Sam? Come on, wake up: we're at the motel." And his brother was shaking his shoulder roughly, trying to get him to stir.

Sam half-opened his eyes just enough to decide that he didn't like the light very much and closed them again, quite comfortably settled on his living pillow and unwilling to move. "Sam. Get off, will you! I'll go and get us a room."

With a sigh, the younger man blearily tried again, wincing as the brightness from the now almost-setting sun lit the interior of the Impala with a last-gasp attempt at illumination, and began to try and sit up. "Where are we?"

"Just outside Pittsburgh." And Dean was getting out of the car, stretching out his back with an audible cracking noise, and heading to the reception. Sam sat and waited for his return, yawning so many times that he had lost count by the time his brother was climbing back behind the wheel again. "Ours is the one on the end. You can just go on to bed if you want."

"Nah." As Dean drove the Impala to the parking space right in front of their room. "I think I'll feel better after a shower. And I'm hungry."

"We've just gone past a diner: it's close enough to walk back to. If you're up to it… I mean…"

"I don't need the hospital, Dean. But…" He hesitated, but he had to say it while he had the chance. "Thanks. For everything. You've got more reason to hate me than most… but thanks for sticking with me.

I mean it." As his brother turned to stare at him. "Everything I've done… everything I haven't done, Dean. You're still here. That must mean something…. that you haven't just given up on me."

He fell silent as Dean once again exited the car and moved to fetch both their bags, before going to unlock the door. He paused on the threshold as Sam joined him: "I'm your slave, Sam. I don't have a choice but to be here."

And with that he was going in the room.

At least the shower gave a warm, powerful spray, and Sam did feel a lot better after it. Despite being so upset about his brother's comment. But… he hadn't been wrong about the love in his brother's eyes earlier… he had definitely seen that.

All he could do was give Dean time… and hope.

And… he had forgotten to bring his bag into the bathroom with him. Quickly he wrapped a towel around his waist and slipped back out into the main room. Dean glanced up from where he was kneeling on the floor as per his habit, working on his laptop which he had rested on the low coffee table… and hastily averted his eyes, a deep blush forming instantly to cover even round to the back of his head and the tips of his ears.

Sam couldn't help but sigh. They had seen each other naked before… from all the years as brothers, to that too few short months as lovers. Hell, Dean probably knew every inch of his body: he had explored Sam with his eyes… and his fingers… and his tongue… and now…? Now he obviously only felt embarrassment at the sight of his younger brother like this…

Although he wasn't the only one getting red in the face. Sam hastily snatched up his bag from the single bed and held it in front of himself, as he registered the size of the tent he was now making in the towel at just the thought of his brother's tongue! God, the memories of what Dean could do with that soft, warm, probing muscle of his… He hastily backed once more into the bathroom as the towel began to lose the contest of staying in its position…

Even as Sam finished drying himself after yet another shower, he caught a glimpse of himself in the full length mirror as it slowly cleared from the condensation in the room. And it was enough for him to wipe it fully.

He hadn't taken a lot of notice of how he had looked since he had woken up; it had been enough of a shock to find out what his body had been doing during his mind's absence but… actually, he looked really good!

Really good.

He was toned; fit; there wasn't a trace of fat on him; or flab. And he was both superbly contoured and covered in muscles: he was really ripped! Sam stared at himself in the mirror… He had always dreamt of looking like this. At least the soulless version of himself had looked after himself health-wise: he… it… must have worked hard, really hard to achieve this… perfection.He looked amazing!

Perhaps… maybe, perhaps… that was what had caused Dean's reaction as well…? When he had turned and blushed as he had seen Sam in a more than half-naked state. Because… once upon a time… he had loved having his body covered by Sam's strong, naked one… and Sam had loved being spread out beneath Dean's as well. Perhaps his brother was also remembering….?

There and then, Sam determined that he was going to make sure he kept on looking like this… And he was going to make sure that Dean saw as much of it as possible as well!

But for now he hastily dressed and moved to join his brother in the main room, walking through in his bare feet and sitting on the floor beside where Dean knelt, trying to convince his long legs to fit in to the small space between the low table and the couch. "Anything interesting?"

Dean didn't glance round this time. "There's this: woman in one of the local suburbs. Found dead yesterday on her bed. You don't need to humour me by sitting on the floor! That's what I do, I always have. You don't need to come down here with me."

Sam nudged him good-naturedly with his shoulder: "I want to. What's strange about the death?"

His brother grunted. "She was all scrunched up: I mean really scrunched up. Like she'd been shut in somewhere smaller than she was. And… she'd suffocated."

"Suffocated?"

"Yep. But all signs seem to show that she died on the bed. On top of the covers. And she was alone in the house."

Sam blinked. Then nodded: "We might as well take a look. First thing tomorrow. Ready for something to eat?"

He received another grunt as a response, but then Dean was turning the laptop off and getting easily to his feet. It was Sam's turn to grunt as he quickly pulled on fresh socks, tried to get himself off the floor, and ended up having to use the sofa for support. "I don't know how you can kneel like that for so long and still walk!"

His brother was already standing at the open door as Sam found his boots. "Practice. And habit. One that got beaten into me a long time ago. Ya'ready?"

"Yeah."

As Dean had said, the diner was only a block down from the motel: even just at a strolling pace, they had easily reached it in ten minutes. Sam ordered grilled chicken and salad, while his brother ordered the special… and "What's the pie for today, Mindy?"

The waitress with the corresponding name-badge flushed as she was given the full force of the 'Dean Winchester' smile, and promised a piece of both cherry and apple…just for him. For which she received another smile that took her complexion well over the shade of beetroot.

Sam frowned at the older man as soon as she had gone to get their order: "I wish you wouldn't do that, Dean. It's demeaning… just for a free piece of pie."

His brother regarded him momentarily, his smile completely disappeared. "I've done far worse things for far less than a piece of pie. But… as you wish,… master."

Sam stared back across the table in surprise: "No. No, I didn't mean… I just…" But he was interrupted as Dean's cell phone suddenly bleeped with a text. The other reached for the small device and looked at the screen, his eyebrows furrowing with a small frown. "Who's that?"

"Nobody." And his brother was pocketing the cell again and nodding at the waitress as their meal arrived. "Thanks, Mindy." But it was only the briefest of smiles this time.

Sam tucked into his chicken with the realisation that he was incredibly hungry. But Dean only had a mouthful of his burger before he was checking his pocket again. All his pockets. "What's wrong?"

"I must have dropped my wallet back at the motel. I'll go and get it: back in five…" And he was getting up from his seat.

"Leave it. I've got enough to pay…"

"I'll get it anyway." And he was going out through the diner's glass entrance doors before Sam could blink. The younger man sighed and continued with his meal alone, while trying to ignore the disappointed face on the waitress who had watched the departure of the good-looking customer with definite regret. His brother was a hustler, one of the best: that was how John Winchester had brought him up to be. Why had he got so assy just because Dean used it to get free food…?

Because he was flirting with her and not with you, his mind scolded him. And you let your jealousy upset him: way to go, Sam.

He made up his mind to apologise as soon as his brother returned… but instead he got a text from Dean's cell: 'Going for a drink. Don't wait up.'

Sam stared at it in consternation. Shit! He was being ditched!

He hurried to finish his meal, pausing only to ask for the two pieces of pie to be boxed, and all but ran back to the motel, relieved to see the Impala still parked out in front of their room.

But there was no sign of his brother.

Although when Sam let himself back in, he was surprised to see that there were signs that, for some reason, Dean had had what must have been a very quick shower. And a shave. And the keys to the car were lying by his laptop…

The younger man momentarily thought about eating the pies in his frustration, but, instead, he sighed and settled down to work on his own laptop.

And wait.

Although, as Dean had indicated, he didn't bother to return that night. Or even to the motel the next morning.

Eventually Sam had gotten beyond angry, and just left a message for Dean to meet him at the Coroner's Office when they opened. He himself had arrived right on time, suited and booted in his 'Fed' disguise, but was left to kick his (polished) heels for a good forty minutes while a meeting was being held.

Which did not improve his mood at all.

Dean finally arrived just before the weekly forum had finished, and was shown into the area where the younger man was by now pacing up and down. Sam barely glanced at him and instead turned away. "So, you're back to your old tricks! Go off for the night with some… woman that you've only just met. I don't know why I was so surprised, I just…"

He shook his head at himself and finally got under enough control to look at his brother, absently noticing how weary he was looking and that he was holding himself with a slight stiffness as if in pain. "I just thought that we were… I mean I hoped… I guess I just forgot what a slut you are…"

He was trying to make a joke, trying to not show how genuinely upset he had been at Dean's abandonment of him. His brother chewed at his lower lip… but said nothing in response.

Then the Coroner was coming through, apologising for keeping the FBI waiting and showing them through to the mortuary: "I've never seen anything like this, gentlemen. There's the pictures from the file that show how she was actually found…"

And indeed, just as the media report had indicated, Saskia Mitchell had died folded into herself as if contained in a cage that had been too small: her limbs pressed into her torso both physically and viciously; her face frozen in terror; her eyes pleading…

"I've seen bodies disposed of in suitcases; all crushed up and discarded: the way she was found reminds me of those." The Coroner was genuinely stunned. "But all the evidence, body fluids exuding at the moment of death, would seem to show that… she was on top of the bed! On her own! And she definitely suffocated… but by what…? I can find no evidence of any fibres, or… anything! It's as if she simply ran out of air in her lungs!"

The brothers read through the report and asked their questions, and came out of the mortuary convinced that they had indeed found a case.

"Where next?"

"Start with the husband."

Martin Mitchell turned out to be totally stunned and stricken with grief… enough to be immediately discounted as having anything to do with his wife's death. Sam made his excuses about needing to take a call, and went to check the bedroom where the woman had died, while Dean sat and went through their routine questions, quite effectively distracting the distraught man.

Although he was soon interrupted by the front door opening and a five nothing in height, long-haired female brunette was erupting into the living room, accompanied by two young children: "We're home! Go and get washed up for lunch, you two…. Oh, sorry!" And she was pausing in her tracks, looking Dean up and down with a lot of interest, as the youngsters ran off upstairs.

"Jay, this is the FBI. They've got a few more questions. Agent…"

"Bonham."

"Agent Bonham: this is Saskie's best friend, Jayden Panietti… I mean, she was Sas's…." And he was dissolving once more into tears.

"I've come down to take care of these two, and to help Marty of course…" And she was moving to shake Dean's hand even while her dark eyes were undressing him. "I can't believe what's happened… ooh, and who are you?"

This was addressed to Sam, who had just returned from making his overly long 'phone-call'. He turned almost completely white as the petite dark-haired woman almost flung herself at him, running her fingers against his chest without any concerns about propriety at all: "Is that true? About large hands meaning large…?"

"Jay! Behave yourself!" But Martin was laughing at her despite his tears. "You're incorrigible! Even at a time like this!"

"You know me, Marty! Always on the lookout for husband number three!" And she was laughing as well, although still clinging on to Sam as she did. "How much do FBI agents make a year?"

"I thought you'd found number three two weeks ago!?"

"I did," and she was winking at both her best friend's husband, and the brothers. "But I've got to get him away from his mouse of a wife first! Doesn't mean I can't play in the meantime!" And her hands were sliding up to be around the tall young man's shoulders, forcing her petite body right up against his as she did…

Sam disentangled himself from her grasp, his face now burning with embarrassment. And he couldn't bring himself to look across at his brother: he didn't dare.

Although he could hear his opinion in the deep voice as Dean returned to the seriousness of the occasion: "This is my partner, ma'am: Agent Page. So… can you tell us anything about what's happened, Mrs Panietti?"

"Miss. I returned to my single name, and my designation…" The flirtation was aimed in his direction again now, but:

"Your best friend's dead, Miss Panietti. I doubt she cared, and neither do I."

The tiny brunette quietened immediately, suitably chastened by the clipped, scornful tone of the 'agent', and sat down next to Martin to answer the older brother's final few questions: there was an obviously strong friendship between them but nothing more, not that either brother could see anyway. When they were ready to leave, she offered to show them both out while the newly bereaved widower went to see to his children.

"I am really shocked." She whispered to Dean as she opened the front door. "I'm sorry you think I'm acting irreverently. Sas was my best friend, I just can't believe what's happened: it was only two weeks ago that we were all together at the school reunion, having an amazing time…"

"All together?"

"The four of us… we were inseparable at school: we all grew up together… the other two are coming down for the funeral. I just… can't believe that she's… how could that have happened?"

"I don't know, ma'am. But if you think of anything that could help, please let us know."

"Oh… and here's my number. In case you need to contact me as well. I'm here to support Marty. And the children: as long as he needs me…" And she was moving to hand Dean her card.

"My partner will take it, ma'am." And he was turning away to walk to the impala, leaving a still slightly pink in the face Sam to take the business card… and a lustful wink. He hurried to join his brother.

"What the hell was that about?" He could hardly contain himself as he pulled the passenger door closed behind him.

"I thought you might be interested. She's definitely your type."

"My type? What the hell does that mean?" Although Sam already knew: he had almost had a heart attack when he had come into that living room and seen… a woman who for one frightening moment he had thought was Ruby laughing at him…. And he knew that Dean would have immediately noticed the similarity of the woman as well, but… he still needed to hear him say it.

His brother didn't even look round as he started the engine. "You know. Small; dark-haired; egocentric; self-absorbed; manipulative. A Bitch. Just what you always go for."

"I…" But Sam didn't know how to respond momentarily, because he could still hear the emotion in Dean's voice at just the thought of the demon. And at what Sam had done because of her. "Jess wasn't small, she was tall. And blonde!" was all he could mumble as an eventual response.

The green eyes glanced his way as Dean's eyebrows raised… but he said nothing, his mind being already on other things: "Find anything upstairs?"

"Just this." And Sam was pulling a small object out of his pocket and depositing it in the older man's lap.

"Jesus! Get that thing away from me!"

Despite himself, Sam chuckled and reached to take the hex bag away. "It was in her handbag. But it's a strange bag, must be the fashion: there's only a single clasp in the middle at the top that closes the two sides together, so there's a large gap left either side even when done up. You'd think things would fall out if it were to be picked up upside-down… but it also means that something like this could have been easily pushed in: it would only have taken a second to introduce it without being seen."

"So it could have been anyone?"

"Anyone who could have got close enough to simply drop it in, and Saskia Mitchell would have been walking around with the own weapon of her death… in her own handbag… just waiting for the spell to be cast."

"Fucking terrific." Dean grunted. Sam held his breath in gleeful anticipation of his older brother's next words. "Why does it have to be witches? I fucking hate witches!"

They spent the rest of that day, and the next two, interviewing everyone they could think of: friends; work-colleagues; other mothers at the children's school, but nobody seemed to have a motive worth killing a woman and mother of two for.

Although she certainly wasn't well liked, despite her husband's declaration that everybody loved her. It would appear that she was very similar to her good friend Jayden Panietti in that her only main interest in life… was herself. She had been inconsiderate, intolerant, rude to the point of being openly cruel and by all accounts, incredibly selfish… and very few people actually seemed to be upset at her demise. Because, although more than one interviewee expressed shock at the suddenness of her death, there was hardly any sorrow at the news…. really, there was none… not at all!

Eventually though, the brothers' just couldn't do any more. They had established that she had been murdered, but by whom…? Or why? And nothing else had happened in the meantime to give them any more clues… so…

They decided to head back to Bobby's, and chalk Saskia Mitchell's death up as an unsolved case...

For the time being, at least.

It was still a two day drive back to Sioux Falls, so the brothers took turns behind the wheel. On the final stretch it was once again Dean's turn. They had mostly driven in silence…and not the comfortable one that they once had shared.

But then, they hadn't had that for a very, very long time…

Sam was half-asleep, his head resting against the window, just staring out at the landscape as it started to become familiar. As it began to feel like 'almost home'. But then… the reaction of Bobby to him since he had been back… or at least, since his soul had been back… hadn't been good. The old man certainly hadn't welcomed him back. His mind began to wander again over what he could possibly have done…

And how the hell he was going to even begin to put it right.

His thoughts were interrupted by his brother's cell phone ringing. Dean fished in his pocket and brought it to his ear without taking his eyes off the road. "Hello?"

His face changed within a moment, his eyes going wide momentarily: "Who? I…? How the hell did you get this number? I… Wait." And he was glancing across at Sam, his expression giving nothing away, and pulling the car over to the side of the road.

"Who is it….?" But Sam's question was ignored as his brother simply got out of the Impala and walked away with the phone to his ear, his back deliberately held to the younger man. All Sam could do was sit and wait. With increasing impatience.

It wasn't actually as long as it had seemed to Sam before Dean was snapping the cell away and returning to his seat, and sitting for a long moment with his hands on the steering wheel, frowning a little and obviously deep in thought. "Well…?"

"Well, what?"

"Who was that?"

"Nobody important. Forget about it."

"It obviously wasn't nothing. Tell me."

Dean straightened up where he sat, and went to start the engine: "It's… I was just surprised, that's all. Nothing for you to be worried about…" And he was glancing in the rear mirror and smoothly pulling the Impala back on to the road.

"Well, that just makes me more worried! Who was it? What did they want?"

"What I said, Sam…" And Dean was sounding slightly weary. "It's nothing. It was nothing: it is nothing…. End of."

Sam sat and pouted a little. "Is it something to do with me? What I've done?"

His brother sighed audibly, but his reply was simple: "Not everything's about you, Sam. And like I said… this is nothing."

Sam was abashed: he felt that he had just been reprimanded. And… he wasn't convinced. There was something about his brother's reaction as he had heard…whoever's…. voice at the other end of that call… But Dean wasn't going to tell him and he had to try to respect that.

At least until he could get the other man's cell phone and try to trace the call.

They finished the journey, as before, in silence. But now even that had changed slightly. They were both relieved when Bobby's house finally came into view, and the Impala pulled up in front of it, disturbing the dirt and gravel with a low rumbling purr.

The old man came out to greet them and stood for a moment as the brothers both exited the car and moved to grab their bags from the rear: "How you both doing?"

"Tired," Dean admitted. "That was a long drive."

"And dirty," Sam added. "I need a shower."

"And hungry." Dean continued as if he hadn't been interrupted. "I could eat some pie. You got any pie?"

"No, I ain't got pie, boy…!" Bobby's face was a picture. Sam grinned.

Dean sighed: "I guess I'll go and get some then… Want anything, Sam?"

The younger man shook his long locks:" Just that shower."

"Okay then." And Dean was throwing his duffel back into the back of the car momentarily, getting back into the Impala and driving off again.

Sam sighed and started to head inside the house with his own single bag of luggage: "I don't know why he just didn't pick some up as we came through the town: we came straight past the store…"

He didn't notice Bobby's sudden reaction: the way the old man abruptly looked round at him… and controlled himself with a deep breath to finally ask calmly… "I was trying to get Dean earlier… did he get a call or text at all…?"

"Huh, yeah," Sam was nearly through the door. "But it wasn't from you… although Dean wouldn't tell me who it was… Is it okay for me to go on up?"

"Yeah, yeah, yeah… Sure, boy, whatever."

Sam glanced at him, surprised at the abrupt indifference now in the tone… but then reflected that he was still very much in Bobby's bad books. Sensibly, he kept silent and crept into the house to disappear upstairs for a while. Despite feeling quite upset about the obvious dismissal.

Bobby remained outside, his attention focused on the decreasing trail of dust on the dirt road that led to his house….

And his thoughts on the man who was inside the receding car…

… And a single tear ran down his cheek.