Title: The Road to Netawaka

Author: Nobdyptclr

A/N: No offense intended to anyone who has been to or lives in Netawaka. I haven't been there, but it has a cool name and is close enough to Lawrence to work for this story.

In his dream Dean was eleven again, reliving the events of that night in Netawaka. His father's angry words were echoing in his ears then suddenly the clearing was gone and he was lying on his back in the asylum, pain exploding through his chest. Seven year-old Sam stood over him, pointing a gun at his head. Somehow Dean knew that this time the bullets would be real.

"It's all your fault, Dean. It's always been your fault," Sam hissed. "You can't protect me; you never could."

"I'm sorry, Sammy," he gasped around the pain, closing his eyes for a second before resolutely meeting his baby brother's eyes. "I'm sorry for everything."

Sam grinned maniacally as his finger squeezed the trigger.

Dean jerked upright, gasping for breath. One hand went to his chest and he looked around wildly as the remnants of the dream fell away but the physical pain lingered. Feeling Sam's eyes on him, he forced himself to calm down, taking comfort from the familiar feel of his car around him.

"You okay, man?" Sam asked, taking his eyes of the road for a second to glance over.

Not trusting his voice, Dean nodded in response. He watched Sammy maneuver the car through traffic as his heartbeat returned to normal. "Where are we?" he asked, half out of curiosity and half to distract his brother.

"Just past Des Moines. You've been out for hours. You hungry?"

Dean relaxed in his seat. Obviously Sammy could take a hint. "I could eat."

Sam nodded and quickly merged to the right. "Sign said there's a diner this exit." As he turned off the highway and stopped at the traffic light at the end of the off-ramp, he turned and looked at Dean. "What were you dreaming about?"

Dean sighed, not quite able to meet his brother's eyes. "It was nothing."

Sam stared at him, scowling, until an angry driver's horn brought his attention back to the road. He signaled and turned, muttering, "It didn't sound like nothing."

Dean felt momentary panic – did he talk in his sleep? – before dismissing his brother's concern. "Well, it wasn't anything worth talking about." He half-turned to look out the window, his body language indicating that the conversation was over. Too bad Sammy couldn't take a hint.

"Dean, I really think you should talk about it. Was it about Netawaka?" Guilt crossed Sam's face, "Or was it the asylum?"

"Sam, I don't want to talk about it!" Dean snapped, turning to glare at his brother.

Sam turned in to the parking lot and chose a space close to the diner's entrance. Shutting off the engine, he twisted in his seat until they were face to face. "Dean," he began.

"Take a hint already! Or better still," Dean smirked. "How does the saying go? You show me yours and I'll show you mine," he laughed mirthlessly. "How 'bout it, Sammy, you ready to talk about what's going on in your head while you're sleeping?" He watched as Sam's lips thinned into a frown and a closed expression shuttered his eyes. "Yeah, that's what I thought," Dean snarled, climbing out of the car. It took all his willpower not to slam the door behind him.

Stalking into the diner, Dean didn't bother to look back. He chose a booth and wasn't surprised when Sam slid in across from him with an apologetic look on his face.

"Sorry," Sam stated simply. "I didn't mean to push. I just don't want to see you beat yourself up over stuff that's not your fault."

Dean sighed and pretended to study the menu. There was no way he was telling Sam about the dream. His brother had enough guilt about what had happened at the asylum, and he would be more than willing to torment himself about Netawaka. Of course that was just stupid; no one would expect a seven year-old to take responsibility for himself. Dean knew his father had been right that night.

"Dean," Sam interrupted his thoughts impatiently. "Do you know what you want?"

A petite, pretty brunette was standing over the table with a pen and pad in hand. Eyeing him nervously, she offered, "I can come back…"

"Cheeseburger, fries, Coke." Dean gave her a shadow of his usual smile, which was still sufficient to send her floating away from the table. He followed her with his eyes for a second before turning his attention to his brother.

"I really think we should talk about Netawaka," Sam told him. "We want to be as prepared as possible."

"You said yourself, Sammy, we don't know that we're dealing with the same thing."

"Okay," Sam agreed. "So we need to do some research."

Dean started to ease himself out of the booth. "I'll go grab the laptop." Sam's hand on his arm stopped him, and he watched his little brother spring to his feet.

"I got it," Sam insisted, disappearing out the door.

In less than a minute he was back in the booth with the laptop booting up in front of him, handing Dad's journal to Dean. "Do you remember anything about Netawaka in here?" he asked.

Dean shook his head, reaching for the book. "Nope, but I'll take a look."

"What about the town? Do you remember what it was like?"

"It was small. There wasn't much there; people, a few businesses and an old railroad station," Dean paused as the waitress dropped off their food, giving her an appreciative smile for the quick service. "I don't know how much of what I remember about the town is helpful. That was a long time ago." He flipped through the journal with one hand while stuffing fries in his mouth with the other. "What about you?"

"I remember the house and the clearing." Sam grimaced. "And I remember the demon, but not clearly. I see lots of teeth and big claws, and it was huge."

Dean watched Sam shudder at the memory, and mentally cursed their father for sending them back to that place. Digging up buried memories after fifteen years, especially this type of memory, was never a good idea. Dean wondered fleetingly if this was Dad's way of telling him that he was once again doing a crappy job taking care of his brother, but he pushed the thought away, turning his attention back to Sam. Seeing his brother's nervousness, Dean promised himself that he wouldn't allow his little brother to be hurt again.

"I don't think it was much bigger than Dad," he tried to reassure, "and we're a lot bigger than we were back then. If it is the same type of demon, we are so gonna kick its ass."

"It looks like the same thing," Sam told him, spinning the laptop to face him while taking a huge bite of his sandwich.

Dean was relieved to see Sam eating again, but didn't comment. Instead he marked his place in the journal and wiped his hands before pulling the laptop over. He read the headline out loud, "Unknown Killer Claims Fourth Netawaka Child." Quickly scanning the article, he noted between bites, "Nine year-old boy…multiple bites…apparent claw marks…police officials cite possible animal attacks as cause." He looked across the table at Sam and hoped that he hadn't turned as pale as his brother. "Sounds kinda familiar, huh?"

Dean watched as Sam's worried expression turned to determination and he reached out to pull the laptop back. "I'll look for any patterns between last time and now."

Dean nodded and returned his attention to the journal, stuffing the last bite of his burger in his mouth. He glanced up to see Sam absentmindedly picking at his sandwich and frowned, "You're supposed to eat that."

Sam gave him a wry grin. "I kinda lost my appetite," he said, almost apologetically, before returning his attention to the laptop.

Dean gave his brother a measured look before closing the journal again. "If you're done, give me the keys and let's get back on the road."

"I don't mind driving," Sam told him without looking up. "You're the one that's hurt. You'll have more room to stretch out if I drive."

"Yeah, but you're the better researcher, college boy, you need to stick with the laptop," Dean shot back, snagging the keys off the table. "Besides, my baby misses my touch on her steering wheel." He signaled for the check, offering the waitress a dazzling smile that brought her scurrying to the table. After thanking her and tossing a handful of bills on the table Dean started to stand up, only to be stopped by Sam's hand on his arm.

"Dean, I think I've got something, but you're not going to like it."

Dean sighed, but settled back in the booth, "What?"

"I think Dad messed up on his research," Sam told him hesitantly. Dean could see the reluctance in his face, and understood how hard it was for Sam to even suggest it to him. He admitted to himself that even a few weeks ago he would have jumped to Dad's defense, but now he just waited for Sam to continue. When his brother eyed him uncomfortably he offered encouragement.

"Why do you think that?" Dean kept his voice neutral. It wasn't likely that Dad would make a mistake – he was always thorough, as he had taught them to be – but as the time spent searching for Dad increased and he didn't call or write with any more than the stupid coordinates, Dean found that he was more willing to entertain the possibility.

"Well," Sam began, once again turning the laptop to face him, "It looks like 1990 wasn't the first time this demon appeared. Look, here's 1975 too, and I bet if we keep looking we could find something comparable going back every 15 years."

Dean looked at the information, and had to admit that Sam might be right. "Okay Sammy, so keep checking and see if you can trace it back further. It's tough to believe that Dad would miss something like that." He struggled to keep his inner turmoil off his face. If their father had missed something this obvious, what other mistakes could he have made?

When Sam didn't answer, Dean glanced at him and caught an expression that almost looked like pity in his brother's eyes before he looked away. Unwilling to address the emotion, Dean slid out of the booth and slowly straightened up. "Let's get out of here, already," he insisted as he winked one last time at the waitress before heading for the door.

He stood by the car for a minute, trying to get a handle on his emotions before Sam followed him; Sam and his questions. Dean let out a short bark of laughter, mocking himself. It wasn't Sam's fault. Since they'd been little there had always been questions, and Dean had always found the right thing to say. He couldn't blame Sam now, when he didn't have the answers anymore. Taking a deep breath, he turned around and found himself face to face with his brother.

"You okay, man?"

Dean smirked. Let the questions begin. "Yeah, Sammy, I'm good."

"Why don't you let me drive so you can rest?"

Thinking of his earlier dream, Dean was quick to answer, "No, I'm fine," as he swung himself into the driver's seat. He heard Sam sigh, but after a moment he walked around to the passenger side.

"Dean," Sam began hesitantly as they pulled back onto the highway, "do you think Dad missed the pattern? I mean, how could he? That's one of the basics."

It was Dean's turn to sigh. "I don't know, Sammy. Maybe he got distracted somehow." Glancing at Sam, Dean decided to leave it at that. Knowing Sammy, if he knew the whole story he'd twist it around and blame himself. Sam had enough guilt already. Truth was, Dean knew that it was possible that Dad had been distracted, by Dean himself. They'd been arguing for weeks over Dad's desire to include Sam in the training that had been Dean's life for almost seven years.

Dean was sure that Sam would be surprised to hear how forcefully he'd stood up to Dad to protect his baby brother, but he wasn't going to put another wedge into the distance between Sam and Dad just to win brownie points. A little voice in his head pointed out that a few more brownie points might have prevented him from getting shot in the chest with rock salt, but he pushed the thought away impatiently.

"What do we do?" Sam asked. "Do we go at it the same way?"

"Find it, behead it, salt it, burn it, bind it," Dean recited. "Dad stopped it the first time, he just didn't follow through."

Sam closed the laptop and set it by his feet. "I'm gonna check the journal for answers," he said, reaching for the book.

Dean, sensing an end to the questions, reached over to flip the radio on. When he glanced over a few minutes later, Sam was asleep with the journal open on his lap.

One thing Dean had never minded was driving. He loved his car and his music, and his brother was there beside him. Normally he would look at a road trip as all the best parts of his life combined. Today was different, and he tried to sort his worries out in his head, classify them, and finally file them away and move on. Dean had learned long ago not to waste time with emotions. Sometimes he wished that Sam had learned as well.

Dean's first concern – as always – was Sammy. Watching him sleep in the car just served as a reminder of how little Sam slept at night. It had only gotten worst since the asylum when apparently Sam had heaped a new load of guilt on top of what he felt for Jess.

As a topic, the asylum brought a whole list of worries with it. Dean had tried to get rid of Sam's guilt without success, and he was still struggling with his own pain – emotional and physical. What had he done wrong to make Sam so angry? Dean understood that Sam's words and actions had been controlled by the Doctor, and he'd reassured Sammy of that more than once. Still, a part of him couldn't let go of the belief that the words had come from somewhere inside Sam; the Doctor had just found them and used them in a hurtful way that Sam wouldn't have even considered.

Dean brought a hand up to rub his chest, feeling the pain of the impact all over again. Sam was right. Driving was uncomfortable for him, but he had no intention of being the one to fall asleep in the passenger seat again. Really, Sam had been right about the whole trip, not that Dean was going to tell him so. They should still be back in the motel with Sammy resting and Dean watching over him while waiting for his injured chest to heal.

Instead they were on the road again, chasing down another set of coordinates, searching for Dad. Dean cursed softly, barely refraining from hitting the steering wheel. When he heard Sam stirring he took his anger and grimly pushed it away as well. No sense in waking Sam up, he already had his opinion on Dad and his actions.

Tired of his thoughts, Dean turned his attention to the road and his music, blocking everything else out for the next few hours.

It was dusk when they reached Netawaka. Dean found a small convenience store and gas station, but was directed back to the highway for a motel. Sam woke up as they got off at the exit, but was still blinking owlishly when the pulled into the motel parking lot.

"Morning, sunshine! You find anything in the journal?" Dean asked, laughing and relieved that Sam had gotten some uninterrupted sleep.

Sam rubbed his head, grinning sheepishly, "How long was I out?"

"'Bout four hours, I guess," Dean told him. "We're here."

When Dean returned from the office with their room key, Sam roused himself enough to help bring the bags in to the room, then settled at the small table common to all motel rooms, leafing through the journal. "I'm gonna try this again."

Dean nodded before heading for the door. "I'll go find us some food."

It felt like he was only gone a few minutes but, when he returned with a sack of burgers from the diner down the street, Dean could tell immediately that Sam had found something he didn't like.

"Would you look at this," Sam raged. He held the journal out, but when Dean tossed the bag on the table and reached for it Sam pulled it back and continued his rant. "He didn't write much about it. He was too busy trying to get you killed! Look! 'Eats children. Dean – bait?' He didn't do enough research to know that it was a recurring demon, but I guess it was enough for him to feel okay about risking your life!"

Dean watched the tirade without comment until the journal was sent flying across the room. He was stung by the implications of Sam's words, but this wasn't the time to be emotional. "Sammy, chill. Dad's always done what he had to. That time was no different." The words were like ashes in his mouth, but he forced a cocky grin. "Besides we all know I'm too damned handsome to die. Now, let's eat and then we'll focus on now. We've got a demon to kill."

Dean was relieved when Sam heeded his words and settled in at the table, pulling the bag over. He was getting tired of defending Dad, and was a lot less certain about his position in these discussions. He was pulled out of his thoughts by a groan from Sam.

"Jesus, man, don't you ever eat anything besides burgers?"

TBC