When An Answer, Isn't

He had never been as good at subterfuge as Dean. Oh, he'd learned to lie, to act, to con whomever for whatever reason that served their purpose. Hell, he could be a Fed to con a Fed. But to con his own brother?

To outright lie to Dean?

Yes. He could. He could do anything now, to his brother.

Because it was for his brother.

So he waited until they'd all chowed down on pizza, downed beer, celebrated Cas being Cas again, full-on angel Castiel; waited until Dean was regaling Charlie with some of the exploits they'd shared with the angel. Dean, laughing, grinning, at ease for the moment with the Mark in abeyance, sated by the Styne killings.

Sam vowed it. I'll get you your vacation if it kills me.

And he rose, dumped his plate and empty bottle, wandered off in the direction of the nearest bathroom. Once out of sight, he went instead to his room, took from under his bed the warding box containing the Book of the Damned.

It was not safe here. Only a week before Dean had proven his willingness to invade his brother's space for the sake of pranks; Sam couldn't trust him not to repeat the performance. And if he found the Book . . .

He heard laughter carrying through the hallway. One corner of his mouth twitched briefly in a half-smile; Dean was a gifted storyteller with an exquisite sense of timing.

But there was no time for reflection.

He strode swiftly through the hallways, went to Room 7B. Slid apart the shelving, walked into what they now referred to as 'the dungeon.'

Sam knelt, ran his hands along the document boxes, moved aside books on the bottom shelf, made room behind. With care he set the warding box on edge, pushed it against the back of the shelf, replaced the doc boxes and books in front of it, rose.

He heard the words again.

'Well then you'll just have to lock me up . . . bind me to the bunker like you did last time.'

That was not an option.

The Book was an option.

He stared at the devil's trap embedded in the floor. Remembered all too well how he and Cas had forced his black-eyed brother into the chair within the trap, had bound him with rope and sigil-etched handcuffs. Remembered the terrible words the demon had hurled at him, and the roar that still gave him nightmares. Recalled, too, how he had watched his brother writhe in pain as purified blood burned away the demon.

He'd said it in the cabin, as Dean insisted that he could fight the Mark. 'Until what, Dean? Until I watch you become a demon again? Until then?'

Aloud, he repeated what he'd said to his brother. "I can't do that. I won't do that."

With Dean, he had a sixth sense. He knew when he entered the dungeon. Didn't need to hear him. He just knew.

"Sam?"

He didn't turn. He just kept staring at the devil's trap.

Dean's tone was light. "So, what . . . you figuring out a better way for keeping me in here next time? Last time it didn't work out so well."

He steadied his voice. "That's not funny."

"Come on, Sammy—it's a little funny."

Now he swung around and met his brother's eyes. Let him see what he felt: the fear, the pain, the despair. The determination. He hid nothing.

Nor did Dean, who denied the determination. "We had no choice, Sam. We couldn't take the risk. You know how I am when the Mark takes over . . . add the Book to that? For all we know it would make the freakin' apocalypse look like foreplay." He shrugged. "We got that stopped. We'll stop this."

"Will we?"

"Yeah. We're the Winchesters." Dean held out the bottle he'd brought along with his own. "Come back to the party, Sammy. You're missing my best stuff."

Sam reached out for the beer. The warding box had blocked Jacob Styne from tracking the Book. Now it stopped Dean from sensing it even two feet away.

But it couldn't remain here. The answer lay within it. Sam simply needed to figure out the next step, find someone who could decipher it. Someone who understood spellwork and curses and blood magic. Someone . . .

Ah. Yes.

From what Dean had said in the car, she might have the answer.

His brother's brows twitched in a frown. "What?"

Sam gave him innocent eyes. "What?"

"Something's going on in that nerd brain of yours."

"Something's always going on in my nerd brain." Sam intentionally moved past his brother, knowing he would follow. Sam closed up the room, then quietly led Dean down the hallway and away from the Book. Yes, he could, and would, con his brother. If that's what it took. These days, Dean wasn't the only Winchester who made the hard choices and accepted consequences. "We got any ice cream?"

"No. But we got pie."