Thank you so much Jenjoremy. The fact you're willing to keep up with me and my crazy beta'ing needs lately means so much to me. You're really one in a million. Thank you Gredelina1 who was with me each step of the way with this story. This is as much yours as it is mine.

Welcome to Part Two. The fact you've followed me far enough to open this chapter and are willing to give the rest of their tale a go is awesome. You were all so supportive for Lost and Found, and I only hope I won't disappoint you with this one.

Chapter One

Previously… Dean reached into the pocket of his jacket and pulled out something small. He held it out and placed it in Sam's outstretched hand.

Sam turned it over, his eyes burning with tears again. "Is it the same one?" he asked.

"Yeah," Dean said. "I held onto it."

Sam looked down at the plastic Thundercats toy in his hand and a tear slipped past his control and down his cheek. Dean had held onto it. For eighteen years, with their nomadic lifestyle, this piece of Sam had been kept, carried on Dean through what was probably an endless stream of motels and hunts.

Sam smiled. He had never really been completely lost.

Now…

Dean rolled the corpse of the werewolf into the roughly dug hole, tossed in a few handfuls of salt, and then moved back as Bobby splashed gasoline over it.

They had come to a small town outside Des Moines to take care of the creature the local newspaper was describing as a "scourge on the town." It transpired that the werewolf was a man that lived the rest of the month as a vagrant, getting his meals from the church-run soup kitchen and spending nights under the railroad bridge. He had killed five people that they knew of though, so there was nothing they could do but take him out.

"Light him up," Bobby instructed as he capped the gasoline tank and set it down next to the bag of salt.

Dean lit a book of matches and dropped it down onto the corpse. Flames roared up at once, and they both took a step back from the rush of heat.

Bobby held his hands over the flames to warm them and said conversationally, "Getting cold at night now."

"And there's nothing like a werewolf barbeque to warm your hands?" Dean suggested.

Bobby nodded seriously. "Exactly."

Dean shook his head and pulled his phone from his pocket. He checked the screen, but there were no notifications, so he stuffed it back in his pocket with a sigh.

"Waiting on a call from your sweetie?" Bobby asked.

"Dad," Dean replied.

"He okay?"

"I have no idea. He hasn't checked in for a few days."

"It's not the first time though, is it?"

"No," Dean admitted. "It's happening more and more lately. He's going days without calling."

Bobby frowned. "I thought you were happy to be taking cases alone now."

"I was," Dean said quickly. "I am. I just wish he'd let me know what he was doing, too."

When John had sat Dean down and floated the idea that they take separate cases, spread their skills around to save more people, Dean had been pleased. He'd felt like things were finally going right for them. John didn't need him there all the time as he had before they'd found Sam. He wasn't a wrecked man anymore. He was himself again.

Then John had handed over the keys to the Impala to Dean for good, having bought himself a secondhand truck to get around in, and driven away. Leaving Dean alone. The first time Dean had sat behind the wheel and known it was his car, he had been so proud. But now he had to admit that he would be happy going back to riding shotgun with John if it meant he would know what was happening with him.

"He's hiding stuff," he said grudgingly. "I don't even know what he's hunting right now. He's stopped talking to me the way he used to."

Bobby nodded thoughtfully. "That makes sense."

"It does?"

"Yeah." Bobby scrubbed a hand through his beard. "He's back to how he was before Sammy was taken, isn't he?"

"I guess so. I don't know. He's like a different man."

"Actually, he's the same man," Bobby said. "You wouldn't remember, because you were too young, but your daddy always hunted like this before. We wouldn't know where he was from one week to the next most of the time. He would go weeks, sometimes months, without even checking in with any of us unless there was something he needed. He was the epitome of a loner in those days, playing everything close to his chest. It was only after Sammy that he opened up."

Dean nodded. He remembered that part, how often he would wake to find his father on the phone to someone in the dead of night, pleading for information on the Shtriga. Except that wasn't about being open; it was desperation that changed him.

He stuffed his hands into his pockets and hunched his shoulders. "I don't like it," he said truculently,

"I don't imagine you do," Bobby said.

Dean bristled. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means that you spent the past eighteen years of your life taking care of your dad. Your role as his caretaker was set in stone the moment that Shtriga entered your room. You have taken care of him all this time, and suddenly he doesn't need it anymore."

"You think I want him messed up again?" Dean asked angrily.

"No," Bobby said calmly, unconcerned by Dean's anger. "But I think you're prepared for him to be. It's not your fault. You lived on a knife edge, waiting for him to break at any moment, and it became a part of you to live with that worry. Now the need has passed, but the fear hasn't. You've got to remember, though, that when he stops talking, it's not a sign of him being in trouble; it's another stage of him being well." He looked apologetic. "You're going to have to get used to it, Dean, as I don't see it changing anytime soon."

Dean knew he was right but it felt hard to accept. He was so hyperaware of John's moods and needs that it was going to take time for him to get used to the idea that he didn't need to be. A little communication wasn't too much to ask for though, was it? Just a call or text to let him know that he was okay.

"So," Bobby said in a bracing tone, "have you seen Sam lately?"

"Yeah," Dean said, his frown morphing into a wide smile. "I made a run by a couple weeks ago and spent some time with him and Jess."

He didn't have the words to explain how it had felt to spend that time with him, discovering some more of the details of Sam that he didn't yet know. It was little things, like the fact that Sam ran laps at the stadium track on Saturday mornings, or that he and Jessica liked to spend weekend afternoons in the parks dotted around the campus, joining casual games of soccer with other students and friends.

"How'd that go?" Bobby asked.

"Really good," Dean said enthusiastically. "He and Jess had just taken some crazy important test. They've been studying for it forever. Something to do with law school. So it was good to see them finally able to relax and think about something else. In fact, they should be getting their results soon."

"What are you planning next?" Bobby asked. "Got anything lined up I can tag along with?"

"No, I've not seen anything come over the wire. You?"

"Nothing. I figure I'll go by The Roadhouse, catch up with Bill and Ellen, see if there's anyone else needs help. You want to come?"

Dean knew he should probably line up his next hunt, too, but he thought of something that he would much rather do. "I think I'll go by Stanford and catch up with Sam and Jess since I'm close."

Bobby raised an eyebrow. "Close? Dean, we're in Iowa."

Dean shrugged with a grin. "Close enough for me."

Bobby rolled his eyes. "You'd better get going then. I'll finish up here."

Dean clapped him on the shoulder. "Thanks, Bobby, I appreciate it."

"Yeah, yeah, I'm sure. Say hey to Sam for me."

"I will," Dean said, turning and striding toward where he had parked the Impala. He knew he should probably refuse Bobby's offer, stay and finish up properly, but he was on his way to his brother, so he couldn't find it in himself to care.

John's phone was ringing on the table, and Dean's name was displayed on the screen, but he didn't answer it. Instead, he waited for the voicemail to come in and dialed it up.

"Hey, Dad. I've finished up the werewolf hunt with Bobby, so I'm heading to California to see Sam. Let me know if you want to join us."

John sighed. He would like nothing more than to go spend some time with his boys, but he had more important things to do, like break this demon. He set his phone down on the table again and picked up the bottle of holy water again.

He turned back to the black-eyed monster trapped in the chair and smiled grimly. "Ready for some more?"

The demon smiled, revealing perfectly even teeth that must have cost a fortune in orthodontia. "Whenever you are, Winchester."

The demon had stolen the body of a kid that looked no older than Sam. His tan face and sun-bleached hair spoke of summers spent outside. John wondered who he had been before he had been taken over by this monster.

He stepped up to the edge of the devil's trap and swept the bottle through the air, splashing the demon with the water. His skin sizzled and he hissed a laugh through gritted teeth. "You think that'll break me?"

"I know it will," John said steadfastly.

"Who was the call from?" he asked. "Dean or… Sammy?"

"What do you know about Sam?" John asked, concealing his sudden, bitter interest with difficulty.

"I know all about Sammy."

John upended the holy water over the demon's head, making him howl with pain. "Stop!"

Now they were getting somewhere. John had been working this demon for a long time, experimenting to find out what would work. Daniel had been all for going physical, but John didn't want to hurt the kid the demon was riding. Holy water was a good compromise. It hurt the demon like hell, but the kid should be fine.

He had been on the demons for a few weeks, since shortly after he'd said goodbye to Sam at Stanford and parted with Dean.

Daniel had told him they needed to talk alone when he'd bumped into him at The Roadhouse. He had seemed so intense that John had wasted no time in going to Colorado to see him as soon as he was alone.

Apparently, Daniel had caught a demon and during the process of exorcising it, it had begun to talk in hopes of getting a stay of execution. Daniel had got all he could out of it before sending it on home. In the process though, the demon had said things that greatly interested John, something about, 'Setting them women to burn."

In the years John had been hunting, he had considered practically every possible cause for Mary's death. Demons had always been high on the list. This demon's slip made him sure that was the answer though. He didn't understand what a demon had been doing in his house that night though, or why it had killed Mary. What cause could she, the gentlest and most innocent person imaginable, give for it to kill her? He knew the answers had to be found so they could finally truly lay her to rest. He needed closure, more than ever now that they had avenged Sam's kidnapping, so he had settled in Daniel's basement with a demon and started questioning it.

He knew Dean would want to be a part of it, perhaps even deserved to be, but John couldn't risk him. It was too dangerous. He had finally gotten both his boys back and he would never allow them to be taken from him again. So he had sent Dean off alone, knowing he could handle himself against other creatures, and set out to find the information that would help him avenge his beloved wife.

He turned his attention back to the demon and said, "You can make it stop. All you have to do is tell me what I want to know, and I'll let you go."

"Lies," the demon hissed. "You will never let me go."

"Maybe not," John admitted. "But you can control just how much you hurt before you're sent on home." He splashed the demon with the flask again, almost lazily, and he cried out in pain. "Why was she killed?" he asked.

"I can't tell you! He will kill me."

John's interest tautened and he lowered the flask. "Who is 'He'?"

"What part of 'I can't tell you' don't you understand?"

John splashed him again. "The part where you're not talking."

The demon panted. "I don't know much."

John smiled grimly, excitement flickering to life in his chest. "Start with what you do know and we'll go from there."

The demon shook his head, sending droplets of water into the air. "I can't! You don't know what he'll do to me. Holy water is nothing compared to the things he's capable of."

John bent and picked up the bucket of holy water he'd been replenishing his flask from. John upended it over the demon's head, and he made a sound of agony John hadn't heard since Vietnam. "Care to rethink that?" he asked.

"The children," it howled. "It's all about the children. That's all I know!"

"What about the children?" An idea flashed through his mind, making him shiver. "Do you mean Sam?"

The demon nodded, the burning droplets still streaming down his cheeks like tears. "Sam is one of them!"

"One of who?"

"I don't know. All I know is that there's a bunch of them and they're important to him."

"You're lying," John said brutally. "You know more and you're going to tell me."

The demon shook his head. "I don't, I swear!"

John glowered at it. "We'll see about that." He walked away and carried the bucket up the wooden stairs.

"Where are you going? What are you doing?"

John didn't answer. He thought the anticipation of not knowing what was coming would be more motivational.

Sam heard the shower running when he walked into the bedroom, and he smiled as he threw himself down on the bed and closed his eyes. He was feeling peaceful and drowsy, and more than ready to settle in bed with the woman he loved and sleep.

Then something dripped on his face, something wet, one drop followed by another. He opened his eyes and they widened with horror at what he saw.

Jessica was on the ceiling above him. The stomach of her white nightgown was bloodied. Her eyes were fixed on him, and they were terrified.

"No!" he shouted.

Flames engulfed her and Sam felt the heat rush over his face, scorching him.

"Jess! No, Jess!" he bellowed. "Jess!"

He tried to get to his feet, but the heat of the fire had him pinned as the flames rushed overhead. They were going to consume the room and him, he knew, but he didn't care. With the first flicker of flame over Jessica, he had died, too.

Then he woke, sitting bolt upright. The cooler air of nighttime rushed into his lungs as he panted.

There was no fire. The room was dim and quiet, and Jessica was sleeping peacefully beside him.

He stroked finger over the curve of her cheek and whispered, "I'll never let anything hurt you, Jess. I promise."

Her eyes half opened and she said, "You okay, baby?"

"Yeah," Sam said quietly. "Go back to sleep."

She snuffled deeper into the pillow and her eyes drifted closed again.

Sam tried to calm his racing heart as he lie down again. He rolled onto his side and he leaned close to Jessica. "I love you," he whispered. "Don't ever leave me."

Jessica slept on, unaware of Sam's pleas or his fear.

So… What do you think? I know this one doesn't have the Sam/Dean/John interaction I am sure you want—I want it, too—but the rest of the story will make up for its absence here, I promise. There will be so much bonding you'll be sick of it.

Until next time…

Clowns or Midgets xxx