Chapter 22: Growing Pains

The doorway gaped before Sam, its shadowy maw dominating the flooded subbasement. A table sat by it, bearing the strongest source of light in the grim space. Blood-red wax dripped down to condense at the bare bases of candles flickering with tall flames. The wavering shadows they case gave the illusion that there was more in the room than just him.

Sam approached the table, shoulders tense. He couldn't sense anything waiting for him beyond the door, but that didn't mean anything when the visions tended to play by nightmarish and nonsensical rules. Keeping his guard up was his safest bet, and since Sam wasn't in his clumsy eleven-year-old dream self, he allowed himself to be cautiously confident and creep closer.

Pictures sat arranged in a semicircle on the scarred wooden surface, the glass of the frames reflecting every pinprick of candlelight. Each frame held a woman, all of them blonde and young and frozen in time with a smile turned hollow from the setting they'd become an unwitting part of.

Their names came to mind as Sam looked at each one in the order they'd been killed. He'd learned of them years ago, committing their names and histories to memory when John solemnly recited them for him and Dean. None of them had known each other when they were alive; hadn't had anything more in common than their killer and appearances, but here they were together in a basement.

"I'm sorry this happened to you," he said to the dead women, voice a whisper like the earth scented air that sighed from the open door.

Mary Winchester sat at the right end, blond hair tangled by wind and a smile he suspected had been reserved just for John on her face. It was the same picture supplied to the news when she'd first gone missing, and one he'd only ever seen in that context. Sam picked up her picture and tried to see if he could make out any wisps of her aura, but it was just too dim.

"Don't go down there, Sammy."

Sam fumbled with the frame, managing to clutch it to his chest in the nick of time as he whirled around.

"Mom? What are you doing here?" he asked, heart jack-rabbiting behind his breastbone.

Mary gave him a sad smile, her aura flickering weakly. She wore the same blue summer dress as last time, but it didn't burn nearly as bright underground.

"Don't go down there," she repeated, "It's a dangerous place for all of you."

"But we have to know how the killer's been getting around!" Sam argued, confused by his mother's quiet insistence. This level of seriousness right off the bat didn't bode well.

"At the cost of your life?" she intoned ominously.

Sam reared back, startled at her proclamation and the way her form began to fade at the edges. Mary's flickering aura extended to her body, flickering almost too fast to see as a short glitch from her summery self to something that more resembled the gaunt ghost that had grabbed him with cold, desperate hands the last time Sam saw her.

"Mom?" he asked, suddenly fearful of her. Something told him this wasn't quite the Mary Winchester he still held close to his chest in the picture frame, and he didn't know what to do about it.

"Something's coming," she whispered, eyes drifting past him to fix a riveted, glassy gaze at the open door.

He half-turned to look as well, unable to do anything else in his position. Mary stood between him and the stairs that led upward, and Sam wasn't sure if he wanted to get closer to her yet.

At first, Sam was unable to make out anything except the tricks his eyes began to play on him when he stared into the darkness. He blinked those away, and looked deeper, peeling past the onion layers and eventually making out the first foot or so of stone walls. Beyond that was a pitch-black that made his stomach curl and spine stiffen; the kind of dark that resisted light.

What's down there?

After a long minute of intense alertness, he heard it.

The thrumming, undulating whispers made the hairs on the back of Sam's neck stand on end, scraping against the lowest edge of his hearing before steadily rising. An exhale of rot-smelling wind gusted over them, threatening to extinguish the candles and coating Sam's skin in a grimy, cold feeling.

Then they abruptly fell back in volume to make room for a high keening that echoed off the walls around him.

"What is that?" he asked, stumbling back in a sheer reflexive move to get away from the door. The familiar, evil aura began to seep in, misty tendrils wrapping around the shrine and scuttling into the corners of the room.

"Death," Mary said mournfully as the scream faded, cold hands clasping his shoulders.

Sam looked back at her and choked back a cry at her burned-out sockets. He barely caught the tail end of the sight before her face flickered back to normal, but the second was branded into his mind.

"Did Yellow Eyes…but, how-?"

The screaming started up again, closer this time and with an edge of a howl to it that instinctively brought to mind a hungry animal half-starved out of its mind. On the table, some of the candles died, throwing the women into a shadowy shrine that turned their faces grisly.

"He liked them for their hair and eyes. But he wanted me the most," Mary confessed, bony fingers curling into the meat of his shoulders, "Now, go."

Sam didn't have to be told twice. For a wild moment, it was almost as if Dean had spoken to him; her authoritative tone so similar to the one that Sam had gotten used to listening to more than his father.

Black fog gripped greedily at his ankles as he ran for the stairs, sending up a spray of dirty water in his wake. They were persistent, nipping with phantom needle teeth, but Sam was faster and motivated by pure fear to get the hell out.

The door above was already open. Sam ascended and didn't look back, even when Mary began to scream.

…

Sam slipped back into his own, proper skin with a smoothness he was appalled to find himself getting used to. One second he was barreling through the basement door, and the next he was standing in Gabe's dark bathroom, gaze fixed on the mirror and hollow screams echoing in his ears.

One ragged breath, then two. Now Sam could feel something in his palm and looked down with mild perturbation to find his phone in his hand.

Am I supposed to call someone?

No one came to mind. If there was supposed to be some auto-filled name courtesy of vision central, it must've been lagging tonight.

Sam nearly jumped out of his skin when his phone lit up and rang, taking the decision out of his hands. The moment of shock quickly faded into relief when he saw who exactly was calling.

"Dean?"

"Heya, Sammy," Dean mumbled, words slurring into one another like he was a few minutes from sleep. "You should be asleep right now. I expected voicemail."

"It's been a long night. I've been worried," Sam replied, looking away from his half-lit reflection. With the forming bruises and long shadows obscuring his eyes, he barely recognized himself.

Dean tsked. Somewhere in the background, a faucet was running over the sound of a TV.

"Still, don't lose sleep on my behalf. I'm in good hands."

"Ah yes. Cas' loving hands," Sam said, placing the ambient sounds as Dean's apartment. Crowley no doubt arranged transportation back to keep Castiel from getting glimpses of anything too untoward at the Arena.

"Hmm. I'll get you back later for that smartass comment," Dean yawned, "But I'm tired right now. I lost more blood than I thought."

Sam padded out of the bathroom on cold, bare feet and into the living room. The sun was just above the horizon, staining the sky orange with a glow that suggested the day might be warm for once.

"You always lose more than you think."

"Very philosophical," Dean grunted. There was a shuffling sound as he sat up, and the low murmur of who could only be Cas before Dean got settled.

"Cas is getting on my ass about resting. I think I'll be out all day," he confessed, sounding extremely put out about it. "Which sucks because I was going to take Ben this weekend."

"Don't worry about Ben, I've got him. If you don't rest all day, I'll come over and help Cas make sure you do," Sam threatened before switching gears.

"Dean…I know you trust Cas and you won't get into specifics, but…do you think there's something we don't know about him?"

Now that his latest sleepwalking session was firmly shelved in his mind and out of his immediate thought process (he didn't want to think about it any time soon), Sam could loop around to last night and all the minute details that bugged him. Castiel Novak was easily the biggest of them and the most troubling to Sam.

It wasn't that he didn't trust Cas. Sam trusted the man with one of the most important people in his life: Dean. He knew instinctively that Cas would rather swallow poison than hurt a single hair on Dean's head, but unintentional harm (both physical and emotional) due to a secret was now on the table. Secrets were something Dean detested, and Sam feared that if Cas was hiding anything, it could cause an irreparable rift in a relationship that had only ever benefitted Dean.

Sam waited for a gruff denial or snapped words at what he was insinuating, but surprisingly, Dean did neither. All he did was chuckle, a wry wheeze of a sound that sounded incredibly lighthearted considering the borderline taboo subject matter.

"There's always something we don't know about others, isn't there?"

The words gave away nothing solid, but Sam knew his brother better than anyone. Cas's strange behavior at the motel wasn't a coincidence, and if Sam was right, might even have a connection with Gabe's past. The circle of those that knew anything of substance about Enochian was too small to have room for flukes.

"I've got this, Sammy," Dean continued, sounding a bit more awake as he grew serious. "I started out protecting him, but now-now he's my friend. So please don't ask me."

Sam bit his lip despite how sore it was. Dean hardly ever asked him for anything like this.

"I'll stop, for now," he conceded, hand on the balcony doorknob.

"Good," Dean murmured, all the energy drained out of him. "I keep dreaming about that cabin in the woods that Dad took us to. But I don't think it's a dream anymore Sammy. I think I'm starting to remember stuff."

"Like what?" Sam asked, picking up the unintentional thread Dean had tossed out. The cabin in the woods had fallen to the wayside in all the drama of the past couple of weeks, but he'd never forgotten it completely.

"When we were kids, you used to have the wildest imagination and the craziest dreams," Dean mumbled before yawning. "Everything's fuzzy when I try to think about it, but…I think you were like Ben was, and for whatever reason, the cabin has something to do with it stopping until now."

Sam's drumming fingers stilled on the doorknob before falling away.

Only he and Dean knew that much of their childhood memories were patchy, and not in the typical way that aging made such early memories. Sam had never given it much thought, assuming alongside Dean that it was just a byproduct of their upbringing, but the concept of his sleepwalking presenting itself now when seeing Dean's aura was one of his first memories was more than a little strange.

If he had been like Ben, Sam couldn't recall any of it. All he remembered at that age was life on the road and wondering if they would ever go home.

"Get some sleep, Dean," he said softly, filing the troubling concept away for later right alongside the shelf that held his latest sleepwalking episode.

"Yeah…g'night Sammy."

Sam sighed as he hung up. Dean would be out for more than the whole day judging by how tired he'd sounded, but he'd been wrong about that before. For once, he hoped he was because the timing couldn't be worse.

He looked down at his phone. Why it had ended up in his hand was one such mystery that he suspected meet a frustrating end. No name or number came to mind; no niggling instinct that drove his fingers into motion.

"Maybe later," he said aloud, setting it down on the counter beside his knife, but he doubted it. Perhaps Dean's call was all there was to it.

Gabe's aura lured him back into bed, slowing the never-ending circles of thoughts his brain couldn't let go of. The tranquil gold spoke of a sleep so deep that Gabe hadn't even stirred when he'd gotten up, which Sam was glad for. Being a burden was something that he rebelled against, especially now that he was painfully aware of how debilitating his sleepwalking was. He decided that he'd keep this latest vision to himself.

Sam yawned, curling himself around Gabe and losing himself in all the warmth he had to offer. Sleep wouldn't come again, but he could empty his mind with some effort if he used Gabe's aura to help it along. At least then he could get some peace.

It almost worked too. Sam tricked himself into a half-state by breathing in time with Gabe and was just getting into the groove when Gabe's phone rang.

"Dammit," he hissed, fumbling for the phone. If there was one thing that would wake Gabe from the dead, it was "Heat of the Moment."

"Work?"

"I hate the LPD," Sam groaned as Gabe rolled over and made a "gimme" motion with his eyes still shut.

"Must be important," Gabe countered, sounding more alert than his still sluggish aura.

Sam handed it over reluctantly and slouched back in bed, making his displeasure known. Gabe propped himself up, skimming his fingers over his sore cheek with a frown before answering.

"Hey. Yeah, I'm awake, but make it quick for my boyfriend's sake."

"You're embarrassing," Sam stated, but not entirely unhappily.

Gabe flashed him an unabashed smile before focusing back on the call. His face pulled down in a mild frown, but Sam didn't think he was getting any bad news. Just confusing news, if the flares of pastel color around his shoulders were any indication.

"Sounds like a clusterfuck, but it's not my jurisdiction," he eventually said.

There was a short response, to which Gabe yawned and made a "hmm" sound.

"If the FBI wants it, let them have it. I don't know why the LPD is digging their heels in when we're already in the middle of fumbling the ball on this case."

Sam's ears perked up. There was only one problem that the FBI would want to get their hands on (besides the serial killer) that could pose big trouble for Lawrence.

"Got it. Just don't get under their feet. The FBI can get mean fast if they think you're trying to impede."

"Demon blood development?" Sam asked when Gabe hung up.

"As astute as ever," Gabe sighed, tossing his phone to the side and collapsing onto his chest. "The people they took in from that shoot out the unsub set up went into, and I quote "extreme withdrawal symptoms" while they were being interrogated. It's bad enough that they're all cuffed to a hospital bed at Lawrence General."

"Lisa works there," Sam said idly, running his hand up and down Gabe's back. "Have any idea of the specifics of their symptoms?"

"It's a lot of rumor now, but Donna is pretty sure one of them started seizing in the holding cell."

"That would do the trick," Sam remarked, grimacing as he thought of Gordon's unchecked rage and the burned-out husk of a corpse he became. "You're calling him the unsub now?"

"The FBI drilled that into our heads," Gabe said, pitching his voice up in a mock-tone, "'Refer to the killer as unsub, and unsub only from this point on.'"

Sam snickered and pulled him in closer, tugging the covers up to shroud themselves in white warmth.

"You're gonna have to go into the station today, aren't you?"

"Unfortunately," Gabe sighed; eyes already closed. "But at least I'm getting paid now, with overtime to boot."

"About damn time," Sam groused. He was sure it wasn't the first part Gabe had been met with delayed pay from a department, but he'd make sure it was the last.

"Make breakfast for me?"

Sam didn't have any intentions of denying Gabe when he asked with that sleep-laced voice, but his soft eyes would've melted whatever resistance he could've put up in a heartbeat.

"Damn you and your puppy dog eyes," Sam play growled, starting up a tickle attack that had Gabe kicking at the sheets and rolling away with a squawk of surprised delight.

"You're not the only one that has them!" he retorted, giving as good as he got even though Sam wasn't nearly as ticklish. It was Gabe's aura that made him so sensitive, and Sam wanted to lean into his darting hands more than he wanted to get away.

Gabe noticed quickly, a slow grin spreading across his face and changing his aura to a fuller peach that warmed Sam's face.

"One day, we're going to get enough time to actually use this bed instead of treating it like a revolving door," he said, hands tangling in his hair with a grip made Sam swallow back a noise he couldn't make without ensuring Gabe would be late for work.

"I'll hold you to that," Sam murmured.

Gabe's aura edged towards red, but before it could tip into a notable amount of the color, he pulled his hands away and took a breath.

"So tempting," he sighed regretfully, tossing the covers back. "If it weren't for the fact I have a fat paycheck waiting at the station that I don't want them to lose like they do with every other piece of paperwork I file, I'd stay."

"Fair enough," Sam sighed.

He cooked as Gabe got ready, trying (and failing miserably) to stem his happiness at the sheer domesticity of it. After dealing with so much chaos in his life, he appreciated the pace they were taking. Sam considered himself largely over Jess at this point, but he remained cautious. He'd learned the hard way what stress could do to a relationship, and he and Gabe were under enormous amounts of it.

But we're trying to make it work, which counts.

He glanced at the knife Dean had given him the night before. It sat on the counter expectantly, but Sam didn't feel the need to pick it up. Gabe's apartment was a safe place, marred only by the work he brought home and his complete lack of vegetables.

"We'll work on that," Sam mumbled to himself, casting a critical gaze at the offending fridge. Gabe was a busy man, but there was only so much leftover takeout and coffee Sam could abide by.

"What the hell are you making from my scraps?" Gabe called from the bathroom as the scent of the cooking food spread.

"Why don't you come out and find out?" Sam replied, eyeing his breakfast sandwiches with trepidation. They could've been better, but he'd put most of the effort into the lunch already packed on the counter. It was a strange combination of leftovers and a freshly made sandwich, but Sam knew that there was no way Gabe would interrupt his workflow once he got into it.

"I'm surprised you even found anything to cook with. I can't remember the last time I hit up a grocery store," Gabe remarked, coming out of the bathroom with a towel around his neck and shirt unbuttoned.

"We'll go soon," Sam said, tugging him closer by the towel before pulling it up and rubbing Gabe's hair dry.

"Ack, Sam!" Gabe protested, twisting out from under his methodical hands with a smile.

"If Ben can hold still, so can you," Sam said, but he relented.

"Ben is far more patient than I am in that regard," Gabe quipped, scooping up his sandwich with a happy flare of salmon pink in his aura.

Sam bit into his sandwich and turned the stove off, looking at Gabe a bit more closely. Not that he ever really stopped looking at him with attention (Gabe easily caught his eye), but sometimes Sam got into the habit of seeing his aura and not his physical body.

"This is your last clean shirt, isn't it," he stated, tugging teasingly on the hem.

"How'd you know? My aura couldn't have told you that," Gabe said suspiciously. He was already halfway through his sandwich and judging by the way the pastel colors of his aura curled around his shoulders, he was itching for a coffee.

"I've never seen you wear that, and it's pinstriped to boot," Sam explained, turning to reach for the coffee pot and the waiting mug. "You don't like stripes."

"Lucky guess based off of extrapolation," Gabe countered, "What else don't I like?"

"Hmm, black coffee, cherries, doing your hair, and banana Laffy Taffies," Sam rattled off, stirring what he deemed a healthy amount of sugar into Gabe's coffee (knowing full well he'd just add more, but it was the thought that counted). "Which I get, because those things taste like lotion."

He handed Gabe his coffee with a soft kiss, amused by the perplexed look on his face.

"It's not just your aura that captivates me. I pay attention to all of you," Sam said, running his thumbs over Gabe's freshly shaved face.

Gabe averted his eyes, warmth blooming across his cheeks. For someone that Sam's mind knew best by night, his aura looked the brightest in the morning.

"You're embarrassing," he muttered into his coffee.

"Consider it payback for earlier. Oh, and don't forget your lunch, dear."

"Oh my God," Gabe groaned, face only growing redder. "Did you really make that for me?"

"I know, I'm the best boyfriend ever," Sam bragged, puffing his chest out with a pleased grin.

"You're pretty damn good," Gabe admitted, eyes lingering on the packed lunch. His aura swirled with airy shades of red and pink that weren't too hard to put a name to, but there was also a bittersweet blue tinge that took Sam a moment to place.

No one's ever done this for him before. Not since he was a little kid.

"Get dressed," he said, cutting through that blue color with an exaggerated kiss to Gabe's temple, "I'll get ready too. I've got a nephew to babysit."

"What a joy," Gabe said dryly, but with no real heat. A sudden streak of unreadable contemplativeness cut through his aura, but it was gone before Sam could put a finger on it.

They got ready in a rush. Or rather, Gabe did; Sam mostly watched him run around trying to get himself together with brief interjections to steer him back on track or distract him even more with kisses. Gabe refused excessive help, but he did eventually agree to Sam going ahead and starting his car for him since it was a chilly morning.

"Don't forget your knife," Gabe joked, tossing him the keys.

"Don't forget your gun," Sam shot back, catching them with one hand as he reached for the knife with the other.

The Beetle looked deceivingly normal next to the Impala. Nothing about its muddy undercarriage and crooked parking screamed magical, but Sam just couldn't get the knowledge that Gabe had spoken it into existence out of his head.

What else could he do with Enochian?

Sam shook his head as he unlocked it. Going down that path would do nobody any good. Abe was in no shape to start using it now. He'd grown accustomed to linking Enochian with trouble, and Sam didn't blame him. He didn't like the sound of the mysterious men Gabe had described appearing shortly after he'd created the Beetle, or Crowley potentially stumbling onto the truth behind the language.

For now, they had the same goal in wanting to keep demon blood out of Lawrence, but Sam knew Crowley would want to use Enochian for his own benefit once the dust settled down. If Crowley got it into his head that Cas, or somehow Gabe, could use Enochian…

The knife in his boot began to sing quietly against his ankle; a familiar silver cadence of lethality. Sam was no stranger to shedding blood, and if he had to take down Crowley to keep Gabe safe, then so be it.

"Sam, hurry up and help me with these boxes before I drop them!"

"Why so many?" Sam asked, quickly extricating himself from the cramped confines of the Beetle.

Gabe was laden down with so many boxes that he couldn't even see his face. It made for a comical sight of what looked like floating boxes surrounded by an angelic, golden glow.

"Some are old cases I've solved, and some is early evidence from the current case. I have a bad habit of accumulating paperwork," Gabe explained sheepishly as Sam took the boxes from him.

"I've noticed," Sam said dryly, "I still don't know how you find anything in the whirlwind you call an organizational system."

"My system is best described as "chaotic organization." If it works it works," Gabe shrugged.

"Uh-huh. You should hurry before morning traffic really hits," Sam said, tugging him into a hug that was probably a bit too tight to be a normal good-bye hug.

Gabe didn't complain. He only sighed and squeezed back, his aura enveloping the both of them in golden shades that warmed Sam right down to his toes and soothed the aches and pains from last night's fight.

"Call me if you need anything. And I mean anything," he stressed, pulling back to fix intent eyes on him. "Balthazar is going to be knocking on my door soon, and you already get into enough trouble as it is without him being in town."

"I have no idea what you're talking about," Sam said innocently, sealing their mouths together before he could reply.

"You can't do that every time you want to distract me," Gabe muttered when they pulled apart in tandem for air.

"Sure I can," Sam replied cheekily, kissing his now smooth cheek. "Have fun arguing with the FBI and looking at gory pictures of murder."

"Don't remind me," Gabe groaned, "It's going to be a mess when I arrive."

"When isn't it with the LPD?"

"Can't deny that," Gabe admitted as he got into the Beetle. "Oh, and Sam?"

Sam arched his eyebrow questioningly at Gabe's suddenly too nonchalant face. He looked as if he wanted to say something but cast the original idea aside for different words, his aura swirling in a controlled frenzy.

"Make sure you check the roof of the Impala before you leave."

With that, he backed out and drove off with a final wink, leaving Sam confused and wondering what could possibly be wrong with the roof of the Impala.

Dean's going to kill me if there's a mark on it, he thought, looking across the surface of it and spotting a piece of paper above the driver's door.

He picked it up, and in doing so ended up with a key in his hand. Sam gazed at it quizzically before reading the note, which was remarkably concise considering it came from Gabriel "I have a flair for dramatics" Milton.

Use whenever and for whatever. I trust you. XOXO knife boy.

It took Sam a ridiculously long second to realize that Gabe had given him his spare apartment key, knowing full well the implications of such an action. He'd done it in a roundabout way, but he'd done it regardless despite the slew of justifiable reservations he must've had. Gabe trusted him in a way he'd probably never trusted anyone before, and the cumulation of that faith rested in his palm.

Sam turned the key around in his hand, absorbing the thin wisps of Gabe's aura left behind on the metal. Something so small having so much meaning seemed inconceivable, yet here he was, grinning like an idiot in a parking garage.

You're absolutely hopeless. Get it together!

Admittedly, Sam didn't want to get it together. He deserved a bit of happiness and decided he could feel sappy about it in the Impala after getting the new key onto his keychain.

He took it as a good sign that he got it onto the ring with the first try. Amongst the old Roadhouse keys that would never again unlock the doors they'd once belonged to and the paired keys he barely used for Dean's place and Lisa's, Gabe's fit in just right.

…

Lisa, much to Sam's expectations, immediately sat him down at the kitchen table when he arrived so he could be fussed over with the requisite amount of nursing attention.

"I can't believe you," she started, prodding his face with professional fingers and gauging his winces, "Is this why I haven't been able to reach Dean? I can't even remember the last time I saw you drive the Impala."

"He's sleeping it off," Sam assured, grimacing as she focused on his most banged up cheek. In the daylight, the mottled purple starting to come in was bad enough that not even his hair could completely hide it.

"Small miracles," Lisa grumbled, pressing a towel-covered bag of peas to the side of his face. "You know the drill, mister."

"Yeah, yeah," he said, taking charge of the bag as she bustled around the kitchen. "I thought you weren't working Saturdays anymore?"

"We're short-staffed right now," she explained, gesturing to her scrubs with an eye roll. "So here I am, picking up extra shifts till the hospital gets it together. Ben, that's enough time on the swing! Your uncle's here!"

She said this through the open kitchen window, which faced the small square of backyard that primarily featured a swing and slide set that Sam had spent two grueling hours building with Dean the previous summer. If his brother had bothered to read the manual, it would've only taken one.

"He's getting too big for the slide. He says it's not high enough anymore," she said fondly, watching as Ben raced towards the back door.

"He'll give Dean a heart attack if he starts jumping off of them like we did," Sam said, already bracing himself for a whirlwind of flying limbs and shrieked giggles.

Sure enough, Ben leaped upon him with surprised delight. His twilight aura shifted to bursts of crimson-tinged purples and canary yellows, heightening his already hyper state of being.

"Unca Sam! Wow, that's a really bad bruise. Does it hurt? I get to spend the day with you? Where are we going?" he asked in a rush of syllables, eyes bright and hair windblown.

"It barely stings. Yes, you get to spend the day with me, and where we go is up to you," Sam replied, used to the barrage of questions. "I've got the car, just so you know."

"No way," Ben said, appropriately awed, "Daddy let you?"

"I swore a solemn promise to take good care of it. I get to drive it this one time while he's sleeping."

"Sweet! I gotta get my bag!" Ben exclaimed, already halfway out of the kitchen.

"Thank you for doing this, Sam. He's always happiest when you're the one watching him," Lisa said, relief clear in her aura as hugged him goodbye.

Sam could feel her slipping cash into his jacket pocket (a bit stealthier than he would've anticipated from someone with no experience), but he didn't let on that he was aware as Ben barreled back in to say goodbye. Lisa would just raise hell if he did, and he tried to remind himself that now with the Roadhouse out of the picture, his babysitting days had opened up tremendously.

More time with Ben is never a bad thing, he decided, getting his nephew into the car seat placed in the back (what Dean was thinking sometimes sticking it in the front, he'd never know) before heading out.

"So, what's the plan?" Ben asked, his inflection nearly identical to Dean's commonly carefree use of the question.

"Do you have anywhere you want to go?"

"Park?"

"The swing in your yard wasn't enough?" he asked, testing the waters.

Ben's head shake was strong enough that Sam could see it in the rearview mirror.

"Slide isn't tall enough. Momma says I'll be as tall as her, but I think I'll be taller than you," he proclaimed, raising his arm as high as he could to emphasize his point.

"Those are some tall words there, buddy," Sam said, grinning as Ben groaned at his bad pun.

Sam would've taken Ben just about anywhere he asked to make up for the fact that Dean wasn't the one doing it (he could see a trace of disappointment in Ben's aura that his father wasn't here today, even if he didn't express it), but it was a strange relief that Ben hadn't outgrown the things that currently made him happy. It was bad enough that his nightmares were changing him.

It wasn't drastic on the surface, but Sam hadn't imagined the way Ben was slowly emotionally distancing himself from Lisa (evident by the color shift he'd undergone when he'd said goodbye to her) or the way that he looked at his surroundings with a smile a few shades dimmer than it used to be. A bit of his innocence was picked away at each night now, and Sam couldn't get it back for him.

Luckily, the park seemed to cheer Ben right up. Sam could barely divest him of his backpack before he was making a beeline for the slide, blending into the Saturday crowd with a swiftness that would've impressed Dean. He managed to pick out Ben by his aura within seconds though (handy in situations like this) and settled in for the short-term while Ben got the run of the place.

Understanding Ben and helping him were two different things. Right now, everyone relevant to his upbringing was mostly up to date on what he was undergoing, but Sam knew they'd need to do more soon. Otherwise, Ben would take a page out of the Winchester book and repress as much of it as he could get with, and Sam didn't want that for him.

Eventually, as he always did, Ben meandered back for assistance. The swings gave him trouble due to his height, and he was still leery of the monkey bars ever since he lost his grip a few months ago and almost fell. Despite Dean catching him, the memory must've stuck, because Ben gave the bars a magnificently dark scowl before claiming a swing for himself.

"Haven't met anyone interesting today?" Sam asked as he got Ben settled. Usually, Ben always befriended a kid or two or ran into someone from his neighborhood, hence his insistence of running around on his own first.

"Nope. I don't really want to talk to any of them," he shrugged.

Sam arched an eyebrow at that. Ben wasn't quite the social butterfly like Dean, but he'd always leaned towards friendly extroversions with those he knew.

Ben wasn't forthcoming with any reasoning, so Sam let it drop. Right now, Ben just wanted to play.

Later, as they walked a loop around the park-with Ben on his shoulders to avoid the mud patches-he started to open up. Pleasantly tired out and soothed by the warm sun, Ben's aura unfurled like sails, tinging the air with dusky shades that revealed a lot of pent up thoughts. Sam couldn't see them that well but could feel them above his head, which was enough since he was so familiar with his nephew.

"I ran into Mr. Gabe here, before the Roadhouse fire. He's really nice."

"He is," Sam agreed, secretly glad that Ben got along with Gabe. Kids and pets had, in his opinion, some built-in radar when it came to significant others. If they didn't like them, it was the equivalent of a bad omen.

"He's got a lot on his mind," Ben continued, "Which is like pretty much every adult, but he's always thinking. It's hard to-"

He cut himself off. Sam waited, hoping that their current, non-face-to-face position would make it easier for Ben to start up again.

"It's not mind-reading," Ben said finally, hands coming to rest lightly in Sam's hair. "I'm not a snoop. And I know the difference. I don't do that. Sometimes people just think really loudly, and I can hear it. If they think quietly, I can't hear it at all."

It was one thing to hypothesize based on all the signs Sam had seen, and another to hear it confirmed. Some small and ludicrous part of him had hoped that maybe they were all wrong, but that was just delusional thinking at this point. If it walked like a duck and talked like a duck, what else were you left with?

"I don't think you're a snoop," he said, squeezing Ben's ankles reassuringly. Right now, he needed reassurance and a lot of it. "If you can only hear people's thoughts when they're being…loud, then that's just like overhearing someone yelling on the subway. You can't tune it out if they're the loudest around you."

"So I'm not weird?"

"You're not weird," Sam said firmly, hating the frail, insecure tone. "Has anyone said you're weird?"

Ben didn't say anything for a minute, aura rife with churning indecision before it caved and made way for words.

"Some of the kids at pre-school," he admitted, fingers dancing through his hair. "I'm too smart. Or I say stuff that sounds weird to them. That's why I didn't want to talk to the kids at the park. I didn't want to be called weird outside of school too."

A sudden sniffle; a cutting edge of blue that dampened Ben's aura. Sam swiftly grabbed him by the waist and pulled him down so he could cry into his neck, rubbing his back as they passed unwitting strangers. Children cried all the time in parks, and they garnered no extra attention.

"Remember when we talked about being superheroes? This is one of the bad parts about being one," Sam said, making his way back to the Impala. The park couldn't fix this problem. "Some people won't ever get who you are, and you can't explain it to everyone. Otherwise, your secret identity is blown."

Ben laughed weakly and wetly; arms locked tight around his neck.

"It still sucks," he mumbled.

"Yeah. There's no way around it," Sam sighed, ruminating on the possible ramifications in store for Ben. He suspected that he'd grow up a bit like him; leery of talking to others and watching his words to make sure he didn't say anything that gave him away.

There's got to be some way to alleviate that. He can't grow up like I did.

"But you've told me your secret power," he continued, shifting to a lighter tone, "Which means that you get to know mine."

"You have one too besides the dreams?" Ben asked, pulling away a bit so he could look at him with wide eyes.

"Only a few people know. But it's something I've been able to do all my life, just like you."

Sam did his best to break down auras for Ben as he got him buckled in and cleaned his face of the tear tracks. The concept itself was fairly straightforward, but Ben naturally had a million and one questions.

"So what's my aura look like?" he asked as soon as they were out of the parking lot, pleased at his dragged-out pronunciation of the word.

"Like twilight."

"Cool. And daddy's?"

"A lot of green," Sam said, already sensing where the conversation was going to go. It was inevitable, like how the sun always rose in the ease and set in the west.

"Like the streetlight?"

"Pretty close actually."

"And momma's?"

"Cobalt blue. That's like the blue of the shoes you're wearing, but a bit darker."

And so down the list they went, with Ben asking about what felt like half of Lawrence and Sam doing his best to recall the colors that went with them. Some, like Ben's teacher, he wasn't as familiar with, and some he hadn't ever met at all.

"What about yours?" Ben asked as they pulled up to his apartment.

"I can't see mine," Sam said, grimacing at the parking situation before going further down the street for the lot around the corner. Cars were a pain in the city.

"Does that bother you?"

"Not really. I know how I feel all the time, so I don't need to see my emotions."

"I guess. Still sounds lame," Ben said, making grabby hands for the Impala's keys and smiling as Sam handed them to him, albeit with some confusion.

"Daddy always lets me hold them for a bit after. He says I give them good luck," he explained, smiling as he gave them a good shake.

"That's…surprisingly wholesome," Sam said. He hadn't been aware of any such habit, but he knew that father and son spent a great deal of time in the Impala.

Ben jingled them as they walked down the street in a rhythm Sam couldn't make heads or tails of. The sun threw their shadows out in skewed proportions that Ben giggled at, his aura radiant with simple happiness.

Sam felt Ben's aura still before his nephew came to a sudden stop right as they hit the edge of his building. For a ludicrous moment, he thought that Ben had died, because he'd never seen someone's aura freeze so completely.

"Ben? Hey, Ben," Sam said, stooping down in concern when Ben began to tremble like a leaf, aura still unmoving.

"Uncle Sam, we shouldn't go inside," Ben said, dark eyes fixed on the stoop. They held a dreamy quality to them that didn't match his otherwise fearful demeanor.

With a jolt, Sam realized that they were glazed over exactly like his must've looked when he sleepwalked or looked hard at auras. Gabe described it as a far-off gaze, and Dean called it "zoning out."

And when has he ever said uncle like that?

"You see something?" he asked tentatively, looking up at his living room window. From this angle, it was hard to make anything out, but Sam wasn't getting any tingling sense of danger.

Ben shook his head a bit and scrunched his face in thought, eyes clearer and aura back in motion. The whole episode (if Sam could even call it that) had lasted only a few seconds, but Sam now knew what Lisa must've felt like when Ben didn't sleep peacefully. It was unsettling, seeing Ben stock still.

"I don't know if it's happening now, or later, but it'll be soon if it's not now," Ben said, an edge of frustration bleeding into his words as he pressed the keys back into Sam's hand.

"That's alright. Best to leave while we can," he replied, the hairs on his neck now prickling. He wasn't sure if Ben had just put him on edge or if his own senses were starting to tune in, but he didn't want to push their luck.

Ben lapsed into silence, letting himself be carried back. It was faster, and Sam felt better with Ben close.

As he unlocked the door, a car with bass loud enough to hum across concrete rolled past the lot. Sam looked up for a fraction of a second, nerves wound up and firing off at the sudden noise.

That fraction of a second, however, was long enough. Sam's gut twisted as he caught an eyeful of rusted paint that might've once been a proper red and some very rough dudes that wore brighter shades of red to make up for it. One in the back had his arm hanging out the window, and on the bicep was the distinctive eye he'd been hoping not to see.

"Dammit," Sam hissed, already getting the door unlocked and sliding Ben in with about the same dignity as a package. "You sensed some really bad guys, Ben!"

"I've seen them in my dreams. They have eyes on their jackets, and they used to fight Daddy a lot," Ben said, peering over the dash despite Sam nudging him down.

"Used to?" Sam asked distractedly, starting the engine. If Dean didn't drive such a distinct car, he wouldn't have been in half the rush he was in now, but Sam was positive every Dead Eye (not to mention the knuckleheads at Mayhem Arena) knew exactly what Dean Winchester drove around in.

God, what a bad day to have the Impala and be babysitting.

"They drank this bad juice that makes them crazy," Ben informed, responsibly putting his seatbelt as Sam pulled out of the lot and headed in the opposite direction. "It's not grown up juice they're drinking, is it?"

"Not quite buddy," Sam said faintly, horrified by the thought of Ben knowing what demon blood was, even if it was strange secondhand knowledge.

In the rear-view mirror, he could see the car stopping in front of the apartment but rounded the corner before anyone got out of it. They'd escaped notice by the skin of their teeth, and the thought made Sam sweat. If one of the Dead Eyes had looked into the lot, or if he'd dithered for a few seconds at any point…

"I thought so. Mr. Cas drinks a lot of it, and he hasn't gone crazy," Ben reasoned. He was remarkably calm given the situation, but that might've had to do with the fact that he was busy breaking into his phone.

"When did you even-how do you know my password?" Sam asked, eyes on the road as he tried to grab his suddenly elusive nephew.

"It's one of those things a lot of adults think about really loud," Ben explained, undeterred by Sam's increasingly frantic attempts at phone recovery. "You think about it loud whenever you have to change it because of Daddy."

"Don't call 911," Sam warned. It wasn't as if they could do anything right now, and he didn't want to break the news to Lisa-God forbid Dean-that his place was now known to the Dead Eyes.

I'm never going to able to show my face either of them again.

"I'm not! They won't even do anything anyway," Ben said flippantly, rolling his eyes. "Daddy says the police suck a- butt."

"At least you didn't directly quote him this time," Sam sighed, giving it up as a lost cause. He already felt like the worst uncle in the world for not sensing the danger in time; Ben being improperly restrained with his phone in his clutches was just the cherry on top.

And worst uncle of the year award goes to Sam Winchester!

"You're not the worst uncle."

Sam glanced over at Ben, who gazed at him knowingly.

"You listened to me. And adults don't listen to kids," Ben said sagely, "So I think you're a pretty good uncle."

It was odd, being addressed so directly on something he'd been chewing over in his head since he'd seen the Dead Eyes, but not wholly uncomfortable. If anything, it was refreshing to be on the flip side of the pointed conversations, but it left Sam off-kilter. Ben's eyes looked so old in such a young face.

However, Ben didn't seem to expect a response from him. His attention was already back on his phone, his engrossed expression turning into a smile with a wicked streak.

"What are you doing?" Sam asked suspiciously, not liking the flash of vermilion that ran through Ben's aura at all.

Ben rotated to face him, little legs tucked up on the seat and face the picture of angelic innocence as he held the phone up to his ear.

Mounting horror peaked when Ben flashed him a thumbs up. Sam had only ever gotten a thumbs up from Dean when he did something either unfathomably stupid or right before he did something "for his benefit."

"Hi, Mr. Gabe! Are you busy right now?"

AUTHOR'S NOTE

Back from the dead with an update. My spirits have sunk this past month and a halfish, but they're back on the rise with the end of the year approaching. This is Ben-centric cause I love writing him and he deserves it ok…and plot reasons too! I've also left a wholesome cliffhanger this time as chaotic good. I will definitely update again before the year ends, but not sure I can get one more up before winter break or not…hang tight if it's later!