Death Becomes Him

Summery: Sequel to The Guilty Party As John and Dean deal with Sam's death, a hunter ignores the rules and takes the Winchester's situation into his own hands.

Disclaimer: Come on. If I owned Supernatural, I would be writing the episodes, not fan fiction.

Author's Note: Due to requests, here is the continuing story. I originally was going to continue the storyline in The Guilty Party, but decided this is a whole different story. You pretty much have to read Guilty Party to understand what's going on because I'm not going to rehash a lot. So enjoy and please review!

Chapter One: Return to Normal

John stared down into the grave, the fire reflecting in his eyes. A trail of sweat broke through the grit on his forehead. His hand reached up, wiping the bit of liquid off his nose before it could drip off.

The hunt had been tough. Normally, ghosts are an easy job. Slam, bam, you're dead again ma'am. This one had a bit of fight left in him; apparently a teenage boy had been locked in a closet by his grandmother in the early 20s and died there. His spirit decided to take his frustration out on every teenager who lived in the house, locking them in the hidden basement closet until they too starved to death. Not many worse ways to die than that, John grimaced.

Glancing to his left, he watched Dean, shadows dancing across his face. The spirit hadn't been kind on him; a small trail of blood trickled down from his temple where his head had a short confrontation with a tree. John took in his clenched jaw, the vacant look in his eye, the deep shadows in his cheeks.

It had been a long four months for Dean. Between physical therapy for his back and dealing with Sam's death, John never felt like he was one hundred percent sure how Dean was feeling. If he was actually healing or simply bottling it up inside, not wanting to deal with it. John knew what that was like; until recently, he had never allowed himself to cry for Mary. But seeing her again, knowing she was with Sam, somehow it allowed him to let go. But Dean would never let go. He couldn't. Not after… everything.

"Stop staring Dad."

John blinked, caught completely unaware by Dean's piercing eyes. Dean stared at his father, his lips in a tight line. An accusation was obvious in his eyes, almost daring John to say anything. "We done here?"

John blinked again. Dean knew very well they were finished, the job complete. Hell, by now Dean was pretty much as good a hunter as John. But somewhere deep inside him, Dean still needed to hear John's dismissal. He needed to know he could leave.

"Yeah, Dean. We're done here."

"Good." Dean turned his back on the fire, bent down to grab the now empty shotgun and the shovel. Without turning back, he started the walk out of the cemetery to the street, where John's truck stood waiting.

John watched his son walked up to the truck and hopped into the front seat, waiting. He turned back to the fire. His eyes were beginning to burn, but it wasn't because of the smoke. This was their lives now. They ate, slept, hunted, and repeated. All without saying a single word more than necessary. John shook his head, clearing his eyes. I didn't want this; I don't want a son who was ripping himself apart. I don't want my youngest to be dead. I don't want to blame Dean.

John glanced again at Dean sitting in the truck. He was holding his head, obviously caught up in his own mind. John breathed a sigh. Turning one last time to the burning grave, John repeated the words he thought after every hunt, after every job.

Wish you were here Sam. I love you. With that, he turned to his remaining son.

…………………………………….

"Good." Dean bent down to grab the shotgun, clenching his jaw as a low pain burned across his back. Keeping his head low, Dean quickly walked away. There was no way he would let John see him in any pain. He would just keep him from going on the next hunt. And Dean needed this. He needed the distraction.

Dean sat in the truck, staring up at his father's silhouette against the low burning fire. He did that a lot now; stand in the aftermath of a hunt, taking in some time alone. Wish he would just get over here. Standing still gives me time to think. I don't want to think. I don't want to remember. Dean rose his hand to his head, slamming his palm into his temple. STOP! He gave a short hiss of pain as he made contact with his cut.

Glancing up, he saw John was still standing by the grave. Slipping his hand into his jacket pocket, Dean fished out his bottle of pills. Glimpsing up again to make sure John wasn't watching, he quickly popped two into his mouth and snapped the lid closed. Returning the bottle to his deep pocket, he stared up at John's figure as it moved down the graveyard. Dean clenched his jaw, settling his aching back into the bucket seat and closed his eyes as he waited for the painkillers to take affect. Dean heard the door squeak open, not bothering to acknowledge his father's presence. He fingered the bottle in his pocket, wishing he had taken an extra to force the effect to work faster.

Please take me away.

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God I hate doing inventory. Stretching her arms above her head, a bookstore owner gave herself a mental pat on the back. Running this store for 30 odd years and she still took monthly inventory. But that's what has to be done when you own the local voodoo store, or at least that's what the smart-mouthed kids call it who assume they can get away with pocketing various herbs or amulets without her knowing.

I might be a Wicca, but I'm not an idiot. She smiled to herself as she let herself into the back room. She paused, feeling a slight breeze. Looking around the corner, she let out a good old fashion single worded curse. The backdoor was swinging open, the telltale sign someone had been in the back room who shouldn't have been. And the lock keeping the dark objects from access being broken on the ground was definitely a bad sign.

Quickly, the woman dashed to the bookshelf section. Going across the row, she paused about three quarters in. Her eyes widened. The single worded curse made a reappearance.

A dark book was missing.

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Author's Note: Intense, I know. I'm thinking this will be a multiple chapter story. Hope you liked it and please hit that review button. It keeps me inspired to know people actually read this. Thanks! Salt and Burn baby.