PART TWO

The guest rooms were in a row at the back of Roadhouse and attached to the back of the building. Dean and Sam took one, Dean was relieved to see it was on the far end of parking lot, close to where the Impala was parked, and a corner room. At least they could be left alone and maybe, just maybe if they were really lucky, the others there would forget about their presence.

Who was Dean kidding, those morons weren't going to forget he and his bottle exploding brother were here.

They spent a few minutes completing their usual routine of late, warding and salting whatever room they were staying in. Sam stood on the small, round table in the room, reached up to draw a devil's trap. Dean grabbed his shin to steady him, not paying much attention to what Sam was doing.

When Sam chuckled, Dean looked up and immediately snickered. "Guess we should have known." There was a rather large and elaborate devil's trap already on the ceiling, but in a color only one shade darker than the background. Unless someone looked for it, the chances they'd see it immediately were small. Dean figured if they bothered to look under the rug they'd find one on the floor too.

"Yeah." Sam jumped down from the table. "I wonder what the non-hunter guests think of the ceiling décor?"

Dean laughed outright at that. "I don't think there are any non-hunter guests."

Sam shed his coat and draped it over a chair. "I suppose not." His hands were still shaky when he reached for his duffel.

As much as he was obviously trying to hide it, Dean still saw and homed in on the movement.

"You sure you're okay?"

Sam nodded. His expression—hell his entire body—was sullen and unsure. Well, that wasn't going to do, not at all.

"Sammy—"

"You know, Dean, I know what you're going to say. Why don't you save yourself the effort and drop it? I am what I am."

Throwing both hands in the air and letting them drop, Dean sighed then barked a laugh. "Okay, genius, you know what I'm going to say? Well, bully for you. Apparently, knowing what I'm going to say and listening to it don't go hand in hand, so guess what? I'm saying it again." He didn't mean for it to happen, but with each word Dean's voice rose until he was shouting at Sam. He'd wanted to reassure his brother, not fling anger at him. "Listen up, because this is…"

"…the last time you're saying it." Sam's lips twitched up as he finished Dean's sentence, which simply pissed Dean off even more.

Eyes narrowing, Dean glared at his brother. "You haven't done anything wrong."

"And I'm not evil." Sam sighed. "You're not the one who gets looked at like you're some kind of freak who might blow up the planet at any second." He sat down and rubbed at his temples.

"Anyone looks at you like that and I'll kill them. Problem solved."

Sam's gaze popped up at him, accompanied by a small head shake. "At least you're consistent."

"Damn straight." Crossing both arms over his chest, Dean rocked back and forth on his heels, quite pleased with himself. "There, see, settled. You said it yourself, you're not evil."

Cocking his head to one side, Sam gave him a don't try to trick me look, which Dean wasn't buying at all. If he said it enough, reminded Sam enough that he was good and valuable—trusted—then it would be so. Very simple really.

Sam opened his mouth, no doubt to spew more crap, but thankfully Dean was saved from having to argue his point any further by a rap on the door. Dean threw a smug look back at his brother as he crossed the room to the door. "Don't forget where you got those debating skills you're so freaking proud of."

Laughing, Sam flopped down on the bed, arms out to his sides, legs dangling off the edge. "As if you'd let me. Learned from the best and all."

Dean looked out the peephole, hand resting on his handgun. Relaxing at once, he glanced back at Sam and nodded. Sam hadn't moved from his spot on his bed other than to roll his head to the side to watch Dean. That sent a sudden and unexpected rush of warmth and comfort through Dean. There were no words needed, but Sam had said so much in that simple act. Dean was once again the all-powerful protector in Sam's eyes, trusted to keep the kid safe.

Sam pushed onto his elbows, waiting patiently for Dean to open the door. He didn't ask, or even look mildly concerned. He simply waited on Dean's actions. Opening meant an assessment of someone safe on the other side, not opening would likely get Sam moving to where their weapons' duffel sat for his own gun and a flask of holy water.

Rolling his eyes, Dean looked at the floor for a few seconds before rubbing at the back of his neck. He was getting a headache from all this. A second, louder, sharper, more insistent rap at the door made him realize the person on the other side wasn't going to go away anytime soon. Cracking open the door, Dean peered out then stepped back fast to avoid being hit with the door when Ellen barged through.

"Is something wrong?" Sam sat up completely.

"Hey, Ellen." Dean stepped back and let her fully inside the room.

"I just wanted to check to be sure you boys were alright."

"We outgrew the need for a babysitter years ago." Dean smiled, then sidestepped away from the woman when she turned a glare on him. "Sorry. We're good. Great in fact."

Ellen smacked the side of his head. "What part of I don't want any trouble here don't you get, boy?"

"What part of we'll be leaving now didn't you get?" Dean shot back.

Sam sat, eyes shifting back and forth between the two as if he were watching some kind of tennis match.

"Sam and I were ready to go, but noooooo…have to stay."

"Don't you mouth off to me! What the hell were you doing getting into it with Sears?"

"Hey, he started it." Dean looked over at Sam for some support, but the little snit-wad took the passive-aggressive route. He shrugged and snickered. "Besides, he threatened us and what did you expect me to do? Turn the other cheek?"

"Yes! What I didn't expect was beer bottles blowing up right on the bar."

"Okay, you know what? I've had it with all this crap and all you people. My brother hasn't done a damn thing wrong." Dean shouted at Ellen, but pointed to Sam. "He hasn't hurt anyone who didn't need hurting and no one is going to say otherwise. Let's not forget you're the one who made cracks about not blowing the place up."

"You don't have to defend Sam to me. I'm one of the good guys, I'm on your side, remember? Your brother—"

"Is in the room!" Sam was on his feet, fists clenched, face pinched and angry. The passive part of his passive-aggressive act was definitely gone.

Ellen closed her mouth and pressed her lips to a thin line. Hands on hips she looked from Dean to Sam and back again. "I'm sorry. There are a lot of guys out there with big guns and anger issues. I don't want anyone hurt."

"Yeah? Well, you're the one who asked us here. Hell, Ellen, you demanded we stay here the night. My brother didn't do anything wrong and anyone saying otherwise or threatening him is going to answer to me. Don't forget I have big guns too." Cause, seriously, Dean was simply done with this load of horse shit. He was tired of slinking around like a wounded dog hiding from its attackers and he was really tired of having to watch Sam do it. "Other hunters, can go to Hell. They don't like us, too bad. We're done worrying about what they like or don't like."

The expression Ellen wore told Dean she realized she'd overstepped her bounds and pushed him too far. He ventured a glance at his brother. Sam's eyes were moist and his face was an odd mixture of relief and utter gratitude. It was far from the first time Dean defended Sam to someone, and he was quite sure it wouldn't be the last, not by a long shot. What Dean was now seeing was every time he did so, his brother's self-esteem and confidence bumped up a few notches, it was all over the kid's face, plain as day to Dean.

"Sam was right, we can't stay here. No hard feelings to you, but I think it's best if we just leave."

"No, boys." Ellen walked to the middle of the room, putting herself between them.

When Dean glared and moved so he was nearer Sam and not separated from him, Ellen nodded and looked around the room, gaze landing on some point to their right. She took a deep breath and spoke again, this time voice soft and kind. "I want you boys to feel you can come here whenever you need to. I want everyone to feel that way. This is neutral territory. I want it kept that way."

Dean looked at Sam. "It's late, we're both tired and neither of us should be driving, but there are a lot of times we shouldn't be driving." If Sam didn't want to stay, Dean wasn't going to force the issue. "As long as we stick together, watch each other's backs…" he let his voice trail off, leaving the open-ended question hanging between them.

Sam would understand it was his call, if he felt that uncomfortable they'd leave no matter who said what about it. "We leave in the morning?" Sam asked softly.

"Sure thing, buddy," Dean agreed immediately.

Sam sat back down. "I am sorta tired."

"I'm sorry about them." Ellen waved in the general direction of the bar.

"It's not your fault. We'll be fine." Sam smiled at her. He was much more forgiving and kind than Dean at this point.

Moving to the door, Dean opened it and stood to the side, hand resting on the doorknob. "We get breakfast before we leave?"

Ellen rolled her eyes, snorted and left. Giving the door a hearty shove, it swung closed. Dean locked it then double checked to be sure the lock was in place.

"I'm going to grab a shower." Sam got up, grabbed some clean clothes and headed to the bathroom.

Dean stretched on his bed and clicked on the TV, hoping it would drown out the sounds of the roadhouse patrons. An hour later, Sam was conked out on his bed. After a hot shower, the kid had emerged with drooping eyelids and a less than steady gait. He'd more or less fallen onto the bed, rolled up in blankets mumbling something Dean took to be a 'good night' and was asleep within a minute. Dean had taken his own shower, and it pretty much had the same affect on him it had on his brother. Warm and relaxed, Dean melted into the mattress and didn't fight the sleep that dropped over him.

-o-

Monster. Killer. I'm in you, I am you.

Somewhere in his dream, something crashed. Sam tried turning away from the noise and willing Dean to get his ass inside the dream with him, he tried his best to ignore the voices screaming through his head.

What is dead should stay dead. What's good for you isn't for the rest of us? Abomination. Freak. Monster. Killer in you. I am the killer in you.

Another loud bang, this one accompanied by Dean's grumbling. Sam was trapped in another of his terrifying dreams and Dean did nothing but grumble? That wasn't right.

Dead! He's dead!

No. No. No. Dean was not dead.

More banging reverberated through Sam's head. Angry shouts from somewhere far enough away they sounded muffled. Sam wondered who was dead, since it certainly wasn't Dean who'd died. Sam would never allow that to happen.

"Sammy."

Sam looked around for his brother. He heard Dean call his name so he was in here somewhere.

"Sam!" Dean's voice hissed in his ear, insistent and urgent. In his dream, Sam called out to Dean so he'd find him.

When a hand clapped over his mouth, Sam jerked awake, arms flailing, feet kicking. Another hand pressed down on his shoulder and a weight pushed down on Sam's chest.

"Sam, shut up."

"Humpft," was all Sam could get out. Eyes opened wide, he scanned the room.

Dean, clad only in jeans, was crouched between the beds with one arm extended over Sam's chest, the hand gripping his shoulder, keeping Sam in place. The hand that was over Sam's mouth moved slowly to Dean's lips, "Shhh."

Sam heard shouting from outside, someone yelling that someone was dead, or about to be dead. He met Dean's gaze and eased one elbow under him so he could sit up. Dean's hand on his shoulder curled to a fist and pulled, helping Sam sit up further. Mouthing the words, "what's going on?" Sam eased away from Dean and off the other side of the bed, grabbing up his own jeans and running shoes.

Shaking his head and shrugging, Dean stood up and moved to the weapons' duffel, taking out handguns, he handed one off to Sam who stuffed it behind his back in his waistband. Moving silently, Dean headed to the window beside the door, and parted two of the blinds, looking through. "I can't see anything."

They both jumped when something hit the outside of their door so hard it rattled. A glance back at Sam, who nodded and widened his stance, Dean returned his attention to the door, hand reaching for the handle.

"Get the hell out here, both of you!" It was Sears's voice on the other side.

At the same time Sam stepped up behind his brother, Dean flung the door open. "Dude! Do you have something against me sleeping?!"

"Mike Pritchard is dead. Murdered." Sears lurched forward and snarled in Dean's face.

"What? How?" Sam barely had the chance to think that Sears was taking his life into his hands doing that, it was like challenging a guard dog; Dean was liable to bite the guy's face off, when Sears shouldered past Dean.

Grabbing Sam by the arm and jerking him forward with such force Sam nearly fell over his own feet before he got enough forward momentum to keep up.

"Hey!" Dean barked, but Sears was pulling Sam along too fast for him to do much other than try to keep from tripping over his own feet. He heard Dean run after them.

Sears didn't stop until he came to a car. It was a newer one, blue, Sam had no idea what sort of car. He found out rather abruptly it was a hard car, however, when Sears stopped, planted his feet and shoved Sam straight against the driver's side door. Sam barely got his hands up in time to stop his face from connecting with the window.

Sam blinked then squinted. At first, in the murky lighting of the parking lot, all he saw was his own reflection. Then other things came into view. Blood splattered the inside of the car. An arm was draped across the steering wheel. Sam sucked in a loud breath and pushed off the car when he realized the arm wasn't attached to a body. A man sat in the driver's seat, his head bent at an odd angle. His throat hadn't been slashed, it'd been ripped out. There was a hole in his chest where his sternum and heart should be. His other arm lay in the passenger seat and the top of his skull had been sheered off, exposing jagged, gray gelatinous remains of a brain.

A hand landed on his shoulder and Sam was spun around so fast the world had to speed up for a second to keep pace. Sears was nearly on top of him. "You going to stand here and tell me you don't know a thing about this, freak?"

All of a sudden, he was surrounded by angry voices and unfamiliar faces. They crowded in on him and kept him from getting away from the hideous scene in the car. Sears hit his shoulders with both hands, slamming him against the car. Sam could take out his gun and start shooting or he could let his building panic ignite the power tingling along his spine like an itch. Clamping down his fear, Sam let himself be shoved up against the car. These were men, not demons. Loud, angry, stupid men, but men nonetheless.

"Billy over there saw a shadow outside the car right after Pritchard got inside, one that looked like it belonged to you."

Without warning, the mob parted and Dean stood inside the circle of men with Sam, handgun trained on Sears. "Touch him and you're dead where you stand." Dean's voice was low, lethal and vicious. "We left the bar and went to our room. You woke us up."

Sears backed up a few paces, pointing at Sam. "Billy saw—"

"Billy saw a goddamn shadow. You can't identify anyone that way. My brother didn't hurt anyone and he sure as hell didn't do this."

"How do you know?" Sears challenged. Some of the men started closing in again.

Dean's face darkened and his eyes hardened. Yeah, Sam had only seen that expression about a million times before. Dean passed his gun off into Sam's upturned hand. Three of the men went down before they even knew what hit them, Sam was sure. Dean hit Sears's jaw a few times, using him to clear a path.

When one of the others came at Dean from behind, Sam moved away from the car and twisted around, pushing his back into Dean's, gun raised, barking a stern, "No!"

Sears staggered backwards, away from Dean and Sam. Dean slipped his hand behind him and took Sam's gun from his waistband. Sam turned far enough he could look over Dean's shoulder and see what was going on.

Sears wiped one hand over his mouth, dragging blood across his features. He pointed at Sam again, spitting out, "You."

"He didn't do anything. I was with him the whole time." Dean ground out.

"You mean to tell me every single minute after you left the bar he was in your sight?"

"Not every second, no, but he wasn't out of my sight long enough to do this, or anything other than change a channel on the TV."

Rifle shots brought silence from everyone. Ellen stalked to the center of the group. "What the HELL is going on?" When Sears nodded at the car she sidestepped to it and looked in. Closing her eyes, she turned away and took a few deep breaths. After a few seconds she opened her eyes and looked at Sears. "And you're stupid enough to think Dean and Sam had something to do with it? Why?"

"Why?" Sears shouted back. He laughed, a shrill cackling sound that set Sam's nerves on edge. Dean's too, by the way his brother tensed and shifted, so Sam was forced to take a few steps away from the men and car. "I've heard things about Sam Winchester. How he could bitch-slap a demon from ten feet away. How he came back from the dead. How he's not even human."

Sam flinched and nearly fell over when Dean took a few steps at Sears, feeling the loss of his brother's presence deeply and profoundly, as if he'd been ripped away from existence.

"Shut up, Sears. You don't know anything. Rumors are just that, rumors. Spread them about someone else."

Sears glared at Dean for what seemed forever before dropping his gaze to his feet and stepping back. "Why should I believe you?"

"Because I'm telling you it's the truth." Turning far enough to look at Sam, "C'mon, Sammy. We're outa here." Dean stalked away, Sam gave the crowd a level look before following.

"You can't leave till we have this sorted out." Sears called. Dean barely slowed his pace in acknowledgement.

"Dean," Ellen's voice brought them both to a stop. "He's right. Everyone has to stay here until we get this sorted out." She turned to some of the others. "You men, get him taken care of. We're not leaving his body out here for scavengers."

"We should help them," Sam said softly.

Sears's eyes narrowed. "You'll keep your filthy hands off him."

"That's enough." Dean whirled around and started toward Sears.

Sam darted forward, grabbing both of Dean's arms. "Dean. Dean! That'll just make it worse. Leave it alone." He gave his brother a shake. "Dean!"

Yanking his arms free of Sam's grip Dean stared down Sears again and snarled out a warning. "Stay away."

Dean's fingers gripped Sam's elbow like an iron vice, propelling him across the lot and farther from the car and body. Once at a safe distance Dean replaced his handgun and turned to glare at the group getting the remains of a man out of the car. He turned to Sam and stood stock still, simply waiting and watching.

It was unnerving.

"I never left our room until Sears showed up. I didn't do anything. I don't even know if I could do that and I do know I wouldn't. Not ever. I didn't do anything."