Restoring the balance

By Floralia

SUMMARY: The brothers struggle to restore their equilibrium after Sam is injured on a hunt, but obviously something supernatural gets in the way.

DISCLAIMER: I am not officially associated with Supernatural, the network or writers in any way. If I was I would have started series 2 long before now.

This story fits into the season 2 timeline, but at no particular point, because obviously I haven't seen any yet. There are some vague references to events and characters from the first two episodes but nothing really more (if the spoilers I've been hearing are anything to go by this should be painfully obvious from the first line).

I apologise, this was supposed to be posted all in one go, but it kind of got away from me, and ended up being way longer that I'd anticipated, so I've decided to opt for the instalment plan. I promise I will try and update regularly. It was mainly just a musing on how having one of the brothers badly injured would affect their day to day lives outside of the hunt, which is why it might seem a little slow to get started. Also, while it seems to be mainly about Sam, it's actually about Dean in a round about way. Well, hopefully you'll see what I mean it you decide to stick with it.

Sorry – my first fic. Feel the need to explain myself somehow. Anyway. On with the show…

Restoring the balance

"I swear if the demon doesn't resurface again soon I'm going to kill you myself."

"Awww… don't listen to the mean Uncle Dean. He's just cranky 'cos he didn't get to kill anything today."

The puppy rolling on Sam's bed blinked at Dean affronted. Dean would have pushed the matter further if he didn't secretly think Sam had a point. He'd been looking forwards to a good bit of killing. Or more accurately, to a good bit of risk free killing. It had been too long. Only instead of the release and exuberance of a successful hunt, he was left with a playful Sam, and the equally playful puppy that had resumed its chewing on one of his brother's old socks.

Dean couldn't for the life of him fathom why he had let his brother take the little creature from the warehouse with them. Why he'd let the little fur-ball anywhere near his car. No good was going to come of it. They'd already bonded.

"Cheer up Mr Grumpy Pants" Sam chirped at him from across the room.

Dean looked up sharply, thoroughly intending to put a stop to the nonsense playing out before him, but his words died in his throat at the sight of his little brother.

Sam was sat cross legged on his motel bed holding the wriggling mongrel in front of him, his hands gripping it beneath its front paws. It fell still for a moment as he raised the pup's face close to his own, and Dean was hit full force by two sets of enormous pleading eyes, one full of sadness, the other, still too dull for Dean's liking, sparkling now with humour.

Damn. So that was how he had found himself here.

Bored with the staring at Dean game the little dogs squirmed around in Sam's grasp, trying instead to lick his new masters face, his neck, his arms, anything it could get a hold of, and Sam fell backwards onto the bed with such a genuine laugh it made Dean ach.

Dean tried to turn his attention back to the laptop sitting on the table in front of him, hoping to find an explanation for why their hunt had been so utterly unsuccessful, and why he'd been denied the opportunity to do violence. But instead, his eyes kept drifting over to the bed where his sleepy brother lay with his eyes half closed stroking the equally sleepy puppy that had now curled quietly beside him. He was soon lost in the repetitive motion of Sam's hand as it traced along the sandy fur of his new friend's head and back, over, and over, and over. No longer focused on the hunt his mind was free to wander. To take a hike down a path he had been trying desperately lately to block up, even though his brain consistently refused to obey the detour signs he had put in place to avoid it, taking instead the fastest, most direct route to pain.

He was so lost in his own thoughts that it was a while before he realised that his brother's eyes had never finished their decent. They were now no longer half mast, but were wide open and watching him with mingled curiosity and concern.

"You alright, man?"

Dean cleared his throat, stalling while he pushed his thoughts away, letting his mask of neutrality fall firmly back into place. Sam's expression didn't waver however, so Dean decided attack was the best form of defence. Or of distraction at least.

"Don't get too attached. You know we can't keep it. We'll have to take it to the shelter or something in the morning."

His brother merely pouted childishly in response.

"That didn't work on Dad and you were a darn sight cuter when you were five, I don't know why you think it's going to work on me now. You know we can't keep a pet. I thought you'd have learnt that lesson with poor old Fat Puss. Although Dad always insisted in keeping you around though…" Dean trailed off, muttering something about 'was never quite sure why myself' under his breath at just the right pitch to ensure it was heard.

Sam snorted in response but didn't rise to the bait. He didn't continue to stare at Dean with those killer eyes either, so Dean tried very hard to chalk that one up to a win.

Dean rose to his feet sharply so that if his brother re-opened his eyes he would no longer be directly in their line of sight. He cursed inwardly, but Sam made no effort to question his sudden movement. Instead he just scratched lazily at his arm and continued to ignore his brother.

"If that thing's given you fleas, no way are you getting back in my car."

"I'd hate to break it to you, but he had fleas they're already in your precious car." Sam replied, scratching himself more dramatically this time for effect.

"Bitch." He wasn't sure if he was referring to his brother or the dog.

"Don't malign poor Little Dean. It's not his fault nobody loves him enough to…"

"Little Dean!"

"Well yeah." His brother replied. "Don't you think he kinda looks like a Dean?" he said, tilting his head to the side to study the sleeping creature. "He kinda smells like a Dean too, but he's dried off a little now, so I'm guessing it'll get better."

"OOhhh…. You little…" he advanced on his brother, who backed away on the bed crying "Attack Dean… go on… bite his kneecaps."

The pup however merely opened one sleepy eye to assess the brothers before rolling over to present its stomach for tickling.

"Kinda seems more like a Sam to me." Dean laughed. "It's about as well trained."

Sam merely raised one finger in response. Dean grabbed his arm before Sam could pull away, but the elder brother's comeback was lost in his throat as his brain processed his ability to wrap his entire hand around his brother's arm.

Dean backed away sharply, as though he'd been burnt.

Sam signed. "You're not going to break me man" he breathed softly.

Dean ignored the comment, trying hard not to picture a fragile Sam that shattered into a thousand pieces under his touch.

"I'm gonna get some food." He said instead, although he doubted he'd be able to stomach anything tonight. "You want anything?"

"No I'm good…. I'm not hungry." He clarified as Dean continued to stare at him pointedly. "Why do you even bother to ask? It's not like you care what the answer's gonna be." Sam signed, giving in much too quickly for Dean's liking. He hadn't had the energy to keep up much of a good fight since… well. For a while now. He never thought he'd miss his brother's ability to bitch about nothing. But then, he'd wasted the day's arguing quota earlier. It was partly the joy of hearing Sam bicker at him that had caused Dean to back down then, and look where that had gotten them. An unfinished job that now made no sense, and a new pet.

"Something plain." Sam sighed, pulling a face at the thought of having to force something down anytime soon. Dean merely nodded mutely and headed for the door. "And get something for little Deanie too." Sam called out as the motel door closed.

Dean breathed in deeply the cool night air, leaning heavily against the door behind him for support. The car looked suddenly so far away, and his hands were shaking so badly for some reason that he didn't think he could drive. Walking was not an option however.

He pushed himself away from the door and stumbled over to the Impala, wrenching open the door in a way that would have made Sam frown it he'd seen it. The engine purred loudly under his touch, and he could clearly picture Sam rolling his eyes on the bed as the sound hit him. The nearest diner was barely a three minute walk away from where they were staying, but that was three minutes more than Dean was willing to leave his brother alone.

The light and noise of the diner took the older Winchester by surprise, making it hard for his tired brain to function. He blinked stupidly at the menu. What looked plain? And what the hell did puppies eat?

Luckily he had the foresight to check his pockets before ordering anything. Damn. That was going to make the decision a whole lot easier. What could he get for $16.57? He could have paid by card, but Hector McGee had spent enough over the last few days. They were supposed to have got the job done and cleared out in the morning. Now they'd have another night at the motel to pay for while they fixed their mistake. This was a problem.

They'd passed a couple of promising looking bars on the way into town, but his stomach was already rebelling at the now seven minutes Sam had been out of his sight. It was going to take a lot longer than that to build up enough cash to let poor old Hector retire. He could always take Sam with him, Dean knew that's what his brother would suggest, but there was no way he would be able to concentrate on playing and keeping Sam within his line of sight all night.

Dean sighed heavily again. They would have to change motels, but the nearest one he'd seen not owned by the same family that was renting them their current digs was a couple of towns over. No way was Sam going to see the logic in that when Dean could easily get them the money they needed to stay exactly where they were, for the short term at least. His brain knew Sam was right, and he really didn't want to have this discussion again, but his heart and his head seemed to be rarely on the same page.

"What'll it be hun?"

"What?" The waitress was staring expectantly at him from across the counter, but Dean's brain hadn't even begun to ponder the food question. "Gimme a minute." He requested, surreptitiously re-counting their remaining supplies and doing some quick maths in his head.

He settled on a burger and fries between them. To be fair, neither of them was hungry, and the meat could go to the dog. He had enough left over for a side salad for Sam, who would no doubt roll his eyes at Dean's attempt to be healthy. Typical. When he didn't order anything but grease he was criticised, but now he was making an effort to get Sam to eat healthy, he was being overbearing.

Dean took the food and made it back to the motel in record time. Sam didn't appear to have moved at all during the brief time he had been away, other than to prop himself up more comfortably on the bed. The little dog had been dozing by his side, and Sam had been resting with it, one finger curled around its paw as though drawing comfort from the contact. As though it grounded him. Dean could relate to that.

The dog roused the instant it smelt the food and whined expectantly.

"Shhh." Sam made a worried face, glancing towards the still open door. Dean grinned despite himself. They'd left salt lines in their wake, bloodstained towels, and even the occasional bullet hole in a wall, but it was just their luck that it would be an illicit pet that got them into trouble.

Then again, it the manager kicked them out they would have no choice but to move to another motel, and Dean was sure he could still put his hands on another couple of cards just itching to commit fraud…

"Shut the door." Sam was now physically restraining the eager dog from its quest for food. Dean got the impression he didn't want it to leave its spot on his bed with him. He'd have a hard time picking it back up again if it did.

Throwing the burger over to quieten the dog Dean did as he was told. They would not get caught. He wasn't moving Sam tonight. He knew their evening's escapades had taken more out of his brother than Sam would ever let on. The fact that he hadn't hit the laptop the second Dean had vacated it, trying to make up for their error, was proof enough of that. Trying to feel useful.

Sam unwrapped the burger slowly, trying not to turn his nose up as the scent of the food hit him. He was tired and he ached and he wanted nothing more than to sleep for a week. He really didn't think his stomach could handle anything solid right now. In fact it gurgled slightly in protest at the sight of the meat. He would have to eat something however. He knew that Dean wouldn't cease to hover until he did. There would be no way Dean would let him continue with the job tomorrow if he showed how much his one simple mission had exhausted him. If he was being honest with himself, Sam knew he shouldn't have pushed so hard to be allowed to tag along. He just hadn't expected his brother to give in so soon, and it was too late to back down once permission had been granted. Besides. He needed to do this. He needed to do something. Needed to stop the stress and worry and the added burden he could sense his brother slowly sinking under. One he would never, probably could never, share.

Dean nibbled on some fries white he watched Sam feed the burger meat to the dog in small manageable pieces. God the kid looked exhausted. He'd never admit to it though, which terrified Dean as much as everything else about the situation did.

When Sam thought he had stalled long enough on the dog he turned his attention instead to picking at the soggy dry bread that remained, doing a valiant effort to both keep it down and away from the dogs inquisitive nose. Dean watched Sam struggle with it for a moment before reaching back into his bag and tossing over the salad.

"Thanks." Sam whispered quietly. If he thought there was anything odd about his brother's healthy offering Sam kept it to himself. It wasn't worth the effort of mentioning it, and he really was grateful, but his brother's concern only emphasised his own feelings of uselessness.

Sam smiled sadly at Dean as he opened the container, knowing full well his older brother could read his every thought over the matter, and that they probably worried him even more. As Dean tossed the now empty bag to the side, however, Sam's smile fell and his eyes widened in horror.

"God… tell me I didn't just feed your dinner to the dog. You gave it me… I just assumed…"

"It was for the two of you." Dean assured him.

"I thought you were hungry." Sam accused.

"Naaaa" Dean replied, just as his stomach made a liar out of him. In truth he hadn't been, until he'd smelt the food and started eating it.

Sam merely raised a questioning eyebrow, and Dean knew he'd have to broach the subject. As much as he wanted to protect his brother, Dean knew that if he were Sam, he'd want to know the truth.

"Look…" he started, trying to be casual."We're kind of having some money issues. We have a cash problem, and it looks like we're gonna be staying here another couple of nights."

"This place can't cost that much" Sam broke in, "It's hardly the Ritz. McGee should be good for it…" Sam trailed off looking guilty that he'd even suggested it.

"I can't" Dean admitted, cringing inwardly at his mistake. "I forgot when we checked in that I'd already used it. I charged …"

"The clothes." Sam finished with a sigh. "Sorry."

"For what." Dean said sharply. "That I couldn't keep track of what we were spending. We needed that stuff, you know that."

"Yeah… but…" Don't go there. Don't bring up the fact you both wouldn't have needed new supplies if you hadn't gotten blood all over the last lot. That's not going to help the situation at all.

"The night's still young. There are a couple of bars on the outskirts of town…" If possible Dean could have sworn Sam paled at the thought. But to his credit he steeled up his resolve and made to actually move from the bed for the first time since their return to the motel a couple of hours ago.

"Just give me a chance to get…"

"Whoa, wait. Where do you think you're going?" Dean gently pushed his brother back against his prop of pillows, and Sam frowned at him in confusion. But then Dean spotted the pup and inspiration struck. "You don't think I'm gonna leave that little crapping machine here alone do you?"

"I just…" he didn't need to finish. Dean knew damn well what he'd assumed. That there was no way Dean was taking an extended leave of absence from his hovering any time soon. He no longer made any effort to hide his need to have Sam constantly in his sight, and for the most part Sam had been willing to put up with the extra attention to avoid a fight. This afternoon had been different though. They both knew that. Dean was more than willing to have Sam as far away from him as possible if the alternative was to have him anywhere near a hunt. He hadn't really thought that aspect through when he'd finally agreed to come here. The last few bar breaks they'd taken had been brief, but Sam had been present, and they'd stayed just as long as it took for Dean to ingratiate himself with the locals and then screw them out of their money. Not too much money mind you, because if things turned nasty he knew Sam would move to back him up.

"Okay" Sam said, sounding vaguely confused, as though the idea of being alone in the motel room was somehow bewildering. They'd managed it for four fucking years somehow, but right now the idea of walking out the door and leaving Sam with only a puppy for protection was more than Dean could stand.

Well, a puppy and several different breeds of weapon.

He placed several on the small table beside Sam's bed, more for his own peace of mind than his brother's.

"Dean, I'll be fine." Sam reassured. "There doesn't seem to be anything out there, remember."

Dean was already glancing at his watch and he hadn't even left yet. Sam sighed again. "Take your time. We'll be fine here. You deserve a break. Have some fun."

Dean nodded mutely, feeling sick. He didn't want to have fun. But he knew Sam was right. He needed a break. It had been a long time since he'd relaxed, although for good reason. But he really did need to wean himself off his over-overprotective mode back to his usual overprotective levels. Just as Sam was gradually readjusting to the pace of their lives, although not nearly as gradually as Dean would have liked, he would have to do the same. He could not keep his brother wrapped in cotton wool forever. Sam would never allow it. They'd become closer over recent weeks, out of necessity if nothing more, but he knew he was risking pushing his brother away with his fretting, and the fear of that only made him cling harder.

Dean disappeared into the bathroom to prepare for his night out, although Sam was sure he was merely postponing the moment when he had to leave. He would have called him on it too, but by the time Dean emerged, washed and in one of the cursed new shirts, Sam was already fast asleep. He looked peaceful, but was too still for Dean's liking, and he had to resist the urge to wake him. To be able to look his brother in the eye.

God, this was getting ridiculous.

The puppy surveyed Dean suspiciously from its perch, front paws resting protectively on Sam's side and stomach, and Dean wondered if he should push it away. He ran his fingers through the pup's shaggy hair as a substitute for running his hand through Sam's. That would no longer be allow, Dean knew, although at what point that had occurred Dean wasn't sure. Somewhere between the doctor removing the breathing tube and Sam being able to leave his room.

"Wake him and you won't last 'til morning." Dean threatened, hurrying out before he could change his mind.

Before too long Dean found himself ensconced on a bar stool soaking in the atmosphere of the seediest looking bar he could find. He had already picked out his target, but needed to blend into the scenery before he made his move.

Using the emergency money stashed in the trunk of the Impala for just such occasions, Dean bought himself a drink and tried to relax enough to join in the conversations around him. It was a good practice, drummed into him by his father, to always have enough cash on hand to blend into a bar, lose gracefully at a couple of hands of cards or rounds of pool. He had never let things get so dire that the emergency bar funds were their only funds however, and he couldn't help but wonder what his father's reaction to that news would be. Whether John Winchester's presiding emotion would have been disappointment that things were slipping from his son's control, or pride that he had managed to keep them together so far, for so long.

He was on his second drink by the time he was invited for his first game at the table, and trying hard to ignore John Winchester's bitter recriminations in his mind Dean had to decline, because it wasn't until he was half way through his third beer that he could concentrate on anything other than the knowledge that Sam was alone. Out of his sight once more, probably the first time since that second slide into Hell.

What do you mean? You're the one that told me he was stable. That it was okay to leave. I close my eyes for two fucking hours and now you're telling me this. You don't get to tell me this. I don't want to hear anything from you except how you're going to fix this.

No, that's not true. He hadn't been around for the third either. Although that had been a Sam's own insistence.

He downed the beer but didn't order a fourth. God knows he wanted it, and a lot more besides, but he was drinking on a near empty stomach and needed to keep his wits sharp if he was going to score enough cash to see them through the remainder of the job. He wouldn't lose himself in drink while Sam needed him. He just hoped that by the time Sam didn't he would have gotten over the urge, but he couldn't help but think that would only somehow fuel the desire.

The next time a game was suggested he was ready, and he slipped back into the role with surprising ease. By the time he'd been bought his fourth and fifth beer – he had a cover to maintain after all – he was almost staring to enjoy himself. It was amazing what a little alcohol could do for the nerves. He almost couldn't remember feeling so relaxed.

Just one more game and he'd call it a night….

Dean sat in the back of the taxi counting his money. God, small town America could be dumb. Money crisis averted he was starting to feel pretty good about himself. His mission was accomplished, and a bit of agro from one of his more drunken opponents was the perfect outlet for some of his pent up aggression.

The taxi home was a bit of a wild extravagance, but he could afford it now and truth be told be didn't feel in any condition to drive right now. With a grimace he remembered why it was Sam usually insisted he come along on Dean's money raising escapades, even if he didn't make it as far as inside the bar. He was probably still good to drive, but he'd had to rebuild his baby once already this year. He really didn't have the stomach to do it again.

He fumbled with the key in the motel door, swearing as he staggered across the threshold with a little more exuberance than he would have liked. He didn't want to wake his brother, and he really didn't want to wake the damn dog.

Any relief he might have been feeling at his successful money making jaunt, at his rediscovered ability to enjoy himself out of his brother's company for more than a few seconds - and more importantly his safe return to said brother - vanished the second he set foot inside the room. He didn't need the light spilling in from the parking lot to show him what his big brother senses had let him know the instant he was within range.

Sam's bed was empty. Not just his bed, but the whole room.

He'd turned his back for barely any time at all and his brother was gone.

"Sam!" he called out uselessly, flicking on the switch of the overhead light as he staggered over to his brother's bed. His legs gave way beneath him and he cursed as his knees hit the rough carpeted floor, not caring about the lateness of the hour or whether their neighbours heard him. Kneeling in front of the bed Dean wrapped his fingers around the bed sheets before him. His mind was a numb void, still trying to process the sudden turn of events and shift in his mood, and he rest his head against the mattress, breathing in deep to keep the sudden overwhelming panic at bay. He could not, would not, lose it now.

He breathed in the scent that was so definitely, so distinctly Sam, one that conjured up images of wide innocent eyes, a dimpled smile, a babies gurgling laugh and hands so small they made his chest hurt. The scent was so clear, so real, and the bedding wrapped up in his arms so warm that he knew his brother had been here recently.

Here, warm and alive.

The knowledge kick-started his brain and spurred him into action.

His eyes scanned the room but there was no sign of a struggle. A bottle of painkillers sat on the bedside table, which earned a frown, but nothing else had been touched. He checked in the bathroom despite the fact the light was off, the door propped open, and he knew his brother wasn't hiding behind the shower curtain from him. Wouldn't stay away after the anguished way Dean had called his name on entering.

It was only as he was exiting the bathroom that he realised Sam's shoes were gone.

And there was a note on his pillow, which Dean's knowledge of Sam logic realised was the first place Sam would think Dean would look, sneaking in the door and collapsing straight into his own bed. Like he wouldn't have checked Sam's first. He'd only done it practically every night his entire freakin' life. Sometimes he couldn't help but wonder if Sam even knew him at all.

Or, knowing Sam, he'd been trying to make a point by leaving his note there. Something along the lines of 'calm down you overprotective freak, I happen to be almost 24.'

Dean – I think nature's calling. Gone for a walk. Won't go too far. There's a patch of open land behind the motel. Sam. 2.27.

He looked at the clock beside his bed. It read 2.32.

Dean smiled, feeling relief come off him in waves. He was surprised the room didn't shake with the force of it. He felt like he could more a few cabinets of his own right now.

Sam had kept his word. He hadn't gone far; in fact he was sat on a bench in a small patch of parkland directly behind the motel, barely a 30 second walk from their front door.

Alone. In the dark.

There was a part of Dean that wanted to be furious at him for having scared him so badly, but the relief had won over his anger and he couldn't find it within himself to yell anymore. Besides, it wasn't Sam's fault his paranoia had made a dramatic reappearance. Not directly anyway. Although truth be told he wouldn't have been happy with the idea of Sam wandering off in the middle of the night under normal circumstances – not when they now had an undetermined and un-located 'something' at loose in the area.

"You're very trusting," he called as he approached the bench, glad to hear his voice had come out sounding natural.

Sam merely opened his jacket in response, showing his brother the gun concealed beneath it with a knowing smile.

Dean nodded and sat down beside his brother. "I was talking about the dog." He grinned despite himself. Yes – here, warm and alive.

"He won't run off." Sam replied, shrugging confidently. Dean looked at him questioningly and Sam shrugged again.

"You a whisperer now or something?"

"Nooo. Just…trusting…"

Damn. Okay, so now he was making a point.

"How was your night?" he continued, before Dean could think of a response to that last comment.

"Good. We're solvent again anyway. Should tide us over for a while."

Sam nodded. "Meet anyone…interesting?"

"Dude, it was purely business." He grinned at Sam's train of thought, but his brother seemed to curl further in on himself at Dean's answer. "I played some pool. Drank some beer. Talked to some crazy ass locals. What's not to love?" His upbeat tone not betraying Sam's desperate need to be reassured that he'd enjoyed himself.

Sam just nodded forlornly and Dean could feel the exuberance of only moments before slowly draining away. Sam shivered slightly on the seat next to him. Dean wasn't that cold, but he figured the beer in his system was somewhat responsible for that fact. That's when he noticed Sam had merely thrown his jacket over the top of the t-shirt and sweat pants he'd been wearing to bed.

"Come on, let's get you inside," he offered before he could stop himself, cringing as he saw Sam's jaw tighten.

"Almost three minutes. Is that a new record or the alcohol making you lax?" Sam said with a lot more bitterness than he felt. Well, than he felt towards his brother at any rate.

Dean made no response, just stood up in silence and made his way back to the motel room without saying a word.

Sam sighed deeply and rest his elbows on his knees, bowing his head in his hands. He'd hoped that being on a hunt again would smooth things out between them, but instead it seemed to only exacerbate the tension between the brothers. Rather than allowing them to proceed as equals, it had merely heightened to Sam his own limitations, his dependence on his brother, and Dean's own unselfish attention. He hated that he found himself lashing out at the one constant in his life. He was more grateful to Dean than he would ever know, mainly because Sam seemed intent on blocking or belittling his brother's concerns.

Sam jumped as he felt a heavy weight descend on his shoulders, alarmed that he had been taken so thoroughly by surprise. He looked over to find Dean sitting back down beside him, having draped the thick bedspread he'd been clutching earlier over his brother's slender form.

Sam smiled in apology, making appreciative noises as he snuggled within the new warmth. He knew Dean regretted his need to hover over Sam. Never intentionally made him feel like another unnecessary complication in his brother's life. Actions spoke louder that words for his brother, they always had, so with that in mind Sam allowed himself to slide sideways along the bench until he was pressed up against the warmth of his brother's side, rest his head against Dean's shoulder, and closed his eyes.

Dean seemed taken aback by the sudden gesture of need, but made no effort to move away, which made Sam chuckle despite himself. Dean's tolerance was improving. His hand was now resting on Sam's shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze, but if it strayed anywhere near his neck to check his pulse Sam was prepared to pull away.

Despite his constant striving for independence Sam had to admit that he needed this. Just a moment to lose himself in Dean's solid presence so he could black out his mind and not have to think or to feel. Only a moment. It wasn't fair on Dean to let it be any longer, even with his brother's new found tolerance for physical contact he suspected a moment would be all Dean was comfortable allowing him. He would move. Any. Second. Now…

There was years worth of teasing and ridicule in this, but Dean honestly didn't know who to make the target. Sam for having fallen asleep with his head on his brother's shoulder, or himself for having allowed it to happen. It had taken him by surprise. He had been expecting his brother to pull away at any second, but if anything his weight had only grown heavier, and before Dean knew it his little brother was snoozing peacefully, cocooned in his duvet with his ear on Dean's shoulder.

Dean held himself painfully still, afraid even his slightest breath would wake Sam, knowing he'd be mortified to realise what he'd done. He smiled at the imagined look of horror on Sam's face. He couldn't even remember the last time Sam had allowed himself to do this, although Dean realised with a twinge of sadness, it was probably he himself who had been the one to disallow it, that had tried to force Sam to grow out of that need before he was ready.

"I'm sorry Sammy." He whispered into his brother's hair, wondering why it was so much easier to show affection when his brother was asleep. In fact, that was almost the only time he dared. When he was either sleeping or too out of it to remember clearly his brother's words or touch. Was he afraid Sam would reject the gesture? Ridicule the sentiment they proved to each other every day, every hunt when they strived to keep themselves between their brother and danger?

The little dog had been sniffing happily through the grass in front of them, but seeming to sense it had lost its audience it came back to sit close to the brothers, wining for attention.

"I can't pet you both, mutt," Dean growled out of the corner of his mouth.

His arm was growing numb, the dog was getting louder, and he was sure Sam couldn't be at all comfortable in that position despite the apparent ease with which he had drifted away, but as Dean tried to shift himself to address these three issue, Sam began to stir.

"Okay that's it. Don't even think about drooling on me man." He whined unsympathetically, internally marvelling at his automatic need to shy away from sentiment in light of the fact Sam could possibly be alert enough to hear him.

Two groggy sleep filled eyes peered up at him in confusion however, and he eased his natural brisk charm down somewhat.

"Time for bed," he cajoled, knowing Sam was too out of it now to argue. In fact, he half carried half guided his brother's lanky frame back around the front of the motel, wincing as Sam winced from the pressure the arm around his waist must have caused. By the time he had got Sam back into bed, his brother was already fast asleep again, but Dean wasn't overly concerned by his sudden switch from argumentative to unconsciousness. If Sam has taken the prescribed painkillers recently it wasn't surprising he was a little dopy, they had an amusing tendency to knock him out. Not that he found the fact that his brother needed such strong medication amusing, but times were tough and Dean would take what he could get.

The little dog had followed them excitedly back into the motel room, seeming eager to keep quiet now Sam was sleeping again, and Dean couldn't help but wonder whether Sam had somehow acquired the ability to control small yappy mongrels. When Dean had first seen the creature it had run a mile at the sight of him, but when he had come back to check on his brother hours later the two looked like they could be ready to audition for some weird Lassie remake.

"So now you're quiet." Dean grumbled at the dog, throwing a spare blanket into a heap on the floor to act as a doggie bed. "You're not going back up there. We had a deal, and you didn't keep you're side of it. I know I said it was the street for you if you woke him, but I think he's going to be confused enough in the morning without having to wonder what became of you, so consider yourself lucky."

God. Please tell me I'm not actually conversing with a dog.

"Stay," he instructed firmly to both of them, before finally doing what he had been dying to do for hours now, and crawling into bed, groaning with pleasure as he sank into the lumpy motel mattress.

Dean awoke in his usual chair. It hadn't grown any more comfortable than he remembered. He'd been sitting here for so long now he'd have thought it would have moulded to suit his body's every contour. Instead he woke up stiff and somehow more tired than when he had drifted to sleep. Not that he had meant to do that.

Cursing himself for his inattentiveness Dean pulled himself awake sharply and fixed his attention on the bed in front of him. He couldn't believe he had allowed himself to sleep. He no longer had the time left to waste.

This time there appeared to have been no major change during his brief snooze. Sam lay exactly as he had left him, although if possible he looked even paler now than Dean remembered. The dark rings under his eyes, even the clear nasal canula providing his brother with the additional oxygen his tired lungs could not, stood out sharply against his pale features.

Not knowing whether to be relieved that the situation had not deteriorated further, or anxious that it had not improved, Dean reached out a shaking arm and locked his fingers around his brother's wrist. His skin was cool, almost lifeless, but as much as his stomach rebelled he needed the contact. In fact that small gesture was nowhere near enough to quell the emptiness inside him, and he brought his left hand forwards too, playing it fondly through his little brother's unruly hair. For all the times he had teased his brother about this shaggy mop, he didn't know what he would do without its comfort now. He knew he probably derived more peace from the soothing repetitive motion than Sam, but it there was a chance, no matter how slim, that Sam might feel his touch and follow it home, then Dean would repeat the motion forever.

"Hey Sammy" he whispered, wincing at how raw, how desperately needy his voice sounded, but he had been holding out his one sided conversation for so long now that he doubted his voice would ever clear again. Not that he cared. It Sammy would just do as he asked he would gladly never speak, never ask for anything again.

But according to Sam's doctors…

"I'm still here little brother." He hated the hitch in his voice, as though it betrayed doubt that Sam would return to him, but a part of him knew that if anything was going to get his brother's attention, get through to him how desperately he had to open his eyes now, then that tone from his indestructible older brother was the one to do it. Even if it was just out of curiosity to see what all the fuss was about.

"Hey, I thought you were supposed to be stubborn." Dean chided. "Why can't you be stubborn when it really matters?"

But Sam remained as still as ever.

Losing their father had been sharp and sudden and Dean had thought nothing would ever match the shock of it. But this… This slow wait. It was almost more than Dean could comprehend.

"Please, stay with me. Don't make me do this alone."

And Dean slowly laid his head on his brother's shoulder, stubbornly refusing to believe what had been so obvious to everybody else for so long now. That as much as Sam may seem to want to make the journey back to him the distance was too far now, and he would never have the strength to get there.

And then, as if to confirm his thoughts, the screeching monotone of his baby brother's heart monitor broke the silence.

Dean awoke with a start, his heart rate a marked contrast to what his brother's had been moment's before. He gasped in oxygen so hard it was painful, and he had to fight against the bile he could feel rising in his throat.

It was a moment or two before he remembered where he was. He was in a motel, not a hospital, and he had been asleep in a bed, not a comfortless chair. And more importantly Sam was sleeping in the bed next to his, and his heart was beating, beating, beating in his chest. Dean was sure of it.

He exhaled quietly. A dream.

If only that's all it had been. Even then he would have found himself fighting down the urge to fling himself to his brother's side to confirm for himself that Sam was very much alive.

In the first few nights after Sam had left the hospital Dean had been able to do just that, and he could think of no greater comfort after such a nightmare than to be able to sit for hours with his hand against his brother's pulse feeling the steady flow of life within him. It was only the fact that Sam had been so highly medicated in those first nights that had allowed Dean that peace. The last time he had tried he had woken his brother, and while Dean may have been overjoyed to be able to look his Sammy in the eyes, Sam's reaction to the intrusion had been less than peaceful.

Dean hovered now, half way between rising and falling back against his pillows, fighting the urge to just confirm that Sam was okay. That he could at least hear his brother breathing. Sam may have been lying so incredibly still, his arm subconsciously cradling his abdomen, but his bedcovers were tossed around him in such a way that they spoke undeniably of life, and Dean almost sobbed with relief.

Light was streaming in through the chink in the motel curtains, and Dean knew from experience that there was no way in hell he would be getting any more sleep after a dream like that, but he was reluctant to rise lest he wake his brother or the dog. Sam needed his rest. It was better to let the kid rise naturally, as many times as he had had to fight the urge to wake him.

Waking the dog would also lead to waking Sam, and Dean was less sure how they were going to sneak the little creature out of the motel now they no longer had the cover of darkness.

By the time Sam began to stir Dean had composed himself once more. He knew the extent of his own anxiety was unhealthy, but the last months had been a rude wake up call. He had come so close to losing the one thing in his life, the very essence of what made Dean 'Dean', and it continued to scare him a lot more than either of them had imagined it would. But showing his unrest and worry only caused Sam his own, and it was never a good idea to give the kid another reason to brood, so Dean resolved to let them have an argument free day.

Sam had slept in later than he'd planned, and even after he'd showered he found himself fighting the groggy after effects of the painkillers he'd taken the night before. Man, he'd forgotten how disorientating they could be. In fact, he remembered nothing between arguing with Dean on the bench and waking up in warm bed to find half the morning had passed him by.

Whatever they had been arguing about seemed to have blown over however, if the sunny disposition his brother was exhibiting this morning was anything to go by.

Sam emerged from the bathroom in a cloud of steam to find Dean had just returned with breakfast, and that the dog had weed on its blankets. He blinked stupidly, not sure which should be addressed first, when Dean shoved a cup of steaming coffee into his hands.

"Hey, it's your pet. You were the one who was so keen to bring it back here."

"I thought you were going above and beyond not to leave it unsupervised. If I didn't know any better I'd think you'd somehow planned this, just to prove your point."

Dean knew there had been no hidden meaning behind Sam's words, so chose to ignore that he had found one on his own.

Sam perched on the edge of his bed and took a large mouthful of his drink, sighing happily. He could practically feel the warmth and the caffeine banishing away the lingering after effects of sleep and drugs.

"How you feeling?" Dean ventured, eyeing the bottle of painkillers still resting by Sam's bed. His brother looked in a good mood, it seemed safe to ask, and he really did need to know. "Feel up to a library session? I did a brief scan on the internet last night but I'm drawing up a blank. I think we may need a professional geek on the case."

"I'm good. Better." Sam too eyed the bottle, almost guiltily. Maybe he shouldn't have left the bottle on show for Dean's peace of mind, but he knew his brother would be more concerned if Sam had taken the tablets and then tried to conceal the fact. "I think it was the cold, making it twinge. I got a good night's sleep though, so that's a plus… I fell asleep on you didn't I? I don't remember getting back into bed."

"Oh only in the literal sense," Dean muttered with a smile.

"What?"

"Don't worry about it," he said, handing over Sam's breakfast, trying to hide a smile at the enthusiasm with which Sam attacked his bagel. Dean was busy throwing scraps of bacon from his own breakfast to the dog.

"You gonna find him a home while I'm at the library?" Sam asked.

"No, I'll come with. Two heads and all that… You point and I'll look."

"We really should find somewhere to house the little guy. I'd feel bad ditching him back on the streets," Sam said sadly, bending down to tickle the little dog's ears.

"You're taking the impending separation incredibly well. I thought I'd have to fight you on this."

"We can't keep a dog Dean, you know that." Sam looked at his brother as though he was insane.

"But last night…"

"I was just trying to piss you off," Sam stated, as if it was the most obvious and natural thing in the world, which Dean supposed a few months ago it probably was.

"You little… you had me genuinely worried how I was going to drag the two of you apart. I was working on strategies and everything."

"Then I'm sorry I said anything. Did they involve chocolate sundaes and stolen library books?" Sam asked, remembering his father's favourite two standby Sam cajoling techniques, once upon a time when getting his youngest to fall in line had been that easy.

"Man, you were such a girl."

"Were. Wow. That's almost a complement."

Dean rose, grumbling in response. He was finding it hard to see the smile on Sam's face through the veiled wince as he lent back down to play with the dog, but to say anything about it would be to set Sam in a defensive mood for the rest of the day. Instead he pulled out the scrap of fabric he had discovered the night before, the only vague clue they had to show for their night out.

"Here," he said, tossing it over to Sam. "Take this with you. We may be able to find something that matches the symbols in the library. Not that this looks like the kinda place that'll be over brimming with our kinda books, but you never know. Could even be a scrap from some kids t-shirt for all we know, but it's not as if we have anything else to go on."

Sam eyed the markings on the cloth curiously. He hadn't had a proper look the night before. He'd been too tired to care on the journey back to the motel, and had had an excited dog to prevent from being too excited in his brother's car.

"Ringing any bells?"

"Yeah… but not really." Sam said with a frown. "It looks pretty generic. Your standard occult symbols. But I've never seen them all together like this. And I don't know if the order means anything. It's like…"

"It's like someone drew out every vaguely cultish symbol they could think of in thirty seconds."

"…yeah. Kinda fits the t-shirt theory."

"One nice easy job to stop you from getting bored." Dean mimicked Sam's voice from earlier in the week. "If that was your aim I think one that involves a day in the library with no real clue what we're researching was perhaps not the best job to choose."

"Well after your maximum driving time of two hours, 'no poltergeists, no obvious haunting and nothing with claws' mandate there was a limit on what was on offer. There was a possible blood letting cult in Wisconsin but I was pretty sure that was going to be a 'no'." Sam watched his brother pack for the day with an amused smile.

Dean swallowed thickly, trying to push away the image of Sam and bloodletting. "I'm gonna hit reception, let them know we're gonna be sticking around for a few days. Meet me in the car when you're done. And bring the mutt. We'll find something to do with him before we hit the library."

Sam nodded and busied himself getting together his favourite research supplied. The fact he even had favourite research supplied made Dean feel vindicated enough to keep on with the 'Geek Boy' comments for at least the next twenty years.

Dean had no trouble at all keeping their room, and decided to keep the motel owner occupied while Sam could smuggle his puppy into the car by questioning him on the nearest and best research venues in the area, making up some story Sam would have loved him for about his brother being a college student researching myths and urban legends of rural America. They really did need a library with at least some mythology texts if they were going to match any of the symbols on that cloth.

He'd ran out of questions however, and the motel owner had exhausted his expressions of surprise over Sam's morbid curiosities 'he looks like such an ordinary young man' and the subject of their conversation was yet to emerge from room 35.

"Well, I'd better get a move on. These light bulbs aren't going to change themselves." And before Dean could think of another line of questioning the older man was out of the office door and striding over the car park to his destination, which just happened to be in the direction of their still open door.

Fighting down a panic. Dean followed. It was then that several things seemed to happen at once.

Firstly, a terrified shrill barking sound started to emanate from the direction of the Winchester's room, causing the motel owner to glare at him accusingly and hurry forwards to investigate the noise.

When Dean reached his and Sam's room it was hard to make out what was happening inside through the cloud of thick black smoke that seemed to have enveloped everything. But then he noticed the little dog barking with a mixture of fury and abject terror, swiping its paws at the apparently still and innocent looking mystery cloth that now lay on the floor in the centre of the room.

Dean's eyes darted through the room in panic, and didn't relax when they met the object of his search. Sam was pressed against the far wall, his face a mask of shock and confusion. He took a lurching step forwards when he noticed his brother's return.

"I don't think it's a t-shirt," was all he managed before collapsing in a dead faint onto the hard carpeted floor that had bruised Dean's knees so badly the night before. The second he hit the ground the smoke in the room cleared, and the little dog became passive once more.

It was a moment before Dean could move. His brain seemed to take a long time to process what was happening, and coming to the conclusion he didn't really have a clue it decided to start at the beginning and try again.

Unfortunately, it took the motel owner a lot less time to figure out that Sam, the apple of his matronly wife's eye (she had already baked the boy two batches of cookies in an effort to fatten him up, and had even offered to darn his socks) had obviously been conducting some kind of dark pagan ritual in his room, which included burning incense and filling the building with mind altering fumes. It was no surprise the kid looked so frail and bemused every time he saw him. And just what exactly he had been going to do with the puppy was anyone's guess, but there was no way it could be good.

And he had let it pee on his fresh blankets.

A low groaning broke through Dean's catatonia. If his eyes were slow to work out what was happening, his ears knew exactly what that sound was, and he'd need a lobotomy and a full personality transplant before it would be denied.

"Sam," he choked out, giving the fabric on the floor a wide berth as he darted to the other side of the room where his brother was beginning to stir.

"What the hell happened?" Sam's voice was shaky, and while he was struggling to sit up he had yet to open his eyes. The question came more as a response to Dean's touch, from the little brother confidence that upon waking up and finding himself on the floor Dean would be somewhere in the immediate vicinity.

"You're asking me!" Dean said incredulously, but with no trace of accusation in his voice. "Besides you scaring the crap out of me.." he took a firmer grip on Sam's elbow and, bracing his brother's other side gently pulled him up into a sitting position and propped him back against the wall he had been clinging to before Dean had arrived.

Sam couldn't help the slight scream of pain the sudden movement caused. He tried to chalk it up to his body being taken by surprise, but that wasn't it. He'd known it was coming. Why did his brother think he had been moving so slowly?

Any relief Dean might have felt upon Sam opening his eyes vanished instantly at that sound. The sight of his little brother pressing himself subconsciously hard against the wall as though shying as far away from his touch as possible, biting his lip and trying hard not to whimper in pain, was starting to cause Dean to slide back into catatonia. That. And the fact his eyes were closed again.

It was noise of a slightly different pitch that caused Sam to open them again.

"What the hell has been going on in here?"

Sam honestly didn't know what the motel owner seemed more upset about, the apparent satanic ritual and ungodly black smoke, or the presence of a dog in his clean tidy room. 'And Angela's deathly allergic you know'. Dean looked about as dazed at the tirade as he felt, and was making no effort to explain themselves. In fact, he was staring around himself blankly as though still trying to process exactly what was going on.

Realising he would be getting no help from that quarter Sam grit his teeth and tried valiantly to stand. Dean was still crouched on the floor in front of him, and was looking too bemused to notice, so Sam used his brother as a prop, resting almost his entire weight against Dean's shoulders as he wrenched himself to his feet. To his chagrin this did not spur Dean into action. If anything it just caused him to frown slightly as to where the sudden pressure could be coming from.

It was Sam moving away from him towards the madly gesturing motel owner, who actually backed away as though Sam were rushing him brandishing a machete, and Dean registering the loss of contact that brought the room back into focus. Strangely the first thing he noticed was the dog, barking insanely. It had placed itself between Sam and the newcomer, barking and growling at the man's feet as though worried they were going to do his new master bodily harm. Dean felt a sudden surge of affection for the little creature, who had determined to stand between his brother and perceived danger even though they had only set eyes on each other less than twenty-four hours previously, when Dean, Sam's protector of the last twenty-three years, was still sat uselessly on the floor. His gratitude was such that he could almost accept the knowledge that the dog would soon have to re-enter his car.

"Go mini Dean." He whispered, making a vow he knew he'd break not to raise his voice at his brother again while the dog remained within earshot.

"…so you see, we really are very sorry." Although Dean noted with a smile, his brother sounded far from sorry. He probably had been about five minutes ago, but now the older man was all but making the sign of the cross in his brother's face, Dean could see Sam's patience was fast running out. That and his ability to remain upright.

It was then Dean remembered his recent cover story. Okay, so he was regretting that now, but how was he supposed to know Sam was going to be at the centre of a mystical convergence within four minutes of him saying it? Besides the fact he was Sam, that is.

"All right, all right, we're going." Dean was finally on his feet and steering his weary brother away from the confrontation, pushing him gently onto the nearest bed, for which Sam smiled gratefully. For all his protestations to the contrary, he was glad that Dean had returned to take charge.

"And while we're getting our stuff together you can go get the money I just gave you for tonight."

"You needn't think you're getting that back." And the elderly man drew himself up to his unimpressive full height. "Damages."

"Damages." Dean echoed incredulously. "There's nothing damaged."

"All that smoke, there's bound to be something broken. And there's that bed sheet. And there'll be dog hair over everything. It'll take days to air out." He was backing out, obviously afraid Dean was going to physically protest. Or that Sam was going to turn him into a slug.

"I want you gone in ten minutes. You're lucky I'm not calling the police. You and that freak of yours better put some distance between you and this town, or…" he seemed at a loss to express what catastrophe could possibly befall them if they didn't comply. "And you can take that dog with you." He bolted to the reception where he remained hidden, eyes peering between the blinds until he was sure they were long gone.

"Come on, freak," Dean said gently, unsure what level of concern he was supposed to exhibit, since he had no idea what had just happened. "Let's get you in the car."

Sam just snorted in frustration, seemingly at the universe as a whole, and Dean was expecting a repeat of his earlier question. But instead Sam struggled to his feet.

"I can manage," he assured his brother with a smile. "Really. I just… I don't know. Let's just get out of here."

Reassured his brother wasn't about to take another swan dive Dean left him collecting together their belongings while he grabbed their supplied from the bathroom. He was glad now that he had gone against his natural inclinations and left his brother in the shower to get breakfast and retrieve his car. They moved in silence and made it to the car well within their given time limit.

"You just gonna let him keep the money?" Sam asked curiously as they pulled onto the road. He didn't expect to see Dean cowed by an old man.

"Yeah, it wasn't that much. It's not worth the agro."

"Sorry," Sam whispered. He knew the torture Dean must have endured getting the money in the first place.

"It's not your fault the guy was an asshole. I'm just glad I only paid for one more night."

"Yeah, but..."

"You had no idea that thing was gonna do…. Whatever it did."

"I know but… if I hadn't insisted we bring the dog he probably wouldn't have heard it," Sam said sadly, struggling to keep the squirming pup in his lap still. If the dog knew it was being talked about it didn't show it. Instead it was excitedly trying to stare out of the passenger window at the world rushing by, and even as Dean remembered his admiration for the little guy's bravery in the face of adversity, he had to wince as its claws hit the door trying to find a decent paw rest to lean and stare from.

"Sorry," Sam said again, with a grin this time, resuming his dog controlling duties. Instead of letting the dog rest its paws against his brother's precious car he held it upright so it could see out of the window, grinning as its tail wagged appreciatively. Even Dean had to smile at their antics. He was beginning to wish they really could keep it, if only to keep the smile the dog always seemed to bring to his brother's face. But he knew as well as Sam there was no practical way they could keep the dog and their current lifestyles. He had heard their father give this lecture to his youngest son enough times to know that by now.

"So. What did happen?" Dean asked at last, pulling the car to a stop at the side of the deserted road, as far from the town as was practical given they still had a job to do.

"I don't know." Sam sighed, looking at him openly and honestly, and Dean knew he wasn't deliberately trying to act innocent.

"Had you been holding it? Did you say something? Did you touch it and let loose with your crazy mind powers?"

"Yes, that must be it." Sam rolled his eyes.

"I'm serious. It's obviously not as inanimate as it seems. Maybe it picked up a vibe from you."

"I think it was more the other way around."

"It vibed you?" Dean asked with his eyebrows raised.

"Yeah… I don't know." Sam was getting frustrated, and now he was avoiding his brother's eye.

"Just tell me what happened," Dean probed gently. "Or what you remember," he conceded, resting a reassuring hand on the side of Sam's chair, wanting to provide support but unsure how to go about it. It Sam had somehow tapped into it using his powers, Dean knew he must be pretty freaked out right now, and knowing Sam there was also an unhealthy helping of guilt somewhere in the mix too. Another of life's difficulties they would never have had to face if it weren't for him.

One overly dramatic sigh and some slight squirming later and Sam was ready to begin.

"I was getting some stuff together. The… that was still on the bed," he said, indicating to the cloth now wrapped carefully in a t-shirt by Dean, who had been keen to avoid touching it again just in case, and hidden from sight on the back seat. "I went to pick it up and put it in my bag but, I don't know, I guess I dropped it. It didn't shoot out of my hand or anything dramatic," he stated, noting the look on his brother's face. "I was in a hurry, and I was wondering how to get the dog out, and where to put the blanket while we were gone so that when we got back the whole room wouldn't smell like stale urine, and I wasn't paying attention, so I dropped it."

"And then what happened?"

"Well, I bent down to pick it up," Sam said, practically cringing at the thought.

Dean said nothing. They both knew Sam was restricted in what he could lift and carry these days, and Sam had promised that he would abide by his doctor's advice and not do anything too strenuous. But a piece of fabric would hardly have seemed like a challenge, and if he'd been in a hurry and distracted, Dean knew he probably wouldn't even have thought twice before leaning over to snag it back up.

He also knew it had probably stung like hell.

Sam stared into the distance and Dean didn't rush him. It looked like he was struggling hard to find the words to explain what had happened next. But there were no words, because Sam had no clear recollection. There was darkness. A pain in his side, excruciating and yet not. Muted somehow, as though he knew it hurt but couldn't really feel it. The sensation of floating, like being suspended in water. Cold. Alone. Lost. For the longest time. Voices in the darkness. Screams. A metallic taste in his mouth. Frantic movement around him, invading him, but he couldn't see or feel anything at all but the fear and the pain. And then there was a voice in the darkness. The frantic screaming of his name.

And then there was Dean. It was his voice Sam could hear, and despite the pitch of it, it brought comfort. And then he could see again, and hear, and the motel room came rushing back, and the dog was barking, and Dean was there, and he needed to reach him, he needed to tell him, he needed to not feel alone and not afraid. And then there was darkness again.

"Sam?" Dean's brother was no longer searching his mind for words. He was gripping the sides of his chair so tightly the blood had drained from his fingers, and whatever he was thinking or remembering, he was on the verge of hyperventilating, trying to push the darkness at bay.

A strange acidic smell made Dean's nose twitch, and flicking his eyes from his panicking brother to the object in the back of the car Dean could see faint curls of black smoke beginning to inch their way towards them.

What the… neither of them were anywhere close to touching it.

"Sam," he said again, more urgently, gripping Sam's shoulders and turning him around to face him. Sam's eye's looked so panicked and lost that Dean no longer cared if Sam was aware of what he was going to do. He had made a promise that he was never going to have to see that look in his brother's eyes again.

"Shhh. It's okay," he soothed, pushing his brother's fringe away from his eyes, feeling his forehead but detecting no heat. Nothing to explain the sheen of sweat that had accumulated there. "It's okay," he repeated, allowing his hand to fall slightly to cup his brother's cheek. Sam seemed to melt into his touch, leaning into the contact. "It's okay," Dean said again, noting as he did so that the calmer Sam became the more the smoke seemed to dissipate, until soon the backseat was as clear as it had ever been, and Sam had refrained from trembling and was staring at him instead with large eyes laced with uncertainty.

"You okay now?"

Sam nodded uncertainly, not trusting himself to speak, knowing somehow that it was only Dean's presence, his words and his touch, which were tethering him down, stopping him from slipping away into that blackness.

Tentatively, Sam raised one hand, laying it on top of his brothers, which had yet to leave his face, preventing him from moving it away. He sank his other side into the seat, closing his eyes, knowing his brother would be much more comfortable with the prolonged contact if he didn't have to stare into Sam's eyes while giving it. They remained that way for several long minutes while Sam studiously forced his breathing to return to normal and Dean's whole arm went numb from being extended for so long. He wanted to ask Sam again if he was alright, if there was anything he needed, but his voice was gone. Sam's obvious trust that Dean's mere presence would keep the bad thing at bay had stolen it away.

It was Sam that broke the contact, gently giving Dean his hand back and sliding back around in his seat until he was facing the windscreen once more.

"The newspaper report said it looked like the victims had been scared to death?" he questioned, knowing full well the answer. He was the one who had picked this case out after all.

Dean nodded, still not trusting himself to speak despite the fact Sam was obviously not going to bring up the colossal brotherly bonding moment that had just taken place.

"Maybe it feeds of a person's fear. Drags out negative emotions. I think we were in the right place last night, but you moved it before anyone could trigger it."

"But why didn't anything trigger it? I carried it around most of the night. We were both handling it this morning, how come nothing set it off until after I'd gone?"

"Well, what were you feeling when you found it?"

"I don't know. Not much of anything really. Vague curiosity I suppose, but..."

"Nothing negative…" Sam probed, but it was more like a statement.

"No. If anything, kind of excited maybe," Dean replied with a guilty grin. "It felt good to be back out there again, you know? But why did it wait until…. Pain." Dean said, nodding with sudden understanding. "It reacted to your pain when you touched it again. When you were picking it up. That's a negative emotion alright, and strong enough to set it off."

Sam just nodded in confirmation, not quite sure what to say. 'Sorry' and 'oopse' were on the tip of his tongue but neither seemed to cut it somehow.

"So what do we do now?"

"Think happy thoughts," Sam responded, flashing his brother a rueful smile, and Dean finally felt able to relax.

"I suppose that would be a good idea. No negative emotions until the job is done. Oh, I'm gonna have so much fun with this one," Dean teased. "I'm gonna let my every annoying habit have free reign for the rest of the day, and you're gonna have to refrain from bitching about it."

"Dean, you do that anyway."

"Yeah. But I won't have to listen to you whining about it. "

Sam stared at his brother in open mouthed incredulity.

"I'm pretty sure those are some negative thoughts you got running through your head there little brother," Dean teased.

"Well I'm imagining causing you pain, but I'm feeling pretty good about it, so I think we're safe."

"So what now?" Dean asked again, falling serious once more. "We need to learn more about it. Like how to turn it off would be a good thing. Now it's latched onto you it doesn't seem to need physical contact to get up and running again. Hey, that wasn't an accusation; I'm just stating a fact. We just need to keep you away from it until we've figured this out."

"But how do we know it's just me? I mean, I set it off - and, you know, sorry about that - but we have no way of knowing if its limited to just my emotions now it's up and running. I mean, I could torture you and see what happens, but…"

"I think it's a safe enough assumption. A specific set of emotions and memories triggered it; it's probably locked onto your frequency or something now."

Sam looked doubtful, but didn't want to risk the frustration of arguing about it.

"Well… if this is what we came here looking for then we found it. I think it's safe to keep moving until we find somewhere else to set up base."

"Unless we want to go back and find out who put it there." Sam felt like he was stating the obvious.

"Eventually, but I think priority one is breaking whatever connection this thing has formed with you. If we head back into the city we'll have access to the main library, there's more of a chance of maybe finding something to explain what we've got going on here."

"Someone's going to need to make a copy of it." Sam replied reluctantly, knowing full well it wasn't going to be him. "You said yourself, I'm library boy, but I'm going need to know what I'm looking for."

"You sure you're up to this?" It was Dean's turn to look doubtful.

"The sooner we get this done, the sooner I can stop having to be nice to you," Sam joked.

"Seriously…"

"I'm okay. And we're only going to a library. I'll just sit, you can do all the fetching and carrying required, alright?"

"And you'll say something, the second you don't feel 100 per cent?"

"I thought I was allowed to 75," Sam protested.

"85 per cent," Dean replied with a grin. "My final offer."

"Deal. Now get copying, oh scribe you."

Dean stared at the back seat with some trepidation, then, as though receiving divine inspiration he lent purposefully over his brother and fumbled through the tape box until he'd found his favourite Metallica tape, switched on the engine and slotted it in the deck.

"Seriously." Sam didn't know whether to be exasperated or amused

"Just a precaution." Dean protested. "It sooths me. You wanna take a walk?"

"Not really," Sam said, eyeing the barren roadside surrounding them.

"Sam." It was that stern big brother tone that Sam knew could only be obeyed, so with a groan he opened the passenger door, pushing the dog out before him. Dean watched them walk away, but Sam refused to go too far, and Dean knew he was keeping the car clearly within his sight so he could watch out for the tell tale signs of black smoke.

Slowly, Dean unwrapped the mystery package, singing along to Metallica and trying not to let his mind focus on the image of his brother's panicked face. Just in case. Although in truth he was more annoyed at it for messing with his brother than afraid of it anyway. Now they had an idea what they were up against he would be sure to guard against it. He watched Sam wandering around outside the car conversing with the puppy, and he couldn't hide the glow he felt knowing it was somehow his own simple presence that had kept Sam's fears at bay. Their lives had become so messed up and confused in recent months that Dean had never expected Sam would respond to such simple means of comfort. When they were kids, yes. Dean's presence had always been enough to scare the monsters and the nightmares away. But Sam had grown up and gone away, and Dean had thought nothing would ever be simple between them again.

"OK, we're all set," Dean called out, sliding back into the front seat of the car.

"You just gonna sit there?" Sam asked with an amused grin, peering in through a crack he had opened in the passenger door.

""Well. Yeah." Dean was confused.

"Okay," Sam replied in a cheery 'it's your funeral' kind of voice before opening the door fully and allowing his new playmate to scramble its way up into the foot well. As cute as the little guy looked Dean cringed at the sound of claws levering their way up against his paintwork, and when it raised inquisitive paws to attempt to jump unprotected onto his leather seats he lunged forwards to snatch it midair with a stream of colourful expletives.

"Careful!" Sam protested in alarm. The dog too yipped in fright and distress, and as soon as Sam was seated he held out his arms to take the dog from Dean's dangling grasp. "Don't hurt him." And Dean felt genuine guilt at the level of accusation in his brother's tone.

"Well what did you really expect?"

"That you would have had the sense to get out and pick him up, you know I can't." and Sam cradled the animal to his chest whispering nonsense insults against his brother in an effort to calm it. It continued to squirm until it kicked out with a hind leg and prodded Sam in the ribs, and at his startled gasp the dog fell silent looking, if possible, remorseful, and tried instead to lick Sam's face in apology.

"Well fido didn't set it off." Dean broke the silence at last. He wanted to apologise for his oversight, but knew that his brother would not take kindly to Dean's guilt over the fact he had forgotten to treat Sam like an invalid for once, so he kept silent on the matter. But he made a promise to himself to check out the paintwork below the passenger door at the earliest possible convenience, and god help them both if he didn't like what he saw. "Kinda fits the 'it's just you' theory."

"Because it's not affected by a dog!" Sam was back to incredulous again. "I know we haven't been on a hunt in a while, but seriously…"

Dean merely huffed a little in the driver's seat before both simultaneously took in a calming breath, held, and relaxed, catching each other's eye with a slight smile.

"What are we gonna do with him?" Sam stroked the puppy sadly. "We took him far away from home."

"Home was a cardboard box next to a dumpster. He shared it with rats bigger than him; I really don't think he minds."

"Yeah, but still."

"You should have seen him going after that thing man." Dean told him with a smile. "I think you found an honorary ghost hunter there."

"You know, he probably saw something of the two most recent attacks."

"You know, I'm not sure I like where this is going."

"I'm just saying, it must have been a little freaky for him. You think it's possible he saw whatever started this?"

"Don't do this," Dean sighed.

"I'm not doing anything, I'm just making conversation." But he had the good grace to look ashamed and Dean knew he knew exactly what he was being accused of.

"I warned you not to get attached. We can't take him with us."

"Well not if you're gonna have a freak out every time he gets in the car," Sam said, a little harsher than he had meant to.

"That's one reason," Dean relented. "I can think of a few more. Want me to list them for you?"

"No thanks. I think I still have this speech memorised."

"Well you heard it often enough. You know, maybe you do have some kind of 'distressed animal beacon' thing going on. Even as a kid you always managed to attract them."

"He wasn't distressed, were you?" Sam addressed the dog before glaring at his brother with a knowing smile. "He kicked your ass."

"What!"

"Oh please. You ran like a little girl, you think I didn't see that?"

"I didn't… sound travels differently in the dark. It was an enclosed space. Made him sound a lot bigger than he actually is."

"I'm sure… But he won't be little forever. Look at the size of these paws. You're gonna grow into a beast aren't you."

"All the more reason why he isn't going to live in my car." Dean couldn't help but note Sam's crestfallen look. "You are still messing with me with this, right?" he almost dreaded the answer.

"Yeess." Sam said defensively and somewhat petulantly, in a tone Dean had long ago learnt to interpret as 'I'm lying to you because I want you to think I'm a big boy now'.

"Oh Sam." Dean smiled through a wave of nostalgia. There was no question in Dean's mind that Sam was no longer that innocent kid, but at times he could make it hard not to see the five year old Dean still horded within himself.

"Okay. I suggest we take it to the shelter sooner rather than later. Just in case." Dean knew his brother was referring to his increasingly wavering resolve.

"He's friendly, and he's a puppy. They won't have trouble finding him a home."

As if he knew what was being said, the puppy turned on Dean with its enormous sad eyes and whined.

"Ohh." Sam groaned. "Look at it. How can you deny it anything?" he said, raising the dog's eyes in line with his own once more.

"I can't that's the problem." Dean muttered. "I don't have to, he's your responsibility remember."

"God, just drive."

To his credit Sam didn't say anything. It was Dean that was filled with the slight tingling of fate at the fact the next motel they came across had a large sign pronouncing 'Pets Welcome' in the forecourt.

"You know, pets are supposed to be stress reducing," he said thoughtfully, eyeing Sam's calm demeanour as he lazily scratched at the dogs ears. "There have been, like, studies on it and everything."

"And..?"

"It's just… maybe, given the circumstances. It couldn't hurt to keep him around a little while longer."

"No, I'm just gonna get more attached," Sam said sadly.

Dean knew his brother was right, but he pushed the matter anyway. "We don't know what to with him though, and by the time we've looked into it, maybe driven to wherever the shelter is, that's a whole day of research wasted. We need to figure this out sooner rather than later, who knows how many more of these things are out there. And whoever made this one might have noticed it's gone and replaced it by now."

Dean knew he was getting through to his brother, and was quite proud of his logical explanation, when in truth his desire to keep the dog around had absolutely nothing to do with logic and everything to do with his desperate need to keep his brother alive.

The dog had a calming effect on Sam, that much was clear. They didn't know what kind of a range this weird device had. Would it pick up on Sam's emotions from the motel room if they left it in the car? He wasn't prepared to risk it, because he knew with a paralysing certainty that if Sam had a nightmare, he would die, and Dean would have slept through it. Short of staying awake and keeping watch all night, which he would have done under normal circumstances, the alternative would be snuggling under the cover with Sam to provide a reassuring physical contact at all times, and no way in hell was that going to happen. If he went without sleep himself, then they would both be going into the job not at full strength, which was potentially just as much of a risk.

A moody and pining Sam beat a dead Sam any day of the week.

If Sam guessed at his brother's true motivation he didn't say anything. "Fine, go check us in." Dean visibly stiffened at the idea of leaving Sam out of his sight. "I can stay calm for five minutes, Dean," he exclaimed in a tone that suggested otherwise. Dean just continued to stare. "Fine. I'm outta the car," he said, scooping the puppy up and slamming the Impala's door harder than was strictly necessary.

Dean checked them in, breaking into a fresh new card, relieved to find his paranoid fear that their last patron would have phoned ahead blackballing them proved to be unfounded.

The elderly man behind the desk insisted on personally escorting Dean to their room and helping to carry any bags they might have, but Dean had the suspicion he just wanted to see what kind of dog they had brought with them. "He's small, but he's trained," Dean had lied reassuringly.

They exited the reception building to find Sam had acquired yet another new friend. And he wondered why Dean was loathed to let him out of his sight. This time it was not a new puppy however, but a small girl, barely more than two, who was clinging to the puppy in Sam's arms with ill contained adoration. Sam had crouched down to her level, which Dean made a note to chastise him about at the earliest possible convenience, and was holding the dog out for her to pet. Both looked positively thrilled with this arrangement.

As Dean approached the girl looked up at him with eyes so large they'd didn't look as though they belonged on the face of a normal child. Dean groaned.

"No. We're not keeping her. A line has to be drawn somewhere."

"Molly, come on. You leave these boys alone now, you hear me," the old man at Dean's side called out to her. "My Granddaughter," he explained to Dean in a whisper, "can't seem to keep her away from people. Now she knows you have a puppy in that room there'll be no getting rid of her I'm afraid."

"She's okay," Sam assured him, and Dean could tell from his darting eyes he was wondering how to get back up again.

Dean pointedly ignored his predicament, and with a look of ill disguised anguish Sam was forced to relinquish his hold on the dog to have his hands free to leaver himself upright once more.

The puppy chirped happily and bounded off after the little girl. It had been cooped up in a car for too long. Surely it was playtime.

Dean did his best to hide his laughter at his brother's hurt as he watched the dog leave him behind for its newest playmate. He handed his brother the key and told him to open up while he got their bags from the car, wanting to put a stop to the jealous look he was giving the giggling girl.

"Sorry," her grandfather told him. "It's just there's not much for her to do around here during the day while I'm working, I'm afraid your dog may have become something of a fixation for her."

"Well…" Dean mused, "My brother and I were going to be heading out in a little while. We have some errands we have to run in town. If she wanted… I mean, if it wouldn't be too much trouble… she's welcome to have him keep her company while we're gone. It would save us the trouble of taking him with us. We'll be back as soon as we can…" he trailed off, not sure how his idea was going down.

"If you're sure." It was said with such genuine excitement Dean laughed. He sensed it wasn't only the little girl that would enjoy having the dog around. "Feel free to take your time. He'll be perfectly safe with us, I promise."

Dean nodded his thanks. Now he just had to break the good news to Sam, and he wasn't sure how kindly he would take to the suggestion. Sam's emotions must really be all over the place for him to be jealous of a child when he had never really exhibited such covetous behaviour before, even as a child himself. Despite his earlier promise to ease off on his watchfulness, Dean vowed to be extra vigilant as far as his brother was concerned. Just until the job was done.

Just as Dean was thinking this he was given a firm reminder that perhaps Sam's choice of name for the dog, even in jest, might not have been the insult it seemed. With a startled howl, echoed by the girl, it seemed to suddenly realise that it had somehow let Sam slip out of its sight, and the girl and her tickling was soon forgotten as he bounded away in search. Dean could have sworn it was actually tracking his brother's scent as it followed him through the open motel door.

That could be a handy skill to have around…

No… focus.

"I know, but it's gonna take me like ten minutes to get down there to you," Sam laughed as the puppy danced around his newly found legs. It rolled over onto its back offering Sam its stomach in apology for having abandoned him. Sam just looked down at it sadly.

"Don't even think it," Dean growled, following the dog in with their bags. It had taken all his powers of persuasion to insist their host didn't need to help them with their bags. He really didn't need the old man looking in the trunk and having a freak out at the assortment they kept in there.

"I wasn't going to."

"Good," Dean said, relenting and bending down to give the little dog the attention it craved. Any hurt it might have felt that Sam was seemingly ignoring it soon fled when Dean crouched down beside it.

"Ha. He knows you're warming to him now," Sam crowed, then more seriously, "What are we gonna do with him while we're out. I don't think the old man's gonna take to kindly to an untrained puppy locked indefinitely in one of his rooms."

"Actually, they've offered to watch him. It'll keep the kid quiet and entertained for the afternoon anyway. If you can bear to share him that is," Dean finished with a knowing smile.

"Yeah. I suppose it's the only option we have really. Where're we gonna keep the creepy thing while we're gone?"

"I dunno. Maybe it'll be safer to leave it here. This place seems fairly quiet. I don't want to park the car in a densely populated area and find out it is attracted to other people after all."

"Even though the dog didn't set it off?" Sam enquired innocently.

"Yeah…"

"Okay. Let me get some stuff together." And for the second time that day Sam began his task of collecting his research materials together.

Leaving the dog proved to be harder than expected. Even Dean found it hard to contain a slight lip tremble at the hurt and confused whine it gave off as it watched Sam walk away. But Sam was determined to remain strong, although Dean had the sneaking suspicion he was humming quietly to himself in an effort to block out the sound.

Despite Dean's overpowering need to have this job over and done with he also insisted they stop somewhere to eat first. Their peaceful breakfast seemed a long time ago. In so many ways. When they finally made it to the library Sam remained true to his word and took a seat tucked away in a more secluded corner, and sent Dean off to do the fetching and carrying.

"You could at least come with me and point out what you want to read. How do you know I'm not missing the good stuff?"

"I highly doubt a town library houses the good stuff."

"This is true. There's gotta be something worth a read though."

Sam settled himself down for a wait, but Dean returned in barely any time at all, with only a handful of small texts.

"What, no giant tombs? Where's the fun in that?"

Dean returned to his internet search while Sam flicked through the books. Now they knew they were dealing with an entity that drained, possibly fed off, emotions, he had more to go on than his previous search, limited to 'scary things that kill. Oh, no obvious external wounds'.

Dean had copied the symbols down over several sheets of paper in an effort to avoid replicating the effect that certain combination and order might produce. There was no way the library was well equipped enough to tell Sam what the collective whole was, so he concentrated instead on the individual components. He started with the easy ones, the 'everyday' symbols and runes that he was already familiar with, drawing out a copy of the fabric with translated words in place of the symbols, hoping a full translation would make more sense. His next port of call was their father's journal, but he had read it so many times now it served to merely confirm his earlier work, and Sam didn't know whether he was impressed at himself for managing the translations solo, annoyed with the journal for providing no additional help, or mildly depressed he had recognised as many of them as he did.

Those he had already figured out seemed to cover a wide spectrum of cultures and beliefs. It was though whoever was doing this was covering all their bases as far as external aid might be concerned.

With that in mind Sam decided to put a halt to his search for the supernatural element, and wandered away in search of the library's surprisingly well stocked languages section. With a silent curse Dean scurried after him. He was loathed to leave their laptop and research unguarded, but there didn't seem to be anyone inside the library but themselves so decided it was worth the risk. Sam was secretly glad he had. The dictionaries he wanted were unusually large and on the top shelves.

"You just wanted something old and musty didn't you?" Dean grouched as he lugged down a heavy Japanese/English dictionary, but secretly he was impressed with the way his little brother's mind worked. He would have been focusing on what it was and how to stop it, not how to read it. He couldn't decide whether Sam's natural curiosity was a good thing or not, but it was back, and Dean found comfort in that.

In fact, he couldn't help but smile as he watched his brother work, checking and cross checking, about eight different books open in front of him, eyes darting backwards and forwards but always knowing exactly where to reach next. Dean didn't think he'd seen him looking quite so contented in months. Sam had always loved any excuse to have a good rummage through a pile of books, even when they were kids. It really shouldn't have been any surprise that he'd wanted to go away to school. Their father had been meticulous in his note taking too, but Sam could put almost any hunter Dean knew to shame, without thinking twice about whether the effort was really needed.

He smiled as the thought hit him. Dad had sent them co-ordinates to get to where they were needed. If they were ever separated, Dean knew Sam would send him a five page e-mail complete with footnotes and page references, meaning all Dean would have to do was turn up and shoot.

"Huh." Dean knew Sam didn't really require an answer to his own grunt of curiosity, so he left him to it, returning instead to the search engine in front of him. He could tell Sam was onto something however by the way his movements had picked up slightly, seemed more purposeful somehow.

He was right, and it wasn't long before Sam broke the silence.

"What've you got?" Dean asked, moving next to him to take in the translated copy Sam set in front of him.

"Well, it's pretty much the same few sets of words or ideas repeated over and over in different languages," Sam explained. "These," he pointed to a scattering of the symbols Dean had transcribed for him, and the older brother smiled. Sam was clearly enjoying himself. "They all mean 'emotions' or 'senses' or something similar, and the symbols range from Chinese and Japanese to Celtic, even Sumerian. The rest of them are pretty much groups of different emotions, I'm guessing the kinds that would set it off. 'Fear', 'pain', 'guilt', 'loneliness', 'despair'… well, you get the idea. Towards the bottom though, it changes. It moves on to ideas of 'containment', maybe 'storage'. There's something about extraction somewhere, oh yeah, over here. There's also something about 'releasing' and 'reversal' but it's not too clear. They're mixed in with words like 'danger' and some kind of numbers, almost like a timescale. And there's some mention of blood, but I'm not sure in what context. Sorry."

"You're saying this could be some kind of storage device? It absorbs the relevant emotions, which can be released at a later date?"

"I guess so. But, I mean… is that even possible."

"22 years Sammy. Don't you think we're a little bit past that now?"

"Yeah, but…." Sam still looked doubtful.

"Hey, you translated it."

They fell silent, both lost in their own musings, before Sam voiced what they were both thinking,

"Why?"

"I dunno. Portable lunchables?"

"You find anything out?" Sam asked, nodding towards the laptop Dean had just vacated.

"Nothing that we didn't really already know. Pretty much every culture has a legend about some kind of creature that feeds of a person's emotions and life force. Drains them dry. In fact…" he continues, pulling Sam's papers towards him, "Every one of the cultures covered here. Sometimes the presiding emotion they feed off is different. They're not all negative either. But it seems like whoever left this, that's all they were interested in."

"You think it was a person?"

"I don't know. But if you had the ability to suck the life outta people, why would you go to the time and effort if creating something that replicated the effect?"

"But if you didn't feed off it yourself, why bother collecting it at all? It doesn't sound like these things would make very ideal pets."

"Oh, don't even go there. I keep telling you Sammy, people are crazy…. Oh my God." A sudden thought hit Dean, "If this thing stores negative emotion, and you set it off…twice… does that mean there's like, a part of you in there? Are you being stored?" Dean looked vaguely nauseous at the thought.

"I don't think so. I mean, I like to think I'd notice. I'm not feeling any less soulful that I was yesterday." Sam smiled reassuringly.

"No tireder. Dizzy…"

"No, I feel fine. You said there was black smoke? What's that about?"

"I'm not sure," Dean murmured thoughtfully, trying to take Sam's reassurances to heart. "Maybe it acts as some kind of transference medium. I vote we don't take the opportunity to find out."

"I don't think there's much more we can do here," Sam mumbled, doing his best to firstly stifle a yawn, and then ignore the frown it elicited from his brother.

"You're right. We can do another search on the laptop back at the motel, ring around and see if anyone has any ideas why something might need to store emotions for a later date."

With that they returned to their room. The little dog was overjoyed at their return, Molly less so, and with only a feeling of mild guilt Sam lay down for an unprompted nap leaving Dean with the task of both phoning their contacts and an internet search. Dean didn't complain however, and for once he actually hoped Sam's weariness was caused by his own fragility and not the effects of the evil soul draining fabric. They would need to make another trip back to the ally they had staked out the evening before in case the perpetrator returned or more items had been placed, and Sam would need to be rested if he was to make the journey. As much as he wanted to lock Sam away in a safe quiet room and not let him out for the rest of his life, Dean also had to contend with the conflicting desire never to let his brother out of sight or beyond his easy reach ever again. Since Sam's natural inclination to accompany Dean tonight would pander to the second of these needs, Dean was willing to allow his continued participation. But he would need to sleep to be up for it.

With a weary sigh of his own Dean reached for the phone.

"Yeah, thanks Bobby. No, I'm hoping it's nothing like that either, but it doesn't hurt to be informed. Give me a call back if you hear anything."

Sam's whole body felt heavy, and even though he assumed he was now awake it seemed like way too much hassle to open his eyes. He could hear Dean moving around in the confined space of the motel room and knew he was trying his best not to make enough noise to be wakeful. Even though he was speaking he was doing his best to keep his voice low, and Sam was vaguely aware that he was glad Dean had the sense not to make the calls outside. Not because he knew Molly would have overheard them, but because it was cold.

"Hey Ash. Sorry, he's sleeping; you gotta deal with me so you'll have to keep it simple. Small words only. No, he's doing okay, just tired. Yeah…."

He tuned out the sounds. He couldn't really concentrate on what they meant. He was stuck somewhere between sleeping and wakefulness, and he couldn't make his mind up which way he wanted to drift. On the one side was Dean, who he should have been helping, and on the other was warm inviting nothingness.

It was a familiar choice, and as comforting as it felt he knew the blackness could be deceiving. Posed as a friend while really it stole his time and strength. Maybe he should go back, just in case. It had taken so long to break free the last time.

Sam tried to move his hand, his arm, as though that would somehow allow him to cling to the waking world, but his movements were too cumbersome and his eyes refused to open to find out why. He tried to call out for help - Dean was there, Dean had always been there in the past, lurking just out of range, concealed in the black - but his voice sounded mute and pathetic in his own ears, and even he couldn't work out what the words were supposed to be. But it didn't matter. The exact words never had.

"Shit… Dude, I'm gonna have to call you back." Ash had been talking a mile a minute into his ear, but for Dean nothing would ever be as loud as the confused whimper that had just left his brother's mouth.

Sam was lying on his side facing the empty bed opposite, and as much as Dean's natural impulse was to skirt around the bed so his efforts at comfort were concealed behind his brother's back, Sam's reaching hand needed to be seized, forcing Dean to approach his brother head on.

Sam seemed to calm slightly when his fingers closed around his brother's hand.

"Sammy?" The fingers squeezed gently in response, and it broke Dean's heart how weak his brother's grip was, even when he was clinging with all his might, pulling on the offered arm, and Dean could tell he wasn't trying to bring Dean closer so much as drag himself out of whatever emotional void he had fallen into.

Sam called out again, and this time Dean caught what he chose to interpret as his own name. "I'm still here Sammy," he whispered reassuringly, eyes darting frantically to the doorway, thankful he had had the foresight to remove the original material from the room and back into the car, working only from the translations Sam had made. "It's okay, but I think you need to wake up now… come on." Dean hated that his voice broke, hated that Sam must have heard it, terrified that proof of fear might stop him from venturing back from wherever he'd gone. It had been a while since he'd had such a nightmare. Sam had been unconscious for so long that he had somehow found the transition from sleep to waking disorientating and confusing, but that had been in those initial days in the hospital, the neutral territory of which had somehow made more overt displays of comfort and affection allowable and more natural. Now, as much as Dean was loathed to admit it, he was at a complete loss what to do.

"Sammy…" it was barely above a whisper, and he moved his other hand forwards to clasp his brother's shoulder. Sam didn't know whether it was this extra touch or the trembling plea that had barely made it past his brother's lips that snapped him back into awareness, but his eyes flicked open so quickly he was in time to actually witness Dean's jump of surprise at the move.

Dean had spent too many hours in this position, perched on the edge of his little brother's bed, Sam's hand clasped tightly within his own, praying for a return to wakefulness. In that moment he felt the crushing weight of every one of them, and it took everything he had to fight down the gasp of shock as the air left his lungs. If he'd had any strength left he would have fled, ran from the room as fast as he could to put as much distance between himself and the ghosts of those long nights as he was able, but Sam had taken all of the strength from him. Even as he griped tight on the one finger of Dean's he had folded in his own hand, a silent gesture of reassurance so childlike in its innocence, Dean felt a little more of his sanity leaving him.

Sam could have it. If it gave him the energy to raise his head or get out of bed he could have it all.

But it seemed at the moment that Sam had no interest in doing either of these things. Instead he chose to stare at his brother with those huge soul filled eyes. The worry and confusion was yet to leave them, but his own waking nightmare was forgotten.

"Dean?"

His brother twitched slightly in response to his name, but made no other move to answer, and Sam realised this was the second time that day that he'd woken disorientated only to find Dean too had managed to lose himself in Sam's absence.

"Dean." He tried to keep the panic out of his voice but Sam wad always been unnerved to see his brother still. In Sam's experience Dean was only ever still when he was stalking something particularly nasty or dying, neither of which were a source of comfort.

This time his word made it through and Dean shook his head slightly, as though trying to rid it of a haze, before fixing his fake smile back into place.

"So… what did you find out? You talked to Bobby and Ash?" Sam's voice was so dry he could barely get out the words. He struggled up into a sitting position, cursing his own weakness and the look in Dean's eyes when he automatically moved to help him, and when Sam didn't move to push the assistance away. He knew Dean's level of worry, which had been unhealthily high, bordering on obsession, before they had come here, had only continued to increase with every passing hour of the job. Sam knew he was to blame for Dean's paralysing bouts of anxiety but to draw attention to them, and the reason behind them, would probably just cause Dean another. The best thing Sam could think to do was to let Dean lose himself in a bit of violence, and then as soon as this hunt was over they could both rest. As much as Sam hated to admit it, it would be a while before he suggested another job. Unless Sam had a vision any time soon he would officially let himself be benched. Remembering the look of blind panic and terror on Dean's face the last time he had brought up having a vision, back when such an occurrence would have given them something to do, Sam though that might be the thing that would finally push Dean over his emotional limit.

"Um… yeah." Dean was searching through the fog in his mind. He knew the answer to Sam's question should not have been this difficult, but for some reason the tone of Sam's voice had been clearer than his words. It always was. "Yeah."

"They have any ideas what possible use stored emotions could be to anyone?" Sam prompted, and the pieces suddenly fit.

"Apparently they're a lot more useful than you might think. There's any number of spell and charms that work a lot better with a bit of fear or despair in the mix. There's quite a black market trade going on. You'd be surprised the price one of these babies could fetch. There aren't that many ways of extracting the amount and quality of this stuff needed without getting your hands dirty, so buying one of these…"

"I can't imagine the kind of people that would need it being all that squeamish personally."

"Well, anyway. An easy, hassle free source. You can't put a price on that… or apparently you can. Bobby's gonna ring around a few sources, see if anyone's heard of any underground traders in the area that might have the power and resources to set something like this up. In the meantime I think we need to go back to the scene, have another look around. Last time we were there I was thinking 'beasty' so it's possible we missed something."

Sam nodded, surprised that he was obviously being included in Dean's plans, but he wasn't going to question it. It would be easier to keep an eye on his brother if he was in the alley with him than it would be from a motel room two towns over.

"It'll be dark soon; we should get a move on," was all he said.

"Grandpa's already offered to keep the dog for the night. In case we want to check out the local nightlife. I think we should take him up on the offer…. Fat lot of good you were anyway," Dean chided under his breath.

Half an hour later they were back on the road, and Sam found it hard to keep down the waves of foreboding that were getting stronger the closer they got to their destination. Under normal circumstances he would have said something, but he knew well enough that this was not a tingling feeling linked to his abilities telling him something about the job, but the voice of his own common sense - which he was doing his best to ignore.

Dean's behaviour was erratic. He had said practically nothing of importance since Sam had woke, and he could feel Dean's eyes constantly watching, even if he never caught Dean at it. Dean was going in distracted, but he would never admit it. That was the only reason Sam had summoned the energy to drag himself along, because he knew Dean would happily have gone without him. He'd made that clear enough the night before. He wanted to have reached a point in their relationship by now where if Sam admitted that neither of them was physically or mentally ready to be out, Dean would take him seriously, but Sam doubted they were there. He would be told to stay behind, and Dean wouldn't have even Sam's doubtful cover watching his back.

They passed the journey in silence, but Dean seemed to be a little more like himself by the time he was pulling into a lay-by at the edge of town. It was already dark out and they didn't want to risk alerting whatever might be waiting for them to their presence with the rumble of the car. They would continue form here on foot.

"You think it's a good idea to take it with us?" Sam asked, eyeing the still carefully wrapped bundle Dean was currently stuffing into his jacket pocket.

"I dunno, but it could be useful. Might need it as a bargaining chip or something. Bait."

Sam's bad feeling increased but he had the sense not to say anything. He couldn't decide whether or not Dean's overprotective paranoia would be reduced to locking him in the car in the middle of nowhere.

Considering the damage he could do to the car trying to get out, probably not. But given Dean's present mood he wasn't willing to risk it.

The walk seemed longer than Sam remembered, perhaps because Dean was leading at an incredibly slow 'ever wary' pace, eyes on the alert in case anything jumped them from the shadows. Sam was doubtful that anything would, not while they were still in an area with street lamps, and Dean was being vigilant enough for the both of them. He tried hard not to let his mind wander, but Dean was being unusually jumpy and it was hard not to be concerned. Unfortunately when this train of thought had Sam so preoccupied he walked straight into his brother's back and nearly bounced backwards onto the floor, the level of Dean's overt unease only increased.

When they reached the warehouse at the end of the alley where he had waited during their previous stakeout, Sam paused. He knew Dean had only left him here 'guarding the rear' to keep him out of the way while allowing him to feel involved, but he had assumed that would still be the plan.

"We can find a place further down," Dean whispered, tugging on his sleeve to keep him moving. "If we stick to the centre we'll be able to view the whole street. Nothing will slip by us, and there's enough shelter to keep us hidden."

Sam couldn't hide a scowl at why Dean had failed to mention this last night, leaving him stuck on the sidelines in the freezing cold trying to pretend to himself he was performing a valid role.

"I'm not leaving you alone here; we still haven't got rid of the stray you attracted last time."

"That's not my fault, you…"

"Shhh." Dean said it with such emphasis Sam started, actually looking around to see what Dean had seen, but when his brother moved off into the darkness he realised Dean hadn't even noticed his own tone.

"Ohh, this is going to go well…" he whispered, following his brother's retreating back.

Dean decided the best course of action was to replace the emotion absorbing fabric back where he had found it, hoping to lure anyone returning for it out into the open. There had been no reported deaths in the area, but they knew whoever was to remove the cloth needed to do so before the alley became a crime scene, otherwise the item would be confiscated and lost.

"So that probably means they'll do a sweep later tonight to see if they've snared anything yet." Dean was surprisingly confident about this plan. Sam was just worried. And cold. But he did a valiant effort of concealing both of these facts. That Dean didn't push him on his silence over the plan, or point out the fact whoever had placed the cloth had probably long ago realised it was missing, and therefore might be a little suspicious to find it suddenly back in place again, only concerned Sam more, but a silent stake out was hardly the best place to start an argument, so instead he settled himself as comfortably as he could against an old dumpster and tried not to shiver too much. Or fall asleep.

Dean was not impressed. Sam's attention span was smaller than the puppies. He could tell Sam was trying to focus on the job, but whenever Dean glanced in his direction he was staring blankly into space, his expression hard to read but not at all positive. He was just about to call him on it when he saw Sam tense, his hand flying to Dean's shoulder to draw his attention. Dean frowned, shifting uncomfortably. Okay, so the one not actually paying any attention had spotted something coming.

Putting it down to Sam's 'Sammy senses' did nothing to make him feel better.

Dean squinted into the shadows to take in the form Sam had seen. A tall figure dressed all in black was slowly making its way down the alley towards them. Whether foe or innocent victim seemed to be answered by the careful way it was moving, doing its best not to make a sound, clinging close to the walls where it was more concealed. Dean was having a hard time tracking its movements and he knew it was there. He was silently amazed his brother had spotted it at all.

The way the figure stopped to examine the cloth Dean had replaced told the older hunter all he needed to know. It knew exactly what it was, and if the glint in its eye was anything to go by, it also knew it had been activated. It was that glint, which Dean mistook for triumph, which got him moving. Whoever that figure was, it had deliberately set out to hurt, to kill innocent people for profit, but Dean wasn't even thinking about the five bodies scattered across the rest of the town. His entire focus was on the trembling hand he had just removed from his shoulder. Whoever was out there had hurt his brother. Had preyed on his vulnerability. Would have seen him lose himself in the depth of his own fears, and then sold his life force to the highest bidder. Dean could hear, feel, or sense nothing but his own intense hatred for the thing in front of him. No one, simply no one, messed with his brother.

Dean was too emotionally preoccupied. It was Sam who saw the glimmer in the newcomer's eyes for what it really was. A strange mixture of anticipation and suspicion. Of course it had realised the object had been moved. If it was as valuable as Dean seemed to think, it would have been kept close watch over, perhaps even tracked. The figure knew they had taken it, and it knew they had returned it. Their only advantage now was the fact they, too, were concealed in the darkness, and it apparently had no idea whereabouts in the alley they were.

He felt Dean tense, felt him push his hand away and poise to stand, but even at that point Sam didn't honestly think his brother would be stupid enough to act now, with no plan, no organised assault, and this target so obviously anticipating the move.

Unfortunately for them both, Sam was wrong. After dwelling on it constantly for the last couple of hours, he had failed to take Dean's over protective nature into consideration. He had never really stopped to contemplate what Dean would do when presented with a threat to his little brother that he could physically face, and it was a frightening spectacle. Not for the first time Sam was glad he was on the calmer side of Deans' protective wall.

"Dean!" he hissed, not caring that it gave away their location if it got his brother to stop, but Dean's vengeance fuelled momentum was past the point of no return, and if anything Sam's frantic warning had only increased the veil of his anger. With a world weary curse Sam scrambled to his feet and made to follow at a safer distance and speed, wondering which weapon stashed over various parts of his body would be the best choice, the gun in the waist band of his jeans, the one with the silver bullets in his jacket or the knife at his calf, when in reality they didn't even know what they were facing. It could be human for all they knew.

Dean reached out and grasped his opponent with a cry of blind rage, spinning him around so he could look him in the eye as he beat him to death, but to his surprise his hands closed on empty air. With a speed and agility it knew its attacker would never have dreamt to suspect, it sidestepped Dean's lunge. Sam didn't even have time to shout a warning to his brother, but it didn't matter. The expected death blow didn't fall. One moment he was watching in horror as Dean was pushed aside by the figure moving past him, and the next his arms were pinned to his side by an arm fixed tightly across his chest, while another hovered close to his throat, holding what was unmistakably a knife.

Dean grimaced as he hit the alley floor. He might not have been prepared for the move but he was well trained and regained his balance in seconds. He was just about to push himself off from the ground for a second go when a cold voice hit him.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you."

"Oh yeah, and why exactly would I…"

"Dean!" His brother's gasp was harshly cut short but it stopped Dean in his tracks. The exact meaning behind Sam's tone was unclear, but the fear in it was undeniable. Over what Dean felt like was the course of hours he slowly lifted his eyes to meet his brother's gaze, and every part of his mind wished that he hadn't.

Dean deflated like he had been punched. The air left his lungs in a silent curse, and even as his brain screamed that it needed to stay sharp for Sammy, Dean's body betrayed it. Or maybe it reacted badly to the word sharp. Either way, the knees that had been preparing to raise Dean from the ground buckled, and he landed hard and dazed. The look in Sam's eyes was paralysing. That mixture of fear, guilt and defiance that only his brother could manage, and always pulled off so well. But if possible, what froze Dean's blood even more than those eyes was the knife at his little brother's throat, angled in such a way that it gleamed in the moonlight, making sure Dean was aware just how sharp it was.

The figure smiled down at him, but it was more of a sneer, a condescending acknowledgement of Dean's presence, and Dean knew without question that it wouldn't hesitate to make good on its threat. That it was going to do it anyway, whether Dean moved or not, but Dean no longer possessed anywhere near the energy left to stand. With a brutal tug Sam was dragged away from him, and at his startled grunt of pain Dean instinctively lifted one arm to reach for him, but he was slipping far too far away. His captor's movements were sever and jostling and his brother so small and weak, and as Sam pulled against it Dean couldn't help but imagine the arm encircling his middle could snap him clean in too if it would just apply the right force and pressure.

"God… Dean!" Sam had to make him listen, he had to break through, but the figure was dragging him further and further away. Sam couldn't tear his terrified eyes away from where his brother had landed; forced down against the very thing he had insisted they return to entrap their prey. And before Sam's eyes the tendrils of black smoke were rising, pushing themselves closer and closer to where his brother waited, too lost to provide any defence against them.

Sam's body was shook by the laughter behind him. "He's mine now."

It was whispered seductively into his ear, and as the black haze rose to engulf his brother Sam knew that he had to act now, and that the consequences didn't matter, because they would be the same either way.

The knife had been lowered slightly as the figure leant in to breathe its words into Sam's ear. Taking advantage of the slight chance he had been given, Sam flung his head back, connecting sharply with the chin of the person holding him, using that brief instant of surprise to wrench his arms free and twist himself away. His only clear thought was to reach his brother, to get him away from the smoke he was even now beginning to inhale.

But Sam's movements were slower and more cumbersome that he was used to, and his opponent was unnaturally fast. Even as Sam pulled away it brought the knife slashing downwards in a glittering arch, sweeping Sam across the side before he could stagger away out of his capture's reach.

Dean's eyes were glued to the knife as it moved. He could hear with a sickening clarity the knife as it penetrated his brother's side. Could distinguish clearly between the ripping of the thick fabric of his jacket, the cotton of his t-shirt, the smooth slide through his brother's flesh, and Sam's sharp cry seemed to ricochet through the alley for days.

The knife continues its course towards him, moving with such force it flicked tiny particles of red in Dean's direction, his eyes followed them as they came to rest on the concrete, tiny pearl drops of Sam's blood littering the ground between them like a twisted bridge. But it would not have supported Dean's weight, even if he could have moved to follow.

Sam's face was a picture of blank shock. He seemed to stare in confusion at the blood pooling beneath his fingers, before his eyes were raised again to capture his brother's.

"Dean… No, don't…" his tone was frantic, and Dean knew there was something behind the words that he was supposed to pick up on, but he wasn't given the chance. Sam had only taken one step towards Dean's prone form, had only managed to get out three brief words, before he was flung backwards by an invisible force, striking the alley wall behind him with such force that despite all his best intentions he couldn't help the scream of pain that left him on impact.

It was his little brother's body hitting the wall that was the last conscious thing that Dean saw. The sound of his broken form slumping to the floor the last thing his ears made out. There was no groan of life, no struggling of movement, just Sam's dead stillness before the darkness claimed his senses.

Sam watched from his position on the alley floor, struggling desperately to rise, as the dark figure completed the journey he had been trying to make to his brother's side. The smoke had gone now. Sam knew it hadn't dissipated, but that his brother had absorbed it all.

When the figure reached down to touch Dean, Sam redoubled his efforts to move but his head was still spinning and his every muscle burned, and they simple refused to obey his commands.

"No…" he sobbed, not caring that the enemy saw his weakness, because it was the only thing he had left. The only tool he could use to get it to stop. But the man made no effort to hurt Dean further. He merely scooped up the fabric from the ground under Dean's knee, and Sam could see certain of the symbols were now glowing slightly in the moonlight. He couldn't read them from here, but he knew they must be the emotions that Dean was currently feeling, and as they were written on that cloth, they weren't good.

"It's reversible," Sam whispered, more to reassure himself than to threaten their attacker.

"Not without this it isn't," he grinned in reply, holding up the device that was beginning to store Dean's deepest fears and neuroses.

With a final look of amusement at the scene before him the figure moved away into the concealing darkness.

"No!" Sam was scrabbling forwards on his knees, still fighting to stand. Even if he managed to reach the figure he could have done nothing to get his brother's soul away from him, but he didn't care. He had to try. With a sudden burst of inspiration he whipped the gun from his waistband and held it out before him, arm shaking wildly under its meagre weight, but by the time he had extended his arm he could no longer tell where he needed to aim it. He squinted into the darkness. He forced his body to rise, to move, to stagger to the end of the alley. He heard no footsteps, no car, no anything at all, but the man, and his brother's hope, was gone.

Sam tried to follow but whoever had been in the alley with them had left no trace where they had gone, and even if they had, it would have meant leaving Dean unconscious and exposed on the alley floor. And to make Sam's night complete, it was starting to rain.

Ignoring the aches in his body and the steady rising of his own panic, Sam threw himself back down at his brother's side, fingers frantically searching every exposed inch for injury, checking first his pulse then his breathing, relieved to find both as constant and reassuring as ever.

"Dean." He was too frantic to be gentle, but when he had been caught in the things grasp it had been Dean's voice and touch that had brought him around. "Dean, please. You have to wake up now. I need you to wake up. We have to get you back to the motel." There was no way Sam was going to be able to move Dean without his assistance.

To Sam's disbelief, but immense joy, Dean responded to the constant calling of his name. "Oh thank you," Sam whispered to whatever force had deemed to allow Dean to stir, but which hadn't decided it needed to stop the rain from falling. In fact, the rain was picking up its pace. If it was a trade off though Sam would rather have a conscious Dean in a rain storm than soul sucked but dry.

"Sam…?" he had never heard Dean's voice so broken.

"I'm here. I'm right here. Just open your eyes, then you'll see me," Sam coaxed, and after what seemed and eternity Dean obeyed.

Dean's vision was swimming but he could clearly make out the form of his little brother bending over him, face pale and tired, drawn in pain. His hair was flattened to his head by the rain, and even as he smiled to welcome Dean back the older brother could see his body shake in the cold, could hear his teeth chattering.

"Sam?" He had thought Sam was dead. This made no sense. He had seen the knife, had seen the blood, seen him fall, and even as he thought this Dean let his gaze drop to his brother's side. He made a strangled murmur in his throat at the sight of the torn and bloodstained jacket. It was then that he noticed the hands that Sam was trying to pull him upright with were also stained with blood. He was transferring it to Dean's own shirt as he pressed his hands against it, fisting the material for traction, letting his hand hover over Dean's heart.

Sam watched Dean looking at his hand and cringed.

"Yeah. Might have to buy you another shirt. Again. Sorry." He tried to joke, to keep smiling, but the fear on Dean's face as he took in his brother's blood made the smile falter.

"No. No, Dean, stay with me. It's not that bad. It's superficial I promise, but you have to stay with me." Sam cursed his own stupidity. He'd been so desperate to check his brother, to see if he was alive and movable, that he hadn't stopped to check his own injury. He knew the wound had not been deep; it had just taken him by surprise. And while it hurt like hell it had already stopped bleeding. He just hadn't stopped to think how the sight of it would have affected his emotionally fragile brother, which was so astronomically stupid that Sam had to fight back the sob of frustration. That would not help matters now.

"I'm okay Dean. I'm okay; we just need to get back to the car. Please. Help me get back to the car." He didn't know if appealing to the big brother in Dean was a good move or not but he was out of options and could think of nothing else to do. If he couldn't convince Dean that he needed to move for his own sake, he knew from experience that Dean would move heaven and earth it he could to get Sam to safety.

Dean's eyes were no clearer, and Sam knew with certainty then that Dean was no longer in the alley with him, no longer listening to his words or responding to his touch. He had lost him. He risked losing him for good. Dean was in a different alley now, and Sam was still screaming his name, was still bleeding, but the scene was so infinitely different.

Sam looked away, scanning the darkness for something, anything that could help him get through to his bother, force him back into the present, so Dean's movement took him completely by surprise.

Blood. There was too much blood. He had to stop it, had to stop Sam from moving. Why was he insisting on moving? Dean didn't remember him moving, but that didn't matter. What did matter was that when he raised his numb arms to apply as much pressure as his body could manage to the gaping wound in his brother's side, Sam let out a yelp of pain and dived away from him, falling hard onto the concrete beside him, out of reach.

Dean was so heavy, so tired, and he couldn't reach his brother. Sammy was going to bleed to death and he couldn't reach him. He couldn't stop it. He couldn't save him. He knew he had to get up and get moving, knew his immobility would be his brother's death sentence, but Dean was powerless to stop the darkness from claiming him.

Dean woke up face down on the hard, cold floor. Man, his head hurt. Why did his head hurt? He couldn't seem to get his mind working, to figure out why he was waking up aching and on the floor in the dark. They had to have been on a hunt. That was the only logical explanation.

"Sam?" he called out, slightly alarmed that there was no answer.

He put his hands flat at his sides to push himself up from the ground. They landed in something wet, which was confusing. It wasn't raining, and Dean's right side wasn't wet, only his left.

As he raised his head he could smell the dull copper on the air, and even in the moonlight he could tell that it was not water that coated his left hand. It was blood. He had woken up in a pool of blood. No wonder his whole body ached.

But wait. That wasn't right. If he had a wound that was bleeding this badly, surely he'd be able to pick out its specific location through the general ach of bruises. Surely he'd remember what had happened.

What did he remember?

The alley. The gun knocked from his hand. Hitting the wall. Hitting his head. Hard. Well, that explained the pain, and the fog in his brain. And Sam. Sam screaming in the haze. A gunshot. Two. And then blissful silence.

Gunfire. That could explain the blood. Only their father's journal had said the creature would dissipate once it had been killed, which meant…..

"SAM!"

"Shit".

Sam pushed his own pain aside as his brother's scream pierced the alley.

"Hey, I'm here. Dean, I'm here there's no need to yell, man." But all the comforting words and gentle touches in the world would do nothing. Why was his brother so much harder to comfort? Was he that much more emotionally complex?

No… Sam hadn't inhaled the smoke. Hadn't ever fully set the device in motion. Dean was linked to it now, and it would continue to drain him until Sam broke that link. There had definitely been a way to reverse the effect. There had to be a way to get the life force back out again, otherwise the cloth would be useless, and the figure had all but confirmed that if he could do so in time he could save his brother.

There had been numbers, some kind of timescale in the runes towards the bottom, along with the words 'reversal', 'danger' and 'blood'. Not the most comforting of combinations, but if there was a way, then Sam would make it work.

He needed to get the cloth back. He needed to get his hands on that translation, and he needed to get Dean off the floor and out of the rain. That meant going back to the motel, which was almost an hour away.

"Dammit." He kicked fiercely, taking his frustration out on a nearby dumpster, painfully aware of two things at once. One, that his foot now hurt along with everything else, and two, that he was glad he had been pacing the ally because he had simple lashed out at the nearest thing, and if he had been standing still there was every possibility he would have just kicked Dean in the head. Not highly helpful. But he couldn't help it. He couldn't believe his own stupidity. It was his fault the motel was so far away. If he hadn't picked up that stupid dog, he would never have got them kicked out of the last place. He could have got Dean to shelter quicker, and been close at hand to track down his cure.

He had been so desperate to prove that he could still be useful. That Dean didn't have to put his life, his everything, on hold for him. It couldn't have been more obvious now that he really did. That if Sam hadn't been so stubborn, hadn't pushed and pushed then Dean wouldn't have been so worried. Wouldn't have been so close to his emotional edge. So easy to push beyond his limits. Hell, they wouldn't even have been here. They would have been sat on a beach in the sun enjoying a month of 'normal' like Sam had always insisted that he wanted.

And even now he wasn't helping. He was on a timescale; he really couldn't afford to lose time lamenting the bad choices he had already made. It was time to makes some more.

Okay. Choice one. Get Dean to the car or the car to Dean? One would be easier physically, but near impossible emotionally, but if he refused to abandon Dean in the alley while he went to fetch the car himself, that meant carrying him, and he really wasn't sure that was even an option.

"Only one way to find out," he muttered, taking a gentle hold of his brother and levering him up into a more manoeuvrable position. Sam was hopeful that once he had accomplished the initial task of getting Dean off the ground and supporting him in a fireman's life, the actual task of carrying him the distance would not be so bad. But there was a reason Dean refused to even let him carry a duffle in from the car.

Dean was going to be so mad.

"Sorry bro," he muttered, and grabbing him under the armpits used every ounce of strength to heave him upwards. "Oh. My. God." Sam grunted, "What must you weigh?" A darn sight less than he did two months ago, Sam was sure of that, but still… failing was not an option however, and nor was giving his brother any indication of how distressing Sam was finding the situation he was in. If Sam couldn't even move his brother to safety, there was no way he had any right to have been here in the first place. Either of them.

Sam bit down so hard on his lip he almost choked on the blood in his mouth, and it was hard to see through the tears that swam in front of his eyes, but he would not, could not, acknowledge the pain out loud. And he would not give in.

He sighed with relief when he finally managed to prop Dean upright, and the brief second of relaxation that allowed him almost sent him crashing to the ground under his brother's weight. Now was not the time to rest. There was no time.

"Okay…" with a grunt of effort he manoeuvred Dean's limp form, for once cursing the fact he was the taller of the brothers, because he would have to bend down to allow Dean to fall into position across his shoulder, and there was every possibility that he would not be able to straighten back up again.

"Here we go."

He hoped that wherever Dean was he was faring better. By the time Sam was taking his first steps towards the safety of the car, his legs were already wobbling like he had run a marathon, and his knees threatened to buckle. Sweat was coating his body, which with the rain only made his grasp on his brother more tenuous, but despite the exertion he couldn't seem to shake the bone chilling cold that had set in the moment he had seen his brother fall.

Taking a slight detour Sam made his way slowly and painfully to the edge of the ally, leaning one hand heavily against the wall in an effort to redistribute some of his brother's weight, and provide the additional support he needed to remain upright. Quite what he was going to do when he made it to the end of the alley and lost his prop he didn't know, but at his current pace he was going to have a long while to think about it. But at least they were moving.

One. Slow. Painful. Step. At. A. time.

"Sam!"

Dean heaved himself upright so fast it made his head spin, instantly flooring him. Landing facedown in a pool of his little brother's blood did nothing to quell his nausea, but he did his best to push it back. Once he started, he would never stop, and he needed to get to Sam.

His brother was curled in a foetal position a few feet further down the alley, and Dean didn't even want to think about how much blood he must have lost if it had made it all the way down here. Not trusting himself to stand, Dean dragged himself along the blood slick ground to his brother's side.

Sam's face was ghostly pale in the moonlight, a stark contrast to the blood surrounding him, and was lined with a sheen of sweat. One arm was flung haphazardly at his side, still gripping tightly to his gun. The other curled protectively across his abdomen.

When Dean gently pulled Sam's hand aside to see why, he finally lost his battle with his nausea, rolling to the side and vomiting so long and hard that his chest ached. But it was nothing compared to the pain of his brother's

The picture show in his mind flashed back to the creature they had been tracking. To the four, eight inch long razor sharp claws that lived at the end of either arm. From the looks of it all four of those claws had taken a swipe at his brother's abdomen, shredding it so badly that for a moment Dean wasn't even sure what he was looking at. No wonder he had heard his brother scream. But that had been before the gunshots. Dean's recollection of events was hazy at best, but he was sure of that. How could Sam possible have considered tracking and shooting the creature at the same time as trying to stop his internal organs from sliding out?

"Oh God Sammy." There was too much blood. There was far too much blood, and Sam was far too pale, and it was perhaps only the fog of Dean's own probable concussion that prevented him form having a complete meltdown, because even though the logical part of his brain was sure there was no way that Sam could look like that and possible still be alive, he was numb to the shock of it. He just simply didn't understand it.

His hand hovered over his little brother's shoulders, wanting to move him into a better position, to touch his face, to apply some kind of pressure to the wound. To do something. But he was absolutely terrified that if he so much as breathed on Sam he would cause him pain.

It was then Sam did something he'd not expected. He slightly lifted one eyelid, focusing on Dean with a watery pain dulled eye as though silently asking him why he was not doing any of the things he had been considering. The eye slipped closed and Sam took in a wet rasping breath which ended in a sob of hurt, and then a hacking cough which sprayed an alarming amount of blood onto the front of Deans already red, white t-shirt.

And that got him moving.

With a gasping sob of his own Dean grabbed for the bag that had luckily fallen at his brother's side. His hands were shaking so badly he wasted precious time trying to open it, but he needed something to apply to at least try to stop the bleeding. He knew for a fact there were an extra couple of shirts in the bag, because he'd already bitched at Sam as to what they were doing stashed among the weapons. He knew the geek had had his reasons, but for the life of him Dean couldn't focus on what that was right now. Mopping up his own haemorrhaging stomach was probably not what he'd had in mind.

He hesitated for only a moment, knowing what was coming, but he really didn't have a choice.

Sam's scream as he pressed the fabric to the wounds both appalled and perversely comforted Dean. He hadn't expected Sam to possess either the strength or awareness to make that much noise.

"I'm sorry, I'm so so sorry," he garbled, along with any other word of comfort, or curse, he could think of, hating the almost detached way Sam seemed to be watching him fall apart.

It was only after he had bellowed out his first scream for help – there was no one to hear him, that's why they had chosen this spot – that Dean remembered the cell in his pocket, fumbling it so badly in his bloody hands that he dropped it, and for one terrible, heart stopping moment he though it had broken, but the buttons were merely sticky with blood.

"Okay, help's coming, you just have to hold on a couple more minutes, okay. No. No, Sam, stay with me. Stay awake."

He patted gently at his brother's cheeks, then harder. "Dammit Sam, open your eyes," bizarrely regretting the red hand prints he left in his wake. The sight of the blood on Sam's pale features was somehow more disturbing than anything else, and he couldn't help but absurdly lament that he had got it in his hair. That was going to be a bitch to wash out.

"Sam, you with me." The faintest of nods, the tiniest gurgle of affirmation, and Dean didn't know if it was the sweetest or most tragic thing that he had ever heard. But Sam didn't open his eyes, and suddenly Dean wasn't sure if he wanted him to. That he could live if he saw the pain in them. Saw the light he loved in them fade.

"D…n" the effort of talking only set him off coughing again, and Dean cringed with him as the movement shook the body he held beneath him. But Sam was never one to be easily deterred.

"Shhh. No. No. No. There's nothing to say. I'm here. And you're gonna be just fine." He knew the words that were coming. He would hear them filling every silence for the rest of his life, and there was no way he was going to let Sam waste what energy he had on trying to say them.

"I know…. Shhh, I know," he sobbed.

Sam wrinkled his brow in confusion and pain and Dean smoothed the lines away with his thumb, wishing he could take the rest of his ills away as easily, that he could absorb them into himself and leave his little brother whole.

"Right back at you," he whispered, but he instantly regretted his brief moment of sentimentality. As though those were the words, the permission that he had been waiting for, Dean felt the hand that had been gently grasping his own loosen and Sam's body fell limp beneath him.

"Sam?"

The silence that greeted him was the loudest thing Dean had ever heard, and conveyed more than he could process. The sickening rasps for breath had subsided. His brother was emitting not so much as a whimper, and Dean couldn't be sure if it was his own inhuman scream, or the sound or sirens, that first broke the silence.

Sam had no idea how long they'd been moving. He'd tuned out everything but the rhythm of his walking, synchronising it in time with his breathing and heartbeat so he only had one tune to concentrate on. It had taken discipline their father would have been proud of but he had managed to push the distraction of his own discomfort aside, and had even become able to ignore the sound of his brother's muffled sobs, the heartbreaking whisper of his name.

He knew where Dean was; he had no clear recollection of the event himself, and he wasn't sure he wanted them. He was glad Dean's words were muffled. He knew his brother had already said them once, and that they had been aimed at him, but he couldn't remember hearing them. He had never really known what the scene in that alley had done to his brother at the time, and he knew Dean would not want him to witness it now. He felt as though he was trespassing where he didn't belong, witnessing the grief that Dean had done his best to keep hidden from him.

Sam had just manoeuvred himself around the last corner – the Impala was almost in sight in the distance – when Dean let out an ear-splitting wail, so loud and so haunting that Sam immediately dropped him.

"Sorry," he cried, knowing that Dean couldn't hear him. He dropped to Dean's side but no matter what he tried in order to calm him, the screaming continued. They were bordering on civilization here. The last thing Sam needed was for Dean to be overheard and for him to be arrested for attempted murder. Although if they took Dean to a hospital he'd be relatively safe… and Sam wouldn't have to carry him anymore…

"Okay, we're nearly at the car. Just a little further," he cajoled, more to get himself moving again. No way was he going to the effort of re-lifting Dean's weight.

"Sorry bro… It's dragging time," he muttered, grabbing his brother by one ankle and proceeding to drag him backwards towards the car. "Not exactly the most dignified retreat, but the easiest… Oh, you're gonna feel that in the morning." Sam winced, not noticing the broken glass he had just dragged his brother over until it was too late. "Oh well, that's what the layer of leather's for, surely. And we're gonna be buying you another one of those." He smiled despite himself. How had their father managed it? Sam had lived in Dean's hand me downs when he was younger, and whatever they'd had growing up they'd pretty much worn until it had fallen apart. Left to their own devices they seemed to need a new wardrobe every other week.

Looking over his shoulder Sam could see the welcoming gleam of the Impala looming only a hundred feet away.

"Nearly there." Sam was just congratulating himself on having been able to get his brother all the way to the car without hitting any major obstacles when the foot he was holding lashed out violently, kicking him in the chest and sending him crashing backwards.

His head connected hard with the pavement and he lay still, momentarily stunned, but even as the dizziness passed exhaustion kept him on his back. He simple couldn't bear to move.

He could hear Dean continuing to thrash on the ground beside him, fighting off an invisible foe, and for the life of him Sam couldn't make out what Dean was experiencing. Taking a deep steadying breath he brought his hands to his face, covering it from the world momentarily, trying to iron away every sign of fatigue. He hated himself for lying here when Dean was in such obvious distress, but he hated more the fact that there was nothing he could do to bring him out of it, even if he did make the effort to move.

"No… Sam…" He didn't think there could be so much anguish in his name, but Dean achieved it. It also acted as a bucket of smelling salts, getting Sam rolling onto his knees and quickly spanning the distance between them.

The thrashing continues, and Sam did his best to keep his brother still, to prevent him from injuring himself on the cold ground, not caring that Dean was raining blows on his head and shoulders as he lent over him, hugging his older brother to his chest, arms pinned at his sides. Dean continued to scream his name, and there was nothing Sam could do but rock him gently, "I'm here" whispered into his hair like a prayer, over and over until long after the thrashing and yelling had ceased.

He tried to hear Dean's threats in his head, what his brother's reaction would be to the fact Sam was sat on the floor in the rain shivering violently with cold, clinging to him like he was the only thing keeping the world in focus, rocking not so much to provide Dean with comfort, but because the action stopped his mind from leaking out of his ears. Sam didn't even notice that he was crying, couldn't distinguish his tears from the rain, but Dean would have seen, would have known that Sam's tears could have drowned them both.

Dean had fallen alarmingly limp in his arms. Any fleeting fantasy Sam might have entertained about using this brief moment of calm to try and wake him was instantly dismissed. Dean was long past the point where he could be roused. The only way of waking him now would be to hunt down and return what had been taken from him.

Dean's body was a dead weight in his arms, pressing heavily against Sam's knees and chest where he held him, and it was the strain of continuing to hold him that caused Sam to finally let go. Had he been at full strength it was likely he would have stayed there until that strength began to fade.

He looked around himself, briefly dazed, before it occurred to him what he had been trying to do.

He moved Dean the rest of the way to the car in silence, unable to bear wasting the words he wanted Dean to hear. The apology. The guilt of being Dean's worst moment. The most painful thing in his life. It wasn't egocentric to think so. Even if his brother hadn't been screaming his name Sam would probably have guessed. He had seen it in the way his brother clung to him. Hovered as though his own life depended on it. He had brushed it off, put it down to Dean's natural big brother sensibilities, when in truth he knew it was something more. He had always known it. The moment he had opened his eyes in that hospital room he had seen it. Known that while he might have been the one lying in the bed fixed to more wires than he wanted to contemplate, he wasn't the one they needed to worry about.

He had broken his brother. It was right there in the slump of his shoulders, the desperate need on his face, and try as he might Sam could find no way to fix him. Every time he had tried he had somehow only succeeded in making things worse.

The only thing they hadn't done was talk about it, but that was too easy. Fighting demons might have been their life but they didn't confront their own fears.

Dean didn't even stir as Sam groped him in search of the car keys and he was heaved into the front passenger seat. It would have been easier to fling him in the back, but it was too long a journey and Sam needed to know his brother was within reach. He understood now, and he didn't know if he would be able to swat Dean's concerned hands away quite so lightly in the future. He knew now that Dean's actions had not been about him. It was nothing to do with Sam's perceived weakness that had his brother checking for his pulse in the middle of the night. The need was Dean's. And it was the same one that had just caused him to carry Dean's prone form the whole distance to the car when it would have been easier for both of them if he'd left to fetch it. He was going to have to leave Dean anyway when they got to their destination, but Sam was determined to hang on as long as he legitimately could.

Sam felt oddly better as soon as the car started to rumble, and he smiled over at his brother. "There. I'm driving your car. If you don't wake up she's mine now, and you know how many times I've spilt coffee on her already, and that was while you were watching. And you must know I've never waxed a car before in my life, right?"

He turned the heating up high, trying to stop his hands shaking on the wheel, but he knew it wasn't just from the cold. Well, he would deal with the symptoms he could deal with. They had been moving along the deserted road as fast as Sam dared for almost five minutes when he realised what was missing.

"Not a word," he grumbled as he lent over and flicked on the car stereo, actually flinching at the decibel Dean had left Metallica playing at. It was a good thing they would be driving through the middle of nowhere, or they'd be arrested for noise pollution next. But Dean had said it soothed him, and Sam would take whatever attempt at comfort he could give.

Perhaps he should ring Bobby now, save time. But the music was so loud and he was driving like a maniac, and his shaking hands were barely in control with them both on the wheel. Slow down and call or get Dean to the motel as fast as humanly possible? Or psychic freakily possible anyway. What was the point in having these powers if he couldn't use them to smite down his enemies? Not that he wanted to use them, or even acknowledge them ever again if he could help it, but still. Saving Dean was perhaps the only thing he would welcome them developing for. It had been to save Dean that his first bout of telekinesis had manifested itself. "If you're ever gonna give me the power of teleportation, or long distance telepathy, now would be the time," he half joked, glad that Dean was not awake to hear his admission.

Secretly afraid that something might have heard his plea and be deciding even now what tricks they could give him to mess up his life even further, Sam pressed down harder on the accelerator. Moving target and all that.

Sam actually drove straight passed their motel and had to perform a dramatic tire screaming u-turn, the noise of which he was sure would either rouse Dean in a fury or have him rethinking the whole 'worst memory' thing. He knew he had been driving fast, but they had made it back in 40 agonising minutes, and he hadn't expected them to be there just yet.

He slammed on the brakes and came to a juddering halt right outside their motel door, glad he had thought to strap his brother in but not liking the way his dramatic manoeuvring had just tossed him around like a doll. "Like you need any more bruises," he said sadly, easing Dean gently back into a sitting position before tearing out of the car.

In almost one fluid movement Sam opened the motel door, flew in to gab a bag from by the table, flicked on the laptop as he passed, and was back again at the door, propping it open with the bag so he could more easily get Dean inside.

More easily. He wasn't exactly sure how it could have been less easy.

His over conscious sense of responsibility and paranoia wasted several seconds running back out to close and lock the car after he had dumped his brother on the nearest bed. With the key in the ignition and the doors wide open he was asking for trouble, even if there didn't seem to be anyone besides them in this whole town. If he got Dean's car stolen he would be saving him only to let him commit fratricide - although without the car Sam's chances of saving him at all would plummet.

Moving back into the motel he slammed the door behind him and lent against it, breathing hard. Throughout his frantic car ride he had attributed this room with magical calming properties. Everything would be clearer and easier if he could just get them back here. A safe haven that would give him time to think. Despite that conviction, Sam was surprised by the calm that seemed to have descended. He could almost fool himself that Dean was merely asleep, but as much as he wanted to, he couldn't afford to lose himself in delusion.

There was so much to do, but his mind was surprisingly clear and his movements deliberate, and he seemed to be able at last to prioritise now he was out of the dark and rain and his brother was no longer screaming.

The laptop beeped in the background to announce it was warmed up and ready, but Sam's focus was on his brother for now. On removing his boots, the awkward and time consuming process of dragging him out of his wet clothes and levering him warm and dry under the covers, tucking him in with a gentleness he had never had to exhibit before. This was Dean's job, the thing he'd always done for Sam, got his little brother ready for bed and tucked him in while their father planned and researched, pacing the room next to theirs.

Sam smiled warmly at the memory, at how safe it had always made him feel, even when he knew what their father would soon be leaving to go after. If Dean could tuck him in, smooth down the covers and give him that reassuring pat goodnight, then there was no need to worry about anything. It saddened Sam to think that he had never once thanked Dean for that. He had taken his big brother's actions for granted, when he knew now that Dean himself had probable been going out of his tiny young mind with worry he should never have had to face. When he knew now that the simple every day tasks that Dean had performed to take care of his brother – making his breakfast, attempting to mend whatever few toys they'd had when they were broken, bandaging scrapes and tucking him into bed – weren't the tasks performed by every big brother in the world.

He'd thought nothing of it at the time, but now Sam couldn't help but wonder if, after their mother had died, anyone had done that for Dean. Had their father gone through the same ritual with Dean that Dean performed with Sam? He wanted to believe he had, in those early years at least, before the hunt had consumed him. He wanted to know. It wasn't a slight on his father but a part of his brother's life that he wanted to share, but Sam knew that if he'd ever asked, Dean wouldn't have told. Would have taken it as yet another, more inventive, criticism of their father and their upbringing. And now their Dad was dead it didn't seem right to pry. To have Dean share whatever memories he might have held onto and cherished all these years, or to regret deficiencies their father was no longer able to make up for.

He let his hand hover over Dean's forehead, alarmed by the moisture that was collecting there, by the slight heat that was beginning to make itself known. The rise and fall of Dean's chest was still as solid as ever, but louder somehow, and his heart rate was beginning to pick up. He pulled away from Sam's touch, moaning slightly, and Sam couldn't help but feel hurt, even though he knew Dean was not aware of the action. Whatever was happening to Dean it was starting to manifest itself physically now as well as emotionally, reminding Sam that as much as he might want to linger here with his memories, it was time to haul his aching body off his brother's bed and get moving again.

Ash or Bobby, Ash or Bobby? He needed both, did the order matter? But even as he was trying to decide he was wasting no time, setting out all the material they had gathered and taking pictures of everything with their digital camera, grateful that this backwater motel had internet connection.

Ash was a long time answering his phone, and Sam felt some of the calm that had descended beginning to lift. He knew it was late, and he realised now that Dean had never actually called him back like he'd promised. He hit the voicemail twice and dialled again, leaving an abusive message the second time about people who never answered their goddamn phones, which he instantly regretted, but he was getting desperate now. He was just about to hang up and try Bobby when there was a click and a sleepy voice came over the line.

"'lo?" Ash was obviously trying to force some alertness into his voice, aware that if someone was ringing him at 3am it was probably not for anything good.

"Hey, yeah, Ash. It's Sam." Sam babbled, aware now that he wasn't actually sure what he was trying to achieve by this phone call other than a miracle. "Look, there's no nice way to ask this, and I really don't have the time. I'm sending you all the research we've done, about what Dean was talking to you about earlier. Okay, I'm sending you it now," he muttered, attaching wires and clicking on his email even as he was talking, cringing that he was not letting his friend get a word in edgeways. It was only when Sam fell silent to reach over and plug in the camera to download the pictures that Ash was able to make his presence known.

"Sam?"

Oh God, that was still far too sleepy.

"Yeah!" A little harsher than he'd like, but they were wasting his brother's time.

"You okay? What's going on? Where's Dean? He said he'd give me a call back. You weren't feeling too good, I was worried…" so worried you fell asleep, Sam thought bitterly, but he wasn't being fair. He needed Ash's help if he was going to save his brother. He knew Ash had questions, he knew how annoying it was to have to fall in line without being able to ask them, and he felt bizarrely closer to his father with that realisation than he ever had when the man had been alive.

"Ash," he said loudly, cutting off the other man's sleepy babble of concern. "I'm okay. Look. Dean set this thing off. I have to reverse it and I don't have a whole lotta time. Or any idea how to go about it for that matter. I'm hoping the answer is in the writing itself. If I send you over a copy, do you… do you think you could look it over? Try and figure out a way to get Dean… to get it back out?"

"Of course." Ash was suddenly all business.

"I'd do it myself," Sam suddenly felt the need to explain this, that he wasn't just dumping his problems, "but we lost it. I lost it, Ash. The original. And I have to get it back. I think I have to get it back for this to work, so I can't… obviously if you find out that I don't, feel free to call and correct me," he laughed nervously. The enormity of what he was facing only really starting to hit him now he was sharing his thoughts out loud.

"Sam?" He closed his eyes and exhaled loudly at the worry in Ash's voice, the weight of all it implied.

"I know," he relented quietly. "But I have to try. Just... Call me if you learn anything, okay?" After briefly checking that Ash had received all the material and files that Sam had sent him he hung up. He had thought getting the ball rolling would make him feel better; knowing that Dean had Ash's brain on his side, but instead the conversation had left Sam feeling oddly worse. Like he'd failed before he'd even begun. Ash had meant nothing by it, and would never admit to it out loud, but it hurt Sam to realise he had been so worried. And he knew it wasn't because Dean was in trouble. Dean was always in trouble. It was because Ash didn't think Sam could save him.

Well… for once Sam would prove him wrong.

"Bobby, tell me you have good news, man." Unlike Ash, Bobby had answered on the second ring, and hadn't even stopped to acknowledge that it was Sam and not his brother that had called him back. Sam couldn't comprehend how comforting it was not to have to deal with endless questions about his health. Bobby had obviously picked up from his tone, and the late night call, that something was wrong, and he wasn't going to waste any time with small talk. Despite the dire situation, Sam couldn't help but take that as a vote of confidence.

"Depends on what you mean by good. You wanna be in the locality of known dark arts merchants or not?"

"Regrettably, yes."

"Well, you're in a state that's got one. Wilber Kane. They're vastly territorial. No-one would dare pull a stunt like this on Kane's land but Kane himself." Sam was instantly relieved he didn't have a long list of names to check out.

"Where?"

"Well, he kinda likes to travel around a lot. Spreads his wares about and it doesn't pay to hang around in one place too long."

"He's gotta have certain haunts though right," Sam practically pleaded. "His buyers need to know where to contact him."

"Clever boy," Bobby approved. "He's got several." Sam's heart sank.

"I'm gonna need some addresses."

"Sam?"

There it was.

"Like now."

He waited with a cringe for what was to come, but Bobby's voice hadn't lost its confidant tone.

"Got a pen?"

What an absurd question. Why did people always ask that? But even as he thought it Sam realised that he didn't. Or paper.

"Shit." He could hear Bobby chuckling at Sam's frantic shuffling and rummaging, but he didn't mind. "Okay, go for it."

"I've plotted known sightings in the area. I have to warn you, my sources are good but they're still based on rumour and hearsay. You deal with a guy like Kane and you don't advertise it. At least not to people like me. But I gotta say they sound reasonable." Even as Bobby was talking Sam was tearing out to the car to grab the map of the local area he'd bought when they'd first got here, trying to se a connection between the places the deaths had occurred.

Following Bobby's instructions he plotted the three nearest suspected hideouts on the map. All were out of the way or abandoned locations in the middle of nowhere. He eyed the closest one, which was forested, with some trepidation.

"If you only had time to hit one…?" he asked, nervous now.

"And what am I staking on this bet?" Bobby asked, picking up on his tone. He already knew the answer.

"You're not. I am."

"Sam." So stern and so like his father that Sam ached. What he wouldn't give to be able to follow orders right now.

"Dean set it off," he whispered, hearing Bobby's curse as though from a great distance. "Kane… if it was Kane… He took the device with him. I can't reverse it unless I get it back. There's a time limit on this thing, and I don't think…"

"I'd hit the nearest. The cabin." Obviously. "Something like this is best fresh." Sam was glad he was on the phone and the older man couldn't see him flinch at those words. "And if it's reversible, I'm guessing Kane'll want it out of his hands and the transaction complete as soon as possible, just in case."

"You think he already has a buyer lined up? That he could have…"

"I don't know. But I don't think it's a done deal just yet. The nature of this… I think it would be better to wait a little while to make sure it takes. See what it is you're actually getting. Different emotions might mean different buyers. That gives you some leeway. But when it's obvious what Dean's giving off, then he's gonna want to get it off his hands as soon as possible."

"Okay." Deep breaths. Hearing these words from Bobby's mouth was making this far too real. "Kane..? Bobby, he's human, right?"

"For what it's worth."

"It's just, he seemed kinda…"

"You don't spend your time dabbling in that much power without picking a few things up. He's human, but that doesn't mean he won't have a few tricks up his sleeve. Look, Sam…"

"I have to go."

"No… no wait." It was as if he thought Sam was hanging up, but that wasn't what he'd meant. "Where are you? Are you back at the motel? The one Dean called from earlier?"

"Yeah…"

"I'm on my way."

"What! No. Bobby, I can't sit around and wait for you to get here."

"And I'm not asking you to. It's just… in case you need some back up."

Sam couldn't think of anything to say. He knew he wouldn't be able to hide how badly he wanted the other man here if he was to open his mouth.

"Look..." Bobby continued tentatively, and Sam, could tell he was doing his best to keep his own frantic worry in check for Sam's sake. "I'm a long way out. It's gonna take me a long while to get there, and you can't afford to wait. But at least you'll have someone in the area if it turns out you need them. And Sam. You need me, you call. You call anyway."

"Yeah."

"How's Dean doing?"

"I dunno. He's quite now. But he'd getting feverish."

"You gonna be able to leave him?"

"I have to." Voice so small, so young, Bobby hurt. "Come to the motel." That took him by surprise. He'd though he'd have to fight Sam on the offer of help. "Room 6. Unless I call, go straight to the motel. I don't want him to be alone… and …"

"'kay." He knew what Sam was asking, and despite his own trepidation he was honoured that Sam would trust him with the task. "I'd get someone to sit with him, take him to a hospital or something, but he's muttering in his sleep, and… I don't know. Some of the stuff he's saying… they'll lock up both away the second we get there."

"You've got the element of surprise." Sam didn't know who Bobby was trying to comfort and convince, but he appreciated the words all the same. "Kane's an arrogant bastard. Guys like him 're needed in some circles, and the people who know him respect that. It won't occur to him you'll actually be able to track him down. Avoid confronting him unless you have to. Get in, get the artefact, and get out."

He wasn't saying anything Sam didn't already know, and Sam knew it wasn't Bobby's way of implying that he was in way over his head, it was simply the older man's way of masking his own concern. He'd feel better about letting Sam off the phone if he was sure he'd imparted every piece of advice he could. Unfortunately, with about twenty years of experience over Sam, he had a lot of advice to give.

"Look, Bobby," Sam finally felt he had to cut in, "I gotta go. I'll call you soon okay."

"You make sure you do that." Sam knew that despite his tone, Bobby was wondering if he'd be hearing form Sam again.

Comforting.

He shut his phone off with a beep that had never sounded more final, suddenly feeling so desperately alone. Glancing over at Dean he knew that Bobby had been right to worry. He really didn't think he could leave him to go through God knew what pain alone, but if he stayed, it would be to sit and watch Dean die. And it wouldn't be a pleasant death.

"Okay Sam, you can do this."

He got together what supplies he could, stashing them about his person, wanting his hands free and not to be burdened with anything more to carry if he could help it. His arms and shoulders and back and legs had still not forgiven him for the last load. He also left the laptop running, putting some music on repeat so Dean would at least have the semblance of company while he was gone.

"Okay."

He hovered at the edge of Dean's bed, wanting to touch him but not wanting to confuse him, to somehow transmit his own anxiety across to his ailing brother. He wanted to say something, anything, to reassure him, to explain his actions, to apologise for leaving him all alone, but everything he could think of sounded too much like goodbye.

"Please don't leave me… Sam…"

Sam felt something deep within him die. Felt the snap.

So instead, he simply turned and marched from the room before his will failed him.

TBC