An autumn chill blew threw the open door and the steady hum of traffic was the only sound that filled the room. John approached Sam who was still perched in front of his brother, one hand reassuringly on his shoulder. Dean's eyes flicked up from a spot on the wall to meet John's – unfocused and round, pupils dilated enough to choke out the ring of green.

"Sammy, what's going on?" John looked around at the disheveled state of the room with a grim expression.

"Dad?" Sam turned slightly to look up at his father with worry etched across his face and an expression so uneasy and young that John had to swallow his own anxiousness at the state of his sons – Dean, dazed and in a huddled heap on the floor and Sam looking like he had as a child whenever Dean got so much as a bruise on a hunt. "How'd you – ? He-he won't snap out of it."

"Son…"

Dean was vaguely aware that Sam and John (where'd he come from?) were speaking to him – he could see his name hang from their lips. Sounds were muffled – like he was there but submerged underwater from underwater and there was a steady, but dull, ache behind his eyes. He worried at his temple covered in a fine mist of sweat, a feeble attempt to relieve the pressure and to quiet the voice of Jack in his head when he felt someone grip his neck. Hard. John's hands were strong and rough and his head jerked up to the touch.

"Wha-?"

"Dean, look at me. That's an order, son." His father's tone was gruff and authoritarian and if Dean looked closely enough, he could see agitation wash over his brother's face when he responded to John's orders rather than Sam's pleas.

"Da-? What're y'u doin' her?" Dean slurred, finally feeling the fog in his head dissipate. Sam's hand was no long on his shoulder and he'd taken to rubbing an arm Dean didn't realize was trembling.

"Sammy, help me move him to the bed." Sam nodded, bangs falling into his face, and he reached under Dean's armpit and pulled him to his feet. Once Dean was resting in the bed, John and Sam stood on either side of it looking down worriedly as Dean drifted off to sleep. The rise and fall of his chest evened out and his arms no longer twitched in panicked jerks.

"What the hell happened in here, Sam?" John sat stiff and erect in the chair in the make-shift dining room of their small apartment and called over to Sam who sat perched on the edge of his brother's bed, unwilling to leave Dean's side, knowing how he found comfort in his brother's presence and wanting to desperately provide the same. "Hey. Are you about to wig out on me, too?"

"Don't joke about that, Dad!" Sam growled, gaze turning to John. As he looked at his father, Dean's words rung loudly in his ears - Dad had left them without money, without food, without any contact information for anyone. Dean thought they were going to starve and he'd been ra-.

"Then answer my question." John's own low growl brought Sam back from his thoughts but his anger boiled on. "What. The hell. Happened."

"We were working the case. The one you sent us on while you were too busy to return a phone call to let us know you were still alive but still found plenty of time to send us off on random hunts."

"And I told you boys that when I got a solid lead on the thing that killed your mother and your girlfriend, I'd let you know when it was done."

"God, Dad! That's not the fucking point."

"Well what is the point?!" Without realizing it, they were both standing and only a few feet away from one another, voices rising in anger, arms thrusting to add emphasis to their own points. Sam watched his father seethe – watched as his chest heaved in heavy breaths and new he was probably doing the same. The vein in his father's neck that bulged whenever simple disagreements morphed into something uglier and more intense made its way to the surface of the skin and Sam knew that if Dean was capable, this would be the moment that he'd step in between them, a hand on each of their chests, pushing them apart. Before he left (ran) for Stanford, Dean would push Sam as he huffed and fumed through the door, slam it tight, and drive until the gas light blinked on the Impala and Sam had finally cooled off. He forced his own breathing to slow and he turned guiltily to Dean who lay still on the bed with his brows drawn down in pain. Or worry. Or agitation.

"This job," Sam began finally, voice quieted now, "it's taking a lot out of Dean."

"That's not telling me much, son."

"Dean got possessed by this spirit and I think that's what's behind all the disappearances."

John's eyes widened and his mouth gaped. "Possessed? Is that why this room's like this? Fuck, Sammy. Shit!" He rubbed the stubble that darkened his jaw and looked over to Dean's sprawled form on the bed, resting uneasy. "Why him? What was the sonofabitch after?"

"It – he," Sam corrected, "wanted to talk. To explain things."

"To explain what, Sam?"

"I…he…" Sam stammered and looked everywhere in the room that his father wasn't.

"Spit it out, Sam!"

"Sam. Don't." Dean groaned loudly as he tried to prop himself up on one elbow, the other hand rubbing more at his temple. "My head feels like it's gonna explode. God."

"Dean, geez, give yourself a minute before you try to get up." Sam took quick strides, closing the distance between them before John had the chance to do so.

"It's fine, Sam."

"Man, this is so far off from being fine, it's not even funny."

"Sam, don't go there. Please."

"You need to tell him. He can help with this. You and this case."

"What do you need to tell me, Dean?" John held back initially, allowing his boys a moment of privacy but the hushed whispers between them grew in intensity and he made his presence known. "What in the hell is going on?"

"I already told you, Dad. Dean got possessed by a spirit."

"Yeah and then you conveniently let the conversation drop. Details. Now."

"The spirit was, god, it was just a kid." Dean ran a hand threw his shortly cropped hair and exhaled. "He was just a kid."

"And now, what, he's going after the local folk? Why?"

"Dad, maybe we should let Dean rest for a second. He was pretty out of it before you got here."

"Yeah, so I saw. Look, I don't know what game you two are playing, but it ends now. You two aren't kids anymore and the secrets stop here."

"Oh, you're one to talk about secrets, Dad." From his spot on the bed, Sam glared up at John and his fist curled around the tattered bedspread underneath Dean. "Why'd you send us here, huh? What's so special about this place, this town and these people?"

"As opposed to coming with me to find the thing that – "

"No! This isn't about that! Don't you remember the last time we were here? Dean hated this place. Why send us back?"

"From what I can recall, you seemed to enjoy it at the time."

Sam gaped and drew in a breath and walked away from the bed. "I was a kid then. I didn't know what I know now. If I did, I would've – "

"Sammy! Stop. Don't go there. Please." Dean's pleas went ignored when Sam allowed himself to be consumed by his bitterness and anger towards John and their lives.

"You would've, what, Sam? What would you have done?"

"I would've done something while you left us alone to fucking starve for weeks on end!"

John stood in front of Sam now with his fists balled tightly at his side and Sam jerked to his feet in response. Dean slowly dragged himself up from the bed with a muttered groan and eased his way towards them with short and stiff steps.

"You boys were always taken care of and you know it."

"That's a lie! I was taken care of because Dean gave me his food while you were out on some wild goose chase. He could've been killed!"

"Stop speaking in circles and just come out with it! What the hell is your problem, boy!?"

Sam seethed at that and felt anger color his face. "You're my fucking problem! You left us there – left us here without so much as a phone to call anyone and no money and no food and fuck! Dean was raped! He got raped because you left us alone to go feed your fucking obsessions and – "

Sam's rant was interrupted when he heard a strangled sound. For a hazy second, he thought it was from John as a realization of Sam's words sinking in. But John's face - widened eyes and a face masked in guilt and pain – he realized that his mouth was closed but his eyes were focused just beyond Sam's shoulder. Sam turned slowly to find Dean, lips parted in a shape resembling an 'o' watching their exchange and his body wracked with shakes. He swallowed convulsively and Sam felt his stomach clench when he read the expression Dean had painted on his face: shame.

"Dean…" He made a small step towards Dean but Dean flinched and stepped back hurriedly. "God, Dean, I'm so sorry."

"Don't touch me!" Dean hissed. "I asked you not to say anything. I begged you."

"Dean, is what Sam said true?" John spoke now, shoulders slumped and eyes brimming with concern. But Dean focused his red-rimmed eyes at Sam all the while addressing John.

Dean didn't respond, but the jerk of his head and the sag of his shoulders when the fight drained out of his was enough of an answer. His chest heaved but his eyes never left Sam's.

"Dean?" John croaked.

"I'm sorry, Dean, but he needed to know."

"It wasn't for you to tell! It happened to me and I've dealt with it!"

"Is that why Jack latched on to you? Because you've 'dealt with it'?"

"Oh, fuck you, Sam. Fuck you and your self-righteousness. Fuck!" Dean patted himself down, searching the pockets of his pants and his over-shirt. "I need my cigarettes." He muttered. "What the fuck did you do with my cigarettes?"

"Dean…" John spoke up again, his first attempt falling on deaf ears. "Look at me, son. Dean! That's an order."

Dean whipped towards John and his jaw clenched. "What?!"

"Is what Sam said true?"

Dean exhaled and his body relaxed. "Yes."

John swallowed. "Son…"

"We were running out of food and there was no money so I went to hustle some pool like I've seen you do a thousand times. Shit got out of hand and some guy got pissed that a kid was a better shot than he was and chased me down an alleyway."

"And this spirit, Jack, what does it have to do with all of this?"

"He's taking out the dirty sons-of-bitches that did the same thing to him. And the world'll be a better place for it." He said, walking towards the door.

"Where are you going?" Sam called.

"To get more cigarettes. I need a fucking smoke."