Life goes on.

Dean needed sleep. Food. A damned drink.

He needed to get his brother into a bed and dose him up with painkillers. Needed to call Bobby, let him know what was going on, get a definite read on whether they could count on the old man for help.

Most of all, he needed to find out exactly what had happened last night, what had been said, and done, by Sam's would-be murderers, and what John had had to do with it.

Sam made a small snuffling sound beside him and shifted uncomfortably in his seat before sinking back down into a sketchy sleep, his face pressed against the passenger window.

Dean was glad his brother was able to have this little bit of escape. He'd been dozing on and off since they'd slammed out of Motel Hell, but even with the shock and exhaustion of what had happened, it was more off than on.

Sam. God, Sam.

Dean's eyes blurred and his breath gave a little hitch.

No.

Sam was alive. That was all that mattered right now.

Later, he would find out what had happened in that motel room.

He would find out exactly how their father had been involved. He would find a way out of this, and he would deal with John.

Later.

For now, he just wanted to get as many miles as he could between them and the shit storm behind them.

A couple of hard hours later, when they came as close as spit to a head-on collision with a semi outside Ellisville, Mississippi, Sam called a halt to their wild flight.

They parked the Impala behind the Ellisville Motel 6 where they hoped it would be relatively safe from passing eyes. Dean got Sam into the room and onto one of the beds, hauled in what they needed from the car, and then put down salt lines and wards around the perimeter of the room.

When he was finished, he started a second check of the salt lines and wards, just to be sure.

It was busywork. The lines were fine. Sam knew it. Hell, Dean knew it, but he couldn't seem to stop himself.

Finally, when Dean started to go over the salt lines a third time, a hollow-eyed Sam said wearily, "Cut it out. They're fine."

Too tired to argue, Dean sat awkwardly down on the bed beside his brother. "You should sleep."

Sam shifted and winced. "I can't. I'm too – I'm too tired."

Dean felt Sam's forehead. It was cool, no sign of fever. "You want something to eat?"

Sam shook his head. Tired eyes drifted across the room to the silent television.

Dean snatched up the remote from the bedside table. "You want some T.V.?"

Sam gave a little nod of acquiescence and Dean flipped on the set.

For a time then, there was no sound beyond that of the television and an occasional voice or engine from outside.

With Sam's eyes safely on the television, Dean furtively studied his brother's face; the vivid, purpling bruises, the cut and swollen lips, the ugly thumb-shaped smudges around his neck.

Sam sent him an unhappy glance. "Cut it out."

Dean, shoulders slumped and face glum, fingers picking at his jeans, was the very picture of dejection. "I shouldn't have left you alone, Sammy."

"I knew you were thinking something stupid like that," Sam groaned. "How the hell could you have known about those two?"

"I should've known it wasn't safe," Dean said bitterly. "I should have figured he'd have people watching for us."

"So, what, you're going to stay with me every minute of every day?" Sam protested. "You think that's gonna work?"

Dean had no answer for that. But damn it, he'd known John would try something at some point and if he hadn't been thinking with his dick, he'd have been there when that scum showed up.

"Dean, don't." Sam grabbed Dean's hand and tugged him down to lay beside him. Yesterday's shock and exhaustion had him close to tears. "Don't let him do that to you."

The bed felt amazing. Dean nodded tiredly. Yawning, he pressed his face into the side of his brother's neck.

They were both asleep in moments.

ΩΩΩ

Life goes on.

The next morning, cell phone plastered against his ear, Dean ran a nervous hand through his short hair. "Yeah, I got it. Man, I'm sorry, Bobby."

"Not your fault your dad's bat shit crazy," the older man answered sensibly. "Just give it a little time. These yahoos'll get bored and start looking somewhere else pretty soon. I'll call."

Dean blew out a sigh of relief. "Thanks," he said simply.

"We done now?" Bobby asked. "Cause I don't know about you, but I got work to do."

"Sure, Bobby. Listen - be careful, okay?"

Bobby snorted. "Don't worry 'bout me. I'll be fine. Tell your brother I said hey. And you two boys watch your asses." There was a loud click as he disconnected.

Tossing his cell phone onto the table, Dean let out a heart-felt, "Crap!"

"What's wrong?" Sam called from the bathroom.

"Bobby says someone's watching his place."

There was a short silence. "Do you think it's Dad?"

"Bobby says no. Probably someone he sent, though."

"Oh."

"You almost done in there?"

"Yeah, just a minute, jeez."

His own nerves still raw from the day before, knowing his brother was probably feeling the same, Dean pushed aside his own irritation and poked his head into the bathroom.

Hair damp from the shower, a threadbare towel hanging loosely about his slim hips, Sam was studying himself closely in the mirror. "Dude!" he said irritably. "Privacy!"

"You kidding?" Dean shrugged. "Next time lock the door." He walked up behind Sam and looked into the mirror. "Nope, you're still not as pretty as me."

Sam rolled his eyes and walked out of the bathroom, Dean trailing after. "You okay?"

"I'm fine." Sam dropped his towel to the floor and started to dress.

"You hurting? How are your ribs?"

"Dean, I said I'm fine."

"Sam, come on," Dean scoffed. "Who do you think you're talking to? I know you. What's going on? We said no secrets, right?"

Sam sighed at the bulldog expression on his brother's face. "I was just wondering if it shows."

"Does what show?"

"The demon blood," Sam answered reluctantly.

"What?"

"I can't see it. I look like me. I feel like me." Sam saw the stricken look on Dean's face. "I'm sorry. It's just - I don't understand; Dad's known about the demon blood for years. What made him decide to kill me now?"

"Sam," Dean said helplessly, "There's nothing wrong with you! Just because some asshole demon fed you a few drops of blood fifteen years ago -"

"Then what made Dad send those guys?" Sam demanded. "What made him -" he bit his lip.

"What?"

"Forget it. " Jeans on, Sam picked up his shirt. "We should get going."

"No. Uh uh." Dean took Sam's shirt away from him. "Talk."

"Nothing." Sam snatched futilely at the shirt. "Come on, I'm just - I'm just trying to figure it out."

Guided by instinct and long years of experience in spotting Sam's tells (overly casual stance, eyes that met his way too readily), Dean said, "You can't figure out crazy, Sam. That's why they call it crazy. Quit stalling."

Sam tried to lighten the mood. "You're actually asking for a chick flick moment?"

Dean scowled and gestured impatiently.

"It's just - we don't know what the deal with the demon blood was. We know it was supposed to get me ready to be in his demon army, but what did it do to me? There has to be something we haven't seen yet. Something wrong." He looked nervously at Dean and then away. "Something wrong with me."

"Oh." Hell. "Don't worry, Sammy. Whatever that bastard has planned for you, it's not gonna happen." Dean tried a reassuring grin though he wasn't really feeling it. "Not while you got me looking out for you."

"But -" Sam wanted to believe Dean, badly, but there were so many unknown variables. "Dean, it could be bad. Really bad. It might be something so bad that" - just say it - "what if I change? What if I'm not me anymore?"

"Sam –" Dean paused, trying to choose his words carefully. "Let's not worry about what if's right now. Let's let's just deal with what's on the table right now."

Sam started to protest and Dean cut him off.

"There's no way to get ready for what could happen. All that's gonna do is drive us both crazy and Dad's already got that covered." He took Sam by the shoulders, wanting to make sure his brother got this. "We take it as it comes. The only thing that matters is that we got each other's back. Okay?"

After a few seconds Sam nodded.

Dean studied him assessingly. "There's something else."

Sam looked away, face flushing.

"Did something happen you haven't told me about?" Dean sounded a little impatient to himself and he tried to soften his tone. "Something about yesterday?"

At Sam's reluctant nod, Dean's hands tightened on his brother's shoulders. "Sam, please. Let's finish this. Just say it."

Sam's words were barely audible. "They tried to rape me."

Dean's hands dropped to his sides and he watched, eyes wide and stunned, as Sam went to the window and looked into the parking lot outside. It took everything he had to wait for his brother to come out with it. Every part of him wanted to grab Sam and shake the truth out of him, find out exactly what those sons of bitches had done.

Fuck!

He was going back to that crap town, bring those bastards back to life and kill them all over again!

"They didn't," Sam said finally. "But they were going to."

Dean waited, barely breathing.

"I couldn't believe it was happening, at first," Sam went on, eyes dark with pain and remembering. "It didn't seem real, but – they were gonna take me away and kill me someplace else. They said Dad thought that when I was gone you'd go back to him."

Rage thrummed in Dean's veins. "Dad thought wrong."

"I told them that. They didn't care. Jack owed Dad money. If they - took care of me, the debt was cancelled. So. When Jack came at me, I killed him." He stumbled a little over the words.

"Then what?" Dean prompted after a minute. "The other guy went for you?"

"Yeah. He - Jack was crazy drunk, but Frank - I couldn't get away. He was too strong. I tried, I really did." Sam was talking faster and faster. "I had to - they were going to take me and fuck me and kill me and you'd never have known what happened. I had to!"

"Sam- "

"I had to kill them! But there's a part of me that thinks killing them makes me what Dad says I am. A monster." Sam hesitated, said it. "Maybe I should've just died, like he wants me to."

"Sam -"

"What happens if I change and I'm not me anymore?" He finally voiced his deepest fear. "I don't want you to have to kill me."

"That's not gonna happen." Dean pulled Sam into his arms and hugged him fiercely, hugged him as hard as he could. "That'll never happen."

Sam leaned against him, trembling. "Dean . . . "

Sam shuddered.

Dean held tight. "Tell me."

"They said it would be fun to fuck a demon," Sam whispered. "And Dad - Jack said that Dad knew what they were gonna do."

Sam's whispered words shuffled around inside Dean's head, not making any sense at all. When they at last settled into a recognizable pattern, he said disbelievingly, "Dad knew?"

Sam said nothing, just nodded, watching him fearfully.

Dean drew in a painful, ragged breath, then blew it slowly out.

It was kind of funny.

He'd thought that his heart had been broken when he learned that his father was planning to kill Sam, but he'd been dead wrong.

It was breaking right now.