CHAPTER 9

"He delivers me from my enemies, You also lift me above those who rise against me; You have delivered me from the violent man." 2Samuel v22 l49

(Boxborough Massachusetts – Present day)

Jim Murphy had not been ordained long before the words of the Bible took on a more literal slant for him. At just 20 years old he had been inducted into the world of hunting like every hunter was – with blood, fire and guilt. He had been the one that lived. Although his chosen path in life made his fight against the evils of this world a less physical one, he had thrown himself into not merely drawing back the curtains on the dark lurking world of the Supernatural, but breaking the window pane. He had devoured every text he could find and had suffered to obtain some he was not meant to find, all in order to assist those that carried out the battle on the front lines. All so he could redress that scale that allowed him to live whilst worthier souls than his, perished. In his time he had aided many hunters, he had even become attached to a number of them on a more personal level, but few more so than the Winchesters. John's boys were like his own, after all he had introduced them to his own inner circle in the hunting community – he had helped raise them…. And now he was going to have to risk loosing them for the sake of a sordid truth, and a lie that he had helped to let flourish.

As he busied himself collecting supplies he heard another crash from the next room. A lamp had fallen victim to Dean's semi-conscious struggles against the Lord only knew what. Caleb barked something at Sam about "holding him still", Jim presumed that the EMT intended to sedate Dean until they prepared for their next move. A shudder ran through the clergyman as he contemplated the path he had directed them down. So many things could go wrong – so many opportunities for Dean to be lost to them forever. But Caleb had been right in his Supernatural diagnosis – Ruth Henley's spirit had indeed latched onto Dean's consciousness and had carved a hiding place out in his soul. Brolin was sharp – his Father had raised another deadly hunter; Caleb had spotted the piercing violet irises that caused Murphy's blood to chill, in a brief moment while extracting Dean from the Henley house. It seemed the spirit was not afraid of being detected, and the none too subtle evidence of her occupation was almost a challenge to those who would try to help Dean. It was almost like she had claimed him. Jim's hand brushed against a sturdy looking hand carved box as he reached for the candles. With a sigh he brought down the well used artifact. Remembering with clarity, the bashful eight year old who had placed it wrapped in newspaper under the Christmas tree for him. The memory contrasted sharply with his last encounter with Dean, and had Jim sucking in a breath. There was no way they were going to loose Dean without a fight that was for damn sure!

(Two hours earlier)

When Caleb brought Dean in, the state of the young hunter had shaken Jim. It was worse than sixteen years ago. The blonde hunter had suffered the trials of Job and even though it was a blessing when the seizure and bleeding stopped almost as suddenly as they started, what followed brought cold comfort.

Caleb had tasked a near hysterical Sam with gathering blankets from upstairs while he checked out the now still form of the elder Winchester.

"Whatever it is your holding on to Old Man, now would be a real good time to not play blind." Caleb stated matter-of-factly never taking his eyes off his charge.

"I will tell you all I can Caleb … the confessional is sacred, you know that…" Jim's tone was miserable, never had he felt the burden of Priesthood as keenly as he did now.

Caleb's look left little doubt as to exactly how far he went along with the Priests religious convictions. "Talk" he growled shortly.

"The Winchesters came here a decade and a half ago. John left the boys in my care while he pursued reports of a Crossroads Demon in the next town over. I thought in my vanity that I could give the boys a taste of security and the normality their life lacked. Sam seemed to flourish here and even Dean formed a close friendship with one of his classmates – something I had never seen him do before. I was happy that his acquaintance was the daughter of the local Deputy Sheriff – who was also on my Parish council. I was new to my post and I was mistaken in my haste to trust – it turns out the adage about the covering of books holds true no matter how many positions of responsibility you hold. But by then it was too late, the only thing stronger than Dean's suspicion is his loyalty, once it's given."

"So this friend– is she the dead girl? Did Dean witness her death… is that why this all seems so personal?! Jim now is not the time to pull the Holy Handbook out … I need to know what I am dealing with here – if you saw the beating that thing dished out … she could have fucking killed him Murphy!"

"I don't choose when I wear the Cloth and when I don't Caleb! I can tell you that this girl's body was never found, that she, Dean and Sam were last seen heading towards the Steele Farm Lake…."

"Jesus Jim… this is not the type of thing you forget to mention! Oh by the way that little missing, presumed dead, friend of yours may still be haunting these parts Dean – and her Daddy ( who has righteously confessed and been absolved of sin or sins unknown) may well bear you a small grudge there son – just thought I'd mention it! Holy Shit!!!!"

"Does she blame him Pastor Jim?" Sam's voice was hollow and carried clearly from the stairs where he'd apparently been standing a while. His eyes bled all the emotion his tone didn't carry, and fear was chief amongst them.

Before Jim had, had the opportunity to explain, a dry chuckle coming from the floor caught all of them off guard. The sound was at once familiar and frightening, because the malice it held was foreign to its owner. Three pairs of eyes looked down to see a fully conscious Dean with his hands behind his head, laying on his back watching the entertainment like it was the Thanksgiving Day, Big Game.

"Well Pastor?" he drawled in a heavy Southern lilt "You seem to be the expert on Miss Henley here, what do you think? Is she angry with the wretched coward she trusted with the biggest secret of her miserably short life? Is her nose a tad out of joint that the Cavalry he swore would come to her aid didn't just contemplate her death, but helped to cover it up… hmmm?"

"Dean?" Sam questioned uncertainly sensing something was very wrong with this situation.

When the elder Winchester shook his head in the negative, Jim had noticed with a start the change even more glaring than the boys tone. Dean's eyes were a startling violet blue as he smiled viciously at Sam; who took a step back. This was not Dean – those eyes belonged to another, Murphy hadn't come face to face with that gaze in sixteen years.

"Ruth" Jim stated in a half breath.

Dean flicked his gaze to the Pastor barely acknowledging him. Turning to examine Caleb, the blonde man began to sit up.

Brolin shook himself out of his stupor. "Stay where you are … Ruth".

Jim could tell that using the spirits name whilst addressing his friend left a vile taste in Caleb's mouth. He could also tell that the seasoned hunter was weighing up his options and would do whatever was necessary to neutralize this threat. Problem was – their options to solve this were somewhere in the region of few and far between.

The man on the floor smirked at Brolin. "What a refreshing change to be called by ones name rather than "the girl" or my favorite "the dead chick".

Caleb smiled back evenly "You're a little confused there Ruthie – I'm looking at one Dean Winchester, and addressing the squatter currently lodging behind his eyes aren't I?"

A petulant frown graced the tanned man's chiseled face. "Play nice Hunter or I'll have Dean do something really naughty." Winchester threw a glance over at Murphy "But then he has the Good Pastor to wipe the slate clean… right?"

Murphy found it hard to meet the spirit's searching glance. "It wasn't like that Ruth – your Father only ever hinted at the truth at first… I knew there was something dreadfully wrong but I wrongly suspected that it involved your Mother … I made a mistake."

The figure on the ground sitting crossed legged with arms resting casually on knees, threw his head back and laughed sardonically. "Oh no Jim… he really did murder my Mother – but it was so much more than that… What do you think an abuser does when the object of his attentions falls victim to his game? That's right – he steps over her cooling body and on to her daughter!"

"Listen … Ruth" Sam began in his best diplomatic tone.

"There you are Sammy – should have known, find the mutt, find the flea right? You going to plead for Big Brother now? You know, apart from our initial introductions, oh and that shaky trip down memory lane… your brother's guilty conscience led us all here."

Sam's features darkened. "He tried to help you … you tortured him!"

Dean sat bolt upright causing Caleb to bring his Glock to bear, with only a small tremble in his hand.

"You managed to go down for the count like a sissy, so I'll forgive your ignorance on the subject Sammy… but let me break this to you – your brother's murderous career started young. But he didn't get the chance to put his decision into action – I took that out of his hands. He is fully aware of what happened and why."

"You're lying, or you're mistaken" Sam bit out.

"You'd like to think so wouldn't you – the world is easier to deal with when the bad guys are Supernatural Monsters and not human ones. Good guys aren't always who they appear to be, I know he taught you that Sam. Know where he learned that? From me." Dean shot an angry glare at Caleb "And as for squatting– el Deano's guilt ridden psyche gave me the spare key. Ask the Lord's Librarian there – spirit occupation burns up too much energy fighting the host. Couldn't stick around this long with out Dean's help … it ends messy."

"Occupation – don't you mean possession – Ruth?" Caleb quizzed over his trained gun.

"Possession suggests ownership, Short-bus … didn't you hear me, Dean's along for the ride; just not in the drivers seat."

"Oh right – and why is that exactly Ruth? If your cause is so just and he owes you in some way – what harm could a little Free Will do?" Brolin continued reasonably.

Dean's grin was knowing. "I found out first hand how weak you Hunters can be – you play outside the rules. Dean made me a promise a long time ago, and I intend to see he keeps it. As soon as he solves my problem, I will cease to be one of his problems."

Sam took a step towards his brother who had crumpled like a sheet, but Brolin was quicker.

"He's out – we need to move. Jim I need to know everything you got on containment and exorcisms."

With that simple, disturbing request, Jim had put everything else on hold and for once occupied the hunting realm entirely. If there were debts to be paid, he counted his debt to Dean Winchester way overdue.


"Pastor Jim" Sam's voice sounded young but determined as he pulled the clergyman from his thoughts. "Do you have the book?"

Murphy merely nodded and handed the archaic, leather bound tome to the young hunter. "I will set the wards round Dean myself Sam – I can't … tell you how sorry I am son."

Sam smiled sadly at him "I know Pastor – but I'm the wrong brother to confess to. When we wake him, you can tell him."

Jim smiled gratefully at the young man before him, at least one corner of the Winchester clan had not written him off entirely. Putting a hand on Sam's shoulder, they exited the store cupboard and sought out Caleb.

As they entered the room Caleb was putting the final touches on the salt circle by the bed. He had placed himself within its confines. Gesturing with his head to two further circles, further away, he waited for the other hunter and the Priest to take up their posts.

"Caleb I think I should lead the rite – after all next to Dean I am the one she is most familiar with here."

"No offense Padre, but we can paint that bull's-eye on your back with the Holy Ash after we finish putting up all the protective sigils ok? Ruth does not play well with others, and the more uncertainty I can throw at her with my dazzling Personality, the better. I want her off guard. Besides if I fall Sammy here tells me he has been putting in the hours on the Exorcism practice field."

The lean bald hunter threw Sam a devilish look as the other man laid down the supplies that he had helped Jim bring in. Sam rolled his eyes in response, but appreciated the EMT's attempt to lighten the mood. Truth was – that was not going to happen until he had Dean back.

Sam could not contain the nervous energy that flowed through him, as Brolin checked everything for the third time and Murphy painted the last protective symbol on the headboard of Dean's bed. He noticed that his brother seemed to become more restless the closer the consecrated ash came to him.

"Is she figuring out what we are doing Pastor?" Sam questioned uncertainly.

"I gave Sundance enough juice to knock out a baby elephant" Caleb reassured the younger sibling "The only way he's aware of what is going on is if his Mediclorian Count increases to the power of 100… and despite what Ruthie says, her influence over him has some consequences for her too – his limitations are hers the longer they remain in sync."

Jim gave Caleb a raised eyebrow as he commented dryly "There is a whole galaxy of movies beyond Star Wars you know?!"

Smiling briefly at the young men before him Jim took up his post at Dean's left side, while Sam placed himself on the right after briefly touching his brother's hand. They both had their roles in the coming ceremony.

As Caleb began to recite the Latin exorcism, Dean's growing unrest gave Sam cause to wonder weather Caleb had done his maths correctly.

The blonde hunter on the bed began to sweat and there was a distinct tightening of his fists as if he were in discomfort. Caleb's strong timbre carried on unphased pausing only a moment to allow Jim to anoint Dean's forehead with the final sigil. Sam kept all his senses trained on Dean, and though his brother was definitely affected by the litany Caleb was reading, the results were far less threatening or dramatic than Ruth's interaction had been earlier. Rather than ease his mind this fact only drew the worry lines deeper in his forehead. From everything Sam knew about this child's spirit, he couldn't understand why such an obviously powerful entity, one that had known nothing but struggle and strife, during both her life and afterlife, would comply so peacefully with the eviction notice Caleb was laying down.

The white candle he held flared higher and he extended his arm accordingly. The climbing flame of this candle and the other strategically placed light markers in the room signaled the spirit had begun to exit the host and was entering the main arena. Sam hefted the rock salt filled shotgun in his left hand and slowly lowered the candle to the floor. Caleb had tensed ready to spring for his weapon, which waited within easy grasp to his right – the final blessing of the Exorcism tripping fluidly off his tongue. Jim held a canister of Holy Water tightly with both hands as the air in the room began to gain force. All three stood there ground as the wind that should not have been possible whipped at their hair, their clothes and danced with a murmuring half heard whisper near their ears. But as swiftly as it began, the funnel of air started to fail. The curtains stopped dancing, the candles, though flameless had single threads of black smoke reaching out to the ceiling undeterred by the winds effects and all three men gave each other the "What the fuck" look, each in turn drawing blanks for answers.

"Did we miss something?" Sam asked finally breaking the spell and going over to his brother who appeared to be sleeping deeply.

"I can read you know, college boy – of course we didn't miss anything – right Jim?" Caleb countered sounding less sure as his sentence went on.

"If there is something, I have not encountered it in my thirty five years experience … she almost seemed to leave voluntarily." Jim mused.

"That just doesn't make sense Pastor – why go through all the trouble of putting Dean through all that, announcing her presence to us … let alone killing those she felt were guilty…" Sam's thoughts spilled out in a disbelieving rush, even as he unconsciously brushed the hair out of his brother's face.

"She doesn't gain anything by letting him go – that particular gem of an exorcism dates to the 13th Century and ensures the spirit is barred from the host from then on – kind of a Supernatural vaccine; no way back, no repeat visitations. I thought ghosts were supposed to go to the matt to avoid this one Jim?" Caleb quizzed.

"They do" the Pastor answered in bewilderment "the risks are largely to do with the finality of the outcome – spirits know this and fight tooth and nail to maintain contact with their hosts. I have some texts I need to look over boys; I suggest we let Dean get some overdue rest."

"I don't want to leave him alone until we figure this one out Jim" Caleb began " Sammy I think you ought to take some overdue rest too, in the next bed – this way I get to limit the amount of nursmaiding and running round I get to do for the Winchesters later! And before I get any of those objections councilor – you are overruled … so say I and my sleep inducing hypodermic – ok?

The elder man may have been smiling sweetly, but Sam had no doubt that the hunter in Brolin never made idle threats. Without further debate he took the second bed – telling himself that he had planned on sticking close to Dean till he woke up anyway. Sam glanced at the slight tremble in Jim's back, as he exited the room ahead of Caleb, with suspicion. But let it go.


"El- Deano."

Dimly he began to become aware in his anesthetized haze that he was being called. No – not called, summoned … ordered to show up. All he wanted was to stay in the blissful darkness; where his wrung out muscles ached less, and his throbbing ears no longer burned. Even the axe that was trying to – and if sensation was any indication, succeeding in- cleaving his skull in two, had slowed down, if not halted entirely.

"El – Deano … I know you hear me."

There it was again – the banter without the mirth. There was no room for compromise or disagreement – there was merely "Tell and Do". As quickly as his protesting senses would allow, Dean began to pull himself out of his unnaturally deep slumber. His eyes blinked even in the dimmed room and he became aware of a second presence; snoring softly and rhythmically at his back. It was late morning, judging from the light the curtains did allow through. The hunter knew without needing to check that the Sleeping Beauty behind him was Sam, but the other voice …"

"Ta – dah!!!" Ruth smiled toothily at him, clearly enjoying his disorientation. "Talk about needing the rest – you look awful Dean!"

"Can't imagine why!" Dean answered in a voice that was cut glass and gravel.

She looked at him gravely "You always did enjoy learning the hard way – now do you remember our agreement or do you need some form of full sensory memo?"

Despite the front he was desperately attempting to build, Winchester shivered as his mind skimmed the freshly recalled details of Ruth's death. He knew his portion in the bill due to her. He had to make things right, there was no other way – he owed her. Although she assured him that her request would make all things even – he was still not convinced. Of course she hadn't fully revealed her request yet – for all he knew it could end with him burning down the Town Hall and sacrificing the Mayor. Still, it beat the trips down memory lane that in all probability would cause him an aneurism. And this way Dean could take care of his own mess without endangering those he loved. Logic was lame, and he was pretty certain his experiences over the past few days had fried his reasoning circuits too. Part of him instinctively wanted to reach out for his brother, and he was almost friggin tired enough, to give in to that Candy-assed portion of himself … Except… seeing her in front of him served as a vivid reminder of what happened to those closest to him when he was weak enough to drop the ball.

He glanced only once at Sam as he dressed. Sasquatch was out for the count, and in order to avoid any awkward confrontations, Dean hoped Sam stayed that way, just long enough for him to take his leave. He could hear all his brother's objection to this line of action in his head, but overriding all of them, was the colossal weight of his overburdened conscience. Ruth had disappeared from the room, firm in the conviction that he only had one path to take. She was right. He had no way to outrun the guilt burning away at his insides, and until he fixed this; he was of no use to anyone.


Following Ruth's direction Dean found himself back in the company of Rachael, at Boxborough's only bar. The only problem was that this time, Rachael was not overwhelmed by his presence for the good reasons. If he didn't know better he'd have suspected the young spirit of a small measure of jealousy towards the buxom red head. Except that was foolish because homicidal spirits didn't need to harbor feelings of jealousy – they could just wipe out the object of their irritation. He had tried to allow the scared waitress to go, when he had broken into the bar, but Ruthie seemed adamant that the unfortunate woman might come in handy. It was not so much what she said, as the subtle way Ruth had hurled the screaming girl through the air, slamming her into the nearest wall. As Dean had gone to her aid he couldn't help but flinch at Rachael's pleas, delivered in broken breaths from her bloody mouth.

"I'm sorry" was all he could offer.

He didn't even attempt to console her as it had begun to dawn on him that Ruth's ultimate goal was to bring down her Father permanently using him and any other "tool" that she could throw at him.

Sighing heavily and avoiding the weeping woman's pitiful face he sat himself down at the bar with a bottle of Jose and a whiskey glass. He set up his first triple measure, pausing only briefly to enquire if she had put in the 911 call, before slamming the drink down. He repeated the process, dimly aware that his form of self medicating might not be the ideal companion to the drugs Dr Brolin Medicine Woman had so obviously slipped him.

Rachael watched him with wide eyed terror. He had not laid a hand on her, and yet she smarted from head to toe. She had no explanation for what he had done to cause her injuries, but as she spat out the last bloody liquid from her mouth and cautiously eyed him savagely driving home a measure that Saint Patrick himself would have been impressed by, Rachael resolved to try to save her life one more time. She approached him slowly, as if she had fallen into the lions den. Working her way up the bar she tentatively laid a hand on his muscled forearm.

"You don't have to do this Dean – please let me go …" her voice broke more than once before she finished.

He could not look at her – this is what payback looked like – it was always the innocent that seemed to get trapped in the crossfire.

"Your wrong" he answered quietly "I have no other choice … but … you need to go find yourself a place to hide … and stay there."

Something in the finality of his voice made her withdraw her hand and scuttle away from him like he was a cursed object. As Dean threw back a burning third glass of liquid flame, he wasn't entirely sure that her instincts weren't right. After all – sixteen years ago, his own mind had tried to make the same escape hadn't it? He heard the siren wail to a halt outside the building and he looked up to meet his own reflection in the mirror. The shock of what he saw there had him sitting up straighter – no wonder she was not that in to him … he looked like hell. Ruth appeared briefly over his right shoulder, giving him a silent nudge (as if that was fucking necessary!); he even appeared to be packing his own devils.

They had made their entry on the ground floor level and were working their way up the staircase. Only two sets of halting steps revealed that any backup – if it existed – was significantly far behind them to warrant their caution. Dean merely finished up his drink in response to their mandatory yelled warning that they were coming in armed.

Winchester was not surprised when Henley kicked the door in, weapon in sight, but not drawn. Deputy Graham Henley may have professed to be meek and humble in nature, but biology had, had other plans for him. The man had aged well; maintaining a svelte, well toned physique. The way he carried himself – lightly and on the balls of his feet – gave away the agility that went along with his muscled mass. Dean's usual internal monologue on the eve of a confrontation was silent. No bolstering of his own courage with sarcastic quips; no derogatory comments that would cut his opponent down a peg or three; there was just the long silent rage that had boiled suppressed and in secret for sixteen years. He had a job to do here, it was not pleasant – but then duty rarely was in this line of work. Henley was (technically) human and he could hear Angel Sammy and Archangel Jim's objections to what he intended to do, running rampant through his head. But these were like diluted water colors in comparison to his hazily returning memories and the garish, vivid pictures she had insisted on sharing with him. This monster, who was made in the creator's image – this perverted keeper of the laws of God and Man, was everything Dean had set out to crush in his lifetime. It didn't matter that he wasn't Supernatural in origin … many Monsters they hunted started out that way.

Henley caught his eye, and there was no mistaking the bloodlust in them. Dean's whole demeanor screamed one sentiment; "Come and get it!" He dared the Deputy to move in, while his vicious, shit eating grin promised that whatever happened from here on in; Dean would be the catalyst and sole survivor.

"Son" Henley sighed as he unclipped his weapon "I think you have had enough – why don't you come with me and I'll take you some place to sleep it off?"

"Don't fucking call me Son, you filthy animal!" Dean growled.

"Easy there boy – I got no issue with you, apart from the one you're talking yourself into."

Dean turned fully towards the officer. "You don't remember me, do you – you sanctimonious fucker?"

Henley regarded the obviously mad man in front of him. The Pastor had called him Dylan … but those accusing green eyes were so familiar.

"How long did it take you to forget her, officer? As long as it did to forget that she was your child and not your punching bag?"

Henley's bemused look gave way to pure white faced shock, followed closely by seething anger.

"Go outside and get the car ready Harry" Henley answered in a chilling soft voice, his eyes never leaving the dangerous creature in front of him. "This here is the punk that drowned my Ruthie."

Harry Redgrave had been around Henley long enough to hear all his partner's crazy theory's about how his daughter died on the worst day of his life. Her death had been ruled accidental. Though there had been one other child involved, the kid had been so traumatized that Sheriff Takins had, had to interview him in a mental hospital, with the local Pastor. As far as anyone knew, and according to the Pastor, the poor soul had never fully recovered from that day and may even have passed away.

"C'mon Grey, you know this can't be … I think I ought to call Sheriff Takins…" Harry's thin frame quivered as he spoke and the tremor leaked in to his voice as he read the two combatants glaring menacingly at each other in front of him.

"It was an accident Henley" Dean asserted "I was ten years old and will live with that till the day I die…" He stalled a moment as if watching something else, and began to pull roughly at his hair as he continued. "But what you did to her intentionally - you sick, fucking, bastard …. You liked her to dress decently didn't you – because Respectable hid all those bruise patterns right?"

"Boy – your ten types of crazy and you need to shut your mouth now! Your guilty as sin – you even admit it, and after I beat the snot out of you, you are going to start that life sentence in an I.C.U."

Dean barked a mirthless laugh. "You want to talk sinful there God boy?! You have got to be fucking kidding me – I saw you that night … watched you from the cupboard when you beat the Holy Shit out of your own daughter…"

"Shut up, SHUT UP! You're lying – he's lying Harry … he's a filthy, murdering Son of a …"

"Watch your mouth Deputy, before I shut it permanently for you." Dean snarled venomously.

"You think you can take me mongrel? You give it your best fucking shot!"

"Oh this isn't the first time we've crossed paths – your hard case history against pre-teens, had you knocking me around back then too … remember?" Dean's smile was menacing and cold.

"My God!" Henley mumbled stunned "It is you, isn't it… Dean?"

"He is not your God asshole, and you sure as hell ain't walking this time. I have no interest in taking you down…"

"No… what you going to do with all that imaginary evidence there chief?" Henley challenged.

Dean took a last swig from his glass and set it down with finality before continuing "Don't you ever wonder Grey – about that thing that moves in the shadows … just out of the corner of your eye?"

"You are crasy!" Henley breathed with a shaky certainty.

"And you look like you just peed your pants there. You know what it is don't you … or should I say… who?" Dean smirked, breathing out a cold visible puff of air as the temperature in the room plummeted sharply.

A mirror smashed on the end of the bar. Rachael who had been a few spaces away hugging herself in fear and cold, screamed and dove into the Kitchen for cover. Harry who had the oddest mixture of concentration and undiluted terror on his pale face, moved for the first time since he had last spoken and began to make for the door, mumbling something about back-up.

Dean was left alone with his prey.

Henley looked at the shattered glass with a stricken look.

"What are you doing – what are you…"

"Not me – Grey … Ruthie. And I am being exactly what she asked for every time you forced her to pray while you would hold her head under water, or after you'd bloodied her nose and lay crying next to her begging that she pray with you, for forgiveness she did not need. I'm the Reckoning … you're not heading for Man's Justice."

"It wasn't like that" Henley began shakily, pulling his gun from the holster. You don't know how hard I fought – how I tried."

"Unfortunately for me Grey, it is a horror movie I will never forget" Dean smiled sadly as another mirror smashed. "And … I don't think she believes you" the hunter sing-songed.

"Shut up!" the older man pointed his piece unsteadily at Dean's head, "She is really here?"

"In the Spirit" Dean smirked coldly.

The fog began to form and move towards the stricken looking lawman. The hunter drew his weapon and both men reacted with the practiced grace of an 18th century duelist; aiming their weapons and priming them in one deadly motion.

"Put it down boy" Henley screamed "Last time I blacked your eye; this time I'll blow your head off!"

"Go fuck yourself Deputy – last time I was trying to stop you this time I am going to end you!"

The kitchen doors are slammed inwards.

"Threatening an officer of the law there Winchester?" Caleb's familiar yet strangely calm voice came to Dean. "We bought you up with more manners than that!"

Dean grit his teeth "Not your business Brolin, I am just settling my tab here."

Caleb kept his weapon trained on the oblivious deputy and the growing misty shape behind him. The lights began to dance slowly.

"I don't know exactly what you think you owe this chick – sorry dead chick…"

"Caleb" Dean grated warningly.

"You were ten years old man, cut yourself some slack; there is no way you could have held on to both of them."

Caleb's eyes flicked to his friend. Dean was in bad shape. He had not even attempted to rise from the barstool and from the grey pallor of his face Caleb wondered if he had the strength to stand on his own. A sheen of sweat covered him and bore testament to the price Ruth's presence in his mind had exacted from the hunter.

"She has it wrong Sundance – spirits get confused, you are not what she was running from."

The blonde hunter licked his lips as his arms shook he needed both hands to steady his weapon.

"You'd better talk some sense into your buddy there – uh Caleb …" Henley began.

"Shut the fuck up Starsky! If I had my way we would be pegging your naked ass out in a desert for the scavengers. Do I make myself fucking clear?! So why don't you just shut your pie-hole and let me save your sorry excuse of a hide here – huh?"

Henley nodded mutely.

"Aint going to happen Butch" Dean stammered. "Can't let the Monster walk again."

"We are not killers Kid – we leave human Monster's to the law… we don't play God; that's the same mistake Henley made."

The kitchen doors swung open again and admitted the Pastor and Sam – neither of whom carried a weapon though Sam seemed to be palming something.

"Dean!" the youngest Winchester cried out a scared quality to his voice, he was being held back by Jim's extended arm. "Please don't do this."

The light show started in earnest, bulbs flickered wildly, two bottles to Sam's left exploded, spraying him and the Pastor with liquid and glass. Caleb cast a weary eye at the fully formed yet colorless figure of Ruth standing at her Father's side. Though the man was still oblivious.

Dean clutched his head with his left hand, ridding out the pain knifing through his brain. His memories and those that she had shared with him, were running riot, he couldn't think straight without one or both sets repeating on him. She couldn't let herself forgive him, and he couldn't let himself forget her.

"Jim?" Caleb's voice was a little frantic, needing to aid his friend.

"She is weakened by her earlier efforts to influence Dean directly, but the link is still there because he is maintaining it. Exorcisms work against the Spirits efforts to gain a threshold; they are powerless against the host making themselves a channel for the entity." Jim yelled back.

Caleb continued to move towards his friend whilst keeping his weapon trained on the Deputy.

"Sundance – you still with us? You can get past this kid – you know it's wrong, we are not the Jury."

Dean cried out, savagely grabbing his hair and almost doubling over. Sam pushed past the Pastor and breezed easily by Caleb to get to his brother's side.

The foggy figure looked up at them both and shrieked, causing Henley to jump and let off a shot inches above Dean's head. Time sped up and several things happened at once. Jim darted towards Henley, as did Caleb; both men brought down the burley Deputy. Caleb continued to try to wrestle the gibbering lawman's gun from him. Sam reached Dean and took his gun. Disarming the hunter was pitifully easy. His elder brother was hot to the touch and rapidly whispering to himself.

"God help me – I didn't mean to let go. Forgive me Ruth."

Sam held the other man in an encompassing embrace and put his mouth close to Dean's ear.

"It wasn't your fault Dean you were just a kid – you weren't strong enough."

"That's right" a twisted child like voice replied with bitterness punctuating every syllable. "You promised to keep me safe, Dean – you weren't strong enough, you ran out on your promise…"

"Leave him alone" Sam grated at the now clearly visible apparition standing before them.

Dean clung to his brother, loosing a series of whimpers, where the only audible words were "Please Stop"… and … "I'm sorry".

"Too late El Deano – I trusted you then, and made that mistake again … more fool me. This time I showed you it all too – no holds barred, fly on the wall-o vision …. And you still failed me!"

"He is not your hired gun, damn it!" Sam bellowed. "The blame is not his – it's not his fault."

"Not his fault?!" The young spirit scoffed never moving her gaze from her prey. "People like you let it happen, Dean. People like you saw; but didn't act. People like you, let him get away with it …"

Ruth's venom spilled through, getting more forceful and frighteningly insistent with each accusation; until Dean let out a choked cry as blood began to gush from his nose, and he clutched urgently at his chest.

The little girl continued unrelentingly. "People like you – are going to pay for it …. Like I did."

"Dean chose to save me Ruth" Sam challenged with a desperate edge shrill his high voice.

He attempted to take Dean's weight as his brother almost jerked off his chair. He was struggling for air, his already pale lips turning bluer with each passing second.

"He chose me over you – right?" Sam continued in a wild tone, a desperate man clutching to the final millimeter, of the last short straw. This bitch was going to kill his brother and Sam was out of weapons … save one…

"Sam NO!" Caleb bellowed from across the room, guessing the younger Winchester's tactic of re-directing the spirits wrath away from his sibling and onto himself.

Ruth regarded the shaggy, dark haired man with her head tilted to one side and a quizzical expression, as if trying to work out what he was.

Dean gasped out the first breath he had been able to take in about a minute, and sprayed blood all over Sam's jacket in the process. His hands were balled tightly into the fabric of the coat, and seemed to be trying to thump out a frantic Morse code warning against the younger man's chest. Sam's only response was to slowly remove his brothers grasp and lay him tenderly propped up against the bar, all the while engaging Ruth's eye and moving very deliberately away from Dean; taking her attention with him. Behind his numbed, slightly cocky game face, Sam prayed fervently for Dean to be alright; but the threat hadn't been neutralized yet – he still had a job to do.

"That must be a real kicker – right?!" Sam snarked in a steadier voice looking down at the young girl.

"Samuel - Don't". Jim's voice strained by his efforts to put the deputy down.

Dean's vision was clearly darkening at the edges. He couldn't catch his breath, but at least he could get the sweet sensation of air entering his lungs now. With a supreme effort of will he threw himself to the side and began to claw across the short distance of floor to his downed weapon.

Caleb roared- a sound filled with fury and frustration. Dean had suffered untold torment on his watch. John had broken cover specifically to send him in to help his boys, and now Caleb was watching whilst this little dead witch broke Dean in front of him and in all probability was about to finish Sam. The girl's spirit was powerful- she had suffered greatly in her life and he could understand the need to look for a little payback. But no matter how you twisted it- she was looking in the wrong place because the only path to the Winchesters was through his own dead corpse!

"I've had enough of this shit, he ground out the pastor."

With the full force of his swelling temper he smashed Henley's forehead with his own. The large lawman crumpled instantly. Caleb began to roll up to a standing position carrying his sawn off with him. The plan was interrupted by Ruth. With a flick of her hand she sent both Caleb and the Pastor hurtling to the far wall pinning them there like flies on fly paper. Both men continued to struggle, but she dismissed them turning her full attention back to Sam.

"He always did go on and on about you- you were his burden you know- we tried everything to ditch you."

Sam swallowed and felt an irrational sting in his eyes "Yeah and yet come plunge time- who sank and who swam Ruth?"

Her face twisted and Sam cried out as his face received a blow delivered from nowhere, but with enough force to spin his head halfway round.

"Stop it, Ruth." Dean called out his fingers grasping for the gun a few millimeters away, she ignored the elder brother her furious gaze devouring Sam's pained look.

"You don't know how lucky you are- look how you've repaid him- your savior. Ever wonder why he keeps coming back to you Sam?"

Sam wiped the blood from his mouth and held his hands up- "Because we're family and you- you were a job that went wrong."

"Sammy" Deans voice cried out torn and faltering "That's enough!"

Both Sam and Ruth turned their heads to see Dean steadying his .45 with one hand whilst perching waveringly against the bar. His body had thrown in the towel- oxygen starved and tired beyond exhaustion it was only his stubborn streak that kept him going. Dean reached into his jacket and pulled something out. Ruthie's eyes widened in shock at the sight of her bible.

"What are you doing with that?" she shrieked.

Deans eyes watered heavily "Please Ruth," he asked brokenly, "Can't you see what you've become? McKinley, Mitchell, the others- they didn't deserve to die,"

"No?! Neither did I! When I was alive I had no control, no say in my own life… I had a say in their deaths though, didn't I Dean?"

"I can't let you go on killing… I, I can't let you hurt Sam- please…

"Pleading doesn't work Dean" Her head turned 180° at an ungodly angle so she regarded her previously unconscious father who was coming to "Does it Daddy?" she asked pointedly of the translucently pale man.

Deputy Henley had the oddest sensation that he required a cigarette and a blindfold as he met the gaze of his long dead daughter. The confusion for his befuddled and aching head, was not the fact that the dead was manifest in front of him… but that his girl should be looking at him with such malice. As she swiveled her oddly angled body to line up with her head and began to approach him, Henley couldn't help but marvel at just how much Ruthie looked like her mother.