"Dad, why the hell are we bringing her with us?" Dean demanded in a whisper; I must have fallen asleep in the back seat, and they apparently thought I was still sleeping.

"Because I said so, Dean," he shot back quietly. I knew Dean didn't like the idea, and I figured it was something they didn't hear very often, but he could get over it. He didn't seem ready to, though.

"I don't get it, Dad—why bother? We saved her, she's not in danger, so why bring her along?" I heard the resentment in his voice and it made me mad.

"Because I know how she feels a lot more than you do, son."

"Enlighten me."

"When your mother was killed, I wanted nothing more than to find the thing that killed her and destroy it…I remember staring at the house that night with you and Sam in my arms and thanking God that I still had you." He paused, and I heard the pain in his voice as he told my feelings to Dean, feelings that I had yet to speak to anyone. "She killed it, but that thing used to be her husband…she lost her kids in the process…she lost everyone she loved…she wants to be a hunter."

Silence reigned for a long moment; Dean seemed to be processing his father's words in silence. The only sounds I could hear were the roar of the classic car's engine and the sound of some classic rock through the speakers, the volume turned low apparently for me. I sensed from the car's motions that we were slowing down, and the car turned and finally stopped. I didn't care where we were, or where we were going, or that I was with two complete strangers.

Dean got out, and I rolled over on the backseat to where I was lying on my back. In the corner of my eye, I saw John looking at me in the rearview mirror.

"We're in Joplin, Missouri," he told me. "We're taking you to another hunter for him to teach you the basics…his name's Bobby Singer, and he's one of the best. We're just making a rest stop so we can all get a shower and some sleep."

"Fine by me," I mumbled. The numbness was overwhelming; I didn't feel how cold I was, or how badly I was shaking from my blood sugar dropping. I had no appetite, so I didn't crave food even though I needed it. The door opened again, and Dean got back in, holding a set of keys in his hand.

"Room 109," he told John. John nodded and guided the car closer to the room, and they got out, John opening the door for me and grabbing my bag as I sat up and looked around. We were at some cheap roadside motel, but I was beyond caring about the state of our accommodations. I stumbled out of the car and toward Dean, who had unlocked the door and left it open for us.

I don't know if it was because they saw how unsteady I was, or maybe I was even more pale than usual, or both, because Dean suddenly looked concerned and helped me inside to one of the beds. I heard him say something to his dad about getting me something to drink, or maybe it was something to eat…I was drifting off again. Some part of me realized I was going into shock, but I refused to acknowledge that sensible part…oblivion was more peaceful.

It only seemed like seconds later when I felt myself being pulled up into a sitting position and heard Dean speaking in a soothing voice. I was hardly aware of the bottle of juice he put in my hand, and it took a huge effort on my part to lift it up and take a sip. As I lowered the bottle again, I realized they had wrapped me in several blankets—only the arm with the bottle was free.

"Any reason you got me wrapped up like a burrito?" I asked, turning my head to look at Dean. He seemed to wince at my gaze, or possibly my words.

"You're in shock, Sarah…you're freezing and you need to get something in your system," he told me, raising the hand holding the drink to stress the point. I wasn't really thirsty, but I drank some more and realized they had given me orange juice…oh well, if it makes him feel better. I looked around the room and noticed John was absent.

"Where'd your dad go?" I focused my gaze on the front door.

"He went to get some food for all of us," Dean told me. "C'mon, stay with me till he comes back, okay?" I was too drained to smile.

"Why bother, Dean? You don't want me around anyway…you don't have to pretend and be nice to me," I told him. He immediately looked ashamed.

"You heard all that, huh?" he muttered. I nodded, or at least I think I did; I felt so dazed that it was hard for me to tell what was real and what I imagined. A horrible pressure was building up inside me—it felt like it was crushing my chest—and finally it was like a bomb went off inside me when I fully realized everything that happened the night before.

Crying was an understatement—I screamed, sobbed, and was so hysterical that I couldn't make words. If I hadn't already been sitting down, I would've collapsed on the floor…time didn't exist anymore…only the horrifying images burned into my head of my children, dead and mutilated, murdered by a creature that used to be their father, my husband. I wasn't even aware of Dean's arms around me.

I couldn't have told you how long I was like that, but Dean told me later that it was about half an hour. All I know is that after I stopped screaming and sobbing, John finally came back with several bags of food. He only took one glance at me and knew, because the tears were still pouring down. After digging in one of the bags, he grabbed a box and opened it, then brought it to me with a fork.

"Here," he said gently, placing them in my lap, "I know your appetite's shot, but you need to try to eat something. Don't worry about what you don't eat—we'll make sure it doesn't go to waste."

I looked at the food and saw he'd given me two fried eggs, several strips of bacon, hash browns, and toast. I stared at it for a few moments before I picked up a strip of bacon and nibbled on it…my stomach was so twisted with grief that it was nearly impossible to swallow it, and I picked up the juice again and washed it down before it could get stuck in my throat.

Dean finally let go of me to eat his breakfast, and silence reigned while they ate and I attempted to. I had just shoved my food away when there was a knock on the door; John and Dean exchanged a panicked look.

"Joplin Police," the voice on the other side announced. The two of them scrambled for a moment before I realized what must have happened.

"I bet it's about me," I said as I stood up shakily. John looked ready to snap, but Dean quickly whispered in his ear and he calmed down. Dean guided me over to the door and opened it, and the officer studied me carefully, his face showing concern, before looking suspiciously at Dean.

"Sir, we received a call about a disturbance from this room—there were reports of a woman screaming and crying," he stated. I nodded and felt the tears still rolling down my face.

"Yes sir, that was probably me," I stated, my voice hoarse and cracked. I didn't think I could bear to explain, but Dean sat me in a chair by the door and took a step toward the door, indicating that he wished to explain.

"Officer, I'm sorry you had to get called out here on this…you see, she just got a call from her dad telling her that her brother died in a car accident last night, and, well…" he said quietly, letting his voice trail off as the alarm bells sounded in my head again. The expression on the cop's face changed immediately to one of understanding. The lie was close enough to the truth for him to believe, and he saw my pain and grief were real.

"I'm sorry to disturb you, ma'am, and I hope you'll accept my condolences," he said to me, kneeling down to my level. "Is there anything I can do for you?"

"You wouldn't happen to have a cigarette, would you?" I asked him. I hadn't had a cigarette since before…well, I needed one, anyway. He smiled and pulled a pack out of his pocket, and I gratefully took one from him and he lit it for me. It wasn't my preferred brand, but at least it wasn't menthol. His radio crackled to life just then, and he reported the all clear before leaving.

Both John and Dean gave a deep sigh of relief when the cop left. After a few moments, John actually laughed.

"That was some fast thinking, son…pretty good lie, too."

"It wasn't a lie," I interjected, making both of them look at me; they immediately stopped laughing. "My little brother died about four years ago in a car wreck."

Their expressions revealed their embarrassment and humiliation. I waved away their apologies before they could say them.

"Don't bother…it's not like you knew…besides, it got rid of the cop, didn't it?" I assured them, trying to sound calmer than I felt. They still looked uncomfortable, but thankfully they let it pass. After a moment of awkward silence, John walked over to my chair with a brave attempt at a comforting smile.

"C'mon, let's get you to bed," he said, gently pulling me to my feet. When his hand found mine, however, I had a horrible moment of vertigo as images flashed through my mind…images that I'd never seen anywhere before…a woman wearing a nightgown, pinned to the ceiling of a nursery over a crib…blood dripping from a red splotch on her stomach, just before flames burst to life all around her…a much younger John grabbing the baby and handing him to a small boy, ordering him to carry his brother outside as fast as he could…

I nearly fell under the weight of all the visions, and John changed his hold on me. Now that he wasn't touching my skin, I wasn't being bombarded anymore, but I couldn't shake what I had seen. When he sat me on the bed, he seemed to notice the change in my expression and his eyes narrowed slightly.

"What is it?" I swallowed hard, trying to figure out how to explain.

"I…I saw something," I started. "When you touched me…I saw Mary die."

Shock was etched on their faces; neither of them had said that name to me before, but I was certain that it was the name of John's wife and Dean's mother, just like I was convinced that I had seen her death. I could still smell the smoke and hear John's screams echoing in my ears.

"What exactly did you see?" Dean asked. I closed my eyes and shook my head, wishing I could forget what he wanted to know.

"A woman in a nightgown…she was pinned to the ceiling in a nursery, but there was nothing visible holding her up…blood dripping from her stomach…then fire…and a little boy running in, and John grabbing a baby out of the crib and telling the boy to take his brother outside as fast as he could…"

I shuddered again as something else hit me, something I hadn't processed the first time…evil…something truly evil had been there. When I opened my eyes and looked at them again, John's expression was grave, while Dean's face had the same stunned look I had seen in the little boy.

"Are you a psychic?" John demanded. I could only shrug.

"I don't know anymore," I muttered, feeling the tears burn my eyes again as I looked up at him. "Why is this happening to me?"

He looked in my eyes for a long moment before he exhaled heavily and nodded in acceptance. After a moment, he rummaged around in his bag before pulling out a bottle of water and handing it to me. I noticed Dean's eyes narrow by a fraction as John removed the top.

"Here—you need to keep your fluids up," he said gently. I nodded and took a sip, and he seemed puzzled. I had a feeling he had ulterior motives, and Dean confirmed it when he spoke up.

"Okay Dad, now we know she's not a demon…you happy now?" It now occurred to me why he'd dug that bottle out of his bag; it was full of holy water. The look on John's face told me he was nowhere near happy.

"Not just yet, Dean," he said as he pulled a knife out of the bag. "There's a few other things she could be."

I wanted to panic as he took a step toward me with the knife in his hand. Still, some part of my brain was forcing back the panic, and I tried to process the situation in terms of hunting and what he thought I might be.

"Hang on a sec…if I'm gonna be a hunter, would you at least mind explaining to me what you think I might be and exactly what you plan on doing to me?" I asked, my hands raised in surrender. This made John stop for a moment, and Dean stepped in and placed himself between us before answering me.

"If you're not a demon, some other creatures that can read a person like that are shapeshifters and revenants," he told me. "For both of them, silver is like acid, so I believe the plan was to cut you with a silver knife and see if you have any abnormal reaction." I nodded and held out my hand.

"Okay, I'll do it myself." They exchanged another surprised look, and I started to get irritated. "Look, I've got nothing to hide…I don't know why these things have been happening to me, but I'll be damned if you accuse me of being a monster and won't even let me show you myself that I'm not."

My words seemed to get through their thick skulls, and John handed over the knife. I turned my left forearm up and chose a spot halfway between my elbow and wrist, then took a deep breath and let it out slowly before pulling the blade across my skin. It was sharp and cut easily, but I had gauged my depth well because only a thin line of blood welled up. The cut barely hurt.

I looked up at them, letting my expression speak for itself instead of actually saying "I told you so". Without a word, I wiped the traces of blood off the blade with the blanket I was wrapped in and set it on the table beside the bed. John looked like he regretted the accusation now that he was eating his words; Dean, however, had a satisfied look, and I thought I knew why. Between the time we spent together before all hell broke loose and the events of this morning, he was certain that I was exactly what I seemed to be.

"One last thing," John started, "and I promise it's the last, and it won't be as bad as the knife. Salt," he pulled a container out of the bag as he spoke, "is like a supernatural acid and barrier for a lot of creatures. Just eat a little bit and then I'll be satisfied."

I held out my hand, and he poured about a spoonful of salt into my palm. I didn't want to eat all of it, but on the other hand, I wanted to get the interrogation over with. Raising my hand to my mouth, I poured the salt into my mouth and let them see it before I swallowed, making a face as I did. I quickly grabbed the juice and tried to wash the taste out, but it only seemed to make it worse.

"You know, my mom acts like salt is evil," I told them, trying to lighten the mood. "She drives me nuts…her food comes out so bland, and she expects me to cook the way she does just because it's what she likes, even though she's the only one that likes it…go figure why I'm the better cook."

That actually brought a smile out of both of them, and one by one we all laid down and went to sleep. I was the last one awake; being gentlemen, they let me have one of the beds to myself and shared the other. The images of my children's and Mary's deaths played through my head, and I couldn't shake the familiar feeling of evil from Mary's murder. It had turned into a puzzle, and I thought I knew the answer…sleep finally came from sheer exhaustion, and that was the last time in a long time that I slept without nightmares.