Title: Touched - sequel to Memories of Me & Wherever This Road May Lead Us
Author: Gillian Middleton
Characters/Pairing: Sam/Dean
Rating: NC17
Total word count: 14 500
Warning: Wincest - spoilers for Season 1 in general and Faith in detail.
Summary: Third and last in this set - Sam & Dean are together, but doubts and fears still remain.

Touched.

by Gillian

It still felt strange waking up next to Dean.

Sam was snuggled up to his brother's back and had an arm flung over him. They were both naked under the covers and he felt warm and comfortable and disinclined to move any time soon.

But it still felt strange.

Maybe because since they'd started traveling and hunting together again Dean had projected this kind of wall around himself. Sam had half noted it from the beginning, but caught up in his own misery and trying to deal with the turn his life had taken he hadn't really paid much attention to it. It was only later, as the agonizing pain of losing Jessica faded to the dull ache of grief that he realized how much his relationship with his brother had changed.

How much he'd lost in those years apart.

When they were kids touching hadn't been an issue. Dean was always ruffling Sam's hair or flinging a casual arm around his shoulder. Heads together in the backseat his big brother had guided him through his first steps in reading, chuckling and poking fun even while he pointed out mistakes and helped correct them. Sam clearly remembered Dean standing behind him, long arms stretched over his, correcting his aim and bracing him for the kick of the pistol.

They'd tumbled like puppies in those days, play-wrestling to burn off energy after hours in the car, running side by side along the beach or stripping down to shorts to fling themselves in some handy waterhole.

Inseparable. Like two halves of the same whole.

Hadn't Dean said something like that? Looking back on their first time together, when everything between them had still been so crazy? That it was like being whole again. To Sam it had felt like finally coming home.

With the added bonus of hot sex thrown in.

Now Sam was smiling and too wide awake to go back to sleep. With a contented sigh he rolled onto his back and stretched his long limbs, feeling Dean stir next to him and mutter something under his breath.

"Go back to sleep," Sam murmured, dropping a kiss on one freckled shoulder and pulling the covers back up.

Dean muttered something again, but obediently rolled over and snuffled into his pillow, breath evening out.

Sam smiled again, at the shadows long lashes made on smooth freckled cheeks. At the way Dean's broad shoulders tapered down to his trim waist. At how much trust there was in the simple act of drifting back to sleep under his brother's kiss.

Hands under his head Sam lay back and stared up at the cracked and water stained ceiling unseeingly. Musing.

For all the familiarity, for all the pleasure and simple joy he got out of this - it still felt strange.

Because of those walls, he supposed. That 'don't touch, don't talk about it' barrier that Dean had thrown up between them right from the very beginning. The one that said that they could travel together and hunt together but that it all only went so far. That Dean had his back and trusted his own life to Sam - but that his thoughts, his feelings - well, they weren't included in the mix.

It had been kind of lonely.

Remembering those early days still made Sam's heart ache a little and he closed his eyes, letting the familiar tide of pain and grief and guilt wash over him.

Leaving Dean and Dad. Inevitable. Painful. The wound healed but the scar remained.

Letting Jessica die. Guilt he would always carry with him. She'd paid the price for his desire to be safe and normal. Another wound, still healing over. Another scar.

Falling in love again. Scary. Painful. He could feel the tug of guilt, that he could love again at all. That he should choose to love his brother. That despite the guilt and the fear he damn well wasn't going to let this go.

Well, so much for safe and normal.

The pain passed as it always did, and Sam opened his eyes again, chest aching. But the searing anguish of those early days of loss was gone. Burned out, as even the fiercest fire eventually must. Burning away all those youthful and foolish dreams of normal and safe. And what they'd left behind was the very essence of him. Sam the man, the hunter, the brother. And now the lover.

What they'd left behind was Dean.

Safe and normal was vastly over rated.

Needing to be closer Sam rolled over and laid his hand on Dean's back, running it gently over sleep-warm skin, tracing winged bone, sweeping muscle, subtle old scars. His hand found that place where rib cage ended but before hip bone began and he curled his fingers over that curve, unable to help leaning forward and laying another kiss on the arch of Dean's shoulder. Sam's tongue anointed the spot and he shifted closer, pressing his stirring body to Dean's back, heart beating faster at the touch.

Strange. Forbidden.

"Mine," Sam growled softly, and Dean's breath caught as he awoke and came alive under his brother's touch.

Never too vocal in the morning Dean caught at his hands and then turned in Sam's embrace, lips seeking his and latching on as Dean pressed his body to Sam's and they both groaned in their throats at the slide of warm smooth flesh. Like a flash fire the passion sprung up between them, they strained together as if they could possibly manage to get any closer. Long legs entwining, wide masculine hands sliding around broad rib cages, clutching, squeezing, pressing flat chests together.

Their lips were still locked and to Sam it was everything he loved about this new lovemaking. This equality, this exploration. As if they were teenagers content to just kiss and kiss, mouths twisting and aching, tongues exploring, retreating, sweeping and touching. While their bodies performed their own dance their mouths made love to each other, penetrated and stroked, soft and wet, heat and taste.

One of Sam's hands groped between their bodies, Dean's hand was already reaching for him, as one they pressed and wrapped around both their lengths. Sam threw his head back, gasping for air, crying out in passionate intensity at the sensation, his cock, Dean's cock, for god's sake, pressed together, both their hands moving, sliding, pumping, this perfect rhythm and how the hell did Dean know to sweep his hand around the head like that? The calluses, the hard press of his ring, and now the sting as Dean buried his face in Sam's neck and caught the skin of his throat in a hard suckling kiss.

The caress of Dean's hair under his chin, that mouth suckling at his skin, that hand, his own hand, the rhythm. Sam was coming and Dean was following him down, warm heat spurting between them, spasms that had Sam gritting his teeth and moaning, his body jerking as his spilled his pleasure, feeling it mingle with Dean's, coat their flat bellies, cover their hands.

And then this was the other part that Sam loved and he hummed his contentment as he rolled onto his side, arms still wrapped around Dean, curving his brother against him in a lovers embrace. More than anything Sam craved these moments after their lovemaking, when his body wasn't driving him on towards fulfillment any more, when he could stroke his hands over Dean, snuggle up against him, envelop him in all his love. Their bodies were still simmering with afterglow and all of Dean's defenses were down.

And there were no smart comments as Sam nuzzled the soft hair just behind his brother's ear. Dean had nothing sarcastic to say as Sam slid their hands together, fingers sliding between Dean's and pressing palm to palm. Dean only closed long lashes and smiled gently as Sam fitted them together and whispered his love.

Strange could be vastly under rated.

-666-

"Dude," Sam said reproachfully as he splashed water on his face. "You gave me a hickey."

"Did I?" Dean stuck his head around the bathroom door and Sam tilted his head, exposing his throat to the mirror. Dean studied the reflection, nodding thoughtfully. "Not bad."

Sam flicked wet hands at him and Dean skipped backwards, chuckling wickedly.

Shaking his head Sam sprayed shaving foam into his hand and slapped some on. He met his own eyes in the mirror and couldn't help grinning. It had so been worth it.

"Hey, did you bookmark that news page last night?" Dean called. "Oh, wait, I found it."

"What do you think?" Sam emerged from the bathroom, wiping spare shaving foam from behind his ears.

Dean was scrolling down the page. "Disembodied heads floating around a swamp? That's weird even for us."

"One head," Sam corrected, taking a seat and swiveling the laptop around. "The head of Rufus McGruder, prowling around One Tree Swamp," he read aloud.

"How does a head prowl?"

"Now I looked up the name and there's been legends about this guy dating back to the Civil War. But up until last week that's all they were. Legends about a floating head."

Dean crossed to the sideboard and poured two cups of coffee. "Uh huh."

"Until this couple died," Sam continued. "And something chopped their heads off."

"Or someone," Dean pointed out, carrying the mugs over and depositing one in front of Sam. "Who knows what this old couple were into. Could be a revenge thing, or a mob thing."

"In Mississippi?"

Dean shrugged. "Stranger things have happened."

"Maybe," Sam allowed, picking up his own mug and taking an appreciative sip. "But I think it's worth checking out."

Dean pondered. "Legend about a floating head. Two headless murder victims. Worth a drive I suppose."

"Unless you have anything better to do?" Sam quirked a brow at him then chuckled wickedly as Dean's gaze automatically shot back to the mussed bed.

Dean rolled his eyes. "And I have the reputation as a sex maniac in this relationship."

-666-

"Well I think we can rule out the Mississippi mob," Dean said, putting two beers on the table and pushing one towards Sam.

Sam glanced at the still half-full glass in front of him but forbore comment.

"Hmm?"

"Yeah, the bartender told me they were a nice normal couple. Lived here all their lives, he owned a real estate firm, she was a hair dresser."

"And did the bartender write it all down for you on that cocktail napkin?" Sam asked, raising one brow and assuming a curious face.

Dean's own brows rose innocently. "What, this?" he said, looking down as if surprised to see the folded square in his hand. "Just playing along, Sammy. Pumping her for information."

"So long as that's all you're pumping," Sam said mildly, but he wasn't really worried any more. After all flirting came as naturally to Dean as breathing, in fact he'd be more worried the day Dean stopped flirting.

Dean grinned. "What can I say? I can't help my natural charm."

"Let's just focus on the case, shall we?" Sam said dryly and Dean sat up straighter and looked alert.

"Okay, the case. Like I was saying, Mindy - that's the bartender - Mindy told me that the whole town is in shock over this. And get this. Their heads still haven't been found."

"Which is probably the weirdest part of this. I mean, if the spirit of Rufus McGruder killed them, why take their heads? Wouldn't it be bodies he was after?"

"Could be lonely," Dean suggested, taking a mouthful of beer. "Even disembodied heads need company, right?"

Sam shook his head, rubbing at his eye. "Yeah, whatever. So, tomorrow we do a little prowling of our own? See if we can find out who Rufus was and where he might be buried?"

"Then an old fashioned salting and burning party." Dean nodded. "Saving us a trip to the swamp, cos, dude. I am so not into spirits who rip peoples heads clean off."

"Yeah, that's nasty," Sam was agreeing, but his eyes were on the tall long-legged blonde who was swaying over to their table, tray in hand. Dean looked up and over his shoulder as she paused by their table and collected Sam's mug, which was still a third full. Dean helpfully drained his own mug and put it on her tray and she gave him a lingering toothy smile.

"Thanks, Mindy," Dean said, lashes fluttering.

"Don't be a stranger," Mindy purred.

"Hey, dude," Sam said, nudging Dean's knee with his own as Mindy swayed away. "Have I suddenly become invisible?"

"Hmm?" Dean turned back to face him, a lingering smile on his lips. "Man, I cannot believe I have given that up."

"What - Mindy?" Sam said, wondering if he was hearing right.

"Yeah, Mindy," Dean confirmed with a sigh. "And all the other Mindys out there, who from now on only get to look but not touch."

Sam blinked as he took this in. "We, uh, never really talked about this, did we?" he asked, a trifle nervously.

Dean snorted a chuckle. "Dude, since when did we have to talk about it? I could feel your eyes boring into me like laser beams when I was up at the bar."

Sam sought for words but came up dry.

"And don't think I've missed all the possessive looks and that whole caveman thing you do in bed."

Sam glanced around automatically to make sure no one was in earshot. "What caveman thing?" he hissed indignantly.

Dean made an incredulous face. "How about the other morning? Growling in my ear, telling me that I'm yours."

Dammit, Sam could feel the color climbing in his cheeks. Dean just loved making him squirm. "Yeah, well you are," he said, going on the offensive.

Dean raised a brow. "I am, am I?"

"Damn right," Sam said belligerently, grabbing his untouched beer and swallowing a mouthful.

Dean pursed his lips, considering this carefully. Finally he nodded. "Works for me."

And Dean could always do this too, turn a bad mood upside down and have him grinning in seconds. "It does?"

Dean nodded thoughtfully. "Yep. So long as it cuts both ways."

"It does," Sam rushed to agree. "No women."

"No - and I can't believe I'm saying this - women," Dean agreed. "Wait, hear that?"

Sam frowned and listened. "What?"

"The sound of millions of women sobbing as they realize they're never gonna get a shot at this." Dean gestured to himself.

"And the men who are never gonna get a shot at that?" Sam asked slyly, figuring this was as good a time as any to satisfy one nagging question.

Dean narrowed his eyes. "You've been working up to that question for a while, haven't you."

Sam shrugged. "Well?"

"Well, Sammy," Dean said loftily. "Men are not an issue." He leaned forward and lowered his voice. "You're the only man who's ever got into my pants."

The soft lewd words sent a different kind of color thundering to Sam's cheeks and Dean chuckled wickedly.

"So come on," Dean murmured. "Your turn."

"You're the only man I've ever wanted." Sam meant to keep the words as light hearted as Dean's but somehow they came out low and intense and Dean's eyes dropped to his lips and Sam was reminded instantly of the first time his brother had gazed at him with desire in his eyes. Back then it had shocked and horrified him, right now it was turning him on so hard and so quickly he gasped out loud and Dean's eyes followed his mouth and his own lips opened on a soundless gasp.

"Let's get out of here," Dean muttered, pushing away from the table and Sam stood up, feeling his legs slightly unsteady under him. For a moment he was disorientated as the sounds of the bar around them filtered back into his consciousness. For a little while there he had been lost in his own world with his brother. Lost in a world of green eyes and perfect lips.

Outside Dean unlocked the car then reached in and flicked the back lock up, pulling open the door with a creak. Without hesitation Sam climbed in the back, pushing sweaters and crumpled up paper bags off the seat onto the floor and sliding to the far side. Then Dean was in, slamming the door behind them and locking it, sliding along the seat and crowding Sam up against the door.

One long leg on the seat, the other on the floor, Sam reached out and grabbed Dean's shoulders, lips seeking and finding, breath hitching and sobbing in his chest as Dean's hands found his butt and half lifted, half dragged him onto his thighs. Sam locked his legs around his brother as they necked feverishly, rocking forward and moaning as he couldn't find the friction and the heat he craved.

"Wait," Dean murmured, sliding his hands up Sam's back and tugging. Obediently Sam leaned back, hands braced behind him as Dean stroked his sides and around to his middle, pulling up his shirt and pressing against the warmth of his flat belly. His stomach fluttered as Dean tugged at the button fly of Sam's jeans, pulling the worn old denim loose and exposing Sam's boxers. Sam arched as Dean tugged both waistbands down around narrow hips, sighing in pleasure as his brother's knuckles dragged over his skin.

"God, Sam," Dean moaned, and their foreheads met and rested together as they gazed down at Sam's flushed and rosy cock, hardening and thickening under their gaze. Chest rising and falling Sam blindly reached out and pulled Dean's shirt loose, seeking and finding the warm skin of his belly.

"Sam?" Dean whispered, cool beer-scented breath caressing Sam's cheeks. "I want to..." Dean licked his lips and Sam choked on his breath, eyes widening. He could barely breathe as Dean slid off the seat and onto his knees between Sam's suddenly boneless legs. All he could do was clutch Dean's shoulders as gentle fingers drew his clothes down further and cupped his narrow hips, thumbs finding and pressing into soft curls.

"You - you sure?" Sam stuttered, although he didn't know what he'd do if Dean changed his mind now.

Dean's intense expression faded a little and he tilted his chin up, seeking and finding Sam's eyes. "Yeah," he said simply. "You?"

Sam's answer was to reach out with trembling fingers and stroke along Dean's flushed jaw line, tracing the path his lips loved to kiss, carding into soft hair and curving around Dean's nape. With the gentlest of pressure he drew his brother closer, and Dean licked his lips and allowed himself to be drawn.

Sam wanted to watch, more than anything he wanted to watch as those perfect lips parted and Dean's tongue emerged. But as Dean's hand curled around Sam's length and Dean's breath stroked over his pulsing flesh Sam could only throw back his head, muscles tensed as he fought for control. The fiery heat of Dean's mouth as it engulfed him was almost more than he could stand and he mewled and cried out as sensations exploded through him, more intense than anything he had ever known.

He tried to cry out a warning but Dean was way ahead of him, drawing back and putting his other hand into play, pumping hard as Sam arched and shuddered, shooting onto his own belly, spilling over Dean's fingers as those talented hands slowed and gentled. Shudders trembled through him and he caught at Dean's shoulders, drawing him up against him and shivering as Dean's exposed flesh ground into his belly.

Tumbling onto his side he drew Dean down on top of him and discovered a whole new pleasure. For as his own passion simmered he could hold onto Dean, experience every sound and sensation as Dean clutched him close, mouthed his throat, thrust against him. Sam reached between them, fingers sliding through his own cum before catching hold of Dean's cock and tightening his grip, other hand guiding Dean's hip as his brother moaned and fucked the tight channel of his fist.

Equal measures of love and tenderness engulfed him as Dean trembled and came against him. Seeking his brother's lips Sam caught the soft moaning cries and swallowed them down, hands stroking in broad sweeps over Dean's trembling back as he collapsed against him.

-666-

"You know," Dean said thoughtfully. "A man could get used to this."

The TV was on, its haphazard light flickering into the corners of the dark room. Dean was sitting up against the bed's padded headboard, Sam sprawled between his legs, back to Dean's chest, head lolling on his shoulder as they watched a late night horror show.

"What?"

"Regular sex," Dean returned smartly.

"Hmm," Sam agreed, yawning a little and snuggling back into warm lax limbs.

"Don't underestimate it. Speaking as a 27 year old man who's never enjoyed regular sex - at least not with the same person - it's a pretty big deal."

Sam considered this. "I never thought of it that way."

"It takes a little getting used to."

"Yeah, well it doesn't show. Trust me, you've taken to it like a duck to water."

Dean's chest rose and fell on a chuckle and Sam rode out the gentle motion. "I'll tell you what kinda took me by surprise tonight," he whispered into Sam's ear. "The way it felt when you admitted there'd never been any guy but me."

Sam remembered his own possessive pleasure at Dean's similar revelation and shivered.

"Man, but that turned me on hard. Never occurred to me that I would even care where a lover had been before me. But you saying... you know. What you did. Whew," Dean breathed out. "That just blew me away."

"I believe I was the one blown away," Sam couldn't resist saying and Dean obviously couldn't resist the urge to tickle him right where he was most vulnerable and Sam squirmed and giggled. Dean relented and turned the wicked tickle into a soft caress and Sam covered his brother's hand with his own and held it possessively to his belly.

"We're each other's first time," Sam said with satisfaction.

Dean chuckled smugly. "Chalk up another one for big brother," he teased. "Although, seriously, dude? Of all the firsts I've given you, this one was so not on the list."

"I was thinking about that before." Sam reflected. "About you helping me learn to read, and teaching me to swim, and hit my targets."

"First steps, first potty training, first day of school."

Sam twisted his head and stared at his brother in outrage. "You so did not potty train me."

"Like you remember," Dean mocked. "It was plastic and shaped like a turtle and you called it po-po."

"No way."

"Yep, way," Dean said smugly. "And it was my job to run and get it when you made that cross-eyed face that meant you needed to go. And while we're at it, who do you think taught you to aim for the bowl when you were old enough to use the grown-up toilet?"

"You're making this up aren't you?" Sam demanded.

"Hey, these are fond memories for me. First time you managed to go without hosing down the entire bathroom you had to run and get Dad to show him. You were really proud."

Sam shook his head, still not entirely believing it. "See, this is the other thing I was thinking about before. You and me... All those memories. And now we're here together like this. It still feels kinda weird."

Dean was silent for long moments and Sam bit the corner of his lip, wondering if he should have admitted that.

"Too weird?"

Sam shook his head fiercely, squeezing Dean's hands tight. "No. It's... it's actually kind of a good weird," he admitted, flicking Dean a glance. His older brother had his head tilted and was looking at him quizzically. "Would I sound like a total pervert if I admitted that it's actually kind of a turn-on?" Sam said in a rush. "That whole forbidden thrill?" He held his breath.

Dean pursed his lips thoughtfully and then nodded. "Yeah. A total pervert." His face was straight for about three seconds then he shot Sam one of those looks to see if he was buying it and Sam elbowed him in the stomach and twisted to face him.

"You prick, I thought you were serious."

Dean huffed a laugh and flicked Sam on the chin. "You are so easy," he crowed. "Of course I get it, dumb-ass. I'm right here with you, aren't I? D'you think I come that hard and fast for just anybody?"

Sam gaped at him in amazement and Dean touched his chin again, gently pushing his jaw closed.

"Tell me you haven't been beating yourself up over this?" Dean demanded and Sam half shrugged.

"No," he said, not quite honestly. "You really feel that way too?"

Dean reached out and curved his hand over Sam's shoulder, fingers caressing and then squeezing firmly. "Every time we're together like this, man, I get this feeling, you know," he admitted lowly. "This is Sam touching me. This is Sam I'm touching."

Sam swallowed, half closing his eyes as the words seeped into him. "Yeah," he breathed. "That's just the way it is. Dean's hands, Dean's lips..." He breathed in deeply, then smiled sensually. "That's my scent on you, yours on me."

Dean's eyes darkened and he nodded agreement. "Don't know why that's such a turn-on, but it is." He tugged at Sam's shoulder and drew him back down until his head was nestled back on his big brother's shoulder. "Like you said, I suppose. The thrill of the forbidden."

"Yeah," Sam agreed, eyes drifting closed. He felt the soft touch of Dean's lips on his forehead and he smiled sleepily. "Glad it's not just me."

"I'm right here with you, little brother."

-666-

"Here he is," Dean said, peering at the microfiche screen. Sam leaned over from his own screen, his face lit by the harsh glare.

"Newspaper article?"

"Yeah, Rufus McGruder. Looks like it was a big deal at the time. Bunch of damn Yankees raided his estate and carried off all his livestock. Freed his slaves too."

"And chopped his head off?"

"Doesn't say that here, just that he was murdered." Dean flicked a page. "And that he was buried in the family plot. But it doesn't say where that is."

"Parish records do," Sam said, gesturing to his own screen. "Now we just need to find out if the estate and the graveyard still exists."

-666-

They lucked out - the house was the property of a local preservation society and the Civil War era graveyard housed the bones of several war heroes, and was still open to the public adjoining the modern day cemetery. That afternoon they took a guided tour offered by the society, walking through the quiet green graveyard with a volunteer guide and a half dozen other tourists.

"We were reading about Rufus McGruder," Sam asked politely when they paused in the shade of a huge magnolia tree. The other tourists perked up and nodded agreement and the guide pursed her lips disapprovingly.

"That old legend," she dismissed. "No one even paid it any mind until the Wexler's were killed."

"Have you ever seen it?" one of the tourists asked eagerly. "The ghost?"

"Well," the guide said, sensing the interest in the group. "I've never seen it myself. But I do know some folks who swear they have. Just a head, all glowing and silver, bobbing along in the darkness."

Sam slanted Dean a look and his brother raised a brow and assumed a skeptical expression. "But no one's ever died before, have they?" he said in a bored voice and the guide frowned again, seeming just as peeved to hear the local legend dismissed as she had been to hear it espoused.

"So far as we know," she said tartly. "But then no one tried to buy this land up from the preservation society before," she said triumphantly. "Which is what Larry Wexler's real estate company was trying to do before he was murdered."

"Ooh," the tourists said, looking impressed.

"They wanted to buy the graveyard?" Sam probed, interest sharpening.

"And the land surrounding it," the guide confirmed. "But that's not going to happen now poor Larry's dead, is it?"

Sam exchanged a significant look with Dean. "I guess not."

-666-

"Why six feet deep?" Dean groaned, scraping another shovel full of dirt off the top of the old coffin. "Why not five feet, or four?"

Sam scrambled up out of the hole and unscrewed the cap from the tin of rock salt while Dean scraped a few more clods away and struck hard with the shovel, splitting the worn old wood instantly. He pried the boards back and Sam shone the flashlight down into the open grave.

"Woah," Dean said, staring in surprise. The bones were in remarkably good condition for their age, but that wasn't what drew their attention. Old Rufus was neatly laid out in his box all right, but his skull wasn't resting on his shoulders, it was sitting firmly between the long bones of his thighs. "Who would do something like that?"

"Ancient Celts used to inter the bodies of slain enemies that way," Sam mused, flicking the flashlight's beam along the length of the grave. "It was an insult."

"I'd have thought chopping someone's head off was insult enough," Dean observed, hauling himself out of the hole and picking up the lighter fluid.

"Remember what the guide said, about Rufus having a reputation as an unkind man to his slaves?"

"And how bad did you have to be in those days, to get a rep like that?"

"Maybe slaves buried him, or at least laid him out," Sam wondered. "And this was their revenge."

"No wonder he's been so pissed for the last hundred years. Let's put him out of his misery."

Sam scattered the salt and Dean squirted in lighter fluid and dropped a burning match on the whole mess. The dark old bone yard lit up around the open grave, flickering flames dancing as the brittle old bones burned and collapsed finally into ash and dust.

"Well," Dean began, and then Sam became aware of a different sort of light, a bluish white that filled his vision and had him wincing and covering his eyes. By the time he squinted and his eyes adjusted it was to the sight of Dean frozen in place as a shining figure floated towards him, over the open grave and its dying flames as if it weren't even there. Hands reached out and the figure swooped with unearthly speed. By the time Sam groped for the shotgun loaded with rock salt in his bag the figure was gone in a flash of light and Dean was dropping to his knees.

"Dean!" Sam bellowed, dropping down next to him and grabbing drooping shoulders. Dean's head lolled on his shoulders for a moment and Sam shook him again, hard, fear coursing through him. "Dean!"

"Damn," Dean groaned and Sam took a deep breath, holding his brother steady with one hand while the other reached for his chin, cupped it, lifted it until he was looking into Dean's slitted eyes.

"Dean? Speak to me, man. Are you okay?"

"She kissed me," Dean said, eyes opening and widening. He lifted a hand and rubbed his mouth roughly. "Did you see that? The bitch kissed me."

"It wasn't Rufus McGruder?"

"Not unless he was a cross dresser," Dean said sarcastically. "Didn't you see her, Sam? She was a girl, a teenager. Didn't you see her?"

"I saw a figure," Sam said, sitting back in relief. "I thought we'd missed something and old Rufus had come to rip your head off."

Dean shook his head. "This was no Civil War babe," he said firmly. "She was wearing a t-shirt and she had braces and..." he trailed off, lifting hand to his head.

"What?" Sam asked anxiously.

Dean shook his head, looking around as if only just realizing he was on the ground. "Let's get out of here. I'm suddenly sick of graveyards in the middle of the night."

He stood up stiffly, letting Sam help him with a hand on his elbow. Sam shoved the gear into the big bag and slung it over his shoulder before rushing back to Dean's side to walk next to him as they picked their way through the darkness back to the road and the car. Dean stopped.

"We should fill the grave in," he realized.

"Screw it," Sam said, taking his elbow again and tugging him towards the car. "There are enough crazy tourists around to take the blame for it."

Back at the car Dean let himself be guided to the passenger side and he collapsed onto the seat, slamming the door closed with a creak and a grateful sigh. Sam hurried around to the driver's seat and climbed in.

"Well, that was weird," Dean announced.

"You're telling me," Sam said fervently. "You scared the crap outta me, man. Last time you collapsed like that you woke up with no memory."

"This time I woke up with too many memories," Dean said, mouth turning down and Sam frowned at him.

"What?"

"When she kissed me, man, I got these flashes. Like maybe she wanted something from me. Whatever, man, she was sure putting something in my head."

"What?" Sam asked, alarmed. "What did she put in your head?"

"Memories, images, I don't know," Dean said, groping for words. "It is the weirdest feeling, Sam. To have memories in your head that you didn't see with your eyes."

"Tell me about it."

Dean snorted. "Right, I forgot. Hey, you're the psychic one around here. How come she came for me?"

"Beats me. What did she tell you anyway?"

"Nothing in words, it's just these pictures in my head. A yellow house, with roses by the steps. A room with a rug. This smell of violets. Like, an old lady wears, you know? Violet scent."

"Anything else?"

"Yeah, lots, but nothing I could make out clearly. It's like her life was passing before my eyes, you know? And it wasn't a very long life - she was just a kid."

Sam took this all in and considered it. "We should see if we can find out who she was. Maybe she does want something from us." He tilted his head. "Did it feel... Did it feel like she was trying to hurt you?"

"No," Dean answered quickly. "There was nothing evil about her. She just seemed... sad."

Sam drew in a deep breath. "Okay, back into research mode." He started the car. "You sure you're okay?"

"Other than a screaming case of ghost-lips?" Dean shrugged. "Just weirded out."

-666-

"So, is that what those visions are like for you?"

Sam scrolled down a page then hit the back button and tried another search.

"Add some searing pain and a screaming headache afterwards, and it looked pretty close."

"I still don't understand why it picked me," Dean mused. "Wait, go back." A small picture caught his eye and Sam clicked on it and an article appeared.

"Killer of murdered teen convicted," Sam read. He checked the date. "Mary Jo Koenig, 16, whose body was found at popular teen make-out spot. It's dated September 1988."

"That's her," Dean said, studying the blown up picture. "Man, that's really her."

"Eighteen years ago," Sam noted, skimming the article. "But I don't get it. Her killer was found, he even confessed. Why would she come to you if she wasn't looking for help?"

Dean shrugged. "You're asking me?"

-666-

"So why me?" Dean asked later that night as they curved together under the covers. Sam was on his back and Dean was tracing idly over the planes of his chest, chin resting on his breast bone. "Why did her spirit come to me?"

Sam considered it. "You said she felt sad?"

"I guess," Dean mused. "Lonely. Hell, who wouldn't be, haunting that desolate old place for 18 years. I'd still like to know why me though."

"Don't worry, I'm sure it won't happen again."

-666-

Another graveyard at midnight and Sam was running from a ghoul through the broken old headstones. "Dean!" he called and Dean stepped out from behind a stone angel and took aim. Sam dived for cover as the shadowy figure took shape and screamed an unearthly wail just as Dean fired both barrels of cold forged iron through it. With a shudder it exploded into a million pieces and then vanished into a waft of black dust.

"Gotcha!" Dean grinned cockily, resting the gun back over his shoulder. "You okay?"

Sam climbed to his feet and brushed grass off his jeans. "Next time you flush it out and I hide," he panted.

"Sounds like you're outta shape there, Sammy. You need more exercise."

"I get plenty of exercise," Sam began, then froze as the stones around them lit up with an unearthly light and a low buzz filled his ears. "What the hell?" he swore as the light flared and he covered his eyes against it.

This time when the light began to fade he saw it more clearly. No teenager this, she was taller, willowy, long hair cascading down her back, the skirts of her translucent gown sweeping the grass. She was cupping Dean's face and fear flashed through him as he saw his brother's legs buckling under her touch. Ignoring the burning light strobing behind his eyelids Sam sprang forward, pushing through the resistance of her opaque form and grabbing Dean's shoulders as he toppled.

Around him the light disappeared and so did the willowy shape and Dean collapsed into his grasp like a puppet whose strings had been cut.

"Dean?" Sam clutched Dean to him, shaking his shoulder then cupping his face. Dean's skin was pale and his breath was hitching in and out roughly. "Dean?"

But Dean wasn't waking up and with a curse Sam lifted him up into his arms, grunting at the weight. Staggering on the wet grass he carried his brother through the dark to the road. Suddenly Dean stiffened in his arms and Sam lowered him to the cracked pavement, supporting his shoulders as he sputtered and stirred awake.

"Fuck me," Dean swore. He was shivering and Sam wrapped his arm around his shaking form more tightly. "God dammit shit crap. What the hell was that?"

"Would you believe another ghost macking on you?" Sam said, cupping Dean's face and feeling with alarm the unnatural chill of his skin. There were shadows under Dean's eyes and his lips were turning blue. "Let's get you back to the car and warmed up."

"She kissed me," Dean stuttered as Sam helped him stagger to the car and leaned him against it as he opened the back door and pulled out a blanket. Sam shook it out and wrapped it around Dean's shaking shoulders. "Damn, Sammy, I can't get warm."

Sam pulled him close and tried to warm Dean's body with his own but the chill wouldn't go away. "There's a heater in the motel," he said roughly, opening the front door and bracing Dean as he fell into the front seat. "Hold on, Dean, I'll get us back there as fast as I can."

"Did you see her?" Dean said through chattering teeth.

"Yeah, more clearly than the other one."

"Me too," Dean said. "Damn, the stuff she put into my head!" Dean clutched the blanket more tightly around him. "I could hear it and smell it, Sam."

"What did she show you?"

"Her death," Dean said, then closed his eyes and hunched his shoulders. "I feel like I'm never gonna be warm again."

-666-

Back in the motel room Sam stripped them both and twisted the faucets until the water was as hot as he could bear. Holding Dean close he stepped under the spray, barely suppressing a cry as needles of hot water assaulted his skin. But Dean was groaning his pleasure, turning into the spray and pushing his face under its cascade.

Slowly the shivers disappeared as he rotated under the hot water and Sam could let him go as his own skin adjusted to the scalding heat.

"Better?"

Dean took a deep breath. "On the outside," he confirmed through lips no longer blue and pinched. "What the hell is happening, Sam?"

-666-

Toweled dry and wrapped in warm sweats and a blanket Dean perched on the edge of the bed and sipped his coffee.

"Can you tell me about it?"

Dean nodded. "Yeah, I guess. It was like Mary Jo for about a second. The coldness of her, and the memories she was putting into my head. Then the pain started."

"Pain?"

"It was too much, it hurt, her pushing into my mind like that. I don't know, maybe I fought it."

"It all happened so quickly," Sam recalled. "She was only on you for a few seconds, Dean."

Dean blinked at him in surprise. "It felt like longer," he revealed.

"Was she trying to hurt you?"

Dean shook his head. "No," he said, frowning. "She was sad, like Mary Jo. But she was desperate too. Pushing that on me, hurting me. It was like..." Dean trailed away and Sam reached out and laid a gentle hand on his knee. It sounded like a violation, and a frightening and painful one. "Why did this happen again?" Dean whispered harshly.

"I don't know," Sam said somberly. "But I think we need help, Dean. You know, maybe Missouri? We're only a couple of hours from Kansas."

"Are you kidding?" Dean said incredulously. "She'd take one look at us and she'd know, Sam."

Sam had to agree. "Yeah, probably."

"And it's all right for you, she likes you. Me? She's got a wooden spoon with my name on it, and she's not afraid to use it."

"Okay, maybe I'll call around. Joshua mentioned a psychic friend of his once, in Sioux City. Maybe he can figure out what's going on."

"Why I've become a ghost magnet," Dean said gloomily. "That's the kind of thing that could put a serious crimp in our work."

"You feeling better?" Sam said, noting that Dean's hands had stopped shaking.

"I'll feel better when we figure out why this is happening. And why now."

"Could it have something to do with the Curse?" Sam ventured. "I mean, what else has changed recently?"

"I started sleeping with my brother," Dean retorted. "Maybe this is your fault. You infected me with your psychic cooties."

"Yeah, that's me," Sam said dryly as Dean smirked at him. "Typhoid Sam. You ready to tell me what she showed you?"

"That's the weird part," Dean exclaimed. "She was old, Sam, really old. The stuff she showed me was like turn of the century stuff. The century before last. Dude, there were horses and carriages."

"That is weird. How are we supposed to help her if she was murdered a hundred years ago?"

"She wasn't murdered, Sam. She drowned, in icy water. I think she killed herself." Dean shivered again, this time not from cold.

"So again - a spirit latches onto you for no reason? What the hell is going on?"

-666-

Joshua came through with the name of a friend in Sioux City who might be able to help them, and they packed up the car and left within the hour, both disinclined to spend even the rest of the night in town. As they drove through Kansas Sam slanted Dean a look and his brother shook his head.

"Don't even think it, dude."

So they drove through the night and the next day, arriving in Sioux City stiff and tired. They chose a family style restaurant and settled into a booth wearily. Sam ordered for both of them while Dean excused himself to use the restroom, and after handing in their order Sam unfolded a local map and located the street they'd been directed to.

He was just wondering if they should check into a motel and call on Joshua's friend in the morning when someone screamed from behind him. Sam leapt to his feet in time to see Dean, engulfed in blue white light, stiffen and drop to his knees.

"Call an ambulance!" Someone was yelling as Sam pushed though the crowd and dropped to his brother's side. The light dissipated like a cold breeze and Sam shivered as he felt the chill of Dean's skin under his hand. People were still babbling and exclaiming around them but all of Sam's attention focused on his brother. Dean wasn't breathing.

Someone touched his shoulder but he shook them off, tilting Dean's head back and pinching his nose closed. He covered his mouth and breathed into it, once twice. Lifting his head he listened desperately for breath, but Dean was still as death. Around him the restaurant had quieted except for the sound of someone praying from behind him.

"Come on, Dean," Sam implored, laying his hands on his brother's chest and pushing, willing the blood to start pumping, the heart to start beating. Now someone was crying behind him but he tuned it out, tilting Dean's head back and forcing his own breath into his brother's lungs, watching his chest rise, once, twice...

And then Dean was sputtering, coughing, turning his head and gasping for breath.

"Oh, thank god!" a woman's voice exclaimed and the restaurant erupted into applause as Sam cradled Dean's head, relief flooding through him as Dean's breathing continued, his eye lashes fluttering.

"It's okay, Dean. I've got you."

-666-

"They think it was an electric shock," Sam said quietly, hand wrapped around his brother's.

Dean frowned at the wires taped to his chest emerging from his hospital gown. "Why am I plugged in?"

"Your heart stopped," Sam said baldly. All he wanted to do was lay down next to his big brother and drag him into his arms. He wanted to howl like a child, he wanted his father to turn to and tell him everything would be all right.

He wanted to stop standing by hospital beds and seeing Dean in pain.

Mostly he was holding it all together in sheer relief, for those moments when Dean's chest began to rise and fall on its own, those first gasping breaths, that narrow line between life and death crossed once more. Dean was alive and his hand was warm in Sam's.

Sam could cry later.

"I was coming out of the bathroom," Dean recalled. "Why the hell would they think it was an electric shock?"

"Because witnesses saw a blue light all around you and you dropped down dead," Sam said tartly. "Oddly enough it never occurred to anyone that you were attacked by a ghost at the Baymont Family Restaurant."

"I don't even believe it and I was there," Dean retorted. "Dude these things are coming out of the walls at me." He grabbed at wire and tugged it, wincing as it came loose with a pop.

"What are you doing?" Sam asked in alarm, quickly switching off the machine before it could start wailing.

"Getting the hell out of here," Dean informed him, pulling the rest of the wires free. "Sam, we're in a hospital. People die in hospitals. If I've got ghosts attacking me in public this is not a place I want to be. The next one might actually kill me."

"The last one killed you," Sam reminded him, but he helped anyway, fending off the irate nurses as they rushed into the room and helping his brother into his clothes despite their dire threats and warnings.

"Just get me out of here, Sam," Dean implored and Sam took his arm and signed him out and handled all the hassles involved in removing a man from hospital two hours after his heart stopped.

"Ernie Hamilton," Dean ordered from the passenger seat as they pulled out of the hospital. "And no stops on the way, please."

-666-

The apartment block was old and Dean hesitated on the threshold, hands clenching at his sides.

"I could go get him?" Sam offered. "Ask him to come down here?"

"I can do it," Dean said tightly. "Don't fuss, okay?"

Dean must have been weaker than he was making out, he took the stairs slowly like an old man and Sam had to force himself not to hover too closely. Dean hated being fussed over and he didn't need his brother making him irritable right now. Ernie Hamilton lived at the end of the hall, a dingy bulb illuminating the number on his door. Sam raised a hand to knock but the door opened before he could even clench his fist.

Dean jumped next to him and cursed under his breath at his own jumpiness.

"Sorry," the old man who opened the door said, with a friendly grin. "Usually I like making my clients jump - but you look like you've had one too many surprises lately."

Ernie Hamilton was a bit of a surprise, and so was his home. Looking more like a library than a psychic's house, every available space was crammed with books and magazines. Ernie himself was old, even his dark skin looked faded although his eyes were bright and his smile merry. If Sam had to guess he'd say late seventies maybe even early eighties. He was dressed in a suit and waistcoat, with a dapper silk tie at his throat and a matching handkerchief protruding from his pocket.

"I'm Sam Winchester," Sam said politely as the old man cleared a chair for him. "This is my brother, Dean."

Dean was already sitting on one of the other two free chairs, breathing a little more heavily than usual, eyes still shadowed, skin still pale.

"And you can call me Ernie," their host invited. He walked a little stiffly and Sam automatically put out a hand to support him as he lowered himself into his chair. "Well, Dean," he said cheerfully. "We're a pair of invalids, aren't we? Want to tell me what has you looking like five miles of bad road?"

Dean glanced over at him and Sam launched into an explanation, darting worried glances at his brother as he told the tale.

"You saw memories and images from the first two? Their lives?" Ernie mused. "And the third? Today?"

Dean shook his head. "It was all just a jumble," he admitted. "I honestly couldn't even tell you if it was a male or female."

"Well let's see what we can find out." Ernie flexed arthritic old fingers and reached out for Dean's hand, taking it firmly between both of his. He cradled it, frowning a little, head tilted, eyes losing focus.

"Whew," he said quietly, blinking and focusing back on Dean's face, then flicking a glance to Sam's. "Even if Joshua hadn't told me I'd have known you were a hunter."

Dean glanced at him and Sam gave a small nervous shrug.

"Most people's lives are touched by the supernatural once, maybe twice if they're really unlucky. But you..." He patted Dean's hand. "You vibrate with it. Makes it a little hard to sort through it all." He drew in a deep breath and half closed his eyes, brow furrowed in concentration. Suddenly his eyes slammed open and he pulled his hands back swiftly. "There it is," he said grimly.

Eyes wide and alarmed Sam stared at Dean's face. His brother's jaw was clenched and he was hiding his own fear and alarm pretty effectively. "What?"

Ernie lifted his left hand and slowly touched Dean's jaw, the side of his face, nodding his head. "You've been touched by death," he said heavily, then pulled away and stood up with a groan, leaning on the table for support for a moment.

"Well, yeah," Dean said in confusion. "Like you said, that's what we do."

"No," Ernie said, shaking his head, breathing deeply. "Death has touched you. It came for you."

"The Reaper," Sam blurted out as the memory struck him.

Ernie's glance was sharp. "A Reaper?" He looked back at Dean. "A Reaper touched you?"

Dean swallowed. "Twice," he confirmed.

Ernie lifted his hand as if to touch Dean's face again, but drew back, shaking his head. "That'd be it then. It touched you, Dean. Left its mark on you. You're... tainted with it."

"But that was months ago," Dean protested. "Why is this starting up just now?"

Sam's hands were trembling and he pushed them under the table to hide them as Ernie walked heavily away and lowered himself on the arm of an ancient old sofa.

"It's not," Ernie said with certainty. "It's just getting worse now, to the point that darkness and death are being physically drawn to you. My guess is that this has been dogging you for months, making you more vulnerable to evil, open to curses and the like."

Sam blinked and caught Dean's gaze again, his brother stared back him, understanding flaring between them.

"The Brackett Curse," Sam whispered. "It never made sense that you were affected like that."

Dean nodded agreement. "So how do I stop it?"

Ernie was shaking his head again. "I don't know," he admitted.

"There has to be a way!" Sam insisted. He looked at Dean and then back at Ernie. "Right?"

"Maybe," Ernie admitted. "I'll ring around some friends, see if I can find anyone with some answers." He rubbed his hands on his thighs and Sam noted the movement with a bitter twist of his lips. "Come by tomorrow," Ernie suggested, then shook his head. "No, call me. I hope to have some better news for you."

-666-

"Here's your hat, what's your hurry," Dean muttered as they made their way down the old staircase.

"He really couldn't wait to get us out of there," Sam agreed. "Maybe we should find someone else, Dean. Maybe Missouri knows someone. We could just call her."

"Maybe," Dean said, pushing open the dusty front doors and stepping out into the sunlight. They both paused on the front step and took a deep breath. Sam wondered if Dean was as relieved as him to be out of those cramped little rooms, but his brother was already walking down the stairs towards the car.

"We'll wait until tomorrow," Sam decided as he climbed into the driver's seat. "If Ernie hasn't got anything for us we'll call Missouri."

Dean was silent, staring out the window at the rundown neighborhood around them.

"You okay?" Sam asked worriedly. He understood why Dean had been so eager to leave the hospital but his brother's pallor and listlessness frightened him.

Dean shrugged. "I don't know."

Sam felt an old sting of guilt. "Nothing comes for free, does it?" he said quietly. "When Roy healed you it all seemed so easy. But the consequences of that act just keep spreading and spreading, like the ripples in a pond."

"Maybe Roy didn't save me at all," Dean said softly. "Maybe he just put off the inevitable." He glanced at Sam then, eyes veiled. "If you hadn't been there today... That last spirit would have killed me, Sam."

"Yeah but I was there," Sam reminded him. "And I'm here now and we're gonna fix this thing. Dean?"

Dean nodded and Sam finally turned the key in the ignition and started up the car. It sprang to life with a low growl and they sat there for a moment as it purred and shuddered.

Sam was silent as they drove, his mind spinning. The Reaper. He could remember all too clearly his fear and desperation when Dean had been given only weeks to live. He could remember how devastated Dean had been to learn that the price of saving his life had been the life of another man.

And he could remember how he had defended his actions in bringing Dean to the faith healer to be healed.

"I didn't know," he'd said and Dean had nodded tightly, accepting that.

Sam didn't feel guilty about trying to save his brother's life by any means possible. No, his guilt went much deeper than that. Because even after the terrible cost had been revealed, Sam couldn't find it within himself to regret what he had done.

Dean was alive. That had been all that mattered to him.

And somewhere inside him was that place, that knowledge. That even if he had known the cost it wouldn't have made any difference.

He'd judged the woman who had made a deal with death to save the man she loved. But in his heart of hearts Sam knew he wasn't really any better.

-666-

Dean stayed in the car while Sam checked them into the newest looking motel he could find. He wondered what the odds were of finding a ghost in this place, then wondered what the odds were of one finding Dean back at that bright cheerful restaurant.

He drove the car to their door and pulled up in front of it, eager to get inside after the stress and exhaustion of the last 24 hours. All he wanted to do was close the door on the world and wrap his arms around Dean and try to put some color back into his pale cheeks.

But Dean closed the car door behind him and simply stood leaning against it as Sam unlocked the motel room door.

"You coming in?"

Dean clenched his jaw and shook his head. "I'm gonna to take a drive," he said shortly. "Clear my head."

"Alone?" Sam asked, although it was pretty obvious that's what Dean meant. "I don't think that's a very good idea in your condition."

"I just think I need a little space right now," Dean returned, eyes down. "We need a little space right now."

"And I was just thinking the opposite," Sam ventured softly. "I was just thinking you need my arms around you right now."

"Is that what you were thinking?" Dean challenged swiftly, lifting his eyes and meeting his brother's. Sam almost stepped backwards in shock. There were storms and darkness in Dean's eyes and they were scary as hell.

"Dean?"

"Well, how do you know you were thinking that?" Dean asked sharply. "How do you know you're not being affected by this... taint on me?"

"Whoa," Sam said, stepping forward and closing the gap between them. But now Dean was the one who stepped back, pressed against the side of the car, physically drew away from him. Sam felt it like a blow. "What are you talking about, Dean? What's wrong with you?"

Dean barked a humorless laugh. "You just heard Ernie, Sam. You heard what's wrong with me. I'm marked by evil."

"Ernie never said that. He said you'd been touched by death, Dean, that's not exactly the same thing."

"No, but he sure couldn't get away from me quickly enough, could he?"

"He was scared," Sam defended. "Death is a pretty scary thing."

"You heard him, Sam. Evil is drawn to me. Those spirits, that curse."

"He said you were more vulnerable to those things, Dean. Not that you were evil."

"Tainted is a pretty strong word, Sam." Dean shook his head.

"Listen, Dean," Sam said, wishing he could reach out and touch his brother now, but feeling the wall between them like a physical entity. "Death doesn't take sides, it's not good or evil, okay? It just is. Ernie felt death on you and it scared him. Things that live in the darkness sense that too and are drawn to it. It's made you vulnerable. But it hasn't made you evil, man, okay? You are not evil."

"But if I do evil things?" Dean said on a whisper of breath and Sam frowned and then his eyes widened as Dean finally looked up at him again. The storm of darkness was gone, leaving only pain and devastation in its wake. "Don't you get it, Sammy? You said it yourself, not so long ago. The way things are between us, what we've become? It feels wrong to you."

"I never said that!" Sam protested, shocked and horrified by the implications of Dean's words.

"Not exactly that, but close enough. And I get it now, it all makes sense," Dean said relentlessly. "I was open to this, I was vulnerable to it. And when my memory was gone it just moved right in, don't you see that?"

Pain shuddered through him and Sam fought to keep it from overwhelming him. "What are you saying, Dean?" he pleaded. "You're saying what we are is evil?"

Dean's head was shaking in denial. "No, but maybe this... thing that's happened to me. Maybe it's blinding us to the truth, Sammy. That this is wrong."

"Nothing's blinding us, Dean," Sam insisted unsteadily, stepping forward, crowding into Dean's space, pushing through that wall. He encircled him, bracing his hands onto the car on each side of him, trapping him in his circle. "And this isn't wrong. We've been through all this. Okay, it's not normal and it breaks all the rules, but it's not wrong. Dammit, you know that!"

"I don't know what I know!" Dean shouted back. "I don't know what you know! I don't know if you're not just as infected by this thing that's happened to me as I am."

"You love me," Sam ground out. "And I love you. That doesn't come from a bad place, Dean. There's nothing evil about that."

Dean shook his head stubbornly. "Then tell me, Sammy. How come we don't talk about Dad any more?"

Sam froze, eyes locked with Dean's.

"What do you suppose Dad would think about this thing between us? Huh?"

Sam stepped back, rejecting this conversation, these words, but Dean stepped forward relentlessly.

"You know what he'd think, Sam. He'd be disgusted, he'd be horrified. He would never accept this, in a million years."

"Why are you saying this?" Sam demanded. "We already know all this, Dean. No one in the world will accept what we are. There are no clubs for us, no rainbow badges, no pride marches. We're on our own in this, just like we have been in everything else."

"Doesn't that tell you anything?" Dean pleaded. "If it's so bad that we have to hide it from the whole world, even the people who love us, then how can it be right, Sam? How?"

"You can ask me that?" Sam demanded. "Man, how can you even think like that? Where the hell have you been the last few weeks when everything has been so good between us? Why the hell are you so quick to jump on this as some kind of excuse to push me away?"

Dean set his jaw, shook his head, denial in his every movement.

"No?" Sam asked searchingly. "No, you're not pushing me away? No, this isn't some kind of excuse? What is wrong with you, Dean? Why the hell is it so hard for you to just give in and be happy for once?"

"Because I'm scared!" Dean shouted. "Okay? I'm scared to death!"

Sam's breath froze in his chest. "Of what?"

"Of everything," Dean said wildly. "Because I'm supposed to be strong. I'm supposed to know what to do, and I don't, Sam. I just don't. Because for every time you touch me and you love me and it feels so right, so perfect between us, it also scares the hell out of me. Because you're my little brother, Sam, and I'm supposed to be taking care of you and I don't even know if I'm taking advantage of you, if I'm damaging you. If I'm keeping you in this life just because I love you so much and I can't stand to lose you again."

Sam watched as Dean fell apart in front of him, eyes blurring as his big brother's walls came crashing down and crushed him under their weight. Tears streamed down Dean's cheeks, his hands were clenched into fists, his mouth was trembling as he jerked to a halt, biting at his lip as it shook.

"And what the hell does that make me, Sam?" Dean beseeched and Sam couldn't take any more, he stepped forward and dragged Dean into his arms, wrapping himself around him even as Dean struggled and fought and twisted in his arms. "Dammit, Sam," Dean cried out and then he was collapsing against him and Sam pushed him back against the car as his legs threatened to give out under him.

Sam held Dean tight, held him up, held him together for long minutes as Dean shook and shivered under his touch.

"It's all right, Dean," Sam whispered. "You don't have to be strong all the time, man. Let me take care of you for a little while, okay?"

"I can't," Dean murmured shakily. "I don't know how."

"Learn," Sam advised firmly.

Dean shook his head, but he wasn't fighting any more, he didn't try to pull away.

Sam struggled under the weight of his own pain and Dean's as well. How could he have missed this, these last few weeks? While he had been enjoying their relationship and reveling in their new-found closeness, Dean had still been struggling to come to terms with all the changes between them.

It figured, and Sam was kicking himself for not seeing it sooner. Dean had always taken on the burdens, assumed the responsibility, even when Sam had tried to carry his own weight. So while Sam had been sitting around counting their blessings, Dean had been worrying and looking out for the next pitfall.

And still looking for answers that Sam had given up on.

Over Dean's shoulder a taxi cab pulled up to the curb, and Sam straightened and pulled away from his brother's embrace as the back door open and a grizzled graying head appeared.

"Ernie's here," he murmured quietly and Dean instantly straightened, turning his head, wiping roughly at his eyes.

"Ernie," Sam greeted, stepping away from the car and giving Dean time to compose himself. Behind him he heard his brother push open the motel room door. "We didn't expect you so soon."

The old man climbed out of the cab and leaned against a cane, the fedora on his gray hair tilted back. Behind him the cab was pulling away from the curb. "Sam," he greeted solemnly, nodding, and then taking off his hat. "May I come in?"

"Please."

Sam blinked as his eyes adjusted to the dimness after the bright day outside, focusing on Dean who was busying himself at the kitchenette bench. With steady hands he was spooning instant coffee into white china cups.

Ernie limped in, surveyed the room and then took the seat Sam offered him, laying his hat carefully in front of him on the table but keeping hold of his cane. "Dean," he said softly.

"Ernie," Dean said casually, but Sam could see what his brother's control was costing him and he stood nervously by the door, hoping that the old man wasn't going to make things worse than they were.

"I wanted to apologize," Ernie said quietly, looking directly at Dean. "As soon as you were gone I felt ashamed of myself. If these old knees of mine worked better I'd have followed you downstairs and said sorry right there."

Dean glanced over at Sam and then back at the old man, a frown creasing his forehead. "Sorry for what?"

"The way I acted," Ernie confessed. "I was taken by surprise back there and I acted like a damn fool. Accept an old psychic's apology?"

"You seemed pretty freaked," Sam noted, sitting down on the end of the bed.

"Good word for it," Ernie noted, eyes crinkling at the corners as he smiled. "It was all a bit much for me, the strength of what I was picking up. The... reality of it, so close to me."

"Death," Sam said softly when Dean stayed silent.

"You said I was tainted," Dean said abruptly and Ernie winced.

"Poor choice of words," he admitted ruefully. "It's marked you, Dean, there's no doubt about that. You've seen the proof of it."

"Is it evil?" Sam asked and Dean shot him a look. "Because I'm not a psychic like you, Ernie, but I feel things sometimes. And I think I would have known if it was evil."

"Bless you, boy, but you wouldn't have sensed this. It's death that touched Dean, that marked him. It's the dead that respond to it, with whatever power they have left. But there's no evil in that."

Sam looked at Dean who was leaning back against the counter as the jug behind him slowly heated up. He had told Dean something similar just minutes before, he could only hope his brother was listening now.

"Then what is happening to me?" Dean asked bluntly. "You said it made me vulnerable. To what?"

Ernie sighed. "When a Reaper touches you, Dean, you're pretty much supposed to die. Not go on living and walking around in the world. To these confused spirits that you are attracting there's a power attached to you now. An energy. In their confusion perhaps they even see it as a Reaper finally come for what remains of their lost souls here on earth."

"And the Curse?" Sam said, frowning as he absorbed this. "Why was he vulnerable to that?"

"Dean's like a flame to moths now, Sam. To the things that dwell between. Spirits, curses, poltergeists. They're all attracted to that. And I fear it's only going to get worse."

"Why were you so freaked out?" Sam asked softly as Dean rubbed tiredly at his eyes. The kettle was boiling and Sam stood and gently pushed Dean towards the seat and took over the coffee making. Dean sat down with a weary sigh and fixed his attention on Ernie.

"Death isn't evil," Ernie repeated slowly. "But men fear it, and I am an old man, boys. Inside I still feel the same as I did when I was your age, and the sap was still rising. So it's not easy, being confronted with an old man's mortality, and it took me by surprise and shook me, more than I wanted to admit."

"I'm sorry," Dean said.

"Bless you, boy. I came here to apologize to you, not the other way around. And because I had an idea of how to help you."

Sam carried the coffee cups over and eagerly laid them on the table. "What?"

"I have a friend, his name is Linus Hood, and he specializes in charms, sigils, objects of protection. I think he may be able to come up with something to shield you, Dean. Block the light, as it were."

Sam smiled, glancing at Dean to gauge his reaction. His brother was looking down at his untouched coffee cup, frowning distractedly.

"This... thing that marked me," he said slowly, eyes still down. "Did it change me? Could it?"

Ernie studied Dean's closed face for a moment then shot a look at Sam. "No," he said gently. "It didn't change you or make you do anything, Dean."

Sam wondered what he was seeing and Dean must have been thinking the same thing, because his cheeks flushed a little and he cleared his throat.

"Well, I've got some research to do and a friend to call," Ernie said, heaving himself to his feet. Sam jumped up and caught his elbow, steadying the old man for a moment while he found his feet. Ernie smiled at him, and for a moment Sam could see that young man in him, tall and strong with the sap still rising. "You're good boys," Ernie said firmly. "Don't let anyone tell you any different. You come see me tomorrow," he invited. "I'll have some news for you, I'm sure."

"I'll drive you home," Sam offered. He didn't want to leave Dean but he suspected Dean still needed some time away from him.

"Appreciate it," Ernie said, picking up his hat. "D'you mind if I have a quick word with your brother first?"

Sam tilted his head curiously, but Dean's face wasn't as pale as it had been, and his fingers were relaxed around his coffee cup, and not gripping it until his fingers were white.

"Okay," Sam said obligingly, closing the motel door behind him and leaning against the car.

It was only a few minutes before Ernie arrived and Sam helped him settle in the passenger seat before climbing behind the wheel and starting up the Chevy.

"Nice car," Ernie said admiringly. "I drove a Cutlass myself. Bright red."

"I want to thank you for your help," Sam began, working his way up to asking the old man what he'd said to Dean.

"Your brother's fine," Ernie said kindly, and Sam shot him a glance.

"I'd forgotten what it's like, hanging around psychics," Sam teased.

"My guess is that you're avoiding them lately," Ernie said shrewdly and Sam grimaced, feeling his own cheeks redden.

"Don't worry, Sam. I've lived a long time and seen a lot of things. Evil things, dark things. Perhaps the darkest things known to mankind lie in their minds, and that's where I see."

Sam pulled up in front of Ernie's apartment block and turned his head, listening hard.

Ernie smiled back at him. "I don't see that when I look at you and your brother."

"Did you tell Dean that?"

"Amongst other things."

-666-

Dean looked up from the TV as Sam threw the keys on the table and sat down wearily. "Ernie told me I was a fool."

Sam smirked. "I like Ernie, he's smart."

"I guess I over reacted," Dean admitted, rubbing tiredly at one shoulder.

Sam circled the chair and stood behind Dean, long muscled fingers pressing into tense flesh and massaging firmly. "Dean, the guy told you you were tainted by death just a few hours after your heart stopped on the slightly sticky floor of a family restaurant. I don't think anyone would blame you for freaking out."

Dean sighed under his hands, then quirked a quizzical look over his shoulder at him.

"What?" Sam asked.

"Man, you cut me way too much slack sometimes." Dean grunted as Sam's fingers found a tight spot and soothed it firmly.

"I do, do I?"

Dean tipped his head back. "Yeah, Sammy, you do."

"Wonder why that is?" Sam asked dryly, leaning forward and dropping an upside down kiss on slightly parted lips. Drawing back Sam studied his brother's pale face, the shadows under his eyes, the trace of recent tears. The day behind them suddenly welled up in him and he slowly dropped to his knees behind Dean's chair, pressing his forehead against a strong shoulder.

"Sammy?" Dean said softly.

Sam reached around, groping for Dean's hand and Dean took it, held it tightly as Sam shook with the painful memory of his brother laying lifeless under his hands.

"It's okay, Sammy," Dean murmured, tilting his head, resting it against Sam's. "I'm here."

-666-

"A tattoo?" Dean said doubtfully. "Haven't you just got a bracelet or a medicine pouch or something?"

"Don't worry," Linus Hood said sarcastically. "It won't spoil your boyish good looks. It's only half an inch wide and it goes right behind your ear."

"My ear! Why my ear?"

Linus rolled his eyes and Sam suppressed a smile. It had been friction at first sight for these two and he was enjoying the banter between them. Also there was something reassuring about the tall handsome man in his designer slacks and polo shirt, although he certainly seemed out of place in Ernie's musty old rooms.

"Because Ernie tells me that's where it touched you, right? Both times?"

"What is it?" Sam asked curiously, looking at the design in the leather bound book.

"It's a Guide of Souls," Linus explained. "These days we call it a psychopomp."

"Psychopomp," Dean said, pronouncing the word silently under his breath. "How does it stop all this stuff that's been happening to me?"

"Psychopomp's guide souls to the other side, don't they?" Sam said thoughtfully.

"Yeah. Having one all of your own, with the right spells and inks, kind of cancels out the mark that Reaper put on you. Or that's the idea." Linus indicated the page. "I chose the most powerful."

"It kinda looks like an owl," Sam said, turning is head sideways. "It's cute."

"I think it looks like a dog," Ernie declared, squinting at the page. "With wings."

"It's neither," Linus said repressively. He pulled out a box and opened it, revealing a tattoo gun with an impressive array of needles and inks.

"Oh god," Dean moaned.

"Dean doesn't like needles," Sam said, grinning.

"You're not helping, Sam," Dean growled.

-666-

"I think it's adorable."

"You're really not helping, Sam. It hurt like hell."

"Yeah and that sound," Sam said loading ice into a plastic bag and smashing it with the bottom of the ice bucket. "That grinding, whirring sound of the tattoo gun? That was nerve wracking."

"Just gimme the freakin' ice," Dean snapped, taking the bag and pressing it behind his ear.

"Ernie said the mark's not as strong now. That it should at least stop spirits glomming onto you," Sam reminded him, dropping the remaining ice into a glass and pouring some cola over it. "No more ghost magnet. That's gotta be worth a little pain."

"A little pain? Try excruciating agony. My head happens to be very sensitive, thank you very much."

"Could have been worse," Sam mused. "The Reaper could have grabbed your ass."

Dean grabbed a pillow with his free hand and threw it across the room. "Great, my pain is funny to you."

"I think I'm kind of giddy with relief actually," Sam admitted, enjoying the cold drink. A beer would have been nice but he was so wiped out after the last few days he would have been flat on his butt after a few mouthfuls. "You scared the hell outta me."

Dean rolled his eyes theatrically. "Jeez, Sammy, if you're gonna get all girly every time my heart stops."

Sam finished his drink while Dean flicked on the TV and grumbled under his breath about his suffering. It was a quiet, comfortable silence.

"Hey, Dean?" Sam said softly.

"Huh?"

"You're all cured and everything."

Dean gave him a sideways look. "Yeah."

Sam shrugged. "I'm still here."

"Yeah." Dean just looked at him for long moments, then tossed the bag of ice into the sink. Sam lifted his arm and Dean surveyed him for another second or two, then sat down on the bed and leaned into him.

Sam didn't try to keep the smugness out of his voice. "Told you so."

And he was ready for the tickling fingers when they came.

-666-

"I'm sorry, Sam. That stuff I said."

Sam had been half asleep but he opened his eyes at the quiet little statement, rolling onto his side and studying Dean's somber face in the dim light. "It's okay."

"There you go again. Letting me off too easy."

Sam gently stroked back a lock of hair from Dean's brow. "You know, sometimes it feels like this is the only time you're open with me," he confessed softly. "When we're like this - the only two people in the world."

Dean's nod was an acknowledgement of that truth.

"You drop all those walls and defenses and really let me see you."

Dean's voice was sad. "I don't mean it to be that way, Sam. I just don't know that I trust... being this happy. I feel like there has to be a catch, like I'm waiting for that other shoe to drop. Maybe that's why I was so quick to believe all that stuff I said the other day. Like there had to be a reason for this that was outside of the two of us, you know?"

"Because then it wouldn't be our fault?" Sam guessed and Dean's eyes widened in surprise. "You said it in California, Dean. You were already looking to blame everything on the Curse. You didn't know where that spark between us came from or why it sets us alight the way it does, so it was just easier to blame it on some old curse and shrug it off."

"Well, where does it come from, Sam?" Dean challenged softly. "Do you know? I mean neither of us are exactly normal - we both have our issues. But this?"

"I don't care where it comes from, Dean." Sam said honestly. "I don't care if it's my need or yours. If we're vulnerable or fucked up or just a pair of perverts."

Dean huffed a reluctant laugh.

"I didn't think you still cared either. I'm sorry, Dean, for not seeing that."

"You can only see what I let you see, Sammy," Dean admitted.

"Dean? It's okay to be happy. Even if no one else in the world can be happy for us. It's okay." And their father's name was unspoken between them.

They were quiet for long moments as Sam ran gentle fingers down Dean's arm and found his hand. It was Dean who slipped his fingers between Sam's and pressed their palms together. Dean's thumb stroked his skin, his face softer and more vulnerable than Sam had ever seen it before.

"When Ernie said I was tainted - I thought maybe I was carrying you along with me," Dean admitted awkwardly. "That you were being caught up in what I wanted and needed."

"Yeah, cos I'm such a wuss with no will of my own." Sam rolled his eyes. "When have I ever done one damn thing I didn't want to?"

"I do want to be happy." Dean was uncharacteristically hesitant. "I'm just..."

"Scared, I know." Sam leaned over and laid a kiss on Dean's chin.

"Aren't you?"

"Only of losing you," Sam stated, straight from his gut.

"It's not just losing you that scares me, Sam," Dean admitted. "It's the lengths I'll go to to keep you. It's because even when I thought I was taking advantage of you, there was a part of me that didn't care." Dean's eyes were haunted. "It would almost have been a relief to find out something evil was making me feel like that."

"Dean, you have got to cut yourself some slack," Sam said worriedly. "Dude, seriously. Look at me. Being your little brother doesn't mean I'm a little kid any more." He pulled his fingers free and lifted Dean's hand to his chest. "Touch me, Dean. Do I feel like someone who needs protecting?"

Dean huffed a small laugh but obeyed him, pressing against hard muscled flesh.

"You're not taking advantage of me, you're not keeping me here against my will. Hell, Dean, I'm the one that's been pushing this so damn hard! If I had half your conscience I'd be beating myself up with guilt about how this is affecting you."

Dean frowned curiously. "Hey, yeah," he said, half teasingly. "How come you're pushing this so hard anyway?"

Sam laid his hand over his brother's where it lay on his chest and pressed it to his heart. "Because it's worth it."

Dean searched his gaze and Sam let him, showing not just his love this time but his strength, his will to make this work. Showing Dean that he was not going to let this go. That he was going to keep fighting.

Dean finally smiled and shook his head. "I don't know which one of us is the biggest idiot," he said wryly. But that haunted look was fading from his eyes and he was smiling.

"I do," Sam said bluntly, and now Dean's eyes filled with laughter and Sam felt his tension ease.

"Jerk," Dean tried to say, but Sam's crushed the insult under his lips and ended the conversation pretty quickly.

And later as he lay wakeful, holding his brother's sleeping form close, he knew the fight wasn't over yet. That this might well be another one of those quests that would never truly end. They both still had ghosts to fight, and Dean would always try to shoulder one burden too many.

Sam figured his job now was to let Dean know once and for all that he wasn't alone in this fight - and that his brother's shoulders were plenty broad enough to bear his share.

Epilogue

The sun was high in the sky and a gentle breeze drove tiny white clouds through the bright blue. Dean had his sunglasses on and his back braced against a crumbling old headstone. Sam was stretched out on the grass, head resting on his brother's lap, eyes half closed, limbs lax.

"How much longer do we have to stay here?" Sam asked, yawning.

"What, you got a bus to catch?"

"Dean, we've been here forever. The tattoo's working, okay? You've been entirely ghost and curse free for two days."

"Look, Sammy, just shut up and enjoy the rest, will ya? It can't hurt to make sure."

"Yeah, man, whatever," Sam bitched, but his heart wasn't in it. Dean's lap was surprisingly comfortable and his fingers had begun stroking lightly through Sam's hair. The sun was shining and they didn't have anywhere to be.

A couple walked past carrying a bunch of flowers and Sammy followed them from the corner of his eye as they craned their necks back to stare at them.

"Jeez," Dean grumbled. "You'd think they never saw two guys relaxing in a graveyard before."

"How about two guys making out in a graveyard?" Sam suggested hopefully.

"You trying to get us arrested?"

Sam smiled. "I was talking about a kiss or two, Dean. What were you thinking?"

Dean huffed a laugh. "Pretty much what I'm always thinking these days," he admitted wryly. "You temptress you."

Sam chuckled smugly. Dean's fingers curved around his chin and pressed gently at Sam's dimple.

"Aw, what the heck," Dean muttered, pulling off his sunglasses and tossing them aside, then pouncing on Sam and rolling him over in the soft grass.

And the sun shone down on Dean's back as Sam's delighted laughter filled their corner of the graveyard, and nobody called the police and even the ghosts and spirits had the good taste to leave them to their happiness.

The End.