Two weeks after leaving Bobby's house.

Dean leaned against the cold brick under the bridge, clutching the rifle to his chest. The train rolled over again, drowning out the sounds of a street fight in the distance. It was threatening to rain.

His eyes opened. He'd almost forgotten he had them closed, his world was so black these days. Nevertheless, they opened and fell with the full weight of his love on his little brother. Sam, the Boy With the Demon Blood, as all the hunter's circles now called him. Sam who, if he truly were some kind of monstrosity, would not need to be standing there next to the trash can, building a fire out of newspapers and grocery sales ads, looking over his shoulder constantly to make sure no one was coming up from the shallow highway that led back to Pittsburgh and the end.

For two solid weeks, both brothers had been on the run from their Dad. They were trying to outsmart Yellow Eyes and find a way to kill him. The only solace they had was knowing that the Blood Baptism was far behind them.

Dean heaved a breath of the cold air. Steam went out of his nostrils. Smoke rose above the trashcan fire as Sam set about trying to heat some coffee for them on a little grate he'd made.

As he left the little tin to boil, he slumped down the wall next to Dean. Dean felt his shape and his avalanche, how heavy his soul was with all the lies being told about him. With John Winchester on the move now, the whole hunting world was on wide alert. Hunters talk and hunters listen. Gossip was a wildfire spreading faster than the fire that had taken the ceiling out of the boy's nursery a long time ago. He lay there, with his eyes closed, having lifted a rifle to his chest. Dean studied him, feeling the painful need to protect him weighing on his heart boulder-sized.

"You know, if you actually knew how to use your levitation and fire powers, we wouldn't be freezing our backsides off under this bridge..."Dean suppressed the urge to sniff a soft laugh as Sam shifted painfully where he lay against the wall.

Dean studied him more intently. His baby brother had changed. From the past two years, and the past two weeks, he had changed immensely.

"You know I'm teasing you, right, Sammy?" Dean nudged Sam's shoulder.

Sam sighed.

"Yeah, I know..."

"Okay..."Dean studied him still, trying to find anything to say to him.

Sam heaved a heavy breath.

"Dean, maybe we should let them..."

"Don't! Even say that." Dean snapped, sitting up, standing up, kneeling in front of him.

"How could you say that? Hey,...Hey!' Dean slapped Sam's chest. Sam's eyes wrenched open and an ugly scowl crossed his face, which told Dean already the boy was ready to die. The fact that their father was gunning for him was a bullet to his heart.

"I'm saying it because...Because they could be right. What if they're right? What if I am something...evil? If I was anybody else, you'd try to stop me, right? Right?!"

Dean froze.

"Don't you say that dammit. Don't...don't say it..." Dean bit his lip. Sam studied him and suddenly, he got a more tender look on his face remembering the day Dean had broken down.

"Look, I don't mean to take you for granted...I know why you want to try and save me. But...If I can't be saved...No hard feelings, alright?" Sam smiled.

Dean shivered, suddenly bitterly angry. But Sam's coffee percolator whistled, and he stood up to get it.

"Sam..."Dean called after him as he went to the trash can fire and brought the coffee pot back. He nodded for the broken gas station cup that Dean had with him. They were living under this bridge while they hid the car because they knew their Dad had a blanket sweep of this area. Once he and his hunters passed on, they could be on their way again, on the path of trying to retrace Sam's steps from Stanford, find out why the Demon chose now of all times to target him, chose to do it at school, why that church chose to show him the future. It was important. If only their Dad would see it, it would help them. He was too blinded by rage at the thing that killed his wife and the "spawn" he was sure it had made of his younger son to see anything else.

"Dean, we have to find out what he did to me and why I can do all that stuff when I am hopped up on demon blood. We have to find out how. Figuring out what I am is the most important thing at this moment..." Sam slid down the wall again. Dean studied him.

"I already know what you are...You're my little brother."

"You know what I mean, dammit, Dean." Sam rolled his eyes.

"And you know what I mean!" Dean grabbed Sam's shoulders. He wasn't budging. Sam looked him in the eyes once, for just a second.

"Sam...Okay, I hear you, I get it. I know you're freaked to Hell and so am I. But killing you is not the answer...Saving, saving you...exhausting the effort to save you. That's what we're gonna do..."Dean heaved a shaky breath. Sam wasn't looking at him.

"Sammy, please!"

"Did you see that?" Sam wasn't ignoring Dean to be difficult, he suddenly realized. Dean followed Sam's gaze to the knife fight. A tall guy they didn't recognize was arguing with some of the guys down there. Then, he climbed into a blood-red El Camino and sped off into the setting sun.

"See what?" Dean asked, realizing he was still holding on to Sam's shoulders.

"Dude, that guy...When he got out of his car...He had a like full rack of weapons on a sliding case..." Sam laughed through his gaping mouth.

Dean stood up, hauling Sam to his feet.

"We've got to get the Hell outta here..."He didn't know why, he just had a feeling.

Sam nodded, agreeing.

"Yeah, that doesn't look good..." Sam met Dean's frantic gaze. He shuddered.

"Look, man, I hear you. But you're not getting killed because of me, Dean! I wouldn't be able to live with it." Sam frowned. Dean swatted his bangs out of his eyes.

"Nobody's getting killed..."Dean gasped, not believing his own words.

"Okay, let's just get the Hell outta dodge before that guy comes back..." They gathered their weapons in a flurry and took off on foot down the many backroads that led back to the gravel quarry where they had hidden the Impala. It was risky moving again, with their Dad closing in on them, but something told them not only did the driver of the bold red car mean bad news, but also that it might have something to do with their Dad, and their cover was blown already.

Little did they know how right they were, or how much trouble the driver of that blood-red car was soon to cause them.