A/N: Things certainly do seem...off for our beloved brothers :) Thanks to the reviewers, who make this story seem worthwhile as I go. Love and thanks to Gem, who knows all that she does for me, and who better be back online soon before I go out of my little mind (seriously, if the school year wasn't so close to being done, I think I'd quit because teaching Romeo and Juliet in 85 degree heat without air conditioning and 30 bodies in a confined space with a lawnmower roaring outside just isn't worth it some days). Anyway, onto the story!

Chapter Six

Dean tapped his finger impatiently against the Formica tabletop. He fiddled with the salt shaker, spinning it around, but always keeping his gaze on the front door.

A man in a suit came in, all rushed, and went straight to the counter.

Two teenage girls came in, smacking gum and giggling, and retreated to a corner booth.

But no Sam.

He checked his watch. Sam was supposed to be here an hour ago.

He pulled out his cell phone and considered trying Sam again. But the last three attempts had been fruitless. Sam's phone was off or dead.

The waitress refilled his cup of water and he offered her an empty grin, which she barely acknowledged.

The bell on the front door rang again, and Dean's eyes jerked up to see the tall figure of his brother coming through.

Dean didn't know whether to be relieved or angry.

"Where have you been?" Dean asked, his annoyance clear, as Sam sat down.

"Just down the street. There's a pawnshop. I saw some odd relics in the window, just wanted to check them out."

"Right. So when I said 20 minutes, you thought give or take an hour?"

"What?"

Dean shook his head. "Did you find anything with the EMF?"

"No. Place seems clean."

"So, what about these relics? Something going on with them?"

Sam glanced at the menu noncommittally. "I'm not sure. The old guy said some traveler had sold them to him. He couldn't tell me for sure where they came from or how authentic they were. But they looked Celtic to me. They had some strange engravings--some Gaelic. Once he found out I was interested though, he played them up and made the price way too high."

"Need to brush up on your bargaining skills, little brother."

Sam acted like he hadn't heard him. "I think we should ask around. See if anything strange is happening."

"I know," Dean said. "You told me that this morning."

"I mean, now. We should get going."

"Whoa, slow down there. We haven't eaten yet."

"Dean--"

"You're eating. Then we can research. Otherwise no deal."

Sam tried his puppy dog eyes.

But Dean could see the bags under Sam's eyes and the pale tinge to his skin. "We're eating."

Sam sighed, but sank back into the seat.

Sam ordered a meal, but was too fidgety to eat, too anxious to be bothered with food. When Dean was finally dragging his last French fry through his ketchup, Sam was sliding toward the edge of the seat.

"Let's get going."

"I've got to take a leak, okay? Then we'll go checking around to your freaky little heart's content," Dean said.

"Make it quick," Sam muttered, collecting his bag and the check. He stood and made his way to the counter, waiting for someone to come out and take the payment.

It was a kid who came out, no more than 18. "Did you enjoy your meal?" he asked with a friendly drawl.

Distracted, Sam glanced at him. "What? Yeah?"

The boy looked the bill over. "It's going to be $11.23," he said.

Absently, Sam pulled out his wallet, emptying a ten and two ones onto the counter. "Keep the change," he said.

"That's mighty kind of you, sir," the boy said. "You just passing through?"

"Yeah," Sam said distractedly.

"Strange place to stop at," the kid commented.

Something in the kid's voice made Sam stop. "What do you mean?"

"I'm sure you've felt it," the kid said. "No one talks about it, most people don't even feel it, but it just feels wrong here. Not all the time, mind you, but recently."

Sam's interest had been piqued. He leaned in closer. "What are you talking about?"

The boy's eyes narrowed and he leaned in too. "Like something's coming," he said in a hiss, his eyes darkening momentarily. "But you already know that. Betrayer."

Confused, Sam opened his mouth to reply, when a voice came from behind. "Dude, you paid it yet?"

Sam jumped and turned, finding Dean waltzing up behind him. "Yeah, I—"

"No one around to take it?" Dean asked.

"No, I—" Sam stopped. The bill was still on the counter with his twelve dollars. The kid was nowhere in sight.

"Well, leave it. They'll figure it out."

Sam opened his mouth to speak, to ask the question, but found himself unable to formulate the anything.

"Who were you talking to?"

"Just an employee."

Dean stared at the counter. "Where?"

Sam looked at the empty counter. "He was…" he began, confused. "He must have gone in the back."

With a skeptical glance, Dean eyed the counter and his brother again. "Whatever, dude."

Perturbed, Sam headed toward the door. "I'll take the library. You can have the police station."

OOOOOOO

"So?" Dean asked.

"So nothing," Sam said with a sigh. "No unusually violent, unsolved deaths. Nothing too mysterious--nothing's raising any flags. I'm thinking we're not looking at a haunting anyway. The effect seems to be too widespread and not nearly violent enough to be that straightforward."

"Right, well, nothing much from police records either," Dean said. "Some pranks recently, but just kids messing around. Can't blame them. They've got to make their own fun in a town like this."

Brooding, Sam's jaw clenched. "We have to have missed something."

Dean patted Sam's shoulder. "Maybe this time your vibes are just vibes," Dean said. "I've told you, your visions and stuff--freak occurrences."

"But--"

"But nothing," Dean insisted. "Look, we've done the research thing, now let's kick back and relax. If we have to be here, we might as well make the most of it."

"Right," Sam said sarcastically. "And what are we going to do here? Herd cattle?"

"Well, I don't know about you," Dean said slowly. "But I kind of said I'd meet Candy after her shift at the motel."

"Dean, come on."

"What? What else are we going to do? The town's clean. Don't know quite else to tell you. No mysterious police reports, no one's seen or heard anything. Unless you count how that cow ended up on the second floor of the high school. I'm sure that was an angry cow spirit come back to spite the man who killed his mother."

Sam continued to stare at his brother.

"It's not like I'm trying to ditch you," Dean explained. "You're dead on your feet, Sam. You look like a long stretch of bad road."

Sam started to protest. He understood his brother was protective, but Sam really did hate when Dean took to mothering him, as though Sam couldn't care for his own basic needs.

Dean didn't let Sam speak. He needed to get the issue out on the table and make Sam deal with it. Sam was and all-or-nothing kind of person, and when he was in something, he tended to lose perspective. He doubted his brother even realized just how haggard he looked. "The not sleeping, the not eating. It has to stop. Whatever's going on, that's not the way to solve it. Now listen--I've got to check on the car again before I meet Candy--they said they'd be ordering the parts today. And I'll do some asking around, okay? But only if you agree to crash for awhile."

"Dean--"

Dean was resolute. "I mean it."

Sam could see that Dean would not be flexible on this one. Trying to talk Dean down when he was in this mood was nearly impossible, and Sam doubted he had the energy to put up much of an argument. "Fine," Sam finally agreed. "But then you've got to lay off for awhile, you know? I'm a big boy. I think I can take care of myself."

Dean gaze was marginally affirming, but as he watched his brother retreat toward the motel, Dean wasn't so sure.

OOOOOOO

It was late when Dean finally made his way back to the motel. He'd checked on the car, only to find that the two valves had needed to be replaced and had to be ordered from Seattle. Much to his chagrin, Gene had guessed they wouldn't arrive for at least three days, and that installation would take at least another day.

Luckily Candy was in an unusually perky mood, and by the time he headed home, he was feeling much more upbeat. He could still smell Candy's perfume in his nostrils as he neared the motel, and wished for a moment that he had stayed longer.

He didn't have Sam's vibes, and he could sense nothing unusual about the town, but his younger brother's behavior still seemed to warrant his attention. Family before pleasure, he supposed, and from the looks of things, he'd have more than ample opportunity to spend time with Candy until the car was fixed.

He was quiet as he opened the door, hoping that he would find his brother asleep.

As the door creaked open, his hopes faded. The light was on and he could hear Sam shuffling around.

"Dude," he said, as he pulled the door shut behind him. "Aren't you going to get some sleep?"

The question went unanswered. He moved farther into the room.

Sam was clawing frantically through his bag, muttering incoherently.

"Sam?" he asked hesitantly, moving forward. "What are you doing?"

Sam showed no indication he heard his brother and continued throwing items violently to the floor.

"Sammy?" he asked again, concern edging away his hesitation. He stood, moving to his brother. "Sammy?"

His voice made no impression on the younger boy, and Dean could see Sam was pale in the dim room, his body jerking with exertion.

He grabbed his brother, a firm hand on his arm. "Sam!"

Sam was cold and continued his search despite the hindered arm. Dean felt his stomach churn. What was going on? Possession? Sleepwalking?

He tightened his grip and Sam's movement intensified, his muttering louder. "Find it…I've got to find it…Find it…"

Sam's voice was reaching a breathless pitch and Dean didn't know what to do. He grabbed his brother's shoulders, turning him forcefully toward him. He shook him. "Snap out of it, Sam."

Sam's eyes were open but unseeing. "It's hidden in the darkness. I have to find it—I have to—"

"Sam, stop!" Dean yelled now, giving his brother a violent shake.

But Sam twisted, trying to pull away. He thrashed against his brother, his lean from freeing itself from Dean's grasp and returning to its hysterical search.

Panicked, Dean fumbled after his brother, and they struggled together. Sam began to kick, his legs finding purchase painfully on Dean's shins. Desperate, Dean did the only thing left he could think of. Clenching his teeth, he let his hand form a fist and cringed as it connected with the side of Sam's head.

The blow made Sam stumble, and he reeled back against the bed. Dean immediately followed him, hoping the punch had been hard enough to wake Sam up but not too hard to cause any real damage.

He had Sam pinned as a precaution, but Sam's movements had stilled. He blinked once, twice, before his eyes focused on the face above him.

"Dean?" he asked slowly. "What…what happened?"

"I was hoping you could tell me."

Sam looked confused and his brow knitted thoughtfully. "I had to find it," he said dimly.

"Find what?" Dean said, easing the pressure of his brother's body.

Sam made no attempt to move; he stared distantly past Dean's ear. "The gun. I had to find the gun."

"Why?"

Sam looked at Dean. "I had to find the bullets. Guns are no good without bullets, Dean."

"Sam, what are you talking about?"

"Don't you understand?" Sam sounded distressed. "It's coming. I don't want to be caught off guard. Last time you didn't put bullets in the gun, but this time we need to."

"Sam, I think you need to get some sleep, buddy," he said apprehensively, sitting back on the bed. Sam wasn't making any sense.

Sitting up, Sam looked at him with wide eyes. "No," he insisted. "Please, Dean. We need to be ready."

It took all of Dean's resolve to stay calm. With effort, he kept his voice even and stern. "Sam, I don't know what you're talking about. You're acting crazy. I think this will all be better once we both get some sleep."

"But—"

"No, buts, Sammy. You're sleepwalking and can't tell the difference between dreams and reality. A little more and you'll be ready for a straightjacket."

Sam looked hurt.

Dean softened. "You haven't gotten a good night's sleep in days and you know it."

"The dreams…"

"Are just dreams. You've had them before. I can hear what you mumbled in your sleep; these are nothing new."

Dean's words filtered slowly through the haze of Sam's brain and suddenly made sense. "Yeah," he said.

Seeing his opening, Dean seized it. "Let's get you back to bed."

Part of Sam wanted to protest, didn't want to sleep, knowing that the refuge so many found there would not be so welcoming for him. But Dean's words were so gentle, his actions so firm, that Sam could not stop himself from being herded back toward the bed.

"We can talk about this in the morning, you know," Dean told him quietly. We WILL talk about this in the morning.

"I can't sleep, Dean," Sam tried to explain.

"Yes, Sam," Dean replied plaintively. He was tired of running in this circle of logic. "You can. You're going to kill yourself if you don't start getting some rest. You'll feel better when you sleep," Dean explained.

He barely felt Dean take him by the elbow and all but push him into bed, his knees bending more than willingly.

Sam seemed to want to resist, so Dean kept a hand on his brother's shoulder, forcing Sam to lie down. He pulled the comforter over him and Sam tossed, trying to get comfortable.

Sensing Sam still needed some kind of affirmation, Dean offered him a half-truth. "Tell you what, you sleep, and I'll keep watch, okay?"

Sam's eyes started to drift closed, his body's demands overriding his fears. He managed to breathe out a "thanks" before his head turned into the pillow and he was asleep.

Dean sat by him for several long minutes, trying to quell his own worries. He would never admit the depths of his concerns to Sam, especially not when Sam was so unhinged as it was. But he couldn't fight the unnerving fact that Sam was acting progressively stranger. "What is going on with you, Sammy?"

Sam turned restlessly in the bed, flopping on his side, but he didn't wake.

Dean patted him on the shoulder, willing him to stay asleep. He had to cling to the hope that everything would be better if Sam just got some sleep. Hesitantly, he went over to Sam's bag and recollect his brother's things. He came across Sam's gun, the one they hadn't left in the lock box in the trunk. He kept it out and zipped in the rest of the messy contents. The last thing he wanted was to worry about Sammy sleepwalking with a loaded gun. He'd lock this back up in the car tomorrow when he checked on it.

He sighed, sitting back down on the bed. He spent the better part of the night true to his promise, perched on his own bed, watching as Sam tossed and turned.