Many thanks to my awesome Beta, Supernaturalsam!

"You're a…" Sam stopped mid-sentence, mouth open, looking at Dean.

"Ghost?" Dean finished.

"I prefer the term ethereal entity. I am not a mere ghost." He looked definitely insulted.

Eyes narrowing, Concha focused on Craven. "Black magic, ancient black magic?"

"My dear girl, there is a vast difference between learning about something and learning to practice it." He paced around her. "I have done this once or twice before. I know what I'm doing." He sounded irked, maybe even angry with her Dean thought.

"How many times, done this, how many times?" Sam's voice was a little unsteady.

Craven looked from one to the other, rubbing one hand over his chin, "Let me see, I have to think about that. Dozens at least."

Sam looked over at Dean, his face a mixture of surprise and fascination and maybe a little bit of fear. Dean had to forcibly keep himself from grabbing his kid brother and shoving him, bodily, out the door. Maybe he'd take Concha too. Then again she seemed more intent on arguing with the man…ghost…whatever. "What, exactly, are you?" He settled for stalking to the center of the room, stopping when he was between Sam and Craven.

"You can't teach him black magic!" Concha yelled at Craven.

"Will you forget that?" Dean's voice rose despite his best efforts to remain calm. "What the hell is this guy?"

"I'm not learning it, I was reading about it. He's right, there is s a difference." Sam shoved against Dean's shoulder. "You should know me better than that."

Concha turned to face Dean, "A ghost, spirit, entity, whatever. It's not like you haven't seen one before, get over it."

"He's got bones somewhere." Dean pointed at Craven, but looked at Sam.

Frowning, Sam shook his head the slightest. "I don't think we need to do that."

"No, actually I don't."

"Oh, will you both stop?" Concha snapped. "Craven had you just told them to begin with it wouldn't be an issue."

"Yes, it might have." Sam said.

Dean smirked, crossing both arms over his chest. Atta boy.

"And you two, that's very much not having an open mind. Why does it matter?" Concha glared at them both. "Don't be bigots."

"Because he's a…." Dean sighed, pinched the bridge of his nose between thumb and forefinger. "I still haven't gotten an explanation as to just what he is."

"I'm in the room."

"Who better to learn from?" Concha's voice dropped, softened. "He's never hurt anyone, is hardly angry, and not vengeful. Have you even seen a light flicker?" She turned to Craven. "Go away."

"Pardon me?" Craven straightened, huffed a noise and crossed his arms over his middle.

"Away." Concha made a shooing motion with her hands. "Go wherever it is you go when you're not here. Away. Go away. Had you not wimped out and told them right from the start this wouldn't have happened. Now I get to explain. So go away."

Holding both hands up in mock defense Craven nodded his head. He looked at Dean, "I'll answer all your questions, and Sam's a little later." He turned to Concha. "If you need me you know how to get me."

In the blink of an eye, Craven was gone. No smoke, no whoosh, no sign what so ever he was there at all. The temperature in the room never changed, and there were no flickering lights, no odor of sulfur. Feet still rooted in the same spot of the floor, Dean twisted his torso around, first one way, then the other. It was just Sam, Concha and him now.

"And no listening!" Concha shouted at the ceiling. She looked from Dean to Sam. "I'm sorry. He was supposed to tell you right away, when you first got here. I had no clue he wouldn't. He's a nice man…"

"Ghost." Sam cut her off. Dean wasn't sure what Sam was, pissed or something else. He had a feeling it was something else.

Sighing Concha looked at him for a few seconds before continuing. "He was a man, at one time. I have no idea how long ago that was. He's got feelings, and he's smart and he knows—" throwing both hands in the air, dropping them to her sides, voice softening, "—Everything about things you hunt. He knows about things supernatural that don't need to be hunted, that are harmless, or not evil. He's not evil. I'm not sure exactly what sort of spirit he is, but I do know he's not a bad one. Most importantly he's my friend, and I trust him. I would never have arranged for you, either of you, to meet him if I didn't."

"Concha, this is insane." Dean started to pace.

"No, it's really not. Dean," She followed him. "There's more out there than what you hunt. Those things are a little slice of the big picture, Craven can and will show you the whole damn pie. It's important to have the big picture, resources." She stopped, focused on Sam. "You don't have to do this, no one is forcing you and you're certainly not being held captive here. If you want to quit, leave. No hard feelings."

Dean stopped pacing, looked at Sam. He'd only wanted to give his brother back something taken from him, a chance for Sam to finish his education. It was important to Sam, for reasons Dean would probably never understand. Not understanding in no way preempted its importance to Dean as well. This was unusual, to say the least, but Concha made valid points. Craven had done nothing, other than be friendly, nice to them. Most importantly he'd offered Sam something real and tangible he'd very much wanted. Something useful to their lives. Something that made Sam happy. Craven scored big points from Dean for offering those to Sam.

Sam's eyes met his. The kid was a bundle of uncertainty. Dean knew exactly why, which pretty much cinched his decision. It was plain to Dean at least, Sam was completely torn. He wanted to learn, to do this, complete this work, no matter how long it took. Dean suspected Sam wasn't so concerned as he'd said over Craven being a spirit…entity…whatever, not after a few minutes to think it over. It wasn't fair that no matter what Sam did, things seemed to backfire on him. Not this time Dean vowed silently. Not this time. If Sam wanted to continue, then he would. Dean could live with the fact Sam's teacher, their teacher, was a ghost…spirit…entity….whatever, as long as Craven was on Sam's side Dean would be on Craven's.

Dean knew immediately Sam's indecision, conflict wasn't due to Craven, or what he was. It was due to Dean and what he was. His brother, Dean knew, would never ask him to stay now. If Dean didn't like this, wanted out, wanted to leave, Sam would willingly go. He might very well prevent Dean from doing any damage to Craven, or trying to banish him, destroy him, but Sam would never ask Dean to essentially live with him, be in regular contact with him. Sam would never put himself in a situation, a place that would purposely send Dean into a tailspin. Which is exactly what would happen if Sam struck out on his own, refused to leave Ithaca. They both knew it. Dean also knew, without any doubt or hesitation, Sam wouldn't do that, wouldn't abandon him, not now. Those days were gone.

It had nothing to do with how Dean looked out for his brother, cared for him. Sam was perfectly capable of caring for himself. It went far deeper. Dean was more important to Sam than anyone, and Dean knew he'd always been so. Sam simply wouldn't hurt him in such a way, purely didn't want to be separated from his brother, he never really had. It'd taken Dean a long time to understand that. Sam's time at Stanford had been without Dean not because Sam wanted it that way, but because at the time Sam hadn't been able to separate Dean from John. He'd assumed, wrongly as Dean had since been able to convince his brother, Dean felt the same as John had when Sam left for school. Not being able to live with their father had for Sam meant living without his brother. A situation and belief Dean corrected. Sam, Dean learned, never wanted to be without his brother, any more than Dean wanted to be without Sam.

As much as Dean loved his father, the man was some days a total stranger to him. Something he'd never felt about his brother. The responsibility he felt for and toward his brother he'd never felt where his father was concerned. Somehow Dean managed to grow up in two families, his dad and him, and him and Sam. Sam had always been his, never John's. For Dean it was almost as if the whole time they were growing up he'd been wedged between his parent, and the brother he'd been parent to, the brother who was as much his child as if he'd fathered him.

If Sam wanted to stay, do this, Dean wasn't going to stop him. Hell, Dean would help him. They were in this together, they always had been, always would be.

When their eyes locked and Dean tipped his head just a fraction, Sam didn't have to ask, or wait for Dean to say anything, he knew. Dean would go along with whatever Sam wanted this time. He'd told Sam he'd work it out so Sam could go to school, he'd meant it, and wouldn't back out no matter what.

"We'll stay, for a bit anyway, see what all this about." Sam said softly, again looking at Dean, who nodded, in full agreement.

"I still haven't had breakfast yet." Dean griped.

Concha grinned, "First let me show you both how to call Craven."

Not knowing how long Concha, along with the brothers would stay in the house. Craven knew he'd have to act fast. He'd been waiting for a chance to find something, something he'd need to have his talk with John Winchester. Generally he made it a hard and firm rule to never leave the house, never invade someone else's space. But this time was different, it was important. Dean and Sam had done exactly as Craven would have predicted, they'd salted and burnt their father's corpse. Craven wouldn't be able to conjure John's spirit in the normal way, he'd have to use more powerful methods. The biggest obstacle was getting in there when Dean wasn't. Feeling confident he could navigate the apartment even if Sam where there without being seen, sensed or felt maybe, but not seen. He wasn't so confident about doing so if Dean were there. Dean's natural hunting instincts combined with his tendency to be immediately on alert should he feel Sam threatened in any way made it a risk Craven would not take. He was quite sure Dean would not only know his presence, might actually see him on his mission, and might mistake his actions for aggression.

This might very well be his only chance.

He needed something of John Winchester's, some personal, valued possession and a list of demon summoning supplies given to his younger son wasn't going to be enough. Though Craven was fairly sure he could convince Sam to let him 'borrow' the list for a short time. Going immediately to the efficiency Sam and Dean shared Craven moved quickly through the space. One hand hovering over dressers, table, counter tops, every surface he finally homed in on a useable object. It was, predictably, with Dean's things.

Small, buried away in Dean's duffel bag, not even unpacked, buried almost as deeply as Sam's mind buried what he knew. Craven extracted the object, fingered it, hoping it wasn't something Dean used or looked at regularly. He doubted it, considering where the man kept it. It was old, maybe an antique, at least by today's standards, not by Craven's. He reasoned he was an antique too. Recognizing the instrument as a compass, simple but nice. At some point Dean had had words engraved on its backing. 'From Dean, Nov. 2003' Craven had no idea what the occasion was, if any. There was no stated sentiment, but he suspected it wasn't something spoken between Dean and his father, merely understood. Sam, and possibly Concha, might be the only people Dean would express true sentiments to, and then sparingly, Craven understood that from the first time he'd met the young man.

He'd use this, get it returned as soon as possible. Not sure how he'd return it, he'd worry over that detail when he needed to. Hopefully the fact the object was also attached to Dean wouldn't alert him to what Craven was doing, there was a risk of such a thing happening. Craven would worry over that if and when he got to it too.

His house was empty when he returned, with the compass. He locked up, if any of the three of them returned they'd not be able to get inside without Craven letting them in. Even spirits needed privacy. Creating a circle using candles and markings on the floor Craven prepared for his task. It took little time, really, to summon the man he wanted to speak to, get answers from.

Craven considered it pretty typical, the difficulty he had in the summoning ritual. The man had been difficult in life after all, why not in death too? He wasn't surprised in the least. Taking a full five minutes, long really in the scheme of summonings, Craven sat back, folded his hands placidly in his lap and considered the man appearing before him. The guy stood there for a minute or so, looking around him, down at his feet, then holding both hands up in front of his face for a look. His eyes finally fell on Craven, raised eyebrows indicating the question.

How clever, he realized he was dead.

Craven was not impressed.

Rising slowly from his chair, Craven paced a slow circle around him. Thinking what words he should use to start this conversation, then settling on what he truly felt.

"You, John Winchester are a camel's ass."