Sorry this chapter has been so long in coming, it was very difficult for me to write, you'll see why toward the end.

The solar flare facts Craven gives out early on are true, and documented, if anyone is interested in them.

A truly special thanks to Supernaturalsam for her outstanding beta work, and to Mizpah for talking me through some rough spots, which probably did her stomach no good.

Laura

He was a scruffy looking man, spirit, Craven thought. Well, it sort of fit. He could not imagine Dean or Sam looking like bums. Or being so angry.

"Stay inside the circle or you'll…"

"Why the hell would I do that? Who are you? What gives you the right to do this?" John was immediately in motion, long, quick strides taking him out of the circle and he dropped through the floor out of sight.

Shaking his head, sighing and rolling his eyes, why couldn't they ever listen? Craven dropped through to the basement, the warded sandstone foundation would stop John's descent. Kneeling on one knee in front of John, Craven tried to put a pleasant expression on his face. The man's spirit was visible from the waist up, the rest of him below the floor boards. One hand resting on the floor, fingers pretending to drum the boards and mostly sinking through. John looked, if possible, even more angry. He looked like….well….like a really pissed off dead guy.

"Let's try this again. You've been dead how long? Two years tops? I've been at this a millennia or two longer, so I've had more practice. You'll need to listen to me, or spend your time here stuck half out of the floor, which honestly makes you look silly." Craven stood, holding out one hand.

"Why am I here?" John crossed both arms over his chest.

"Because I want to help your sons, but I need some filler information." And to personally give you my opinion of you and what you did.

"My sons? Are they ok?"

"For now."

"Where am I?"

"At this moment you're in my house, in Ithaca, New York. Cornell University."

"What about Dean and Sam?"

"They're here too, in Ithaca."

John snorted, some sort of realization spreading across his face. "After you no doubt. When Dean gets to you, you'll be toast."

Craven added a groan to his eye roll. "I hardly think he's going to, as you would say, toast me. Now, can we please go back upstairs and talk, like civilized people?"

Again Craven offered his hand, this time John took hold, tentatively. He really had no choice, and Craven hoped John would at least consent as much. This time reason won, at least for now. With a defiant, truly irritated glare John grasped Craven's hand and allowed himself to be hauled up out of the flooring. In the blink of an eye Craven had them returned to his library.

"Now, if you please stay inside the circle, I don't have the time or inclination to continue chasing you down."

"You're a damn spirit." John snapped.

Huffing a sigh Craven pointed out, "So are you. Believe me when I say I don't like this anymore than you do, and the minute we are done back you go."

"Where are my boys?"

Craven stuck both hands in his pockets. "They're not here, so I couldn't actually tell you exactly where they are at this particular moment in time. As of a few hours ago they were here, and as far as I know they had no plans on leaving Ithaca for the next few weeks."

"They were here?" John pointed to the floor under him. "You talked to them?"

"Yes to both."

"And they're not hunting you?"

Craven shook his head. "Not that I'm aware of. They've no reason to." That seemed to confuse John. Craven decided to forge ahead. "You're sons aren't here to hunt, they're here to research, to learn." He decided the simplest approach was the best approach. "What I'd like to know is whatever possessed you to tell that boy he'd have to kill his brother?" Craven was pacing now. "Firstly it's stupid, and…" He stopped, faced John, "Do you have any idea what it's done to him? Oh, and it's wrong."

"How do you know about that, Dean wouldn't tell you."

"Dean didn't have to. I'm a spirit, I hear things." He leaned closer to John, losing the smile and placid expression. "The fact is John, you screwed up, screwed it up big time. Don't tell me, let me guess, some demon plan for a group of people, some way to go to war with mankind?"

John nodded mutely.

"Huh. Imagine that. Demons have been spouting that drivel for a few thousand years that I know of. Did you take that little bit you found out, from who by the way….a demon??"

"Of course not. Not directly."

Craven would have hit the guy in the side of the head, but it would do no good. "How far did you bother to dig? Not far enough. Do you know just exactly what Dean and Sam are? Do you even realize it was never about Sam, not ever? Did you ever stop to think you might have been wrong? Did you ever look for other answers?" Craven was fully aware up until this point, he was the only one of the two of them mentioning Sam. Sam's apprehension over what he knew, the supplies he'd gathered and kept the information from Dean was making more sense.

"So set me straight." John sneered, chest puffing up. Obviously wrong was not a word he associated with himself.

"Fine." Craven straightened, arms crossed over his middle. "Fine. Your sons are one of two sets of siblings called The Elements." He grabbed a book, shoved it at John. "Two sets of two siblings. Dean and Sam being one set. They know the other set, have already worked with them."

John looked up from the manuscript. "Sam is the psychic." He sat roughly on the ground. Well, at least you remembered the boy's name.

Nodding, Craven continued. "Yes. The right combination comes along, and survives to adulthood maybe, if things are going really well, once every thousand years or so. But it doesn't end there. Since demons and humans have been on Earth, there also comes along someone, an individual, a hunter born and who survives, it happens maybe every ten or twelve generations. A very special hunter. One who can kill, destroy demons, without anyone else, without The Elements. Believe me when I say, demons, they want this hunter not only dead, but his soul destroyed. They can't do it themselves, he's protected. It can be done, however, he has to do it himself. So, there's this very special hunter, who is also one of the Elements, that's never happened before, not as far as I know. And there's only one way demons can get to this one."

If ghosts could blanch, Craven was sure John would have. He exhaled one shaky, breathless word. "Sam."

Craven nodded. "Sam. It was never about Sam, it was always about Dean. If you want to help Dean, help them both, then tell me what ever made you think Dean would have to kill Sam? Because that's the only weapon demons truly have against him. You might as well have cut off his head and handed it over on a silver platter for all the good you did."

John winced. "The information I found, demons using humans as their soldiers. Sam is someone, one of those, or could be. I told Dean if he couldn't stop it, not let Sam turn, he'd have to kill him. Why would they let him live, agree to my trade if Dean were that hunter?"

Laughing, Craven couldn't believe how naïve, and single-minded this man was. "What better way to destroy your enemy than to watch him take himself down? They are demons after all. Human suffering is like a drug addiction for them. How could they possibly turn that down? The only way to get rid of Dean is through Sam. You gave them plenty of ammo for that John. On top of which you taught those boys nothing but hate when it comes to things not human, other worldly. How could you possibly think they could do anything, survive without knowing the full story?"

John sat there, looking up at Craven. "Dean is some special hunter? Can kill a demon?"

"Arrrgghhh…" Craven threw both hands in the air. This man was exasperating.

Something in John seemed to snap, click into place. "I have to tell them."

"Well, you're not going to be able to. Salt and burn, and all that. What you taught them, I'll give you credit you taught them very well."

"Then how can you bring me here?"

"Because I'm a spirit, different methods and rules apply. Because you weren't truly in Hell, having done that selfless act at the end, two actually."

"Two? How do you know all this?"

"Fair enough question, and you deserve an answer. I was able to observe most of what happened the day you died. What I couldn't find was your motivation. Since I knew only Dean and Sam I was only able to see what they were themselves involved in. When you made the trade, the deal for Dean…well let me ask… without Dean how long would Sam have lived? How long would Sam stay with you?" How quickly, at the first sign of trouble would you have put him down? His last, silently asked question Craven didn't want, nor needed an answer to.

"Sam wouldn't have stayed, not with me. Not unless he was forced to. He might have for a short time."

"I think it's pretty safe to say the demons had no idea what Dean and Sam are together, more to the point together with the other set of siblings, or that deal would never had happened. Demons, are rather stupid, and narrow minded."

"What about Sam's visions, the demon trying to kill him when he was a baby?"

"Of the Elements, the psychics are the only individuals a demon can track down. Odds are they were targeting children with that potential, making their abilities latent to make them easier to turn later. If there were older siblings, demons usually try to kill those, if the psychics are born during specific time frames, when there is more energy for them to draw on. 1982, the year Sam would have been conceived was a banner year for that energy. I don't think that particular demon wanted to kill Sam. I believe it wanted to kill the rest of you, specifically Dean. I doubt at that time demons could know, or sense what Dean is, but I'm just guessing on that. The very thing that makes a psychic a psychic also leaves them open, vulnerable to attacks, possessions, whatever uses demons need. Part of gearing up for a war, as I'm sure you well know, is chipping away at your opponents defenses. So, in the case of those children they had a bonus, destroyed the potential for an Element group, and created humans they could later turn and use. As for anyone else, or their true plans, if there are any--"

Craven's head snapped around, attention leaving John. "Damn." John gave him a curious look, which he ignored. Crossing the room Craven quickly prepared a closet. Back to John in a minute he grabbed the man's arm, yanking him along, surprised John put up little fight.

"Hey, what the…?" When he was pulled out of the circle his legs up to his knees skimmed under the flooring. Craven shoved him, grumbling, in the closet.

"Now, stay in there and shut up. Just incase you get any ideas, I don't care what they say on those silly TV shows, you try to walk through that door and you'll just end up in the basement again. People, live ones, won't see you or hear you. If you give me grief you won't be found for another three thousand years at least."

Before John could say a word, or do much more than give him another irritated look Craven slammed the door shut. John would probably hear the conversation he was about to have, but that couldn't be helped. He had the room righted, evidence of his circle covered in but a few minutes. This one at his door was neither patient nor going to be polite, Craven could tell.

Just to prove his mental point Craven heard the sharp, irritated voice bark his name. Plastering a smile on his face Craven stepped out to the foyer to meet this unplanned for arrival.

"Dean." Craven greeted him. "Is something wrong?"

"Yeah. What did the troll do to Sam?" Dean paced around the foyer, glancing under the table near the door. Moving next to a table along the far wall he glanced under it too.

"I wasn't there."

Facing him Dean sighed. "I know that. But it did something, or said something and he's been rattled ever since. We took Concha to see the stone version, he wouldn't even get out of the car. What did it do to him?"

"Why don't you just ask Sam?"

"Because, I'm asking you." Dean stopped in the middle of the room, arms over chest. Looking around again, his gaze settled on the library door. "Maybe you could fill me in on what I don't know. Tell me what he told you?" Craven was offered that disarming smile he'd come to recognize as purely Dean. He was through the library doors before Craven could stop him.

"Damn." The spirit cursed under his breath, following Dean.

"I'm going to ask again, nicely, don't make me ask not nicely." Dean paced the room.

Craven thought Dean's pacing, his not so casually looking under and behind things, opening a few cupboard doors. Usually when there with Sam, Dean would sit quietly, once and a while asking a question. Mostly he read, or used one of the computers. Other than the occasional glance at Sam, checking on him, Dean left Sam and Craven alone. The realization hit him like a hammer, Dean sensed the presence of the other spirit. Whether he knew it was his father's spirit or not, Craven did not know. Dean's little foray around the room was taking him to the closet door John Winchester was behind. Great.

Not knowing for sure what would happen if Dean opened that door, and not wanting to find out Craven got there first, just as Dean was reaching for the handle. Leaning against the door Craven smiled. "Sam told me the troll asked him a question, which he answered, or thought he did. He didn't tell me what the question was."

"You didn't ask?" Dean snapped. The closer he got to that closet the more tension built in him, Craven could see that very clearly.

"No."

Dean stopped a few feet from him, taking another look around the room. "I agreed to this, hell I asked Concha to help me arrange it, and I can put a stop to it just as easily. He's supposed to be happy with this, not given more nightmares and jangled nerves. He's broody enough, I don't need you adding to my problems getting him to lighten up just a bit. So, if you know anything, tell me or so help me…"

"Yes I know, we've had this discussion, you'll send me so far away no one will ever know I existed."

"As long as we understand one another."

"We do. You're going to have to ask Sam, find out from him."

Dean turned away, eyes scanning the room again, sighing deeply. "Ok, thanks." He froze, Craven saw his shoulders stiffen, his entire stance change to something guarded, angry. He crossed the room, grabbing something from Craven's desk, holding it up. "Sam bring this here?"

Silently Craven cursed himself abundantly, he'd left the compass out. Well, at least he wouldn't have to worry about getting it back where it belonged. "I have no idea, never saw it before." Craven kept his expression neutral. Dean Winchester wasn't the only one in the room who excelled at games of chance.

Dean studied him for a few seconds before sticking the compass in his pocket, eyes narrowing. "If I find out you lied to me."

"I haven't."

Nodding, Dean dropped it, but only for now Craven was sure. Without another word he left, carefully closing the doors behind him, just as he did when he came with Sam.

Opening the closet door Craven turned to John, who looked a mixture of smug and apprehensive. "Dean always was a little over protective when it came to his brother. Were you telling him the truth?"

Craven turned a critical eye on John. "About what Sam told me, yes. I don't know what the troll asked, I have a good idea though. Dean didn't want speculations. You honestly don't see it do you?"

"See what?"

Turning, eyes focused on the door Dean had left through, Craven waited a minute or so before answering. "Dean isn't a man protecting his sibling, that's a man protecting the most important thing in his life, his child, the only child he expects to ever have." Turning, his eyes met John's, which were unreadable. "Time for you to go."

Dean walked the short distance between the house and the apartment he shared with Sam. He kept one hand in his pocket, fingers curled around the compass. He couldn't imagine why Sam would take it, or leave it anywhere. In fact he had thought, up to now, Sam hadn't even know the thing existed, or if he had not paid much attention to it.

"Hey." Sam didn't look up from the book he was reading when Dean came through the door. A few deep breaths, just stay cool Winchester, he struggled with the effort to keep his voice from sounding accusatory. "Did you take this, leave it with Craven?"

Glancing up, Sam focused on the compass, held out in Dean's hand. "I've never seen that before. Where'd you get it?" Reaching out, Sam took the compass, turning it over a few times before laying it carefully back in Dean's palm. "It's nice."

"You didn't take it?"

"Didn't I say that already? Why would I take it anyway? Even if I knew where it was?" Sam looked up at him, the innocent expression was no act. Sam didn't really ever lie to him, it was useless. Dean knew him too well. Sam was an honest person, at least to Dean he was.

"Then how did it get there?"

"I don't know man. Until two minutes ago never saw it, and if I had, why would I take something important to you and leave it somewhere?"

Dean had no ready argument for that. Sam wasn't mean, thoughtless sometimes, took Dean for granted sometimes….often, impulsive most the time, moody and overly sensitive, but Dean could never say Sam was mean.

"It was sitting on a table in his library." Dean continued.

"If I knew anything I'd tell you, I swear I would."

Dean fixed his younger brother with a stern gaze. Sam didn't flinch, or squirm, he just looked back docilely for a minute before repeating in a soft voice, "I don't know, I don't."

Nodding, Dean tucked the compass back into his pocket. "Ok, tell me something you do know. What is it about the troll that has you so freaked?"

Sam grinned, shifting his gaze to the kitchen sink. "Maybe something to do with the fact it stole my big brother, and sucked him under ground right in front of me."

"Come on Sam, you've seen stuff happen to me before. I was fine. Not buying it."

"Um….dude, never saw you sucked into the ground before. Make fun of me if you want, but it sort of disturbed me." Sam's voice changed, Dean picked up immediately he was getting defensive.

"That's all it is? You sure? Cause you're freaked out, having nightmares again."

"I thought you didn't care about it." Sam shot back.

"I told the troll I didn't care what you knew about Dad dying."

"He wouldn't have let you go if you'd been lying."

Dean huffed a breath, "He let me go to get him more whiskey. I'm getting tired of asking the same question."

"Then stop." Sam snapped.

Dean knew Sam wouldn't lie to him, but he also wouldn't necessarily volunteer information. "The troll told me it was something that would make me angry enough to stop talking to you."

"Then probably neither of us wants to know."

"That's not an answer."

"You know what Dean? I'm not having this conversation again." Sam started gathering up his books, a piece of paper slipped from one, fluttered to the floor.

Dean stooped, picking it up, just going to hand it back to his brother when the writing, and Sam's barely audible exhaled, "Crap," caught his attention. Just as Sam's fingers were about to close on the end of the paper, Dean snatched it back, taking a closer look. He stared at it, then studied it more closely. Sam stood, reaching for it, but Dean stepped back, out of reach. He caught Sam's sudden swallowing and thought maybe the kid lost a shade or two of color.

"This is Dad's handwriting."

Sam nodded mutely.

"Where'd you get this? How long have you had it? What is this stuff?"

Sam reached for one of the books, his hands shaking. Dean slammed one hand over it, flipping it around so he could read what was on the page it was open to. He read it, then reread it, then turned it a bit more to read notes Sam had scribbled in the margins. An unpleasant thought was forming in his mind, one he tried to shove away, one that just barged forward again. "Sam!"

Flinching, backing up a step, Sam wouldn't look at him directly, but fixed his gaze somewhere on Dean's shoulder. That's what set him off, that was Sam guilty over something, something real and tangible and not just Sam being Sam and thinking he was at fault and should feel guilty. This was genuine guilty. Dean had the distinct feeling he'd found out what the troll was talking about.

"It's what Dad…he…um….when you were…."

"When I was what?"

"When you….after the truck hit us….in the hospital. He wanted me to get the Colt, and those things. I didn't want to go….but he…I was so scared the whole time I'd come back and you'd be….I couldn't even seem to breathe right…and he…" Sam was looking down at the table, fumbling with his books and note, and damn that was just driving Dean up a wall.

Reaching out, fingers winding around Sam's wrist, clamping down like a trap Dean gave a sharp jerk. "Stop that! Sam. What is this stuff for?" A sick, queasy feeling wormed its way through his chest. He was pretty sure he already knew what those items were for. Making Sam confess would do no good, and in all honestly Dean would prefer to end this here and now, forget either one had said anything. But he couldn't. Something deep within him wouldn't let it drop, wither away like it should. "What is this stuff for?" He hissed out.

Jerking away, Sam backed up a step or two, color draining from his face. "He lied to me Dean, gave me this list and told me to get this stuff and the Colt. I didn't want to leave the hospital, to leave you. He knew that. I was terrified you'd die while I was gone. And he tricked me, lied to get me to go."

Sam's words came out in such a rush Dean was having a hard time keeping up, processing them all at once. "Why would he lie to you? To do what?"

"That stuff, he lied, told me it was to help you, that's the only reason I'd leave, but it wasn't, they weren't. He told me it was my fault, what happened, that you were in a coma. Said he never should have let me come along, it was my fault."

"Sam," Dean's voice and face softened. He didn't doubt his brother believed that, with all his heart, but it couldn't be what really was said, meant. Or could it? "I'm sure he didn't mean…"

"He lied to me Dean! Lied about what this shit was for, and what he was going to do." Sam was shouting.

The implications, realization of what Sam meant, what he'd kept bottled up thundered home in Dean's brain, nearly knocking him down. "Sam, what…is…this…stuff…for?" Dean shook the paper, advancing a few steps.

Sam had the uncanny ability to look everywhere at once, except at Dean. It always creeped Dean out, how Sam could do that. Now, he couldn't even find feeling in his heart for the tears pooling in Sam's eyes. "He told me it they were for protection, for you….he…l-lied."

"Sam." Dean snarled out through gritted teeth, the speech was getting old.

"To call….they're to call…" Sam stopped, backing up another step.

Dean felt his lungs clear out, as if deflating. He couldn't breathe, couldn't think clearly, couldn't do anything but stand there, staring at Sam, watching tears begin to drip along his cheeks, watch his hands shake, his head turn side to side a little.

"You….knew?" Dean finally was able to get his voice going, barely, his words coming out harsh, hateful, angry.

Shaking his head, Sam stayed rooted to his spot, bangs flopping side to side with the movement of his head. Sam's breath, and whatever else he was going to say caught in his chest when Dean flung the paper down and cleared the books off the table with a wide sweep of his arm.

"You knew?! You goddamn knew!? You LET him? Could have STOPPED him?"

Arms wrapping around himself, tears spilling freely down his face Sam shook his head again. "No." It was the voice of a little boy, for the first time Dean didn't care, or really notice. "No, I didn't know, he lied. I wanted you to….I just wanted you to wake up, to get better. I didn't put it together, figure it out…"

"Bullshit Sam! You're not stupid! You think I'm stupid enough to believe as soon as you found out what that stuff was for you didn't know?"

"I did what he wanted," Sam's voice rose, fists clenched now, "He lied, and the only thing I was capable of thinking about was you not waking up, you dying. He told me it was my fault and those things were to protect you. I wanted you to wake up and I DIDN'T CARE HOW!" The last few words were literally bellowed at him.

The color drained completely from Sam's face. The silence that followed was deafening, shattering, it closed in on Dean like a vice grip. Sam knew, Dean just couldn't wrap his mind around that. Sam knew, let their father die so Dean wouldn't.

"You let him die." Dean spat.

"No, Dean, I swear I…"

"Shut the hell up!"

Sam jerked, then flinched, took another step back, eyes wide, face completely white. "Dean?" If Dean hadn't seen Sam's lips move, he probably would have missed the mention of his name.

Holding one finger up, pointing at Sam, Dean backed away, toward the door. He had to get out, get out now. "Stay away from me. I mean it Sam. Stay the hell away from me." Spinning on one heel, he stormed out the door. Just before it slammed shut he heard Sam's voice, begging him with only one word, "Dean." Saw more tears streaming down his brother's face, his body trembling.