Disclaimer: Everything belongs to their respective owners, Eric Kripke, the CW.

A/N: Someone actually requested a second chapter, bringing in Ms. Stewart again, to learn a little more about our boys as adults. So, here it is.

Thanks for the request, blackcatswhiskers.


Emotional Torture
20 Years Later...

It had been a long 20 years. Ms. Stewart had been getting up in years. Feeling close to retirement. She had had her share of teaching. It was time to let somebody else take the reigns. Who would have thought that this would bring on her own genuine haunting?

Ms. Stewart, soon to be known as Edna Stewart, had come home from the school office after officially delivering her order of resignation. Walking in her front door, she put her jacket and purse by the door, locked the door, and started the furnace. Suddenly, the room goes cold. She could literally see her breath in a matter of seconds. She had an extremely bad feeling. Something was not right!

There was a snap behind her. Whipping around, she came face to face with a young boy. He was barely twelve years old. He flickered quickly before disappearing. What the hell? She snapped her head back and forth. The room was still cold. Edna shivered like a leaf. Then, there was movement out of the corner of her eye. There was the boy standing to her left. Something stood out on him. His wrists were slit, with obvious signs of hesitation marks. His eyes were afire. He was blazing with anger. He opened his mouth, ready to scream at her.

Crash! Edna's front door bursts open. "Duck!" a voice shouted over her own scream of fear. But the commanding tone in the intruder's voice made it impossible not to follow that order. She fell to the floor, immediately followed by short shots from a gun. From through her eyelashes, she saw the boy's feet disappear. The room kicked into life. The furnace turned on and the cold quickly disappeared.

Edna Stewart felt gentle hands prodding her. Finally voices penetrated her mind. Starting out sluggish and turning quite crisp. "... all... Hey..... You.... Miss, you... ight?... Miss, you all right?" She nodded her head, too dazed to answer.

Then those same hands were pulling her up, off the floor and onto her nearby couch. It didn't take her long to see that this person supporting her was no one she knew. Through blurry vision he was unfamiliar. So Edna began to struggle. The voice began calming her down. "It's all right. We're here to help. Hey, calm down. It's all right."

The voice was so sincere; she couldn't help but believe. But why? She never believed anything anyone said. Why would she all of a sudden believe a stranger who had burst into her house... and saved her life? Her mind clicked on. This person had saved her life. Edna's vision cleared quickly.

On front of her was a man. A young man with beautiful hazel-green eyes, short-cropped hair, and an almost angelic face. It wasn't that she was interested in him. He was way to young for her tastes, but it was something in his eyes. Something she just couldn't help... forgive. Why? Why would she feel that need to forgive? Why did he feel so familiar?

His voice cut through her thoughts. "Are you all right?"

Edna nodded. The man began to get up when she suddenly grabbed his arm. "Wait." She whispered.

"What?" the man sniped.

"Who are you?"

The man smiled softly, probably hoping she wasn't about to snap. "You don't really want to know."

Then, there was another voice. "Dean, come on. The house is clear. Grab her and let's go."

The man nodded, but something tugged at Edna's... no, Ms. Stewart's memory.

"Come on, Dean!"

"Please, Dean."

"'K, Dean."

"Dean. Dean. Dean."

"Can we go home now? Please, Dean?"

"Please?"

Please. Why please? Please... the word had saved her life. But Dean...

"Come on, Dean," the other man pleaded.

"Dean," Ms. Stewart whispered. "Dean... Winchester."

The man in front of her stiffened. The taller one in the doorway began to raise his gun.

"It's you, isn't it. Dean Winchester."

Dean's soft eyes had turned rock hard. Just like his father's. Just like John's.

"Who are you?"

Ms. Stewart struggled to get her thoughts back to the present, where here and now a man was grabbing her upper arms and shaking her, repeating over and over, "Who are you? How do you know who I am?"

Ms. Stewart stumbled over words before finally replying, "You saved my life." The man, Dean, blinked. "You saved my life 20 years ago."

Dean let out a small chuckle. "Sorry, miss. You must have the wrong Dean. 20 years ago, I was only-"

"Eleven years old," Ms. Stewart finished. "Yes. I was your teacher."

"Dean?" The tall one whispered.

"I'm sorry, I don't know you."

Ms. Stewart giggled. "No, I don't suppose you would. You were only in my class for a month before your father dragged you out. You left so quickly."

"I don't..."

Ms. Stewart smiled. "And you must be Samuel," she asked, turning her head toward the other stranger under her living room arch. The man nodded blankly.

Ms. Stewart smiled again. Who would have thought it? For many months after those two boys left, that was all she thought about. Where were they? Were they coming back? Were they safe? And now here they were in her very house... saving her life again.

"You two probably don't remember it. It was 20 years ago when I announced to the class," Ms. Stewart nodded her head toward Dean, "about Parent/Teacher Interviews. Your father came in. In a moment of anger, I, regretfully, brought up your mother in front of him." Both boys visibly flinch and Dean's eyes darken. "He got angry at me. Understandably. I would have been mad, too. Sam, you were the only one who wasn't looking at me like they wanted to tear me apart. You got your brother to calm down. Then you, Dean, got your father... well, not calm, but out of the room with me in tact."

Dean had stood up. He was now hovering over her with a look like he clearly thought she was crazy.

"You don't realize how much I thought of you two."

"Why us?" It was Sam who spoke for Dean who was struck speechless.

"I don't know. I had many reasons. Your clothes, your unsocialized demeanor, the looks on your faces. I knew you didn't have a mom anymore, but I was sure that your father was some monster for letting you guys live the way you di-"

"Shut up!"

Ms. Stewart was stilled. Dean had been so quiet; now he suddenly burst. Like their father had 20 years ago.

"You don't know our lives, you don't know our father! You. Don't. Know. Us," Dean stated.

"Dean," Sam whispered, clearly trying to soothe his brother... again, like he had 20 years ago.

Dean took a deep breath... and then coughed. He breathed out again, and there was a small mist that rose from his mouth. The temperature had dropped again. The anger was gone. There was only a look of determination on his face, clearly getting a game-face on.

Then, there he was. The young boys standing behind Dean. "Dean! Drop!" Sam yelled. Dean's body obeyed, meanwhile dragging Ms. Stewart down with him. A shotgun went off. The ghost was gone. The temperature didn't return to normal. The ghost came back. "Dean! We need to get out of here. Come on!"

Dean didn't respond, but only grabbed Ms. Stewart by the arms, and began dragging her out the door. She didn't complain. They were getting her away from danger. The rest went by fast. There were noises, shots, squeaks, rubber on asphalt, brakes, whispered voices, and then Dean was suggesting, much to the surprised of the younger brother, that she stick with them... just until this was over. Sam had no say. Dean apparently knew where to go. Soon, they were stopping. She was told to stay in the car, but she couldn't. She followed blindly.

It was dark. But not dark enough to hide where she was. They were in a cemetery. "What the-"

"We told you to stay in the car," Dean said, almost as a sorry.

They moved fast. They stopped. She stood by as the boys pulled shovels out... and started digging. They were digging a grave. They dug deeper and deeper. She said nothing.

The silence didn't last long when Dean abruptly asked, "So, you remember me from 20 years ago."

Ms. Stewart nodded.

"Look, you really don't know anything about us. And that's the way it will hopefully stay. But from what you said, you brought up our mom around out dad. That was only a few years after she... died."

Swallowing, Ms. Stewart was filled with deep regret. She had been so ignorant, so rash, back then. How could she say that?

"Don't worry about it. It wasn't your fault. Hell, I probably would have been worried too. We didn't grow up in the best conditions. But our dad did the best he could before he..."

"Dean," Sam whispered again, this time in support.

Ms. Stewart didn't know what to say. So, both their mother and father were dead. It broke her heart.

Though, clearly these boys couldn't remember that particular instant which she remembered, she somehow wasn't surprised. All of a sudden, she couldn't help but look around at her surrounding and ask, "So, this is really what you guys do? Grave robbers?"

"Hunters," Dean corrected automatically, like he had a debt to pay to this woman. "That thing in your home? That was a spirit. He was after revenge on teachers, thinking any of them who quit their jobs were giving up on children. He blamed teachers for his death."

"Ghosts?"

"Yea, ghosts."

"I always knew there was something about you boys, but I never imagined ghosts. Even after that essay you wrote in grade 5, 'Ways to kill a werewolf'."

Sam chuckled.

Dean smirked. "What can I say? We had an odd life." At that, Dean pulled out a set of matches. The boys had finished digging, and poured, what looked like, salt and lighter fluid on the open grave. Flames rose from the ground.

Ms. Stewart then whispered, more to herself, "I'm just glad you boys are all right."

But Dean had heard her. It was true he couldn't remember this teacher, but he really believed she remembered him. The way she described his past, his father, she must have really done what she said she had. And he felt sorry. Dean looked at his former teacher. Ms. Stewart looked right back. She then noticed something. In the flickering light of the burning grave, Dean suddenly looked eleven years old again, giving her that same apologetic stare he had given her last time she'd seen him. This time she wasn't struck speechless. She knew what to say. "It wasn't your fault, Dean. It really wasn't."

Edna Stewart watched as Sam grabbed his brother's shoulder and gave it a reassuring squeeze. Dean nodded his head. He looked truly happy as he stood staring into the flames with his family by his side. Dean really was still that little eleven-year-old, forever with his family... whatever was left of it.

End


A/N: I personally liked the second chapter better. What did you all think?