Dean whipped his backpack around to reach for the shotgun with the salt rounds, but the whole pack was ripped off his back, wrenching his arms back with it until it loosed and flew across the hall. Dean darted for it, but he found himself thrown against the wall, back pressed hard, rising so his feet barely touched the ground.

"You're going to follow me, boy," the ghost said, jamming a finger into his chest. "And you're going to do it quietly. Understood?"

Dean swallowed hard, and his body lowered so his feet were on the floor.

After that, Dean's father—or rather, the ghost who looked exactly like him—didn't have to grab him by the ear to get Dean to follow him into the next room. To Dean's surprise, his "dad" actually lead him to the suite. He must have known it was empty.

The lights in the main common area were off. A note was left on the table in Lex's neat print: he, Sam, and Clark were at an arcade in the next building over. That would give the ghost plenty of time.

Dean glanced toward the front door to the suite, but it slammed shut. "Boy, I don't know what you're thinking," his father said.

This was it. There was no way out of this. The ghost was going to kill him. The other guys who had been killed must have died thinking it really was their father who was beating them to death.

Dean assumed most guy's dads didn't really want to kill their sons. Lex's dad might have been an exception, maybe, but even he probably wouldn't have tried to kill Lex. So what was this ghost's deal? Punishing sons in their father's stead, but taking each discipline method to the extreme, to the point of death? Then why had it let Clark go? Was it because he was a kid? Dean felt like there had to be some other reason. Maybe it had decided Clark didn't deserve to die. All Clark had done wrong was skip some chores.

The hotel staff had run away from home, abandoned their families. That was what Charles Leery's boys had done. And that was what Dean had done.

He was going to die here.

And the more he thought about it, the more he felt like maybe he deserved it. Bringing Sam and the other guys here without looking into the place to make sure it wasn't haunted had put them in danger. Sam had gotten lucky that the ghost had let him go; he could have died, and so could Clark. What's more, Dean had lied to his father about where they were. Honesty, respect, and obedience were the main rules Dean's father enforced with him, and he had broken every one of them with this one trip, but the biggest rule was always looking after Sammy. If Dean couldn't do that, he deserved anything he got.

His father's words seemed to echo his thoughts. "You disobeyed me, boy." He grabbed Dean's shoulder. "You lied to me." He shook Dean hard. "And you put your little brother in danger. I thought I'd left an impression on you after Flagstaff, but apparently I was too soft." He let go of Dean, and his hands went to his belt buckle. "Don't worry, son, I won't make that mistake again this time."

Dean felt the blood drain from his face.

-------

Lex played a couple of games with Sam and Clark, but then he told them to go on playing without him. He said he was going to get a soda from the vending machine, but he ended up standing by the entrance to the arcade, watching for Dean. He should be back by now; how long did it take to burn something? Lex had a bad feeling about this.

He kept trying to tell himself it was fine, and that he was just over-worried after Clark had gone missing the night before, but the years had taught him to trust his instincts. His gut told him something was wrong.

After stopping by to let Sam know he was going to go back to the room for a bit, Lex headed toward the elevator. For some reason, his feet wouldn't let him walk; he jogged, and by the time he'd reached the top floor and the suite was in view, he was running.

He tried his card key, but it wasn't working. He knocked on the door. "Dean? You in there?"

"Lex?"

"Stay out of this!" another voice called from inside the room, and Lex's blood chilled. He'd never met Dean's father, but he recognized that tone. He'd heard it in his own father's voice. Dean was going to get hurt.

Lex pressed his ear up to the door to hear what was happening.

"This has been a long time coming, son," the ghost's voice said.

"Yes, sir," Dean said.

Lex's mind raced. In theory, it was possible to get the ghost to release its victims. Clark and Sam had proven that. What it was that Clark and Sam's actions had had in common? They seemed to be opposite in every way. Clark had talked to his mom; Sam had continued talking to his dad. Clark had called his real parents; Sam had kept talking to the ghost. Clark had been contrite and made peace; Sam had been defiant and made things worse. Clark's crimes had been lesser, and his father was more merciful in real life . . .

Of course, neither Sam nor Clark really deserved to be punished. They were both kids, trying their best. Dean, too, mostly only felt guilt over things he couldn't control? Why hadn't the ghost gone after Lex right away? Lex didn't usually dwell on the things he'd done wrong, but his list was a hell of a lot longer than theirs.

"And you know you deserve what's coming," the spirit said. "Every bit of it."

"I know." Dean's voice was barely more than a whisper.

It was like a light bulb going off in Lex's mind.

Guilt.

That was the key. Clark had eased his own guilt by speaking to his parents; Sam had eased his by talking through the situation. Dean was only making his own worse by the minute. It also explained why the ghost hadn't gone after Lex. He almost never allowed himself to feel the weight of his own guilt. The last time he and Dean had been talking about the things they'd done in their past, they'd both been drinking, and they were relaxed, not weighed down.

The ghost didn't go after people who deserved it. It just had power over anyone who felt like they deserved it.

"Dean!" Lex yelled. "It's not your fault!"

It was silent in the room.

"Dean, listen to me. It's not your fault. What happened with Sam, when you were younger . . . you were a kid."

The door creaked open, and Lex ran inside. Dean was backed up against a wall, his "father" standing before him. Lex was filled with a sudden urge to punch the man, and not because it was a ghost.

But he had to focus. "I've seen you with Sam. You care about him. You'd do anything for him. You brought him here because you wanted him to have a good time, to get to be a kid, and that's a good thing. He deserves that, and you deserve a break, too."

Dean's eyes flicked toward Lex, then back to his father. "I . . . no . . ." His eyes glossed over.

Lex swallowed hard. He knew from experience that a person couldn't simply be talked down from their guilt. It wasn't that simple.

But maybe, if guilt was what gave this spirit power . . . Dean had said before that Lex wasn't a trained hunter, and that was true. Lex had no idea what to do to take down a shape shifting ghost. But Dean was trained—he was just distracted right now, because his father was in the room. If Lex could buy Dean a minute, maybe he'd know what to do.

Lex cleared his throat. "I killed my brother."

The ghost turned to look at Lex.

"Yeah." Lex swallowed hard and straightened up. "I killed my baby brother when I was twelve. He was a few months old, and I held a pillow over his face until he stopped breathing, and every night, I dream about him. I dream that he's alive and I can't save him . . ."

Dean's "father" took a step toward Lex.

"Lex, stop," Dean said.

This was working. If it had more power over Lex, it would go after him instead. That would buy Dean some time to get away or figure out what to do next. "And I killed my best friend at boarding school when I was sixteen. I got angry and punched him over and over again, and he backed away from me into the street, and a car hit him."

Another step.

Lex's voice started to waver as he continued to confess and forced himself to feel the truth behind the words he was speaking. "You think Dean sleeps around? You should see my list. You think he drinks too much? I've done drugs he can't afford to have ever heard of. And if you're looking for disappointing sons to punish . . ." Lex held his hands out. "I should have been your first target. But me, I don't even think about my guilt. That's how bad of a son I am. I repress it. I forget what I am."

The ghost stopped in place.

Lex blinked—the room was beginning to blur. "But no matter how hard I run, no matter how much I try, I can never forget Julian. He should have lived, not me. He would have been your rightful heir." Lex looked the ghost right in the eye. "Wouldn't he, Dad?"

It happened in the blink of an eye. John Winchester turned into Lionel Luthor.