A/N: Can't thank you all enough for reviewing this! Hope you're not bored yet... Bit of a talky chapter this one...

Chapter Four

"What the hell are you?" Dean demanded, turning accusing eyes on the man who claimed to be their Uncle while clutching a trembling, sobbing Sam to his chest protectively. "What were you doing to my brother?"

Ian's face was a mask of innocent incomprehension. "What?" he said, frowning. "Dean, what are you talking about? I wasn't doing anything to your brother! I heard him screaming and came in here to check if he was alright!"

"I knew you'd come," Sam was muttering helplessly, clutching at Dean's t-shirt like he had as a terrified six-year-old, eyes still glazed and unfocussed as his mind attempted to process the things it had just seen.

Momentarily distracted from his need to punch Ian's lights out, Dean returned to stroking Sam's hair in what he hoped was a soothing manner.

"Even though I was mean to you," Sam continued, his death-grip on his big brother only tightening further. "I knew you'd come."

"Sammy, don't – " Dean bit off the rest of the sentence, knowing this was not the right time for that conversation, not with danger still present.

Not with Ian still in the room.

He looked back up at the man standing anxiously in front of him, his expression every bit that of a man concerned for the wellbeing of his kith and kin.

Whatever this guy was, he was good.

"What about your eyes?" Dean demanded, body still tense and alert, even as Sammy gradually started to relax against him. "I saw them go white!"

Ian frowned. "You saw what?" he burst out, taking a step forward which caused Dean to pull Sam further towards the opposite side of the bed. Ian raised his hands placatingly, forward momentum immediately ceased. "Dean, you didn't see my eyes go white…" he remonstrated.

"Yes I did!" Dean insisted, absolutely certain of what he'd seen.

"No," Ian shook his head and gestured towards the window. "It's dark in here. It was probably just the way the light from outside reflected on my eyes."

Dean looked a whole hell of a lot less than convinced.

"Look," Ian took another cautious step towards his charges, but stopped again when Dean's grip on his brother tightened and he looked like he might just grab Sam and rabbit. He sighed. "I know you're only looking out for your brother, Dean," he said slowly, trying to sound as understanding as possible. "And I know your Dad has probably filled your head with all kinds of crazy nonsense…"

Dean scowled ferociously. "My Dad's not crazy," he insisted, voice icy.

"I didn't say he was," Ian agreed. "But he – uh – he has some strange ideas about the world that I'm sure he must have passed on to you and Sam."

Dean didn't comment, but became suddenly aware of Sam's having lifted his tear-stained face from his chest to look carefully at their Uncle.

Ian noticed the movement too, smiling benevolently at the younger boy. "See?" he said. "Sam's not scared of me. Are you, Sam?"

Dean glanced down at Sam, who was now staring fixedly at Ian. "Sammy?"

Sam shook his head slowly, causing Ian's smile to brighten considerably, but Dean didn't miss the fact that his little brother's grip on him tightened still further while he continued to tremble almost uncontrollably.

Sammy was scared. He just didn't want Ian to know he was scared.

Way too smart for an eight-year-old.

"There, you see?" Ian said, beaming. He took another step towards the boys, and this time Dean felt Sam flinch ever-so-slightly. "Right now we should be worrying about how you're feeling, Sam, not on the tricks the sunset has been playing on your brother's eyesight."

Dean choked down the hostile retort that rose unconsciously into his throat, just as Sam announced in a small, tired voice, "I'm fine, Uncle Ian." His fingers tightened on Dean's shirt almost convulsively. "It was – just a nightmare."

Ian nodded, sympathy flooding his eyes. "You want to talk about it?"

Sam shook his head.

Not with you anyway…

Ian nodded, and for a second, Dean could have sworn he looked disappointed. "Well," he said. "We'll let you sleep then." He held out a hand towards Dean, motioning him to follow. "Come on Dean, your brother needs to rest – "

"No!" Sammy burst out so suddenly both Dean and Ian nearly came out of their skin. Sam turned wide, frightened eyes up to his brother, that pleading look he had threatening to break Dean into pieces. Sam glanced back at Ian, small hands still clinging to his brother. "Can – can Dean stay here with me tonight? Just tonight? I – I don't think I'll be able to get back to sleep on my own."

Dean knew as soon as Sam spoke that the kid was barely keeping it together, could feel him shaking, could see the cold sweat on his brow.

Sure, Sam wanted Dean to stay. But he really wanted Ian to go.

Ian looked from Sam to Dean and back again, the pleading expression on the younger boy's face as impossible to ignore as the determination on the elder's.

No way he was splitting these two up tonight.

He smiled placidly, inclining his head. "Sure, Sam," he said, his voice oddly cold. "Whatever makes you more comfortable."

Dean wondered what the hell that meant.

Ian started to back away towards the door. "As long as you're both okay. Call me if you need anything."

Sam nodded, and Ian reluctantly turned, opening the previously jammed door with ease, turning back to look at them for a second before closing the door quietly behind him.

"What we need is Dad," Dean muttered, once the door was safely shut behind his Uncle. Sam still hadn't let go of him, and he looked down at his brother, for the first time able to concentrate on him now that the immediate threat to him was gone. "That wasn't just a nightmare, was it?" he asked.

At that, Sam crumpled, the sobs he'd been stoically holding in for the last few minutes bursting out of him in one mad, hacking rush. He shook his head almost hysterically before burying his face back against Dean's chest.

Dean, who had been kneeling on the bed ready to jump up and defend his brother with his last breath if he had to, slumped down into a sitting position, pulling Sam against his shoulder. He didn't say anything for a few minutes, just let the boy get the tears out, all the while stroking his hair and rocking him slightly.

He knew Dad would have been mad if he'd seen them. "Men don't cry," he'd told Dean enough times in the past eight years. "It's a sign of weakness and I will not tolerate it in any son of mine. Understood?"

Dean had understood.

But it didn't stop him remembering the way Mom used to rock him soothingly, stroking his hair till the tears stopped and he was calm enough to tell her what was wrong.

He could at least give Sam that much of her.

Gradually, as the two of them sat in a silent, post-traumatic daze, Sam's tears became less, his breathing more even, his trembling subsiding.

But his grip on his brother remained every bit as desperately firm.

"Dean?" he said eventually, voice small and fearful.

Dean looked down at him, away from the window where he'd been watching the encroaching darkness already beginning to steal the sky. "You okay now, squirt?" he asked, hoping Sam didn't pick up on the forced lightness in his tone. He pushed a few locks of the boy's hair out of his eyes, gently wiping the remaining tears from his cheeks as Sam just gazed up at him with eyes as dark as the sky outside. All Dean could see in them was the dull ache of the aftershock and his own reflection.

Sam didn't nod. But neither did he shake his head. He just continued to stare unnervingly at his brother, almost as if he wasn't really seeing him at all.

Dean shifted, the close scrutiny making him nervous. "Earth to Sammy!" he said, as usual masking his unease with a humour he didn't really feel. "You still in there kiddo?"

Suddenly, Sam grabbed his brother round the waist so tightly Dean let out an involuntary cry as the kid once again buried his head in his t-shirt. "I don't want you to die!" he burst out. "Please don't go with Mom!"

Dean really didn't know how to respond to that.

Gently catching hold of Sam's chin, he turned the younger boy's face up towards his own, this time seeing only abject terror in his eyes.

"Sammy, I'm not gonna die," he assured the boy, stroking his hair again. "I'm not going anywhere."

"But that's what I saw!" Sam protested, eyes wide. "That's what I felt in my nightmare!"

Dean frowned. "You – you saw me die?" Although Dean thought about death more than any twelve-year-old had a right to – Mom's, Dad's, sometimes Sammy's – he'd always tried not to dwell too much on his own. Because he knew he'd never let it happen. Not as long as Sammy needed him.

Sam nodded slowly. "You were in a dark place – a deep place," he said. "The man touched you and you were all burnt up."

Dean swallowed hard. He'd been burning bones since he was seven, but had never let on to Dad how much the flames scared him.

Unsurprising really that he should have a deep-seated aversion to fire.

Dean could live with dying in any number of ways – gunshot, knife, electrocution, drowning, hex – hell, he'd even put up with going out in something as mundane as a car wreck.

But not fire. Anything but that.

He swallowed again, trying to summon his voice, which seemed to have become lost somewhere in the back of his throat. "Were you – were you there?" he asked tentatively. "When I died?"

"I was with the man."

Dean blinked. "The man who – who burnt me?"

Sam nodded.

"Okay," Dean managed. Then, "But – but dreams aren't real, Sammy. You know that. They're just dreams. They don't come true."

Sammy nodded again. "I know," he agreed, continuing to nod sagely. "Which is why I don't know why he showed me that. When he showed me the pictures, it hurt my head."

Dean frowned. "Who – someone – someone made you dream that I died?" he asked, almost afraid to hear the answer.

But Sam merely nodded.

"How – how do you know that?"

Sam shrugged. "He was standing behind me."

A light went on behind Dean's eyes. "Ian? Ian was making you have bad dreams?"

Sam considered for a second. "No," he said. "It was the man with the white eyes."

Dean's eyebrows disappeared into his hair. "White eyes?" he echoed. "That was Ian! Didn't you see… Sammy, when you were dreaming, he had white eyes…"

"No," Sam shook his head resolutely. "His eyes are only half-white."

Dean's frown deepened. "Huh?" he managed. "Sammy, you been swigging from Dad's hip flask again? 'Cause you know that stuff makes you go all goofy – "

"Ian didn't make me have the dream, Dean," Sam said, voice harder, more like his old scary-smart eight-year-old self. He pulled away slightly, death-grip on his brother loosening so that only the fingers of one hand remained twisted in Dean's shirt.

Dean considered that. "So – what?" he asked. "He was just watching someone – something – else hurt you?"

Sam shrugged again. "I don't know. Maybe he was telling the truth. Maybe he was only coming to see if I was alright."

"What?" Dean couldn't believe Sam was still sticking up for the guy. "What about the 'half-white eyes' thing?" he demanded.

Sam looked at him like he'd just sprouted horns. "The what?" he said, brow creasing.

"What you just said – " Dean prodded.

"I never said that," Sam insisted, looking at his brother blankly. "Why would I say something as dumb as that?"

Dean, for once, was lost for words, returning Sam's look with another just as blank. "But – " he began, before giving up and deciding to change tack. "The door. What about the door? He'd barricaded himself in here with you – I couldn't get the door open."

Sam glanced over at the door. "Seemed okay when he left," he observed. "And besides, it doesn't have a lock – "

"Didn't say it was locked," Dean pointed out. "Said he'd barricaded it."

"Why would he do that?" Sam let go of Dean altogether then, pulling away to better look him in the eye.

"To stop me getting in," Dean replied, not failing to notice that it was Ian, once again, who seemed to have managed to drive a wedge between the boys. Even when he wasn't around.

Pretty much like Dad, in fact.

Sam seemed to be considering that. Dean knew how badly Sam wanted a normal life – a normal family. He could see the disappointment fairly flooding his eyes at the idea that "Uncle" Ian might not be who he claimed to be.

The younger boy sighed deeply, stifling a yawn as he returned his head to rest on Dean's shoulder.

Dean inwardly mimicked Sam's sigh, putting a protective arm around the younger boy. You need to go to sleep, kiddo," he told him. "Things'll look better in the morning."

"Dean," Sam said in that mock forty-year-old authoritarian tone he saved for those occasions, becoming more frequent of late, when he though Dean was babying him. "When have things ever looked better in the morning?"

Dean shrugged, recognising the truth in Sam's observation. "Okay," he conceded. "So Dad's missing and we're stuck in a house with a guy who may or may not be our Uncle and who may or may not be a demon, or possessed, or just plain nuts, and who may or may not have caused you to have a nightmare where I died. Sound about right?" he inclined his head to look down at his brother.

Sammy snorted. "Doesn't sound so bad when you put it like that."

Dean shook his head, grinning. "Uh-huh," he said. "Nothing we can't handle."

The boys let the ironic humour of their decidedly humourless situation wash over them for a second.

Then Dean's expression became serious. "We've got to be careful," he said simply.

Sam frowned. "Of Uncle Ian?"

"Of everything," Dean clarified. "Until we know what's going on. Or until Dad comes to get us."

Sam's eyes locked with his big brother's, the first to ask the question Dean had been avoiding asking all day. "You really think he will?"

Dean didn't look away, but neither did he answer.

"Dean?" Sam persisted. "What if Dad doesn't come back?"

Dean pulled Sam into a hug, resting his chin on top of the younger boy's head. "I don't know, Sammy," he replied honestly. "But we'll think of something."

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So Kiddie Dean is now turning into my own idealised Big Brother. Which is odd considering my feelings towards Grown-up Dean could in no way be described as fraternal...

Reviews welcome! Thanks for reading!