Dean got his coffee with brandy. It was lukewarm and bitter but it felt good going down. His father had the same while Missouri settled in with a cup of hot tea.

Sam stood leaning against the kitchen counter. The sight of him there was almost painful. It was as if he were excluded from the little group at the table. Like Dean, he seemed to be reeling from the tale their father had just finished. Missouri had not lied at all. John was planning to destroy the demon. It was on its way to them. John could feel it, and so could Sam and Missouri. In this Dean felt out of the loop and he did not mind in the slightest. It kept him quarantined from the fear the other three tried to hide.

He no longer saw Sam's abilities as a gift either, if he ever had. John's story made it clear they were a curse, a curse that had left its mark on the whole family. Sam had drawn dark things like a magnet since the day he was born. The demon that eventually found them was hungry and would have taken the baby away with it, to feed on the power it sensed hidden within the tiny body. Their mother sacrificed herself to stop it, but made it angry, made it obsessed. John turned them into nomads, constantly moving from one place to another so it couldn't find them. He hunted not only to rid the world of evil things, but to attract attention to himself, keeping Sam safe, especially during the four years he was at Stanford.

Six months ago the demon had suddenly changed tactics. It threatened Dean, making it clear to John (how he did not say) that if Sam were not produced, it would take the elder son instead. It revealed to John that it was just one of many, and that there was no escape. The human race would come to an end, but if John cooperated, let it have what it wanted, perhaps he and his sons would be spared when the end came.

"I tricked it," John told them. "It thought I was running to Sam and it followed me."

The ruse had not lasted long. The demon returned to where Dean had been waiting for his father's return, intending to kill him. Dean unwittingly led it straight to his brother, but it arrived at Stanford more than a day behind. Sam was not there, having gone with Dean, following a lead John had planted on his voice mail.

What happened between Jessica and the demon was unclear exactly, but John suspected she'd done the same thing Mary Winchester had done, sacrificing herself to protect Sam. Jess bought them time, a head start. By the time it resumed the chase, John had sent the boys off on another task. Again he kept them moving, sending them on jobs, keeping them guessing as to his whereabouts. The demon could not find them.

John knew it would only be a matter of time before it did find one of them, probably via another demon. He had investigated the creature's claims of a demon cabal and found it true. They were indeed, "everywhere." But John Winchester's main concern was the one that had wreaked havoc with his family. He wanted it destroyed, and realized it was time to act. He discovered a ritual that might do the trick, if they could corner it, pin it down as he'd done Sam, and perform the spell.

"And obviously you've found a way to do that, or we wouldn't be here," Dean said quietly.

His father gave him a long, sad look. "No, Dean, you did."

Sam spoke up from behind Dean's chair, where he'd come to stand. His voice took on the tone he used when he was busy processing information. Dean thought of it as the "professor" voice.

"It's not corporeal."

John nodded. "It's a shadow demon, pure energy."

"But it can be drained," Sam said. "That's how we escaped after it killed Mom and Jess. It used up all its strength."

"Not all, but enough to slow it down. We're talking about a very powerful demon."

"So if we weaken it even more, and perform the ritual - it's a dissipation spell isn't it?"

"Yes."

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," Dean interrupted. He leaned forward, clenching his hands around his mug. "Before you two get any further, can you fill me in on what exactly I did?" With a jerk of his head he gestured toward Sam. "It's usually college boy that comes up with the ingenious plan, not me."

Missouri slowly stirred sugar into her second cup of tea. "All things happen for a reason," she said quietly, after it became clear that no one else seemed willing to answer. "A shadow demon is made up entirely of negative energy. You provided a way to drain that energy."

Dean sat back in his chair, comprehension dawning. "A psychic vampire, a creature - no offense Sammy - that feeds on negative energy."

"Everything is interconnected, there's no such thing as coincidence," John looked beyond Dean toward his youngest son. "We've all suffered enough. It's time to end it."

The rustle of cloth told Dean Sam was moving. Dean followed his brother's progress across the kitchen to the doorway. There Sam paused, tilting his head as if listening. John turned around in his chair to face him. Missouri looked up from her tea.

"Missouri should leave, now," Sam said finally. He came back toward the table and regarded her solemnly. "Tell us what we need and where to find it."

"Uh-huh. You think I'm leavin' you three alone in my house with a demon? I don't..."

"Missouri," John interrupted. He said nothing more. The look on his face said enough.

Sam voiced what John couldn't say. "We won't be able to protect you, Missouri. It'll hurt you, feed off you, and it will kill you. Do you have somewhere you can go?"

"My Momma lives across town."

"Good."

Dean looked at her. "You have a Momma?"

"Of course I have a Momma!" Missouri exclaimed, outraged.

"Well, I just thought that maybe..."

"She'd be some old dried up husk in a nursing home, or dead? I heard whatchu were thinkin' Dean Winchester! Just how old do you think I am?" Her eyes widened. "What? Sixty-two!"

It was just what they needed to break the solemnity of the moment. John shook his head and cracked a small smile. Sam's goofy grin popped out his dimples. Dean glared at him knowing what was coming.

"Do you need Dean to drive you there?" Sam asked innocently.

Missouri added her glare to Dean's and they both gave him a resounding "No!"

Missouri was gone. Without her the house seemed unnaturally still again. The only sounds were the creak of the floorboards as Sam gathered the herbs and incense they would need for the ritual, and John paced uneasily. Dean sat sprawled in an armchair feeling rather useless. Sam would sap the demon's energy, John would perform the spell. Dean's job was to hold things and hand them to his father as needed. It was sorry employment, but the only thing Dean could do. There was nothing to shoot, and his Latin was piss poor in comparison to his father's or Sam's. He'd never felt more unimportant in his life.

Or frightened, and it was more than just the demon that scared him; it was the thing that had been left unanswered.

"Dad," Dean said softly.

His father stopped pacing. "Yeah?"

"If this works, and we all survive..." There was a good chance they wouldn't. "What are you going to do about Sam?" He inhaled deeply, let out a long sigh. "We both know that binding spell was only temporary. You didn't ground it to an object, and you can't hold it forever."

"I don't intend to," John replied. He sank down onto the couch, and reaching beneath it, he revealed a wicked looking double headed axe.

"Ah, damn," Dean whispered. "You are going to kill him."

Wordlessly his father tucked the weapon back beneath the sofa. "He'll have fed off a demon. It will change him, make him far more powerful. He'll snap that binding like it's nothing and come after both of us." He shook his head. "It won't be our Sammy anymore."

"I can't accept that..."

He started as John's voice turned angry. "You will accept it, Dean, because if something happens to me, you are going to have to do it yourself. Your brother is already dead. That thing in there might be close to what he'd been, but I can promise you, after this, you won't recognize him at all."

Dean lowered his eyes. "Dad, I can't."

"You will. This is not a request, it's not an option. It is an order. If I'm unable to do it, you will destroy him, do you understand?"

"Yessir, but..."

"Dean."

He raised his head quickly. John turned. Sam stood in the doorway and it was obvious he'd heard everything that had been said. It was also obvious how he felt on the subject just in the way he'd said his brother's name. He didn't need to say anything else.

Dean sat there looking between the two of them, waiting for the nightmare to end. When it didn't his grief turned to anger.

"Fuck!" he raged. "Fuck you both."

He pushed up from the chair and left the room. He left the house too, slamming the door behind him.

The air was cool in comparison to the warmth inside. It hit him like slap across the face and he grasped the porch railing in his hands, bowing his head. His shivering was due to more than just the cold. The urge to just get in the car and leave was strong.

It was hard, he thought, to figure out just who deserved his anger. It might have been at himself, for his selfishness; after all, he was the one who had done this to Sam simply because he, Dean, couldn't bear to lose him. In light of what John had told them tonight, however, he wondered how he could justify that anger. Without Sam, they couldn't avenge their mother, or Jessica, which is all that Sam had ever wanted.

He could be angry with his father. Hell, he was angry with his father. John should have confided in him, told him what was going on, and then maybe Dean might not have dragged Sam into this in the first place. Maybe they could have figured something out together that didn't involve Sam at all. Dean wouldn't have to watch his father kill him, or if worst came to worst, do it himself.

Then there was Sam, who infuriatingly accepted his fate so fucking easily.

"You're just assuming it's going to be easy."

Dean closed his eyes. "Get out of my head, Sam."

Sam just kept going. "You're not thinking that I might take exception to you coming at me with an axe. Dad's right, Dean, and you know it. You've been with me all this time, you know how hard..." His voice broke a little. "How hard it's been for me to keep it together. I'm not going to go easily. If I get away from you, you're dead."

"Yeah, I know." Dean ran his fingers through his hair and straightened. "Sam..."

He stopped as he caught sight of his brother. Sam had turned his head, now looking out into the darkness of the front yard where a thick torrent of rain fell. He was not paying any attention to Dean whatsoever. Dean followed his gaze, seeking whatever it was that had put Sam on alert. At first he saw nothing.

Lightning flickered. The shadow of a man stood on the sidewalk.

"Dean," Sam whispered. "Get in the house."