Sam sat staring at the mountain of virtual information Dean had collected during the last year. Not only had he ferreted out specific aids and techniques to help Sam recover from his kidnap, Dean had spent what must have been hours cataloging their different personality traits and how each one of them would emotionally heal from this sort of trauma.

All of Sam's speeches about how Dean had been just as much a victim hadn't fallen on the deaf ears Sam first thought. Dean had done such a good job of laying it all out the only thing Sam needed to read through was the notes, plans and schedules Dean created. Sam knew Dean was having his own post traumatic issues, flashbacks and night terrors, what Sam didn't know was what he could do about it. Dean had done so much for him, but as Sam read he realized what was good and helpful for Sam wasn't so for Dean.

Nothing bad is ever going to happen to you, Sammy…If it's the last thing I'm going to do I'll save you…I've tried so hard to keep you safe…I wanted to be a fireman…

How many times and how many ways had Dean said the same thing, and most times he'd done it without words? Sam spent his life it seemed sometimes worrying that Dean was throwing himself in front of someone, sometimes a victim, more often Sam. He'd often been angry with his brother for never caring about his own life as much as he did everyone else's. To Sam it often appeared Dean was far too willing to sacrifice himself.

What it really was was Dean seeking out a way to fulfill what he needed.

Sam spent his days being tapped on the chest or shoulder, sometimes Dean would flip a finger through the back of Sam's hair. He got kicked and nudged in the foot or leg while they ate. Dean's elbow spent more time in Sam's side than it did near Dean's. When Sam was small Dean would take his hand when they crossed the street. Now Dean's knuckles would bounce for a second against Sam, making them both unconsciously check their steps and look both ways. Sam couldn't count the number of times when they tracked something that they'd press back to back and he'd feel Dean relax even as some ghouly thing came at them. When Sam wanted Dean's attention he yelled. More often than not Dean came running. When Dean wanted Sam's more times than not he got smacked in the knee or head.

There were the big, obvious things of course. The times Sam remembered Dean literally grabbing him and throwing him out of the way, shoving in front of Sam to guard him from some evil real or perceived. It was the smaller things Sam saw with such sudden clarity in Dean's notes that Sam had overlooked. He'd spent his entire life with Dean's small touches and taps. So much so that probably before Sam could walk and talk he'd come to know this as the norm and never given it a bit of thought.

Sam thought about it now.

Dean cared for people but mostly he cared for Sam. What bothered Sam was how Dean kept everything locked inside and would never talk about his thoughts and feelings. With such startling clarity it hit Sam, Dean didn't have to talk these things out. Sam talked. Dean swore sometimes Sam talked so much he never understood where Sam could find so much to say. Sam needed to talk, to express his feelings. In the months following his kidnap Dean had literally forced Sam to tell him everything, every thought, every fear, every nightmare. The fears and nightmares went away, or at least scaled down to a manageable level.

For Sam to force the same thing of Dean would be useless and frustrating. Dean needed to take care of things, to fix them. Dean needed to be needed. Just as Dean had been forced to go against his basic nature to help Sam, Sam was going to have to go against his to help Dean.

Sam was going to have to shut his mouth.

He'd meant it when he'd told Dean the only person he trusted Dean's life to was himself. What he hadn't realized was how close to the truth his words came. Sam's number one tool he had at his disposal to help his brother beyond the traumas of the past was himself. He had to shut his mouth, stop pushing at Dean to talk, since Dean really didn't have anything to say, and simply let Dean be needed.

Sam talked, connected on a mental level. Dean touched, connected on a physical level. When Dean was satisfied Sam was safe and well then Dean's stress level went down. If Sam wanted to help Dean he was going to have to let Dean be Dean and let him watch out for Sam and the world. Sam was going to have to get over himself and swallow some pride and do for Dean what Dean had always done for him. Trying to force Dean to open up verbally was making the situation worse, not better.

A bag clunked in front of him. He heard how glass clinked against glass in the confines of the plastic. Sam looked up. Bobby stood looking down at him.

"I brought baby food and dog food." Bobby looked…irritated.

Sam managed contrite. "Thanks."

An ammo box thudded next to the bag. "I brought bullets. Anything else you want me to shop for?"

Shaking his head, Sam ducked his gaze, going for meek and submissive. "No. Thank you."

Sam smiled and Bobby huffed.

"Do you think Dean cares about what happens to him?" Sam looked up and away. Even as he sat fingering the edges of his laptop he felt how Bobby studied him.

"Sam," Bobby pulled a chair over and swung onto it. "Your brother has the most amazing sense of self preservation I've ever seen in a person. He also loves you more than he does himself. I don't think either one of those things points to someone who doesn't care about himself. He just doesn't put himself first, not in the same way most folks do." Bobby reached out and tugged on Sam's shirt. "Let me see, kid."

Sam obediently took off his flannel and lifted his tee so Bobby could see the extent of his injury.

Bobby grimaced, but let go of Sam's shirt and it slid back into place. "Dean's like the guy who runs into the burning building instead of out. He can do something about a dangerous situation, so he does."

"It's that simple?"

"Yeah, Sam it's that simple." Bobby took a deep breath and went on. "Sam, your brother was a little boy who had his entire world ripped away except for one thing. You can't blame him for wanting to hang onto and guard that one thing with everything he has."

Shaking his head, Sam had to agree, he'd do the same. He did do the same. The difference was he wasn't up in everyone's face about it. If he was being really honest with himself, Sam knew he was just as willing to sacrifice himself as Dean.

"Hey, Bobby, thanks for bringing this stuff." Dean boomed his way through the room. "Whatcha find, Sammy?"

Sam started when Dean's hands landed on his shoulders, a quick rub and pat before they fell away. Dean gave him a wicked grin and plunked down in the chair in front of the fireplace. Making a mental note that when Sam didn't pull away even the slightest the tension eased away from them both. Dean grinned and Sam had to admit to himself the small gesture felt good.

"Why did I go into a store, one where people know me, and buy baby food?"

"For…um…the baby." Dean offered brightly. When Bobby's eyebrows went up and his jaw down, Sam snickered.

"Belle's cousin dropped out of sight about three days after Belle did." Sam ignored Bobby's irritated look and twisted in his chair to focus Dean.

"Yeah, that was a gimme." Pushing out of the chair, Dean crossed the room, waggling one finger at Bobby on the way by. "You want to see?"

Sam shut his laptop, grabbed up the bags and trailed behind them down the hall and to the clinic.

Valkyrie bounced across the room to greet them and inspect the bags. Sam extracted the dog food and took Carter's offering of bowls for her to eat and drink from.

Forge shoved off the counter he'd been sitting on, puppy in his lap and dug through the bag. "Oh, cool, this'll work. If we mix the baby food in with the dog food—"

"Give me that." Bobby yanked the bag of baby food jars away. Taking the dog food he dumped some of each into another bowl.

"Not so much dog food and more baby food." Forge moved normally—and for that Sam was really thankful since trying to keep up with his movements when he was in vampire mode was grating on Sam's last nerve—across the room and to Bobby who turned a glare on him. Stopping dead in his tracks, Forge put his free hand in the air and backed up a step.

Bobby snapped, "I think I can figure it out."

"It's going to be too hard for him to chew." Forge shrugged. His shoulders sagged when he set the puppy down in front of the bowl Bobby had mixed and the little guy dug right in, tail wagging with every swallow.

Dean caught Sam's eye, grinned and ducked his head when Bobby snorted and Forge muttered "know it all."

"So, it appears we've got two werewolves." Sam said quietly.

'Yeah, two possibly sick werewolves." Dean added. He was busy loading Sam's handgun with silver bullet rounds. Setting Sam's gun on the table next to him, he held his hand out for Forge's and repeated the same actions. "Okay, what do we have to do? Trap and take out two werewolves who don't do anything like they're supposed to. We need to know more about the cousin other than he's disappeared and if there is anywhere other than that farm and house they'd go to. Why don't you see what else you can dig up for us to use to get them and Forge and I can go back to the house, see if they've been there and set up things at the farm."

Sam couldn't do it. Inner pep talk on how to help Dean aside, Sam couldn't let his brother go alone. He couldn't. "Dean I'm not—" That was as far as Sam got. What happened next sort of struck him speechless.

"You two are a complete piece of work, you know that?" Forge stalked to the middle of the room. When Sam opened his mouth Forge swung in his direction, pointing one finger at him, "Shut up." The growl from Dean got a better response. "What part of shut it don't you get?" Forge was pointing at Dean now. He stood in the middle of the room, eyes on Dean.

Dean straightened and blinked at Forge.

Forge either didn't notice, or didn't care. "You want to kill the werewolves, we all want them gone. But you sure as hell don't have to get yourself hurt or worse in the process. That thing, those things have gone after Sam twice." Even though he faced Dean, Forge pointed back at Sam. "And you want him to sit here and do what? Wait and see if you come wandering back or just go on after it rips you up too? Exactly how fair is that? Sam deserves a crack at those things. He deserves to be in on everything, not shut out or pushed aside because you're worried about what might happen to him."

When Sam drew in a breath to speak Forge whirled around at him. "And you! You're worse than he is! I get it, I do. You want to get the werewolves, they hurt people. They hurt you. And you're scared to death that if you're not around your brother is going to throw himself at one because he's pissed off you got hurt and you're probably right. But, Sam, look at yourself. You can only use one hand and I haven't missed the fact you wince every time you move. One of them comes at you again, exactly what do you plan to do? Swear at it? No, you plan to go out there, beat to shit like you are and now you're brother has to not only take care of himself, but you too? Not exactly smart or fair to Dean, is it?" Raking one hand through his hair, Forge looked from one to the other, settling a hard gaze on Sam again. His voice dropped to something ragged and hurting. "There are far too few people in this world who care enough about someone else to put them first. You, pal, are in one big, fat minority."

Tuning out everyone else in the room, Sam looked over at his brother, met Dean's eyes. Without saying a word Sam knew Dean was thinking the same thing as he. Forge was right. He felt ashamed, and supposed maybe it showed on his face, how he was constantly accusing Dean of doing what Sam himself did.

"Neither one of you is going to beat this thing by yourselves. You shouldn't have to or even try to." Forge finished quietly.

"But you just said—" Sam started.

"I said shush."

"You got a plan?" Dean leaned back against the wall, arms crossed over his chest.

Forge shrugged, "More like an idea." He crossed the room to Carter's medical supply cabinet. "Obviously you two can't work without each other and obviously neither one of you has any business going after this thing alone. It uses primarily its sense of smell, right?"

Dean nodded. Sam sat watching the show.

"Weeelll, seems pretty simple to me. It's after Sam. It knows Sam's scent—"

"No!" Dean was moving, getting right in Forge's space. "Hell NO!"

Forge put a placating hand on Dean's shoulder that was slapped away. "So…" Forge pulled out a tourniquet, some syringes and tubes from the cabinet. The tourniquet was tossed at Sam, he deftly caught it out of the air and laid it on his lap. The syringes and tubes, Sam saw now they were for blood collection, were pushed into Carter's hand. Smiling at Dean, Forge spread his hands, "So, we make it think I'm Sam. We give it what it wants and we trap the bastards."

"Dean, that could work." Sam said.

Dean was chewing on his lip. He met Sam's eyes and nodded slowly. "It could. You wear his clothes you smell like him. He dabs your blood on, wears some of your clothes…yeah, it could."

"You can't do that. It's suicide." Bobby snapped, Sam jumped he'd forgotten Bobby was in the room.

"I stand a heck of a lot better chance against them than any of you. I've survived an attack and I have a better chance of out running it."

"You're insane." Bobby spat. "That was a fluke. You're plain idiot stupid if you think you'd be that lucky again."

Dean looked at Sam, then at the floor, rubbing at the back of his head. "Uh, no, not a fluke."

Sam slid from his chair and edged toward Bobby. Dean leaned to the side so he was between Bobby and Forge.

"I'm a vampire." Smiling broadly, Forge let his fangs drop long enough that Bobby sucked in a breath and darted forward. "Please don't chop my head off, sir."

Sam got to him in two long steps, grabbing Bobby's arm and pulling him back. "No, it's okay, it is."

"He's a—" Bobby sputtered.

"Yep." Forge stepped clear of Dean, marched over to Bobby and patted his shoulder. "For close to three hundred years. Didn't see that coming, didja?"

Dean got between them again, arms out, muttering, "Smartass cops." Fingertips on Bobby's and Forge's shoulders. He looked at Bobby, "You, chill." Then to Forge, "You aren't helping."

"That's why you were so worried I'd touched your blood when we brought you in here. That's why you're alive." Carter said.

"He's not exactly alive." Dean grumbled.

Sam nodded sat back in the chair and let Carter adjust the tourniquet over his bicep, looking over at Dean when the needle poked through and blood, his blood, flowed into the tubes.

Carter pressed cotton to Sam's arm and released the tourniquet. "Okay, now you." He looked over at Forge.

Hedging away from Bobby and to the chair beside Sam, Forge eased into it; bracing one elbow on the table he rested his forehead in one hand. Closing his eyes, he held his other arm at an angle that assured he couldn't see what was going on, if he'd opened his eyes.

Sam reached over and touched Forge's shoulder lightly. "Are you okay? You're looking a little green."

Heaving a sigh, followed by a heavier sigh and an odd burp, Forge nodded. "Don't like needles."

Bobby burst out laughing. Dean turned away hand over mouth, Sam watched his shoulders bounce and tried not to so much as smile as he gave Forge's shoulder a light squeeze. "It's um…it's not so…it won't…oh hell. You're not going to pass out or anything, are you?"

"No." Forge squeaked.

Carter released the tourniquet and glanced at Sam. "You should put some of this on too." He had the jar of snot-glop they'd found in the woods where Forge had been originally attacked.

"Ah, no come on. No, that stuff is nasty." Sam looked around at the faces of the other men helplessly. He knew he was done for when Dean's face slowly broadened to a wide smile.

"Only way I'm going along with this half-assed plan." Dean was far too pleased with this turn of events.

"I don't need your damn permission." Sam shot back and hated how his voice picked right then to snap up an octave.

Dean picked up the three handguns. "No, but you do need the silver and lead bullets and I have them all." He waggled the guns in the air and sighed dramatically, trying and failing to look innocent.

"I hate you." Sam grumbled. Opening the jar he dabbed some of the offensive stuff on his shirt. When Dean quirked an eyebrow Sam gave up and smeared the foul stuff across the material covering his chest then streaked some down each arm. "It's bad enough I have to paint his blood on me, now this."

"You can wash it off and stay here."

Sam narrowed his eyes and glared at Dean. Dean stood smiling back impassively. He turned to Bobby and chuckled. "Oh yeah, this is a good day."

Forge sat quietly in the passenger seat of the Impala. Dean drummed the steering wheel and sang cheerfully. Sam slouched in the back seat muttering obscenities. He'd started off in English and moved on to other languages Forge didn't understand. It sounded like Latin, but he wasn't sure and decided asking might get him punched. The meaning was still loud and clear, however.

He wished there was some other way besides throwing these two into a fray with werewolves when Sam was so badly injured, but Forge had seen for himself time and time again over the last year neither brother was very capable of functioning well without the other. As much as they bucked one another at times, and spent more time trying to protect each other from threats than anything else, it was obvious to Forge, they knew it too. At least this way Sam was free to admit he wasn't in top condition and might not put himself in danger. Forge hoped he'd simply accept his brother's guard. That would keep them both focused on their hunt and alive.

If anyone took a fall, Forge wanted to be sure it was he who fell.

The farm was closer and Dean insisted that would be a more likely choice of places the werewolves would be. Sam didn't seem to want to argue, so Forge followed Dean's instincts. The man knew his prey. Forge decided following his lead was prudent. They left the car pulled off the road a half mile away and hidden by brush and went the final distance on foot.

Fog had settled in giving the place an eerie, out of time sort of look. The set up of the property offered little in the way of cover and far too quickly they were out on in the open, exposed and vulnerable to attack.

The wind shifted and Forge's only warning came as the barest hint of scent. They were closest to the barn when Dean turned at nearly the same instance as Forge, gun up and tracking the blur of movement coming at them faster than even Forge's eye could track.

There were two. One hit Forge broadside, knocking his gun away and pinning him to the ground almost immediately. He kicked it off, hearing the shots from two guns. Pain erupted from his lower legs when he was grabbed in sharp claws and yanked away.

The other one flung Dean away like he was some rag toy. Hitting the ground with a harsh grunt, Forge watched him push up on his elbows and shake his head. Forge saw Dean's eyes widening, color leaching completely from his face when he twisted around and saw the second werewolf and Sam.

Forge scrambled for freedom and reach his own weapon even as Sam lifted his and opened fire on the monster bearing down on him. It moved too fast and even though Forge saw some of its pelt cut through with bullet tracks and smelt rancid blood it wasn't enough to take the creature down.

Hitting Sam full force with one grotesquely long arm and snatching him off his feet the thing never even slowed down until it reached the door at the back of the barn, shoving Sam through before ducking inside itself.

Forge kicked at the werewolf coming at him. It was nothing but irrational teeth and claws and the fact Forge kept rolling away from its attack angered it and drove it into a frenzy. Finally getting his feet under him Forge got one hit in before he was caught, lifted and thrown. The last thing he saw before he hit the ground and darkness crashed down on him was Dean sprinting at the barn.

They'd all been wrong. There was no hiding, no disguising from these things. Even wearing the repellant and Forge's blood Sam hadn't stood a chance.