For This You Were Born

20. Everybody Loves a Clown

The five stood in front of a funeral pyre -- John's. The only light came from the wrapped, burned body. Standing behind, hands in pockets, were Sam, Dean, Caroline and Aliana. Sam was near tears and fidgeting, Dean was staring into the flames silently, Charlotte was holding her father's hand, and the cousins were glancing between the Winchesters.

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

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

Charlotte pulled at her father's shirt and he looked down at her as she signed, Did I cause Grandpa to die?

Dean shook his head. No, sweetheart, you didn't.

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. Charlotte was sitting nearby with a bucket of paint, waiting for permission to paint.

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." He pointed to Charlotte. "I've already got the best little helper."

"Need anything else, then?"

He 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. You didn't even acknowledge when Caroline and Aliana left for a hunt of their own."

"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."

"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.

"Well, I've got something, all right?" He 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 awhile, but I cracked his voicemail code. Listen to this."

He 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. 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?"

"No. But I ran a trace on her phone number and I got an address."