So this is it- the end. A huge thanks goes out to everyone who stuck with this story through to this chapter. I really appreciate your coming back to read more. And a really huge thanks to those who have reviewed and brightened my day (including Amy and Alysaaa, who I couldn't reply to). Thank you so much.

And once again, this story was made possible by and dedicated to the wonderful Raven524. Her generosity was great and I hope this story met her expectations- or at least made her happy.

The Convention: Chapter 7- Understandings

Sammy had just managed to doze off by the time their father marched back into the room. Without even pausing in his step, the man threw the car keys at Dean and placed his hand on Sam's forehead. Immediately the teen moaned and his eyes opened blearily.

"Start the car, Dean."

Sam's tired voice called out even as his eyes once again closed. "Where're we going?"

Dean watched his father bend over and pull Sam into a sitting position. Confused eyes opened and stared at the man.

John answered, "Hospital."

The sleep seemed to vanish from Sam's face and he put a hand to his father's arm, stopping the man from pulling him to standing. "Hospital?"

Ignoring Sam, the older hunter turned back to Dean. "Dean! Car. Now."

And Dean ran out the door.

--

Sam blinked deliberately, trying to shake the exhaustion from his body. It had been a really long day. "Why hospital?"

He didn't know why he was asking. The answer was pretty obvious; after all he'd been shot with a poisonous and/or bacteria filled dart and was dying. He knew that. But Dean had told him he wasn't dying and despite being sixteen and knowing that his brother had been full of crap when he said it, he still believed him.

His father spoke with a grunt as he pulled Sam into a standing position. "Made a call to someone who was smart enough not to be here; it's bacteria."

Sam raised his brows at that. Had his father just admitted to being wrong? He never thought he'd live to see the day…

Despite the fact that he was pretty much carrying all of Sam's weight, John managed to push his son back far enough that he could see his face. "You know, not counting the gwyllion, you did real good today, Sammy. I'm really proud of you."

Sam's breath stopped and he stared at his father wide-eyed. He hated hunting, and frankly, could've cared less what his father thought about his hunting ability. It was a frequent fight between them and half the time, Sam did little things incorrectly on purpose just to tick the man off. But for the first time, that 'you did real good' compliment didn't have the same 'I told you so,' 'all things must be done my way,' tone that its predecessors had held. His father was just sincerely proud of him.

Sam met his father's eyes and returned the respect that they showed with his own. "You know, dad, there was a moment today…" He smiled and qualified, "…a very brief moment," before becoming serious again, "but…I remember being really grateful for all the training…and just, for everything you taught me. I wouldn't have been able to survive without it."

Sam felt his father's own breathing pause and saw the gratitude shine in his eyes. It was a very rare moment of shared understanding. One that reminded them both that despite all the words, there really was love there. And for a second, Sam could see the man underneath the hunter; the scared father who, despite how sure of himself he acted, clearly benefited from the reassurance that forcing his kids to learn how to hunt didn't destroy their lives.

His father shook his head and smiled, pulling Sam closer as he began leading them to the door. "I'll take brief."

Sam laughed and for a brief second he felt like a normal kid, joking around with his dad. Sam stumbled along next to the man; he'd take brief too.

--two and a half days later--

Dean looked down at his brother's sleeping form, studying the IV that was connected to the vein in his hand. This entire situation was beyond ridiculous. It was incredibly bizarre and yet as close as they'd come to normal in a long time.

After spending two and a half days in quarantine, the Center for Disease Control had finally declared the all-clear and Sammy was moved into a regular room. They had had to bring Sammy into the hospital, he knew that, but it just seemed to go against every instinct he had. Especially since other than the cramps, Sam hadn't even seemed that bad.

It wasn't all that long after he was brought in though that the fever arrived and skyrocketed Sam's temperature to over 104° f. If Sam had still been in the cottage, he probably would've died sometime that night.

Dean sat down on the edge of his brother's bed, the bag of tapes he had brought in his lap. As he watched his brother sleep, he was reminded of his guilt. If he had just gone to the movies with Sam, none of this would've happened. And Sam had gotten sick saving his life.

Dean jumped off the bed and began taking off his jacket. He was the older brother…Sammy had no right invading his turf. He risked his life to save Sammy, not the other way around. If it worked both ways that would make Dean's job infinitely more difficult. It was hard to protect someone if they were protecting you at the same time…

"Hey, when'd you get here?"

Dean turned to find his brother stretching in his bed. "Few minutes ago. How've you been?"

Sam paused, mid-stretch, and shrugged. "I was out of it most of the time. They let you see me at all?"

Dean shook his head. "This is the first time."

Sam grimaced in what looked like pity and Dean found himself annoyed that his brother would know just how hard it was for Dean to be stuck outside while Sam was sick and possibly dying. His father's cryptic and sporadic behavior hadn't helped either. One minute the man was there questioning doctors, answering to the local police, and screaming at the CDC and the next he was mysteriously gone with nothing but a, "I'll be back later; stay here".

Dean hated being alone. He always had. And given the circumstances, he had the joy of spending the past two and a half days not only alone, but staring irony in the face. After all, the whole thing had happened because Sammy had wanted to hang with him and he wanted to do his own thing. Be careful what you wish for…

"Sorry, Dean."

God, Sam's insight was annoying. But since he was apologizing, "Don't ever take a poisonous dart for me again."

Sam smiled and closed his eyes. "It wasn't poisonous."

Dean rolled his eyes. "Whatever. You know what I mean."

Sam threw him a sideways glance. "Not following that order. If the circumstances present themselves, I'm doing it again."

Moving forward, Dean glared. "You do and I'll kill you myself."

The eyes closed again. "I wouldn't have figured you for fratricide."

Dean growled and threw the bag with the tapes on his brother's stomach. Sam jerked with a grunt as the tapes hit. Pushing the bag to the side, he held his abdomen and glowered. "You do realize my spleen's swollen."

Dean froze; guilt and embarrassment flooding through him all at once. He hadn't known that. "Sorry."

Sam held his angry stare a bit longer before closing his eyes and taking a deep breath. "Just don't throw things at me for awhile, okay?"

"Sorry."

Sam shook his head at the apology and opened his eyes. "What happened while I was delirious? I mean, what's our story?"

Dean sat on his brother's bed, ignoring Sam's questions for one of his own. "Hey, were you okay? I mean, you've never…when you've been sick I've always…"

A wave of Sam's hand stopped Dean from further tumbling over his words. "Like I said, I was pretty much out of it-"

"Yeah, but-"

"It was okay, Dean. I mean, there was a few times when I woke up and I was really confused and didn't know where I was…I was asking for you and Dad, but the nurses took care of it. Most of the time, I was sleeping."

Dean stared, unable to shake the image of a sick, confused, and scared Sam asking for him from his mind. He should've plowed over that CDC guard.

"You never answered my questions."

At Dean's confused look, Sam sighed and repeated them. "What's our story? What'd I miss?"

Getting off the bed, Dean sat down in a nearby chair. "You'd never believe it, Sammy."

Sam's confusion was clear and Dean gave his sick brother a break. "Other than your name being Sam Wyatt, the story's the truth."

Sam pushed back into the pillows, his look of bewilderment growing stronger. "Huh? You told them about the pukwudgies?"

Dean shook his head. "Nope. Dad dropped us off and told me to bring you in and tell them that Bristol shot you in the leg with a metal arrow and you were getting all kinds of cramps and stuff. They started treating you for tetanus but I guess the culture came up as something they've never seen before and that's when the CDC decided to fly in here and shut the whole town down."

Surprised, Sam's brows up. "What happened to Bristol?"

Dean shrugged. "All I heard was he's dead…CDC burned everything; his house, barn, land, killed all his animals, burned their bodies. Dad said they'd burn Bristol too after the autopsy."

Sam pushed himself into a sitting position, looking startled. "They didn't burn the woods did they?"

Now confused himself, Dean stared at his brother. "I don't know. Why?"

Sam threw his arms up. "What do you mean you don't know? It's across from the motel; you-"

"Motel was shut down. Our cottage was under quarantine."

That seemed to stop Sam for a moment. "What about the weapons?"

Dean stretched out his arms. "Dad took care of that; took care of all the police's questions. Your friends from your little soccer game took all the heat off us. Turns out they'd already gone to the cops about what Bristol did to you before we even brought you in."

Sam looked stunned and Dean smiled. "Good thing we decided to go with the truth this time, huh?"

Sam leaned into his pillow with a thoughtful look on his face. "Yeah…I guess." He looked over at Dean. "I'm pretty sure the kids I was playing soccer with told me that Bristol owned the forest too. They said all the undeveloped land. If they burned the forest, what would happen to the gwyllion?"

Dean stared incredulously. "You're kidding."

The wide-eyed look he was receiving in return let Dean know his brother wasn't kidding. Dean grew angry. "You were quarantined for two days and almost died and you're worried about the gwyllion?!"

"I would be dead if it wasn't for her, Dean."

Dean huffed and shook his head. "Where the hell did you come from? You're a freakin' hunter for crap's sake and she attacked me-"

Sam interrupted. "She did not attack you."

Just as Dean was about to argue, Sam cut him off again. "She scared you, yeah, but she never tried to hurt you. What she did was no different than when you jumped out of my closet wearing a gorilla costume and scared the shit out of me."

Crossing his arms, Dean glared at his brother. "Dude, it's totally different."

Sam raised his brow in challenge. "How?"

For a moment Dean fumbled, but then decided to point out the obvious. "Easy, she's evil and I'm not."

A blank stare answered him, followed by Sam's monotone reply. "She's evil and you're not…"

Dean nodded confidently and Sam sighed, turned onto his back and closed his eyes. "I've got a whole shitload of evidence to the contrary."

Dean narrowed his eyes at his brother. He just didn't understand Sam's hatred of hunting- especially if it was to the point that he was actually concerned about one of the creatures they were hunting. It just didn't make sense.

"Where's dad?"

Dean shook away his thoughts and answered the question. "Dunno. He's been in and out of here; mostly pissed 'cause they had you quarantined."

Sam's eyes remained closed. "Pastor Jim, Bobby, and all them still here too?"

Dean shrugged before he realized that Sam wouldn't see it. He was about to open his mouth, but Sam beat him to it somehow sensing the shrug. "I'd 've thought you'd be right up their ass; watching their every move. I figured you'd take this little quarantine opportunity to do what you want to do." Sam opened his eyes and looked over. "I was thinking…this is like the first two days since I was born that you were finally free of me."

Harsh breaths could be heard as they grated through Dean's nostrils at a powerful rate. That was the last straw. All he had wanted, was to watch how other hunters did things for two hours. That was it, but somehow in his self-absorbed, bitchy-ass brother's brain, Dean wanting to watch hunters for two hours meant that he didn't give a shit about Sam anymore. The worst part of it was that he had told Sam flat out…multiple times…that that wasn't what he meant. How many freakin' times could he say it! And then, Sam had the nerve to pull this, 'I was in the hospital, you should've partied while you had the chance' shit on him? After he had spent the last two days not sleeping, practically pulling his hair out worrying over his brother?

Consumed by rage, Dean advanced on his brother, and grabbed Sam's head between his hands. Immediately Sam grimaced and squirmed, pushing at the hands. "Ow, Dean."

But Dean was way too pissed to care. "Shut the hell up. I'm only going to say this one more time, so you are going to listen very carefully. I…never…said…that I didn't like you. I never said that I wished you weren't around. I never said that I didn't want to go to your soccer games or your dumb-ass plays or whatever the hell else you do. They may not be on my list of favorite shit, but I know it means something to you and that's my job- to look after you, make sure you're okay."

Sam went to speak, but Dean squeezed the head harder and cut his brother off. "I said shut up! I'm not done. Just because it's my job doesn't mean I resent you for it. You wanted us to go to the movies. I said I wanted to watch dad's friends. That did not mean that I never wanted to see a movie or go out to eat with you for the rest of our lives. That did not mean that I don't like hanging out with you. That did not mean that I like dad's friends more than you. The only thing that meant was that for those two hours, on that particular day, I would have preferred to watch dad's friends- just…for those…two…hours. Do you…understand…what…I am…saying?"

Sam stared up at him as though he had sprouted an extra head. For what seemed like minutes, there was no response, but then Sam's expression changed, morphing into a look of revelation. He spoke through the chubby cheeks created by Dean's hands on his face. "So…you just wanted to watch them that night? So…it really had nothing to do with me; you just wanted to watch them."

Dean fought the urge to scream in frustration as his brother finally got it.

Even with a squished face, Sam looked sheepish. "Oh. Yeah…I didn't get that."

Tearing his hands off his brother, Dean spun around and screamed, kicking the edge of the bed. 'Oh'…'oh' is what he said. After all that grief, Sam's response is 'oh'. Shoving his hands into his pockets, Dean paced along the side of the bed about five times before spinning again and heading out the door. "I'm getting a coffee."

--

Still on the bed, Sam watched his brother leave, as he rubbed the blood back into the sides of his face. He tried to think back to what his brother had originally said that made him think Dean's spending time with him was out of obligation, but the past few days were a complete blur. He did, however, remember his original intent when he asked Dean to hang out with him. He wasn't asking to be selfish. He had just figured that since Dad didn't want Dean around, Dean could hang out with him rather than go to a bar alone. Somehow in Sam's initial thinking, Dean watching their father, despite what he was told, didn't factor in as a choice. If it had, he never would have even asked, he knew how much Dean wanted to watch Pastor Jim, Caleb, and Bobby work.

Sam sighed and stretched out on his bed. The rustling of plastic drew his attention to the bag Dean had thrown at him. Curious, he looked inside and pulled out its contents. Immediately, a huge smile lit up Sam's face.

"That what you wanted?"

Sam looked up as his brother re-entered the room holding a steaming cup and appearing considerably calmer. He beamed at the twenty-year-old. "Dude, how the hell did you get these?!"

Dean smiled knowingly but didn't respond.

Holding one of the small boxes in his hand, Sam read the title. "Dean, The Sixth Sense? This just came out like two weeks ago!"

Dean grinned and shrugged. "Yeah, well, I figured since you'd be stuck here for awhile, maybe we could do the movie thing indoors. First I just bought Universal Soldier II, 'cause you know, Jean Claude taking down an army of super-human war machines kicks ass, but knowing you, I figured you'd want some pansy-assed movie about a freaky psychic kid that sees things."

Sam shook his head still grinning at the movie. "Dead people, Dean. He sees dead people."

Taking a seat and plopping his feet up on Sam's bed, Dean nodded to his brother. "Bet you we could take care of his little problem for him…"

Sam rolled his eyes as he turned the box over in his hand. "Given what I've learned in the past week, chances are we'd be forced to take care of him rather than his little problem."

"Give me a break, Sammy. Hunters don't go around killing kids."

Sam stared incredulously. "Uh, hello? Quarantined for two days…almost died…ring any bells?"

Dean shook his head. "That was different; Bristol was a freak. You can't judge hunters based on him." Sam went to interrupt, but Dean cut him off. "And anyway, that's the whole point of hunting, to help out people who are being haunted and shit."

Leaning back in his pillows, Sam closed his eyes. There was no point in arguing, Dean would never be convinced that hunters were anything but perfect. After all, Dad was a hunter; so for Dean to admit hunters weren't all good, that would mean Dad wasn't all good, and Dean could never concede that. Not that Sam considered his father to be in the same category as Bristol or the hunter in the red sports car. At least his father did try to help people, but Sam was pretty sure that the gwyllion was correct too. Hunters hunted what was different, not necessarily what was evil.

A weight was lifted off the bed and the tapes were gently removed from his hands. Tiredly, Sam opened his eyes to find his brother standing over him. Dean spoke softly. "Go to sleep; we'll watch them later."

Turning on his side, Sam yawned. "Where'd you get those anyway?"

Dean put the tapes back into the bag and returned to his chair. "Boston."

That woke Sam up a bit and he blinked at his brother. "Boston? When the hell'd you go to Boston?"

Dean stretched and slouched down on the chair. "I snuck out last night while everyone was under quarantine. Got through on foot and then hotwired a car in the next town over." At Sam's shocked expression, he continued. "You were finally stable and trust me, it was better for everyone involved if me and the CDC guard spent some quality time apart. 'Sides you wanted us to hang out this week and see a movie and I figured since you'd be down for awhile, I'd bring the movies to you."

Sam smiled genuinely at his brother. "Thanks, Dean."

Dean gave a shy grin and looked down. "'Welcome."

Giving in to his exhaustion, Sam's eyes closed again. "Thanks for trying to get in to see me too. Even if they wouldn't let you…I heard yelling through the door and down the hall last night. It was good to know someone was here."

Dean's laugh met his ears. "Actually, that was probably Dad yelling at your doctor. My little squabble ended rather quickly and quietly when the stun gun was pulled out."

Sam's eyes opened. "You got stunned?"

Dean shook his head. "Dad did though, never seen him so pissed off in my life. I think he was actually foaming at the mouth when he came out from screaming at your doc. Then he walks out the door to find jumbo-guard using all 500 pounds of his fat to pin me to a wall and holding the stun gun about six inches from my face."

"What'd he do?" Sam asked, wide-eyed.

Dean grinned in pride. "Walked right up to us, put his hand over the gun and pulled it away from my head. Then he sent Jumbo flying across the room. Gun went off during, but Dad barely even twitched. Burnt his hand though…that's when he told me you were out of the woods and 'suggested' that I do something that involved me being somewhere else."

Sam nodded. "But he's okay?"

"Yeah, fine. He was just leaving when I came in; told me Doctor Shali is off your case."

Thinking back, Sam couldn't place the name. "Who's Dr. Shali?"

Dean shrugged. "I have no idea, but I'm guessing he's probably deaf after what Dad did to him last night."

Sam laughed and closed his eyes. "Hey, Dean…will you be around for awhile? I'm too tired now, but I want to watch the movies with you."

The weight of Dean's shoes lowered the mattress. "Dude, I waited the past two days to get in here. You think I'm going somewhere? You sleep; I'll catch up on my reruns."

Sam sighed, already drifting off. "Don't watch them without me."

"Who me? Come on, Sammy…Would I do something like that?"

Sam fell asleep before the "yes" could leave his mouth.

--

John gritted his teeth together as he cleaned his pistol in the trunk of his car. The late summer sun was beating down on him, but really, there was nowhere else to do this. He certainly couldn't go back to the cottage- even with the quarantine lifted, the CDC was all over the place.

With a tension-filled sigh, he wiped the sweat from his brow. He had been a fool. He didn't know what he was thinking. He should never have gone to the convention, but the lure of having access to so much information drew him in. The fact was, the trail for Mary's killer had gone stone cold and he hadn't a freakin' clue as to who or what he was looking for- or where to find them. He had been hoping that being around so many other hunters would give him a lead, that there would be rumblings of something dark that he could follow. Now that he knew how much false information was out there and how little most hunters knew- there'd be no more consorting with others in the future.

His desperation to get back on the trail had blinded him. He'd spent the last few years training the boys hard and stupidly, he thought they were ready. Now he realized that they couldn't be part of this whether they were ready or not. He couldn't risk it. He was going to destroy the thing that destroyed his wife, but not at the expense of his sons. They would still need to be trained, but for protection only, not for revenge.

The training had served Sammy well. A small smile graced John's face as he remembered his son's gratitude. Even if it was just for a "brief" moment- that was more than he thought he'd ever get from Sammy.

A swell of pride filled him as he reflected on how Sam handled the pukwudgies. Pausing in his ministrations with the gun, John wondered if Dean would have handled the situation as well. Dean followed orders perfectly, far better than Sam ever did, but Sam had had to think on his feet the other day and John wasn't sure if Dean could do the same. There was a big difference between knowing the techniques and being able to use them without being told to do so.

He never had to worry about that with Sam. Despite the amount of time they spent screaming at each other, John never once doubted Sam's ability to survive. Sam was smart and independent. He often thought for himself and although he also made incredibly dangerous and stupid mistakes, he learned quickly and the mistakes were almost never repeated.

Dean was different. Dean didn't make those mistakes and if he ever did, it was a very rare occasion. Dean did what he was told so the mistakes weren't in his repertoire. John had trained him that way; forced him to follow the orders and fear for Sammy's life if he didn't. But in following all the orders, Dean didn't think for himself and there was never a mistake to learn from. A part of John's heart sunk as he realized that Dean would probably never live on his own. He'd always be somewhat dependent. It was useful in their lifestyle, but never what he had wanted for his son.

He closed his eyes in pain. Chalk one more up to failing as a father.

Taking a deep breath, John shook off his dark cloud and resumed cleaning his weapon. There was no point in lamenting Dean's future. Nor was there a point to beating himself up about the convention. He screwed up, but like Sam, he was a man who learned from mistakes. From now on, he'd keep his distance from them all- and he sure as hell would be keeping the boys away.

The past few days had been a complete nightmare. Truthfully, he owed Jim, Bobby, and Caleb more than he could repay and that wasn't a situation he was comfortable with.

After he had dropped the boys off at the hospital, he knew he had to do damage control. He had Dean tell the truth about Bristol because there were too many witnesses and he couldn't have the hospital investigating their belongings to determine how Sam caught his disease. But with the authorities knowing about Bristol, there'd be an investigation into Bristol's stuff, which would certainly lead to John's shoes and gun. It was disconcerting to say the least when he arrived back at Bristol's land to find it swarming with police and EMTs. With nothing else to do, the small town police department certainly moved fast.

Trying unsuccessfully to figure out how to get Sam treatment and flee at the same time, John went back to the cottage to take care of the weapons. That was where he had found the note lying on kitchen table- right next to his gun and boots.

It read:

Thought you might want these back.

Really shouldn't leave your stuff lying around

the wrong people could find it.

You're getting careless in your old age.

-Jim

Jim, the self-righteous prick, had pulled his ass out of the frying pan with that one and without the boots and gun, he was pretty sure the authorities wouldn't be looking at this thing as a murder. Especially given how the locals felt about Bristol the devil-worshipper who was known for murdering children who trespassed on his land. John wasn't surprised the authorities couldn't find anything to connect the teens' deaths with Bristol, after all, the police weren't exactly up on their pukwudgie lore- but then again it seemed, neither was he. He was surprised however, that none of the parents of the dead teens had taken matters into their own hands. Even if he hadn't known about hunting, if someone had killed his son, he would kill them- no questions asked.

Now finished with the gun, John packed it away and slipped into his car. He had finally been able to see Sammy after spending a long few days dodging the CDC and the remaining other hunters. Most had fled when they got wind that federal agents were coming to town. Bristol had had known contact with all of them and no one wanted to be investigated or quarantined. John's concern had been keeping quiet the fact that the infected teen was Sam. The last thing he needed was a hundred hunters knowing who his son was and what had happened.

It had worked out for the most part. He really owed Bobby for the smoke screen and Chris Candari, who had almost ran Sammy over with his sports car, had inadvertently helped as well. Candari was in his twenties and certainly thought more of himself than was warranted. He was primarily a mercenary for higher, but was exclusive in his clientele and what he would be willing to kill. If he hadn't known better, John would've sworn the man expected actual credits for attending the convention.

Amongst hunters, the man was considered obnoxiously arrogant, but respected in his knowledge of succubi and incubi. He had killed more of them than any other hunter and the common feeling was that Candari's ego made him immune to their powers. It was that same ego and haughtiness that had pulled the heat off the Winchesters. The young hunter had seen the boy that was being stalked by pukwudgies. He reported the teen to be a local kid that made the mistake of playing soccer on Bristol's land like many of his friends before him. He said that the kid knew more about hunters than expected, but not enough to know what they were really like and that it was obvious that the child had never met a hunter in person before. Thankfully most, if not all, of the other hunters took his summation fact.

Bobby's ability to spread the word of incoming Feds cleared the convention out of town and left John free to spend time at the hospital. God only knew what Dean thought of him after the first night when Sammy's fever had spiked and John was AWOL. He was there of course, but in the shadows, feeling like a complete failure as he his twenty-year-old was forced to handle his brother's deteriorating condition without any support. Dean had looked terrified and lost when Dr. Crouse explained Sam's condition and John wanted nothing more than to step in. That was his job; he was their father. It should have been him the doctor was talking to, not Dean. But he couldn't risk it. If any hunters had still been around, John's presence at the hospital would've been a dead give away as to who had gotten sick.

The hunters were gone by the next day, barring Dr. Shali of course, but he had handled that too- threatening the man with the same fate as Bristol should Sam's identity be leaked. In the end it had worked out okay and John had taken this horrific experience and learned what he could from it.

As he drove his way back to the hospital, he looked out on the charred remains of Bristol's land. The man had been a good hunter, but he was a horrible man. So far John had yet to meet anyone who was two for two. He wondered if it was even possible. Sure he, Bobby, Jim, and Caleb had retained some of their humanity, but they each had their moments when it was nowhere to be found…and slowly, it all seemed to be slipping away. John couldn't help but fear the same would one day happen to his sons.

He looked over at the note from Caleb that lay on the passenger seat. He deliberated with himself. His boys, especially Sammy, had had a hard week. And for now, Sam seemed to be more human than hunter… Reaching out an arm, John crumpled the note. Shoving it in the ashtray, he pulled out the car's cigarette lighter and lit the paper on fire. Sam should never have been exposed to the other hunters- should never have had to taste what they were really like. And now, he would never know that Caleb had killed the gwyllion at John's request- that he had burned her to death in the forest while Sam was being treated with antibiotics for his bacterial infection. His boys had to grow up fast and hard to survive in this world, but so long as John kept some of his humanity, there would be times when the father won out over the hunter. This time, Sam would be spared the grief.

Thanks again for sticking with this story- even through the long break between this chapter and the last. I really appreciate the fact that you're still here and reading. Thank you. Any feedback you have is much welcomed.