Disclaimer:I don't own Supernatural.

Dean woke feeling no more rested than when he went to bed. His dreams had been of memories that he didn't care to remember, and then he had to face another waking nightmare when Sam's absence once again sunk in.

He sat up and rolled his neck, the cracks removing some of the kinks that came from his twisting and turning throughout the night. Then, he stretched his arms high over his head. It felt wrong, being at Bobby's and getting a full night's sleep (restful or not) when Sam wasn't there. Sam could need him. Sam could be in trouble, and he had no way of knowing or helping.

They should have never let him leave Bobby's, false possibility of a bright future or not.

Feeling powerless was not something Dean enjoyed. He might as well go back in time to when he was four years old, standing in a hallway and watching flames and smoke spill out of Sam's nursery while their father yelled Mary's name. Only this time, he was more useless. At least back then, he'd been able to carry Sam out of the house and to safety.

He slipped into auto-pilot and got ready for the day before going downstairs, his bare feet barely feeling the chill of wooden floors clinging to the remnants of winter.

The smell of freshly brewed coffee was the first thing to greet him, filling the air with caffeinated promises that he had a feeling he would need plenty of for the coming days. Possibly weeks. This was another hunt, but it had a more important timeline than some of the others. They needed to find Sam before he really fucking lost it. They needed to hope that he hadn't already.

The second thing to greet him was a pair of grunted acknowledgments. John and Bobby already sat at the table with mugs of coffee that had likely been refilled a time or two. Judging by the dark circles under his eyes, Bobby had spent the night trying to dig up what he could. John's dark circles could have been from the same reason, but Dean suspected that, instead, his father had tried to sleep, but his sleep had been no better than Dean's.

"Caleb come up with anything?" Dean asked.

Bobby shrugged. "He did, but I'm not sure it'll be much use to us. Sam's last call was weeks ago. In Seattle."

"Okay," Dean said with a nod. "Seattle is a start. It's something we can work with."

"Maybe, but I went looking for the news stories around the time he would have been there. I think I have an idea of what he's been up to."

Bobby grabbed a stack of papers from his desk and put it on the table in front of John and Dean, fanning them out so that they overlapped, but the headlines were visible.

"If you look at them in order of the dates they were each published, they tell a pretty good story about what Sam's been up to," Bobby said. He pointed to the first one. "A group of kids that've been missing show up out of nowhere. Some of the kids can't identify the man who saved them, they had too much else goin' on to handle, but the ones that had clear enough heads to give descriptions describe someone who roughly matches Sam."

Bobby pointed to the next article. "Then, a bunch of old, supposedly abandoned buildings burn down within and around the city. The authorities label it as arson, not accidental."

Bobby pointed to the last article. "They find human remains in the buildings and identify them with dental records when the jaws are intact enough to allow it. They find pictures of the people the bodies are identified as and show them to the kids who were found, and the kids confirm that they saw them while they were in captivity."

"They're traffickers, aren't they?" Dean asked. "Sam is hunting traffickers and saving the kids they take."

"Looks like it," Bobby said. "The city called him a vigilante, but it doesn't look like they were able to figure out who, exactly, he was."

Dean laughed a bit. "He always did like Batman."

He didn't know why they got the costumes, but he supposed that his father might've felt guilty that they never got to dress up and participate in Halloween Trick-or-Treating or anything else like normal kids. Besides, in the start of November, the local secondhand shop had advertised a clearance sale on everything Halloween.

So, he got a Superman costume, and Sam got a Batman costume. Like the kids they were, they put the costumes on as soon as they could and wore them for the rest of the time they were in that town, whose name Dean would forget within the month after leaving. It was small and the only memorable part about it was the experiences they had there. The small taste of normal they got.

And that they were able to rent a house for once. It wasn't anything special, and had just barely enough room for a family to live in, but while they were in town, it was theirs. That was all that mattered.

When John went out, it was up to Sam and Dean, like always, to entertain themselves. Dean climbed onto the roof of the garage because he could, and Sam followed him.

Dean jumped off the roof because he was Superman, and it would take more than a jump from that height to hurt Superman. He could fly.

Then, Sam followed him. But Sam was Batman, and Batman couldn't fly. Had Dean really been Superman, he would have made it to Sam in time. He would have saved Sam from his fall. Would have saved Sam from the horrible snap of his wrist breaking.

But he didn't make it in time to catch Sam or break his fall

Sam yelled, but it quickly dissolved into wailing as he cradled his arm. Dean knelt beside him and coaxed him into letting him see the break. He looked up at Dean with wide, teary eyes.

He didn't ask Dean for help. He already trusted that Dean would make everything better without him having to say a word.

"Only he has real abilities," John said, pulling Dean from one of his fondest memories. "This is really bad, Dean. He's killing people. He's killing humans."

"He's killing humans that we told him weren't human. We kept telling him that traffickers are nothing more than monsters. Damn it, Dad. I knew we should've checked on him a long time ago. It was always just one more hunt first. That turned out well."

"I thought I was doing the right thing," John said. "Those leads we kept following? I thought they were for the demon with yellow eyes that's been bothering Sam for years now. I wanted to get rid of him. Keep him from messing with Sam any more than he already has. I'm guessing that all of those leads were a set-up, though."

"Which means what?" Dean asked.

John took a deep breath and closed his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose. "It means that the demon has its claws deeper in Sam than we thought. Who knows what it has him believing? What it has him working towards?"

Dean slumped in his seat, the weight of the world on his shoulders pressing him down. Sam was saving victims whose place he'd once been in, and there hadn't been anyone to save him before he was broken beyond repair. There was pride in that; it was admirable work. But there was also a sliver of terror logged in his heart because his dad was right. No matter how they worded or justified it, Sam was killing humans. From the looks of the articles, he was just beginning.

How many lives would he take before they caught up to him? Was he really under the demon's influence as much as John believed?

Dean ran a hand over his face, then through his hair. He felt like he was going to be sick.

John stood up. "I'm gonna need to borrow your library, Bobby. See what I can dig up on demons with yellow eyes and psychics."

"Course," Bobby said. "I'll call all the hunters I know and tell them to keep an eye out for Sam."

"Tell them to be careful. That Sam might be under demonic influence. That there might be a demon with him."

Bobby nodded. "This is one routine that I'll never get used to."

"It shouldn't be even be a routine," John said.

Dean agreed with that, and when John and Bobby left him alone at the table, he pulled out his phone and held it. He didn't flip it open or try to call Sam. He used to be so sure that Sam would always answer the call once he saw Dean's name on the caller ID.

Now, he wasn't so sure.

Sam's phone rang, making a racket as it vibrated against the wooden nightstand beside his bed.

"Are you going to answer it?"

Sam shrugged.

"It's Dean."

"I know that," Sam said. Dean was the only one who called him on a regular basis.

The man standing near the door blinked, eyes turning from grey to gold. Three years and Sam still didn't have a proper name for the demon on his shoulder (and it would be his luck to get a demon instead of an angel). "You always answer for him."

"I know that, too," Sam said. "But if they aren't chasing your false leads anymore, then he's calling because he wants answers. He'll want to track me or convince me to meet him so that he can lock me in a house or anywhere else that will let him keep me under twenty-four hour observation."

"You don't want that? Getting back to life with your big brother always there?"

"I'm doing good work, and I'm not sure that he'd understand that. Killing Liu was different. I don't know their names this time, and they've never done anything to me, but I kill them anyway in ways that aren't natural."

"And?"

"And I enjoy it," Sam said. "And if Dean knew that part, I'd be under lock and key for the rest of my life. If I have to make a choice, I choose to be the vigilante that the media calls me."

The demon walked over and put his hand on Sam's shoulder.

Sam resisted the urge to recoil away from the touch. Working with a demon didn't mean that he enjoyed the work or the demon, and having him present in a vessel was more unsettling than only having his voice in his head or his shadow lurking in corners. Added to that, he still didn't like being touched by those he didn't know well. His family was different. Bobby, Caleb, and Pastor Jim, too. None of them would want to hurt him.

The demon, well, Sam didn't know his end-game. He didn't know what he was gaining from helping him hunt and kill traffickers. He was a wildcard. An unknown.

"I'm proud of you," the demon said. "You might not see it now, but you're making the best choice that you can."

Sam nodded, the motion jerky and every muscle tensed to the point it hurt.

Dean would be so disappointed in him for working with a demon, for believing his words, and Sam wasn't sure that he could deal with that. Setting up an escape combined with the demon's plan to string John and Dean along with leads carefully planted on the opposite side of the country as them had been easy. Sam had one goal in mind and he worked to achieve it.

Dealing with the consequences to all the planning he went through for the sake of his own hunting career, that was something he brushed off. Something he locked in the back of his mind because he wasn't sure that he could still go through with it all if he gave those consequences too much thought.

His phone on the nightstand fell silent.

Dean flopped back onto his bed (his this time, not Sam's). All his calls had gone unanswered, and he'd spent all day trying. Without being able to explain how, he knew that Sam knew that they figured out he wasn't at Stanford. On the list of things he was running from, they must have shot to the top since he always used to answer when Dean called.

He wanted nothing more than to hear Sam on the other line so that he could yell at him until he understood how messed up it was to deceive his family and go hunt humans (and, yes, they were humans no matter how many times they told him otherwise). Demand that he explains why he felt that he couldn't trust his own family to help him with the mission he'd given himself (or that the demon had given him, but that was a situation that Dean wasn't ready to let himself think about yet).

Instead, he'd only been able to leave voicemails asking Sam to call him back. What was the use of a phone if one party refused to pick up?

There was a knock on the door before it opened and John's head peeked in. "Still no answers?"

"No," Dean said. "I swear he somehow knows that we know. He's always answered before, or at least sent me a message if he couldn't talk. Now? Nothing. No answer. No call back. Not even a single fucking message."

John entered and sat on the edge of Sam's bed. "You can try again tomorrow."

"Did you find anything useful?"

"Demons with yellow eyes are stronger than the average demon, from what I've found. They can withstand things that lesser demons can't, like standing on holy ground or contact with holy water. Makes it easier for them to fool hunters and blend in."

"And one of them is with Sam right now," Dean said. "That's just great."

"Whatever it wants with Sam, it can't be good. I'd even bet that the night Mary died, that demon was after Sam."

"Do you think she knew? That it was a demon, or that they existed at all?"

John shook his head. "No, she would've told me about the supernatural world if she knew about it, if only so that we would be able to keep you and Sam safe. She was just a worried mother in the wrong place at the wrong time, and the cost was her life."

They sat in silence for a while, and Dean swore he could feel the heat of that fire from all those years ago on his skin.

"Why would a demon want a psychic?" Dean asked. He loved his mother, but talking about her never became any easier. Nothing they did could save her now, but they could still save Sam if they figured out what was going on.

"Sam's strong, whether he wants to be or not. And psychics act as beacons for the supernatural. He's using Sam for something that he can't do himself, but I don't know what it could be. I do know that Sam isn't the only one, though. There have been other kids whose mothers died in a fire in their nursery on their six-month birthday."

"What?" Dean asked. "Why didn't you tell me that before?"

"I didn't want you to worry about Sam even more. Besides, I thought that we were following the yellow eyed demon's trail and that we could take care of him before he got the chance to use Sam."

"Yeah, I see that worked well."

"Now's not the time to get an attitude, Dean. Get some sleep and clear your head. Sam needs you as a hunter," John said.

He left without waiting for any response from Dean.

Dean stared at the ceiling. It'd been three years since he had the constant sound of Sam's breathing throughout the nights, but now the room felt especially empty and silent without it.

He used to be so sure that he was doing the right thing. He always made sure Sam didn't go to bed hungry. That he had clothes that fit and the school supplies he needed. Material needs had been easier to handle, and he could see the results of his efforts.

He never imagined that he would fail as many times as he had. He was afraid that he would never see the Sam who was a little boy in a Batman costume, looking up at him with wide eyes because his arm was broken and he trusted Dean to fix it.

Worse, he feared that innocent, trusting part of Sam was long gone, torn away and replaced with something twisted by demonic forces.

No, a restful sleep was not in his future.

Sam tossed and turned, cold sweat coating his skin and forcing him to shiver. He woke up, tangled in sheets, and got out of bed in the darkness of the middle of the night. He took deep breaths to calm his heart rate and splashed water on his face in the bathroom like it could wash away the Hell that still haunted him behind his eyes.

Was he still a bad person if he killed those who were wicked? Was his brand of justice leading him to Hell beside the other damned souls?

He kept his head down. He didn't want to look in the mirror when he sometimes saw yellow eyes staring back at him.

He didn't bother lying down again. Instead, he sat with his back against the headboard and turned the little TV on. All he could find were infomercials about products he never planned on using, but it was better than being shrouded in silence with only the voices that made their home in his head around to interrupt it.

He went over his research again, blueprints of buildings no longer believed to be used and article upon article documenting cases of missing persons, some of which had been missing for a decade or longer. Those ones were beyond his help, long gone and hidden somewhere he would never find them. While he was supposed to wait a few more days before he made his move—strike the night before another auction was held—he wanted to make his move now. He knew how afraid those about to be auctioned had to be. He remembered how afraid he had been throughout his experience of being trafficked.

As much as he didn't want anyone to spend another minute afraid and alone while their captors readied to collect a check at their expense, he knew that preparation was key. If the demon taught him anything, it was to prepare for the long-term, not let the short-term blind him. That led to mistakes that couldn't be easily fixed.

He looked at his phone on his nightstand. Maybe it was time to let Dean help him. He wanted to help trafficking victims, but it felt wrong to be working with a demon. He felt something inside him becoming more and more twisted with each life he took. His dad would be so disappointed in him. Hadn't he been raised better than to work with the demon who killed his mother? Shouldn't he be a little warier? Shouldn't he question the demon's words and commands?

Dean would talk him out of it. He would beat some sense into his head. Show him what was right and wrong. Remind him who he really was at heart, without anything influencing him, because he couldn't remember.

He grabbed his phone and flipped it over and over in his hands. Maybe it was time to call Dean and let himself be tracked. Maybe it was time to just hear Dean's voice again, to be honest with him now that they knew he wasn't at Stanford. As if he could've been accepted given his academic history. It wasn't like homeschooling with Bobby had focused on a rounded curriculum; he'd opted to spend most of his time researching hunts for hunters and learning ancient history and languages with Bobby.

With a sigh, he set his phone aside again. Maybe another day, he would find the courage to face whatever his family had to say about his deceptions. About how he lied to them and ran off, following the instructions of a creature said to be pure evil.

But today was not that day.

Author's Note: Well, Sam is up to no good and Dean is not much closer to finding him. Thank you to all of you who have reviewed, followed, and favorited already! I've decided to try out chapters that are a little shorter than in Becoming Human in an attempt to put out faster updates. If I have a long chapter, I have a long chapter. If I have a chapter that's a bit shorter, I have a chapter that's a bit shorter. No big deal.

Please leave a review before you go!