Yay, I'm back again! So quickly too! It's amazing how I've gotten more story alert plusses for this story than reviews (for the last chapter). Oh well, I"m still happy. (gives everyone cookies!)

I rewrote this part just last night, and then watched some old school supernatural! When I thought of which one to watch, the first thing that popped up in my head was "Shadow". It not my all time favorite episode, but I was really happy to watch it. You see, here's a little story... (skip down to the ACTUAL story if you don't want to hear this) Okay. My brothers and I always watch Supernatural togther. We have since the first episode. So after seeing Shadow, we've always used the line "Hey, boys" (trying to sound like John, with his deep voice). Even my oldest sister, who doesn't watch as much as us but still loves the show comes home every now and then and says in an EXTREMELY deep voice, "HEY BOYS." Even to this day. Once my brother and I watched Shadow JUST to see the scene where John says that... I just don't know why... lol

well anyway, please enjoy the REAL story.

After Dean had checked out, he came out to his car. John had parked the truck in the adjacent parking space, and was there waiting for him.

"Sam, why don't you ride with—" John began, but Dean cut him off.

"You don't have to treat me like an escaped prisoner. I can handle myself fine, thanks."

"But, Dean…," Sam protested.

"Sammy, seriously. There's a bunch of shit on the passenger seat."

"Then clean it off," John said before turning back to his truck. "I'll follow you. We're going to Missouri's."

Dean tried to stifle his surprise. "So that's why… You were there the whole time, waiting for me, weren't you?"

Sam nodded. "I had a vision that you would come."

Sam's psychic powers seemed to be working against him more and more these days, Dean thought to himself. He didn't respond, but slipped into the driver's seat and started up the car, shoving the stuff on Sam's seat into the back. "Come on, Sam."

Dean drove in silence for the first time in months. It had all happened too fast. Sam and John coming in and finding him like that… He couldn't even meet his father's eyes. He didn't know if it was because of guilt or because…

His thoughts trailed off as he listened to Sam shift uncomfortably in the passenger seat. His heart had been pounding in his chest ever since he spotted Sam. He'd never admit it, but he was kind of panicked. He couldn't fully explain why—maybe it was because he knew that they didn't need him, or maybe because he had avoided the very thought of them for the past five months. All he knew was that he was scared, and that he couldn't even find the strength to just run away from them again. He knew he could have. He knew he would have. But his body was in such a state of shock, he could barely even walk, much less run.

And he so wanted to stick around to make sure Sam was okay, at least. He had been worrying about him for five months. Constantly worrying.

But he couldn't show any of this. He needed to try his best to appear 'normal' for Sam.

Old habits die hard, he thought to himself.

"Dean," Sam began, slowly, finally.

"What?"

"I…I'm…" Sam looked down, narrowing his eyes slightly. How hard could it possibly be? But it was strange. He didn't know if it was because he hadn't seen Dean in so long or if it was because he was nervous, but it was suddenly hard to talk to his brother.

Dean bit his lip. Yeah. He got it. He found it kind of hard to talk to Sam normally too. He just let it at that, and silence fell once more.

Dean rubbed his sore eyes. After the past few months, he had found himself getting tired more often than usual. He was so tired—not just the sleepy kind of tired, but in the world-weary way, too. He was tired of the hunt, emotionally and physically. But he knew he needed to do this. Maybe after they took down the demon, Sam could go back to school and be normal. That's what his brother always wanted, and he deserved it.

When Dean finally pulled into Missouri's driveway a little over forty-five minutes later, he got out of his car and shut the door behind him. After waiting for Sam to join him, he then waited for his father.

John pulled the truck in beside him and got out.

Sam practically pushed Dean towards the house. "Come on, let's go."

Dean tensed up for a second, but eventually followed Sam to the door. Before Sam could even knock, Missouri opened the door for him.

"Sam! I could hear your thoughts a mile away. I hear you found Dean." She looked over his shoulder to see Dean, looking down with his hands in his pockets. There was a good two days worth of beard on his face, but that wasn't what struck Missouri. It was…strange. The feeling she got from him…it was so different, and somewhat…hollow…

Sam saw how she seemed to freeze up, but Missouri caught his curious thoughts just in time and quickly recovered, inviting the Winchesters inside.

"I'll make us some coffee," she offered, sensing John's irritation and desire for something to drink.

"That'd be great, thanks," Sam replied with a smile. He turned around to see his father and brother in front of the couch. He frowned. Dad couldn't want to start a conversation now. They were all tired and irritable. Talking might spark an argument—and they really didn't need one of those.

"Dean," John began. "Dean, look at me."

Dean slowly brought his head up to look at his father. Suddenly, a flash of yellow eyes stared back at him, and he had to resist the urge to step back. The yellow eyes had come and gone, and all that was left was his father's brown eyes. John hadn't missed the flash of fear in his son's eyes, but chose to ignore it.

Dean's whole body froze, and his heart beat wildly. He clenched a fist. No, this wasn't right. Dad wasn't the demon. He wasn't possessed. He knew it. But why did he keep thinking that he'd meet yellow eyes instead of brown? Why was he so on edge? Why did he keep hearing all the words that the demon had said to him?

"Dean, you left Sam. You left him in the middle of no where, where anything could get him. You disobeyed a direct order. We had no idea where the hell you were. For all we knew, you could have died sometime in the past five months!"

"Dad, I—I never meant to leave Sam unprotected, but—"

"But what?" John demanded. "And what do you mean, you never mean to? You left on your own. For no logical reason. You just abandoned your brother!"

Dean swallowed hard, dug up some strength and looked John in the eyes again. "Yes sir…"

"Why would you do something like that?!"

Dean gave a minute shake of his head and looked down again. He did not intend to answer that question. What could he possibly say? Anything that even came remotely close tot the truth would still be admitting that he had weaknesses. He couldn't, he wouldn't be weak in front of his father—and definitely not Sam. He was supposed to be strong, someone that his family could depend on. He was failing that even now…

And God, even after all those months, why was it that all he could see in his father's eyes was pits of yellow? It had been so long. Why were they still there?

I can't be scared, Dean told himself, trying to will his heartbeat down. I can't let them see it…

Missouri suddenly came back in, handing both John and Sam a mug. She cast a worried glance at Dean, and spoke up before John could. "Why don't you get some rest, Dean? You look tired."

"Um…" Dean trailed off at the look Missouri was shooting him. Okay. Missouri was doing him a favor here. "I, uh, think I'll take that offer. Thanks. I'll crash somewhere upstairs." And without waiting for a response, he left.

John was silent for a long time. He took a seat on the couch and gulped down some of his coffee. His eyebrows creased as he scowled. "I get the feeling," he began, looking to Sam, "that your brother is afraid. Of me."

Sam folded his arms across his chest. "You know what, Dad? I wouldn't blame him if he was. The last thing you said to him was that we didn't need him."

"It was—"

"—the demon, I know." Sam shook his head and sighed. "Still, it came from your mouth. I'd be scared too."

John snorted. "I must have been seeing things. Dean wouldn't let something like that scare him. But still…" He nodded to Sam. "When Dean wakes up, I want you to talk some sense into him. You're probably the only one he'll listen to right now."

Sam's eyes went wide. "Well…I…"

John arched a brow at him questioningly.

"I mean… He's different now, I can feel it. He feels different from before, Dad, like something changed. Like more…aloof…or…or…"

"He has a hollow feeling," Missouri supplied.

Sam and John turned their eyes on Missouri.

"Can't tell yah much more than that," Missouri went on. "I can only get so far into his mind before he throws me out."

"Throws you out?" Sam questioned.

"He puts up walls around his mind. Fronts. He distracts his mind so I can't read it. You see, I can only hear what people are thinking at that moment. But whenever I'm around, he suddenly begins thinkin' random thoughts."

John scratched the back of his head idly. "And you can't speak to him because…?"

"I'm afraid that I'll say the wrong thing…," Sam replied carefully. "And…I don't know if he'll really listen to me."

"Can't you at least try?"

After a moment, Sam nodded slowly. "Yeah, yeah, I guess I can…" And he began to walk away.

"Sam, honey, Dean's resting," Missouri reminded him.

"No he's not," Sam replied without stopping. Under his breath, he added, "He's hiding."

Dean sat on the edge of his bed, rubbing his forehead with one hand. Tired as he was, he couldn't get any sleep. Even when he was completely worn out, he was still restless. It was beginning to drive him crazy.

A moment later, the door creaked open. Dean didn't even have to look up to know it was Sam. Because John would have just swung the door open and Missouri would have knocked.

Sam slowly walked into the room and carefully sat next to his brother. It was a minute or two of silence before Dean glanced at him. It might have been three seconds before he cast his eyes downward again.

Sam shifted, looked at his brother and opened his mouth. No sound came out, so he closed his mouth again, trying to think of what to say.

"You know," Dean remarked quietly, breaking the silence, "you never had to think about what to say. You always used to say what was on your mind."

"I just wanted to talk…"

"Then talk."

"…You don't have to be afraid of him, Dean. He's…he's not possessed anymore," Sam whispered.

"Afraid? Sammy, he doesn't scare me," Dean replied evenly. "I'm…just not sure what to say to him. I can't really give him a logical explanation for why I left you. I barely even know why I left. You know how I can get when it comes to protecting…when it comes to protecting you and Dad."

"But, Dean… I mean, you just… I just want to know why. Is it because I said I didn't need you for the next hunt? Man, I was angry, and you know how stupid I can be when I get angry. It was really stupid of me. I never meant that, I swear," Sam tried, his puppy eyes pleading.

But Dean knew better and didn't meet those eyes. He looked away, and his expression didn't change as he said, "I know that, Sam."

"…If it's not that, then what? Please…I… Talk to me, man…"

Dean rubbed his eyes tiredly. "There isn't anything else to say. I left. I came back. The only thing that happened in between was a hell of a lot of hunts."

"How many?" Sam asked warily, very aware of Dean's apparent weariness. He also noticed other little things. Like the extra scars that were there before. Like growing a day or two worth of beard just wasn't Dean's style. He noticed how Dean's shirt hung just a little too loosely, as if he hadn't gotten enough to eat. He saw how his brother's eyes had somehow gotten colder than they had been before. Staring at them was like staring at ice.

"I haven't really kept count," Dean said, a hard sarcastic tone biting at the edge of his words.

"Okay. Easier question: When weren't you hunting? Did'yah take a break or something?"

Dean chuckled at his brother's words, shaking his head. "Hunting isn't something you take a break from. People die during 'breaks'."

"That's not answering my other question."

"When I slept," Dean shot at him, throwing his brother a look that clearly said drop it. "Speaking of," he added before Sam could respond. "I'm worn out."

Sam bit his lip but nodded in acceptance. "Okay, man. We'll talk later." He lifted his hand and patted his brother on the shoulder—or he tried to, but Dean avoided his touch. Sam gave him a questioning look, but Dean only gave a tiny shrug, otherwise ignoring it and lying down, covering his eyes with his forearm.

Sam stifled a sigh and left the room. When he shut the door behind him, he stood there for a moment, realizing that his hands were trembling.

"How did it go?"

Sam nearly jumped at the sound of his father's voice from behind him. He turned and whispered, "He said that he's not afraid of you."

John nodded. "I knew as much."

Sam was silent for a long time, wondering if John really believed that Dean's fear was something that he had just thought up—something he had imagined. Sam would like to think that he knew his brother better than anyone, and he knew when his brother was afraid—even though fear wasn't something he often saw in Dean's eyes.

"Are you okay?" John asked worriedly, looking over his youngest. "Did he say something to you?"

Sam gulped. "Dad…he…Dean, I mean… Man, he's different. He's thin and pale and his eyes…" He shuddered. "And…and I just get this feeling from him that kind of…I mean, it kind of scares me."

John laid a reassuring hand on Sam's shoulder. "He's completely fine, Sam. The hunt's just been wearing on him a little. Believe me, I've looked like that a few times myself."

"Yeah, but this is different."

John didn't look like he believed him. "You should be getting to bed. It's pretty late."

Sam eventually nodded, and went down the hall to the room he was staying in.

Once Sam disappeared behind the door, John paused before the one in front of him. When Dean had said that he was going to crash upstairs, he had accidentally 'crashed' in the room that John had been staying in.

He eased open the door and crept inside. He spotted his son on his bed, arm over his eyes. John had decided to let Dean sleep there, and he only went into the room to grab a spare blanket so he could sleep on the couch downstairs. Maybe some clothes for the next day, too… He let his eyes linger on his eldest for a moment, but shook his head a moment later and went back to his mission.

"You don't have to sneak around, Dad, I'm not asleep."

John glanced back to the bed. Dean hadn't moved a muscle. "Just getting my stuff," he said.

The arm slid away from his eyes. "What? Is this your room?"

"It was, yeah."

Dean sat up, somewhat quickly. "Sorry, sir. I didn't mean to sleep here… I didn't know, I guess. You can sleep here. I'll move."

John shrugged. "I was just going to sleep on the couch," he replied as he showed Dean the blanket he had grabbed from the closet.

Dean sprang from the bed, strode over to John and carefully snatched the blanket from his father's hands. "Don't worry about it, I will. You were here first."

John shook his head. "Fine then." He watched as his son began to walk out the door, and called after him. "But don't think you're getting out of this so easily. We're having a talk tomorrow."

Dean froze for a split second, on the threshold. "Yes sir."

So I don't know when I'll get the next chapter up. Probably within a week if everything goes as planned.

It's actually pretty interesting to be rewriting this story. I started it TWO YEARS AGO. And I don't know when the last time I actually worked on progressing it. You see, the way I see it is, I'll rewrite it until I get to the point where I stopped before, and since my mind is all refreshed from rewriting it, I'll know what to write about next... Or at least, I hope so... Please wish me luck on that. lol. But it's okay, because there's still like, six more chapters to rewrite, so I've got time to think!

I hope you liked it. Please review! It makes me work faster!