Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

"Dean, I'm just saying. He fought a reaper. " Ellen sounded frustrated and worried.

"He saved Jo's life, Ellen." Dean's own voice was angry, perhaps the angriest he'd ever been with the woman who'd helped raise him on occasion.

"And don't think I'm not grateful. As far as the Roadhouse is concerned, your kid's drinking for free for the rest of his life. But that doesn't change the fact that he did something no normal human should have been able to." Ellen sounded regretful but firm.

"Yeah, and he nearly died doing it. Some thanks he gets." Dean snapped, looking over where Book was asleep (again) in his bed.

"Don't take that tone with me, boy. I'm not saying anything your Daddy wouldn't be saying right now." Ellen snapped back.

"Yeah, well. You find him, tell him to feel free to pick up the phone and do that."

Dean snapped the phone shut in irritation, glancing over to see if his argument with Ellen had awoken Book. This kid was still sleeping like the dead, and Dean wasn't sure if it was a good or bad thing.

He obviously needed the rest, but Dean wasn't sure how fast he should be rebounding-how would he even know if he wasn't getting better? And who did he call for advice, because Ellen was right about one thing-who the hell had ever fought a reaper?

What was the expected recovery for that?

A part of him was still worried that he should have taken him to the hospital, but since Dean couldn't think of a single place more likely to have things dangerous to a weakened psychic, Book's adamance about not going had made a kind of twisted sense…

But that left Dean trying to figure out a lot of things real fast.

Book's blood sugar seemed to have stabilized, but he oscillated between sleeping like the dead, a sleep so deep Dean wasn't sure he was even breathing sometimes, and restless nightmares filled with mutterings Dean couldn't understand. They certainly seemed unpleasant though.

Dean had gotten them out of Nebraska and then stopped at the first campground he could find, renting a short term cabin. Luckily it was off-season, and it afforded more privacy than a motel. Book seemed to struggle tuning out things when he was close to a lot of other people, so Dean had figured this might be more restful. He'd spent the last two days watching him sleep, forcing him awake to eat, and then watching him fall asleep again.

He'd considered calling Anna from Book's phone and asking her, but he wasn't sure how big of a stone he'd be throwing into the pond with that one, so he'd resisted.

However, now that he'd thought about it, did the kid even have Dean's number in his phone?

Frowning, angry at himself for not thinking of it sooner, he flipped his own phone back open and called Book's phone, watching as it vibrated where he had plugged it in on the nightstand. Thankfully they'd snagged a cabin with plumbing and a handful of electric outlets.

Picking up Book's phone, he went to the call history and found his number, adding it to Book's contacts.

' Dean '.

He smiled down at the display, then, realizing what he was doing, quickly put the phone back on the charger.

Yeah, Jo might have a small point.

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Dean let himself into the cabin as quietly as he could, grateful once again for Bela's infusion of cash. He hadn't been sure how long Book would be laid up, and he was hesitant to use one of the fraudulent cards in case they needed the cabin for a while.

John always said not to shit where you eat, so Dean had been careful to use cash for things like the cabin and the groceries he was now carrying. The last thing they needed right now were the cops sniffing around.

Automatically he glanced at Book's bed, frowning when he realized it was empty. Hearing the shower run, he relaxed a bit. The kid was finally upright for at least part of the day, though he tended to still move in a stiff, jerky way, almost as if he had whiplash from a car accident. Though, fighting a reaper probably felt like being hit by a freight train, so Dean supposed that made sense…

His phone rang, and he frowned. Bobby had just called him yesterday about a possible werewolf hunt, but Dean had turned him down without thought. There was no way Book was up for a werewolf hunt yet, Dean wasn't having him anywhere near something like that until he was off the walking -wounded list. Werewolves were damn fast, but worse, they could be sneaky, because most of the time, they were human.

Looking down at his phone as it rang again, his brows lowered. Rufus ?

"You still alive, you old bat?" Dean answered with a bemused grin.

"Boy, stop talking outta your ass and get down here to Arkansas. I've found a nest of ghouls bigger than anything I've ever seen before-"

"Sorry, man. Like I told Bobby, I'm gonna be laid up for a while." Dean answered quickly, holding the phone with his shoulder as he took a carton of apple juice out of the grocery bag and placed it into the cooler he'd restocked with ice that morning.

"Boy, what's wrong with you? You cut your teeth on ghouls. You used to beg me to take you ghoul hunting-"

"Nah, they're messy and they smell bad." Dean brushed him off, putting the bread and deli meat on the table.

"Well, excuse me, princess. I'd hate to ruin your manicure-"

"Take it." Book said from the bathroom doorway. He'd put on jeans but that was it except for the towel around his neck, catching the runoff water from his hair.

Dean tossed him his hoodie, shaking his head as he listened to Rufus continue to rant. He frowned as Book made a bitchface at him before tossing the towel on the bed to pull on the hoodie. Dean noticed a scar on his back, curving just below the jut of his left shoulder blade.

Whatever caused that must have hurt like a bitch….

"Boy, are you paying attention to me?" Rufus half-yelled.

"Nah." Dean said, handing Book a protein shake. Book made an even more exasperated face.

" Take the hunt… " He mouthed, gesturing towards the phone.

" No way in hell …" Dean mouthed back with a grin. Ghouls were less tricky than werewolves, sure, but the kid was already sitting back down on the bed. The shower had obviously used up almost all of his reserves.

Walking. Wounded.

Not on Dean's watch.

"Rufus, man, you're breaking up. Out in the woods, no service…" Dean called into the phone before hanging up.

"That's the second hunt you've turned down." Book pointed out. "What's wrong with you?"

"Me? You're the one who fought a damn reaper a week ago. You actually, in fact, slept through most of the first part of the week." Dean replied, starting to put together some sandwiches. "Mayo?"

"Dean, they weren't asking me . They were asking you." Book pointed out quietly. He slowly started drying off his hair.

Dean's hands paused for a moment, then resumed. "So, no mayo?"

"Mayo is disgusting and are you paying attention ?" Book stood, walking over to the table. He tossed the towel over the back of the chair.

"Paying plenty of attention, which is why I know you should sit down before you fall down." Dean said, voice purposefully easy.

Book sighed. "I'm better, Dean. Really."

Dean snorted. "Sure you are." And Dean was a pretty, pretty princess…

"I'm sorry I scared you. And..thanks. For looking out for me. That amount of rebound….it's been a minute since something hit me that hard." Book's voice trailed off for a moment before he smiled gamely at Dean.

"Well, ya fought a reaper, kiddo." Dean's voice had gone tight without intending to. "And I have a whole lotta questions, but my Dad always says that Winchesters clean up their own messes and pay their own debts, so instead I'm shutting up and saying thank you."

Book looked away. He wondered if he was a mess or a debt. "Dean…"

He stopped, unsure of what exactly to say. "I knew I just needed to slow it down until you stopped Sue Ann. It was that or it took Jo. I'm honestly about as surprised as you that it worked." He stood behind the chair, fidgeting with the towel nervously.

"You scared the crap outta me." Dean said, dropping a plate in front of him. "Eat."

Book rubbed the bridge of his nose as he sat down. "Okay, but what I'm saying is, I'm really better now. At this point, it's kind of like getting over the flu. It's gonna be a little bit before I'm one hundred percent, but it's nothing I can't handle. I don't need a babysitter."

Seeing Dean open his mouth to argue, he held up a hand. "I'm assuming you don't want me in your hunt at half power, and that's the right call. So I'll just stay here."

"And who has your back while you're recovering?" Dean asked pointedly, sitting down with his own plate.

"The hunters who've been calling you, they need back up, not me." Book ran a hand through his hair. "What, the chipmunks look kind of shady?"

The campground was, in fact, quiet, boring and peaceful.

Reminding himself to listen to Book's point of view, Dean mulled it over for a whole thirty-two seconds.

"All kinds of things in the woods. Squirrels, moose…rabbits." He ducked as Book threw the towel at him, laughing.

"Seriously, Dean. I can call someone to come get me. Either of my siblings would if it will make you feel better." Book's voice was quiet.

It didn't matter though, because his offer didn't make Dean feel better- at all . In fact, Dean thought that was a pretty crappy idea all around as well.

"Let's give it another week, the cabin's already paid for. Then we'll find a hunt if you're up for it."

Book made another face. "You are seriously the most stubborn-"

"That would be my father." Dean interrupted him, cracking open a beer. "How'd you get the scar?"

"What?" Book looked confused for a second. "Scar? Are you listening- Wait, on my back? Dude, I fought a dragon when I was twelve."

Book's eyes widened a little as he realized he’d said that out loud. Maybe he was still a little out of it, but Dean was so stubborn it was making him lose his cool...

"Yeah, me too. Right after my Hogwarts letter came." Dean saluted him with his beer bottle. "Could just tell me it's none of my business."

Book made another face, looking a little fed up. "Dude, I swear…"

He finished his sandwich, thinking over it , he closed his eyes. "Okay." With that, he stood up, walking over to his duffel and beginning to put his belongings inside.

Dean narrowed his eyes. "What do you think you're doing?"

"Well, I'm not much good with werewolves since I don't shoot, but ghouls? Yeah, they stink but a machete's just a knife, Dean. I'm good with those." Book paused, rubbing his forehead again.

Dean watched him, lips pursed. The pain meds were in the bottle on the counter behind him, but for all Dean's stubbornness, Book was easily a match. He knew the kid wouldn't take any right now just to prove his damn point.

"I'm not the only hunter, Book." He said, taking another drink of his beer. Did the kid think he could win a game of chicken with him?

Book paused for a second, eyes unfocused as he looked out the dark window. Then he sighed. "No, but you're probably the best."

"Dad's the best." Dean answered without hesitation, finishing his beer. He stood, going to look out the window Book had been staring out. He couldn't see anything, the woods were quiet, the salt line lay intact.

He closed the curtain anyway. He turned towards Book, studying him as impassively as he could.

He still looked tired, but he was definitely more lively. Rufus was nearly two days out from them, maybe longer if he took the scenic route. And oddly enough, the kid seemed to have fewer nightmares when he slept in the impala. He was pretty sure the kid had woken himself up three times last night. He seemed to dream a lot, regardless of where he was, but he seemed almost more relaxed in the car.

Maybe he needed to move around the way Dean needed to. And they could always find another motel if Book took a downturn. It wasn't like the monsters were going out of the way to run to them , after all. So driving in Rufus's direction on its own wasn't particularly dangerous…

He nodded. "I'll call Rufus and tell him we're a few days out. He'll have to decide if he can wait. But this is not your hunt , do you hear me? Ghouls don't need anything fancy to take down, just steel and some nose plugs. We find a nice, snug motel and you spend the next week watching pay per view, on Bela's tab, you hear me?"

Book opened his mouth, then closed it, looking unsure. "I'll still be slowing you down."

Dean shrugged. "You saved Jo, repeatedly. If Jo was still in the hospital dying, I wouldn't be going anywhere any faster than I am now. I will, however, be distracted as fuck if I'm worried about you."

Book went impossibly still at his words, not even seeming to breathe for a second, before quickly looking down at his duffel, and for a moment, Dean felt bad.

It wasn't anything but the truth, but he also remembered how crappy it felt anytime John had said something like that to him. Yeah, in the end those things had pushed Dean to be a better hunter, but….

He didn't always want to be just like John Winchester.

"Sorry." He said, gruffly. "That was a low blow."

Book shook his head. "It's the truth though, right?"

"Doesn't make it less shitty." Dean smiled self-deprecatingly. "I'm not so great at the chick flick stuff."

Book looked at him for a moment, head cocked. A funny smile danced across his lips. "Chick flick moment?"

"Yeah, I guess. Whatever." Dean looked away, shoving stuff in his own bag. "Let's head out."

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Dean glanced over at his companion as he easily navigated the winding county highway. The trees pressed close to the two-lane, they'd passed the last town nearly forty miles back.

Book had, predictably, fallen asleep maybe a half an hour into their drive after leaving the diner where they'd stopped to eat dinner. They were only about 16 hours out from Rufus's hunt, and he glanced over at Book again speculatively.

The kid was finally looking like he belonged among the living, but damn, he had a shit track record of getting hurt on hunts. Not that Dean blamed him, hunting was dangerous….

Book shifted position again, frowning. Dreaming again, probably, though what there was to dream about out here in the middle of nowhere, Christ only knew.

Dean chuckled as he remembered Book's look of mild shock when Dean had stolen the pillow from the cabin.

"Are you seriously taking that?" He'd asked as Dean tossed it to him.

"Only fair since we paid for nights we aren't using." Dean had grinned back.

He'd slept so often in the impala he didn't think twice about it, and Book had never complained. But sleeping and sleeping to heal were two different things, so Dean had snaked the pillow for Book when they left.

They passed a highway sign reading 41, and Dean cracked his neck, determined to push through the night if he could. If he timed it right, he could slow-walk this hunt for another 8 hours once they arrived by claiming he himself needed some shut eye once they reached Rufus.

He'd never been one to ignore the monsters, that just led to more bodies piling up.

But between John going AWOL, Jo very nearly dying twice, and Book spending most of the last week basically comatose, he was, for the first time in his life, feeling the need to circle his own wagons.

"Shit." He surprised himself by speaking out loud. "I have wagons."

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The woman ran straight into the road, just like the witness reports. "Stop! STOP!"

Even though they'd been expecting something, Dean was still caught off guard. "Holy-" he slammed on the brakes.

He must have come within inches of her.

"You've got to help me." She cried.

Sam looked at her in shock. "Dean, I don't think she knows she's dead…"

She ran to Sam's window.

"Please! Please!"

Sam quickly rolled down his window. "All right, all right. Tell me what happened…"

In the impala, Book turned restlessly...

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When the woman ran into the road, Dean had hit the brake so hard he'd practically been standing on it. At the same time, his right hand had shot out, bracing hard against a sleeping Book's chest.

The kid had his seatbelt on, but leaning against the door and the pillow, it wasn't quite positioned right. After his own wreck, Dean had a new appreciation for seat belts.

Dean managed, by the skin of his teeth, to avoid hitting the woman, who only then seemed to appreciate just what she'd done. She stood in front of the car, illuminated by the impala's lights, wide-eyed and frantic.

Beside Dean, Book had gasped into wakefulness, scrubbing a hand over his face, watching the woman with equally wide, stunned eyes.

Breathing hard, he looked quickly from the woman to Dean, then back to the woman, then around them, obviously disconcerted. Hand still on Book's chest, he could feel both Book's amulet under his shirt, and under that, his racing heartbeat.

"Help!" The woman screamed, hitting her palms against the hood of the impala for emphasis. "Please, help!"

"Are…are you…" Book was stuttering, still obviously screwed up from being woken up by a near car wreck and a screaming woman.

"Tell me you see her too." He finally breathed out the words in a rush, looking to Dean for some kind of confirmation. Dean's eyes widened. Was this what Book had been dreaming about before he had woken up?

Talk about a bad trip.

"Yeah, I see her. She's real, you're awake now." He pressed his palm against Book's chest a fraction harder, hoping to ground the kid.

"O-okay. Okay." Book swallowed hard. "Okay. Really happening..."

Just then, obviously no longer willing to wait for their response, the woman ran around the car to Book's side, beating her hands against the window.

Book's eyes tracked her like she was a mountain lion, and Dean reached out further without thought, slapping his hand down on the lock on Book's door.

Better safe than sorry.

"Please, please, you have to help me! He's after me." Tears were running down her face.

"Dean, I think-"

"Stay put." Dean ordered, opening his own door, and climbing out with one foot. As casually as he could, he reached behind him for his gun.

No hunter worth his salt would walk away from a civvy needing help, but this was a hell of a coincidence….

Was it a trap?

Book had remained in his seat, but he'd rolled his window down a few inches.

"Please, I need help-" She'd nearly pressed her face against the window as she begged Book, and Dean's hand tightened around the handle of his gun.

"Don't talk to him, talk to me." He ordered.

The woman paused, blinking, as if she hadn't even noticed him until then, and unease pooled in Dean's belly as he scanned their surroundings again.

Nothing but trees, no houses, no streetlights, no other cars…

Where the hell had she come from?

"I need help. My husband and I, we were driving, and there was a man, in the road, he was bloody-"

"Huh. Funny that." Dean interrupted, looking her over again. She looked normal, if a little bedraggled.

"We went off the road, and when I woke up, my husband was gone. I found a…house, but the man was there, he was bleeding, and I can't find my husband…" she was babbling, hands flapping around her.

"Okay, so you hit someone? What house?" Dean frowned in confusion, looking around again.

"Dean! What road are we on?" Book was asking from inside the car.

"Highway 41…." Dean answered without taking his eyes off the woman. "You were asleep for about three hours." He figured the more info Book had, the quicker he'd adjust to the situation.

"Ok." From inside the car, it sounded like Book was making a call.

911, perhaps? Though how the kid even had a signal out here was a mystery to Dean. His own phone had lost signal over an hour ago.

"Yeah, highway 41. A woman, anything you can find." He could barely make out Book's words.

"Please, I have to find my husband! Can you help me?" The woman had returned to Book's window.

"If you'll back up, I'll open the door." Book said.

"Okay." "No." The woman and Dean spoke in conflicted unison.

"It's okay, Dean. She doesn't want to hurt us. Let's just listen to her." At least Book finally sounded like he understood what was happening.

Scowling, Dean motioned to the woman. "You heard him, give him some space."

Wide-eyed, she reluctantly backed up a few paces, looking warily over her shoulder. Slowly Book opened his door and eased out, hands in front of him placatingly.

"Okay, I'm sorry, can you start over slowly?" Dean had to admire the gentle tone Book managed. He noticed how warily Book continued to watch her, however, as if she was a puzzle and he wasn't quite sure he'd put it together right.

The woman closed her eyes, obviously trying to be calmer.

"Start with an easy one. What's your name?" Dean asked, trying to gentle his own tone but probably failing.

"Molly. Molly McNamara." She replied, wringing her hands.

"Okay, Molly, tell us what happened, but…slowly." Book instructed, smiling just a little. It looked forced to Dean, but she didn't seem to notice.

"My husband and I…we took a wrong turn. He had the map and we were arguing. I looked away from the road for only a moment, I swear, but the next thing I knew, there was a man on the road. I missed him, I thought I missed him, but the car went off the road and I hit my head. When I woke up, my husband was gone. I tried to look for him, and I found this…shack, I guess. I thought David might be inside but instead it was…" She paused, visibly frightened.

"The man covered in blood?" Book finished for her.

Mutely she nodded, and Dean didn't miss the look Book shot him.

"How long ago was it?" Dean asked, not seeing any skid marks or other signs of an accident. And, had she said the man was bloody before she'd hit him? Had he run in front of her for help the way she'd run in front of them? What the hell was going on?

"I ... .my head…" She touched her temple, confusion on her face.

Slowly Dean relaxed his grip on his gun. Book seemed to believe her, and she hadn't directly threatened either of them…yet.

"Did you get through to emergency services?" Dean asked Book in a low voice.

Book shot him a look, shaking his head. Dean's gaze sharpened as he realized what Book was trying to tell him.

This was a case.

"911 didn't connect. I got through to a friend, but we're in the middle of nowhere. They aren't even sure where to ask for help." Dean could tell Book was lying, but the woman didn't even seem to register his words.

Dean frowned. As scared as she seemed, she didn't seem surprised that help wasn't coming.

Shock? Head wound? She'd said she passed out…

"Let's get you into the next town, and they can send back help for your husband." Book said, shooting another look at Dean.

Dean frowned but nodded. Immediately she shook her head. "No. Not without my husband. That man, he's…not right. He might have hurt him."

Dean opened his mouth to argue but Book held up his hand. "Dean, let her take us to her car? She might have been ... .disoriented…when she woke up. Maybe we can find him."

And that damn look was back in Book's face again, that " I'm almost sure I understand " look, and Dean just nodded grimly.

"Get in the back."

She got in quickly, either more scared of the mystery-bloody-man than she was of them, or just too desperate to care.

Dean didn't miss the wary way Book was watching her, though he hid it well. He seemed as puzzled as Dean, if not more. Dean slid behind the wheel.

"You good?" He asked Book, trying to figure out whatever angle the kid was working in his head.

"Please, can we hurry-" Molly leaned forward, and Dean didn't miss the way Book automatically jerked back from her.

"Back up." Dean ordered tightly.

"But-"

"He's diabetic, he's been sick for a week, and you just scared the crap out of him. So. Back. Up." Dean didn't know a simpler way to sum up Book's condition, but it seemed to work, because she paused, exhaling.

"Sorry, I'm sorry. I'm just so worried about my husband." She apologized.

"It's okay." Book reassured her, but his eyes were still conflicted. "Where was your accident?"

She looked around, then pointed back at the road. "Not far, we'd just taken that curve ahead. The car went down the embankment."

Casting one last concerned look at Book, Dean started the Impala.

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"I don't understand." Molly was shaking, shock or fear, probably both. "How could the car just be gone ?"

Dean was watching her doubtfully. "Lady, look around. The trees and bushes aren't even torn up. Are you sure this is the right spot?"

"Yes, yes, I am. I had to climb around that tree to get out of my door." She pointed to an old oak at the bottom of the ravine. "This is impossible."

Book's phone rang then, and he frowned before cutting a look at Dean, who nodded as Book walked a small ways away to answer.

"Charlie, what do you have?"

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Dean watched Book watching them, watched as myriad emotions crossed his face before he carefully wiped them away.

Watched him watch Molly .

Slowly, he walked back over to them. Dean caught Molly casting a confused glance at Book's phone, but then she just shook her head. Which made Dean wonder, didn't she have a phone of her own? They weren't exactly expensive any more….

"Emergency services can't get here anytime soon." He said quietly. Then-

"Dean, I lost track of time while I was sick. What's the date?"

"April 30th." It was Molly who answered. "It's our anniversary. We're supposed to be in a cabin at the lake right now."

"Me too." Dean said grumpily.

"Okay, Molly, obviously something weird is going on here. Let's get to the nearest town and get some more help. This isn't a two man job." Book was still watching her like a hawk, and Dean moved to stand beside him.

"But David-"

"Isn't here. And if he's lost in the woods, that's not a two man job. Especially since he's still sick." Dean pointed to Book, who actually happened to look quite pale at that moment.

"But that man, I tried to talk to him earlier, but he chased me . What if he has David? What if he has the car?" She asked.

"Molly, I can't stay out here. And getting help is the quickest way to get David back." There was a thread of urgency in Book's voice. "It's…" He glanced at his watch. "Two in the morning. We should hurry."

"Get in the car, Book. She doesn't want to come, we'll send help back to her." Dean said, not liking how worried Book looked. Whoever Book had talked to on the phone, the kid was suddenly even more on alert than he already had been, which was enough red flags for Dean.

Looking between the two men, Molly sighed, shoulders slumping. "Okay. Please take me to the closest police station."

Dean nodded, directing Book with his hand back to the car. Once everyone was inside, Dean started the engine, pulling back into the lane.

"You know…" Book's voice was light, conversational, even. But Dean could feel his gaze on him. "I didn't realize where we were, at first. There's stories about this highway."

"Oh yeah? Like what?" Dean asked, realizing Book was trying to back-door information to him without frightening Molly.

"Yeah, uh. People say it's haunted. There's been a ton of accidents over the years, always on the same date. People say a…someone…runs into the road, sometimes being chased by a man with a massive injury to his stomach. It's even caused some fatalities."

Dean's eyes widened but he kept them on the road. Who the hell had Book called to get this info so fast?

"Yeah? How long has it been going on?" Dean asked as casually as he could, shooting a tight look at Book who just smiled (though it looked a little like a grimace).

"Uh…well. Five fatalities in 14 years." Book said, looking around nervously.

Dean nearly swerved off the road. "This highway? On April 30th of every year?"

"What are the odds, right?" Book sounded like he wanted to be anywhere but there.

"Wait, a man chases someone every year? Like…he did me? Does that mean he has David? But what is he supposed to be, a…ghost? How could a ghost move a car?" Molly sounded bewildered.

Dean's hands tightened on the wheel. He wasn't sure he wanted to hear what Book was going to say next.

"Well, speculation is…that it's a special kind of ghost. Called a revenant. They don't realize they're dead. They can get stuck in time loops, reliving the same events over and over. Because they don't realize they're dead, they only see what they want to see, and they can interact with the world just like a regular person. They can open doors, they feel solid…" Book trailed off, looking pointedly at Dean.

"That's just…that's crazy." Molly said, obviously trying to sound like she didn't believe it.

"Dingo ate my baby crazy." Dean agreed, looking at Book. Are you sure?

Just then, the radio came on in the impala, all by itself. Molly frowned, leaning forward. "Wait..that song…it was playing when we crashed. But…it was also playing when I woke up. Why is it playing again already?"

Book made a face at Dean, shrugging helplessly. Dean just nodded to himself, forcing back the tide of curse words in his head. Just then, the impala shuddered, quickly losing acceleration.

"What the hell?" Dean muttered, steering it to the side of the road.

The radio crackled, static turning into words…

"She's mine."

"Oh, my god." Molly breathed.

Dean and Book looked meaningfully over at each other, then glanced at Molly in near unison. She'd gone pale in the backseat, hands clenching on the backrest.

"How is that possible?" She asked, looking quickly between them. "Is he….he's talking about me?"

"Yeah, Molly. I'm pretty sure he is." Book said gently, trying to push past his own fatigue and misgivings. She'd been thrust into a situation she'd never expected, become something monstrous without ever realizing it, and if he couldn't emphasize, who could?

What's more, as a revenant, she was helping to create the time loop, but so was the other spirit. And as best Charlie and Ron could tell, he'd spent the last fourteen years torturing her. No one deserved that.

"This isn't…" She shook her head, closing her eyes. "It's our anniversary…" The words were whispered.

The truth was, of course, that it wasn't. It was two in the morning, so it was now May 1st, but she couldn't see that either of course…

"Book, get out for a minute." Dean said, opening his own door.

He walked around the front to Book's side quickly, scanning him up and down. Ghost hunting in the woods had not been on the agenda tonight. His color wasn't too bad, but he looked troubled, and in the faint moonlight, Dean couldn't be one hundred percent sure that's all it was.

"Dean, I don't think he's going to let her leave." Book pitched his voice low as Dean steered him towards the trunk.

"Yeah, and I'm not entirely sure it's our problem." Dean said tightly, opening the trunk and propping up the false bottom. Despite his words, he began loading salt rounds into the shotgun, stuffing more into his pockets.

"Of course it is, she's in our car." Book said, sounding confused.

"You're telling me she's-" Dean pointed towards the backseat as he hissed the words. "A freaking revenant? And him?"

"Yeah, it appears so. My contact said the description of the woman is pretty consistent year after year. And she's solid enough to leave imprints on the cars that have hit her over time. He just seems to be a regular ghost though." Book said, glancing towards the interior to make sure Molly hadn't overheard them.

"They bite , Book." Dean hissed in aggravation. "Yeah, sure, sometimes they go to the freakin' light, but sometimes you have to pin them into their coffins with silver freaking spikes because revenants have a psychotic breakdown and they bite ." And Dean didn't have any handy dandy silver spikes on him, because he was supposed to be in Arkansas, getting Book set up in a hotel, so he could hunt ghouls….

"Dean, it's not like she chose this-" Book paused, looking around.

Had he heard a noise? Glancing up, he noticed some clouds in the distance, but in the dark, it was impossible to tell if they were storm clouds or just regular ones.

"Will your blade stop a revenant?" Dean asked sharply, shoving a can of lighter fluid and a canister of salt into a knapsack, along with a camp shovel.

"We aren't stabbing her!" Book whispered back sharply, shooting Dean a reproving look.

"We sure as hell are if she starts biting ." Dean retorted. "And you are taking this gun or so help me, I will handcuff you to the car and do this by myself."

Book narrowed his eyes. "I'll take the bag." He said, grabbing it instead. "The gun might hurt her but it wouldn't stop her anyway."

Dean pressed his lips together, obviously agitated. Book watched as he visibly forced himself to calm down.

"How solid is this intel? Where'd you even get it?" Dean asked, pulling a silver knife out of a sheaf to check it before planting his boot on the bumper to strap the sheaf on under his jeans leg.

He liked this knife and if he had to use it to pin her in a grave, he was going to be pissed…

Book hesitated, uncertain how to answer. The truth was, Ron had caught the pattern of this haunting over a year ago, they just hadn't been able to get anyone to take the case.

Last year the date had coincided with a full moon and most hunters had had werewolf hunts lined up. There were very few hunters they trusted to share intel with, mostly they sent it anonymously. But that meant sometimes the info they shared went ignored, plus, not a ton of hunters were tech savvy, since they were often nomads.

Charlie had put it into a pile of cases Book was going to send over to the Campbells if need be, but since the haunting was only one night a year, who knew when someone would be able to grab it. While Book funded Ron and Charlie, he didn't interact with them often for safety reasons. The fewer connections between them, the safer they were.

Plus, that operation, like all of the projects Book, Anna, and Gabe had created over the years, were designed to operate in their absence, indefinitely if needed.

But there wasn't exactly time to hit the library, so he'd had no choice.

"My contacts are….excellent." He said finally.

"Contacts? Who are these people?" Dean asked, narrowing his eyes.

"Friends." Book answered truthfully. Though he seldom let himself interact with them, he truly liked Charlie and Ron. "One's a computer expert, like, genius level. The other has a nose for patterns. He can almost scent a case. But they don't hunt. They tried to get someone here last year, but no one could take the case."

Dean gaped at him. "Wait, so, what, they outsource jobs to hunters?"

Book shrugged. "They aren't hunters, not really. They'd get hurt or worse. But they don't have a lot of hunter contacts. It's not like it's easy info to share. But when I gave them our location, it didn't take them long to get me the information."

Dean just stared harder. "How do you know these people? How…"

"Who are you guys?" The scared voice had them spinning around. Molly was gaping at the still open trunk and Book closed his eyes in frustration.

Being dead didn't make her stupid. And they were standing in front of a car trunk full of weapons.

She began backing away, looking scared. "Molly, please don't be frightened. Dean's…" Book swallowed, aware of just how crazy he was about to sound. "Dean's a hunter, he hunts ghosts like…what's chasing you."

"Among other things. And Book's a psychic." Dean added darkly, and Book shot him an aggrieved look.

"Ghostbusters. Cool." Molly nodded, smiling wanly.

Then she bolted into the woods.

Book took off after her without thinking, slinging the knapsack over his shoulder as he dodged tree branches and navigated bushes and rocks. There was even less light under the trees, and behind him, he heard Dean cursing up a storm.

Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural

Molly took off, and naturally, the kid followed. Dean barely had time to slam the trunk closed and took off after them, but she was fast for a dead girl, and Book was going all out to keep pace.

And that was problem number one-because Book was in no shape for a hunt. He was, as far as Dean could tell, unarmed except for his blade, their medical supplies were behind them in the impala, and Dean could already hear his labored breathing.

He hadn't let up his pace, the stubborn shit, but he was spending on credit with every step he took further into the forest. And all they knew was that once a year, a ghost chased a freaking revenant through these woods.

Freaking fantastic.

He nearly crashed into Book when the kid stopped short.

"Do that again and I may shoot you in the leg and come back for you!" Dean hissed, clamping a hand around Book's arm.

Book was breathing hard, but it didn't stop him from shooting Dean a bitchface as he nodded towards the clearing in front of them.

It was a house, or, at least it used to be. It was falling down, weeds grown up around it, broken windows, shutters hanging crookedly. It was probably a charming enough home, once, but no longer. Molly stood in front of it, obviously working herself up to enter.

"Molly…" Book was still fighting for breath. "Please, stop. We don't want to hurt you."

She looked over her shoulder. "You guys are crazy. This whole thing is crazy. I have to find David."

Dean snorted. "Think how we feel. We were headed to a ghoul hunt twelve hours from here."

"Ghouls…of course." She faced the house again. "Do you…know who this guy is? Why is he after me?"

"His name…" Book still sounded a touch breathless, and Dean was trying to split his attention between the two of them, because no matter how difficult the timing might be on this hunt, Book was alive, and Dean had to keep him that way first, even if he had to fight two ghosts and a psychic to do it.

"His name was Jonah Greeley. Fourteen years ago, he was hit by a car back there on the road. The driver…was killed too. His wife collected his body shortly after, but neither were ever heard from again. All this land is theirs, well, was theirs. For miles." He said the last part to Dean, and Dean cursed.

The wife could have buried him anywhere. Or not at all. Or taken his body to another freaking country and his spirit was tied to the house or something in it."

"We can torch the whole house." Dean said, as thunder peeled over head.

Of course, it would be about to storm. Because all they needed was to be stuck in the woods with two homicidal spirits in the pouring rain.

"We have to check it out first." Book said, at the same time Molly cried out-

"David may still be in there!"

Shit, Dean had forgotten about the husband. Suddenly, Book hunched over, coughing. Instantly, Dean was at his side, patting his back. Book leaned into him, stage whispering- "Husband survived, he's clear."

Dean swallowed, trying to be grateful that they only had to worry about Jonah, as lightning lit up the sky.

And Molly.

And a damn thunderstorm.

"Inside." Dean ordered, feeling the wind pick up. He herded Book towards the door, not really caring if Molly followed. He knew he should probably feel sorry for her, but he obviously had Book there to handle the sympathy angle.

He'd focus on handling the problems.

Rain began to fall, angry spurts and spatters, the storm wasn't truly on them yet, but Dean could smell it coming. He tested the wood of the porch before he let Book walk behind him. "Watch your step."

"Psychic, Dean. You should probably be walking where I am.." Book said with tired amusement. And even if he hadn't been, he had the same training Dean had, though he could never say it out loud…

"You're telling me you're actually psychic? You can read minds?" Molly interjected from behind them. Book could see how tense Dean was with her presence now that he knew what she was.

"Can you find David?" She asked.

"I'm working on it. It's not really that precise. Right now, we need to stop Jonah's spirit before he tries to hurt you again." Book replied.

"Because he might have David?" She asked.

Book sighed. It seemed David was her unfinished business. Charlie and Ron hadn't had an address for him, or Jonah's wife, but they were looking. He could only hope it would be enough…

Once they'd dealt with Jonah.

"But why is he doing this? I never did anything to him, neither did David?" Molly said, shadowing Book step-for-step.

"Ghosts aren't known for being rational." Dean said, shining his flashlight around the room. Old, decaying furniture lay in broken piles, dirt and animal droppings lay scattered around.

"They might have once been human, but over the years, their focus dwindles, narrowing on their strongest emotions. Hurt, anger, loss, betrayal…it twists them up until they're something else, sometimes nothing like the humans they were in life." Book whispered softly.

"So, what are we looking for?" Molly whispered back.

"His body, so we can burn it." Dean replied, making his way into the kitchen. Outside the window, lightning flashed again.

"I'm sorry, what?" Molly was so startled she stopped in her tracks.

Dean sighed in agitation. Civilians were annoying enough when they were alive.

"Ghosts are usually anchored either to their bodies or a close personal object. Salting and burning the body or object destroys the connection." Dean grumbled, kicking some debris out of his way.

"Then what happens?" She asked, sounding horrified.

"They move on, up or down, it depends on who they were in life and how much pain they caused as ghosts." Book answered as truthfully as he could.

Ahead of them, Dean had paused, obviously listening to Book's explanation.

"O-kay." She was thoughtful for a moment. "So, what if we can't find it?"

"I start torching everything and hope we get lucky." Dean smiled thinly.

"This is the most logical place for his wife to have brought him." Book agreed. "Traveling with a body isn't exactly easy. It's surprising she was able to collect it from the morgue at all."

"Small towns. Country burials aren't as common now, but not unheard of." Dean said, shining his light on a framed photograph still hanging crooked on the wall, glass catching the light, wallpaper peeling in strips around it. It was a wedding photo taken in what appeared to be the yard of the house they were now standing in. Book frowned, leaning closer.

Something was different though…..

"Did we come in the front or back door?" He asked Dean.

Dean frowned in thought. "I didn't see a driveway, but it opened to the living room. So probably the front door, why?"

Book shook his head. "I don't know. I…."

A sudden crack of lightning lit the room, drawing Book's attention to the kitchen window. Beyond it, he could see the silhouette of a tree.

"I need to go outside." He told Dean suddenly, walking quickly towards what was the back door.

"Dammit, Book-" Dean was swearing again as he tried to cover both Molly and Book.

Book had caught a scent, it seemed. Dean wanted him to stop before he hurt himself, but at the same time, they needed info, and if it was going to come to them this easily, he'd have to swallow down his concern.

Book stepped down the porch steps gently, feeling the old wood bow under his weight. It held, but this place wouldn't make it more than a few more years.

The tree was small, still young for a tree. It looked to be an oak, and they grew slowly. Had someone been around to care for it, it would probably have been taller.

Book guessed it to be about 22 feet tall.

"Yeah. That could be 14 years…" he whispered to himself.

"Talk to me!" Dean ordered, shotgun still at the ready.

"It's an old custom." Book said, still appraising the tree. "To use a tree as a grave marker."

"How do you even know that?" Dean asked, exasperated.

Book chuckled tiredly. "I really don't remember anymore."

Carefully, he placed a palm against the tree-

The woman dug until her shoulders ached and her limbs trembled. She could feel her heart beating erratically and in her mind, she imagined Jonah scolding her for over exerting herself.

Except Jonah was gone, and she'd never hear his voice again.

Finally, she judged the hole to be deep enough, and she began the laborious process of dragging his body towards it. She'd dressed him in his wedding suit and then shrouded him in their best tablecloth.

They wouldn't be celebrating any more holidays anyway.

Filling the hole should have been faster, but she was so tired. Finally, only a few piles of dirt remained, and she knelt, carefully placing the sapling in the remaining hole.

Oaks could live for so very long, unlike human's fleeting firefly-lives. Gently placing her hands around the tree, she patted down the soil.

"You will have to do this last part on your own." She whispered.

As would she.

Slowly, heart pounding heavily in her chest, she made her way to the bedroom, changing into her wedding dress before heading to the attic….

Book came to in the rain, kneeling on the wet grass.

"Book, so help me god-" Dimly he heard Dean speaking to him.

"It's okay. I'm back." His voice croaked. "How…long?"

"Only a few moments". Dean said, lips pinched. He was hovering over Book, obviously trying to shield him as best he could from the rain, the ghost, Molly and probably global warming at this point. Book could almost taste his exasperation with the whole situation.

"What…did you have a vision?" Molly asked, looking between the two men.

The older one had spent the last few minutes ignoring her entirely, his focus solely on Book as he'd touched his palm to the tree, seeming to slip into a trance of some sort.

"She…buried him here." Book answered, pushing slowly to his feet, grateful for Dean's help.

Dean shoved something into his hand and Book raised a brow. It was some kind of hard candy, the plastic wrinkling in his hand.

"Are you just….carrying these around now?" He asked with a tired laugh.

"Don't even start with me."

Yeah, Dean sounded a little mad.

"She's inside. Jonah's wife." Book said, obediently opening the candy. His brows lifted. Butterscotch .

"Both of them are here?" Dean didn't exactly sound surprised, more resigned. Granted, the state of the house indicated a long standing abandonment.

"The very top." Book agreed with a sigh.

The attic was as dusty and dirty as the rest of the house, the floorboards creaking even more ominously.

"Book, I'm not seeing anything?" Dean said, shining the flashlight around.

Book leaned against the doorway, shining his own light around. The truth was, he'd barely made it up the stairs. Dean had been right to try and sideline him, but it wasn't like he'd had much of a choice in the matter.

"Over there." He said after a moment, pushing off the doorway slowly. "I think…there's a doorway behind those boxes."

Glancing where Book had indicated, Dean shoved the boxes out of the way, wrinkling his nose at the feel of rotting cardboard.

Sure enough, a small door, almost child sized, was set into the wall.

"Why…?" Molly asked in confusion.

"Doesn't matter." Dean said, kicking it once, then a second time.

That's all it took, though it had been latched from the other side, it had never been meant to stop someone like Dean.

"He built it as a hiding place for her, in case something happened while he was gone. They were all alone out here." Book supplied. "He…adored her."

"How does love like that become….whatever that thing is now?" Molly asked, crawling through the door behind Dean and Book.

"Love's the most dangerous thing in the world." Book whispered in resignation, as he shone his flashlight on the decaying corpse hanging from the rafters.

Jonah's wife, Hannah, according to Ron, had dressed herself in her wedding gown and then hung herself, tucked away out of sight in the little nest her husband had built to protect her.

She'd kicked over the chair she'd used to climb to the rafters, and scattered around it were old papers, handwritten words in a handsome script.

"These are love letters…" Molly said in disbelief. "They were together for fifty years."

Her voice held wonder and sorrow. "Somedays, I wasn't sure David and I were going to make it to five. In the car earlier, we were fighting. I was so mad about being lost. What if I never get another chance to talk to him?"

"It's not the time to focus on that, Molly." Book gently urged her to her feet, trying not to cough in the dust. "Our presence is probably what made Jonah back away for the time being, but he will be back. We need to try and end this now."

"What are you thinking?" Dean asked, eyeing him closely.

"We should…" Book broke off, choking back a cough.

Dean was already moving closer. "Book…"

Book held up his hand placatingly. "It's just the dust, Dean."

Dean shot him a look that screamed ' bull shit ', but thankfully he didn't argue.

"I think Jonah is as tied to his wife's body as his own, maybe even these letters." Book said with a frown.

Dean nodded. "If we're already digging a hole, there's no reason there can't be two bodies in it. We'll torch them, the letters, hell, the tree."

"And then we'll find David." Molly stated, looking between the two of them. "Right?"

"Yes, Molly. We'll help you find David." Book answered softly.

He went over to the chair and righted it, intending to climb up to cut Hannah down.

"I'll do it. Just help me lay her down." Dean cut him off, and Book nodded tiredly.

Dean's blade made short work of the rotting rope, and Molly found an old blanket to wrap the corpse, now mostly bones, in.

"Is she here too?" She asked Book.

"I don't think so." Book assured her. And if she was now, she wouldn't be by the time Dean was down a lighter later. "Molly, can you gather those letters?"

She nodded, quickly scooping up the aging papers.

"I'll carry her. You'd better have the gun ready." Book said quietly. It was worrying, how long Jonah had gone without making himself known. Perhaps their intervention was so far outside of the normal pattern it had weakened him temporarily.

Or he was biding his time.

"You don't have it in you, man." Dean was shaking his head. "Just take the gun."

"Um, I can shoot." Molly offered awkwardly. "But…how does it stop a ghost anyway?"

"Salt rounds. Salt is a pure element, it disrupts a spirits ability to hold its form. That's why we salt the bodies before burning them." Book answered, realizing Dean was staring at him. He quirked his head to one side questioningly, but Dean merely shook his head.

"Well, if he has David, I have no problem…disrupting his connection or whatever it is." Molly declared, voice only trembling a little.

Dean snorted. "Sure, why not."

Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural

In the end, the narrow staircase meant even Dean had trouble maneuvering downstairs with Hannah's corpse. Fortunately, Jonah still hadn't appeared, but his absence was starting to really worry Book. It felt like he was marshaling his strength for something…big.

Book half-expected something as Dean dragged Hannah's body out the door, but he couldn't discern anything for certain. It felt cooler, perhaps, but that might have simply been because of the storm that was battering the house in fits and starts.

If the storm had a silver-lining, it had at least softened the first few inches of topsoil. Unfortunately, the tree's roots were a tangled mess, slowing Dean down.

"Let me help." Book half-scolded with a wry grin. "Wasn't that supposed to be the best part of hunting with someone?"

"Not my first grave, kiddo." Dean said without even looking at him. "And the deal was, the only thing you were signed up for this week was pay-per-view."

"Dean, I'll stop if it gets to be too much." Truthfully, Book was exhausted, but he also felt a sinking, gut-churning guilt that Dean was flying solo even with him standing right there.

Hell, they technically had one of the spirits standing guard for them, and the fact that Dean had handed the shotgun over to Molly was breaking things in Book's mind if he thought about it too hard…

"Tell…you…what…" Dean's shirt was sticking to his back, damp with sweat. "If you're really good, I'll let you toss the lighter."

Book snorted in frustration. "You're such a jerk."

The words came out without a thought, and they tore out pieces of Book with them, casually drenching him in a cascade of memories that had him suddenly turning away from his not-brother brother.

Molly was studying them, brow gently furrowed. "How do you guys know each other?"

Book sighed, unsure of how to handle that one. "We met a while back." He said finally.

"Are you…." Her sentence drifted away in the wind.

"We worked on some cases together." Book supplied, hoping to shut down her line of questioning. There would never be enough words in the world to describe him and Dean, even if he was the only one who knew that little fact.

"Cases like this?" She asked, gesturing to the dilapidated house behind her.

Book nodded slowly. "There are a lot of things out there, sometimes…my skills can be useful."

Behind him, he thought perhaps he'd heard Dean snort, though he was naturally breathing heavier now, so he might have imagined it.

"Other times, I'm not so useful." He finished quietly, nodding to the shotgun she was cradling in her arms.

"Why don't you shoot, if it's so useful against…ghosts?" She asked, still tripping over a word she'd probably never expected to say.

Book sighed. "Bad memories."

Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural

Dean had strained to hear the quiet conversation as he dug as quickly as he could. There had been a moment, when Book had called him a jerk….

It was a funny feeling, because it felt like absence , like losing a tooth, tongue dancing around the careful, painful lack of presence. It was the same not-feeling that had swept over him when Book had mentioned playing rock-paper-scissors back at the bar a week ago.

Like he knew what should be there, but it wasn't, and somehow that wasn't a shock either.

He heard Molly and Book talk about the gun, part of him wanting to tell her to back off, that Book didn't owe pieces of himself to anyone, much less her, the other part of him leaning closer, desperate to hear his answer.

When Book said 'bad memories', Dean's mind had begun to race. Because a kid who grew up seeing ghosts, seeing wraiths and death omens, that smelled a lot like bad memories, like three year-olds hiding under the bed and five year-olds hiding in closets.

And then he felt even more stupid because Book was psychic , and that meant they didn't even have to be his memories, did they? If he saw ghosts and visions, the entire world's trauma was his own little slideshow, and ghosts didn't usually occur when people passed peacefully.

Imagining a tiny, toddler Book seeing visions of murder and suicide made his stomache churn and his mouth taste like metal, and maybe that was why Book knew that cherry juice was the best at covering the taste of blood.

And yeah, Dean had come into the business young, but not three, or four, or five. And he'd had Dad, that impenetrable wall that was John Winchester insulating him from the things he wasn't ready for-until he was.

How bad did memories have to be for your expression to go tight, and your voice shake a little, and your hands refuse to unclench? Because that was Book everytime Dean tried to get him to take a firearm from him. And Book didn't scare very easily. In fact, other than handling firearms, he wasn't sure he'd seen Book shy away from much. Dean, himself, possible.

But then, he'd first found Dean because of a vision of Dean's death (because, yeah, he'd said ' vision ' and ' demon ' and ' Dean ', maybe he hadn't said ' killed ' but Dean could read between the damn lines), so maybe that tracked too.

But demons, ghosts, hell, reapers? The kid had an alarming lack of concern regarding his own safety, so really, how bad did memories have to be before they left Book with emotional scar tissue and shaking hands?

Dean was suddenly even more grateful Hannah had only had the strength to dig down around four and a half feet or so. He was ready for this case to be done, and he and Book, back in the impala and out of the damn blast radius. Though then they still needed to deal with Molly and he hoped God Book had some kind of plan.

He'd nearly finished uncovering the bones when he realized that both Book and Molly had gone stock still, eyes fixed on the house.

"What's going on?" He asked in a low voice, quickly climbing out of the hole to stand beside them. He realized he could see Book's breath, a gentle cloud in the chilly air, compared to his own, larger and ragged from exertion.

"You can't…hear it?" Molly asked in a faraway voice.

Well that didn't bode well.

"Book?" His voice made an entire question out of the name. He crowded the kid without thought, shoulder pushed against his own, though Book didn't seem to notice.

Book tilted his head, listening. "It's the song from earlier, but it's soft…there's an echo…."

"Time for s'mores than." Dean declared. If Jonah was going to make a move, it would almost have to be now, there wasn't much night left…

Just then, Molly took a step towards the house, her arms lax, the gun pointed towards the ground.

Book blinked, seeming to wake up momentarily-

" Watch out -"

Dean wasn't sure who he was trying to warn but suddenly everything was happening fast. Lightning struck the tree behind him, cleaving it in two, ozone heavy in the air, the sound echoing in the clearing and white after images in his eyes as he dove away from the hole.

He heard Book cry out, Molly screamed, glass broke…

It seems like years before his night vision returned, but it was probably only moments. He stumbled, first to his knees, then shambling, to his feet, still stunned and half-bent over.

Book was lying unconscious on the ground, a sluggish smear of blood trailing from one nostril.

Molly was gone.

Adrenaline lighting his veins, he half-crawled to Book, pulling him up into a sitting position.

"Book? Book! Book wake up-"

Hazel eyes, only slightly dazed, opened, fighting to focus on Dean as he gasped into wakefulness. He opened his mouth, wordless, but Dean was already answering his question anyway-

"Lightning, tree. Molly's missing." It was becoming habitual, to orient the kid when he lost time, whether to visions or merely just sleep. He didn't miss the instinctive way Book had looked to him, either, like he simply knew that Dean would give him whatever he needed to rejoin the living.

A wild, careening part of his mind flashed back to Florida, the Dale sisters, and he wondered if being psychic was easier with a partner too, someone to spot you, to handle the fallout, to anchor you in the moment you were needed…

Book nodded jerkily, letting Dean pull him to his feet. He blinked several times, probably seeing the same dancing afterimages Dean still was.

Dean was triaging him frantically, looking for wounds with his hands as much as his eyes.

"It's okay, Dean. It just knocked me off my feet." He said, voice a little rough.

Dean figured the nosebleed said something different, but it wasn't really the time to argue (though a part of him really, really wanted to).

"So…he took Molly." Book said,nodding to himself.

"Yeah, looks like." Dean agreed, feeling a snarl on his lips. Sure, perhaps Mother Nature was just in a bad mood, but even he could hear the music playing now, so he doubted that lightning had truly come out of nowhere. The front window of the house was newly broken, dirty glass lying around them, catching stray light from the lightning continuing above them. In the distance, thunder pealed again, but the storm was moving on now that it had done its damage.

"We have to go get her." Book said, starting towards the house.

"Stay here, burn the bones." Dean ordered, but Book just shook his head, looking at Dean with deep worry in his eyes.

"The bones will stop Jonah, but Molly will be trapped here. You saw her Dean, she's already starting to drift. Without Jonah to focus on, she might turn against the next people she stops, or the people after that. We have to get her out, sane , and it has to be tonight. It's her only chance."

"She's already dead, Book." Dean grabbed his shoulder for emphasis. The kid was upright, but that was it. Dean didn't have a lot left in himself, at the moment, what could Book possibly have left? "Look, I'll get her, okay?"

"She just wants to be heard, Dean. She wants to be seen ."

Dean couldn't have said why Book's words filled him with a strange foreboding. Had Book had another vision?

Two clocks running, and the sky was lightening up now, dove gray on the far horizon.

"You go for Molly, get her out there, and then torch this asshole. I'll hold him off." It could work, Dean figured. He'd deal with the baddie, the kid got the vic out. It was how John and Dean had handled hunts when Dean had still been learning the trade.

Book opened his mouth to argue, but then seemed to think better of it. At least he had that much common sense.

"Behind me, until I clear a path for you to her." Dean instructed, trying to inject as much John Winchester in his voice as possible as they walked up onto the porch.

"I know the play." Book agreed, coming to stand seamlessly at Dean's back, like he'd done it a fathomless number of times before, even standing instinctively a little to Dean's left, protecting Dean's six while steering clear of the airspace around his dominant arm.

"Someday you're gonna tell me how the fuck you know how to do everything you do…" Dean was mostly grumbling to control his own nerves, because letting Book near this thing felt like a mistake, but it also felt right , like Book at his back was just more old business.

Like he'd been Dean's old business long before they'd ever even met.

The source of the music was finally made clear, an old jukebox in the corner spitting out drunken notes in the muggy air despite the power cord laying on the ground, chewed to ribbons by some rodent long ago.

"His taste in music sucks." Dean grumbled some more, and he felt, more than heard, Book's near-silent snort.

But where was Molly?

"Dean." The word was spoken on an inhale, and Book pointed to a door in the kitchen that now stood partially open, leaching darkness.

"Always the damn basement." Dean agreed, shooting an eye roll over his shoulder at Book, who only shook his head.

Just then, a muffled scream echoed into the room from below, and Dean could feel Book holding himself back.

Good, that was good. The kid could be impetuous, but he knew better than to cut off Dean's line of sight, knew better than to walk in front of a hot weapon. Some of this, Dean had already known about him, but in some ways, they were literally still strangers, and Dean wasn't sure which was weirder sometimes.

Carefully, shotgun out at the ready, Dean crept down the rickety wooden stairs into the cellar, Book tight at his back. As a kid, this had always been the part that had secretly scared Dean, long after other fears faded, that bone-deep certainty that a withered, bony hand would reach through the treads, tripping him, trapping him.

It was a good reason to wear boots.

There was a single, lit light bulb casting a dull glow over the scene in front of them, and Dean marveled at the light in a house that obviously no longer had electricity. He wondered if Molly or Jonah was creating the light, but then figured it didn't matter, because regardless, Greeley had made himself nice and cozy.

Molly was hanging, wrists tied above her head, from a hook sank into the beam over her. Greeley had probably been a hunter, had probably dressed deer and other game down here while alive.

She'd been gagged, and Dean could see a handful of shallow, bloody cuts, on her stomach, her collarbone, one arm. He snarled silently, because Book was right. He could see the whites of Molly's eyes as she tried to scream again, and this was enough to drive someone mad, this dirty room and the dirtier blade still clutched in Greeley's hand.

It was Dean's first time actually seeing the man. White hair, grizzled beard hiding his features, a large, bloody gash across his stomach. Madness and hatred in his eyes.

"Hey, asshole!" Dean called out, unsure if Greeley would even glance at him, his fixation on Molly was literally palpable.

The spirit flicked eyes towards him, but then he returned to advancing towards Molly again, and Dean didn't bother with a warning shot.

The rocksalt had the intended effect, and Greeley disappeared, the report loud enough in the cellar to have Dean's ears ringing.

"Get her down, I'll cover you." Dean instructed tersely, but Book was already moving, fluid exhaustion and determination in every line of his body.

His height was an advantage at least, but too late, Dean realized Book didn't have the strength to dead-lift Molly. Book was forced to pull his blade, intent on cutting the rope, but Molly had gone somewhere deep in her own mind, that animalistic place where fearful things went, and she didn't see Book, only the shine of the blade. She began fighting him almost frantically.

"Molly, Molly, stop, it's me, it's Book-"

Too focused on Book and Molly, Dean almost didn't see Greeley materialize, just behind Book, blade raised. There was no room to maneuver, Book was in the line of fire, and the salt didn't work if it didn't hit the target.

Dean wasn't left with much choice, but there was no real thought behind it anyway.

Jonah had the blade raised, aiming for Book's back. Dean shoved his way in between them, feeling his shoulder blades knock against Book's back, shoving the shotgun up, crossways, using it to block Jonah's downward strike.

"Dean-" He could hear the concern in Book's voice, feel him start to turn towards them.

"Get her out, now!" He yelled, a part of him noting that it was his own voice issuing the command, as opposed to the imaginary John Winchester in his head.

Greeley was strong. Dean grimaced as his rank breath skated across his face. Spittle was practically flecking from the man's mouth.

"She's mine!" The man cried, grabbing the shotgun in his other hand, trying to yank it away. Dean held on grimly, a not-so-nice smile on his own face, because this, at least, was a monster he didn't have to pity.

No, this one just needed killing.

Behind him, he felt more than heard as Book finally got the rope cut, felt him almost sagging under Molly's weight.

"Molly, run!" Dean yelled, knowing Book would be hard pressed to get her upstairs if she fought him. Inspiration struck.

"Get out, David might be outside!"

It was cruel, he knew, but it couldn't be any crueler than leaving her here with Greeley, right?

"Go, Book. Torch this fucker!" Dean cried, shoving back with all his strength, trying to get enough space between him and Greeley so he could put another round of salt into him. He saw Book and Molly heading towards the stairs, a tiny part inside him finally relaxing.

Just then, Greeley released the shotgun, and Dean stumbled, the lack of counterforce causing him to lose his balance momentarily.

Greeley grinned maliciously, taking advantage of the opening to swipe at Dean again with his blade. At the last moment, he shunted, off-kilter to the side, the blade missing Dean's chest, instead dancing a hot line of pain along Dean's upper left arm.

Dean's head jerked to the stairs, where Book had a deathgrip on the railing with one hand, the other outstretched towards him and Jonah and Dean realized he had pushed Greeley with his mind .

He supposed that answered the question of how Book had held back a reaper, but that also meant they couldn't afford to do it again, not unless he wanted to watch Book collapse in this damn cellar. Already he was backing towards the stairs, gun up and on Greeley, firing without waiting for the spirit's next attack.

"Torch. This. Asshole." He yelled the command to Book, who nodded gravely, stumbling up the stairs.

Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural

Book ran as fast as he could through the wrecked house, cursing his own weakness, his leaden legs and the shadows at the corners of his sight.

Saving Dean had been instinctive, his arm was up before the thought had even been given real form in his mind, but he was still so damn weak…. He'd barely been able to move Jonah and now Dean was injured .

Molly was standing beside the grave, but Book didn't spare her a look. He skidded into the hole, cupping his hands to desperately pull the remaining dirt away from Jonah's bones. They were mostly uncovered, the upper half of his body, it was just his legs….was it enough?

"Book!" He could hear Dean calling, could hear him reloading, could picture it in his mind- access the chamber, load the shells, close the action, safety off-

"Book-" Dean skidded to a stop at the edge of the hole, fear fading as he saw Book, and Book realized that Dean hadn't been able to see him while he'd been kneeling.

Book threw himself out of the hole, a graceless roll, Molly backing up quickly to avoid his legs. He shoved Hannah's body on top of Jonah's with a silent apology. Tearing open the backpack, he grabbed the salt canister, shaking it over the bones, forcing his hands to work, but oh, he was tired.

Next was the lighter fluid and then he wanted to laugh in desperation because of course….

"Dean, I need a light!" He yelled, still kneeling at the edge of the grave.

Dean was facing off with Jonah, a Mexican standoff as dawn officially broke over the horizon. He saw Dean reach into his pocket and pull out a zippo, tossing it over his shoulder towards Book without even looking, and there was no way it should have worked , even for them, but Book caught the damn thing anyway.

Two lifetimes of practice-makes-perfect had the lighter sailing into the grave before Book's brain had even accepted the fact that he'd actually managed to catch it , and Jonah screamed as his silhouette erupted into flames.

Book slumped down beside the grave, feeling the heat of the flames and not even caring.

He felt Dean come to stand behind him.

"See, I told you if you were good you could set the pretty fire." Dean's voice, tinged with fatigue and pain, held a grim self-satisfaction. He thought he could feel Dean's fingers just brushing the back of his head, ruffling the dirty locks.

"Yeah, you did." Book agreed tiredly. "I think you mentioned smores, too."

"Bitch, bitch, bitch…" Dean chuckled, and Book forced down Sam's joy at hearing the old, familiar words.

Because it was close, but not quite their old joke, and he could smell Dean's blood in the crisp morning air.

And Book still wasn't enough to keep Dean safe.

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The hike back to the car was the longest half-mile Dean could remember since he'd been a kid hunting Black Dogs with John and Bobby. He'd insisted on taking the rear, following Book, watching the kid stumble through the underbrush like a deer that had been winged by a hunter.

His arm throbbed in time with his heartbeat, reminding him that he, technically, had been winged by a hunter, but he pushed the pain down, intent on his two charges.

It would have been a hell of a lot worse anyway, had Book not risked a damn brain bleed to save him, and Dean was just grateful the kid was walking at all. Molly seemed shocked into silence, his psychic was still upright, and Dean was just raking in the winnings at this point.

Book was obviously flagging, though, and Dean was glad to see the Impala come into view, gleaming dully in the early morning light.

He pushed past Book once they reached the road, quickly opening the passenger door and rifling through the glove box, coming up with Book's glucose tabs.

"Start with two." He ordered, pushing the tube into Book's hand.

"Dean, we need to dress your arm, you probably need stitches." Book was arguing, but he was also opening the container and shaking out the tabs, so Dean just nodded as he went to the trunk, quickly putting up the gear and pulling out the first aid kit.

"Sit." He ordered Book, nodding at the passenger seat. Book frowned but sat, reaching out for the first aid kit, obviously intending to help Dean, but first things first…

Dean pulled out the glucose meter and felt, more than heard Book's sigh.

"Pony up, kid." He said, unwilling to brook any arguments.

Book held out a hand, somehow managing to look like he was humoring Dean , but Dean was awesome enough to ignore little things like that.

"Hey, look at that." He said in relief when the meter showed a reading of 72. "That's a 'C', and you know what they say, C's get degrees." He smiled at Book, who just snorted.

As smart as the kid obviously was, he'd probably never gotten a 'C' before in his life.

"Can you please let me see your arm now?" Book asked, reaching out insistently for the first aid kit.

Dean looked at him appraisingly. "You know enough first aid to do this?"

Book looked away, a twisted smile dancing across his features, viper quick.

"I can manage." He said.

Dean handed it over, hissing in discomfort as he took off his outer shirt, tacky with blood. Book stood stiffly, gesturing for Dean to sit in his place. Dean sat, and Book kneeled, checking the wound with gentle fingers, frowning.

Finally he sighed, the sound more loaded than Dean expected.

"Well, am I going to live, Doc?" He asked, cracking a smile that Book didn't return.

"You'll live. It needs stitches, but not here." He said gravely, as if Dean had lost part of his hand in a machete attack.

"Dude, I've had paper cuts worse than this." Dean widened his smile, tilting his face to look Book in the eye.

Book just studied him wordlessly, then looked away, nodding. "I can wrap and pack it for the time being. At least it's your left arm."

"We'll get a room, you can put me back together then." Dean agreed, uneasy with Book's sudden solemnity. The kid's moods were quicksilver, easily shifting, his eyes changing like the clouds shifted overhead. This one felt wrong though, the concern not level with the actual damage.

Dean knew guilt when he saw it. He might dislike Bela, but she'd pegged Book right, the kid had a mighty guilt complex. As Dean also had a Texas-sized guilt complex, they were well matched in that regard at least.

"There was literally no other way for any of that to shake out, you know that right?" He asked Book, making his voice easy, assuring. It was harder than he expected, his own father had never been one to offer a lot of comfort, and who would Dean have comforted in the past? Victims? Those were empty platitudes, mouth-shapes given sound following a pretty script.

It was different when the person you were trying to comfort mattered .

"Yeah." Book agreed easily, smiling back, and Dean's eyes narrowed because it was too easy, and the only thing Book never was, was easy. He was complicated, and his giving way so easily was complicated too, but the sky was continuing to lighten.

And they still needed to deal with Molly.

She had been watching from the shoulder of the road, as if almost afraid to set foot on the pavement. She hadn't said a word, had barely looked at them as they triaged each other. It was the longest he'd heard her go without saying her husband's name, and that told Dean that complicated things had probably started shifting inside her as well.

Dean watched her over Book's shoulder, watched as her breathing became faster. Book started to pivot, to stand back up, but Dean snaked out his good arm, wrapping it around the nape of the kid's neck, keeping him tucked close, away from Molly.

Because sometimes when things began to shift inside of a revenant, they began to bite.

"Not yet." He barely breathed the word to Book.

Book glanced at him and nodded, continuing his pivot from a crouched position, so they could both watch her without moving too much.

Without startling her.

"He's dead, isn't he?" She asked in a low, choked voice, looking up finally, tears slowly sliding down her cheeks. "That's what you guys have been trying to hide all night. David's already dead?"

Dean stood slowly, smoothly, feeling Book stand with him. He took a step forward, shifting a touch, just enough that he was now closer to her than Book was.

"David isn't dead, at least, I don't think he is." Dean answered as honestly as could. "We're still trying to figure out where he is, but he didn't die in the car accident, and Greeley didn't get him."

"Then where is he? How do you know? What are you hiding from me?" Molly had a heartbroken expression on her face and Dean realized she was close, so, so close to figuring it out.

"Molly, what year is it?" Dean asked.

She frowned. "It's 1992." She said, shaking her head. "What, are you time travelers as well?"

Dean sighed, rubbing his hair, wishing Book would speak up, but from the corner of his eye, he saw Book sending a series of rapid-fire text messages, so he supposed Book was probably working then too.

Looking ironically at his car, which held hardly any modern technology, he snorted softly. No help there. Biting his lip, he pulled out his phone.

"Molly, do you know what this is?" He asked as gently as he could.

She frowned, shaking her head, eyes almost skating off it. "Um, a pager maybe?"

"It's a phone. It's called a cell phone." Dean offered.

"It's so small, how does it even work? Is it a satellite phone?" She looked confused, but her voice had pitched higher.

Just then, Book's phone pinged.

"I have an address." He said softly. "I've found David."

Book looked at her again with that impossibly gentle face, eyes the size of damn dinner plates.

"Can we take you to see him?"

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Book wasn't sure he was doing the right thing. They were moving a revenant on the cusp of a potential breakdown from an uninhabited area to the suburbs, but at the same time, he knew instinctively it was Molly's only chance to move on.

She had to see David, and then she'd have to choose.

Beside him, he saw Dean fight back a wince, and guilt settled deeper into his bones. Dean needed rest and stitches and to have a freaking partner who didn't almost get him killed by needing protection, but instead he'd undertaken another four-hour drive to David's new home town because he knew it was what Book had wanted.

And Book wanted to help Molly, wanted to help someone in this whole, hellish situation, because he'd already gotten Dean hurt, but a part of him had expected Molly to simply disappear from the car as they left the highway, trapped in that same bubble of time behind them.

She'd remained, however, deadlocked on the idea of seeing David.

"Why did he try to attack me?" She asked woodenly, neither looking left or right out of the windows as they drove.

"Some spirits…only see what they want to see." Book offered from the passenger seat. "Sometimes, monstrous things happen to ordinary people, and then they have to decide whether or not to let it make them monstrous, too."

"Hannah moved on, Greeley didn't. They each lost the other, but they made different choices." He added.

He could feel Dean glancing over at him as they drove, but he avoided eye contact. Dean was just too damn canny sometimes, and Book wasn't sure right then he could bear the weight of his searching.

They'd had to stop once to eat, and again to re-wrap Dean's arm, and it was afternoon by the time they'd actually found the right address.

"I don't understand." Molly said. "Why would David be here?"

Book studied the house in front of them. It was ordinary, red brick and white shutters and a neatly maintained lawn.

"Molly, the night Jonah Greeley was killed, the driver of the car that hit him was killed as well." Book knew of no other way to say it.

Just then, a car pulled into the driveway in front of them. A smiling man got out, as well as a dark haired woman.

In the backseat, Molly shifted excitedly. "That's David! But…." Her words were laced with alarm. "Why does he look so different? And who is that woman?"

"Because it's 2006, Molly. And that's his wife." Book answered, turning around to look at her.

"No." Molly shook her head adamantly. "What the hell are you talking about?"

She opened the car door, getting out on obviously shaky legs. "I have to talk to him."

"You can't." Book had gotten out also, as had Dean, but Book focused on Molly.

"You died, Molly. In the car accident, you sustained a massive head trauma. Jonah Greeley was not the only spirit who's been haunting that highway for fourteen years." Book made his words as kind as clinical would allow.

"You're wrong." Molly's voice had gone low.

"I'm not, about things like this." Though sometimes he wished he was.

"I have to talk to him…" She insisted, taking a step forward.

Dean started moving to intercept her, but Book's voice cut between them.

"Jonah wasn't the revenant, Molly. You were . Every year, for one night, you two re-lived the accident, and he hunted you for killing him, as you searched for David. That's why the house was just a rotting shack, that's why the car had disappeared. That's why you didn't realize I was making phone calls. You were trapped in the same time loop, but not David. David lived ." Book swallowed, continuing, "David lived, Molly, but getting over you, that was hard. He had a bad few years, but he finally pulled through. He got married. They have kids." His voice cracked for a moment.

" Molly, he lived ."

He could feel Dean's eyes on him again, but he never looked away from Molly.

"But Molly, if you go in there, you will destroy him. You'll destroy his life, everything he's worked for and fought for since he lost you. Letting you go saved him."

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Dean listened as Book spoke to Molly in his terrible, cold, kind voice. Devastating little words dropped from a face that was almost detached in its surety. Book said the words with so much certainty that even Molly couldn't deny them.

And Dean's unease grew.

Because Book still looked kind . He looked sad. And he spoke like he was explaining gravity, or sunlight, or any of those other things that simply were .

His words were terminal, and he spoke like someone who had a deep understanding of just what his words were doing to her.

He watched as Molly stared at Book like a part of her hated him, and he watched her back like he understood .

"Molly, if you stay, eventually you'll become like Jonah." Book continued now, a freight train smashing through all Molly's hopes and fears.

"You'll go mad. Eventually you'll kill. Maybe David, or his wife. Or his kids." Because now, they could hear the sounds of laughter from behind the house, the voices high and bright.

"You've searched for him for years. You didn't fail him. But you have to let him go now, or you'll destroy him." Book never broke his steady eye contact with Molly and a part of Dean realized that somewhere, deep down, there was a thread of coldness running through Book that he hadn't seen yet, that perhaps most people never saw at all.

Molly stood in the sunlight, shaking with emotions. "You're saying I'm dead. That I'm a monster."

"Not yet." Book replied, terrible and soft. "But, soon, if you stay. Without Jonah to occupy you, there's no telling what you'll do. You can't age, you don't eat, you don't sleep. You'll watch from the shadows as David lives an actual life and it will make you monstrous, in the end. Your love for him will destroy both of you."

Even Dean had to look away from Molly for a moment, because Book wasn't pulling any punches here, just plugging away at Molly in his gentle, devastating voice.

"A monstrous thing happened to me, and now I have to choose?" She said.

"Yeah." Book agreed.

Dean watched Book where he stood, hands shoved in his pockets, shadows under his eyes. He seemed impossibly tall, and yet somehow apart from the world around him.

He looked lonely.

"Do you see that bush there?" Molly said with a tremulous voice, pointing to the flowering shrub at the edge of the driveway.

"Lilac." Book offered.

"They're my favorite. We always talked about planting lilacs." She sounded small.

"Moving on doesn't mean he forgot you. Forgetting isn't that easy." Book agreed.

The silence stretched on, interminable, the sun baking down on them, and Molly never moved and Book never looked away.

"So…what. How does it work? Where do I go?" She looked from Book to Dean, then back to Book.

"How…do I let go?" She asked, tears coursing down her cheeks again.

"The same way you've been holding on." Book answered. "By caring more about what happens to him than to you. You held on because you refused to leave him behind. And now, you walk forward without him so he can live."

"Will it hurt?" She asked.

"Yes." Book answered immediately. "Dying is easy. Letting go is the part that breaks your heart. Things hurt when they matter."

Dean had to look away again at that, because despite the palpable pain dancing between Molly and Book, there was something in Book's words that he knew he should understand, some other meaning he should be catching, and it was impossible to pick out when his throat was tight with Molly's heartbreak.

Molly stared at Book for a long time, long enough that Dean wondered if he was going to need those silver spikes after all.

And then she sighed. "I'm so tired."

"I know. But it can be over now." Book consoled.

"Okay. I think…I think I understand." She said softly, looking at the house again with such incredible… fondness .

Slowly, she drifted away from the car on light feet, walking towards the lilac bush. Dean tensed, wondering if she was going to make a break for it, but Book just shook his head.

She reached the lilac bush, leaning forward to smell the blooms.

"They named their daughter after you." Book said softly, but Molly glanced over at them, a little smile on her lips. "Molly Marie MacNamara".

"That's a pretty name." She said quietly.

The sunlight dimmed then as a cloud cut across the sun, and just like that…Molly was gone.

"Holy shit." Dean breathed, because he wasn't sure he'd ever seen a revenant just…go like that.

"You talked her off the ledge, dude." Dean turned to Book, but frowned when he saw the frighteningly blank look on Book's face.

"Book!" The word came out alarmed without Dean really meaning for it to, and Book blinked, shaking his head.

"Let's get you patched up." He said, not making eye contact as he climbed back inside the Impala.

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They drove out another two hours or so before Dean felt comfortable pulling over for the night. He couldn't say why, the case was happily resolved, but he felt a need to put some more distance between them and Molly's last moments.

Book finally insisted, quietly but firmly, and eventually Dean acquiesced, finding them a motel. Book let Dean book them in a single room, and that should have made Dean feel better, but for some reason, it didn't.

Book was quiet as they ate, and it would have been easy for Dean to just assume he was worn down, tired.

Rufus had been straight incredulous when Dean had called to update him, but between the delay and Dean's injury, he decided to bring in another hunter, so there wasn't a rush anymore.

So why did Dean feel such a sinking sense of urgency?

Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural

Book was Dean's revenant .

Those were the words that circled Book's mind, over and over again. As he spoke hard truths to Molly with a soft voice, as he sat beside Dean in the impala, as he set a neat series of stitches in Dean's arm.

Book was Dean's revenant, and if he lingered, he would destroy Dean, just like Molly would have destroyed David. If he continued to cling to the tatters of Sam's life with his older brother, worse and worse things would happen to Dean, and unlike last time, Book couldn't pretend like he didn't know.

"You good there kiddo?" Dean asked as Book tied off the last stitch.

"Hmm." Book agreed without actually agreeing. "Are you up to date on tetanus?"

"Yeah, yearly." Dean assured him. It was almost certainly overkill, but it was an old habit of John's that Dean kept. "I have antibiotics in my kit if I need them."

Book nodded, cleaning up the supplies, still without making eye contact.

"Hey, you know none of this was your fault?" Dean said suddenly, gesturing to his arm. "In fact, I'm pretty sure you saved me from being turned into a shishkabob."

Book snorted. "Actually, I'm pretty sure that was you throwing yourself in between me and a blade, so if anyone saved anyone-"

"No." Dean said shortly, shaking his head. "Dealing with Greeley was my job, remember? You were getting Molly, like you were supposed to. I got hurt doing my job."

'Protecting you was my job, no one ever had to even say anything, you know?'

Dean's words to Sam a lifetime again wound through Book's mind and he had to battle down nausea.

"I don't want people to get hurt protecting me." Book said quietly, maybe the truest thing he'd ever said to Dean in this lifetime.

"It's just part of the job." Dean replied earnestly, not even realizing the collateral damage his words did to Book.

Because maybe Dean was Sam's brother, but all that had gotten Dean was a painful death.

And every second he spent near Dean just brought that possibility closer again.

Because Book was Sam, and Sam was Dean's revenant.

He glanced over at the clock, numbly noting the time. It had gotten late without him noticing. The clock read 12:01, the witching hour.

It was Sam's birthday.

Book had to leave.

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Dean pushed forward frantically, slogging through the mud in the cold night's air.

He was here, he had to be here, Dean couldn't be too late, it was going to be okay, he was going to find him…

The absolute relief blooming in his chest as he spied the lanky figure, one hand clutching his other arm, he was hurt, but that was okay, whatever it was, Dean could fix it-

And the other man, behind him, wide eyed but determined and Dean's breath froze in his chest, and yet he was still screaming a warning…

"It's okay, you're fine, you're fine…it's not even that bad…"

And the dream shifted.

There was a house, somewhere behind Dean, there was a house and in that house was a body, but Dean wasn't thinking about that.

He was digging, but not a grave, the hole was too small, just big enough for the tin he shoved in it. The id was fake, but what could it matter, almost everything about Dean was fake, after all, the realest thing about him was lying cold and dead in that house somewhere behind him.

And he was pretty sure hell could scent blood and desperation like a starving man could scent food, and Dean had always been covered in blood…

And he was desperate.

It was May 2nd, just a minute past the witching hour…

Dean jolted into wakefulness, knowing immediately that something was wrong. A part of him wanted to focus on his dream, his nightmare, because it had felt so real but it was dissipating in his mind like smoke-

And the room was empty except for Dean.

"Dammit, dammit." Dean cursed quietly as he flipped on the light. He'd known better, he'd known, he'd meant to wait until Book fell asleep before letting himself..

Spying a note folded on the table next to a stack of cash, he grabbed it up quickly, scanning the contents.

"Dean,

Stop panicking. I'm okay. I'm seriously okay, so take a breath. I had Anna send a car. I'm going to stay with her and my brother for a while. I'm still not on my feet and I'm just holding you back like this. I don't need the cash, please use it. I'll be around. -Book."

Dean cursed again, going to the nightstand to grab his phone, dialing Book's number.

"Dean." Book sounded fine, resigned, but relatively okay.

"Where are you?" Dean asked, already pulling on his jeans.

"Dean, I know you saw my note." Book's voice was even. "I wasn't kidnapped, nothing's wrong. I'm just going to travel with my siblings for a while. They know what to expect. It's okay."

"Where are you right now?" Dean ignored his words. "Who are you with?"

Book sighed. "The driver, and we're heading to the airport."

That brought up Dean short. "The airport? Why?"

"Uhh. My brother is in Osaka right now. He wants me to meet him there." Book's voice sounded tired.

Dean's brain shut down at that. He hated flying, planes, airports…

"International travel while you're so beat up? It's not smart, kid." He told himself his voice sounded normal.

"I'll be okay Dean. Not my first time flying. I grew up overseas. I'll probably be hard to reach though." Book replied.

Dean snorted, because being on two separate hemispheres would do that, yeah.

"This is because I got hurt, isn't it?" He said, trying to keep the accusation out of his voice."I told you, that kind of shit just happens to hunters-"

"People get hurt around me, Dean. I'm used to it, doesn't mean I can't try and stop it." Book's voice sounded tired, and sad, and a little like he was mad at himself.

"You can't think like that when you're hunting, Book. And by my count, you have a lot more wins than losses in the books." Dean didn't like him leaving, hated him leaving, but he really didn't like him leaving feeling like he messed up, because Dean didn't want him to keep avoiding him.

"When are you coming back? Stateside, that is?" He forced his voice to remain casual. It was fine if the kid was going to stay with family, family was good, hell, Dean was going to sequester him in a hotel for another week at least anyway…

"Uh. Not Sure. Gabe hasn't been there long, so not sure how much he still has to do." Now Book's words held that taste of evasion. "I know minutes are expensive, especially overseas. Shoot me a text if you hit a wall in your investigations, I'll let you know if I have any ideas."

Dean's hand tightened on the phone, because at least the kid was saying to text him, at least he was telling Dean the plan, but then again, he'd given him his number back in Lily Dale and how long had he been in the wind?

Exactly how many coincidental meetings could Dean really expect to get?

"You better text me, kiddo. Too, I mean. I'm gonna worry if you don't, and that's not good, as a hunter, I mean."

It was a low blow, a guilt trip if Dean had ever heard one, but the kid had upped the stakes himself by going halfway across the planet, so whatever, fair was fair..

There was a pregnant pause at the other end. "Okay, yeah. I'll keep in touch."