Is it just me, or does it seem like its just one thing after another this site. First the document server won't upload, then the alerts aren't working. Argh, just can't win. Anyway, I'm going to post this either way. Hope you enjoy.

On a side note, I just feel the need to extend my prayers and sympathies to everyone affected by the Virginia Tech shootings. I have several friends who attended VT as undergrads, and although my alma mater is a sports 'rival' of VT I still have a lot of memories from visiting that campus. This was such an unthinkable tragedy, my heart goes out to everyone touched by massacre.

Glass shattered and flew everywhere as Dean's airborne cane found its path just past Sam's head, over the couch, and through the big picture window behind it. Sam flinched, ducking just in time to miss being grazed by the flying weapon, an expression of shock and utter disbelief written across his paled features. Looking behind him at the now destroyed window, Sam could see shards of glass littering the bushes below the sill, and a few flecks of glass had found their way back inside to rest on the afghan hanging over the back edge of the couch.

The crash brought Missouri and Bobby running, and they both now stood in the doorway of the living room, too stupefied at the view before them to move. Missouri's hand had gone directly to her gaping mouth as she alternated between anger and concern.

"What the..." Bobby started to call before he made it to the room, but his voice trailed off as he took in the sight, hands firmly planed on his hips in a suggestion of vast confusion.

All eyes turned to Dean who, to his credit, had the sense to look ashamed. He sank, defeated, back into the chair hd had previously occupied, and refused to meet anyone's gaze. "I'm sorry, Missouri," Dean mumbled, studying his hands nervously. "I'll pay for the window."

Missouri shook her head sadly as she tentatively crossed the room to where Dean sat. Her eyes flitted back and forth between Dean and Sam, questioning just what the heck had gone down. She knew Sam's phone call had been important by the seriousness of his tone as he left the kitchen for privacy, but she didn't know if it was that, or a bad night, that had Dean so worked up. His pent up rage concerned her, but the concern didn't come close to what she felt as she viewed the results of his released anger.

"Dean, honey, what on earth happened?" the woman asked, displaying an enormous amount of composure for someone who had just had a cane thrown through her living room window, as she lowered herself into the rocking chair beside Dean, sitting barely on the edge so her knees touched his. She clasped her hands in her lap and looked straight at the young hunter, opening herself up to whatever it was he had to say.

Dean shrugged, feeling childish. He couldn't very well tell them that he'd thrown a tantrum because Sam said he couldn't go on a hunt; it would no doubt come out sounding whiny and complaintive. "It just...kinda...slipped," he explained hesitantly, figuring it was better to be slightly uncoordinated after a night out on the town than to have done it on purpose simply because he wasn't getting his way.

Sam raised an eyebrow in question, challenging Dean to tell the truth, but Dean ignored the action in favor of his convoluted lie.

But Missouri didn't need Sam dropping hints in order to figure out that Dean wasn't exactly being forthcoming with the truth. "It slipped?" she repeated skeptically. "You mean to tell me that you, Dean Winchester, master of stealth and grace on a hunt, just accidentally launched a weapon hard enough to go through a plate glass window?"

Yeah, well if you put it that way... Dean winced, throwing a sheepish look Missouri's way as he replied, "Um...yes?"

From the back of the room, Bobby released a snort, unable to suppress his amusement at Dean's expense. All eyes turned to the older man and he defended his actions with a simple shrug of indifference. "What? Come on, Dean, you can do better than that. I've seen you throw a convincing lie at the FBI - and this is all you can come up with?"

With everything coming at him at once, Dean decided he didn't want to deal with the inquisition anymore. It was none of their business. Sam knew the deal, and that was really all that mattered. He'd told Missouri he would pay for the window, and anything other than that didn't need to be said. He huffed, climbing to his feet unsteadily, muttering angrily as he stormed out of the room. "I don't need to take this from you people. Not now. I said I'd pay or the window - what more do you want?"

The remaining three sat silently in the room, listening to Dean's uneven footsteps as he climbed the stairs to his bedroom, unsure of the next move. Bobby finally spoke first, casting an apologetic look towards Sam. "Damn, I'm sorry," he said, looking back out in the direction that Dean had disappeared to. "I was just messing with him - I thought...hell, I don't know what I thought."

Sam shook his head, the action telling Bobby not to worry about it; it wasn't his fault. But he wasn't quite ready to talk either. He wasn't actually sure even what had just gone down. The last twenty minutes had gone by in a whirl of revelations and concerns and his head was currently reeling as he tried to figure out what decisions needed to be made.

"Alright, well someone needs to tell me what on earth just happened here," Missouri finally broke in, looking pointedly at Sam. She knew full well that he was her only source for information and she was damn well going to get it.

Feeling the stern woman's eyes boring into him, Sam released a disconcerted sigh and looked up at her. With nothing else he could do, he spilled all. "That was Joshua on the phone," he began, and then launched into the full explanation; the Algonquin spirit still haunting the woods, the fact that there was nobody to go deal with it and that those who had tried were now dead, the fact that Dean had overheard the conversation and was determined to join Sam on the hunt...

"He's not ready to hunt yet," Missouri interjected when Sam got to that point. "He's barely walking on his own."

Sam nodded in agreement, crossing his arms sternly against his chest. "I know. That's what I told him. But he's just so damn stubborn."

"Well maybe you should do what Joshua suggested and let him deal with it when he finishes this other job," Missouri suggested, leaning forward, elbows resting on her knees.

"I can't, Missouri. People are dying out there. I can't in good conscience just sit back and let more be killed when there's something I can do about it," Sam protested.

"You have a point, Sam," Bobby broke in, "But I really think you're missing the big picture here. Dean is not going to let you go out on that hunt without him. And he's not ready to hunt. I don't know what else you can do but let it go."

Sam shook his head stubbornly. "He'll understand. Once I make him see that people's lives are more important than his pride–"

"And how are you going to make him see that?" Missouri queried softly. "He's already feeling totally inadequate, emasculated; how on earth can you make him see past the hurt to understand the need for you to go back there?"

"I'll figure something out."

"Sam, honey, on a good day your brother can only see one point, and that's keeping you safe; there's no way you'll figure out a way to convince him that it's a smart idea to let you go out there alone. I don't think I can see the logic in that."

"I'll go with him," Bobby offered.

"And leave me home alone to deal with that boy again? I don't think so," Missouri protested. "It was one thing when he could barely get off the bed, but he's mobile now. It's going to take him five minutes to figure out you two have gone off and left him and he'll be well on his way to joining you. There's nothing I can do to stop him when he makes his mind up."

"Well I guess I'll just have to convince him that he's a liability, and that I'm more likely to get hurt with him along than if he stays behind. He'll understand."

Bobby rolled his eyes. "For crying out loud, Sam, did you take a stupid pill this morning? He's not going to understand anymore than you would if the positions were reversed. You're only going to succeed in doing one of two things. One, you'll piss him off enough to make him turn around and do something stupid, just to prove he's up to the task; or two, you're going to ruin any relationship the two of you ever had."

Missouri nodded in agreement. "Do you have any idea how hurt he'll be hearing his own brother tell him he can't do what's ingrained in him to do? You've got to figure out something else."

"So what am I supposed to do then?" Sam demanded, desperation apparent in his voice. "How am I supposed to tell him that he can't come with me. Not yet. It's just too soon."

"For starters, you can deal with the fact that you just told him." The sound of Dean's voice broke through the tension of the air, and Sam's head shot up frantically as he cringed.

FUCK! How the hell does he keep doing that? Cursing at just how rusty he'd allowed himself to get that he'd managed to miss Dean's entrance twice in one day, Sam's face fell into a mask of guilt as he saw his brother leaning against the doorframe of the living room. His shoulders were slumped dejectedly, arms hanging limp at his side, and Sam hadn't missed the waver in his voice as he tried to push the emotion away.

"You don't want me on your stupid hunt; fine, I get it," Dean spat angrily, looking down at the ground instead of at his brother or either of the two family friends who all cast concerned gazes his way. "I just...you've been preaching to me for weeks not to let anybody tell me I can't do something. And yet, when the cards are dealt, you're the biggest hypocrite of anybody. Thanks, Sam. It's nice to finally know what you really think of me."

Sam's heart clenched and he could feel his stomach flutter unmercifully as he tried desperately to come up with a way to fix this. "Dean, please, you didn't–"

"Save it, Sam. I don't want to hear anything more that you have to say. Trust me...you've said enough." Dean pushed off from the door, car keys jangling in his hand as he made his way to the front door.

"Dean please," Sam cried, finally springing from the couch and making a beeline to the path his brother was making. "Please, wait! Just hear me out."

The door slammed shut in Sam's face, coming just millimeters from smashing into his nose. He flinched, but didn't stop, forcefully turning the handle and crashing through the doorway. Dean was halfway to the car by now, limping steadily across the lawn as though his life depended on it.

"Dean!" Sam hollered again, sprinting across the yard in chase.

Reaching the car, Dean spun around as he grabbed hold of the handle and forced the door open. He glared at Sam, red hot daggers shooting furiously at his little brother. "Damn it, Sam, just let it be!" he screamed as he lowered himself into the car. "For once in your life, just back off and let me have some time to myself!"

Sam stopped in his tracks, arms flying up in a defensive posture as he gave Dean wide berth, deciding to let the man have his request despite the daunting feeling it gave him in the pit of his stomach. There was nothing he could do. Dean already had the key in the ignition, no way that Sam could circle the car and climb in before the older man pulled away in a cloud of smoke. And Sam knew for a fact that following his brother in another car would only succeed in more erratic driving; it would only put Dean in danger. The only plan of action was no action, and it was the hardest thing Sam had had to do in a long time.

Dropping to the ground, knees pulled to his chest as he balanced on the balls of his feet, Sam dragged his hands across his face and through in hair in a futile motion of defeat and regret. God, man, I'm so sorry. Please, just come back. We'll talk.

For several minutes, Sam remained in that position, rocking slightly in his concern for his brother. Before too long, he felt a hand fall gently on his shoulder, squeezing comfortingly.

"Sam, honey, why don't you come inside. He's not coming back for a while. He needs time to cool off."

The distraught hunter looked up into the kind eyes of Missouri Mosely, feeling an undesirable urge to just fall into the woman's warm embrace and cry out the pain and fear he'd been dealing with for far too long. But that was unmanly, and not the Winchester way, and he finally just settled for bemoaning his greatest concerns. "I really blew it this time, didn't I?"

Missouri grimaced, knowing that now, of all times, was not the time to lie. Sam needed to hear things exactly as they were; it was the only way he would be able to get past it. He needed to face it dead on. "He has a reason to be upset," she replied bluntly. "You're refusing him the only thing he's ever known. And he's right; you've been in his corner since day one, but when you're faced with the challenges he's been working so hard to accomplish you turn your back on him."

Sam's face fell as he listened to the woman's harsh, yet all too true words. "You think I'm wrong? Telling him he can't come on this hunt?"

The woman shook her head firmly. "I didn't necessarily say that, child. I'm not saying who's right in this situation. I'm simply telling you what he's thinking; how he's feeling."

"So how do I fix this?"

Sympathy clouded Missouri's face as she pushed a stray hair off of Sam's forehead, leading him back inside. "I can't answer that, Sam. I don't even think you can answer that. This is Dean's fight. He knows the truth. He knows your honest feelings. Now you just have to sit back and find out if he can manage to see the reality of this situation. Just wait, Sam. He'll come around."

"You're sure about that?" Sam sank back onto the couch, grimacing as his knuckle found a stray sliver of glass and a bright crimson immediately began to cover the skin.

Missouri winced, for both the emotional pain and the physical that he was currently feeling, and she scooped down to inspect his hand before the blood began to flow too much. "No, Sam. I wish I knew how this was going to play out, but I really don't know."

Reaching out to the box of tissues on the side table, she grabbed two and mashed them onto Sam's bleeding knuckle, ebbing the flow of blood with her firm grip. Bobby reappeared in the doorway, looking curiously at the two figures on the couch, and immediately seeing a purpose for his presence turned on his heel in search of the First Aide Kit. He returned just a minute later and handed Missouri the necessary alcohol and cotton swabs to clean out the wound before offering a band-aid as the final touch.

"Dean'll come around," Bobby assured Sam after the injured finger was cared for. "He's hard headed and stubborn, but in the end you're still his brother. That wins out over everything."

Sam nodded sadly, hoping with everything he had that the statement was accurate, and wishing that he had more time to dwell on it. But people were dying up in Algonquin, people who shouldn't have had to die if he and Dean had done their job right in the first place, and right now he had to focus on that. Dean already knew the truth about Sam's feelings on him hunting right now, there was no turning back from that. But as long as he knew, Sam figured he might as well not waste the opportunity. Right now, he had more vital stuff to worry about - Dean's feelings, as trampled as they may be, could wait another couple of days.

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Squealing around the corner, car barely on two wheels, Dean reached for the volume control on his radio and blasted the music to an almost unbearable level. He tore through the town, furiously passing car after car and nearly running down more than one civilian in a blatant disregard for the law. It was a miracle he wasn't caught by the police, and even more of one that he didn't kill anyone as he worked through his anger.

It took close to ten minutes for his rational mind to come to surface, realizing just how dangerous and reckless he was being, and finally slowed the car down to a manageable speed before pulling off onto the side of the road to simmer down. Although, his only real concern was for the car itself, and his own safety and the safety of other's be damned.

The music continued to blare through the speakers as he put the car in park, heavy bass pounding out a steady rhythm that rocked the car and rattled the glass on the windows of nearby buildings, but Dean didn't even neem to notice. He'd wiped away a single stray tear, threatening his own mind not to display that sissy reaction again, and now he simply stared out the window of the car into the nothing sky that lay beyond. His body shook violently, and his face was beet red, frustration ebbing out through every pore of his being.

Dean wasn't sure what he was more angry about; the fact that Sam had been so crass as to say such things behind Dean's back, or the fact that the words Sam spoke were the truth. He wasn't ready; he knew that, Sam knew that, hell – even Bobby and Missouri knew that. There was no doubt that he was getting better, but even he had to admit it was hard to walk on the prosthesis for more than a few hours at a time. There was no possible way that he would be able to make a four hour hike two ways and spend time in between searching for a way to eviscerate the spirit. But that didn't mean he had to listen to that logic. When had he ever cow-towed to such a menial thing?

Thinking back, Dean couldn't remember a single time that he'd let such a minor thing like an injury keep him away from a hunt. He couldn't remember being any less capable either - although, whether or not that was fuzzy logic, Dean wasn't about to mull over. So, considering that, Dean figured there was no reason why he shouldn't be able to go on this hunt. Damn you, Sam!

Slamming his hand down hard on the steering wheel, determination began to set in. He had to prove himself, to Sam, to the rest of the world. Tight now he felt as though no one thought him able to do anything more than sit around on his ass in front of the TV collecting welfare checks. Even Sam, the one person in the entire world who he thought would never doubt him, had ultimately sentence him to a life of helplessness and neediness, yet Dean wasn't about to accept those doubts.

If Sam didn't think he was capable enough to back him on the hunt then he didn't need to go with Sam. Right then and there, Dean decided that he had a better plan of action; one that would show Sam - and everyone else - once and for all that he was just as competent now as he was before his accident.

Determination set in Dean's face as he reached down and put the car back in drive, gunning the engine as he tore out of his parking place. He had a plan.

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Glancing at the clock for what could easily have been the thousandth time of the day, Sam tried unsuccessfully to stuff another bite of potato salad in his mouth. The majority of his dinner remained on his plate, untouched, which is where the discarded bite landed as he finally decided he could no longer sit around doing nothing while Dean was god only knew where, hurting because of him and his big fat mouth.

It was going on ten hours that Dean had been gone; nine and a half too many. Sam had passed worried hours ago, and was now bordering on downright terrified. Looking around the table, he could tell that Missouri and Bobby weren't far behind him in the worry factor, but they had managed to control their fears, knowing it would only succeed in worrying Sam more.

"He's never stayed out this late," Sam lamented, scooting his chair back with a loud screech of wood against tile, before standing up and crossing the room to the dining room window. Pulling back the curtains, he scanned the street yet again, hoping this would be the time Dean's car would round the corner on it's way back to Missouri's.

"And I'm sure he'll be back very soon," Missouri replied softly, hesitant to allow herself to be too comforting. As much as she wanted to alleviate Sam's concerns, she couldn't shake the daunting feeling that something was truly amiss. She'd learned long ago not to doubt those intuitions. She knew Sam felt the same hesitations, knew something wasn't right with Dean.

Sam spun around, stricken features pleading with Missouri to reassure him more, challenging her to convince him Dean would be home within the next few minutes. The psychic shook her head sadly. I can't give you what you want, Sam. I'm sorry.

Stalking away, Sam crossed through the house into the living room where the window Dean had smashed was now boarded up with two large sheets of plywood and covered with a single sheet of plastic. They'd retrieved his cane from the bushes, and it now hung from the back of the rocking chair, waiting for its owner's return. But somehow, Sam knew with absolute certainty that Dean wouldn't ever pick the hated piece of equipment up again, no matter how hard he might need it.

As he stared at the shiny black aide, a thought suddenly flashed through Sam's mind and a sense of dread seeped into his gut. In an instant, Sam was practically airborne as he tore frantically up the stairs into the room he shared with Dean, cursing himself as he realized what he had missed earlier. A quick scan of the room, Sam noticed the missing items: the second prosthesis, Dean's knife from under his pillow, his steel-toed boots. Sam felt like he might throw up as realization hit him like a sledge hammer to the gut, and he raced back down the stairs and back into the dining room, hollering for Missouri and Bobby as he went.

They met him at the doorway, saw his white washed face, and suddenly knew this was serious even before Sam could utter the words that had put him into a sheer panic. He panted, doubled over in his panic, and spat out the fear that engulfed him. "He's not coming back," Sam stammered, reaching for the wall to steady himself. "He's gone back to Algonquin himself. He's going to try to hunt that thing alone!"