Disclaimer: I own nothing, am making no money from this and am doing it purely for enjoyment.

Timeline: After Bloody Mary.

Chapter Two

"The number you are trying to reach has been dis-

Dean snapped the phone shut with an angry scowl and slouched further down in the uncomfortable waiting room chair. The foul look on his face probably would've scared any small children and old ladies had there been any around, but luckily the small town eye clinic was empty.

After the incident in the mirror shop, Dean had insisted Sam get checked out and Sam, in a Dean like display of bullheadedness, had insisted he was fine. When it became obvious that Dean would knock him out and drag him in if he had to, Sam had switched tactics.

"Fine. But I'm not the only one who's eyes were bleeding. They're looking at you, too."

Dean's argument that he was the older brother and therefore entitled to refuse any medical attention - a benefit that younger brothers didn't get ("It's in the rule book of big brothers, dude.") didn't hold up to Sammy's stubbornness. In the end they'd agreed on an optometrist over the emergency room, with Sam making the concession that if the doctor found anything out of the ordinary, they were going to the hospital.

So after getting cleaned up, they'd headed out of town (Dean had knocked out two cops only hours before after all, how lame would it be to get arrested in the middle of an eye exam?). The trip had been tense and Dean had finally broken the silence with the issue both of them knew couldn't be ignored any longer.

"Now that this is all over, I want you to tell me what that secret was."

Sam had been quiet for a moment before turning his eyes on Dean.

"Why were your eyes bleeding?"

Dean's chest had tightened in panic as the question he'd been afraid to ask himself was suddenly out in the open. Was it because every life he failed to save felt like he'd killed them himself? Or was it about Buffy? Was it because Dean wasn't there when she needed him? Was she actually dead or did Mary just see that she could be dead in Dean's subconscious? Or maybe she was seeing his guilt over the last time Buffy died… Oh god, he couldn't think about that right now. One thing he knew for sure - he wasn't giving Sam any of those answers.

"She was just all suped-up from freeing herself from the mirror," he said, hoping his voice sounded more sure to Sammy than it did to himself. "She could probably melt all the eyeballs she wanted by then."

When Sam didn't answer, he looked over to see his brother staring at him - his face a mix of sadness, frustration and concern. Finally he sighed and turned to look back out the window.

"Look, we're brothers… and we'd die for each other. But maybe there's some things we need to keep to ourselves."

And that had been that. Conversation over. Now, about an hour later, Dean had been given the all clear and was waiting for Sam to finish. Trying Buffy's number again had become like second nature whenever he was alone. A habit that he couldn't seem to stop even though he always felt worse afterward.

All in all, things had been pretty craptastic lately. No leads on dad, no leads on Buffy and Bloody Mary's attack on Sam was proof positive that he was hiding something big - something he was still refusing to tell Dean about. But it's not like he could really judge, not with the way he was sneaking around looking for clues on Buffy's whereabouts. It was getting harder to hide his search for her from Sam.

In Colorado he'd checked in on the supposed residence of a former Watcher while they were working the Wendigo case - the man was missing and had been for about six months. He'd sought out a "renowned psychic" in Wisconsin after the water spirit - she'd "seen" nothing. Found a former Sunnydale resident living in Pennsylvania when they were there for the plane crashing demon - delusional on a whole new level, "Sunnydale was such a wonderful little town. I'll really miss it, you know. So quiet and peaceful. A real shame about that sinkhole…"

Sliding down even lower in his chair, he rubbed his eyes tiredly. The soft muzak playing overhead was torture - the first thing he was doing when they got back to the Impala was cranking some Sabbath. Let Ozzy's dulcet tones chase the sound of a clarinet playing "I Believe I Can Fly."

"Hey, you alright?"

Sam's concerned voice came from almost right in front of him, making him wonder how A) someone so ginormous could move so quietly and B) how pathetically out of it he must be to not have noticed. Buffy was a dangerous distraction, he was lucky he hadn't gotten them killed yet with his inattention.

He must have taken too long to answer because Sam's brow furrowed together even further and he folded himself quickly into the seat next to him, taking Dean's chin in his mammoth paw of a hand before he could protest and tilting his head left and right looking at his eyes.

"What did the doctor say? Is something wrong? Do your eyes hurt?"

Dean swatted him away and sat up straight, "Lay off the touchy feely crap. I'm fine, Sam. Doc say's I've got great peepers. Just tired." He focused his attention back on Sam, studying him with the same intensity his brother had given him just moments before. "What about you? All good?"

Sam nodded and stood, still watching him closely. "All good."

"That's a relief. Can't do research if you're blind," Dean said, moving toward the front desk to pay.

"Hmm, yeah, it'd also be hard to save your ass if I couldn't see you," Sam replied mildly.

Dean was stopped from telling Sam what he could do with his ass by the arrival of one of the two elderly doctors that owned the place - Dr. Leonard, the one that had done Dean's exam. The place was so small they didn't even have a receptionist to take payments.

"Good to see two young men so concerned with eye health," he said with and eye crinkling smile as he pushed the bill across to them.

Dean nodded and reached in his pocket as he glanced at the paper, "An underappreciated branch of the medical field."

Sam snatched the fraudulent card away from Dean as he started to hand it to the man and pulled out his wallet, laying down a wad of cash.

"That card's close to the max," he said, giving his brother a flat stare.

Dean shot him a "what the hell?" look as the doctor gathered Sam's change, to which Sam just narrowed his eyes at and shook his head slightly.

Out in the parking lot, Sam answered before Dean could even get the question out, "We're not ripping off two nice elderly eye doctors, Dean."

"Fine, fine," Dean said, waving his hand at his brother in dismissal. Truth be told, had his mind not been so preoccupied, he probably would have paid in cash anyway. Not that he'd tell Sam that.

"So, where to next? Anything going on in Ohio?" Dean asked as he settled into the driver's seat, reveling in the warm leather and the familiar smell.

"Nope and no coordinates from dad either. I'll break out the laptop next place we hit that has wi-fi and see what I can find nearby."

A sudden inspiration hit Dean and his hands tightened on the wheel as he struggled to keep his face and voice nonchalant.

"…how far is Cleveland?"

"Cleveland? Cleveland's like a supernatural dead zone, why would you want to go there?"

Dean smiled humorlessly at the lie their father had told them. He wondered if John had actually known what was there and refused to let his family near it or if he'd been fooled by the pretense of normality in the area just like everyone else. It was possible he just didn't know, the Cleveland Hellmouth didn't spew a constant fountain of mystical energy like the one in Sunnydale had, it was basically just a trickle except a few times a year - solstices, certain phases of the moon, etc. It was also possible that he knew exactly what it was and just wanted Dean and Sam far from it.

"Something I need to check on," Dean answered, popping Black Sabbath into the cassette player. "So, how far are we?"

Sam pulled out the map, muttering about "booty calls" under his breath.

"About two hours," he answered, pulling his phone out of his pocket as it started to play some lame emo ballad. "Just keep following this until 90 branches off," he said, distractedly waving at the freeway Dean was getting on.

Dean rolled his eyes and cranked up the music as his brother started tapping away at the screen. Excitement and hope he couldn't quite seem to beat down gathered in his chest. Of course he'd checked out the Hellmouth in Cleveland early on when Buffy went missing, but there had been nothing there. Oddly enough, there not only had been no Slayers, there also hadn't been anything supernatural at all going on. Figuring all the nasties were laying low after the Sunnydale Smackdown, he'd left with plans to check it out again later. There should be a Slayer watching over it by now, maybe he'd finally get a lead on her.

"God…"

Sam's distraught voice somehow carried over the sound of Ozzy wailing about Heaven and Hell - big brother's selective hearing at work.

"What?" Dean asked, turning the music back down and looking over at Sam who was staring at his phone with disbelief.

"This e-mail, from this girl, Rebecca Warren… a friend of mine. I went to school with her and her brother, Zach," he said distractedly, scrolling down the screen of his phone. "She says Zach's been charged with murder - he's been arrested for killing his girlfriend. Rebecca says he didn't do it but… sounds like the cops have a pretty good case."

"Dude, what kinda people are you hanging out with?"

"No, man. I know Zach. He's no killer."

"Yeah, well maybe you just didn't know your friend as well as you thought you did."

"He wouldn't do this, Dean. I know it," Sam said, turning his super amped up earnestness on his brother. "He's in St. Louis, we should go."

"Look, I'm sorry about your buddy, okay. But this doesn't sound like our kinda problem."

"They're my friends, Dean."

Dean tried not to let the battle in his head show on his face. They were so close to Cleveland, and possibly some answers. But how could he refuse Sam a chance to check in on his friends, when he's been spending so much time on the sly looking for Buffy. And who knew, maybe this was their kinda job. It was better to go and make sure than stay here chasing ghosts.

"Yeah, okay, Sammy. St. Louis here we come," Dean said shooting his brother a big (fake) grin.

Sam wasn't buying it though, he was watching Dean with that intense look again, like he was studying a particularly difficult demonology text.

"Hey, why don't we go to Cleveland.," Sam suggested suddenly. "You can do what you need to do and I'll hop a flight to St. Louis. Be back in a few days."

The offer was genuine, no sign of exasperation or annoyance in Sam's tone at all. And it actually appealed to Dean more than he'd like to admit. But leaving Sam alone…

"No way, Sammy. What if this turns out to be our kinda gig?" He asked, then shot his brother an innocently worried look. "You're still too small to play in the sandbox all on your own, Sammykins."

"I'll just check it out, see what's going on. Just because I know Zach couldn't do this doesn't mean anything supernatural is going on. Could be a mistake, or someone pissed at him trying to make him look guilty. If I need backup, I'll call." Sam sighed as his brother shook his head stubbornly. "Look, Dean. I don't know what's going on with you and if you don't wanna tell me, that's fine. But I'm not blind or stupid. Something's got you worried and it's not dad. It's eating you up. If whatever this is you have to do in Cleveland will help, then do it."

Sam's words hung heavily in the air of the Impala as Ozzy sang on in the background. Dean couldn't speak. There just weren't any words. Or maybe there were too many. The sudden overflow of gratefulness was overwhelming and choking, but at the same time urging him to just tell his brother what was going on. In the end, he just fell back on habit - keeping things quietly to himself.

"Fine. But you're not flying."

"Dean, nothing going to happen to the plane," Sam sighed in exasperation. "I know you don't li-"

"That's not it, brain trust. You can't take weapons on a plane. And I'll be damned if you're not taking two of everything. You'll be like the Noah's ark of weaponry."

Sam snorted and shot his brother a smile.

"You have to promise me you won't do anything stupid, Sammy. First sign of trouble, FIRST SIGN, you call me, got it?"

"I'm not a kid, Dean. I don't need a babysitter."

"Promise me, Sam."

"Fine, I promise," he answered, and when Dean looked over at him he saw that even though his little brother's voice was indulgent, his eyes and slight smile showed affection.

Dean looked away and cranked the music up, fighting a smile.

Twenty minutes later found them in a small town called Fremont where Sam had found a rental car agency using his phone. After Dean got finished laughing at the silver Ford Focus Sam would be driving, he followed him out into the country where they stopped to sift through the weapons in the Impala's trunk next to a corn field.

After badgering Sam about fifteen more times about being careful and calling and Sam reassuring him just as many times that he would, Dean finally watched his brother drive away with a knot in his stomach, hoping desperately that he wasn't making a huge mistake.

Deciding not to dwell on it, he hopped back in his car and took off for Cleveland - the faster he got this done with, the faster he could make sure Sam wasn't getting in over his head. Hopefully he'd just find out his friend was a wackjob, which sounded callous, but given the myriad of other options, Dean would take it.

The sun beat down out of the cloudless sky, warming the interior as the wind rushed in from the open windows and Ozzy was switched out for Metallica. It should have been perfect. But Dean had gotten used to having his brother back, and now that he was gone again the loss was more acute than it had been in a while. The whole time Sam had been gone, he'd missed him - there was no denying that. But even though he'd thought about him daily and wondered how he was and what he was doing, the ache of missing him had grown familiar - never going away, but becoming bearable.

Buffy's absence wasn't quite the same, she hadn't been a physical presence. Missing her wasn't as… sharp, as it had been with Sam. But it wasn't a pain he was growing used to like he had with his brother. Instead it seemed to get more insistent as the days went by. Maybe it was because there was no closure, he didn't know where she was, what had happened to her, if she was alive or dead. When she had died before, there hadn't been this obsession. There had been rage and grief and numbness and guilt, but there had been no hope then either. She'd been dead. There was nothing else to say on the matter. He'd only just started pulling himself back together when she'd come back. Would he go through that all over again? Would all this lead to finding out she was gone, this time for good? If that was the case, why was he searching at all? Wasn't it better to think she was out there somewhere than to know she wasn't?

His thoughts rolled around in dark circles as he made his way into Cleveland, the setting sun coloring the skyline a bright orange that reflected off the water. His first stop, Calvary Cemetery, the largest graveyard in the city. With effort, he pulled himself out of his spiraling thoughts, knowing that being distracted while roaming a Hellmouth could be deadly. Parking down a suburban side road, he climbed out into the cooling night air and grabbed a few stakes and a flask of holy water out of the trunk before venturing into the cemetery.

The graveyard was still and quiet, smelling slightly of freshly mown grass. Huge trees, headstones and mausoleums dotted the landscape, the rising moon causing muted shadows to fall over the lawn. Dean strode boldly through the park like setting, making no effort to conceal himself, one hand wrapped around the stake in the pocket of his leather jacket. It only took about a half an hour for him to feel something watching him. Stalking him. Pretending not to notice, he carried on until he reached a particularly beat down looking gravestone.

"Oh, Uncle Johnny, I hardly knew ye," he said, squatting down in front of the marker and waiting.

The thing was on him almost immediately, all yellow eyes, sharp teeth and distorted forehead. Had it not been for his father's intense training, he most likely would have gotten his face ripped off. Instead, he dodged low, hitting the lunging vampire with his shoulder and flipping it back behind him. It twisted and landed on its feet like a cat and came at him again, barely giving him time to whip the stake out and thrust it up into its chest as its teeth snapped mere inches from his neck. Its eyes, far too close to Dean's own for comfort, blinked at him comically before it burst into dust.

Slowly straightening back out, he brushed the flecks off his coat and jeans as he willed his heart to quit pounding. Demons that used your body to work their evil unnerved him in some primal way. The wolf in sheep's skin. A violation on the deepest level - he couldn't think of anything worse. Whether it be the kind that smoked in and used you up while you were still alive and trapped or the kind that booted you out of your own skin and made it into a monster, demonic possession was the nastiest thing they dealt with in his opinion.

"Nice moves," a deep sultry voice called out behind him.

His body tensed and he cursed himself for not paying more attention. Tucking the stake back in his pocket, he turned slowly to see a dark haired beauty watching him from next to a large mausoleum. Black leather pants and a tank with the words "Bite Me" splashed across the front along with the sexy smirk revealing dimples made Dean's pulse pick up.

"That? Nothing. I'm sure I could show you some much more interesting moves…"

"I wonder…" she said, pushing away from the stone wall and moving closer, her strides smooth and sure, hips swaying. "Don't get too cocky, though. That vamp was a whole six minutes old. It's like killing a kitten."

"A kitten? Ouch, you just slayed my sense of manly pride."

She froze, her head tilting slightly to the side.

"Interesting choice of words…"

"You are a Slayer aren't you? She who hangs out a lot in cemeteries?" He asked, pointedly looking at the stake that jammed in the front pocket of her skin tight pants.

The amusement in her dark eyes faded into something more intense.

"That's B's line."

The nickname struck a memory in him.

"Leather pants, plenty of attitude and smoking hot. You must be Faith."

"And who the hell are you?"

"Friend of Buffy's."

They both stared each other down. The rustling of the leaves overhead from the light breeze and the distant chirp of crickets the only sound.

"Where is she?"

Dean's heart fell as he realized he wasn't the only one that had voiced the question, Faith's words had overlapped his own perfectly.