Time to get Jacob near to our Sammy...

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(Nebraska… January 5, 2008)

The sun was sinking to the west of Harvelle's Roadhouse, and early customers were already on their way in. Most were hunters, or the family of hunters, and if they had any idea the man with the fisherman's cap who sat by himself at the bar was actually a vampire, they would have been shocked and furious. Ellen shook her head when she saw him. Benny Lafitte was a good and loyal friend, and she would keep his secret, but rumors had begun to surface over the past two years, and if anyone recognized him, it would spell trouble for everyone.

After checking to make sure her new employees all had a handle on their work, Ellen crossed over to Benny and sat beside him. "Haven't seen you in a while. Everything okay?"

He turned his deep blue eyes on her, a look of concern etched on his face. "I'm worried," he said softly, his Cajun voice strained with apprehension. "Something don't smell right. Can't put my finger on it."

Shifting in her seat, Ellen forced a smile, reluctant to give away her discomfort. "I hope it ain't our cookin'."

"If only."

Before she could ask for more details, she felt her phone vibrating in her pocket. "Excuse me," she said, pulling it out and checking the caller ID. As a rule, she never ignored her phone — call it maternal instinct. She knew all too well the dangers lurking in the shadows, and if someone needed her help, she made it a point to stay within reach.

John Winchester.

Her eyes widened at the name and she answered immediately. "John? You all right?" Benny cocked his head, clearly taking an interest and openly eavesdropping.

"I have some leads," John replied, straight to the point, as always. "From the looks of it, the demons were after a gun. They killed Gordon for it."

Ellen frowned, not sure whether to be surprised or skeptical. "A gun?"

"A game changer, if it's what I think it is. I need to track it down, at all costs. Tell Jo, if it's any consolation, Gordon was a good hunter. He did everything right. Unfortunately, he happened to find a powerful weapon, and he wasn't prepared for the swarm of demons that came to steal it. They overwhelmed him."

Ellen shuddered. "You need back-up?"

"Not yet. I need more information, and I'm less conspicuous on my own."

Typical. Ellen brushed a hand through her hair in mounting dread. "I'm sorry, but didn't you just say a 'swarm of demons'?"

"I'll be fine," he replied, utterly unfazed. "Take care of yourself, Ellen. There's a war coming, and we had all best be ready for it."

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(Las Vegas, Nevada… January 12, 2008)

A week later, Sam and Dean found themselves entering the Hesperides Resort and Casino, a world away from anything they had ever known. Gone were the squalid motels, full of dingy rooms that always had a peculiar yet familiar smell to them. The Hesperides was a towering monolith of twenty-six floors. Outside, the resort featured five swimming pools, numerous hot tubs, and a putt-putt course. Surrounded by palm trees, it offered everything Dean could hope for from a Vegas dream vacation. It was so perfect that, for once, Dean didn't mind passing the Impala's spare key to the resort's professional valet, who promised to have her waxed and shining by the time they left.

"This is awesome," he said with a grin as they entered the extravagant lobby. Everything about it screamed luxury, from the dazzling eight-foot chandeliers made of hand-cut glass to the polished marble floor, and everything in-between: huge decorative columns, statues of cultural icons, elegant fountains, and the plush red sofas in the common areas. It was no surprise the place was bustling with activity as guests went about their business, talking, laughing, and thoroughly enjoying themselves. Dean glanced over at Sam, aware of his more subdued demeanor — big cities and large crowds could be hard on the psychic, but at least they no longer crippled him. Still, Dean's brow crinkled in concern. "Look, man, we don't have to stay if it's too loud."

Sam shook his head, forcing a reassuring smile that quickly fell. "No, it's okay. I just… I still gotta adjust, but once I get the volume turned down, I should be fine." Dean watched him carefully, torn between his desire to protect him and his excitement to partake in the luxury around them — but thankfully, Sam had developed sufficient control over his abilities, and he could reduce the power of his telepathy at will. It just took a little time. "I just… don't you think we're a little underdressed?"

As usual, they were both in their boots and jeans; Dean wore a blue canvas shirt over a black T-shirt, and Sam wore a flannel shirt under his green jacket. Meanwhile, everyone else had dressed for a night on the town — the men were all in business casual and the ladies were just… stunning. As Dean surveyed the crowd, he whistled appreciatively and clapped a hand on Sam's shoulder. "Confidence, Sammy. That's all they care about."

"Pretty sure it's not."

But Dean was already on his way to the front desk, hauling both of their duffel bags. The next available clerk was a broad-shouldered man in a black suit with a gold name badge, and he offered Dean a courteous smile. "Welcome to the Hesperides Resort, sir. How may I help you?"

"Hiya," Dean said cheerfully. "My uncle set up a reservation for us. Bobby Singer."

"One moment…" The clerk turned to his computer and typed in some information. "Bobby… Singer… Yes. I do have a note that he called to update his reservation. I'll just need a photo ID to verify your information."

"Sure thing." Dean fished his wallet out of his pocket and gave the clerk his latest driver's license. The clerk processed it, made a few more notes on his computer, and retrieved two hotel card keys along with a brochure, handing them all back to Dean.

"Thank you, Mr. Singer," he said with practiced hospitality. "I have you and your brother set up in room 603: one of our two-bed standard suites. We have three different dining options, including Sonya's Cuisine. The casino floor is through the double doors straight ahead, and our concierge services are available at your convenience. Please let us know if you require any assistance."

"Thanks."

"Enjoy your stay."

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"Thank you, Bobby!" Dean exclaimed in delight as they entered their room on the sixth floor. It instantly surpassed their expectations. Not only did it smell clean, but it came with a fully-stocked fridge and minibar, a large plasma HDTV and complimentary bathrobes. Sam grinned, rolling his eyes affectionately when he saw the excitement spark across Dean's face — the perpetual kid in a candy store who didn't know which direction to go in first. "Can you believe this!?"

"No, actually," Sam remarked, watching in amusement as Dean claimed the nearest bed for himself, tossing Sam's duffel bag on the far bed. "I don't know how Bobby could afford this, and I don't know why he wasted it on us."

Dean shrugged. "Never look a gift horse in the mouth, Sammy. And it's not a 'waste.' Bobby knows we've been pushin' it too hard these last few months. Hell, you nearly died! If anyone deserves a vacation, it's you." As he spoke, he threw himself backwards on the bed, reveling in the simple joy of a lump-free mattress. His eyes tracked upwards to the head of the bed. "Does it…?"

"No, Dean, there's no Magic Fingers!" Sam snorted, wrinkling his nose in mock-disgust. "Places like this don't cater to your sick habits."

"Relaxation's not a sick habit, Sammy," Dean brushed him off, staring blissfully up at the ceiling. "You should try it."

Sam shook his head. "I'd rather get some food. Real food. You in?"

Dean was back on his feet in an instant. "C'mon, Sammy. Do you really have to ask?"

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(35,000 feet above New Mexico… January 13, 2008)

It was a painfully long flight from Shreveport to Las Vegas, and no amount of first-class pampering could make it tolerable. Jacob sat in the aisle seat next to Gemma, opening and closing his hands, clenching his jaw, stretching his neck… He tried to remind himself that flying was faster than driving, and it could have been worse, but such concessions did little to stem his impatience. Sam was out there… so close, but still so far… The wait was unbearable. Two years… It felt more like two centuries.

How strange. Jacob had always been a composed, disciplined man — the epitome of self-control — able to endure anything — even life in a federal super-max prison. But when it came to his little brother, Jacob felt insatiable… and the longer he was denied his little brother, the worse it became. He was stuck in suspended separation, and it was agonizing — like hell on earth.

But at least he had an excuse for his agitation.

Gemma glanced up from the book she was reading and graced him with a sympathetic smile. "It was a difficult upgrade," she acknowledged in a gentle whisper. "But I promise you, Jacob, in time you will adjust to your new power. And before long, you will rise above Dario and rejoin the upper echelons of the family. It is your birthright, not his. You have the maturity that he lacks. Trust me, Jacob. If you stay true to us, you will reclaim all the privileges you once enjoyed… and so much more."

He sighed, glancing back at her with his brand-new green eyes. "I won't let you down." At this point, he would tell Gemma anything she wanted to hear, as long as it brought him closer to Sam.

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(Fremont Street, Las Vegas… January 15, 2008)

The sun beat down on the desert city, but thanks to the enormous barrel-vault canopy, the Fremont Street Experience was pleasantly shaded. Tourists were everywhere, bustling up and down the mall amidst bright colors and upbeat music. They talked, they laughed, they danced — some whooped in excitement as they zip-lined overhead. Las Vegas was known for its nightlife, but even in the afternoon, people could still enjoy the city's attractions.

As Sam roamed the street, he felt oddly jubilant for the first time in… hell, he didn't know how long. It had been three days since their arrival, and the temporary respite was just what he needed. No hunting. No responsibilities. No pressure. And most importantly, no headaches. When he first developed his telepathy, large crowds had been overwhelming — even debilitating. He couldn't set foot in a city, much less relax in one.

But now he had the control to restrict his abilities, and the freedom was exhilarating. While Dean remained at the casino, gambling to his heart's content, Sam took off by himself, eager to explore. Las Vegas had so much history, and opportunities like this were both rare and fleeting. He paused for a moment, his face upturned, watching in amusement as the zip-liners flew through the air.

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The crowd buzzed around him, pushing and swirling in a cacophony of noise that was just… galling. Cockroaches: that's all they were. And yet, Jacob had to be grateful for them. A troupe of dancers in shimmering, flamboyant costumes sashayed past him, allowing him to move forward, closer. He knew he was going in the right direction.

There.

Jacob stopped, catching his breath, oblivious to the man behind him who swore angrily at his abrupt halt. He was much too focused on his little brother. On Sam.

Finally.

Jacob eagerly drank in the sight of him, basking in the release. All the impatience, all the frustration, all the tension instantly poured out of him, leaving behind a rush of unbridled satisfaction.

Damn. If it felt this good just glimpsing his brother, how much better would it feel to finally reclaim him?

Sam was standing on the edge of the pedestrian mall, between store entrances. Despite the desert heat, he wore a green coat — it was January, after all — and was gazing up at the canopy with his hands shoved deep in his pockets as he simply enjoyed… being.

He had changed. Jacob could tell, even from afar. His hair was still long, but not as tousled, and he was starting to bulk up, growing into his height. His shoulders were broad, and he carried himself with strength and confidence. Gone was the vulnerable, lanky college boy. Sam was officially a hunter in his prime, and Jacob felt a moment of fresh anticipation. They would accomplish so much together.

But not yet. Sam wouldn't just capitulate; he would resist every step of the way, and considering all his talent, he would certainly be a handful. Jacob would be wise to bear that in mind. As much as he wanted to cross the distance between them, to apprehend Sam and never let him go… it wasn't the right time. They had to finish their preparations. In fact, Jacob was only allowed near his brother to evaluate his fighting condition, so they could strategize accordingly. It was still too soon to make their move. Tonight. He could wait until tonight.

And so, he watched, safely hidden among the pedestrians as Sam resumed his tour of the city. Following him would be a thrill. Even if the boy had been using his telepathy — which he clearly wasn't — Jacob had the mental prowess to shield his mind from outside intrusion. And thanks to Sam's height, Jacob didn't have to risk venturing too close. His brother would not see him.

Not until he was ready to be seen.

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It was getting late in the day, and a quick glance at his watch told Sam to find a taxi back to the resort. The Fremont Street Experience might have more to offer at night, but he was a hell of a lot more interested in the Ladyheart concert. He didn't have a ticket, but depending on how much cash he could swipe from Dean, he might be able to haggle with a scalper. No guarantees, but he might as well try. What were the odds that he'd be in Vegas at the same time as Vince Vincente? Especially since the rock band rarely performed anymore?

He turned, carefully navigating his way back through the pedestrian mall toward the road. If Dean asked, what should he tell him? Sam knew his brother wasn't a Ladyheart fan, forcing him to spend much of his childhood hiding his appreciation for the group. Even a live concert in Vegas wouldn't garner Dean's approval.

As Sam weighed his options, his thoughts were suddenly — without warning — interrupted by a stream of anxiety so intense it bordered on panic. Sam grimaced, stopping short in alarm. If he could sense someone's fear despite his diminished abilities, it must have been bad, and he wasn't about to ignore it. Glancing around, he scanned the crowd for the source of the anxiety, and quickly found himself observing a young girl who stood awkwardly by herself under a palm tree. She couldn't have been older than Cyrus, and she looked close to tears, obviously lost — why else would a child be alone in the middle of Vegas?

He had to help her.

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For a split second, Jacob wondered if Sam had somehow sensed his presence. He had been perfectly at ease one moment, and then, in the blink of an eye, he was standing stock-still, clearly troubled. It wouldn't have been implausible… Sam's skills were extraordinary. If anyone could detect Jacob when he was actively concealing himself, it would naturally be his little brother.

But no… Sam's attention was drifting through the crowd, eventually landing on a child. She was standing by herself — easy prey. The Stynes had very little use for street urchins, especially female, and Jacob would never have noticed the girl without Sam… but he could imagine other predators would drool at the mere sight of her. After all, to the right people, she could make an interesting toy, a valuable asset, or even both. But that didn't explain Sam's interest in her. Jacob frowned, watching in bewilderment.

His brother took an open approach, making eye contact with the girl, his shoulders rounding forwards to reduce some of his intimidating height as he knelt down in front of her. He wasn't being stealthy at all — he caught the attention of some other tourists, and they turned to gawk, both at Sam and the girl. Oddly enough, their impertinence didn't seem to annoy Sam. If anything, he encouraged it. After trading a few words with the girl, he glanced up at the tourists and issued some kind of command. They quickly turned their heads, scanning the crowd as if searching for someone. The next thing Jacob knew, they were flagging down other tourists, talking to them, as if… spreading the word. All the while, Sam knelt in front of the girl, chatting with her, making her smile.

It took Jacob a moment to comprehend the situation. His brother was comforting the girl, keeping a protective eye on her while delegating the other tourists to look for her family. And surprisingly, they were all cooperating like good Samaritans, despite the inconvenience. What a massive waste of time.

Jacob sighed, rolling his eyes. Sam had grown so much over the past two years, but judging from this display of compassion, he might as well still be a child himself. Innocent. Benevolent.

Naive.

The Winchesters were far too lenient with him, to allow this kind of behavior, which meant Jacob would have to be extra diligent to correct the indulgence.

As he continued watching the spectacle play out in front of him, Jacob felt his phone vibrate. He pulled it from his pocket and answered without bothering to check the ID. "Status?"

"We've bought everything we could possibly need, and then some," Gemma told him serenely. "The wait is over, Jacob. Meet us at the Hesperides. We'll finalize our plans, based on your report, and tonight we'll claim our two prizes."

Jacob smiled. "Best news I've heard all week." The call ended abruptly — Gemma had no reason to drag out the conversation — and Jacob returned the phone to his pocket.

"Gabriela!"

A middle-aged woman appeared shoving her way through the crowd, anxiously searching for the girl. When they saw each other, their faces both lit up.

"Mama!" The girl raced to her mother and jumped in her arms. They held each other tightly, oblivious to the onlookers who watched happily, sharing in their relief. Jacob, however, had eyes only for Sam. He paid close attention to the boy's reaction, observing his warm smile, his gentle demeanor, his quiet retreat… He clearly deserved recognition — a reward, perhaps, or at the very least some gratitude… but he asked for nothing. Instead, he took his leave, resuming his walk without a backward glance.

Jacob followed, silently shaking his head.

Oh, Sam… there's still so much I have left to teach you.

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