Play With Fire

19. Everybody Loves a Clown

The trio stood in front of two funeral pyres -- John's and an empty one for Conor. The only lights came from the wrapped, burned body and the burning pile of sticks. Standing behind, hands in pockets, were Sam, Dean and Penelope. Sam was near tears and fidgeting, Dean was staring into the flames silently, and Penelope had a solemn expression as tears fell down her cheeks.

"Before he... before, did he say anything to you? About anything?" Sam asked.

Dean didn't look at Sam as he answered, "No. Nothing."

JUNKYARD - ONE WEEK LATER

Dean was underneath the Impala working on it, only his legs sticking out. It was still a rusted frame, but looked less crunched.

Sam approached. "How's the car coming along?"

"Slow," Dean answered.

"Yeah? Need any help?"

Dean dropped a tool heavily. "What, you under a hood? I'll pass."

"Need anything else, then?"

Penelope walked outside and joined the brothers.

Dean pushed himself out from under the table and stood. "Stop it, Sam."

"Stop what?"

"Stop asking if I need anything, stop asking if I'm okay. I'm okay. Really. I promise."

Sam pursed his lips. "All right, Dean, it's just... We've been at Bobby's for over a week now and you haven't brought up Dad once. Penny's barely brought up Conor's."

"You know what? You're right. Come here. I'm gonna lay my head gently on your shoulder. Maybe we can cry, hug, and maybe even slow dance. Or better yet, how about you dance with Penny."

"Don't patronize me, Dean, Dad is dead. The Colt is gone, and it seems pretty damn likely that the demon is behind all of this, and you're acting like nothing happened."

"What do you want me to say?"

"Say something, all right? Hell, say anything. Aren't you angry? Don't you want revenge? But all you do is sit out here all day long buried underneath this damn car."

"Revenge, huh?"

"Yeah."

"Sounds good. You got any leads on where the demon is? Making heads or tails of any of Dad's research? Because I sure ain't. But you know, if we finally do find it -- oh. No, wait, like you said. The Colt's gone. But I'm sure you've figured out another way to kill it. We've got nothing, Sam. Nothing, okay? So you know the only thing I can do? Is I can work on the car."

Dean crouched by the car again, getting back to work.

Penelope, who'd been listening, slightly annoyed with both boys, finally spoke. "Well, we've got something, all right?" She pulled out a cell phone. "It's what we came by here to tell you. This is one of your dad's old phones. Took me and Sam awhile, but we cracked his voicemail code. Listen to this."

She handed the phone to Dean, who stood and took it reluctantly.

"John, it's Ellen. Again. Look, don't be stubborn, you know I can help you and Conor. Call me."

"That message is four months old," Sam told his brother.

"Dad saved that chick's message for four months?" Dean asked.

"Yeah."

"Well, who's Ellen? Any mention of her in Dad's journal?"

Penelope shook her head. "No. My dad never mentioned her. But I ran a trace on her phone number and Sam and I got an address."