Disclaimer: I own nothing. No copyright infringement intended.

Thanks go to SnarkyMuch2 for beta'ing this and for all her help and encouragement through the writing process.

Sorry for the delay getting this chapter out to you (again). Snarkymuch2 and I have been crazy busy working on our Samifer story, and we didn't have a chance to edit this chapter. Good news though, we have finished writing now, so updates should be back on track.

Chapter Twenty-One

Bobby and Dean traipsed through the ferns, brushing away the branches that snagged at their hair and faces.

"How much farther?" Dean asked through his panting breaths.

"We're almost there," Bobby said.

Of the two of them, Bobby was handling the hike best. He may be older than Dean, but he took care of himself. Dean, on the other hand, made cheeseburgers a staple part of his diet.

Dean was glad Sam wasn't with them. If he was, he would have been laughing his head off at Dean's struggle. At least he would have once. Now, with his new mobility issues, Sam might not see the funny. The thought made Dean frown.

"You think Sammy's okay?" he asked.

"I'm sure he's fine. You certainly made sure he knew his limits before we left." Bobby frowned. He hadn't been impressed with Dean's long lecture to Sam, though Sam endured it with an understanding smile. Sam was under strict instructions to stay in their motel room and to do nothing more strenuous than surf for porn.

They walked on for another ten minutes before Bobby came to a halt. "We're here."

Dean looked around the small clearing and frowned. "And here would be?"

"Where the bodies keep turning up," Bobby said patiently. "They've found five here."

"Doesn't sound very supernatural," Dean observed. "Using the same dumping ground sounds more like a human killer to me."

Maybe Sam had been right and they were following a human killer after all. It would be a shame. Now Dean was actually on the hunt again, he felt some of the excitement returning to him. Especially as he knew his brother was safe and sound back at the motel.

"I don't know," Bobby said. "Barker seemed pretty certain it was something other."

Barker was Bobby's friend who had hooked them up with the hunt. He had been working the case before there was a new development with the leviathans, and he had been pulled in to help out.

Dean pulled the EMF detector out of his pocket and flicked it on. "Let's see what we've got."

The machine immediately whirred to life and began humming. The red lights flashed, and Dean frowned at it.

"Okay, I take that back. This is definitely supernatural. Look at this thing."

Bobby looked over his shoulder. "Yep. Guess Barker was right. You think we're dealing with a pissed off spirit?"

"Could be," Dean said. "Some poor sap that was killed coming back for revenge. It doesn't explain the victims though. They were all aged twenty-five to thirty-five and all male. Seems a bit specific for a ghost."

"You think it's going after the profile of its killer?" Bobby suggested.

Dean shrugged. "Don't know."

This was Sam's normal area of expertise. He was the one that made connections and tried to understand the reasons behind the creature's actions. Dean tended to overlook the reasoning, more concerned with taking out the threat.

Dean switched off the EMF detector and stuffed it back in his pocket. "What next?"

"Well—"

Whatever Bobby was about to say was cut off as an unseen force knocked him from his feet. He fell back to the ground, huffing as the air was knocked from his lungs.

Dean spun on his heel and glared around the clearing, searching for a sign of Bobby's attacker, but there was no one. The leaves on the ground shifted in the light breeze, but other than that all else was still.

"Don't just stand there," Bobby said from the ground. "Arm yourself."

Cursing his stupidity, Dean made a grab for the canvas holdall they had brought with them. Before he snagged the handle, something shoved him against a tree. Stars danced in front of his eyes, obscuring his vision.

Bobby clambered to his feet. "Dean!"

Dean couldn't speak. Invisible fingers had wound their way around his throat and were compressing his windpipe. All he managed was a strangled gasp.

Bobby darted to the holdall and pulled out a shotgun loaded with salt rounds. Stepping to Dean's side, he aimed sideways and pulled the trigger. A man appeared as the salt rounds reached their mark and Dean and Bobby both got a look at the ordinary looking man's face before he dispersed.

Dean fell away from the tree, panting. "What the hell was that?"

Bobby rubbed a hand through his beard and looked thoughtful. "I think it's called a ghost."

"Very funny," Dean groused. "Why'd it come after me?"

"Well, you do fit the profile. I think we just met our killer."

Dean rubbed at his sore throat. "I think we should get out of here before it comes back."

Bobby nodded. "Agreed."

They grabbed their bags and headed back along the trail that had led them to the clearing.

"Now we have the what, we need to find out who that was," Bobby said.

"Sounds like a job for Sammy," Dean said with satisfaction. He was glad that there was something Sam could do to help on the case. Especially something that wouldn't get him hurt. Dean knew it was hard for Sam to sit back and watch him and Bobby go out on the hunt, and he knew Sam would appreciate having something to do.

He shouldered the holdall and they set off along the trail back towards the car.

Sam wasn't breaking Dean's rules exactly. He figured walking the length of the room was about as strenuous as surfing for porn, and he needed to keep going with his physical therapy.

He turned at the bathroom and made his way back to the motel door. He had been making passes up and down the room all morning, building his endurance. It was tiring but satisfying work.

As he finished his last pass of the room, he flopped down onto the bed and tossed an arm over his hot face. He felt like he had run a marathon, when all he had done was make a few dozen passes up and down the room. He calculated the distance and realized it fell short of his goal, which was the distance between the diner and the motel. He wanted to get out for a walk in the fresh air for a change.

The door swung open and he raised his head to look up at his brother.

Concern creased Dean's brow as he saw his brother lying on the bed with his arm covering his face. "You okay?" he asked immediately.

"I'm fine." Sam noted the redness around his brother's neck. "What happened to you?"

"Some pissed off spirit got the jump on me. Had its hands around my neck for a minute before Bobby shot it full of salt."

Sam got to his feet and examined his brother's throat. There were clear red imprints of fingers that were going to bruise in the morning. "You should put some ice on it," he advised.

Dean batted away his hands. "I'm fine, Sam."

Sam didn't look convinced, but he knew how much it bothered him when Dean fussed so he spared him the same annoyance. "So, it's a ghost we're going after?"

Bobby sank down onto the edge of the bed and took off his cap. He watched the brothers' interaction with a smile. It felt like the way it used to be, with Sam fussing and Dean pushing him away. "Yep. We were hoping you might be able to work some magic on the laptop and track down an ID on the guy."

Sam grinned. This was something he could do that would actually help. He moved to sit at the table—oblivious to Dean's careful scrutiny—and booted up the laptop.

While Sam worked at his laptop, Dean sat opposite and watched his brother work. It felt good to be in the old routine again, with Sam working away on a case while he waited. At times in the hospital, when Sam had been in his coma and the doctor was talking about brain damage, he'd thought this would never happen again. He had thought his brother was lost to him forever. He thanked his rarely lucky stars that he had been wrong.

After nearly an hour of scouring news archives and obituaries, Sam turned the laptop to face Dean and asked, "Is this your ghost?"

Dean examined the picture carefully and scowled. "Yeah, that's him. I got a good look into his face as he was choking me. Who is it?"

"Marshall Bennett. He was murdered ten years ago. That was why it took me so long to find him. I was looking at recent cases," he said apologetically.

"Let me guess; he was strangled in the forest," Bobby said.

Sam stretched his hands out in front of his and cracked his knuckles. "I think so. His body was found in the woods at least. He went hiking one day and never came home. They never caught his killer."

"Sounds like good background for a vengeful spirit," Dean observed. "He's pissed that his killer was never caught, so he's taking it out on innocent people."

Bobby scrubbed a hand through his beard. "Ten years is a long time to wait though. Why'd it take him so long to start killing?"

"Here's the thing," Sam said. "It was the anniversary of his death last month. My guess is that triggered his wrath. Ten years is a long time to go without any kind of justice."

"Sucks for him," Dean said lightly. "Unfortunately, we're hunters not cops. He's going to have to do without his justice in exchange for a little salt and gasoline." He pulled the laptop closer to him. "Any clues on where he's planted?"

Sam shook his head. "I'll have to look for the obit. I found the story in the news pages." He yawned widely. He was tired after only an hour on the laptop, and he was getting a headache. He used to be able to work for hours without break; he was apparently out of practice.

Dean saw the slight tightening around Sam's eyes. He knew all the quirks of his brother, and he knew this was a sign of pain. "You okay, Sam?" he asked.

"I'm fine," Sam lied.

Despite the fact he knew his brother was lying, Dean didn't press the subject. He trusted Sam to tell him if it was something he should worry about.

Bobby saw Dean's restraint, and he was pleased that he didn't push the subject. They both had to get used to Sam being on his feet again after seeing him so weak for so long, and allowing him to keep his secrets was a part of it.

Sam turned the laptop and started searching through the archives for a funeral announcement. It only took a few minutes for him to find it. "Good news," he said. "He was buried not cremated, so we're not looking for an object."

"That's good news," Bobby said. "I didn't fancy playing the needle in a haystack game. What's the bad news?"

"He's buried in Spokane. We've got a…"—he checked the online route planner—"six hour drive to get there."

Dean sighed. "Six hours in the crap-mobile. Awesome. Man, what I wouldn't give to have my baby back."

Sam smiled. "You going to tell me why the Impala is on lockdown?"

"No!" Bobby and Dean said together.

"Sam, it's really…"

"Better if I don't know," Sam said wearily. "I got it."

"I don't think you do," Dean said. "Those memories are dangerous to you. You don't want to know."

Sam frowned. He had kept his promise—he hadn't searched for the missing memories—but it felt odd to him to be missing two years worth of life. He felt sure that something big had happened that he should know about.

"Just trust us," Bobby said softly.

"I do," Sam said. "It's just weird for me not knowing."

Bobby nodded sagely. "I bet it is."

"But you're safer not knowing," Dean said. He was terrified of those memories. If hell started spilling out in his brother's mind again, he could be tormented by Lucifer again or worse. When Castiel had first broken down the wall, Sam had gone into a coma of sorts. Dean couldn't bear the thought of losing his brother again when he had just got him back.

Sam wasn't satisfied by Dean's assurances that he was better not knowing, but he saw the desperation in his brother's eyes and knew he shouldn't press the topic. It was getting him nowhere other than to hurt Dean.