I would like to thank my reviewers. Their comments made me realize I had better get a post up sooner than later. So this Chapter is dedicated to MarbleWolf, Angelus320 and my two guests.

1. "I know what it's like to trade the ones you love for the one's you hate…" -Panic! At the Disco

The Impala idled in the florescent cast of a worn gas station minimart. The rain continued to beat at the windshield overwhelming the defense of the wipers. The transmission was in park, but Mary clutched the steering wheel in concentration. The ridge of her frown had begun to hurt. What had she done?

She remembered another night that the Impala's headlights had cut the darkness. Bugs attracted to the light, fluttered like motes of dust. The cool moisture of the creek bed clung to any available source of warmth, clutched at her rather than John. She cradled John's limp body in her arms; his head rolled unnaturally from broken vertebrae. She ran her finger along the crumpled edge of John's starched shirt collar, an affront to John's marine conditioning. The demon's piss colored eyes rippled with delight as it crowed the details of her parent's last moments. She listened from a detached distance, the hollow tin sound of her breathing as loud as the demon's litany. She dropped her palm to John's cooling jaw. She hadn't told him. She brushed a soft lock of his dark hair from his lifeless eyes. His absent father had left scars and he had told her he was going to be there for his kids. Lying beside him on a blanket spread beneath the starlight, she had believed him. The beast leaned close mistaking her tears as fear that she was alone in this world. She wasn't alone, she was pregnant and hell had no clue. When the demon offered a choice between her father or John there wasn't any hesitation. She and John had unfinished business. Her salvation was already present giving her strength, lending her guidance. All her plans…

The dark cab of the Impala had begun to get uncomfortably warm, but she couldn't move to adjust the thermostat. Pulling off for the gas station wasn't something she recalled doing. It had just happened and here she sat unable to move. Parenting was supposed to be about consistency, following through, creating a structure your kids could depend on. Don't threaten something you can't deliver on. Don't make a line in the sand you won't stand behind. Don't leave your grown, fully capable son behind to figure out his crap if you can't actually live with the idea of his silhouette in the rearview mirror. She began to tremble, the rationalizations weren't helping. She clutched the steering wheel to her chest like a lifeline.

Seven weeks ago… she was still nursing a baby. Holding little Sammy close as his tiny fingers rested against the swell of her breast. Seven weeks ago she had a husband who looked at her like she was everything. A dependable strength that would tackle the laundry and make sure dinner made it to the table; a partner to laugh with about stepping barefoot on Dean's forgotten hot wheels. Seven weeks ago she believed her sacrifices had bought a better life for her precious four year old son. She wasn't perfect, but she had earned what she had. Now… Everything she loved was gone and the grief was too much to survive alone. The urge to scream her loss strangled, "Gauhh.." at the sight of Sam's slumped sleeping form.

What had she done? The timer on her phone beeped reminding her she was still on duty. Time to check Sam's head injury. Get it together she spat in disgust to herself. Damnit, she hated how much she sounded like her father in that moment. As cold and inhuman as any creature he had killed… She reached a hand to Sam's shoulder. "C'mon Sam, wake up and give me the day."

Sam slowly drew the connection between the question and the fogged in feel of his thoughts. Slowly he pushed himself upright in the seat and ran through all the proper responses for a concussion system check. He blinked, studying the door of the minimart, making assumptions about Dean's whereabouts. His mother looked distraught and Sam figured it probably had something to do with his brother. He wasn't clear exactly what the unresolved issues with his brother were, but he knew Dean didn't do things easily. He licked his dry lips and decided to try to help, maybe fill in some of the gaps Dean couldn't admit to. "It's not all his fault," Sam tried. "I get frustrated with him at times and have to remind myself I'm working against years of Dad's conditioning." Mary turned her head and Sam saw the tear tracks. "Not that I'm saying it's all Dad's fault," he added quickly. "Dean has issues. But that mask of "I got it all handled" when he clearly needs help… I do blame Dad for that."

Mary shook her head and the tears started to fall in earnest. Sam was at a loss, he kept talking but he glanced back at the gas station hoping his brother would show up soon. It seemed the emotional weight of being raised from the dead was finally hitting her and Dean had more experience at that than Sam did. The one time it had happened to him he had been soulless… so not really helpful. "From what I can tell, things I've heard," Sam continued. "Dean was the one that held it all together after you died in the fire."

"He was four." Mary objected, her voice rough with tears.

Sam nodded and grunted regretting the motion. "We weren't raised in a hunter society. Dad didn't trust anyone except Dean." Mary swore violently, slamming her palm against the steering wheel.

Sam pushed himself higher on the leather bench seat and dragged Mary from damaging Dean's prized possession. "I don't remember anything earlier than maybe kindergarten, so that's five… six… years unaccounted for but Dean is pretty consistent." Sam swallowed nervously, "He'll be there when you need him… He always finds a way… in kindergarten, I remember Dean skipping out of school to pick me up from my short day; Dean patching Dad up after a bad hunt; Dean taking care of everything that would have had CPS step in."

"Dean hunting," Mary muttered bitterly. She sagged against Sam.

"Yeah," Sam whispered. "That did raise a few questions. Kids with bruises don't go unnoticed."

"So you think I should just let it slide that he takes unnecessary risks? That he isn't building a future for himself?" Mary whispered. She shifted to wrap her arms around Sam. "He was meant for this, the demon had no claim." Sam didn't know how to make sense of that.

Everything Mary was keeping inside boiled over, came pouring out and Sam held her somehow understanding she didn't need words. After several minutes, the worst was over and Mary pulled back. Sam rubbed her arm studying her wondering where the hell Dean was. Had he fallen in? Sam's face flexed in concern and he pulled Mary's arm into the light to study the red staining her shirt sleeves.

"Mom?" The worry was clear. She blinked tiredly at him. The emotional breakdown having taken everything she had. What had she done? "Mom!" He demanded roughly checking her over for the source of the blood stains. There wasn't anything to find. "Dean," Sam realized bolting from the car to check the bathroom for his brother.

SNSNSNSN

"Hey man, that's 11 hours. I gotta roll off. This rig has a digital tracker." Dean jerked awake at the voice, blinking at the dark leather of the Peter Built cab lining. Buddy gave him a tired look before pulling the key's and swinging his door open. "The stop dinner is crap. If ya got it in ya, walk the twelve blocks that way towards town." Dean nodded in thanks and pulled the door latch to tumble painfully to the asphalt. He pulled his boots beneath him before letting free of the truck's solid strength. Buddy came around the front of the truck hitching his jeans up by the belt loops. He had transported plenty in his career and had a second sense about knowing which loads were going to be worth the trouble. Something about this guy, had caused him to pick him up even without the universal thumb signal request. Buddy scratched at his graying head. "You got a few bucks for food?" Buddy said before he thought better about it.

Dean gave the trucker an impish grin, "Your old lady know you are trying to adopt strays?"

Buddy chuckled and turned for the corporate office to drop the keys to the rig. "Watch yourself, this ain't Disney Land," He tossed over his shoulder.

Dean nodded and headed for the store for a few supplies.

SNSNSN

Dean kicked open the door to the bathroom. It was small and cracked, but cleaner than the dusty shag of the hotel room. He dropped the lid on the toilet and carefully perched a bottle of cheap whiskey on the back tank. He pulled the stopper on the sink and dumped out the paper bag from the Sip N Save. With small movements, he set the toothbrush and deodorant aside. Every movement pulled at the damage to his torso. The 30 something mama's boy manning the front desk had looked surprised when Dean had produced a credit card that actually had a line of credit. Testament to how rough Dean looked.

Dean tried to toss the bag of peanut butter M and M's out onto the bed in the other room, but the effort left him collapsed panting against the door jam praying he didn't pass out. He was more careful hanging a cheap black T shirt sporting a campy state motto over the shower curtain bar. The bandages he perched beside a travel sewing kit. He splashed the sink with Hydrogen Peroxide then rubbed it clean with the provided thread bare towel. Emptying his pockets he stripped down to his boxers and cracked open the alcohol.

Carefully opening the cheap plastic box he pulled out the needle and stared at the five colors of thread included. If Sam where there he would have picked something inappropriate, like the soft pink. If Dad were around black would have been chosen for utility. He realized he didn't have a color preference for his mother, hadn't considered it before to be completely honest. He teased the end of the white loose and measured a length. He blackened the needle with his lighter, strung it and filled the sink with most of the antiseptic and warm water to soak the thread. He stared at himself in the mirror. "Suck it up!" he ordered his hesitant reflection. "Let yourself get soft, didn't you," He muttered. He grabbed the plastic bottle of hydrogen peroxide and considered technique. Sam would dab, Dad would douse. Dean studied the mirror, what would Dean do? He glanced at the half open door to the bedroom and knew given half the chance he would forgo the whole ordeal to get some sleep. "You really are an idiot." He said to himself with nod of amusement.

He was halfway through the whisky, reliving a one night fling with a contortionist, trying to tie off a stitch on a gash that wrapped around to the base of his shoulder blade when his phone went off. Startled Dean missed the end of the thread and it slid losing one side of the wound. Dean snarled a stream of curses and fumbled to answer Sammy's ringtone. But his fingers were stiff from the intricate work, odd angle, and twitchy from pain. The phone slipped across his wet fingertips into the pink tinged water in the sink. Crap! He shouted. The phone was unresponsive by the time he fished it out. He panted a few moments against the counter top before forcing himself back to the task at hand. He had realized several stitches in the problem with white was visibility. He was currently using navy, but figured he'd be multi colored before he was finished.

SNSNSN

The phone rang and went to voicemail AGAIN and Sam howled to the dark woods. He didn't bother leaving yet another panicked, desperate, or begging message. This wasn't his fault. Checking Dean's GPS had been his first instinct after the first call had failed to reach Dean, but the phone didn't show. That was before Mary had confessed to what she had done. Before Sam realized she had let him sleep for three hours. He pulled his hair back, tugging sharply against the low throb left by the concussion. He couldn't believe this was happening. "Dean…" He pleaded. He hit redial just because he didn't know what else to do. He had redlined the car to get back to the trail head but the rain had scrubbed every trace of their passing. Dean wasn't where Mary had left him; which meant he was injured and not answering his phone somewhere Sam had no clue to look. Crap! Sam collapsed back against the wet side of the Impala. He studied Mary's mute shadow from his peripheral vision. At least she had pulled herself from the passenger seat for appearance sake, not that Dean was there to witness it. Sam shuddered and wondered if he had been this broken after Jess. And there had been Dad, and even their half brother… Fate had a sick sense of humor throwing another damaged Winchester Dean's way to care for. Sam couldn't believe Mary had said anything about disliking how Dean had turned out. What kind of mother says that?

The phone in his hand buzzed and he swung it to his ear without a thought to check caller ID. "Dean!"

There was a moment of hesitation before Eileen's unique vocal cadence asked "Sam?" Sam spun away from the impala to give himself distance from his mother. Mary watched Sam stalk off to talk. He didn't go far enough for her to fail overhearing that it was Sam's crush not his brother. "…no, you're right. You're going to need numbers to take a nest. Yeah, I'm close but… I don't have Dean. It's… I don't know where he is. It's not him. It's… Ok, we'll give it a look. No, my mom. Send me the address. Yeah, me too." Sam ended the call and stared at Mary. She wasn't in any state to be hunting, but Eileen sounded in over her head. He wasn't sure what to do, but he knew what Dean would do. Stow the personal baggage and go save some lives.

Sam stared at his phone. Eileen's text address came through. The problem was that Sam wasn't as good at compartmentalizing as his brother. Instead of jumping in the car, he pulled out his wallet picking through the credit cards. The top one was under the name Eddie Lommi. He pulled up the browser on his phone and typed in a search on the last name. The Wikipedia returned a Veikko, Miikka, and Tony. Tony Lommi, songwriter for Black Sabbath. Only Dean, Sam huffed calling the customer service number on the back. "Hi, yeah. Sure, Lommi. …it's 4578. Thanks, my brother Tony thinks there might be fraud on his card, could you tell me was the last charge a dinner? Really? Wait maybe that's right, what was the address? Oh yeah," Sam laughed with a sudden lightness. "No, No! That's a valid charge I just didn't realize they had already run it. No, we're good… Sounds like a false alarm, sorry to bother you. Survey? No sorry, I don't…" Sam snapped his fingers to get Mary's attention. He waved her back into the impala as he rated the service five star and hung up. Sam typed in the address into his phone for driving directions.

Guest – Sorry I should have been more clear about the timeline last chapter. I'll go back and adjust. Eileen is the girl Sam met in the episode about the banshee at the retirement home. She's the badass deaf girl who hunts, remember? I totally ship Sam and Eileen.