Hopefully things will start to become clearer soon...

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Sam Winchester was looking at a picture of his father.

It was perched on an easel, surrounded by white lilies and a blue flower he didn't recognise. His Dad was smiling in the picture, and that seemed wrong somehow. He didn't remember his Dad smiling very often…

No wait. That was wrong. What was he thinking? Dad had smiled all the time. He shook his head, a slight frown creasing his brow. What had made him think that?

Faint pressure on his arm made him look to his left, where Jessica sat, her hand squeezing him gently, soothingly.

"You OK?" she whispered, looking up into his eyes, concern obvious on her pretty face.

Sam nodded. "Yeah," he replied quietly, looking back at the picture of his father. "Yeah, I'm fine."

The minister was speaking now.

"Although John Winchester endured terrible tragedy in his life – the loss of his first wife, Mary, the mother of his two sons, Dean and Sam – his resilience of spirit and his enthusiasm for life guided him through those dark times, leading him, eventually, to Maggie – " here the minister turned to a woman sitting in the front pew. She wore a black dress and a black hat with a veil, and was holding a white handkerchief to her eyes, trying hard not to cry as she leaned heavily on the teenaged girl sitting beside her, who had her arm around the woman's shoulders.

The girl had long dark hair tied into a ponytail with a black satin ribbon. She was crying too, tears streaming unchecked down her pale cheeks.

The minister smiled sadly. "And through Maggie," he continued, "John was blessed with a daughter – " here he gestured to the teenaged girl. " – Bethany."

Sam had drifted off, eyes unfocussed as they rested on the man lying in the open casket at the back of the chapel. He looked very peaceful, although somehow uncomfortable in a suit and tie. Sam had only seen him dressed that way once before: The day he had married Maggie.

Bethany.

He tuned back in to what the minister was saying.

Where had he heard that name before?

His half-sister. Of course. Bethany was his kid sister.

For some reason, his mind flashed onto a little girl jumping from the roof of a building. He didn't recognise the girl, and didn't know who she was. She had short red hair, and her eyes were almost the same colour, as if she hadn't stopped crying for days.

He shook his head, frowning, uncertain what had caused this bizarre image to invade his consciousness.

Jess was squeezing his arm again. The service was ending, his father's coffin sliding back towards the incinerator as organ music played softly. He didn't recognise the tune.

The lady in the front pew – Maggie – had given up all pretence at stoicism, and was now sobbing uncontrollably as Bethany helped her to her feet, trying to console her as best she could as she led her to the chapel door. The people in the seats around them began to stand too, nodding their heads in sympathy as they followed the two women towards the exit.

Sam stood then, leading Jessica by the hand. It was over and he was glad to be leaving. The chapel was too sombre, too quiet to contain his father. Wherever John was now, Sam pictured him with Mary, smiling again.

Sam smiled too.

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"So your brother didn't make it?" Jessica asked, as she and Sam followed the rest of the mourners from the building. It was sunny outside, but cold, the autumn air fresh and biting.

There had been a big turnout, and Sam was heartened to see so many of his Dad's friends there, making their way slowly up the street to Maggie's house, where Sam hoped they would give his father a real send off.

He hadn't really expected Dean to show. He and Dad hadn't spoken in years, and he wasn't exactly easy to track down.

Still, somewhere deep down inside, Sam had hoped…

"I guess not," he replied to Jessica's question, trying not to sound too cut up about his older brother's absence. Jess knew better.

"Sam!" Maggie was standing in the midst of a crowd of her friends, her hands held out towards her stepson as the well-wishers about her began to dissipate.

Sam smiled sadly at her, taking her hands in his own before she pulled him into a hug.

"Sam, I'm so glad you're here," Maggie said quietly, keeping Sam close a little longer before pulling slightly away.

Bethany, who had been talking to the minister, appeared at her mother's side and Sam thought she looked uncomfortable in the sensible black dress she wore. He couldn't help smiling at the way she tugged at the collar – just like Dean had that time Sam had forced him to wear a suit…

Sam frowned. When was that again? They'd been trying to look at plane wreckage…

No, wait a second. Sam had never been anywhere like that with Dean. Hell, he hadn't even seen Dean for four years.

He looked back at Bethany, trying to remember what he had been thinking about. Dean. That was it. Sam had been thinking how much Bethany reminded him of Dean. She had Dean's eyes, his smile. They pretty much shared the same fiery temperament too, although Bethany swore she didn't get that off their Dad.

"Hey, squirt," Sam said to her, smiling. "Who knew you had legs, huh?"

Bethany looked down at her skirt and grimaced. "I'm sure Dad wouldn't have objected if I'd shown up in jeans – " she moaned.

"Bethany," Maggie interjected, her voice stern. "We've had this fight, and you promised."

Bethany pulled a face. "Yes, Mom," she said, trying to sound like the obedient little daughter but not really pulling it off. Everyone knew better.

Maggie smiled, returning her attention to Sam. "I wish your brother had made it," she said, her voice full of regret.

Bethany looked away and Jessica shifted uncomfortably, squeezing Sam's arm again.

Sam nodded. "Yeah," he said. "Me too."

"You know," Maggie continued. "The doctors tell me it was a heart attack that took your father. But I know better." She put her hand on Sam's arm. "His heart was broken."

Sam covered Maggie's hand with his own. "I know," he said quietly.

Maggie smiled sadly again, before putting her hand affectionately on Sam's cheek. "Still," she said, brightening. "You and Jessica are here. That's something."

Sam just returned her smile, suddenly aware of the odd look that had just appeared on Bethany's face.

"You can stay for a few days, can't you?" Maggie was saying. "We'd love to have you."

Sam started to shake his head, before Jessica put in, "We have to be back at Stanford by Monday." She looked up at Sam and smiled proudly. "Big interview."

Maggie nodded. "Of course!" she burst out. "The Law School interview! How did I forget that? Oh Sam, your Dad was so proud of you!"

"I know he was," Sam replied. "He told me enough times. I only wish…"

"He could have lived to see your hard work pay off?" Maggie finished his sentence for him, and he nodded. She'd always had a knack of knowing just what was going on in his head, even when he was a little kid.

Maggie took his hand. "He will, Sam," she said. "He will."

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Sam watched the patch of sunlight brighten at his feet as the October clouds scudded by, allowing more of the sun's rays to filter in through the open dining room doors. He glanced out into the garden beyond, where Maggie was proudly showing Jessica her prize-winning roses, and smiled.

A hand on his elbow brought him back to earth, and he redirected his smile at Bethany, who had thus far resisted the temptation to change into jeans and a t-shirt. After all, the house was still full of Dad's friends, and she didn't want to let the side down.

"Hey," Sam said gently. "How're you doing?"

Bethany shrugged, pushing a stray lock of dark brown hair behind her ear. "Better than yesterday," she replied wistfully, following Sam's gaze out onto the garden. "Poor Jess," she said. "Mom sure loves her roses. And loves everyone else to love her roses."

"Jess doesn't mind," Sam said, his heart beating a little faster at the sound of Jessica's laughter.

Bethany looked up at him again, an odd mixture of sadness and concern on her face. "You really love her, huh?"

Sam, surprised by the question, met her gaze evenly. "More every day," he replied honestly.

Bethany's sad smile faltered, and she looked away, as if she'd couldn't bear to maintain eye contact with her big brother.

Sam frowned, putting a hand on Bethany's shoulder. "Beth?" he said. "What's wrong?"

Bethany bit her lip, just the way Dean used to. "Have you – Sam, have you heard from Dean lately?"

It was Sam's turn to look away. "No," he replied. "Last time I heard from him, he was hunting vampires in New Mexico somewhere."

Bethany nodded. "That was almost two years ago," she observed.

Sam shrugged. "Yeah. Time flies. Thought he might show today though. You told him, right?"

"About Dad?" Bethany said. She looked uncomfortable. "I didn't need to. He already knew."

Sam frowned. "He knew Dad was dead before you told him?" That didn't make sense. He knew Dean was kind of – well – out there, but as far as Sam was aware, he wasn't psychic. "How could he have known that?"

Bethany bit her lip again, as if trying to decide whether to tell him something. Then, "Sam, something's wrong."

Sam turned to face her this time, concern in his eyes. "With Dean?" he asked. He and his older brother may not have seen eye to eye for a long time, but he was still family.

Bethany's brow furrowed. "Yeah, sort of," she said. "Sam, the last time I spoke to him, he sounded – well – kind of – of – crazy."

Sam would have laughed if he hadn't had serious concerns about Dean's sanity himself in the past. "So what else is new?" he said, trying to cover his genuine concern. "This hunting thing – "

Bethany examined her feet and kicked awkwardly at the doormat.

Sam squeezed her shoulder reassuringly. "Look," he said. "I know Dean took you with him sometimes – hunting." Here Bethany looked genuinely shocked. "Don't worry," Sam continued. "I never told Dad." Bethany seemed to breathe again. "But you didn't actually buy into all this hunting evil, saving the world from ghosts and demons crap did you?"

Bethany looked up at him and shrugged. "Dad used to believe it – "

"Until your Mom made him see sense!" Sam interrupted. "Thank God," he added. "I don't even want to think where me and Dean would have ended up if it hadn't been for her." He shifted his attention back to his stepmom. "If Dad hadn't met her – if she hadn't shown him how his ridiculous obsession was screwing up his kids – "

"He would probably be missing along with Dean right now," Bethany finished.

That got Sam's attention. "Dean's missing?" he echoed.

Bethany nodded. "Sam, I know that you and Dad didn't agree with Dean's decision to carry on hunting for the thing that killed your Mom – "

"Nothing killed our Mom, Beth," Sam insisted. "She died in a house fire. Even Dad came to admit the truth of that eventually!"

"OK," Bethany said in a conciliatory tone. "I know you never got into the hunting thing like Dean did – "

"I was five when Dad met your Mom, Beth," Sam pointed out. "I barely even remember any of that life!"

"But you saw some stuff, right? Stuff that at least made you wonder if maybe Dean was right to carry on believing? To carry on hunting?"

Sam didn't answer.

"Sam?"

"There's no such thing as monsters, Beth," Sam asserted firmly, trying to push away a weird image of his being chased through an abandoned mine by a seven-foot flesh-eater. "It's all in Dean's head. Even Dad said so."

Bethany nodded. "OK," she said. "But, Sam, I've seen stuff, when I've been out with Dean – "

"No you haven't," Sam returned. "You just say that 'cause you want to hang out with your big brother in his cool car – "

"Sam," Bethany had an intensely serious look on her face. "Whether you believe what Dean hunts is real or not isn't the issue here. The last time I heard from him was a couple of weeks ago. He left me this really weird voicemail telling me we were all in danger – that something was after us – that I should be careful." Here Bethany put her hands on Sam's upper arms and turned him to face her. "And the next thing I know – the very next week – Dad's dead and Dean's missing!"

Sam looked as if he was about to laugh. "I don't know who's crazier," he said, shaking his head. "You or Dean." He lowered his voice, deadly serious now. "And I don't believe for one second that you're seriously telling me you think – "

"Dad didn't die of a heart attack," Bethany stated, absolute certainty in her words. "It was the thing that killed your Mom, Sam. The thing Dean warned me about." She paused. Then, "I think it got Dad too."

Sam did laugh now. "Do you know how stupid that sounds?" he said, pulling away from her and making as if to walk off into the garden.

"Sam!" Bethany caught his arm, and he stopped. "Sam, whatever you believe," she said, her face suddenly a mask of real fear. "Dean's in trouble. He needs our help. If he's not dead already. I can feel it."

Sam froze, staring at his kid sister with a look that was almost terror. Sam had heard those words before. But it had been Dean, not Bethany, who had spoken them. And he'd been speaking about Dad.

No, no that wasn't right, Sam told himself. You're remembering wrong.

"I don't want to hear this," he said, pulling away from his sister and backing towards the garden doors. "It's nuts – "

"Sam," Bethany moved towards him. "Please. You've got to help me find Dean. I can't do this alone."

"Yes you can," Sam said the words without thinking, almost as if he was reciting a script he knew by heart but had never read.

"Well, I don't want to," Bethany returned, saying the words Sam knew she was going to say.

Sam shook his head. "No," he said, a dull throbbing starting to ache in his temples. "No, this isn't right."

Bethany moved then, taking his hands and pulling him towards her, the expression on her face now totally changed – an expression totally alien to her face. Desperation. Panic. Anger.

"You remember, don't you?" she demanded, her words whispered and urgent, her voice conspiratorial, as if she didn't want someone to hear. Her whole demeanour had changed utterly, and Sam could have sworn she seemed taller. "Sam," she prodded. "You remember. This isn't how it's supposed to be!"

Bethany glanced over her shoulder, as if looking at something – someone Sam couldn't see. She seemed nervous, frightened even.

"Sam, you have to remember," she continued, once more glancing behind her. "You can't go on like this. This isn't your life, and no amount of wishing can make it true! Jess is gone – you have to accept that. You have to move on! You can't – Damn it!" she broke off suddenly, turning away from him, facing the empty space into which she had been glancing. Her face was a mask of anger now. "No!" she burst out, apparently talking to thin air. "No, this can't go on! It's killing him! Can't you see that? He's lost – he can't find his way back. He's going to be lost in here until it kills him! Do you think that's what his father intended?"

Bethany stood now, hands on hips, defiant and angry. "Wait! No – no you can't! Damn you, you can't!"

She turned desperately back to face Sam, grabbing him firmly by the shoulders and shaking him. "Wake up Sam!" she cried. "Wake up! It's all an illusion! You've got to – "

There was suddenly a flash of blinding light and…

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"Wake up!"

Dean Winchester sat up as if shot. "Huh?" He glanced around himself, sleepily, for a minute uncertain where he was. He could feel the crisp hospital sheets beneath his fingers. Could hear the faint beep-beep-beep of the heart monitor. Could see the dull creamy-coloured paint peeling off the hospital room walls.

Could feel Sam's fingers, still warm under his own.

"Sam?" he muttered the word reflexively, his every waking thought of late so consumed by worry over the welfare of his kid brother that his name was always the first thing into his head.

Sam was still there. His chest was rising and falling in a slow, lazy rhythm, his eyelids still fluttering in some crazy REM sleep tango. He looked paler than he had when Dean had finally crashed out, head falling in exhaustion against his brother's hospital bed.

How long had he been sleeping?

"What time is it?" he asked the young nurse who was leaning over his brother's bedside. His eyes struggled to focus on his wristwatch, but failed completely.

"Seven thirty," the nurse answered. She sounded kind of distracted, and Dean looked up at her quizzically.

"Everything OK?" he asked nervously.

The nurse glanced down at him, as if only just realising he was there. She smiled brightly, like nurses were supposed to, and Dean relaxed a little. He was suddenly acutely aware that he still had his fingers wrapped around Sam's oblivious hand, and let go abruptly. No point in ruining his chances. The nurse was pretty hot, after all.

"Your brother's as well as can be expected," the nurse replied, busying herself by reading the information on Sam's monitor.

"For someone who's been asleep for a week," Dean noted with a sigh.

He'd seen the nurse in Sam's room a hundred times since he'd been brought in here, but it was only now that he realised he didn't know her name. He squinted at the name tag pinned to her chest, trying not to look like he was checking her out. That would just be downright inappropriate. Then, "So, Bethany – "

The nurse seemed surprised that Dean had used her name.

"What are the docs saying now? Any idea when my brother's gonna wake up?"

The nurse glanced over at Sam as he continued to slumber. "Only he knows that," she said.

Dean frowned. What kind of answer was that? "Yeah, but – " he replied. "They can't even tell me what's wrong with him. So it's not a coma. What the freakin' hell is it?"

The nurse turned back towards him, pushing a stray lock of blonde hair back into the neat little ponytail from which it had escaped. "I can tell you this," she said earnestly. "It's killing him."

Dean was momentarily stunned by the nurse's honestly. "Hey, don't sugar coat it, will you?" he said, his gaze drifting back to Sam. It seemed as if he'd been lying there a lot longer than a week.

Bethany faltered. "I'm sorry," she said, sounding surprisingly genuine. "I didn't mean to be so blunt."

Dean surveyed her thoughtfully. "That's OK," he conceded. "It's nice that someone around here has the balls to tell me the truth."

Bethany laughed a little. "Yeah, well," she said. "Just don't tell my boss."

She turned back towards Sam, and made a show of taking his pulse. Dean had seen her do that a hundred times, too, and didn't usually pay much attention. But tonight, for some reason, he found himself watching her slyly out of the corner of his eye. She'd turned herself slightly so that her body blocked Dean's view of what she was doing, unaware that Dean had quietly shifted his position to get a better look.

Something didn't feel right.

And that was when Dean saw Bethany put her hand on Sam's forehead. Not unusual in and of itself. Except maybe for the part where her hand was glowing…

There was a look of complete surprise on Bethany's face when she suddenly found herself spun around, wrist gripped very tightly in Dean's left hand, while his right had managed to encircle her throat.

"You've got two seconds to tell me what you just did to my brother. Then I start squeezing." Dean jerked the hand around the girl's throat just enough for her to get the message.

"Wait!" she gasped, a look of panic in her pale blue eyes. "It's not what it looks like!"

"Oh no?" Dean said, squeezing a little harder. "What does it look like?"

"Wait, wait!" Bethany grabbed hold of Dean's wrist, trying to prise his grip off her throat. She wasn't very successful.

"Your two seconds are up," Dean observed, Bethany's eyes widening as he made a move as if to strangle her.

"OK, OK!" she gasped. "Wait, wait. Please listen to me! I'm trying to help you!" she glanced at Sam. "I'm trying to help both of you!"

Dean paused. "What did you do to my brother?" he repeated, steely gaze boring into her now.

Bethany took a breath. "I was checking his condition – " she began.

"Yeah, well," Dean returned. "Use a thermometer next time! That whole glowy hand thing? It's pretty unsettling."

Bethany nodded. "I'm not a nurse," she admitted.

Dean rolled his eyes at the obviousness of that statement. "Yeah, pretty much figured that out for myself," he said.

"Please," Bethany begged, again trying to loosen Dean's grip on her neck. "You're hurting me. I swear I didn't do anything to your brother."

Dean considered her for a second. "Are you responsible for what's wrong with him?" he demanded.

Bethany shook her head as best she could under the circumstances. "No," she said. "I swear."

"And I swear," Dean said, pulling her close and looking her right in the eye. "If you're lying to me, I'll kill you. I mean it." He released his hold on her and took a step backwards.

Bethany returned his gaze. "I believe you," she said quietly, massaging her neck. She glanced back at Sam, still oblivious, twitching slightly in his sleep.

"Well?" Dean prodded. "This better be one hell of an explanation."

Bethany looked back at him. "I really was checking his condition," she said. "That's my job."

Dean frowned. "Job?" he echoed. "Who do you work for?" He wasn't entirely convinced she was telling him the truth. But she didn't seem to be lying, either.

"It's not exactly that I work for anyone," Bethany began. "It's sort of a family business."

"Your family?"

Bethany nodded. "But I guess you could say that our services were engaged by someone…"

Dean stiffened. "Who?" he demanded, a truly dangerous look in his eyes.

Bethany bit her lip. "Your father."