Thanks to all who've been reading along, and special thanks to msnancydrew for being my most wonderful beta. This chapter has a few more details on Craven, who is just turning into the coolest character.

Laura

Sam managed to get a shower, and grab a few hours sleep without any further conversation on the matter of inquiring troll minds. When he slipped silently out of bed, settled with his laptop at the kitchen table Dean did little more than roll over and grumble something unintelligible in his sleep. Smiling, turning his attention back to his task, Sam completed entering the details of their hunt into his journal. Unlike his father and brother, Sam's journal wasn't handwritten; it was kept in files on his computer. Craven expected him around noon. He'd finished, thanks to Dean's nagging, the work he needed to complete what he'd started so long ago at Stanford. Sam was honestly surprised by all Craven outlined he, really he and Dean, would be learning. There was much more than either brother knew about. Sam was only just beginning to see the things they hunted were but a small slice of the supernatural world.

They'd still be in Ithaca for a few more weeks. Sam would continue his work online once they were on the road again. But for now it was old fashioned books as well as his computer. The small kitchen table was littered with the books, and Sam's notes, their father's journal, and Dean's. The texts had pretty much taken up residence there, Sam and Dean either ate out or in the small sitting area near the TV. So, not giving much thought to leaving his work littering the table, or that it would bother Dean, Sam left a note on top of the computer in case his brother woke before his return.

He could have taken the car, but when he stepped outside the brightly shining sun and crisp, late autumn air cinched his decision to walk. He liked to walk, it helped clear his head, helped him relax. It would be snowing in another couple of weeks, Sam figured he and Dean might head south around that time. They'd both be more than ready to be moving again.

The ten minute walk to Craven's house gave him a chance to turn thoughts over in his head, concentrate more on what the troll revealed or more to the point wanted to force Sam into revealing. Not sure he'd tell Craven about those details, Sam decided he'd avoid it if he could, which was probably unlikely.

Along with the assigned work, Sam carried the list his father gave him. Lied to Sam to coerce him into gathering the supplies. He'd gotten a brief explanation from Bobby, but Sam was hoping to get more from Craven. At some point, not too long after his father died Sam asked Bobby to keep quiet about the list, as far as Sam knew, Bobby had done just that, probably reasoning as Sam did, bringing it up wouldn't change anything. Would make Dean feel worse. Bobby had almost certainly forgotten about it by now.

That damn list.

It was the only thing Sam could think of the troll might have referred to. Might be the only true secret he had from Dean. The list, its implications and accusations he'd worked so hard to forget about. Planning to get the information he needed about the individual supplies on the list, and burn it as soon as his questions were answered. Dean would be irritable for a month or three if he didn't get an answer from Sam, but Sam could deal with that. If Sam kept denying there was anything to know, Dean would eventually give it up. Telling Dean what he thought the troll meant, that would do far more than anger his brother, it would hurt him in a way Sam never wanted to see. Sam understood he, beyond anyone or anything else, had the most power to honestly hurt Dean, cut right through him like no knife ever could, even in a way their father never could. He vowed to himself, he'd never be responsible for causing that sort of hurt to Dean. Sam worked to care for his brother, protect him as much as Dean did Sam. His methods were just different. Dean irritable was far better than Dean wounded to the core by something Sam may or may not have known or something he might have done differently. Other than feeling guilty for a short time immediately after John's death that Dean had lost his father, Sam never regretted or even gave much thought to it. He was able to forget it.

If that made Sam selfish, because he was quite sure that's what Dean would say, well so be it. He still knew, deep down, he'd made the right choice. He reasoned away any guilt telling himself his secret about their father only concerned Sam's own feelings. Not anything with ramifications now, beyond what it would do to his brother. Not anything which could change what transpired that day, at least he didn't think any of it could have been changed. Sam buried it once so deeply he'd forgotten it. He could do it again and was wholly determined to do so.

He stopped at the front door, reaching, as always, for the bell. The door swung open. It made him shiver, the way the door consistently did that. Other days he dragged Dean, generally grumbling, along with him. Dean never really asked why Sam insisted he go along, Sam never offered an explanation. He figured he didn't have to, Sam knew it was probably clear to his brother anyway. Craven gave him the creeps in a deep down way, did Dean too. Sam just didn't like being there by himself. Dean seemed to honestly take an interest in what Craven taught, and why wouldn't he? Sam reasoned it involved what he did as much, well more than it did Sam. Some days Sam used Dean's drive to protect him unabashedly. It was his own personal safety net, he wasn't too embarrassed to admit to himself at least how much he'd come to depend on it.

Wandering to the middle of the large foyer Sam waited politely, but less than patiently. The guy always popped up, seemingly from no where. No matter how closely Sam watched the doors or stairs. He and Dean made a game out of it, trying to see exactly where Craven came from, but they never did.

"How did it go?"

Sam spun around, Craven stood behind him, smiling pleasantly.

"Uh, good. Well Dean got his foot bruised, but otherwise good. The troll is now a pretty cool tourist attraction on the bridge."

Craven's eyebrows shot up. He looked genuinely surprised. "You mean to say you….what's the term…offed him?"

Smiling, Sam nodded, "A crude way to say it, but yes, we got him. He's a chunk of granite, an ugly chunk of granite." Looking down at the books in his hands, he admitted, "Dean actually did it, figured out how to use the sigils to trap it."

"Dean?" Craven headed to the library doors, stepping aside to allow Sam entry. He stopped in the middle of the room, repeating, "Dean," Nodding, "Is very good at what he does, is very special."

"I don't need you, or anyone, to tell me that. I know more than anyone." Not everyone in the world had a Dean in their lives, Sam felt blessed beyond words he'd been given the gift of his brother.

"Yes, I suppose you do." Craven sat at his desk. "Do you, Sam, have any idea how old that troll was? How many before you and your brother managed to not only not defeat the troll, but ended up defeated, destroyed by it?"

"The bridge was built in 1956, I figured…"

"You figured wrong. You took only the information I gave you, maybe added some more to it, but didn't really dig back as far as you should have. Correct?"

Sam nodded sullenly.

"Yes, that particular bridge was built in 1956. Prior to that there was another bridge, a smaller one, with a stone foundation. Do you know where those stones came from? How old they were?"

Another shake of Sam's head.

"I suppose you also didn't know trolls, at least that type of troll, they're not exactly spawned by demons, but they are connected to them. Maybe pet would be a proper way to explain it."

Sam went completely still, eyes fixed on Craven. He swallowed convulsively. "No." He finally rasped out.

"Maybe you should have found out that too, before going after the thing?"

"Didn't Concha…she, you taught her too?"

"Have Concha hunt anything? Please. She wouldn't have lasted three minutes with that troll, I know it, and she does too. Concha is no hunter, not by a long shot. She's never even pretended to be. Concha, the dear girl, sets traps, gathers information, aides and abets the real hunter, in her case Dante."

"But he wasn't here with her?"

"Not much, no. She lived here full time. Her brother came through every few weeks, sometimes it was months. Interesting man, Dante. But neither of us is here to discuss Dante and Concha West and what they may or may not know or do." He leaned back, folding his hands over his lap. "I've found jumping right in and asking makes the whole process so much easier. What is your question you're so anxious about asking Sam?"

Sam silently held out the paper John Winchester had scrawled a list on, purposely ignoring the fact Craven honed in so easily on what Sam really wanted. Craven looked at it, picked it up, studying it more closely. He frowned. With a disgusted noise he let the paper drop to the desk. Sam retrieved it, folded it and slid it inside one of his books.

"Why do you want to know about these things?"

He couldn't place it, but Sam had the feeling Craven already knew, was only asking questions to hear Sam explain. "My, uh…Dad, he..uh…he had me get these for him, not too long before he died."

"Did he tell you what they were for?"

"He told me they were for protection. Dean… was…." Sam couldn't help his voice cracking from the memory; it still hurt so very much. "Dean was in a coma, he was dying, mostly dead. My dad told me those things were to protect him, all of us I suppose, from a demon."

"But?"

Sam looked at Craven, then down at some point on the desk. He drew a deep breath. "But, he lied to me. Lied about the whole thing." Somehow saying out loud what he'd held in for all this time wasn't as bad as he thought it might be. He could let go of it, something was lifted off his shoulders as surely as he'd felt a weight physically removed. However, Dean would not be so forgiving or impassionate as Craven. Maybe if he just told Craven he could deal with it, let it lie still, and avoid telling Dean.

"Why did you get them, those supplies when you found out the truth?"

A small shrug of his shoulders. "I guess because he told me to, ordered me to. I don't really know. I guess maybe I wanted to believe it was to help Dean somehow. I mean, I guess it did, help him, Dean's still alive. My father died a few hours after I gave him those things and a special gun he sent me to get too. There was a reaper there for Dean. But he, Dean, came out of the coma, was ok."

"And you think your father and this demon had something to do with that?"

Sam nodded. "I don't know for sure, but it looks that way."

"Yes it does." Craven agreed. "Let me ask you, what could you have done? Or would your father have done whatever he planned anyway?"

"I don't honestly know. What I do know, what's never changed is Dean was dying and there isn't anything I wouldn't have done or given to stop it, to have him back. Maybe I should have at least tried. But at that point, I didn't care what he did. I only cared what happened to Dean. So I guess I never gave it much thought."

"Could you have stopped him? Made him do something else? You're not responsible for what someone else chooses to do."

Another shrug. "I never even tried. I could feel Dean around me, like his spirit or something was there. I wanted to try and communicate with him. That's how I found out about the reaper." Sam studied, in great detail, his hands for a minute or so before looking up at Craven. "Are you going to tell him?"

"Dean?"

A hesitant nod was all Sam could manage at this point.

Craven's head moved side to side, slowly, thoughtfully. "No, of course not. It's none of my business anyway, that's between you two. But if you're asking my opinion, then I'd have to say I don't think you should tell him either. Nothing will change, you don't even know for sure what happened."

Sam gave him a small, quick smile. He didn't feel much better, he was pretty sure he knew what happened. Was pretty sure he was at least partially responsible for it.

On his way home he stopped, grabbed a few groceries. Noticing the Jeep parked outside his building Sam realized he'd gotten a reprieve. Concha, bless her heart had come to visit. Maybe that would distract Dean long enough for him to forget the whole troll question thing. Yeah, and maybe he'd win the lottery, and discover the cure for the common cold too.

The wind blew up just then, whispering to him, reminding him…..Sammy's got a secret!

Taking the stairs three at a time Sam muttered a harsh, "Shut up!"

Dean's hand connected with the nightstand, fumbling for his cell phone. It rang again. Flipping it open without looking at the caller ID he grumbled, "Hello…Sam?"

"Nope!"

God, she was just too freaking cheery in the mornings. Shaking his head, pushing up to sit against the head board he ran his free hand through his hair. "I've been calling you."

"Yeah, I know. I finally didn't get your voice mail, I called you back. How are you? What's new? How's Sam? How's it going? You both happy?"

Dean resisted the urge to hang up and throw the phone out the window. "Hang on a minute, I just got up, you caught me on the way to…"

"Oh, sorry. Rough night?"

"Something like that. Troll hunting."

"Oohh the troll. Get him?"

"Yeah, of course I did. Concha I really got to go."

"I'll hold on."

Back a minute later, Dean put the phone to his ear, picked up the note, tossed it in the garbage after reading it. He started coffee. "Ok, much better. You and I have to talk."

"So you said. What's wrong? Did something happen to one of you?"

"We're fine."

"Since I kept getting your voice mail I decided to come see you. I'm just getting off the highway."

"Good. See you in fifteen then. I'm making coffee." Irritated with her still he snapped the phone shut before she could say another word. He was glad she'd arrived while Sam was out, he could say what he needed to say to her without his brother trying to smooth things over.

Fifteen minutes later, right on time, there was a knock on the door. When Dean opened it, Concha was smiling at him, taking the mug of coffee from his hand as she walked into the small apartment.

"Hey, this is where I lived too." She turned, facing him.

Dean stood, wearing a perturbed face, arms folded over his chest, un-bruised foot tapping the floor in irritation.

"What?" Concha spread her arms wide, careful not to spill the coffee. "Got any sugar? Cream?"

"I like mine black." Dean took the mug, sipped from it and nodded at the counter. "Milk's in the fridge, and there's sugar in that container next to the coffee maker."

"So, what's up?"

"You told him about Sam." Dean had to struggle not to slap her, he wanted to. "You realize if you were a man I'd have beaten the crap out of you by now?"

"What?"

The fact Concha didn't back away, flinch or even seem to take his threat seriously didn't get by Dean. Other than Sam she seemed to be the one person he couldn't con.

"You told Craven about Sam's visions, about him."

Concha shrugged. "I didn't realize it was a secret. All I said, in these exact words were…Sam has visions. That's it. I didn't give him any details, I figured Sam would tell him as much as he wanted him to know. I had to give him some explanation for The Elements theory, which seems to be correct. He knew about it, what they are, he would have figured it out eventually. He's not going to tell anybody, why would he? And what's the difference?"

"The difference is there are people, hunters, who would like to see Sam dead because of those same visions. They think he's something evil or some such shit."

"Evil?" Concha sputtered. "We're talking about the same Sam here, right? Your brother?" Holding one hand above her head, "Tall guy, cute smile, dimples?"

"Yes." Dean said through gritted teeth.

"Sam?! Oh come on. Evil? Like what? He's going to stop flossing? Bad hygiene, but hardly worth hunting someone over."

Dean blinked, then burst out laughing so hard he had to set the mug of coffee down or spill it all over himself. Concha, it seemed, saw the same Sam he did. For reasons he decided not to question that calmed him. "The visions, being demon related and all."

"Ooohhhh. That. So he sees people die, again not really reason to hunt someone. I realize you probably don't know, or want to know many other hunters, but some aren't so stable, upstairs, eight or ten crayons short of a full box, and missing most the colors. Craven knows too, he does. He is completely trustworthy, and I swear to you he's the only one I told, and only because I had to for all this…" She waved one hand at Sam's books. Pulling a kitchen chair out, and sitting, she looked up at him. "This is really important Dean. What Craven can offer not only Sam, but you too. Dean there's a whole lot more out there than poltergeists and demons, the occasional werewolf and vengeful spirit. The troll is a good example." Resting her chin against her knuckles, "You really got him huh?"

Dean nodded.

"Wow, no one's ever done that before."

He smiled. "As I told Sam, I'm just that damn good."

Concha groaned, holding out her mug. "You make good coffee. Think you could hunt me down some more? Being you're that damn good and all?"

Rolling his eyes, he poured her another mug full of coffee. "Conch," he sat opposite her, "I'm serious about this. You saw what happened in White Water, that wasn't the first time. These freaks think Sam is some kind of freak, or worse, some monster, something dangerous, and honestly I'm really starting to worry I won't be able to keep him safe."

"I wouldn't tell anyone, even if they asked. I only told Craven because I had to, that's it. If I heard anything, if someone contacted me for research or details, I'd tell you. I would. I'm quite sure you'll do just fine. So please don't beat me up." She smiled brightly. "Besides if anything happened to Sam, I'd be stuck with you and Dante, and one of you is far more than enough for any mere mortal such as I."

"Ok." He sighed, nodded and rubbed the back of his neck. "Ok. Can you hang around for a bit, Sam should be back soon. We can go get something to eat."

"Sure. I want to go visit Craven anyway." Her arm had been lying across one of Sam's books. She glanced at it, picked it up, looking more closely. "He, Craven has Sam doing this?"

Dean shrugged, "I don't know, I haven't been paying too much attention to all the books he brings here. What can you tell me about this troll?"

"Dean, forget the troll. Has Sam done any of this?"

"Done it? He's studied it. I help him when he asks."

"No!" Her voice rose, making Dean shiver. "I mean tried any of it?"

"Why would he…"

"I have to talk to Craven. When will Sam be back?"

"He should be here soon." Dean waved at the cluttered table, "Concha, what is the problem?

"Dean, do you know what this is? For you or me, wouldn't be much of a problem, but Sam's been possessed."

Flipping the book around for a better view, Dean recognized some of the symbols, but couldn't place exactly from where. "What is this? Concha, what is it?"

"It's black magic, very ancient black magic. Craven wouldn't know, I should have told him that too."

Holding up one hand, "No! You told him enough. And Sam's got more sense than to…." Dean started when the door opened, not even grasping the relief he felt for no particular reason when Sam wandered in.

"Hi." Setting bags on the counter Sam looked from one to the other. "When did you get here?" Then to Dean, "I got most of our list I think."

"Just a bit ago. I need to talk to Craven, we need to."

Sam's eyes fell on the book she had her hand on. He laughed. "You two weren't sitting here thinking I'd actually do anything more than read about this, were you?"

Dean sipped his coffee, eyeing Concha. She'd started it after all, she could talk their way out of it.

"Come on, Dean. You should know I wouldn't." Sam's wounded tone gave Dean a pang of guilt.

"Of course I did Sammy." Even to Dean's ears he didn't sound so convincing. Sam gave him a dirty look, obviously not buying it. Holding out a fresh mug, "Uh, coffee?"

Depositing the books he carried on top of the ones already on the table Sam shook his head.

"I still want to talk to him." Reaching over, Concha snagged Sam's shirt sleeve, giving it a tug. "Come on." She looked from one brother to the other. "Please?"

Dean was about to agree, thinking Craven must creep Concha out as much as he did Dean, Sam too. Sam's response, however, surprised him a bit. It was very much not like his brother to turn down a request for help.

"Why don't you just go by yourself? You don't want us along."

Studying Sam, Dean noticed for the first time he looked off, not upset exactly, but not his usual self. Something was up with him, Dean was sure. Something he couldn't talk about with Concha there. About to agree with his kid brother, Dean stopped, mouth open when Concha spoke up again.

"I can't call him." Concha said as if Dean was supposed to know what that meant.

"Your phone dead? You can use mine." Sam offered immediately.

"Phone? I don't need a….ohhh. You don't know?" She looked from one to the other.

"Know what?" Dean asked. No way she was skipping out now.

"He didn't tell you?"

"Tell us what? Does everyone in this town talk in riddles?" Dean complained.

Before either of them could ask, or say another thing, Concha was out the door and down the steps.

"What the hell?" Glancing at Sam, who looked as perplexed as Dean felt. Sam shrugged. Dean growled. "Come on."

Sam followed him willingly out the door. They had to run to catch up to Concha. She grumbled something unintelligible under her breath the whole way.

Dean bit back a laugh when she got to the front door, and didn't even slow down, just walked straight at it, apparently trusting it would open. It did. Stopping in the middle of the foyer, Concha turned to Sam, irritated. "Call him."

Looking over at Dean, Sam was obviously confused. Dean lifted one shoulder, let it drop and held the palm of that hand up then let it drop to his side.

"Crav—Craven?" Sam's voice was small, he sounded embarrassed.

"You really don't know? How do you let him know you're here?"

"I…we…just wait, and he always seems to know. I can't figure out how."

Dean would have laughed at the look on Concha's face had he not been confused and growing more wary by the second. This wasn't sounding right. In fact it was starting to sound completely off. Something nudged at the back of his head, almost tickled his back like an itch he couldn't reach. Instantly he was on alert, as if he was hunting.

Stalking to the middle of the room, Concha shouted, "Craven! Get your ass out here now. Maybe he…" she pointed back at Sam, "Can't use black magic, but nothing is stopping me, and so help me I'll send you so far back…" She was pacing now, waving one finger in the air.

"Please, do you have to shout? I'm happy to see you too Concha." Craven was behind her. Dean caught the fact neither he nor Sam had seen the man enter the room, again.

She spun to face him. "You didn't tell him…them." It wasn't a question. "How could you not tell them?"

Craven sighed deeply.

"Why do you do that?" Concha yelled at him. Dean put one finger against an ear, she was getting screechy. He silently thanked whoever his sibling really wasn't a girl. Girls were unpleasant when they yelled.

"Do what?" Craven asked, oblivious to her upset.

"Breathe. Sigh. How could you not tell them? That's part of the deal, telling them?"

"What deal?" The brothers asked together.

Craven picked at his jacket sleeve, nodded briefly at Dean. "He scares me."

Concha spun to face Dean. "He…? Dean? He's not scary. What could he possibly do to you?" Now she was waving both hands at him. Dean was very happy Sam was a him.

"Me?! What did I do? I haven't done anything."

"He's the hunter." Craven said, somehow Dean had the idea that was supposed to make buckets of sense to her, all of them.

"Dante is a hunter, you weren't bothered by him."

"A hunter. He's the hunter." Craven shrugged, looking innocent. "And they didn't ask."

"Didn't…how could they….why would they?!" Her words sputtered out.

Before either Dean or Sam could stop her, and in the midst of their shouts of, "What are you doing," and, "Don't do that you'll hurt him…" Concha took a step away from Craven, spun around lightening quick and swung her leg in what Dean could see was going to be one helluva kick. It would seriously hurt the guy, Dean was frozen by her sudden violence. Before he could move her foot connected with Craven's middle and….skimmed right through. What the hell? The look on Sam's face was as astounded as Dean's he was sure.

Craven gave Concha an irritated look, shimmered and flickered, then became translucent for a few seconds. Before Dean could really wrap his mind around that, Craven evaporated. He coalesced behind Concha, returning to what he normally looked like.

Concha crossed her arms over her middle, smirked at Craven. "I'm quite certain they'll ask now."