super sorry for the long wait, this is my busy season at work. thank you all once again for the great reviews, they really make my day. hope everyone enjoys the next chapter.

AND OVER AGAIN

Chapter 13

Sam watched his brother intently as the older man laid on the bed. It was almost as though he was afraid Dean would disappear if he looked away, like he would vanish into dust in the time it took to blink. They had been through so much, suffered through so much, and Sam was afraid that his small and battered family wouldn't be able to take anymore. Everything was against them; time, the elements, the hunting community, hell, even his own powers. It was like trying to swim out of a whirlpool; he was exhausted, and in the end, he was still in the same spot.

Their lives were more screwed up than ever. He and his father were on even worse terms now then they were before Stanford, and Dean was still injured, despite the surgery. Yes, his leg laid flat and straight now, and yes, Sam knew that his brother would be able to walk with far less pain then he had been. But he was afraid that, in the end, they would end up paying too high a price for his mobility. Dean was still facing the very real possibility of infection, and Sam could tell that his father's closed off demeanor wasn't helping matters at all.

Dean searched hard for his father's approval, spending his days trying to live up to the inhuman expectations the older man had placed on his son's shoulders. It was almost like he was searching for a little piece of the man he had remembered from childhood, the man he had known before the fire. But Sam knew that that John Winchester was gone, burned along with his mother. He knew, because it was the same way with him. He was different after losing Jessica, no matter how hard he tried to tell himself otherwise. He was angrier, more vengeful, and more game for a hunt, and he knew it was a result of losing the love of his life.

Sam was more like his father then either men would ever admit, of that he was certain, and he knew it long before Dean had stated it on a muddy road nearly a lifetime before. They were two men caught in a power struggle, caught in their own versions of what was right and what wasn't, and Dean was left somewhere in the middle. Always in the middle. It was his alloted role, his 'place to be', and Sam was determined to change that. After all, his brother deserved a life just as much as everyone else.

"You hungry?" Sam asked, breaking the heavy silence of the room; the tv turned down to barely a murmur.

"Just get me a burger or something." Dean mumbled, his eyes never leaving the the television.

"Why don't you just come with me?"

"Do you really need me to hold your hand while you buy cheeseburgers?"

"Dean, you can't just sit here and watch tv all day."

"Why not?"

"Because."

"Great argument."

"Come on."

"Just leave me alone, Sammy."

"Dean, the doctor said you need to get up and around."

"I don't really care what the doctor said."

"Fine, then we can sit here and talk, order some take out."

"You suck." Dean glared at his brother, his face a mixture of annoyance and gratitude.

Sam knew his brother, well he knew his brother as well as anyone could know Dean, and he knew what it took to get him motivated. If he didn't have something to hunt or hustle, then his big brother would just sit around, letting himself fade away into the background, and that was something Sam wasn't about to allow. No, his brother had drifted too far into the background already.

Sam tossed Dean his jacket before grabbing his own, his brother sliding back onto his crutches as natural as he would his own two legs. Sam sighed, wishing he was free of them. He knew the doctor had told them at least six weeks before Dean's knee was strong enough to walk without them, but it still hurt the young hunter to see it.

"We going?"

Sam looked up, taking in his brother. Dean's leg was straighter then it had been in months, his right foot grazing the ground. He was better then he was before the surgery, that much was obvious, but there was still so much more he had to go through, and that tore at the younger man's heart.

"Yeah, there's a place just a few blocks down, I think we should walk."

"Why?"

"Because, it's good for you."

"Sam."

"Come on, Dean."

"You're like the nurse from hell."

"You're welcome."

Sam cast a glance at the bar on the corner as he and his brother left the motel room. Their father had gone to hustle some money, and Sam knew, to drown his sorrows in shot glasses. It was the way he dealt with things, the way he turned off his mind, and it was something Sam had learned to live with over the years. He knew it was the older man's way, the last little bit of comfort he had in his tormented life. It wasn't right by any means, but it was the way things were; and the youngest Winchester had finally learned to stop fighting it.

Sam turned back towards his brother when he felt a crutch smack him on the back of his head. Dean was smirking at him, his face a bit paler then normal, his eyes sunken. Even though Dean looked worse for wear, it was the first time Sam had seen his brother smile in a long time, and it was a welcome sight. They had had so little to be happy about as of late. Even the surgery had turned into a heartbreaking disaster, leaving his brother not only emotionally wrecked, but at the hands of a whole host of complications. It was all just another example of how screwed up, and truly out of control, their lives were.

"You just gonna stare off into the sunset, or are you gonna eat?" Dean chided, pulling his jacket a little closer, even though the air wasn't all that cold.

Sam studied Dean for another moment, taking in the older man's appearance. He looked a little under the weather, but really, that should be expected.

'He's just been through major surgery.' A voice whispered to Sam, so faint, the hunter wasn't even sure he had heard it. 'Of course he's gonna look a little worse for wear.'

"Did you hear something?" Sam asked, catching up to his brother.

"No. Why?"

"Nothing." Sam mumbled, shaking his head. It must have been his imagination.

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The boys bickered and laughed as they made their way towards the diner, both happier then they had been in quite some time. Neither one noticed the shadow that formed just beyond the motel, twisting and bending its way through the air. The demon's deep, indigo eyes never left the boys, its senses yearning, tongue tasting the air, tasting their souls.

So many had tried and failed to take them, countless beings destroyed on the quest for the Winchesters. Others had tried separating them, over powering them, even tricking them; but they had all failed. The Iblis knew better, knew the family's weakness, each other. It didn't need them separated, no, it needed them together, needed them to worry about one another. They were hunters after all, and hunters listened to the words whispered in their minds, the voices carried to them on still winds. Their wills were easily bent, hearts easily broken, and the Iblis knew exactly how to end the Winchesters.

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Bobby banged on the motel room door, his mind running through the information yet again. Something was up, he could feel it in his bones, and he knew that the Winchesters were at the center of it. Because, hell, they were always at the center of it. It was were the family was born, and where they lived their lives; in the middle, always in the middle. No matter what was going on, past or present, Bobby was sure that if he looked hard enough, he would find the Winchesters' fingerprints all over it. As sure as the sun would rise, the Winchesters would always be at the very heart of trouble.

The hunter cursed beneath his breath, turning away from the door. His cell phone still wasn't working, something that only fed his bad feeling, and now no one was answering the motel room door. He scanned the area around him searching the landscape for any sign of the family, anything he may have missed. It only took him one sweep of the area to find his next target, the weathered man striding across the street towards the bar.

He knew he'd find at least one of the Winchesters in there, hustling or just drinking away their many sorrows. He knew they had pinned a lot on the surgery, that much was obvious from the tone of John's voice when he called. They had been expecting a quick fix, well, Sam and John had been expecting a quick fix. Bobby knew all three men better then most, and he knew how each of them reacted in a crisis. John hunted things down to the ends of the earth and further, his mind set and narrowed on the task. Sam researched it, learned about it, came at the problem from every angle he could, analyzing ever aspect of it. And Dean, well, Dean did a little bit of both.

He learned what he was hunting, came at it with both knowledge and experience, and fought it with everything he had. But, he knew when to stop, and that was something that set him apart from his father and brother. Dean knew when to pull back, knew when to look at the world around him. It wasn't that he left jobs finished, normally the opposite. The difference between them was that Dean didn't let things consume him; well, things other then his family, that is. When it came to his father and brother Dean was single minded and self-destructive, but when it came to the hunt, Dean was the most professional and capable hunter Bobby had ever seen.

'But is he still sharp enough to fight the war?' A voice whispered in Bobby's mind, his thoughts drifting back to Dean's injury at the sound of the words. Would Dean still be capable of hunting the way he had? Bobby hadn't actually seen him since all this began, and based on what John said, it was bad.

'There has to be another way, something different. There's a war coming, battles lines are being drawn. What if he can't fight? Things are after him, John said so."

The voice continued on as Bobby made his way to the bar. He had to find John, had to tell them what he'd learned. The warehouse was a false lead, and he knew that something was after the small family. And he had to find another way to help them.