Warning: This chapter contains a brief, non-descriptive scene involving sexual abuse. It's rather upsetting, though, so if you are triggered easily please use caution in reading this.

"Hey, buddy, you okay?"

The strange and sudden voice behind him made Sam jump, and he twisted quickly to identify the source. There was a dusty blue pick-up parked behind him, a concerned looking man in his fifties moving towards him. He hadn't even heard the truck approach.

"Uh, yeah… I'm- I'm okay." He stuttered. "My brother- he's coming to get me."

"Yer nose is bleedin', son."

"It's fine. Really, I'm just gonna- wait for my brother."

"Well at least let me help you out of the road – not a real smart place to wait."

Before Sam could object the stranger had reached down and grasped his arm, pulling gently upwards.

"Don't!" Sam cried, but it was too late.

His face smoother and younger, the stranger stood in a basement, a camera in his hands. A little girl stood in front of him, twisting the hem of her pink Barbie dress nervously. He crouched before her, smiling.

"Can you take off your dress for me, sweetie? You're very pretty. You're so pretty, I wanna take some pictures of you so everyone else can see how special you are."

She looked at him, her little face round and trusting.

"Okay, Daddy."

Sam wrenched his arm away, revolted and enraged. He tried to get his legs under him, determined not to let the man touch him again, but his feet tangled. He didn't have time to throw out a hand to catch himself, and the back of his head connected solidly with the pavement.

Dean had only read about four pages of the notebook and he already felt sick and depressed. It was as if the worst of humanity had been condensed into the pages.

Sammy's been living this shit for two whole months? How the hell has he managed to hold it together this long?

So far there were no connecting factors that he could identify – people of all ages, races, religions. Some of them killed, some maimed, some brutalized. The only things that bound them together were fear, pain, and darkness.

Halfway through page five his cell phone rang, and he glanced at the caller ID. Sam. Probably calling to ask what kind of pie I want he mused, flipping the phone open

"Sam? You at the diner?"

"Dean-"

His brother's voice sent an immediate anxiety through him. Something was wrong.

"Sam?"What's wrong? Are you okay?"

"I- I can't stop, Dean. Everytime I move, everything- Please, come get me…" Sam wasn't making much sense, but Dean could hear come get me clear as day

"I'm coming, Sammy. Hang on, you hear me? I'm coming to get you."

The call cut out with a loud crack, and thought for sure his heart would beat itself out of his chest with fear. He grabbed wildly at his keys and ran outside, his eyes searching in the direction of the diner. There, a distant form huddled on the road, a blue truck pulling to a stop behind it.

Dean practically threw himself into the car, squealing the tires as he pushed the motor to a high whine. Sammy was close enough to see, but he seemed so fucking far away, and the ten seconds it took for him to close the distance between them were ten seconds Dean swore he didn't breathe.

When he screeched to a halt and jumped from the Impala, Sam was trying to push himself up from the ground with his arms. Blood dripped from his nose and the look in his eyes reminded Dean of a panicked animal. A middle-aged man with black hair stood over him, his hand loosely fisted.

"Get the fuck away from him!" Dean growled, lunging at the stranger. He didn't think twice as he pulled back a fist and drove it into the man's face, dropping him like a rock.The manlay on the road, dazed, eyes blinking languidly. Convinced that he would stay that way for the time being, Dean shook the sting from his knuckles and turned to his brother.

Sam had managed to sit up and was staring at Dean with a desperate expression.

"Sam, you okay?" he asked, kneeling. Sam's face twisted miserably, and Dean thought he might cry. But he swallowed thickly and answered.

"No, not really." He paused, his gaze darting to the prone form of the pick-up owner. "You just attacked that guy."

"Well, he was goin' after you, wasn't he?"

"No, not me." Sam said bitterly, and Dean knew there was more going on here than he knew about.

"Come on," he said, gently helping his brother to stand. "Let's get out of here." He glanced at the man lying behind them. "But, uh, if I just punched an innocent man, maybe I should help him. Or, you know, apologize."

"He's not innocent." Sam ground out. "He deserves a hell of a lot worse."

Dean raised his eyebrows but didn't comment, opening the car door for him. Sam hesitated for a moment, an odd look of apprehension on his face, then rested a shaking hand tentatively on the roof. Relief flooded his eyes, and he quickly scrambled into the car.

"Hang on just a moment, okay?" Dean said, starting the engine."We'll be back at our room ina sec."

"Can you just… check us out and get our stuff? I don't want to go in there." Sam asked, his voice tight with anxiety.

"I need to clean you up a little first, but then we can-"

"Please, Dean. I- I can't go in that room. I just need to stay in the car for a while, okay? Please."

"Okay," Dean replied, giving his brother a calculating look. "Butas soon aswe get out of town we're stopping and checking you over, got it?"

Sam nodded, looking ridiculously grateful. Dean pulled up in front of the motel and opened his door.

"I'll be right back, okay?" He hesitated, halfway out of the car. "You sure you're okay while I get our stuff?"

"Yeah. Just... hurry, okay?" Sam looked away, apparently embarrassed.

"You bet, little brother."

Dean made record time packing, threw some cash at the motel clerk, and had the Impala on the road in less than five minutes. Sam sat slumped in the passenger seat, his long legs pulled towards him.

"What the hell, happened, Dude? I mean Jesus, you were only gone fifteen minutes, and look at you! Did you have another vision?"

"Yeah, uh, three, actually."

"What? Three?"

"I think they're being triggered when I touch things."

His fists clenched in his lap. "Or when people touch me. They're getting worse, Dean. I can't stop seeing-" his voice choked off and he turned his face away, swallowing convulsively.

Dean sighed, allowing himself a moment to absorb this new information. Things were quickly spiraling out of control – this had gone from bad to worse faster than Dean could have anticipated, and he felt completely out of his league. Sighting a dirt turn-off ahead, he pulled the car over and shut off the engine.

"I promise you, we'll fix this. But right now we need to clean you up, okay?"

"Yeah," Sam sighed, the lack of resistance mildly unsettling. Dean reached into the back seat for the first aid kit and pulled out some gauze and alcohol. He saoked that guaze and gently wiped at the drying blood under his brother's nose, resting his palm on the back of Sam's head to steady him.

Sam flinched at the contact, and Dean thought he'dtriggered a vision - until he felt the warm stickiness of blood under his hand.

"Shit, Sam, why didn't you tell me you'd hit your head?" he chastised, turning his brother away from him so he could see the wound. Sam shrugged. There was small scrape on his scalp, beginning to clot over.

"This might sting a little," he warned, dabbing at the blood-slicked hair around the injury. Sam remained still and quiet, not showing any reaction to the pain.

Dean had wiped away most of the blood when he saw what looked like a small, red birthmark under the hair at the base of Sam's skull. Puzzled, he brushed the hair aside with his thumb to expose it.

"Goddamnit…" he breathed, his heart sinking. It wasn't a birthmark, it was a rune. And it was tattooed onto his brother's head.

A/N: Ah, the plot thickens! Things will begin to come together soon, be patient!