He was in the kitchen and there was no goddamn sign of it. No sign of Bobby either, but he wasn't thinking that. He was not.

He was sure, though, that it was in the house. It had to be, right?

"I couldn't have left it anywhere else," Dean muttered, speaking to himself. Or at least he thought, which is why he jumped when a voice sounded to his side.

"Apparently, you could have." Sam was standing there, and holding the amulet up at shoulder-level, but his voice wasn't humorous.

Dean stepped forward and snatched the amulet out of his hands.

"Dude, that was unnecessary. What if I shot you?" Dean pushed the amulet down over his head and looked up after receiving no reaction. He was met with the sight of Sam looking down at the ground, avoiding eye contact.

"Sam? Sammy, what is it?"

"Nothing, man, it's just… nothing. I found that on the ground outside."

"Oh, I'll, uh, be more careful next time, I guess. Are you sure? That you're fine, I mean? You're kinda freakin' me out here." He stepped forward and reached to hold Sam's arm, stopping in fright and confusion when Sam flinched away.

"Sam, what the hell's wrong?!"

Sam looked up at Dean and met his gaze levelly. "Dean, I… you know that I was nervous about coming here."

"Yes?"

"But you don't know why. See, I… I wasn't nervous about seeing Bobby, I wasn't scared about what he thought, I was scared how you would act when you found out that I agree with him."

Dean felt like he had been thrown into ice cold water. It was the same feeling of inherent muteness, of inability; and though he tried to think of something, anything, to do or say, he couldn't. Not a word came out, even as Sam continued, gesturing with his hands.

"I mean, it's just… not right. I feel like you took advantage of me in the spur of the moment, like you- you dirtied me. I just need to be here for a while…. away from you."

"But, Sam, I-"

"Dean, don't. I need to be with Bobby for a while, he understands how I feel about you."

Dean forced his eyes away from Sam's face to try to mask the constant stream of internal panic rolling on a loop inside his head.

oh my god, Dean you've really fucking done it now well fucking done you're basically a cradle robber this would be funny if it wasn't so fucking sick you're sick this is sick oh god what have you done to your baby brother

How could he have thought that Sam would feel the same way? He had really… he had really thought…

"Sam, I… it just seemed so real. I didn't know I was forcing you into anything."

Sam gave a dry, humourless laugh, "Why else would I have run away after you kissed me?"

Dean was growing more confused and scared every moment.

"But we spoke about this. You said that it was all fine!"

"Did we really speak about it?"

Dean recalled the whispered minutes of teasing he counted as 'speaking about it'. After a lifetime if speaking nonverbally to one another, it didn't seem anything different. That was how they were; if you can't say it out loud say it another way (or don't say it at all).

What if that was what had happened? Sam couldn't say what he was thinking out loud? And if, then, he couldn't say it another way, the only option left was to not say it at all.

Dean didn't reply.

"Dean, just leave, I-"

Sam was cut off by a muffled bang and a badly-schooled expression of shock flashed over his face for a moment, until he picked himself back up and continued.

"I just wan-"

Another bang, more of a strange scrape, followed by a voice calling out.

"eeen, DEAAN!"

Dean's hand flew to the gun in the back of his jeans.

"Holy shit, Bobby!" His voice was a whisper and he glanced over to Sam, only to see that Sam was strangely tense. "Loosen up, man. We've got to go get him."

After deciding that the noise was coming from Bobby's basement, Dean walked slowly in the direction of the door, crossing through the hall only after carefully checking corners. When he got to the door, it was heavily locked.

"Well, shit," Dean groused, "here goes nothing."

He shot the door handle three times before it gave, and then continued on to the solid locks. After a total of seven shots, he stilled and checked for any noise.

"Sam?"

"Yeah, I'm here, man."

Dean frowned, "No, I mean, did you hear anything?"

"Oh, right. No."

"Right, okay." Dean nodded once. That was weird. "Then it's go time."

He lightly kicked the door and briskly made his way down the stairs, aware of everything outside of himself.

Holy shit.

After assessing the room to be free of any danger, he crossed to Bobby, who was bound and tied to a chair. Whoever had done it was a grade-A predictable amateur, but that wasn't what he was paying attention to. Bobby's entire left arm was covered in blood. It seemed all to be only from two or so wounds, but it was a grisly sight, some dried and crusted and some glistening with a new wetness. Dean ran forward and removed a gag that looked like it had been removed and re-tied several times.

"Bobby… Bobby, who did this?"

Bobby drew a ragged breath. "Great, broken ribs, too." Dean thought.

"It… Dean, it isn't-"

"Bobby, what?!"

"S-Sam. It isn't S-" Bobby erupted into a coughing fit just as Dean spun around to aim his gun at Sam, who batted it out of his hands.

"Oh, well, it was fun while it lasted." Sam's- no, not Sam's eyes had a malicious gleam to them as he quickly took the small step needed to get to Dean and sunk a ragged knife into his stomach.

(There'll probably be another update within an hour!~ Lizzy)