a/n: We do not own Supernatural.

As I sat across from the worn-out, devout hunter in front of me, I couldn't help but think how strangely calm he was. He casually sipped his beer, eyes combing through the crowd surrounding us in the bar as he normally would. The same stern, reserved expression graced his face as it always had. He seemed virtually unaffected after finding out about my abilities; I had been bracing for our friendship to come to a screeching halt, seeing as he had dedicated his life to hunting the supernatural. His sole purpose in life was to track down the demon that murdered his wife years ago and changed him forever. It tore his family to shreds, to the point where he constantly ignored his sons in hopes of keeping them safe. You'd think someone who spent so much time trying to avenge his wife's death would place a bit more importance on family. He would tell me from time to time that his absence was the only reason his sons were still breathing, that killing this demon he had spent so many years hunting would bring an end to their suffering. Now that we knew that the evil son of a bitch had been recruiting children to carry out its own evil agenda, his younger son unknowingly being one of those children, killing the demon mattered now more than ever.

It baffled me that I hadn't found myself staring down the barrel of his gun yet. Whether it was due to the fact that we had built a solid friendship, or the fact that I saved his ass 6 months ago when all of this started, I was lucky that I hadn't gone from being a hunter to becoming the hunted. If it wasn't for my ability to sense the emotions of those around me I would have fled by now, but all I could sense was his usual persona. It was strange to think that he knew so much about me, one of my deepest secrets, and I didn't even know his sons' names. Hell, for all I knew, he was lying to me about his own name. Even though I could sense his emotions, I couldn't help but wonder what was running through his head; I hadn't been able to stop thinking to the point where I was zoning out. Was he in as deep of concentration as I was, thinking over our whole relationship and deciding what to do?

"It's good beer."

I stared at him incredulously, wondering how he could possibly be more concerned with the quality of beer than he was with the knowledge of my supernatural abilities.

"...Why the hell are you looking at me like that?" he asked, slightly weirded out.

"You just found out my deepest, darkest secret and all you have to talk about is cheap beer?" I replied. I was itching to know how he viewed me now that he knew the truth. I looked down at my own beer, realizing I hadn't even touched it.

"We've worked together for a few months, you're a decent hunter. I trust you," he said matter-of-factly, taking another nonchalant swig of his beer.

I merely nodded in understanding, feeling a bit more at ease than I had when we sat down. I picked up my beer and took a rather large sip, trying to wind down after the internally stressful day I'd been having.

"And if at some point you lose my trust, I'll hunt you," he said in all seriousness.

I choked on my beer and shot him a look, trying to mask the slight fear in my eyes. Maybe I should have left my drink untouched after all, considering I was sputtering it all over the table now and making a fool of myself. I grabbed a few napkins to clean up the mess.

"Just don't do anything to betray me and there won't be any issues," he offered as some sort of cold consolation. He wasn't really the comforting type, and I couldn't blame him.

I nodded silently, figuring that I shouldn't take it to heart considering hunting supernatural creatures was his life's purpose. Before I could dwell on the topic any longer, my train of thought was broken by John waving down our waitress to get the check. She promptly brought it over and he signed "John Sanders", one of the few names I had seen him use. I knew him as John Sanders, John Lewis, and my personal favorite, John Johnson. One of them had to be real, but I didn't push the issue. We finished the last few sips of our beer and John's phone rang. It didn't surprise me anymore when he didn't answer, I knew what it meant. His sons were calling him. It was hard to resist the urge tell him that he should answer them, but he was set on figuring things out himself and that the less they knew, the better. Here was a man who held so much value in family and love that he dedicated his life to finding the demon who had killed his wife, yet he couldn't work with the sons he had raised to handle these types of situations. The screen light went dull and, as always, John instantly went to listen to the message left with no intention of reacting or responding to what his boys had said.

"We're heading to Illinois," he said simply, but I could feel a sense of urgency radiating off of him.

"Is everything...is something wrong?" I wasn't quite sure how to ask him without invading his privacy, considering the topic of his sons had always been a sensitive subject.

"The boys need help; they said they have a lead on the demon. We need to get to Chicago," he said as he dropped a few dollars' tip on the table. I put my coat on and followed him outside, silently hoping that we would be able to make it in time. It would take until at least nightfall for us to reach Chicago, but this was the job he had been working towards for years. John would finally be able to put his demons to rest (no pun intended) and maybe even reconnect with his estranged sons.

After speeding down the road as fast as the worn truck could carry us, we pulled up to the address of the warehouse that had been given to us in the message. Before we had the chance to scout the area, or even step out of the truck, we watched as flesh collided with glass-covered asphalt. John figured that meant the boys had taken care of the job, so we moved on to the hotel room they were staying at. The boys were easy to find once I learned that they used the names of rock stars to check into places.

We kept the lights off, not wanting to alert anyone to our presence; whether it is a hotel or a home, it is breaking and entering to show up in someone else's room. I felt my way through the dark to try and find the bathroom. We didn't have any time for stops on the drive, and I was relieved after unloading hours of pee held in. As I was finishing up, I heard deep, commanding shouts. Alarmed, I reached for the gun tucked into the back of my jeans. It might have just been John's sons, but a hunter can never be too careful. I pressed my ear to the door, listening for an appropriate time to emerge. Because hunters can never be too careful, I didn't want to get shot for opening the door and startling them. At the same time, I didn't want to leave John to fend for himself if things got messy.

I felt the emotions of the room shift from hostile to heartfelt. They must have realized that it was no robber, but the father whose voice they hadn't heard in months. I felt that it was safe for me to reveal myself and I slowly turned the knob. As the door opened, the two tall men quickly drew the weapons they had stowed away in the back of their pants.

"She's with me," John said reassuringly, motioning for his sons to put their guns down.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the taller son lower his weapon, allowing me to focus in on the other son with vibrant hazel eyes that were illuminated by the dim glow of a streetlamp filtering in through the window. It was very Morticia Addams-y. He took a minute to analyze me with a cold, stern look on his face and decided I wasn't an immediate threat. Tucking his gun back into a safe place, he turned to his father and, after taking in the reality of his father's face in front of him, embraced him tightly. It felt as though the room was overflowing with emotions that I couldn't quite place; hearts were bursting with happiness and stinging with sadness and tears were being choked back. After a strong embrace, John turned to face his other son, who walked up to him hesitantly with a glint of sadness in his eyes.

The men were in such awe that their father was actually standing in front of them; they couldn't stop staring at him. I couldn't take my eyes off of the younger son, not because of the touching moment that I was feeling so strongly, and not because of his soft brown eyes and strong jawline. I was so fixated on him because I recognized him as the man I had once left heartbroken. It was impossible to forget the way I had abandoned him.

I slipped into his dorm room as I had so many times before, but this time it wasn't for a romantic get-together between classes. There were no breathless kisses to be had, no clumsy embraces to be shared before running across campus to make it to study group on time. I surveyed the room, reminiscing with a sweet sadness all the places we had loved each other. I walked over to the bed and sat down, grabbing a stray pen and piece of paper off the nightstand to document my cowardice. The weight of my new found supernatural abilities was crushing me; feeling the roller coaster of emotions of everyone I merely passed by was too much for me to handle. How was I supposed to explain to the man I love that I was crumbling under the pressure? That I was too overwhelmed to stay in college because I was feeling the depression, the anger, the hurt of hundreds? There was no way to explain and remain together.

"Dear Sam, I'm so sorry for what I've done to you. I'm already gone, please don't come looking for me. I love you more than you'll ever know."

No explanation. No reassurance that it wasn't his fault. The situation was too complex to even begin explaining, and I was too ashamed of what I was becoming. Maybe if I were braver I could have mustered up the courage to end it in person, but I had fallen apart, I had crumbled…

I was snapped out of my memory by the three men being thrown about the room. The two sons were attacked, fresh cuts and scratches appearing on their faces. John was being held down and viciously attacked by the demon, as if it was targeting him. Before I could move to try and help him, I felt a stinging pain on my forearm and glanced down to see two claw-shaped cuts, warm blood trickling down my hand. I hardly had time to realize what was happening before I felt a strong force slam me against the wall behind me. Sam scrambled for a bag of weapons that was sitting on the floor, and pulled out a flare stick.

"Shut your eyes! These things are shadow demons, so let's light 'em up!" he shouted as he lit the flare, illuminating the room and causing the shadow demon to vanish. The room filled with smoke and I couldn't stop myself from coughing, feeling around the room with Sam and his brother to find John. He looked like he had been hurt badly.

"Dad!" I heard Sam's brother shout.

"Over here," John sputtered between coughs. I felt my way over to him and helped him up, putting one of his arms around me. Sam's brother put John's other arm around him and we made our way to the door, Sam trailing behind us carrying the bag of weapons. We ran out to an alleyway and made our way to our vehicles in hopes of making a speedy escape; we certainly didn't want to face more shadow demons and the flare wouldn't last forever.

"Alright, come on. We don't have much time. As soon as the flare's out, they'll be back," Sam said slightly out of breath, stowing the bag of weapons into the back seat of a black Impala.

"Wait, wait, wait!" Sam's brother said catching his breath, looking between Sam and John. "Sam, wait…Dad, you can't come with us," he said with a twinge of sadness in his eyes.

"What? What are you talkin' about?" Sam said incredulously, shooting a confused look at his brother, John and lastly, me. I felt my heart drop to my stomach as I nearly caught his glance and averted my eyes to the asphalt beneath my feet to avoid meeting his gaze.

"You boys—you're beat to hell," said John, trying to mask the guilt he felt for leaving his sons to fend for themselves. Maybe it was only my sense of emotion, but it seeped through like ink spilled on paper.

"We'll be alright," Sam's brother reassured. Before John had a chance to say anything, Sam argued back.

"Dean, we should stick together!" he pleaded, his voice cracking a bit. "We'll go after those demons and-"

"Sam! Listen to me!" Dean nearly shouted. He looked at his brother apologetically and continued, "We almost got Dad killed in there. Don't you understand? They're not gonna stop. They're gonna use us to get to him. I mean, Meg was right. Dad's vulnerable when he's with us," he looked at his father, heartbroken for one moment but stern in the next. "He—he's stronger without us around."

"Dad, no," Sam's voice broke as he placed his hand on his father's shoulder with tears in his eyes. In that moment, seeing Sam so emotional, I contemplated whether or not I should say something about what happened between us. An explanation, an apology, anything to try and lighten the pain he was feeling, or at the very least give him some closure. After four years, he deserved that. So much time had passed that I hadn't given our time together much thought, but seeing his face, so worn and broken, had brought back all the guilt that plagued me when I left him without so much as a kiss goodbye. I had no idea what he was thinking when he saw me, if he was even thinking of me at all. Maybe he was so overjoyed to see his father again that he hardly even noticed me. How self-absorbed of me, to be thinking about our past romance in a life or death situation like this. "After everything, after all the time we spent lookin' for you…please. I gotta be a part of this fight."

"Sammy, this fight is just starting. And we're all gonna have a part to play," John glanced around to look at all of us. He redirected his gaze to Sam, sympathetically. "For now, you've got to trust me, son." Sam fought to keep his tears back and merely shook his head. "Okay, you've gotta let me go," John was close to tears now.

There was a suffocating silence as the three men looked to the ground trying to regain control of their emotions. I quietly put my head down, giving them a moment to say their goodbyes.

Sam patted his father's shoulder once before letting him go, stifling the tears that threatened to fall down his cheeks. John and Dean simply looked at each other with sadness in their eyes, not sure what to say.

John tried to start walking forward but stumbled a bit, still weak from the shadow demon attack. I put his arm around me for support once again and as we turned around to walk back to the truck, I caught Sam's gaze for what felt like an eternity. My heart pounded as I pathetically tried to muster up a sympathetic look. What could I have said to make up for the heartache I had caused him? His bloodied face displayed a mixture of sadness, rage and a twinge of what felt like jealousy. We had finally made it to the car and after helping John into the driver's seat I hurriedly hopped into the passenger's seat, internally screaming to be anywhere but here.