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I pray that you never find this, Dean. That you will never need this. That you won't inherit the family senses and all the responsibilities that come with it. I bargained away your senses as a part of the deal when I asked for John's life back. You are not supposed to become a Hawk until after you die. I can't imagine it mattering then.

"And that's where they found the loophole, Mom," Dean muttered.

Sam grunted from where he was reading over Dean's shoulder (the height freak). "Keep going. She knew that you should have inherited and Sandburg is going to flip over these."

Your sense of taste has always been off the charts and you explored the world around you by licking everything long after most children stop. I knew that you should have the senses normally –whatever normal is. I impressed a scent memory on you, in case you did develop them through some misfortune. With our family, like with most families of Hawks, the misfortune will come by way of the supernatural. These books contain the records of the family Hawks and how they use their senses to Hunt supernatural. The Hunters are for the run of the mill supernatural, the Hawks are for the demons (we can smell them a mile off) and to keep the Hunters in check. If you become a Hawk, the supernatural will drag you in. I tried to keep you and the rest of my boys out, but the dreams are giving me warnings, I might have done you all a grave and disastrous disservice. I might have left you unprepared for the horror that stalks you. These books might repair that damage so that you can stalk them right back.

I love you, Deano. I am sorry. Love Mom.

Dean folded up the letter and slid it into the front of his mother's journal, along with the sprig of lavender that had led the Sentinel (He didn't quite think of himself as a Hawk) to the secret bookshelf. As much as Dean pitied those that got dumped into the supernatural deep end, he was pleased that the new owner of his childhood home was in the know. She would let them walk out with the books no questions asked.

They would need boxes. Dean turned around and Sam handed him a heavy duty box, already double taped. Wordlessly, the brothers filled four boxes with their inheritance. They carried them up from the basement and out to the car. Dean let Sam make the small-talk; he didn't have the words to make nice.

He let Sam drive the Impala. He wanted to read more of his mother's words, but Sam accepted the keys like Dean was offering forgiveness for his stupidity and his lies by omission. Dean wasn't (yet) but his anger was beginning to soften.

The Hunter who hunts with a Hawk is called a Hawker. You will need a Hawker, Dean. I know most Hunters go it alone, but Hawks can't. You'll need someone to help with the senses. Your father was a fantastic Hawker, even though neither of us Hunted. I never told him about the supernatural, of course, but he knew that all of my senses were extra, and he knew the possible pitfalls. And he knew that you might inherit the full sensitivity someday.

Holding secrets from your Hawker is dangerous and holding anger against them beyond reckless. Your senses will spike to unbearable levels and/or suddenly diminish to nothing. It does you no good and a great deal of harm to hold grudges.

Considering that Dean couldn't hear a thing (the vibrations of the car and the bass of the radio filled in the gaps), his mom was right again. He hadn't told Sam. He hadn't spoken a word to Sam since it came out that he had voluntarily been drinking demon blood, against his express dying wish. Gee Mom, he thought sarcastically. Can't I have a week of righteous anger?

Dean sighed. "When you find a good spot to have our fight, pull over. We need to settle this." He was looking at Sam so that he could see the answer. Sam pursed his lips. He was still mad at being told that he had been majorly wrong (and Dean had the chomped black snake to prove it), but for the first time, Dean saw the slightest bit of repentance. Sam nodded once, curtly.

This was going to be an epic, ugly fight, but it needed to happen. Dean wanted his hearing back, but more than that, he wanted his brother back. And Sam could not –under any circumstances- believe that drinking demon blood was an acceptable answer, especially if they would be running into demons in the future. All that crap thinking stopped now.

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"Do you think two weeks is too soon to ask for Dean's family journals?" asked Blair.

Jim stopped at stared at his single-minded Guide. "Do I think that two weeks is too soon to ask for the journals of Dean's beloved mother that he watched be murdered when he was four? And that he just found out was both a Hunter and a Sentinel? Yes, chief. It's too soon. Leave them alone."

"You heard Bobby," Blair grumbled as he corrected. "A Hunter that is a Sentinel is called a Hawk and their Guides are called Hawkers."

"Leave them alone, chief. They know you're interested. They'll contact you when they're ready."

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