The series still rocks. The guys are still hot. They're still not mine.

"You gonna stay a while?" Sam tried to keep his voice casual as the lights of Palo Alto gleamed in the distance, nearer than they had been a minute ago. Despite his desire to follow the coordinates their father had noted, Dean was bringing him home.

"You think I should?"

"I think if you don't -" Sam broke off. He felt Dean's gaze on him for a moment through the darkness of the car. He swallowed, and made himself say the words. "I think if you don't, this will be what breaks us."

The only sound inside the Impala was Dean's AC/DC music blasting just below annoyingly loud until they passed the city limit sign.

"I don't want it to break us, Sammy. You're my brother."

"Seth's my son," Sam said. He would've sworn he felt Dean's flinch through the bench seat. "But he's yours, too, and we have to figure out how to handle it in a way that doesn't hurt him. Seth's my priority."

"Mine, too. And we don't have to tell him the truth just yet."

"Huh?"

Dean cleared his throat. "I mean, kid's going to be messed up if we tell him, right?"

"It'll shock him no matter when we tell him. And it's not just our decision. Chelle has some say in it, too."

"Yeah." Another mile passed, and the opening bars of "Back in Black" bounced off the glass. "I won't get in your way."

"Dean -"

"I mean it, Sammy. I may be his father, but you're his dad." Dean pulled something from his pocket, handed it to Sam.

In the glow of the overhead streetlights they passed under, Sam read the label on the small package. "Bazooka Bubble Gum?"

"I used to love those comics when I was a kid. Figure Seth will, too."

Sam handed the packet back to Dean. "I'm not sure a piece will fit in his mouth."

"More for me, then. Look, Sammy - if I'd'a known, things would've been different. But I didn't, and they weren't, and anyone with eyes can see you and Michelle are good together. I got no right to screw that up."

"Would you?" The question was out before Sam thought about it.

"Tryin' not to. You can give him what we didn't have. Me, I'll just be the eccentric uncle who stops in now and again."

"You will stop in?" Sam needed the confirmation, needed to know that it wasn't just words his brother said because Dean thought Sam needed to hear them.

"How else am I gonna mess with him, if I don't stop in?"

-X-

Dean parked in front of Sam's building. The apartment was dark - as it should be, he reminded himself. Most normal people, especially not moms with young kids, weren't up at two a.m. He followed Sammy into the apartment and dropped his duffel beside the door.

"Chelle? You home?" Sam called softly. When there was no answer, he turned to Dean. "She's probably asleep. I'll get sheets for the sofa bed."

Dean grunted an agreement and moved into the kitchen. It'd been a long time since their last stop, and a beer sounded good. College boys had beer, didn't they?

"Chelle!" Sam's shout made him drop the beer and dash down the hall.

Dean paused in the doorway to Sam's bedroom. Michelle lay spread-eagled on the bed, frozen in place, and even with Sam partly blocking his view, Dean saw the blood that covered the bed.

Anger shot through him. Sudden fear followed at its heels, and Dean forced himself to turn away from his brother, down the hall to the next bedroom. Seth's bedroom.

His shoulders almost sagged with relief when Dean saw the bed was clean - then they tensed when he realized the bed was empty. The memory of what had happened to his mother made him look up to the ceiling. It, too, was empty and clean.

"Seth? Seth!"

Then Dean was back at Sam's bedroom, looking up. That ceiling, too, was empty and clean.

Sam sat beside Michelle's lifeless figure, his head bowed, and angry grief closed Dean's throat. Finally, he forced out, "Sammy -"

A prickling of awareness across the back of his neck was the only warning he had. Dean lunged forward, grabbed Sam, and yanked him off the bed just before flames engulfed it.

Sam fought to get back to Michelle's side, but Dean held tight. "We gotta go, Sam."

"I'm not leaving Chelle... Seth." Only then did Sam appear to remember his son and turn toward the other bedroom. Again, Dean yanked him back, as the flames spread faster than any normal fire ought.

"I checked, Sammy. He's gone."

Sam went limp, all the fight leaving him. Dean wasn't sure that was an improvement over the rage Sam had been channeling, but at least it let him drag his brother out of the apartment.

Though from the expression on Sam's face when they emerged into the cool night air, Dean wasn't sure Sam appreciated the rescue.

-X-

Dean turned away from the fire crew chief he'd been speaking to and scanned the gathered crowd for Sam. He tried not to look at the smoldering ruin that had been Sam's apartment, but the dark hulk loomed in the light of the full moon.

Someone several inches over six feet shouldn't be that hard to spot, but Dean didn't see his brother right away.

"C'mon, Sammy," he muttered, "where are you?"

Then he saw Sam straightening from behind the raised trunk lid of the Impala. Something in the set of Sam's jaw, the lack of all expression on his face, sent a shiver of unease down Dean's spine.

"Aw, crap." The image of just what weapons were in the trunk and the damage they could do not just to spirits and demons but also to human flesh filled his mind, and he jogged toward Sam.

When he reached Sam, Dean saw that his brother was holding a sawed-off shotgun. He held his breath while Sam broke it open to check whether it was loaded. Of course it was. What good was a weapon that wasn't ready when you needed it?

"Talked to the crew chief," Dean said. "He said there was no evidence of any other body. Seth wasn't there, Sam."

"The demon took him."

"Took him? Why?"

Sam gave Dean a dark look. "Why do you think? To warp him, twist him, use him."

Dean had no response. All he could do was meet his brother's gaze without flinching. He'd never admit aloud that doing so in this moment was one of the hardest things he'd ever done.

Sam snapped the sawed-off back to its ready position and tossed it in the trunk. "We've got work to do."