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Chapter 3

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The job had taken longer than either Dean or Bobby had thought it would, but it was over now, and they were on their way home. Bobby was asleep in the passenger seat, and Dean had the window rolled down, enjoying the warm air whipping through the car.

Dean had called every day and been relieved and pleased that Sam had seemed completely content with Adam's company. Adam had had few questions, but had seemed happy enough with the situation himself, laughingly telling stories on Sam and his own missteps.

For Dean, the pleasure of working a job with someone else had been welcome. He hadn't done that in a while; Dad's disappearance and death had made the few jobs he'd done in the last year solo hunts. Having Bobby there to bounce ideas off of and to watch his back had made the job seem like a cakewalk.

He'd needed that.

Because as much as he loved Sam and, really, taking care of his little brother, there were times when Dean felt, well, trapped; tied, at 29 to a child who would never grow up, would always need to be taken care of, would never be able to live life on his own. Dean didn't begrudge Sam that care – he didn't. But a break from that task every once in a while was a relief. It energized Dean to realize that he was headed back to Sam eager to see his little brother, having missed him.

When his phone rang, Dean thumbed it open without taking his eyes off the road. "Yeah?"

There was silence on the other end, broken by the sound of uneven breathing. "Hello?" Dean felt his heart start to trip, and he tucked the phone under his chin, rolling up the window to his left. "Sam?" Because who else would have called him? "Adam?"

"D- Dean?"

"Adam?"

Beside him, Bobby stirred, eyes cracking open at him.

"D- Dean. I- I'm sorry. I didn't… He took him. He took Sammy, and I don't…." Adam's voice was slurred, and it sounded disturbingly like the kid was crying.

"Who took Sam, Adam?"

"I- I don't know. He said his name was Nick. He asked for Sam, but Sam…." Adam broke off with a gasp, a muffled groan reaching Dean.

Across the panic about Sam, Dean realized that there was something wrong with Adam. "Adam," he said sharply. "Are you hurt?"

Bobby was sitting up now, leaning toward Dean, his own phone in his hand.

"My head," Adam managed. "I- I hit the television. I can't… my arm…." he trailed off. Then, "Sammy. He tried… He said 'no.' He kept saying 'no.'"

"OK, kiddo, OK," Dean tried to soothe. In spite of his own growing panic, Dean knew he needed to get Adam calmed down. "We're on our way, alright? Bobby's calling an ambulance for you." Dean could hear Bobby talking urgently to the 911 operator he'd reached.

"Dean." It was a sob on the other end of the line, and Dean felt his heart clench.

"We're coming, Adam. We're on our way."

xxxx

Dean and Bobby went straight to the hospital. They found Adam already bandaged and drugged and ensconced in a bed. Sheriff Mills was waiting for them outside Adam's room.

"What the hell happened?" Dean demanded of the sheriff. He stopped to speak with her, but his eyes went to still figure in the bed.

The sheriff shook her head, following Dean when he moved abruptly into the room, headed for his brother. Bobby trailed after them. "Damned if I know," she said. "Your boy here – Adam?" she questioned Bobby, Dean now intent on Adam, "says this guy Nick showed up at the front door asking for Sam and that when Sam freaked out after seeing him, the guy took him."

"How bad is he?" Dean asked her. Adam had a bandage around his head and a cast on one arm.

"Doctor says he'll heal up just fine. But it'll take some time."

Dean nodded, reaching out a hand to push Adam's bangs out of his face. God, he looked so young.

"What about Sam?" Dean pivoted to the sheriff.

"We're doing what we can, Dean," she said. "But we don't know anything about this Nick guy. Who is he?"

Dean looked at Bobby, who shook his head. "We don't know any Nick."

"Could Sam know him on his own? According to Adam, Sam knew who he was."

"We don't know a Nick," Dean bit out. "I know who Sam knows. And there's no Nick."

Sheriff Mills watched him unhappily. "Dean."

"There's. No. Nick." Dean didn't know how to get her to believe him. Sam went where he went. Or where Bobby went. He didn't go places on his own. He didn't have access to the Internet. Sam didn't meet or interact with people outside of the presence of Dean or Bobby. There wasn't a particular reason for that – it was just the way their lives worked.

"OK," the sheriff agreed reluctantly. "But that gets us nowhere. We're looking for fingerprints or anything else that will give us a lead, but…."

"Yeah," Dean said.

xxxx

They brought Adam to Bobby's after he was released from the hospital, and somehow the kid had managed to convince Dean not to tell his mother about the incident.

"She'll make me go home, Dean. She won't let me stay. I can't… I can't leave until we know about Sammy, man. Please. Please don't make me go." Adam's voice had broken while he'd begged, messed up on pain killers and guilt and grief. And Dean hadn't had the heart or the energy to fight him on it.

It had been almost three days, and they had nothing. There'd been no fingerprints or any other sort of evidence left at the house to point them in a particular direction. Adam had flipped through pages of mug shots Sheriff Mills has brought by, just in case. But he'd seen no one that looked like the Nick who had knocked on their door that day.

After Adam had woken up and told them about being thrown across the room, neither Dean nor Bobby had held out any hope that traditional police work was going to do them any good anyway.

They were sitting in Bobby's front room, Bobby at his desk, Dean in one of the chairs, Adam on the floor leaning against Dean's chair, absently rubbing Rummel's stomach. They'd been out all day, trying to track down where Sam might have been taken—driving from town to town, showing Sam's picture at hotels and diners and stores—but they'd gotten nowhere. Dean could feel the frustration and the fear screaming though his nerve endings, urging him to do something. But there was nothing to do. They had no idea what had taken Sam.

Dean sighed, rubbing a hand over his eyes. When he looked over at Bobby, he saw that the older man was watching him. Dean cocked an eyebrow at him.

What?

Face troubled, Bobby squinted at Dean. "It could be a demon," he said. He pulled off his hat and scrubbed a hand over his head.

"A demon?" Dean asked, heart in his throat. "But."

Dean had encountered exactly one demon in all his years of hunting. It had been his first hunt as primary back-up for his father.

xxxx

As a graduation present, Dad had promised Dean a real hunt.

Dean had helped his Dad with hunts before – short trips, salt and burns. Nothing that Dad hadn't already researched and planned out completely; nothing that had involved leaving Sam overnight.

This time, though, Dad had said that Dean could be involved start to finish—tracking down the hunt itself, research, strategy, execution. Dean could barely concentrate enough to get through finals he was so excited.

When the time came, Bobby agreed to watch 14-year-old Sam for the duration, and while Dean was uncertain about leaving his brother for the first time in their lives, he was also over the moon about the chance to prove himself to his father.

Sam flipped out. Although not in the way Dean had expected—not with temper tantrums or sulking. In fact, on the surface Sam was remarkably fine with the whole thing. He was as uncertain as Dean at the thought of Dean not being there; but he was happy, too. Because he knew Dean was happy.

Subconsciously, though….

The night before they left Sam woke the house with the worst nightmare he'd ever had, terrified and inconsolable. He was sleeping with Dean, unwilling to be separated in the hours leading up to Dean's trip, and Dean hadn't had the heart (or the desire) to make the kid sleep on his own. Sam's shrieks almost gave Dean a heart attack, ringing in Dean's ears, screaming sobs of "nonononononono" accompanied by flying fists and kicking legs.

By the time Dean got Sammy's flailing limbs contained, the screams had changed to muffled sobbing until eventually, with Dad standing over the bed, gun drawn and barking demands to know what in the hell was going on, Sam subsided, though he was still crying and clinging to his brother. Sam wouldn't say anything other than mumbled, repeated no's when asked what was wrong. And then, surprisingly, he dropped immediately back into a deep sleep, his grip on Dean's t-shirt not slackening.

Shaking his head, Dad left, kissing Sam on the cheek and patting Dean on the shoulder. Dean spent the rest of the night lying awake, seriously considering just staying home. But in the morning it was like nothing had happened, Sam frowning uncertainly when asked what had scared him so badly the night before. He chattered cheerfully as his father and brother loaded their gear into the car.

"Sammy, you sure you're OK with this?" Dean asked, tossing his duffel into the trunk. Sam had had nightmares before, but something about last night's terror had left Dean strangely unsettled.

Sam turned in John's arms to face Dean. "Yeah. 's OK, Dean. You should help Daddy." He twisted around some to look up at their father. "Right, Dad? Dean should help you?"

John met Dean's eyes over Sam's head, then shifted his gaze down to his younger son with a smile. "You think your old man can't handle this job?" he teased, smoothing a hand over Sam's hair.

Sam's eyes got wide. "No, Dad," he responded earnestly. "You can do anything. But it's good to have someone with you, isn't it? To talk to you and keep you company. Like I'm gonna keep Bobby company." He bit his lip, peering anxiously at his father. "Right?"

"Right," John reassured him. "I'm glad I'm gonna have Dean with me for this one," he said. He leaned down to whisper loudly in Sam's ear. "Thanks for loaning him to me."

Sam giggled and then hurled himself at Dean, who was rolling his eyes.

"Bye, Dean," Sam said, arms wrapping around Dean, squeezing as hard as he could.

Dean groaned dramatically. "Dude. You're gonna cut me in half. Stop it."

Sam didn't. He arched his back to give more leverage to his hug and grunted dramatically to show his exertion.

"OK, squirt, that's enough," Dean laughed, though admittedly a little breathlessly. He kissed the top of Sam's head and gave him a sharp shove toward Bobby, who caught the boy easily, hooking an arm over Sam's shoulders. "See you soon."

It turned out the creature they were hunting was a demon. Dad actually hadn't encountered one in the time he'd been hunting, so they were fairly cautious in their approach, even as they consulted with Bobby and learned the rites they needed to exorcise it.

The demon had been possessing a boy about Sam's age, all earnest glances and deep dimples while the Winchesters interviewed him about the chaos that had been happening in the area. Until the kid's eyes flipped to pitch black. Coltish awkwardness gone, the boy ran like a gazelle out the door of his family's apartment and through the streets of downtown, Dean and Dad hot on his heels.

They hadn't expected to encounter their prey in the boy, so there had been no time to prepare, no chance to copy out the devil's trap Bobby had shown them. There'd only been a startled skidding to a halt when the poor kid hosting the demon suddenly whirled to stand his ground in the abandoned warehouse in the middle of downtown Oklahoma City.

Dad was in front and his arm shot out to stop Dean, pushing him back when the boy smiled, eyes still obsidian in his too-young face.

"Well, well, well. Winchesters. What do you know?"

Dean sensed his father falter.

The demon's attention went to Dean. Dad shifted to stand in front of him, and Dean felt a twinge of annoyed impatience at the protective gesture. Geez, Dad.

"Dean, I presume?" the demon smarmed, and Dean blinked. "Surely not little Sammy." It paused. "For any number of reasons, I suppose, eh, John?" The thing looked at Dad, eyes switching back to the boy's natural color – a muddy hazel. "You must be so disappointed to have ended up with a retard."

Dean surged forward, a growl in his throat. No one talked about Sammy that way.

The boy lifted a hand, and Dean was stopped short. He felt a grip around his chest that he couldn't later describe – there, but not. Unyielding. Painful. Making it impossible to breathe. He made a noise he'd never heard himself make before.

And it was Dad's turn to start toward the kid.

The hand flicked at Dad, and he was stopped as surely as Dean had been. Eyes the color of Sam's narrowed at Dean. "Sorry, kiddo. It's time for the grown-ups to talk."

Then he was in the air. Dean heard his father's horrified shout and then nothing.

When Dean came to, his father was crouched next to him, face the color of milk, eyes terrified and trying hard not to show it.

"Da', wha's wrong?" It was the first thing out of Dean's mouth. And it was the only thing it had even occurred to him to say. There was so clearly something wrong.

Dad huffed out a snort, a shaky grin trying to downplay what had happened. "You mean other than a demon tossing you across the room?" Dad's hands were both rough and gentle as they patted Dean down, testing joints and bones before helping Dean into a sitting position.

"'m OK," Dean groaned. "What happened? What's wrong?"

"It got away," Dad said. And for a second he looked… lost, Dean thought. Not pissed, like he should have. Just… lost.

"Da-,"

"There's nothing to do," Dad said. Brisk now. Determined. "It's gone."

Dean was confused. "We're going after it, though, right? What do we do next?" Dad hauled him to his feet.

But Dad shook his head. "No. This is bigger than I can do with you. We're going home. I'll finish the job up once I drop you with Bobby."

"What? No! Dad, I can…"

"Get in the car. I'll be right behind you."

"Dad, no. I…."

"That's an order, Dean," Dad spit out.

And Dean obeyed.

It was a long, almost completely silent ride back to Bobby's. Dad spoke only in short, clipped commands, refusing to explain or be deterred. Dean felt only the shame and failure of being sidelined before he'd even had a chance to show his father what he could do.

When they got back, John closeted himself with Bobby for hours.

There'd been sounds of raised voices and even furniture overturning, but the door had remained locked, and Dean had been unable to hear anything clearly. Both men came out of the library grim-faced and silent. Dad stayed long enough to restock. Less than 12 hours later he was gone again.

Dean was so miserable—bruised and aching from the physical abuse he'd taken as well as from the crushing disappointment he felt at having apparently screwed up so badly with his father – that he didn't pay attention to Sam beyond what was absolutely required for a few days.

Sam, though, crept after him wherever he went. Sam, who was as silent as their father and Bobby, trailing Dean like a shadow, fingers reaching out to tangle in the hem of Dean's shirts whenever he got close. Sam, who tolerated being ignored and snapped at until the night when, once more, he woke the house with screams.

They'd stayed on at Bobby's after Dad left. Dean just hadn't had the energy to get Sam packed up and moved back to their own place, so they'd been sharing the room they always did, Sam in the twin bed next to Dean's. Sam had tried to squeeze in with Dean the first night he'd been back, but Dean hadn't been in any mood to tolerate Sammy's clinginess those first few nights. So Sam had slept in his own bed, hugging the edge of the mattress closest to Dean.

The screaming startled Dean out of his bed, sent him staggering across the short space to Sam. When Dean finally managed to shake Sam awake, the kid grabbed Dean in a stranglehold, arms around Dean's neck, mouth pressed desperately to Dean's ear.

"I'msorryI'msorryI'msorrydon'tgodon''tgo," Sam mumbled on a loop while Dean tried to break through the frantic apologies.

"I'm right here, doofus," he teased gently when he finally thought Sam could hear him. "I'm fine." He pushed Sam just a few inches away from him, prying clutching fingers from his t-shirt. "Look. See?" He put a finger under Sam's chin to raise the boy's face to his own.

Sammy's head came up obediently, and he fixed Dean with swimming eyes. "You weren't OK, D'n, you weren't," he insisted. "You flew. You flew and you fell and you hurt," he said, starting to cry again, plastering himself, once more, against Dean.

Stunned, Dean wrapped his arms around his shaking brother. "I'm OK now, though, Sammy," he whispered. "I'm OK."

When Dean looked up he saw Bobby in the doorway, watching them.

"Did you tell him?" Dean asked softly, accusation rough in his voice.

But Bobby shook his head. In the dim light of the room Dean could see that the man's face was drawn.

"In the morning," Bobby said before he backed out and left them on their own.

It took another twenty minutes to get Sam calmed down enough to sleep again. And for the second time in a week, Dean lay awake the rest of the night.

The next day after breakfast, Dean got Sam settled with his toys and went to confront Bobby in his study.

"How'd he know?" Dean demanded.

Bobby didn't pretend he didn't know what Dean was talking about. "He saw it," he announced gruffly.

"What?"

Bobby sighed heavily. "I told your daddy when you boys got back, but in the midst of everything after, I guess I forgot to tell you, too." Bobby's eyes wandered away for a minute, jaw tightening. "God forbid John actually tell you anything," he muttered unhappily.

"Tell me what?" Dean felt the ire drain out of him as Bobby spoke; in its place was something like dread.

Bobby turned his attention back to Dean. "Sammy had a seizure while you were gone," he said steadily.

"What?" Dean's voice was a squeak. Sam had had episodes occasionally over the years, but this would have been the first in years. And Dean hadn't been there for him.

"Scared the crap out of me," Bobby admitted. "But we rode it out. The thing was. After. He wouldn't stop crying. He was sure – sure – that you were in trouble. Kept talking about you flying. Something about a black-eyed boy, too. I tried to call, but I couldn't get a hold of you. Next thing I knew, here you were."

Dean swallowed. "What did Dad say?"

Bobby frowned at him. "'bout what you'd expect."

Sammy having seizures and seeing what had happened to Dean miles away? Dean honestly had no idea what Dad might have said. The look on his face must have said as much to Bobby. The man heaved a sigh and rubbed an agitated hand over his head.

"He was… scared. And, you know, pissed. So."

Yeah.

Dean was silent for a minute. Then. "Did he tell you what the kid – the demon – said in Oklahoma City?" he asked softly.

The look Bobby gave him was hard to decipher.

"It knew about Sammy," Dean whispered.

"Yeah," Bobby said. "It did."

Dean felt his body go cold. "How?"

"I don't know, kid," Bobby said.

And Dean knew that Bobby was lying.

xxxx

"A demon?" Dean repeated. "Wh- What makes you say that?" His encounter with the demon came rushing back, and the memory was like a kick in the gut.

It was hard for Dean to believe that he hadn't thought about that episode in years. Dad had never spoken of it again, had told Dean it was nothing, ordered Dean to drop it and refused to acknowledge further questions. Even Bobby, who Dean could usually get to break (or at least bend) on whatever restrictions Dad handed down, had only spoken in vague reassurances and refused to be cajoled into any sort of response.

Eventually Dean had been forced to let it go. He remembered not buying what his father and Bobby had been selling, but what little research he'd been able to do on his own had proved to be unfruitful.

But here it was again. A demon. And Sam involved in something Dean didn't understand.

What the hell?

Bobby looked unhappy to the point of illness as he contemplated Dean.

"You really ain't gonna like it," he said.

"Bobby!" Dean barked, scared and angry now. He felt Adam stiffen next to him. Rummel came to his feet, making a sound that was somewhere between a whine and a growl. Dean reached out to scratch the broad head reassuringly. Sorry, bud.

"You remember that demon you and your daddy ran into during the hunt in OKC?"

"Yes," Dean snapped impatiently.

"It told your dad some things – some things about Sam – that John didn't want you to know. Didn't want to worry you with."

"Didn't want to worry me with?" Dean repeated incredulously. "A demon said things about Sammy, and Dad didn't want to worry me?" He was so angry he almost couldn't speak. Almost. "What the hell, Bobby? Why didn't you tell me?"

"Demons lie, boy," Bobby rasped, coming back at Dean fiercely. "And we didn't know anything. Especially not at first. What was the point of telling you, if it was nothing?"

"'Not at first,'" Dean parroted back. "But later? Did you know something later?"

Bobby was back to looking exhausted again. He sighed heavily. "Right before John died he called; told me he'd found something out. He didn't say much. Said he'd tell me in person." He looked at Dean, and Dean realized his father had died before he could give Bobby much information.

"What did he tell you?" Dean asked grimly.

"He said…," Bobby stopped and cleared his throat. "He said that your mama had made some sort of deal with a demon."

No. "That's a lie," Dean spat.

Bobby didn't react. "That was what John told me, son," he said evenly. "Said that somehow Sam had been tainted because of it, that the boy was supposed to be part of a war between angels and demons. That the demons wanted him – needed him – in a battle with heaven."

No. "That… that can't be true," Dean faltered. "Why… why would Mom do that? She couldn't have done that."

The pitying look on Bobby's face came close to undoing him. "I'm sorry, kiddo," the man said gently. "That's what your daddy said. He never got to tell me the rest."

Dean forced himself to think around the sickness in his stomach, around the bitter feel of anger and resentment.

"Did he think that had anything to do with Sam seeing me that time?"

Bobby shrugged. "Didn't say. Seems like it might, though, don't it?"

It did. But what the hell did that mean?

xxxx