My apologies for the slight delay after what some of you referred to as the "evil cliffie." But, let's face it, Kripke is the master of Evil Cliffies!! Anway, here it is! Thanks as always to hotshow for keeping this thing afloat!! And BIG thanks to everyone following this fic - really, really appreciate it!!

Chapter 18

Dean bolted through the front door, images of furry creatures with long claws surging through his mind. He did not remember reaching for his gun but it was in his hand, extended like a part of his arm. Swiftly he checked the area, hoping to find this Lion-o creature before Sam came out. The last thing he needed was for Sam to go up against this thing. His imagination was far too vivid these days.

Dean noticed the hood of the old Chevy was on the ground. It had been resting against the shed. He sent Bobby the other way, hoping to corner whatever was here. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Bobby motioning for the two doctors to stay inside as the older man circled around, shotgun in hand. Dean stepped carefully through his work area, eyes scanning the ground for any sign of recent activity. There was no sign of anything resembling animal tracks, but that mark looked an awful lot like high heels. Frowning, Dean pressed his back against the side of the shed.

Bobby motioned to him from the far side. Dean nodded, whipping around the side of the shed, gun extended. Doctor Jeffries froze as he trained his gun on her.

"Aahhhhhh!" Her scream was shrill and ear-piercing. Dean shuddered, toying with the idea of shooting her just to shut her up.

"You just gonna let her scream like that?" Bobby asked, shouldering the shotgun as he walked to stand beside Dean.

"I could shoot her," Dean offered. "But Sam would probably be pissed."

"Probably," Bobby agreed.

"What do you have in that thing?" Dean motioned to the shotgun.

"Consecrated iron shot. Thought it might be that Lion-o critter." Bobby looked amazed the woman doctor could still be screeching like that. "I'm going in. This is too much for me."

Dean winced as Doctor Jeffries took another deep breath to continue screaming. "Stop!" he shouted.

Startled, she looked at him. Dean held up his gun, showed her he was putting it away, very slowly. With a head shake to clear it from all the screaming, he asked, "What are you doing here?"

"You're not going to shoot me?" she demanded.

"No," Dean sighed, deeply disappointed by the fact. "What are you doing here?"

Doctor Jeffries cleared her throat. "None of your business."

Dean figured if he had hackles, they would be up now. "I can tell you one thing you're doing here. Trespassing." He wondered if Bobby might call the cops, considering how wanted he and Sam were.

She stepped back, held up a small camera. "Want to show me that gun again?"

Dean glared at her. "If I do, you won't have time to take a picture." He headed for the house.

"I'm going to prove you aren't fit to care for Sammy!" She called after him.

"Time to leave, bitch!" Dean shouted without bothering to turn around.

Bobby headed out the door. He showed Dean the shotgun. "This one's loaded with rocksalt. Hurts like a bitch."

Dean grinned. "Tell me about it."

"As soon as I get back," Bobby promised, heading for Jeffries.

"Dean?" Sammy stood just inside the door, holding his crowbar. "What was it?"

"Nothing, Sammy. Don't worry about it," Dean brushed past, heading for a beer.

"Dean!" Sammy's heavy steps followed him. "Was it Lion-o?"

"No, Sam," Dean opened the fridge, "it wasn't Lion-o. If it was, I wouldn't be having a beer." He looked back, remembering their guests. "Anything for you guys?"

"Uh, no, sorry. We're still on-call," Doc Wayne replied.

"As a matter of fact, we should be getting back," George Schroeder said.

"Dean? Don't we need to work on the car today?" Sam asked.

"Bye, guys. Thanks for bringing the good news," Dean said, waving his beer at the doctors.

He waited for the door to close. "Sammy, I thought we were taking the day off?"

"Why?" Sammy swung the crowbar, shifting it from hand to hand.

"Your headache?" Dean asked, eyeing the crowbar.

Sammy shrugged. "I feel fine now, Dean. Can we go work on the car?"

"As soon as you tell me what's up with the crowbar," Dean said, taking a long pull on his beer.

"I like it," Sammy said.

"Why?" Dean insisted.

Sammy shrugged. "I'm going to go change now."

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Sammy tried hard not to giggle as he raced upstairs to change clothes. They were going to work on the car! Okay, he had not been too happy about it at first. It was a really dirty car. But after working side by side with his big brother, where Dean needed him to help, Sammy decided he liked it. He liked Dean needing him, wanting him out there. It made him feel good, important.

Sammy set the crowbar down gently on Dean's bed so he could change clothes. An old pair of jeans and a yucky, worn t-shirt went on and his good clothes thrown against the far wall. Sammy rushed downstairs, holding his crowbar.

"Dean! I'm ready!"

"I'm not!" Dean snapped. Sammy grinned when Dean glared at him. He knew Dean was grouchy because he interrupted beer-time. That was okay. Most big brothers would not let their little brothers interrupt beer-time at all. Dean was the best big brother and Sammy needed to look after him. Even big brothers needed someone to look after them sometimes, especially when there was a Lion-o after them.

Sammy waited at the bottom of the stairs, tapping his crowbar against the bottom step.

"Sam?" Bobby sat behind his desk. "What's with the crowbar?"

Sammy glanced back, checking to be sure Dean was not listening at the top of the stairs. "In case Lion-o comes back," he whispered.

Bobby nodded, winking at him. "Good idea."

Sammy waited, trying to be patient. He saw Batman on the floor in front of the television. At least Batman would be safe inside. Sammy bit his lip, wondering if he should agree to the day off so Dean would stay inside too. No, it was still daytime. Bobby said that Lion-o liked night, so no more sunsets. They could work on the car until then.

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It wondered over the strangeness of man. They crept up on each other, hunted each other. Had man not yet learned not to hunt himself? Had its kind hunted each other, they would have destroyed themselves many, many generations ago. Even so, it was the last of its kind. Here, at least. It wondered if there were still some of its kind back in the old country.

It decided not to hunt any of the other hunters tonight. It needed to stay here, keep an eye on things. Singer's had never been so lively, so active. Perhaps there would be opportunity tonight for its revenge. Perhaps it would feast enough tonight to sustain it for weeks.

Now the two men worked on the rusted hulk of a man machine. It wrinkled its nose at the futility. For what purpose was this action? It was merely a machine. Could they not simply acquire or build a new one?

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"Dean?" Sammy reached down to retrieve the wrench his brother dropped. "Why do people like to fix up dirty old cars?"

Dean laughed, taking the wrench from Sammy. "It's a classic, Sammy. It isn't just a dirty old car. It's more like a…" his brother paused, thinking, "work of art."

"Oh." Sammy went back to sanding the rust spots Dean told him to. "Dean? Is your car art, too?"

"My car is a masterpiece," Dean said quickly.

Sammy smiled at that. He always thought Dean would say something like that. "Dean? Why do you like your car so much? Because it was Dad's?"

Dean paused, looked at him funny. "Maybe. Or maybe because it was Mom's."

"Oh." Sammy got quiet. Sometimes Dean acted funny when he talked about Mom. Sammy wished he could remember her. "Dean? Did I get to meet Mom?"

An image of walking flames that turned into Mom came to him. He shut his eyes, trying hard to remember. She said Dean's name, then she told Sammy she was sorry. When he opened his eyes, Dean was staring at him. "I did, didn't I? Why would she say she's sorry?"

Dean took a deep breath, leaning against the car. Sammy waited. "I don't know, Sam."

"But Dean, you know…" He was going to say Dean knew everything, but that was silly. No one could know everything. That was impossible. And his head hurt. Maybe the sun was too bright? "Dean, where are those sunglasses?"

"Sam? Sammy, what's wrong?"

He felt hands on his arms. When did he close his eyes? "It hurts, Dean," he whined. His head felt like it was on fire. "Dean?"

"I'm here, Sammy. Let's get you inside."

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Dean hauled Sammy to his feet, helped his brother inside. He tried to hold on to the doctor's words, that the headaches might be a good thing. Helping Sammy inside, Dean murmured words of reassurance. As he helped Sam onto the couch, fearing that the stairs would be too much right now, Sam shook a finger at him.

"Better leave that sling on, Dean. Don't overdo it."

Dean blinked back tears that threatened to form. Was he glad Sammy didn't see that bitch outside!

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Elizabeth Jeffries sat inside her car, fuming. That dirty old man, who smelled of gasoline and lord knows what all, actually threatened to shoot her! He even showed her the shells of rocksalt so she would know it wasn't lethal. She tried to file a police report against him, but these local hick cops acted like she was crazy. They kept telling her that Bobby Singer was eccentric, but he'd never shoot anybody.

Elizabeth ground her teeth, tapping her nails against the steering wheel. That judge had not believed her either, especially since she had been unable to provide any pictures of either the gun or the shotgun. Fine. That meant she would have to go back later, tonight. Yes, going at night was a fine idea. They would never suspect that after running her off in the daytime, and so soon. She wondered if John Morgan could be conned into coming with her. At least she would have someone to hide behind with that gun-wielding Dean Mahogoff around.