Author's Note: Thanks to everyone who commented, favorited, alerted, and C2'd! I especially appreciated the reviews. Let me know what's exciting for you, what's working or not—it'll help me write the last few chapters.

I hope you enjoy this chapter as much as the first!

Sam didn't know exactly what had happened, but none of it was good.

Dean was on his knees, clutching his bloodied hand. The pistol had backfired, and Dean's hand was a mess of blood and burns.

The Doctor was on the ground. Dean's gun had backfired, but not before it fired right, and the bullet had gone clean through the Doctor's right shoulder. It was an ugly injury, and so Sam was extremely surprised when the Doctor sat right up, albeit slowly.

He unbuttoned his shirt and pulled it down over his shoulder, touching the injury delicately, and hissed. "Ah, that's a bad one," he said, sounding mostly disappointed. He looked behind himself and saw the gory bullet. "Least it went straight through." He rotated his shoulder a few times, and then looked to Dean. He stood up and fished something out of his pocket, and approached Dean. "Sorry about that," he said, sounding sincere. "Guns make me panicky."

"Get the hell away from me," Dean said, his voice rough. The Doctor ignored him and crouched down, opening the small container that he had retrieved from his pocket. He took Dean's hand, resisting his attempts to pull away (stronger than he looks, Sam thought), and spread some sort of ointment along the wounds.

"If you'd stop struggling this would hurt less," the Doctor scolded, giving Dean an irritable look over his glasses. "It's just medicated gel. This type won't really be accessible to humans for another couple of centuries, but I happened to have some in my pocket, so lucky you."

Sam stood by the wall, in the corner, in an almost unconscious attempt to hide himself. It didn't work. The Doctor looked up from Dean, and caught Sam's eye. He studied him for a moment, without speaking, continuing to rub the gel into Dean's mangled hand. "Nice trick there, earlier," the Doctor said after an unbearable length of time. "You weren't projecting yourself from back here. How long ago did that happen, for you?"

"Late last night," Sam said, not sure why he was answering. "About six hours ago."

"You don't have to tell this thing anything, Sammy," Dean shouted, gritting his teeth against the pain in his hand. Sam stole a glance at the injury, and felt a little cold as he realized that it was healing. Already healing.

The Doctor looked offended as he dabbed a bit of the gel into his shoulder, wincing slightly. "Thing?" he echoed. "You wound me. Well," he added with a small, ironic smile as he pulled his shirt back over the gunshot wound, "in several ways. Right. I'm called the Doctor, but you knew that because both of you heard everything Ellen and I said in the other room. So I suppose small talk is unnecessary at this juncture, isn't it?" He closed the gel's container and tucked it back in his pocket. Sam wondered why the container, which, while small, was oddly-shaped, didn't distort the line of the coat any. It was as though it disappeared in the pocket.

He shook his head and looked up to see the Doctor watching him. "How do you know us?" Sam asked. "How did you know our dad?"

The Doctor hesitated, and he studied the floor for a moment. "Your father and I met. Twelve years ago."

"That's crap," spat Dean. "I'd remember that. We both would."

The Doctor exchanged a glance with Ellen, who turned away. Jo put her arms around her mother, but looked as confused as the Winchesters. When Ellen said nothing, the Doctor said, "We decided that it was best that you children didn't remember what happened."

Sam turned to Ellen, speechless. There were tears in her eyes. "You were so young," she whispered. "We all thought it was the right thing to do. The things you saw..." She trailed off, shaking her head. Jo had stepped away, looking nauseated.

"You let some demon wipe our memory?" Jo demanded. "Mom!"

Ellen looked sharply at the Doctor, and barked out a laugh. "You're going to let me field this one?" she asked harshly. "No offense at the name calling?"

The Doctor put his hands in his pockets. "I respected your wishes twelve years ago," he said quietly. "I'll respect your wishes today."

"If you want to respect my wishes, get the hell out of my house," Ellen snapped. "You've done enough damage here."

"If I leave, and things continue the way they've been, you're asking me to condemn your daughter and John's boys to death." The kindness had left the Doctor's face, and Sam shivered to see his expression. "I've done things I'm not proud of for you and your family, Ellen. But I will not do this."

"Then don't pretend this is about respect, or about anything but a power trip," spat Ellen. Sam could see her hands trembling, despite her harsh tone.

The Doctor paused, and a stillness took over his face that was even more frightening than his anger. It was the expression of a man who'd made up his mind, and who was beyond emotional appeal. "I am doing my duty under the Shadow Proclamation, Ellen Harvelle," he said quietly. "In fact, I am doing more than my duty. I could arrest Jo now and bring her up without another word. If I wait long enough, I guarantee I'll have to come back for Dean and Samuel."

Sam turned to his brother, hoping for some kind of explanation. Dean's face was livid, and Sam knew it wasn't blood loss that was causing it. "Dean?" he said softly, crossing to him. "What is it?"

"The Shadow Proclamation," Dean said. "Dad wrote about that in his journal."

The Doctor heard them, regardless of their low tones, and his head snapped towards them. "He did what?" he asked.

"What did it say?" asked Sam.

Dean hesitated. "Didn't say much. Just that it was some kind of, some sort of council of demons. Specifically set up to find and kill Hunters. He never mentioned it to me, not out loud, but it was there in his journal. I never thought much of it. Though now that I think about it, I should have." Dean frowned. "Weird."

The Doctor seemed to relax at Dean's explanation. "Well, that's not quite right," he said, and there was something under his words—a relief and a sadness. He glanced at Ellen. "I thought the deal was that none of you would mention it."

"I didn't know he wrote about it," Ellen said defensively. "But that journal was his. He didn't expect to leave the boys. Not yet."

Dean grew still as she spoke, and Sam shot him a sympathetic look. Ellen couldn't know how open a wound that was for Dean, but an unconscious jab hurt as bad as a conscious one. But beyond that, she was wrong, or lying. Their father had left that journal for them before his death. Whatever he'd written in it, he'd meant for them to know.

The Doctor nodded and turned to Sam and Dean, his eyes somber. "I am sorry to hear about your father," he said. And again, like with Dean earlier, he sounded truly sorry. "He was a good man, and he always did what he believed was right. There aren't many men like that. The world is poorer without him."

"Damn right," Dean said, but his voice was soft, and Sam could tell that he was fighting back grief.

"Look, I kind of feel like we've been confused enough for one day," said Sam, "and I'm just wondering if we could, you know, lay down some groundwork, since our memories were wiped."

The Doctor coughed and rubbed the back of his neck, in a manner that Sam was surprised to recognize as awkward. "Ah, well. See, there's the trouble."

Ellen interjected, and while the Doctor looked put out, he was silent. "Your dad and Bill and I did what we did twelve years ago for a reason, boys," she said firmly. "You may not agree with it or be happy about it, but I stand by our decision. There are things you don't need to know."

"We are adults now, Ellen," Sam exclaimed, incredulous, "and we have a right to know whatever you and Bill and Dad knew. You don't get to decide what information we can have. Dad's gone...whatever he thought he could protect us from, he can't, now."

Ellen strode up to the Doctor, ignoring Sam, and shoved her finger right in his face. He looked down at her in surprise. "Don't you dare tell them, Doctor," she hissed. "It's hard enough as it is. You know it is."

They stayed like that for a moment, Ellen rigid and glowering, the Doctor calm and pensive, their eyes never leaving each other's. Finally, the Doctor sighed heavily and lowered his eyes. "I know," he said.

Ellen seemed satisfied at that. "So what happens now?" she asked. "I know we aren't lucky enough for you to just leave us in peace. And if you're here that means something's wrong, and it isn't just Jo mixing up Slitheen and Blitheen."

"Blathereen," the Doctor said, sounding pained at Ellen's ignorance. "And really, it's not that hard to tell them apart: their linguistic markers and sociocultural accoutrements are very distinct, but that aside, no. You're not getting rid of me that easily. Because I've been...sent...to keep an eye on the Winchesters."

"Like hell you will," exclaimed Dean. That was, apparently, the last straw. "Come on, Sammy, we're leaving."

Sam stared at Dean like he was speaking Klingon. He thought that the Doctor would just let them leave? Just like that? He looked from his brother to the demon, waiting for something to happen. Nothing did. Sam walked slowly over to his brother, not taking his eyes off of the Doctor.

The Doctor shook his head and released a weary sigh. "I'm not going to stop you," he said, "but I have to warn you. One way or another, I have to watch you. If you let me come with you, I can keep you from trouble. If you don't..." He hesitated, choosing his words carefully. "...I can't guarantee what will happen."

"Is that a threat?" Dean demanded, reaching for a knife that Sam knew was in his boot. Sam's heart began to race.

The Doctor sighed again and ran his hands through his hair, making it stick up in a gravity-defying way. "No, it's not a threat," he said, exasperated. Dean stopped reaching for the knife, straightening. "I'm not threatening you. I'm trying to help you. But if you don't want my help, I won't force it on you. So go."

"Just like that?" asked Sam, his voice quieter than he'd intended.

The Doctor turned to him curiously. He peered at him through his glasses, studying him. Sam felt exposed, like he could see right through him. "Yes," the Doctor finally replied. "Just like that." His voice took on a bright, curious note as he added, "I won't keep you against your will, Samuel."

Sam felt like the wind had been knocked out of him. I won't keep you against your will. Was that deliberate? Did he know how Sam had felt during the vision? He couldn't. He also couldn't have spoken to Sam during his vision, but he did that, too. Who was to say what the Doctor could and couldn't do?

"Let's go, Sammy," Dean said again, heading for the door. Sam shot one last, nervous look at the Doctor, Ellen, and Jo, before following his brother.

The light was blinding. It felt like they'd been in there for ages; Sam had forgotten it was still day. Once they were far enough from the door that he didn't think they'd be overheard, Sam hissed, "I thought you didn't want to leave Ellen and Jo alone with that thing."

"Ellen said he won't hurt them," Dean said shortly. "We have to trust her." Sam frowned at his words being thrown back at him, but said nothing.

The tires of the Impala screeched protest as they drove away, in silence for a long while. Dean, apparently unable to keep quiet for any longer, broke the silence. "I don't like that thing, Sammy," he growled. "He gives me the freakin' creeps."

"Yeah, that's what I said," muttered Sam. He glanced at his brother. "You think he's gonna follow us?"

Dean scoffed. "He can try," he said, "but it's not like we're not good at avoiding the authorities."

Sam smiled half-heartedly, but it faded quickly. "I don't know, man. I'm not so sure. Ellen was freaked out. And he seemed pretty confident that he could let us go and find us again."

"Yeah, well, the bigger they are, yadda yadda," Dean replied dismissively.

Sam thought briefly about arguing with Dean, trying to make him take this more seriously, but quickly rejected it as unlikely to work. And he suspected that underneath the bravado, Dean was as worried as he was. "So where are we going?" Sam asked.

Dean shrugged. "I figure we'll drive 'til we hit a motel that doesn't look too shady, then find a case," he said.

Sam nodded. "Okay," he said. No point in arguing. Dean, ultimately, had the wheel.

It took them a couple of hours and one pit stop for gas and beef jerky (nothing for Sam, thanks), but eventually they found a motel. They climbed out of the car, grabbing their bags, and headed inside.

"Afternoon!" the girl behind the counter said brightly. Sam smiled at her wearily, and out of the corner of his eye he could see Dean giving her a once-over. He shook his head, elbowing Dean in the side. Dean grunted and glared, but started to behave himself.

"We could use a room for a couple of nights," said Sam, arriving at the counter.

"Sure, let me see what we have open," said the girl, and Sam tried to place her accent. Brooklyn, maybe. Weird to hear it out here in the boonies. She ducked under the counter and came up with a pair of keys. "Room 216, down to your right. How many nights can I put you down for?"

"Three, but we might need more, if that's okay," Sam replied.

"Yeah, no problem," she said, smiling sweetly. Sam found himself grateful for the smile, for its authenticity, and smiled back. "How're you planning to pay?"

Dean handed her a card and they worked out the payment while Sam leaned against the wall, suddenly exhausted. He didn't think they'd gone far enough. And they certainly hadn't taken enough back roads. If the Doctor was following them, they'd made it really easy for him. He startled when Dean punched his arm. "Come on, let's head up," he said. Sam cracked his neck and as he was tilting it he saw the girl grinning at him. He smiled back, then quickly looked away and followed Dean into the motel room.

"Cute, huh?" Dean said, his tone a mockery of the word casual. Sam rolled his eyes dramatically, and Dean burst out laughing. "Come on, dude, I saw you lookin' with those puppy-dog eyes of yours! She's smokin'. Can't be helped."

"It was...just nice to see somebody smile like that," Sam retorted stubbornly. "Like she's really happy."

"Are we gonna have a moment, right now?" Dean asked. "Because I'm too tired for a moment, and all I wanna do is grab a paper and find a place to eat."

Sam nodded, tossing his bag onto the floor by the bed that Dean hadn't already claimed. He paused, then dug into it, pulling out their dad's journal. He flipped quickly to the back.

He found it after a moment of searching. It wasn't the well-researched, carefully-written and illustrated entry that his dad usually made. It said:

Shadow Proclamation

Collective of demons(?) designed to hunt find/try Hunters. Located in separate dimension. Capable of transporting humans across dimensions. Powerful locating spells. More than one type of demon. Some humans (?).

And last in larger, heavier handwriting,

DON'T Trust the Dr.

Sam's stomach dropped. The DON'T was in blue ink, while the rest was in black, like his dad had changed his mind after writing it the first time. He wondered what had happened, that the Doctor had gained his father's trust and then lost it.

"Feel like a burger, Sammy?" Dean asked, and Sam jumped at his voice.

A thought occurred to him. "Lemme see your hand, Dean," he said. Dean frowned and held his hand out, and as he did so, his eyes widened.

"Damn," Dean whispered.

It was like the gun hadn't blown up. His hand was reddened and warm where the wounds had been, but the skin had knitted itself back together and the burns were gone. If he hadn't seen it with his own eyes, Sam would never have believed that Dean had sustained such a painful wound only a few hours ago. "I almost forgot," Dean said, turning his hand over in amazement.

Sam tried to shake it off, and said, "Okay, so now look what I found in Dad's journal." He handed the book to Dean, pointing at the passage for the Shadow Proclamation.

Dean whistled low. "Definitely don't remember the part about the Doc," he said after a moment. "So he did know Dad, and it had something to do with this Shadow Proclamation. What did the Doctor say about it?"

"He said he was doing his duty under the Shadow Proclamation," Sam recalled slowly. "And that plus this doesn't sound good."

"Well, Dad did cross out hunt. That's probably a good sign," Dean offered. "But what did he mean try?"

Sam shook his head and shrugged, clueless. Dean sighed and sat heavily on his bed, reaching under the lamp stand and grabbing a telephone book. Sam gave him a quizzical look, and he said, "Well, demon collective or no, I'm still freakin' hungry."

As Dean began his search for the perfect cheeseburger anew, Sam lay back on his bed and thought. Thought about this Shadow Proclamation that they knew so little about. Thought about the fact that his dad had withheld information from them that might be so vital now. And thought about the Doctor, and Dean's hand.

The Doctor had fixed it. Why? If he was someone who was not to be trusted, why would he bother to fix Dean's hand?

And if he fixed Dean's hand, what else might he be able to fix?

Sam glanced at Dean, following the lines he was reading in the phone book with his finger, trying to judge restaurants by their names. He smiled, just a little bit. His brother. His stupid, arrogant, self-sacrificing brother. Who had less than a year to live, thanks to Sam.

If the Doctor was really part of this powerful demon collective, maybe he knew somebody who could help get Dean out of his deal. Maybe that somebody was him. Maybe, if they kept him happy, he could save Dean.

Sam's brow furrowed. Dean was never going to go for it. He hadn't when they'd met Ruby, and he wouldn't now. Especially now that he'd seen their dad's note about not trusting the Doctor. But Sam wasn't sure that was enough to not give it a shot at all. Because for whatever else the Doctor was, he was powerful. Maybe powerful enough to do it.

"I give up," Dean announced, slamming the phone book down on the lamp stand. Sam jumped sitting, and Dean grinned at him. "Guess we'll just have to ask your girlfriend where to get a good burger," he added.

Sam groaned. "Dude, let it go," he begged, but knew that it was no use. Dean grabbed his wallet, a gun, and a knife, and took off downstairs. Sam followed him quickly, if only to do damage control.

When they arrived at the counter, the girl was sorting some papers, looking irritable. She muttered something under her breath as she evened out a stack of papers by banging the end against the counter, rolling her eyes as though rehearsing an argument with somebody. When Dean cleared his throat she jumped and put the papers down. "Oh! Didn't see you, sorry!" she exclaimed, smiling in embarrassment. "What can I do for you?"

"We're lookin' for the best burger in town," replied Dean, cranking his charm up to eleven. Sam looked pained. "Happen to know where it is?"

The girl's grin slowly turned genuine. "Actually, I can do you one better," she said. Dean raised his eyebrows. "If you can wait about five minutes, I'm off shift, and I'll show you where to get the best burger in town."

Dean shot Sam a look that could only be described as gleeful. "We can wait," Dean said, barely keeping that same glee out of his voice. The girl gave a cute little smile, her tongue sticking out just the smallest amount, and gestured for them to have a seat.

They did, and sure enough, in just a few minutes a disgruntled-looking young man came to take the girl's place. She grinned, told him good-bye, and then looked expectantly at the Winchesters.

"I assume you have a car," she said. It was like she already knew Dean.

Dean's eyes grew wide, and he nodded, grinning ear to ear. "Oh yeah," he said. "I've got a car."