Danny honestly didn't know what he expected. He had slipped down the stairs to get some water; hadn't even bothered trying to be quiet, but his ghost half seemed to always keep his footsteps unnaturally light. So, he wasn't exactly surprised when he walked past the office completely unnoticed. What did surprise him was the current topic of discussion.

Danny had frozen, listening intently. In any other scenario, he would have been impressed with the amount of information Bobby and Sam had dug up, but right now, he was horrified.

They had no right.

They had no right to dig into his past. Danny distantly heard Sam mention the explosion, talking about J#&* and S*( and T#ck and he couldn't save them, and it was all his fault and-.

Danny didn't realize he was speaking, "So, you guys done digging into my life then?"

Since when did he sound so broken?

The shocked look on the men's faces should have been funny. Danny couldn't find it in his heart to laugh. It was Dean who finally spoke.

"Kid,"

"Don't. I-I don't want to hear it." Danny's horror was quickly being replaced by anger.

They had no right.

Sam stepped forward, "Danny-"

"NO!" When did he start crying? "Just leave me alone, okay? Just, don't-"

Danny didn't know where he was going with that, but it didn't matter, because the next moment, he sprinted out of the doorway and up the stairs. He heard shouting behind him, but he refused to slow down, diving into the spare bedroom and slamming the door behind him.

Danny clicked the lock into place before spinning around and starting to collect his meager belongings, most of which had been thrown at him by one of the three residents of the house. Sam had picked out a bunch of old clothes for Danny to wear, shoving the bundles into his arms before he had a chance to protest. Less than an hour later, Dean dropped an old backpack in Danny's lap and told him he no longer had an excuse to leave his shit around his room. Even Bobby had dumped extra blankets onto his bed and had somehow maneuvered a small dresser into the once bare-bones room.

Danny shoved his clothes into Dean's old backpack while rummaging through the dresser for anything he missed. He knew he couldn't stay.

When did he unpack?

When did he get comfortable?

Why did he act as though he could stay?

As though he was safe?

"Danny."

Danny paused; Dean was on the other side of the door, "Let me in, kid. We got to talk."

Yet another thing Danny hadn't expected. He thought Sam or maybe even Bobby would try to follow him up here. And yet they sent Dean, arguably the most emotionally constipated person Danny had ever met. He couldn't help but let out a small half-sob, half-laugh at the thought of Dean-fucking-Winchester trying to comfort someone.

"Fuck off."

Danny pulled his backpack on and ran to the window. It was old, with a rusty lock and the wood was slightly warped, but Danny was sure he could get it open. He clicked the lock and started to push up the sill with all his strength. Danny vaguely heard Dean say something, but all sound was cut off by the loud groan of the window opening. One final shove had the sill open enough that Danny could stick his head out. He was only on the second floor, so maybe if he lowered himself down and then let go-

"My dad was a hunter."

What?

Dean didn't know why he thought mentioning John Winchester was a good idea, especially since all sounds had suddenly stopped from inside. He decided to forge ahead anyway, and it's not like he can screw this up anymore, right?

"He would go out and hunt anything. You already know that ghosts are real, but other stuff is out there too. Vampires and werewolves and, well, lots of bad shit. He started hunting when I was four, used to drag Sammy and me across the country chasing leads, and left us alone for hours while he was hunting."

Dean paused; why was he telling this kid his life story? Maybe it's because he knew how it felt to grow up with parents that had more important duties than taking care of their kids. Maybe because he knew what it was like to grow up with the monster under the bed being very, very real.

Dean sighed, "That's how we know Bobby, actually. He's a hunter too. Used to take care of Sam and me when Dad was out."

He still couldn't hear anything from inside the room. Was Danny even listening? "Kid-"

"Have you ever-" Danny's voice was almost inaudible, and Dean strained to hear him, "-ever messed up so bad that you ruin everything."

"Yeah. More than a few times. I almost lost Sam, and I did lose my Dad. And it was all my screw-ups that caused it." Dean sighed, "And not small screw-ups either; this isn't stuff I can fix. I just have to live with it now."

Dean heard a small choking sound and pressed closer to the door, "Danny? You okay, kid?" Nothing.

Dean backed up and was ready to kick the door down, "Danny?"

Suddenly the lock clicked, and the door swung open silently; Danny was there red-faced and crying.

"Hey, kid," Dean finally felt himself relax, "Ready to head downstairs?"

Danny stared at him for a moment before nodding and silently moving towards the stairs.

Dean smiled softly and turned to follow the kid, but not before catching something out of the corner of his eye.

The window. Was open.

That thing was 40 years old, rusted and warped beyond repair, and a bitch to open; it took Dean and Sam working together to jimmy the damn thing. Dean turned to the stairs watching as Danny disappeared into the hallway, and frowned.

How?