It was early, but not outrageously so, when Sam slipped free from the iron grasp of his nightmares. Despite the new horrors they'd witnessed last night, his sleep had been haunted by other, older memories of a fire that raged with malevolent intent, consumed everything in its wake, and burned with such intensity that Sam could still feel its flames licking at his skin during those first few waking seconds.

As always his nightmares woke him with a racing heart and a sharp intake of breath, almost causing him to bolt from the bed as he fought to liberate himself from the inferno's scorching embrace.

As the seconds ticked by, Sam slowly calmed. He wasn't in danger; he was safe; the fire wasn't coming for him, at least not yet.

He checked on the room's other occupants. As expected, Xander was still sleeping soundly, features slack and a sizeable pool of drool collecting on his pillow. Further inspection revealed that Dean was also still sleeping, but where Xander's features had been relaxed and untroubled, Dean's were not. Instead, his brow was furrowed in a deep frown, his breathing shallow and uneasy. Everything in his expression and body language spoke of tension and stress, almost as if he could sense Sam's own anxiety, even in sleep. Or maybe years of hunting had built up so much strain that easy, restful sleep was simply a thing of the past for both brothers, though Dean would argue to the contrary. Despite his self-proclaimed immunity, sleeping with a knife under his pillow as a matter of necessity should have been a glaring indication that their 'work' did not leave Dean as untouched as he would like to believe.

Sam shook his head, clearing it of the last vestiges of his nightmare, and slipped out from between the sheets, wincing as his movements pulled at the torn skin of his back. He dressed quietly, taking care not to aggravate his injuries any more than necessary, then left the room and made his way downstairs with the determination to find himself a cup of coffee.

When he reached the bottom landing, he was almost plowed over by Martha, who, in complete contrast to every previous time he'd seen her, looked grave and subdued.

"Oh, I'm sorry," Martha regretfully apologized when she realized she'd nearly run him over.

She looked up at him, and Sam caught a glimpse of red-rimmed eyes. Concerned, he asked, "Are you all right, Miss Jennings?"

At the question tears welled up in Martha's eyes, and her face crumpled in sadness. "It's so horrible," she said in a choked whisper. "I talked to him just yesterday, and now…" she trailed off, glancing away.

"After Tom, they said there wasn't anything to worry about; the animal was probably rabid and already dead by now. But now Jim… How could something like this happen?" her eyes met his again, wide and pleading for answers that could provide some understanding.

Sam tensed as his concern heightened, and an unsettling wave of dread rolled down his spine. "Jim? Jim Hastings?" Sam asked.

Martha nodded, wiping at a stray tear, and returned in a stricken voice, "He was killed in the woods last night. Mauled. Probably by the same animal that killed Tom. For this to happen twice in under a week… I can barely believe it."

Sam's gut twisted painfully. He had talked to Jim just yesterday as well. The man had been grieving but alive. And now he was dead. How could it have happened? What had they missed? Had they not killed the creature in time?

"When did it happen?" Sam asked tightly.

"Sometime late last night or early this morning is all they've said so far," Martha answered. The woman's tears began anew, shoulder's shaking with repressed sobs. "He was such a nice man; he always had a kind word for everyone."

"I'm sorry about this," Sam said solemnly, meaning it more as a confession for having somehow let it happen rather than the obligatory condolence as Martha likely believed it to be. Sam placed a comforting hand on the woman's shoulder, trying to beat back his own feelings of sorrow and guilt.

Martha brought her own hand up to pat his appreciatively. "You're a very sweet boy," she told him kindly with a sad, grateful smile.

Her words only made the remorse he was feeling press more heavily against his chest. He was filled with a need for action, a need to set things right. Though there was nothing that could be done for Jim Hastings at this stage, Sam was determined not to let whatever mistake they'd made cost anyone else his or her life.

Martha's hand fell away from his, and she wiped at the tear-trails on her cheeks. Sam gave her shoulder a gentle squeeze before pulling his own hand away.

He jerked a thumb back toward the stairs and said, "I should probably get back upstairs before—"

Martha's plump hand reached out and grabbed onto his arm with surprising quickness, her glassy eyes wide with worry. "You boys be sure to stay far, far away from the woods. I don't care what those rangers say; it isn't safe." There was a sincerity in her eyes and manner that was borne from more than a little crush on Dean; she was truly worried about their safety.

"We will," Sam returned, steeling himself to keep from flinching at the outright lie that came from his lips.

She gave him a relieved smile before her gaze moved almost absently to the front desk, focusing on the phone which sat next to the guestbook. "I should probably call Debbie and let her know before that Molly tells her. I tell you, that gossip-hound has no sense of tact."

That last bit of information was lost on Sam, but he watched with something akin to relief as Martha wandered away, muttering to herself about what a nice young girl that Molly had been and what a vile woman she had grown up to be.

Sam went back up the stairs, just shy of sprinting, barged back into the room, and was shaking Dean awake before he'd even had a chance to completely process everything Martha had told him.

"Dean, wake up!" Sam yelled, then bit his lip and glanced at the other occupied bed. Xander, oblivious as ever, slept on peacefully.

Dean batted away Sam's hand and rolled so that his back was facing Sam. "Damnit, I thought we had agreed to sleep in," Dean complained, voice low and rough with sleep.

Sam brought the situation quickly to light. "Jim Hastings was killed in the woods last night."

Dean's mood shifted instantaneously. He rolled over again and sat up, turning a clear and focused gaze on Sam. In just seconds he'd gone from sleepy-eyed to alert and hunt-ready. "When?" he questioned.

Sam moved back away from the bed, casting another glance at Xander before sharing what he'd been told with Dean, "Late last night or early this morning. Either way, it was well after we killed that thing in the woods."

"Damnit," Dean growled. He moved off the bed and began dressing, anger making his movements quick and jerky. "What did we miss?"

Sam understood perfectly what Dean was feeling right then, because he was feeling it too. The sense that they had seriously fucked up somehow, and now someone was dead because of it. "I thought we'd go back to where we left the demon, start there, and then check out the scene where Hastings was found."

Dean gave his assent with a sharp nod. He glanced over at Xander, still sprawled out in the same position since he first fell asleep, and a slightly envious look crept into his eyes. "How the hell does he manage to sleep through all this?" he wondered aloud as if the noise should have woken him or surely the tense shift in atmosphere should have stirred something in his subconscious, a warning that all was not well.

They made it down the stairs and managed to slip past the front desk without drawing the attention of Martha, who was still talking on the phone, her back turned to them. After that they made the drive to the woods, the music-free silence of the ride thick with anger and self-blame, and then they hiked, in what had to be record time, to the spot where they'd left the demon.

The body was gone but not without a trace.

Dean tilted his head, looking at the soft ground where the creature had lain. "It looks like it was dragged away."

Sam knelt down close to the ground, shuffling dead leaves out of the way to get a look at something underneath. "The question is by what?"

In addition to heavy drag-marks leading away from the area, there were several tracks made by something that definitely wasn't human and wasn't any type of animal found in the boy scout handbook to tracking.

Dean knelt next to his brother and frowned at the paw prints. "You think there was more than one of those things?"

Sam studied the tracks for moment, a thoughtful frown creasing his forehead. "Whatever it was, I don't think it was the same as the creature we killed last night."

"Maybe they were buddies," Dean suggested.

"Or possibly rivals," Sam countered.

Dean gave a shrug, "Either way, if Green-and-Scaly didn't kill Hastings last night, chances are whatever carried him off did."

Sam stood, dusting his hands off on his jeans. "I guess we should check where Hastings was found, see if there are any tracks there that match these here."

Barely twenty minutes later it was confirmed that Sam and Dean's demon-body snatcher and Hastings' killer were one and the same.

*****

Xander stumbled out of bed in the early afternoon to the grumbling of a hungry stomach. Through bleary eyes he could see that the other two beds were empty, and for a brief moment Xander had the panicked thought that he'd been left behind. But a quick scan of the room revealed that Sam's and Dean's bags were still where they'd left them last night, and surely they wouldn't have left without their things.

Xander shook his head wryly, torn between being amused with himself and slightly annoyed. He'd known Sam and Dean for only a few days now, and he was acting like some desperate orphan with a fear of abandonment. He seriously needed to get a grip.

Xander wasn't sure where Sam and Dean had gone or when they'd be back, but he decided since he'd been left to his own devices, getting something to eat was the top order of the day.

In fact, he could eat at the diner and then tell Avery that they were leaving today, effectively killing two birds with one stone, so to speak. After all, those chicken tenders really had been good.

Xander guessed he should have been disappointed that they were leaving town so soon and just when he was starting to get to know Avery, but the more he thought on it, the happier he was with the situation. As much time as they'd spent together the last few days, Xander still didn't feel that he knew much about his newfound brothers. Maybe now that this job was done (or abandoned as the case may be), they could all relax a bit, get to know each other better, and take in some sights of the eastern United States.

With that thought in mind, Xander moved to retrieve some clothes, stretching the kinks out of his back and neck as he went. He pulled on some jeans and the Hawaiian shirt that had been snubbed yesterday and grabbed his wallet before leaving the room.

Martha was no where to be seen downstairs, and Xander fought down a smirk at the thought that perhaps she had spirited Dean away somewhere private for some quality time.

He walked happily to Ned's Diner, enjoying the warm summer air with a new understanding of what people meant by 'having a spring in their step'. His happy gait slowed, however, as he drew near the eatery and saw a familiar, feminine form standing forlornly in front of the diner.

Avery's shoulders were hunched, arms crossed tightly over her chest, and her gaze was glued to the sidewalk. Everything about her posture screamed that something was wrong.

As Xander approached her, he called out, "Avery? Are you okay?"

She tore her gaze away from the sidewalk, bringing red-rimmed, bloodshot eyes up to meet his gaze. It took a moment for recognition to sink in, and then suddenly she was throwing herself into his arms, hugging him tightly.

"Whoa," Xander said, staggering back at the sudden, added weight. He brought his arms up lightly around her, still startled by the impromptu hug. "What's going on?"

Avery had her face pressed against Xander's chest, causing her voice to come out muffled, "Something's happened." She sniffled, and Xander suspected she was probably crying. Women and tears were always a man's worst nightmare.

"Were you fired?" Xander asked fearfully. He thought maybe that was why she was out here on the sidewalk rather than inside waiting tables; she wasn't even wearing her waitress uniform.

"No," she told him tearfully. "The diner is closed for the day."

For the first time Xander noticed the 'closed' sign on the door and that the diner's interior was dark and empty.

Avery loosened her hold on him slightly and pulled back just enough to look up at him. "There was another animal attack last night. Jim Hastings is dead, and—" Avery's voice cracked, fresh tears welling over in her eyes and trickling down her cheeks. "Something got Razor last night too," she choked out.

She dropped her head back on Xander's chest, sobbing into his Hawaiian-print shirt. Xander rubbed a hand over her back consolingly and pondered this new turn of events. What was up with the wildlife in this town?

"But you're okay, right?" Xander asked, leaning his head back and trying to catch a glimpse of her face.

At length, Avery gave a slow nod and pulled away from his chest, wiping at her eyes and running a hand through her messy hair. Her cheeks were red and puffy, still stained with tears, but she seemed to be gathering a little control.

"It's just so hard to believe that he's gone," Avery said quietly.

Xander hugged her tightly for a moment, the loosened up before saying, "It must be really hard on you, especially since the same thing happened to his friend just a few days ago."

Avery jerked back sharply, looking at him with unconcealed confusion in her eyes. "What?"

Xander couldn't blame her; death had a way of throwing everything off balance. "Jim's friend," he explained. "He died the same way. It must be difficult, losing both of them in such a short time."

Understanding slowly dawned in her eyes. "Right…Jim," Avery said distantly. She leaned into Xander again, gently this time and with less clinging desperation. "Razor too," she reminded softly. "I know he's – was – just a…pet, but it still hurts."

Xander pulled back, putting a little distance between them, and brushed her hair out of her eyes. "Hey," he spoke softly and soothingly. When her eyes met his, he continued, "There's nothing wrong with being sad that Razor's gone. I'm sure he meant a lot to you."

Avery gave Xander a sad, watery smile. "Yeah, he did." She dropped her gaze again, absently fingering one of the buttons on his shirt.

"Is there anything I can do?" Xander asked, wishing he could find a way to make her laugh like he had yesterday.

Avery glanced up with wide, hopeful eyes. "Could you come home with me? Stay with me for a while? The house is just so quiet without Razor there."

Xander almost gave in to her pleading gaze without thinking, but then he remember why he was here, that he was supposed to be saying goodbye. He winced guiltily that he had offered his help and was now about to let her down when it seemed she could really use a friend. "I'm sorry," Xander replied regretfully. "I'm actually going to be leaving town soon. My brothers finished their job and they're kind of eager to leave."

Something flickered briefly in Avery's face at that but was gone before Xander had a chance to place what it was he'd seen in her expression.

"That's okay," Avery returned, mustering up a forgiving smile. "You've already made me feel a little better just by being here now. I'm sure everything will work itself out in the end and that whoever did this will be stopped soon."

Xander frowned, stumbling a little over her wording. "You mean whatever," he corrected.

"Of course," Avery returned after a beat.

Xander nodded and smiled. "And hopefully the rangers or police or whoever will find what did this before someone else—" Xander broke off suddenly as something occurred to him, and he asked Avery urgently, "What about Spot? He's okay, too, right?"

Avery drew back, an eyebrow raised and lips quirking at the corner as though fighting a smile. "Spot's fine."

There was an enigmatic quality to her voice that Xander couldn't quite place. Maybe she was amused at the overwhelming concern he was showing for Spot. But he couldn't help it; he'd really gotten attached to the little runt.

Avery untangled herself from Xander's arms, moving back a step. "I should let you get back. I don't want to keep you."

Xander studied her face; she was still a little pale, but she seemed calmer now, or at the very least, didn't seem likely to burst into tears again. "Are you sure you'll be all right?" Xander asked anyway.

"I'll be fine," Avery told him confidently, giving him a smile, shy, sweet, and sad all at once.

Xander smiled back. "I'm glad I met you," he confided.

Avery's eyes softened. "I'm glad I met you too." She stepped toward him, gently bringing a hand up to cup his jaw before she leaned up and pressed a kiss to his lips. Unlike last night's kiss, this one was longer and less chaste. When they broke apart, they were both flushed and breathing heavily.

Xander looked at her hazily and tried think up an intelligent response through the hormone-ridden fog that had engulfed his brain. "Um, well…goodbye." Not quite the intelligent response he'd been hoping for.

Avery grinned wryly anyway and smoothed her fingers through his thick, black hair. "Goodbye, Xander," she whispered softly, then stepped away from him again.

A few seconds later Xander's motor functions returned, and this time it was Avery whose eyes followed Xander as he turned, began walking, and slowly faded into the distance.

*****

Sam tried to focus on the small map of Waiverton, laid out in front of him on his lap but, with Dean currently pacing a hole in the floor, maintaining his focus was becoming increasingly difficult. He sighed and tried to ignore the insistent thump of boots tracing a pattern from one side of the room to the other and then to the window, where the pacing would pause for a few brief, blissful moments, before resuming the pattern anew. If Dean kept up, Sam might be forced to shoot him.

"So I'm thinking," Sam began, playing in to the half-hearted hope that he might be able to distract Dean and save the hardwood floor what little varnish it had left. "We start at the northern edge of the woods and work our way south. The first attacks on the animals at the farms were all around the northern edge of the woods, and then they gradually began moving south. We may not find anything around the northern part of the woods, but since that's where the attacks originated, I think it would be the best place to start. And I know all the attacks occur at night, but if we start searching before dark, we might having better luck of being able to spot anything out of the ordinary – maybe some kind of markings or a talisman that summoned the creatures or caused them to manifest."

"Uh huh," Dean replied absently. He was at the window again, face nearly pressed against the glass and head angled so that he could see as far down the street as possible.

Sam heaved another sigh, folded up the map, and tossed it on the bed next to him. "I'm sure he's fine," he assured Dean.

Dean turned around, putting his back to the window and facing Sam, and for a moment his expression was that of a five-year-old who'd just been caught sneaking a finger into the icing of a freshly-baked cake. The expression quickly fell away, however, and Dean crossed his arms, cocked an eyebrow, and said, "What?" as if he didn't have the slightest clue as to what Sam was referring.

Sam rolled his eyes and gave his head a slight shake; he knew Dean well enough to spot his avoidance maneuvers from a mile off. Dean might never admit it, but Sam knew his brother didn't like not knowing where Xander was, especially when there was at least one monster still at large.

"Xander's fine," Sam re-stated. "He'll probably be back any minute."

"He should be here now," Dean argued, the indignation in his voice making it seem as though it were less a matter of worrying about Xander's safety and more like Xander had sneaked out without permission. "He didn't even leave a note or anything."

"Right," Sam drawled sarcastically. "Because we took it upon ourselves to leave him a note when we up and disappeared this morning."

"That's different," Dean countered immediately. "We're older."

If Sam had a penny for every time Dean had used that same, lame excuse on him, he wouldn't have to hustle for spare cash. He had a feeling Xander would appreciate it about as much as he did, which was to say not at all.

Sam dropped the subject of Xander's current whereabouts and moved on to the subject of where Xander would be while they were out hunting. "We're going to have to think of something to tell him."

"We'll tell him whatever we have to," Dean stated matter-of-factly as if it were a simple matter.

Sam tiredly ran a hand through his hair. "We've got to start coming up with some better excuses," he said.

"We knew this was going to cause some problems," Dean told him, accusation lacing his words, and he resumed his pacing.

Sam glared at his brother, tracking his movements with his eyes and thinking bitterly that Dean had wanted Xander to come along just as much as he had.

"Well, this would have been a lot simpler if we'd gotten the job done right the first time," Sam said, the words coming out less accusing than Dean's had, guilt tainting his voice. Not to mention it might have kept Jim Hastings alive, Sam added silently.

Dean stopped his pacing and looked over at him, the same guilt Sam felt reflecting in Dean's eyes. At least they were agreed on that. Dean opened his mouth as if about to say something but the door's opening halted the words before they had a chance to make it out.

"Hey," Xander greeted as he breezed into the room.

Sam knew they were going to have to handle this situation carefully. They had to get Xander out of the way without making it making it seem like they were trying to get rid of him. He knew Xander would probably want to come with them, as he had want to the night before, but Sam thought if he and Dean just kept their cool, they could probably come up with a reasonable excuse that would—

"Dude, it's about damn time," Dean blurted out the second the door closed behind Xander, and if he was trying to come off casual, he failed miserably.

So much for keeping our cool, Sam thought.

Xander stopped short at Dean's tone, his eyes widening in confusion. "Sorry," he said uncertainly as if he weren't really sure what exactly he was apologizing for. "I thought you said we wouldn't be leaving until the afternoon. I didn't mean to hold us up."

Dean looked about ready to go off on a tirade, so Sam stepped in before he could speak again. "Actually, it looks like we're going to be staying another night," Sam said, then thinking fast, added, "We're going to finish that job we started yesterday."

Xander briefly looked surprised but then became more interested. "Well, hey, I can come along and help out."

Sam bit his lip. That's what he'd thought Xander would say.

Before Sam could come up with a reasonable response, Dean beat him to the punch. "No, you should stay here. Really, it's boring stuff, man."

Xander cut a glance at Dean, irritation flaring in his eyes, and Sam knew that excuse wasn't going to hold this time. He tapped down a grimace and wished that Dean would stop helping.

"So you keep saying," Xander returned, "but, honestly, I'm pretty easily amused. It beats sitting around here. Besides, if you leave me here alone with Martha, she might decide to use me as a substitute for you."

The quip went ignored by Dean, who told Xander coolly, as if leveling with the younger man, "Look, we've got this covered. Sam and I know what we're doing; you'd probably just be in the way."

Sam wondered if he could discretely smack Dean upside the head before the older man managed to dig their hole a little deeper; the tactic seemed to work well for Missouri.

Xander's expression of irritation changed to full-blown annoyance. "I think I could at least manage not to dump the paint bucket on myself," he countered, pointing out what he thought was Dean's own lack of finesse with the job.

Dean's expression hardened, and Sam knew that look. It was the one Dean always wore when he'd reached his limit and was just fed-up with walking on eggshells – although Dean's impression of 'walking on eggshells' came off more like 'stomping on eggshells'. Sam knew he should step in before Dean said something they'd all regret, but it was like a train wreck, inevitable and too gruesome to look away from.

"Look, it's a family thing, so why don’t you just back off," Dean bit out, and it was like everyone in the room suddenly sucked in a sharp breath and held it in with fearful anticipation.

Xander looked like he'd been sucker-punched, and even Sam flinched at the harsh words.

Hunting really was a family thing for Sam and Dean, a legacy – more like a curse really – passed down to them by their dad. Truthfully Xander wasn't a part of it, hadn't been baptized in same fire they had, but when spoken aloud, the implication that Xander was excluded, that blood didn't make for automatic acceptance, was glaringly painful. For all involved.

Of the three of them, Dean reacted the least. He stood stone-faced and seemingly unrepentant, but Sam knew his brother better than that, knew that Dean cared more than he showed and was probably in turmoil underneath. Dean was always damn good at hiding things, shoving emotions down so far that not a trace was left on the surface, and he was usually damn good at deflecting every attempt Sam made to get him to talk about whatever he was feeling or repressing. Luckily for Sam, he was pretty adept at reading his brother no matter how stubborn Dean might get.

As if taking a page out Dean's book, Xander suddenly seemed to brush the comment off, giving them a wry, bitter smile. "I guess I'll have to fend Martha off by myself," he joked. Sam was vaguely impressed and a little jealous that Xander seemed to have inherited the same talent for deflection that Dean had, and Sam wondered why he seemed to be the only one in the family who wore his feelings on his sleeve and, as Dean so often told him, acted like a broody little bitch.

"Stay in the room," Dean ordered, and Sam knew he'd really pushed his luck too far with that one.

Xander's casual manner fell away again, and he snapped, "You know, if I had wanted to spend my summer with a bossy jack-ass, I'd have stayed home with my step dad."

Dean pursed his lips, confliction battling in his eyes, but he didn't rescind the comment.

Sam cleared his throat, breaking the tension that was threatening to envelope the room, and tried vainly to smooth over everyone's high-strung emotions. "We don't mean to boss you around," Sam tried to reason. He gave Xander what he hoped was a look of sincerity, complete with pleading eyes that could usually convince anyone to go along with what he was saying; Dean on the other hand only managed to glower. "It's just that we've heard about a lot of animal attacks in town, and we'd feel better if we knew where you were."

Sam was barely able to hear Xander's darkly muttered, "You'd know exactly where I was if I went with you."

The younger man didn't offer up any further protest; instead, he turned his back on them and moved for the door.

"Xander!" Dean called reproachfully.

Xander glared back at him over his shoulder. "Don't get your feathers all ruffled, Momma Hen. I'm just going downstairs, or does my leash not extend that far?"

"That's fine; we'll see you later, okay?" Sam agreed before Dean could say anything else to make the situation worse than it already was; he wondered if this was how Dean felt all those years playing referee between Sam and their dad.

Xander's glare lessened when he looked over to Sam, and he gave a sharp nod before leaving the room.

Sam expelled his leftover tension in one long breath and then turned to look at Dean, unable to keep some of his disappointment from showing on his face. "Don't you think you were a little harsh?"

"We'll work things out when we get back," Dean said, and Sam thought the words were probably more for Dean than himself.

"We can't keep jerking him around like this; we're going to end up driving him away. Assuming he doesn't want to bail on us already," Sam warned.

Dean flinched slightly, and Sam knew his words had hit a nerve. For all Dean's bravado, he had a serious weakness when it came to getting separated from his family. And whether Dean liked it or not, Xander was already dangerously close to getting behind Dean's defenses and into that sacred space Dean held for family.

"Are you saying we should tell him the truth?" Dean asked.

Sam shrugged, as if to say what could it hurt, and then answered aloud, "Lying to him isn't working out."

"And so we're right back at square one," Dean pointed out in a rush of frustration. His voice became more heated as he continued, laying out his case, "We can keep lying to him, or we can come clean. But you should know, even if we do tell him the truth, not everyone can handle this kind of lifestyle. Demon hunters aren't usually what most people find when they go looking for their long lost family. Assuming he even believes us, he might just run out on us for something a bit more normal. After all, you did."

That was like a knife to Sam's gut, his eyes widening in surprise. Sam and Dean had never really talked, before nor after Sam left, about his need to get away, to get a normal life. As Dean would never come right out and say how he felt about anything, Sam could only wonder if Dean was okay with it or if he was harboring some pent-up hostility over those years Sam had claimed a life of his own. Obviously it was the latter.

"That's not fair," Sam protested hotly. "You can't blame me for wanting to have my own life, to have something more than corpse-burning and demon-killing and getting stitched up. I didn't want to keep fighting, but I didn't intend to run out on my family either. Dad's the one who told me not to come back."

"Right. And out of all those times you told Dad exactly where he could shove his orders, that was the one you actually followed." Dean looked angry and betrayed as if Sam's actions had been a personal affront to Dean.

Sam made a move toward his brother, "Dean, I—"

"Forget it, Sam." Dean's expression closed off as if suddenly realizing he'd already let too much slip. He turned his back on Sam and grabbed the car keys off the night table. "We've got a job to do, and we're burning daylight, remember?

Sam swallowed down his reply, knowing Dean had a point. "We can finish talking about this later," his suggestion was more like a plea.

"Yeah," Dean returned, though the expression on his face when he turned to look at Sam said yeah right.

Sam knew he'd never get Dean to willingly continue that conversation, and in all likelihood, he wouldn't even be able to force the conversation on Dean. The words 'lost cause' were already echoing in his mind as he followed Dean out the door and down the stairs.

The moment they set foot on the landing, a bubbly voice was calling out their names. Sam followed the sound of the voice with his eyes and saw Martha stand from her chair at a small, round table, across which Xander was also seated. When he looked at Xander, the younger man quickly glanced away, picked up a magazine, and did an admirable job feigning interest in the magazine's home decorating subject. Martha, on the other hand, came waddling over like a duck in a race.

"You boys aren't going out, are you?" she queried, her voice awash with a nervous fretfulness.

Dean's lips quirked in one of his most charming smiles, usually reserved for the most buxom, long-legged blondes he met, and anyone else would never guess that only moments before Dean had been bursting with anger, hostility, and resentment. Only Sam was the wiser, and he had to marvel at Dean's ability to push his emotions aside, put on a smile that looked more genuine than fake, and concentrate on the job.

"Just for a little while," Dean assured Martha. "You know I'd never leave if it were up to me, but you know how it is. We've gotta work in order to get paid." He flashed her another grin, even went so far as to give her wink, and Martha flushed pink like a schoolgirl.

"Well, just be extremely careful. It's not safe out you know. I'd hate to see anything happen to you, Dean." It took a moment for Martha to notice her own faux pas before she turned to Sam and added, "And of course you too, Sam."

Sam bit back an amused grin and told her, "Don't worry, Martha. We'll be fine."

"And we'll be back before you know it," Dean added.

Martha's chin tilted down, and she looked up at Dean coyly from under lowered lashes, replying in a soft, velvety voice filled with innuendo that would have had Sam cringing had the words been meant for him, "I'll be looking forward to it."

Dean's grin lessened, and Sam wasn't sure if it was because of Martha's come-hither stare (which was really Dean's own fault) or if it was because he'd looked toward Xander only to find their younger brother blatantly ignoring them both. Dean's gaze lingered on the younger man for only a few seconds, and then his eyes shifted back to Martha, and he was smiling again and nodding.

Dean turned, opened the door, and stepped out to leave. As Sam moved to follow, he glanced over at Xander one last time, and this time Xander was looking at him. Sam raised his hand in a gesture of acknowledgment, and he was rewarded with a slight smile from Xander, even though it seemed forced and lacking in humor and didn't reach his eyes.

Sam went out the door, meeting Dean on the porch. The older man's temporary good humor had faded, his expression now closed-off and serious again.

"You know, if you keep flirting with Martha, this creature might end up being the least of your worries," Sam said, half-serious, half-kidding, warning Dean and trying to inject some humor into the dark mood that had blanketed the night.

Dean gave Sam a knowing look and replied, "I'm thinking at this point, getting eaten by this thing in the woods might be the lesser of two evils."

Sam gave a breathy huff in a half-laugh, and the two brothers got into the Impala and drove off toward the woods.

*****

"Are you sure everything's all right?" Martha asked yet again.

Instead of answering with 'things are great' or 'just fine' as he had every time previously, Xander only managed a half-hearted shrug in response this time. Mostly he felt a good sulk would be in order. After Sam and Dean had left, Martha had brought out a plate of cookies and some milk for the two of them to share. That the cookies on Xander's napkin remained uneaten was a sure indication of just how not fine things were.

"Maybe if you talked about it, things would seem better," Martha suggested kindly.

Xander shrugged again, adding a forlorn sigh this time.

"It's Dean, isn't it," Martha stated knowingly.

Xander looked up at her in surprise, shocked that she had guessed so accurately.

Martha took his surprise as confirmation and nodded sympathetically. "I know it can't be easy. Dean being such a free-spirit and all. He's like a regular James Dean."

Xander expression darkened, and he bit out scathingly, "A regular jerk more like." He picked absently at his cookies, breaking them into a pile of crumbs but not eating them, too disheartened for the chocolate sweetness to be at all appealing.

"It won't always be like that," Martha comforted him. She placed a warm, consoling hand over his and gave it a comforting squeeze. "I know it must seem like he gets all the girls, but you're just as charming as he is – in your own way."

Xander's expression crinkled in confusion as he tried to figure out just what the hell Martha was talking about.

"And one day," Martha continued, "I promise, some girl is going to take notice of you."

Xander's earlier awe over Martha's seemingly intuitive knowledge disappeared as he realized that she thought Xander was jealous of Dean or that perhaps they'd gotten into a fight over the same girl. For all Xander knew, Martha might even think they were fighting over her.

She gave him an optimistic smile and patted his hand. "You'll see. And if you're anything like Dean when you get older, I'm sure you'll have girls lined up around the block," she predicted cheerfully.

Xander slumped in his seat, not feeling cheered in the least. If anything, he felt a little worse. Though Martha was completely sincere in her attempt at comfort, Willow Rosenberg she was not. But the thought of talking to Willow had Xander perking up in his seat. Xander was overdue a check-in anyway.

"You know, you're right," Xander said, practically jumping out of his seat. "I do feel better now that we've talked about this."

"Good," Martha gave him a wide grin. "I'm glad I could help."

Xander nodded. "I think I'll just head upstairs now, maybe read a book or something."

"That sounds like a darling idea. You let me know if you need anything else. And be sure to tell Dean when he gets back that he can come downstairs and have some cookies."

Xander only just managed to keep his face blank at that statement, caught between glaring at the thought of Dean and laughing out loud that Martha's invitation was to Dean alone and not to both Sam and Dean.

He gave Martha a jerky nod before half-skipping toward the stairs, heading up them two at a time, and running back into the room he shared with his brothers. He quickly moved to the phone on the nightstand, picked up the cordless receiver, and dialed through the various numbers on the back of his calling card before finally punching in the familiar digits of the phone number he knew by heart.

Two-and-a-half rings later, Xander heard his best friend's voice over the line. "Hello?"

"Hey, Will," Xander replied, having to push the words out through a grin even while sorrow tainted his tone.

"Xander, what's wrong?" the pitch of her voice raised with alarm, and Xander could picture her clutching the phone in a tight-fingered grip while her eyes widened dramatically. Trust Willow to get a perfect read on him from two simple words.

"I'm fine," Xander said immediately, knowing she was probably thinking the worst, that he was in some kind of trouble. After all, if there were trouble to be found, Xander would be the one to find it. "I just…I sort of had a fight with Dean."

"About what?" Willow asked, concern lacing her words.

"I'm not really sure," Xander said wearily, letting all the turmoil he was feeling seep into his words. He sat down, sagging onto the bed. "I think maybe Dean doesn't want me here."

"Start at the beginning," Willow said firmly, and Xander knew from the tone of her voice exactly what face she was wearing, knew she was determined to help him resolve this.

"Well, we were supposed to leave town today, but Sam and Dean got a call to finish the job they were working the other night, so we're staying longer," Xander started. "I offered to go with them and help out, and that's when the argument happened."

"How do you mean?" Willow prompted.

"He kept saying I'd be bored or in the way, but I kept arguing that I really didn't mind, and I figured there had to be something I could do to help out." Xander sighed miserably. "Then finally he said it was a family only type gig."

Willow sucked in a sharp breath. "I'm sure he didn't really mean it," Willow said gently.

"I don't know, he sounded pretty serious about it to me," Xander contradicted.

"What kind of job is it?" Willow asked.

Xander tried to remember if Sam or Dean had ever said specifically what it was they'd been hired to do but could only recall vague mentions. "I'm not sure, exactly. Something involving paint and ladders. They're kind of like traveling repairmen, I think," Xander explained.

"Really?" Willow said, sounding surprised. "I never would have imagined repair being the travel type of job."

"Me neither, but I guess it is. Their dad calls them about jobs, and they go wherever they find work.. The people even supply the tools and everything." Xander sighed in resignation. "Maybe I really would have been in the way. I don't know, maybe I'm just in the way, period."

"Well, he did invite you along, didn't he? That's gotta count for something. And what about Sam? How did he feel about your going with them on the job?"

"Sam wasn't as pushy about it as Dean, but I got the impression he wasn't keen on having me around either. I just don't get it!" Xander exclaimed. "Half the time, it's like everything is fine, and the other half, it's like they wish I wasn't here. I think maybe they just want to be rid of me."

"I don't know. I suppose that could be the case, but something about this just seems …" Willow went quiet suddenly, and Xander frowned at her silence.

"Seems what?" he pressed.

"Strange," Willow stated strongly. "Some of the details about their job just don't seem to fit right. And didn't you say they were working at night? Repair just seems more like a daytime job to me."

"Um…yeah, I guess," Xander said wonderingly. It's not that he hadn't noticed that things with Sam and Dean seemed a little odd, but Xander had brushed it off thinking he was just being overly suspicious as a result of too much time spent on the Hellmouth.

"I'm just wondering if the reason they don't want you around while they're working has less to do with you and more to do with what they're doing," Willow said.

"What do you mean?" Xander asked, an anxious dread settling in his stomach.

"Like…maybe what they're doing isn't exactly on the level." Willow's words came out hesitantly.

"You mean illegal?" Xander asked, somewhat panicked. "You think maybe they're burglars or something?"

"No," Willow denied quickly, then added a few seconds later, "well…maybe?" Her voice was questioning and reluctant as if she were loath to play devil's advocate in this scenario.

Xander didn't want to admit it, but she had a good point. He couldn't decide if the thought made him feel better or worse. On the one hand, the reason his brothers wanted him out of the way might not be because they didn't like him, but on the other hand, the reason might be because his newfound brothers were criminals.

"That would just figure," Xander started, aggravated. "I find some long lost family, and it turns out they're—" Xander broke off suddenly as he heard what sounded like a soft, scuffling noise, and he pulled the phone slightly away from his ear, turning his head toward the sound.

He strained his ears, trying to hear the sound again, but after a few seconds the only sound he heard came from the phone as Willow shouted, "Xander, are you there?"

Xander put the phone back to his ear and replied, "Yeah. Sorry. I think Martha might have mice."

"Huh?" Willow voiced, confused.

Xander waved off her confusion, oblivious to the fact that she couldn't see the gesture, and returned to the conversation. "I think maybe I'll ask Sam more about what they do. He's usually easier to talk to than Dean. Maybe there's just something I'm missing, and I'm making a bigger deal out of this than I need to."

"Yeah," Willow agreed with some enthusiasm. "We shouldn't jump to conclusions." Willow always did like to give people the benefit of the doubt. "It could be that there's nothing weird going on at all; it's just we're so used to Sunnydale, we're automatically expecting the worst."

"But speaking of weird," Xander said, changing the subject, "there have been a couple animal attacks lately. Two guys were found mauled to death. One of them died just last night. And there have been attacks on other animals too."

"By weird, are you thinking Sunnydale weird?" Willow asked, concern edging into her voice again.

"I don't know. They're saying a rabid bobcat might have done it, but everyone is pretty freaked out over it. Although I guess a wild animal attack is just as scary as a—" Xander heard the same scuffling noise again and stopped mid-sentence. "What is that?" he muttered to himself, lowering the phone from his ear. He scanned the floor and did a cursory glance of the room but couldn't spot anything that might be making that noise.

Just as Xander was about to raise the phone back up to his ear, something blunt and heavy collided with the back of his head. He felt a brief flash of pain before everything went dark, and this time when Willow shouted his name into the phone, Xander wasn't conscious to answer.

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