Sam

Sam lay sprawled on one of the twin beds in the dimly lit motel room, hands laced behind his head. It was quiet, but for the sound of the shower running in the bathroom nearby. His gaze was focused upward, but for once, he didn't see Jess, pinned to the ceiling, her lifeless eyes staring down at him. This time he saw only his brother as he had looked when he walked into the bathroom a few moments earlier, closing the door firmly behind him.

Dean tried very hard to project an image of careless indifference and succeeded in fooling most of the people most of the time. He even fooled Sam – some of the time. But Sam knew, as very few did, that if you really wanted to know what was going on in Dean's heart, you had only to look into his eyes. So when Dean had glanced briefly in his direction a few moments ago, his face an expressionless mask, Sam had used those hazel mirrors to confirm the pain and confusion he already suspected his brother was feeling.

Sam closed his eyes and immediately his mind took him back to that godforsaken warehouse…

After those fateful three words, the glowing knife moved swiftly to hover over Dean's heart. Sam focused harder on the knife, desperate to divert its course. He had moved objects before -- he could do it again. But even though he felt his brain would burst with the effort, the knife remained stubbornly poised over its target. Then the weapon moved, penetrating his brother's chest. He shouted Dean's name, the word echoing as a piercing scream in his mind although no sound came out of his mouth. He heard his father's agonized cry of denial, then the knife dropped to the ground and instantly he found himself free.

Something had apparently weakened Manson's power, and with a surprised expression and muttered curse, he made his escape. John headed off in pursuit while Sam ran to his brother.

Dean had slumped to the ground and Sam feared the worst when he saw blood staining his shirt. He examined the wound with shaking hands and relief left him light-headed when he found that while bleeding copiously, the cut was not too deep and would probably not even need stitches.

By the time Sam had tended to Dean's wound and helped his trembling brother to his feet, their father had returned, having lost his prey. The Winchesters wasted no time in leaving the deserted warehouse, piling into Dad's truck and driving the five miles to the backwoods Colorado town where the boys had met up with their father earlier that day.

No one uttered a word during that journey. Sam sat in the back, eyes flicking back and forth between the two tense men in the front. Neither moved a muscle; Dad concentrated on the road ahead while Dean stared out of the side window. They arrived back at the parking lot where they had left the Impala and got out of the car, standing around it in an awkward silence.

"You boys best put some distance between yourselves and this place," Dad said finally. "We don't know where Manson is or what other little surprises he might have up his sleeve."

"You going to tell us now who he is?" Sam asked.

His father hesitated. "It's a long story. I knew him a long time ago. He blames me for the death of one of his sons. Let's just leave it at that."

Sam wasn't satisfied, but he had to concede that this wasn't the appropriate time for long explanations. He glanced at Dean, but his brother was silent, staring off into the distance, locked in his own thoughts and refusing to be part of the conversation. "Was he possessed?" Sam asked.

His father slowly shook his head. "I don't think so. I think he found a way to harness a demon's power – and somehow it got away from him.."

"So, what's the next step?"

"We split up. I'll head north; you boys head west."

Sam wasn't sure he liked this plan. Too often Dad appeared out of the blue and disappeared again just as quickly. "I think we should stick together."

His father shook his head. "No. Manson's after revenge. It's best if we make it more difficult for him. Safer for you."

Dean looked up, then. "Safer. Yeah."

The emptiness in Dean's voice frightened Sam.

Dad must have heard it too, for he took a step towards Dean, hand outstretched. "Dean…"

Dean took a deliberate step back. "Don't. It's okay. You made the right decision back there."

"Son, please."

Dean shook his head. "There's nothing to talk about. We're all fine. The Winchesters live to fight another day. There's nothing else to say." He turned abruptly and walked to the Impala. "Sam, let's go."

Sam hesitated. He knew it was wrong to leave like this. They needed to talk about what had happened, about the choice Dad had made and why he'd made it. He could see that Dad knew it too, for with one quick glance at the Impala, he drew Sam to one side, out of earshot of his elder son.

"Sam, you know it was an impossible choice."

"Why did you choose me?" Sam thought he knew the answer, but he wanted his father to admit it.

"I love you both, you know that."

"But you chose me."

John was silent.

"You chose me because of my abilities, didn't you?" Sam went on, when it became evident that he wasn't going to get an answer. "Because there's something special about me, something that The Demon's afraid of, that you can use to defeat it."

He held his father's eyes as he spoke and there was something in their depths that he didn't understand, something that touched him and for a moment made him doubt the truth of his own conclusion. Then his father's expression shifted.

"You're right. It was the… it was the logical choice to make."

"Logical? You chose to sacrifice Dean because it was logical?" Sam virtually spat the words at his father. He was on the verge of unleashing the anger that had been simmering within him for the past hour, ever since he had worked out the truth.

John briefly looked across at Dean, who had glanced their way as Sam raised his voice. "I didn't mean it to sound so clinical, son."

"How did you mean it to sound, then?" Sam held his father's eyes for long moments. He wanted nothing more than to lash out, but somehow common sense got the better of his emotions. Getting into a shouting match wasn't going to change anything, and it sure as hell wasn't going to help Dean. He glanced at his brother, who met his eyes briefly before turning away and getting into the driver's seat.

Sam swallowed and turned his attention once more to his father. "It's okay," he forced himself to say, though he knew it was far from okay. In fact, it might never be okay again. "You're right, it was an impossible choice."

"Sam, your brother…"

"I'll take care of Dean. Just… get in touch when you can." Sam turned away abruptly, stalked off to the Impala and got into the passenger seat without another word. As soon as he closed the door, the engine roared into life and Dean hit the gas hard. Sam looked once into the rearview mirror to see their father still standing motionless in the road behind them.