Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Well, dammit all. If that didn't take the cake, he didn't know what did.

Apparently he'd put too much pressure on the Miller kid. The entire family was dead now, which, hey, made his job easier, but then the kid's last shred of a conscience had taken over, long enough to turn a gun towards his own brain and release a bullet from the chamber. It made work easy for the local law, sure, but he didn't care about those.

The only thing Azazel cared about were his own plans. He'd been doing the mambo from kid to kid for years, but he'd been so certain that the Miller kid was it. Max had been his last hope. And, unfortunately, his last chance had just literally been shot out of commission.

For the millionth time since he'd made the pact with the Winchesters, he found himself regretting it. He'd gotten cocky, too cocky, and hey, he'd be the first to admit it. He was full of all sorts of sins, no harm in admitting that. He was pretty sure his tiny show of humility just earned some angel its wings, but whatever. He'd just pluck them off like a bug in the future: it would give him something to do.

God but Sam would've been perfect.

He glanced through the window of the small apartment. The kid hadn't quite made the apartment home, but it was a living space. So that didn't technically fall within the parameters of the agreement.

Azazel found himself frowning. Stupid damn agreement. He'd sworn to leave the Winchester pups alone. A truce on his side and John's: Johnny boy had burned all his work on Azazel, and Azazel in turn had sworn to leave him and his little family unit alone. Wherever they called home, even: their homestead was safe from him.

So there was a little wiggle room. The apartment Sam Winchester was renting for himself at school wasn't home. Even if he'd owned the place, it still wasn't home. No, home was now a little place near Chicago. A sweet little place that made Azazel want to gag. He'd graciously given the hunter retirement, and what had John done with it? Planted a garden for hell's sake.

Some people you just couldn't help.

A bustling little blonde hurried through the doorway with a bag in each hand, a smile and warm embrace for Sammy. Oh, how sweet. Sam welcomed her with a bright smile of his own, and Azazel was going to be sick or turn into a diabetic. This much happiness and sweetness was too much for him.

Still...there was something to be said about that much innocence and happiness. It was easy to twist, easy to mangle, easy to break.

Easy to destroy.

“Hello Sammy,” Azazel whispered, yellow eyes catching the light from the room. Sam paused as he followed his girlfriend, eyes darting towards the window, and Azazel's smile broadened, even though Sam couldn't see him. Oh yes, Sam was doing just fine. Sam would be perfect.

Perhaps that little promise he'd made John wouldn't turn out to be such a bad thing, after all. There was something relishing about having your prey come to you. Azazel wouldn't have to do too much, would still fit within the red tape confines of demonic law, and get exactly what he wanted.

Sam was back to traipsing after the cute blonde, and Azazel turned to leave. The salt at the window was starting to make him itch anyways. “We'll talk later, kiddo,” he tossed over his shoulder. They'd talk later indeed.

He had a few game pieces to put into place. God but it felt good to get back into the game again. Everyone else had been easy to mold to his design, but the Winchesters? They'd always been a challenge. He hadn't even done anything yet and already he was having to sit and think about how to get what he wanted. Couldn't just snap his fingers and have it appear at his command.

And that was the fun part.

He slid fast into the night, the wind picking up hard and fierce at his sudden disappearance.

Chapter Text

The apartment building didn't look like much, but Dean figured it was good enough. It wasn't home, not by a long shot, but it had a roof, a heating system (even if Sam bitched about it sometimes), and it had some of the best demon-repellent wards anyone could find. Devil's Traps, salt, anything they could get away with that the landlord didn't notice, they'd put up.

Dean switched the music off and parked the Impala before he made his way up the stairs to the third floor. Nice Saturday afternoon; perfect time to bug the kid. He knocked on the door and waited, instinctively glancing left to right down the hall. It was harder to put away his 'big brother detector', according to Sam, when the kid was involved. And yeah, he wasn't wrong, but tough. That was just how it was gonna always be.

The door opened, and Sam's face of confusion shifted into one of surprised delight. “Dean! What...you weren't supposed to come until next weekend!”

“I'm offended,” Dean said in mock-outrage, clutching at his wounded heart. “You forgot about our date?”

“Sam doesn't forget about dates,” an amused voice vouched from behind Sam, and a moment later a familiar blonde poked her head under Sam's arm. Sam gave Dean a smug grin and pulled her in close. “He remembers all of our dates: he even remembered the day we first bumped into each other.”

Dean grinned in return. “He would. Hey, Jess.”

“I take it you want my boyfriend for the evening?” Jess inquired, but she did it with an easy smile. Sam had picked well, Dean had to hand it to his brother. She was beautiful and understanding, even when Sam couldn't be completely honest with her. Sure, she'd met John and Dean multiple times, but he knew there had to be a curiosity about unspoken things. About the silent conversations, about how they'd grown up. About the burn scar on Sam's shoulder, and yup, there was the rage, right on schedule.

Fuckin' demon.

Sam was giving him a look that said Stop it and I'm fine all at once. Figured the kid would know what he was thinking about. Jess began to look confused, and Dean flashed her a grin fast. “Uh, yeah. You know how it is: gotta take him out to try and make a man out of him.”

“Yeah, I think I'm a man enough at twenty-two, thanks,” Sam said dryly, but he unwrapped himself from around Jess. “Let me get my shoes; I'll meet you down at the car.”

He headed back into the apartment, leaving Jess and Dean by the door. Jess quirked an eyebrow at him, and Dean couldn't help the grin that popped up.

“Seriously Dean, go downstairs: quit staring at my girlfriend!”

Jess started giggling, and Dean rolled his eyes but headed for the stairwell. Didn't even have to look, and Sam knew exactly what he was doing. He still bounced down the stairs though, taking them two at a time and feeling like a little kid.

He didn't see Sam often, now that the kid was at Stanford. And god but that had been a shock to everyone when the letter had come in for a full ride, but they'd all been happy for him. Dad had insisted he take it, even. They'd driven him out to California, unpacked him in the apartment living for students, then said their goodbyes. California to Chicago was a long drive, but Dean didn't mind making it. What else did he have to do with his time? His job was part-time at best, and they were off season now.

Besides, this was his kid brother they were talking about. And Dean was twenty six, but he could readily admit that he missed seeing Sam every day. Missed having his little brother around.

Sam came out a few minutes later, pulling a hoodie on with a smile. “Y'know, she's mine,” he said, giving Dean a look.

Dean chuckled. “Yeah, I know. Besides, she wouldn't look at anyone else except you, you dumbass.”

Sam turned a little red around the ears at that, but he grinned anyways.

And he kept grinning right up until Dean said, “And I just like riling you up; only reason I do it.”

Sam slid into the passenger side with an annoyed look on his face, and Dean laughed as he pulled away from the curb.

Ten minutes later they were cruising down the highway, no destination in particular. The radio in California was decent, Dean had to admit that: they knew their music, and rock was always in style out here. “So...what merits your coming out here early?” Sam asked. “Not that I mind, because I don't. Not in the slightest.”

He didn't think Sam would. “Eh, Dad found a hunt this weekend, and he didn't need my help on it. So I took off a couple of days ago, about when he left.” Sam's raised eyebrow made Dean feel like blushing, and Dean Winchester? Did not blush. “What? I didn't want to stare at the walls.” And, because he was feeling gracious, he added, “I missed you.”

Sam softened at that, just like Dean had known he would. Sucker for chick flicks. Still, Sam's quiet, “I missed you, too,” left Dean with a warm feeling inside. They saw each other a few times a year, called a lot more than that, so it wasn't like they hadn't spoken for the entire time Sam had been at college. Dean couldn't even begin to imagine what that would feel like, and personally, he never wanted to. A few times a year was hard enough.

Which seemed stupid and clingy but after growing up with Sam always at his side, this just seemed...wrong. He wasn't begrudging Sam his chance to go to school in the slightest, he just missed his little brother. A lot.

And yeah, a part of him was always going to be afraid. He was always going to remember that night from hell, where Sam had almost been taken from him, and inevitably he'd always want the kid by his side to make sure he was okay. He'd come so close to losing Sam. If he hadn't gotten up, if he hadn't felt the decrease in weight from Sam's side of the bed...

God. Eight years, and it still felt like yesterday.

He cleared his throat, feeling Sam's eyes on him, and started looking for the exit. “You feel like steak?”

“Yeah, that sounds good.”

The Impala glided onto the exit and to their usual place whenever the Winchesters came to town.

The door burst open, and laughter echoed through the parking lot. “No, no, that time, you were fifteen-”

“Oh god no-”

Sam was near bent over, he was laughing so hard. “Oh man, Dad's face-”

Yeah, Dad's face had been memorable all right. “Hey, hey, let's remember who actually put the cupcake there in the first place.”

“I put it somewhere you'd see it, Dean! I never expected Dad to sit down first!”

Dean threw his head back and laughed long and hard. Sam was sputtering indignities, but eventually he gave up and joined in again.

They'd had their dinner, then moved to the back of the restaurant, towards the bar and the pool table. The latter part of the evening had been spent reminiscing, drinking, and bewildering the poor patrons who sucked at the game.

Dean gave a few last laughs, winding down from the high. Sam was still chuckling when Dean threw an arm around his shoulders and led him towards the car. “How happy is Jess gonna be when I drag your sorry ass home like this?” Dean asked whimsically.

“'Bout as happy as she's gonna be when the hangover sets in,” Sam admitted, and Dean grinned.

“You didn't drink that much.”

“Lightweight, Dean. I told you I'd be the first to admit that.”

“And so you did,” Dean agreed. He stopped them both when a small beeping caught his attention. That sounded like his cell phone. “What the...?”

Sam waited while Dean found his cell phone. Voicemail read across the screen, along with 1 Missed Call from Dad. Dean winced even as he dialed for the voicemail. “It was loud in there,” Sam offered, but he sounded just as enthusiastic as Dean felt. Ignoring a phone call from Dad wasn't a wise thing to do. Dad didn't like leaving messages.

The first part of the message sounded like a wind tunnel, and Dean's frown inched its way down a little more. “What's the matter?” Sam asked, his earlier amusement gone. “Dean?”

“Dean, it's me. God I was afraid of this, but...but get to Sam right away.”

Dean's stomach plummeted. “Dean?” Sam asked, voice sharper and instantly sober. Dean shook his head and held up his hand, and seconds later Sam was right against Dean's shoulder. Dean obliged by turning the phone so they could both hear.

Dad sounded like crap, like he'd been running for a long time. “Bobby told me about some weird things going on around Sam's campus, and I know. I burned it all, but I still remember it, enough to know that it's him. It's the demon, Dean.”

Oh god. Dean's eyes instantly slid to his sibling's. Sam looked ghost white, staring ahead at nothing. “You're fine,” Dean instantly assured, and Sam's head whipped towards him. “You're gonna be fine, Sammy. I'm right here, okay?”

Sam didn't nod right away, and when he did, it wasn't convincing.

“I...dammit Dean, he was supposed to be safe. We made the deal, and you were both supposed to be safe. I...thing is....don't...”

Dean frowned when the call cut out completely. “Dad?” he said, even knowing it was recorded. The hell...?

“EVP?” Sam suggested shakily. He was still rattled, that much was certain. Not that Dean blamed him, because this was supposed to be over, and he wasn't supposed to be standing in a dark parking lot telling his little brother that his worst nightmare was coming back for him.

“I don't know,” Dean said. God this was messed up and wrong, and the rage and helplessness threatened to swallow him. He swiped a hand over his face, regretting each and every one of the beers he'd downed that evening. “Let's just...get you back to your apartment, go from-”

Sam's eyes widened, and it would've been comical if any of this was worth laughing over. “Jess,” he breathed, and then he was darting for the car, Dean right behind him. The Impala flew out of the parking lot, hitting the highway and pushing the pedal down. They were maybe twenty minutes out from the apartment, and that was if Dean did speed limit, which he definitely wasn't.

Sam, meanwhile, was pressing buttons frantically on his phone. It shook in his hands, even as he tried to listen. “Oh god, she's not answering,” he whispered. Then, “Jess, it's me: get out of the apartment, please. I'll explain later, just run.” Then it was back to pushing buttons, holding the phone to his ear to listen. Pushing buttons, holding the phone to listen.

The seventh time, he almost whimpered, and Dean's chest twisted. “She'll be fine,” he promised. He reached out and caught Sam's shoulder, then gripped it hard. “I swear, Sammy, she'll be fine, and we'll be prepped when it comes.” Why it was coming Dean didn't know, but it had promised, and it wasn't supposed to be able to break its fucking promises. Not like this.

Sam was supposed to have been safe.

Even before they reached the apartments Dean could see the sky was brighter than it was supposed to be. “Oh god,” he murmured, and began to slow the car down. 911; he needed to call 911 and fast. Why hadn't they done that before? Easier to call and explain a mistake than to not call when the fire was already burning.

Then he was slamming to a halt as the passenger door flew open, and even as he pulled up to the corner Sam was flying down the sidewalk towards the burning apartments. Oh god. “Sammy, no!” Dean shouted, hurrying out of the car. Sam was already way ahead of him, but it didn't stop Dean from running after him. His heart was pounding in his chest, panic flooding through his system and kicking his adrenaline into overdrive.

And then Sam disappeared into the flames and Dean's heart stopped.

Chapter Text

As soon as the smoke hit his face Sam froze in the stairwell. He could hear sirens, he could wait for help, but it could be too late. Fear paralyzed him, but Jess had to be upstairs. Jess.

“JESS!” he shouted through the smoke. Belatedly he remembered to cover his face, and he pulled his hoodie up past his mouth. Then he was flying up the stairs, taking them two at a time, making his way into the thickest part of the smoke.

The fire was coming from their apartment. It wasn't smoke anymore, it was flames, and for a moment, Sam couldn't help but stare. His shoulder felt like it was burning again, and his eyes flew to his arm to make sure. But it was fine, not on fire, and he turned back towards the room. To the flames, which were covering everything. Consuming everything in their path, and Sam could feel it behind him, trying to eat him, licking at his skin, burning him-

Hands yanked him backwards and towards the stairs. “Sammy come on!” Dean yelled above the din, already hauling him back down.

They were almost back on the ground level by the time Sam regained his wits. He immediately tried to pull himself away, but his brother's grip was unrelenting. “Dean, no, Jess-”

“She's outside,” Dean told him, pushing him towards the door. “She's outside, we have to get out, I have to get you out now.”

The clear air was such a shock to his system that Sam found himself coughing, unable to stop. Hands kept pushing, then pulling when his knees gave way. He was almost dragged at that point, and when his legs refused to hold him up any farther, the hands gently lowered him to the grass, where he kept coughing until he gagged.

“Just breathe,” Dean whispered shakily in his ear. “You're out, you're fine, just breathe for me Sammy. I got you, I got you.”

“Sam?!”

Jess. She was safe. Panicked but safe, and how had she gotten outside? God but he'd thought she'd been inside, and the relief threatened to cripple him. Even as he tried to push himself up the world tipped, and steady hands were there to right him again. “Take it slow,” Dean advised. His voice wasn't trembling anymore, but his hands still didn't feel steady, either. “Cops have got her held back.”

Slowly Sam managed to lift his head. His eyes still burned from the smoke, and he coughed again when his throat refused to work. But through the smoke he could still see her, blonde hair lit up by the flashing lights. Her face was filled with terror, and she only mildly relaxed when she saw Sam looking back at her. “Sam!” she shouted over the din.

Then the firemen were there, helping Dean help Sam, and together they made their way across the yard to the street. Sam hadn't realized how hot the building behind him had been until the heat disappeared, and he was left feeling cold. “We need a blanket,” Dean called out, and moments later something was wrapped around him. It felt too heavy to be a blanket, and when his fingers found the edges to grip it closer, he felt leather. The jacket was still warm from Dean's body heat, but it was more the action itself that warmed him up inside, and it was a stupid cliché but Sam figured he was goddamn well allowed at that point. His apartment was up in flames, and he'd thought his girlfriend was in it.

Jess. He had to get to Jess. “Jess,” he tried to say, and wound up almost bent over, coughing and choking again.

“I'll get her,” Dean assured him. His hands were still wrapped around Sam, hadn't let go since he'd grabbed Sam inside. “I'll get her, Sammy. She's fine, you're fine. I promise. Everything's gonna be fine.”

Except it wasn't fine. Jess was hurrying over, alive and not in the fire, Dean was right next to him holding on as tightly as Sam needed him to, Sam was a little full of smoke but unharmed, but. No. It wasn't fine in the slightest.

His dad's words from the voice mail came back to him, and Sam could feel his stomach churning even more than it already had been. The adrenaline come down wasn't helping, and Sam found himself shivering from a multitude of reasons. The demon. Racing to find Jess. Everyone alive. Being burned alive, and Sam shut his eyes tight.

“Dean, is he-?”

“He's okay: he dashed inside, thought you were in there.”

“Oh god, Sam.”

“Superman'll be fine,” Dean added, trying to instill levity, and Sam finally let his eyes open.

Jess was there, kneeling in front of him, looking freaked as all hell. Dean was half-standing, half-kneeling to his right, bent over to gaze and catch Sam's face. Sam realized suddenly that he was back on the ground, and he could feel something solid behind him. “Think you can stand?” Dean asked.

Sam's reply was to start pushing up. Jess was immediately there to help him up, and then he was leaning back against something metal and cool. The Impala: it had to be. The car was safe, everyone was safe.

Except they almost hadn't been. Jess had almost been dead, because she'd been living in the same place Sam lived, because the demon had come after Sam and found her instead, and she could've wound up on the ceiling just like Sam had, and Sam had stucco ceilings that would've hurt being pressed against, and Sam buried the palms of his hands in his eyes. He could hear Jess and Dean's worried voices swirling around him, but he ignored them for the moment. He just needed to breathe. He'd been breathing fine for years, and now this.

Now it was back. And Sam found that he couldn't breathe anymore.

“Sam, say something!”

It was going to come back. It was going to come back for Sam again, and it was going to do to him exactly what it had done to Dad: it was going to take the people he loved and hurt them. If he didn't come directly for Sam, he'd come for everyone around him. It had almost started with Jess, Jess who was supposed to have been in the apartment but hadn't been.

“Sam, talk to me, please.”

He would. He'd talk. And it was the last thing he wanted to tell her, last fucking thing he ever wanted to say, but he'd do it.

Slowly Sam pulled his hands away from his face, feeling the gritty ashes on his skin. Jess looked even more freaked out than before, and Dean didn't look much better. “We should get you to the hospital, get you looked at,” she said shakily, and memories from the last fire-induced hospital visit flooded through his mind. The burns, the bright lights, being kept from Dean and Dad for so long. He shuddered involuntarily, then met her gaze as steadily as he could. There was really no way to segue into this, but he'd try. For her sake, he'd try.

“Do you remember when I told you about Taylor? And I said he was an intersexual, and you thought I was lying and things like that couldn't really happen?”

Jess and Dean both frowned at the abnormal topic twist, but it was Dean who guessed where he was going with it. His brother tried to rein in his dropped jaw and spin something fast. “You know an intersexual? A real hermaphrodite? Seriously?” he joked, but his eyes were speaking a million miles a minute. You can't be serious and Don't do this and What the hell are you doing?

Jess found her voice after that. “And you were right and there was a lot of awkwardness for awhile, yeah, but what does that have to do with any-”

“I have something even more incredible to tell you,” Sam whispered. “And you're not going to believe it anymore than what I told you about Taylor.”

“I can't believe you told her.”

Sam kept staring out the window. Scenery flew by, even under the cover of darkness. His hands were still shaking in his lap, but it was just the fading remnants of the adrenaline surge. He pulled Dean's jacket around him a little tighter, breathing in how much it didn't thankfully smell like smoke. He'd feel better if he slept.

He wasn't exactly sure if he'd ever be able to sleep again.

“I can't believe you told her, Sam. What the fuck were you thinking? How the hell did you think she was going to react?”

“Exactly how she did,” Sam murmured. His voice felt unused, even though he'd been talking not even seven hours before. He remembered the last words he'd said before shutting up. “We gotta find Dad.”

That had been after his quiet, “I'm sorry,” to Jess.

He'd told her the truth. The demon, hunting, everything he'd kept from her for almost three years. Dean had stood, staring in growing terror as Sam had effectively destroyed his world. He'd tried to cut in, tried to minimize the damage, and Sam appreciated it. He truly did. But he'd had to tell her, for her own good. Offered his apology at the end of his horror story.

She'd stared at him like he was a lunatic, then had roundly slapped him, leaving him to stagger back against the Impala. He wasn't sure if she believed him or not, but either way the slap was deserved. She'd left, trembling, heading back for the bright lights of the ambulance and fire trucks. Dean had helped him to the car, and even before his brother had gotten in Sam had dialed their dad. Straight to voicemail. Time to find Dad.

Except after seven hours of silence, which had followed Sam's last statement, Dean had apparently decided enough was enough.

Dean was still staring at him like he was insane. Pretty much exactly how Jess had stared at him. “Sammy, I don't get why you did it. Why tell her? The hell good did it do?”

“She broke up with me,” Sam said, and his voice sounded faint and distant even to him.

“Yeah, no shit Sherlock,” Dean snapped. “Of course she broke up with you.”

“I know; she had to.”

Dean pinched the bridge of his nose. “You're not making any sense. I should've taken you to the hospital.”

“Smoke inhalation doesn't affect the mind,” Sam said. “At least, not that I know of.”

“Then why? She was fine, Sam! Not a scratch on her, perfectly safe.”

“That's the problem!” Dean was full out and out staring at him, and they were probably crossing the middle line because Dean was a terrible driver when he wasn't paying attention, but Sam wasn't stopping now. “That's the whole goddamn problem, Dean! She's alive, she's safe, and a perfect target if the demon fucking comes back!”

His throat protested the sudden abuse and he coughed, trying to clear the catch that seemed permanently embedded in the back of his throat. A bottle of water appeared in his vision, and Sam tossed the lid somewhere and choked back a few swallows. The car fell silent, almost like it would stay that way.

Almost. This was his brother they were talking about. They could say that Sam was the most stubborn Winchester, but he'd learned it from his big brother, who could hold onto something and not let go like a terrier with its prize.

“Sammy, you can't...we don't even know if the fire-”

“Don't say that to me,” Sam said lowly. He turned his glare towards Dean and hated that he could feel his eyes burning. “You know damn well what started that fire. Don't lie to me.”

“No one was on the ceiling,” Dean argued. “We called back to see with the cops and there was no one in the apartment. Not its usual MO.”

“It was a warning,” Sam insisted. “And you know it. It's too much of a coincidence: the demon's signs near my campus, the fire starts in my apartment? We don't do coincidences, Dean.”

“I know, okay!” Dean shouted suddenly. He wrenched the wheel a moment later to the right, cursing harshly. The car came to a sudden stop and then he was turning towards Sam, eyes way too bright. “Goddammit Sam I know. I know it's responsible, and you knew that when we got back to the apartment and you still ran right into the fire. I pulled you out of that fire eight years ago, and I had to watch as you ran right back in!”

“Do you know how hard it was to do it?” Sam yelled back. “But I had to! If Jess had been up there-”

“I know!” Dean deflated after that, rubbing at his eyes. “I know, Sammy. I just...”

Sam felt himself fall back into the seat, the urge to fight gone. “You didn't have to tell her,” Dean said quietly.

It was a shaky breath in, but a steady breath out. “Yeah, I did. I'll...call her up when this is over, when I know it's safe. Tell her the smoke did something to my head.”

“Thought smoke didn't affect the mind?” Dean said, and when Sam met his gaze, his brother was smiling ever so slightly.

Sam snorted, elbowing Dean. “Must have.” And because he had to, he added, “I always figure my level-headed brother will haul me away from the smoke, save my ass. He's good at that.”

“Damn straight he is,” Dean said, and just like that Sam knew he was forgiven for running back in. Dean still wouldn't like it, but he'd forgive and forget anyways.

Even Dean's added, “Don't you dare ever do it again,” only made Sam feel better. God but he didn't know what he'd do without his big brother.

“Get some sleep,” Dean advised. “I'm gonna call Dad again, then see if we can stop at Jim's place on the way back to home. He helped Dad out last time.”

“Wake me up if you need to,” Sam said. Exhaustion made it easy to shut his eyes, even easier still to fall asleep with Dean's voice talking softly in the background. Jess was safe for now, and Sam had his big brother by his side. The demon couldn't get him if Dean was around. Dean wouldn't freakin' let it happen, and with a soft sigh Sam finally succumbed to sleep.

It was too warm. Dean was always a furnace, and Sam tried to shift away and toss the covers off. When he didn't feel them, he was tempted to open his eyes just to roll them. How someone who was as perpetually warm as Dean was could still want all the covers, Sam didn't know. He tried to turn again, seeking the cool spot of the mattress. When he found himself unable to move, Sam opened his eyes at last.

Dean was laying on the white bed below him, staring up in horror. Even as Sam tried to push himself up, he could feel the sudden ignition of flames behind him. They took hold of the room fast, and soon Dean was as engulfed as Sam was, screaming in pain as Sam shouted his brother's name in fear.

“Sammy!”

Sam gasped and sat up fast, nearly smacking his face and knees into the dashboard. “Whoa, whoa, take it easy,” Dean soothed. “Just breathe for a minute, all right? Take it easy, I got you.”

Three little magic words, and Sam found himself able to focus on breathing. “How bad?” Dean asked a moment later. Pretty obvious it'd been a nightmare.

“Not great,” Sam admitted. “I...kinda figured it was gonna happen. Bad memories. That's all.”

“Just you on the ceiling?”

And Dean burning below him. “And fire,” Sam added softly. Last thing he needed was for Dean to freak out over Sam's subconscious. Dean's hand squeezed lightly on Sam's shoulder; he hadn't even known it was there.

He also hadn't known that they'd stopped. Pastor Jim's small church and home was right in front of them, the wind blowing through trees nearly empty of their leaves. The sun was well over the horizon, and Sam's stomach rumbled. He tugged Dean's jacket a little closer to hide any further sounds, but Dean only chuckled.

“C'mon Sammy: let's get you inside. Jim's bound to have food.”

Getting out of the car was slow and difficult. Muscles bunched up from the long drive, lethargy having set in after the stressful night. But Dean was right there, taking him by the arms and helping him carefully to his feet. “Go slow,” Dean advised. Sam nodded and let Dean take a few beginner's steps. After that, he signaled for Dean to let go, but was still grateful when Dean stayed close enough to catch him. Walking wasn't easy, but each step helped. Cleared a little bit of his smoke-filled mind, helped put out some of the fires. Dean was there, Sam was fine. They'd talk to Jim, find Dad. Sam would be back to Stanford, doing some impressive making-up to Jess, but he'd be fine.

Dean knocked on the door, then froze when it opened under his touch. Sam stared at the mangled lock, easily visible now that the door was open. Oh god. A break-in.

They didn't believe in coincidences.

Dean's hand whipped to the small of his back, pulling his piece out. He waved Sam back with his head, then carefully crept inside. The car wasn't all that far away, and Sam could easily open the trunk and get a gun of his own. He hated playing civilian.

Except that would mean leaving Dean. And when Dean glanced back for him, he knew his brother was just as happy about that as Sam was. No, he'd play civilian. Leaving Dean wasn't an option. He stepped over the threshold, keeping his sounds to a minimum.

Didn't seem to matter. Whatever had happened was long since over. The living room was a disaster area, and the kitchen off to the side was equally as torn apart. Blood spattered the counter, and Sam had to close his eyes. They'd ended a nightmare in that kitchen, Dad declaring that he was done hunting the demon. It was supposed to have been over.

Why wasn't it over? Why had it come back?

Dean stepped back towards him, taking him by the arms and guiding him out of the house. “Jim's gone,” he said as soon as they were outside. “I found sulfur in a few of the rooms.”

Demons. Sam stumbled on the ground and Dean immediately pulled him upright. “Dean,” Sam said helplessly. Dad was gone, Jim was gone, his apartment was in flames, and his world was crumbling in.

“We're gonna be okay,” Dean promised. “I swear to god, Sammy, nothing's gonna happen to you while I'm here. I got you, we're gonna be fine.”

“But...but what do we...” God, he felt like a kid again, scared and clinging to Dean, begging his big brother to help him fix his ripped-up teddy bear, pleading to make the nightmares go away. Dean couldn't make the nightmare go away this time.

Damn if Dean wasn't going to try, though. Stubborn terrier. “We go to base two: Bobby. If anyone would know what's going on, it'd be him. We'll find him, we'll be fine. I swear to god Sammy we'll be fine.”

Sam was ushered into the car fast, and soon they were pealing out of the driveway. His stomach rumbled again, but Sam ignored it. The last thing he wanted was food.

The only thing he wanted was for something to make sense again.

Chapter Text

Even as they pulled up to the salvage yard, Dean knew something was wrong.

The entire ride over had been tense, and Bobby hadn't answered his phone. That had been the first troubling sign: Bobby always answered his phone. Even if he wasn't answering his dozen other phones he had for various cover stories, he always answered the main one. He had a business to run, after all. So by all accounts, he should've picked up at the first ring.

Definitely should've picked up the twentieth and thirtieth rings, too.

But the salvage yard was way too quiet, and as they stepped out of the car, Dean realized why: no friendly dog to greet them. Bobby's dog was always there.

This was nine types of bad, and Dean was still struggling to remember when everything hadn't been turned sideways.

There was a crash from inside, and they both froze for a minute. Then Dean was hurrying forward, grabbing for his gun, flying up the stairs. Sam was behind him, staying as close as he could, and as much as Dean didn't want his brother out of his sight he refused to put Sam in harm's way. “Stay back,” he whispered. The front door was open slightly, and another crash had Dean bursting through, gun raised.

There were three men standing in the living room. All three looked completely out of place, nothing identical about them. Cop, businessman, and chef, of all things. Different hair, different ethnicities. The only thing they had in common was that all three were keeping Bobby Singer pinned in the corner near his bookshelves.

And then they all turned to Dean, and he realized they all had black eyes. Demons. Three demons, all in the same place, and no wonder Bobby was backed up as far as he could go. Fuck.

“Them too,” one of the demons said, before turning back to Bobby. The other two headed for Dean, and Dean realized in a split second that Sam had followed him in, and worse yet, that the door was now being slammed shut behind them, trapping them in the room with three demons.

Trapping Sammy in the room with three demons. No.

“The bookshelf!” Bobby shouted, and Dean's eyes swung wildly around until they fell on a bookshelf on his right side. A jug of water rested on one of the shelves, and Dean grabbed it even as the demons hurried to reach him. The cap was flung off and the contents thrown, and both demons fell back with cries of pain. The hissing of their flesh made Dean flinch, but he tossed more of the liquid in their direction.

Suddenly the demon advancing on Bobby began to scream. Beneath the scream Dean could hear Latin being poured steadily off of Sam's tongue, his voice catching here and there. But the Latin was solid and soon all three demons were shrieking, covering their ears, trying to get to Sam. Dean only had to keep throwing water in their direction to make sure that wasn't going to happen, and moments later three trails of black smoke flew from the bodies, straight up to the ceiling only to disappear. Then the shrieking ended and the three bodies tumbled to the floor.

Then it was silent again. Dean rubbed his hands down his covered arms, trying to make the goosebumps go away. Freakin' screams were unnerving, and Dean had never heard more than one at a time. Three at a time...god.

Sam looked a little unsteady now that the Latin was done. “You okay?” Dean asked quietly. Sam nodded jerkily, and then his head shot up to gaze across the room. Bobby. “You all right?” Dean called, also turning to their friend.

“Wouldn't have been if you boys hadn't shown up,” Bobby admitted. “Jesus. Three demons. Never seen it. I mean, I figured it was comin' what with all the signs, but-”

“Signs?” Sam asked. His eyes were wide, and suddenly Dean remembered what had started this endless nightmare of running in the first place.

Bobby told me about some weird things going on around Sam's campus

“Like the signs around my apartment?”

Bobby sighed. “Yeah, those. Your daddy get out to you boys okay?”

Dean was suddenly really glad they hadn't stopped to eat anything after leaving Jim's: he'd tried to encourage Sam to eat, but Sam had shaken his head no, even with his stomach rumbling. Now Dean's own stomach was twisting, and what the hell had happened to his world? “He was coming to us?”

Bobby's frown disappeared in shock. “He didn't call you?”

Yeah, there'd been a call all right. “He did, but the message got scrambled. There's not a lot left of it, and if he said he was headed towards us, we can't hear it.”

When Bobby Singer looked freaked, it was time to duck and cover. Shit. “Then how'd you boys know to come here?”

“It's a long story.” Dean glanced back towards Sam, and found that his brother was no longer there. He whipped his head around rapidly, only to stop when he found Sam crouched next to the three bodies piled on the floor. His hand was pulling away from the neck of the cop, and for a moment Sam looked so young that Dean had to blink away the mirage of his fourteen year old brother to the reality of a twenty-two year old Sam. When his brother finally looked his way Dean knew they were all dead. Cop, businessman, chef. Somewhere, they all meant something to someone.

“They've probably got IDs on 'em of some sort,” Bobby offered, sounding gentle. The last time Dean could remember him sounding like that had been directly after the fire, and he shut his eyes tight, because damn if that wasn't exactly where this all wound back to? The demon wreaking havoc across their lives, and this was supposed to have been done. Sammy was supposed to have been safe, and it was a mantra running through his head. His brother was the salt of the earth, the only reason Dean felt like breathing sometimes, and that demonic sonuvabitch hadn't been satisfied with trying to take him the once. And goddammit, Sam was supposed to have been fucking safe.

“Let's take care of the bodies, then talk,” Bobby said, and Dean forced himself to nod and move, if only to make sure Sam didn't have to get any more involved than he already was.

“Honest to god, boys, I don't know what in the hell's going on anymore.”

Dean swallowed the last bit of whiskey from his shot glass and nudged it back towards Bobby. Sam looked like he was considering taking the whole damn bottle, and when he tried for another shot Dean reached out and snagged it before his fingers could find it. His brother glared at him half-heartedly, but Dean didn't care. The kid was a lightweight on a good day. God, just a little while before they'd been talking about how much of a lightweight he was, and they'd walked out of the bar, laughing and having a great time.

“You haven't heard from Dad or Jim?” Dean asked again.

Bobby shook his head. “Neither one, like I said. Last I heard from John was that he was on the way to you. Didn't know if he'd get there before you did, Dean. Whole world's suddenly gotten lit up like a Christmas tree with all the demonic omens and signs. Something big's trying to go down.”

“I don't understand,” Sam said suddenly, his voice loud enough to be a surprise. He looked angry, but underneath it Dean saw it as the fear that it really was. “I mean, the demon said it wouldn't touch us. It gave its word, and its word is supposed to be its bond, right? It's not supposed to break it, or even be able to do so.”

“It can't,” Bobby agreed. “It's not supposed to be able to do this. I don't care how high up on the demon ladder it is, it can't break its promise.”

It was like one of the light bulb moments Dean had seen characters in a mystery show have, where their face went from a frown to a wide-eyed stare of realization, and the pieces for one part of the puzzle fell into place. “It didn't,” he said quietly. Sam frowned at him, and Dean hated himself for what he was about to say, but he had to say it anyways. “It hasn't broken its promise. It hasn't touched you. Or me. And it probably hasn't touched Dad. But Jess isn't you. Jim isn't me.”

Sam's jaw dropped and his eyes flooded suddenly, and Dean felt like the worst big brother in the world. “Oh god,” Sam breathed, sounding winded. Then, “Oh god,” and Sam was pushing his chair away, stumbling from the table.

Dean's rise to follow was held back when Bobby caught his arm. “Leave him be for a minute,” he said. “But I think you hit it on the head. We're not specifically you three, which means we're fair game. It's a way to hurt without throwin' a punch.”

Which meant Sam's hope of keeping Jess uninvolved by breaking up with her was worthless. Sam still cared about her, and that was all the demon was going to care about. Everyone around them was a pawn to be used in order to hurt them, to get what it wanted.

“We're the ground you three run to,” Bobby continued, grimacing as Dean tried to rein in his own emotions. “And it knows it. Emotionally hitting, physically removing help. It's not stupid.”

His head kept swirling, and too many new ideas were cramming itself up in his skull at once. “Can it...can it break its promise if Dad breaks his?” Dean asked in a rush. “If Dad asked you to look at stuff around Sam's campus-”

“He didn't ask,” Bobby said. “Your daddy refused to do anything to put you boys at risk. I found the signs myself, and then I realized just how close to Sam they were, which is why I called John and told him. I didn't even know they were the signs for that particular demon, but he knew, right off the bat. He might've thrown the papers away, but your daddy still obviously remembers a lot about what he found on it all those years ago.”

“But could it break its promise if...?”

Bobby let out a heavy sigh. “Hell if I know. I don't know, Dean. It might be able to. Part of me wants to say that no, it can't, but part of me just doesn't know.”

The slam of the door made them both freeze, before Dean darted up and out of his chair. He hurried outside and found Sam stalking off to the car, his shoulders hunched up near his ears. “What are you doing?” Dean called after him. “Sammy?”

When Sam didn't answer, Dean pushed harder to catch up, and then caught his brother by the elbow to pull him back. “Hey, hey, talk to me. What's going on?”

“I'm leaving,” Sam said tersely, his voice low. “Let go.” He jerked his arm free and kept moving towards the car to, presumably, get his things.

Dean stared and felt like he'd been slapped. Leave? “The hell do you mean, leave?” he said. Sam didn't answer again, and Dean moved to pull Sam's arm back again. Sam fought back this time, trying to tug his arm from Dean's grasp. Unfortunately for Sam, Dean had no intention of letting go and leaving his little brother to go off for whatever reason he wanted to. “Sam, what the fuck are you doing?”

“Let me-”

“No, I'm not letting you go, just freakin' talk to me-”

“Dean-”

“Don't 'Dean' me-”

“I'm trying to save you!” Sam exploded. Dean froze, and even thought he let Sam's arm go, Sam made no effort to move away. Sam gulped down air and blinked rapidly. “You said it, Dean: it's trying to hurt us, hurt me. Which means it's gonna go after everyone I care about.”

“It can't touch me,” Dean argued, but Sam was already shaking his head.

“It's breaking all of its promises; I can't trust it to not hurt you. And god, Dean, hurting you would...” He swallowed hard and tried to regain his composure. “Losing Jess would've hurt like hell. Losing you would destroy me.”

Like Dean hadn't known that. “Yeah, and what do you think its hurting you is gonna do to me?” Dean challenged, because damn if Sam wasn't still attempting to leave. “God Sammy, outside of Dad you're all I have. And I'm not gonna let you take off somewhere that I can't follow to keep you safe!”

“I'm trying to keep you safe, Dean! I don't want to lose you! That's why I have to go, before it catches up with us and hurts you-”

“The demon can't hurt me or you, but it can take you, Sammy. Do you hear me? It can take you, and if you leave, right now, I won't be able to protect you.”

Dean didn't realize he was shouting until he stopped talking and everything got very still and quiet again. Sam still looked scared and tired and near his wit's end, but he wasn't reaching towards the car anymore. If anything, he looked like he was leaning towards Dean, and Dean caught him as he fell towards his shoulder. One arm wrapped around Sam's, and they stood there for a minute, leaning into each other. “I can't lose you,” Sam whispered.

“You won't,” Dean swore. “I'm not going anywhere, I promise.”

“No one's going anywhere.”

Dean's gaze slid from the top of Sam's head to Bobby, who looked like he'd been standing on the porch for some time. He stepped off the porch, fixing his cap more firmly on his head. “What we need is a plan, one that involves all party members,” he continued. “I suggest getting more wards and salt up in place and then sleeping before we make our next move.”

Sleep. Dean could do with some sleep. Scratch that, Sam could definitely do with some sleep. “And dinner,” Dean added, and he shook off Sam's automatic protestations. “Don't even bother arguing with me. You gotta eat something.”

“You're such a nag,” Sam muttered, but he was still leaning against Dean, still trusting that his big brother wouldn't let him down. And god knew that both of their worlds were in a tailspin but right now, they just had to focus on smaller things. Like getting Sammy to eat something and pushing him to sleep.

“It's my job,” Dean said simply, guiding Sam back into the house. Eat, then sleep. Then planning.

Chapter Text

Dean's fingers looked like they would break, they were wrapped around the wheel so hard. Not that Sam blamed him, considering where they were heading.

Honestly, Sam was more curious than anxious. About this one thing, at least. He knew what Lawrence meant to Dean, sure, but to Sam it'd only been a cursed place and name. Mom hadn't been an untouchable name for some years now, not after...what the demon did. In an effort to try and calm Sam down, Dean had actually opened up and started speaking about her. Their dad had even jumped in a few times with stories not even Dean had known, and they'd smiled at some of them, like how Dad had met her and tried to get his first date on the spot-

Dad. Sam swallowed hard, the sudden tightening of his chest completely unexpected. He wasn't just scared for Dean: he was scared for their dad, too. And yeah, his dad had the ability to hold his own in a fight and take care of himself, but the demon wasn't playing fair. Never mind the fact that it was a demon they were talking about here.

“You okay?” Sam couldn't help but ask. He wasn't the only one scared here, and when Dean had told him that he'd sworn never to go back to Lawrence, the look on his face had about done Sam in.

Dean nodded tightly. “Yeah, I'm good. You?”

“Been better,” Sam admitted. “A psychic? Seriously? What good is she going to do? Aren't psychics supposed to be terrible people, one step above what we hunt?”

“Depends on the person,” Dean said. “And depends on what they can do. From what Bobby said, this Missouri person can only read auras, loud thoughts. Just the type who set up shop to do palm readings and stuff. Pretty harmless to me.”

Harmless, yeah, right. But Dean's grip on the wheel had slackened slightly due to the change in topic. “What about the other people Bobby called? You ever heard of them?” Sam questioned, to keep the conversation going. He didn't think Dean would miss the welcome sign into Lawrence, which was bound to be in the next mile or so, but keeping him from hyperventilating or having a heart attack until they reached that point was a good thing.

“The Harvelles? No, no clue. He just said that they were a place that Dad would go for information and help on hunts, which made them fair game as grounds to run to.” Dean pursed his lips, but for a different reason than before. “I get my hands on it, I swear to god...”

“No,” Sam said, and his own heartbeat was starting to beat faster. “Dean, no. If I can't take off, you're not allowed to go after the thing.”

“You weren't intending on running towards it, though; completely different.”

“It's just more dangerous and stupid, and you're not fucking doing it.”

Dean turned to him for the first time in an hour or so and hey, looked like he was gonna miss the bright welcome sign on the right. “Hey, hey, I'm not going anywhere,” he said softly. “I told you that. I was just saying that your idea of stupid and mine were different things. I wouldn't do that to you, Sammy.” One of his hands came off the wheel and curved around the back of Sam's neck, squeezing reassuringly. Just like he'd done last night, when Sam had barely been asleep for an hour or two when he'd shot up from his nightmare, gasping for air, lost and scared but settling when Dean held on. “Just breathe; we're gonna be fine. As long as I'm around, nothing bad's gonna happen to you.”

He waited until Sam nodded slightly to return his hand and gaze to the road. Only Dean could take his eyes off the road that long and not drive them into a ditch. It was enough to almost make Sam smile.

Any thoughts of that died as soon as Dean took a look around at what they were driving through, and the fingers tightened around the wheel again. “Where are we?” Sam said, feigning ignorance.

“Lawrence,” Dean bit off. The apparent anger was just fear in disguise, and Sam knew that memories of that night twenty-two years ago had to be running through his brother's head. Probably were tied in with memories of another night, eight years ago, and Sam found himself wanting something to grip too. He focused his eyes on the back of Bobby's pickup, which was driving directly in front of them.

By the time Bobby pulled them to a stop in front of a house, Sam had mapped out all twelve dents in the back of the truck, along with twenty-three rust spots. Given a piece of paper and a pencil Sam could probably have drawn it, he'd stared at it so hard. Bobby stepped out, but Dean made no move to follow. His hands were still wrapped around the wheel, tight enough that it had to hurt. “You gonna be okay?” Sam asked quietly.

“I don't know,” Dean answered after a minute, and the raw honesty of the statement was a testament to his brother's state of mind. He did release his hands, though, and opened the door. “C'mon, Sammy.”

Scared to be here, but doing it anyways, because Bobby thought Missouri's was the safest place for them, which meant the safest place for Sam. Dean had the courage of a lion, and just when Sam thought he couldn't love his brother anymore than he already did, Dean had to prove him wrong.

He followed quickly, not wanting to leave Dean outside alone. Bobby was already up on the porch. Dean waited until Sam was in step with him before moving, shaking his hands out as he went. “You gripped the wheel too hard,” Sam said knowingly.

“Shut up,” Dean grumbled.

“You know he's right, Dean Winchester; don't give your brother no sass.”

Both Dean and Sam looked up at the new voice. Standing beside Bobby on the porch was a small, round woman, her hair done in a braided sort of afro. She raised her eyebrow at the both of them, but her smile was soft. “You boys ought to come in: I've got lunch all set and ready.”

Dean's eyes lit up momentarily, and the woman chuckled. “You were right: that one's attached to his stomach,” she said with a glance at Bobby. She moved her gaze to Sam, and her fought the urge to shift uncomfortably. If she went poking around his head-

“And you need lunch too, Sam, because I know you did not finish your breakfast.”

Dean swiveled towards him, accusation in his eyes. “I wasn't hungry,” Sam protested weakly. Sam's plate had been empty, the garbage a little fuller, when Dean returned from washing his hands to both pacify and please his brother. The sound of food now wasn't sounding any more appealing than it had six hours ago.

“Leave your brother alone,” Bobby said, giving Dean a look. “Missouri'll make sure he eats something.”

“Damn right I will,” Missouri said firmly. “You boys comin' in, or you gonna stand outside and stare at the sun all day?”

Dean motioned towards the house. Sam sighed and stepped up the stairs, Dean in tow. Missouri led them in and only had to point towards the kitchen to catch Dean's attention. Bobby followed behind his brother with a shake of his head, and with a resigned hunching of his shoulders Sam made to bring up the rear.

A gentle hand on his arm caused him to turn back. “Not my right to tattle about everything,” Missouri said, her dark eyes locking his gaze in. “So what's up in your head is yours to keep, Sam. But some things, you ought to tell others about. Like your brother especially. You shouldn't have to keep those pains to yourself.”

Sam stared, his heartbeat speeding up. Missouri sighed before leaning in closer and saying softly, “You did the right thing with Jess. I'm just sorry it hurt, baby boy.”

She stepped away into the kitchen, and it was a few minutes before Sam regained his composure enough to follow.

“You might as well ask; I can hear the thoughts poundin' through your head like a herd of elephants.”

Dean looked fairly annoyed by the analogy, but he didn't look as freaked out as he had when Missouri had done it over lunch. Maybe because he'd packed away two meals by that point. Maybe because he was tired, and there was a promise of a soft bed upstairs waiting for him. Maybe because he was pacing near the window, always with Sam in his eyesight.

Whatever the reason, it still didn't stop his brother's sarcasm any. “If you can hear it, I don't have to say it then.”

Missouri raised an eyebrow, and Sam had learned in the few hours they'd been there already that her look was one to reckon with. “Just 'cause I can hear it don't mean I don't wanna hear it out loud. But to speed things along yes, I've heard from your daddy.”

“When?” Sam asked, leaning forward in his seat. Her living room wasn't as big as Bobby's, but it still fit all four of them without a fight for room. “We've been calling-”

“I know you have,” Missouri said gently. “He told me what was coming your way and that he was pretty sure you boys would get out all right. Gave me a warning to watch out for what was bound to be comin' my way, and then ended the call pretty quick.”

“Forced to end quick, or deliberate John Winchester quick?” Bobby asked before Sam or Dean could.

“John quick,” she assured them, before she pursed her lips. “Not that that's any better, on a grand scale of things...”

“Not any better?”

Missouri sighed before answering Dean's question. “Honey, I don't mean to state what you already know but your daddy generally gives some indication of what he's doing, or what he wants done. When he called, though...he was evasive, wouldn't tell me what in the Lord's name he was up to. And I couldn't read him through the distance. I've gotta be close enough to a person to see them and feel them out, for lack of a better phrase. John ain't anywhere near here, and that's the only thing I'm certain of.”

Cool fear was starting to twist its way through Sam's gut, and he wanted to close his eyes and have this all be the worst nightmare of his life. It just kept getting worse and worse. Dad was AWOL, the demon was waiting for him out there, probably with a ceiling lined up just for him, and Jim was-

Jim.

“Do you know anything about Pastor Jim Murphy?” Sam asked even as Missouri began to speak. When she shook her head, a little more of his hopes sank. “You know who he is, right?”

“Met him once, by way of your daddy,” Missouri said. “He seemed like a good man, had his head on his shoulders. He's...missing?”

“We think he was taken,” Dean cut in, finally sitting down beside Sam. He nudged his knee against Sam's, a silent I'm here, and Sam felt stupidly grateful for it. Especially since his brother wasn't a fond member of the Chick Flick Club, but at that point Sam was pretty certain that if he'd asked Dean to hold his hand, Dean would have asked which hand.

And as embarrassing as it was, Sam wasn't so sure he was above asking.

If Dean could hold it together while he visited the place where he'd lost his home and mom, though, then Sam could hold it together for him, too. At least, that's what he'd been telling himself ever since he'd agreed to not leave the night before. It'd been an emotional decision, but saving Dean had been at the top of his reasonings. But he owed it to Dean to try and keep it together now. Because he knew that the demon was coming after him, knew he was the catalyst that was going to hurt everyone around him. He was the burden his brother was having to carry around, so yeah. He could hold it together; he could stay calm.

So long as nothing else happened, Sam could do that. Beyond that he made no promises.

Then he tuned himself back into the conversation, which he'd been half-listening to, because Missouri couldn't have said what she did. “Wait, no, Dad-”

“I know you heard me just fine, Sam,” Missouri said with a look. “Even if you were lost in thoughts that are as silly as they are wrong. Boy you are not responsible for what this demon is doin'. It's doin' what it damn well wants to, and it's hurting you because it can. But what it's doing? Not your fault, baby boy. And I guarantee you that no one here sees you as a burden, so if you keep it up, I'll whack you with one of my spoons.”

“And if she won't, I will,” Dean swore. Sam let out a heavy sigh and hunched his shoulders up as far as they would go. This whole psychic thing wasn't as harmless as Dean had insisted. “Sammy, you're not-”

“What you said about Dad isn't true,” Sam interrupted, fixing his gaze on Missouri, ignoring Dean completely. “Dad would never break his promise. And I know he hasn't, which means that the demon is just breaking the rules on its own.”

“But it's not breaking the promise,” Missouri countered. At least she was letting him leave off the other topic for now. “It's not hurting you or Dean, and that's what the promise was based on, right?”

Dean slowly nodded, reluctant to leave his thoughts on Sam's conversation. He still gave Sam a look that clearly said, We're not done talking about this, and Sam resigned himself to an uncomfortable talk later. “Right. The promise was to keep me, Sam, and Dad safe, untouched, and even wherever we made our home was off limits. And it hasn't done that yet: it's just been attacking everything else around us.”

Everything they'd ever touched, everyone they'd ever gone to. The home that Sam had been sort of building in Palo Alto with Jess hadn't been enough of a home, though, not enough for the demon to leave it alone, and if he'd maybe gotten more involved with her, or gotten less involved with her-

Missouri shot him a knowing look, and Sam forced his thoughts to subside. “That's why your daddy's worrying me. If he starts hunting this demon, he breaks his promise. Demons are bound in ways we aren't, and they can't break their promise for any reason except if the original deal is split by the other person. Like your daddy.”

“Which means the demon can take a potshot at these two,” Bobby said before taking another sip of his coffee. By now it had to be cold, but Sam was pretty certain that there was a dose of liquor in there that Missouri hadn't seen him sneak. He could nurse that coffee mug all night.

Not that Sam blamed him. He'd tried to get roaring drunk the night before, but Dean had cut him off. The idea of being completely intoxicated wasn't such a bad idea at that point. At least a tiny drop of alcohol would really help settle his nerves, and dammit, Sam had been trying to calm himself the fuck down. Dean deserved that much.

“I don't understand,” Dean was saying. “What the hell can Dad do, then? If he's not hunting it, then why not be here? Why not come back?”

“He could do other things,” Sam said after a moment, and a few more pieces put themselves together. “He could acquire the information for other hunters, whom he could ask to look into something he found.”

“It's a careful line to tread, but he could do it,” Missouri agreed, though she looked just as happy about the idea as Sam felt. He was really regretting eating anything. “But he'd have to do it right. And I don't know if he wants to take that risk with you boys.”

“Not entirely sure he has a choice,” Sam said quietly. The demon had made its decision, and for once, Sam actually understood their dad. They'd gotten closer, the years after the fire when Sam knew they'd been gearing up for some major battles. But he'd never really understood why their dad had had to hunt anything until just now. There was always someone to save, and the knowing that he could make the difference in their lives left him needing to do it.

Right now, Sam knew that he and Dean were the ones that needed to be saved. And John Winchester would do everything in his goddamn power to make sure they were. Besides, the demon had made the first move, like so many other supernatural things out there. They were the action, and his dad was simply the reaction.

Nothing like a little demon-hunting-you-down to give you some introspection and understanding on your dad's life.

They sat in silence for a long moment. Sam pushed back against Dean's knee, suddenly needing the contact. Dean glanced over at him, then kept staring. Sam began to frown, not knowing quite what his brother was looking for. There was fondness and love, but that was always there. Worry, fear, concern: a little more blatantly obvious than usual, but also familiar. The indecisiveness was unprecedented, though. Like Dean was internally warring with himself as to what he needed to do.

In the blink of an eye it all faded until there was nothing left but determination, and the fierceness of it made Sam uneasy. Dean swung his gaze back towards Missouri and leaned forward. “Dad can't hunt it, right? Because he's the one who made the deal?”

And suddenly Sam was back to their conversation in the car that morning, and what was supposed to have been a joke. “No,” Sam said firmly, causing Bobby to frown. “No, Dean. Absolutely not. You told me it was a joke-”

“Yeah, well, maybe now it's not,” Dean said, warming up fast to the idea. “We're the only ones it can't hurt, which means we're the best chance to taking it out. Because we can go after it, and he can't freakin' touch us.”

“No, but it can take us,” Sam snapped. Dean froze and turned to Sam, his previous zest disappearing fast. Sam pinched his lips and tightened his hands into fists to keep himself from trembling. “Remember? You said you wouldn't do that to me? Told me that you weren't letting me go because then I'd get near it, and that was the last thing you wanted? And I said you were all I had left?”

Dean kept deflating until he was back to where he'd started: looking concerned, worried, and indecisive. “I know. I know, I just...god Sammy, I need to do something.”

“You can keep Sam safe,” Bobby said. “That's what you can do. That's what your daddy would need you to do, and I know that's what Sam needs you to do.”

Any other time and Sam would've taken serious offense to being the damsel in distress, and hey, he already felt like a burden, thanks very much. But when Dean caught his gaze he felt all of fourteen again, scared shitless and wanting his big brother to wrap him up and keep him safe. “Please,” was all he managed.

Dean bit his lip, but said nothing. He nudged Sam's knee and gave a tiny nod. It was the only answer Sam needed, and he felt himself relaxing.

While knowing Dean wasn't going off half-cocked was a good thing, however, the fear and trembling from the idea still had his heart trying to slow the fuck down. The tension release left his fists uncurled, and his hands threatened to shake again. God but if he could stop acting like a complete and utter girl every two minutes...

Headlights fell over the window, slowing before disappearing. Sam could hear an old engine cut off, and Bobby peered out through the curtains. “It's Ellen,” he confirmed a moment later. “Made better time then I thought.”

“No matter: I've got places for people to bunk down,” Missouri assured him, rising. “I'll head out to meet our new guests, give the boys time to regroup before introductions because your brother's about to shake himself out of his skin and is halfway convinced he should be calm, Dean.”

“What happened to not tattling on me?” Sam demanded, even as Dean focused on him.

Missouri regarded him for a long moment. “I'm not,” she said at last, and Sam wondered how the hell he was supposed to stop shaking then. She left before he could even think of a response, and Bobby went with her.

“Looks like we got more calvary,” Dean said, even as he took hold of Sam's shoulder and gripped tight. “And she's right, dude; you're about to shake apart. Not that I blame you-”

“I'm fine,” Sam insisted, and focused on locking up all his muscles. “Seriously, we've got enough to deal with right now without my being a goddamn girl. I should be able to handle this.”

“Really? 'Cause I don't know why,” Dean said with a casual shrug. “Crap's kinda piling against us Sammy, I think you've got a right to freak out.”

“I've been freaking out.”

“Yeah, well, it's still piling up. I just don't like that you keep stressing yourself out.”

That, Sam knew, went against every big-brother instinct Dean had: if Sam was scared, Dean needed to do something about this. Unfortunately, there wasn't really anything his brother could do about this, and his lone idea so far for taking care of it sucked ass. “I'm trying not to,” Sam confessed. “You've already gotta haul me around; the last thing I should be doing is stressing you by stressing me.”

Dean's gaze narrowed, and Sam internally winced. Yeah, poor choice of words for someone who didn't want to revisit that particular conversation. “Yeah, and speaking of this 'burden' thing-”

“Boys, I'd like you to meet the Harvelles.”

Saved by two women. Sam pushed himself off the sofa to meet them. Bobby tilted his head towards them. “This is Ellen and her daughter, Jo. They run a Roadhouse for hunters.”

“It's more of a place for hunters to regroup, learn about hunts, or just drink a beer and play pool.” The older of the two, Ellen, put her hand out and caught Sam's in a firm grip. She looked like a no-nonsense type of person, her hair a little past her shoulders making her look far younger than what Bobby had said.

She wrapped her arm around the younger one, whose bright blonde hair was tied back in a loose pony. “Bobby told me and Jo to head down here, said something was goin' on. Didn't give me too many more details than that, except that it had to do with John.”

“And a demon,” Jo added. “When John – sorry, your dad – stopped through a week ago, he mentioned something about a demon he needed help with.”

Even as Sam's question perched on the tip of his tongue, the front door burst open, and the big windows in the living room exploded. Dean's hands were immediately on his shoulders, pulling him away from the mess, and Sam's hands felt like shaking again when the person who'd crashed through the windows stood up and locked gazes with him.

Black eyes. The demons had found them.

Chapter Text

“Go!” Dean shouted, keeping Sam tight in his grasp. Sam had frozen as soon as they'd burst through the windows, and Dean had to actually strain to pull Sam away. “Sammy, c'mon!”

Sam finally moved a little with him, stumbling and trying to keep up. Dean was already running for the kitchen, hearing Bobby pushing everyone to follow them. “Dean-” Sam tried to say, right before the kitchen door was shoved in hard. Sam flew backwards, startled, and Dean caught him and held him tight. “Gimme an exit, Missouri,” Dean called over his shoulder.

“That was it,” Missouri said, sounding breathless. Dean felt like cursing nine ways to Sunday, but it wasn't going to help Sam any. Sam, who was already fighting to breathe, and was he trembling?

Sonuvabitch.

Dean's rage slammed forward, and he pulled and pushed until Sam was behind him. “Dean, no!” Sam shouted, but Dean was already marching towards the two demons who had come in through the kitchen door. Both were bearing weapons of some type, and Dean's heart should've been jackhammering through his chest, because he was facing demons, two of them for god's sakes, but his rage was too strong. His inner big brother was overpowering any self-preservation he had, and all he wanted to do was maim something.

Even as he braced himself to take them on, they backed away from him. Dean stared in shock. He stepped forward again, and the two skittered back. Neither looked happy about doing so, and both of them were snarling. But they were still backing away, and it suddenly clicked.

They couldn't hurt Dean. They were the lackeys, here to take out the allies of the Winchesters, but they couldn't hurt Dean or Sam. Here, right then and there, he was the best weapon to save them.

“What are you doing?” Ellen shouted behind him as he advanced on the demons even more.

“They can't touch us,” Sam said suddenly. That's my boy, Dean thought for a moment. “Me and Dean, they can't touch us. We're off limits.”

Half a second later Dean's pride vanished, because he knew exactly what Sam was going to do. “Sammy no,” he called desperately, but Sam was already pushing the group behind him, glaring as best he could at the demons who were coming in from the other rooms. They grinned and leered at his little brother, but god help him, Sam wasn't backing down.

“Get to the door,” Sam ordered. When one of the demons made to step forward, Sam moved instead, and the demon was forced to retreat. Thank god they were lackeys, or Dean and Sam would've been screwed. They couldn't take the Winchesters: they were only here to attack.

“Everyone out!” Dean shouted, and the group made a run for the door. The demons hissed and tried to step forward, but Dean grabbed the nearest thing he could and swung hard. It felt like cold, heavy metal, and the demon screamed when it came into contact with the heavy frying pan. Dean grinned for half a second (iron, had to be, and good on Missouri for it) before he turned and reached for Sam. He swung in front of his brother, sending the demons flying away from the pan, and Dean caught his brother and ran for the door.

The others were waiting anxiously outside. “Everyone to their cars,” Bobby ordered, and they took off for the street. Dean could hear the demons coming up from behind, and he tightened his grip on Sam. He tossed the pan behind him and heard more screeching, but he focused instead on finding his car keys. He had them in hand a second later and opened his door fast. Shoving Sam in earned a gasp of surprise from his brother, but then Dean followed a minute later, and the door was slammed shut.

“C'mon, c'mon,” Dean muttered, twisting the key in the ignition. He could hear car doors slamming, engines revving, and finally his baby started. He hit the gas without really looking, and saw two trucks already moving ahead of him. The demons reached the Impala's door by the time he was taking off, and then everyone was flying down the road.

It was then, ironically, that Dean's heart decided to start thumping hard enough to hurt. The adrenaline he hadn't even known about was flying through his veins, and he felt a little dizzy. His temples were throbbing from it all, and his hands were starting to tremble. But they were out, and they were fine.

Which was, of course, the moment Sam started to freak out.

“Oh god,” Sam murmured, and his voice was definitely shaking. “Oh god, oh god, Dean, oh god-”

“Just breathe,” Dean ordered, feeling on the verge of hyperventilating himself. He tightened his grip on the wheel to steady his hands. “Just breathe, Sammy.” He let his own breathing get back on track before he asked, “Are you okay?”

Sam stared out the front window, eyes wide, still trembling. “Sam!” Dean shouted, and his unintended loud voice made them both jump.

“I'm not hurt,” Sam said, closing his eyes. “I'm...god. They didn't hurt me.”

Not okay in the slightest, but Dean would give him that one. Big brother wasn't exactly feeling fantastic either, and for the first time in his life food sounded nauseating. Never thought he'd see the day. “You okay?” Sam asked, and Dean nodded.

“Yeah, didn't hurt me.”

To Dean's surprise, Sam kicked the dashboard. “Hey!”

“You could've gotten hurt,” Sam seethed, fists clenched hard and tight. “You could've gotten killed, when you shoved me back, and what the fuck, Dean!”

Dean's nostrils flared as he prepared to deliver his response, but the anger fell away when he saw Sam's fists, shaking despite Sam's best attempts. “Sammy,” Dean began.

Sam didn't give him a chance, instead shaking his head. “Don't Sammy me, Dean. You told me that you weren't gonna do something stupid, that you weren't gonna leave-”

“I wasn't going anywhere,” Dean protested, but knew he deserved the scathing look Sam gave him. Maybe not physically moving and leaving Sam, but if the demons had killed Dean, well, he would've left. The look on Sam's face was answer enough.

Dean sighed. “Look, I just...I just wanted to hurt something.” He still did, but his heart probably couldn't take any more abuse for the night. “I wanted to maim the fuckers, I wanted to kill them, whether there were people still in there or not.” Sam's face was blank now, no indication of what his little brother was thinking. Dean swallowed and looked to the road. God, he had no idea what he was thinking anymore, either. Angry, scared, and every emotion in between.

“It's just...what I'd do for you, to keep you safe...Sammy it scares me sometimes,” he admitted.

Silence fell in the car, but it didn't last long. When Sam spoke again, the fury was gone, and Dean wasn't sure whether or not the broken tone to his brother's voice was better. “If keeping me safe requires you getting yourself killed, then I don't want to be safe. I just want my big brother. Don't make me lose you.”

The glance at Sam was met with wet eyes. Dean pursed his lips but finally nodded. Silence fell again.

It lasted a little longer this time, but it was still Sam who broke it first. “Where can we go?” he asked miserably. “There's nowhere else to go, Dean.”

Even as Dean wracked his mind for an answer, it popped in his mind, loud and clear. “Yes there is,” he said and began digging for his cell phone. “If they're not touching us, then the demon's not invalidating that part of the agreement. Anywhere we call home is safe.”

He had Bobby dialed a moment later, passing the news on to head for Chicago. Familiar ground would help Sam, settle him a little. It'd only been what, a day or two since Stanford? God. The kid needed familiar, needed safety.

He hung up with Bobby, who'd promised to tell the Harvelles. When the lane became open Dean slid to pass the others and take the lead. “Let's go home, Sammy,” Dean said. Sam didn't say anything, but the ease of tension could practically be felt.

Dean pursed his lips as the ringing buzzed in his ears. Twice. Three times. Four times-

This is John Winchester; if I can't be reached, call my sons, Dean and Sam. They can be reached at-

Dean stifled a curse and tossed his cell phone onto the sofa. Be nice if his dad answered the phone every now and then. Or, you know. At all.

“You intend on worryin' Sam more than he already is?”

Bobby's voice pulled Dean away from his glaring at the phone. The older man's eyebrows were firmly raised, and he turned his head towards the kitchen. Dean frowned but followed, then felt his chest tighten.

Sam was bundled up against the edge of the corner counter, arms wrapped tightly around himself as if to make himself smaller. His eyes were staring at the ground, his mind somewhere else. He looked like he was trying to control his breathing, except it wasn't working. He was biting his lower lip hard, and he stepped forward briefly, only to step back against the counter, leg restless to try it again.

Sam was completely freaking out. Looked like his previous relaxing had done a lot of good.

“You have to talk to him; we can't do it.”

Dean's frown deepened. “What do you mean, you can't do it? You don't speak English?”

“Honey, we don't speak Winchester,” Ellen said from the easy chair. Jo sat next to her on the arm of the sofa, her own worried gaze watching Sam move forward, then back again. “Ain't none of us capable of doin' that except you.”

Missouri nodded from the other easy chair. “It's called creolization, Dean. Two languages come together and make a new one. In this case, it's English and Brother coming together to make a unique blend that leaves you the only one able to speak it.”

Dean gave her a look. Missouri crossed her arms and gave him a look right back. “Don't you sass me none in that head of yours. We're just trying to make lightness out of something that hurts.” Her voice softened. “That boy in there needs you,” she said gently. “None of us are gonna be able to tell him the right thing. The only constant he has right now is you. He's lost everything else.”

“And besides, none of us really speak Winchester,” Bobby said, and Dean rolled his eyes. He still gave him a quick grin, and Bobby chuckled before clapping Dean on the shoulder. “Go on.”

Like he needed to be told twice. Dean made his way into the kitchen, knowing that the others would stay out of earshot. Not that Dean cared, but he knew Sam might.

Sam was pacing when Dean reached him. “You trying to put a moat into the floor again?” Dean asked, leaning back against the counter. “You tried that when you were little. Figured if you could wear a groove into the floor you could fill it with water and make a moat. Your own little castle of Sam.”

Sam didn't take the bait. Instead, he completely bypassed and ignored Dean's words and launched his own question, bursting out suddenly, “What if it has Dad? I know he's not answering his phone, and he always answers, Dean, always.”

“They would've told us already,” Dean stated firmly, leaving whimsical behind immediately. “They would've used Dad as bait to get to us, and they would've done so before we could get to everyone else. Either the demon's really stupid, which we know it isn't, or it doesn't have Dad. So Dad's fine.”

Sam didn't look convinced. His pacing was beginning to drive Dean nuts, and a quick step on Dean's own part was enough to halt his little brother. “Dad's fine,” he repeated softly. “And you have to relax.”

“Don't tell me to-”

“You have to relax,” Dean said. “Or you're gonna blow a gasket. I don't know what you have to do to let go, but right now, your fear is just gonna eat you up.”

“What else am I supposed to do?” Sam whispered, and suddenly it was eight years ago again, Sam's fourteen year old eyes shining up at him with terror. “Dad's AWOL and we're sitting ducks and it wants me-”

“You don't know that,” Dean said. “You don't know that it wants to take us. I have no idea what it wants, but we'll get to the bottom of this, okay? And I'll keep you safe: as long as I'm around-”

“Nothing bad's gonna happen to me,” Sam finished. His head dropped, but so did his shoulders. “I know. I'm just...god.”

The feeling was going around. Dean caught Sam's arms gently and bent down to look him in the eye. “Hey. There's a lot of other people around, too. Everyone out in that living room? They're all here with us, and I mean with us. They're not gonna let anything happen to us, and especially not gonna let anything happen to you. Not on their watch, and sure as hell not on mine.”

The bang on the door caused Sam to jerk, and Dean instantly tightened his grip. “Gun behind the-”

“Breadbox, I know,” Sam whispered, already moving behind Dean to get it. It was actually the only reason they'd bought the damn breadbox in the first place, but Dean had never been more thankful for it than now. He should've given Sam a gun earlier, but things had just moved so fast.

Bobby was already in the doorway, a rifle in his hand. Dean moved his head briefly towards the door, showing his intent. The look his friend gave wasn't a happy one, but he reluctantly nodded. Out of everyone, Dean and Sam were the safest.

And everyone knew that between Dean and Sam, Dean would be the only one reaching for the knob.

When Dean glanced out through the window, though, there was no hesitation as he yanked the door open. “Pastor Jim,” he said in shock, arms already reaching to catch the man. Jim coughed and coughed, and the tint of red on his lips left Dean feeling nearly helpless. He was covered in it, Dean realized. Torn clothes, cuts and blood everywhere.

“Inside,” Missouri said from somewhere behind him. “There's no demon inside him.” They still carefully carried him over the salt barrier, and everyone breathed a little easier when he passed. “The sofa-”

“No point,” Jim wheezed, then coughed again. This time the red wasn't a tint, and the sharp inhale from behind Dean told him Sam was there. “I don't fit on it; I've crashed here more times than I could count.” It was said with a smile, but a weak one, and another swift realization almost caused Dean to drop his hold on the man.

Jim was dying.

“What happened?” Bobby asked. Thank god he could ask, because Dean couldn't.

“Demons,” Jim whispered, closing his eyes briefly. “They...they came and took me. They don't have your father,” he added, and Dean felt nearly dizzy with relief. He wanted to glance back at Sam and give him a smile, one that said Guess I was right after all, huh?

Except then Jim kept going, and the next words left Dean's stomach falling out as Sam was proved right. “They want Sam. Dean too, if they can, but...but Sam's the one they want,” and the look Jim gave over Dean's shoulder was all regret. “I didn't tell them anything, Sam, about you or your family. I'm so sorry.”

“It's not your fault,” Sam choked out, and Dean finally turned and looked. The gun was hanging loosely from his brother's limp arm, and the best name for the look on his face was devastated.

Jim groaned weakly, and before Dean knew it Jo was taking hold of Jim, edging Dean out of the way. “Go,” she said softly. “We'll get him upstairs and see if we can help. And you: remember those of us not versed in Winchester?”

“Right,” Dean said, watching her easily take the weight of their friend. The others helped guide him up the stairs, Missouri leading the way. The front hallway had blood on it, he saw a moment later. Not a lot, but drops here and there. Who knew how many other drops there were outside just like it.

The next thing that caught his eye was Sam, setting the gun on the table and heading up the stairs. “Whoa, whoa, where are you going?” Dean said, catching his elbow.

“My room,” Sam said, his eyes on the floor now too. “I just...I just need to be alone for a little bit. Okay? Please?”

His room was a fortress of wards, salt, and anything else that screamed 'No Demons Allowed'. It was Sam's safe haven, mentally as much as it was physically, the place that their dad and Dean had worked so hard to make for him.

That didn't mean Dean was okay with the kid heading upstairs on his own, especially in the state he was in. At that point, the likelihood of Sam doing something stupid was pretty high. Sam got dumb ass ideas in his head when he got stressed, and right now, he was more stressed than Dean had ever seen him before.

“Dean, please,” Sam said when tugging didn't get his arm released.

Sam was at least looking at him now, which was an improvement to his staring at the blood on the floor he probably thought was his fault. Which it wasn't, and Dean anticipated a talk about that later on. For now, though, he was gonna have to let Sam go. “Yeah, all right,” he said, letting Sam's arm drop from his hand. Sam nodded gratefully and headed up the stairs. A few moments later the door shut, the click audible in the sudden silence.

It took Dean only a few minutes of standing in the hallway to turn and head for the kitchen. The window in Sam's room was locked in the winter, and getting out would make a racket. Which meant the only way in or out was the now quiet door, thanks to Dad's recent oiling.

Not that he didn't trust his little brother, but Dean would be happier if he knew that Sam wasn't going to take off and try something stupid. He rummaged around in the cupboards until he found what he needed, then headed upstairs towards Sam's door. It would be just enough to make noise without alerting Sam.

Everything in place, Dean headed towards their dad's room to check on Jim.

Chapter Text

Kid was falling apart. Taken longer than Azazel would've guessed, but that just meant that he'd been right to pull Sam Winchester back into the game. It was interesting to watch their little family dynamic, in an etic sort of way. John was keeping his distance, Dean-o was putting on a brave front for all his fear, and Sam? Sam was slowly starting to unravel, piece by piece.

“Just the way I like it,” Azazel said. He was near the driveway, his eyes locked on Sam through the window. The property lines were defined and he wouldn't cross them. Not even when Sam was alone and ripe for the taking. Besides, he wasn't the violent, forceful guy everyone pegged him to be. He wasn't about to throw Sam into a bag, haul him over his shoulder and run off with him to tie him to railroad tracks. Please.

No, the fun part was getting Sam to come to him. Because Sam would. Oh, Sammy would. It was only a matter of time.

And right now, time was on his side.

Sam had taken to pacing back and forth in his room. What the preacher had told him had obviously sent him reeling, just as Azazel had hoped. Originally, the preacher had been bait, but Azazel wasn't a patient demon by any means. Besides, letting the gentle man tell the truth and decimate Sam, leave him anxious and scared and pulling his hair out? Much better than his original plan.

Azazel began to smile. He almost felt sorry for Sam, so scared and so alone. Unfortunately, it was a tad necessary. He had to see what the kid did under pressure. If he caved like everyone else, then it was all for nothing, and he'd have to wait another couple of decades for the next batch to grow. This entire thing was far more difficult than baking cookies, and none of the kids tasted nearly as good as chocolate-chip heaven. Well, closest Azazel was ever getting to Heaven.

This one, though. This one had always been different. Good family. Hunting instincts. And just that touch of sympathy and heart that made him as sweet as it did bold. It made him as courageous as it did victim to swaying emotions.

It made him easy.

“Keep going,” Azazel murmured. “You're doing just fine, Sammy.” This one would be the one. This one wouldn't be a failure like the others.

He'd stay a little longer to watch his handiwork in motion (because he was a narcissist and an arrogant son of a bitch, he wasn't going to deny it), then he'd leave. The bungling earlier had possibly given him a door of opportunity, and hey, he was never one to look opportunity in the mouth. Or eye. Or some other bleeding orifice. Whatever.

The wind picked up and Azazel smiled. Couldn't have asked for a better night.

Ten minutes after fighting with himself, Sam finally gave in and admitted that the room didn't feel safe anymore. The wards seemed to mock him from the windowsill. They looked easy enough to break. He began to pace, fingers clenching into random fists. The entire room was too small, everything too neat and wrong, and he couldn't take it. Sam angrily kicked his desk chair away. When it flew much father across the room, only to smack into the closet door, Sam stopped fretting. He stared at the chair on the opposite side of the room for a long moment. Fear didn't fill him, but resignation did. He stumbled back to the edge of the bed and buried his face in his hands.

It was all so out of control. All of it. Sam felt like he was spiraling down and down into an abyss he'd never come out of, getting pushed even further down without a way of climbing out. He was going to be left feeling stuck and trapped, a demon on his trail, a freak-

He forced himself to breathe. Other people were chased by demons all the time. Sure. He swiped at the tears in his eyes and tilted his head back. Above his head were the black painted lines of the demon trap. Nothing evil or demonic could get out of it; it rendered them harmless as soon as they stepped in.

Sam would love to make a permanent one that followed him around all the time. Especially now if what Jim said was true.

It wanted Sam. Dean if it could, but mainly Sam. And just that small thing meant that Dean was in danger. Sam's stomach threatened to rise past his throat, but he swallowed past it. God. If the demon got a hold of Dean...

Images of his brother laid out, covered in blood, screaming and begging and dying were enough to push Sam off the bed. No. The demon only wanted him. The mere thought of that made Sam shudder and want to hide. God, whatever it wanted him for had to be bad. And it wanted him alive, which only made the now permanent knot in Sam's stomach tighten even further. He'd already known that it was bad, known for some time. But to have it laid out just sent any hope Sam had back into the recesses of despair.

It was best if he left. He'd save everyone else that way. Save his dad.

Save Dean.

He began to pack things into a small backpack. He didn't keep a lot of clothes here (most of his things were now in the charred rubble that had been his apartment) but there was enough that would keep him cool and warm. Other things, such as flashlight, first aid kit, and other necessities were shoved in.

It was the picture that about did him in. A small photograph of him and Dean sat on his desk. They were grinning, arm wrapped around each other, Sam leaning in towards his big brother. Sam picked the photo frame up and gazed at it for a long moment. They'd been happy that day. Carefree and fear free and happy. His brother grinned up at him, smiling almost infectiously.

His brother deserved to live. Leaving now was the best thing he could do for Dean.

When he realized his fingers weren't going to put the photo back down, Sam bit his lip and finally shoved it into the backpack on top of everything. The top was zipped up a moment later. Shoes were shoved on, a jacket was pulled from the closet, and then he made his way to the door.

Thank god the door didn't squeak anymore. Still, he pulled and opened the door as carefully as he could, casting his gaze down to the left towards the stairs. Off to his right and down the hall were the other rooms, which meant he'd have to sneak down the stairs. He pursed his lips but nodded to himself; he could do it. He pulled the door open a little more and slid himself out through the small opening he'd given himself. All he had to do was carefully shut the door, and then he was-

Not quite free, and he couldn't stop the shudder. No. For Dean. He had to do this for Dean.

As soon as he was through the door, however, he realized that there was a pressure that wasn't usually there. The door snapped shut suddenly, and Sam's head whipped to the right. The big rubber band that someone had put around his door knob had effectively closed the door with a bang, and the pan that had been holding the other end of the rubber band in place now fell from its precarious position on top of a pile of books. It made a huge clattering sound as it hit the wood floor, and in the two seconds it'd taken for all of that to occur, Sam froze and cringed. Goddamn his brother.

“Going somewhere?”

Smug dastardly son of a bitch. Actually, he didn't sound nearly as smug as Sam had thought, and still wincing, Sam turned towards the stairs. Dean was standing at the top, arms crossed, glaring at him. “You obviously thought I would,” Sam said.

“Guess I was right,” Dean snapped, and underneath the anger Sam could see the worry for what it was. “You stupid sonuvabitch. Did you really think I was gonna leave you alone in your room to what, ferment in moodiness so you could take off and do something stupid? And I swear to god, Sam, if you try and lay some trust crap on me I will pour Nair all over you-”

“They want me,” Sam said, his fingers clutching at the backpack still in his hands. “It wants me, Dean. Not anyone else. If they take me, they'll leave everyone else alone.”

“You don't know that they will, Sammy, and on top of that, you don't know what it really wants with you,” Dean insisted. The knot was back in Sam's stomach, screaming at him to answer Dean, and he forced it down. One thing at a time.

“You don't know that they won't leave you be. I'll make it keep its word-”

“It's trying to break its word to take you!” Dean exploded. Sam felt the backpack slip from his fingers in shock as Dean tried to heave in air. “You want the truth? Fine. I'm scared. I'm scared shitless here, Sam, for all of us. I don't know what to do, and I feel like I've had my legs kicked out from under me.

“But the thought of that thing getting its hands on you? Leaves me completely terrified,” Dean admitted, and Sam fought to swallow even as it got hard to breathe. For Dean to come out and say it, for his brother who held onto bravado like it was his middle name...

“Don't take off,” Dean pleaded. “Just...don't. We'll figure something out. There's gotta be something we can do. So don't take off.”

They stared at each other, both fighting to breathe. When Sam finally closed his eyes, Dean let out a sigh of relief.

“If you boys are done yellin' at each other, I need Sam.”

Sam turned to where Bobby stood in the hallway, gazing at them both with understanding. “What's up?” Dean asked roughly, then attempted to clear his throat.

“It's Jim,” Bobby said, and Sam's chest felt like caving in. “He wants to talk to Sam.”

Ellen and Jo were coming down the hall now, Missouri behind them. “I'll stay up here with you,” she called softly. Sam nodded as best he could and stepped forward, then paused. He could feel Dean's eyes on the back of his neck, probably trying to gauge where Sam's emotions stood and what he should do.

He solved that by reaching back and picking up the discarded backpack. “Make yourself useful and put it all back,” he tried to joke, but it fell flat. The small smile Dean gave in return was worth the attempt, though: he understood what Sam was saying. I'll stay. But you have to help.

“Go,” Dean said softly as he nudged him towards Missouri. “I'll play maid.”

Sam nodded more firmly this time. Dean was upstairs with him, only a few rooms away. Downstairs wasn't far either, but somehow his being on the same floor helped. He moved down the hall towards Missouri, stepped around her, and into the spare bedroom where Jim was.

The lights were dimmed. A few towels had been tossed over the lamps, and the covers on the usually pristine guest bed were rumpled and bloodied. The wave of sudden grief made Sam sway in the doorway. Jim was breathing, from what he could see, but the possibility of his not being there was enough to raise tears in his eyes.

He moved closer, settling into one of the chairs that was beside the bed. Jim had always been one of their closest friends, next to Bobby. He'd always been there for Sam, the nearest thing he'd ever had to an uncle. He tried to breathe through the sudden burning in his nose, a sure sign that he'd lose the fight with the tears in his eyes.

“It's not your fault, Sam.”

Sam raised watery eyes to Jim. The older man was smiling, despite the obvious pain he was in. His face was pale, his lips near bloodless, and every word sounded like it took effort. “None of it,” Jim continued in a weak voice. “Your dad's disappearing, everyone having to run. Me,” he added with a cough. Sam half raised from his chair, fingers itching to do something, but Jim settled a moment later. He smiled once more, and the bright red blood on the inside of his lips made Sam's next inhale shake.

Jim gazed at him before slowly sliding his arm out from under the blankets. His hand reached for Sam's and Sam took it, feeling stupid and low for having Jim comfort him when Jim was the one...

Sam shut his eyes and felt tears trail down his cheeks. His next breath was a little more steady, and when he was in control he opened his eyes again. Jim's smile was nothing but quiet understanding. “How is it not?” Sam whispered, needing to say something. Anything. “It wants me-”

“It's breaking its promise, son,” Jim said softly. “You've done nothing to make it do what it's doing. What you have to...have to do,” he continued after a deep breath. “You have to go from here. You can't change the past, Sam. Have to go forward.”

Have to accept everything that the demon had done. Accept it, move on. It was the logical thing to do.

Not something Sam was sure he could do when he knew he was watching one of his mentors fade in front of him.

“Do you remember when you came to my home all those years ago? After the fire?”

Yeah, not something Sam was going to forget anytime soon. “John...he fought hard with the decision he made,” Jim said, and Sam's eyes met his again in surprise. “He thought about hunting it then. To keep you safe. But the demon gave him a choice. John angered it, and it retaliated as a warning. It left you alive for a reason, Sam: to teach your father a lesson.” He took a few deep breaths that weren't deep enough, and Sam felt like he couldn't breathe at all.

“He gave up the hunt. It was...was one of the options the demon gave him. This, what it's doing now, Sam...this wasn't one of the options.”

Sam swallowed around the knot in his throat. Jim's eyes were fluttering shut, though his grip on Sam's hand wasn't loose. “I should let you rest,” he managed, barely rising. His legs felt like jello, and his chest was heaving with stuttered breaths.

Jim's hand tightened around his a little harder than before. “Stay with Dean,” he murmured. “Your brother was the one who...” Another pause, another inhale. “Who pulled you from the fire. He'll keep you safe.” He gave Sam one last smile before he let go of Sam's hand. He didn't close his eyes completely until Sam nodded. “Good.”

Words tried to form on the tip of Sam's tongue. Thank you and Please rest fought with the childish pleas Don't go and I need you. He moved to the door in a numb state, not surprised when Missouri was waiting on the other side. She grasped his shoulder with a soft, sympathetic smile, and Sam slid past her, barely able to breathe as he fought to keep it in.

By the time he made it to his room he couldn't see. He stumbled into a surprised Dean's arms and latched on, the sob bursting forth. Dean clung back with a ferocity Sam hadn't felt since the fire years before, and the thought of the man who'd been there to help them through it, the man who was currently dying a few rooms away, only made him cry harder. Tears spilled and he fought to breathe through it.

“I'll kill it,” Dean whispered hotly in his ear, the only sound that made it through Sam's grieving. “I swear to god I'll kill it, Sammy.”

Sam merely hung on and cried.

Chapter Text

Sam didn't settle down for a long time, but Dean didn't care. He was long due for a breakdown after everything, and getting it out would help.

It wasn't like Dean hadn't about had his own when Sam had tossed him the backpack. He would've been fine: Sam wasn't taking off (like Dean had damn well thought he would, and at least he could still read Sam like a book), and while it killed deep down inside that Jim was probably dying, Sam was still alive. And it was selfish for even thinking it but he wasn't sorry.

He'd gone to unpack for Sam, not wanting to leave his brother with a ready bag to take off again, and found the room a tad on the messy side. It'd looked like the kid had exploded a little before he'd decided to split. The bed had shifted far to the right, one of the lamps was knocked over, and the usual neat stacks of papers and books were strewn all over the place. Sam's chair had even been on the other side of the room, and considering the thing didn't have wheels, Dean had been mildly impressed and kinda scared. Must've been a hell of a kick; he hadn't thought Sammy had it in him.

The bag had been dumped on the bed after Dean had righted the room. He'd started with the outside pockets and found nothing. The lack of weapons there, where they would've been within easy access, had made Dean very uneasy about his brother's state of mind. Sam had been running, sure, but he hadn't planned to defend himself.

But Sam's the one they want.

It wants me, Dean. Not anyone else. If they take me, they'll leave everyone else alone.

The words were still ringing in Dean's head, and he tightened his arms around Sam, feeling eighteen and out of control again. If Sam noticed the extra pressure, he didn't make mention of it. Kid was off in his own head, and Dean would pull him out in a minute. Soon as he got himself together, because...

His eyes slid over to the desk, where he'd put the picture back. That had hit him harder than the lack of a weapon: the stupid picture. It'd been the first thing he'd seen when he'd opened the bag, him and Sam smiling without a care in the world. That was the Sam that had greeted him at Stanford only a few days ago.

Anger filled him again, sliding into rage, and his arms locked up while his fingers tightened their grasp. This time, Sam did notice the pressure. “Ow,” he mumbled, and Dean immediately loosened his grip.

“Sorry.”

“S'okay.”

The phone rang, startling them both. Dean cursed to himself in nine different ways for being so spooked. God, they were running around like amateurs, like they'd never been on a hunt before. He was pretty certain that Bobby and any other hunter would tell him that this was the worst thing that'd ever happened, but if they were gonna win whatever was going on, if they were gonna come out on top, then Dean had to be at the top of his game.

If he was going to save Sammy, he couldn't be anything else.

The phone rang again, and Dean reluctantly released Sam. “M'all right,” Sam whispered, and his voice sounded shredded. Dean winced in sympathy but rose towards the desk. He made sure he was in arm's reach at all times, though. Sam didn't look very steady.

And Dean wasn't feeling a hell of a lot better. Pull it together, Winchester, he berated himself and snagged the phone. “Hello?” he asked, glancing back at Sam. His brother seemed to be trying to pull himself together, but the kid's face was a mess. He'd get him a warm cloth to wash his face, aspirin for the headache he was bound to be sporting-

“Dean.”

Dean froze, fingers wrapping around the phone so hard he thought he was going to break it. “Dean?” Sam asked, picking up immediately on Dean's sudden change in mood.

Wasn't like Dean could answer him. He could barely answer the person on the other end. “Dad?” he breathed, and Sam went rigid. He was pushing himself off the floor a minute later, uncoordinated and stumbling but determined. “Dad, where are you?” Dean said, louder now.

“You can't know that right now. I shouldn't be calling at all but...but I had to know if you boys were all right.”

Sam was two seconds away from grabbing the phone, so Dean put the phone down and hit speaker, mentally thanking his brother for insisting on that particular phone when he was sixteen for that very feature. “We've been calling-”

“Had to ditch the cell; wasn't safe. I'll get a new one later. Not now.”

“What's going on, Dad?” Sam asked. His voice shook a little, but he latched onto the back of the chair and dug his fingers in hard. “You didn't break...”

The response was as quick as it was heartfelt. “God no, Sam. I would never do that to you. My concern is and has always been for you two, and right now, that's getting you out.”

Dean frowned. “What do you mean, getting us out?” Sam was going to give himself splinters in a minute, and Dean caught his wrist in a firm but gentle grip. Sam pursed his lips but relaxed his hand. “Dad?”

“If you're at the house, then I don't think you'll be safe for long.”

A sick, twisted feeling began to form in the base of Dean's stomach. “No, no, this is safe,” Sam said, and despite Dean's grip his fingers were digging harder into the chair again. “The house is safe. It swore-”

“And it's breaking its promises all over the place, Sam. I can't trust that it'll keep its word on this, too. I refuse to, when it's your life and Dean's on the line.”

By then Bobby and the Harvelles were in the room, gathering around the phone. “You all right?” Bobby asked.

“Much as I can be. I need you to get the boys out of there; the house isn't safe, and I don't know how long you've been there, but getting on the move fast is a priority.”

“Sure that's the safest course here, John?” Ellen asked. “So far, the demons have been avoiding the both of the boys, which I thought was keepin' with its promise.”

“So far. But so far up until a few days ago, none of this was happening at all. You'll be safer in a group.”

“And where the hell are we supposed to go?” Bobby demanded. “To you?”

“I can't let you do that yet.”

“Fine. We'll head...can't go back to mine, and the Roadhouse is probably out too,” Bobby muttered. “We'll figure-”

“No.”

Dean turned towards Sam, whose wrist felt tight enough to break beneath Dean's fingers. His head was hung low, but when he raised his head to stare at the phone, he looked so different than he had only minutes before that Dean almost couldn't believe they were the same person. His cheeks were still tear-stained, his eyes red and tired. But gone was the scared, lost Sammy who'd clung to his big brother and cried. This Sam was determined. This Sam was stronger, and Dean could practically see his brother straightening and building himself up.

“No,” Sam said again, and his voice still sounded rough from his sobbing earlier. “I'm done running. I'm done crying, I'm done being scared. If we run now without any sense of what we're doing or where we're going, we'll just let the sonuvabitch corner us somewhere else. I want to end this, I...I need to end this, Dad,” he admitted, choking up suddenly and swiftly. He swallowed it back a moment later, but it was enough that Dean moved his hand to Sam's shoulder and gripped hard. His brother glanced over, relief and gratitude written all over his face. Kid might be pulling himself together, but he was still scared.

Which was pretty good, because the thought of losing his brother to the demon left Dean fucking terrified.

“Okay. I'll start making my way across the states.”

“And what exactly are you headin' for?” Ellen questioned.

His dad's sigh sounded tired but determined, and Dean could imagine him looking exactly like Sam did now. Two peas out of a pod. “I'm looking for a weapon. I've been looking for a long time, just not with the demon in mind. Random searches here and there; figured I'd give it to someone else to kill the bastard with, to keep my promise. This is supposed to be the gun, the one and only you'd ever need. This'll kill it.”

Dean could feel his jaw dropping. “A gun that can kill a demon?” he said incredulously. “Seriously?”

“It doesn't exist,” Sam said. “We would've heard about it before.”

“Not this one you wouldn't; best kept secret in the whole damn trade if he's telling the truth. It's a legend, but I'm hoping like hell that it's real.”

“Then that puts you in a whole new kettle of fish,” Bobby broke in. “Because that means you'd be breaking the promise.”

“Technically, I'm not.”

“Yeah, well, technically, the demon ain't breakin' anything yet, either,” Bobby said, and Dean's stomach was lurching again. Sam leaned a little towards him, and whether he was swaying or doing it on purpose, Dean didn't know. He leaned back anyways, meeting Sam's shoulder and keeping his grip on Sam as he did so. God. A gun that could kill a demon. Promises being broken, their friend dying down the fucking hall, and a demon that had the hots for his brother.

“God,” Sam murmured, and Dean couldn't have agreed more.

Over the line Dean could hear his dad sigh heavily. “All I wanted to do was make sure Sam and Dean were safe, goddammit,” and the barely pent up rage reminded Dean of his own. Guess he was a pea in the pod of the Winchesters, too. “I never trusted it to keep its word, always kept my ear to the ground in the subtlest of ways. Goddammit!”

The line fell silent, and everyone in Sam's room didn't say a word. Finally their dad spoke again, softer this time. “Dean, you keep Sam out of this.”

“What?” Sam sputtered, head jerking up in surprise. “You can't keep me out of this!”

“I don't need you going off half-cocked thinking that you can handle it-”

Miles away, and his dad still knew exactly what Sammy would do. Had even tried to do not all that long ago, Dean thought dryly. “Dad, no, don't shut me out of this, it involves me-”

“Samuel Winchester, I'm not repeating myself on this one. Dean, keep Sam out of-”

“Sorry, Dad,” Dean said, and Sam's gaze widened with even more surprise. Dean could only imagine that it had to look something like their dad's on the other end of the line. He took a deep breath and kept going. “I can't do that. I won't do that to Sam. He deserves to be in on this, as much as you and I hate it. And give me a break, here: if Sam really wants in, he'll find a way to do it. He's a stubborn ass kid,” he joked, but hoped his message was received seriously.

Dad didn't say anything. Bobby regarded him with something akin to pride and approval before leaning towards the speaker. “Takes after his daddy,” he said, and this time Dean grinned for real. It turned soft when he glanced at his brother and found Sam standing even taller than before. Sam's smile wasn't as steady as Dean's, but it was just as real. Thank you, he said with his gaze, and Dean gave a small nod.

He didn't want Sam in this. He wanted to bundle Sam up in a safe crate filled with foam and pillows and airholes and ship him off to the Bahamas, where he'd be warm and safe. That wasn't how this was going to end, though. Keeping Sam out of the picture would just lead to his pulling rank with Sam, and Dean could count on one hand how many times he'd had to do it. He wanted to keep the number to one hand. Fuck, he'd have been happy if there hadn't been any numbers to count of, but emergencies had dictated for Sam's own good.

This wasn't one of those times.

“Then I'm trusting you BOTH to keep your goddamn eyes open,” and while he didn't sound happy, their dad sounded more accepting of the idea at least. “For now, then, just...stay put until I can get a handle on the gun. I'll try to keep in contact, but I can't promise anything.”

“You got any idea on what it wants Sam for?” Bobby asked, and Sam froze beside Dean. Dean shot a glare at the older man even as his own stomach did flip-flops, and Bobby winced. “Sorry, boys. But I had to ask.”

“I know pieces, but not a whole picture,” and Sam got unbelievably more tense after that. Dean frowned and tried to give him a reassuring grip, but Sam ignored him completely, eyes locked on the speaker phone. “So far as we keep that bastard away from Sam, then none of the pieces have to fall into place. Nothing starts until it gets what it wants.”

“And it won't get what it wants,” Dean swore. “I'll kill it first, I swear to god. It's not getting anywhere near Sam.”

“Keep it up. And stay safe, all of you.” The line clicked once before silence filled the air. Dean hung the phone back up, mind still whirling.

Staying put. That was the first order of business. But if staying put didn't work, then where were they supposed to go? God, his head hurt. And then the gun, some legendary gun, and speaking of-

“The hell was he talking about, a gun that can kill demons?”

“Don't look at me,” Missouri called softly from the door frame. She was patting her hands down on her skirt as if drying them. “Jim's resting,” she assured Dean. “And I didn't glean that from your thoughts: it's written all over your face.”

“I've never heard about a gun that could kill a demon,” Bobby said. “Never heard talk about one.”

“Not somethin' I've heard of either,” Ellen agreed. “God knows a lot of good hunters could use one, but I don't even know where he'd get an idea like that.”

Dean bit his lip and turned to Sam, then frowned when he realized Sam was in the exact same position he'd left him in. “Sammy?” he said. “You okay?”

Sam swallowed hard but didn't answer. Worried now, Dean tried to turn his brother towards him. “Hey, it's gonna be okay. I swear, Sammy.”

“He's not lyin', baby boy,” Missouri said, voice even quieter than before. “You're buildin' it up into your head like it's a big, bad thing, and I promise you it's not.”

“You don't know that,” Sam said, voice pitched low and ragged. His little brother sounded just this side of wrecked, and his face looked pale. “You don't know what-” He cut himself off, made a sound like he was swallowing something back, and for a moment the fear on his brother's face was terrifying in its own right. Dean felt helpless, like he was flailing without a hold, because he didn't know what was going to happen with the demon.

“I won't let it touch you,” Dean swore again fervently. “I don't care what I have to do, just...just know that, okay?”

Sam slowly turned towards him, and the relief Dean was expecting didn't come. There wasn't anything that related to Sam trusting Dean's words (which, okay, he really shouldn't, but the lack of anything left Dean feeling uneasy). The only thing Dean saw was a brief flash of despair and more of the fear. Then it was swallowed up by a tiny sliver of the gratefulness that Dean had expected. “I know,” he said. He didn't sound as broken as he had before. Dean would take what he could get.

“I think I know where he got the idea.”

All eyes turned to Jo, who up until that point had been silent. “When John came around not long ago, he asked for my dad's journal. I let him borrow it; I knew Dad wouldn't have minded,” she added, glancing at Ellen. Ellen nodded, and Jo continued. “He didn't take it, just sat and copied things from it. About the Colt Dad always talked about.”

“Oh my god,” Ellen said, closing her eyes. “That's what he was doing?”

“The hell is this colt?” Dean demanded. Just one solid answer to a question tonight, that was all he wanted.

Ellen took a deep breath before reopening her eyes. “It's a myth. It was crafted by Samuel Colt back in the 1800's. They say he made it for a hunter back in the day. They say the gun can kill anything. Bill followed the trail for awhile, then gave it up, but he told me that one hunter was still on its trail up in...” She pursed her lips as she thought. “Manning, Colorado,” she said after a moment. “He said the guy had been looking for awhile, then suddenly dropped off the face of the earth. Either he died or he actually found the damn thing, decided to stay off the radar.”

“Elkins,” Bobby said suddenly, before he began to nod slowly. “Daniel Elkins. Vampire hunter. I didn't know he was looking for it; it's practically become the holy grail to find.”

Information and a place. “If he was in Manning, Colorado, then I'd bet good money that's where Dad's heading,” Dean said. “If we were gonna run anywhere-”

“You sure you wanna meet up with your daddy?” Ellen said. “Sounded pretty firm about keepin' you two at bay.”

“No, Dean's right,” Sam said. “If we're gonna do this, we need to find my dad.”

“You better get a move on, then,” Missouri said. Dean hadn't even begun to frown before she shook her head. “I'm not goin' anywhere; I'll stay with Jim. If you still call this a home then it should be safe; I don't care what John says. I'll call up a friend from Bullock in North Carolina who's good with healing and herbs, see if he can't come up. And yes, I can take care of myself, Dean Winchester,” she said, turning on him with her hands on her hips. “Like I'm not able to tell who's got a damn demon inside of 'em.”

Dean rolled his eyes but felt a little steadier. “All right. Plan. Got it. Get to Dad, see if this Colt exists, and if it does, kill the fucking sonuvabitch. Any objections?”

The poignant looks from everyone gave him his answer. “We'll get some sleep, then head out early morning,” he said. He glanced over his shoulder at Sam. “I, uh, unpacked you. So you're gonna have to repack.” He gave an unrepentant grin, hoping to illicit some form of a response from the kid.

Sam tried for a smile, but it didn't reach his eyes. “Get some sleep,” Dean said, gentler this time. “I'll keep watch.”

The smile went up a little higher this time. “Thanks,” Sam said quietly.

The small group stepped out of Sam's room and off to various places for the night. “Door open or shut?” Dean asked, hand on the knob. Sam only had to inhale sharply to have Dean take his hand off the door. “Open it is,” he said easily. “Be right down the hall, where I always am.”

He headed off, then tossed over his shoulder with a grin, “Try not to trash your room this time. Moving the bed, trashing your desk, and kicking your chair hard enough to send it across the room...you're lucky I'm such an awesome big brother willing to clean it up for you.”

When he glanced back, though, Sam's face seemed even paler than before. “Didn't realize I'd made such a mess,” he said, obviously trying for a light tone and failing miserably.

Dean cursed himself nine ways to Sunday. “I didn't mean to make you feel bad,” he assured him. “It gave me something to do. You were allowed to freak out, Sam.”

Sam nodded rapidly. “Thanks,” he said again. He still looked pretty scared, though.

Dean frowned but decided to leave him be. Kid needed some space, that was all. God knew Dean needed to process too. Gun, promises, demon. Enough to throw anyone into a headspin.

Still, he felt uneasy as he went into his own room. He left the door open, matching Sam's choice, and went to pack his own bag for the days to come.

Chapter Text

I know pieces, but not a whole picture.

Sam stared at the ceiling above him, his dad's words ringing in his ears. At least his dad was alive. That ended a tiny fragment of the nightmare. In a little while people would start getting up, and they'd make their move across the country to Colorado. Two days travel, safe inside the Impala with Dean driving beside him. Dean would be safe, Bobby would be safe, the Harvelles would be safe, and Missouri could take care of herself. Maybe even help Jim.

So far as we keep that bastard away from Sam, then none of the pieces have to fall into place. Nothing starts until it gets what it wants.

He shut his eyes and pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes until they stopped burning. The bed wasn't quite back to where it'd been, but Dean had tried to pick the room back up from when Sam had trashed it. Yeah. Trashed it.

If he got up to be sick Dean would be all over him.

He let his hands fall from his face, only to stare at the ceiling once more. He felt stronger in some ways. Hearing Dad talk about the demon had reminded Sam that he was still a hunter. He'd been acting like a frightened civilian for days now, letting Dean shoulder the responsibility. But Dad had given Sam his determination back. They were Winchesters. They hunted demons. This demon had killed his mom, tried to kill Jess, tried to kill even him. No more, though. Sam was declaring enough.

The other part of him was still scared of what happened when the demon got its way. What the demon's plan was. What would happen to Dean, Dad, Bobby.

What would happen to Sam.

I know pieces, but not a whole picture.

What did his dad know? How much had his dad found out?

God.

“You get any sleep at all?”

“I'll sleep on the way,” Sam said. He sounded weary, even to himself, so he cleared his throat and lifted his head towards the door. Dean leaned on the door jamb, looking more rested but worried. Sometimes Sam was certain his brother was born worrying about Sam, even when Sam hadn't existed in thought or body.

Dean meandered his way in and took a seat at the end of his brother's bed. “I know you're freaked out, but...god I wish I knew what to say to you so you'd know I'd never let anything happen to you. Ever.”

Too late, Sam wanted to say, but it would probably come out a tad hysterical. He fought to steady his breathing before he gave a real answer. “I know you wouldn't. That's not my worry, Dean.”

The wrinkled nose Dean made reminded Sam of his brother at eight trying out brussel sprouts for the first time: severe amount of disgust and anger at God having created something that tasted that way. “I told you, it's not gonna get me. Look, I'm over my whole, 'get angry and go off on my own' thing. Hopefully you got that out of your system last night too,” he added pointedly. Sam wanted to roll his eyes but refrained. He was pretty certain the urge to do so showed, because Dean gave a wry grin. “Yeah, yeah. I hear you.”

They sat in silence for a few minutes. No clanging of pipes or dishes, no cars passing by outside. The light that came through the window was gray and muted, telling of no sun that day. At least, not in the outskirts of Chicago. They were going to drive through so many places today, there was bound to be sun somewhere. Dean loved the sun, even though it always gave him a million and one freckles. Then again, Dean loved the rain, too, refused to carry an umbrella. His brother was weird like that.

His brother was weird about a lot of things, but it only made Sam love him more for it. His big, bad-ass, larger than life brother, who would just as sure kick Sam's ass for doing something stupid as he would kill the monster that was threatening his life. Dean would do anything to keep Sam safe. Up to and including getting himself hurt. Or worse.

Dean placed his hand on Sam's ankle, hidden deep underneath the covers. “We're gonna end this,” he swore softly. “I'm gonna end this once and for all, and you're never gonna have to worry about the sonuvabitch again, Sam.”

Dead serious, completely sincere. He'd take the demon on, and Sam knew it. Anything to keep Sam safe.

“I know,” Sam said softly. Dean relaxed a little, smiling ever so slightly, and Sam managed a smile in return.

Sam would do anything for Dean, too.

The drive out to Colorado was a long one, and Sam did wind up sleeping some on the way there. They almost made it in a day, but Sam was honestly glad they didn't. It felt like a small reprieve, a two day tour that wasn't going to end well, so they might as well enjoy the ride. There were no demons waiting for them at the rest areas or the hotel where they stopped for the night. It was like both sides were waiting for the first move, and anything in between was simply killing time.

It wasn't all easy. Two of the times Sam wound up waking up from nightmares, Dean's hand was on his shoulder, a clear sign of his having tried to wake Sam up. The third time Sam woke up gasping for air and fighting back a scream, the car was parked on the side of the road, the other two vehicles stopped up ahead as well. Dean hovered over him, worry bleeding into panic. “M'okay,” Sam rasped.

“Fuck,” was all Dean could say, but he managed to pry shaking hands from Sam's shoulders. “Fuck, Sammy.”

“Sorry,” he whispered. “I didn't-”

“Not your fault,” Dean said immediately. “None of this is your goddamn fault, okay?” He waited until Sam nodded. Bobby was coming over from his truck, concern not hidden at all. Dean told him the basics and Bobby's look was a sympathy Sam didn't think he deserved.

When they found that somehow, one of the rosaries from the back seat had wound up flying forward and cracking the windshield, Sam knew he didn't deserve it. “I didn't have to swerve so hard to get to the shoulder,” Dean said. “That's on me; I just wanted to get you awake fast.” The tremor that was still in his hands attested to that, but Sam's gut still twisted.

“I'm sorry.” Sam's eyes slid to the crack in the windshield, in Dean's precious car, and winced. “I'm really sorry. God, I'm so sorry Dean-”

“Hey, this is not your fault,” Dean insisted. “I'll tattoo it to your ass if you don't stop, okay? It was...just a freak accident, that's all. I can totally fix that, dude.”

Sure he could. Dean thought he could fix anything.

Not this, though.

More nightmares through the night, and Sam's anxiety rose with each one. His eyes flew around the room each time, landing always on Dean, who slept too lightly for his own good and would always wake up for Sam. “You wanna talk?” he asked after the first one, and the offer nearly put tears in Sam's eyes. Yes, he wanted to talk. He needed to get it out of his system: about how yellow eyes taunted him from the darkness while Dean was thrown around in a cemetery, already bloody and torn. How Dean stared at him in fear, him, shaking his head and pleading no. Then being thrown one last time, only for his neck to crack and leave him with a dead, empty stare, Sam unable to stop screaming.

“No, I'm okay,” he insisted. “Go back to bed.” Dean eventually would as soon as Sam made a pretense of falling asleep, and then it'd be round two.

The second day found them both with bruised eyes, though Sam looked worse than Dean. The others caught onto it pretty fast but said nothing, though Bobby offered to drive for them. In the end, they all drove off the same way they'd come the day before. Thank god there weren't any demons, Sam thought dryly: they'd have been dead if there was.

It didn't take long to get to Elkins' place. It was a small cabin up on a slight hill, cute and quaint almost. Sam could imagine the place on a brochure for some real estate company. It was covered with snow, and the trees nestled near it added the picture.

“All you need are mountains and Heidi,” Dean muttered, and Sam nearly smiled. Maybe they were sharing thoughts.

That drove the possible smile straight into impossible, because...god.

As soon as they saw the door busted in, though, the transformation of quaint picture to nightmare began. Everyone drew, and Dean took lead without question. He glanced from person to person, his eyes landing last on Sam. Sam gave a terse nod, gun tight in his fingers. He wasn't playing victim anymore: he was a hunter.

A hunter with a protective big brother who wouldn't let anything near him, and who was going first. Yeah, Sam was bad ass.

The door swung in hard and Dean rushed in, scanning everything with Bobby right behind him. Sam followed next with Jo and Ellen, then stopped nearly in his tracks, surveying the mess. “My god,” Ellen breathed.

The place was completely trashed. Not a single thing was left unturned. Papers were scattered, furniture was broken and mangled, lamps were broken. Glass was all over the floor, but whether it was from the windows or the lightbulbs Sam couldn't tell. The only thing he knew with certainty was that it was all bad.

Bobby headed forward into the rest of the house, and Dean unsurprisingly headed for Sam. “I'm sure Dad wasn't here when this went down,” he said, and they both knew it was a lie. More than likely, Dad's arriving had been the catalyst for the mess.

“I'm sure he got out,” Sam countered, and Dean pursed his lips but nodded.

“Elkins isn't here,” Bobby said as he came through the doorway. He didn't sound happy about it, though. “There's blood all over the desk,” he said grimly. “Not enough to kill a man, but enough to hurt him. Badly. There's a box that was meant to hold a gun and bullets, but it's empty.”

The ringing of Dean's phone made everyone jump, Jo instinctively bringing her gun higher. She yanked it back down a second later, wincing apologetically when Dean gave her a look. “I wouldn't have shot,” she said. “Just...jumpy. Sorry.”

“It's all right,” Dean said, phone already halfway to his ear. “Hello?”

The frown wasn't new to Dean's face, but neither was the surprise. Sam had seen both last night. “Where are you?” Dean said while putting his finger in his other ear. Dad, part of Sam's brain thought reflexively, and he breathed in deeply. That meant alive.

“Dean,” Bobby said, more of a question than a call, and Dean hit the speaker-phone.

“...is dead. He was half gone by the...I got there.” Despite the lost words and the scratched sound, Sam could still hear his dad. “But I've got it. And it works. ...does work.”

Sam met his brother's gaze with shock. A myth about a demon-killing gun had been tough enough to understand back at home, but the fact that it worked?

“Tried it on a vampire that tried to get to El... Blew the bastard away. Damnedest thing I've...r seen. I'll try to get the gun to a hunter-”

Before Dean could protest Sam grabbed the phone, despite the fact that his dad would hear him either way. “Hunt it,” he said. There was no hesitation or trembling in his voice now, and Sam wondered briefly how long it was going to last. Because honestly? It felt a hell of a lot like bravado.

Everyone stared at him. “Sammy,” Dean started, around the same time their dad did.

Sam shook his head. “I mean it. I want you to hunt the fucker. Don't shove the gun and duty off to someone else.”

“No. That breaks my promise and puts you...Dean directly in the line of fire,” Dad insisted. “I refuse to do that. I already feel like I've put you in that line already, Sam.”

“Better to be directly in it then to sit and try and guess how it'll hit us from the side,” Sam argued. He swallowed hard and fought to keep his bravado. Dean didn't show any signs of giving him support: he wasn't arguing with Sam, but the look on his face said he thought his brother was nuts. “Do it,” Sam said. Then, because he couldn't help it, “Please, Dad.”

There was silence through the line. Bobby cleared his throat and gently pulled the phone from Sam's hand. “Do you know where it even is?” he asked.

The sigh was familiar ground. Sam'd been hearing that sigh all his life. “No. But it won't take long if I...it. I'll start actively looking, then. Are you sure, Sam?”

“I'm sure,” Sam said with as much confidence as he could. The wind outside picked up, rustling the curtains from the broken window. He froze, eyes automatically whipping to look, but there was nothing outside. At least, nothing he could see.

It still felt like a change had taken place. The kid gloves were off, and Sam and Dean were now officially part of hunting season.

“I'm sure too,” Dean said, and that drew Sam's attention back inside. Dean's own gaze was centered out the window too, but it quickly slid to his brother. “Kill the sonuvabitch, Dad.”

“Do my best,” Dad said, and they all knew it was promise he'd keep. John Winchester didn't make vows lightly.

“We'll look for omens, see if we can't help you out on the front to find it faster,” Ellen said. Bobby nodded his agreement, and Sam reminded himself of what Dean had told him back home. They were all here for Dean, for Sam. They were risking their lives to keep them safe.

It was too high a risk for Sam to have asked for, but he hadn't asked: they'd simply given.

“I'll get in touch with you...rrow morning,” his dad said. “Be careful.”

The line clicked off. Bobby tossed the cell phone back to Dean before adjusting his hat. “We'll take a look around here, see what we can find. No doubt he's got a journal; your daddy might've taken it, might've not. Do some damage control, then go find food and a place to stay. We got some books to look over.”

“Always keep books like that on you?” Dean asked, raising his eyebrow.

Bobby gave him a look, and for a minute, it was just like any other day, Bobby calling Dean on his smart-ass comments, and the normality of it left Sam's stomach twisting. Any one of them could die for this. For him.

It wasn't right.

“Damn straight I do,” Bobby was saying. “They're in the container in the back of the pickup.” Dean's jaw dropped, not having expected a yes to his question. Even Ellen looked surprised. “Never know where you're gonna need 'em,” Bobby muttered, rubbing the back of his neck in a possible show of embarrassment.

“Then let's move,” Jo said, heading past them towards the rest of the house. “I'm starving, seriously, so the sooner we clean house, the better.”

Everyone filed out of the disastrous living room. Sam stayed where he was, looking around at the mess. The curtains flapped slightly in the wind, not as urgently as they had before. Not even this hunter had been safe. A hunter Sam hadn't even known had gotten killed.

Dean stopped in the doorway, glancing back with a frown. “Sammy?” he called softly. Always soft, always gentle, always careful these days. Afraid Sam was going to break if he said the wrong thing in the wrong way.

Sam wasn't half sure he was wrong, but he was getting rapidly tired of being the crybaby, the broken boy. The one the demons wanted.

But Dean's frown was deepening now at the lack of response, so Sam pushed himself forward. “Just...it's all such a mess,” he confessed, and he wasn't sure if he was talking about the house or the situation.

Dean got it, though. “Yeah, I know,” he said quietly. Then, “C'mon; Jo's not the only one who's hungry,” and Sam followed his brother through the rest of the house.

The door flew open, letting in the winter air, and Sam's head whipped up from the laptop. Dean was shutting the door as fast as he could, then shuddering and blowing into his cold hands. “Fucking cold out there,” he muttered. Not a lot of snow, but enough to make it chilled.

“What'd they say?” Sam asked, closing the lid on the laptop. Jo had one of her own, but Sam was too accustomed to doing the research. And he hadn't been included in the pow-wow, which hadn't really been a pow-wow, but they were all over in Bobby's room and Sam wasn't.

And he was pretty certain the reason why was pulling his coat off and kicking his boots against the wall.

Dean shrugged. “Just trying to catch up on a few omens,” he said, and the vagueness of the message told Sam everything he needed to know. They'd found something. Maybe not a huge something, but something. And Dean didn't want Sam anywhere near it.

Yet Sam still couldn't find it within himself to get mad at Dean. It wasn't like Dean was trying to keep Sam out of it; he'd promised he wouldn't. He just wanted Sam to take a little break. Before he'd gone over there, he'd tossed the remote control in Sam's direction.

Dean's lips thinned before he tugged the laptop away from Sam with a pointed look. “Have fun playing Minesweeper?” he asked lightly. If Sam hadn't been sure of what Dean had wanted, he was now.

“I can't just sit and play games,” Sam said with a sigh. “I just...can't.” Dean began to protest but Sam cut him off. “Not now. And I know you wanted me to take a break for tonight, but I just can't do that, Dean.”

“Just one night,” Dean pleaded, and Sam almost flinched from the sudden earnestness in his brother's voice. “You deserve one frickin' night, Sammy. I mean, you haven't slept at all, dude-”

“I got sleep last night,” Sam said, but it was weak, and the look Dean gave him told him as much.

“And you poked at lunch-”

“I wasn't hungry.”

“You can't let this eat you alive,” Dean insisted. “If you want in to hunt this thing, you can't run yourself into the ground.”

It stung, which hadn't been Dean's intention, because two seconds later Dean's face flooded with remorse. “Sammy, I didn't mean-”

“No, I know, and...you're right,” he admitted. “I just...don't know how to switch off from panic and worry right now.”

Dean shifted slightly from foot to foot. “You were doing pretty good on the determined earlier,” he offered, and Sam managed to give a half smile.

“That was mostly bravado.”

“Still not panic.”

“Do you not know what 'bravado' means, Dean?”

The grin they shared felt a little more real, if not full of relief. Bantering could still come normally, easily, and for a minute they were just brothers. The demon couldn't take that from them.

Except that it could, and Sam felt his smile start to whither away with his good mood. Dean's own happiness began to fade as a response to Sam. “Sammy-”

“I'm just scared,” Sam said quietly. “And I'm tired of being scared.”

“Not tonight,” Dean said. “Tonight you're not scared, you're not afraid. Fear, anger, they all got checked at the door. Just one night Sammy, just one night. You need a break. We need a break. Please? I'm not above using the big brother card here.”

Sam stared at his brother for a long time before he finally nodded. “Which card: the kick-your-ass big brother or the guilt-you-into-it one?”

“Whichever one's gonna work,” Dean declared, but he was smiling again, and Sam let himself smile too. Dean was right: he needed a night. They all did.

“Dibs on the controller,” Sam said, and Dean's mock outrage only made Sam want to smile more.

This time, at least, he woke himself up from the nightmare and did it quietly. His phone was vibrating in his pocket, the alarm he'd set going off perfectly. His eyes slid over to Dean out of instinct.

Dean was fast asleep in his bed, even snoring a little. He'd been so exhausted, but their evening of fun had done him good.

Sam had tried to keep the smile up through the evening, though he was pretty certain Dean knew it was fake. Still, they'd managed to hang out and talk about school, Dean's job, what was on TV. No demons, no missing dads. No plans about what the demon wanted Sam for.

He swallowed hard and slowly pushed himself off the bed. It was a fairly decent mattress, but it still tried to creak. He managed to get himself onto the cold floor and began digging for clothes. He dressed quickly and silently, his eyes always on Dean. His brother was a light sleeper on a good day, but hopefully the relief of having a good, normal night would let exhaustion take its toll.

It hadn't given Sam any real relief beyond seeing Dean happy. It had just fueled his purpose even more.

They weren't going to die for him. Dean couldn't protect him from this. His brother was only going to die trying, and Sam refused to see it happen.

But the thought of that thing getting its hands on you? Leaves me completely terrified.

He winced at the memory of Dean's words but dug in the darkness for his shoes. He'd promised Dean he wouldn't leave, made Dean promise the same. Yet here he was, leaving anyways. He was a total bastard, and Dean was going to freak the fuck out come morning.

Better to freak out then die. None of them deserved to die for the demon wanting Sam.

No. He had to finish this himself.

He dug around gently in his bag, searching for the right thing, before retrieving it and placing it on his bed. His jacket he pulled from the chair, then he carefully made his way to the door. Through it all, Dean slept on, still snoring slightly. Exhaustion would do that to a person.

The cold wind that tried to sweep in made Sam cringe, and he stepped through the open door as fast as possible. Dean shifted slightly and Sam froze in the doorway, half in, half out. A moment later his brother huddled further under the blankets but stayed asleep.

Carefully, carefully, the door was shut. It didn't make so much as a noise, even as the door shut tight. He stepped down two doors over to Bobby's room, then winced. Here came the hard part.

The lock picks were dug out from Sam's pocket and softly placed in the lock. The lock itself was opened in six seconds, and Sam swung the door open bit by bit. It groaned slightly and he winced, halting the movement as fast as possible.

Bobby stayed asleep, though. The sigh of relief was swallowed, and Sam quickly moved inside, leaving the door slightly ajar. Books and maps were spread out all over the table, and Sam glanced down, trying to make sense of it all.

Circles were drawn in various bright colors all on the bottom of the state of Wyoming. Right outside a small town near the southern border was a bright red dot, which all of the circles seemed to cover at one point or another. Omens. And they were hitting whatever that red spot was.

Sam's gaze slid over to Bobby's journal, pen still open on top. He set it aside to read the latest entry. All the omens seem to be converging on top of an old cowboy cemetery. The railroad lines surrounding it are rumored to be iron...

Old cowboy cemetery near the south-western part of Wyoming. That wasn't far at all.

His eyes stole towards the clock on the nightstand, making him instantly want to curse himself. Far too long. He glanced once more at the map, taking in what highway would put him closer, then set out. The door was shut just as quietly as it was opened, and Sam stepped away. The adrenaline rush was starting to introduce itself in the manner of a fast-beating heart. He forced his hands to steady, and made his hands instead check for the gun at the small of his back. Wrought iron, consecrated rounds. They were the best he was going to do.

He glanced down at the door his brother was still sleeping behind, and his throat threatened to close. Dean was going to all and out panic, but hopefully his small message he'd left behind would help him understand. One way or another, Sam had to end this.

For Dean's sake, he had to end this.

“I'm sorry,” he whispered. His eyes burned and he bit his lip almost viciously.

Then he was turning and heading down the road to find a car to hot wire.

Chapter Text

He knew something was wrong the minute he woke up.

Dean pushed himself up fast, hand pulling out the blade he kept beneath the pillow. The door didn't shut, the curtains didn't rustle. There were no odd sounds, no creaking, nothing that was out of place.

When his eyes caught the empty bed to his right he knew that everything was out of place.

“Sam?” he called anyways, hoping and praying the kid was still there. No answer. “Sammy?” he tried again, even as he pushed himself out of bed and hurried to the bathroom. A quick look inside proved that there was no one there. His next place to look was outside, but the front window revealed nothing but his car, now covered with a small dusting of snow.

Sam was gone.

His eyes darted around the room as he fought to breathe. The kid couldn't have been that stupid. He just couldn't have.

Okay. Damage control. Sam's bag was still laid up against the wall next to Dean's, either signaling that he was coming back or that he wasn't. Bile rose hot and fast in his throat, and it took two swallows to bring it down, even as he felt like he was wobbling and couldn't stand right. Oh god.

Sam's shoes were gone, his jacket was missing. One of the guns from the table – Sam's, he noted blankly – was also gone. As were the consecrated rounds Dean had neatly placed beside them. Breathing was becoming even more an issue as his eyes roamed wildly again for any sign of where Sam could've gone, would've gone.

Then his eyes caught on a small paper on Sam's bed. If the little shit had left him a note, Dean was going to kill him. He approached slowly, even as every part of him screamed to hurry up and search for Sam.

It wasn't a paper: it was a photo. The same photo Dean had seen back at the house, where Sam and Dean had smiled at the lens, arms slung around each other. Happy. Peaceful.

Safe. And suddenly Dean knew exactly what Sam was going out to do, what the message his little brother had left behind. I'm going to end this ran hand in hand with I love you, and neither were going to end well. Sam was going off to die.

Dean finally felt his legs give and tumbled gracelessly to the bed, hands clutching the photo. The stupid asshole thought he was saving Dean by pulling his kamikaze stunt, except he wouldn't. Dean would be left holding his little brother's corpse at the end of it all, losing the most important person in his life, and then what was he supposed to do?

He didn't even look, just tossed the photo randomly off beside him and forced his legs to move. Barefoot and jacket-less he hurried out and began pounding on Bobby's door. He moved to the Harvelle's and pounded as well, not caring who the hell else it woke up, and Bobby was out and moving before he'd finished. “The hell's going-”

“Sam's gone,” Dean said tersely, and took no satisfaction in the way Bobby's face drained of color. “The stupid fucker took off.”

“What's going on?” Ellen said, opening the door. Jo was already dressed behind her and pulling for her gun. “Dean?”

“Sam took off,” Bobby said grimly. Dean shut his eyes, Ellen's cursing barely a murmur over his pounding heart. God, Sam could be anywhere. Who knew when he'd left or where he was heading. The pounding in his ears rose to a crescendo, and Dean realized he felt light-headed. Fear and adrenaline didn't make for a good wake-up call, and neither did the cold pavement that was currently seared to the bottom of his feet.

Hands took his shoulders, and it was only when Dean opened his eyes that he realized Bobby was almost in his face, calling and shaking him. “Snap out of it,” Bobby said loudly, like he'd been calling for awhile. Dean nodded, or tried to, at any rate. Either way Bobby looked slightly relieved. “Call Sam,” Bobby said, stressing each word. “We'll go from there.”

“We'll pack,” Jo said even as Dean turned away, stumbling back to his room. He should've called Sam first. God he was an idiot. He should've called the kid, should've handcuffed the kid to his bed, should've never slept-

His hands managed to find his phone and the right buttons, and then he was listening to it ring and ring and ring. The fog in his mind was clearing steadily with each one, leaving Dean to swallow back his panic as much as he could.

“Hi, you've reached Sam Winchester's voicemail. You know what to do.”

“Sam get back here,” Dean said, trying to find a scrap of anger and failing. “I mean it. Don't do this. Just...just please come back.” He hit the end button and was left to stare at the table; somehow he was sitting down.

“He ain't gonna answer, Dean.” Ellen. Must've followed him in. He glanced over his shoulder and found her with her hand resting on his shoulder. “But we'll find him before he does anything stupid, you hear me? I'm not gonna let anything happen to your brother, and neither are Jo or Bobby. I know you won't, either. But that means you gotta buck up.”

Dean shut his eyes again, fingers tight around the cell phone. The panic and fear were still heavy in his gut, but he forced them back for now. He could freak out later when he found Sam. Found him alive. Ellen was right: he had to man up and do this. Her hand on his shoulder helped more than he could say, for some reason. Maybe it was the mom in her.

When he opened his eyes, he was as calm as he was going to get, and he rose with a nod. “Then let's find Sam,” he said. Ellen nodded more firmly than he had.

“He got in. Sonuvabitch got in.”

They both turned to find Bobby holding his journal, looked pissed and scared all at once. “Bobby?”

Bobby shook his head at Ellen's confusion. “Damn kid somehow got into my room last night. Pen wasn't where I left it, which meant someone moved it. Map was moved, too. Which meant he knows where the omens are gathering.”

Dean's stomach twisted violently, and the meager calm he'd managed to find a moment before threatened to collapse. For Sam, he reminded himself. Keep it the fuck together for Sam. “Where are they?” he asked.

The cell phone in his hand rang, and Dean scrambled to get it to his ear. “Sam I swear to god-”

“Sam? What do you mean, Sam? What's going on?”

Dad. Oh god. Dean bit his lip and lowered the phone to hit the speaker. “Dean? Talk to me, what's going on with Sam?”

Jo had slid into the room at some point, but she kept to the wall and to herself. Smart girl: barely knew his dad and already knew to stay away when he got pissed off. Which was exactly what he was going to do when he found out about Sam.

With a sigh Bobby stepped forward, physically and proverbially. “Sam took off, sometime last night. He's headin' for a small cowboy cemetery in south-western Wyoming, we think. That's where the omens are.”

The curses that streamed from his dad's mouth made even Dean's eyebrows raise. Jesus, he hadn't thought his dad had known some of those. “My daughter's in the room, John,” Ellen said, and god, her warning tone was just as bad as his dad's.

“Where are you?” Bobby said, cutting through both of their upcoming tirades.

“Not far from you, but closer to Wyoming. I'll head there instead, see if I can beat him to it.”

“You think you can head him off?” Ellen asked.

The snort was neither humorous nor comforting. “I know I can drive faster than my son.”

“He's a slow driver?” Jo asked hesitantly.

“No,” and the determination in his dad's voice left Dean trying to stand a little bit straighter, even as it made his chest twist. “I've just got more to lose than he does.”

“Dean,” Bobby said quietly, holding his hand out. Without a word Dean handed the phone to Bobby, who switched the speaker off. “John, it's me. I'll give you the coordinates.” Bobby started rattling off numbers and information as Dean moved around the room. Packing, he needed to pack, he needed to goddamn focus. Sam's life depended on Dean to be the clear-headed one, to be able to think when Sam obviously wasn't. When his brother thought he could take out a demon with consecrated bullets, thought he could face it alone...

The photo was on Sam's bed, upside down on the pillow. Dean carefully took the discarded, slightly bent photo and tried to smooth out the edges where he'd gripped it. There was a bright smile on Sam's face as his brother gazed up at him.

He stared at the photo until his eyes burned, then really got moving. Bags were packed in record time, then tossed into the Impala. Everyone else looked just as ready to go as Dean was, and not a mention was made about breakfast. Who knew when Sam had left?

A sudden raising of voices made Dean look on instinct behind him. “...telling you, the car was there last night when I went to bed, and that was at what, five? And now it's not there! How the hell could someone take a car in the early morning light without anyone noticing?”

The cop beside the raging man was diligently taking notes, but it left Dean's heart picking up speed again. It was close to nine now: if Sam had left after five, then that only gave him a few hours on them.

“We'll make it,” Bobby said from his truck next to Dean, and Dean nodded. They had to. His cell phone was handed back through the open window, and Bobby's rough half-smile did nothing to help his twisting insides.

He slid into the car and pulled out, not even wincing as the tires spun and squealed. He'd make it up to her later. After he'd found Sam.

His fingers reached for his phone and hit speed dial for Sam. It rang and rang, and when his brother's voice spoke it took everything that Dean had to not break his phone, he was squeezing so hard.

“Hi, you've reached Sam Winchester's voicemail...”

The beep echoed in his ear, and calm went out the window. “Don't do this,” Dean managed, and he realized the tightness in his chest was going to come out as a sob. “Please, don't...don't do this Sammy. Just stop somewhere, call me, tell me where you are, and I'll come meet you.” He swallowed and forced the sobs and tears back. Not now. Not now.

He still couldn't stop himself from begging, “God, Sammy, don't do this,” one last time. He closed his phone carefully, fingers clenching the plastic hard. Sam wasn't going to call back or answer. There was no way to reach his brother.

The only way Dean was going to be able to get to Sam was by beating him to the cemetery. Pursing his lips to the point of pain he shoved his foot to the floor and watched the speedometer rise. He would make it, even if his car never ran again, even if he burned out the engine. Nothing else mattered except getting to Sam on time.

Through it all, his own words kept repeating through his mind. Please don't do this, please god don't do this.

Please come back, Sammy.

It was dark and bitter cold by the time Sam reached the gates. The closest place to park had been about a mile back, and the trek through the forest had been cold and full of near-misses. Roots had popped up everywhere, and the wind had whipped through the trees. His small jacket wasn't enough, and he shivered. Kid looked cold.

Azazel would offer to build him a fire, but he had a feeling his goodwill would be misconstrued for some reason. You try to be nice to someone...

The gates creaked open, loud in the silence, and Azazel had to admit it was a neat effect. The cemetery was already spooky looking enough, and while he wasn't into the whole ambiance of haunted houses and foggy graveyards, it wound up being a good thing from time to time. It upped the fear level quite a bit, though Sam was doing his damnedest to hide his. Still, didn't matter. Azazel could smell it from where he was standing in the dark.

He'd followed his little chosen one up through the forest while Sam had plugged on. He'd almost offered to help, but again, he figured they weren't at that point in their relationship where his giving a helping hand wouldn't make Sam try to shoot him in the face. Kids these days were so violent.

That would be a good thing. But later. Not now.

He let Sam's gaze roam around the cemetery for a little longer before he gently tugged at his subconscious. Slowly Sam's face slid over towards where he was standing, frowning. Azazel knew the minute he perceived just who was waiting for him: his eyes got wide, and his hand reached for the gun at his back. Azazel let his golden eyes burn even brighter in the darkness, because he was a showman if nothing else. He stepped forward out of his hiding spot. “Hello, Sam,” he said. “It's so good to finally meet you.” Always good to put his best foot forward.

“Go to hell you fucker,” Sam hissed.

Azazel tsked in disapproval. “Manners, Sam. Your mother raised you better than that.” He paused, watching Sam flinch, before he grinned. “Oh, wait, my mistake. Sorry about that, by the way.”

“And what about me? Was I a mistake?” Sam asked. He kept the useless gun up and aimed at Azazel; if it made him feel better then Azazel would let him keep it.

“Oh no, no no, Sammy, you were planned. I wouldn't have let you get too hurt,” Azazel assured him. “But Johnny had to learn a lesson the hard way: sometimes it's the only way to make children learn.”

“Don't call me Sammy,” and was that a growl Azazel had heard? Impressed, Azazel moved forward.

Sam stood his ground, further impressing him. Yes, he'd made the right choice. He'd been surprised when Sam had decided to seek him out, but after John had disintegrated their agreement, Azazel had been allowed free reign. Which reminded him...

“You left Dean behind, all by himself,” Azazel said. “Shame; you shouldn't have done that. Not that I'm ungrateful, but for your sake, well. I'd always assumed you wanted to be there for your brother when he died.”

Fear and panic flared in Sam's eyes, and Azazel withheld his smile. He was easy to yank around, but that was where the fun came in. Puppets were meant to entertain, after all. It would be up to Azazel to turn Pinocchio into a real boy.

“Dean can take care of himself,” Sam snarled. “Like I can take care of myself, too.” A moment later, he could hear Sam's heart beat even faster as the gun was whipped forward, and a shot rang out in the cemetery.

Consecrated iron. Hadn't even dented the man he was wearing. He brushed his fingers over the suit (it was new, and a good skin was expensive these days) and sighed. “Sammy, Sammy, Sammy. Honestly? I'd have thought you would've known better.” He glanced up and smirked at the fear that was now bleeding into Sam's face. He'd actually hoped, the little tyke. Aw, kids: they were so cute when they were little. “Holy water doesn't work, either, if that was part of your next plan.”

Sam took a deep breath and Azazel could almost feel the moment he decided to try the exorcism. Best to cut that off before someone got hurt. “Besides, you didn't come here to kill me, Sam,” he said, and Sam stared.

“I think I know what I came here for.”

“You do, but it's not to kill me,” Azazel said. “You came here for something else.”

The hard smirk made Sam look dangerous: there was the kid Azazel needed. “And what would that be?” he asked.

“Answers,” Azazel said simply. The hard smirk was still there, but bit by bit he'd break it away. Just like he was breaking away everything else. Sam had taken time to break down, but without his family, without his precious Dean, Sam would crumble like a finely broken bone. “To the questions in your mind, the little doubts niggling at you. Things you know that no one else does.”

Sam was staring now, and the fear was mixing well with something almost like resignation. Azazel began to move closer. “Like how you can move things without touching them, without even realizing it. The chair in your room, for example. The way it hit the wall with a tiny kick. Or the rest of the trashed room that night.”

Sam's hand began to shake around the gun, horror rising. “The rosary that cracked your brother's windshield,” Azazel continued, and it was a beautiful thing to see as it dawned on Sam just how he'd been followed. “Freak accident from a freak.”

“No,” Sam whispered, shaking his head in denial. God Azazel loved his job sometimes. “No.”

“The dreams you've had, first Jessica, then Dean. Dreams about the future; it was how you knew that sweet Jessica had to be upstairs, why you dashed inside. No reason to think she was there except if you'd known she would be. Like in your dreams.”

“No,” Sam said, tears in his eyes now as he continued shaking his head. “No, they're just dreams, it was...they were all accidents-”

“You know it's not true. You know it's been you,” Azazel said, and Sam's face twisted in despair. Azazel spread his arms out and shrugged his shoulders. “You just wanted to know if it's true, kiddo. There's the truth.”

Even as Sam fought to breathe, even as he shook and shivered and tried not to cry, Azazel jumped through space and brought himself directly in front of Sam. Sam gasped and tried to fly back, but Azazel grabbed him and pinned him in place. “Now let me show you what we can do with all those new powers of yours,” he said with a grin.

Let the good times roll.

Chapter Text

The panic and fear threatened to overwhelm him. Never mind the fact that he was facing down the same demon that had pasted him to the ceiling and tried to burn him, kill him. The same demon that haunted his dreams, tried to take Jessica, had taken his mom. No, that fear was being swallowed by another: it was true. It was all true. The dreams, the moving things without touching them. Sam was doing it. He was psychic, no better than what they hunted.

Oh god.

Suddenly the demon was up in his face, and Sam didn't have time to move before it had him in its grasp. “Now let me show you what we can do with all those new powers of yours,” it said with a wide grin, and Sam realized all of a sudden that he was out there alone without a working weapon, without allies, without Dean, and this had been the all time stupidest idea of his life and he wasn't even going to live long enough for Dean to tell him that much, and he'd been okay with dying at the time if it meant saving Dean but he realized just then how much he'd wanted to walk away from this in one piece-

The demon let go and disappeared suddenly just as a loud shot went off, and Sam spun, dizzy with relief and adrenaline, towards where the shot had come from. John Winchester stood not even twenty feet away, an old looking gun smoking in his hand. “Dad,” Sam choked out. His own hands were empty, the gun somehow gone, but it hadn't done any good anyways. His head jerked to look around, but the demon was gone.

“Sam get over here,” Dad said firmly, gun still up and aimed to where the demon had been last. “Now, before it comes back and tries to grab you again.”

He was too calm, too cool about all of this, Sam thought crazily. Then another thought entered his mind and Sam was going to pass out from all the ups and downs.

I know pieces, but not a whole picture.

“How long have you been standing there?” Sam asked shakily. Dad tightened his lips but stood his ground, giving Sam all the answer he needed. He'd been there long enough to hear it all, to hear what he needed to in order to fill in the blanks.

The wind began to pick up, cold and heavy enough to make sound. “He didn't have to stand there long: Johnny's known for a long time what type of freak you are with your telekinesis and psychic dreams,” the demon said suddenly from behind him, close enough that Sam could feel its breath.

His dad glared behind him (or was he glaring directly at Sam, he didn't know) and moved his aim towards Sam (no, behind Sam, behind Sam). “Don't you dare call my son that again,” his dad said, low and hard.

Sam moved suddenly, darting to the side, and his dad pulled the trigger as soon as he was clear. The demon slid away from the blast, and seconds later Dad went flying off into the metal gates. He hit hard and tumbled to the ground where he stayed, not moving. Blood began to pool around him on the ground, saturating the earth, and god knew where it had come from. If Sam strained, he could see his chest moving ever so slightly. He was alive. For now.

Dad.

Hands grabbed Sam and pulled, and even as Sam began to fight he found Dean at his side. “Go!” Dean shouted over the wind, moving towards the gates. “Sammy, we have to go!”

Yellow eyes were watching from somewhere, Sam knew it, those eyes were always going to be watching. God knew where the damn thing had thrown their dad, and the fear for him surged up again, leaving him almost choking. It was always fear.

And Sam realized he couldn't do this. He couldn't do this anymore, couldn't live in fear for the rest of his life, always looking over his shoulder to search for yellow eyes. The fear would cripple and kill him, and he had to finish this, had to end this now. “No,” Sam said, pulling back. “No, no no, Dean, no, I have to get back there, I have to kill it-”

Then he was being pushed instead of pulled, and suddenly Dean was up in his face. “No, you don't, don't give me that fucking bullshit, you don't, you don't, I'm not letting you anywhere near that fucker,” Dean yelled over the wind. “You took off on me before, you stupid sonuvabitch, and I almost didn't get here in time, and he's done enough to you already, I'm not gonna give him the chance to do more!”

If Dean hadn't been holding onto him, Sam was pretty certain his legs would've given out. Dean had heard, too. Oh god, Dean knew, he knew what Sam had been trying to hide, and Sam wasn't sure if it was possible to cry and throw up at the same time but he was pretty certain he was about to find out. Dean had probably figured it all out and knew what Sam was, saw that Sam was nothing better than what they hunted, was a psychic and a freak and Sam felt like the wind howling around him was going through his ears. “He turned me into a freak-” Sam began, but Dean grabbed on even harder, fingers digging into his collarbone.

“You're my brother, and you're not a fucking freak, and if you say it again I'll kick your ass even harder than you already deserve.”

“Dean I can move things without touching them, I can see the future in my dreams!” Sam shouted. His hands found Dean's jacket and he clutched back as hard as Dean was still doing. “That's not normal!”

“I'm not losing you!” Dean screamed.

Guns and shouts went off around them, mixing with the roaring gusts of air. The metal gates were creaking in the wind, leaves and branches rustling hard around them, but all Sam could see was his brother's rage and fear, his hands knotted in Sam's shirt, his eyes filled with tears. It made him want to grab his phone and listen to the voicemails Dean had left that Sam had fought to ignore all the way to Wyoming. “Dean,” he managed, trying to say it all with that one word.

Dean shook his head viciously, still holding on, still staring with fear. “Sammy, I'm begging you, please,” he pleaded, and Sam felt...odd, almost. Like he'd seen this before. “Let's just...let's just go, let me get you out of here-”

Then Dean flew backwards, clearing several headstones before hitting his back against a tree. “Dean!” Sam shouted, hurrying forward. Dean was already staggering up, his jacket torn. Blood slid down the side of his face in a small but steady trickle. He didn't stop, though; already he was pushing forward towards Sam. Sam kept running, nearly tripping over old, hidden headstones, the wind pushing his hair into his eyes. The odd feeling only got stronger, pulsing through his mind and leaving his head throbbing.

Yellow eyes appeared out of the darkness suddenly, gazing at Sam with a predatory gleam. They turned to Dean without hesitation, and Sam screamed as he pushed himself harder towards Dean, the odd feeling now having a name: déjà vu. He'd seen this happen before, he knew already what was going to happen. He knew, god he'd known for days. His latest recurring dream, the one he'd seen while they'd driven to Colorado, was coming true.

Dean tossed around the cemetery, bloody and torn. Dean staring at him with fear, shaking his head and pleading. Dean being thrown-

And even as Sam screamed, even as he ran forward, Dean was flying through the air. He hit one of the headstones and crumpled at its base. His head was turned away, but Sam knew what he'd see. A dead, empty stare. A broken neck.

Dean, dead.

Hands grabbed him again and held on with a supernatural strength Sam couldn't fight. “As much as I love the sound of screaming, yours is getting a little much,” the demon commented, sounding just as casual as someone discussing good weather and sunny skies, managing to make himself heard over a shrieking, guttural cry that Sam was pretty sure was coming from himself. And it was wrong, all of it was wrong-

“NO!” Sam kept screaming, his eyes locked on Dean. “DEAN!” Dean's body, his corpse, and god knew what had happened to his dad or the rest of them. He pulled his arm back and let his elbow slam home into the demon, but the demon kept going as if Sam hadn't touched him. Sam kicked and fought to free himself, his strength wanning, feeling lethargic as adrenaline deserted him and grief set in. But he couldn't give up now, not when...not when Dean...

“Dean,” he whispered miserably. Tears blurred his vision as he tried to keep fighting to get free, to get to Dean. He couldn't see past the headstones anymore, couldn't see his brother at all, and it gave him renewed strength to fight back again. If he gave up now, after everything...

“DAD! BOBBY! DEAN!”

The next thing Sam knew, he was airborne. He hit something hard and metal and tumbled to the ground, wind fully knocked out of him. His hands shook as he tried to push himself up, and his pulse was racing through his ears. When he could finally pull in a breath again, the roaring in his ears didn't subside: the wind had picked up again. Between his tears and his hair Sam couldn't see anything, and he pushed his trembling body up from the ground.

The demon was regarding him with a triumphant smile. “Now we can get this show on the road,” it said cheerfully. “God, you have no idea how long I've waited for this. This is it, Sammy. This is the beginning of it all. Once it's opened, we can jumpstart this apocalypse.”

Apocalypse? Open...? Sam turned to see just what the demon was staring at, brushing tears and hair from his eyes. A huge mausoleum stood over him, and the metal he'd crashed into were the two large doors. An odd pattern was set in the center with a small hole. It looked almost like a lock and key.

Oh god. Bobby had said something about iron around the cemetery, but the demon had obviously gotten past it, which meant-

Which meant whatever was on the other side of the doors was bad news. Something that tied in with Sam's powers, which made it only worse.

Sam didn't even look, just threw himself forward and began to run. He got father than he'd thought before he wound up being slammed back into the doors. This time, the demon didn't look nearly as triumphant or happy as before. “Oh no, Sammy,” it sneered. “You're not going anywhere, kiddo. I fought for a long time to get you here, to get this all set up, and you're not gonna run off on me now.”

He strained and pulled and tried to push himself up, but Sam found himself well and truly pinned against the wall. Tears sprang to his eyes again, realizing just how fucked he was. His dad was hurt badly, if not outright dead, and god knew where in the cemetery he was now. The rest of them were nowhere in sight. He was pinned and trapped by a demon, and Dean...

He choked out a sob as he fought to move again. “It'll be all right,” the demon crooned. “Don't you worry. It wasn't like your coming here on your own led to Dean and your pops dying.” It paused, and Sam shut his eyes as tight as he could. “Oh, wait. It did. Gotta learn to have some patience, Sammy.”

Sammy. He was never going to be anyone's Sammy again. Oh god.

“But hey, you and I, we're gonna have a lot of fun. Rock this world, rock it inside out,” the demon said happily, even as Sam felt more tears slide down his face. “I just gotta find that gun, so I need you to stay put. Then, do you know what I'm gonna do with you?”

Even over all the wind, even over the demon's voice, he still heard the small click of a gun. His eyes flew open and widened further as he saw the Colt aimed directly at the demon's head. “You're never gonna touch my brother again, you sonuvabitch,” Dean said, his voice low and full of rage. The demon's eyes widened in obvious surprise, before the trigger was pulled and the demon lit up from the inside. It jerked twice before it tumbled to the ground, yellow eyes fading away completely.

The pressure against him faded even as the wind died. None of it really registered at first, because Sam was still staring. Dean's chest heaved and his hand clasping the Colt shook, but he was alive. His neck wasn't snapped, his eyes weren't dead. He was staring back at Sam, and for a second neither of them moved.

Then Dean was flying forward, the gun disappearing somewhere along the way, because when Dean fell to his knees his arms wrapped tight around Sam and both hands clutched at him. “Sammy,” he whispered, and Sam wrapped his arms around Dean and held on just as hard. Dean was alive. God, he was alive.

“Dean,” he choked out, and Dean tightened his grip.

“It's over,” Dean whispered harshly in his ear. “It's over, Sammy.”

Sam held on as tight as he could and let go, his sobs muffled by Dean's jacket.

It was over. At last it was fucking over.

Chapter Text

It was his weak spot, the one thing he always forgot to count on.

Okay, so he'd gotten cocky. But hey, he figured he'd been allowed, right? His demons swarming the cemetery, keeping the other hunters busy, John out for the count against some rail, and Sam, his captain of the team Sammy, broken and crying before him. Idle hands were the devil's joy and all that, but here, it'd paid to be busy. He'd deserved to be cocky, Luciferdammit. He'd had it all.

But he'd gotten too cocky. And even as he'd heard the click of the gun, even as he'd felt the bullet burning him away, he'd known that no amount of cockiness would change anything.

Because Azazel had forgotten about Dean and his determination when it came to Sam. He always forgot about Dean.

And then he wasn't able to remember or forget about anything.

Watching Sam was like watching a ghost. It was painful and reminded him of the night eight years ago when Azazel had tried to take his son.

John knew what its name was. Well, what its name had been. Dean had done it: he'd killed the sonuvabitch. For John, for Mary, for himself. But most of all, for Sam.

Not that it was doing Sam any good at the moment.

At the moment, Sam was carefully washing the dishes. His head was hung low over the task, shoulders hunched up as high as they could go. He probably wasn't conscious of doing it: he'd been like that for the past few weeks. John was half afraid that he was going to have to physically pull on Sam's shoulders to unwind him after all this time.

Sam had been doing everything carefully. Cleaning carefully, eating carefully, speaking carefully. When he spoke at all. It was coping, not living, and John hated it. His son hadn't goddamn smiled in days, weeks, he didn't even know anymore. Sam was trying to exist below the radar, trying to be ignored and forgotten, and it'd gone on long enough.

And I know that deep down, deep inside, you know it left Sam alive for a reason.

At the time, Jim's words from all those years ago had spoken to John of his latest good deed. Saving a woman and her child from a fiery fate. But now, now John knew the truth. Little guesses here and there, random fires over the past twenty-two years that had sounded too much like Mary's. They'd been so close to the time of the Winchester's fire that John had dug deeper. Found mysterious deaths, odd psych evaluations. Claims of powers, like telekinesis and telepathy, electricity and futuristic visions.

The demon, Azazel he reminded himself, had left Sam alive for a reason. Not to teach John a lesson, though. For his own plans. Plans that Dean had firmly squashed at the devil's gate. He hadn't known but Sam had guessed, enough to haltingly tell John when he'd found his boys huddled at the door, gripping each other hard enough to bruise. Sam'd explained what Azazel had told him, about the doors, about using Sam for the apocalypse of all things.

The sink was turned off, and John watched as Sam carefully dried his hands before moving to the table. The laptop was opened and the search resumed once more. Multitudes of books were laid open across the table's surface, all having to do with telekinesis, visions. The two things Sam knew he had so far. He was researching as much as he could on the subject, quietly and on his own.

Missouri was researching too, though Sam didn't know it. She'd called John yesterday from Lawrence and told him to get Sam down to her when he could. “If that boy pushes his abilities away, he's gonna open up a whole host of problems. They need to be instructed, helped in the right way, or they'll come back one day and hurt him. Hurt him bad.”

When John had suggested the idea yesterday, though, Sam had pushed himself away from dinner and left for his room. John hadn't heard him speak since.

He was scared. John got that. But he wasn't about to see Sam get hurt over it. There wasn't anything he could do to stop the powers Azazel had given his son. The only thing they could do was go forward. Jim would be proud of his 'forward' thinking, and John gave a small smile at the thought. He was getting wise in his old age, Bobby had mentioned. He'd have to give them both a call later today, let them know of his burgeoning wisdom. Not too late, though: Jim was still recovering. Whatever Missouri's friend had done, though, had helped save his life. John was grateful for it.

Hell, John was grateful for his own ability to see the sun every morning. Azazel had messed up something when he'd thrown him into the gate surrounding the cemetery. His back still didn't feel right, and walking was slowly but surely getting easier. Dean had joked a couple of weeks ago that he was just getting too old for the job, and joke or not, the idea had stuck in his head. Maybe he was too old. He'd gotten what he truly wanted out of hunting, and for the first time in years he was honest to god sleeping right. Maybe it was time to give the job up to someone else.

Like Jo. John couldn't help the grin at the thought. Though they'd both retired back to the Roadhouse, Ellen was having a tough time keeping Jo back. Her daughter had gotten a taste for the hunting life and she wanted in. Ellen had reached the point where her fighting with Jo wasn't worth it, and she was taking Jo up to Bobby every now and then to have Jo learn from the best. Jo would be out there on her own.

Probably wouldn't even bump into Dean. His oldest had his sights set on a different goal these days: getting Sam to move around the house, getting Sam to eat, getting Sam to talk to him. His biggest goal was pushing Sam back towards Stanford, but Sam hadn't been listening to him so far. The university had graciously allowed for Sam to come back in the spring semester with no academic penalties, once they'd been informed of the fire on campus and the 'tragic events' that had led to an almost mental breakdown or something. Ellen had a contact named Ash up at the Roadhouse who was apparently a genius when it came to technology. He'd whipped up some forms that were near CIA level of legit and shipped them off, stating that Sam had fallen into a spiral of depression as the fire had triggered tragic memories from his childhood.

Dean had about had a fit when he'd heard, threatening to kill and maim for even considering that Sam had had a breakdown or was depressed in any way, shape or form, but Sam hadn't cared. “It's not like I'm going,” Sam had said quietly.

And it wasn't like the papers were half wrong. Sam had fallen apart after everything. There'd been the return of nightmares that had had him waking up screaming in the middle of the night. The only person he really confided in was Dean, and the last time he'd talked with Sam, Dean had come straight out to John and asked him bluntly, “Do you think Sam's a freak?”

“No,” John had answered honestly. “He tell you that?”

“You gonna hunt him down for being a psychic?” Dean had continued, seemingly ignoring John's answer.

“I'd kill anyone who tried to do it,” John had said firmly, a surge of rage coursing through him. Dean had nodded and left, apparently satisfied. That had been yesterday, and two hours later he'd tried to tell Sam that he should practice with his powers. Subtlety apparently wasn't John's power, because Sam had balked and run.

He just wouldn't be subtle. The clock was nearing five, when Dean had said he'd be back. He was planning on taking Sam out for pizza, a night for just the two of them. Somewhere in the conversation Dean was going to push for Stanford and tell Sam he was going back. Several of his professors were even allowing him to take the finals he'd missed so they could give him the grade he deserved instead of an incomplete or fail. That would leave Sam on the right course to graduate when he was supposed to.

The main winner of the argument would be Dean's own offer, though: going to Stanford with Sam. He'd been considering it for awhile ever since Stanford had called to inquire about Sam, and they'd had the papers made up. Sam's main refusal was from his not wanting to go alone, John was fairly certain. Dean offering to go with him would possibly be the incentive to changing his mind.

And if his oldest just happened to be doing it for his own selfish reasons, to make sure Sam wasn't out of his sight, well, John wasn't going to complain.

But if he was going to talk to Sam on his own, John would have to do so before Dean came back.

He pushed himself out of his chair and swallowed his groan. He wasn't as stiff as he'd been before, after it'd happened, but he wasn't going to ever be spry enough to run from a wendigo or dodge a spirit. No, he was going to have to be done, that was all. And the idea wasn't all that unappealing.

He took a seat next to Sam at the table and didn't miss how tense his son suddenly got. They'd been walking on eggshells for too damn long, all of them, and enough was enough. “Find anything?” John asked.

Sam swallowed but shook his head. “What exactly was it you were looking for? What the powers do exactly? Or how to get rid of them?” John asked, pushing a little further.

If Sam got anymore tense, he'd break something. “Can't get rid of them,” he finally said, voice soft and full of regret. “I've searched everywhere.”

“Okay,” John said, simple and short. That got Sam's attention, and he whipped his gaze from the laptop to John.

“Okay? How is this okay, Dad? You're son's a...a freak that can move things without touching them, can see the future sometimes, and that's okay?”

“You call my son a freak again, and I'm liable to do something you won't like,” John warned.

“These powers are from a demon, Dad,” Sam insisted, and as scared as the kid looked, John was actually glad for it. It was the most animated Sam had been in weeks. “They're not good. Psychics are what you hunt-”

“Some psychics are what I hunt, and you would never be one of them,” John declared firmly. “Missouri's a psychic and I wouldn't think about hunting or hurting her. When she told me that your powers should be instructed I fully trusted her.”

Sam's shoulders were up to his ears again. “She kept...saying that it wasn't as bad as I thought it was, that I shouldn't think that way. All through those days when everything happened.”

“And she was right.”

“You shouldn't be encouraging this,” Sam said shakily, and his chin jutted out in an attempt to stave off his emotions. “Why would you encourage this? It could...it could turn me into something not human, I-I could be-”

John reached out and took one of Sam's hands in his, cutting off Sam's rambling. “You listen to me,” he said firmly. Sam slowly shifted his gaze to meet John's, and the tears hovering in his son's eyes told John that he should've done this a long time ago, even though he knew that Sam wouldn't have listened before now. “I don't care whether you can see the lotto numbers for tomorrow, as I'm sure your brother's asked you for,” he said dryly, and Sam snorted wetly. He'd thought as much.

“You know your son,” Sam managed, trying to offer a fake smile. It didn't go very far.

“I know both of my sons,” John said, and the fake smile disappeared completely, leaving Sam fighting to not have it turn upside down.

He leaned in closer, his shoulder brushing Sam's. Sam was sniffling now, but looking less afraid than he had in days. He looked...hopeful. “I also don't care if could wash those dishes you just did without lifting a finger,” John added. “You will always be my baby boy. That demonic sonuvabitch could never change that. And you're an idiot if you thought it would.”

Sam's chest was heaving as he bit his lip to keep it together. “Dad,” he choked out, and John pulled him in tight, trying to remember the last time he'd really hugged his son.

Getting sentimental in his old age, too. And yet John still really couldn't find it within himself to care.

The front door was slammed really hard and Sam jerked away, wiping at his eyes. His attempted smile was a little stronger, but still a little forced. Better than it had been, though.

He wouldn't have given any smile if he'd known that Dean had been watching, which John was fairly certain he had been. Dean didn't slam doors that hard.

A moment later Dean appeared, giving them both a big grin and completely ignoring the fact that Sam's face was red and stained with tears. Something he wouldn't have done, ever, especially given the events of the past few weeks. “Hey guys,” he said cheerfully. Yeah, he'd been in and watching.

Not like John would call him on it, though. “You get what you needed?” he asked.

“Yeah, finished setting it all up,” Dean said, and Sam began to look suspicious. Dean merely grinned wider when he realized that Sam was finally getting interested, finally waking up and wanting to know what was going on.

Of course, it wasn't going to do him a lick of good: Dean wasn't going to tell Sam that he'd been at the bank setting up a new account for himself and getting an honest to god checking account. John wasn't going to rat him out.

Before Sam could ask (or think of asking), the phone rang. “Let me grab my other jacket, and we can head,” Dean said with a nod to Sam. “That is, if you're still up for pizza.”

“Yeah, I'm good,” Sam agreed. “We can go whenever.”

If Dean smiled any wider, he was going to crack his face open. Dean took off for the stairs just as John reached the phone. “Hello?”

“Mr. Winchester?”

John blinked several times. Of everyone he'd ever expected to call, she had not been one of them. “Hello, Jessica,” he said, and his sons froze, Dean halfway up the stairs, Sam in his seat. “How are you?”

“Um, I...I actually called to speak with Sam. If I could. Is he there?”

John glanced at Sam, who was staring at him like a deer in the headlights. “He's here,” John said, and Sam began minutely shaking his head as rapidly as he could. John still handed him the phone before heading off into the living room. Dean was still staring at his brother from the stairs, his hands digging into the railing. “Dean,” he said quietly. His oldest turned fast towards him, and John nodded his head towards the other line in the living room. Sam was still trying to bring the phone to his ear to talk, and didn't even notice Dean quickly making his way back down to pick up the other line.

They were both listening in when Sam finally spoke. “Hello?”

“Sam, it's...it's me, Jess.”

Sam didn't reply, just kept staring off into the distance. John only knew pieces of what had happened, but from the way Dean was clutching the phone he knew their parting hadn't been good. It wasn't her fault, the way she'd responded, but she'd still hurt Sam. That was enough for Dean.

There was a heavy sigh from the end of the line. “I just wanted to call because...because I need to know the truth. Is it true? I mean, you always told me the truth. About everything. And I felt like you were telling me the truth that night, but I couldn't believe it. So is it true?”

“It's true,” Sam said quietly. He swallowed hard, looking completely bewildered. “It's all true. I'm sorry I had to tell you that way, I was...I was trying to keep you safe-”

“Could we meet for coffee?” she said, bringing Sam to a halt. “I want to talk to you about...all of this. And...and us. I miss you. And if you're right, if this is all true, I'm the one that owes you the apology. So...coffee?”

Even as John watched, Sam's face changed. His features relaxed, and his eyes blinked away the last vestiges of tears. And slowly, slowly but surely, his lips spread into an honest to god smile, and it felt like it was the first time he'd smiled in years. “Yeah,” he said softly. “We could do coffee.”

It was done. The last piece had fallen into place. And John knew they were going to be okay.