Title: What Comes After
Author: November'sGuest
Character's: Sam and Dean Winchester, Jessica Moore, Sam's Stanford friends, and a brief appearance by Missouri Mosley.
Category: Hurt/Comfort, Horror, Angst, and AU
Rating: T (PG-13)
Spoilers: None beyond second season if any…it's pretty much AU.
Disclaimer: Supernatural and its characters are the property of Eric Kripke and the CW. This is solely written for fun and not profit.
Summary: Sam and Dean travel to Palo Alto to investigate recent deaths of college students after receiving a call from Rebecca Warren. Meanwhile, as Dean recovers from his injuries, his new and bizarre visions of Jessica continue to haunt him and Sam. Sequel to "The Wake-Up Call."

A/N #1: I cannot apologize enough to you guys for the length between chapters this time. I won't blame you at all if you decide to wait until the end to read…and for those who are brave enough and patient enough to endure, my heartfelt thanks. I don't deserve you.

Seriously, there were a ton of issues contributing to the delay, not the least of which was the hashing out of problems the original version had. Took two weeks to straighten it up—seriously. And I'm sure it still is so freakin' far from perfect that some would read this and feel the need to run away screaming, but the simple fact of the matter is that I can't go over it again or I just might rip my last hair out.

I really need to keep that last hair. I haven't even started making my school orders for next year or getting caught up on grades—packing up my room—so I need that one hair, lol! So I apologize for anything in here that doesn't work for you…I did what I could without completely losing my sanity.

To those who left kind comments and reviews, I do not have the words to express to you how much I appreciate it. I can't thank you enough. Your reviews keep me going, keep me inspired to finish this thing and it's because of you that I tried so hard to get this up more quickly than I did—because I want to show you my appreciation. My gratitude and thanks to you all.

To Gaelic and Sodakey—thank you both for the multiple e-mails and answered questions/suggestions that helped me along the way. You're advice was, as always, invaluable. I am humbled to have such talented people willing to give so freely of their time to me. I strive to make you proud to be a part of this project.

To Tidia and Mady—thank you both for cleaning up after me, you both have such sharp eyes and solid heads. I'm lucky to have you onboard. Thanks for keeping me grounded.

Special thanks this time to Laura for her medical advice. The inhaler lives because of you!

Chapter 2: Foreplay

Dean had insisted on driving the first leg of the journey. "I'm good to drive," he'd said and, "Sam, don't be such a girl." Seven hundred miles later, Sam had been jerked awake by the loud humming of tires hitting the rumble strips along the berm. He'd lunged for the wheel to keep them on the road, stretching one long leg across Dean's to smash the brake pedal to the floor. Shaken, Dean had whispered an apology, climbed out of the Impala without another word and let Sam slide into his place. Now Dean was sound asleep, the motion of the car jarring him sideways little by little until his temple came to rest against Sam's upper arm.

Merging onto the 84, less than half an hour outside Palo Alto, Sam felt a rock-hard weight settle in his stomach. Seeing his friends again, sightings of Jess and the possibility she might be hurting people—it all warred within, twisting and churning in his gut.

Underneath that pulsed steady concern for Dean. He'd nearly wrecked the Impala—with Sam in it. The only two things in the world that mattered to him. Sam knew Dean was tired of being coddled and wanted to get back to business as usual, but his body simply wasn't ready.

Dean still carried his inhaler. Sam never actually saw him use it, but knew he must or he wouldn't keep it on him. That in and of itself was the biggest tell that Dean wasn't as well as he pretended. Sam worried Dean would push himself too far to hide how he was really feeling. Going back to the scene of Jess's death had the potential to affect them both negatively and Sam needed his brother to be honest about his physical condition. Nearly crashing the Impala was just one more piece of evidence in a building case his mind could not deny.

Sam glanced down at Dean's head pressed against him, wondered how big the drool spot would be by the time they reached their destination. He lost his soft grin when Dean moaned the first time, his brother's hand jumping from the seat to rest palm up on Sam's thigh. He grew more concerned when soft moans formed into whispered nos. Because they were touching, Sam could vaguely sense anxiety building, brick upon brick, within his brother. It felt like an itch in the back of his brain that he couldn't quite scratch, only noticeable because he was looking for it.

Dean became increasingly fitful as they drew nearer to the apartment complex—sweat dampened his forehead and soaked through Sam's light jacket. Just as Sam had suspected would happen, Dean's lights were lit across the board. Worry twisted his stomach. He wondered if he was doing the right thing bringing Dean here. His past might destroy the only future he had left. Was it worth the risk? He'd thought it necessary at the time…didn't want to do this alone, but now…

The apartment building filled Sam's vision. A momentary glimmer of orange-yellow fire washed in stark red flashing burned through his mind. Taking a deep breath, he pushed the image away. He'd become good at compartmentalizing things that were never to be thought about or dwelled upon. Sam cut the engine and sat for a moment. Pretended not to notice the jump in his pulse when his eyes fell on the window that had once meant home. Instead, he focused on the steady tremble that bled out from Dean and straight into him. Let that keep him firmly in the now.

"Dean, we're here."

Sam felt the gravel in his voice and winced. He was fine. He was okay…he could do this. Looking down at Dean's spiky tufts of brown helped to ground him. Dean had always been there—a cornerstone through every trauma. Taking an unsteady breath, he jiggled his brother with his arm.

"Dean, man, wake up." When that didn't work, he tried, "Dude, you're drooling on my favorite jacket."

Dean's head jerked up and he blinked. Pushing off Sam, he looked out the window and then cut his eyes to Sam's. Wiping a hand across his mouth, he said, "You decide to skip the interview and research part?"

Sam sighed, rubbed at the rapidly cooling spot where Dean had been. "No. This is where Rebecca lives. She and Jess roomed together before..." He looked away. "After I moved in, Rebecca took an apartment over on the south-east side."

Dean cocked his head, frowning. "And you didn't think to mention this before?"

Sam lifted his eyebrows. "Doesn't really matter, does it? Sooner or later, we'd end up here anyway."

He winced at the soul-deep sadness lacing his voice. Even as Sam watched annoyance fall away, concern rushing in to take its place, he marveled at Dean's endless well of acceptance, forgiveness, trust.

"You okay?" Dean asked.

Funny, that. After all, Sam wasn't the one who'd been both shaking and sweating in his sleep. "Yeah. Yeah, you?"

Dean smirked. "Why wouldn't I be?"

"I don't know," Sam shrugged, "you seemed…restless…especially the last ten minutes or so."

"I'm fine, Sam," came the automatic response. Dean turned to gaze out the windshield, expression neutral, closed. "So," Dean cleared his throat, continuing, "we doing this or what?"

Sam pushed his door open. "Let's go."

Nerves, stress, memories of the past, whatever it was, Sam couldn't help feeling…freaked. Never mind all the obvious stuff, 'cause, sure, he felt naked meeting his friends again—no cloak of pretense to hide behind. There was definitely that and all the stuff to do with Jess churning relentlessly, viciously through his mind.

Then there was a small part deep within that wondered what Dean would think of them, of his friends. And what they'd think of Dean. Sam was looking forward to seeing his friends again. Wondered how much had changed, what they were up to now. He'd missed them. He could only hope his brother would be on his best behavior. Hope that his two worlds could merge peaceably long enough for them to get this done.

"You know, you don't have to worry about me."

Dean glanced sideways, eyebrows forming a question. "Yeah? Why's that?"

Sam stuffed his hands in his pockets and hunched his shoulders up. "Well, I'm actually looking forward to seeing them again. They're good people. Especially Aaron. He was my roommate while I was living in the dorms. Don't think I could've made it through that first year without him."

An odd look flitted across Dean's features, but he didn't say anything. Just nodded and kept walking.

Laughing, Sam said, "I remember this one time, during freshman year, Aaron got it in his head to play a prank on Chris, our other friend. And, well, ya gotta know Chris. He totally had it coming."

Sam pulled the door open. "So, one night, we snuck into Chris's room." Sam's grin spread slowly over his face, dimples digging deep. "Slathered Icy Hot all over the toilet seat and put mustard packets under the toilet lid—you know, bent them in half and then positioned them under the lid so they'd bust when he sat down. Hid the toilet paper and smeared petroleum jelly on the handles of his sink faucet."

Dean was smiling now, sliding his eyes over to Sam as they walked. "Sammy, you naughty college boy."

"So about two o'clock that morning," Sam continued, "I guess he'd been out partying…we heard the most gawd-awful noise you'd ever heard. Chris was getting the full effect of the Icy Hot." He laughed openly. "You…y-you could hear the cursing the minute he hit the hallway."

Sam shook his head, the memory so vivid and so different from his last memory of Stanford.

"He knew immediately who'd done it, but…" He laughed again, "…but what he didn't know was that we had also rigged a bucket of deer scent over our door…so…so when he opened the door…" Sam grabbed his stomach and stopped walking. "When he opened the door to our room he was doused in it. Stunk up the whole dorm. People gave him a wide berth everywhere he went for two days after."

Dean threw his head back and guffawed deep from his throat. Sam couldn't help watching him, relishing the moment. It'd been so long since Dean had laughed like that. Complete, one hundred percent delight. It wrapped him in warmth tinged in sadness, tingled his skin and stirred memories of boyhood joy. Mentally, he tucked it away, put it on his list of things cherished.

"Ah, Sammy. I taught you well," Dean chortled.

Sam shrugged. "Well, yeah. It was mostly Aaron's idea…but the deer scent was all mine."

"So," Dean sobered, "what happened?"

"Well, Chris was pissed. He had an interview the next day that we didn't know about and he bloodied Aaron's nose before I could get between them. Residential Life made us pay for the clean up costs and, after that, we called a truce on the pranks."

Turning down the corridor to the stairs, Dean looked up to say something when a blonde in an EMT uniform railroaded straight into him—books, papers and purse spilling around them like wreckage.

"Whoa!" Dean yelped.

"I'm sorry," she began apologizing, clinging to Dean's forearms, steadying them both. "I'm really sorry. I'm late for work and I wasn't looking where I was going."

Sam groaned at the predictable gleam rising in Dean's eyes, the way his brother's lips curved into a charming grin as he bent to pick up the mess.

"Hey, no problem." Dean's voice growled an octave lower—just like it always seemed to do when pretty girls were involved. "Here, I got it."

And this girl was pretty. Clear blue-green eyes, freckles sprinkling translucent skin and dark, golden-blonde hair framing her face in loose curls. Sam, too, bent and began helping shuffle papers back together and stuff them into books.

"Thanks guys. I can't believe what a clutz I am," she said, scrambling to corral most of the mess herself.

Standing, she held out her hand, first to Sam. "Hi, I'm Lori Davis."

"Sam Winchester." He took her hand and squeezed it quickly then was shoved aside by Dean.

"Dean," his brother offered, lips twitching.

"Oh," her smile grew. "You must be the infamous Winchesters I've heard so much about."

Sam looked at Dean who spared him a surprised glance and then redirected his attention back to Lori.

"Ah, you've heard of us," he purred. Sam wanted to gag—rolled his eyes instead.

"I'm Becky's cousin. She told me what you did for her and Zach. Thank you for that."

"No problem. We were glad to help. Right, Sam?" Dean tapped Sam's chest with the back of his hand, full-wattage face-beam set to stun.

Lori's eyes clicked to Dean's and their gazes locked. Electricity snapped between them, made Sam feel awkward, like a third wheel or giant mole on the end of someone's nose.

Lori blushed, then rushed on, "Sorry I can't talk, guys. I'm late for work." She was already moving away from them when she turned to walk backwards, saying, "I'm sure I'll be seeing you around, though. Everyone's eating here this evening."

"Great. Guess we'll catch ya later," Sam enthused, despite feeling a little sick at the thought of watching his brother drooling all over Miss Davis all evening. He grabbed Dean by the elbow and steered him down the hallway.

"Bye," Dean threw over his shoulder. Then, pulling out of Sam's grasp, Dean paused. "Wait. I thought we were just seeing Rebecca today. Now we're having a class reunion?"

Sam shrugged. "I, uh, called ahead while you were sleeping. They're all waiting for us in Rebecca's apartment. Why?"

The expression on Dean's face puzzled him, felt important. Not quite fear or anxiety, but definitely not far from either. Before he could put a finger on it, Dean had started moving up a set of stairs, burrowing further into his leather coat despite the balmy, California day. A shiver shook his brother's shoulders and Sam felt that pit settle back in his stomach.

"Come on, Bluto. Let's not keep you're friends waiting."

Dean let his brother walk a step ahead. Better to let Sam take point on this gig. Another sliver of cold snaked through him and he fought to keep the reaction controlled. No need to worry Sam. Boy had enough on his mind. He lifted a hand to his temple, rubbed at the building pressure behind his eyes. Ever since he'd awoke in the Impala, he'd felt the thrumming, pushing sensation inside his skull. Felt like his head was at maximum capacity and in danger of supernova. What had been a slight ache in the car was now a full-blown migraine.

He'd hoped to talk with Rebecca and then go find a place to crash for the night—start interviews with everyone else tomorrow. He didn't feel right. Being here was doing something strange and he needed time to acclimate. Too late for that, though.

Sam knocked on the door and they stood silently waiting—Sam bobbing from foot to foot. The door swung open and his brother disappeared into a bear hug.

"Saam," Rebecca sang, "So good to see you!" Looking over at Dean, she smiled. "Hey, Dean."

Dean stuck his hands in his pockets, dipped his head in greeting. He knew no such warmth was waiting for him. He wondered if she thought about what it had done when she looked at him.

"Come on in, guys," she said as she stepped to the side. "Gang's all here."

Dean hung back as a tall, black-haired kid strode across the room and enveloped Sam, giving him a hearty clap on the back.

"Sam Winchester," he said, "good to see ya, man." The kid's face was open and wore emotions like road signs, reminding Dean of Sam before—everything.

"Hey Aaron, you too," Sam returned, slapping the slightly shorter kid on the back in kind.

"It's been too long," Aaron commented. He stepped back, threw a nervous glance at Dean.

"Yeah," Sam agreed and then angled toward Dean. "This is my brother, Dean. Dean, this is Aaron Reed."

Aaron put his hand out in greeting, his face losing none of the wariness. "Good to finally meet you, Dean."

Dean wished the kid would stop looking at him like he might eat him right then and there. "You must be the famous prank-boy that kept my brother from burning pure estrogen while I was away."

Aaron looked confused for a second, then laughed high and loud through his nose. "Oh, yeah, that. Well, the best part of the whole thing was actually Sam's idea."

Smirking, Dean jerked his head in a nod. "He learned it from the best."

Sam's eyes rolled but his grin stayed put.

"So," came a loud voice from behind them, "this is the infamous Dean Winchester—Sam's older brother."

Lori's words echoed, but held none of the warm regard. Dean turned to find a stocky, bull of a boy coming up behind him. Full of swagger, this one. Dean cocked his head back, lowered his brows and lifted one corner of his mouth in a half-smirk.

"Chris." Sam's shoulder brushed against Dean's as he came up beside him. A reminder to behave.

Chris's face broke into a grin as he held out hand to Sam, brushing Dean off like a speck of leftover lunch on his shirt. "Sam, good to see ya, man. You've been missed around here." Chris pulled Sam into a quick chest-bump-slap-on-the-back greeting.

"You just miss having someone to help you with your homework," Sam laughed.

Chris screwed up his face. "You wound me, Winchester. I'll have you know I made the second highest score in my Statistics class."

Nodding, Sam quipped, "Well, Becky always was a great tutor."

"Ass," Chris chuffed, slapping at Sam as he moved past the group and flopped into an overstuffed chair in the living area, propping his feet on the coffee table. His eyes wandered back to Dean, challenging. Dean wasn't sure what he'd done to piss this guy off, but it was freakin' annoying as hell. Dean grit his jaw, then purposely set his eyes anywhere else.

"Would you guys like a beer?" Rebecca asked.

"No, thanks."

"Yes, that'd be awesome."

Sam glowered at Dean after Rebecca left the room.

Dean shrugged. "Hey, it was a long ride. I'm thirsty."

Rebecca was back with a longneck before Sam's bitch-face turned into more words. Dean was glad. He really wasn't up to it. He accepted the beer with a grateful smile, happy for the distraction—or the focus—he wasn't sure. Just needed something for his hands to do.

"Thanks." He grinned. Surprisingly, Rebecca smiled back, meeting his eyes without any hint of fear or disgust. Huh.

Taking a pull from the bottle, he moved to stand by the window, his back to the group sitting behind him. He figured Sam deserved a minute to catch up with his friends before they got down to business.

Warm sunshine streamed through the open window, washed over him and fought the growing chill inside. He closed his eyes; let it soak into his skin, into his bones. It felt good. He rubbed at the invisible spike blazing a fiery path through his brain. It was causing waves of nausea when he moved his head too fast or changed position. It helped to keep his eyes closed and he desperately wished he could lie down somewhere and sleep it off. He wondered how much longer this was going to take and hoped Sam wouldn't push to visit the scenes of crime right away.

"So," he heard Sam say, visualizing the moue of Sam's lips in his mind's eye. His brother was ready to get down to business but unsure of how to start...hesitant to mix the two lives he'd lived and fought to keep separate. "Tell me what's been going on."

Silence.

The room itself seemed to take a breath. Dean turned to look at their faces, big brother instinct flooded through him like adrenaline. For Sam's sake, he sure hoped the warm greetings were sincere, that these "good people" wouldn't leave his brother rejected and disappointed.

Rebecca studied her hands twisted on her lap, almost looking as if it hurt to have to say the words to Sam. Aaron was watching Sam with curiosity, but also with compassion and sympathy. Chris…Chris was looking back at Dean. His eyes gleamed, dark and judging. Surprised, but not, Dean ignored the pointed glare and moved to stand behind Sam. He often found himself on the receiving end of blame whether he knew the offense or not.

"Well," began Rebecca, "It started at the beginning of November. I was the first one to see her."

Sam licked his lips. "You mean Jess?"

"Yeah. It was the one year anniversary of—well, you know…"

Sam nodded, a muscle in his jaw ticking, throat bulging as he swallowed.

"…and I was having a hard time with it. I remember standing outside that night, just looking up at the window of the apartment. And there she was, dressed in white. She was looking down at me, her mouth moving, hands pounding on the glass, but there was no sound."

Rebecca stopped on hiccup of a sob, pressed a hand to her lips. Sam reached out and squeezed her knee, his own profile rigid and pinched. Dean looked away, didn't want to watch what this was doing to Sam. Didn't want to be here.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry." She smiled through her tears. "I know this is hard for you, too."

"It's okay. Don't apologize." Sam paused. Regaining his composure, he continued, "What did you do next?"

"Well, I freaked. I ran up to the apartment and started banging on the door. No one answered, so I got the super to come up and unlock it, but no one was there. The apartment was empty. I finally convinced myself that I was seeing things," she laughed, "that I was just emotional."

Dean came around the couch, hooked a hip on the end of it next to Sam and handed Rebecca a tissue he'd snagged from the snack bar countertop behind them.

"Thanks," she said, not looking up. "Later that week there was an ambulance parked outside when I got back from class. The girl who had been living in your old apartment had been attacked. She wasn't hurt bad, but she was completely hysterical. I wanted to talk to her about what I had seen, but she was gone before I could. Went back to Virginia as soon as they released her from the hospital."

Reaching into his pocket, Sam pulled out his notebook and pen. "Do you remember her name?"

"Cathy. Cathy Simms."

"Okay, go on," Sam said when he'd finished jotting down the girl's name.

"Then Ann, my roommate, and I started noticing weird things—moving shadows out of the corner of our eyes, dresser drawers left open when they shouldn't have been, sudden drops in temperature. It really started to freak us out. A couple of weeks later, Ann woke up in the middle of the night screaming bloody murder. Said someone had been in bed with her, she had felt breath on her face. When she screamed, she saw a shadow move off the bed and walk right through her closed door. She moved out that night."

"Did you see it?" Dean asked, leaning forward to rest his forearm on his thigh—caught the eye roll from Chris as he did.

"No. No…but I've heard it."

Dean's eyebrows shot up. "You heard it?"

Rebecca nodded, her eyes flicking nervously to Aaron's and then to Dean's. "The night the first tenant died. Aaron knew I was scared, so he's been staying with me. We'd gone out for a late dinner and come back." She got up and walked across the room, hands tugging nervously at her blouse.

"Aaron was showering, but I had gone back to the car to get my purse. When I entered the downstairs hallway, I heard a scream…it was li-like nothing I'd ever heard before. No way a human sounds like that." She brought her hands up to her chest. "Scared the crap right out of me. I ran all the way back to my apartment. We found out the next day that the man living in 15A had been murdered. Ripped to shreds."

Sam passed Dean a look and then asked, "Did you know him?"

"No," she shrugged. "I don't think he'd been living here long."

"You said on the phone that there's been more than one death…"

"Yeah, three total."

"Did you know any of them?" Sam held his pen poised above the notepad.

"Not really. I mean, I've talked to the girl killed last week, but I didn't really know her. I don't think I even knew her name."

Rebecca pushed her hair behind her ears. Aaron got up and stood behind her, hands coming to rest on her shoulders. More going on there than friendship and study dates, Dean thought. He pursed his lips, then asked, "Did all of them live here, in these apartments?"

"The first two, yes. But the last one, the old man, he was just out walking his dog in the alley."

"But all the deaths have occurred in this area?" Dean persisted.

"Yes, as far as I know."

Sam shifted to sit on the edge of the couch. "Any reason to suspect Jess? Other than, you know, having seen her?"

Before Rebecca could answer, a loud knock came at the door. Aaron let his hands fall from Rebecca's shoulders as she turned to answer it.

"So, this is really what you do?" Aaron asked Sam, casual and conversational. Maybe a way to fill the void after Sam's uncomfortable question. "Bec said it's like your job or something."

Dean felt Sam tense beside him, but his brother nodded. "Yeah, you could say that. Except, we don't get paid." He grinned a little.

"Dude, that is so cool. Why didn't you ever say anything?" Aaron's eyes held no sign of reproach or fear, just eagerness and maybe a little hero worship.

Chris scoffed, turned his head to look out the window where Dean had stood earlier.

Raised voices interrupted them as Rebecca ushered in a harried-looking kid who was obviously upset.

"Nathan. Calm down and tell me what happened," Rebecca was saying.

Nathan shifted from foot to foot, rubbed at his neck as he tried to reign in his excitability. "She's dead. Julia's dead." His voice cracked and Dean could see from his red-rimmed eyes that the kid had been crying.

Sam looked away, dropped his gaze to the floor and hunched his shoulders forward. Whether it was a reaction to the kid himself or the news, Dean couldn't tell. Dean laid a hand on his stomach, feeling it roil in reaction to the pain and pressure building steadily in his head. The room had begun a slow spin and it was becoming increasingly difficult to follow the conversations around him.

"How? When?" Rebecca asked, fingers twisting her necklace, face in shock.

Wiping the back of his hand under his nose, Nathan sniffed. "I'm not sure. I just found out, it was on the radio."

"Oh, Nathan. I'm so sorry." Rebecca touched his arm. "Come, sit down."

As he let Rebecca pull him forward, Nathan seemed to realize with surprise that there was a room full of people. His eyes skimmed quickly over Dean and then rested on Sam, an odd expression pulling at his face.

"Sam?" he asked.

Sam's head came up, a polite, if sad, smile in place. "Hey, Nathan. Good to see you again." Sam stood and grasped Nathan's arm in greeting. "How've you been?" voice soft, cautious, as if he thought speaking too loud might break the boy.

Nathan laughed, "Not so good, actually. Seems to be the story of my life, huh? You look good, though."

"Yeah. Sorry to hear about your friend. Were you…was she…"

"Naw," Nathan interrupted. "Julia was my study partner. I was helping her with her LSATs and she was helping me with my thesis paper, correcting and all that stuff I suck at. She was a good kid…it just doesn't seem possible—"

"Well, no worries, Nathan," Chris burst in. "Sam and his brother are here to save us from the things that go bump in the night." He turned to pierce Dean with a smug look, "Right, Dean?"

Dean sat back, eyes snapping at the undertone in Chris's voice. He opened his mouth to say something, but a sharp jab from Sam's elbow staved off the words. Chris chuckled.

"Nathan, I'd like you to meet my brother, Dean," Sam introduced, voice strained. "Dean this is Nathan. He's an even bigger college-geek boy than me." Sam's eyes pled with Dean to drop it and make nice.

Dean smiled and stuck out his hand, lips twisting with mock sympathy, "I'm sorry to hear that."

Nathan self-consciously wiped his hand on his jeans before taking Dean's. "It's okay. It could be worse. I could be at the mercy of everyone else, needing intensive tutoring to keep my grades up."

Nathan's eyes flicked to Chris's, his message pointed.

"Look, little man—" Chris began, banging his booted feet to the floor.

"Sam and Dean are here to help us," Rebecca interrupted loudly, obviously used to diffusing these kinds of things. "You got here just in time to back me up."

"Back you up?" Sam brows pinched together.

"Yeah. Nathan saw Jess, too."

Sam jerked at his dead girlfriend's name. Some of his façade slipped. Only noticeable if you were a big brother used to deciphering such things. Dean's chest thumped hard. He wanted to take Sam and run like hell. What were they even doing here?

Chris jumped up. "Look, neither one of you saw her. It was just your mind's way of dealing with your grief." Twisting toward Sam, he continued, "Look, Sam, I'm sorry, but I just don't buy any of this. You're my friend and I trust that you believe whatever cock-n-bull story your brother's been feeding you, but this has to stop. It's not right and they should know better than to put you through this." His finger jabbed the air in Dean's direction. "He should know better."

"Chris, stop it," Rebecca commanded sternly.

"He's right." Dean's simple statement drew five pairs of eyes. "I never should've let you come. I can handle it and you don't need to be part of this."

"Dude, don't start. We've already talked about…" Sam began, but whatever came after was lost to Dean. Distant whispers roared inside his head, became a rush of words that tangled and deafened.

Breaking into a sweat, Dean stood, stopping when the room pitched sideways.

Sam's hand was at his elbow in an instant.

"Dean?" The slow rush of noise eased up and he heard Sam's muffled call, ears still feeling full, stuffed. He realized Sam must've also stood, because he was now in front of him, bending to peer into Dean's face. Framed in dancing sparks of light, he could see Sam's worried expression floating too close. He wondered how many times Sam had called him.

Bringing up a shaky hand, Dean pinched the bridge of his nose. "I'm fine."

"No, you're not. You're white as a sheet…and you're sweating."

Sam pressed him into the couch with one hand. A grizzly batting at a butterfly.

"Dude, hands," Dean protested, feeling crowded…like the room was pressing in on him. Too many people, too much happening. His chest constricted and that so wasn't good. He recognized the familiar heaviness and focused all his concentration on breathing steady lungfuls of air—but that quickly deteriorated into a string of gasping coughs. Damn lungs. Damn weakness. He thought of the inhaler in his pocket, but didn't dare. Not here, not in front of all these people—not in front of Sam.

"Use the inhaler, Dean," Sam whispered close to his ear. His brother was bent in front of him, hands on his arms.

"He okay?" someone asked.

That's it, Dean thought. Enough is enough. Using the last of his strength, he pushed off the couch and past Sam, stumbling a little. "I said I was fi—" And it pissed him off that his gasping lungs wouldn't let him finish the sentence. Grabbing onto the nearby table would totally undermine his words, but it was that or look foolish face-planting into Rebecca's plush carpet.

Sam braced his shoulders and kept him from taking the table down with him.

"Bec," Dean heard his brother say, "reach into his left pocket and get his inhaler."

Dean felt the brush of hands digging in his coat pocket and then saw the hated object resting in a delicate, well-manicured hand. Felt the other small hand resting on his upper arm.

God, this is embarrassing. A tide of anger tightened his hands into stubborn, white-knuckled fists. He didn't want it, but…

Each cough increased the pressure behind his eyes, sending shooting colors of light across his vision and he knew he had no choice but to use the damn thing. His brother supported him with hands at his back and elbow while he inhaled the medicine from the small blue bottle. Once he had himself back in control, he shook off Sam and Rebecca's help.

"I'm all right," he groused, anger at himself spilling into his tone and manner.

"Dean," Rebecca said, eyes wide and voice low with concern, "your nose is bleeding."

And he was surprised to feel the warmth on his lips. He lifted a hand to dab at it.

"Damn," he muttered, glaring at his red-slicked fingers as if they had betrayed him. Cupping a hand under his nose, Dean asked, "Bathroom?"

He felt Sam reach for him again as Rebecca led them to her bathroom. "I think I can walk by myself, Sam."

His brother didn't let go. "You sure 'bout that?" Sam hissed. "What's going on with you, anyway?"

Rebecca flipped on the light and reached under the sink, fishing out brand new box of tissues. Snatching a handful, she held them out to Dean.

"Thanks, Bec," Sam said.

"Sure. No problem. Is he going to be okay?"

Dean hated being discussed as if he weren't right there.

"I'm fine!" he snapped, then stuffed the wad of paper under his nose.

After she left, Sam asked again, "What's going on, Dean?"

Dean put the toilet lid down and sat with his head propped back.

"Man, I don't know. Something's not right," Dean mumbled around tissue and hand.

Sam titled his head back, confused by the statement…wary. "What do you mean?"

"I don't know. Just…" Dean's free hand waved in the air. "I don't know." He wasn't sure how much to reveal. Looking into his little brother's worried face; he knew he couldn't tell him the truth. "Just tired, I guess."

"Just tired." Sam put his hands on his hips. "Since when do you get a nose bleed because you're just tired? You nearly passed out back there!"

"Oh, c'mon, Sam! I did not almost pass out. And in case you haven't noticed, I've had my share of nose bleeds lately."

"But you weren't asleep. You weren't dreaming this time. This is new. You looked like you were two seconds from a nosedive…and that was before all the coughing and wheezing. Which you haven't done in weeks."

Sam ran a hand through his hair, face wrinkled with disbelief.

Dean lowered his head, shaking it. Pulled the red-stained tissues away and replaced them with a new bunch. He spoke as he tipped his head back again. "I'm just tired. It's nothing to get your panties in a twist over, Florence."

"Dean. You know," Sam protested, his voice squeaking in that way it did when he was beyond exasperation, "I almost lost you recently—twice. I think I'm due a little panty twisting."

Dean took the hit, felt the sharp sting of guilt and pushed it down. He pitched the ball of blood and tissues in the trash, refusing to make eye contact. "Yeah, I know."

He said it quiet, wasn't quite sure he intended for Sam to hear it, but knew he had. Whatever Sam had expected him to say, that wasn't it. His little brother's jaw clicked shut on the automatic rebuttal. Sam blinked and looked away.

"Look, Sam. It's been a long drive. I just need to crash for a while." Dean looked up, letting Sam see how much he needed this. "Can we just go? We can finish the interviews later."

A moment passed and Sam looked like he wanted to say more. He finally relented, nodding his head. "Yeah. Okay." Sam held his hand out. An offer of help and a truce.

Maybe he'd pushed Dean too hard. Maybe that's all this was. After Dean rested, maybe had some food, he'd be fine, just like he said. Even when Dean faltered in the bathroom doorway, was forced to cling there a minute, Sam kept telling himself it was just fatigue.

Dean still recovering. He really needed for that to be all it was. He couldn't let this go and he needed Dean's help if he was going to get through this.

Everyone looked up when they entered the main room. Most with concern, some with curiosity. Dean ducked his head, stuffing his hands deep into his pockets. Sam had never seen his brother's ears so red. Couldn't believe Dean's pride trumped his well-being so completely.

"I think we're gonna head out." Sam heard himself saying, voice light, denying any need for further worry. Nothing to see here, folks. Move along now.

"Everything okay?" Aaron asked, coming up to them.

Sam turned to Dean standing slightly off to the side and behind him, then back to Aaron. "Yeah—just a little tired. We drove all day and night to get here."

Rebecca joined them. "Are you sure? Is there anything we can do?"

"I'm fine, thanks." Dean sounded annoyed at all the fussing.

Stubborn ass.

Rebecca nodded. "Well, okay. If you're feeling up to it, both of you are welcome to come back later tonight for dinner. We're ordering out for pizza."

Sam saw Dean's chest hitching in his peripheral vision, knew he was having trouble breathing again and that he needed to get him out of there. Accepting the dinner invitation might actually be the quicker play.

"Sure, yeah. Pizza it is."

"Great," she smiled and moved with them toward the door.

Nathan stood, jerking his head in a backwards nod, "Catch ya, later."

"Yeah." Sam stuck his hand out to include the room and followed Dean out the door, Aaron on his heels.

"I'm gonna head out, too. Mind if I walk with you?" Aaron asked.

"Not at all."

As they walked, Dean took the lead, hot and bothered to get out of there ASAP, while Sam and Aaron held back a few paces behind, chatting casually. Seeing Dean take sure strides, Sam let their distance lengthen until his brother was out of earshot. His instincts told him Aaron had something on his mind. Pushing open the double glass doors, Aaron nodded in Dean's direction, "He okay? That was pretty intense."

Sam stopped just short of stepping off the sidewalk, eyes on Dean for a few silent minutes. He blew out a heavy sigh. "I wish I knew. He's not exactly the sharing and caring type, you know?"

"Yeah," Aaron agreed. "How does he, you know, fight ghosts and shapeshifters with asthma?"

And wasn't this just surreal? He never imagined he'd be having a conversation like this with any of his Stanford friends. It was like they were discussing the weather or who was the best professor to take for Ethics. Still, Aaron might be taking this all in stride, but Sam didn't feel like getting into the whole yellow-eyed demon business. So he kept to the basics.

"He doesn't have asthma. We were in a car accident about two months ago and…" Sam paused to swallow the memory of Dean hooked up to the ventilator, tubes and more tubes running from his mouth, nose and veins. "It was bad. He was in a coma. Head injury, collapsed lungs. The doctors said he had Acute Respiratory Distress Syndrome because of the injuries to his lungs and…apparently, it takes a while to get over."

Sam huffed a sigh, staring down at the cement sidewalk. "It doesn't help that he had a bad setback a few weeks ago. Ended up back in the hospital with two prescripts for inhalers he hardly uses."

"I'm sorry."

The sincere words tugged at Sam in all the right places. He blinked and looked away, scanning for his brother again, watched as Dean slid into the passenger seat of the Impala. Something about that so wrong it made Sam want to punch something.

Shrugging, Sam said, "Not your fault, no reason to be sorry."

"Yeah, but you obviously have your hands full. Last thing you needed was this mess." Aaron stared down the road at the car, too. "I don't know how you're doing it, man. Coming back here, keeping it together with all that's happening."

Sam couldn't help it if the laugh that preceded the words was a little maniacal. "Welcome to the life of a Winchester."

Aaron seemed to take that and chew it over. Slipping his thumbs in his pockets, Sam squinted into the horizon. Knew the sky seemed bluer here because of the stretch of ocean a little ways beyond the buildings and busy people.

"So, you grew up doing this?" Aaron asked. Hesitant, not wanting to pry.

"Yeah." Sam nodded. "Dad started when our mom was killed—became obsessed with finding the thing that killed her."

Kicking at the sidewalk with his sneaker, Aaron pivoted toward Sam a little. "Must've been tough. How did he manage to raise you and your brother and do this?"

Scoffing, Sam blurt, "He didn't. Dean did. Dad parked us in some crap motel, stayed long enough to stock up some supplies, clean his weapons and do a little research. Then he was gone. Dean raised himself, raised me. Even took care of Dad when he was around."

Sam could feel his friend's steady gaze boring into the side of his face. Wondered what he was thinking. How he would react if their positions were reversed?

"You never had a real home?"

"Nope. The Impala is about as close to home as it gets for us."

Aaron shook his head. "God, Sam. How did you ever manage to keep up in school? I mean, I know you're a freakin' genius, but still."

Sam shifted his weight to his heels and shrugged. "Dean. He made sure my life was as close to normal as it could get. I didn't even know what Dad really did until I was eight. And, even then, Dean tried to protect me."

Aaron nodded again, eyes cutting to the Impala then to the ground. "Look…I just wanted you to know that I do understand why you never talked about any of this." He laughed and looked at Sam nervously. "I mean, I sure as hell wouldn't have."

Sam's lips stretched into a weak smile and he chuckled.

Aaron sobered. "When Rebecca told us what you did for her and Zach, when all this," he gestured at the building behind them, "started happening, I didn't know what to believe at first. But she believes and that's enough for me. I trust her and I trust you. But, Sam, I know coming back here, possibly having to…well—"

Aaron stopped. "I get why you've never come back and if you need anything…anything at all…to talk or whatever…"

His friend's voice trailed off and they broke eye contact, turning their heads with breathy laughs. Aaron punched Sam's shoulder and Sam slapped Aaron's back, both grinning madly. "Thanks, man."

"Anytime. Now, I really do have to go." Aaron started to turn away, pausing long enough to ask, "We'll see ya at dinner?"

"Sure thing."

"Okay, good. Catch ya later."

And his friend was walking away, pulling keys out of his pocket. Sam watched after him, idiotic smile plastered on his face. Never in a million years would I have thought that it could be that easy.

Sometimes, people could surprise you and sometimes, just every so often, it was a good thing. Sam dug into his pocket for the Impala's keys and wove his way to Dean, feeling grateful that his brother wasn't always right about everything.

TBC

A/N #2: "Bluto" is pop culture reference to John Belushi and the movie "Animal House."