Disclaimer: I don't own them… but how cool would it be if I did? What? Well, it would be cool for me, anyway…

"All motion is relative. Perhaps it is you who have moved away—by standing still."

J. Lawrence and R.E. Lee

Inherit the Wind

Chapter 3

Sam was staring silently at the dark ceiling, listening to his brother breathe.

There was a creeping sort of quiet growing between the brothers, stretching slowly and stealthily between them like ivy inching up brickwork that you never quite notice until the bricks are gone. Sometimes, like when they'd entered the hotel room earlier, it was companionable and warm, filled with the secret brotherly language without words, the silent communication of two intelligent, intense boys who'd only ever had each other. Sometimes the silence spoke, laughed and joked, brimming with smirks and quirked eyebrows and I-remember-when. It was silent even in Dean's steady voice in the dark, go-back-to-sleep-Sam and nothing's-gonna-hurt-you. Sam knew Dean loved him. He had no reason to doubt it. It was endless and unfailing and permanent, like the earth beneath Sam's feet. Sure, they never said the words, never shared or talked things out, but the earth can't talk either and that doesn't mean it's going to fall out from beneath your feet.

It just is. It exists without explanation because it doesn't need one and never has.

Until he got electrocuted, even when he'd worried Sam had never believed that Dean could die. He'd never contemplated a world without Dean. How do you imagine the world without the world?

Because Dean had always existed for Sam. There had never been a Sam without Dean. It was impossible, improbable, like trying to think backwards.

Once upon a time, though, there had been a Dean without Sam. He'd always known it, of course, but he'd never realized.

The past is hard to ignore when it walks up and slaps you in the face.

There had been a Dean before Sam. A bright, happy, shining child… a beautiful family in a house made beautiful by them. Dean would never have that back. Dad would never have that back.

Flesh and blood and fire can't be mended. Dean loved Sam, but it would never give him back what he'd lost. Sam couldn't change it or fix it or take it back, because fixing and mending and putting-back-together had never been Winchester skills. John had taught his sons how to hunt and kill, destroy and vanquish, even how to rescue, but not how to heal. He taught them how to travel and keep low and leave, but not how to stay. He'd taught them how to survive, but not how to live.

What little Sam did know of these things, of healing and staying and living, he'd learned from Dean.

Dean healed, tended Sam's wounds and sat with him when he was sick, and doesn't say much about Jess because he understands that sometimes time is all there is. Dean stayed; he'd never left, except when Sam pushed him away. Sam knew how to leave, his father had taught him, and he knew how to stay, to be one step behind Dean or in the passenger seat, to be nowhere in particular and still be home. Dean lived, maybe not the way Sam would choose but it wasn't Sam's choice to make and whatever Dean did, he always owned it.

Dean loved Sam. Sam had no reason to doubt it. He knew he loved his brother just as much. But he couldn't undo what had been done. He couldn't give back years or pain, couldn't make the grief disappear like mist in sunlight. He couldn't unmake his family's past, not by staying or leaving, not by living or dying.

Sam wondered who his brother would be if he hadn't become who he now was. The thought kept him awake in the smallest hours of the night, watching the shadows of snow drift lazily across the window.

"WHAT THE HELL!"

Sam jerked awake, squinting into the ridiculous over-brightness of the winter morning pouring merrily through the window. It wasn't Dean's something's-here-to-murder-us-horrifically-in-our-sleep-so-anytime-you'd-like-to-help-Sam shout, so he didn't scramble for a weapon or fling himself off the bed. He was actually very lucky he didn't attempt to jump out of bed because as his eyes adjusted to the light he saw what had upset Dean.

Their beds had moved during the night, going from practically right next to each other in the center of the spacious room to shoved up against opposite walls. Sam's bed was pushed flush against the window and Dean's was against the door. They were as far apart as was it was possible to be and still be in the same room. None of the other furniture had been disturbed, and neither brother had felt anything during the night.

Swinging out of bed, Sam joined his older brother in the center of the room, his worries of the previous night forgotten. They both looked down at the circles of salt and holy water, undisturbed and unbroken where the beds used to be.

"That's—this—this isn't possible," Sam stuttered, eyeing the pristine circles uneasily. "How could a spirit have moved our beds without waking us? Without breaking the circles?"

"Well, obviously it's possible, Sam," Dean snarked, disturbed that something had been in their room while they slept and he hadn't known, that something had sniffed at their protections and wards with disdain. That something—let's face it, probably attracted here by Sammy, because wasn't that always the way lately—had flounced between him and his brother while they slept. Wait a minute—

Sam.

"Hey—are we, you know, sure a spirit did this?" Dean asked, turning to squint at his brother who was crouching by the salt circles. Sam looked up, confused.

"What, do you think maybe it was something else? Maybe a demon, or something?" Dean could see the wheels turning in Sam's head as he catalogued all the things that were immune to salt and could move things from a distance. He waited, and saw when Sam's mind connected those two traits. Something that was undisturbed by wards and holy water. Something that could move objects.

Something like Max.

Sam's jaw clenched, and he turned away, running his fingers over the salt circle. "No, Dean."

Dean crossed his arms over his chest, knowing Sam was uncomfortable with this but knowing also that they had to know, so he pushed. "Look, Sam, I'm just saying, are we sure you didn't—you know—have a weird dream and wiggle your nose in the middle of the night?"

"NO, Dean. No. I—I couldn't have done this. You said it before, that was a one time thing. I saw you die and I had a freak adrenaline rush because I wanted to save you." Even as Sam said the words, he heard himself. Heard what he was saying… because I wanted to save you. But, no—it had felt like a punch, unnatural and wrenching. It couldn't have been him. It was a one time thing. Dean said so. Dean knew Sam—Sam knew himself.

But Dean was already backing off, letting Sam have his space, to breath and collect himself. Sam had said no, it couldn't be him, and so it hadn't been him and that was the end of it. "Yeah—you're probably right. Besides, even if it had been you that wouldn't explain why we didn't wake up."

Looking at the two heavy, hardwood double beds, one of which was blocking the door, Dean sighed. "So, if you didn't put them there, I'm guessing that's a 'no' on you being able to put them back, huh?"

Both brothers were sore by the time they headed down for breakfast in the main dining room. The beds had been just as heavy as they'd looked, and Dean hoped they could deal with whatever was haunting this place, because otherwise they were totally getting charged for the scratches they'd left in the hardwood floor. Sam plodded along beside him, looking like he'd gotten his usual amount of sleep. Just enough to give Casper time to redecorate. Freaking feng-shui ghosts… next thing you know they were going to wake up with a Queer Eye for the Undead Guy makeover.

Dean hated inexplicable shit. He dealt with it all the time, which didn't help his tolerance any, either. We deal with the unexplained all the time…

It's just another thing, Sam…

A glint of silver caught Dean's eye as Sam pulled open the door to the dining room. Sam was carrying his knife… his curved blade, with the blessing from that bishop Dad had bri—saved. That bishop he had saved. Dean had throwing dagger with the same blessing… he hadn't carried it since Lawrence.

Dean wasn't sure he liked where Sam's head was right now. He was obviously uncomfortable with something… it was more than just the beds. But if Sammy was getting a vibe, whether or not he realized it himself, which, Dean realized, maybe he didn't, than that was more than enough for him.

He made a mental note to get the dagger out of the trunk after breakfast.

Speaking of breakfast… "Hey, I thought you said this was the off season for tourists up here?"

Sam shrugged, looking at the crowd of at least thirty people crowding the breakfast buffet. Sure, it was a hell of a lot less then the giant hotel could hold, but it was an awful lot for a stormy weekend in the off season. "I thought it was… uh, Dean, is it me or are these people, uh…" he trailed off, glancing at his brother in concern.

The spacious room, with its white clothed tables and a wall of windows showing a panoramic view of the surrounding mountains, was filled with what appeared to be a tour group of some sort. The guests were wearing name tags and chattering animatedly to each other from table to table. They ranged in age from groups of college students in beat up hoodies and jeans to older folks wearing everything from hippie layers to tweed professor-style suits. "What the hell? There a geek convention in town?"

Much to Sam's relief, none of the guests appeared to hear them. Nudging Dean's shoulder, he headed towards the food. "Let's just eat and get out of here."

They proceeded towards the line, grabbing plates and loading up with food. Even Sam felt hungry enough to take an embarrassing amount of food, especially considering this was a far nicer breakfast, or hell, a better meal than any they'd ever had. The restaurant in the hotel was obviously a gourmet one, and the buffet was manned by chefs every few feet preparing fresh entrees. Smiling widely, Dean managed to forget the peculiar crowd at his back.

Sam had already proceeded to an empty table in a semi-secluded corner, and was about to start on his eggs when his cell phone rang. Glad no one was close enough to be offended by it, he flipped it open in embarrassment.

"Hello?"

Sam, honey, you two need to get out of there!

Dean looked on in concern as Sam's face froze. "Missouri? Why? Are we in danger?"

Dean forgot his food as quickly as he'd forgotten his earlier worries, which came rushing back. He leaned towards Sam, who angled the phone and raised the volume slightly so they both could hear her.

Missouri sounded embarrassed. No—not like that, boys. But you need to leave now, you'll be real sorry if you don't. I'm sorry, Sam, I never would have told him… his girl Beth overheard me talking to—to someone else about you boys. She and her mama were visiting me just two months ago. Chris just emailed me askin' for help… if he'd called I'd have known what he was planning… can't read a computer's mind, honey… Didn't know 'till I called him just now to see that you boys got in okay…

WHY are you boys still sitting there?

Startled, and then annoyed, Dean stood up, pulling Sam from his chair. He was right about Sam's vibes… he couldn't believe he got suckered in by a fancy breakfast spread. He turned around to bump straight into Walker, who'd been heading towards his table. He heard Sam snap the phone shut on top of Missouri's warnings behind him. Oh, they'd be hearing about that later…

"Ah, Dean, Sam, wonderful! We were just about to get started." Walker turned towards the crowd, who quieted quickly, looking over at the giant man in anticipation. Dean felt Sam shrink back when the eyes of the crowd turned to them… he'd been shrinking away from people a lot lately.

Walker was totally going on his shit list.

"Good morning, ladies and gentlemen! Thank you all for making the trip up here to take part in our exciting weekend at the Haunted Inn! I'd like to introduce you to our guest experts, Dean Winchester, ghost hunter, and his brother Sam, his psychic medium!"

Correction: Dean was going to get that dagger out of his trunk now.