Disclaimer: Not mine.

Thanks to cold kagome, yenneffer, Katy M VT, QuierdoMusic, BranchSuper, Kynstar, Caichan and Twincester Angel for the reviews.

Chapter 10: 'Tis Not that I Love Caesar Less

Back to normal? Not really. Even I'm not stupid enough to believe that. But Sam's given me something I can work with.

I spent half an hour last night promising the idiot that I wasn't happier without him and pointing out all the times I might have been injured or killed if he hadn't been around to save me. I was so desperate to get him to smile that I even told him things I've never told anyone – like the nights after Mom died when the only way I could sleep was with Sammy cuddled in my arms, warm and soft and comforting. Or when Dad was away and –

What the hell am I doing? Bad enough that I had a chick-flick moment in the middle of the night. I'm not going to relive it in the morning.

Anyway, the point is that we're... well, not OK, but better.

Sam's finishing his research – not that I understand what's left to finish. It seems to me the kid knows everything there is to know about every werewolf that has ever lived in the entire history of the human race. If there were any shapeshifting velociraptors terrorizing the hell out of prehistoric swamps, he probably knows about them, too.

But seeing him with his laptop open and a half-dozen printouts spread out on the table is a reassuring sight. Even now, more than two months after he's back, there are times when I can't entirely believe it and I'm afraid that any minute I'm going to wake up and discover Gabriel's been messing with my head or something like that. No matter how things are between us, Sam's alive and Sam's here and I don't have the strong urge to get active with a machete whenever I hear someone order a vanilla latte.

My phone rings, startling me out of my thoughts. I take a look at the display – Lisa.

I leave the room for the call. It's not like I have anything to say that Sam can't hear – in fact, it would be fun to talk in front of Sam and see how much I can make him blush before he runs for it – but he tends to look guilty whenever Lisa and Ben are mentioned, and tell me that he'll totally understand if I want to leave.

"Hey, Lisa."

"Hey, Dean... How are you? Finish that job yet?"

"No, not really. Sammy's still doing some research. We'll probably hit it in a couple of days. How's Ben?"

"He's fine." There's a pause. "He was asking about you." I don't know if I'm imagining the accusation in her voice. "So... How long is this job going to take?"

"If everything goes according to plan, just the one night... We'll probably hit it tomorrow."

"What are you doing after that?"

There it is. The question I was dreading.

I never understood why Sam gave up on the normal life when he did... Not until now. It's too... difficult. More than just difficult, it's freaking impossible. Lisa is great, Ben's an incredible kid, and I really hate having to do this to them.

"Sammy'll find another job for us."

"Oh. You don't think you could... Maybe... Come here for a couple of weeks? Maybe in time for Christmas? Ben... Well... Ben wants to see you. And... So do I."

"Lisa –"

"And Sam, too, of course. It's so ridiculous that you're so close to your brother and I barely even know him."

"Lisa, I'd love to, but –"

"Oh God. Here it comes."

"Lisa, please. It's not like that. There are... things... we have to do, and there are probably other things after Sam. If we came there it would put you and Ben at risk. I couldn't stand to have you get hurt because of me. You have to understand – you don't know what's out there."

"Well..." She sounds hesitant, now, and a little scared. It's making me nervous, because that means she thinks I'm really not going to like what she has to say. "If the things are only after Sam –"

"No." The word's out without thought. I love her, I love Ben, I really want to see them again, but... no. I can't leave Sam alone, not so soon, not at Christmas, not without being certain that he won't go and do something stupid while I'm gone. Besides... We haven't had a fun Christmas together since before Stanford. First Dad was missing, then the whole destiny crap was eating at Sam, then there was my year running out, and then... Well. Bottom line, I can't do it. "Lisa, I'm sorry, I really am. I can't leave Sam on his own now."

"Have you even discussed it with him?"

"No, but –"

"Sam probably wants you to be happy. If you told him, he'd probably want you to come back for Christmas. He's a big boy, Dean. He'll take care of himself."

I don't blame Lisa for saying that. I really don't. How do I explain to her that my brother, twenty-eight years old, smart, strong, deadeye with a shotgun, can't be left alone for a week and trusted to still be alive at the end of it? It sounds absurd in my head, and I'm used to Sam.

I have to try to explain, though, because I really do want her to understand.

"Lisa, look, I know what you're thinking, and I really do want to see you and Ben. Really. But I can't leave Sam now – he's been through a lot and he needs me now."

"Oh, come on, Dean. I saw what you went through last year. You couldn't sleep a single night through without pills, you were falling apart – and all the time Sam was alive. And you're willing to just forgive him for putting you through that? If he got by without you for a year, he can get by without you for a couple of weeks."

"Lisa, I'm sorry."

She sighs. "Never mind. I guess I'll see you when I see you."

"Yeah. Umm –"

"Bye, Dean."

Click.

That went well.

Sam's still at it when I go back, so immersed in his research that he doesn't even look up when I open the door. I hope he didn't notice I left... or, if he did, that he figured I just went out to get some air or something.

"Was that Lisa?"

That's my Sammy. Doesn't miss a single damn trick. Pain-in-the-ass.

"Yeah." Not that I don't want to deny it – it's likely to lead to a less-than-comfortable conversation – but we promised each other there'd be no more lies. Not outright lies.

"She OK?"

"She's fine." I'd leave it at that if I could, but the way the kid seems to know things now, it'll only come back later to bite me in the ass at the most inconvenient time imaginable. "She wanted to know if we could go by... You know, spend Christmas with her and the kid."

Sam looks up. "I can't –"

"I know, Sammy," I interrupt, to forestall any attempts to persuade me to go. "I told her that. Now get back to work."

Sam looks at me for a moment more, hazel eyes unreadable, before he goes back to his research. It looks like we're not going to have an argument about me leaving him on his own – thank God.

I wish I could get back to my work as easily as Sam gets back to his. Of course, it would help if my work were something other than cleaning and polishing the guns for the fourth time in three days – hey, life is slow when you don't have anything to do – because that leaves me free to think.

The thing is – and maybe this sounds strange – the thing is that I'm not feeling that bad about not being able to go to Lisa's for Christmas. Whatever. Can't go, too many evil beasts, life is tough. No point crying about it. You'd think that would be the end of it, and for most of my life it would have been. But things have changed.

For one thing, I've discovered that no point crying about it doesn't always work. That's what I told myself every second of every day that Sammy was gone – that I thought Sammy was gone – and it didn't make me feel remotely better. Lisa helped, a little, but only sometimes, and the rest of the time all I could do was agonize over how I'd failed to save Sam – again. And – well – yeah, OK, that's not unexpected. I mean, it's not exactly a secret that I'm not always entirely rational when it comes to Sam. And not being able to spend Christmas with a girl ranks nowhere near seeing your little brother sacrifice himself to eternal torture on the scale of horrible things that'll scar your soul for life.

Still...

Shouldn't I feel a little worse about it? No way I'm going to leave Sam on his own, of course, not now – but shouldn't I at least have had to consider the decision a little more?

This is stupid. I'm Dean Winchester. I don't agonize over my feelings. And Sam's giving me enough to worry about without my adding to it on my own account.

I sneak a glance at him. He doesn't seem to be brooding, but the way he's been the past few weeks I can tell it won't take much to start him off again. He heard me out last night, he assured me he believed I don't want to be rid of him and he swore that if the crossroads demon shows up again he won't consider any deal... Still, I can't be entirely certain. Sam's not very good at keeping promises when he starts imagining that breaking them will make things better for me.

"So how do we kill the thing? Silver bullets?"

"They should work." Sam scribbles something on one of the sheets of paper he's got in front of him. Seriously, if anyone ever gathered Sam's notes and turned them into a journal, it would be even longer than Dad's. "But we'll have to be prepared for the fact that it might not turn up as a wolf."

"You mean it'll be in human form?"

"Not necessarily. According to lore, early werewolves turned into vampires after they died. That's probably not true – what's likely is that they could shift into any animal form they wanted to, so when somebody tried to put some silver in them they'd turn into something small and mobile – like a bat – and escape."

"Great," I grumble. "Just great. Can they shift into other human forms, too?"

"There's no record of it, but we have to assume that they can." Sam makes a face. "Shouldn't be impossible – we've hunted shifters, we've hunted werewolves, come to that we've also hunted vampires. It'll just be a bit more complicated than usual."

"So what happens when we kill it?"

"We burn the body. That should cut off the... the bloodline is what the book calls it. All the werewolves it's infected, all the werewolves they have infected – well, they won't stop being werewolves, but they'll stop being infectious."

"They'll still change at the full moon?"

"Yeah. Still change, still kill people, still have to be hunted. But with the current generation of werewolves, it'll stop."

"If we manage to kill this one."

"If we do," Sam agrees. He turns to the window –

And all the colour drains from his face.

"Sammy? What's wrong?"

"It's her."

I turn to look. The only movement in the parking lot outside is a car just pulling in. There's a woman driving, fortyish, short-cropped dark hair. She's classy – really classy, and the car she's driving is a red Beetle convertible. Definitely not the kind of woman you'd expect to find in a cheap motel in the middle of the morning.

"Who is she, Sam?"

"The demon." He turns to me, and the look on his face is pure Sammy. It's love and trust and blind belief, and it gives me confidence in a way nothing else can. "She's here."

I don't ask how Sam knows. He's sure, and that's enough for me.

"It's OK, Sam." I glance around the room, making sure there's no entry point that doesn't have a line of runes across it in Sam's neat script. "There's no way she can come in. We'll be fine. She's not going to get you again."

"She won't try to come in now. But she knows we're here. She'll make her move later, probably when we've got our hands full with the werewolf."

I have to ask. Sam seems very familiar with the bitch's methods.

"She attacked you before, Sammy?" No answer. "Sammy?"

"I've come across her."

"When?" No answer. "Sam, don't make me repeat every question a dozen times. When did you come across her?"

Sam's face is suddenly apprehensive. "She's followed me around a bit since... since I came back. She..." He ducks his head, seeming very interested in the toes of his shoes. When he speaks again, his voice is tiny and nervous. "She was the crossroads demon who... who offered me the... the deal."

Oh.

Oh.

Bitch! Demon bitch, hurting Sammy and upsetting him and trying to take him away from me! When I get my hands on her –

"How is she so far from her crossroads, then?"

Who cares? I'm sending her straight back to hell! After I've plunged her into a tub of holy water and spoken the name of God –

"Gabriel exorcised her. She came back."

Better yet, I'll make her speak the name of God. I'll make her recite it from now till Christmas – no, till NEXT Christmas.

"Well, she's not going to be back for long."

Then I will find the most painful exorcism ritual known to man.

"Dean, no –"

Or maybe I'll carve her up with Ruby's knife. Slowly. Over several days.

"Dean, no!" Sam's grabbing my arm, shaking my shoulder, and the expression on his face is borderline panic. "Don't be stupid! You said it yourself, we're safe in here. You're only going to get yourself killed if you go after her!"

That's when I realize that I'm almost at the door, holding Ruby's knife. And that Sam, idiot that he is, is taking absolutely no pains to avoid getting cut with it as he hauls me physically back.

"Sam!"

I shove him off – or I try to. It's embarrassing. He doesn't even sway on his feet, he just grunts and absorbs the force without slowing down. I mean, it's true that I'm swatting at him one-handed because I don't want to drop the knife, but still. This is the Sasquatch who went down with no fight at all when I pushed him onto his bed last night.

"Sam! I'm not going anywhere."

"Dean –"

"Sammy. I know." I know you don't want me to go after her alone. I know you're scared for me. I know how miserable you'd be if something happened to me because I'd feel exactly the same way, and damn it, Sam, I wish I could be certain you believed that. "I won't go after her alone. But I'm not going to stand by and let her have you, either. When we're done with the werewolf, we're going to find out everything there is to know about this demon, and then we're going to take her down. Got that?"

What did you think? Good? Bad? Please review!