Disclaimer: I don't own anything, least of all The WB's Supernatural.

Author's Note: I know, this one's short too, but oh well. I think I'm going to put in some action in the next chapter, getting kind of tired of all the talky-talky and nothing else, you probably are too. Also, I think I may have to kill someone. Not sure who yet, and not sure why, but I think that death may be inescapable for at least one character, maybe more, don't know. Tell me what you think. Who should live and who should die, if anyone? Also, I'm pretty sure it's coming to an end, but I haven't really decided how I'm going to end it yet. Any suggestions? Any and all are welcome, no matter how ludacrus they may seem. Should it be a happy ending, or a miserable one? Anywho, on with the story!

John sits with his head in his hands and waits. He waits for his son to yell, scream, maybe even take a swing at him. Certainly he would say how much he hates him. If it weren't for him, after all, Jess would still be alive, and Sam would still be with her, in school, happy. So once he finishes telling his boys about all that he had done, all that Tessa had found out, he readies himself for that inevitable blow.

But it doesn't come.

Instead of lashing out at his father, Sam simply sits next to him, lost in his own thoughts, encumbered by a world of silence. It's Dean who first speaks, but John is so concentrated on Sam at the time, so eager and hesitant both to hear what he has to say, that his other son's words don't even register.

"Dad?" Dean says as he looms above his father. John looks up, shows that he is now paying attention, even if he hadn't been just five seconds before. "You're saying Sam's in trouble? This thing is after him?" His posture is weak, like that of an old hunched man, and all at once John realizes what he's done to his children in one short night. He's managed to shatter whatever few illusions they had, stomped all over whatever shred of innocence they may have possessed. He looks at his eldest son and sees a man who's aged twenty years in the last five hours.

"As I understand it," he begins, looking away from Dean and instead off into the corner of the room, "there are certain ones that would like to find him and kill him." He's blunt, but he can't help it. Each of them is tired, exhausted really, and it's beginning to take its toll.

"So?" Dean says, encouraging him to go on, to tell him what the plan was, is, for defending his brother. John sighs, a long drawn out sigh that eventually devolves into a giant yawn. "Dad?" he spits out, clearly annoyed.

"You should know by now that I would never let anything happen to any of you."

"Right," he says with a scoff before lowering himself into a chair. "That's why were all here trying to track down your missing daughter."

"Sam'll be fine," he says, ignoring Dean's provocation. "If she wanted you two to come here, then she must have known it was safe, safe enough at least. She must have thought they wouldn't find any of us here."

"But we can't stay here forever."

"No, we can't."

"So, what are we going to do?" He waits for his father to answer, but all he does is shake his head slightly. "What did Tess do? What's she doing now?" he asks, a more somber tone to his voice. The end of the story was ominous to say the least. Sam's in danger and Tessa claimed there was only one thing they could do. And whatever that thing was, their father clearly did not want her to take part in it.

"I'm not really sure," he says after a moment of contemplation.

"But you knew what she meant? What was she planning to do?"

"A life for a life, that's how balance is maintained."

"Whose life?" he asks, his voice straining to hide the sudden panic.

John just looks at him. No response is necessary.

"She died because of me," Sam says, almost a whisper, as he stirs at his father's side. It's clear from the look on his face that he hasn't been paying attention to their conversation and likely has no idea what's happening now, probably doesn't even realize he's spoken aloud. He lets out a slight uncomfortable laugh and gazes up at the ceiling, at nothing. "I mean, I knew it was me, but…this whole time…it was all because of me…"

"What is it with you people!" Dean bellows as he jumps up from his seat. In a flash he is in front of Sam, his wide eyes burrowing into him. "It was me. It was me. It was me," he mocks before collapsing onto the floor in a hunched ball, his face buried in his hands. His voice comes out muffled and strained. "Not everything is your fault," he says to no one in particular.

"Dean," Sam says softly as he reaches out for his brother's shoulder.

But Dean bats the hand away and gives him another angry stare. "Just because it came for you and found her instead, just because it got angry that you weren't there…that doesn't make it your fault. You had some crazy-ass dreams a few nights before and did nothing about them, you know because they were crazy and stupid and didn't make any sense. And guess what, Sam, that doesn't make it your fault either. And you," he says, turning to his father, "you didn't have an affair and you didn't let your kid die, and you think that makes you some kind of horrible person who's to blame for everything? And Tessa too, I don't even know what she did…what, live? And she's all guilty? Shit, people, get over yourselves!"

The room falls into silence once again. After all there really isn't much left to say. And there'd be no telling how long that would have gone on if John hadn't ended it by giving the order that everyone in the room truly longed to hear, whether consciously or not. Get some sleep. "We're no good like this," he says finally. "I can't think. I'm sure you can't either. And if we're going to find her, we need to have our minds rested enough to figure out where to look. You boys can share the bed."

"What about you?" Sam asks.

"I can manage on the floor. Right now I'm so exhausted I could fall asleep in that chair over there and probably think it was the comfiest thing ever."

Sam smiles, if only a bit, and looks at his father, a wordless thank you springs from his reddened eyes.

"Go on then," John says. "Get some sleep."

They're out for no more than a few hours when the little pink cell phone rings again. Each is torn from sleep by the second ring, but it's Sam, who's always been able to wake fully in a matter of moments while the others are forced to groggily collect themselves, who gets to it first.

"Hello?" he says cautiously. He had been in such a hurry to answer that he neglected to even check the caller ID.

"Hey," he hears from the other end. A smile passes over his face. Relief.

"Hey," he says in turn. "Where are you?"

"Bandridge. It's about forty miles out."

"Bandridge?" he says, scrunching up his face. By now John and Dean have both come out their stupor and are watching him intently, trying as hard as they can not to rip the phone from his grasp and take over.

"Yep, still in Texas," she says. Her voice is heavy and low, scratchy, and Sam is reminded of what Dean said after talking to her the night before. Sounded drunk.

"Are you okay?" he asks for too many reasons. She's alone, so far as he knows, maybe scared, certainly hurt, and probably hung over, if not still drunk.

"Fine. You?"

"Yeah. Just, you know, sitting here, trying to figure out all this…stuff. Trying to find you."

"Ah, my life's work. Find anything interesting?"

"Yeah, actually, a lot of – "

"Sam!" He looks across the room back at the bed where both his father and brother sit, and sees Dean's annoyed face, his impatient glare. He shrugs his shoulders at them both as if to say, hey, at least I got her talking, and he turns back around to continue the conversation in peace.

"Look, Sam, there are some things you need to know. And the thing is, I can't tell you over the phone."

"Is it about Jess? About how or…why she died? Because I already know. Dad told me, us…last night." There's silence for a moment and all he can hear is her breathing, but he doesn't say anything, simply waits for her to speak.

"Yeah," she says finally. "I'm really sorry about that."

"It wasn't your fault."

"Yeah, well, kind of debatable. But…there's something else. I have a plan, or at least I'm working on one. And I need you, and Dean. And Dad. And I thought that maybe I wouldn't, but…I don't know, maybe I don't. It's just that…"

"Tess," he says softly, quietly cupping his hand over the mouthpiece. This is meant just for her. "It doesn't matter. Whatever made you run, thought you could do this on you own, or had to…whatever made you change your mind…it doesn't matter. Just tell me where to go."

"Here, Bandridge. There's a library. It's big, at the center of town. You'll find it. Two hours. That should give us plenty of time. And, Sam?"

"Yeah?"

"Have you been reading up? Everything there I left for a reason. I know there's a lot and you haven't had much time. We didn't know how long all this might take, but things are happening kind of fast. And, oh, did you get my message?"

"Message? Which one?"

"On the mirror."

"Oh, yeah."

"She said she knew you, met you. I thought you'd understand."

"Actually…"

"She's dangerous, Sam, that's all you need to know right now. Shit, we shouldn't be talking still. You never know, you know?"

"Um…"

"Bandridge. Library. Two hours. Bring everything weapon-like, oh and Dad and Dean, bring them too."

"Okay," he says just before realizing that she'd already hung up. He turns back to his family and gives them a sly smile. "Found her," he says triumphantly while flipping the all-too-feminine phone shut.

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