A/N: Computer problems plus Real Life equals major suckage. Much thanks to SciFiNutTX. It's the Winchesters and the Harvelles in this chapter.

Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural. This is for entertainment only, and not for profit.

Chapter 34 – a leopard and his spots

The back door to the kitchen squeaked. Always did, always had, for as long as John could remember. The Roadhouse itself hadn't changed, not all that much, even after all these years. He could almost fool himself into thinking that nothing had really changed. He and his boys were holed up with the Harvelles and it was just like old times.

"Hey, Winchester," Ellen nodded at what was left of the six pack on the table. "Park it for a while."

John nodded his thanks and sat down in the chair Rufus just vacated, next to Ellen. He pulled a bottle out of the cardboard holder, opened it, but he didn't drink until the engine sounds outside faded completely away.

Half the beer went down in a couple of gulps. Good stuff. John sat back in the chair. "Gonna have to put some money down on your water bill. Dean likes his baths."

"I imagine he would." Bill grimaced. "Bender place was that bad, huh?"

"Worse." John raised the bottle to his lips and drank the rest.

"Don't worry about that." Ellen drawled lazily. "Ash can hack into the water company. He does it all the time."

Bill huffed. "Man's gotta earn his keep somehow."

"When you gonna reopen?"

"In a couple of days." Bill shrugged. "Don't get antsy, John. You and the boys stay as long as you like."

"Dean thinks you abandoned him," John shook his head in disbelief. "I don't know where in the hell he got that idea from."

"Kids. They think they know it all and they've got it ass backwards." Ellen rolled her eyes."Jo talked about hunting all the time. After you brought Bill home that night never heard another peep out of her."

Bill sighed. His voice rose in a whiny, singsong version of his daughter's voice. " 'Dean's dead. You should both accept it." He shook his head in amazement. "Christ. I told her not to say things like that to you and Sam. Did she listen? Hell no. Look, we know that's why you haven't been around much these last three years."

"No harm done. She was wrong anyway," John sat back in the chair, loose and relaxed. Felt good just to sit around and not do a damn thing.

"You ready for that haircut tomorrow, Winchester?" Ellen's grin was sly and mischievous.

John snorted. He ran his fingers through the hair at the back of his neck; he was getting a little shaggy back there. "As long as you don't scalp me."

"Oh, I dunno." Ellen reached out and ruffled the hair over John's forehead with her fingers. "You might look good bald."

"Hope we don't have to find out. If Dean sees you cut my hair, he'll figure it's okay for him too. Not gonna force him, but I think he needs it."

"That reminds me." Ellen leaned down underneath the table, snagged the brown paper bag on the floor by her feet and plunked it down on the table in front of John. "Here."

John opened the bag and stared at the brightly colored box. "Dark brown, huh?"

Ellen shrugged. "That should work. Dean's hair color is so light now, this oughta even it out."

John yawned. "You ready for breakfast down here tomorrow? Dean's first time in four years."

"He'll be fine." Ellen put the empties back into the six pack carton. "I imagine all this seems a little strange to him. He'll get over it. He just needs to be around normal people again."

Bill scowled. "We're normal?"

Ellen nudged him hard with her shoulder. "All right now, you know what I meant."

"Dude, we gotta talk about this."

Dean held the bath towel firmly around his waist with one hand. He threw his spare duffel on the bed with the other.

Aw, crap. Sam was dead set on talking about this. Ignoring him wouldn't shut him up, or make the subject go away. Dean remembered the good old days when he could growl and intimidate Sam, get him to drop the subject. Seemed like he just didn't have the strength for that any more.

"Well? Come on, Dean," Sam insisted.

Dean's face blanked as he rummaged through his belongings. He could feel a shiver, a tremble, start deep inside his body. The room was heated but he couldn't stay warm on his own. His chest hurt, and his head was starting to throb.

"No, we don't." Dean shook his head, which might have been the wrong thing to do. His vision blurred, then doubled. "Nothing's wrong."

Dean blinked, and then squinted down at the contents of the duffel bag. Sam loomed over him, and Dean really hated that. Sam's height never bothered him before, but it did now.

"Nothing's wrong? You really think that, huh?"

Dean nodded. "Yeah." He watched his fingers shake, and he steeled himself. He snagged a pair of black boxer briefs and a dark green t shirt and yanked them out out of the duffel with one hand.

"Dude, you spend half the day in the shower trying to scrub your skin off. You're pale." If Dean hadn't noticed those things before, Sam was only too happy to point these things out. "You wheeze like an old man sometimes."

Dean's eyes bugged out slightly, and then it happened. A low, hoarse cough hitched its way up out of his chest and throat.

"So there's nothing wrong with you, huh?" Sam smirked in triumph.

Dean coughed so hard his eyes nearly crossed, and without realizing it he cradled his clothes to his chest with one hand as his shoulders shook. His knuckles whitened as he gripped the towel even tighter. Going commando around Sam (or Dad, for that matter) was not an option.

Sam's eyes widened. That smug look on his face vanished in a heartbeat. "Come on, sit down. I'll get you some water---"

"Don't need it," Dean choked out. " 'm fine."

'"Dude, we gotta talk about this---"

"Hell we do." Dean turned, pushed his way past Sam and somehow stumbled back into the bathroom. He slammed the door hard this time.

"I'm not shutting up until you start talking," Sam yelled through the door.

"Jesus, Sam." Dean rolled his eyes as he dropped the towel. "Give it a freakin' rest, will ya?"

His fingers shook and his knees felt wobbly. Crap, he hadn't had this much trouble dressing himself since he was a kid. Dean hooked the t shirt over the doorknob, leaned against the door and slipped on the boxer briefs. The t shirt was next. "I'm okay." He stumbled over to the toilet, lowered the seat and sat down with a hard thump. "I'm fine. End of story."

"Not good enough."

"Yell all you want. I'm not coming out."

"Why the hell do you take so many baths anyway?"

The bathroom window had a steel grate over it. Dean doubted he could climb down without breaking his damn neck anyway. "I'm making up for lost time."

"So you don't feel like yourself."

"I didn't say that, Doctor Phil." Dean put his head down, leaned forward and raked both hands through his hair from back to front. His hands were still warm, at least, but his feet were ice cold. He could barely feel his toes. All this emo talk was worthless. Freaking worthless. All he wanted now was to rest up, but Sam didn't want that, Sam wanted to talk about Dean's feelings.

Emo jerk.

Gabriel was gone, but he'd left behind a little gift.

Ectoplasm. That was what Dad and Bobby said, that was the reason Dean wasn't one hundred percent anymore. The crap looked like thick, black syrup, and he already knew it came from angry spirits. He'd seen it on hunts, slimed all over places and things. What he didn't know until now was the effect that same slime would have on a human body. Dean had inside him four years worth of Gabriel's ghost crap, and according to Dad and Bobby said crap sank deep into the fatty tissues of a previously possessed person's body and stayed there. Exorcising the spirit was one thing, getting rid of the crap the damn spook left behind inside was something else.

Talk about the freaking gift that keeps right on giving.

Luck had a way of turning sour whenever the Winchesters were in the area. Poetic irony was a purebred bitch in heat, as always, so it had to figure that Sam had the answer to Dean's problem, right at his fingertips, thanks to that demonic bastard Lim. No way in hell Dean was ever gonna let that happen.

Damn. His chest hurt. His throat was so dry it burned. He needed relief from the way he was feeling.

Dean stumbled as he got up. His head and his body bitched about the sudden change in position, and it was a damn miracle he didn't face plant into the floor when he padded over and leaned forward into the shower stall. He flipped the shower spray on to scalding hot and almost groaned out loud as the steam rose up immediately. It was hot and moist, and his stiff lungs breathed it in gratefully.

Warmth flooded through Dean's body. The congestion in his chest eased and his muscles relaxed. He sat down, leaned his head against the side of the shower door and closed his eyes.

Warmer now.

The world drew away from him, and Dean welcomed it. He could barely hear Sam's voice over the sound of the water. He was safe from Dr. Phil in here, and he wasn't coming out any time soon.

Aw crap, John thought. Bitchface. Half the time I don't even know what we're fighting about. He pushes, and I push back…

Sam turned away from the bathroom door. He pursed his lips and folded his arms across his chest. "Dad, you need to handle this."

"So…what do you want me to do, Sam?" John put the bag containing the hair color on the dresser. The shower in the bathroom was running full blast.

"Dean needs to talk about how he feels," Sam said stiffly.

John laughed. He couldn't help it. The sound just slipped out, and Sam glared at him in response. John didn't mean to poke the beast, but it was too late now. "He'll talk when he's ready."

"He needs to talk about this now."

"So you want me to order your brother out of the bathroom?" John stared at the closed door. "Man's gotta have some privacy, son."

Sam rolled his eyes. "Can I talk to you out in the hall?'

John shrugged. "Sure."

Once they were out in the hallway the same old patterns of anger and irritation rose up in the air between John and Sam like a spiderweb. John's hands twitched, and he had to force himself not to clench his fists.

"What are you and Bobby doing about Dean? How are you gonna get rid of that stuff inside him?"

"Bobby's got Pam Barnes looking into things. Missouri might have a lead or two."

"That's all you have so far? Dad, Dean's not okay ---"

"I didn't say he was," John muttered darkly, a flash of irritation in his eyes.

"--- and it doesn't look like he's getting any better. We have to do something about this."

"We are," he said pointedly. "Bobby and me. You're not. Understand me, Sam?

Sam looked startled. "I wasn't talking about my deal. I wouldn't--"

"You just said we have to do something about this. You helping Dean like that," John nodded towards Sam's hands. "That's not an option. Not anymore. Thought I made myself clear about that. "

"What made you think that I would ---" Sam sputtered.

John leaned right into Sam's personal space. "Is there something you need to tell me?"

"No!"

"You sure about that? You're done playing healer, right?" John stared into Sam's eyes, searching for a sign, a clue that something was not right. All he could see was indignation and anger.

Good enough. John nodded. "We'll find a way to break your deal, but Dean needs both of us right now. That means you and me. If he doesn't want to talk about the last four years, then you need to respect that. You need to give him his space and let him deal with this in his own way. Your brother's stronger than you think he is."

Sam's eyes went almost to slits, then widened as though he finally realized something and was frankly amazed he hadn't noticed it before. "That's crap."

John stared at him in disbelief.

"Pure crap. If you lost us, you'd be down two soldiers, wouldn't you? Not enough boots on the ground."

"What?"

"That's it, isn't it?" Sam thrust his chin out defiantly. "You're gonna hang around just long enough to get Dean back on his feet, and then you're going to ditch us. You'll ditch us and then you'll send those damn coordinates back like you always do. Dean'll play the good son, like he always does. He'll go off in whatever direction you point him in, because he doesn't know anything else. He doesn't know what he wants for himself, and I'll follow him. Damn you, you know I will, especially after all of this."

"Is that a fact?" John's voice was hard as flint.

Sam nodded. "Yeah. That's a fact."

"You don't know anything, Sam."

"Yeah, I do, Dad. A leopard can't change its spots. And neither can you."

Sam snorted in disgust, then turned and walked down the hallway in the opposite direction, towards the other spare bedrooms.

John knew the routine: Sam had his say, and just to drive his point home with a frigging sledgehammer, Sam was making himself unavailable.

It was just like old times.

"Dean? I need to talk to you…"

John had already gone downstairs for breakfast. The morning was going to be awkward as hell, anyway, no matter what. Ellen and Bill had insisted that two of the long tables be pushed together so that everyone could eat in the same place. The Winchesters and the Harvelles were one big happy family now. Great.

Sam didn't even glance at her as he walked by. Being shunned like that made Jo cringe a little inside, but she had too much of Ellen and Bill in her to stop now. First Dean, then Sam. John would be easy. He still liked her; Jo could tell.

Dean turned away from the door of his room. When he lifted his head and focused those moss green eyes on her Jo wanted to back up.

There it was again, that wild, hard look in his eyes. Dean's face was cold, as inflexible as marble. Jo wondered what he saw when he looked at her now. It hadn't always been like that. When he smiled at her before the skin around his eyes would crinkle, and the warmth even reached his eyes. Even though he thought of her as a little sister (and that irritated the hell out of her) his attitude was sweet, goofy and loving.

The look Dean gave her now was anything but.

Well, you got his attention, girl, Ellen drawled inside Jo's head. Might as well speak your peace.

"Uh, I'm sorry, Dean."

God, he looked like he wanted to hit her. Jo glanced down at Dean's hands. He stood relaxed and easy, and she knew that didn't mean a thing. She'd seen some of those sparring matches he'd had with John and Sam.

Dean's cold glare didn't waver. He stared her in the face, and forget about backing up, Jo wanted to run downstairs, but she didn't. She'd made this mess; it was time for her to make amends.

"I'm sorry I told John and Sam to give up on you. I thought you were dead."

The muscles on the right side of Dean's jaw tightened. There was no hint of that infamous Dean Winchester humor, no smirk. His mouth firmed into a hard thin line.

"I was out of line…I never should have said the things I said…"

"Family never gives up on family," Dean growled roughly. He'd never used that tone of voice with her before. He walked forward, and try as he might, Jo nearly jumped out of his way. Whatever they had before was over. It was done.

"Hey! I said I was sorry!" Jo yelled at Dean's back. Everyone in the damn Roadhouse probably heard her, but Jo didn't care.

Dean never answered her and he never looked back.

Lee Bender sensed the warmth in the air. It wasn't from the sun overhead. This was organic. It was meat. Living meat.

He grinned to himself. Maybe he could slip inside one of them, just like Gabriel did with that Winchester kid. It couldn't be that hard, not if that freak Gabriel had done it. Lee floated away from the pit, willed his legs and feet to form as he lowered himself to the ground. He cocked his head to one side as he listened to the engine noises. One of them was a heavy duty dump truck from the sound of it. The engines stopped; doors slammed.

The other dead drifted through the woods towards the house. They didn't notice Lee this time. There was something else on their collective mind.

There was a moment when John thought they'd come through the morning okay. A moment when he actually thought the calmness Dean showed at breakfast would last. Dean's eyes narrowed a bit as he watched John sit down in the chair. He tensed up at the sight of those shiny scissors in Ellen's hand. Ellen cut John's hair, and Dean watched quietly. He was coiled as tight as a spring, but he visibly relaxed as Ellen pulled the towel away from John's shoulders.

"You're next, sweetie," Ellen said to Dean with a wink and a smile.

Twenty minutes later everything went to hell.

John couldn't tell whether Dean imagined he was back in Sweetbriar or with the Benders, but either way, that didn't matter. Ellen was in his personal space with those scissors. Dean's shoulders tensed up and that bright, hard glint flared up in his eyes. He'd had enough.

John lunged forward, and even as he did he knew he was too late.

Dean turned around and slapped Ellen's hand with the scissors out to the side. In the next instant Ellen's head rocked back as Dean struck her in the face.

John wrapped his arms around Dean, pinned his arms to his sides. Sam somehow got in front of Dean, and he used his height and weight to throw Dean off balance. He pushed against Dean as John pulled, and all three of them stumble-stepped backwards, in the opposite direction.

"Dean? Dean!"

"No…nuh…"

"It's all right, son, it's okay. "

"Let go of me, you sonsabitches…" Dean growled. "I'm not 317, you hear me, I'm not….."

John held on as Dean jerked his head backwards. The back of Dean's head smacked into John's nose and John grunted as everything around him flared white. Dean bucked as he attempted to break free. He slammed the heel of his foot down hard on John's instep.

The strain of holding on was murderous, but John definitely did not want to see what would happen if he let Dean go. John held on. When his vision cleared he could see Ellen on her knees now, the skin around her right eye already darkening to a bruise.

Jo Harvelle knelt beside her mother, and all John could do was stare as Jo raised the Mossberg shotgun up and pointed it at Dean's face.

TBC Tuesday