Thank you so much Jenjoremy for working your beta magic. Gredelina1 and SandraEngstrom2, thanks for giving extra time to this one.


Chapter Three

Jo was tired and sore. She'd spent the last few hours of darkness digging up the grave of a local character named Walter Blake, a task made much harder by the fact Walter really didn't want to be dispatched. She'd spent a lot of time shooting him with salt rounds before she got down deep enough that she could salt and burn him. He was taken care of now though, and she was back at her motel packing up her stuff so she could get home. She figured she would rest a few days before tracking down her next hunt. It would be good for her to have some downtime and it would be good for her mom to have her around for a while. With Sam missing and Dean gone, she worried about Jo when she was away more than ever.

She had shoved the last of her things into her duffel and turned her attention to her weapons, dropping the iron bar on top of her clothes and then checking the shotgun, when she felt a sudden chill descend over the room.

"Dammit," she hissed. Apparently she hadn't done as thorough a job on Walter as she'd thought. She spun on her heel, pointing the gun into the corners of the room, waiting for the ghost to appear. "Come on then. Show yourself."

The outline of a person flickered and solidified in front of her, and she almost dropped the gun in her shock. "You!" she gasped.

"Me."

Sense returned to her and she pulled the trigger. The spray of salt shot through the figure, dispersing it.

She didn't understand. It wasn't possible. How could he be here?

Her phone started ringing and she answered automatically, putting in on speaker and dropping it down onto the bed.

"Jo, it's me," her mother said. "Look, I've got some news. You might want to sit down."

"Can't sit right now, Mom," she said tensely. "Kinda busy."

"What?" She sounded worried. "What's happening?" There was a rustling sound and then a voice she'd begun to doubt she'd ever hear again said, "Jo, tell me what's happening."

"Sam!"

"Yeah, it's me," he said impatiently. "What's happening?"

"There's a ghost. It doesn't make any sense though, Sam. It can't be here. It's…" She cut off, engaged the next cartridge, and pulled the trigger again as the ghost reappeared. "I need help."

"Where are you?" Sam asked.

"Hay Springs, Iowa."

"I'm on my way. Make a circle of salt and get in it. Arm yourself with what you can, but do not leave the circle until I get there. Your mom's going to stay on the phone with you." Jo heard the phone passing hands again and Ellen said, "Okay, honey, I'm here."


Whatever mojo the angel used to put Sam to sleep wore off soon after he left, and Sam woke just as they were discussing whether to try to move him to a bed or leave him where he was after making him more comfortable.

He didn't wake in stages. He didn't stir. He went from unconscious to fully alert and upright in a swift movement, his eyes roving the room and the obsidian knife gripped his hand. He looked a little wild at first, then he took in the room and relaxed when he saw only Ellen, Bobby and Dean.

"He's gone," Dean said.

"Did you kill him?" he asked.

Bobby raised an eyebrow. "How? You stabbed him in the heart and he didn't stumble."

Sam walked over to the table they'd been sitting at before he arrived and drained Dean's untouched glass of whiskey. "What an asshole."

"Yeah," Bobby agreed. "I didn't like him anyway."

"I'm not sure we were supposed to like him," Ellen said. "He didn't seem like he'd care what we thought of him just as long as we do as he asked."

Sam poured himself another glass of whiskey, sipped it, and asked, "What did he want you to do?"

"I don't know for sure," Dean said. "He just said there was work for me to do."

"For you?" Sam asked, choking on his drink.

"Yep," Bobby answered for him. "He didn't want anything from us. Just Dean."

"Well he can go screw himself," Sam said angrily. "He's getting nothing from any of us. We don't work for monsters."

"Angels," Dean corrected.

Sam laughed harshly. "That was not an angel."

"I think it might have been," Dean said uncomfortably. "He healed my cuts. And who else would have the power to drag my ass out of the pit?"

"He pulled you out?" Sam asked incredulously. "That… accountant?"

Dean shrugged. "That's what he said anyway. He knew about my arm, and I haven't told anyone about that."

"What's wrong with your arm?" Sam asked.

Dean shrugged off his shirt and rolled up the sleeve of his t-shirt to show the handprint seared into his skin. "Weird, right?"

Sam nodded.

"I think it had to be him," Bobby said. "Ruby said it couldn't have been a demon thing. Not even Lilith has the juice for that, and she's the most powerful thing we've ever come across. I believe him anyway; still don't like him, though."

Sam's mouth pressed into a thin line. He didn't like what he was hearing, that was obvious, but he apparently couldn't come up with an alternative answer. Eventually, he said, "I saw one, too. An 'angel'." He inflected the word with distaste.

"You did? When?" Dean asked.

"Before I came back here. I was on the other side of the state, on a hunt, and this dick appeared and announced he was an angel and that I had to come here because you were back. He did this shadow puppet thing that looked like wings on the wall."

"Yeah, Castiel did the same thing," Dean said, "though it was less a puppet thing and more like he was showing us just how badass he was."

Sam grimaced. "Don't suppose it matters anyway. I'd lay good money on us never seeing them again."

"And the 'work' they mentioned?" Bobby asked.

"Already told you, it's not happening." Sam shook his head as if dispersing an upsetting thought. "They're not coming anywhere near Dean."

And there it was. They weren't coming anywhere near Dean. He had wondered when this would kick in again, this 'protect at all costs' side to his brother. Dean understood it, appreciated it even, but that didn't mean it didn't make him crazy sometimes. Did Sam not realize Dean felt the exact same way about him? He wanted to protect Sam, too, even from himself. He needed it. Just looking at him you could tell he hadn't taken care of himself lately. He needed Dean to remind him to do that.

"I need to call Jo," Ellen said quietly. "She needs to know what's going on." She looked pointedly at Dean, and for a moment he wondered what he'd done wrong, then he realized she was referring to his whole 'back from the dead' thing. With the arrival of angels in their world and the state of Sam, it didn't seem like the biggest news anymore.

Ellen picked up the phone and dialed. "Jo, it's me. Look, I've got some news. You might want to sit down." Her expression went from confusion to worry quickly. "What? What's happening?"

Sam held out his hand, looking tense, and Ellen handed phone over. "Jo, tell me what's happening," he said then rolled his eyes. "Yeah. It's me. What's happening?" He hesitated and his expression became hard. "Where are you? I'm on my way. Make a circle of salt and get in it. Arm yourself with what you can, but do not leave the circle until I get there. Your mom's going to stay on the phone with you." He handed the phone back to Ellen and made for the door. He didn't say a word to Dean. He didn't ask him to come along or even look to see if he was following, but Dean would be damned if he was going to let Sam just walk away from him. He followed, catching the door as it swung closed, and went outside. Sam glanced back at him, frowned, and then redirected his path to the Impala instead of the motorbike. He got in the passenger side and said, "Hay Springs, Iowa," when Dean slid in behind the wheel.

"What's going on, Sam?" Dean asked as he started the engine.

"Jo's in trouble," Sam said stiffly. "Sounds like she's pinned by a ghost."

The back doors were yanked open and Ellen and Bobby threw themselves into the car, the phone still held to Ellen's ear.

"You waiting for the lights to change?" Bobby said irritably. "Let's go!"

Dean shoved the car into gear and they pulled out of their spot and onto the road.


Ellen was first out of the car and to the motel room door, but Sam was close behind. He would have tried to get Ellen to stay back and let him take care of it, but he knew it was pointless. Jo was in trouble; of course Ellen needed to be there. He felt the exact same way.

Jo opened the door, whey-faced. She glanced from her mother to Sam and she started to say something but Sam shook his head and pushed past her. He stood in the middle of the room, looking around for a sign of the ghost. Jo's shotgun was on the bed and there was a circle of salt on the floor, but those were the only signs of something being wrong.

He glanced behind him in time to see Jo step out of Dean's embrace, watched by a teary Ellen and satisfied Bobby, but he felt like he was a hundred miles away from them rather than a matter of feet; he was so disconnected from it all.

"What happened, Jo?" he asked and all eyes moved to him. Bobby looked disapproving, as if he was ruining the reunion moment, but Sam was more concerned with saving Jo's life than watching her and Dean hugging it out.

"It was an old case," Jo said. "A water spirit up at a summer camp in Maine a few months ago. I took care of it, but one of the counselors I interviewed died before I could stop it. He was only eighteen."

"And you saw his ghost?" Sam asked.

"Yeah, but, Sam, he was buried in California, and I have nothing he could be tethered to."

"So there's no reason for him to be near you," Sam said thoughtfully. "Okay. We need to get you somewhere safe and then find out exactly where he's planted. Maybe he's just particularly powerful and that's how he's broken his tether."

"Maybe," Jo said doubtfully.

Sam didn't believe it either. A ghost that new should have no strength at all, let alone enough to break free of what was binding it. He had no other explanation yet though. He needed to talk to Bobby, to see what he knew, but he didn't want to do that in front of Jo for fear of scaring her more than she already was. It was clear to him though, that there was something more than just a haunting happening.

"I have somewhere we can go," Bobby said.

Sam looked at him. "You do?" He knew Bobby's place was decked out for demon defense and maybe the occasional other fugly, but ghosts were a different ball game.

"Had a bit of a refit this summer," Bobby said. "Trust me, it's the safest place."

Sam nodded. "Bobby's it is then."


They stopped on the road for gas and Sam went into the bathroom while Dean filled the Impala up. Bobby and Ellen were riding with Jo in her car. He was washing his hands when he felt the room's temperature drop and saw his breath mist. He looked up into the mirror and saw a man standing behind him.

He turned and took in the sight. It was Jeff, the doomed wannabe hunter Sam had killed after he'd been bitten by a werewolf. He had been a cheerful to the point of annoying man before, the complete opposite to Sam, but that had changed. His face was solemn and his eyes hard.

"Murderer," he snarled.

"Werewolf," Sam said in return.

It was the wrong thing to say. Jeff's face twisted with rage and he grabbed Sam's shoulders and dragged him so they were almost nose to nose. "You killed me!"

He shoved Sam backward so he stumbled. His hip hit the basin hard. He quickly got his feet under him again and said, "I did. I killed you because you were a monster. I have no regrets."

"Maybe you'll regret it when I have caved your skull in," Jeff said.

He grabbed a hank of Sam's hair and slammed his head into the lip of the basin. Stars exploded behind his eyes and the pain seared through him. He had nothing to defend himself with, not even salt. Cursing his stupidity for not being prepared, he braced himself for the pain again as Jeff yanked his head back for another collision with the basin, but the hit never came. The small bathroom was suddenly crowded as Uriel appeared. He laid a palm on Jeff's forehead, muttered something, and the ghost disappeared.

As Jeff's grip on him disappeared, Sam thumped to the floor, his ears ringing and his head pounding.

"You should be more careful, Sam Winchester."

"What are you doing here?" Sam asked.

"I believe it is called saving your life."

"Going to make a habit of that? Because it might cut into your free time."

Uriel glared at him. "You should make a habit of checking in with old friends. It's too late for some already." That said he disappeared.

Sam rose to his feet and looked into the mirror. He had a red welt on his forehead that was going to bruise brilliantly soon. He shook his head and left the bathroom.

"What happened to you?" Dean asked when he caught sight of him.

"Met an old friend."

"In the bathroom?" Dean asked incredulously.

Sam nodded. "We need to make a detour on the way back to Bobby's. Head to Sheldon."

"What's in Sheldon?" Dean asked.

"Another old friend."


Sam refused to say any more about the friend he'd met or how he'd come to have the marks on him, but Dean knew it was something to do with a ghost as Sam called Ellen from the road and told her to set everyone up with salt rounds and anything iron they could get their hands on.

Dean was worried, though that was nothing new. He'd been worried since Sam had walked into The Roadhouse looking like hell. Something big had happened to him in the four months they'd been apart and Dean wanted to know what.

Sam directed him along a road and onto a dirt track that led to a small house. Dean pulled up out front and they both climbed out. They collected a salt loaded shotgun each and an iron bar, reaffirming Dean's certainty that it was a spirit case.

"Sam, what's going on?"

"Not sure yet," Sam said evasively.

They crossed to the house and Sam knocked loudly on the door, but there was no answer. He went to a window and peered inside, and Dean saw what little color he had drain from his face. He shook his head and walked slowly to the door. Dean knew he could pick a lock, but he didn't even bother to get his tools out. He just stepped back and kicked the door right below the handle. It flew open and Sam went in, pointing his shotgun into the corners.

Dean imitated him and they walked through a short hall into a small lounge. There was a body on the floor, lying over a half finished salt line. It was a man who looked about Bobby's age.

Sam cursed as he looked down at the man.

"Sam, what the hell's going on?" Dean asked.

"Ghosts."

"Yeah, I get that, but how did you know to come here to him?"

Sam sighed. "I was attacked by an old hunt in the bathroom. Jo was attacked at the motel. I got a heads-up that hunters were going down, so I figured it was worth checking in on the other hunter in the area while we were close." He shook his head and walked away from the body and out of the house.

Dean went out after him and said, "Aren't we going to do something with the body? You said hunters take care of their own. Shouldn't he be burned?"

"Probably," Sam said. "I'll put a call in when we get to Bobby's. Someone else can do it."


Bobby's house was a hub of activity when they arrived. Ellen, Jo, and Bobby were each on a phone, speaking quietly in different corners of the room.

"Just check on him," Bobby was saying. "No, I don't have anything for sure. Look, Annie, R.C was the ninth body I've heard of so far…"

"Tenth," Sam said quietly and when Bobby raised an eyebrow Sam went on, "Bates."

Bobby looked stricken for a moment and then he continued his phone call. "Make that tenth. Annie, for God's sake be careful. Take salt and iron and get out of there in a hurry if you see anything." He set the phone down and blew out a breath. "How?" he asked Sam.

"Looked like his chest had had been ripped out. Helluva mess."

"I should think so," Ellen said, setting her phone down on the table. Her eyes drifted to Sam's forehead. "What happened?"

"Jeff," Sam said.

Her eyebrows rose. "Werewolf Jeff?"

"Yeah."

Jo ended her call. "Old hunts," she said.

"Not just hunts," Sam corrected. "Hunts we screwed up. I killed Jeff and your kid got taken out before the end. They're people who would blame us for what happened."

Ellen shot him a sharp look and Jo looked downcast. Sam shrugged. Jo was a hunter now, which meant she didn't need the facts sugarcoated to save her feelings.

"Well, now you're here, I've got a surprise for you," Bobby said. "Come with me."

Dean glanced at Sam and then followed Bobby through the door that led to the basement, Ellen and Jo on their heels.

As they rounded the corner at the bottom of the stairs, Sam saw the difference in the space, the most obvious being that there was a lot less. There were still boxes, old furniture and books stacked around, but the majority of the room was gone.

There was a heavy door that Bobby unbolted and passed through. Sam went in and stopped dead in his tracks. The metal walls were curved into a circle and there was a vast devil's trap painted into the floor. Sam's eyes were drawn up by a rhythmic pulsing noise and he saw a huge fan set into the ceiling with another devil's trap worked into the vent. There were weapons, a desk equipped with what looked like a CB radio, and a cot.

"Bobby…" Ellen said, touching a finger to the wall. "Is this… "

"Solid iron. Completely coated in salt. 100% ghost-proof," Bobby said proudly.

"You built a panic room?" Dean asked.

Bobby shrugged self-deprecatingly. "I had a weekend off."

Sam looked around. This was perfect, exactly what they needed, but there was one problem. They couldn't stay there forever. Somehow they were going to have to deal with the ghosts. They couldn't go across the country, salting and burning, when there were ghosts attacking them. He wasn't even sure that would work now. They obviously weren't dealing with normal spirits.

He perched on the edge of the cot and pressed his fingertips to his temples as he thought.

"You okay, Sam?" Dean asked solicitously.

Sam looked up. "No." Dean looked concerned and Sam went on. "I'm trying to work out what we do next. Obviously, we can't stay here forever. The ghosts can't get in, which is awesome, but there are things we need to do that we can't do trapped here."

"What are you thinking?" Bobby asked.

"I don't think these ghosts are really ghosts in the purest sense. Why would they all be attacking at once? There's something else going on here. We need to find out what."

"You're right," Bobby said. "I've got some books upstairs that might help, and we could do with a little more firepower. I've got a couple shotguns down here, but we should each have one in case."

"In case of what?" Dean asked. "You said this place was ghost-proof."

"It is," Bobby replied. "But it's better to be prepared. Sooner or later, we're going to have to leave the place, and I don't know about you, but I prefer to be armed."

Sam got to his feet. "I'll get them. What books do you need?"

"You think I remember titles?" Bobby asked in a testy voice. "I'll get them. You get the weapons."

Dean looked like he wanted to argue, but Bobby cut him off with a glance and said, "Sam and I have been kicking ghost ass the longest out of any of us. We can take care of ourselves."

Sam didn't wait to see Dean's reaction. He just walked out of the room and up the stairs, Bobby following. Bobby headed into the library and perused the shelves and Sam walked outside to the Impala. He had the keys in the trunk and was about to open it when someone or something grabbed the back of his head and shoved it forward into the sleek paintwork. For the second time in as many hours, Sam saw stars and felt the pain of an impact.

The hand holding him dropped and he turned, leaning heavily against the car. There was a girl standing opposite him, her pretty features set into hard lines of fury. Sam frowned. He recognized her, but he couldn't come up with a name or story for her.

"Charlie. Remember me?" she asked.

Sam nodded, the memory returning. "The Bloody Mary Hunt. You were the last one killed."

"Yes," she hissed. "I was the last one killed because you failed to protect me."

"How were we to know you'd killed someone? We didn't know you were a target."

"You could have asked! You and your partner were too busy protecting each other to care about me. You asked me nothing. You left me to die! I saw her coming for me, but I had no way to tell you. You didn't answer your phones!"

"We were busy trying to take Mary out," Sam said. "And we did. You were the last life she took."

"She stole my mother's life!" she shrieked. "She is a wreck of a person now. She sedates her way through her days because she can't get past what happened to me. If you had just asked me a single question, you could have saved me."

She flickered and then was right in front of him, her hands round his throat. She squeezed, and Sam felt the lack of oxygen affecting him almost immediately. He had been choked so many times in his life, it seemed the vengeful spirit's go-to move when trying to kill him, but it never got any easier. He raised his hands desperately even though he knew there would be nothing corporeal for him to grab. His one hope was that she would get bored once he lost consciousness and let him go. That way he had a chance at surviving.

As his eyes began to blur he noticed something on her wrist. It was a mark like a burn but too perfectly patterned to be real. Someone had put it there.

Suddenly, the pressure was gone from his throat and he slid down to the ground, leaning against the rear of the car and gasping in a huge gulp of air.

Dean's face swum in his vision. "Jesus, Sam, are you okay?"

"Fine," Sam said hoarsely, struggling to regain his breath in wheezes.

Dean squatted beside him and laid a hand on his shoulder. He had an iron bar in the other hand.

"Is Bobby okay?" Sam asked, wondering why it was Dean who had come to his rescue and not the older hunter, seeing as he had been close enough to have heard Sam's head hitting the trunk.

"He'll be fine," Dean said. "There were a couple creepy twins going for him, but Jo took them out. You good to stand?"

Sam nodded and let Dean help him to his feet. Every breath he pulled in burned and his head was pounding with pain, but he allowed no sign of it to break his careful control.

He opened the trunk, retrieved the weapons he'd come out to get, and then he and Dean made their way inside again.


Sam was sitting on the cot again trying to focus on the book that was open in his lap. The mark from the bathroom encounter was now a bruise and there was a deep red welt across the other side of his forehead that was going to join up with the other soon. Dean thought he had to be wrecked but you wouldn't know it looking at him.

What Dean wanted more than anything was to get these ghosts dealt with and then get Sam somewhere he could climb into a bed and not get out again for a few days. Not The Roadhouse, where there were always things to do—somewhere quiet. And then they could talk. Dean could find out what the hell had happened to his brother in the time they'd been apart and what he could do about it.

"Here it is," Bobby said suddenly. "I found it—the mark on the kids and the girl that pounded Sam."

Sam looked up. "And?"

"You're not going to like it."

"I rarely like anything," Sam replied.

Bobby smiled grimly. "It's called the Mark of the Witness."

"Witness to what?" Dean asked.

"Witness to the unnatural. None of them died what you'd call ordinary deaths. See, these ghosts—they were forced to rise. They woke up in agony. They're like rabid dogs. It ain't their fault. Someone raised them on purpose."

"Who?" Sam asked.

"Do I look like I know?" Bobby asked. "But whoever it was used a spell so powerful it left a mark, a brand on their souls. Whoever did this had big plans. It's called "The rising of the Witnesses." It figures into an ancient prophecy."

Dean looked at the heavy tome Bobby was reading. "What book is this prophecy in?

"Well, the widely distributed version's just for tourists, you know. But long story short—Revelations. This is a sign."

"A sign of what?" Jo asked.

Bobby looked serious. "The apocalypse."

The only one who didn't react was Sam. He looked completely blank, as if didn't have enough emotion left in him to feel shocked. Ellen and Jo sucked in sharp breaths and Dean's hands clenched, but Sam just sat there.

"The apocalypse?" Dean asked. "The actual end of the world apocalypse."

Bobby nodded. "Seems so. We've got mention of horsemen, rain of fire, and the serpent. It all sounds end of the world worthy to me. See, the rise of the witnesses is a mile marker. Guess that explains the angels."

Dean's heart was pounding. He'd thought the last year was bad, and that had just been about him going to Hell. The apocalypse was everything going to Hell, or maybe everything blinking out, or… It was just too much.

He felt a hand on his shoulder and looked up to see Sam had left the cot to stand beside him.

"Okay," Sam said calmly. "Let's deal with one thing at a time before we start hoarding C-Rations. These witnesses, is there a way to take them down?"

"There's a spell," Bobby said. "I've got all the ingredients, but they ain't down here. And the spell needs to be cast over an open fireplace."

"The library," Sam said. "Okay then. Then let's get it over with."

Bobby stood walked to the door. Sam squeezed Dean's shoulder once, grabbed his shotgun from the cot, and then followed him. Dean took a breath, trying to wrap his mind around everything that was happening as he went after them. Strangely, Sam didn't carry on up the stairs after Bobby. He stood by the door and waited for Dean to pass through. His reasoning became clear at once. As soon as Dean was out of the way, he slammed it shut in Ellen and Jo's faces.

"Sam!" Jo shrieked. "Don't you dare!"

Sam opened the hatch in the door and ducked his head to look inside.

"Let me out!" Jo said.

Sam shook his head. "Maybe next time."

"Sam," Ellen growled.

Sam closed the hatch and walked away.

Dean was numb to being shocked by what Sam did now. In fact, he felt like he should have expected it. Sam wouldn't want Ellen and Jo in the line of fire. What actually surprised him was the fact he'd let Dean out before slamming the door.

They were at the bottom of the stairs when the man flickered into being. He was unfamiliar to Dean, but the way he glared at Sam made him think they were at least acquaintances. Sam pulled the trigger of his shotgun, dispersing the ghost, and then continued on up the stairs as if he'd done nothing more dramatic than sneeze. Dean hurried after him.

Bobby was rooting through a desk drawer when they got upstairs. "Sam, upstairs, linen closet, red hex box," he shouted. "Dean. Kitchen. Cutlery drawer. It's got a false bottom. Hemlock, opium, wormwood."

Dean hurried to retrieve the items, his mind up the stairs with Sam, listening hard for any sound that portended trouble for his brother.

Bobby had the items he'd asked Dean to get in the silver bowl before Sam came running down the stairs again and dumped the box on the desk. At the same moment, a man appeared behind him.

"Sam! Down!" Dean shouted.

Sam dropped and Dean pulled the trigger of his shotgun, sending a salt round into the young man. Sam got straight to his feet again and grabbed up his shotgun in time to blast away a young woman Dean didn't know.

Bobby was working fast, muttering over the bowl, but the ghosts seemed to be coming thicker and faster now. As fast as they blew them away, they appeared again: the twins that had Bobby before, the man Dean just shot, the man from the basement and a young girl Dean didn't know.

"You could have saved me if you'd asked a single question," the girl said in the instant it took for Dean to reload and shoot her.

The man scowled at Sam. "You should have known what was happening."

"I wasn't a monster!"

"The monster took us, Bobby," the creepy twins said in unison.

Between each accusation, Dean reloaded and prepared to shoot them away again, not liking the flush of color that was heating Sam's cheeks.

Sam ran out of cartridges first and he dropped the useless shotgun to the floor and picked up the poker instead. He swung it through the air again and again, dispersing the ghosts.

"I was innocent!" the girl screamed at Sam as she appeared again.

Sam stopped with the poker raised. "I don't care!" he roared. "I don't care that you died. You were a case."

The girl came toward Sam, her hands clawed, and Dean raised the shotgun to shoot but the trigger clicked on an empty chamber. The girl had her hands around Sam's throat again and he'd dropped the poker. Dean started toward him just as Bobby grunted with pain. The man Dean didn't know had his hand shoved through Bobby's chest. Bobby had the bowl of ingredients in his hand, but it was slipping.

Dean had a split second to think, and he went against himself as he ran for Bobby and caught the bowl on its way to the ground.

Please, let Sam be okay.

He tossed the bowl over the fire, and the flames whooshed up as the ingredients burned.

"Sam," Bobby said hoarsely.

Dean was afraid to turn. He wasn't sure he wanted to see what was behind him. Had he made the wrong choice? Should he have saved Sam first?

"M'fine," a breathy voice answered, and Dean's heart squeezed painfully. He turned to see Sam struggling to his feet, his throat red and sore looking and his eyes bloodshot, but otherwise miraculously okay.

Dean breathed his name with relief, and Sam smiled. "Nice work, Dean."

"Yeah," Bobby said weakly. "Thanks for the save."

Dean grinned. "It's what we do."

Sam nodded soberly. "Yeah. It is."


Dean left Sam and Bobby slumped on the couch and desk chair respectively and went down to the basement to let Ellen and Jo out. When he unbolted the door and pulled it open he saw Ellen sitting on the edge of the cot looking tense and Jo pacing the room like a wild animal.

"Finally!" Jo snapped, catching sight of Dean.

Ellen looked at him and Dean answered the question he saw in her eyes. "Everyone's okay. Bruised and tired, but okay."

Ellen nodded and got to her feet.

"He won't be okay for long," Jo said, pushing past Dean and heading for the stairs.

Dean and Ellen exchanged a glance and followed her. When they got to the library Jo was standing in front of Sam, her hands gesturing and her voice loud. "I'm a hunter now, Sam! You can't pull that 'protect me' crap anymore. You wouldn't dare do that to Mackey or Isaac, so why do you think it's okay to do it to me?"

"Jo," Sam said tiredly. "Give it a rest."

"I won't! I want to know what it's going to take for you to take me seriously."

Sam glared up at her. "I take you seriously. I also take murderous spirits seriously. You were the one trapped in a motel by a ghost. We were the ones you asked for help. I helped. I locked you up because that helped, too."

"Is this because I'm a woman?" Jo asked.

Sam shot to his feet and loomed over her. "No. It's because you're my sister!"

Jo stepped back, her face pale and stunned. "I…"

Sam closed his eyes for a long moment, drew a deep breath, and then stepped around Jo and made for the door. "I'm going out," he said brusquely.

"I'll come with you," Dean offered.

Sam turned back to him, his bruised throat and temples standing out starkly against his grey skin. "I won't be long."

There was a moment's silence after the door slammed closed behind Sam. Jo sniffed and Dean saw a tear creeping down her face.

"He'll calm down," he assured her, surprised at her reaction given that he'd seen Sam be a lot sharper with her before and she'd only ever been defiant then.

"Sister?" Jo said questioningly, looking at Ellen.

Ellen smiled grimly as she nodded. "That's what he said."

"I know I'm relatively new to this whole family dynamic," Bobby said, "but what's with the waterworks?"

Ellen shook her head and wiped a hand over her face. "Sam hasn't said that word in a long time. Not since John, no, longer. He's not said it since…" She shook her head. "I don't even know."

Jo sniffled. "Too long."

"It has to mean something," Ellen said, turning to Dean. "Right?"

If it was anyone else, Dean would have said yes. He would have counted it as a breakthrough. But it wasn't anyone else; it was Sam. It could mean something, maybe his walls were breaking and he was coming back to the man Ellen and Jo once knew. Dean couldn't forget what Ruby had said though, 'He's not the man any of you knew. He's… dark.' She was the one Sam had chosen to keep contact with for the last four months, not his family.

Dean thought perhaps it had just been a word.


So… *pours one out for dead Charlie* I knew I needed new victims for the Witnesses, and Bloody Mary Charlie sprung to mind. I felt a little bad about it. The other unnamed ghost was Jefferson from Bond of Brotherhood. I didn't have a chance to explain that from Dean's POV.

Until next time…

Clowns or Midgets xxx