Rated for language, violence and some sexual situations down the road.

Disclaimer - I wish I did, but I don't own any piece of Supernatural. *sigh*

Sam winced as his brother's voice hit a note not currently on any scale (thank God) as he belted along to his Rush tape blaring through the car. Sam didn't much like any of Dean's music, especially when he chose to inundate him with his own private Dean concert, but Rush was the worst. All those high notes…it was a miracle the windows hadn't blown out when Dean tried and failed his very best to hit them. He glanced over at his brother with a pained look, but Dean was paying him no attention. He was tapping the wheel with his thumbs, every now and again striking an imaginary cymbal with his index finger, eyes darting over the road.

Sam couldn't help the smile that curved up one side of his mouth. It was nice to see Dean approaching some semblance of happy, even if it was only a poor imitation of what it used to be. Sam had watched Dean's light dim with sadness and helplessness, even as he knew his own was running out of juice, but every now and again it would flare back up. It never seemed to recharge, though, too much damage for it to shine through. As Dean said, the hits just kept coming, and they both kept themselves braced for the next inevitable blow at all times. For now, though, there were things to be happy about; neither of them was hurt or bleeding at the moment, they had a hunt, and Sam had his soul. Life was pretty good, considering.

The tape ended and the cabin of the car was filled with only the rumbling of the engine and the ringing in Sam's ears that would hopefully fade before Dean switched the tape. He didn't see Dean reaching for one right away and he breathed a small sigh of relief.

"So Sammy succubus, huh?" Dean said, glancing over at him. He hadn't missed the grimaces on Sam's face as he tried to match Geddy Lee's pitch. While it was hilarious, he figured he had tortured Sam enough. They were only fifty miles or so from the city in Illinois that housed their next job, so he might as well make sure they had a game plan for the hunt.

"Yeah, that's what Bobby said, no doubt about it. She's already taken three victims. Sucked them dry," Sam explained as he reached back his long arm to grab his only recently discarded laptop. He had needed a break from all the reading.

Dean grinned. "Yeah, I'll just bet she did," he said with a leer, wiggling his eyebrows. Sam rolled his eyes and opened the lid. A sex demon was sure to get his brother's interest. The computer was already on the news article he had been looking at.

"Why's he sure it's a succubus?" Dean asked.

"He's been tracking it across a few states, has a lot of paperwork on her. Always four victims, so we got to get moving or she'll move on again," Sam replied, recalling his conversation with Bobby.

"Okay, hit me up with the details," Dean said.

"The men all ranged between twenty five and thirty five. All were married. As far as I can find, there aren't any connections between them beyond that. I'm still digging through credit card and bank receipts, but so far nothing." Sam sighed wearily. He wasn't kidding when he said there were no connections. He had spent the night before and most of the day comparing these men's lives and there wasn't anything in common. That was going to make it just a bit challenging to track down the succubus if they can't figure out who the next victim might be.

"Okay, so we head in, talk to the families, check with the cops, figure out what to do next. You get any sense of how long she fed on them before they turned into jerky?" Dean asked, glancing over at his brother, eyebrow cocked.

Sam pulled up the spreadsheet he had started to sort out the details. Dean glanced over at the screen and rolled his eyes with a groan at the blatant evidence of the geekiness of his brother. Even though he was always impressed with Sam's abilities to organize and grateful for it more often than not, his derision really was expected of him and he didn't want to disappoint his little brother. Things between them had been hard enough lately, he wanted to make everything as normal as possible.

"Looks like a five day window. Number one was reported missing about a week before he was found. Autopsy indicates the time of death was approximately five days after he was last seen. The other two didn't disappear. Their wives said the men had been acting strangely five days before they finally died. They were going out late at night when everyone was in bed, sleeping badly when they were home, and not eating. Very lethargic. The coroner reports are all different. None of the wounds were the same and causes of death were different. We've got one exsanguination from multiple stab wounds, strangulation, and head trauma." Sam paused a moment, his forehead wrinkling into familiar lines. "You know, it's weird actually, a succubus victim is usually just some dried out husk, they don't kill them like that," he pondered.

"I guess this one likes to play with her food," Dean commented grimly. "Not that I don't trust Bobby's research, but that doesn't sound like a succubus. Why's Bobby so sure it is?"

"I asked him the same thing. Said he was sure, the he'd seen what he needed to in the autopsy reports. Definite signs of malnutrition, dehydration and anemia." Sam couldn't fault Bobby's skills in piecing together information. He was rarely wrong and when he was, he caught it before anyone else did.

"Have the cops connected them?" Dean asked.

"No, the different causes of death are throwing them off," Sam replied.

That made sense to Dean and made him wonder if there was something to the more visible causes of death. As if it was intentional that the succubus was trying to hide behind the more "normal" murders that pop up. They didn't normally bother, there wasn't any reason to. People weren't exactly on the lookout for succubi. Maybe she had already crossed paths with hunters before and decided to change up her mo. to keep them off her trail. Bobby was probably the only person that could have connected these deaths, so it was a smart move on her part. Just not good enough.

Dean glanced down at the odometer. "We've still got about forty five miles to go. Once we hit town, let's grab a hotel and get started. I'm thinking the freshest succubus buffet should be where we start. Might pick up the trail a bit faster. I'm sure we don't have long before she finds her number four."

"Sounds good." Sam dropped the laptop lid again. For just a moment he considered using the silence and Dean's amiable mood to get Dean to talk about what had happened when he was without a soul, but he already knew what the response would be. Dean would tell him to shut it and put some music on at top volume. He knew it was out of concern, Dean had told him that he wasn't supposed to pick at the little scraps of memory that floated through his mind in fear of ruining Death's good work and flooding him full of Hell visions. Yet, he needed to know. Sam wasn't the type to just accept things as they were. He questioned, he sought out the answers, and he was tenacious. It was impossible for him to just sit back and ignore that he'd been topside for eighteen months, eighteen months that he knew were not his best. It was imperative that he know, even understanding the consequences. He couldn't rest knowing that he had hurt people, had hurt Dean in ways he didn't even know. How could he put it right, if that was even possible, if he wasn't aware of what he had done?

"Sam, stop," Dean growled from beside him.

Sam looked over at him sharply, brows drawn down tight to his nose, not sure what he was referring to.

Dean glanced at him then, all joking and calm gone. His eyes were hard and warning, his lips tight.

"I can hear you thinking, scratching. Just stop. I know it's hard, I know it goes against everything you are, but put some effort in it. You need to treat that wall like it's made out of plutonium and that even just looking at it wrong can set it off," he warned.

For a moment, Sam considered denying that had been where his thoughts were, but he knew that wasn't going to fly with his brother. "Dean, it's not like I can just ignore what's in my head, I'm starting to remember things…"

"Dammit Sam, yes you can ignore it!" Dean interrupted harshly, smacking the heel of his hand on the steering wheel, going zero to sixty in the space of seconds. He looked over at him again, his eyes filled with anger and concern in equal measure. "You find a spot in your brainpan not already filled with crap and you tuck it away. You just shove it down and brick it up. It's doable. I do it every damn day." The anger in his eyes and voice faded to weariness, something Sam was getting really tired of seeing. It was so much worse than anything else, just another sign that Dean was another step closer to giving up.

"I'm not like you Dean. I haven't had years of practice bottling up everything bad that's ever happened to me. I get that's how you cope, I do, but that ain't me, man. I talk about it, I face it." Sam paused, seeing his brother's jaw clench in reaction to his words. He didn't mean it to come out quite so harsh, but the words were true. "I know that it's dangerous, I know that it's stupid even, but I can't stop it," he explained helplessly.

Dean was trying to decide if he wanted to pull the car over to beat some sense into his brother or running away so he could scream at the world. He knew this wasn't going to work. Even as he had agreed to Death's idea to restore his brother's soul, he knew that asking Sam to resist poking at the vague memories was going to be impossible. He questioned everything. It's the only option he had, though. He hadn't been able to deal with Sam as he was, so cold, so calculating. He may as well have been dead. He had tried to kill Bobby for fuck's sake, the closest thing they had ever had to a caring parent. He had given Dean up to a vampire, something that could have easily gone tragically wrong. Who knew what else he had done as Robo-Sam, what else we would have done if he had kept on?

Dean hadn't been able to breathe knowing his brother's soul, Sammy, was still in that cage. It was too much to have Sam there with him, breathing, heart beating, but dead to him. All the things that made Sam Sam had been gone, locked down in the cage with the Devil. The risk he had taken was worth it and he was prepared to do everything he could to keep Sam safe. That kid was all he had and he wasn't letting him go without a fight. Even if it was Sam he had to fight.

Dean sighed, running an agitated hand down his jaw. "Just do me one favor, okay? Try. That's all I'm asking. Just try. Please Sammy," he said quietly, as close to begging as he was willing to get at this point.

Sam heard that plea and it cut him right down to the bone. It wasn't often Dean asked him for anything. He stared at his brother's profile, seeing the fear in the downward turn of his mouth, the clench of his jaw. How could he deny him? A bit of effort, some self-discipline, and he could try to avoid the memories, right? He bit back the sigh that started to form. Sam knew that he could think and say all he wanted, but he knew that he couldn't keep this promise he was about to make to ease his brother's worry. It simply wasn't possible.

"Sure Dean. I will try." Sam's right hand clenched in a fist so tight that his blunt nails cut into his palm. He hated lying to his brother, hated it, but it was a necessary evil in this case.

Dean threw a small smile his way, but it didn't reach his eyes. He knew Sam couldn't really make that promise, knew he was lying, but he couldn't hold him accountable for it. He may as well have asked Sam to quit breathing. They both knew that there was going to be a bad end to this. Neither wanted to say it, wanted to face it, but they knew. It always ended badly for the Winchesters.

Needing to relieve the tension that now filled the silence, Dean reached down to grab another tape to resume the abuse on Sam's eardrums. Chick flick over. Even Sam was glad to let this one end.

The motel they pulled into was dirt cheap and they didn't even get what they paid for in this case. One of the beds didn't have sheets on it and the toilet didn't have a lid. The kitchen sink wasn't even worth talking about and the smell was beyond awful. The carpet was pulled up and curling in places, the stains indicating that people had either died there, had an immense amount of fun, or, even worse, both. It was pitiful, but it was going to be home for the next few days. More incentive to finish this job up quickly.

"We have stayed in some nasty places, but this one takes the grand prize for yuck," Dean remarked, tossing his duffel on the bed closest to the door, his gaze moving disdainfully over all the plentiful examples of said "yuck".

Sam shrugged, setting his duffel on the other bed, the one with the sheets. For once, Dean's insistence on bed order worked in his favor. "Yeah. I doubt we'll be here much, we have a lot of ground to cover," he replied, already digging into the duffel for the suit and tie. They would be FBI for a while today.

Dean slumped into one of the chairs at the small table by the window, rubbing his hands over his face, then letting them drop to his lap. Sam glanced over at him, then took a longer look, seeing something in his brother's face that concerned him. Dean's green eyes were glassy and unfocused, staring at nothing that Sam could see. The lines of his face were stark, the light coming in from the window making him appear older than his years. Dean ooked so tired, so dejected, like he was carrying a load far too heavy and he knew he was coming to the end of his strength. It was going to drop and it would be catastrophic when it did.

"Dean?" he asked quietly. His brother looked up at him, his eyes sharpening as he focused in on Sam. "You okay man?"

For just the space of a breath, Dean actually looked like he was going to say something that would actually give Sam some idea of what was tormenting him. There was no automatic wise crack, no smoothing of his features to blank out any emotion. He just looked back at Sam intently. Sam started to move forward so he could sit on the edge of the bed.

"We should take a vacation after this. Just go somewhere and run through the ABCs of debauchery. Relax a bit. I think we've earned it," Dean blurted, his trademark grin spreading across his face, all misery wiped out of his eyes, leaving them vacant.

Sam stopped his forward momentum sharply at Dean's words, disappointment clouding his features. Of course Dean wasn't actually going to talk about anything, it was a day ending in "y" after all. He could feel the anger burning up inside him, the desire to push and pull the words out of Dean with either harsh words or anxious pleading, but staring at the desperate green eyes of his brother, eyes that were begging him to drop it even with that fake smile plastered on his face, he couldn't do it. Besides, it's not like he didn't know what was eating his brother. That was an easy answer; everything.

"Yeah, yeah Dean. We really should," he agreed, unable to keep the sadness out of his voice or the concern out of his eyes.

It was lip service. They both knew there would be no vacations for them any time soon. Sam could at least read between the lines. It wasn't anything Dean hadn't already said before. He was tired. Tired of fighting and losing, tired of having to stand in front of all the bad things in the world and take what they dish out to keep everyone safe. It's not like it got him anywhere. Sam was tired too, that was one thing he could understand, but he wasn't going to give up and he wouldn't let Dean either. They did have something to fight for and it was each other.

Dean wanted to talk to Sam, he was actually at the point where he felt the need to unload, but he could see the strain on his little brother's face, see the doubts, the fear that comes from having eighteen months erased from your mind. He wasn't going to make that worse. He could only imagine how Sam was feeling and he refused to add to his burden. Dean was an expert at stuffing down his issues, shoving them so far inside that they almost ceased to exist. He knew it was like nuclear waste, though. It might be out of sight, but it's never going away and it's going to fester and seethe and rot everything it touched. He took out what he could on the things he killed, he tried to drink or fuck through the rest, and whatever was left would just have to stay put until, or more importantly if, he could deal with it. So no making things worse for Sammy. Not right now.

So instead, he got on with the job. He stood and grabbed his duffle off the bed. "Gimme ten minutes and I'll do my Wonder Woman trick in the bathroom and emerge the valiant Agent Richards," Dean called out as he disappeared into the less than sanitary room.

Sam watched him go silently, knowing he was giving major puppy eyes as Dean liked to say, but he couldn't help it. It was just another lost moment, another opportunity for them to sort out some of the issues between them snatched away by Dean's drive to appear taciturn and unshakeable for his little brother. With a big sigh, he started to undress. They had work to do.

The most recent victim was Jacob Schraeder; thirty four years old, married with one child. He was a mortgage consultant with a big firm, did well for himself judging from the impressive house they pulled up in front of. He had been found yesterday by his wife on their front porch. He was naked and unmarked except for some abrasions on his neck and wrists.

They spoke to Ashley Schraeder, a petite pretty woman with devastated eyes, but she was unable to tell them anything they didn't already know. Jacob had been out later than normal one night and when he came home, he acted normal. For each day after that until his death, he became more and more run down, not eating, not sleeping. He stayed home from work since that first night. She woke up to find him gone each night, but he couldn't tell her where he'd been when he got back. She had been positive he was seeing someone, but he seemed so sick and so genuinely frightened that she thought it had to be something else. He had an appointment to see the family doctor the morning she found his body.

Dean and Sam didn't stay long, it was clear she wasn't hiding anything. Reviewing the witness statements Sam was able to appropriate from his creative access into the police database, it was a very common story that all the victims shared. They needed to narrow down that first night that kept them out late. They decided to grab some food and go over the financial information.

It was Dean who saw it and it wasn't really surprising once it came clear what the link might be. "Dude!" he exclaimed, the word muffled by the mouthful of bacon cheeseburger that he was currently working on. Sam grimaced as he looked up in time to see that mouthful in full Technicolor before Dean closed his mouth again.

"God Dean, swallow before you speak, that's nasty. What are you, five?" Sam grumbled, picking at his salad with a fork in one hand and working the mouse on the laptop with the other. Dean smiled extra big at him, his white teeth littered with chewed up burger. Sam just glared at him and shook his head slightly. "What do you got?" he asked when Dean finally finished his bite.

"Such a princess," Dean remarked, still smiling. Seeing the start of Sam's infamous bitch face, he considered that a job well done and moved along with his find. "Check these out. Credit card statements from the victims. Tracking back five or six days from their time of death, they all have charges from "Misty's". What better place for a succubus to find victims than a strip joint, huh?" he asked with a smirk.

"How do you know that's a strip club Dean? It could be a bar or something," Sam asked, not missing Dean's delight in getting to freely scope out said strip joint in the name of the job. Few things made Dean happier than strippers.

Dean leaned back in the booth, eyebrows raised suggestively. "Because there are three things a man must know when pulling into town; where to crash, where to drink, and where to see some ass without having to be subtle about it. I have needs!" he exclaimed with a thankfully clean smile. Sam just shook his head in resignation.

Dean knew Sam thought he was basically a caveman as far as his wants went; food, women, booze and the thrill of the hunt. That wasn't really the case, it's just that Dean knew that the life he had chosen only allowed the simple pleasures. Anything more ended in tears or blood. He'd lived his whole life denying himself to take care of Sam or his Dad. So he ate like a horse because who knew when he would get to eat again? He drank to excess because sometimes the only thing that kept him going was forgetting for just a little while. The women made him feel like he was something more than just a soldier, more than a brother, that he was Dean. They wanted him for him, even if it was just for a night. The hunt? Because what else was there, really? Saving lives was as good as it got, it had purpose. Unlike Sam, Dean knew that this life was his normal and sometimes he was okay with that. Sometimes.

"Actually Dean, I'm pretty sure the cops checked it out. They can pull up bank statements too, you know." Sam was already tapping away at his laptop to find the document that was tickling at his memory. "Yeah, here we go. Misty's. They checked it Dean, nothing unusual." He shrugged in dismissal.

For just a moment Dean looked totally crestfallen, like someone had swapped his burger with tofu. Then he perked back up. "Maybe so, but they don't know what we know Sam. They probably weren't looking for the right thing."

Sam just stared at him, not at all buying what Dean was selling. "I'm not getting out of this, am I?"

"Absolutely not," Dean replied firmly. "C'mon Sam, how often do we get to actually case someplace awesome in the name of the job, huh? It'll be fun, I'll buy you a lap dance, Sammy! Hell, I'll get you two! At the same time, huh?" Dean was wiggling his eyebrows lasciviously.

Sam shoved his salad aside and leaned forward over the table, hands clasped loosely before him. "You remember the last time a case brought us to a strip club, right? You almost chopped my head off with an axe," Sam stated dryly. Dean standing over him, his eyes filled with rage yet strangely dead, axe raised, intention in every line of his body was a sight Sam would never be able to erase from his mind. It's one of the things he would actually like to stuff behind that wall. Then there were the things he had said to Dean. Unforgiveable.

For a moment, Dean stilled, anything that might be considered emotion draining out of his face. It was clearly not a good memory for him either. His eyes met Sam's briefly, then skittered away, but not before Sam saw the guilt and sadness that still lingered from the event. Sam sighed, cursing himself for even bringing it up. There was enough crap in their present to deal with, there was no point in unearthing the unresolved crap in their past.

"Yeah, well I don't think we need to worry about a repeat of anything like that. Succubi can definitely mess with your mind, but not to that extent," Dean said, a bit more sharply than he intended. He knew it wasn't Sam's fault that what he said hit him so hard. He had brought up a good point, but damn if it wasn't hard to think about that, to remember those words. What he had almost done. There was a bit of lingering silence while Dean chewed another bite of his burger. "Besides," he started, wiping his mouth off with a napkin, "it's not like we really have a choice here. We have to go, right? Might as well enjoy it, unless you became a eunuch when I wasn't looking. Though with you, it would be hard to tell." That big grin was firmly back in place, the pain brought about by Sam's careless words stuffed back in and forgotten. Sam's smile and rolled eyes at the remark dissipated the remaining tension in his body.

Sam didn't want to chase that renewed excitement out of Dean, but he couldn't really share it. True, it wasn't really his scene, but there was something that didn't feel right about it to him. Dean had only ever gotten him to go to a place like that once and it's not like it was an entertaining excursion. It was a job, just like it was this time. Yet, that didn't seem to faze Dean at all. He was like a kid that's had too much sugar being told they were going to Disneyland and who cares if he had to take out the trash and clean the bathrooms while he was there? He hadn't seen any sort of joy on Dean's face since he woke up after getting resouled, just worry, concern and blankness. He would just need to shake this feeling and man up. His brother deserved it.

"Okay, but don't forget that we're working. We have to case the joint for the succubus and her victim, not get drunk and stuff dollar bills into thongs," Sam warned.

Dean looked at him like he was an alien species with its head and butt reversed. "Dude, you are such a killjoy. Why don't you just put on a dress?" he asked in pained disgust. Shaking his head in playful disappointment, Dean grabbed his wallet to lay down enough bills to cover their meal and tip.

"I'm sorry if my idea of a good time doesn't involve glitter and daddy issues," Sam retorted with his usual half smile, closing up his laptop and sliding out of the booth.

"Don't knock it until you try it, Sammy boy," Dean replied, following him out of the restaurant. "Besides, succubi normally go after sexually repressed men because they have all the love juice in cold storage. You're putting yourself in danger. In fact, maybe we'll just use you as bait."

The brothers both slid into the Impala, smiling and feeling lighter than they had in weeks. It was nice, being able to joke and tease each other. There had been some mines in the field that were almost stepped on, but it was still a far cry from the interactions they normally had now. It was a sign that, while things could never be the way they were, maybe they could be better.

Since they had a lead to check, they decided to go back to the hotel to get out of their FBI costumes. Dean was planning on some TV, lots of beer and a nap. Sam thought that sounded pretty good to him as well. There wasn't a need to bother the families of any more victims and they had what they needed from police reports. They would head out later that night to go check out Misty's. If they found the succubus, it was easy enough to kill; beheading, salting and burning. Kids play compared to a demon. True, succubi were very strong and had some wicked teeth and nails in their true form, but that described a lot of things that they had hunted and killed. Dean had even taken one out with his Dad when he was fifteen, so they had experience. It was looking to be an easy hunt for a change.

To be continued...

Thanks for reading! Please review!