POSSIBLE SPOILER ALERT!

I set this after the hunt for the demon, and thus it would be sometime after the upcoming season finale.

I've made a couple of assumptions, namely that John Winchester died during the battle with the demon, and, based on a promotional screenshot I saw, that John was possessed by the demon sometime during the action, Sam is forced to kill John when Dean is injured, that they won the battle and the demon is dead, and finally that Sam decided to stay with Dean, rather than go back to school. But these are only assumptions. If the season finale is different, I may re-edit to remove some of that.

I know that's alot of setup, but I wanted to be sure you know where our heroes are standing.

I don't own anything. Reviews welcomed.

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In the Pursqueeter

Dean tossed his bag against the side of the bed, too tired to care if the contents spilled out or not. He flopped gracelessly onto the lumpy mattress with a sigh, and watched Sam drag ass through the door. The kid looked as exhausted as Dean felt. He smirked as he watched Sam fumble with closing the door, finally kicking it shut with a frown as he wrestled the two duffle bags into the room with him. Sam glanced in Dean's direction and scowled.

"Dude, don't hurt yourself helping."

Dean's smirk grew, "Hey, I said leave 'em in the car, Sammy. Not my fault you're too stubborn to listen."

"We need our stuff, Dean," was Sammy's only reply. Dean shook his head. Sam still refused to settle in any room without their bags and at least some of their weapons. The incident in Chicago with the daevas had an enormous effect on his little brother, who, even months after the ambush, still insisted on being ready for anything. It was a welcome change, as far as Dean was concerned, since the side effect was that Sam was a little extra committed to being prepared. But, Sam, as always, took it a step too far. Dean seriously doubted that any ghoulies were waiting to ambush them in this little dot on the map town outside of Dayton, Ohio. Dean had brought his knife in, as usual, safely tucked into his own bag with a few other "tools," but he didn't think the rest of the equipment was necessary. Besides, even though he'd been given a clean bill of health after leaving the hospital, and his injuries were healed, he still felt a little weak. Not that he'd ever tell Sammy that…the kid worried too much.

Besides, he and Sam weren't on a hunt right now. Hell, they hadn't been on a hunt in over two months. They'd just spent a week with Dean in the hospital, and another six weeks recuperating at Missouri Moseley's home in Kansas after their battle with their mom's killer …and their dad's funeral. They'd seen a few potential jobs in the news, but neither of them really had their heart in the game. Instead, Dean had surprised both himself and Sam by suggesting that they head to New York, and pay a visit to Sarah.

Sam had protested at first, as he often did, but Dean had won out, claiming that Sam needed the break. In truth, Dean needed it too, but he was content to let Sam think that he was merely playing 'big brother,' a role that Dean often fell into and that Sam had no defense against. Sam had "puppy dog eyes," and Dean had "all-knowing big brother." It was mutually assured domination over the other brother. Dean couldn't say no to Sam when he got "that look," and Sam couldn't win an argument with Dean when he went into "that zone." So, they headed for New York. Besides, he was still enjoying playing matchmaker with Sam and Sarah.

The ride thus far had been quiet. Both men watched I-70 rush by outside the car windows in near complete silence. Speaking only when stopped for gas, or food, or when one of the cell phones rang, which wasn't that often. Dean had changed his message to indicate that he and Sam were unavailable for any jobs, and Sam only really talked to Sarah anymore. All of Sam's college friends seemed to have moved on, and Sam, as far as Dean could tell, had stopped caring one way or another. Dean didn't know what to make of that development. Sam hadn't really stayed in touch with them that much since leaving California anyway, but, in the last few months, he had stopped trying altogether. Many of the names once found in Sam's cell phone memory had even been deleted. Dean didn't ask why.

Dean didn't ask. That was how he'd survived the last two months. Sam did all the asking, most of the talking, some of the brooding. Asking meant acknowledging. Acknowledging meant remembering. Remembering…was simply too painful.

The funeral had been bleak…to say the least. Only a handful were present: Missouri, Jefferson, Sarah (who had come to support Sam, even though she still understood little of what they did for a living, and she had to return to New York the next day), a few of their dad's other contacts/fellow hunters, and of course, Sam and Dean. Dean had been utterly silent during the whole affair. The others paid their respects to Sam, unwilling, or unable to face Dean. Dean had kept his eyes on the simple casket the entire time, only making eye contact with Sam. If the look in his little brother's eyes had been any indication, what he'd seen in Dean's face had been horrifying. Dean didn't ask Sam what he saw. He couldn't.

Only Missouri had dared speak to him that day. Whether she had read his mind or not, he didn't know, and she didn't say. He'd spoken to her quietly. Answering, replying, but not really listening. He prayed, silently, that she wouldn't pry. Her psychic ability intimidated the hell out of him. She knew it. He knew that she knew. But seeing Dean that raw, that vulnerable, was a privilege reserved solely for Sam, ever since Dean was ten years old, and he intended to keep it that way until the day he died. Only Sam deserved that. Only Sam was allowed claim so much of his heart. Hell, even so, he rarely even showed that side of himself to Sam. He sure as hell wasn't going to display it to near strangers, no matter how close they'd been to his father.

How close they'd been…past tense.

Sam hadn't been much better off that day. Dean could see that the boy was barely holding himself together, and was forcing himself to be strong in order to take the pressure off his older brother. Dean had never loved Sammy more than in that moment. He could never repay Sam for that gesture. But, as guilty as he felt for letting Sam take the brunt of it all, he simply couldn't bring himself to face his own grief, let alone Sam's.

So, he'd walled himself up. The funeral was over before Dean had even realized it. Sam had to touch his shoulder in order to get his attention when the others had gone. Only then had Dean realized that they were alone.

"It's over." It wasn't a question, and Dean didn't mean the funeral.

"They're all gone." It wasn't an answer, and Sam wasn't referring to the mourners.

"Sam? You think he's with mom?" Dean hated how his voice cracked.

"I know he is." Sam didn't hear Dean's voice crack, he'd swear to that later.

"What do we do now?" Not referring to the rest of that day.

"Get drunk." Not answering Dean's question.

They had. Two days in a row in fact. Missouri had complained loudly about the empty beer bottles littering the kitchen, but she made no move to end the makeshift, belated wake. She'd mostly stayed away, no matter how much noise they made, or how quiet they were. They laughed. They cried. They tried to forget. Dean thought that he'd had more success with that last part than Sam.

Dean had noted that Sam was drinking more since that week. Sam had always been a two-beer drinker. Two beers and it was karaoke time. Not since the funeral. Sam had magically overcome his two-drink maximum. He could drink Dean under the table now. Dean should have been worried. He should have taken that as a warning sign that Sam might be slipping down the same slope that their dad had slid down in the months after mom's death, all those years ago. Dean should have asked Sam about it. But that would require remembering Dad in detail.

So, he didn't ask. His fear of what might happen was overshadowed by his fear of what would happen if he stopped to think. Thinking was bad.

"You want the shower first?" Sam asked, not looking up from his unpacking.

"Nah, go ahead."

Sam stepped into the small bathroom without a word, but he did glance back at Dean before closing the door. Dean noticed. He hoped that Sam wasn't going to bring anything up when he came out. But, Dean knew that look.

Once the sound of running water began to thrum through the walls, Dean left the bed to retrieve the remote for the TV off the dresser, and retrieved his knife from his bag. In one motion, he slipped the knife under the pillow and flipped down onto his back, clicking on the television. He flipped channels for a few minutes, before settling on The Weather Channel. The music always put him to sleep. Not that he slept all that much anymore. The irony wasn't lost on Dean that nowadays, Sam was the better sleeper.

Dean couldn't, no wouldn't complain about the fact that Sam's nightmares has eased since the---in recent weeks, but he was growing more and more curious as to whether that was a natural development, or an alcohol-induced one. Not that Sam was an out of control drinker or anything, by any means, just that he was apparently growing fonder of nightcaps. Dean would be forced to ask sooner or later, but was hoping for later. Maybe he could steer Sarah into asking for him. Dean, the brave big brother, could be a coward too…when he wanted to be.

The sound of the shower turning off broke Dean out of his thoughts. He turned his full attention to the TV now. It was supposed to rain in Dayton the next day. Maybe they'd wait out the storm before resuming the trek to New Paltz. He'd talk to Sa--

A knock at the door startled him. He rose silently off the bed, stopping quickly to retrieve the 9mm from his duffle. He crept quietly towards the door, gun held behind his back. Some hunting skills didn't go away, no matter how long a hunter had been on the bench. Another, louder series of knocks followed the first, and then Dean heard a slurred voice.

"Hey, baby? It's Drew, open up…"

With a frown, Dean reached forward and jerked opened the door. Outside, clutching a bottle of Jack Daniel's, was a blue-eyed, blonde-haired kid. He couldn't have been more than twenty. Dean eyed him for a moment, assessing the threat. It didn't appear too serious. This guy could barely stand. He had a soccer player's build, and a look of total bewilderment on his face as his blurred blue eyes met Dean's green suspicious ones. Dean recovered first.

"Think you got the wrong room, dude."

The kid (Drew was it?) blinked a few times before shaking his head, "Oh, man. Sorry…I was looking for my girlfriend. Sorry." He shook his head and stumbled down the sidewalk towards the next set of doors. Dean sighed and closed the door. Latching it, he returned his gun to the bag and sank back onto his pillow. Drunken teens, what a boring town….

Sam emerged from the bathroom in his sleep clothes. He glanced at Dean, then at the door.

"Did I hear the door?"

Dean nodded, "Wrong room. Just some drunk kid."

Sam nodded, and climbed onto his bed with a tired groan. Dean watched Sam out of the corner of his eye, as his brother pretended to watch the weather report, and surreptitiously glance over at Dean. Dean was too tired to watch that for more than a few minutes, so he turned to face Sam with a frown.

"Spill it, Sammy."

Sam faced him. Dean realized with some surprise that it was the first time Sam had looked him directly in the eye in days. That bothered him for reasons he couldn't explain. He watched Sam try to form a thought before speaking….he still had that look on his face. It was Sam's I'm-going-to-tell-you-something-and-you're-not-going-to-like-it-but-you-need-to-hear-it look. It was the look that told Dean that Sam Winchester would have been an excellent lawyer. Maybe he still will be.

"I…it's nothing really, I just…." Sam faltered for a moment, before inhaling a deep breath, like he wanted to rush out whatever he was going to say before he lost his nerve. "I saw something in the paper today, a 'wild dog' or something that's attacked three or four camping groups in upstate New York…'bout an hour away from Sarah's place. I wasn't sure, but it sounded like this reference to a 'devil dog' in Dad's journal. I wondered if you wanted to check it out while we were there."

Sam raised his eyebrows and handed the clipped article and the journal out to Dean expectantly. Dean stared hard at the leather-bound book before grabbing it from Sam's hand and tossing it unceremoniously onto the nightstand. He shook his head and returned his gaze to the television.

"Nah, probably just some pooch with rabies. I don't think it's worth the trouble."

Dean saw Sam shrug and return to watching the TV. Or, pretending to watch the TV…whatever the hell he was doing. He almost missed Sam's low murmur.

"Why won't you even look at it?"

Dean scowled, "I told you, it's probably just a mutt."

"I mean Dad's journal," Sam replied, turning to face him again, "You won't even look at it."

Dean's bravado automatically masked his face…he was still good at this….

"Don't need to, bro. I know everything in there, cover to cover."

"Never stopped you before."

A strange sensation overtook his body, and Dean couldn't stop the fury from exploding into his voice as he spun on Sam, "I don't need to look at the fucking book, Sam! I've read it a hundred times!"

Sam was whispering now, "It's all that's left of him, Dean."

Seven words. Seven words and Sam tore the mask right off of him. His fury bubbled over, even as he heard his brain ask: Why are you yelling at Sam?

"Don't you think I FUCKING KNOW THAT?"

Sam said nothing, there was nothing to say. Dean saw the stricken look take hold on his brother's face, and a small tear run down that young face, and felt something snap inside his own chest. Biting back his next words, and terrified that his own eyes might betray him next, he raised his, now shaking, hands in surrender, and took the only course open to him. He retreated.

"I need to get something to drink." He grabbed his coat and all but ran for the door. He heard Sam's cut off words behind him before the door finished closing.

"Dean, wait! Please---"

The door's solid CLUNK cut off whatever else Sam tried to say. Dean fell back against it for a second, letting the chilly night air wash over him as he caught his breath. He felt the urge to turn around and go back in. Guilt took hold almost immediately as he remembered the look on Sam's face. What did he even say to make me yell like that?

Dean realized with some alarm that he couldn't clearly remember what had just happened. Rubbing his hand over his eyes and feeling a sudden headache coming on, he glanced around. He saw a 24-hour convenience store across the street. It seemed as good a place as any to pull himself together. He'd calm down, get some sodas, maybe a couple of beers, then come back and try to figure out what the hell just happened. He chided himself that he should probably apologize to Sammy too. At that thought, he nearly turned and re-entered the room, but stopped. Better come back with a peace offering first…Sammy's mean when he's angry, and he can lay on a guilt trip with the best of them…. Yeah, definitely some beers.

Dean made his way across the street, a glance down the parking lot revealing that drunken guy from before, sitting on the hood of an old Subaru, downing some more from that bottle he'd been carrying. Dumbass probably still can't find his room. Shaking his head, he hurried across the street and entered the store. He'd grab some food and drinks, and head back over to the room. It was going to be a long night, he was sure.

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Sam wiped the wetness from his eyes and tried to think of something he could say when Dean returned. He hadn't meant to set him off like that. Or did I?

With some concern, he began to wonder if he hadn't done that on purpose. He didn't really care about the dog attack either; it had just seemed a good way to broach the subject of the weird way Dean had been acting around their Dad's remaining belongings. He hadn't meant for the topic to upset his older brother so much. He kicked himself for his choice of words.

It's all that's left of him, Dean.

That had been cruel, and not at all what Sam had meant to say at that moment. It just slipped out. He'd have to apologize for that. The look on Dean's face, and the way he'd raised his hands in defeat broke Sam's heart. Wiping the last tear from his face (he hadn't meant for that to slip out either, he noted bitterly), he glanced at the clock. Dean had been gone a little over ten minutes. He hoped Dean would return soon. He had a lot of repair work to do before the exhaustion of traveling all day forced them to crash.

He jumped at the sound of a knock at the door. Blinking several times, he realized that he didn't remember Dean grabbing a door key when he ran out. This was Dean coming back. He jumped up, tried to pull himself together and went to open the door. He gaped openly for a moment at the sight of a grinning girl standing outside the doorway. She smiled at him and nodded in greeting.

"Hi, there."

Sam opened his mouth to reply, when suddenly his blood ran cold. He recognized her. Before he could utter a word, though, the windows on the other side of the room exploded inwards. Sam shot a glance behind him at the noise, and then dove for Dean's pillow and the concealed knife. His blood pounded in his ears as he grabbed the hilt of the massive blade and spun to face the intruders.

TBC