PART TWO

Sam stared holes in the back of his laptop screen. He would have preferred drilling them into Dean's skull but the coward was hiding behind said laptop, nonchalantly typing away while purposefully ignoring his brother. They'd had this discussion before, neither giving an inch in their stubbornness. It had been a week since Sam had come back from the dead, had been brought back by the Yellow Eyed Demon, and their dad... Sam still couldn't wrap his head around what he had seen that night, what had happened. His thoughts were just as convoluted as they had been six days earlier. And Dean wanted to go back on the hunt. But not the hunt, any hunt, a normal, run-off-the-mill job if that type of thing even existed anymore.

True, neither of them had been able to dig up a lead or even the faintest trace of Yellow Eyes or the demon that posed as their dad. Sam still refused to believe, to really believe the demon in their father's body could truly be what was left of their dad after a year in hell. Somehow the mighty John Winchester, meanest damn demon hunter in the States and bull-headed as they come, had always been larger than life to Sam. They'd fought tooth and nail over the most trivial things for the majority of Sam's teenage years and had been able to hurt each other like only family could but that didn't mean Sam didn't respect his old man, that he didn't think highly of his skills, sharp intellect and fierce, unbending heart. It was just his parental skills Sam doubted or his willingness to find compromises in a world that seemed much more grey than black and white. Hell certainly was no walk in the park; Sam had no illusions about the real deal being far worse than his wildest imagination but they were

talking about a man whose beloved wife had been slaughtered in her infant son's nursery by a demon, a demon who possessed him a year ago to kill his own son, the very demon he had so willingly followed in the graveyard in Wyoming. So how could Sam ever accept that his dad was in league with this demon ,was also a demon?--

Sam forced his thoughts back on track, fact was they didn't know where the demon, or demons, were or what they were up to. None of their intensive research over the past couple of days had turned up anything substantial. Of course Sam was having trouble concentrating which totally messed with his ability to research anything. He really wanted to stretch out on the couch and close his eyes, regroup. The last thing he felt up to, at least mentally, was heading off on another hunt. A stranger in his own skin, Sam hadn't figured out yet whether it was an after-effect of dying or of the power surge or maybe both. Furthermore, he felt exhausted, bone-deep exhausted. Dean, of course, insisted that his little brother was simply getting rusty from slacking around too much, that a good, old-fashioned hunt would bring him up to speed in no time. Sam wasn't so sure; he wasn't even sure if Dean believed his words himself. He rather suspected his big brother was so badly in need of a distraction from this hunt, the awkward conversations, the even more awkward silences when there were no conversations that he was willing to tackle any job presenting itself, lugging his brother along in his mad escape from his own thoughts. Yeah, Dean's mind was a scary place at the best of times. And now more so than ever.

Sam immediately snapped out of his thoughts as a hand waved inches from his face. His head whipped up and for the first time he realized that his older brother was snapping his fingers in front of Sam's eyes, and by the look on his face, not for the first time.

"Hey, Sammy. You totally zoned out on me." To Sam's surprise, Dean looked more concerned than miffed. "Is everything alright with you? You had that far-away look again. I swear you haven't heard a word I said."

"Huh?" Sam stared at him blankly.

"I was looking for a hunt, remember? That's what we do, hunt."

"I was just...," Sam began, then thought better of it. "Never mind."

"So, I discovered this possible job--"

"Dean," Sam hesitated. "Don't you think we have, I don't know, maybe bigger fish--"

"Sam," Dean warned, "don't go there. We have found zip, zilch, nada on either the Yellow Eyed Bastard or Dad yet. Not even Bobby heard so much as a breath about it from any hunter he's contacted. So, as long as you don't have any more leads worth pursuing, I suggest we do our job."

"Dean, I know how you're feeling, man."

"No, you really don't," Dean replied tersely, the temperature in the room seemingly dropping by a good dozen degrees.

"Then tell me," Sam pleaded.

The stone-cold look Dean gave him was enough to shut his brother up instantly. "There is nothing to talk about, Sammy. Leave it at that." He turned to the laptop again, busily scanning through files though Sam knew he wasn't really reading any of the things on the screen.

After a few minutes of chilly silence, Dean interjected with the most casual voice, "Here in Boston a guy swears up and down that he saw Batman pay the local mobster a visit. Batman, can you believe that?" He brother bounced with excitement.

"Dude..." Sam stared at Dean with exasperation. Anger flared inside him. Why couldn't Dean for the life of him approach any subject like the grown man and able hunter that he was? As soon as their lives became complicated--okay, more so than usual--his big brother tried to ignore the matter or run as fast as he could in the other direction. Sam hadn't even dared broach the subject that really burned a hole into his soul.

He had died. Dead. Gone. Apart from the Yellow Eyed Demon's involvement in his resurrection, what did that mean for him? Where had he been? These last few days were filled with confusion and doubts, and the only person who was strong enough to help him lift that burden, who could shed a light onto what exactly had happened to him, was studiously steering clear of any attempt at really talking. Instead Dean had grabbed Sam's computer when he'd refused to go look for alternative hunts. It didn't matter that Sam told him time and again that he didn't feel up to hunting yet; and maybe it wasn't even the actual cases Dean was searching for but a way to avoid the pink elephant giving its little-swan impression in the middle of Bobby's exceptional library.

-0-

Bobby leaned against the door jamb and stared into the living room. He wasn't trying for stealth—if one of the brothers would just look up they'd spot him right off the bat, arms crossed tight with disapproval. They were at it again. They couldn't be in the same room for more than five minutes without picking at each other.

But really, what the hell was Dean thinking? Neither Winchester was up to snuff yet. Going on a hunt in their current condition was just begging for trouble. Trouble that the boys didn't need to ask for since trouble seemed to have their number and was following them around like a puppy.

One of the phones in the kitchen trilled out and Bobby grudgingly pushed away from the wall. He had enough on his plate without someone trying to add another heaping helping. Snatching at the phone, Bobby snapped out his usual greeting, "Singer Salvage."

"Singer, it's Sears. I'm outside of Chicago and heard The Roadhouse went kablooie. What in the hell is going on, and in Nebraska no less?"

Eyes closed momentarily as Bobby identified the caller as Ed Sears. Everything about the guy was big. Big hands that handled knives like nobody's business. Big gut that announced his arrival in a room well before the rest of his body could be seen. And big mouth. The kind of booming voice that made Bobby's head ache even thinking about it.

Although right now, he didn't have to think about it. This wasn't a Memorex recording where he could turn down the volume. Loud, obnoxious, and abrasive was live and yelping in his ear.

Sighing loudly, Bobby tried to contain his irritation. Sears might have a big mouth but he also had a big heart and sounded genuinely concerned. "Yeah, Sears, you heard right. The Roadhouse is out of commission."

It was hard to keep up with the questions that burst out of Sears mouth like bullets spraying out of a machine gun. "And I talked to a few of the guys over here and we want you to coordinate our efforts, you know, with the demons that were let loose. You're got the expertise and your home base hasn't been blown up yet so what do you say?"

The gist of it seemed to be that Sears was making Bobby the go-to guy. Something about many of the hunters regarding Bobby as a good tactician and cordinator, especially when it came to demons. When the babble slowed from Sears' lips, Bobby's brain kicked into high gear. Focusing on that all important word. "What are you talking about. What demons? What have you heard?"

The voice on the other end of the line was vibrating with impatience. And with each word, the volume intensified. "Jesus, Singer, haven't you listened to a word I've said? The demons in Wyoming! Except now they aren't just in Wyoming, they're spreading through the whole country. And that youngest Winchester kid...heard something was going on with him. Maybe that he had something to do with it, too. Do you know where he is? I think maybe some hunters oughta talk to him."

"Listen to me, Sears, and listen to me good. The Winchesters don't know nothing about no damn demons. You leave them kids alone. If you can't put that notion out of your head, don't bother calling back here again. Now get out there and see what the other hunters are hearing. I can't coordinate nothin' unless you lazy sons of bitches give me some intel."

Sears was busy apologizing and making promises and then Bobby was barking out his goodbye and disconnecting the call.

Other hunters thought Sam had somehow had something to do with the events in Wyoming. The only people who knew Sam had been there were himself, Ellen, Dean and Sam and none of them had breathed a word of what had happened.

So it wasn't people who'd put that word out there, but something else. Something like the Yellow Eyed Demon probably. But for what possible reason?

Bobby didn't like how this whole thing was shaping up. A whole passel of demons escaped from hell at large. And he liked it even less that Dean and Sam were at the center of things.

Then there was one dark eyed demon wearing John Winchester like a prom suit and that image wouldn't leave Bobby's brain alone. Maybe John, or the thing masquerading as him, was trying to flush the boys out.

Damn Winchesters. Should've slammed the door on John the first time he showed up on his porch with two young boys in tow.

Raised voices pelted him from the living room, every bit as loud as Big Ed Sears. Bobby dragged a tired hand over his face before leaving the kitchen. He hoped the brothers didn't draw blood on each other. He'd dealt with enough drama for one day. Week. Month. Year.

-0-

Bobby had done his best to get the brothers to separate a while but Dean didn't feel like he could wait anymore. Something inside of him was telling him to move on, and take Sam with him.

Dean waited until he had Sam's full attention. Well at least until large, weary, blood shot eyes stared back at him from across Bobby's scarred kitchen table. That was about as good as he was going to get from Sam at this point but he'd take it. "Three people, Sammy. In Hungry Horse, Montana. I've never heard of deer trampling people. And three? No way. And no survivors. There's something to this. We need to check it out. "

Dean waited a beat for Sam's interest to kick in. His little brother never could resist a good mystery and he also loved animals. Maybe not deer, per se, but Sam was a tree hugger. This hunt should have been appealing to him on all sorts of fronts.

Instead of interest Dean was pretty sure Sam stifled a yawn. Ignoring the urge to snap his fingers or wave his hand in front of Sam's face, Dean channeled his Marine father's authoritative voice, "Sam, you following any of this?"

His brother's head bobbed up and down but Dean sensed it was more from route than actually responding. This apathy was severely straining Dean's nerves and he wanted, no needed, to get Sam out. If they just jumped into a job, Dean knew Sam would snap back.

It took Sam so long to reply, that Dean almost forget the question he'd asked. "Three people. Deer. Montana."

A face filled with exhaustion instead of curiousity stared back at Dean. Sam's voice dragged as well. Dean knew people who suffered catastrophic illness or injury oftentimes became clinically depressed and wondered what happened if a person died and came back to life...were they susceptible to depression? As far as Dean knew, Sam was in a catergory all by himself and no amount of research was going to help him find the answer. So he pressed on. Doing something had to be better than sitting around and looking at the walls. Getting Sam up and around, keeping him busy, might stave off the depression that threatened his brother.

Dean's eyes narrowed as he stared back at Sam. The kid was pale. Anemic looking. Not at all like normal. The fresh air and sunshine they'd find in Montana on this case would do his brother good.

Sam's lip threated a pout. If Sam stuck out that lower lip and blinked his eyes at Dean like he'd done when he was four years old, Dean was a goner. He needed to harden his heart. "The number of animal attacks in the past couple of days has surpassed the number in the whole previous year. It's weird, Sammy. Our kind of weird."

Sam dragged a hand tiredly through his hair and returned Dean's stare. "You mentioned deer. Any attacks by horses?"

Sam had asked an unprompted question. Maybe his interest had been captured after all. Dean refused to let out the smile threatening to split his lips. He needed Sam to buy into this hunt and he knew his brother well enough to know he would balk if pushed too hard. He'd seen it happen enough in the past. It used to really get his old man's goat, the way Sam could dig his heels in and refuse to budge.

His old man. Why was he thinking about his dad now? That was a subject that needed to stay locked up tight. Dean could only handle one crisis at a time and getting Sam moving in the right direction was taking everything he had right now. "No, I didn't read anything about horses. Why?"

With a slight shrug of his shoulders and an upward quirk of his lips, Sam answered, "Maybe the town might want to think about changing its name from Hungry Horse to Hungry Deer."

A joke. Not even a very funny one. Ordinarily Dean would have been amused. Sam had a sly sense of humor that usually tickled Dean's funny bone. But this time Dean's temper flared. "You think this is funny? People are dying. What the hell is wrong with you?"

The vehemonce of Dean's response took them both aback. Sam's eyes widened and blinked slowly at him, mouth working but not producing sound. Dean found himself on his feet and was thankful that the table separated them. He didn't like the way Sam cringed back as he rose to his feet. Like he might actually do Sam some violence.

Dean sank back into the hard backed chair and studied the scratches in the table's surface. He concentrated on steadying his breathing. A hand patted gently at his forearm and then withdrew. Concerned eyes peeked at Dean from beneath shaggy hair as he lifted his head. "What's this hunt to you? Why is this so important? You're talking about a more than 14 hour drive. Can't we just..." Sam's voice trailed off with the half shoulder shrug, the gesture replacing the rest of the thought. Sam was too damn tired to even bother to explain what he was thinking.

Rage surged past the concern, pushing Dean's heartrate up, increasing his respirations. He jumped back to his feet and found himself pacing across the worn tile floor. "Can't we just what, Sam? Hide out here at Bobby's and sleep the days away? The world isn't just going to stop and wait for us until we're ready. We need to get ourselves ready. Now. Before something worse happens."

He was so consumed by the need to move he didn't hear Sam approach him. Hands perched lightly on his shoulders, staying his movement. Dean wanted to shake them off but Sam's face was right in front of him, eyes moist and beseeching. "Can't we take a little time for ourselves? Maybe figure out what's going on? Yellow Eyes is still out there and then there's..." Sam swallowed nervously as Dean stared hard at him, daring him to say the name aloud. Sam's hands dropped from Dean's shoulders and he stepped back, wrapping his arms around his middle. "I can't think straight, Dean. I just need a little time."

Sam looked so vulnerable and lost, standing quietly. Waiting. Dean almost pulled the kid into a hug—Sam was the touchy-feely one and ever since Wyoming, Sam had stuck close—but something held Dean back. One of them had to remain clear headed and in control of their feelings.

Frustrated with both their current situation and the conversation, Dean's stomach tightened uncomfortably. He knew if he offered to do the hunt solo, that Sam would cave immediately. As much as he wanted to take charge, he couldn't browbeat Sam into submission. Not with his brother looking so forlorn.

Dean gave in to his urge to comfort Sam, hands latching on to his brother and drawing him near. Instantly his stomach calmed. "Do you trust me?" Teeth nervously sunk into his lower lip but Sam nodded his assent. "I swear, Sam, I'm not gonna let anything else happen to you. But we don't have the luxury of waiting. We need to jump back into the game. You with me?"

Sam's lower lip was chapped and near bleeding from his continued gnawing and his face was set in a deep frown, unhappy grooves carving into the sides of the face where the dimples should have been. Dean couldn't remember the last time Sam had smiled and it didn't look like the near future held much in the way of happiness for him either. Happiness was overrated. It was more important that they keep moving, that he keep Sam safe.

Curving his hand behind Sam's neck, Dean kneaded the taught muscles absently. When Sam's eyelids began to droop and his face grew lax, Dean stopped rubbing and patted him gently on the cheek. "Go get your stuff. You can sleep in the car."

A blank stare met his words. Dean gave Sam a light shove toward the door and felt the tension drain from his body as Sam moved into the living room and began gathering his things together.

It bothered Dean that Sam hadn't really argued that hard for staying. Hadn't really said much at all.

This trip to Montana was just the ticket to get them both back on target. That was the plan and despite the lurch his stomach gave, Dean was sticking with it.

-0-

Bobby's hand half lifted in acknowledgment as Dean gave a jaunty wave, the Impala spraying gravel in its wake.

This hunt in Montana had to be the worst idea ever but Bobby had held his tongue once he'd seen Dean's mind was made up. Sam, a pale shadow ghosting after Dean, remained quiet throughout the preparations for departure.

"You know this is a really bad idea, right?" Ellen's voice, deep and no nonsense, tickled his ear.

"Yup. Really bad idea. Even bad for a Winchester." Bobby tried for amusement but it fell flat before Ellen's searching eyes.

Ellen plowed on, heedless of Bobby's silent wish that she let the subject drop. "Then you probably already know that they're running. I don't know if it's running scared or just throwing themselves headlong into danger as a distraction but something lit a match to their keisters."

Resignation colored Bobby's sigh. Ellen wouldn't let this drop. Maybe he should have asked her to persuade the boys into staying. "I suppose I could've tied them up but that would only hold them for so long. Dean's itching to get back on the road and the one person who could've talked some sense into him is spinning off his axis. God, those two give me heartburn."

Ellen snorted in agreement. "I don't know which one of 'em is worse off. Dean won't talk about what happened—practically has denial stamped on his forehead—and Sam's still reeling from Cold Oak. And Wyoming. Poor kid forgot his own birthday. A pretty big one if you figure he almost didn't get to celebrate it."

Bobby was at a loss. If he'd had something on Azazel, or John, or even the demons that had escaped from the gate, Bobby could have persuaded the brothers to stay. But he had jack.

That's right, he had jack.

"It's 5 o'clock somewhere so let's go grab that bottle of Jack I've got tucked away. That beats standing around here worrying about them two blockheads." Maybe it was too early to start drinking, but damn it, Dean and Sam and their moods were driving Bobby to it.

Ellen linked her arm casually through Bobby's. "That's definitely the best offer I've had all day. Maybe we could play poker, too. I gotta start making some money if I ever want to open another bar."

The comment was supposed to be playful but with all of the loss—Ellen's livelihood, the patrons and her friends—it was a stark reminder of what they were all up against.