He was dreaming about Jess again.

Nothing in particular, the nightmares had stopped a long time ago. Somewhere along the line his guilt over all the other things had grown bigger than his guilt over her, it fed on every lie, every fake ID, every body that piled up. She'd stopped being the one to haunt him but her face was replaced by an army. In his head he called them his Banquo's, a never-ending parade of anonymous monsters that he'd never stopped to know and innocent hosts that had died along with their demons, they marched along to the screams and the quiet, whispered accusations of everyone he'd missed, everyone he'd been too late for, everyone he couldn't save. He closed his eyes and he was in hell.

Occasionally, they'd be a respite; they would work a couple of cases without too may losses and save a few good people. The things that they killed were so absolutely and uncomplicatedly evil that his conscience wouldn't even prick and in this black and white world he would find peace for a few nights.

This dream was vague and foggy, nothing, yet everything all at once. They were someplace bright and warm, the sunlight shone through the trees and danced across her face. Both of them were laughing but the joke was lost, he didn't care. He was just aware of this unfamiliar feeling of emptiness, he didn't feel the painful weight in his chest, his head wasn't buzzing with thoughts and people and he didn't feel the permanent dull ache in his limbs from years of bad motel beds and physical exertion. It was just her. He couldn't see her face properly, her features had faded in the time since he had last seen her. If he concentrated really hard he could conjure up her eyes or her lips but not everything at once. He had given up trying; he was satisfied with this ghost. She still smelled like her, felt like her lying in his arms.

Maybe if that night hadn't happened, maybe if she was still alive things would have been different. Maybe the years would have rolled on and on and that laugh she had, the little giggle, cocking her head to one side, would have begun to grate. Maybe he would have gotten sick of her refusing to buy pyjamas and always stealing his boxers to sleep in. Maybe he would have gotten tired of all the questions, of how she needed to know everything, to scribble her name over every little part of him. But it had happened, and now he would never know.

She was still beautiful, still smart-smarter than he had ever been, still generous and kind and loving. She was still flawless. She always would be. Their perfect little life had been petrified, frozen in time. Sam had loved Jess more than he ever thought possible, he devoted a little part of everyday to thinking about her, a little shrine to her inside his head. He wanted her back more than anything in the world, but, a small, guilty part of him, a part he tried over and over to bury, was relieved. Maybe a love like they had had couldn't have lasted; maybe it was only a matter of time before things had begun to fall apart. Maybe in some perverse way he was lucky, lucky that for one, beautiful little infinity he'd had something perfect and they could kill Jess but they could never take that from him. His life was book-ended by chaos and fear and sadness and she had been his small chapter of peace and joy and normalcy. He ached with all the endless possibilities.

'Sammy' Dean nudged him, Sam groaned and twisted away from the touch, he could still feel the silkiness of her skin, her breath on his neck.

'Sammy' Dean hissed louder, giving his shoulder a shake. The clouds began to roll in, the birds to quieten and Sam pulled his pillow over his head.

'Sammy' Dean was looming over him, almost screaming into his ear. Defeated, Sam emerged.

'It's just Sam' he said grumpily, he'd actually grown to quite like hearing Dean call him Sammy again but he wanted to complain about something.

Dean didn't bite 'OK just Sam, get dressed. We've got a lead'

Sam groaned and complained and rolled out of bed and into his clothes as Dean watched him, amused, and ate a breakfast of takeout muffin and coffee that he euphemistically referred to as 'Irish style'.

Dean was waiting in the Impala finishing the last dregs of coffee when Sam finally stumbled into the parking lot, squinting and rubbing his eyes like he hadn't been outside in a hundred years.

'Good morning, sunshine' Dean said with a smirk as Sam threw his bag in the trunk, slammed his door closed, slumped into his seat and rested his head against the window. Sam just groaned in response.

'Late night?' Dean asked, putting the car in gear, rolling out of the parking lot and onto the freeway.

'Yeah I was just' Sam yawned 'was just doing some reading'

'Must be a helluvva book'

'mmhmmnnn' Sam mumbled noncommittally, 'what's the job?'

Dean reached into the back seat and started rifling through his bag, taking his eyes off the road and both hands off the wheel as he did so. Objectively, Dean's driving was terrifying but it seemed a little futile to be afraid of dying these days so Sam didn't bother.

Dean had obviously found what it was he was looking for and turned back around, tossing a file into Sam's lap 'Brownsburg, Indiana. Missing persons.'

Sam was quiet for a while as he flicked through the computer print outs and the newspaper cuttings, forcing himself to focus on the text that just seemed to dance in front of his eyes 'all women?' he asked eventually.

'Yup, twelve girls aged 19-25, but besides that they don't seem to have any connection. Blondes, brunettes and redheads. 5"5 to 5"11. Rich, poor and everything in-between. Students, nurses, waitresses, teachers. A few of them were at school together but hey, small town.'

'OK. So what makes you think this is our kind of problem?'

'All the girls disappeared from locked houses, no sign of a break in, no one heard or saw anything. Couple of them went missing from their bedrooms when their parents were just down the hall. Cops thought they were dealing with some real professional, just your run of the mill rapist, you know, but this last girl…' he fumbled through the papers in Sam's lap and produced a small clipping that had been hidden away at the bottom, he placed it on top of the stack 'Amelia Bury' he tapped her photo for emphasis 'disappeared from her bed last week, with her boyfriend sleeping right next to her'

Sam raised his eyebrows, 'Shit, poor guy. Did he say what he saw?'

'That's the problem; he swears he didn't see a goddamn thing. Just woke up and she was gone.'

'Lying?'

'Sure as hell didn't sound like it'

'You've spoken to him already?'

'Yeah, he…' Shit, he hadn't meant to give so much away so quickly 'Jack's an old friend. Called me up a few days ago, cut up and freaked out. I said I'd look into it and he had these clippings posted up here. I've had a read through and dug some things up online and I think it's worth checking out. Problem?' he shot a sideways look at Sam, an unequivocal, 'you're gonna do what I say look', that he'd perfected over years of being a big brother.

'No, no problem, it's just…' he stopped, they both knew what he was going to say, it's just you don't have any friends, Dean.

'What?' Dean snapped.

'it's just…' Sam fumbled around for his words, trying to cover his tracks ' you've never mentioned this guy before'

'Yeah well, we don't tell each other everything do we?'

No, they damn well didn't