Well, the first day of school passed and I don't ahve any homeowrk (though with an AP course and two Honors classes I'm not sure how long that'll last!). So, here's another chapter. Getting closer to the end now, but don't worry, faithful readers, I recently finished up the sequel, if you're interested :)

"This is illegal," Sammy muttered as he watched Dean pick the lock on the courthouse door, "it's breaking and entering."

Dean sighed, turning to the boy, a line from some TV show he'd caught late one night flashing through his mind. "It's only breaking and entering," he quoted, "if we break something, then enter something."

"You got that from a TV show," the little boy replied matter-of-factly.

"What makes you say that?"

"I dunno," the kid shrugged, "just a feeling, I guess."

"Oh," Dean began, finishing with the lock and pushing the heavy door open, "well, you get feelings like that a lot?"

"Yeah," Sammy said, walking into the building and gazing around the dark courthouse, "and sometimes I hear things in my head. Sometimes I see things, too, but only at night or when I'm really tired."

"Huh," Dean remarked, looking through the darkness for the shape of the newly unveiled noose, "those things you see, do they ever happen?"

The boy nodded slowly. "Sometimes."

"You ever move things? Like, without touching them?"

Sam looked up at him, eyes wide. "Once," he whispered, his voice shaking a little, "I got mad at daddy and a cup flew off a table. It almost hit him. It would have if he hadn't ducked. He said the room was haunted and we left, but I think it was me, 'cause I was thinking about picking it up and throwing it."

"You ever move anything bigger?" Dean asked, finally locating the exhibit.

"No. And I've never told anyone, either. Not daddy, not even Dean."

"Well, why'd you tell me, then?"

The little boy shrugged, his thin shoulders rising and falling quickly in the darkness. "I dunno. I guess I know you won't tell. And Dean thinks you're all right, so you must be."

"He told you that?"

Sammy blushed. "Well, um, I kind of heard it, but he didn't say anything."

Dean nodded, locating the plaque and sending Jake's limp form through the wormhole and back to 2006. "I see. That's pretty cool, you know?"

"Is it? I thought I was a freak."

"Are you kidding?" Dean asked, taking the boy's hand and leading him back through the courthouse, "that's incredible. You're like a superhero, kid, and a darn good one. See, even in a few years you'll be seeing things, and it's gonna save my butt big time."

"Really?" the boy looked up at him with wide, astonished eyes, "I'm gonna save you?"

"Sure thing, buddy. A couple of times, actually."

The boy smiled happily, walking alongside the adult as they left the courthouse and headed back to the motel room, finally feeling like he had found someone he could talk to and glad that his brother's hidden thoughts and emotions had pointed him in the right direction.

"Now, let's clear this up," Sam began as he eyed a potential car, "this is not stealing-"

"It's just borrowing," Dean finished, "without permission and with no intent to return. I know. Just grab it already."

"You're a really pushy kid, you know that?"

"And you need a haircut. What else is new? While I'm still young, please!"

Sam sighed, walking casually up to the car, a white Dodge Colt. "Fine. Just watch and learn."

"Dude," Dean smirked, "you picked a crappy car."

"Well, not everyone's obsessive about cars like dad," Sam pointed out as he worked on the lock, "not everyone keeps their old Impala's in perfect condition. Most of them are in junkyards right now."

Finally, he pulled the door open and slid in behind the wheel. Dean climbed in over his lap and sat in the passenger seat as Sam began to hotwire the old car. "Um, Sammy?"

"It's Sam. What?"

Dean held up a keyring, smiling broadly. "I don't think you have to do that."

Sam looked at the kid, at the slightly haunted look of the hazel eyes, at the gap between the two front teeth, and for the first time since landing in '89, he realized something. He was looking at a kid, not his brother, not a soldier, not a hunter, but a kid.

Grinning, he reached out and took the keys, noticing the raggedy appearance of the old clothes and the twisted scar poking its way out of the boy's shirtsleeve. "Thanks," he muttered, starting the car and glancing at the boy again, realizing how skinny he was.

"No problem," Dean smirked, leaning back in the seat, "that's what brothers are for."

"Yeah," Sam sighed, pulling away from the sidewalk by which the car had been parked and onto the road, "I guess. You know, speaking of brothers-"

"Sammy's not psychic. He just had a nightmare last night, that's all."

"I wasn't talking about your brother. I was talking about mine. You two seem close."

"Duh. He's me. We're the same person. It's not good if you hate yourself."

Sam grinned. "True. But there's more, isn't there? Just something about him, right? I've noticed it since coming back out on the road with him. He's good with kids."

Dean shrugged, sighing as streetlights flashed by. "It's hard to explain. Like, because he's me, he knows everything. Even the secrets, the stuff I never tell people. It's cool to want something and not have to ask for it. And he gets me, you know? He protects me better than dad does."

"And he told you things," Sam began, hoping he could find the motel again in the darkness, "things that are going to happen. Things that you can change someday, right? And you'll do it for him, won't you? You'll make sure no one leaves him this time."

The kid shook his head, sandy hair flopping around. "No. I can't change anything. Dad said it's bad."

"Yeah. But, I mean, all that my brother's done for you, it kind of makes you want to repay him, right? You feel kind of guilty letting him take the fall for things you did, and you want him to be happy."

"I never thought of that," Dean muttered, but one look at the kid told Sam he was lying, "but I guess it makes sense. I mean, maybe if I had known your girlfriend had died I wouldn't have made you leave."

Sam sighed, finally spying the lights of the motel. "You know what's supposed to happen, kid. Don't change a thing. And don't tell my brother about this, OK?" The boy nodded as the Dodge pulled up outside the room.

"A Dodge?" Dean asked, "you hotwired a Dodge? I specifically asked for a Chevy!"

Sam sighed, rolling his eyes, as his brother disappeared into the motel room and emerged a few minutes later with a couple of backpacks and a duffel bag. He threw the bags in the trunk and shooed his younger self from the front passenger seat, banishing the kid to the back with his brother.

"Sorry," Sam began as Dean slid into the car and slammed the door, "but the people in this town aren't as weird as you and dad about cars. Besides, this was the only thing I could find that looked like it could take us all the way to Manning."

"Colorado?" Dean asked as the Dodge pulled out of the parking lot, "but the Big Bad's going to go after dad in Nebraska. Why go to Manning? It'll waste time."

"We're taking a detour," Sam said, "we're going to see Daniel Elkins."

"Who's Daniel Elkins?' Sammy asked from the back seat.

"One of dad's old friends," Sam explained, glancing in the rearview, "he has something we need if we want to go after the demon."

"The Colt?" Dean asked, "Sam, we've been over this. We can't shoot dad."

"Maybe we won't have to," Sam explained, tearing his eyes from those of the startled children in the backseat, "the demon knows what the gun can do, and if Jake talked to it, then it knows that we know where it is. If we show up with the gun, maybe it'll leave dad like last time."

"Yeah," Dean nodded slowly, "but if you'll recall, last time didn't exactly turn out so well. I wound up in a coma and dad wound up dead. And what if it figures we're bluffing with the gun? What if it knows we won't hurt dad?"

"Slow down," the ten-year-old said, leaning forward in his seat so he could better hear their conversation, "what gun?"

Dean sighed and began explaining the legend of the special gun Samuel Colt made in 1835, beginning with how he'd heard about it and ending with the last time he'd seen it used.

"And it can really kill anything?" the kid asked, now leaning back in his seat.

Sam nodded. "Yeah, it can kill anything. It should still have five bullets left, and I'm sure if we explain things to Elkins he'll let us have it. We can scare the demon out of dad."

"What if it doesn't work? You won't kill our dad, will you? Because he's all Sammy and I have left. We can't take care of ourselves, we're just kids."

"We'll do what we have to do," Sam said.

Dean glared at him, eyes narrowing. "No, Dean," he said softly, "we won't kill your dad."

"If it comes down to it," Sam argued quietly, "we'll do what it takes to kill the demon."

"Even if it means killing dad?"

"Think of all the lives we'll save," Sam pointed out, growing frustrated as the car sped down the highway, "think of all the families we'll keep together by stopping it now."

"Jess won't die," Dean said, "you don't care about the other people, all of the families, you just care about yourself. You're pretty damn selfish, you know that?"

"Look who's talking. What was it you said? Something about changing things? So, what, you can, but I can't? Why, because you're scared I'll leave and never come back if my girlfriend lives? You think I'll just go on with my life once we get rid of that ghost in Jericho?"

"Yeah," a little voice said from the back, "yeah, that's what I'm scared of."

Sam glanced in the rearview again to see wide hazel eyes staring back at him. He turned to his brother, who was staring out the window at the passing darkness.

Dean opened his mouth to speak, then closed it. Finally, he sighed and laid his head against the window, falling asleep in one of the most uncomfortable positions imaginable.