All the pretty little horses.

Sam was tired. He stared out the window into the darkness, as the miles flew by, punctuated by green reflective mile markers, coming faster than the speed limit on the back roads would normally dictate.

Dean was pissed, and that usually meant loud music and speeding down the winding back roads so that he could feel ( even if he couldn't hear over the music) the rumbling of the Impala's engine. The great black beast that held more sway over Sam's brother than any woman ever could.

They had done nothing but fight for the last thousand miles of winding back roads, and when they weren't fighting, the music was deafening. Sam didn't know how much more of this he could take with out reaching out and strangling his brother.

This wasn't anything new. It was a pattern that had been in place for as long as the brothers could remember. They were used to each others presence. Accustomed to the sights, sounds and smells that came from living together non stop in close quarters. They had spent their entire child hood in close quarters of some sort or another.

Their only reprieve had been the years Sam had spent at school. Then there had been a gaping hole in their world where the other had once stood. Each missing and needing the other but being unwilling to cross that invisible line that had been drawn on the ground.

The line that had been drawn to keep John at bay, even if it meant keeping his brother away too, because Sam saw them as one entity in so many ways. Although the rest of their limited world would have said it was the brothers who were one, and John was the outsider looking in at the strange yet wonderful relationship he had forced his sons to build.

Unfortunately, even in near symbiotic relationships, critical mass could, and would be achieved. It had happened often over the years. That one moment, one miniscule moment that crossed the line into TOO MUCH. One too many taps on the steering wheel, one too many clicks of the computer keys, One too many cold showers, with longish dark hairs still littering the drain and they were there. Critical Mass. Sustained nuclear chain reaction.

This time it was music that had been the catalyst for the explosion and all its subsequent radioactive heat. One stupid little song. It didn't help that he couldn't get that song out of his head. Any time there was silence, it played in Sam's head like his own personal sound track. A lullaby, of all things. For three days running the song had tormented, and strangely soothed him. Sam was betting that his brother wasn't getting the soothing quality of the little ditty at all.

It had started to plague his dreams too. When he slept he saw a face that he didn't recognize, bending over him, tickling his nose with long dark tendrils of hair. Tiny hands, presumably his own, reaching up to grasp long earrings that peeked out from the dark tresses.

This was not his mother. Mary was bright and golden. He had no memories of his mother from his infancy. Was this someone else's memory? Another of the children like him? His visions were always tied to them, or the demon somehow. Was this one that was yet to lose his mother? Was the woman with the soothing voice still alive or had she already met her end in terror and flames.

Hushabye, don't you cry. Go to sleep my little baby. When you wake you shall have all the pretty little horses.

The voice was familiar. He couldn't shake the feeling that he knew her from somewhere. Was it a dream or a vision? Past, present or future? Was it familiar to him or the child in the dreams? Were they one in the same?

Blacks and bays, Dapples and Grays, Coach and six-a-little horses. When you wake you shall have all the pretty little horses

"That's it" Dean's voice came filtering through his dream, "If I hear that damned lullaby one more time I am gonna kill you." He said and cranked the volume on the impala's stereo to a near ear splitting decibel.

Sam frowned in his sleep, and his face screwed up into an expression that reminded Dean of nothing so much as an angry cat with its ears laid back against its head. He half expected his younger brother to hiss and spit.

On a stormy sea of moving emotion (hushabye don't you cry, go to sleep my little baby)
Tossed about I'm like a ship on the ocean
I set a course for winds of fortune (when you wake you shall have)
But I hear the voices say(all the pretty little horses)

"Its okay, Dean, Sammy's alright see? He's just too tired is all." The woman said, looking down at Sam with large dark eyes.

"no he's not. He's afraid to dream" Dean told her, with a strange amount of wisdom and authority for a 4 year old.

"Are you afraid to dream too?" she asked, not arguing with the boy on such matters as his little brother. Dean Winchester was an expert in all things Sam. Anyone who had spent any time around the boy at all knew that. Even John refrained from arguing with the child. But then, John was barely in the land of the living these days himself.

Dean shook his little head, blonde hair shaking in a shaggy mop "When I dream I see my mom."

The dark haired woman reached out to stroke that hair, and smiled sadly. "well, lets get you into bed, and to sleep. Dreams only come when you are sleeping. "

"is that why Daddy sleeps so much when he's here? Cause he misses mommy too?" Dean asked.

"I think so Honey. He loves your mommy very much. It's hard to be away from someone when you love them that much."

"He doesn't smile anymore."

"He will again. Come on, off to bed with you, I'll tuck Sammy in tonight since he is being stubborn. "

Dean gave her a wary glance, but finally nodded "Okay… but don't let him stay up too late. He'll be way cranky tomorrow" He said and climbed up into the top bunk of the RV, positioned above the drivers seat. "Is Daddy coming back soon. I miss him. "

"Soon" she said. "He'll be back soon." She said as she pulled the covers up around the boy with her free hand, then held the infant Sammy up for Dean to kiss goodnight. She turned out the lights and sat down at the small table, rocking the child in her arms, and singing softly the promise of horses, laughing as she removed his tiny hands from her earrings.

Dean tossed a mostly empty drink cup at his brother, bouncing it off of his forehead "I mean it knock it off" he said as Sam woke "you have been humming or singing that song for days. Even in your sleep! What is it going to take to purge that damned thing?"

Sam wiped at his forehead where the cup had struck and scowled at his brother. "I don't know. I think it's a memory of some sort. I was dreaming of this woman… dark hair, in this … camper or trailer or something. Dad had left us with her…"

"How do you remember that when I barely remember that?" He asked with a scowl "I wouldn't even remember that the woman had dark hair if you hadn't just said it. That is … that is wierd, Sammy. Even for you. "

"She's real?" Sam asked, and smiled a little "She used to sing that song to me to get me to sleep."

"you didn't sleep so well back then" Dean said frowning a little at the memory "I think you had night mares then too."

"Why am I dreaming of her now?"

"I don't know, Sam. Might just be a dream. People have 'em all the time."

"I don't. Not like this. "

"you think we need to find her?"

"I don't know. " he said as he reached for his cell phone "But I cant help feeling that this is important some how."

"I don't even remember her name." Dean pointed out as he took the next exit. Sam wasn't the only one in need of a nap, and Dean needed a beer, maybe a few hours away from Sammy and in the company of a real girl, not some dream chick, or his strangely girly brother.

"yeah but I think I know someone who might. " Sam said as he dialed Missouri Moseley's number.

Dean rolled his eyes "Don't blame me if she psychically kicks your ass for calling this late" He almost smiled then, liking the idea of Sam getting an ass chewing from Missouri. Who else would he be calling. No one else knew them back when their mother first died.

"Samuel Winchester, do you have any idea what time it is here in Kansas" She said answering the phone before the first ring was more than a blip.

"I'm sorry, I didn't think about it" He said giving Dean a sheepish grin

"I told you!" Dean said grinning at the road ahead, and following the exits toward food and beer. Lodgings were just a fringe benefit right then.

"I ahm actually had a question for you. Back when Mom first died, was there a woman that Dad used to leave us with. Lived in an RV… " Sam asked.

"Why you askin' about something like that?"

"I'm dreaming about her, do you know who she is?"

"She was your Mama's best friend." Missouri said with a sigh " Cassandra Martin.Bit of a late blooming hippie type. New Age, gypsy wanna be. I don't know that you're gonna have any luck finding her unless she has changed dramatically. She never was one to stay in one place for long. Not once your mama was gone."

"Okay… Is there anything else we need to know about her? You know… what kind of person she was… is…"

"She was alright. Not my cup of tea, but she was a good friend to your Mama, and to your Daddy after that night, took him under her wing for a while there. She figured she owed it to Mary to look after the three of you. She was into witchcraft but I never got the impression there was anything dark there. Couldn't even tell you if she was the real deal or just another believer."

"Thanks Missouri. I appreciate it." Even though he wasn't sure that would give them much to go on.

Half an hour later Dean was unlocking the latest in a long string of hotel rooms. "Look, all I'm sayin' is we don't know that this is something we need to do anything about. It could be nothing more than a memory. Yeah its freakish that you remember something from before your first birthday, but we've always known you were a freak."

Sam sighed, and scowled at his brother. "I know, you're probably right, but… I just cant shake the feeling that its important some how."

"well, we aren't going to figure anything out tonight. Sleep on it and we'll see how you feel in the morning." That wasn't a time of his life that Dean wanted to revisit. Too much pain, and loss. And no matter how good a friend that woman had been, or how good a baby sitter, she was still part of that time.

Sam gave Dean a long suffering look and stood, making his way toward the shower

"Not on your life, pal, back away from the hot water and no one gets hurt" Dean said as he pulled out clean clothes from his back .

"Dean" Sam said, frustration evident in his tone again.

"Don't Dean me, there is a bar down the road a ways, and I plan to go have a few drinks, maybe get a little lucky, and definitely … DEFINITELY get the hell away from you and your freakish lullabye fixation. So – move it college boy. Showers mine."

Sam rolled his eyes and went to set up his computer figuring he would have to wait a while for hot water anyway "Its not a fixation." He growled.

"You keep tellin' yourself that. But you start spouting the barney song and I'm putting you down like a rabid dog" Dean said as he closed and locked the bathroom door behind him.

Sam settled into his research, and didn't do anything more than give Dean a half hearted glare as his older brother left the hotel room. "Cassandra Martin" he murmured "Why am I dreaming about you?" He didn't think it was a vision. There was no death, no fear, certainly no blinding pain. But it wasn't a dream either, of that he was certain.

He started his search in Kansas, He looked in the high school alumni records finding John Winchester and Mary O'Neill. The archives of the school paper going back to the late 70s revealed his parents standing next to another young couple, Cassandra Durant and Samuel Martin.

"wow." He breathed. He wondered why his father had never mentioned the man that he was named for, but figured it was just another one of his fathers many secrets. He could only assume that Samuel and Cassandra had gotten married at some point along the way.

He dug deeper, finding wedding announcements for both couples in the news paper several months apart. He had never known his parents anniversary before. John had never wanted to talk about it and Sam had never wanted to bring that look of absolute sorrow to his eyes. His fathers pain had been enough to quench his curiosity.

It was 3am when Dean returned from the bar. Time away from Sam, breathing in his own air, listening to the prattle of strangers that didn't know all his secrets, or his buttons, had eased up the tension Dean had been feeling for days. A couple hours in the company of a beautiful woman who didn't ask too many questions beyond where did he get his awesome car hadn't hurt either.

He shook his head as he closed the lap top, careful not to shut it down in the process cause he was sure Sam had fallen asleep mid research. "Come on, Sam, lets call it a night." He said as he pulled his brother up by one arm.

Sam stirred a little, Seeing it was Dean. " 'm'alright" He said as he reached up to wipe the sleep from his eyes, all the while letting Dean lead him over to the bed.

"I know y'are." Dean said "But its time for all good Sasquatches to be in bed. Just no lullabies. "

"I'm named after her husband… dead husband" Sam said as he crawled into bed obediently, leaving Dean wishing the guy would listen this well when he wasn't half asleep.

"Congratulations. Go to sleep. We'll talk in the morning." Dean told him, and turned out the light before going back to the computer and settling in to look over Sam's research. It wasn't until he heard Sam's faint snores that he saved the work and turned off the computer.

This still looked like nothing more than old memories coming to the surface. All of Sam's digging had done little more than unearth a past that their father had buried along with their mother.

What did all the little normal details matter now? His parents were gone and he could see no sense in digging up who their best friends had been and what bowling league they had belonged to. He couldn't even imagine his father doing normal things now. That John Winchester had died in the flames with his wife. This all had nothing to do with them now. He wished Sammy would leave it alone. But since that was as likely to happen as Dean painting the impala pink, he would have to help him wade through it and get to the other side.

Dean climbed into bed and stared at Sammy in the darkness. Dean remembered little things about his life before the fire. He remembered his parents tucking him in. Remembered the nightly ritual of everyone coming in to say good night to baby Sam. He remembered his mother telling him that Angels were watching over them. But those weren't substantial memories. They were flashes against the screen, like subliminal text in the back ground.

His first real memory…the first memory of importance was his father handing him Sam and telling him to run. From that day on Sam was his. His parents might have created Sam, but that was all. Dean had been there every night to tuck him in when he was little, had helped him with his homework, and nursed him through his first broken heart… and the last he supposed. Dean had been the one to teach him to tie his shoes, to ride a bike. He had taught him to swim and how not to burn the kitchen down when he cooked. It had been Dean who watched on anxiously as his brother shaved for the first time, and when he had gotten ready for his first date. It wasn't that their father didn't care. John cared more for Sam than he had for anyone since their mother. Only an idiot, (or Sam) couldn't see that. It was that strong emotion… the warm and fuzzy kind had scared their father in ways that no demon could. If John loved again, then John could lose again.

Dean got that.

Sam never did.

He had been as against Sammy going to college as his father had. Dean had been worried that Sam would get in over his head out there in the big bad world of normal people. It was the normal people that you had to watch out for. A demon just played on the hurts you already had. It was people that gave them the ammunition. And all this stuff that Sam was digging up, Dean just saw it as more ammunition.

He closed his eyes eventually, willing the brain to shut down, willing the worry for his brother to fade into the back of his mind, where he always kept it when it was interfering in what he had to do.

Dean drifted off to sleep. He would have been horrified to know that he was rocking gently, humming a song just a little off key. A song about horses.