Dean was almost out of town when the diner caught his eye. As he pulled into the parking lot, he wondered if she would still be there or if she'd gone off to pursue her dream of photography but as soon as he walked in he saw her. She was older, of course, and her hair was a different color but Dean knew her right away. Maybe it was her face or the nametag that read Robin. The hostess sat him and as he stared at the menu he thought back to when he'd sat here with Sonny all those years ago. The ghosts of this place were ones you couldn't burn. Both good and bad memories haunted this town but Dean couldn't get rid of them with salt.

"Hi," her smile was just as bright as it had been at sixteen, "Welcome to Cus'. What can I get you?" Dean smiled and waited for some sort of recognition to spark in her eyes. She smiled back but not in a familiar way.

"Bet you never thought you'd see me here, huh?" Dean asked, hoping to ring a bell of some sort.

"Uh, look," she looked around the diner, distractedly, "I'm a little slammed right now. Do you want to hear the specials?"

"Robin," he said, "Dean Winchester."

"Um…" she sounded as if maybe she was trying to remember.

"I used to live up at Sonny's." He looked at her hoping for something.

"Oh, oh," she seemed to be remembering something, "Uh, look, sorry. There's just – there's so many boys that pass through there, it's – it's hard to remember every – every name and face." Dean sunk into his chair.

"Yeah," he said as nonchalantly as he could, "Uh, no. Sorry, I just – I remember you coming up there with your mom. She'd give guitar lessons. It's, uh – it was a long time ago."

"Yeah," she said, "Mom – she loved helping out the boys. I guess that's why I kept giving lessons after she passed." Dean cleared his throat and there was an awkward silence.

"Hey, Robin?" someone from the other side of the diner called her name.

"Um will you excuse me? I'll be right back." She hurried off to answer the call and Dean left. As he tried his best to put the past behind him, his phone rang and he was back where he'd started.

There had been two more victims, Ruth and one of the boys that stayed there. As far as Dean could tell they only had one thing in common, after all he'd seen the boy teasing Timmy earlier that day and he'd mentioned Ruth to Dean the day before. He asked Sonny about the boy but from what he could gather between what Sonny said and the files they had on the boy there wasn't much they knew. After being found in an abandoned barn, they had posted his picture on the internet. When no one came to claim him they tried to send him to Child Services but he kept running away and so Sonny had taken him in. Dean decided he needed to talk to the kid again and, as he wasn't in the house anywhere, the barn seemed like the best place to look. That, however was empty too. Dean searched the whole dank place and was about to give up when he noticed a sort of attic above him.

"Timmy?" he asked and peeked his head inside. No one was there but it wasn't empty. It looked as if someone used this as their hideaway. On the wall there were drawings. Obviously done by a child's hand, they depicted some sort car accident which ended in flames. The woman labeled mom held her child outside the window as the flames devoured her and the vehicle. Dean's eyebrows drew together as he studied the disturbing art. The kid in the drawing had glasses, just like little Timmy and Dean began to put together what had happened. If his heart hadn't been in pieces already it would've broken for the kid. After all, he knew what it was like to lose a parent like that, to watch them burn (although he hadn't exactly seen his mom when she died) but to then have to go on without them. Poor Timmy didn't even have any other family to keep him going. Dean's mind raced with possible solutions as he climbed back down the ladder and hurried back to the house. Inside he heard humming and the gentle strum of guitar strings. He recognized the tune immediately and if it weren't for imminent danger, he might have stood in the doorway for a while listening and reminiscing. But there was no time for that. Just then Robin looked up and saw him.

"Oh," she said, "Hey. Uh, what happened to you at the diner? I turned around to take your order, and you were just … gone."

"Long story," he said distractedly, "Um, have you seen Timmy?"

"No, not yet, but he should be here any minute for his guitar lesson."

"Yeah, we're gonna cancel that," he grabbed her by the arm and pulled her up, scanning the room for any sort of ghostlike activity.

"What?" She tried to pull her arm away.

"We got to get out of here, okay? I don't have time to explain. You just got to trust me." She laughed.

"T-trust you?" she scoffed, "And why would I do that again?" Dean stopped his distracted survey of the room and turned to her.

"You do remember me!"

"How could I forget?" He read it all in her eyes the recognition, the hurt, the love he could've had. He pictured her at sixteen waiting for him, all dressed up and standing around while other teenage couples danced around her. He'd wanted so badly to go to that dance, to say goodbye, to explain to her why he couldn't stay, but his dad had rushed him out of that home as quickly as he'd left him in it. All Dean could do was watch as the farm grew smaller and smaller and to whisper an apology as they passed the school.

"There were," Dean hesitated wondering how he could explain a life time in as few words as possible, "There were reasons why I had to leave. I don't have time to explain them to you right now. I got to get you out of here." He began dragging her toward the door.

"Hey!" she yelled, struggling to pull away from him, "What are you doing?!"

"I'm sorry." They turned to the speaker behind them.

"Sorry about what, Timmy?"

"I can't stop it," he whispered. A vase crashed on the door behind them and Robin screamed. Dean pushed her into the kitchen, grabbing a fire poker on his way through the living room. Vases and lamps flew over their heads. He pushed her towards the door and grabbed the handle.

"Locked. Damn it!" he yelled. Robin backed to the center of the room as Dean threw open cabinet doors and scrambled for the salt. He found a box and began making a circle around her.

"Whatever happens you stay inside this circle," he instructed, "Understood?" She nodded nervously. Dean backed up and scanned the room, nearly tripping over Timmy who stood in the doorway clutching his action figure.

"I can't control her."

"Can't control who?" Dean asked before remembering the pictures, "Your mom, right?" Timmy nodded. "What happened to her, Timmy? Tell us about the fire."

"It was late, and we were driving home when we crashed in the woods. Everything was on fire. But she saved me, pushed me out. Before the car blew up... with her in it." Dean nodded.

"What else?" he said trying to keep his voice gentle.

"I ran through the woods. I found an empty building, where I hid. I was scared. It was dark and cold. So I cried. I cried for my mom. And then she came."

"But she was different, huh?" Dean asked, picturing the last drawing with a phoenix like "Mommy" hovering above Timmy. Timmy nodded again and Dean followed suit. That's when his eyes caught sight of the action figure in Timmy's hands. "Hey, Timmy," he said, "Did she give you that cool action figure?" Timmy looked down at Bruce.

"Yeah. When I turned nine."

"Timmy, I'm gonna need that." He reached towards the boy and found himself flying in the other direction. He hit the wall as the spirit of Timmy's mom flickered into view. Robin screamed and Dean stood up. Swinging the iron poker, he slashed through the ghost then grabbed the action figure out of the boy's arms.

"No!" Timmy yelled as Dean threw the doll onto the oven and turned on the gas burner. Timmy ran to Robin and watched as the flames began to devour the doll and it began to melt. A window opened and the wind blew inside, opening the salt circle where Robin stood with Timmy now beside her. Dean's brow furrowed.

"That should've worked," he muttered and then sudden realization hit him and he whipped around, his eyes on Timmy. The ghost flickered back into view and Robin screamed and ran out.

"Robin," Dean called and was about to go after her, when he was flung back against the wall. A sudden pain filled his chest as if someone were inside him squeezing his lungs. Each breath was more painful than the last and it was getting harder and harder just to get them out through his mouth. "Timmy," he wheezed.

"I can't stop her," Timmy whimpered from where he now sat curled up against the wall. In the hall, Dean could hear Robin fighting with the door and screaming for help.

"You have to try," he pleaded with the little boy, "She came to you when you cried out for her. Now you have to tell her to stop and go away!"

"She's my mom," Timmy choked.

"She's a ghost. Timmy, because she can't move on, she's going crazy. Okay? You got to let her go. You'll be okay." The boy stared at Dean with wide sad eyes and he thought back to a time when another young boy had looked at him the same way. The same boy that had pulled him away from all this. The same boy who had died to save the world; to save him. The same boy who now haunted the bunker. "Listen to me. Sometimes you got to do what's best for you, even if it's gonna hurt the ones you love." Timmy adjusted his glasses and stood up.

"Mommy," his voice shook, "Stop it."

"Timmy," Dean coughed, "Kung Fu grip!" Timmy stood up taller.

"Mommy," his voice was stronger now "Stop it! Stop hurting people!" The pressure on Dean's lungs released and he gasped in the air that had been missing from them. The ghost turned to her son and held out her arms.

"You have to go," he shook his head and tears welled up in his eyes, "Never come back. I'll be okay. I promise." Dean watched and waited but he couldn't help thinking of his family's ghosts. Everything that still haunted him; his past, his losses, his brother. Things he needed to let go. The burns on the ghost's face began to peel away, revealing the face of Timmy's mom. She smiled, her arms still open wide. Timmy nodded as he choked out through his tears;

"I love you, too." And then she was gone. Timmy gasped and ran across the room to Dean. He threw his arms around Dean's neck and buried his head in his shoulder. As Dean held him and stared around the empty room, he thought back to when he was younger. When his brother would come running to him with tear filled eyes and open arms. He missed the feel of small arms clinging to him and the wet tears left on his shoulder when they finally pulled apart. He wondered now what would've happened if he had stayed. If he'd decided to let his father drive away, Sam in the back seat with his airplane swinging out the window. Would Sam have gone to Stanford? Would he have finished his schooling? Would he still have died? And what about Dean? Would he have a girl and a diploma? Maybe a house, a family and a job as a mechanic? Would he know the pain of all the losses he'd experienced? So maybe all those people he'd saved would die, but wouldn't it be worth it?

"How did you know Timmy asking his mom to leave was going to work?" Sam's voice interrupted Dean's ponderings. They sat in Sam's room while Dean told him about the hunt he'd finished at the boy's home.

"I didn't," Dean shrugged, "Total Hail Mary. I got lucky." Sam nodded.

"You know Dean," Dean sighed, anticipating what his brother was going to say, "What you said to Timmy?"

"Yeah," Dean said.

"About his mom? Maybe you should take your own advice." Dean looked down at his hands, pretending he had no idea what the spirit of his younger brother was talking about. But of course that had crossed his mind, even while he was saying those words to Timmy he'd been beating himself up inside for being such a hypocrite.

"Damn it, Sam," he muttered, pushing himself off the bed, "Look it's been a long day and I really don't need a lecture right now. So just drop it." He was almost out the door when Sam called him back.

"Dean," he said, "Thank you." Dean turned back around.

"For what?"

"For always being there, for – having my back. Look, I know it always hasn't been easy …" Sam shrugged but his eyes begged Dean to understand.

"I don't know what the hell you're talking about," Dean smiled. But he did and it made him wonder, what would've happened if he'd stayed? Where would he have been without Sam?