Thank you so much Jenjoremy for beta'ing and VegasGranny and Ncsupnatfan for pre-reading.

Happy New Year!

I have some New Year News. I am taking a break from writing for Supernatural. This won't have any effect on you for months yet as there are still many chapters left to post of Remember Tomorrow and some of The Price You Pay. After The Price You Pay is finished, I have a brand new story ready to go that I wrote for the Sam Winchester Big Bang.

I have loved playing in the SPN world, and it's been great to get to know so many of you, but I've lost the love. The stories are getting fewer readers and far less feedback, and that's disheartening. I have been challenging myself with different characters and kinds of stories lately, which means writing stories that less of you want to read. I am going back to my original fandom — Twilight — as I think that will be a good challenge for me.

I will be back as I have 3 stories outlined and ready to be written that I am invested in, and I have one story and a sequel that is about 3 chapters away from being completed and I will be back to finish that if for no other reason than VegasGranny and Ncsupnatfan deserve to see how it ends.

Thank you all for reading and sticking with me this long. I've been in this world for seven years, and I will not leave it behind for good.

Much love to you all xxx

Chapter Thirty-Four

Dean was in the garage polishing the Impala when Sam wandered in with his iPad in his hands.

He looked up. "Hey, Sammy. You okay?"

He hated the awkward note to his voice, too solicitous, as it wasn't natural for them. They didn't talk to each other like this. They teased and moaned and argued more than they comforted or questioned politely.

If Sam heard it, he didn't react. He just turned his tablet so Dean could see the screen and said, "I've found us a case."

"A case?" Dean said dumbly.

In the week since Sam found out about Jo, he hadn't mentioned hunting at all. Mary had joined Bobby and his people for a vampire hunt that turned out to be regular monsters, not Michael's cross breeds, but Sam, Dean, Castiel and Jack had stayed at the bunker, trying to find a dream walker and attempting to get Billie's attention. There was one sure way to talk to her, to summon and bind her the way they had with the original Death when Castiel was souped-up with souls, but they didn't want to risk pissing her off unless they had no other choice. They were just hoping she or Jessica would answer their pleas at some point.

"Yeah," Sam said. "There's been some 'extreme head trauma' in Texas."

"That's a long drive," Dean said.

Sam frowned. "We've gone further for less. Are you worried Cas' sigil is going to fail and I'll be too far from the dungeon?"

Dean's eyes widened. "No! I just meant… nothing."

Dean was confident Jo was well and truly trapped by the sigil, and Sam would hold her if it somehow failed. What he was thinking was that it was a long time for them to be on the road together without Sam being able to escape him as he did regularly now.

Dean hated the idea, but he knew his brother well and he had a feeling Sam's sudden exits were because he was crying. Sam tried to hide it, but his eyes were often red when he came back. Sam wasn't much of a crier, which meant this thing with Jo was wrecking him even more than Dean had imagined.

Though, honestly, he'd not thought much about what it would mean for Sam when he'd decided not to tell him the truth. He'd focused on what it meant for him when Sam took off, when it broke the bond between them. He'd been selfish but he saw now that it would be some kind of nightmare for Sam to live with.

"We can take Cas," Sam suggested. "He can knock her out again."

"It's not that, Sam," Dean said, a hint of his frustration in his voice now. "I know she can't get free again."

Sam shrugged. "Yeah, she's good and trapped."

There seemed to be something he wasn't saying still, but Dean didn't feel he had the right to ask what it was.

"We'll take Cas along to back us both up," Dean said. "I'll go get him now."

He set the chamois cloth back in the bucket of wax and rags and stowed it back in the corner of the garage and then walked back through into the library where Castiel and Jack were.

Jack was practicing his powers again, a now common pastime, by creating balls of light in his hands and floating them on the air, drawing them to him and pushing them away. Dean knew from experience that if he stood to close to one of those energy balls the hair on the back of his neck would stand on end and he would feel a buzz in the back of his mind.

Sam and Dean stood and watched a moment, and then Jack clicked his fingers and the ball disappeared.

"We've got a case," Sam said before Jack could do more than smile at them and Castiel could give Sam a cautious look. "It's in Houston. You up for it, Cas?"

"Of course. Whatever you need," Castiel said, his voice also more solicitous than it would usually have been. Though they'd not spoken about it, Dean suspected he was struggling to be normal with Sam the same way he was.

"Do you want me to come?" Jack asked, then rushed on when Sam's lips pressed into a thin line. "Maggie is searching for dream walkers for me, and I can practice in Houston as well as I can here. I've not been on the road with you all for a while. I miss it, and you."

It was an instance of Jack's unabashed honesty. He never felt the need to hide how he felt about them and what they did. Jack would never have been able to hide the truth from Sam the way they had.

"Sure," Sam said. "I'll grab my stuff and we can head out. Someone should call Mom and tell her what's happening."

"I'll do it," Castiel said. "I don't need to collect anything to take. I have my blade."

Sam nodded. "See you at the car then."

He strode and away and after shooting Dean a grin, Jack followed. Dean thought Jack coming along was actually a good thing. It would simplify the hunt and he would keep conversation going when he and Castiel struggled with Sam.

The kid was going to be vital on the twelve-hour drive ahead of them.

The drive was better than Dean had expected. Sam had been quieter than usual, and he'd taken his turns at the wheel without comment, but the atmosphere wasn't tense. When he did speak, he seemed to be normal—the way he used to be, as if things were normal. Dean tried to let himself hope that they were going to be again.

He booked them two rooms in the Sunset Inn, one for Jack to sleep and Castiel to lurk, and the other for him and Sam to share. The place looked normal from the outside, so it was even more shocking when he let them into his and Sam's room and took in the startling sunset-themed décor. The wallpaper was vivid orange and the drapes and bedspread were bright red. The ceiling and linoleum floor were yellow and the lamps beside the beds were shaped like suns.

"Well, shit," he said. "This is a migraine waiting to happen."

Sam smirked. "We've slept in worse. It's clean."

"How can you tell?" Dean asked. "My eyes are still adjusting."

Jack dropped down onto one of the beds and bounced up and down twice. "I like it. It's happy."

"It's awful, Jack," Dean said.

Jack shrugged. "I hope mine's like this."

Sam laughed softly and Dean and Castiel exchanged a startled glance. Dean could tell Castiel was just as surprised by the change in Sam. It was if getting out of the bunker had changed him, freed him from the weight of what had been happening. Maybe that was it, he could have just needed to be on the road, distracted, to feel good again.

"We passed Cawker on the way out of Kansas," Dean said with a grin. "We'll make a stop on the way home so we can see the world's biggest ball of twine."

Sam laughed again. "Like the first two times weren't enough for you."

"Actually, it was three for me," Dean said. "I took a trip there while you were at Stanford."

"Why?" Sam asked.

"Date wanted something special," Dean said.

"And a ball of twine is special?" Castiel asked.

"To Dean, yeah, it is," Sam said.

Sam took out his laptop while Dean checked the bathroom—which was yellow and red but clean—and booted it up. Dean was on the point of suggesting food—they'd stopped on the road, but Sam should eat again soon—but Sam looked up and said, "There's a new body on the PD file, and they've got a ME report."

Dean looked over Sam's shoulder and saw the picture of a man's face turned away and a hole in the back of his head. "Another kitsune, you think?"

Sam considered and then shook his head. "The placement isn't quite right. I think it's more likely a wraith."

Dean groaned. "Awesome. As long as we don't have to check-in again. My crazy-game isn't what it used to be."

"Crazy game?" Jack asked.

Dean plunked down in the chair opposite Sam and said, "Me and Sammy went after a wraith one time in a mental hospital. We had to get ourselves checked in—"

"Which is surprisingly easy when you tell the truth," Sam interjected.

Dean nodded. "Exactly. But we ended up really crazy when the wraith got its hands on us."

"What was is like?" Jack asked.

"Like you'd think," Dean said.

"Angry," Sam said, then winced as if struck by a sudden pain. "We should go by the morgue and check the bodies first. We've got to be sure it's a wraith before we start tracking it. It will narrow down the possibilities."

Dean clapped his hands together once. "Awesome. Me and you can do that, Sammy. Jack and Cas can scout the town, see if there's good eating. I'll get the suits out of the car."

Sam nodded and closed the laptop.

Dean pulled the Impala keys from his pocket and went outside and to the trunk where their suits lay in their dry-cleaning bags. He hooked the hangers on his finger and then slammed the trunk and went back to the door.

He stopped with his hand on the wood and allowed himself a moment. Things in that room were good. Sam seemed happy. It was relaxed. So what was making him feel like it was all going to crash down around him soon? The truth was out now, he had nothing left to hide, but something still felt wrong. The smile on his face felt forced.

Sam seemed okay, but Dean thought getting him away from Jack—who he had to pretend for—was going to be the real test.

Sam was sitting back in his seat, listening to the familiar music Dean had belting out of the stereo and trying to ignore the muttering voice in his mind.

Jo was chatty again. She'd been mostly quiet on the drive, and Sam had slept a good portion of it when he wasn't taking a turn at the wheel, but now he was with Dean alone, she was talking again, pointing out the things Sam was trying not to see.

"Do you think he could hold the steering wheel tighter without breaking something?"

Sam didn't speak but he shoved against her in his mind, trying to force her down. She was resisting though, and all he achieved was a sharp pain in his temple.

"Say something to him, Sam. It's you that's got him like this. You can ease things for him."

But Sam already had. He'd been faking it in the motel, playing along and acting happy. What more did she want from him?

"Maybe a better acting job. You convinced him for all of a second, but you saw his tension when he came back from the car just as clearly as I did. You're not the only one acting. He's doing it for you. Who are you doing it for?"

Sam was doing it for them all. He didn't want Jack seeing the tension and he didn't want to make things harder for Dean and Castiel. Just because he couldn't convince Dean, it didn't make it his fault. He wasn't the one in the wrong here.

"Ah, so you're admitting that you hate him now?"

Sam didn't hate him, he couldn't.

"Then help him!"

Sam looked at his brother, taking in the tight set of his jaw and his white knuckles, and sighed. "Relax, Dean."

Dean started. "Huh?"

"Relax," Sam said again.

"I'm driving my baby with you riding shotgun. That's the definition of relaxing."

"Sure. I'm convinced," Jo said snidely.

"You're not," Sam said. "What's going on? Is this still about Jo?"

Dean shot him a quick look, his eyebrows high. "What else would it be?"

"Michael?" Sam said. "The thing that actually matters. Jo is locked down. She can't hurt anyone. And you're not hiding anything anymore. There's nothing but Michael for you to worry about."

Dean snorted. "Sammy, I know you don't believe that."

"I do," Sam said seriously. "Look… what you did, hiding it from me, was wrong, but I can't swear I wouldn't have done the same thing in your position. You were scared. I get that. I've thought a lot about it since—" thanks to Jo in his head, he'd been forced to think about it a lot "—and I understand it."

"You forgive me?" Dean said hopefully.

Sam shrugged. "Sure. If that what you need, I forgive you. I don't see it like that though. What you did was wrong, but you did it for the right reasons. And it's not like with Gadreel. You didn't put her in me. You just hid that she was there, and you were trying to protect me. You didn't want me ending up a vegetable."

Dean nodded. "Yeah, Okay."

"So can we just let it go and go back to how we were?" Sam asked. "This Jo thing is going to come to a head again sooner or later, but let's not live on the edge until it does."

"You mean when you have Cas wipe the sigil and kick her out?" Dean said, a muscle twitching in his jaw."

"Yes. But it's not time for that, so let's just try to forget it until then."

Dean looked pained but he nodded. "Sure. Okay."

"That was good, Sam. And doesn't it feel better?"

Sam shoved at her, feeling the pain in his temple, but didn't even try to respond. If he engaged with her, she was going to get worse, and he already heard enough from her.

He didn't believe she really cared about his relationship with Dean and Castiel. She was manipulating him, or at least trying to. Sam had dealt with bigger, badder and smarter manipulators than her before, and he wasn't going to be fooled again.

When they got to the hospital, Dean took the lead through the halls and down the stairs to the morgue, and Sam was a step behind him. He was feeling better now after what Sam said, finally hopeful that it really could work out, and when he reached the morgue, he stopped with his hand on the door and said, "Friendly or jerk?"

Sam considered for a moment, his fingers drumming his leg, and said, "Friendly. We had a jerk last time. Ten bucks."

Dean grinned. "I'll take the bet." He pushed open the door and approached the sandy-haired kid at the small desk who had a textbook open in front of him and a bottle of water.

Dean took out his badge and Sam copied him, saying, "We're here to see the Baker and Rowland bodies."

The kid's eyebrows rose. "Oh, uh… I'm not supposed to go in there without Doctor Broughton's say-so. And I can't let anyone in."

"Look, kid," Dean started.

"Finn," the kid said. "I'm an intern so I can't really…"

"You're an intern coroner?" Dean asked, shooting Sam a surprised look which was met with a quirk of the lips and slight nod.

"Oh, no," Finn said. "I'm going to be a gynecologist. Doctor Broughton is letting me study basic anatomy and he's writing letters for my med school applications."

"Nice job," Dean muttered and then raised his voice. "Where is Doctor Broughton?"

"He went to lunch."

"Then you have two choices. You can call him back from what I am sure is a long-overdue break, or you can show us the bodies yourself. We don't need the doctor, see. Agent Plant here used to be a doctor before he joined the bureau."

Finn's face brightened. "You're a doctor? What kind?"

"Proctologist," Sam said dryly. "Can we get in there now, please."

Finn bit his lip. "I don't know…"

"We're not touching them," Sam said, a touch of impatience in his voice now. "We just want to do an external examination. You don't even need to come in. Just give us the files and we'll handle the rest."

"Or we can arrest you for obstruction of justice," Dean said.

Finn lifted his textbook, checked the folders beneath and pulled out two of them and handed them to Sam. "These are the files. The Rowland body is in the cooler, but Baker is still being examined. You might have trouble doing an external when his internals are all…"

"External?" Dean suggested.

"Yeah."

Sam nodded. "That's fine. We'll make do with what we get." He tapped the files against his leg and pushed open the double doors that led into the chilly morgue. Dean looked around and grimaced. He could see why the doctor didn't want people in here without him—he was a damn pig. There was an uncovered body on a stainless-steel table with an open y-shaped incision from chest to groin, and plastic tubs with various red shapes inside on a trolley beside it with an empty coffee cup. The skull had been opened and brain removed.

"Shame we're not real feds," Dean said. "I'd like to bust this asshole for something. What the hell kind of person treats the dead like this?"

"Yep," Sam agreed. "I owe you ten bucks. This guy is more than a jerk. He's a damn animal. Let's get done and out of here. I don't want to actually meet the man. I might have to punch him."

"I'll be swinging right there with you," Dean said. "He did us one solid though."

"What's that?"

"The brain isn't in there, so we don't need to crack the skull to check for wraith." He looked at the packaged parts and said. "It's got to be in one of these."

"Or it's in soak," Sam said. "Or… Dammit." He pointed to the scales where a shrunken husk of a brain was sitting. "It's here."

"That's been sucked dry, all right," Dean said.

"Definitely," Sam said. "It's less than a quarter of its usual weight, too. There's no fluid left inside."

Dean frowned. "You know how much a brain should weigh?"

Sam nodded distractedly, wandering to the fridges at the back on the room. "Yeah. About three pounds."

"The fact you know that both disturbs and impresses me," Dean said.

Sam huffed a laugh. "It probably won't come up on Jeopardy, but it's something I learned once and never shook loose."

He checked the file in his hand and then opened one of the fridges and drew out the rolling tray bearing a body. This was at least covered with a sheet, so Dean felt no additional anger towards the coroner for his vile standards. But when Sam pulled back the sheet, he saw that the stitches that held the head together were jagged and obvious—a horror for any family that wanted to see their loved one in an open casket without a hat.

Sam shook his head disgustedly and opened the file. "This one's brain was sucked dry, too. It's definitely a wraith."

"Good, we know what we're killing," Dean said. "Let's get out of here. We've got to get to the PD next and find out what they know."

Sam checked the entry point on the back on the man's neck and then nodded. "Yeah." He pushed the tray back and closed the door then dropped the files down onto the table. "I'm done."

They started to the doors, both reaching them as they were opened and a heavy man with a grey beard appeared, a mustard stain on his white coat. "Gentlemen," he said. "Norris Broughton. I hear you're with the FBI. I'm sorry I wasn't here to help you. Finn should have called me. I would have been able to help."

"We saw enough," Dean said curtly pushing past him and going into the anteroom. He turned back and saw that Sam was still standing stiffly, the conflict between whether or not to slug the man clear in his eyes. "Agent," Dean said pointedly.

Sam nodded and took a step forward, but the doctor, seemingly obvious to Sam's tension, grabbed his hand and pumped it up and down in an energetic handshake.

"Take my card," he said, pulling a business card from his pocket and slapping it into Sam's hand. "I can help you if you have any other questions."

Sam balled his hand into a fist and dropped the crumpled card onto the floor then walked out to where Dean waited.

Dean tugged him toward the door and then turned and pointed back at the doctor. "You are a terrible person."

The doctor laughed. "But an excellent doctor, right?"

"No," Dean said. "You're an even worse doctor." He looked at Finn who was watching the scene with wide eyes. "Kid, get away from him as soon as you can and forget anything he might have taught you."

Finn nodded slowly. "Sure… Okay."

"Dean," Sam said quietly.

Dean drew a deep breath and nodded. He felt a little better about what he'd seen now that he'd said his piece, and he hoped that the cops they were going to have to deal with next were better than the doctor they were leaving.

Dean wasn't sure he could deal with more assholes taking down what had been a good upswing of a day with Sam's forgiveness.

Sam was feeling better when they reached the PD. Dean had handled the coroner without bloodshed, as much as he deserved it, and they had a clear target for their hunt. They just needed to know the who and where.

They showed their badges at the front desk and, after a quick call was made, were led to an office at the back of the room with Chief stenciled into the frosted glass.

Dean knocked and, at the called invitation, opened the door. Sam followed him into the small room with a heavy grey desk and framed newspaper articles and certificates on the wall. The man behind the desk stood to greet them and held up an ink stained hand to indicate why they couldn't shake.

"It's my damn Waterman," he said apologetically.

Dean frowned. "Your what?"

"It's a fountain pen," Sam said, taking the seat he was being gestured into with an inky finger.

"You're just full of the interesting information today, aren't you?" Dean said with a grin, sitting beside him.

The Chief wiped his hands on a Kleenex and then shrugged and tossed it into the trash. "It's the wife's idea," he said. "She thinks it gives me an air of seniority, sets me apart. I think it sets me apart as a jackass that can't hold a pen without breaking it, but there you go." He sighed and leaned back in his seat. "Geoff Gosling. Don't call me Goose. I shed that name back in college. And you're Agents…"

"Page and Plant," Sam said as they both held up their badges. "We're here about the Baker and Rowland deaths."

"Yeah," the chief said. "Those wounds… Crazy, right? We're waiting on the full autopsy reports to come in from Norris still."

"We were just there," Sam interjected.

"You met Norris?" he said cheerfully. "Hell of a guy, right? He's in my bowling league."

"Hell is the right word," Dean muttered and Sam kicked his shin lightly.

"We're lucky to have him," the chief said. "He used to be on rotation with a few other hospitals in the area, so we'd sometimes go a week or so before an autopsy could be done, but he's based here now fulltime."

"That's great," Sam said with a forced smile. "It must be a relief to have the help at hand. Now, I wondered if you could tell us anything about the victims: their lives, any similarities between them apart from the method of death, anything that you think might help."

The chief rubbed his chin with an inky finger, leaving a smudge that he seemed oblivious of. "Well, only similarity I can think of is that they're both from the Mongoose Versus Cobra."

"The what?" Sam asked blankly.

Dean coughed a laugh. "Name like that, it's got to be a bar."

The chief nodded enthusiastically. "Yeah, that's right. It's where most of the cops and doctors in town hang out. We play poker in the backroom."

"I didn't think poker was legal in bars in Texas," Sam said.

Dean raised an eyebrow. "Again with the information," he muttered.

Sam shrugged. It was an article he'd read once about illegal gambling and it had stuck in his head the way song lyrics stuck in Dean's.

"It's a grey area," the chief said idly.

Sam glanced at Dean, an eyebrow raised. He thought this was the most relaxed cop he'd ever met.

Was it something to do with the town? The doctor was the worst Sam had ever seen at his job in regard to respect, and the police chief was happy to play semi-legal poker in bars with his buddies.

"Okay," Dean said. "And these victims played poker with you?"

"They played a few hands, yeah," he said. "Actually, yeah, the last time I saw both of them alive was when we were in the Mongoose. We were talking about Fletcher Rowland's death with Graham Baker the night before his body was found. Didn't occur to me until now."

"And were there any new faces in the bar that night?" Sam asked. "Or anyone new in town that you've noticed?"

"Not that I've noticed, but there's got to be, right? I know most everyone in this town and there's no one I'd believe is a murderer. We've always had the usual number of deaths and disappearances, no more than anywhere else, but these bodies are unlike anything I've ever seen before."

Sam frowned. "And was there any pattern before then?"

"To the other deaths? Let me think…" He drummed his fingers on the desk. "I guess there was the wait between the deaths and the autopsies. We always seemed to need to wait a while for Norris' time to come back around. That was always bad luck. But otherwise, no. They were just the usual things you see in any American town."

Sam considered. He would like to know more about how many deaths and disappearances this man thought was normal. A town this small, he thought it would be hardly any that didn't come with clear cause. He was on the point of asking for more when Dean turned to look at him and Sam saw his eyes flare with grace.

He froze, even his heart stilled.

"You okay, Sammy?" Dean asked.

Despite the familiarity of the words, Sam saw the twist to Dean's features that was all Michael, the way he'd looked at Sam when he'd faced him in Duluth. Sam's hands crept to his gun, and Michael's eyes widened, or were they Dean's eyes now?

Sam frowned. That wasn't right. What did Michael have to fear from a gun. He looked closer at Dean and saw the face was all his brother again.

"Is something wrong, Agent?" the chief asked.

Sam got to his feet shakily and muttered, "I need air."

He started toward the door, feeling Jo stir in his mind, "What's going on?" she asked.

Sam withdrew into himself and whispered, "Michael."

He felt her jolt of shock. "Where?"

"In Dean."

He felt her pushing against him, struggling to come to the fore, and then she stopped. "That's not Michael."

"I saw him."

"No, you didn't. I would sense him. I would see him. Michael isn't like me. He could never hide himself from me or any seraph. He's too powerful to be contained."

"Sam?" Dean prompted.

Sam looked back at him, his features all Dean again, and said, "I'll be outside," before fleeing. He weaved through the desks in the main room of the PD and outside into the cool late-afternoon air.

His mind was reeling. He had seen the grace, but the angel inside him was saying it wasn't him. Would she really know or was she trying to trick him? She might want Michael to help her get free, or she might be more invested in him winning now to punish Sam.

He didn't know.

He leaned against the Impala and took a breath, fisting his clammy hands. It wasn't Michael, it couldn't be, but then why did Sam see him?

"Wait," a voice whispered to him, "Watch. Be sure."

The voice wasn't Jo's, it was his own, and the advice felt right, he would listen, watch and wait. If it was Michael again… "I have a plan," the voice assured him.

Sam nodded. He had a plan. Sam just had to wait.

"Yeah," he muttered. "I can do this. Watch. Wait."

"What the hell are you talking about, Sam?" Jo asked.

With a supreme effort, Sam pushed her down and silenced her. He didn't need to hear her anymore. Now… well, now he had his own voice to guide him.

So… That was fun. I do enjoy writing the crazy stuff. Lots more of that to come in the next chapter.

Until next time…

Clowns or Midgets xxx