A/N: I'm so sorry about the wait! I have no excuse except writers block! And as some will be happy to see, back by popular demand (sitonkia!!) the little girl!! i was glad to see you guys liked her! I had fun writing about her! Especially during this chapter...


A week later, Dean, down another few pounds, was still researching what exactly attacked his brother. He had pored over all of Bobby's books for hours at a time. When he felt like he couldn't read anymore, he would work on cars with Bobby, gaining back a little of the muscle he had lost while grieving for Sammy. Occasionally, he would think about the little girl he had met in the hospital. He wondered how her brother was doing. He should've punched her father for putting the idea in her head that her Sammy would die. Then again, he himself hadn't helped that at all. He had run around the hospital yelling for Sam. He had probably scared the crap out of her. But, then again, death was just a scary fact of life. God, what an oxymoron, Dean pictured Sam telling him. But if Sam was here, he probably wouldn't be thinking that.

Dean massaged his scalp and grabbed another thick, old, dusty book from Bobby's book shelf. He skimmed through it, looking for the thing that killed his brother. It couldn't be the Demon, could it? The Demon wouldn't kill Sammy, it had said that it had plans for him. Those plans couldn't include killing him. Then again, if the Demon's plans were that important, it wouldn't have let Sam die, would it? Dean was so confused.

"I must be over thinking this," he muttered to himself as Bobby came in the door, sweaty from a long day of working on cars. Bobby grabbed the book that Dean was reading and read the cover. He shook his head, threw the book over his shoulder, and walked over to the bookshelf, skimming through the titles for a second before grabbing a particularly old and dusty book and handed it to Dean.

"Every hunter that has ever walked through here overlooks this book until I show it to them. It's in Latin but Latin is like your second language. This book has almost every evil creature known to man. Tomorrow you should look through this. Tonight, we have a drink," Bobby said, eager to distract Dean from his miserable research. Dean sighed and put the book down across the table. He had given in. Bobby grinned.

"Just go take a shower first, okay?" Dean told Bobby. Bobby laughed and headed down the hall to the bathroom. Dean craned his neck to watch Bobby until he went out of view. Dean scooted his chair closer to the Latin book that supposedly held all the answers. He jumped when he heard Bobby stomp back down the hall. Quickly Dean jumped up and away from the book. Bobby gave him a look and grabbed the Latin book and took it with him into the bathroom. Dean sighed in defeat. He would never find Sam's killer if the goings went like this.

Killer. Dean thought about it as if it were a person. No human could kill like that. It was impossible. Then again, what was impossible? What he saw everyday and he doubted something. Then again, he had doubted there was good out there and he was right about Roy LeGrange. That reaper…A reaper! Could he summon a reaper? No! Dean shouted at himself. The dead stay dead no matter how much the living want them to come back.

That night Dean had a couple of beers. Really drowning his sorrows like he had heard of so many people do before. An old Tammy Wynette song droned on the jukebox. Dean tried to ignore it but he couldn't. He couldn't stand country music. Finally he slammed his beer down on the counter, making Bobby jump at the loud sound that was heard over the noisy bar. He stomped over to the smoky corner of the bar, behind the pool tables where the jukebox lied. He brought a quarter and thrust it through the coin slot and flipped through the song list until he found one he could listen to. It was Metallica, of course. But they only had one song by them, My Friend of Misery. As it started blaring through the speakers, Dean started to wish he hadn't played it. The lyrics struck way too close to home.

Dean jammed his hands in his leather jacket that had once covered the dying Sammy. Tonight he would have another beer and maybe play a game of pool. He wouldn't hustle, not tonight. He didn't know how good he actually was without Sam waiting to back him up if his opponents weren't in a good mood, which they rarely were. Plus, he didn't think Bobby could back him up as well as Sam could. So he sat down at the bar and ordered another beer.

"Dean, you had enough drinks there?" Bobby asked carefully. Dean sighed and looked at the empty bottles sitting there. They reminded him of his life. Empty. Not a drop left. Ever since Sam left him. No! Sam wouldn't leave him, would he? He hadn't wanted to be killed by whatever it was. Sam had wanted to stay with him, right?

As Bobby drove back to his place, Dean sat in the passenger seat with his head leaning against the cool glass of the window. Ever since Sammy had died, he had been thinking a lot about life and whether he felt the need to live or not. Dean wasn't happy. But like Roy LeGrange had said, he had unfinished business on earth. To kill Sam's killer. Then that had gotten Dean thinking about whether he was any better than the evil that killed. He had brushed that thought aside, knowing that he and Sam had killed to protect, not just to hurt. And there were also those select times that they didn't kill. Dean's mind wandered a bit more, this time to Lenore. He wondered where she was, what she was doing, and if any other hunters had tried to kill her.

Where were all these thoughts coming from? Random ones that made Dean feel like crap. Actually, worse than crap. Crap was how he felt on a regular basis since Sam died. Why did Sam have to go?

No, not go. Sam died, Dean thought. But that seemingly harmless thought spread like wildfire through his brain. God, Sam, you did leave me didn't you? You could've stayed if you tried. You were tough, almost as tough as me. If you had just fought a little harder, you might have stayed with me. Selfish, yes, but I need you! You stayed around long enough to rub it in my face that you knew my secret. If you knew my secret,, why didn't you fight to stick around so I would never have to be alone? If you had just fought a little harder Sammy Boy, just a little harder…

Dean fell asleep on that thought, his head slipping down the glass, making a slight squeaking noise, catching Bobby's attention. He smiled as he glanced over at the slumbering Dean. The poor kid hadn't gotten much sleep at all the past nights. Bobby pulled to a stop in his yard and pondered what to do with Dean. Too heavy to lift and I don't want to wake him up, Bobby thought. I could always let him sleep in the car, it's not like he hasn't done it a hundred times before. Naw, I can't do that. I'll have to wake him up.

"Dean, wake up. Get into bed," Bobby said gruffly, his way of showing affection.. Dean opened his mouth to argue about how he wanted to look through the Latin book but Bobby cut him off knowingly. "Dean, you can't look at it tonight. You wouldn't be able to read any of it," Bobby reasoned.

"No, I gotta find what killed him," Dean slurred, half with sleepiness. Bobby rolled his eyes and helped Dean get out of the car.

""Come on Dean. Go to sleep in your bed," Bobby told him.

"What did I do wrong on the hunt? Why did he have to go?" Dean whispered clumsily. Bobby pulled Dean through the front door and walked him down the hall.

"Nothing, Dean. You didn't have anything to do with Sam dying," Bobby tried to console. Dean pushed Bobby off weakly and shook his head.

"No, he just didn't fight."


The next day, Bobby awoke to the sound of a slamming trunk. Dean was packing up the Impala.

"Where you headed Dean?" Bobby asked when he got outside, still in an old T-shirt and sweatpants. Dean was fully dressed and awake.

"I've got some unfinished business," Dean replied. Bobby had known John Winchester long enough to know not to argue with any Winchester boy. Dean was just as stubborn as his father. Sam had been too.

Bobby watched as Dean sped off in the shiny black car. That car was all the kid had left now. Bobby stood in the front yard and listened to the rumbling of the engine until it faded from earshot.

Dean drove on in silence. No music for this road trip. Dean had to get away from there. What Dean didn't realize, was that there was his thoughts about Sam. But before Dean could flee from his problems, he needed to make one quick stop.

Dean sat in his car, taking comfort in the familiarity of it. The cold, white, unfriendly building sat in front of him, taunting him it seemed. The place where he left Sam.

Dean opened the door and got out of the car. He forced himself to put one foot in front of the other, one step at a time until he found what he was looking for. He paced in the waiting room for a second and jumped every time the doors swung open. Stupid swinging doors. If they had let him in in time, Sam might be alive. Finally, just as he was building up the courage to go ask the front desk, the door opened again. This time it was the right person that came into the room.

"Dean!" He turned around and suddenly felt little arms encircle his waist. He smiled and patted the little girl's back awkwardly.

"Hey, I was just coming back to say good-bye," Dean admitted. Why was it easier to say things like that to a little girl who he barely knew, but it was so hard to say things to Sam?

"You're leaving? But what about kicking the doctor's butts?" she asked. "You told me you would!" Dean let out another small smile at that memory.

"Well, if I kicked the doctors' butts, then they wouldn't be able to help your little brother," Dean told her, making her smile even broader. "How is Sammy?" Dean asked, his words catching at the familiar name that he would never be able to say offhandedly again.

"He's going to get better, don't worry!" she exclaimed. Dean smiled at the little girl.

"Good, that's really good," Dean said truthfully. He didn't want this little girl to go through the same hell he had been through. Then the little girl's face brightened. Dean could almost see a light bulb clicking on over he head.

"I've got a great idea! You come see him! Please, please, please!" she begged. So much like Sam, Dean thought. He allowed her to drag him through the hallway, through the swinging doors, down to her brother's room. She threw open the door to reveal a woman he recognized as her mother, a doctor, a man he didn't know, and a small child resting on a small bed. Memories from the Shtriga came flooding back and Dean's face paled for a moment as he looked at the doctor. Then he shook his head. Not every doctor is a life force sucking witch, he told himself.

He nodded a greeting towards the mother. She stared at him for a minute, then moved closer to her husband. The doctor gave Dean a distrusting side long glance but did nothing to stop him from coming in. The other man, however, stood up menacingly.

"Get the hell out of my son's room! Who are you? What are you doing here?" Got to be the father, Dean told himself.

"Hey, easy dude. She brought me in here. I asked about Sammy and she took me here," Dean said, blinking back tears at the name.

"She? You mean my wife? Do you know him?" the father asked.

"I saw him once I think. He was sitting in the waiting room, muttering to himself. Then he smiled at me and kept staring at a chair next to me. Make him leave Doctor, please," the mother said.

"Wait what? Talking to myself? I was talking to your little daughter!" Dean exclaimed, waking the little child on the bed.

"We don't have a little daughter! We only have Jonathon and Shelby who's 17!" the mother told him.

"But the little girl, she's right behind me!" Dean whirled around to find an empty doorway. "But…But she was just there."

"No one was here but you. You burst in here like you owned the place," the doctor informed him. "Now sir, you've got to leave before I call security."

Dean walked out of the somewhat cramped room, still wondering what just happened. He thought back to that day and did remember that there was an older girl that followed the little girl and mother through the swinging doors. That must have been their real daughter, Shelby. But that still didn't explain the little girl and her Sammy.

Dean walked up the steps to the library but paused before he opened the door. Geek Boy wasn't here to do the research for him. Now Dean felt bad for those nicknames he used to call Sam. But now it was too late to change anything.

He walked into the library and asked the lady behind the front desk for any newspapers about the hospital. She brought out a paper with a picture of what was left of a hospital.

"It burned down?" Dean asked. The librarian nodded and left him to read the article. According to the article, the hospital had burned down 19 years ago.

"Everybody died," Dean read aloud to himself. He looked closely at the picture of the burned down hospital. Nothing out of the ordinary. He continued reading the article.

Officials say that all persons involved in the hospital died in the fire. According to Mrs. Gilda Aires, 69, she was walking down the sidewalk when she saw the smoke. She also says that she witnessed a small child run into the building. "She looked so carefree. She must not have seen the smoke. Poor dear, she couldn't have been more than eight. I yelled for her to stop but she didn't hear me. I swear I heard her singing the name Sammy as she dashed inside." Officials also say that some of the bodies cannot be recovered.

Dean stepped away from the newspaper and walked out into the parking lot where he rested on the hood of his Impala. So she was a spirit? But she certainly wasn't angry. Maybe she was just trying to protect her brother? Spirits can stick around if they feel like they have unfinished business. But every spirit I've run into has been malicious and murderous. But what do I do? Do I find her body? Or was her body never recovered? Dean thought to himself. She seemed happy. I know how the spirit feels, taking care of her brother, staying around to try to protect him from any further danger. Maybe his body was never recovered either and she's staying around to protect his body. Her brother's room must have been the same room as that other family. Why ruin the little girl's mission? She obviously wants to be here, taking care of her brother. That's what I'd do for Sammy. Dean cast one long look at the hospital and thought that he heard two small children laughing together, but it was just his imagination, right? He got into his car and drove off.

Dean turned up his music, but didn't really hear it, not like he used to. He sped past a small road sign that read Rockford, 2 miles. Dean made a quick turn, following the signs that led him to the small town. He drove past a chained up asylum that had caused him so much grief for so long after. Was he even over that? Then he drove a little further and saw a cleaner, friendlier building. Dr. Ellicott's office. Sam had gone there once, who knows what he talked about.

Impulsively, Dean pulled into the parking lot and got out of the car. He walked up to the building and walked into the waiting room. He was greeted with a warm, somewhat concerned, smile from the receptionist.

"Can I help you, sir?" the receptionist, Donna if her name tag was right. Dean flashed her a grin that made her blush.

"Actually, I don't have an appointment or anything like that," Dean admitted, still not quite sure what possessed him to come here. Donna nodded and hit a few buttons on her keyboard.

"In fifteen minutes Dr. Ellicott has an opening," she informed him. He nodded and gave her a fake name.

"John Bonham," Dean told her, not taking the usual pleasure in using his extensive knowledge of classic rock in everyday life. Donna took his name down and nodded towards the couch that stood beside a table stacked with old magazines.

Dean sat on the couch, the same couch Sam had sat on. He picked up a magazine and flipped through it but didn't comprehend anything on the glossy pages. He didn't even realize what magazine he was reading. Men's Health. A little over fifteen minutes later, Dr. Ellicott stuck his head out of the room and called in a John Bonham. Dean stood up and walked into the office, passing an upset looking woman storming out.

"Hey Doc. I'm John," Dean said. Ellicott motioned to the empty chair on one side of his desk. Dean sat in it and shifted uncomfortably.

"Hello, John. What can I do for you?" Ellicott asked. Dean smiled nervously.

"Well, actually, I'm not even sure why I came here," Dean admitted.

"Really?" Ellicott asked. "Because it seems to me that you know exactly why you're here." Dean shot him a glare that betrayed his thoughts.

"I have a question for you, if that's okay," Dean said, with a hint of sarcasm. Ellicott nodded, not exactly pleased with the way Dean was acting, but it was his job to put up with people like that.

"Do you remember your patients after they stop coming?" Dean asked, still with a hint of sarcasm that seemed to follow the pain he felt.

"I like to think that I remember most of the people that walk through that door," Dr. Ellicott told Dean. Dean laughed disbelievingly.

"Really? That's interesting. I'll bet you can't remember one certain guy," Dean retorted.

"All sessions are confidential," Dr. Ellicott informed Dean.

"You just don't remember him," Dean whispered. Dr. Ellicott heard him and latched on this comment.

"Him? Which him?" he asked. Dean gave him another glare.

"Can't tell you. Confidential, remember?" Dean said angrily.

"Maybe I can make an exception, but only if you tell me who this guy is and how you feel about him, why it makes you angry and sad to talk about him. That's why you came isn't it? Because of him?" Ellicott asked, hitting the nail square on the head. Dean was a little surprised, what happened to all of the self help yoga crap? From Dean's look, Ellicott knew he was right.

"You'll tell me what you two talked about? If I tell you who he is?" Dean asked, not trusting him. How could he? Everybody ended up leaving him or lying to him or betraying him, why should Ellicott be any different?

"Depends on the person. Family member?" Ellicott asked. Dean hesitated. Would it blow his fake name? Did it matter? If he went to jail it would be just as much hell as it was free. He was alone in the world no matter where he was.

"Yeah, family. Brother," Dean managed to get out.

"What's your brother name?" Dr. Ellicott asked. He knew he was treading on thin ice. He could tell the man was a complex person, more so than others. He had to be careful so not as to scare him away.

"Sam…Sam Winchester," Dean told him, wishing if he knew if that was the right decision.

"Sam? I remember him. He asked me all about the riot over at the old asylum," Ellicott told him, also remembering how Sam had talked so much about his brother. Ellicott had gotten the impression that Sam was more than a little angry at his brother.

"Yeah, yeah I was with him that day. He told me he asked about it. You know, I'm kind of a local history buff," Dean lied. Ellicott stifled a small laugh.

"That's exactly what Sam told me. So your both local history buffs but neither of you could remember about the riot?" Ellicott asked. Dean smiled a little and shook his head. Ellicott let the subject drop, they had more important things to get to.

"How is Sam anyway?" Dr. Ellicott asked cautiously. Dean clenched his jaw for almost a full minute as he fought tears from welling in his clear hazel eyes.

"Ah, I see. I'm so sorry. How are you holding up?" Dr. Ellicott asked. Dean glanced up at the psychologist and say true sorrow in his eyes. Did he really care about his past patients that much? Sam had only gone to him once. Must have made a lasting impression. Sam had that effect on people. It must be those puppy dog eyes.

"How do you think I'm holding up?" Dean snapped. Ellicott held up his hands in surrender.

"Easy there, just a question. How about your father? Sam told me you two got a long really well. Are you two helping each other cope?" Ellicott asked. A look of pure hurt and pain passed over Dean's face, lingering for a minute.

"My Dad's dead," he rasped, voice thick and soft with pain. It had been a long time but the pain was still fresh. Ellicott dropped his pen in surprise.

"When?" Ellicott asked.

"A little over a year ago," Dean told him.

"When it rains it pours, right?" Ellicott asked. Dean nodded. He believed that statement, however cliché, wholeheartedly.

"It's my fault," Dean muttered under his breath.

"And how does that make you feel?" Ellicott asked. Dean suddenly snapped. He laughed and stood up. He started pacing around the room.

"How does that make me feel? My brother is dead! The last of my family is gone! I had the chance to save them and I failed! And you ask how it makes me feel?" Dean shouted at him. Dean walked up to Ellicott and punched him in the face. Ellicott fell back in his chair, dazed for a minute. Ellicott groaned and held his bloodied nose. Dean sat back down in the chair but then jumped back up.

"And how does that make me feel?" Dean mocked hatefully. As Dean stood over Ellicott's desk he spoke again as he looked down at what he had done to Ellicott. "A helluva lot better, actually." And with that, Dean left the office, never to return.

"Glad I could help," Dr. Ellicott whispered to Dean's disappearing back.

Dean Winchester never really hunted again. He tried going back to the warehouse where Sam was killed but he never saw or heard anything that told him that something supernatural was there. He tried to see if other people had been murdered in the same way but he found nothing. He never caught wind of anything that even remotely sounded like Sam's killer. But what Dean didn't realize, was that when he left town, a little girl laughed wickedly in the waiting room of the hospital, waiting on her next victim to arrive...


A/N: So what did you guys think? Review please!!