A/N: Be prepared, these next two chapters get pretty intense. Please review :)

Dean pulled the Impala into a beaten-up gas station off the main road. It had been 12 hours since John had shown up in their motel room, and it was as if all three of them had been revived. Seeing John reminded them all of their purposes when it came to hunting.

Dean hopped out to fill the gas tank, and Carmen sat on the hood of the car chatting with him, legs crossed beneath her.

"There were so many things I wanted to ask him," Carmen stated when Dean brought up John. "There was so much I wanted to say, but I just blanked at the sight of him."

"I know. I was so stunned to see him." Dean shook his head. "I almost feel less satisfied than before we spoke. I just wish he would tell us where he's going, ya know, keep in touch. It's what he's preached to us all these years." Carmen could detect the undertone of distress in his voice.

"He'll be okay, Dean." Carmen said reassuringly. Her sincerity made Dean look up from the pump and catch her eye. "We forgot to tell him we have his journal," she pointed out, retrieving the tattered book from her jacket pocket.

Behind her, Carmen heard the screech of the Impala door opening.

"I'm getting some food," Sam called to them, abandoning the passenger's seat and walking towards the station shop. "You guys want anything?"

"Nah, I'm good." Dean replied.

"Can you get me a box of Dark Chocolate Raisinetes?" Carmen called absentmindedly as she leafed through the pages of John's journal.

At her words, Sam froze mid-step, and Dean gasped next to her. When she looked up, both of them were looking at her fearfully, with unnaturally wide eyes. They exchanged worried glances.

"No," Dean whispered dramatically.

"Oh, crap." Sam sighed.

"What?" Carmen spat at them.

"Dark Chocolate Raisinetes…that can only mean one thing," explained Dean.

"What the HELL are you talking about?" Carmen exclaimed, becoming increasingly annoyed with them both.

"You only eat those when it's…that scary time…" Dean's words seemed to get caught in his throat and he couldn't go on.

"Of the month," Sam finished for him. They both shuttered.

"Oh, my God you two shitheads really need to grow up!"

"See?" Dean said to Sam. "Scary." They both chortled.

"Alright, where we holdin' up next?" asked Dean as they pulled out of the station.

"Actually, dad sent me another set of coordinates after he left last night. I can't believe we forgot to ask him about that." Sam shook his head, disappointed in himself. "I've been looking into them, and they coordinate to a town in New York. There was just recently a pretty nasty death there. A father with no history of violence or mental illness shot his daughter in cold blood in the middle of the night. Friends and neighbors say he was a nice guy, you know, the never-in-a-million-years type."

"So, Dad went Amityville on her, why is it our kinda thing?"

"Well, other than the fact that it sounds exactly like a vengeful spirit possession, Dad marked the city in his journal. It's not that far, and worth checking out." Sam glanced over at his brother.

"Sam, what's the city?" Carmen asked as casually as she could manage from the backseat.

"Uh…Medford. Medford, New York."

Carmen almost lost her lunch as Dean said, "Medford, New York it is."

They soon arrived at a motel just outside of Medford, and checked into their room. As Sam and Dean bantered, Carmen was lost in thought. She was back in New York for the first time in ten years, and she could feel the proximity of her hometown weighing down on her. She didn't want to go back there, but she was afraid if she protested, Sam and Dean would demand a reason. She had concealed her past from them all her life; she couldn't let the truth come out now.

"Carmen? Carmen!" Dean snapped his fingers in front of her face. She was in the dingy motel room without knowing how she got there.

She jumped. "What?" She asked forcefully, trying to pretend she had been listening.

"What's up with you, you've barely said a word since we left that gas station? Sam and I were just joking about all that 'time of the month' crap."

She shook her head. "I know. It's nothing; I'm just wiped from the last hunt. I need a break."

"What?" Sam said incredulously. "I know I've been away, but that's the first time I've ever heard you admit to wanting to get some rest. I can't believe what I'm hearing."

"Yeah, well, believe it." She said in her usual sarcastic tone. "I'm going out." She barked, and, throwing up her black hood, sped out the door.

Dean and Sam traded confused looks.

"Definitely that time," muttered Dean.

"What's going on?" Carmen asked, confused. When she had arrived back at the motel, she had encountered Dean on Sam's laptop doing research (a rare occurrence) and heard a retching sound coming from the bathroom.

"Sam's sick," said Dean. "Looks…and smells…like food poisoning."

Carmen rolled her eyes. "Probably from that sketchy gas station we stopped at." Just then, Sam appeared in the bathroom doorway, a slight gleam of sweat on his forehead. His arm was around his stomach, and he was breathing like he had just run a marathon.

"I'm never…eating gas station food…again." He stooped to pick up the garbage can and eased himself down onto the bed with a slight groan. Carmen retrieved a cloth from the bathroom, ran it under cold water, and rang it out. She gently dabbed it over Sam's face to cool him off. After a while, he drifted off to sleep.

"Dean, can I talk to you for a minuet?" Carmen asked.

"Yeah, what's up?"

She nodded towards the door, and Dean followed her outside. With a glance over her shoulder to make sure no one was around, she admitted to Dean her misgivings.

"Dean, I think we should get out of here."

He raised an eyebrow at her. "What?"

"I think we should leave, now. I have a really bad feeling about this hunt…there's an uneasiness that I just can't shake."

"Carmen, we haven't even started yet."

"I know, but it's this place, this town, it's freaking me out. And now Sam has food poisoning? That has to be a bad omen or something."

"A bad omen? Since when do you believe in superstitions? And since when does eating some crap food and getting sick constitute as-"

Carmen cut him off. "I know, Dean. But I also know when to trust my intuition, alright? It's telling me to put as much distance between us and this town as possible!"

Dean glanced around him. There were green trees surrounding the quiet street. His eyes encountered the park across the way that offered as a blank canvass where young children could come and create imaginary worlds where they could escape. He saw an old couple holding hands as they chatted merrily on the sidewalk.

"You get that feeling from this town?" Dean looked at her with suspicion.

"Yes, Dean! And I know when to trust a feeling!"

He looked at her as if she were totally crazy. "Alright, I'll tell you what. We'll go and check out the house, do a little research, and if you still can't shake this feeling, we'll call someone else."

"Dean, I'm not checking out the house! What don't you understand about this? We need to get out of here!"

"I'm not leaving a town we just got into without at least seeing what were up against!"

"Why can't you just trust me for once?"

"I said we'll go after we-"

"That's not what I want! I guarantee you, there will be consequences in continuing this hunt."

"So we won't. You can stay here with Sam; I'm going to drive by the house." He retrieved his car key from his jacket pocket and made his way toward the Impala.

"Dean, no!" Carmen shouted after him, but she could not get into that car next to him. She was too terrified of where it would take her. Dean peeled out of the parking lot and sped away.

An angry outburst escaped Carmen as she kicked the garbage pale sitting next to her. She looked desperately after Dean, wishing there was something she could have said that would have made him change his mind.

But there was nothing. She knew that things were going to change.

Back in the motel room, poor Sam was retching in the bathroom once more. Carmen knew she had to put on a brave face for him. There was no stopping Dean and his crusade, but Sam couldn't become privy to what happened in her past. He stumbled out of the bathroom, his face white as a ghost (so to speak).

"How're you feeling?" She asked tentatively, leaning against the table in the corner. He just groaned miserably and plopped down on the bed closest to the bathroom. She couldn't help her mouth curling up into a half smile. She went over and placed a hand to his forehead.

"There's a convenience store down the street," she told him. "We passed it on the way in. I can go see if I can find you some meds."

His answering groan made her chuckle again as she left the motel room and ventured out into her hometown.

They had not, in fact, passed a convenience store on the way into town. However, Carmen knew where she could find one within walking distance. Stanley's. When she was young, Carmen would stop there on her way home from school everyday without fail, unless she was on a hunt with her father. At first, her stops there had been legitimate - to buy a piece of candy, or even browse the small selection of books the store offered. After a while, she would stop there even if she didn't need anything, just to procrastinate going home.

The man who owned the store, Mr. Stanley Copper, and Carmen had developed a sort of friendship during those visits. In fact, Mr. Copper was her only friend while she lived in this town. The man was always in the store, and took notice that Carmen came in almost every day around the same time. Sometimes, she would stay until the shop closed at 9. Mr. Copper would let her do her homework at the small but sturdy wooden table in the back, and let her read the books without actually buying them. Or sometimes they would spend the afternoons sharing memories, Carmen about her mother, and Mr. Copper about his deceased wife, Amelia. Carmen loved hearing about Amelia, and how Mr. Copper had courted her when they were young (Mr. Copper was in his sixties), and Carmen was glad for the opportunity to talk about her mother. Her father would never speak of her, and Carmen was afraid that if she didn't talk about her, she would start to forget things. She was very afraid of forgetting her mother.

As she turned the corner now, she was relieved to see that Stanley's shop was still standing, and still bore the name Stanley's. She was sure that Mr. Copper would not be there now; he had to be over seventy. Carmen hoped he was happily retired, maybe on a beach somewhere with a tropical drink in hand.

When she opened the door, the familiar smell hit Carmen like a tidal wave. It instantly dragged her back to her childhood. This was the smell of comfort, but it also caused her grief. She remembered feeling safe here, but with the knowledge that the feeling couldn't last constantly hovering over her.

She slowly walked around the small convenience store. It hadn't changed much, except she thought it was smaller than she remembered. But perhaps she had gotten bigger. Or maybe it was even her view of the world that had grown. She knew exactly where the over-the-counter medicine that Sam needed was located, but she took her time browsing the store, pausing at the array of books that she had devoured cover to cover as a child. It was possible that she was looking at the exact same copies she had once read.

She reached the medicines, grabbed the one that would calm Sam's stomach, and made her way to the register. It was vacant.

"Hello?" She called softly. There was a door behind the counter that she knew led to a storage room. It was slightly ajar.

The man that shuffled out of it was none other than Mr. Stanley Copper.

"Hello, my dear, how can I help you?" He asked cheerily. His hair had grown even greyer and he seemed frailer, but not altogether senile. He looked at her with polite curiosity at first, but as he took in her face, his look became increasingly searching.

"Hi. Just this please." Mr. Copper stared at her for just a moment longer than necessary, and Carmen knew he was trying to place her face. But she couldn't tell Mr. Copper about her life without revealing things that needed to stay buried. To avoid his gaze, she let her eyes wander around the store. They landed on a flyer, with a very familiar black and white photograph of a girl of eleven, with the word MISSING in large red font on the top.

The girl smiling up at her from the photograph was her own eleven year old self.

"Her name was Carmen," Mr. Copper said when he noticed her staring at the flyer. "She went missing about ten years ago." Carmen looked away from it quickly. She had never known that he had searched for her, or that anyone has searched for her, after she disappeared.

"Were you close?" Carmen asked breathlessly.

He scrutinized her, and then inclined his head. "She rarely bought anything, but she was my best customer." He handed her the medicine and she handed him some cash.

"Thank you." Carmen said, and headed towards the door. She had her hand on the handle before she heard Mr. Copper.

"Carmen?" He whispered with trepidation. She turned back to him, looking at his deeply lined and kind face. She smiled, and nodded her head.

"It was good to see you, Mr. Copper." And she left.

On her way back to the room, Carmen wondered how far Dean had gotten with the hunt. Did he visit the house? Was he doing research? Would he come back and confirm her suspicions about this hunt…? She reached for her phone and sent him a quick message.

You good?

She was still angry with him for pursuing this hunt when she had practically begged him not to, but, of course, she didn't want anything to happen to him. He answered quickly, and just as briefly.

Fine.

Fine then.

Despite the brevity of Dean's response, Carmen came into the motel room feeling slightly lighter than she had been before she had visited her old place of salvation. She had thought little of her convenience store companion over the last few years, but she was happy that she could give him some piece of mind over her disappearance. At least he would know that she wasn't dead. Carmen wasn't often touched, but seeing that Mr. Copper had still kept her photo close after all this time stirred that sort of emotion in her heart.

When she got back to the room, she was pleased to see that Sam was snoozing on the bed instead of in the bathroom purging, however there was still the sheen of sweat on his skin of one who is ill. She placed the medicine on the bedside table and busied herself with trivial things such as tidying up around the room and folding clothes in her suitcase. It faltered as a distraction technique. She couldn't force her mind away from Dean and what he may be uncovering.

Finally she gave up, and simply paced the room. She hated waiting, but she couldn't bring herself to go out and search for Dean. She glanced at Sam. He could never know about her past. She considered what would happen if the truth about her came out: she imagined Sam's face, and the disappointed and disgusted look she conjured was too much for her. She pushed it away. She considered that she might be forced to leave him and Dean. It was another thought that was just too painful.

"Carmen," Sam said softly. She turned to him, thinking he had awakened, but he had not. "Carmen." He sounded more distressed this time. He was having a nightmare.

"Sam, it's okay," she soothed as she knelt down next to the bed. He was moving around slightly. She put a shaky hand on his forehead and wiped the moisture away. "Wake up." She gently shook him.

He stopped moving, and Carmen looked down at him affectionately. But suddenly-
"Shit!" Carmen jumped back, frightened. Sam swung a gigantic fist toward her that barely cleared her head.

Sam sat up quickly, opened his eyes and took one deep breath. He looked around the room, bewildered. His eyes rested on Carmen.

"Oh, no. Carmen, I'm sorry, did I hurt you?"

"Nearly took my head off." She sighed and laughed in relief. "Nearly. You okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine. It was just a nightmare…" They locked eyes. The talking, the groaning, the distress…was it just a nightmare?

Carmen was unconvinced, but as she opened her mouth to inquire, the motel room door suddenly swung open, interrupting their conversation, and making them both snap their heads towards the door.

Dean stood staring at Carmen, and the look in his eyes was incomprehensible. For a moment he just stared.

In that moment, staring into Dean's eyes, Carmen knew her secrets had been uncovered and resigned herself to her fate. Without a word, she walked past Dean and out of the room. He followed.

She just looked at him, waiting for the wrath.

"Why didn't you tell me?" He asked.

"Tell you what, Dean?" She spat.

"Don't act like that, Carmen. Don't play dumb and get defensive. This is your hometown! This is where you lived before… Before we knew you."

Carmen bit her lip and remained silent – she wasn't going to give anything away.

"Come on, C, why can't you just be real with me? I know this must be hard for you, it would be for me, too, if we were back in Lawrence. But it's a hunt, and innocent people are getting hurt. You're going to have insight into this case that nobody else can give us. You know the area, you know the people, you know the house better than anyone-"

"What?" All the air was punched out of Carmen's lungs. "Why would I know the house…"

"Well, you lived there."

Her suspicions were confirmed. "It's my old house?" She breathed. She turned away from Dean for fear of him seeing the terror in her eyes.

"You didn't know?" He asked gently.

"NO!" She whipped around with tears glistening in her eyes. "How would I know, Dean, I told you I wasn't going to pursue this hunt!"

"I'm sorry Carmen. Losing your father…it must have been hard."

"Don't talk to me about my father," she spat venomously. "You didn't even know him, you just found out about him while doing all your fucking research."

Dean shook his head. "Actually, Dad told me some things."

Obviously not everything, Carmen thought, or you wouldn't be speaking about him like this.

"But there was an article that I found in the library database. It speculated the events of that night, but, of course, you are the only person who really knows what happened. You're the only one who can tell us what we're up against here. Because whatever took your father could be hurting people again now."

Carmen couldn't look Dean in the eye. He had absolutely no idea what he had gotten himself into.

"Anyway, the article mentioned your father, but it focused mainly on you and what happened to you after you disappeared. It seemed like everyone was pretty upset and worried about you."

"There was only one person who missed me." Carmen said under her breath.

"I can see that this is hurting you, Carmen. But if this were any other case, what would we be doing right now? Talking to the families involved. That's you, C."

She heaved a sigh. He wasn't going to let this go. She glanced back towards the door, towards Sam…

"Okay, Dean. I'll help you. I'll do the hunt, but on three conditions. First, we do this my way. You have to follow my lead on this, alright? You said it yourself; I'm going to have greater insight into this case than you, so you're going to have to trust me. Second, Sam will find out nothing. We're doing this completely without him."

"Why?" Dean interrupted.

"Because he doesn't need to know." She answered shortly. "Third, if I say bail, for whatever reason, no matter what, we bail. We're gone. You won't argue. I'll give you my word that I'll go as far I can with this, but if I say so, we call someone else and we never look back. Agreed?"

Dean scrutinized her, considering her proposal. "Agreed," he finally answered.

"Okay," she stared at him for a moment, soaking in the immensity of this job. "Okay. I want to know exactly what happened in that house since I left. Everything. And I'm especially curious about this last family."

"Why, Carmen? That's all unnecessary! You already know what's in that house, you already escaped it."

"There's no guarantee that it's the same thing, Dean." She knew it wasn't the same thing, but she didn't want to give Dean that knowledge. "I think I know, but I want all the information we can get. I can't do this one half cocked."

That night, they broke into the police station to get the records of the house. Carmen found the evidence from the last murder: a man of thirty-six lived in the house with his daughter, eleven, for almost two years. Interviews from friends and neighbors revealed nothing offbeat. Apparently, after the father divorced the mother, the father was granted custody and moved himself and his daughter to Medford to start new lives. The father was part of the PTA and coached his daughter's soccer team. It would seem that they were very close.

"Justin Walker is his name," Carmen told Dean. "He's awaiting trial in the county jail."

"We should talk to him," Dean suggested. "Get his side of the story. If it was a possession, the cops would have just thought he was crazy."

"Maybe he is."

"Doubt it." Dean walked away to continue whatever research he was conducting, but Carmen was lost in thought. A father and a daughter, living alone in that house, starting new lives… It sounded all too familiar. Although, Carmen's father had never been a PTA parent. Her father had died in that house, and saying that his death was violent was an understatement. Carmen didn't want to believe that this was the angry spirit of her father, but all evidence so far pointed to just such a case.

"C! Come here." Dean called from behind a bookcase. "I found the records of the house. Since you lived there, four families have been in and out, including the Walkers. Don't you think that's a lot of buying and selling? Why would the house trade hands so many times?"

"Maybe it's haunted." Carmen joked dryly.

"You okay?" Dean looked over at her from the driver's side. Carmen's eyes were fixed on the house, the setting of every single one of her nightmares. She unconsciously caressed the scar under her eye. Once they were finished with the police records, Dean convinced Carmen that it was necessary to examine the house.

"Not even a little," her voice shook as she spoke, but she forced herself to get out of the safety of the Impala and into the cool night.

The house could have been beautiful, or it could have been terrifying, depending on the eye looking upon it. The driveway leading up to it was long and winding, surrounded by trees that curled overhead. The house contained two stories and a dark cedar porch that wrapped all the way around the base. It was deserted now; the windows were dark eyes that glared down at her, warning her that she shouldn't be anywhere near this place. She could feel the shadows and skeletons that resided here, in her own private hell.

"I'm going around back," Dean whispered. Carmen wanted to protest, she wanted him to stay by her side, but didn't want Dean to think her scared. As far as he knew, she was perfectly comfortable here in her childhood. As far as he knew, this was home.

It was the farthest she had from a home.

Every instinct was telling her to turn back, screaming at her to grab Dean and run. But of course she would feel that way, considering all that happened here. She needed to remember that her memories were only memories, that this was just a hunt. She could handle it.

With an effort, she controlled her rapid breathing and forced her feet to take her to the porch, to the heavy front door, and inside her worst nightmare.

The front room was dark, but the moonlight filtered in through the naked windows. To anyone other than her, it would have been a cozy room to step into. Plush couches surrounded a round coffee table made of dark wood. A small but modern flat screen television hung on the wall facing her, and there was an ornate stove fireplace against the far wall. Although the furnished room was new to her, the skeleton of the house was all too familiar. She remembered how she would sit with her books in the corner of this room where there now sat a large flower pot. The wall that separated this room from the next was thick and behind it was a small hallway. That hallway always made her feel trapped, claustrophobic, like the walls would close in on her at any second. When she was hungry, and she needed to brave that hallway to get to the kitchen beyond, she would always take it at a run.

There seemed to be nothing threatening in the cozy front room. She took a timid step forward and let the front door close her in. It was silent, so silent that she was afraid she had gone deaf. She felt as if the mere sound of her footsteps might shatter the windows. With her heart pounding rapidly, she searched the room, unsure of what she was looking for. She felt the soft plush couches, opened the stove fireplace, and examined the large flowerpot in the corner. A few times she glanced over her shoulder, feeling a prickling on the back of her neck, as if someone was watching her.

She found nothing extraordinary here. Although she still felt timid, there seemed to be no immediate threats. She walked stealthily towards the hallway leading to the kitchen. Carmen knew she should head up the stairs to her right, to scope out the room where Mr. Walker had shot his daughter, but she was avoiding it. She felt slightly safer down here.

She turned the corner to the hallway and came nose to nose with the overwhelming dark form of her father.

Her heart dropped into her stomach.

His eyes were wide and menacing, his teeth bared and bloody. His brute shoulders blocked the entire hallway, making it impossible to pass. A feral growl emanated from his throat. There was a bullet wound through his chest, blood oozing from it and drenching the floor.

"Carmen!" He snarled and charged toward her.

She couldn't breathe, she couldn't think, she could barely see! Fear blinded her. Her only reaction was to flee. She tore through the front room and ripped the door from her path, knowing that the monster was on her heels.

Once she had escaped the house, she ran, without knowing where she was running to. She was just running away. Her face was chilled both from the crisp October night and the tears that dampened her cheeks. The tears and her untied hair flying wildly around her face blinded her. She practically fell backwards when she collided with something solid.

"Carmen! Carmen, what's wrong? It's okay, you're okay." Dean's arms were protectively around her, and his eyes raked the empty yard around them. Although his assertive voice spoke comforting words, she felt no relief from the panic infecting her. She gripped his shoulders tightly as she tried to blink the tears away from her eyes.

"Get me out of here!" She sobbed into his chest.

"Carmen, look at me, clam down."

"No Dean! Get me out of here! Take me away NOW, please, I can't be here, I can't!" She was so close to loosing control and breaking down, but she couldn't until Dean understood her. She couldn't be calm here! She had to leave. Her mind couldn't process anything except distancing herself.

He looked at her and saw desperation in her eyes that he had never before seen. That look sent fear down into his very bones. It was more than a request, more than a plea. It was life or death.

He grabbed her by the arm and took her to where the Impala sat waiting, all the while looking over his shoulder for the thing that had caused such a reaction in Carmen. He never saw it.

Dean put Carmen into the passenger's seat of the car, and by the time he had gotten around to his side, she had slipped onto the floor between the seat and the dashboard, in the tiny little space there. She hugged her knees to her chest and buried her head in her arms. Dean could see her shoulders shake while she sobbed. He suddenly flashed back to the night Sam had left. It was the only other time he'd seen her loose control like this, and even then it wasn't as extreme as now. He peeled out of the driveway, into the street and drove, putting as much distance as he could between the house and Carmen. He drove past the motel, past the town, and parked by a small, secluded dock overlooking a lake.

Cutting the engine, Dean looked down at Carmen's head. It looked as if she was frozen; her shoulders no longer shook with her silent sobs. He was lost for words. She was still, and he was still with her.

Finally she took a deep breath, and it was as if the world had stopped, and only started turning again as she sighed. She lifted her head and, without a word, slowly got out of the Impala. Dean copied her, and went around to the passenger's side to find her sitting with her back leaning on the car. He sat down next to her, his shoulder resting against hers, and offered her a comforting hand. They silently gazed out into the lake.

"Was it him?" Dean asked cautiously. "Was it your father?"

Carmen nodded minutely. "Don't tell Sam," she whispered.

"Not if you don't want me to," Dean obliged, scrutinizing her. Why didn't she want Sam to know?

"I don't think I can do this, Dean," she whispered. "I tried, but…"

"Seeing him again must have been so hard, C."

"No, Dean! It was more than hard! It wasn't painful; it was terrifying. It was petrifying. It was more than I could handle."

"I don't understand…"

"You think you know what happened all those years ago, Dean. You think my father and I had a great life, a strong relationship, and it was a tragedy for me when he was killed. But you're wrong. My whole life was a tragedy. And I was the one who killed him!"

"What?"

"I killed my father."