AN: As I'm listening to the wind howl outside, I wish you all nice weather. And, in the absence of that, a warm home and a cat to sit on your feet. (Works like a charm. I was frozen, but now I have one feline on my lap and another on my feet and I'm nice and cozy.)

As busy as she is, Janice came through in a big way, adding a ton of little things that really added to this chapter. And, of course, finding all of my mistakes. Thanks, Janice!

* * *

What is my life if I am no longer useful to others?

Dean started raising his gun, hoping for a shot that would destroy the brainstem of the zombie or ghoul in front of him when two things stopped him. One: it was early evening in the middle of a well-lit subdivision where someone was bound to hear and/or see them. Two: every time the dog growled, the guy flickered. "Ghost," he warned Sam, wondering how best to get the spirit off the streets while they figured out who he was and torched his remains. (Ugh. Freshies were disgusting.)

"Yeah, I see," Sam answered as the man tried again to grab the door handle of the truck and his fingers passed right through it. "So why is he here and not by his b – by the morgue?"

Ace barked again and the ghost finally reacted. "Shut up!" he yelled back. "Why is this locked?!" He was nearly screaming by the last word.

"Hey, bud, I'm a locksmith. Just let me get my tools and I can –" Dean tried, wondering if he could lure the dude back to the vicinity of the motel where he had things like, say, a shotgun loaded with salt rounds. He had literally nothing on him that could help against a ghost.

"I need it," the spirit all but wailed. He whirled on Dean, his ruined face alight with madness and fury. "You! You did this to me! I saw you!"

Dean only had time to make a half-assed attempt to dodge before the charging ghost hit him in the chest with the force of a linebacker sacking the opposing quarterback. As Dean laid flat on his back on the street and tried to suck air into his lungs, hard-hat guy reared back for a punch. And promptly disappeared as a crowbar dissected him.

Sam pulled Dean quickly to his feet with one hand and shoved the crowbar into one palm. "You good?" he asked hurriedly. Dean nodded, still catching his breath. "Good. Keep him off me for a minute," Sam said, hustling back toward the spot they'd originally seen the ghost.

"Sure," Dean croaked. He started searching his pockets for stray salt packets and was about to suggest they go back to the motel for supplies when Casper the unfriendly construction ghost appeared again and barreled into Dean. Pull a guy's body out of wreckage once and he goes all vengeful spirit on you. Sheesh. It wasn't like Dean had killed him.

The force of the charge spun Dean around and sent him staggering into a neighboring yard, where a second hit before he'd managed to quite recover his balance made him trip over a gazing ball. He landed on his hands and knees and the crowbar went flying out of sight. "Dammit," he swore, unable to believe that he'd been felled by a lawn ornament.

Dean dropped to flat on his face to dodge the next rapid-fire attack, cursing the luck that he had to face the Usain Bolt of ghosts without any weapons. He jumped to his feet and mostly avoided a roundhouse from the enraged spirit, ending up with his back against a wooden privacy fence. "What's your problem?" he demanded, wondering what the hell Sam was doing. It also crossed his mind to consider that this was an unusually physical ghost. Most of the time whatever spook they were tangling with tended to fling them around with whatever psychic mojo they had. Most did not resort to bar brawl moves.

His bloody face twisted in mindless hate, the ghost ran right at him yet again. Dean's fingers found the gate latch behind him. In a move worthy of Bugs Bunny, he flipped it open and side-stepped right as the dead guy would have reached him.

Unfortunately, dead dude was capable of feats that Elmer Fudd couldn't have dreamed of. As he flailed past, he got one hand on Dean's already sore arm and dragged him along for the ride. They rolled together down the small slope into the dark back yard, halfway regained their feet, and crashed again, this time onto a spongy surface about waist height. They grappled, the surface beneath them moving with their movements.

This guy was seriously way more substantial than he should have been. Supergeek Sam probably would have been wondering about why ghosts could have inertia and were affected by gravity when they didn't have mass and all of the other things he called "parakinematics" but Dean was just wondering how to gain the upper hand.

That question became much more urgent when the entire surface beneath them moved to the side and Dean smelled chlorine for a split second before the top 2/3 of his body plunged into water. Hot tub, he thought, twisting in the ghost's relentless grasp. It was useless; he was pinned. Dean grabbed the ghost's wrists, using every trick he knew to break its grip, his lungs beginning to burn for oxygen. He dug his thumbs into the guy's wrists, scratched him, pinched him, you name it, but the success of every technique was contingent on the recipient feeling pain, and the ghost was feeling none. It truly wasn't fair that this dude could have some of the advantages of the living – namely, solidity – and not some of the drawbacks, like needing to breathe.

Desperate, Dean scrabbled harder, unable to get any leverage with his feet still up over the side of the tub. A hint of panic seeped in as his body fought him, begging for air. After everything, was he really going to be finished by a single, brand new ghost?!

Just as spots started dancing across Dean's sight, the hands holding him were gone. Dean pushed himself up, gasping and choking as he finally sucked in air. He fell more than climbed out of the tub, blinking water out of his eyes to see the ghost and Ace fighting furiously. The house they were behind was dark and the hot tub cold and turned off, but a neighbor was bound to hear or see something eventually. They needed to wrap this up and get out of there.

The ghost flung the dog aside and advanced toward Dean yet again, then suddenly looked surprised, burst into flame, and vanished. "It's about time," Dean wheezed, a hand on his aching chest. He climbed to his feet and patted the head of the dog, who was sniffing him and looking downright worried. He made it about two steps before Sam appeared at the gate to the back yard.

"We should g–" he broke off at the sight of Dean dripping wet. "Uh, what happened to you?"

"Decided to jump in the hot tub with Beetlejuice, have us some bonding time," Dean rasped. "The hell took you so long?"

Sam absorbed Dean's answer for a moment before they started heading back toward their room, keeping to the shadows as much as possible. Sam hovered at Dean's elbow but was smart enough not to help without being asked.

"There was a handmade rosary hanging from the rearview mirror of the truck," Sam said finally. "I thought it might be what the ghost was trying to get, but I was worried that if I broke the window, someone would hear me. It took a minute to jimmy it and burn the thing." He glanced at Dean. "Are you okay? I didn't think you'd have so much trouble with one newbie ghost." He hastened to add, "He shouldn't have been that strong or fast or…"

"Good at ghosting?" Dean finished. He'd thought the same in between moments of fighting for his life. It normally took stuck spirits a long time to grow so furious and powerful. Not to mention so solid.

"Yeah." Sam didn't sound happy about it and Dean knew why – the most powerful ghosts they'd ever encountered had had demonic influence behind their strength, like the "witnesses" Lilith had raised to break one of the seals.

He and Dean slowed at the sight of Gloria leaning against the wall next to the door to the motel office smoking a cigarette, but it was too late to avoid being seen. The woman's gaze didn't miss anything, but instead of saying anything about Dean's state, she merely raised a questioning eyebrow.

"We were walking the dog –" Sam started.

"Automatic sprinklers," Dean added, silently cursing that they hadn't been more careful.

"I don't wanna know," was Gloria's only comment as she ground the butt under her heel. Shaking her head just slightly, she went back inside.

Dean sighed, but he was more concerned with warming up and showering than what the motel owner thought. "At least she doesn't seem like the call-the-cops type," he said. He caught sight of the time. "You'll have to go meet with Grant. I need a shower, and I'll get there when I can." He shook himself like a dog. "Stupid ghost."

WINCHESTER * WINCHESTER

When Dean arrived at "The Chancellor," finally warmed up and no longer smelling like bleach, he was pleased to see that it was a much more casual place than the rather grandiose name implied. In fact, it was kind of dark and close and had the oh-so-familiar smell of wood that had absorbed years and years of smoke and beer. There was even a pool table.

Sam, sitting with Grant at the bar, noticed Dean enter and waved down the bartender. Grant smiled as Dean walked up. Wearing a Boise State hoodie and jeans, he looked younger, though the difficult day had put circles under his eyes.

The bartender, stereotypically a bottle blonde in a tight shirt, slid Dean a beer with a practiced flirtatious smile. Dean smiled back but wasn't overly disappointed when she was too busy to stick around. They had work to do. He could have fun when bodies were no longer dropping. Besides, the fight with the pissed off ghost had reawakened every single bruise and ache from douchy-but-dead Deputy Dumbass and luckless loser Lily Markham. As much as he hated to admit it, a handful of ibuprofen and a heating pad sounded better to Dean than a roll in the sheets. Man, you're getting old, dude, he thought ruefully .

They brought their drinks to a corner booth and chatted inconsequentially for a few minutes, learning that Grant had two little boys and a girl on the way, and that he hadn't been the fire chief very long. "I'm not really qualified for it," he admitted quietly. "But the department is small, and the only other guy with any experience plans to retire in a couple of years. We're remote enough that we didn't get a single outside applicant." He sighed. "That all might be okay normally, but now this town, my home, is in crisis and we need leaders who know what they're doing." He flattened his lips, looking disappointed in himself. "The police chief is...well, I'm really glad you guys are here."

"I dunno, man, you handled that scene like a pro," Dean said honestly. He'd been impressed by how quickly the man had gotten everyone organized and how even the cops had deferred to him. The police chief hadn't even arrived until they were nearly finished with the rescue part of the operation. "Just because you're stumped by all this weird shit that's been happening doesn't mean you suck. Nobody else knows what's going on either."

Grant colored slightly. "Sorry about whining like that," he said with a little wince. "I guess I'm just stressed out – I don't like people dying on my watch. And I really wish my pops or even my old boss were around to give me some advice."

"I understand that," Sam chimed in in his earnest way. "You have no idea how often I wish I could call my mentor or my dad. Why don't you tell us what you've noticed going on, and we can all work on it together." It should have sounded cheesy, but Sam, as usual, pulled it off and Grant straightened his shoulders and looked a little less defeated.

Even after all this time, grief could surprise Dean, and Sam's words brought up the old, familiar sadness for some of their many losses.

"And here they say feds are dicks," Grant teased with a little bit of a smile. "Alright, here's what I've seen and heard about."

It was a fairly long list, but Foster had already told them about most of it. Grant was a bright guy and a good witness who was both observant and intuitive. He gave them more details about every single incident, and off the top of his head, too. Sometimes he apologized for bringing up something that appeared to be just a strange accident or random occurrence, though they'd told him repeatedly that they wanted to hear everything. "I was told that you never know which piece is going to make a puzzle make sense," he said at one point. It was a sentiment that they'd been taught too.

Almost in passing, Grant mentioned that Buddy, the driver of the truck with the logs on it, was in the hospital.

"What? Why?" Dean wanted to know.

"Partly hysteria," Grant said. "I think there's some worry that he's gonna hurt himself. Between you and me, nothing points to this being his fault, but he's got a lot of guilt. He's saying the whole accident happened because he wanted a long weekend." He toyed with the rim of the beer he was nursing as if reluctant to continue. "Also, I guess he's got some weird injuries that nobody saw at first. I mean, I sent him home and didn't see a mark on him, but when the cops went to check on him, he had all these little puncture wounds. They think he did it to himself."

"But?" prodded Sam when Grant didn't continue.

The chief didn't look at either Winchester. "But I've seen wounds just like that. Recently." He blew out a breath as if steeling himself. "The guy who called in about all the dead squirrels had a strange mark on the back of his hand. And I was on scene at the accident where all the tires popped at the same time. When his family showed up to pick him up, I noticed their kid had the same kind of marks on his arms." He shrugged. "Not that any of that makes any sense, but it sure as hell seems to be a lot more than a coincidence."

They had seen plenty of people in this situation before. Grant was smart enough to recognize that something beyond the normal was happening but was reluctant to accept what the facts and his instincts were telling him – that something supernatural was going on. The Winchesters didn't push him on it. Either he'd accept it or he wouldn't.

The other thing Grant said that caught Dean's attention was that the little brother of the 12-year-old girl who had disappeared kept telling people that the ground had eaten his sister. Since he was only 5, nobody listened to him, of course. But kids were often the best witnesses because they didn't try to explain away what they'd seen if it didn't fit normal rules.

When he finished talking, Grant excused himself. They both invited him to stay despite the fact that a bar was a good place to gather yet more information from the locals. Grant said he had some long days coming up and had been away from his family long enough. Dean found himself liking the guy who was running himself ragged trying to keep people safe and still spend time with his young family.

"We'll figure this out, Grant," Sam reassured the man, shaking his hand firmly. "You gave us a ton of great info." Dean nodded in agreement, but Grant still didn't look sure.

"I sure hope so," he said and wished them goodnight.

"You go right, I'll go left," Dean said once the firefighter had gone, looking left toward the bar. The bartender had been eyeing him and Dean figured he'd leverage her interest. Sam gave a little laugh but didn't argue.

Not surprisingly, there were as many theories about what was happening in Milton as there were people. One guy thought all of the construction was increasing the pollution, though how that made the incidents happen, he couldn't say. The bartender called it kismet, saying the town had taken their prosperity and safety for granted for too long and the universe was balancing the scales a bit. A table of guys who looked like farmers or laborers claimed it was all coincidence, to which a red-cheeked guy in a suit and loosened tie scoffed.

"It's the outsiders," the businessman turned barfly claimed. "I've been here my whole life and don't know half the town anymore. When you get an influx of new people like that, criminals come too." The farmers didn't contradict him, and Dean had the distinct impression they agreed but were too polite to say it in front of one of said outsiders.

Nobody had any stories about hauntings or cryptids or curses or any of the types of local legends that sometimes helped point Hunters in the right direction which in itself was kind of unusual.

It was extremely frustrating, and it didn't help that Dean's lungs still ached from his dunking, not to mention about a thousand other places on his body. He was contemplating switching from beer to whiskey when Sam materialized at his side. "Let's call it a night," Sam suggested, leaning on the bar. "Talk through what we know tomorrow and get some interviews in, maybe hit the library."

"Nerd," Dean teased half-heartedly. He considered protesting Sam's unsubtle mother-henning for all of two seconds before nodding. Considering how he felt, he was sure he looked like shit. "Yeah, let's grab a few hours. Maybe it'll all make sense in the morning."

Sam talked about what they'd learned as they walked back to the motel, while he greeted the dog and let him do his business outside, while they completed their nighttime routines, and even after they'd climbed into their respective beds.

Dean heard very little of it, but the sound was oddly soothing. Maybe, he thought as he drifted off, that had been the whole point.

"...crater so big that all of Greenland could fit in it," Sam rattled off, excited. Some things never changed – though he was 17 and had (shockingly) passed Dean in height, his teenage sullenness disappeared whenever some new discovery caught his attention.

"If I'd known I'd have to hear every word, I'd never have swiped you that mag," Dean complained, pretending irritation as Sam devoured the Scientific American he'd brought back. In reality, he found it reassuring that this lanky stranger still did Sam things like geeking out over information some space probe was sending back.

"Look at this picture! Those are dust devils bigger than most tornadoes. And this mountain? They think it's a dead volcano. It's more than 17 miles tall. That's like 3 times the height of Everest!" Sam was blind and deaf when he was this immersed in a topic, so Dean allowed himself an indulgent smile. The kid was so shut off so much of the time now it was a joy to see him indulge in a little happiness. He let the sound of Sam's voice wash over him as he gladly sharpened their blades alone so Sam could stay buried in the magazine. Dean deliberately avoided the thought that Sam was never this relaxed when Dad was around.

Sam was still prattling on. "...past Io. It's about the size of Earth's moon, and it's covered with ice and volcanoes."

It was, Dean thought, not that different from the little Sammy who found the ability to read the greatest event of his young life and felt the need to read everything he found, from books to receipts to clothing tags, to his big brother. It had never occurred to Dean that Sam might one day lose the desire to share everything with him.

Dean didn't particularly care about Mars or Io, but he did care about what made Sam happy and (contrary to the image he typically projected), he did retain some of his education. "Did you know that Jupiter has like 20 moons – maybe even more?" he asked just to watch Sam's head pop up and see the wonder on his face. "If there were werewolves on Jupiter, they'd be wolfed out all the time!"

Sam laughed, actually laughed an amused laugh, not just a sarcastic snort. "Twenty, huh? I know about the –"

With literally no warning, the window next to Sam exploded inward and long, tentacle-like arms wrapped around his chest and dragged him backwards through the jagged hole. Sam screamed for help and disappeared out of sight. Dean had jumped to his feet and dove forward, but he just missed Sam's hand reaching back for him. He was gone. Taken. Eaten.

Except, that wasn't right. Dean stopped himself from chasing after the monster, breathing heavily. This...this was a memory, which meant he was dreaming. The argos they'd been tracking when this had all occurred hadn't ever come inside the cabin. But when Dad had arrived the next morning, he'd found its prints all over around the little building. He had been visibly spooked; he'd thought his sons were well out of the path of the creature which sought out people who radiated negative emotions. Nobody discussed why it had been so drawn to the cabin, but Dad had no explanation for why it had never come in either.

Dean liked to think that it was because they had been happy and relaxed together, not stressed or upset for once. He had a few nightmares in the following weeks, in which he hadn't picked up the magazine for Sam or, worse, that he and Sam had gotten into a fight. Inevitably, in those dreams Sam was taken right in front of him, screaming for Dean to save him. 'If he were happy, he'd still be alive,' he'd thought repeatedly.

Still mostly asleep, Dean tried to remember what had actually happened to the argos.

Eventually, they'd tracked the demonic cryptid down and trapped it with an awesome net gun that Dad had borrowed from some guy in Idaho, who Dean now figured was probably Foster. He wondered if the older Hunter still had it and might even be willing to part with it. It definitely would be a handy addition to their arsenal in the trunk.

Dean's mind drifted and he was back in the cabin again, but he couldn't hear Dad telling him that he should keep an extra close eye on Sam over the sound of his own coughing.

"That should be better," said Sam softly, tucking something behind Dean so he was lying mostly on his side. Dean squinted at him blearily. It was Now-Sam, fully grown and scruffy. "You were wheezing in your sleep," Sam explained. "Being propped up should help. Go back to sleep."

There was a gurgle and Dean frowned. "You making coffee?" he husked, his voice a disaster.

"No, just heating water. Trying to raise the humidity to make you more comfortable," Sam said. "Really, go back to sleep. It's still the middle of the night."

He actually was a lot more comfortable now and still exhausted, so Dean closed his eyes. He contented himself with a little grumbling about little brothers who didn't know whose job it was to look after whom and who had to go and grow up. But he might have been smiling. Just a little.

* * *

AN: It's opposite day with Dean whump and a little bit of Sam mother-henning! Not sorry. (Where's Shazza? They always appreciate a little beat up Dean! hehe)

Usain Bolt is a retired sprinter from Jamaica who competed in four different Olympics and still holds many world records.

I hope you know who Bugs Bunny is. In case you don't, he's a snarky cartoon rabbit with a penchant for dramatic escapes. Elmer Fudd is a hapless hunter with rhotacism who is trying to bag Bugs during "wabbit season."

Parakinetics isn't really a word, it's just what I made up for the Men of Letters to call the physics of ghosts.

Beetlejuice is a ghost in the 1988 movie that bears his name.

Yes, I know that Jupiter has something like 80 observed moons, but most were discovered after the flashback occurred.

In Greek mythology, the algea (singular is algos) are the personification of pain, grief, and sorrow. As usual, I tweaked that a bit and made the name a common noun, referring to creatures that are attracted to negative emotions and consume the people feeling them, kind of like dementors, though argos eat people whole, not just their souls.

Kathy: Your ideas always give me ideas! It makes sense that Milton made you think of Anna; I didn't even think of her. I struggle to choose names for everyone and everything, so I just chose an author who was already on my mind. There was no reason for you to have picked up on that! No comment on what caught Grant's attention (yet) but you know it will come up eventually. I remembered you liked the Ogopogo, but I couldn't remember why. Caddy may have to make it into a story. He should have showed up in the story that had five billion different kinds of monsters in it!

muffinroo: Anyone who references Gertrude Stein and Shakespeare in the same sentence is a friend of mine! LOL. I got Sixth Sense vibes from your comment too. I love the memories/dreams thing so much that I couldn't help but do the same thing to Dean, though his wasn't an entirely pleasant memory.

Trucklady53: Confession time – I needed something easier to type than Goethe! LOL. Not zombies, though Dean thought the dude was a zombie or ghoul too. That's so nice of you to puppy-sit! What kind of dog? Sorry to make you wait when it's such a good time for you to get some reading in, but I'm really glad you're invested in the story.

scootersmom: I put another dream in! Although, the guys weren't all that young here. And you are so nice! Can you see me blushing?

Lilac Letter: Howdy! Nice to "see" you here. So many of us love that episode and I'm glad you like the story so far. I know you've correctly guessed some things in my stories before, so it certainly wouldn't surprise me if you were right. I actually tried to turn Johann into a nickname but wasn't sure they'd call a dog by their dad's name. It's really cute for a dog, though! Janice was the brains behind putting the ff email comment in the author's notes. I hope you keep enjoying the story as the mystery eventually unfolds. I promise at least one of those two cars will make a reappearance.

Jenjoremy: You didn't miss anything. I changed my mind about the number of deaths and only changed it one spot. Four died at the construction site. I did all that after Janice sent that chapter back to me, so it's 100% on me. Oops! Goethe absolutely needed an easier name to spell (and say).

Monanell: The game is afoot! Yes, I was a Sherlock Holmes nerd as a kid. A lot of us like the whumpage – so here was some more for all of us to enjoy. And dinosaurs are just plain awesome. I've always found them interesting and liked it when my son was so into them. I hope you keep enjoying the story!

Colby's girl: Hey, no worries about being "late." It's not like I've been very speedy with my writing the last few months. I so wish I could draw; I'd totally sketch the boys crammed into that crazy little car! I completely agree that Sam had to have retained some residual empathic or telepathic tendencies. I don't consider that a tangent (mainly because it's interesting). Thanks for your very kind comments.

stedan: Congrats on the new job, but I'm sorry to hear that you've been sick. Like starting work at a new place isn't challenging enough! It makes me way happier than it should that you like my OC's. I try to avoid too many cliches with them, and I often fall in love with them so they end up with a much bigger role than I originally intended. Thank you for reading and for your nice words.

Chiiva: Thanks! I imagined the guys limping down the road in a beat-up car with blood all over one window and it just didn't make sense. And since I love the episode so much it was a natural spot for me to put a story. It's nice to write the guys when they were in sync, and I think that's one of the things I like the best about this time period. And now we get caring Sam as a bonus!

sfaulkenberry: I'm so happy that you like Foster! He ended up being kind of a Bobby stand in. I do sometimes worry that I put in too many OCs, so feedback like that is really helpful. And I added Goethe because I'm a sucker for animals. :-D