Jenjoremy rocked this chapter—as she always does—and SandraEngstrom2 and Gredelina1 put in extra hours helping me work through the kinks. You ladies rock.

Chapter Twenty-One

Sam stayed away for two days. By the time he walked back through the bar door late one evening, Ellen had just about lost her mind and Dean was convinced he would never come back. He didn't allude to his time away or his and Dean's fight; he just got himself a beer and took up residence beside Ash at the bar.

Ellen tried to talk to him about his disappearing act and got nothing. Dean didn't even try. It didn't matter to him where Sam had been or what he'd done. He was just glad he'd come back again. Sam didn't talk about Dean's decree that he was staying in the life either. Dean didn't think it was the end of the issue, though. He figured it would rear its head again at some point, but he would take the reprieve while he could.

After the bar closed and Dean had helped Ellen and Jo clear up, he went to bed, leaving Sam and Ash sitting at a table, talking quietly.

He slept fitfully, and each time he woke he checked the other bed to see if Sam had come in, but he was never there. He didn't see him until around dawn when Sam shook him awake, dressed in clean clothes and freshly shaved.

"What's going on?" Dean asked sleepily.

"Wake your ass up. We've got a long drive."

Dean rubbed at his tired eyes. "Where are we going?"

"Arizona. I found us a case."

Dean sat up and stared. "You what?" After their last conversation, he'd been sure Sam would keep him from hunting at any cost. He'd expected to be the one forced to track them a case and guilt Sam into taking it by mentioning the people they could be saving.

"A case," Sam repeated slowly. "You're a hunter now, right? That means we hunt."

"Yeah," Dean said quickly, shaking off the last vestiges of sleep and sitting up. "Sure. I'm up for it."

"Good. Get your ass up and dressed and we'll head out." Sam strode from the room, his duffel slung over his shoulder.

Dean hurried to obey, meeting Sam in the kitchen five minutes later. Sam was just finishing up a message on the chalkboard. Taken a hunt in Arizona. Back in a week tops. Call if you need us.

"You ready?" Sam asked.

"Yeah," Dean said.

Sam picked up his bag from the table and left. Dean took a moment to clear his head at the strange turn of events and then followed him out.

"Here's what we know," Sam said. "There have been three victims so far. They've all died from what the press is calling 'extreme head trauma'."

"Like bludgeoning?" Dean asked.

"No idea," Sam said. "The details are vague."

Dean frowned. "What makes you think this is our kind of case?"

"Just a gut feeling," Sam said idly.

"And does this 'feeling' have any other clues for us to follow?"

"No. I can't get through the PD firewall to check their files either." He sounded impressively relaxed about it all, as if it was no problem they had nothing to go on other than head trauma and his gut. It wasn't like him. Sam was intense and focused at the best of times, but on a hunt he was usually so much more.

"What do we do then?" Dean asked.

"What do you think we should do?" he countered.

That was different, too. Sam usually led on a case. He would share theories with Dean, talk about the angle they would use for the hunt—feds or reporters—and then usually do whatever he had already decided on. Something was going on. Sure, he could still be pissed at Dean—he had good reason after the intervention and what Dean had said—but it didn't feel right.

"Well?" Sam prompted.

"If we can't get into the PD files, we need to go to them directly," Dean said. "And for that we need to be feds. We can go by the morgue too and see if we can get a look at the post mortem reports, too."

Sam nodded approvingly. "Yeah. That's good." He sounded like a teacher praising Dean on a good piece of homework. It was so unlike Sam that it reinforced Dean's feeling that something was going on.

Dean grabbed his suit and stripped off his travel-worn clothes to change. Sam stared out of the window for a moment, his expression unreadable, and then he changed too.

Fake fed badges tucked into pockets, they drove across town to the police department. It was a small redbrick building with large windows that made it look more like a storefront than a PD.

Dean was out of the car and halfway across the lot before he realized Sam wasn't with him. He looked back and raised an eyebrow, and Sam nodded and climbed out, sighing like he was disappointed he had to move. Dean reminded himself the hunt was Sam's catch and it was his gut that had led them there. It wasn't like Dean had dragged him along, so he shouldn't feel apologetic for making him get his ass out of the car and do his job.

Sam came to a stop beside Dean and gestured him ahead. Dean was confused, but he took the lead and pushed open the door.

There was a young woman behind the desk and as they entered she looked up and smiled. "Yes, gentlemen?"

Dean waited for Sam's standard 'we're feds and we don't have time to make nice' routine, but he didn't deliver. He stayed a few steps back and watched Dean expectantly.

"Hello," Dean said awkwardly. "We're Agents Page and Plant from the FBI. Can we speak with your chief?"

"Uh, sure. I'll just let him know you're here." She stood and weaved around a cubicle false wall and out of sight.

Dean glanced at Sam, wanting some reassurance or explanation for why he had suddenly become the passenger for this case, but he was staring at the notice board, pointedly avoiding Dean's eye.

After a moment of silence between the two of them, the receptionist came back followed by a portly man in a dark blue uniform that stretched tightly across his stomach. "Agents," he said genially. "Chief Reynolds. How can I help you?"

"Is it possible to speak somewhere private?" Dean asked.

"Sure, come on through to my office."

They walked around the counter, through a room dotted with a few desks and a large notice board on the back wall, and into a small office. There was a desk facing the door with two seats in front of it. The room was sparsely decorated, and Dean was reminded of Mike's office back in his other life.

They each took a seat and the chief leaned forward in his chair. "So, what can I do for you? We don't often have the feds come to our little town."

Sam turned to Dean and looked expectant again. Dean bit down his annoyance at Sam's mute act and cleared his throat. "We're here about the recent deaths."

"Ah, yes. I should have guessed. We don't have much else here to interest the FBI. We're usually a quiet town. I spend more time breaking up teen parties and handing out speeding tickets that anything else. Well, there's not a lot I can tell you other than the fact there have been three deaths of vagrant types and they were all killed the same way."

"Which way is that?" Dean asked.

The chief grimaced. "They were stabbed right in the brain. The ME has never seen anything like it. I have his report here…" He rifled through the folders on his desk and handed one to Dean. "Take a look. You fellas seen anything like this before?"

Dean opened the folder and flipped through the ME photos clipped to the report. The first showed a woman's face. She looked pathetic and sad with her ashen skin and blue lips. She had been young, probably only in her early twenties. A waste. The second photo showed the back of her head with a neat but large hole, angled toward the brain. He handed the file to Sam, and he glanced over the picture then handed it back without speaking.

"It's like nothing I've ever seen," Dean said.

The chief nodded. "Thought as much. It's not something you come across every day." He turned to Sam. "What about you, agent?"

Sam shook his head. "Never seen it before."

"Is there anything else strange about the deaths?" Dean asked when it became clear Sam wasn't going to say anything else.

"Funny you should ask. The ME report says the people had no defensive wounds. Whoever killed them came at them from behind. Also… there was a piece missing."

"A piece?"

"The pituitary gland had been clean scooped out."

It meant nothing to Dean. He'd never heard of a fugly that did that, but it was the best news he'd had all day; at least it might provide a clue as to what they were dealing with. Maybe Sam had already heard of it. It would definitely make things easier if he had.

"Okay," he said, eager to get out of there so he could quiz Sam, "I think that's all we need. Thanks for all your help."

Sam cleared his throat. "Actually, there is something else. I have a couple questions. You said the victims were vagrant types. Do you have a lot of vagrants in town?"

"We have a few," the chief admitted. "Small towns are a little more forgiving than the big cities. We have a group of church women who deliver food to them, give them blankets when it gets cold."

"Where can they be found?"

"By the old railway track under the bridge. They're often in town during the day, but that's where you'll find them during the night."

"And that's where the bodies were found?"

The chief nodded. "All three of them. No witnesses though. It happened in the dead of night while they were sleeping."

Sam got to his feet. "One more thing. Can we have a copy of the ME report?"

"Of course, I'll have Maria copy it for you."

He walked from the room, leaving Sam and Dean alone. Dean was feeling very stupid. He should have thought to ask those questions instead of Sam. They were important and they hadn't even crossed his mind. If not for Sam, they would have been clueless of where to even start their search.

When they got back to the motel, Sam tossed John's journal onto the table and said, "You want to see if there's anything in there? I'll go get us some food."

Dean was hungry but more than that he wanted a little space. He felt like Sam was judging him for his screw up at the PD, forgetting the most basic but important questions. It wasn't the worst thing he could have done, but it still felt big to him. He'd been telling Sam that he was a hunter, but he was making rookie mistakes that he should have given up when he was a kid.

Sam left without another word, letting the door swing shut behind him, and Dean breathed a sigh of relief. He picked up the journal and opened it. He still felt the same reverence when he looked through it now as he had the first time. It was a piece of his father.

He lost himself in the lines of neat handwriting, losing track of time until he turned a page and saw a sketched image of something that caught his eye. It was faceless, the figure ending at the neck, and the shoulders and torso were only shaded in. The most detailed drawn parts were the hands. They bore long claws, longer than Dean had ever seen. Beneath the image was a description of the creature—Kitsune. Born not created. Feed on pituitary glands with claws. Method of death: stab through the heart. Beneath that was another note. Feb '98. Sam took out a Kitsune today. His first.

Dean dropped the journal onto the bed and sucked in a breath. Sam knew. Sam knew what it was, had probably known since he first found the case. So why the hell was he having Dean play fed and making him look stuff up in the journal? What was the point in that? Was this some joke, some revenge for their argument, making Dean look like an idiot? It seemed too petty for Sam, but why else would he be doing it?

The door opened then and Sam entered with a brown paper sack of food. "Find anything?" he asked.

"Yeah. I think it's something called a Kitsune." He eyed Sam shrewdly, searching for a reaction or tell. Sam's expression showed only mildly interest though.

"Does it say how to kill it?"

Dean stared at him. Was he seriously going to pretend he didn't know already? "We have to stab it through the heart."

"Great. That should be easy enough. We've just got to find it. Any ideas?"

Dean had been formulating a plan, but he hadn't expected to need to spell it out for Sam, not since he already knew what they were hunting and he'd taken on at least once before. "I think we should scout out this bridge where the attacks are happening," he said. "See if it comes back."

"Sounds good," Sam agreed, nodding. "Eat and then we'll get ourselves changed and set up."

Dean reached for the paper sack and pulled out a burger. As he ate, he thought over what was happening and sighed. Something was going on with Sam. For whatever reason, he was leaving Dean blind about things he should share. It was no way to go into a hunt.

When something feels too easy, that's because it usually is. Dean learned that the hard way with the Kitsune.

Sam set himself up as the target, making his cardboard and newspaper bed a little away from the other people bunkered down at the bridge, a tempting target for the monster. He had a knife tucked in his boot and the colt under the newspaper, but Dean was the one that was going in for the kill. Sam was in the open and Dean was concealed.

It was probably easier for Sam, as he got to lie down and at least pretend to rest while Dean spent the three hours it took for the Kitsune to show itself hiding in the trees that lined the edge of the old railway line. He was stiff and sore, and that was how he got hurt.

He was expecting the Kitsune to come out of the left, the way that led into town, but it was already there. One of the men they'd seen making his bed for the night roused himself around two a.m. and moved away from the main group. Dean thought at first it was just another man making a trip to nature's bathroom, but then he stalked toward Sam. Claws descended from his fingers, so much more menacing than they looked in the sketch.

As soon as Dean saw them, he rushed out of his hiding place, knife raised, but the Kitsune heard him coming. As Dean approached, the creature spun on his heel and swept a hand out. Claws whipped across Dean's forearm, tearing through his skin and leaving burning pain in their wake.

For a moment he was distracted. It was Sam's voice shouting his name that brought him back to the moment. Sam kicked the Kitsune toward him, shouting, "Kill it!"

Dean obeyed without thought. The kick had caught the Kitsune off guard, and he didn't react in time to dodge or block the knife. Dean plunged it into the thing's chest, right over the heart. His eyes widened and he looked stunned even as the life went out of him. Dean pulled out the blade out and the corpse thudded to the ground.

Dean stared down at it, barely aware of the pain in his arm until Sam wrapped his fingers around the wound to staunch the flow of blood.

"C'mon," he said brusquely. "Let's get you stitched up."

"Thought it would be bigger," Sam said idly.

Dean laughed. "Dude, it's the Grand Canyon. Things don't get much bigger than this."

They had left town long before dawn, driving an hour to a lookout spot in time to see the first light of morning brightening the sky. Dean had been surprised by their location. Sam wasn't the type to stop and enjoy landmarks.

Dean was enjoying the view, but his mind was troubled. Sam seemed in a better mood now and would probably answer Dean's questions honestly, but he might also shut down and refuse to say a thing. Dean didn't want to ruin the moment. He sat in silence, biting his lip, deep in thought.

"What's on your mind, Dean?" Sam asked eventually.

Dean fixed his eyes on a spot on the horizon. It was now or never. "You knew about the Kitsune."

Sam nodded. "I did."

"Then why didn't you tell me?" Dean asked.

Sam sighed and said, "Dad thought my first solo kill was when I was fourteen. It wasn't. It was four months later when we went after a Ghoul."

Dean frowned. "Okay…"

"The first hunt, the one he thought I took down alone, was a Kitsune. I met this girl. It's a long story, but Dad was hunting the mother. I didn't know the girl was a Kitsune. I just thought she was cute. We were back at her place and the mother caught us." He shook his head. "She was going to kill me. The girl, Amy, saved my life. She killed her mother to save me. I knew if Dad found out about Amy, he'd kill her. She was a monster after all. So I told her to run, and I lied to Dad. I told him I'd made the kill." He smiled slightly. "He was so damn proud of me. Anyway. I'm getting off topic. My point is that I made my first real decision as a hunter at age fourteen. I have been in this life a long time, and it's made me what I am. I'm good. I'm not being arrogant; it's just a fact. I save lives because that's what I was trained to do."

"I know," Dean said softly, thinking of how much he wished that was different.

"You were trained, too," Sam said. "But you're not the same now as you were when you were sixteen. The reason I stood back today was because I wanted to see what you could do on your own. You want to be a part of the life for good. I hate that. I don't want it. But it's not my choice to make. It's yours. If you're going to hunt, I am going to make sure you're the best damn hunter you can be. Understand?"

"Yeah," Dean said, smiling in spite of himself. Sam wasn't on board with it by any means, but he was accepting it wasn't his choice to make. "Thank you, Sam."

Sam shrugged off his thanks and looked at the horizon as the sun made its first appearance for the day. He smiled slightly. "Happy birthday, Dean. It's January 24th."

"It is?" Dean said. "I didn't even realize." He grinned. "So, what did you get me?"

"A promise," Sam said. "I promise I'm giving you a damn long life, No matter what else happens, I'll deliver on that one. Understand?"

"Yeah, Sammy," Dean said. "I understand." He understood and believed Sam would try, but Dean didn't have the same faith he'd had at the beginning. Sam hadn't mastered his powers and they were running out of time.

Despite what he said to Sam about being in the life for good, with every day that passed, he became more and more certain it was going to end with hell for him.

The very worst part of that was that he'd be leaving Sam behind.

So… A hunt and a quick glance at The Grand Canyon. In my head the 'farty donkey' conversation never happened in The Great Escapist, because that was crap! Dean says in Croatoan that they've never been. This is the first time the boys are seeing The Grand Canyon. Okay? Good. *calms self* Hope you enjoyed.

We're getting down to it now. There are 25 chapters total in this story. Things will pick up in a hurry now.

Until next time…

Clowns or Midgets xxx