thought was a long swallow.

"She said Dad was like family once."

Bobby nodded, but said nothing.

"You know something."

"Not really."

"Bull."

Bobby gave Dean a hard look.

"She wanted to help with the demon," Dean said.

"All I know is that her husband was a hunter. He and your dad worked together sometimes."

"What happened to him?"

Bobby shrugged. "Same thing that happens to a lot of hunters."

"Was Dad involved?"

"I don't know."

Sam watched his brother closely. He clearly didn't believe Bobby, but if the older man didn't want to talk, nothing would make him. It suddenly occurred to Sam that Bobby was a lot like their father and that was probably why Dean related to him so well. But he was also different than their father, which was why Sam related to him.

"Your dad met Ellen and Bill Harvelle though Jim," Bobby continued after a moment. "It was before he and I knew each other."

Dean put a hand on his glass of beer, but didn't pick it up. "He never told you what happened?"

"Your dad knew a lot of people, Dean. I don't know everything about all of them."

Dean seemed satisfied. "She seems like a good contact to have."

"Probably so. I imagine she gets a lot of information from the hunters that come through her place."

"Uh-huh. You have a lot of good contacts."

Bobby sighed. "You gettin' at something, boy?"

Dean seemed to reconsider his position. "No."

"Didn't think so," Bobby grunted.

Sam looked from Bobby to his brother. It wasn't like Dean to beat around the bush, or to back down from anyone but their father, but yet he'd done both in a matter of moments. Considering what happened earlier, though, Sam wasn't entirely surprised that Dean wasn't acting quite like himself.

The tension that had arisen dissipated once the food arrived at the table. For a while, the men were more interested in eating than talking, but once the conversation started up again, it was amicable.

oooOOOooo

Sam hadn't planned to go with Dean and Bobby the next morning, but when Dean specifically asked him to come along, Sam had changed his mind. He thought it curious that just a few days before, Dean was looking for ways to avoid him and now he didn't even want to be separated for a few hours.

There was only intermittent conversation in Bobby's truck as he drove east. Sam started to regret not staying behind, but he kept reminding himself that his company had seemed important to Dean. He spent most of the drive reading while Dean and Bobby occasionally discussed car repair options.

Bobby parked outside the address he'd been given on the phone. Daryl Jenkins was waiting for them on the porch of the Victorian style home. He'd told Bobby the car had not been driven since his father's death nearly five years before, but his mother had insisted on keeping it. She'd occasionally start it, but it hadn't been maintained. After her death a few weeks before, he'd listed the car in the local paper.

Sam stood in the background while Bobby and Dean looked over the car. He thought the better plan would be to fix this one up rather than Dean's car, but knew his brother would never go for that. If he had to strip this one down and install everything in his car, that's what he'd do. He also knew that Dean would agree to any price Mr. Jenkins named, so he was glad that Bobby handled the negotiation once they were sure the car would at least run.

"Hey, Sammy, you wanna drive?"

Sam tried to hide his surprise. "Yeah, sure."

"I'll follow behind in case something happens," Bobby said.

"We'll be fine," Dean said. "How about we go to that diner we passed about an hour back?"

Bobby nodded. "All right."

Sam nodded to Bobby, then got behind the wheel of the car. It took him a few miles to get used to it. Even though it was the exact same year and model as the car he'd grown up with, it was completely different.

"You okay?" Sam asked, glancing at his brother and seeing his head resting on the back of the seat.

"Yeah, just…." Dean straightened up. "I miss my car."

Sam smiled. "You'll get it fixed up."

"Yeah. You think it will feel the same?"

Sam looked at him for a moment. "I don't know."

"Probably not," Dean conceded.

"You sure you want to rebuild it, then?"

"She was Dad's car before it was mine."

"Dean, man, you love that car. I know you do. And that has nothing to do with Dad."

"I remember the night he gave her to me."

"Your 18th birthday," Sam said.

Dean nodded. "Yeah. 'Course he didn't get another car for a year, so he still drove her most of the time, but still…."

Sam stole another glance and saw Dean smiling at the memory.

"I know what you're probably thinking, Sammy. This is a '67 Impala, too. Might be easier just to get this one fixed up."

"Gotta be honest with ya, that thought did cross my mind," Sam chuckled.

"Mine, too. But I want my car back."

"Then get your car back."

Dean scooted down again and rested his head on the back of the seat again. "I think I will."

oooOOOooo

Over the next couple of weeks, Dean worked diligently on his car. There were things he let Sam help with, but even when Sam wasn't working on the car with him, Dean wanted him nearby. Sam didn't mind since he felt it was much better than when Dean was trying to avoid him. It was odd, though, more so since they were in as safe a place as they could be. They weren't on a hunt, and if some supernatural creature did happen to find Bobby's place, there were any number of weapons that would get rid of it.

Dean still wasn't ready to talk, but he seemed more centered. Sam figured his new outlook had to do with beginning to come to terms with their father's death as well as the progress he was making on the Impala. And once it was back in full working order, they left Bobby's to investigate a series of murders and cattle mutilations in Red Lodge, Montana. During the hunt, Sam started to worry about his brother all over again.

oooOOOooo

After lying their way into the morgue, the brothers were surprised to discover that one of the murder victims was a vampire. That night they went to a bar in town to ask some questions and ended up meeting Gordon Walker, a vampire hunter. He told them that he'd heard of them and that he'd met their father once. Dean's reaction was the first hint that he was still hurting, but Sam let it go.

Gordon told Sam and Dean that he'd killed a vampire in Austin and tracked the nest to Red Lodge, then he unceremoniously declined their offer to help kill the rest of them. Alone in their motel room later, the brothers talked about it, and decided to stick with the hunt despite what Gordon had said.

They poked around the next day and the information they found led them to a mill that night. They got there in time to see Gordon struggling near an electric saw with what they assumed was a vampire. The vampire managed to switch the saw on and pinned Gordon below it. Sam rushed forward and pulled Gordon to safety while Dean attacked the vampire. As Sam watched in sick fascination, Dean held the vampire under the saw and decapitated him, getting splashed with blood in the process.

"So, uh, I guess I owe you a drink," Gordon said after several moments of silence.

Sam tore his eyes away from his brother to look at Gordon, but when Dean didn't move, Sam turned his attention back to Dean.

"Hey," he said, standing next to him. "We, uh, we gotta take care of the body."

Dean seemed to shake himself. "Yeah."

It didn't take long with the three of them working together, and once it was done, they went to the bar where they'd first met.

When the waitress brought a second round, Dean reached for his wallet, but Gordon stopped him. "No, no. I got it."

"Come on," Dean smiled.

"I insist," he said then handed the waitress a few bills. "Thank you, sweetie." As she walked away, he raised his shot glass. "Another one bites the dust."

"That's right," Dean said, raising his own glass. He felt tense, but was doing his best to appear relaxed. After downing the shot, he glanced at Sam who was sitting back in his chair, arms folded over his chest. He turned his attention back to Gordon.

"You gave that big-ass fang one hell of a haircut, my friend."

"Thank you," Dean smiled.

"That was beautiful. Absolutely beautiful."

Dean looked at his brother. He knew Sam was worried. Again. He also thought there might be a good reason for his concern, but he was in no mood for Sam's attitude. "You all right, Sammy?"

"I'm fine," he replied with his jaw set.

"Well, lighten up a little, Sammy," Gordon laughed.

Sam nodded toward his brother. "He's the only one who gets to call me that."

Dean snorted.

"Okay. No offense meant. Just celebrating a little. Job well done."

"Right. Well, decapitations aren't my idea of a good time, I guess."

"Oh come one, man. It's not like it was human. You gotta have a little more fun with your job."

"See, that's what I've been trying to tell him," Dean turned to Sam. "You could learn a thing or two from this guy."

"Yeah, I bet I could. Look, I'm not gonna bring you guys down. I'm just gonna go back to the motel."

"You sure?" Dean asked. He was not at all happy his brother was going to leave, but couldn't bring himself to ask Sam to stay.

"Yeah."

Dean dug the keys out of his pocket. Purely for Gordon's benefit, he tossed them to Sam with an insult. "Sammy? Remind me to beat that buzzkill out of you later, all right?"

Sam said nothing as he walked away, and Dean silently apologized to him. Once Sam was gone, Dean shook of his sadness. He and Gordon started to share stories over even more alcohol.

"I was still a kid when I got my first kill," Dean continued his story. "It was with a crossbow. I hit that ugly sucker with a silver-tipped arrow right in his heart. Sammy's waiting in the car, and uh, me and my dad take the thing into the woods. Burned it to a crisp. I'm sitting there and looking into the fire. I'm thinking to myself, I'm 16 years old and most kids my age are worried about pimples, prom dates. I'm seeing things that they'll never even know. Never even dream of. So, right then, I just sort of –"

"Embraced the life?" Gordon guessed.

Dean nodded. "Yeah."

"Yeah," Gordon agreed with a smile.

"How'd you get started?"

Dean listened as Gordon explained how he and his sister had been home alone when he was 18. He'd heard the window break in her room, and afraid it was a burglar, he got his dad's gun.

"I ran into her room, tried to get it off of her. Too late. So, I shoot the damn thing, which, of course, is about as useful as snapping it with a rubber band. It rushes me, picks me up, flings me across the room. Knocks me out cold, and when I wake up, the vampire's gone. My sister's gone."

"And then?" Dean asked in a fascinated whisper.

"Then…" Gordon snorted. "Try explaining that one to your family. So, I left and bummed around looking for information. Wanted to know how you track 'em, how you kill 'em. And I found that fang. It was my first kill."

"Sorry about your sister."

"Yeah. She was beautiful. I can still see her, you know? The way she was. But hey, that was a long time ago." Gordon looked at Dean, seemingly shaking himself back into the present. "I mean, your dad. That's gotta be rough."

Dean felt a sudden need to talk about his father. He wished Sam was there, but was also glad that he wasn't.

"Yeah. He was just one of those guys. Took some terrible beatings, just kept coming." Dean stared at nothing. "So you're always thinking to yourself, he's indestructible. He'll always be around, nothing can kill my dad. Then just like that, he's gone. I can't talk about this to Sammy. You know, I gotta keep my game face on." Dean cleared his throat. "But, uh, the truth is, I'm not handling it very well. I feel like I have this…."

"Hole inside you?" Gordon guessed. "And it just gets bigger and bigger and darker and darker? Good. You can use it. Keeps you hungry. Trust me, there's plenty out there that needs killing and this'll help you do it. Dean's it's not a crime to need your job."

Dean felt a kinship to the vampire hunter, but he still felt somehow guilty that he was sharing his pain with this stranger instead of with Sam. Back at Bobby's, he'd felt better. He'd felt closer to Sam and he thought they were working through their issues. But once they'd gotten into this hunt….Dean realized he'd just needed to kill something.

"Know why I love this life?" Gordon said, bringing Dean out of his thoughts.

"Hmmm?"

"It's all black and white. There's no maybe. You find the bad thing, kill it. See, most people spend their lives in shades of gray. Is this right? Is that wrong? Not us."

"Not sure Sammy would agree with you, but uh…"

"Doesn't seem like your brother's much like us."

Dean started at him, startled and feeling a need to defend his brother.

"I'm not saying he's wrong, just different. But you and me? We were born to do this. It's in our blood."

Dean knew Sam had only come back into hunting because the demon that had killed their mother came after his girlfriend. Sam had never enjoyed hunting like Dean had, so maybe Gordon was right. All Dean knew right now was that he wanted to be with Sam, but when they got back to the motel, he was gone.

After their night of drinking, Gordon was willing to let Dean help attack the nest, and they spent some time talking about location and strategy.

"What time is it?" Dean asked later, looking at his watch with worry. "Where is Sam?"

"Car's parked outside," Gordon said. "Probably went for a walk. Seems like the take-a-walk type."

"Yeah, he is, but…" his words trailed off as the door opened. Dean was relieved when Sam walked in, but didn't miss his look of annoyance toward Gordon.

"Where you been?" Dean asked. He felt the uncharacteristic need to rush forward and hug his brother, but he kept up his front.

"Can I talk to you alone?" Sam didn't even acknowledge Gordon's presence.

Dean glanced at Gordon. "You mind chillin' out for a couple minutes?"

Gordon shrugged and Dean followed his brother outside.

"Dean, maybe we've got to rethink this hunt."

"What are you talking about? Where were you?"

"In the nest."

Dean was shocked. "You found it?"

Sam shook his head. "They found me, man."

"How'd you get out? How many did you kill?"

"None."

"Well, Sam, they didn't just let you go."

"That's exactly what they did."

Dean's surprise became disbelief. "All right, well, where is it?"

"I was blindfolded. I don't know."

"Well, you've got to know something." Dean had a feeling that Sam was holding back for some reason.

"We went over that bridge outside of town, but Dean, listen. Maybe we shouldn't go after them."

"Why not?" Dean was incredulous.

"I don't think they're like other vampires. I don't think they're killing people."

"You're joking," Dean scoffed. "Then how do they stay alive? Or undead, or whatever the hell they are?"

"The cattle mutilations. They said they live off animal blood."

"And you believed them?"

"Look at me, Dean. They let me go without a scratch."

Dean didn't see any sign of injury on his brother, but his mind was reeling. Good vampires? It didn't make sense. "Wait, so you're saying…No, man. No way. I don't know why they let you go. I don't really care. We find 'em, we waste 'em."

"Why?" Sam demanded.

Dean felt a sudden anger. "What part of vampires don't you understand, Sam? If it's supernatural, we kill it. End of story. That's our job."

"No, Dean, that's not our job," Sam disagreed. "Our job is hunting evil. And if these things aren't killing people, they're not evil!"

"Of course they're killing people. That's what they do. They're all the same, Sam. They're not human, okay? We have to exterminate every last one of them." Dean said with a surety he wasn't sure he felt, but one that felt good nonetheless.

"No, Dean. I don't think so, all right? Not this time."

"Gordon's been on those vamps for a year, man. He knows."

"Gordon?" Sam sneered.

"Yes."

"You're taking his word for it?"

"That's right."

"Ellen says he's bad news."

"You called Ellen?" Dean growled and Sam nodded. "And I'm supposed to listen to her? We barely know her, Sam. No thanks. I'll go with Gordon."

"Right. 'Cuz Gordon is such an old friend," Sam shook his head. "You don't' think I can see what this is?"

"What are you talking about?" Dean tried to sound angry, but inside he was shaking.

"He's a substitute for Dad, isn't he? A poor one."

"Shut up, Sam."

"He's not even close, Dean. Not on his best day."

"You know what? I'm not even going to talk about this."

"You know, you slap on this big fake smile, but I can see right through it. I know how you feel, Dean. Dad's dead. And he left a hole. And it hurts so bad you can't take it, but you can't just fill that hole up with whoever you want to. It's an insult to his memory."

Dean was suddenly seething. Normally he was grateful that his brother knew him so well, but right now it made him angry. He hated how close to the truth Sam had gotten. He started to turn, but he couldn't just walk away. He didn't want to do it, but he couldn't stop himself, and before he realized what he was going to do, he'd punched Sam in the face.

Sam slowly turned back to his brother. "You hit me all you want. It won't change anything."

"I'm going to the nest," Dean said, his voice low. You don't want to tell me where it is, fine. I'll find it myself."

Dean walked away, knowing Sam was following him. They got to the motel room and found Gordon was gone.

"You think he went after the vampires?" Sam asked.

"Yeah."

"Well, we have to stop him."

Dean glared at him. "Really, Sam? Because I say we lend a hand."

"Just give me the benefit of the doubt, would you? You owe me that."

Dean knew he did, but he couldn't quite admit it. "Yeah, we'll see. I'll drive. Give me the keys."

He followed Sam's gaze to where he'd left the keys, but they were gone.

"He snaked the keys," Sam said.

"I can't believe this," Dean said as he hot-wired his car. "I just fixed her up, too. So, the bridge? That's all you got?"

"The bridge was four and a half minutes form their farm."

Dean looked at him, surprised. "How do you know?"

"I counted," Sam said as he traced a path on the map that was in his lap. "They took a left out of the farm, then turned right onto a dirt road. Followed that for two minutes slightly up a hill, then took another quick right and we hit the bridge."

Dean was proud. "You're good. You're a monster pain in the ass, but you're good."

Dean wasn't surprised to find Gordon at the farm, but he felt sick at what he saw as he and Sam walked into the house. A female vampire was tied to a chair, covered in cuts; she was pale and looked sick. Gordon dipped a knife into a jar of blood and circled around her. He sliced the bloody knife across her chest and she gasped. It was then that Gordon saw the brothers. "Sam. Dean. Come on in." he invited.

"Hey, Gordon," Dean said carefully. "What's going on?"

"Oh, just poisoning Lenore here with some dead man's blood. She's going to tell us where all her little friends are." He looked at Dean. "Want to help? Grab a knife. I was just about to start on the fingers."

Dean watched as Gordon dragged the knife along her arm. "Whoa, whoa whoa. Hey, let's all just chill out, huh?"

"I'm completely chill," Gordon said, sounding frighteningly calm.

"Gordon, put the knife down," Sam said. He took a stop forward, but Dean put his hand on his chest.

"Sounds like it's Sam here needs to chill," Gordon looked at him.

"Just step away from her, all right?"

"You're right. I'm wasting my time here. This bitch will never talk. Might as well put her out of her misery," Gordon said as he took a few steps away and pulled a bigger knife from a bad he'd left on the counter. "I just sharpened it, so it's completely humane."

He turned toward the vampire, but Dean moved his hand from Sam and he stepped forward to block Gordon. "I'm letting her go."

Gordon pointed the knife at Sam's chest. "You're not doing a damn thing."

"Hey, hey, hey," Dean said seeing the point of the knife touch his brother's chest. "Gordon, let's talk about this."

"What's there to talk about? It's like I said, Dean. No shades of gray."

Dean had already begun to doubt that particular piece of wisdom. "Yeah, I hear ya. And I know how you feel."

"Do you?" Gordon said, still looking at Sam.

"That vampire that killed your sister deserved to die, but this one…"

"Killed my sister?" Gordon laughed. "That filthy fang didn't kill my sister. It turned her. It made her one of them. So, I hunter her down, and I killed her myself."

Dean felt as if the floor had fallen out from under him. "You did what?"

"It wasn't my sister anymore. It wasn't human. I didn't blink and neither would you."

Dean looked at Sam, unable to speak. Despite their father's warning that he might have to kill Sam, he couldn't imagine doing it.

"So you knew all along, then?" Sam asked. "You knew about the vampires, you knew they weren't killing anyone. You knew about the cattle, and you just didn't care."

"Care about what?" Gordon asked. "A nest of vampires suddenly acting nice? Taking a little time out from sucking innocent people? And we're supposed to buy that? Trust me, it doesn't change what they are and I can prove it."

He grabbed Sam's arm and sliced the knife across it, then laid the knife against his throat as he dragged him toward Lenore. Dean pulled his gun and pointed it at Gordon. "Let him go. Now!"

"Relax. If I wanted to kill him, he'd already be on the floor. I'm just making a little point." Gordon held the wound on Sam's arm over Lenore, and his blood dripped on her face. She hissed and her fangs extended.

"Hey!" Dean yelled, not sure at whom.

"You think she's so different?" Gordon taunted. "Still want to save her? Look at her! They're all the same. Evil. Bloodthirsty."

"No!" Lenore said. Her fangs retracted and she turned her face way.

"You hear her, Gordon?" Sam asked, tensely.

"No!" Lenore said again, sounding weak.

Sam managed to push Gordon away. "We're done here."

"Sam," Dean said to his brother. "Get her out of here."

"Yeah," Sam untied Lenore and picked her up.

Gordon took a step toward him, but Dean reminded him of the gun still pointed at him. "Uh-uh. Gordon, I think you and I've got some things to talk about."

"Get out of my way."

"Sorry."

"You're not serious," Gordon said, disbelief clear in his voice.

"I'm having a hard time believing it too, but I know what I saw. If you want those vampires, you're gotta go through me."

Gordon nodded, seeming to consider his options. He looked at the knife, then jammed it into the table. "Fine."

Dean looked at the knife, then at the gun. He pulled out the clip and set it aside. Gordon punched him and grabbed the knife. "What are you doing, man? You doing this for a fang? Come on, Dean, we're on the same side here."

Dean knew that wasn't true. He was confused, but he'd seen Lenore turn away from his brother even after being tortured by Gordon.. "I don't think so, you sadistic bastard."

Gordon threw him across the room. "You're not like your brother! You're a killer, like me!"

Dean kicked Gordon, and when he fell, Dean hauled him up against the wall and elbowed him in the face, knocking him out. He set the chair that had fallen over to rights, then tied Gordon to it. "You know, I might be like you, and I might not. But you're the one tied up right now."

With Gordon subdued, Dean felt calm again. It was similar to how he'd felt after beating his car with the crowbar. He thought it was normal after such an extreme phyiscal release, but it didn't occur to him that this time, like the last, he didn't feel completely alone. Yes, Sam had been with him before and Gordon was now, but it was more like something inside of him.

When Gordon regained consciousness, he remained silent. Dean didn't feel like taunting him or fighting with him, so they were quiet until Sam returned just after dawn. He reported that he'd helped Lenore and her friends get somewhere safe. Dean promised Gordon that they'd call someone to free him, then followed his brother out to the car.

"I wish we never took his job," Dean said. "It just…jacked everything up."

"What do you mean?" Sam asked him over the top of the Impala.

"Think about all the hunts we went on, Sammy. Our whole lives."

"Okay," Sam sounded confused.

"What if we killed things that didn't deserve killing? You know? I mean, the way Dad raised us…."

"Dean, after what happened to Mom….Dad did the best he could."

Dean wasn't used to Sam defending their father, but he agreed. "I know he did. But the man wasn't perfect. And the way he raised us, to hate those things; and man, I hate 'em. I do. When I killed that vampire at the mill I didn't even think about it; hell, I even enjoyed it."

"You didn't kill Lenore."

"No, but every instinct told me to. I was gonna kill her. I was gonna kill 'em all." Dean knew that was true, but he didn't know if it was because he was supposed to hate them, or because of the pain he still felt over his father's death. He wondered if it really even mattered.

"Yeah, Dean," Sam said with a kind voice. "But you didn't. And that's what matters."

"Yeah, well….'Cuz you're a pain in my ass."

Sam grinned. "Guess I might have to stick around to be a pain in the ass, then."

"Thanks," Dean said. He meant it. He'd been afraid that with the demon dead, Sam would want to go back to his normal life.

oooOOOooo

They didn't head back to Bobby's after leaving Red Lodge. Sam noticed that Dean seemed focused again, but there was still something just didn't seem right. He wanted to think he was just over-reacting, but instinct told him otherwise. He knew Dean better than he knew anyone, and Sam was worried.

They'd not been going anywhere in particular when Bobby called and asked them to help out a friend of his in Cheyenne, Wyoming. He'd happened upon a haunted warehouse, and had done all the research, but needed help digging up graves and salting bones. Sam had almost suggested they not get involved because their last two jobs had battered Dean emotionally, but he knew they couldn't turn Bobby down. Besides, it was a simple matter of providing some physical labor.

Sam knew that if he kept watching Dean so closely, not only would it serve to irritate his brother, everything he did would start to seem suspect. It had already begun to happen. When Dean didn't want to go out and drink, Sam was worried. When he did want to go out and drink, Sam was worried. He was also curious that Dean hadn't done any more than half-heartedly flirt with any of the pretty women they'd come across since their father's death.

He thought back to Dean's reaction to meeting Jo at the Roadhouse and the conversation he'd overheard about how normally Dean would be hitting on her. Sam knew he needed to give his brother some space, for his own sanity as well as for Dean's, but something told him there was more to the subtle personality changes that he'd noticed.

After finishing the job with Bobby's friend, the brothers headed out of Cheyenne. They stopped at a motel a few hours later, and both fell asleep almost immediately. Dean was already awake when Sam's eyes opened just after noon.

"How long have you been awake?" he asked, sitting up in bed.

"Not long," Dean said, glancing away from the computer screen. "I've only had half a cup of coffee."

Sam smiled, and tossed the covers aside.

"I've been thinking about something," Sam said when he came out of the bathroom a few minutes later and poured himself a cup of coffee.

"Oh, no," Dean said. "That's never good."

Sam smirked. "Bite me, Dean. I want to go to Mom's grave."

Dean looked at him, eyes wide. "What?"

"We're not that far away. It wouldn't take long."

"Why do you want to do that?"

Sam shrugged. "We've never been there. Dad never wanted to go."

"There wasn't anything left to bury," Dean said quietly.

"I know. But….look, if you don't want to go, I'll do it myself, but –"

"No," Dean said more quickly. "I don't want to split up."

Sam was curious about his reaction, but it wasn't totally unexpected. Lately, when they weren't fighting, Dean barely wanted to let Sam out of his sight.

Dean watched Sam kneel in front of their mother's grave, but he couldn't make himself move from the Impala. He knew that Sam was burying their father's dog tags near the headstone, even though there was no body there. There had been nothing left of their mother in the ruin of the nursery after the fire, and the headstone had been placed by an uncle neither he nor Sam had ever met. Their father never really talked about their mom's family. Or his own family for that matter.

Dean didn't want to be here, but he hadn't wanted to let Sam come alone. Even though Dean liked to play the big brother, he knew that Sam could take care of himself. It wasn't that he'd been worried that something would happen to Sam, but more that Dean was worried about what would happen to him. With Sam around, Dean felt whole; he felt safe. It was as if having Sam nearby somehow made the pain of their father's death less severe.

Except when they were working on a job. Dean's own reaction during the last two gigs hadn't escaped his notice. When they were working, he couldn't stop himself from pushing Sam away. Hell, trusting Gordon Walker over his own brother? Dean shook his head, his thoughts interrupted when he saw a dying tree nearby. He also noticed a perfect circle of dead grass with a headstone in the exact center. With a glance at Sam, who was still busy at their mother's grave, Dean moved forward then crouched down, touching the dead flowers in front of the marker.

"Dean?" Sam called as he walked toward him. "What's up?"

"Look around," Dean said and stood up. "Notice anything weird?"

Sam didn't want this trip to turn into a hunt. All he'd wanted was to visit their mother's grave and leave their father's Marine dog tags. He was afraid that another job would lead Dean back down a dark emotional path, and Sam just wasn't up for more fighting. He was also doubtful that they'd just stumbled on a gig in Lawrence, Kansas of all places. Sam had tried to talk Dean out of investigating further, but he'd given in when it became obvious that Dean's mind was set.

They found out that the grave belonged to Angela Mason, and her father was a professor at the local community college. Sam reluctantly agreed to pay him a visit, and they went to his office on campus. After introducing themselves as friends of his daughter's, he invited them in.

"She was beautiful," Sam said, looking at a picture of Angela.

"Yes, she was," her father agreed quietly.

"This is an unusual book," Dean said suddenly. Sam hadn't noticed that while he was looking through the photo album offered by Dr. Mason, his brother was thumbing through a book he'd found on a shelf near the door.

"It's Ancient Greek," Dr. Mason said. "I teach a course."

"So, a car accident," Dean began. "That's horrible."

"Angie was only a mile from home when –"

"It's gotta be hard," Dean interrupted him. "Losing someone like that. Sometimes it's like they're still around. Almost like you can still sense their presence. You ever feel anything like that?"

Sam looked at his brother, immediately on edge. He was starting to wonder if they'd ever be able to investigate a potential job without it affecting Dean so deeply. Sam took control of the conversation, and managed to get his brother out of the office only a few minutes later.

Later, after an argument that could have been worse, Dean stormed out of the motel room. He went to Angela's apartment where he met her roommate and also pocketed her diary. He also visited her boyfriend's apartment after discovering that he'd had died the night before from a slit throat. He found dead plants and even dead goldfish. Back in their motel room with Sam, Dean told him everything he'd found, and the brothers went to talk to another of Angela's friends.

"Look, I'm sorry about what happened to Matt, but if he killed himself it wasn't cuz of grief," Neil said.

"No?" Dean asked. "Then why?"

"It was guilt. Angie's death was Matt's fault and he knew it."

"How was Matt responsible?" Sam asked.

"Well, she really loved that guy. But the night of the accident she walked in on him with another girl. She was really torn up, that's why she crashed the car," he glanced around uncomfortably. "Um, look, I gotta get ready for work."

Dean looked at his brother.

After leaving Neil, the brothers discussed what they'd learned, deciding that Angela's vengeful spirit coming back made the most sense. And, despite her only having been buried the previous week, Sam reluctantly agreed that they needed to dig up the body to salt and burn it.

They went back to their motel to wait until dark, and just like the other times they'd been working jobs lately, Dean was quiet. Sam had lost patience with Dean's attitude more than once already, and picked at him until they were fighting. He didn't want to do that now, and Sam couldn't help but wonder if his own manner was part of the problem. Maybe it wasn't just how Dean reacted to hunts; maybe it had something to do with Sam's new vigor for the job.

He looked toward Dean, who was lying on his bed staring at the ceiling. The television was on, but the volume was low and Sam knew he wasn't paying attention to it. A discarded pizza box sat on the table between the beds.

"Dean?"

After a brief hesitation, Dean turned his head to look at him.

"Look, I, uh, I just wanted to apologize."

Dean's brow knitted in confusion. "What for?"

"Not believing your instincts."

"It's okay." Dean turned his eyes back to the ceiling.

"It's just..."

"Don't, Sam." Dean's voice was quiet. "We're both in a weird place right now. And who would have thought we'd fall into a job in Lawrence?"

"I guess." Sam felt his brother putting up a wall between them, and he didn't know how to stop it. Before he could think of something to say, Dean got up and went into the bathroom. As soon as the door was closed, Sam knew the conversation was over.

There was no tension when the brothers went to the cemetery later, but things were far from amiable between them. They dug in silence and when they reached the coffin, Sam steeled himself before opening it up. He looked at Dean. "It's empty."

"They just buried the body four days ago."

"I don't get it," Sam looked back at the coffin. "Look at that."

"What is that?" Dean asked, crouching and looking closer at one of the coffin walls.

"I'm not sure," Sam said.

"I've seen those symbols before." Dean grabbed the shovel and headed off before Sam could say anything else.

Dean knew they couldn't barge in on Dr. Mason in the middle of the night, but that didn't stop him from wanting to. He heard Sam trying to calm him, but he couldn't listen. He didn't want to be calm. The symbols he'd seen in Angela's coffin were just like the ones in the book he'd looked at before, and as soon as he saw them, he knew he'd been right about Angela's father.

He didn't want to go back to the motel, but there wasn't really any other option. After digging up a grave and then taking the time to make it appear undisturbed, they were dirty and even if there had been some place open to go, they would have attracted attention.

"Dean, we need to think about this rationally," Sam said once they were in their room.

"I'm being rational," Dean said. He couldn't contain the anger he felt toward Dr. Mason, but he didn't want to take it out on Sam. Fights between them were too easy these days.

"Look, there's nothing we can do tonight. It'll be dawn in a couple hours. Let's just clean up and get some sleep."

"No way I can sleep," Dean said, pacing.

"Go take a shower. Calm down."

"Sam…." Dean looked at him, and knew he was right. There was nothing they could do until morning. He sighed. "Yeah, okay."

Dean went into the bathroom and took a hot shower. His thoughts were all over the place, but he managed to settle his nerves. When he went back to the bedroom, he found Sam asleep on top of the blankets and still in his clothes. Dean watched him for a moment, then got into his own bed.

oooOOOooo

The next morning, Dean was anxious. Once again, he heard Sam's soothing tone, but he hardly paid attention. After parking at the college, the brothers went to the library where they researched the symbols. Sam could have done the work on his computer, but Dean had felt like a caged animal in their room, so Sam suggested the library.

Once they were done with their work, they looked for Dr. Mason in his office, but he wasn't there. The department secretary said he was working from home, so the brothers headed back to the car. Dean couldn't drive to his house fast enough.

He parked on the street, and rushed to the front door. Sam was close on his heels, but Dean reached it first and began pounding on it loudly. Sam caught up to him. "Dean, take it easy, okay?"

The door opened and Dr. Mason looked from one brother to the other. "You're Angie's friends, right?"

"Dr. Mason…." Sam's voice was gentle.

"We need to talk," Dean barked.

"Come in," Dr. Mason said and moved aside.

"Thanks," Sam said and followed his brother inside.

"You teach Ancient Greek," Dean said, his tone angry. "Tell me, what are these?"

Dr. Mason looked at the piece of paper Dean shoved at him. "I don't understand. I thought this had something to do with Angela?"

"It does," Dean said, his temper barely contained. "Just humor me."

Dr. Mason looked at the symbols on the page. "They're part of an ancient Greek divination ritual."

"Used for necromancy, right?"

"That's right," Dr. Mason said, clearly confused.

"See, before we came over here we stopped by the library and did a little homework ourselves," Dean snarled. "Apparently they used rituals like this one for communicating with the dead. Even bringing corpses back to life. Full-on zombie action."

"Yes," Dr. Mason said slowly. "I mean, according to legend. Now, what is this all about?"

"I think you know." Sam tried to get his attention, but Dean barreled on. "Look, I get it, okay? There are people that I would give anything to see again. But what gives you the right?"

"Dean!" Sam's tone was firm.

"What are you talking about?" Dr. Mason breathed.

"What's dead should stay dead!"

"Stop it!" Sam yelled.

Dean took a step forward, but Dr. Mason backed away. "What you brought back isn't even your daughter anymore. These things are vicious! They're violent; they're so nasty they rot the ground around them. I mean, come on, haven't you seen Pet Cemetery?"

"You're insane!"

"Where is she?" Dean demanded.

"Get out of my house!" Dr, Mason said as he reached for the telephone.

Dean knocked the receiver out of his hand. "I know you're hiding her somewhere. Where is she?"

"Dean, stop! That's enough!" Dean felt Sam grab his jacket, and he looked to where Sam was pointing. It was a table filled with plants under the window. "Beautiful, living plants, Dean." He turned to Dr. Mason. "We're leaving."

"I'm calling the police."

Dean pulled out of Sam's grip and stormed toward the door. He didn't hear Sam apologize to the professor.

Sam closed the door behind him and rushed down the steps. Dean wasn't in the car, but it didn't take long for Sam to spot him down the sidewalk. He caught up to him easily.

"What the hell is the matter with you, Dean?" Sam demanded. He hadn't intended to yell, but his nerves were frayed.

"Back off!"

"That man is innocent! He didn't deserve that!"

"Okay, so she's not here. Maybe he's keeping her somewhere else."

"Stop it! That's enough, okay? Enough!"

"Sam, I know what I'm doing."

"No, you don't." Sam felt the situation spiraling out of control, but he had no way of stopping it. "At all! Dean, I don't scare easy, but man, you're scaring the crap out of me."

"Don't be overdramatic, Sam." Dean sounded disgusted.

"You're lucky this turned out to be a real case because if it wasn't, you would have just found something else to kill."

"What?" Dean stopped walking and looked at him.

"You're on edge. You're erratic except when you're hunting. Then you're downright scary. You're tailspinning, man, and you refuse to talk about it. And you won't let me help you."

"I can take care of myself, thanks."

"No, you can't. And you know what? You're the only one who thinks you should have to. You don't have to handle this on your own, Dean. No one can."

"Sam, if you bring up Dad's death one more time, I swe—"

"Stop. Please, Dean, it's killing you. Please. We're already lost Dad. We've lost Mom. I've lost Jessica. And now I'm going to lose you, too?"

Dean looked back to the car, the anger draining from his face. "We better get out of here before the cops come." Sam was disappointed and Dean must have seen it on his face. "I hear you, okay? Yeah, I'm being an ass. I'm sorry, but right now we've got a friggin' zombie running around. We need to figure out how to kill it."

Sam couldn't help it. He laughed.

"Right?" Dean asked, seemingly confused by his brother's reaction.

"Our lives are weird, man."

Dean smiled at him. "You're telling me? Come on."

Sam walked back to the car at his brother's side. He didn't understand how they could be at each other's throats one moment, and over it the next. Though in reality, he knew, they weren't over anything, and only sweeping their problems under the rug. At least they could go back to being friends after a blow-up.

oooOOOooo

The brothers had spent the rest of the day researching and trying to figure out what to do next. Dean paced in their motel room while Sam sat on his bed, reading their father's journal. They barely noticed that night had fallen.

"We can't just waste it with a head shot?" Dean asked.

"Dude," Sam glanced at him. "You've been watching way too many Romero flicks."

"You're telling me there's no way to smoke them?" Dean was frustrated as he sat down at a table by the window.

"No, Dean. I'm telling you there's too much. I mean, there's a hundred different legends on the walking dead, but they all have a different method for killing them." He joined Dean at the table. "Some say setting them on fire. One even said feeding their hearts to wild dogs. That's my personal favorite. Who knows what's real and what's myth?"

"Is there anything they all have in common?"

Sam thumbed through the journal. "No, but a few said silver might work."

"Silver's a start," Dean agreed.

"Yeah, but how are we going to find Angela?"

"We've got to figure out the person who brought her back."

"Any ideas?"

"I think if it's not her dad, it might be that Neil guy."

"Neil? How'd you come up with that?"

He crossed the room and picked up Angela's diary. "Well, you've got your journal and I've got mine." He opened the book to a marked page and began to read aloud. "Neil's a real shoulder to cry on. He understands what I'm going through with Matt. There's more in here where that came from. It's got Unrequited Ducky Love written all over it."

"Yeah," Sam sounded dubious. "But that doesn't mean he brought her back from the dead."

"Huh. Did I mention he's Professor Mason's TA? He has access to all the same books."

"Gee, no," Sam said with a smile. "You didn't mention that."

"Oh. Well, now I have."

"Uh-huh," Sam stood up. "Let's go."

Neil's house was dark when they arrived. After checking a few windows, they picked the lock on the back door. Dean called out for Neil, but the house remained quiet. He pulled out a gun and Sam looked at it. "Silver bullets?"

"Yeah, enough to make her rattle like a change purse."

They stalked through the house together, Dean took the lead with the gun pointed. He gestured toward wilted plants by a window and Sam found the entrance to the basement.

"Unless it's where he keeps his porn…." Sam rolled his eyes and opened the door. Dean led the way down the stairs and they saw an area made up as a sleeping area.

"Sure looks like a zombie den," Dean said, though he'd never actually seen one.

"Yeah," Sam agreed. "An empty one. You think Angela's going after somebody?"

Dean saw a loose grate in the wall, pulled it aside and looked through it. "Nah, I think she went out to rent Beaches."

"Look, smartass," Sam said with attitude. "She might kill someone. We gotta find her, Dean."

"Yeah, all right. She, uh, she clipped Matt because he was cheating, right?" Dean looked at Sam as if he'd had an idea.

"Yeah."

"Well, it takes two to, you know, have hardcore sex." He saw Sam's confused expression. "I don't know, it just seemed that Angela's roommate was broken up over Matt's death. I mean, like really broken up."

"So, you think….?"

Dean shrugged. "Come on."

Dean drove to Angela's house, where he'd met her roommate, Lindsey. The brothers stood just outside the door, Sam ready to knock, when they heard screaming from inside. Without hesitation, Dean kicked the door open and saw a woman he recognized as Angela standing over Lindsey with a pair of scissors. He fired several rounds, hitting Angela in the chest. She convulsed, but recovered and jumped through the nearby window. Dean followed her while Sam saw to Lindsey.

"Gotcha," he said, holding her. "I gotcha."

"It was Angela," Lindsey said through chattering teeth. "But how?"

"It's okay," Sam soothed. He knew that most people made up convenient excuses to cover up their involvement in things they didn't understand - or didn't want to understand – and he hoped Lindsey managed to come up with some reason for what she'd just experienced. She was still shaking in his arms when Dean came back through the window.

"Damn, that dead chick can run."

Sam glared at him, then looked at Lindsey. Between the two of them, they managed to calm her down and to feed her just enough information so that she could fill in the blanks any way she wanted.

"What now?" Sam asked as they left her alone.

"I say we go have a little chat with Neil."

After a quick discussion, Sam and Dean decided to try Neil at his office on campus. Dean drove while Sam sat in the passenger seat going through their dad's journal again. "So, the silver bullets did something, right?"

"Yeah," Dean agreed. "Something, but not enough. What else you got?"

"Uh…." Sam turned a few pages. "Okay, besides silver we have nailing the undead back into their gravebeds. It's mentioned a few times; probably where the whole vampire staking lore comes from."

"Their gravebeds?" Dean repeated.

"Yeah," Sam sounded unsure.

"Are you serious? And how the hell are we going to get Angela back to the cemetery?"

"With Neil's help," Sam said with a look at his brother. "I guess."

As Dean drove, he could feel his anger rise. No doubt his father had wanted his wife back. Sam wanted Jessica back. He wanted….But you just didn't mess with death. Once someone was dead….Game over.

He wanted the clarity he'd had not that long ago; before starting to investigate the dead grass and plants around Angela's grave. He'd felt so much better just a few days ago. He'd felt more at peace; even when he'd thought about his dad, he'd felt okay. But now….?

Dean glanced toward his brother, who was back to looking through the journal. What was happening? Why did he feel so much more alone than….It had nothing to do with Sam, he realized as an odd sensation spread through him. It was almost as if he'd come in from the cold and sat down in front of a roaring fire. The anger was still with him, but it was more contained.

Sam saw Neil through the window in the door. The small, dark room was nothing like the professor's office. He saw Neil sitting on a tiny couch, his hands clasped between his knees. Dean didn't bother to knock, and though surprised, Neil stayed seated when they entered. "What are you guys doing here?"

"You know, I've heard of people doing some pretty desperate things to get laid, but you….You take the cake."

"Who are you guys?" he demanded.

"You might ask Angela that question." Dean said, not surprised when Neil went pale.

"We know what you did," Sam said. "The ritual? Everything."

"You're crazy." The protest was weak.

"Your girlfriend's past her expiration date and we're crazy?" Dean asked, the rage building again. "When someone's gone, they should stay gone. You don't mess with that kind of stuff."

"Angela killed Matt." Sam's voice was calm. "She tried to kill Lindsey."

Neil shook his head. "I don't know what you're talking about."

Dean took a few angry steps across the room and pulled Neil off the couch by his collar. "Hey! No more crap, Neil. This blood is on your hands. Now, me and him can make this right, but you've gotta tell us where she is."

"My house," Neil stammered. "She's at my house."

Dean let go of him, but spotted several dead plants by the window. He looked back to Neil. "You sure about that?"

He nodded and glanced around nervously. Dean noticed a closet behind Neil and raised his voice in case he was right and Angela was inside. "Listen, it doesn't really matter where she is. There's only one way to stop her. We've got to perform another ritual over he grave to reverse the one that you did. We're going to need some black root, some scar weed, candles. It's very complicated, but it'll get the job done. She'll be dead again in a couple hours. I think you should come with us." He leaned toward Neil and continued, quietly. "I'm serious, Neil. Leave with us. Now."

Neil swallowed. "No, no."

Dean leaned even closer. "Listen to me. Get out of here as soon as you can, but be cool. No sudden movements. Don't make her mad." He turned to his brother. "Let's go."

"You think this is really going to work?" Sam asked as he continued to light candles around Angela's grave.

"No, not really. But it was the only thing I could come up with." He heard the snap of a twig and nodded to Sam, who stood up and pulled a gun from the small of his back. He headed off in the direction of the sound.

Dean grabbed pulled out his own gun and waited. The plan was for Sam to lure her back to the grave, but it was risky at best. They had no idea how she would react to anything, but Dean had faith in his brother.

Images of his dad suddenly flashed through his mind, and Dean cringed. Not now he thought. I don't want to think about him now. His father's face was replaced by Sam's; the anguish clear in his eyes when Dean crashed into the bedroom he'd shared with Jessica. She'd been burning on the ceiling and Dean had barely managed to rescue him….Not now he told himself firmly.

Dean heard a few shots in the distance, and knew Sam had found the zombie. It wasn't long until he saw Sam running in his direction, Angela right behind him. He almost panicked when Angela tackled his brother, and Sam fell hard to the ground. Dean fired his own gun, and Angela stood up as if to attack him. Dean fired several more shots, the silver bullets causing her to stumble backwards until she had fallen back into her grave and the open coffin.

Dean grabbed the long silver blade he'd left nearby and ran to the grave, sliding the last several feet on his knees. He dove into the coffin and buried the blade in Angela's chest. She screamed, but then quickly went limp. After a moment, Dean straightened up, out of breath. "What's dead should stay dead."

After reburying the body, Sam and Dean made their way toward the Impala. They were both tired, and Dean just wanted to sleep. They had to get out of town, though. That was always the safest thing to do once a job was finished.

"You know….that whole fake ritual thing?" Sam began as they walked. "Pretty sharp."

"Thanks," Dean said. His thoughts had been elsewhere. Realizing they were only a few steps away from their mother's grave, Dean turned and paused.

"You want to stay for a while?" Sam asked gently.

Dean considered it, but shook his head. "No."

Dean drove in silence, trying to rein in his thoughts. After the body had been buried again, he'd felt a wave of calm wash over him that was becoming familiar and welcome. But there was something else, too, something he couldn't quite describe. It was almost as if he was being pushed….

He almost didn't expect to do it himself, but Dean pulled the car to the side of the road and stopped. He got out without a word, and sat on the hood. Sam was out of the car in an instant.

"Dean, what is it?" he asked, his voice full of concern.

"I'm sorry."

"You…for what?"

"They way I've been acting." Sam sat next to him, close but not touching him. It was as if he sensed how fragile Dean was at the moment. "And for Dad. He was your dad, too. And it's my fault he's gone."

"What are you talking about?"

"I know you've been thinking it. So have I. Doesn't take a genius to figure it out. Back at the hospital," Dean paused, his stomach in knots. "I made a full recovery. It was a miracle. And five minutes later, Dad's dead and the Colt's gone."

"Dean…."

"You can't tell me there's not a connection there. I don't know how the demon was involved, I don't know how the whole thing went down exactly, but Dad's dead because of me. That much I do know."

"We don't know that," Sam consoled. "Not for sure."

"Sam…." Dean couldn't fight the tears any more. "You and Dad….You're the most important people in my life. And now? I never should have come back, Sam. It wasn't natural. And now look what's come of it. I was dead, and I should have stayed dead." Dean wiped his face. "You wanted to know how I was feeling. Well, that's it."

Sam nodded, tears glistening in his eyes.

"So tell me. What could you possibly say to make that all right?"

The brothers sat on the side of the highway, not quite touching, not knowing what else to say. Sam understood that sometimes there weren't answers; there was nothing he could say to make Dean feel better, but the simple act of talking could help.

He hated the look of agony on his brother's face. He knew that Dean felt pain like everyone else, but somehow he'd always seemed to rise above it. Most kids think their fathers are superheroes, but for Sam, his hero had always been his brother.

There seemed to be something else on Dean's face, but Sam couldn't figure it out. Maybe it was just that he was coming to terms with his pain, but Sam thought there was more to it. It wasn't something he could describe, it was just something he felt. It didn't feel like they were alone.

Without warning, Dean stood up and got back into the car, and Sam had no choice but to do the same thing. He wished he could think of something profound to say, but he was at a loss. Dean always seemed to have words to help him, but Sam, the college-educated one, found his mind blank.

After they were back on the road, Dean reached for the radio. Turning up the volume was always a sure sign he was done talking, but Sam was surprised when he turned it off instead.

"Dean," he began cautiously. "If you're right and Dad….Well, he made a deal. He made a deal so that you could live." Dean stared straight ahead, but Sam could tell he was listening. "He didn't die because of you, Dean. He died for you."

"He shouldn't have," Dean whispered.

"Dean…." Sam felt the tears stinging his eyes. He loved his father, he did, but if Sam had ever had to choose…."Dad knew, Dean. He knew that he and I never would have made it. We'd have been at each other's throats all the time. We couldn't have lived together. Even with the common goal of wanting to kill the demon, we couldn't have done it. Maybe he didn't do it just for you. Maybe he did it for me, too."

He saw Dean's eyes turn in his direction briefly.

"He gave me my brother back, Dean." Sam's voice cracked.

oooOOOooo

Even though their relationship improved and Dean seemed to be more at ease, Sam was still concerned. A few weeks had passed since Dean's roadside confession and on the surface, things appeared fine. Dean seemed stronger, and he was less erratic. But there was something odd in that; something Sam couldn't put a finger on.

Ever since they'd taken care of the zombie in Lawrence, Dean had seemed calm. Too calm, Sam thought. They'd had other hunts, but it was as if he was only going through the motions. And then there was the….Finally, Sam decided he needed help.

"What are you talking about?" Bobby asked him as they sat alone in his kitchen late one night.

"I don't know how to explain it any better than that. Dean was crazed with grief, but now….It's almost like he's a different person."

"But isn't that what's supposed to happen? A person grieves and then moves on. It's no wonder he'd be different considering what happened."

"Bobby…." Sam stood up and paced near the kitchen table for a few moments. "It's…. He's….It's like he's not alone in his head."

Bobby looked at him, disbelief on his face. Sam knew how it sounded, but he also knew he was right. "I've tried holy water, I…."

Bobby leaned back in his chair, the creak loud in the room that had suddenly gone quiet. "Are you….are you suggesting Dean's possessed?"

"I know how it sounds."

"It sounds crazy is how it sounds. Sam, demons don't possess people to make 'em warm and fuzzy."

"And that's exactly how Dean is. Warm and fuzzy. You know how weird that is? He hunts only because I want to, he's content to sit in a motel room and read. Read, Bobby."

"Sam…." Bobby rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "Are you sure you're not just looking for problems where there aren't any? Maybe Dean's coming to terms with losing John. It's not like he's never read a book before."

"I know that," Sam said, becoming frustrated that he couldn't make Bobby understand. "But he doesn't choose reading over going out."

"Sam, I –"

"Bobby, I've watched Dean my whole life. I studied him cuz I wanted to be just like him. I know him better than I know anyone, and I know that something's wrong."

He and Bobby stared at one another for what seemed like a long time. Finally, Bobby nodded. "All right. I'll see what I can find."

Dean quietly slipped down the hall when it became apparent that the conversation he'd been listening to was over; he made it upstairs and into bed before Sam got to the room. It wasn't completely dark due to the full moon and the thin curtains, but Dean was quiet and Sam didn't seem to suspect he was awake.

Dean had known that Sam was still worried about him, but he'd been feeling so much more at ease….Had he really not been hunting with his usual gusto? And surely he'd gone out for pool, darts and pick-ups. Hadn't he? Now that he was thinking about it, Dean couldn't remember the last time he'd gone to a bar just to hang out.

Was there reason for Sam to be concerned, Dean wondered, or was he just overreacting? Dean wished he knew.

oooOOOooo

Dean didn't sleep well, and felt out of sorts when he woke up the next morning. With Sam still sleeping, Dean quietly gathered some clean clothes before going to the bathroom. He noticed Bobby's door was closed. He hadn't bothered to look at the clock, but sunlight was streaming in through the windows, so he knew it couldn't be that early.

After showering, Dean dropped his dirty clothes onto his bed, thinking they would have to do laundry soon, then went downstairs. Sam's bed was empty, and he wasn't surprised to find him in the living room with his computer and a cup of coffee. Dean grabbed a cup for himself before settling on the couch across from his brother.

He wasn't really interested in talking, but Dean had found that sometimes just being with Sam made him feel better. He was sure that was how it used to be, before their separation while Sam was in school, but it was something he'd lost sight of until they'd lost their father.

Sam glanced at him. "Hey."

"Hey. Where's Bobby?"

"He's out in the salvage yard. I'm not sure what he's doing."

Dean nodded and sipped at the coffee. Sam put the laptop on the coffee table between them, and picked up his coffee. "What do you want to do today?"

Nothing, Dean thought to himself. "You have something in mind?"

"No."

"I do," Bobby said as he walked into the room. "I could use some help."

"With what?" Dean asked. Bobby didn't seem distressed, so he didn't think it was an emergency.

"I got two calls this morning. One was salvage yard related, and the other is a job."

"What kind of job?" Sam asked with a glance in his brother's direction.

"Friend of mine needs some help with a werewolf. He's gone all the work, but clipped a wing and needs some backup on the hunt. He's in Wyoming, only about three hours away."

"Yeah, we can go," Dean said after a confirming look from Sam.

"Okay, let me fill you in."

oooOOOooo

Sam wasn't thrilled with the idea of a hunt right now, but there was no way to turn it down. At least it was a simple job where all they had to do was provide the muscle. Before he and Dean left, Sam had spent a few minutes alone with Bobby. Sam knew that Bobby wasn't convinced that something was going on with Dean, but he promised to spend some time doing research once he'd finished with his other emergency.

Dean was quiet as he drove, but that wasn't completely out of the ordinary. Sam thought he looked tired and a little distracted, but he didn't want to start a fight by asking him about it. Even though his brother was more at ease lately, he still didn't like it when Sam worried and tried to take care of him.

After an hour of silence, Sam couldn't take it any more. "You're quiet."

"Yeah, just thinking."

"What about?"

Dean shifted in the seat. "Different stuff."

"I guess you don't wanna talk about it."

Dean shrugged. "I don't know."

Sam watched the scenery for a few minutes, waiting for Dean to make up his mind.

"I heard you and Bobby talking last night."

Sam looked at him sharply. "You did?"

"I didn't know you were so worried."

"Yeah, well…."

"You fed me holy water?" Dean asked with a sideways glance.

"Dean, I –"

"Don't worry about it." Dean looked at him again. "When did you feed me holy water?"

"I….a couple drops in your beer."

"Huh. So, I'm not possessed."

"No."

"But something's wrong, you think?"

"I…Dean, wrong may not be too strong a word. I think something's going on." Dean shifted again, and Sam could tell he was uncomfortable. "Look, man, I –"

"I think something's going on, too," Dean said, his voice quiet.

Sam was surprised. "You do?"

"I don't know, man. I mean…." He shook his head. "I don't know."

"What, Dean?" Sam asked, turning so he could look at him straight-on. "Dude….Talk to me."

Dean glanced into the rearview mirror before pulling to the side of the road. He turned off the engine, pulled the keys out of the ignition, and got out of the car. Sam followed, leaning against the trunk at Dean's side.

"I don't know, Sammy." Dean looked off into the distance. "What you said about me not being alone in my head? Sometimes it feels like that. I mean, I start to get out of control, and something pulls me back in. I used to be able to do that, but now it's more like something is doing it for me. But it doesn't feel like a bad thing, you know?"

Sam nodded, even though he had no idea how it couldn't be a bad thing that Dean didn't feel alone in his head.

"Sometimes I hear voices," Dean said a moment later.

"What?" Sam tensed.

"Well, a voice. One. It's soothing." He didn't meet Sam's eyes.

"De –"

"Look, man, I know it sounds nuts, but the voice doesn't tell me to go out and torture kittens. It just says that things are going to be okay." Dean stood up and ran a hand over his face. "We should get back on the road."

And with that, Sam knew the conversation was over.

The brothers met up with Bobby's friend, Grey, and he led them to the area where he knew the werewolf to be. They easily tracked it, and Sam was able to kill it without incident. After cleaning up in a gas station men's room, the brothers had dinner with Grey, then headed back to Bobby's.

oooOOOooo

"A what?" Sam asked Bobby as they sat in his living room the next morning. Dean was in the shower, and Sam made sure he had a view of the stairs so that Dean couldn't hide and overhear the conversation.

"Ibbur," Bobby said again. "It's the Jewish version of a possession."

"But –"

"In this case," Bobby continued without reaction. "It's a good thing."

"A good thing?" Sam repeated, incredulous.

"Jewish lore says that there are basically two types of possession," Bobby paused. "How complicated do you want this?"

"Not at all."

The older man nodded. "An ibbur is the positive version of possession. It happens when someone is going through some sort of crisis. The person attracts a soul who has gone through something similar, and it comes to help him."

"So, there's a negative version?"

"Yeah. It's a dybuk. It's always bad news, just like the ibbur is always good. Thing with the ibbur is, the possessed person may not always know it's happening."

"Yeah, well, Dean told me he knows something is going on," Sam said, then told him about the conversation the night before. "How do you know it's an ibbur and not a dybuk?" Sam asked.

"I don't know that it's either," Bobby pointed out. "But Dean's not out doin' bad things, and a dybuk doesn't keep itself secret."

Sam was thoughtful. "So, how do we get rid of it? This ibbur?"

"We don't."

"What?" Sam demanded.

"It will leave on its own when its job is done. Some stories even suggest this kind of possession is seen as a blessing."

Sam stood up and walked a few steps away before turning back to Bobby. "I don't like it."

"It could be worse," Bobby shrugged.

"What? Why aren't you more worried?" Sam looked at him.

"There doesn't seem to be anything to worry about." Bobby tossed a book aside. "For a change."

"You're sure about this ibbur thing? I mean, you don't think it could be something else?"

"I don't know, Sam," Bobby said. "I'll keep looking, but I don't think I'm gonna find anything else."

"Thanks, Bobby."

Bobby looked troubled and leaned forward. "That voice you say Dean heard….he's not worried about it?"

Sam shrugged. "He didn't seem to be."

"That's kinda curious, don't ya think?"

"I guess. But if it's like you say, and it's an ibbur, it kinda makes sense he wouldn't be worried."

"Yeah, I suppose."

Dean finished showering, then stood in front of the mirror finishing his morning routine.

He thought back to the conversation he'd had with Sam the night before. Dean was glad he'd talked to him, even though he still found it hard to open up. It wasn't that he didn't trust Sam. There was no one he trusted more than he did his brother; even Bobby was a distant second to his brother. But it had always been Dean's job to take care of Sam, and he wasn't sure he'd ever get used to it being the other way around.

Back in the bedroom, Dean sat on the edge of his bed to pull on his socks and boots. He saw a box under the opposite bed, and bent over to drag it out. Once it was open, he realized it was the box Bobby had filled with their father's things; the box Sam had found the cell phone in that led them to Ellen. Sam had wanted them to go through it together, but Dean hadn't been able to bring himself to do it.

Bobby had retrieved John's truck from the warehouse where he'd met with Meg, and had packed those things away for the brothers, too. They'd have to go through them eventually, too, and Dean knew that stuff would probably hold more surprises.

Dean felt the familiar and overwhelming loss flood through him as he looked at his father's belongings. He flipped through the bulging wallet, his tears finally falling when he found an old photo tucked deep inside. He remembered they'd gone to the zoo for Sam's fourth birthday, and the picture had been taken outside the reptile house. Sam was holding the teddy bear that had once belonged to Dean. It had been Dean's gift to him that year.

The pain was fresh, as if his father had died only moments before, and Dean felt like he was going to crumble into pieces. He wanted the serenity that he'd begun to feel every time he thought of his father, but he felt only anguish.

Let it out.

Dean knew the voice was in his head, he recognized it from before, but he still looked toward the bedroom door.

You have to let it out, and then you can really begin to heal.

"Who are you?" Dean asked aloud as he gripped the picture from his dad's wallet.

I'm here to help you. I know what it's like to lose someone you love.

"I don't understand."

I lost my father, too. He died in an accident, not unlike your father. It was sudden; unexpected. He'd been a strong man, worthy of respect and I almost went crazy after he died. I didn't know what to do with the feelings I had. I didn't know how to talk to my mother or to my sister. Then, I was at the end of my rope, having suffered for months. I'd started drinking too much, and one night I just didn't care anymore. I wrapped my truck around a tree, and ended up in the hospital. I had a lot of injuries, but it turned out to be the best thing that ever happened to me.

"How?" Dean's voice cracked.

I met someone who helped me. It was the hospital chaplain, and he was also a trained psychologist. He helped me to understand that bottling up my feelings wasn't doing me any good, and that I needed to seek comfort from the people who cared about me. Feeling better didn't happen overnight, but it happened.

Dean, you and your brother lost the same thing. Your relationships with your father weren't the same, but you are both his sons. He feels the pain of the loss, too, and I know it sounds trite, but talking to him will help. You know that.

Dean nodded as if he was talking to someone in the same room. "I know, but…."

You're angry with your father, aren't you?

"It's not fair to be mad at him."

It's not unusual, and it will pass. You have to give yourself time.

"It's been months."

He was your father, Dean; one of the two most important people in your life. It'll take as long as it takes.

"That's not helpful."

I know, but it's the truth. Besides you've been pushing the feelings away instead of letting them come. Allow yourself to be sad, Dean. That's the only way it will ever pass.

Right now you're sort of just going through the motions of living. Don't force yourself to do anything you don't want to do, but there are things you enjoyed once and it's all right to find joy in those things now. It's not an insult to your father or disrespectful in anyway. You're still alive and, Dean, it's all right to be alive.

"How long will you be here?"

You're almost ready for me to leave.

"I don't feel ready for anything."

Trust yourself.

Sam glanced toward the stairs. "The water shut off a while ago."

"You know what a girl he can be sometimes."

Sam chuckled. When they weren't dealing with a hunt, Dean often took more care with his appearance. "Yeah, that's true. I think I'm gonna check on him, though."

Bobby didn't try to stop him, and Sam made his way upstairs. He paused outside the open bedroom door, shocked at what he saw. Dean was on the edge of his bed, the box of their father's things near him. He was holding what looked like a photograph, his eyes red and puffy.

"Dean?" Sam called quietly.

Dean looked toward him, not even trying to hide his pain. Sam slowly walked into the room and sat down on the bed across from his brother. He glanced at the items Dean had scattered around.

"Remember this?" Dean held out the faded photo.

"I remember the bear. You gave it to me."

Dean nodded, looking back at the image. "Dad took us to the zoo for your birthday. You wanted a monkey for a pet after you saw them. You kept begging Dad, and he said maybe for your next birthday because he knew you'd be well over it by then."

Sam smiled fondly, even though he didn't remember any of it.

"He wasn't a bad father, Sammy." Dean was still looking at the picture.

"I know that," Sam said quietly. "He did the best he could with a demon on our tails."

Dean nodded. "I miss him."

"Me, too," Sam agreed. "Despite everything….I miss him and I wish….well, you know what I wish."

"I told you, Sammy. He knew you loved him."

"I hope so," Sam said, his throat tight with emotion. After a few moments of silence, Sam leaned toward his brother. "What happened in here, Dean?"

Dean took a deep breath. "I guess I just got in touch with my feelings like you've been wanting me to do. And you know what? You were right."

"I was?" He couldn't help but be surprised.

"It hurts, but I still feel better."

Sam nodded. "Bobby found something that –"

"Doesn't matter."

"What do you mean?"

"It won't be around much longer."

"How do you know that?"

"We, uh, we had a conversation."

Sam felt a sudden protectiveness over his brother. "A conversation?"

"Yeah. It's okay, Sammy. It said it was here to help and would be gone soon."

"That fits with what Bobby found," Sam said and quickly explained the concept of an ibbur. "I just got a thumbnail from Bobby, but I want to read more about it. I mean, who ever heard of a good possession?"

"Maybe it shouldn't be so rare," Dean said. "I can't say I like the idea of sharing my head with something, but it helped. Then again, maybe not everyone is as hard-headed as I am."

Sam couldn't help but laugh. "It's a Winchester trait."

Dean agreed with a wry smile.

"So….you okay?"

Dean shrugged. "I'm not freaked out about that ibbur thing, and Dad? I'm getting there. You?"

"Yeah, getting there."

oooOOOooo

A few days after the conversation in the bedroom, the brothers decided it was time to go through the things from their father's truck. As always, he'd traveled light, but there were a few mementoes that they were surprised to find. They still didn't know what they wanted to do with the truck, and Bobby agreed to store it for them until they could come to a decision.

Dean wasn't sure when the ibbur left him, but the lessons he learned from it stuck with him. He didn't think he'd ever really stop missing his father, but he now knew how to handle the pain of his loss. He would always love his dad, but as time went on, he was able to move past the hero worship to appreciate the man he'd really been.

Life would never be perfect, but Dean realized he wanted to live it.

oooOOOooo

Tearless grief bleeds inwardly

~ Christian Nevell Bovee~