Learn Me Right

21. Everybody Loves a Clown

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The brothers stood in front of a funeral pyre -- John's. The only light came from the wrapped, burned body. Standing behind were Sam and Dean, holding Phoebe. Sam was near tears and fidgeting and Dean was staring into the flames silently. Phoebe was frowning at the flames in confusion. Her uncle had told her grandfather was gone, but what confused her was when she'd see him again.

"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. Your kid being good for you and Bobby?"

"Yeah, she is. Need anything else, then?"

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."

"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," Sam said. "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 I came by here to tell you. This is one of 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."

"Ask Bobby if we can use one of his cars."

---

They drove off and pulled up to the Roadhouse Saloon in the beat-up, poorly maintained minivan.