It had been a completely silent car journey just about the whole way to Chicago, the city where Jayden Panietti had lived and died.

Sam found himself half staring out of the window as they drove, and half watching his brother, who was staring rigidly straight ahead. Sam was ready to swear that Dean hadn't even turned his head once to check that junctions were clear: he was driving on pure instinct and intuition, his thoughts buried as deep as his emotions.

But Sam didn't interrupt them: he had too much thinking of his own to do.

And he was worried about upsetting his brother, by saying or doing the wrong thing, or by pushing too much with the questions that he still had… Above all, he was worried that Dean simply couldn't take too much more…

And he still had the remnants of a crippling self-caused headache, which eventually he decided to just try and snooze away, huddling himself in his seat to lean against the door in the passenger's seat. He would have loved to have laid his head in his brother's lap again, but didn't dare to ask.

For when was said and done… Sam just couldn't see how Dean could even bear to look at him.

It was early evening by the time they arrived, and they still had hardly spoken more than a word to each other from that morning. Sam came out of his reverie and looked around at the busy city streets: "Are we heading for anywhere particular? I thought we'd just be finding a motel?"

The other grunted but eventually responded even as he carefully guided the Impala through the heavy traffic. "Just checkin' where the Coroner's Office is again. Took me ages to find it last time."

The younger man nodded and sat up straight in his seat to try and concentrate on recognising where they were: "There's a sign to Douglas Park. I seem to remember it's near there… yeah, that's it. I'm sure it's that way…"

They eventually found West Harrison Street and drove along it. But as they finally recognised the building they were looking for, they were surprised to see that there was still a light on inside. Dean pulled his Baby up across the street and moved to open the driver's door.

Sam moved to stop him, but stalled with his hand still outstretched mid-air, momentarily hesitant to risk touching his brother: "Where are you going? We're still in our civvies?"

Dean glanced back at him: "Worth a try," he grunted, and got out of the car. Sam sighed but followed as they crossed the road and made their way to the office.

The door was locked as per the times on the opening hour's sign, but as they stood at the door, they could see a smartly dressed, dark-haired woman moving around inside. Dean knocked smartly on the glass and beckoned her over, holding his 'FBI' badge up to show her as he did. Despite his misgivings, Sam moved to do the same.

"I'm sorry, gentleman: the office is closed." She had opened the door a crack, but decided that the two good-looking men outside were worth taking a second look at.

"I'm sorry, ma'am." Dean was giving her his most charming smile: "we just saw the light and thought we'd try on the off-chance. I know we don't look official, but we've been sent to Chicago to investigate the Panietti case: we can come back tomorrow morning if that's more convenient…"

"Panietti?" She was surprised. "Her body's already been returned to her family: I think she's been cremated. But you're welcome to see her file while I finish up writing my report… as long as you're quick."

"Of course, ma'am." And they were being allowed in.

They would have preferred it if they could have seen the actual corpse… but the photos were certainly graphic enough that both of the brothers automatically inhaled as they saw them. It had been an extremely violent death.

The petite brunette had basically been shredded into pieces by something… and that something had either had very long, sharp claws… or had gone completely psychotic on the woman with a long, sharp knife. Or knives.

"Do you think this was done by an animal?" Dean asked the Coroner as she returned to take back the folder.

She considered for a moment: "No," she finally admitted. "I don't. I've seen animal attacks: there's no bite marks, no trace of fur. Not one single hair...

But then…" She shook her head at herself. "There's no trace that a human was in there either. Not that the forensics could find. And there's nothing on any of the CCTV cameras… and there are a lot in that area: it's an affluent area, there's lots of security…

Nothing went into that apartment. The whole day. Before she came home… there was nothing. And nothing went out. The whole night. Or during the day before she was found. No clue as to animal or human at all… but…"

"But?"

"It seemed personal, Agent Bonham. I know that sounds ridiculous, but… the violence. The expression in her face as she died… it wasn't just terror… it was… shame, somehow. And her eyes, to me at least… look as if she was pleading

We've listed it as an animal attack to try and prevent panic. There was a large dog loose that had to be destroyed by the Humane Society the next day: we've managed to 'link' the two reports in the minds of the public. But it's definitely still an open case. No clues. Jayden Panietti went into her own apartment.

Alone.

And died there.

Alone.

Anyway, gentlemen: that's me done for the night. If you need any more information, you'll have to return tomorrow." And she was retrieving the file from them, and showing them out as they thanked her for her time.

"Where to next? Motel? Or…?" Sam asked as they got back into the Impala.

"Might as well take a look at her apartment. You got the address?"

"Okay."

There was another hour of almost total silence in the car while they found the area that the dead woman had lived and died in, aside from Dean's occasional curse and offensive gesture at a few late-working commuters who seemed to be more interested in what they would be having for their supper, than staying on the correct side of the road and getting home alive.

If he were being honest with himself, then Sam didn't know what to say. He couldn't help but keep going over and over the revelations that had finally come out that morning: Sam had hoped… he had prayed that Dean had said the part about him being all but owned by the AE only as a taunt because he was upset at Sam and embarrassed about being taken by the prince.

The truth had proved to be far worse.

That wording of the contract kept reverberating around and around inside his head. There must be some way around it, there had to be.

Please God, let him find some way to break that contract.

But in the meantime… he didn't know what to say to Dean. How could his brother still be there with him…? Well, of course he had to stay with Sam now, or he would simply be claimed back by the AE as theirs… but it must be killing the older man inside.

It was killing Sam… and he had only just found out about it.

Perhaps Castiel had been right? Perhaps he should just ask the angel to take Dean somewhere well out of the range of the AE, and just leave Sam to face the consequences that would surely follow. That would be no less than he deserved…

And it would at least mean that his brother would be safe and no longer being abused.

Perhaps that might be a solution?

Perhaps that was the only solution…

Even if it did mean that he would lose Dean… probably for ever this time… But at least his brother might start to see how Castiel so obviously looked at him…

Perhaps he might even feel the same way in return, without the distraction of having to deal with and worry about a little brother addicted to blood and power, or a little brother guilt-ridden with shame, or a little brother who had all but sold his beloved big brother because he had been brought back from Hell somehow without a soul…

Perhaps Dean would fall in love with Castiel, if Sam could just stop being selfish for once, and let him have the chance…

He was disturbed from these depressing thoughts by the realisation that the Impala was being pulled over and the engine turned off. On looking around, Sam saw that they were in an area that was half city, half suburbs: there were trees lining the street and bushes and even small communal gardens surrounding the edges of what had been originally large, individual town houses, but which now had each been separated into various apartments, the numerous buzzers of which were glowing with fluorescent electrical power in the small panels outside the outer front doors of the residences.

He checked the house number of Jayden's address on the slip of paper in his hand and moved to open his door… then realised that Dean was still sitting silently and motionless in his seat: his hands both now off the steering wheel and instead huddled into his lap between his thighs, his head down as if he would have removed himself from this whole situation if he could…

Sam took his hand back from the door handle and resettled himself in the passenger's side. He knew Dean. Nobody would ever know him better. And he could see his brother was trying to steel himself to say something that he didn't want to… not out loud, anyway. So Sam just sat and waited…

"I saw how you were, with Castiel this morning." The abrupt sound of the deep, gravelly voice made Sam start a little. "And what you said… about him… caring for me… well, I don't know. I don't see why he would. Or how anybody would.

No, let me talk." He hadn't seemed to look around at all, but he knew that Sam was opening his mouth to disagree… the younger man closed it again with a frown. "All I'm trying to say… is that… I… there's … well…"

He visibly took a deep breath and forced himself to speak, staring steadily at his own hands as he did, his ears giving away the depth of his sudden embarrassment about admitting these feelings: "All it is… is that, well, Sammy… you ain't got nothin' to worry about in that respect: that's all I'm trying to say.

I'm yours. Heart and Soul.

Always have been: always will be.

As long as you can bear to have me around this time, then I'll be here. That's all I wanted to say. Just needed to tell you, that's all."

And he was getting out of the car, pushing the door shut behind him and heading to the house that contained the apartment.

Leaving Sam sitting absolutely stunned on his own in the passenger seat.

Shit, Dean had just come as close to telling him that he loved him as his brother ever would be able to: that must have been so hard for him to say as… the older man never showed his feelings. Not like that.

But what had he meant… about Sam bearing to be around him? Surely he knew how Sam felt about him as well…?

Surely he did?

But he had done his typical Dean thing of walking away from a conversation that he didn't want to risk hearing the response to. Again. He always did that: leaving the room… driving away. Exiting the car as if that would be an end to the discussion…

Well, not this fucking time.

Dean had just tentatively rung the buzzer to the apartment, to check that there was nobody in the deceased woman's apartment before they broke into it, when his arm was suddenly seized in an iron grip by a large, strong hand and he found himself being dragged physically away from the front door and around the corner to the side of the house, before being slammed upright against the wall: his back pressed to the solid brick, and an equally solid chest pressed firmly against his front so that he couldn't move away even if he wanted to.

He looked up with surprise into his younger brother's eyes… and blinked his gaze away as he saw the mixture of anxiousness and love in them. "Dean?" Sam paused while he tried to think through his next words. This was important: he had to get Dean to hear him. He had to get him to understand.

"No matter what you think, no matter how it's looked: I have always been yours. I'm serious," As he felt his brother sigh and almost slump a little where he stood, although still being held up by Sam's larger body. "I knew I was going to lose you… I knew you were going to be taken from me. And I got obsessed with trying to save you: I know that.

I got so obsessed that I all but drove you away myself… and when you returned from… that place…

I was an addict, Dean. No better than any other druggie. I…" Sam took a deep breath. "I was addicted to demon blood, and what I thought it gave me… and no matter what I do, I will never be able to rid myself of the shame of what I was, and what I did, and there are probably a lot of people still out there who curse my name every day… but.

It all started with you." And Dean was looking back up at him, the green eyes staring into his own. "Because I was losing you, and you're my… Everything.

You always have been."

He waited momentarily for a response, watching his brother's eyes as they flickered through various emotions: surprise, disbelief, doubt, denial, uncertainty… and eventually sadness as his life-long self-loathing kicked in and buried all of Sam's words beneath his own certainty of inadequacy and rejection.

"No. No!" And the younger man was bending his own face down to meet Dean's: lips gently touching lips. The kiss this time was tender, not like the one from just that morning when Sam had all but forcibly demanded entry to his brother's mouth. Now he was determined to keep his touch soft… although he couldn't help himself from licking along Dean's lower lip in an unspoken enquiry for access…?

And the older man opened his mouth to let Sam in.

They just stood against the wall of the house and kissed for a few moments. And Sam felt he had never known anything as wonderful in all his life. He wished he didn't have to do something as mundane as breathing, but eventually he had to… although he still kept both his hands either side of his brother's face and jaw… he wasn't quite sure when he had moved to do that… and held him tenderly, not giving Dean the chance to look away.

"I love you."

But he wasn't surprised when the green eyes still seemed a little unsure. Perhaps another kiss would help his brother believe him…

And another one, just for good measure.

When Sam felt Dean's hands tentatively come up to finger through his hair, the need to drag his brother back to the Impala and just go and find a motel as quickly as possible was so intense that he nearly gave in to it. But…

At the back of his mind was the jibe that the prince had made about him 'marking his territory' before allowing Dean to get into his car.

Had he been forcing his brother to sleep with him these past few months? Sam was almost afraid to ask.

He still had so many questions, although right at that moment they could wait…

But if he had, and he had the horrible feeling that that would have been the first thing that that soulless version of him would have done… simply because of his own intense desire for Dean… then how could he expect his brother to think of him as any different from the cold-hearted creature that he had been for the last year and a half, if his very first action, that of expecting Dean to have sex with him, was exactly the same?

No, Sam determined, and tried to ignore his own disappointment: he would have to take it slow. They were going to have to go back to the beginning of their relationship and start again. And this time, he was going to fucking make sure that Dean was never taken away from him by anything, monster or otherwise, again.

Although, as Sam's brain began to whirr into overdrive… perhaps even the situation now might turn out to be a good thing. Because it was now important that he had to stay safe, to save Dean from being returned to the clutches of the AE if anything happened to him: so perhaps… just perhaps… he could use it as his chance to get his brother away from Hunting once and for all? After all, if they both gave up chasing after monsters then it would stop, or at least lessen, the chance of him being killed by one.

Even Dean might see the logic of that!

He came out of his daydream to realise that his brother was just gazing up at him, still trapped between Sam's firm torso and the unforgiving wall, his face still being caught and held in the younger man's two large strong hands, but without any seeming complaint at all. Sam smiled lovingly and kissed him yet again: "We'd better get this done. Then we'll go and find dinner somewhere. And then somewhere to stay…

And… And… can I start to hold you again at night, Dean? Nothing more, not unless you want it. But I have missed having you in my arms so much: I'd settle for just knowing you're safe… or as safe as you can be. Would that be okay with you?"

"I've missed this."

He stared down in surprise at Dean, who seemed just as stunned, and more than horrified at his own suddenly blurted-out admission.

His face coloured and he tried to look away even as Sam's eyebrows rose. "Missed what? Kissing me? We can do more… as much as you want." And he was trying not to smirk as he looked down at his blushing brother…

Who impossibly reddened even more. "Not this. I mean… it's nice. But I've missed you.

You…" He sighed as Sam took enough pity to stop grinning, but instead moved to gently nudge his nose against his brother's cheek questioningly, and ghost his lips once more over Dean's while he waited for him to explain: "You're always so gentle with me. Once you knew what I am, at least. Nobody else has ever been like that…

That other thing… the other Sam. It may have looked like you. But it wasn't. So you don't have to worry at all about what's happened, Sammy, because it wasn't you.

I knew it wasn't, right from the off. And that's the only thing that's kept me going through these last few months: the knowledge that it wasn't you, and you must still be out there somewhere."

"Is that why you contacted Death? To get me back? That was really dangerous, Dean. Bobby told me…" He was nuzzling against the older man's ear now, relishing the shivers that were being caused in reaction to his warm breath.

"It didn't matter, Sammy. Because if it had failed… then I'd have run out of options. That's the only thing that's kept me alive through these last few months. The hope that I could somehow get you back."

"What are you saying?" Sam paused, his eyebrows pulling together in a deep, worried frown: surely Dean couldn't be meaning...?

"You know what I'm saying, Sam. If Death hadn't come through… well… that would've been it for me. I can't do this anymore. Not if you weren't here… As you, I mean…"

By this time, he had his head buried against Sam's shoulder enough to make his words come through as a mumble, and the younger man had his arms wrapped tightly around him, holding Dean physically into the protection of his own muscled body. He was going to protect him for the rest of his life now: whatever the future held, they were in it together. They would always be…

"I'm so grateful you kept trying, Dean. And I'm here now. I'm gonna look after you, now. I swear… I'm never going to let you go again. And we're going to find a way to get you out of this…"

"There ain't no way, Sam. The other you tried. He was so mad he'd been tricked: said he'd get even with them no matter what…"

"There is a way, Dean. We've just got to find it. And we will…

We always do.

I promise we will this time as well. We've got to."

And with one last tender mutual kiss, he was releasing Dean from the cage of his own body and arms so they could go and check the apartment as they had originally intended. Although he had to resist the temptation to hold his brother's hand as he led him to the front door...

It felt such a relief to both of them to have the tension between them eased… although both their good moods dissipated a little once they had gained access to the deceased woman's apartment. It was saturated with the stench of death, and although well used to it, they both had to swallow down bile as they entered. The specialist cleaners that dealt with such events hadn't been brought in yet, and the site of where Jayden Panietti had died was obvious: the couch was covered in stale, brown blood, and the room itself was splattered with sprays of it.

Sam lost the game of 'rock, paper, scissors' and began to search around and beneath the stained covers, while Dean looked around the rest of the apartment. Despite the age of the original building, it was modern in a clean, hygienic kind of way: it was a lovely place to stay in, but nothing about it felt like a home. Everything was too perfect… if it were in a showhouse. And there were hardly any personal knick-knacks: no framed photographs, no books or magazines that looked like they actually been read, no coffee rings on the tables or toothpaste spatters in the bathroom, no dirty mugs left in the basin. No marks of habitation at all.

The only exception to the stagnancy was a couple of photos stuck to the extremely large and extremely empty (hungry as always, Dean had checked. Just in case) refrigerator. Even as he pulled them down to examine them more closely, Sam was calling to him from the open area that was the main room: "It's definitely our witch again. Hex bag stuffed deep down in the cushions: deep down. Somebody sat there and forced it right down so it wouldn't be found…"

Dean turned to see as his brother approached and put it down on the counter beside him. "So, our 'someone' must have been in here. With your… the deceased. Or at least had access to the apartment…"

"Yeah." Sam ignored his slip, preferring instead to reach to slide his arms around Dean's waist and draw him towards him as he leant back against the kitchen top: after those kisses outside, he knew he never wanted to let go of his brother ever again.

Not ever.

"But she's not my anything… there's only one that I ever want called mine from now: I mean that…" And he was leaning forwards to claim his brother's lips again as Dean allowed himself to be manhandled into the gap created by his spread long legs.

As far as he was concerned the kiss was too fleeting, but then to his annoyance Dean was stepping back: "Look at these." And he was showing Sam the two pictures he had in his hands:

Both showed the same group of four women: Jayden Panietti herself and Saskia Mitchell, along with two unknowns. The first photograph was of them at their High School, all dressed in the same cheerleading team colours: four energetic, beautiful, vibrant young women at the beginning of their adult lives.

The second showed them at what the banner behind them proclaimed, was the High School reunion that had happened just a few weeks before: expensively dressed, made-up to perfection, arms genuinely around each other's shoulders as they each seductively pouted for the camera.

"They looked happy. But two of the four now dead. You think that's a coincidence?" Sam commented as he stared at the pictures.

"They might have been happy, but take a look at the faces of the people behind…"

And even as Sam surreptitiously moved to tighten the space between his legs, and coincidentally bring his brother's body back closer to his, he was obeying and studying the pictures… Dean was correct: the four women in the foreground might have been happy and contented, but unanimously the faces in the crowd behind, in both photos, were scowling in their direction, or showing outright sneering hatred.

"You think one of those is our witch?"

Dean shrugged: "It's somewhere to start." And he was breaking free from the younger man's now determined but loving grasp around his waist to reach for his cell phone: "Mr Mitchell? Agent Bonham here. Yes. Yes, I heard about Ms Panietti: I'm truly sorry, sir. I just have some questions if you don't mind… Yes, we're looking into her death as well, sir…"

He pulled away as Sam tried to hold his hand, unwilling to even let him be just a few feet away now that the tension had eased between them a bit. Sam bit his lip in frustration, but waited, albeit impatiently, until he had finished the call. "Anything?"

Dean turned from where he had walked across the room to the table, his notebook in his hand. "The two other ladies are Magdalaina Ramirez and Desiree O'Donnell. They were a tight-knit foursome during their school years, stayed solid through College and are, or were, still best friends even now. They thought they were the queens of the school, had little or no time for anybody else, which Mr Mitchell seems to think was quite sweet… it seems that Saskia was his high school crush, sounds like he worshipped the ground she walked on… and even gave themselves a group name: the 'Ice Maidens', because they were too 'cool' to bother with anyone else below what they considered their status..."

"They sound charming." Sam commented. "Is that really what the husband said…?"

"Pretty much, yeah." Dean had now returned to his side as they both leant against the kitchen counter. "You saw how he was with your little brunette even when he was grieving for his wife… 'normal' standards don't apply: it was all about them.

I asked their backgrounds: he's the son of a naval Lieutenant; was the, in his words, 'star' of the school football team, and now has his own private medical practice.

But his wife was the daughter of two doctors: he was amazed when she actually began to look at him. Panietti here was the daughter of a Company Director in one of the biggest companies in Norfolk, Virginia which is where they all hail from. O'Donnell's parents ran the restaurant to be seen in, emphasis on the 'The'… and Ramirez also came from money, although nobody was ever exactly sure what from. But her old man certainly had, and still has, a reputation in the local area that it was inadvisable to cross him…

Sam considered: "So, Saskia still seemed to have the talent for making herself unpopular before she died… If they were all like that… these 'Ice Maidens': all with money and ideas of self-importance, then" he glanced back down at the photo in his hand, "the reunion could have brought up old memories… and old grievances…"

"Good a possibility as any…" Dean stood up straight and reached for the pictures again. "Ramirez lives in New York: O'Donnell runs her own restaurant in Sacramento. If we're right, it'll be one of them next…" And he glanced back down at the faces in the crowd behind the four women…

"And possibly we've got the face of the killer right here."