Warnings: Spoilers—always. Exposition heavy—not my favorite to write but every story needs it.

Part 3

Lander, Wyoming, 2006

"We're going with my friends to the cabin." Sam tossed his jacket at the bed and wasn't gentle when he kicked his foot back to shut the hotel room door behind him.

Dean—sprawled fully clothed on the far bed with the TV turned low as it rolled through a showing of Goonies—came instantly awake, sliding the knife back under his pillow when he registered Sam's voice. True to form, once fully awake, Dean didn't have to backtrack much to catch up with what his brother was saying. "What? Wait—why?" he asked.

Appraising him, Sam decided Dean wasn't looking as pale as before. He let the knot that had settled in his stomach when Dean had walked out of the restaurant alone untwist a little. Felt himself begin to breathe easier. Felt the tension in the muscles lining his spine ease with being back in Dean's company.

He kicked out a chair from the room's tiny table and sat, drawing the bag with his laptop closer while he did so, then answered Dean's question. "Well, according to Charlie, part of their little 'vacation' includes a night hike into 'Ghost Canyon' which is apparently what the locals are calling Sinks' south fork these days."

Dean was looking around himself for the remote control. Finding it, he clicked the TV off. Sam watched carefully as Dean rolled his shoulders, wincing minutely when his brother cracked his neck to both sides, ridding himself from the stiffness of his nap.

And Sam waited, knowing Dean would have something to say about his friends' planned excursion.

Sure enough, Dean drew in his eyebrows and opened his mouth, "They're going ghost hunting? I thought these were kids from Stanford?"

"Meaning?"

"Meaning they should be too intellectual and stuffy to do stuff like that."

Sam grimaced. "Maybe regularly. This week they're just a bunch of college buddies looking to spend time together and maybe find a few thrills."

"I repeat—what kind of friends are you hanging out with?"

Sam ignored that. He popped open his laptop and waited for the internet connection. "And get this—Charlie told me two of the missing hikers have been found."

"Dead or alive?"

"Alive. I somehow missed it when I was reading about it before." Sam called up the articles he'd read in Nebraska then opened a new window for the updated articles he'd missed as he swung the face of the computer toward Dean. "Searchers found one of them hiking on the same trail he disappeared from after three days of searching for him—guy couldn't remember a thing and, in fact, thought it was the same day as when he went missing. He was dehydrated and malnourished but said he couldn't remember anything about what happened. He told searchers he thought his friends had just left him behind because he was hiking too slow and that he was trying to catch up to them."

Dean frowned. "Sounds like an alien abduction."

"Dean," Sam moaned dismissively in a please-be-serious voice.

"Hey—if ghosts are real."

Arguing was pointless. Sam moved on. "That guy was the third hiker. The second hiker was found unconscious in the middle of the same trail she disappeared from—which wasn't far from where the guy went missing. She was carried out on a stretcher. Doctors couldn't find anything wrong with her and she woke up in the hospital two days later not remembering anything."

Dean appeared more serious now. "What about the first hiker?"

"Addison Wright. They still haven't found her. The only difference I can see is she's a local—the other two were from out-of-state. And, if the information is accurate, she didn't disappear in quite the same spot."

"The two survivors still around?" Dean came closer, kicking another chair out from the table to sit with Sam, peering at the article titled Hikers Blame Ghosts for Missing Friend. The title was clearly meant more to get attention than to indicate actual belief in ghosts but—

"I don't know—probably all gone back home, but I figure we could do a Search and Rescue impersonation. Get their information, try to call 'em."

"Good idea." Dean didn't look at him. He was reading. "Says here the group was hiking on the trail when fog rolled through the canyon—when it rolled back out, their friend wasn't with them anymore." Dean sort of half snorted. "Sounds pretty Casper-like to me, but I'm not ruling out little green men."

Sam gave his brother the obligatory eye roll when Dean glanced up for his reaction. "Oh, and Jack says the local library is just a few blocks from the Lodge—we can hit it tomorrow, see if there's any local information on the canyon or whatever."

Dean nodded but still didn't look at him, evidently engrossed in another article.

Sam watched his face for a long moment—hesitating. "Dean? Do you remember when we were here before—the ghost dad was hunting here ten years ago?"

Dean punched something on the keyboard and glanced at Sam absently. "Yeah, a little, why?"

Sam faltered, feeling nervous for no reason he could explain. "I just wonder if maybe all the stuff going on now is related."

Dean didn't even look at him to dismiss the thought. "Couldn't be, Sam. First, Dad killed that ghost. Second, back then we were dealing with a haunted cabin—a haunted cabin in the north fork. These disappearances have nothing to do with a cabin—and they all took place in the south fork… all on the same general trail it looks like."

"Right," agreed Sam, sucking his cheek into his teeth a moment before pushing forward, "—but don't you think there're some similarities?"

"Like what?"

"The victims for one—the girl being in a coma and then just… waking up." Sam swallowed, his mouth dry—was he imagining things or had his voice shook?

"Exactly, Sam—she woke up. Dad went to investigate back then because nobody woke up. People were dying."

"You did."

Dean looked up from the computer—straight at him—expression slightly surprised, as if Sam wasn't supposed to remember anything bad happening to Dean—ever. As though Sam could have forgotten the eternity he'd waited just to see Dean twitch.

Sam looked down. He scratched his thumbnail across the table top. "We should at least check Dad's journal—see if it could be related somehow," he tempered, trying to turn his voice into confidently gentle. Unsure about what Dean even remembered of that time.

"I don't think there's much in the journal on that, but I'll look." Dean was switching off the computer—apparently having gotten over his surprise of Sam's good memory—sounding annoyingly unmoved. "In the meantime," Dean told him, pushing the computer away from himself, "you should get some sleep. When do your friends think we're joining them?"

"Charlie gave me directions to the cabin. Told 'em we'd see 'em tomorrow. We can hit the library first. And you should eat."

For some reason, Sam was relieved to see Dean smile.

"I'll eat if you sleep," Dean said, pulling the to-go boxes toward him, opening one with a cautious sniff.

Complying, Sam moved toward the bathroom, grabbing the pants he planned to sleep in as he went. He was just about to close the door when Dean called to him, "Hey, you're not going to get all broody about being back with the Stanford crowd, are you?" Dean sounded a touch irritated but Sam had long since learned to translate that into concerned.

"Nah," he waved a hand absently. "I mean, I can't promise I won't get a little nostalgic but—"

"You won't run away to join a traveling law school in the middle of the night?"

"I promise," Sam grinned, lingering in the doorway for an extra second. If Dean's comment didn't say it all about their family he didn't know what did.

Jack drove Charlie and his friends the final leg to the cabin in the large white twelve passenger van their parents left there year round. The same van Jack had driven to pick them up when the small plane they'd arrived in landed in Cheyenne. Charlie was actually surprised Jack had made the effort, because even though Jack was currently staying at the cabin, he could have easily sent someone—a driver—or had Charlie charter a driving service, rent a car, anything.

He hadn't had to do it himself.

Not that Charlie didn't think his brother capable of such niceties—it just seemed impractical and unnecessary. Two things he didn't think his older brother indulged in.

Jack was alright as brothers went. Truthfully, Charlie didn't have another to compare him to. And though Jack joked with him and occasionally teased him like an older brother should, there was formality and distance there that had always existed in their family. A formality and distance Jack seemed to embrace.

Charlie struggled with the concept a bit more—figuring, in that respect, he was the black sheep of the family.

It wasn't bad. He'd just always wished he had a bit more of an actual relationship with his brother.

That night, he'd felt a little jealous—watching Sam with his brother when they'd first run into them. They seemed close. Charlie had always thought it was a good thing—what Dean had done for Sam after Jess's death—picking him up from Stanford, taking him on the road to help him get away from it all.

It was a horrid thought, but Charlie wondered what kind of support he'd get from his own family if Donna was ever taken away from him like that—wondered what would have happened if it had been Donna in a fire instead of Jess.

Would Jack have driven—or flown—cross country to stand with him at the funeral? Would he have dropped everything to take his baby brother on a road trip so he could heal and forget?

Charlie blinked, recognizing his thoughts as silly—maybe even as needy and insecure. He looked down at Donna's black hair where her head rested on his shoulder. Don't borrow trouble, he superstitiously told himself.

He didn't know what he'd do if something happened to Donna. They'd been friends nearly a year before he decided he liked her—and by then she'd been dating Blake. After that he'd had to wait a respectfully appropriate amount of time after their brake up to even give it a try—not wanting to be the rebound guy, and not wanting to upset their little circle of friends by causing conflict. Not wanting to upset their circle of friends by not trying to stay friends with both of them.

And finally, he'd had to woo her—a long six-month process designed to convince her that dating would not ruin their fabulous friendship.

Sam and Jess both had helped in that process—Jess excited with every endeavor, reminding him repeatedly, "You two are perfect for each other—she'll figure it out soon enough."

Charlie was sorry for what happened to Jess. She'd been a good friend. He missed her. But he shuddered at the idea of she and Donna switching places.

"That was so weird seeing Sam again."

Charlie looked behind him to see who had broken the van's silence. Garrett. Garrett had spoken.

"Definitely!" joined Sara, as though she'd been waiting for someone else to bring it up. "Incredibly weird! He looked pretty good though."

"I can't believe he's still just traveling around with his brother," said Blake. "I mean—you'd think he'd be over everything by now."

Charlie heard a thump and whoosh of breath and didn't have to look to know Sara had just smacked the back of her hand into Blake's stomach.

"I'm sorry, Sara. I'm not trying to be insensitive. I miss Jess too, and I know she and Sam were really in love… but it's been like months, and he's still just road tripping with his brother?"

Donna sat up straight, shifting away from Charlie to turn sideways and join the conversation. "He lost, like, the love of his life, Blake. What is it you think he's supposed to be doing?"

"Getting his butt back to school," Blake answered. "I mean—no way would Jess have wanted this for him. And if his big brother is supposed to be taking him on this road trip to help him get over it—he can't be doing a very good job."

"Yeah," said Kim. "What did you guys think of his brother?"

"What do you mean?" asked Garrett.

"Well—he seemed a little controlling, didn't he?"

"What?" Charlie was fully into the conversation now, wondering how Kim came up with these ideas. Her viewpoints regarding Sam were always suspect in his mind. Mainly because she'd always had a thing for Sam, which the rest of them recognized—possible exception of Sam aside—but didn't talk about. She'd tried better to hide it once Sam had started dating Jess, but sometimes—like now—Charlie could tell the crush was still there.

"I don't know," Kim answered. "Just the way Sam was like afraid to be away from him… like he couldn't spend one evening out with anyone else. And his brother didn't look that sick to me."

Charlie met Jack's eyes in the rearview mirror. He wasn't an expert on what made a person look sick, but he'd bought Sam's story about Dean having been ill. He knew his brother had too.

"You're reaching, Kim." Donna liked Kim—considered her one of her close friends but that never stopped her from telling the truth. Donna was unfailingly blunt. Though it grated on others who saw it as a character flaw, it was one of the things Charlie liked most about her.

"Yeah," agreed Charlie. "What are you even basing that on? His brother seemed pretty open to the idea of Sam eating with us. He's the one that told Sam to eat with us."

Kim brushed a stray curl behind her ear. "All I'm saying is Blake could be right. If his big brother is supposed to be helping him, why hasn't he? I mean why is Sam still out on the road instead of trying to get back into Stanford? He's too good to waste his life like that."

"I don't think spending time with your family after a loss like that is wasteful," Charlie defended. "If something like that happened to me I don't think I'd just be able to forget it and move on—and it'd be nice if my family were around to help me." A small silence followed his declaration and he felt suddenly silly for voicing the random thoughts that had been racing through his brain earlier—felt even sillier when his eyes again met Jack's in the rearview mirror.

He dropped his gaze away, glad it was too dark for his brother to see his slightly embarrassed blush.

Their family wasn't real big on being needed or being… there for each other. They were all for honor and study and hard work but warm and affectionate—not so much. Even if he died he wasn't all that sure anyone would be able to reach his parents wherever they were in Europe. If his girlfriend died he'd probably end up getting a generic card from them six months after the fact—if they mentioned it at all.

"I don't think it's wasteful either," said Donna, leaning into him again. "Besides, his brother was way cute."

"Hey!" Charlie protested, knowing she was baiting him but unable to resist.

"Not as cute as you," she laughed, seemingly glad she'd got a rise out of him.

Charlie almost thought the conversation was over, but Kim wasn't finished. "I'm not knocking the gesture, Charlie, I'm knocking the timing—the fact that Dean still has him out traveling the road. And, by the way, Dean came to get Sam before Jess died."

"What? When?"

"The weekend before the fire," Kim informed. "Jess called to talk. She was worried. She told me Sam's brother had shown up unexpectedly and that Sam had left with him for the weekend because of some family emergency. She was worried because Sam didn't seem too happy to see him and was really evasive when Jess tried to get the details."

That was nothing out of the ordinary, thought Charlie. Sam had always been evasive about his family.

Kim cleared her throat and kept going, "Jess thought his brother might be trouble—which I think he might be. I mean you guys know how little Sam ever talked about his family. There has to be a reason for that and I can't think of anything good."

"She's right," Garrett piped in. "When Sam was going to interview for that scholarship he acted like his family couldn't have cared less. Which is just—bizarre. There had to have been something going on there."

"If Dean was such trouble—why did Sam leave with him?" asked Charlie. "Sam's not stupid."

"Jess said something about Sam's dad being missing—on a hunting trip. His brother wanted Sam to help look for him." It was Blake, not Kim, now doing the informing. Several questioning eyes turned in his direction. "She called me that weekend too."

"He didn't look like trouble to me," said Sara. "Besides, Sam was back with Jess when the fire started. He's the one that called 911, so his weekend trip with his brother was obviously over. Dean probably just turned around and came back when he heard what happened."

They processed that and, for a minute, the car returned to silence.

"Hey." It was Garrett again who broke the quiet. "Wasn't the guy who killed Zack's girlfriend in St. Louis named Winchester?"

"Oh, now what are you saying? Sam's brother is a murderer?" Charlie looked back in time to see Sara roll her eyes at the end of the comment.

"No," answered Garrett. "But wasn't it?"

Donna shook her head. "I don't think Rebecca ever said the name of the guy who did it."

"Maybe not, but I think I remember the suspect was a Winchester."

"You guys are mental," said Charlie. "Zack e-mailed me when he got out of jail and said the real killer was shot trying to break back into his and Rebecca's house. Whether he was a Winchester or not—the guy is dead and clearly has nothing to do with Sam or his brother."

That seemed to silence everyone.

"Well," said Kim. "They're both joining us tomorrow. I guess we'll find out more about his brother then."

Outside Lander, Wyoming, 1996

As his numb skin continued its thaw—for want of a better word—Dean started to realize how much he ached. He was almost grateful Sam's heavy head was deadening his right arm—making it the one appendage with nerve endings that remained relatively dull and that felt no pain at all.

He wished for a minute that he truly was unconscious, or at least able to put his mind at rest enough to sleep through some of this. But his awareness—and the still amplified sensation of sound prevented it.

Next to him, Sammy's loud but even breathing told him his little brother had fallen asleep. Which Dean was glad about… until he heard the scratching on the door.

Scratching!

A thousand possible supernatural sources for the sound screamed through his head.

Next to him, Sammy sat bolt upright.

Dean racked his mind in frustration. He sent a thousand commands from brain to body to just move but nothing happened.

The bed shook—he felt Sammy lean across him for the twenty-two. He heard clicks and clacks as Sammy banged it against the wood nightstand and cocked it. Damn, why couldn't he just move? His father never should have left—not with Dean unable to protect his little brother from whatever may be out there in the dark.

Then he heard the voice. "Sammy, open the door, it's me."

"Codeword," yelled Sam, bed shifting as he slid off it.

Good boy, Sammy, Dean thought.

"Joni loves Chachi," came his father's tired voice. If Dean could have laughed he would have. His dad had only himself to blame—he'd let Sammy pick it.

His brother shuffled forward and the bolt clicked as it slid back—door creaking as it opened. He could tell his father was carrying things—from the shuffling sound of bags to the shift in his walk, Dean sensed he was weighted down. There was more shifting as Sammy presumably took some of the items from his father, thumping them on the dresser where the TV sat.

It wasn't long before his dad's large hand settled on Dean's head—then shifted to his chest. Dean had been expecting both touches—had been inwardly cringing, expecting the heavy hand to amplify the body aches where it connected with his skin. To his awe, it didn't. The pressure, first on his forehead, eased the strain building behind his eyes—the subsequent contact with his breastbone pushing back the tingling ache that had started pulsing through him with each beat of his heart.

When the hand left him, he wanted to tell his father to put it back.

"How's he doing, sport?" his dad's voice echoed over him, abnormally loud.

"He hasn't moved."

"Made any sound?"

Dean couldn't hear Sam's answer and assumed Sammy had just shook his head.

"You said he'd wake up soon."

"It won't be immediate, Sammy, but he will, okay?"

Silence.

"He'll be fine. Okay?"

"Okay," Sam finally answered. And Dean thought his little brother sounded younger than he'd sounded in a long long time.

tbc

Again, thank you for the encouraging reviews.