Title: Time Marches On

Author: NobdyPtclr

Disclaimer: Tried to buy them over the summer, but it didn't work out

Author's Note: No excuse for the long delay. If you are still with me, thank you for your patience. If you've just found the story, you are the lucky one. Thanks to everyone who has reviewed. It was the pressure of knowing that people were actually reading that brought me back to this story.

Chapter Six: Family Reunion

Sam's Journal

We settled back into our routine: follow the coordinates or newspaper reports, research the occurrences, stop the bad guys. If Dean thought at all about the reverend's words, he didn't speak of it. Not that I expected him to. I, of course, found myself considering them a lot and wondering about my own part in all of this. Were my visions and Dean's healing ability from the same source? I tried to raise the question to Dean, but he shrugged it off, turning up the radio to indicate the conversation was over.

For me the idea of divine intervention made my visions less of a burden, and using our special tools to help us hunt evil and save people made me see Dean's perspective for the first time. Maybe this was our destiny and, if so, maybe it wasn't such a bad deal.

If Dean noticed my new enthusiasm it was one more thing he didn't comment on. I did notice that he seemed more relaxed, maybe even happy, as if he realized that I was finally committed and wouldn't be running out on him again. In the past I had periodically resented or mocked Dean's assumption of command upon Dad's departure and my return. Now we settled into an easy partnership, probably more as a result of my change in attitude than any change on Dean's part.

My visions continued to come – sometimes painfully – with increasing frequency, and Dean's healing abilities also continued to improve. We accepted the changes and continued to hunt with an aura of companionable contentment for almost a year, until our father came careening back into our lives. I was taken by surprise by the wave of loneliness – and maybe even jealousy – that crashed over me as Dean distanced himself, stepping with practiced ease back into his role as the "good little soldier." Following his lead, I was suddenly – almost against my will – the resentful teenager again, questioning and objecting to every plan and every order.

It didn't help that Dad chose to resurface after an unusually painful vision that had led to an encounter with an angry spirit. The aftermath of the vision left me a little slow, just slightly off my game, but it was enough for the spirit to press its advantage. The last thing I remembered was Dean shouting, then I was thrown into a wall and everything went black.

Sam had awakened briefly on the way back to the motel, so he was quick to recognize his surroundings as awareness crept through his body. Eyes still closed, he took a quick inventory. His right shoulder was sore, and the dull ache in the back of his head was throbbing in time with his heartbeat, but compared to many past injuries this wasn't so bad. He'd definitely had worse.

He opened his eyes to look for Dean. There was no worry – if Dean had gotten them back here he must be okay. It only took a moment for Sam to find his brother. Dean had pulled an arm chair over to the bed and it was there that he slept – clothes rumpled, hair tousled – within arm's reach of Sam.

Sam studied his brother, marveling – not for the first time – at how vulnerable, how young Dean looked while he slept. Pushing himself upright, Sam tried to bite back a groan, but wasn't surprised when Dean's eyes popped open and he leaned forward to offer support. Sam's gaze fell to his brother's t-shirt, to a tear just above his waist that was surrounded by dried blood. He could tell by Dean's quick, fluid movements that the injury had already healed.

"Okay?" Dean asked, stacking pillows behind him.

Sam wasn't sure if he meant the pillows or his general condition, but he nodded in response.

"What happened?" he asked, clearing his throat when his voice emerged as a hoarse croak.

"Bastard knocked you into the wall. I got off a shot and scared him off, but not before he tossed me across the room." Dean crossed to the table and grabbed a bottle of water. He turned back quickly, but not before Sam saw the matching tear and blood stain on the back of his shirt.

"What happened to you?" he asked pointedly as he accepted the bottle and took a long swig.

"Remember that re-bar along the far wall?"

Sam nodded, picturing the abandoned basement in his head. He cringed at the image of his brother impaled on one of the exposed metal beams, Sam unconscious at his feet. The image progressed like a bad horror movie and Sam brought a hand to his face as if to block out the vision of his brother forcing himself agonizingly off of the impediment to come to his aid.

"Jesus, Dean," he gasped, shaking his head.

"It's okay, Sammy. It only hurt for a minute," Dean joked, but Sam thought he could see a bleakness in his brother's eyes as if he was unsettled by his own memory of the events.

"Sorry," Sam muttered, lowering his eyes. He knew from the past that accelerated healing didn't mean painless injuries.

"Not your fault." Dean was quick to reassure.

Sam shook his head. "If I'd been a little quicker…"

"Hey, he was too fast for me too," Dean pointed out. "We just need a better plan next time."

Sam opened his mouth, a wise-assed response on the tip of his tongue, but was interrupted by a knock on the door. Their eyes met and Dean passed Sam a handgun.

"No concussion, right? No double vision? You're not gonna hit me by accident?" He smirked, picking up his own gun.

Sam laughed. "I'll try not to," he said, pretending to cower in fear under his brother's mock glare.

Dean crossed to the door and they were all business, both guns at the ready.

"Who is it?"

"Dean, open the door."

There was no mistaking the voice, and Dean hurriedly unlocked the door, pulling it open. That accomplished, he seemed lost, standing there holding the door, staring at their father.

John Winchester pushed past his oldest son into the room. "Lock the door." He tossed the words over his shoulder as he crossed to Sam. "Are you okay, Sammy?"

Sam pushed himself further up on the bed, sitting up straighter. "Fine. Just a little banged up." He glanced at his brother and felt a stab of anger. Dean was still standing by the door as he watched them, as if waiting for the next order.

"So, what brings you here?" Sam asked, opting for a casual tone even as he clenched his teeth together to hold back his resentment.

"I have a new lead," their father stated simply. "I wanted to check in on you before I follow it through." John ran a hand through his hair. "Good thing I did, what with the mess you made last night." He looked pointedly at Dean before turning back to Sam. "I got there just in time to kill that thing before it got away."

Sam looked up in alarm, trying unsuccessfully to catch his brother's eye. How much had their father seen? He felt a flood of anger. "You were there and you didn't bother to see if we were okay? To help us?" He pictured John standing in the shadows, coldly analytical as he watched his son struggle to free himself from the metal rod on which he was impaled.

"By the time I finished the job your brother already had you in the car. I just managed to track you down this morning."

Sam opened his mouth to continue, but Dean cut him off, tired of the debate.

"What's this new lead?"

"I think I know where the demon is, and I've found a way to kill it."

Both boys started firing questions at him until John threw his hands up in exasperation.

"Before I go any further, Dean is going to go get us some lunch. We're going to eat, and then I'll tell you everything, without interruptions. Understood?"

"Yes, sir," Dean answered for both of them, reaching for the door.

"And Dean, real food. No burgers."

"Yes, sir." He slipped out the door.

John waited till the Impala could be heard leaving the parking lot before he spoke. "Sam, get your stuff."

Sam stared at him in confusion.

"We're leaving. Now."

"But…"

"I'm offering you a shot at Jessica's killer – your mother's killer – but I can't take you both."

"Why not?"

"Sam, don't argue. This could be our only shot." John grabbed his son's bag, tossing it on the bed. "Don't tell me after all this time you don't want it."

It occurred to Sam that maybe the decision should have been more difficult than it was. He realized that his father was playing a card that might have worked two years ago, but John didn't realize how much his sons had changed. "Not without Dean."

John sighed in exasperation, running a hand through his hair. "Sam, this monster killed your girlfriend. The longer we sit here and argue the more chance it has to get away. Now get your stuff and let's go."

Sam clenched his jaw, stubbornly shaking his head. Even if his brother was acting like a brainwashed idiot, he knew what it would do to Dean to come back to an empty motel room. "I'm waiting for Dean. You can wait with me or not, but I won't leave without him."

TBC