Thanks for the nice response to the last chapter. I'm kinda playing this by ear. The whole idea of Mary and Sam came to me after watching Usual Suspects, actually, in that the brothers WERE connected through other means. This is my stab at a theory of who Sam is and why he was chosen. We'll see what happens...

My thanks again to Gem (who must beta every story that I read on - how the hell she does it is beyond me!) and Lemmypie for their assistance in making this a smoother story.

I own nothing, except a 'muscle car Impala' that's not even black. The idea is mine, the characters are not.

(Haven't given up on Holy Cross or Cahokia. With school out, and grades in, I'll have a touch more time. Promise! Thanks for all the nudges though. You make me smile!)

Happy Holidays everyone!

:D

Caroline

Chapter 2

The sobs were what woke him. Wet, heaving sobs. The pain in his heart was throbbing, bursting against his ribcage, causing Sam to hitch his breathing.

"Mom."

The strewn sheets were soaked with sweat and tears. Sam's stomach announced its role in the awakening as well, as he pitched over the bed and to the bathroom to throw up whatever was left from his non-existent dinner.

And then he noticed that Dean wasn't there.

Sam sat on the bathroom floor for what felt, to him, like hours, lost in his own oblivion. The tiles stretched from the floor up the wall halfway and were cool as he leaned his throbbing head back into them. Too much information had come at once. Too many emotions accompanied them. The only thing he could do was sit and let the tears fall. Let them wash over his features and pull the pain away. The numbness had taken over. Until his stomach lurched again.

And Dean still wasn't there.

The last of the spasms finally eased and he pulled himself unsteadily from the floor to the mirror. His mind started to play tricks on him, using the information that his mother had confessed about the demon. The reflection that stared back at him was not his own. He saw a tinge of yellow gracing his irises. Sam blinked quickly and realized it was an illusion; another piece of the cruel puzzle slowly fitting into place. He turned the water on high and splashed it on his face, hoping to wash away the truth. Everything that he now knew about his origins.

The demon had done something irrevocable to him; something wrong, long ago. Something he had no control over.

Sam dove back to the toilet as a new round of nausea hit.

He kneeled on the floor, praying for it to end. Praying it was all a dream. But he knew his mother had really come to him. Told him part of the burden his brother was carrying. For him. Again.

"Fuck you, Dad! You couldn't tell me the truth, but you could saddle Dean with it?"

Thoughts of the last moments he'd had with his father spilled into his consciousness and the guilt consumed him again, even through his new-found anger. The pit in his stomach grew as the fateful night filled his mind once again. The final words he'd had with John were spiteful, bitter, and he could never take them back.

Dad died thinking that I hate him. Maybe he would have talked to me if... Maybe he was afraid of me. He lied…Dean lied…

Sam had asked John if he knew what the Demon had meant when he said he had plans for him. His father lied - to his face - without batting an eye. Lied to both of them all those months. John knew something had happened with Mary. Her pleading words of fear about the man who offered the miracle must have come crashing down around him after her death.

Even if John didn't have all the details, he'd had a good idea that something started back in '83 and he'd refused to tell Sam or Dean what he knew. John went to Missouri and other hunters to figure it out, but never to his children to let them know; to alleviate their worries. To help them face the truth.

To tell them how to fight.

After the crash, John Winchester took the time in the hospital to make plans. Plans that certainly involved the Demon - to what end Sam wasn't sure. But it was clear that he wanted to shut Sam out of the process. Not wanting to cue Sam in to his possible path along the Demon Highway. Especially since Dean, at the time, was fighting for his life in the room down the hall.

Why didn't he trust me? Did he think I would turn on him? Did he think I wasn't his son anymore, once he learned the truth about me?

But he could tell Dean what he knew. And now, I have some of the pieces.

Sam fell back to the tub and leaned against it. Sweat pouring again down his face as exhaustion set in. His brain hurt from all the thoughts pummeling their way to the surface. His body ached from expelling all the liquids in his system. His heart ached as he thought of Mary and all she had been through to try and save her boys. His soul ached knowing the Dean was dealing with all of this, and he was shutting Sam out. He pulled his fingers through his long locks and left his hands atop his head.

Suddenly he was glad Dean wasn't here.

Sam wasn't sure how to tell him about this, because it was pretty clear that they didn't know the full story of the genesis of his existence; at least not from Mary's perspective.

And not what really happened that night in '83.

John knew the basics. Certainly he remembered Mary's frayed comments when she had learned the Demon was coming back. Did John actually know that Sam, while in the womb, had cured Dean's mysterious illness, according to the Demon's arrangement? If so, what kind of additional guilt would that bring to the mound of information Dean was already hauling around? And what did John find out after he started putting the facts together?

What am I?

Sam pulled himself from the floor, again, and turned the shower on. He looked at the water as it flowed from the tap, steam rising from the basin. The mist began to fill the room, clouding Sam's vision. Sam let himself get lost in it, watching it swirl about. He saw his mother's face, pure and pained. Filled with guilt of the choice she made.

How could I blame her? How could she have known?

He remembered the night in the cabin. The night he finally was face to face with the Demon. Taunting him, on the edge of the truth. Knowing that Sam didn't know who he was. What he was…

But his father did. And that made the torture that much more fun for the Demon. Letting John watch as he tormented his youngest. Flirting with the possibilities of the truth in Sammy's hands. Telling Sam with John's voice.

"Because they got in the way…"

"In the way of what?"

"My plans for you, Sammy. You, and all the children like you…"

"What plans?" Sam grabbed his head and pressed into his eyes. "Dad, what did you find out?"

The mist continued to fill the room. Sam breathed it in and the warm steam filled his lungs, oddly comforting him. He slowly stripped off his clinging, drenched shirt and boxers and stepped into the burning liquid, finding the blinding pain of heat apropos. He felt the stream run down his torso, raking lines of red. Sam stood in the shower and hoped the clear water would wash away the truth with each burning pass.

Time was lost. His mind was jumbled. It was too much to think about.

Eventually, the water turned cool and Sam broke himself from his self depreciation and turned the shower off. He stepped to the mat and grabbed the nearest towel, drying off and wrapping it around his waist.

The door to the bathroom opened. The chilled air struck a blow at him, causing him to shiver. As per normal routine, he ransacked his duffle and pulled out a t-shirt and jeans, quickly putting them on, still feeling the tender skin on his body from the blazing water. He ran a quick comb through his hair and paced the room.

Dean still did not show.

Sam looked at his phone, hoping that maybe he missed a call from his brother while he introduced his insides to the outside world. Nothing.

"It's Dean. He's in so much pain."

Mary's words came back at Sam once again as another stab of guilt rang through Sam's stomach. He didn't know what to do, where to start. How to get Dean through the devastating loss of their father. The loss of his innocence. Of his faith.

"You slap on a big, fake smile, but I can see right through it. Cause I know how you feel, Dean. Dad's dead, and he left a hole, and it hurts so bad you can't take it."

The hunt in Red Lodge, Montana, where they met Gordon Walker, the vampire hunter, came back to Sam with those words spoken. That was the first sign that Dean was not handling his father's death; the brutal, frightening way he killed the vampire on the dock. Well that, and the merciless beating of the Impala the week before.

Dean had taken to Gordon like a long-lost war buddy, swapping stories of gore and death. Hunting seemed to be the only thing that kept Dean occupied enough to get him through right now. Not Sam. Hunting. And everything related to it.

The pain from their father's loss had transformed into vengeance; and it didn't matter what supernatural thing got in the way.

And now Dean needed so badly for this Angela Mason mystery to be a real hunt; to distract, to justify. To forget.

Mary.

John.

"I told him I'd do anything; believe in anything to make Dean better. And he smiled at me..."

"Mom, I know how you feel. What do I do?" Sam spoke aloud, hoping her spirit was still near him. "This has gone from bad to worse. Dean is so lost. How do I make him whole again?" His eyes welled with tears again as he sat on the edge of the bed, head in hands.

Sam needed to stop thinking about this. He needed a way to get through to Dean. To get him to acknowledge their loss. Make him whole again. So they could both heal. Together.

But all the things his mother said came crashing back into his mind.

"Sam, I'm so sorry. I didn't…"

He closed his eyes to try and drive the knowledge away, but it kept coming; playing like an all-night movie.

"Mom, what are you saying? That I cured Dean? From the womb?"

Sam fisted his hands in his hair, trying to pull the thoughts from his brain.

"You kicked and punched something awful as soon as he looked at me. You knew something was wrong... Then everything came back to me and I started to panic. "

He screamed at the onslaught of images being thrown at him. The words from his mother coming full-force.

"Once you were born, he was so fiercely protective of you. He wouldn't let anything near you. Like you were connected from the start. Somehow…he just knew."

"Back in the hospital. I swear I felt him," Sam contemplated both his mother's words and his inner gut. He looked at his jeans, noticing a new rip. He picked at it, making it bigger. "It was Dean, before I knew he was trying to get through to me. The shattered glass? When he was dying on the table…"

"I said get back…"

Sam shivered, remembering the chill and the voice that he was certain was Dean's in that room as his brother flat-lined. Had he really heard it? Was Dean fighting the reaper then? Keeping it at bay?

"And now he doesn't want me anywhere near him…" Sam cried as he fell back onto the bed, his head pounding.

"Oh God, Dean. Why, man?" Sam lay there, trying to escape the torment. Trying to figure out how to fix Dean. Fix himself. Quell the overwhelming guilt inside. Kill that son of a bitch who ruined their lives. It was too much to take.

"Did he say anything to you, about anything?"

"No, nothing."

That was the other part that made this so hard: Dean had lied to him. He understood why - even if his mother hadn't laid everything out before him, he would have understood. Dean was still trying to protect him. Again. Kept all the pain for himself, refusing to share the burden of the truth. But, if he was honest, he knew it meant that Dean didn't fully trust him, either. Knew that if their positions were reversed, Dean would have been furious at being kept in the dark.

And Sam was angry. About that, about Dad lying, Dad dying - about so many things. But worry for Dean trumped every other emotion.

Sam couldn't take the ambush anymore. He leaned over and grabbed the remote, flipping the TV on to keep his mind from the overwhelming rush of information. Sam took a deep breath and pushed himself up on the bed. He wiped away the drying streams of tears from his face.

He stopped on the first channel and watched for a moment.

Lifetime Network was showing a mother with her children, playing happily, as a man stalked her from a fence on the other side of the park. Clicking quickly past that, he found a CNN discussion of the latest disaster in Iraq and the loss of lives. The images showed death and devastation, talking heads about the war. Experts in their field.

"Definitely not!"

ESPN had a clip on the Bears making it to the Superbowl, despite the blemishes on their once perfect record. The sportscasters were making their comparisons to the '85 Superbowl Champs, and how they also lost their undefeated record to the Miami Dolphins.

"I wasn't even two then. And Dean was…"

He quickly changed the channel again, finding Comedy Central. Their movie of the moment was Ghostbusters.

"Come on! Give me a break," Sam shouted at the TV hoping that something would catch his eye that didn't remind him of the tragedy of his life.

Disney was doing a special on the making of Bambi.

Flip. Infomercial on knives.

Flip. Billy Graham preaching about the evils of Satan.

Flip. Bonnie and Clyde on AMC.

Then he hit the Skin Channel. While this was certainly not up Sam's alley, it certainly stood to distract, and it didn't remind him of anything going on in his life. Dean's maybe…

"Next on the Skin Channel; Casa Erotica 4. A tale of two Latin beauties…"

As if on cue, the door opened. And there was Dean.

A night's worth of turmoil and worry hadn't completely dulled Sam's senses. Hunter instinct flew into high gear as he quickly shut the TV off, tossing the remote behind him, hoping Dean didn't see. It would be endless ribbing if he did.

Dean stepped in, clearly taken aback by his brother watching soft-core porn. He looked at Sam, who was nonchalant about the content of the screen, and looked back at the TV.

"Hey" Sam called, deciding it was best to play it cool until he could read his brother's temper. He got no reaction from Dean at all, other than an indication from his head towards the television. "What?"

The older man took a step forward, and then passed his younger sibling. "Awkward."

"Where the hell were you?" Sam shot back, hoping to move along and not dwell on his morning viewing habits, trying to keep himself from bringing up more contents of his empty stomach. He was nervous, not knowing which Dean had walked back through the door.

"I was working on my imaginary case," Dean replied with sarcasm dripping in his voice.

"Yeah, and?"

"Oh yeah, well, you were right. I didn't find much. Except Angela's boyfriend died last night. Slit his own throat, but you know that's normal. Oh, let's see what else. Oh, he was seeing Angela everywhere before he died." The tirade ended for a quick second. Just enough time to turn back to Sam and lay the final blow. "But you know I'm sure that's just me transferring my own feelings."

Ok, he's still angry. Tred lightly.

"Ok, I get it. I'm sorry. Maybe there is something going on here," Sam offered, trying to make the unsaid words between the two of them easier.

And then Dean erupted, throwing his coat to the chair. "Maybe?" Sam's head snapped at the anger in Dean's tone. "Sam, I know how to do my job despite what you might think."

Sam flinched at the harsh words, thinking where best to go with his thoughts.

Guess this isn't a good time to bring up Mom.

Sam's stomach clenched and he knew he had to smooth this over with Dean before it continued to spiral out of control. Admit to his mistake and move on to the next level of the hunt.

"We should check out the guy's apartment."

The peace offering.

Dean sat and took his boots off methodically. "I just came from there. Pile of dead plants just like the cemetery. Hell, dead goldfish too."

"So, unholy ground?"

"Maybe," Dean began moving towards one of the shelves, pulling a book – Angela's diary – from the surface. "I'm still not getting that powerful angry spirit vibe from Angela."

And they fell into rhythm once again. Ebbs and flows of conversation; putting pieces together. Realizing they had more people to talk to and places to go. It felt like 'Dean's case' would help glue them back together little by little.

Until they met with the 'girl's' father again, and everything went to hell.

Sam watched as his brother imploded right in front of him; yelling at Dr. Mason like a criminal for bringing his daughter back from the dead.

"What's dead should stay dead!"

The anger exuded from Dean's pores as the hatred of what he believed this man had done overcame him. Sam watched the horror unfold around him as he made a quick apology to the grieving man, praying he wouldn't call the police. He followed his brother from the home, scared out of his mind.

"Stop it, that's enough, okay. Enough!" Sam chased Dean down the street with his long strides, keeping pace with the anger of each step the elder made.

"Sam, I know what I'm doing."

"No, you don't. At all. Dean, I don't scare easy, but man, you're scaring the crap out of me." Dean refused to stop to look Sam in the eye so he continued to berate him as they hurried down the sidewalk.

"Don't be overdramatic, Sam."

"You're lucky this turned out to be a real case, cause if it wasn't you would have just found something else to kill." That stopped Dean in his tracks, wondering at his brother's tirade. Sam continued, "You're on edge. You're erratic; except for when you're hunting, cause then you're downright scary." Sam paused to take a breath and take in his brother's reaction, hoping that he was finally getting through. "You're tail-spinning, man, and you refuse to talk about it and you won't let me help you."

"I can take care of myself, thanks," Dean replied with a snark and started the stomping once again down the street.

"No, you can't. And you know what? You're the only one who thinks you should have to," Sam's voice was now desperate to get through to his brother.

"It's Dean. He's in so much pain." Mary's words rung through Sam's ears.

"You don't have to handle this on your own, Dean. No one can…"

"-Sam, if you bring up Dad's death one more time I swear," Dean threatened talking over his brother, fisting his hand, ready for another go at him.

Sam placed a gentle hand on Dean's shoulder, getting the man to stop marching down the street. "-Stop Dean, please, it's killing you. Please." Sam's brown eyes pierced into Dean as he continued. "We've already lost Dad. We've lost Mom." Sam paused slightly at her name. "I've lost Jessica. And now I'm going to lose you too?"

Dean's face betrayed him at the truth in the words. The loss they had endured. Sam watched his expression darken with every name checked off the list. Then Sam mentioned Dean's name and his demeanor returned to his cocky stance, all ground lost.

"We better get out of here before the cops come," Dean interrupted, sending Sam into an exacerbated sigh. "I hear you, okay? Yeah, I'm being an ass, and I'm sorry, but right now we got a freaking zombie running around and we need to figure out how to kill it."

And with that, the moment had passed. They were back to the hunt. Back to the Winchester way of life. Denial. Hiding emotion so profound, it had to claw its way from deep inside the soul.

All that Sam had worked for to get through to Dean was lost with a quick dismissal. He had him until he pushed too far, unveiling his fears of losing his brother.

And Sam knew the only way to broach the subject now was to wait it out. Wait until Dean was ready, or forced to be ready.

-o-o-o-o

The silence was deafening.

Sam sat in his familiar position in the passenger seat, wondering what to say. 'I'm sorry I didn't believe you about the hunt' didn't seem quite right. Sam knew he should have trusted Dean's instincts, but this hadn't been typical Dean. The drama at seeing their mother's grave had built another wall for his brother to hide behind. Another reminder of their father's death and their seemingly unending quest to kill the thing that was destroying their family – piece by piece.

More reason for Dean to hide away in his shell. More reasons for Sam to ache with his own grief and guilt. More ways to divide them.

The Demon would love how he was tearing them apart.

Sam thought he knew Dean; but now he was having doubts. Since the accident - since their father's death – this was not the same man he had been traveling around the country with. Saving people; hunting things.

This was a man broken. A man who was shutting down.

"He has so much…. John put so much on him, it wasn't fair."

The thoughts of the last several days were jumbled in Sam's mind. The secrets and lies that were spread between the Winchester men were like chasms. There seemed no good way to bring up what Sam now knew about their mother. Knew about himself. To share the burden and figure out the path they had to take. And as much as Sam wanted, needed, to talk to Dean about all of this, he knew he couldn't. Dean was still on edge and this would probably push him over.

He would have to wait. Wait for Dean.

As if on cue, the Chevy slowly rumbled to the side of the road. Sam looked to Dean who made no indication for the sudden stop. The older man got out of the car and milled about, finally settling on the edge of the hood. He sat there, perched. Waiting. Inviting his brother to talk. Sam got out of the car and wondered what brought the Impala to the standstill.

"I'm sorry." It was so gentle. So sincere. So pained. And Sam had no idea where this was going.

Sam stood in awe at his brother, "For what?" He shifted his feet beneath him as he hovered by the passenger door.

"The way I've been acting."

Sam came around the car and ambled to Dean's side after the apology dripped from his brother's lips. He sighed deeply, holding his broken wrist gently as he sat next to his brother, not sure the right words of comfort. So he waited. Waited for Dean.

"And for Dad."

For Dad? This was not what Sam was expecting. Was Dean going to tell him what their father had discovered about Sam? To finally let go the pain Dean was holding like a vice grip deep inside because of it? Finally tell him that he wasn't handling the death – at all?

Sam's heart was crushed at the defeated sound of his brother's voice. He waited, not wanting to push, learning from the last time. He was hoping to lift part of the weight from his brother's shoulders, so all he could do was wait. Sam knew how hard it was to get this far and he didn't want to scare Dean back into his shell.

"I mean, he was your dad too. And it's my fault that he's gone." Dean refused to look Sam in the eye, knowing that all conversation would halt.

"What are you talking about?"

"I know you've been thinking it; so have I. Doesn't take a genius to figure it out," Dean continued on, putting all the pieces together, and finally saying them out loud to the last of his family. "Back at the hospital, a full recovery. That was a miracle. Five minutes later Dad's dead and the Colt's gone."

There's that word again – miracle.

It was true, the exchange of souls had crossed Sam's mind. Finding his father, dead, splayed like a discarded piece of garbage, had been horrifying for Sam. Burned into his brain for eternity and then some. Fighting with him in his last moments. Never really suspecting they would be his last. Guilt consumed him. He had admitted as much to Dean several weeks prior.

And the timing . . . it was all so suspicious; Dean's miracle recovery - his second miracle - and John's death were just too coincidental to ignore. Dean was right and he knew it.

"Dean."

The confession poured out like water from a faucet; all Dean's thoughts and fears. Their father had died in place of Dean, for Dean, and it was ripping the eldest sibling apart.

"Dad's dead because of me. And that much I do know."

Sam was at a loss for words. He always considered himself empathic, but the grief that was rolling off his brother was overwhelming. Never had he felt emotion that strong from Dean. Never had he had so strong a connection with him to feel every wave.

Sorrow. Hatred. Fear. Betrayal.

Hopelessness.

"I never should have come back, Sam. It wasn't natural. And now look what's come of it." Dean voice cracked at every turn. The tears welled in his eyes as he struggled to make his confession through his frayed soul. Laying it out on the table after all this time of burying it deep inside.

"Your father…he's not here, Sam, I'm… not exactly sure where he is." Mary looked sadly at Sam, trying to convey the information. "I feel him sometimes, but…"

Sam watched as his brother crumbled. There was no way he could confess what his mother had told him about their father's whereabouts. Not when he put pieces together that John had died for him. How would he feel if he knew their parents had yet to be reunited?

The man Sam had come to revere, more so than anyone in his life, was just as human as the next person. Finally the emotional dam had broken to let the pain seep through. Sam wasn't sure if he could stick his finger in to stop the flood, and he certainly couldn't take a pick to the barrier with his additional knowledge.

"I was dead, and I should have stayed dead."

"What's dead should stay dead!" God, he's been saying that through this whole hunt. He equated himself to Angela coming back from the dead. And if he knows about Mom and what happened before I was born…

Sam's mind churned. How was he going to fix Dean with all this guilt? When would they become equals again in that he could trust Sam enough with all his thoughts and feelings?

When could he do the same for Dean?

"You wanted to know how I was feeling, well that's it. So tell me, what could you possibly say to make that alright."

And now, what could he say? Sam's life was constructed around saving Dean before he was even born – for some unknown purpose. A demonic purpose. Now their Father had died to save him. What could he say to make the pain go away?

Sam turned his face from his brother as a single tear melted down Dean's face. He stifled his own emotions, knowing there was nothing.

With that, he laid a gentle hand on his brother's shoulder to let him know that he was there. Always.