AN: I know the chaps are coming a little slow, but keep in mind that it is the holiday season, so A LOT is going on. Anyways here's the next chapter. I hope you enjoy

Chapter 3

Dean and Sam walked through the graveyard, looking for Justin Prescott's tombstone. It was a fairly large cemetery, complete with intricate angel statues and other Gothic artwork. It fit the motif of this place. Everything was old, even the small town square type setting seemed to be from the early fifties rather than the new millennium they were all living in now.

The found Justin's grave and went over to it. Dean and Sam both had a pistol complete with the werewolf killing silver bullets under their jackets. They doubted that it would come out during the day, but they weren't taking any chances. Neither of them were planning on becoming furry once or more a month.

Dean kneeled beside the freshly disturbed earth. He could see where a woman with a size seven shoe had fought against something, but that something was not identifiable because there were no other prints. "The only prints here are Anna's. There's no sign of any wolves or anything else."

Sam sighed. "I don't see anything either, coming to or going away from the grave." He walked a few feet away just to make sure, but still there was nothing. "Maybe it covered it's tracks."

Dean stood up and shook his head. "No, werewolves don't have a conscious mind when they're like that. All they know is food and prey. They don't think about covering their tracks or if they left behind evidence."

He had dealt with a werewolf on more than one occasion with his father. They tended to be nice people, but not so nice when in wolf form. Dean hated werewolves. He had almost been scratched by one, but someone else had taken the blow for him. Someone he hadn't thought about in a long time and didn't want to think about now.

"So then maybe it's not a werewolf," Sam said. "Maybe we are dealing with a seriously pissed off spirit." Spirit's didn't leave footprints. They could manifest, take form, hurt or kill you, yet they didn't leave footprints. Sam never did figure that one out.

"Could be," Dean agreed. "Maybe it wasn't an accident, or maybe it was, but maybe Anna was in the wrong and not Justin."

"Maybe," Sam said, frowning slightly. It didn't feel right. They were missing something, he just wasn't sure exactly what it was.

"Can I help you," A woman's voice called out.

The two brothers whirled around and found themselves face to face with a woman in her mid forties. She had raven hair and crystalline blue eyes that were full of pain and anger. She was wearing all black and had a batch of mixed flowers in her hands.

"Uh, I'm Dean, this is Sam," He quickly said. "We're with the national wildlife association. We're here investigating the death that occurred here. Who are you?"

"Emily Prescott," She said waking past them to her sons grave. She kneeled down and placed a fresh batch of flowers on his grave. "I'm Justin's mother."

"We were sorry to hear about your son," Sam said, taking a step back. He didn't want her to feel like they were crowding her. He knew that her presence put the investigation on hold, at least this aspect of it. They could still do research, but traipsing around the graveyard was no longer an option.

Emily brushed a few leaves off the top of the headstone and sighed. "So was I. I also felt sorry for that poor woman who hit him."

Dean tilted his head in confusion. If someone had killed Sammy he wouldn't feel sorry for them. He'd do everything he could to get revenge, accident or not. "Why did you feel sorry for her?"

Emily looked up at him, no anger was left in her gaze, only heartbreak and sorrow. "She didn't mean to kill my son." Tears began to flow down her cheeks. "In all honesty my son was at fault and he wasn't wearing his seatbelt." She stood up and stepped back, gazing at her sons grave while speaking to them. "At first I was angry. I wanted to blame Anna, and then myself. Then I realized that no amount of guilt was going to bring my son back, and he wouldn't want for me to live that way."

Dean glanced over at his brother, hoping he was listening good and hard to what she had to say. He hadn't known Jess for all of two minutes before she died, but for his brother to love her, well then she must have been someone special. She wouldn't have wanted Sam to live in constant guilt.

Emily sighed and finally brought her gaze to them. "Before Anna died I knew this was hurting her. I had invited her to the funeral, but she refused, saying she didn't think it was right. She wanted to pay her respects her own way and she was killed because of it." Emily wiped away the tears and shook her head. "Two senseless deaths." She cleared her throat. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to go into a whole speech."

Dean smiled and shook his head. "Don't worry about it. Besides it sounds like you know what you're talking about." He glanced over at Sam, who in turn glared at him.

"Do you have any idea what could have killed that poor woman?" Emily asked. She crossed her arms over her chest. She kept glancing back at the grave every few seconds.

"We're working on that," Sam said, in a rough voice. Emily's words were still ringing in his head. He had to let go of his guilt, he knew that. Jess wouldn't want this for him, but in a way letting go of his guilt, meant letting go of Jess, and he wasn't sure he was ready to do that.

They decided to let Emily mourn her son in peace. They gave their condolences and said their goodbyes and drove back to the motel, stopping at a drive thru for some food on the way.

"All right," Dean said, sitting down at the table. "We're not dealing with a werewolf."

"And it's definitely not an angry spirit," Sam conceded sitting across from him and pulling his food out of the bag. "I mean even Emily said that Justin was at fault for the accident, so there was no wrong doing."

Dean nodded and took the burger that Sam held out to him. "Okay, so we need to find out if there's been any other problems in this graveyard in the past." He took a bite of his food.

Sam pulled the laptop out of his bag and started it up. While he waited he pulled out some fries and started dipping them in mustard.

Dean grimaced. "Dude, that is so nasty."

Sam smirked. "What?"

"Ketchup is meant to go on fries, not mustard." Dean piled more ketchup on his own fries and downed them just for effect.

Sam shook his head and pulled up the local paper. He went through the headlines on the side bar, day by day, looking for any thing that had to do with the cemetery.

Out of the corner of his eye he saw Dean staring off into space, barely chewing his food. Sam sighed. "Call her."

Dean blinked and came out of his thoughts. "Call who?"

"Dorian. I know that's who your thinking about," Sam said.

Dean smirked. It wasn't Dorian he was thinking about. It was the asylum. It was how Sam had put a gun to his face and actually pulled the trigger. Dean knew it wasn't really Sammy. Well in a way it was. Dean knew that Sam was angry, but the good old doc had only made it worse.

Of course Dean wasn't going to let Sam know this. He shook his head. "Nah, she's probably doing something witchy with Missouri. I don't want to screw up her concentration."

"I don't think Dorian would mind a break," Sam said, glancing over at Dean. "Missouri said she had been getting frustrated a lot lately."

Dean shrugged and took a sip of his drink. "She doesn't want to talk to me, Sam. I don't know why, but she doesn't."

"It doesn't help that you haven't called her since she started avoiding our calls," Sam said, clicking on a link. His brother could be stubborn as hell. Then again, so could Dorian. Sam had tried calling her a couple of times, but Missouri always answered and Dorian was usually unavailable.

"Find anything," Dean asked, signifying that the conversation was over. He wasn't in the mood for this. He was tired, especially now that he was full, and all he wanted to do was figure out what this was, crash for a couple of hours until dark, and then kill the evil bastard.

"Yeah," Sam said, knowing his brother wasn't going to talk about it anymore. "Apparently Lakemont Cemetery has been having a lot of recent grave robbings. Freshly buried corpses were dug up and torn apart. Generally pieces of the corpses were cut off by some jagged knife. They never recovered all of the body parts and they have no suspects."

"How many grave robbings?" Dean asked, a thought settling into his mind. If he was right, than what had possibly caused the graveyard mauling would be the least of their worries.

"Uh, about six in the last month," Sam replied. "Why?"

Dean leaned back in his chair and sighed. "Ghouls."

Sam clenched his jaw. As soon as Dean said it Sam knew his brother was right. "That means that Anna was killed by at least four of them. Ghouls are cowards, they attack in packs. They run if it's only one on one."

Dean nodded. "They also usually go for freshly buried corpses, which would explain the body snatching and why they haven't found any suspects. No one knows where they come from exactly. There are rumors of them being a demons lackie, cleaning up after him, but there have been incidents of ghouls attacking with no demons being around."

"Yeah, but there have also been incidents with demons," Sam said. "So we may or may not be dealing with a demon as well."

"Well what we do know is that Anna was in the wrong place at the wrong time," He replied. "The ghouls were probably going after Justin's corpse and Anna happened to be in the mine field."

"The woman was just trying to make peace," Sam said sullenly. "And instead she wound up getting killed for it."

Dean yawned. He was exhausted. They hadn't slept in a while. "Yeah, well we'll head out to the cemetery tonight and handle the flesh eaters, but in the meantime I say we get some sleep."

"Well what if there is a demon lurking," Sam asked, shutting down his laptop. "How do we figure that out?"

"Well in any cases that ghouls are working for a higher demon, usually when the ghouls are attacked the demon will come to protect it's little clean up crew."

Sam raised an eyebrow. "It just manifests right then and there?"

Dean shrugged. "Demons can manifest, but their favorite thing to do is possess. So if a demon's got control of someone they'll show up at the graveyard."

"So we better bring supplies for an exorcism then," Sam said, mentally check listing all of the things they would need tonight.

"Sounds good," Dean got up and walked over to his bed. "I'm crashing for a couple of hours. You should do the same. If we do have to perform an exorcism tonight we're going to need our strength."

"Do it!" Dean yelled.

Sam could see the pain in his brothers eyes, but he didn't care. The rage inside of him was in control. At least it was in control of his motor skills and the spews that were coming out of his mouth. As much as he wanted to resist, as much as that voice in the back of his mind screamed, "NO DON'T! HE'S YOUR BROTHER!" He felt he had no choice, but to do it. If he killed Dean all the anger would go away.

After all if it hadn't been for Dean and his father, Sam would have had a normal childhood. He would have been able to play soccer and Jess, Jess would still be alive. It was their fault, not his. They pulled him into this life and now he was stuck with it and no one was safe around him. It was their fault.

"NO!" The voice screamed in the back of his head. "He's your brother. If it wasn't for him and your father you'd be dead several times over. They love you, you love them."

He kept trying to talk himself out of it, but the anger overrode all rational thought that was left in his mind.

"Do it," Dean yelled again.

Dean had barely finished speaking when Sam pulled the trigger. There was a loud boom and then blood. There was so much blood and things that were thicker that didn't belong outside of the human skull. Things that should have been intact and whole inside his brothers head were now laying in piles of a thick ooze on the ground around Sam's feet.

Dean grumbled and rolled out of bed. He heard Sam shouting in his sleep, again. Normally he let Sam have his dreams, but ever since the incident at Roosevelt Asylum they seemed to be getting worse. Severely worse, like Sam slashing around in bed, waking up soaked in sweat worse.

He moved over to the other bed, ducking as Sam's arm swung out wildy. He growled in frustration and shook his brothers shoulder. "Sam, wake up." When nothing happened he shook him harder. "SAM!"

Sam's eyes flew open and he shot up so fast he practically collided heads with Dean. "Whoa, take it easy little brother." He kept his hands firm on Sam's shoulders.

"D..Dean?" Sam asked, breathing heavy. He felt his brothers reassuring hands on his shoulders. It let Sam know he was alive. Sam hadn't killed him. He was still alive. The gun hadn't been loaded.

"Yeah, who were you expecting?" He asked. "Dad?" Dean smirked, but it quickly faded when he saw the fear in Sam's eyes. "That bad?"

Sam pulled back from his brother and leaned up against the head board. He knew that was a prompt to tell Dean about his dream, but he also knew better. "Trust me you don't want to talk about it."

Dean raised an eyebrow. "It must have been bad. It was your dream, pal. You're the one who has to talk about it."

Sam sighed and looked away from Dean's penetrating gaze. "It uh..." A pained look passed across his face. "It uh, was about what happened in the asylum."

Dean nodded in understanding. They had never talked about. In truth Dean didn't ever want to talk about it. That was just the way he was. Things happened them, he dealt with it and moved on. There was no need for feelings and hugs. That only brought other emotions out that just didn't need to be there.

He sighed internally. This was Sammy. This was his little brother and he'd had nothing but nightmares since then. Damn old Doc couldn't make it so that his patients forgot, no he had to let them keep the memories so it would haunt them for the rest of their damn lives. See there were valid reasons Dean didn't go to doctors. Ellicott was a prime example.

Dean cringed at the fact that they were actually about to talk about. "What happened, Sammy?"

Sam raised an eyebrow. "Are you..."

"Just tell me, Sam," Dean snapped. "Before I change my mind."

Sam nodded, knowing it was now or never and he told him. He told Dean every grueling detail and watched for any change in his brothers face. Dean, of course, didn't show any. He acted as though none of this affected him.

Dean sighed heavily when he finished. "Sam, that wasn't you. It was all Endicott. You have nothing to feel guilty for."

"But I remember it," Sam said, throwing his hands in frustration. "I mean what if that shotgun had real shells instead of salt rock? What if you had accidentally left one bullet in the gun? What if..."

"Sam, you can ask yourself what if until the day you die. What if doesn't matter. What matters is that we're both fine. Endicott doesn't have a hold on you anymore. You're fine. I'm fine, we're all fine. Okay?" Sam nodded, still not quite meeting Dean's gaze. "I mean it Sam. I don't blame you for what happened. If Endicott hadn't messed with your head it wouldn't have happened. It wasn't your fault."

"I know," Sam said. "But all those things I said..."

"Meant nothing," Dean finished. He was getting sick of this. "It was just Endicott's psycho crazy therapy. I know you've got issues with me, Sam, but I also know you'd never intentionally hurt me." Dean believed that with his heart. Yeah Sam was angry, hell so was Dean. They didn't have the best life in the world, but he also knew that Sam would be there for him no matter what.

"I'm sorry," Sam said quietly. He had said it before. He'd say it again, because no matter how many times he apologized it didn't make what happened okay. Sam may not have been in control, but it was still his body, his hand that pulled the trigger.

"Yeah, you are," Dean said with a smile. "But that has nothing to do with what happened at Roosevelt Asylum." He playfully punched his brother in the shoulder and Sam cracked a smile. "Okay?"

Sam nodded, still smiling. "Okay."

Dean went back to his own bed. "Good now get some sleep and try not to dream, cause when you dream, it keeps me awake."

Sam rolled his eyes. "Yeah, I'll try."

Dean plopped on his stomach. "Good."

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