Henry stepped out of the motel, grabbed the Impala's keys, and smiled. He climbed in, started the engine, and pulled out of the parking lot.
"Now let's go find this ghost."
His memories of the original case gave him a rough starting point, but they were frustratingly incomplete — pointing him toward the investigation rather than the ghost itself.
For the rest of the night he drove all over town, stopping by the police station, the hospital, and several addresses connected to earlier victims. Every clue led to another person or another location instead of anything useful.
It had been years since he'd watched the episode and most of the details had faded. Without Sam and Dean handling things alongside him, progress was painfully slow.
By the time he checked the clock it was five in the morning.
Henry rubbed his tired eyes and let out a long yawn. "Forget it."
He turned the Impala around, drove back to the motel, quietly unlocked his room, tossed his coat onto a chair, and collapsed onto the bed. Within moments he was asleep.
***
Around nine, someone knocked repeatedly on his door.
Henry opened it still half-asleep and found Sam outside. "It's urgent. Dean's symptoms are getting worse."
Henry yawned, stepped aside, and stretched his stiff body. "Good timing. I finally figured out which ghost we're dealing with."
A few minutes later they were in Dean and Sam's room. Dean sat on the edge of the bed absentmindedly scratching his forearm, the skin already red, barely seeming to notice.
Henry placed a police report and an old photograph on the table. "The ghost's name is Luther Garland."
Sam picked up the photograph. "That's him?"
"Yeah. He worked at Cassidy and Sons Lumber Mill. Because of his appearance everyone called him the freak — treated him like garbage. The only person who was ever kind to him was a married woman who worked there." Henry flipped to the next page.
"One day she disappeared. Her husband Frank became convinced Luther had something to do with it. He attacked him, wrapped a chain around his neck, tied the other end to his truck, and dragged him across the mill yard. That's what killed him."
Sam's expression darkened. "So where's the body?"
"There isn't one. Luther was dragged across the road until he was literally torn apart. By the time it was over, there wasn't enough left to bury."
Dean, who had been listening quietly, slowly looked up. "You're telling me there's no body?"
"No."
Dean swallowed hard. "Then how the hell are we supposed to burn his remains?" His voice became noticeably more anxious.
"If that psycho turned him into ground beef and scattered him all over the road, what are we supposed to burn?"
He looked at Sam, genuine fear creeping into his eyes. "Am I going to die, Sam?"
Neither answered immediately. Dean kept talking before either of them could.
"I mean, I haven't exactly lived much of a life. All I've ever done is hunt monsters, sleep in cheap motel rooms, and drive across the country. That's pretty much it." He let out a nervous laugh with no real humor behind it.
"It's kind of a lousy way to spend your whole life."
He looked between them. "Don't either of you ever think about that? About living a normal life?"
Sam lowered his eyes and didn't answer. Henry had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from smiling.
Dean's ghost sickness was getting worse by the hour, and hearing the man who usually laughed in the face of danger suddenly questioning his entire life was almost surreal.
Then a black cat jumped through the open window and landed squarely on Henry's lap.
Henry caught it before it slid off. Dean froze.
"Ahhhhhhhhh!"
He practically leaped backward, screamed like a girl, stumbled over the coffee table, then scrambled to his feet and bolted out of the motel room without looking back.
Henry looked down at the cat, which blinked at him once before curling up comfortably in his lap. Then he looked toward the still-open door.
"...Seriously?"
Sam was already moving. Henry stood, handed him the case file, and spoke quickly.
"I've figured out how to get rid of the ghost. You go after Dean and make sure he doesn't do anything reckless. I'll head to the lumber mill and deal with Luther Garland."
Sam nodded. "Got it."
Dean hadn't made it very far.
He was standing at the far end of the motel corridor, leaning heavily against the wall. His breathing had become uneven as he stared blankly ahead, as though listening to something only he could hear.
Then the voices began.
"Dean... do you know why everyone around you suffers?"
Dean squeezed his eyes shut. "No..."
"Your brother had a chance at a normal life. He could've gone to college, gotten a job, started a family... but you dragged him back into hunting. And Henry — if he had never met you, he wouldn't have nearly died. He could've lived a normal life instead of risking it beside you."
Dean slowly slid down the wall until he was crouching, clutching his head with both hands. "Everyone close to you ends up miserable because of you."
His heartbeat pounded violently in his ears. The corridor seemed to close in around him as every fearful thought was twisted against him.
Then Sam reached him, kneeling beside his brother and placing a steady hand on his shoulder. "Dean."
Dean looked up, face pale and drenched in sweat.
"Take a deep breath," Sam said calmly. "I'm here. Just focus on me. Ignore the voices."
Dean tried, but his breathing remained ragged. Sam kept his hand firmly on his shoulder. "Slow breaths. In and out. You're okay. Just keep looking at me."
Dean nodded weakly as the voices slowly faded into the background.
*****
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