A/N: Much thanks to all who reviewed in chapter one! We'll see what mischief the boys get into in chapter 2...As always, thanks to geminigrl11 for the beta and more importantly for her patience and passion and love. She is the only thing that's keeping me going in more ways that I can ever express. Thanks for being the Dean when I needed it :)

Chapter Two

So far, "time off" had meant watching Dean try to entertain himself in the cramped motel room. His older brother had started by flipping through the meager selection of TV channels. When he'd exhausted them, pausing long enough to snicker at a documentary on the mating habits of elephants, he resorted to perusing the phonebook and laughing at the more unfortunate names.

Sam had tried watching TV with his brother, but his brother's frenetic and illogical viewing patterns made his head hurt, so he resorted to surfing the net instead.

The afternoon finally vanished into twilight, and Dean picked up the crusty motel room phone and dialed the garage. The conversation was short and forced, and Sam could see Dean's back was rigid with frustration.

When Dean hung up, he swore at the phone. The news wasn't good.

"They won't be able to tell me for sure until tomorrow," Dean said shortly.

Dean's attitude was so pouty, so juvenile, that Sam could not resist ribbing his brother. "You know, that thing gets terrible mileage," Sam said pointedly.

Dean shot him a warning glare.

"With gas prices on the rise..." Sam could barely contain his grin.

"Yeah, well, you may be cheaper to maintain but you're not nearly as useful, so don't keep talking, little brother."

OOOOOOO

The conversation with the mechanic had left Dean cranky, and the room had fallen into a sullen silence. But a John Wayne movie on TV finally nabbed Dean's attention, and he sprawled out, the remote resting just beyond his outstretched hand. He punctuated the movie with his own commentary, reflecting on the quality of acting, the storyline and, "Dude, this movie is hilarious. Did you see that guy get shot? Great effects."

Sam had started off nodding to his brother's quips, sometimes countering, but soon barely acknowledged his brother's comments. He had given up on the laptop and resorted to a book instead, but it made his eyes droop, and he shook himself awake several times before it all slipped away.

He vaguely felt Dean taking the book out of his hands and pulling off his shoes with as much care as he could manage.

" 'm not tired."

"Sure, you're not," Dean replied, pulling the blankets over his brother. "Just rest your eyes for a little bit, okay?"

Part of Sam wanted to protest again, wanted to resist, but he couldn't remember why he didn't want to sleep and resting just for a moment couldn't hurt.

OOOOOOO

Drip.

Drip.

Something was dripping on his forehead. He could feel it pounding into him with the force of bullet.

No.

He knew what it was, but he could not keep himself from opening his eyes, from seeing it again. Jessica.

She was sprawled above him, her leg at an unnatural angle, her blonde curls plastered back by an invisible force.

"Why, Sam?" the voice asked. She deserved an answer. Gutted and pinned to the ceiling, she deserved an answer.

But the fire erupted and consumed her, the flames licking away from her, stealing his breath.

The heat approached him next and he didn't fight.

Sam jolted upright in bed, his breath catching in his throat as he gasped for air.

No.

His eyes adjusted and he realized there was no fire, there was no Jessica. He was in a motel room with Dean.

Sometimes it surprised him how real the dream was, how it took him back and gripped him, leaving him as broken as the night it actually happened.

When they had first left California, Sam had been continually haunted. The vision of her on the ceiling had been branded behind his eyes. But months had passed, and he'd had moments of reprieve, moments when he could remember the way she smiled, the sound of her laugh, the feel of her skin, rather than the look of horror on her face as she died above him.

But the memory always came crashing back, always revisited itself upon him as if to make him remember what he'd done, what he'd lost, what he had to make right.

It had been weeks since he'd last had the dream, and a twinge of guilt flashed through him. Maybe he had been lazy in his grief. He didn't know for sure if it was his fault, if the demon had been after him or something else, but he always knew that she shouldn't have had to die without knowing why.

He leaned back onto the pillow, letting his breathing even out.

He felt so weary, so drained. But the escape of sleep hardly seemed appealing. With a sigh, he reached for the remote. He flicked on the TV and turned the sound on mute, letting himself get lost in infomercials.

OOOOOOO

It was nearly eight when Dean heard the sound of water running in the bathroom. He groaned and rolled over, wishing again for the solace of sleep. He had been driving for days straight, and as much as he hated for his car to be in a body shop, it did him good to sleep on a flat and soft surface.

He had hoped it would be good for Sam too. His little brother had been so exhausted. When Sam had zonked out early, Dean had been more than a little relieved.

Burrowing deeper under the sheets, Dean attempted to salvage a few more minutes of blessed rest before Sam came out and discovered he was awake. His mind had just lapsed into a state of near sleep when he heard the bathroom door open.

Groaning, he cracked his eyes open to look at his brother. Sam was dressed, toweling his hair dry, looking clean but definitely not rested. Sam's eyes were open but bleary, and he seemed to be moving sluggishly. Dean scrunched his nose at him. "You look like crap, man."

Sam shot a perturbed glance at his brother. "Morning to you, too."

"Just saying. Didn't you get any sleep last night?"

Sam tossed the towel on the bed, shrugging as he sat down and reached for his tennis shoes.

Dean sat up in bed, eyeing his brother more critically. "Sammy?"

"A little," Sam said with a frustrated sigh as he tied his shoes.

"What's up with you?"

Sam's jaw was set. "Nothing."

"Nothing. Just a little insomnia to make the world go 'round," Dean commented dryly.

Sam said nothing but viciously pulled his shoelaces tight.

"Right," Dean said, rolling out of bed. "I'm taking a shower."

When he emerged, Sam was sulkily watching a daytime talk show. "Good TV?"

Sam ignored him, and Dean could not think of another quip to try to wrest his brother from his bad mood. He knew Sam hadn't slept, and the sudden regression of Sam's sleeping habits was already wearing on both of them. He had thought the days of sleeplessness and recurring nightmares had faded, slowly dissipated as time passed. But this recent trend seemed worse than ever.

Dean frowned as he collected his things, wondering if Sam was keeping something from him. After all, Sam had been pretty slow in telling Dean about his initial visions about Jess, but ever since they'd crossed that boundary, they had both taken the visions seriously. He couldn't think of a reason for Sam not to tell him if something was going on.

He eyed his brother surreptitiously as he dressed, deciding to keep a closer eye on him.

For now, though, their paths lay in separate directions.

"I'm heading over to the car shop."

"Okay. I think I'll look around town a little. See if there's anything going on," Sam said, sitting up and turning the TV off.

"Great. Meet you at the diner on the main drag in a half hour."

They exited the motel room together. "Remember, Dean, killing the mechanic won't make the car get fixed any faster."

"Yeah, well, if I had access to the parts and tools, I'd do it myself. Want to make sure those small town hicks don't screw up my car worse than it already is."

"I'm sure it'll be fine."

"Easy for you to say. Your car isn't cooped up in some shop with two mechanics who don't understand her."

"I don't have a car. And if I did, I would develop such an irrational attachment to it."

"You're just jealous," Dean said.

Sam rolled his eyes. "Right."

"It's okay, Sammy. Get some sleep and I'll let you drive her when we blow this town."

Sam let out an incredulous laugh and watched as Dean strode purposefully down the street. He shook his head, amused at his brother's determination. When Dean had his mind on something, he didn't let it go, and he was ruthless in his persistence.

Sam, however, did not have anything to be persistent about. The car was a necessity, but he knew it'd get fixed one way or another, and there was no pressing news story calling them across the country.

Besides, there were some things Sam wanted to look into himself. He could still feel the echoes from yesterday, resounding in him, and he shuddered involuntarily. He couldn't shake the feeling, this inexplicable, deep-rooted feeling, that something was off. He couldn't put his finger on it, not yet, and he had nothing more than suspicions to go on.

With a sigh, he headed out, his pace far less strident then Dean's. He only made it to the end of the parking lot when a wave of sleepiness passed through him, and he could not stifle his yawn. He would never make it through this day on his own.

The weariness that seeped through him was encompassing, and the café next door looked so convenient.

The small shop hosted a few customers, all seated at tables, chatting and reading newspapers. Sam wandered up to the counter, where a middle-aged man was leaned against it, flipping through a magazine. He smiled up at Sam with an avuncular grin. "What can I get for you?"

"Yeah, can I have a coffee? And a paper?" Sam asked, nabbing one from the stack on the counter.

The man nodded easily, moving lazily behind the counter. "You passing through, son?"

"Yeah," Sam said. "My brother and me--we needed a pit stop."

"Ain't much to do here, but it's quiet enough," he replied casually.

Sam smiled half-heartedly. "Any news about town?"

The man cocked his head as he fiddled with the machine. "News? You mean like the new curfew they're trying to pass?"

"Curfew?"

"For the kids. They try it every summer so they stop drinking out by the lake. Doesn't work," he said. "But not much is new. They're thinking of building a Phillips station on the other end of town, but old man Richards' doesn't want to part with his land. Been in the family for five generations, you know."

Snapping a lid on the cup, the man swung back toward the counter with a cordial grin. "Sorry, not much else to report, I'm afraid."

Sam took the coffee and blinked himself awake. "No, thanks, you've been a real help."

"That'll be $3.03," he said.

Pulling out his wallet, Sam paid the man.

The man behind the counter offered him the cup. "Have a good day, now," he said.

Sam smiled absently and turned to go.

A low voice filtered in his ears from behind. Betrayer.

Stiffening, Sam turned. "What?"

The man looked up from his magazine. "What?"

Sam narrowed his eyes but shook his head, moving to leave again.

You are the betrayer.

Sam turned again, quicker this time, but the scene was the same.

The man glanced up again and looked at him critically. "You need something else, son?"

"Did you…say something?"

The man looked perplexed. "No."

Sam nodded imperceptibly, and looked around the empty café. He turned uneasily toward the door and left.

Exiting the shop, he gave one last uncertain glance of his shoulder before taking a sip of his coffee. The hot liquid burned his tongue and he pulled the drink away from his lips immediately in frustration.

Shaking his head clear, he blew through the lid, and began his way down the street.