YES, I am back with yet another chapter!

I don't think I have anything more to say up here except for I don't own Supernatural, and please enjoy the chapter!

Wide jade eyes scanned the room, only resting on the couch for but a moment. Dean wasn't tired anymore—or, he at least knew he wouldn't be able to fall asleep. And since he knew that, he didn't feel like trying. He hated feeling tired, trying to sleep and failing. He'd rather stay up all night long other than tossing and turning until he fell into a fitful sleep.

He threw the blanket on the couch and ran a hand through his hair. After a minute or two of debating, he decided he would just go do something else. The whole house was asleep by now. He knew it by the way it felt—cold and dead. It was pretty late, just a few hours past midnight, so Dean didn't expect anything less.

He stepped out of the house, careful not to make any noise. He made his way over to his car that rested in the driveway, and laid a hand on the Impala's sleek surface.

He couldn't stop the thought from crossing his mind, he really couldn't. It would be the perfect time to leave again.

He shook his head. No, he told himself. No. It won't happen again… It can't happen again… What if Dad wasn't there when I left Sam before? Sam…he'd… He probably would've…gotten hurt… If I leave him…I can't protect him… What if I leave, and something happens to him? What if something happens to Dad?

Dean bit his lip. He had been worried throughout every minute when he was gone before. For all he knew, Sam could've been killed in those five months. He couldn't stand not knowing if he was all right. He couldn't stand the thought of Sam getting hurt by some evil son of a bitch.

He couldn't care anymore about what the demon said. He needed to protect his family. He didn't want them to die. He didn't want to be left alone. He knew, deep down, that he always thought of what the demon had said to him. But now he couldn't care if it were true. He couldn't. If he cared too much about it, he might leave again. He needed to put his family above himself.

Dean shook his head with a sigh, turning his thoughts back towards his car. There had been one or two things that he would've liked to take care of with his car, but he hadn't had the time until now. And since he couldn't get to sleep, he could finally take care of those things. He didn't mind how the icy cold wind pummeled him, or how his very bones felt like ice. Yeah, it was as cold as hell, but he didn't care. He opened up the passenger door and dug out a flashlight. He then opened up the hood and got to work.

Sam awoke the next morning to the smell of freshly brewed coffee. He blinked his tired eyes and glanced at the clock beside his bed. 6:17 AM.

After waking up some more and getting dressed, Sam went downstairs and found Dean in the kitchen, a mug of coffee in hand.

"What are you doing up, big brother?" Sam asked with a tired smirk. "I thought you weren't a morning person."

Dean shrugged. "Things change, I guess."

Sam couldn't help but to frown at this. He had expected Dean to have some smartass comeback, and this is all he got? "Sleep well?" he asked, somewhat suspiciously.

"Like a baby," Dean lied easily.

Sam nodded, leaving it. "Okay…"

"Yeah, and Missouri went out, so don't make any breakfast. She said that she's going to make us a batch of pancakes."

Sam gave a wide smile. "Nice."

Dean put down the now empty mug, perhaps a little too hard. "Yeah. Nice," he agreed a little absentmindedly. He looked around, and his eyes finally, if not hesitantly, met Sam's once again. "Dad's still sleeping?"

Sam nodded.

Dean's eyes slipped from his brother's as he let out a short breath. "Okay." He closed his eyes and rubbed his chin, his short beard scratching against his skin. He had noticed Sam giving him weird looks, and knew exactly what his brother was thinking. He'd have to shave today if he didn't want Sam to get too suspicious. He knew Sam pretty well, and he knew that his brother would get worried if he noticed any miniscule alteration. It was almost as if Sam thought, 'oh no, Dean didn't have that beard before! Something tragic and scarring must have happened to him!'. Dean snorted under his breath. He knew he was exaggerating, but not that much. He just knew that Sam would insist that any change had occurred because something was wrong—and making Sam think there was something wrong with him was a matter Dean liked to avoid completely.

A half an hour later, Dean came back downstairs, refreshed from the shower and clean-shaven. Sam smiled at him as he sat down at the kitchen table, which was where a stack of pancakes waited for him. Missouri was still busy cooking, and John hadn't made an appearance yet.

Missouri turned around as he sat down. "Ah, I see you finally decided to shave. 'Cause you looked goofy with that beard of yours. Beginning to look more and more like your father every day."

Dean swallowed a gulp of his coffee, seeming to have some trouble, and only nodded to Missouri's comment.

As if on cue, John walked into the room, glancing at his boys for a moment before sitting down himself. "This looks great," he remarked upon seeing the pancakes.

Dean stared, wide-eyed, at his own pancakes. They did look good, and smelt even better. He was urged to just savor the moment. How long had it been since he had actually gotten a home-cooked meal? A couple of years? More than that? He couldn't remember. All he recalled eating over the past few months was fast food and candy. It wasn't exactly the healthiest lifestyle, he knew Sam would remark, and maybe that was part of the reason why he found himself eating less and less.

And even if the pancakes in front of him looked delicious, he didn't feel like eating. He felt nauseous, like his stomach would reject any real food that he tried to force upon it.

Sam noticed the way his brother only stabbed at his pancakes, and was worried. How could Dean not be eating?

Missouri also threw a curious glance in Dean's direction, silently listening to Dean's currently unprotected thoughts.

God, I don't know about this… Well maybe I can get out of it without Sam worrying… But, no, that wouldn't work… He'd think something was up if…, Dean's thoughts began to trail off as he looked up, as if he had felt Missouri's stare. The instant their eyes met, Missouri suddenly began to hear all about what to do when a werewolf attacks you. She frowned disapprovingly before returning to her meal.

Sam didn't bother trying to hide his worry, and it was only a minute or two before John looked up himself, sensing his son's unease. He glanced from Sam to Dean, chewing his pancake thoughtfully. He swallowed the pancake, and then said to Dean, "Missouri didn't make you pancakes just so you could try to stab them to death, Dean."

Dean didn't look up. "Sorry…"

"Eat up," John ordered.

Dean swallowed hard, looking down at the pancakes miserably and feeling sick. "Yes sir," he murmured before cutting himself a bite and carefully putting it in his mouth. He then chewed slowly, as if he were afraid that if he went any faster, he'd throw up right there, all over the table.

They were delicious, the best thing Dean had in who knows how long. They were precious little gifts, and he appreciated that Missouri had taken the time to make them. But as much as he wanted to enjoy them, he couldn't.

"Syrup?" Sam asked, looking suspicious, offering him the bottle.

Dean held up a hand in refusal and shook his head. Plain pancakes were enough to deal with. There was no use in slathering them with syrup.

Sam put the syrup down and frowned at his brother.

Dean looked up to him, eyebrows arched. "Will you quit frowning at me like I'm doing something wrong?"

Sam's frown deteriorated, and he ran a hand through the hair that Dean had always thought was too long. "I'm not…"

Dean rolled his eyes. "Right." He carefully ate a few more bites of his pancakes, until finally he was finished. He could have sighed in relief when his stomach didn't instantly revolt.

"Do you want any more?" Sam inquired, indicating the last two pancakes.

Dean looked at the remaining pancakes. He didn't think it was possible, but now he felt even worse than before. He was about to decline, but he caught a glint in his little brother's eyes. Would eating a few more pancakes really prove that he was okay? Did Sam really think that? Dean inwardly shook his head. He really didn't understand his brother sometimes.

"Sure," he managed to say, as he shot Sam an I'm fine! look.

His stomach wasn't too keen on the thought of more food, but Dean ignored it the best he could. He needed to show Sam that he was okay.

Fifteen minutes later, Dean made sure no one saw him as he trudged his way to the bathroom. He closed and locked the door, and went over to the toilet. At once, he began to empty his stomach into it.

Again and again he heaved into it, relieving his body of those cursed pancakes. Beads of sweat began to form on his forehead, and he couldn't wipe it off until he was done, which was about five minutes later.

He sat on the floor, exhausted and his stomach feeling eerily empty. "God, I hate it when that happens," he muttered to himself. It had been happening more and more these days. He didn't know if his stomach was trying to kill him by making him starve to death or if it was something else, but he didn't like it very much. Mostly because he liked food in his stomach, and now that his stomach was rebelling against him, he didn't take kindly to even the thought of too much food. It just didn't sit well with him.

Well, as long as no one had heard his little 'episode', he was okay for the time being.

Dean scowled to himself. I just had to have more. I just had to prove I was okay.

He eventually pushed himself off the floor and flushed the toilet. And after washing his hands and rinsing his mouth, he left the bathroom.

It was only ten minutes later when he ran into Sam.

"Dean, you okay?"

Dean glared at him. "You know how much that question bothers me? Every single time you say it, you're implying that I'm not okay. I am fine. Fine."

"Fine, man," Sam replied tersely. "I was just asking because you look a little sick. Forgive me for—"

"Well, Sam, you know—" Dean cut his brother off, but was only cut off himself.

"Boys, come here, will you?" came John's voice from the living room. "I need to discuss something with you." From his tone, Dean took this as something related to hunting.

He was not disappointed. When Sam and Dean entered the room, John stood up and looked to each of them in turn.

"I think I have a lead on the demon," he began slowly.

"That's great!" Sam exclaimed, instantly getting fired up.

John held up his hand to stop Sam's hopes from growing any further. "Not so fast. It's not that big of a lead, but it might be able to help me find out a way to kill it without the Colt. I want you two to continue with your own hunts, okay? I promise I'll call you when I get something more."

Sam scowled. After five months of working with the man, after five months of trust and cooperation, and this was all he got? "Why can't we all just follow the lead? It'd be easier if we were all there to investigate."

John closed his eyes for a moment. "Sam, you have to understand. You heard what the demon said. It wants you, son. If I somehow meet up with it on this lead, I don't want you to be there without us being prepared. I promise, when we're better prepared, I'll call."

Sam bit his lip. He couldn't exactly argue with the man. Well, actually, he could, but decided against it. "Fine…," he mumbled.

Dean looked away. "Okay then. We'll leave tomorrow morning, after breakfast."

John was silent, just staring at his eldest. Dean didn't look back, but John knew his look wasn't going unnoticed.

Writing this chapter for the first time (which was probably a year and a half ago) changed me. Yes. It CHANGED me. Because after writing this chapter, my brother made pancakes. And I looked at them. And I kept thinking of what I just wrote. And I felt sick, and I couldn't eat his pancakes! AHH! And ever since then, I would always feel sick whenever he made pancakes. I could eat Mom's pancakes, Grandma's pancakes, and pretty much any other pancakes, except for my brother's. I couldn't eat them without feeling sick. How terrible is that?

Well, anyway, I hope to have the next chapter up within a week. So please stay tuned!

And, um, reviews are rewarded with cookies. Yes. COOKIES. If, somehow, someway, I get ten reviews this time, I'll update the day after I get the tenth review. (out of sheer happiness) lol.