Title: Retribution and Remorse
Author: Dhvana
Series: 1) The Monster Under the Bed, 2) A Little Help From Bob, 3) The Temptation of Dean, 4) Questions Without Answers, 5) Don't Lose Your Head
Rating: R
Pairing: Sam/Dean, but the Wincest is implied and unrequited (so far)
Summary: The Horseman's attack and its aftermath.


"Sam," Dean whispered, watching, waiting for his brother to stand up, sit up, scream, but there was no sign of life from the other side of the bridge.

"Come on, Sammy," he pleaded. Using his shotgun as a cane, he hobbled slowly across the graveyard, his every step torture, but he didn't care. In his distress, he barely noticed the pain; he was too focused on Sam.

He couldn't lose him. He was Sam's protector. He was there to keep him safe. Sam had to be safe! His brother had to be safe!

And yet he knew otherwise. When the Horseman turned its steed to face him, he knew Sam wasn't moving, not now, not ever again.

"Sam," he moaned, his voice aching with despair. Knives stabbed his heart and he doubled over, falling onto his hands and knees. He felt like he was going to be sick, but it hurt too much for anything to come up. He just stayed there, his stomach cramping while the scent of graveyard dirt filled his lungs, his body shivering in the night air.

The only thing he wanted was to curl up against the graves and let the darkness take him. He could continue to fight, to seek out the things that hunted the innocent, but without Sam, he just didn't see any point. Why fight when it didn't help, when it cost him the ones he loved?

And even as he knelt there wishing for an end to the pain, he heard it, the soft thudding of hoof prints against the earth. He didn't have to look up to know the Horseman was approaching, coming for his head. He was such an easy target kneeling there, his neck bared, ready for the sword. All he would have to do was stay still and let the thing take him.

But he knew he wasn't going to give in that easily. He didn't care if it took him, but he couldn't let that thing go unpunished for taking Sam. No, if there was one thing Winchesters knew, it was the need for revenge, and he was going to have his revenge.

With a cry built of anger and grief, Dean rose to his feet and fired his shotgun at the Horseman. The creature flinched as the salt and silver buckshot hit its body, but otherwise didn't seem effected. All he'd succeeded in doing was piss it off.

The black steed released an unnatural scream as the Horseman lifted the fiery pumpkin and hurled it at Dean. The pumpkin flew through the air with preternatural speed towards his head, the green flames leaving an arc of light behind it. Dean just barely dodged the missile, throwing himself to the ground and it crashed harmlessly against the gravestone behind him.

"Is that all you've got?" Dean shouted as he climbed back up to his feet. "Flying vegetables? Is that the best you can do?! Well, then, shit, I'll just team up with Bunnicula and we'll both kick your ass!"

The unnervingly silent Horseman dug its heels into the horse's ribs and charged at the remaining Winchester, who flung himself to the side as the sword whistled above his head. His ankle gave out from under him and he fell hard against the corner of a monument, several swear words escaping his lips. He knew he couldn't run, not with his ankle, so he'd have to find a way to confront it. And then he'd have to pull a miracle out of his ass in order to find a way to kill it.

But maybe it wouldn't take a miracle, he thought, watching the Horseman turn for another attack. He'd already seen that his weapons wouldn't do any permanent damage, but maybe they'd do enough temporary damage to give him the advantage.

Rising to his feet, he drew the silver dagger from his boot and waited for the Horseman's second charge. As the thing drew near, its sword raised and ready to strike, Dean stood in front of the horse and aimed. Just before the horse ran him over, he threw the dagger and ran out of the way, the blade flying true into the Horseman's wrist. The sword fell to the ground and Dean dove for the weapon. He grabbed on to the hilt and stood, holding the sword ready. The black metal was heavier than he'd expected and he felt as if he were holding his hands a little too close to the fire as his fingers tightened around the hilt, but it would take more than a little scorching to make him let go.

The horse released a shriek of rage, giving voice to its rider's anger, and charged again. This time Dean turned aside just as the Horseman passed and he swung the blade through the air. The sword's sharp edge cut across the horse and through the Horseman's leg. Again the beast cried out, black blood spurting from both their wounds, and the Horseman slid off the saddle to the ground. The black-clad ghoul, now missing both its head and a leg, tried to push itself up, but it couldn't stand. The severed leg pressed its heel into the earth to inch its way over to the Horseman, but Dean gave it a swift kick away from them both.

A smirk across his face, he walked over to the thing that had killed his brother and stood over it with the black blade in his hand.

"This is for Sam, you son of a bitch. Whoever sent you, whatever you're doing here, wherever this sends you back to, tell your friends that I'm going to hunt down each and every one of you fuckers. You will not win. Do you hear me? You will not win!"

But even as he raised his sword to strike, he realized he had made a mistake.

The Horseman's steed had turned around and was coming to defend its master. Dean had been so distracted by his victory that he ducked out of the rearing animal's path a little too late, a hoof managing to kick him in the side. The breath was knocked out of him and he hit the ground, biting back a scream from what was most likely a set of cracked or broken ribs. He rolled quickly to avoid the flailing horse and scrambled to his feet, knowing he had to get rid of the beast or he'd never survive the night.

He ducked behind a grave, green sparks piercing the darkness as the horse's hooves struck the concrete. A large chunk nearly came down on his head and he rushed for cover behind the next stone. He was five stones down before the animal realized he'd escaped. It shook its head, the black mane an electric cloud around its neck, as it searched the cemetery for him.

Taking a deep breath, Dean stepped out into the lane. "Hey, puppy chow! Over here!"

The animal's eyes blazed with green flames that glowed eerily through the night as it charged at him again.

"Steady," he whispered to himself, knowing he had to time this right. "Steady. . . Wait for it. . . Now!" He dodged to the side as the horse passed and swung the sword up across its neck. A foul black liquid spilled from the wound, smoke rising from the gushing streak of blood as it hit the earth. The horse took a few more stumbling steps, then its legs buckled and it fell.

Dean stared at the smoldering beast, the creature's skin and bones already beginning to melt into the earth, and heaved a sigh of relief. One down, one to go. He turned and limped over to where the Horseman lay. He stood over the ghoul, his eyes blazing with triumph and fury as tears wetted his cheeks.

He thought he might send the creature to its grave with a few final parting words, but he had nothing more to say.

Wrapping both hands around the hilt, he raised the sword above his head. Ignoring the complaints of his battered body, the excruciating pain in his ribs and the emptiness inside his heart, he gathered all his strength together and snarled with satisfaction as he plunged the black blade into the Horseman's chest.

The Horseman's body convulsed as the sword sank through its skin and flesh and bones, the tip burying itself deep into the ground. Smoke rose from the demon's body and it began to melt, spreading the same foul black liquid over the grass that had spilled from its steed. The Horseman's flesh burned away anything it touched until just dirt remained. The only thing left to show that the dark creatures had even existed was the scorched earth and a blade standing in the middle of a graveyard.

Brushing the tears from his eyes and leaving smudges of dirt across his face, Dean stared at the wreckage this nightmare had left behind. His vengeance was complete, but the Horseman's death had done nothing to ease the emptiness inside. He had killed it, true, but before he had destroyed it, the Horseman had managed to destroy him.

He had lost Sam.

Stepping forward, Dean drew the blade from the ground and turned to the bridge. His throat burning with his pain, his body and mind wanting nothing more than to just shut down, he slowly made his way across the wooden planks. He nearly stopped at seeing Sam's boots lying across the path, but he had to do this. He didn't want anyone else touching his brother.

Shaking with every step, he forced himself to place one foot in front of the other until he was standing at the soles of his brother's boots. Just looking at Sam's feet was too much and he turned his head away, watching the water move beneath the bridge. It took him several minutes before he was able to look back down again. Knowing he had to do this, Dean slowly let his eyes move up the unmoving body to the stump where Sam's head would have been. Where his brother's head should have been.

Where Sam's head still rested.

Dean blinked. Wait a minute. Sam had a head.

Sam had a head!

Crying out in disbelief, Dean dropped the sword and knelt down next to his brother. Though Sam's head was definitely intact, there was a deep cut below his neck above his left shoulder, a cut that continued to bleed, which meant his heart continued to beat, which meant Sam was still alive.

His brother was still alive! He nearly laughed with joy, but he knew he had to act fast. His brother wouldn't be alive for much longer if he didn't get help.

"Sam!" he cried, shrugging out of his jacket and ripping off his shirt. He bundled it up into a ball and pressed the cotton to the wound. "Come on, Sammy, wake up!" He pulled his cell from his pocket and dialed 911. "Wake up, Sammy, you have to wake--hello? Hello! I need help. My brother--he's been hurt. He's cut his neck and is bleeding pretty heavily. We're in the Sleepy Hollow Cemetery by the wooden bridge. Please, you have to hurry!"

Not waiting for the person on the other line to ask questions, he hung up and shoved the phone back into his pocket. "Come on, Sammy," he said, adjusting the shirt so that the dry side was pressing against the wound. He cringed to feel the warmth of his brother's blood oozing through his fingers. "Hang in there, bro. Don't you dare die on me, or I swear I'll never forgive you. Just open your eyes and look at me. Please, Sammy, that's all I ask. Just open your eyes."

Sam's eyelids didn't flicker, but Dean didn't give up hope, not yet. His brother had a head and he was still alive--that had to count for something, somewhere, somehow. Someone must have wanted to keep his brother around if he had managed to last this long.

Dean heard the sirens drawing near, a couple of police cars reaching them before the ambulance did. He barely had the forethought to toss Sam's gun into the bushes and throw the sword in the creek under the bridge, though he hated to leave Sam for a second to do so, but the gun would cause too many questions and the sword was too valuable to lose. He'd come back and retrieve the weapons later, assuming the cops didn't find them first.

"Sammy, help's almost here. You're going to be okay," he said as he returned to his brother. His hand over the shirt, he turned to yell at the cops. "Hey! Over here!"

Three of the four officers ran over to them, one remaining behind to direct the ambulance.

"What happened?" the senior officer asked as the other two knelt down next to Sam to help put pressure on the wound, and Dean decided to tell him the truth. Sort of. He told the truth from the viewpoint of a hysterical person who didn't have a clue what was going on, though the hysteria was only partially feigned.

"We were hiking and we lost track of time and the next thing we knew, it was night and we had no idea where we were. We stumbled onto the cemetery by accident and we were trying to make our way over to the main road when this--this thing came running at us!"

The officers all exchanged startled but knowing glances. Good. He had them right where he wanted them.

"Can you describe it?" the cop asked.

"It was this man, on a horse, only--only the man--it looked like," Dean shook his head, "you're going to think I'm insane."

"Go on, son," he said.

"This thing--it was carrying a pumpkin and it didn't have a head! And it rode right at us swinging this sword. We barely had time to dive out of the way--my brother! The sword cut my brother!"

"Don't worry, son," he said, placing a hand on Dean's shoulder. "It's going to be okay. Just be thankful you both made it this far."

The officer pulled him away to give the paramedics access to Sam and Dean watched, never feeling more helpless in his life, as they placed his brother's body on a stretcher and loaded him into the back of the ambulance. He didn't even ask if he was allowed, he just climbed into the back with Sam, holding a too-cold hand as they drove to the hospital. He would have forced his way into the exam room, but the nurses pushed him out and he could only watch through the window as they covered his brother's arms in tubes and began working on the cut to his neck.

After about twenty minutes, a doctor emerged to speak to him. "Dean Winchester, correct? You're here with your brother?"

"Yes, that's me. What is it?" he demanded. "Is he going to be okay?"

"Your brother's lost a lot of blood, and the cut to his shoulder will require several stitches, but he should be fine. His collarbone prevented the blade from going too deep. He won't be able to use his arm for a while, but he'll live."

The only thing that registered in Dean's mind was 'he'll live'. Sam will live.

His legs gave out from under him and he sank to the floor at the doctor's feet, pressing the palms of his hands to his eyes to keep the tears from falling out.

"Sir, are you all right?" the doctor asked, kneeling down next to him.

He nodded. He'd never been better--Sam was going to be fine. Sam was going to live.

"Come on, let's get you to a chair," the man said, smiling as he helped Dean to his feet.

He almost didn't make it. His legs threatened to give out again when he put his weight on his ankle, and his side protested heavily when he lifted his arm too high. He nearly bit through his lip to keep from crying out and the doctor quickly caught him before he collapsed.

"Whoa there," the man frowned, "and don't try to tell me you're all right this time--something's wrong."

"My ankle," Dean said through gritted teeth. "I think I twisted it. And my side. Might have bruised myself a bit."

"Ally," the doctor said, calling over a nurse. "Bring a chair and have someone take a look at Mr. Winchester's ankle and side. In fact, make sure he receives a thorough examination." Dean shot the man a glare, who countered with a genial smile. "You've been through quite an ordeal, Dean. You probably have injuries you're not even aware of yet. Let us take a look at you, and by the time we're done, your brother should be in recovery and you'll be able to see him."

He thought about it for a moment, then nodded numbly at the doctor, who gave him an encouraging pat on the back before returning to the room that held Sam.

At least getting patched up would be something to distract him, Dean thought, so he let himself be led to an exam room by the pretty nurse--what normally would be an ideal set up for his libido, but for once, he didn't even notice. His only thoughts were with Sam. He barely paid attention to the litany of his injuries as they were discovered by the doctor he'd been handed over to. His ankle was badly sprained, the sprain made worse by his attempts to run on it. The scrapes he'd received on his palms from falling and the burning from the sword needed cleaned and bandaged. There was a cut on his knee that required three stitches, though when that one registered, it pissed him off a little that he'd torn his favorite jeans. Probably the worst was a crescent shaped bruise on his side from where he'd gotten kicked by the horse and they had to wrap his ribs, which were cracked.

But he didn't feel any of it.

"You will," the nurse said with a smile, "as soon as the adrenaline wears off, which is why I want you to take these." She handed him a tiny paper cup filled with four pills. "Two are pain killers, and two are anti-inflammatories. I've got a prescription here for both, as well as for sleeping pills, all three of which you can have filled here or you can take them with you."

"Here will be fine," he said. He didn't care. The whole experience was going to be spread out over a couple of credit cards, and then forgotten the second they passed the city limits. "Can I see my brother now?"

"Of course," she smiled. She helped him into a hospital gown and, despite his protests, made him sit in a wheelchair and pushed him to the curtained area where his brother had been placed. The sight nearly wrenched his heart from his body. Sam looked so pale against the sheets, so fragile with all those tubes sticking out of his arms. Dean wanted nothing more than to climb into the narrow bed with him, to hold him and make sure he knew he wasn't alone.

"Has he woken up yet?" he asked the nurse who was checking his brother's vitals.

"Not yet. He may sleep through the night."

"But--he is okay, right? There won't any sort of brain damage or anything like that, will there?"

The nurse smiled in amused sympathy. "Don't worry, dear. You'll have your brother back to you good as new."

Dean looked at his brother and nodded. "Except for the stitches and the scar," he whispered as he took Sam's hand between his and watched the rise and fall of his brother's chest, reassuring himself that at least Sam was breathing. As much as he was reassured by the steady beeping of the machine behind him, mow that he was back at Sam's side, now that their ordeal was over, tendrils of guilt began slithering into his subconscious.

This was all his fault. Everyone kept saying he was Sam's protector, but here Sam was, lying in a hospital bed with a cut in his shoulder and half his blood back at the graveyard. He'd almost died, and Dean had done nothing to stop it. He'd taken Sam right into the heart of danger--he'd might as well have cut off his brother's head himself.

Bob was right. He needed to focus. Sam was too important to lose because of his carelessness. He may not have understood why, exactly, Sam mattered in the grand scheme of things, but Sam's importance to him alone was enough to make him determined never to let this happen again.

"I'm sorry, Sammy," he said, pressing his lips to the top of his brother's hand. "Nothing will ever touch you again, I promise. From now on, I'll keep you safe."

There was no answer, but Dean wasn't expecting one, not yet. He stroked his brother's hand, occasionally blowing on his fingers to keep them warm, and waited.

The nurses checked in on them every once in a while, attempting to convince him to go home and rest. He didn't tell them that sitting there at Sam's side was the closest he could get to home.

Around two in the morning, the pain killers wore off and every breath made his ribs twinge. His entire body throbbed and made his very existence hell, but he didn't say anything. He was afraid the nurses might slip him something to get him to go to sleep.

Around three, he started drifting into a waking state of mesmerized nothingness, in too much pain to sleep and too exhausted to be awake. He knew he was nearing collapse, but he was determined to wait until Sam woke up before he let himself fall.

"Just take the damn meds and get some sleep already," a voice murmured.

Dean blinked.

Lifting his head, his heart pounded with anticipation as he searched his brother's face, afraid that he'd given in to delirium and imagined the words.

"Sammy?" His brother sighed and turned his head, wincing at the pain in his neck. Dean nearly sobbed with relief, barely able to resist launching himself at him. "Sammy, you're awake!"

"Yes," Sam said weakly, the cold fingers squeezing his own, "I'm awake. No thanks to you."

Dean's eyes grew wide as he stared at the pale figure in the bed.

Okay, of all the things he thought his brother would say, that definitely wasn't one of them. What the fuck had he done now?

Sam was walking through his brother's mind. He hadn't meant to, but he had no control over where he went or what he saw. It could have been anyone's mind, he supposed, but he knew this particular one belonged to Dean. Not only did it involve places he recognized as places they'd been, but there was just an innate sense of Dean-ness to everything. Sam could feel his brother surrounding him even as he invaded his brother's subconscious, and it surprised him how comforting that was despite how much the things he saw disturbed him.

What he first noticed was that Dean was more messed up than he realized. His brother's mind was a chaos of thoughts and theories that completely belied the cool and in control exterior he often showed. Sure, Sam knew he hid a lot behind his wisecracks and bad jokes, but he never saw just how afraid Dean was of losing everything--the battle, his sanity, him. Dean wasn't afraid to die; he was afraid of leaving him alone to face the world and the nightmares it held.

Of those nightmares, he would have expected his brother's most immediate thoughts to revolve around the one they'd just been through--chasing the Horseman, himself getting injured, and--he assumed--whatever horrors his brother'd had to face after he'd collapsed, but that wasn't it at all. Dean's thoughts were lingering over their adventure at the asylum, and Sam was overwhelmed by the innate sense of failure his brother felt. He followed along as Dean's thoughts moved swiftly through the rooms until they reached the basement where, devastated, he was forced to watch as he shot Dean once, and tried to shoot him again.

And yet, even though he had been the one firing, all Sam felt from his brother was how much Dean had let him down.

"I'm the one trying to hurt you. Why do I make you feel like you failed?" he whispered. Much to his surprise, Dean looked over at him even as he continued to kneel over the form of the other Sam that he had just punched into unconsciousness.

"Because I wasn't able to protect you, to provide for you the kind of life you wanted," he answered. "Because you still hate me for everything that happened between us."

"Dean, you know I don't hate you."

"Dude," his brother said with that look of sardonic frankness only he could manage, "you shot me. Twice."

"Only once," he protested, "and with rock salt. There were no bullets in the second gun."

"But you tried. You kept pulling that trigger until I finally stopped you."

Sam shook his head. "You can't blame me for that. I wasn't in my right mind."

"You were in your right mind. You may not have been in control of your actions--though I've gotta say, I still wonder about that one--but the words were all you. You resent me. You've always resented me, and even if I don't understand why, I get that it's how you feel. I've been trying to make things better, Sam, in the only way I know how, but then you shot me before I ever got a chance to change your mind."

Sam stared at his brother, his heart growing heavy in his chest as it was filled with his own guilt. Dean really did think all of this, and, yeah, his actions over the past couple of months hadn't exactly encouraged him to think otherwise, but Sam had never thought he would believe all of it. He always thought Dean knew him better than that, but maybe too much had changed during their time apart and they couldn't read each other the way they used to. "Why couldn't we have talked about this while I was awake?"

Dean hefted his bag of tricks up over his shoulder. "What do you want us to do? Drink cocoa by the fire and nibble on a plate of cookies while complaining about how the fat will go straight to our thighs? We're men, Sammy, we don't do that shit."

Sam rolled his eyes. "A simple 'no' would have sufficed."

"Apparently not. You just don't get it. I don't talk about this stuff. I don't see a need to. Anything we can't work out on our own is just not going to get fixed. No point in dragging it out in words."

"Except when those words might clear up misunderstandings like this. You haven't failed me, Dean."

It was his brother's turn to roll his eyes. "Right. You just love me so much you tried to blow a hole in my chest. I'm doing something wrong, Sammy, I know it, but don't worry, I'm going to fix it. I'll make things right between us, you'll see."

Oh, he could see, all right. Standing there in the middle of his brother's mind, Sam could clearly see that Dean had the wrong idea on how to fix things. Sam could already feel him pulling away, tearing down all the progress they'd finally made.

"Dean, wait, you're doing it all wrong." He reached out to stop his brother, but jerked his hand away as the scene changed.

Several images flickered across his eyes, glimpses of those times Dean looked on as having failed him. He saw himself beaten by the shape-shifter, being pushed down the stairs by a ghost as a kid, lying on his bed with Jess burning above him, being shoved into his brother's arms and forced away from their childhood home, blood pouring from his eyes as he lay surrounded by shattered glass, his father screaming at him and telling him to get out, and then the whirl of images came to a stop and they were back in the graveyard.

Sam stared down at himself, bleeding his life away in his brother's arms. "You can't blame yourself for all those things, and especially not for this. This is my fault."

Dean shook his head, tearful eyes staring up at him. "They sent me here to protect you," he said, voice cracking with despair, but then he realized how he sounded and attempted to pull himself together, trying for one of his trademark smirks. "Bang up job I've done of it so far."

"This is not your fault," Sam said, shaking his head. "I shouldn't have run after the Horseman. I know better than that. You taught me better than that."

"And I should have been there, holding you back."

"You did what you could," Sam protested. "You killed it, right?"

"Yeah, but not after it almost killed you."

Noticing the strain in his brother's eyes, Sam realized he wasn't the only one who'd almost been lost. He became aware of the twinges in his brother's ankle, the sharp pains in his ribs, various aches across his arms and legs and torso. He could feel them almost as well as if they were coming from his own body, and he knew his brother was refusing to do anything about his pain until Dean saw that he was safe. He'd have to wake up. He'd have to leave his brother's mind in order to give them both some peace.

Sam sighed, not quite ready to go when there was so much left to fix, but knowing he had to or the gods only knew what kind of damage Dean do to himself in the meantime. "I'm going now, but I'm warning you, we're not through with this conversation."

"What conversation?" Dean asked, too much innocence in his voice to be believed, but Sam didn't have time to try and nail him down. His brother's consciousness was already fading from his mind and he was waking up. Though Dean's thoughts were closed to him, his pain remained real, and Sam felt like his entire body was on fire. He had to get his brother to stop touching him, to leave the room until he'd regained what little control he had over the current again. He couldn't handle their combined hurt.

"Just take the damn meds and get some sleep already," he murmured.


He sighed and turned his head, wincing at the pain in his neck. Damn Horseman. That was going to take some time to heal.

"Sammy, you're awake!" Dean said, relief filling his voice.

"Yes, I'm awake. No thanks to you." He squeezed the hands that held his, forcing his eyes open to meet his brother's concerned gaze. "Dean, you have to stop torturing yourself. Your pain won't let me sleep, and your guilt is giving me some seriously fucked up dreams."

"Sammy, what are you talking about?"

"I think it's because they've got me so doped up that the current is flowing freely inside of me. I can feel you, Dean, and I know you're in a serious amount of pain."

His brother frowned, confusion clear in his green eyes. "Current? What current? And what do you mean you can feel me? You're not making any sense."

Sam yawned, closing his eyes again. "I know, I'm sorry, but I'll just have to explain later. I'm fine, Dean. Trust me on this. Go to the inn, take your pills, and get some sleep. I'm not going anywhere."

"And neither am I."

"Yes, you are," Sam said, his voice sharp as he again looked at his brother. "Get out. I can't sleep with you here, not when I'm like this. Come see me tomorrow when some of the drugs have left my system. I'll be able to handle you then."

Dean was silent for a moment, then nodded. "All right, if that's what you want."

As Dean let go of his hand and stood up, Sam could feel how much he'd hurt his brother by his request. A renewed sense of guilt flowed off of him--the last thing his brother had meant to do was cause him any more pain, even if he wasn't sure how he was doing it--and Sam tried not to groan out loud. All he'd wanted was to get some sleep, not make things worse. He couldn't let him leave like this, not without repairing some of the damage.

"Hey Dean?"


"I love you."

The room seemed to lighten as Dean's guilt eased a bit and Sam knew he'd said the right thing. His brother turned enough to send a flicker of a smile over his shoulder. "You just take care of yourself, okay?"

"You too," he said, waving with his good arm as Dean left. Even though the words hadn't made it past his lips, Sam wasn't fooled. The warmth of his brother's love continued to surround him after Dean had gone, comforting him until he was able to fall into a peaceful sleep.


Next story in series - The Return of an Old Fiend.