Chapter 4

The activity around the Morgan house was dissipating. Cops cars and ambulance teams had retreated back to their stations taking with them the whining of sirens and the crackling static of radios. Their exodus blanketing the entire block once again with the same peaceful silence that had governed the neighborhood before. The crowd that had gathered was slowly dwindling, the people leaving, returning to their former way of life, in realization that they had lost a part of it.

Only a handful remained still expressing their condolences to the grieving widow, crying along side of her. The entire ordeal encompassed Sam like a whirlwind threatening to break his attention from Dean, as people passed between them excusing themselves as they brushed against his lean frame. But Sam held firm, refusing to move, his eyes fixed on his brother before him.

His brother, who for the past twenty minutes had done nothing but pace back and forth, raking his fingers through his hair, a tell-tale sign he was nervous, antsy. His face twisted in an expression that if Sam didn't know any better would've referred to as fear. He was murmuring incoherent phrases under his breath and Sam strained in vain to catch a piece of his brother's thought process. He wanted to question Dean's statement before, but he'd learned the hard way not to interfere when the eldest was in such a state.

Sam nearly fell the ground as his brother, without warning, plowed past him without so much as a single word. Dean's gait exuded a sense of purpose and intensity that Sam could only remember seeing when his brother had come into possession of an earth-shattering revelation that enveloped him completely, a revelation Dean knew he was destined to war with.

Sam's long stride did nothing to shorten the widening gap between him and his brother. His legs burned as he forced them into a hastened walk, instead of an outright run. He was eternally grateful when the Impala drew into view, and watched silently as Dean jerked the door open, falling heavily into the seat, and jammed the keys into the ignition. Okay, this is definitely something big.

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Dean chewed on his bottom lip, drumming his fingers impatiently on the wheel as he waited for his brother's lanky form to enter the vehicle. He grabbed the nearest tape, and placed in the deck, turning it up to an ear-splitting volume to deter Sam from uttering a single word. He couldn't deal with any conversation at this point. He just needed some time to figure it all out.

He stared straight ahead the entire drive, never once looking at Sam. Images of a previous time came to him like pieces of a puzzle and his brow furrowed in concentration as he sought to link them together.

Dean could barely recall the day they'd moved to Clearwater and anything else about the town at the time for that matter. If his memory served him correctly, and he doubted it did, they only stayed four months. His dad had figured the city as a good base to operate from given that the surrounding cities were prone to paranormal activity.

He brushed those memories aside, deeming them inconsequential, and focused on the task at hand. The important thing was he knew all too well about the assignment Jenkins had referred to. He'd done it himself. Now I remember why I thought all homework was some sort of evil conspiracy.

Dean clenched his jaw as he allowed himself to follow through with that train of thought. Morgan had done it and he had died, obit in hand, and he was willing to bet that all the other deaths were found in the same way. He was perplexed by the whole thing and struggled over as to why Jenkins was still alive, as well as countless other, including himself. He concluded that it had to be related to the dates the victims had determined years ago to be the day of their demise, but he'd had to do some research to verify it. If that's the case, I'm so screwed.

He breathed deeply and audibly, not failing to notice that Sam was staring at him intently, studying his every move and was certain his little brother had been doing it since they'd left the Morgan's.

The hotel came into sight, and Dean brought his foot down a little harder on the accelerator. He was beginning to feel trapped in his own car and needed exile. He parked in front of their room, and quickly grabbed his stuff. He nearly ran into the room, threw his stuff on the floor, and crashed onto the bed. Praying that Sam would think he was tired and would leave him alone. How he ever allowed himself to believe that, he would never know.

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"Alright. That's it!" Sam yelled, crossing the threshold and glaring at his older brother's prostrate form.

"What's it?" Dean asked, surprising himself at how he'd managed to make the question sound so innocent.

"You is what. What the hell is wrong with you?" Sam bit his tongue in frustration, shaking slightly as he tried to keep his anger at bay.

"Nothing's wrong with me, Sammy." Dean snapped, as he pushed himself into a sitting position and stared into Sam's rage filled eyes.

"It's Sam. And that's crap." Sam didn't fail to notice how Dean dropped his gaze and sighed heavily at his accusation and seized the opportunity. "Whatever it is Dean. You can tell me. Does it have to do with that reporter guy you were talking to?"

"Kind of." Dean informed quietly, still contemplating as to whether or not to tell Sam the truth. It had taken Sam a few months to get over the LeGrange incident, even though Dean had been given a clean bill of health and he'd be damned if he had to endure another stint of Sam's hovering. I'm the protector. Sam shouldn't have to worry about me.

"You're gonna have to give me more than that, Dean." Sam shot back trying his best to sound authoritative. He guessed it worked because Dean lifted his head up and muttered a resigned "okay".

"So, start talking." Sam pulled a chair up and sat down across from his brother, reestablishing eye contact.

"Uh…it's sort of complicated."

"I can handle complicated. I'm the college boy, remember?" Dean smirked at his brother's reference to the nickname he'd given him, but frowned when he remembered that he was about to shatter his brother's world yet again.

"Jenkins, the reporter I was talking to, told me that Morgan was a former student of Kingston's."

"So this would prove the theory that Kingston is the one doing all this." Sam bit his thumbnail as he digested the information. "But shouldn't he have a pattern or something. I mean, it's just weird."

"He does. It's all linked to this assignment he used to give."

"Oh. What kind of assignment?"

"The students had to write their own obit. The man was a sick bastard." Dean answered, forcing himself to laugh at his own comment.

"Wow, and I thought my professors were nuts." Sam replied, staring off.

"Yeah, well, apparently Morgan was found with his old obit in his hand. And I'd bet anything that the date on his obit is yesterday."

"That makes sense. But why?"

"Dunno. Maybe he thought they slacked off. I'm telling you, Sam, teacher's are next to demons in the chain of evil." Sam couldn't help but laugh out loud at his brother's outright hatred for the education system.

"Okay. But that still doesn't explain why you got all weird back at the house." Sam heard Dean sigh at his refusal to let the issue die.

"We lived in Clearwater." Dean paused, waiting for his brother's reaction, but Sam's face remained a picture of passivity, so he continued. "For about four months, you were 13, I think."

"What does that have to do with Kingston, Dean?" Sam asked bluntly, irritated that his brother could never manage to just get straight to the point.

"Kingston was a teacher at the high school when we were there."

"So you remember him?" Sam asked, rising from the chair and retrieving his laptop, a hint of excitement in his voice, at the thought of his older brother holding the key to this case. Dean's heart skipped a beat when he heard Sam's tone.

"I was in his class, Sam" Dean admitted quietly, using every bit of will power he had to keep his eyes on the musty, faded carpet and off his brother's stricken face. Sam felt his knees weaken and grabbed the table quickly to steady himself.

"Did you, uh, did he give you that obit assignment?" Sam voiced shakily, breaking the silence that had fallen minutes before.

"Yea." Dean muttered, barely audible.

"Did you do it?" Please say no. Please, God, let him say no.

"Yea, Sammy. I did. Figures, huh? I do my homework and the teacher that gave it to me ends up being some wack job." Dean forced a smile as he met his brother's gaze.

"Well, uh, maybe he only takes people in the town. Maybe it was more than just them actually doing the assignment. Maybe it's only certain students he didn't like or that did something bad to him." Sam rambled on nervously, busying himself with pulling up his old internet searches desperately searching for a connection other than the obvious.

"It's not the town, Sam." Dean stated firmly, making his way over where his brother now sat, hunched over, fingers flying wildly over the keyboard. "He's killing them based on the day they chose to die."

"We don't know that yet." Sam shot back, his eyes never leaving the screen.

"You have to admit it makes sense, Sam. I mean, that's why the deaths seem so random and normal."

"What day did you pick?" Dean cringed. There was no escaping now. I knew I should've kept my mouth shut.

"It doesn't matter, Sammy."

Sam was out of his seat before Dean finished the statement and Dean took a step back when he saw Sam's face flushed with anger. He was sure for the most part Sam wouldn't attempt to physically harm him, but he wasn't inclined to provoke him to it at the moment and reminded himself to tread carefully as his brotherrepeated thecommand deeply, through clenched teeth.

"Tell me what day, Dean."

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The old cabin lay hidden amongst the overgrown forestry. It's wooden slats tainted from their many years of exposure to the harsh elements. Shingles from the roof strewn over the ground where they had fallen years ago. The dilapidated porch appeared uneven, the right side rising slightly higher than its counterpart.

The interior mimicked the disarray. Single pages of paper littered every corner, each onebearing a death creed. The only pieces of furniture that existed were a marked up, rotting desk and the torn, red leather chair that accompanied it that sat in the farthest room. His study.

It was here, he stood, milling through his files, as he liked to call them. His eyes resting on page before him, the neatly printed words written in deep blue ink now faded purple announcing the demise of the young man. He smiled, a heinous smile, at the thought of carrying out such an act. He had three days left to prepare for the death of his former student, his next victim and not one moment to waste. He exited listlessly, the movement causing the page to flutter and fall silently to the floor.

Dean M. Winchester

January 24th 1979—April 10th 2006

Son of John and Mary Winchester, deceased. Brother to Samuel Winchester. Passed away last night in a house fire, cause unknown. Considered a rogue hero. He has been linked to the rescue of many in his short life. Saved another in his death. He was known as a strong and obedient son and one hell of an older brother. He was stated to having an excellent poker game and to being a king of the pool tables. He was also referred to as a major chic magnet and said to have the coolest car ever. His favorite activity consisted of hunting trips with his dad and brother. He took great pride in his knowledge and skill in the art of the hunt.

A memorial service is to be held on April 13th at the Lawrence Funeral Home. In accordance to his wishes, the service will consist of the greatest hits of the mullet rock era. Well-wishers are encouraged to bring their favorite tapes from this genre as well. There will be no burial, no final resting- place. He claimed the open road as his home.

His family and friends would like to ask for your support during this difficult time. If you wish to send flowers and cards you can address them to the funeral home until further notified.

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Alright, so there you have it. Now what'd you think? 'Cause i'll be honest i had a hell of a time actually writing that thing and I'm still not all that happy with it. I tried my best to write it in a way I thought Dean would 'cause it is, in essense, his assignment. But i dont know if i really managed to pull it off. So, likei said earlier, this is the last update for at least the next 2-3 days as i will be unable to access a computer. Okay...so lemme know what you thought, or if there was some problem with the chap. i didnt catch. Have a great day and thanx for reading!