Sam had followed Jo into the kitchen with a handful of dishes, piling them on the side of the sink and getting ready to pass them to her as needed. They had gotten barely a few dishes in when she spoke.

"No offence, Sam, but you're brother's a Grade A jerk."

Sam snorted. "Yeah, I think I've mentioned that to him over the years."

"Was he always like that? Must've been a real pain in the ass growing up."

That made Sam pause.

"No," he answered slowly. "I mean sometimes, yeah. But overall, he wasn't too bad at all actually."

"Really?" she queried, clearly unconvinced. She leaned in a little closer, voice conspiratorial as she encouraged his confession. "He can't hear us from way over there. You know that, right?"

But Sam barely registered her teasing. She'd struck a chord, one that had already been strumming in the back of his head since the moment he'd re-entered Dean's life.

The incident in the car for example, had been playing on his mind. Dean had been the one who'd defused Sam's irritation and anger, subtly reminding him that Deanna was listening in. The practiced ease with which Dean had done that hadn't been lost on Sam. It had in fact triggered fragments of obscure memories, filtering through fractured remembrances that Sam was only now slowly putting together.

Dean used to do that with him he realised. Before Sam was old enough to know any better, and while he was still young enough to unquestioningly hang on to his older brothers every word. Dean would shield him from the truth about hunting, particularly when John was too worn to do so himself. Now that he thought about it, Dean had safeguarded his childhood for a ridiculously long time, and Sam had happily believed all the stories and games and easy lies that Dean had spun and woven around him like a safety blanket.

Dean was doing some version of that still, except now it wasn't just for the benefit of Sam's children. Sam realised Dean was still doing it to him, still attempting to shield him from something. Because Sam couldn't shake the feeling that Dean knew more about what had happened to Jess and Kyle than he was openly letting on to Sam.

Sam's train of thought in that moment was, he had to admit, deliberately diverted to a certain extent. He was emotionally wrought and highly strung; he was after all living through the most traumatic experience in his life. His wife and son were missing, possibly dead, he'd barely slept since their disappearance, but the few hours he'd managed were mostly filled with strange reoccurring nightmares which he couldn't fully remember and up until a couple of days ago, he'd been dealing with all of that whilst looking after his other two children all completely on his own. It was hardly surprising then that it wasn't taking much to nudge him over emotional edges. For all of those reasons, he was willing to stray down any side-stepped avenues of thought that presented themselves to him. Whether that meant wondering about Dean's emotional abrasiveness or delving into childhood melancholy, he wasn't picky; anything to keep his mind from descending into the outright panic that was constantly just a thought away.

"I'm sorry." Jo said softly, the gently spoken apology puling Sam from his reverie. "I know you've got a lot on your mind. And you must be tired too. You don't need me firing questions at you."

"It's OK." Sam allowed, not wanting to admit that his mind had been so distracted he couldn't recall what she'd last said.

"Seriously though, I didn't mean anything by it. And, well… don't tell him I said this, but Dean's one of the best hunters around. Hell, I should know. I've seen enough come through here. He's gonna find them Sam, I know it. We're all working on it. None of us are gonna rest till we get them back."

She took Sam off guard with the sincerity of her comment, with the intensity of her conviction, and he gave her a quick smile, using it as a stalling tactic to quell the upsurge of sudden emotions rising within him. These were people he'd only just met, people who owed him nothing, and yet here they were, taking his fight personally, opening up their home, sacrificing their time, giving a genuine damn. He felt humbled, if not overwhelmed. It was the best of what being a hunter meant. It was something he'd overlooked about the life.

He managed a thank you through a crooked smile and she looked as though she could guess what he was feeling.

"And Dean's not such a jerk, I guess." She added, though she sounded far more begrudging and much less convinced about that than she had about everything else.

Sam laughed lightly. "No, I think you were right first time. I'm pretty sure he can be."

She smiled up at him.

"I can finish up here," she said, taking a plate from him and giving him an excuse to leave. "It's almost done."

He wandered back to where the others were still sat, feeling as though he were on his last legs. He'd caught the tail end of whatever Dean had been saying, but it didn't sound like anything that made sense to him and by the time he reclaimed a vacant seat, the conversation seemed to have ended.

"Well the sun's gonna be up in a few and you boys were on the road a long time. You should get some rest." Ellen said, addressing them both before sending a pointed glance towards Dean. "Especially you. It's a long drive to Sam's place, right?"

"That's why I'm heading out." Dean announced, draining his beer.

"You're going now?" Sam asked, incredulous at the thought. "You can't be serious."

It wasn't just the number of beers he knew Dean had been putting away since they'd arrived, which were considerable in his opinion. It was also the issue of sleep. He himself had managed to catch a couple of hours during their drive here, but even then he felt drained. He was sure by that token, his brother would be feeling even worse, and certainly wouldn't be in a fit state to drive anywhere without at least a few hours' worth of sleep under his belt. And he'd seen the exhaustion behind Dean's eyes steadily mounting as the night had progressed. An exhaustion that almost mirrored his own. The last thing he wanted was for his not-fully-sober sleep deprived brother to end up on the wrong side of a ditch somewhere, becoming just another statistic on some road traffic incident report.

But Dean didn't seem to see it that way.

"No point wasting time," he retorted. "Like Ellen said, it's gonna be a long drive. Sooner I get started, sooner I'll get there."

"Yeah but… you need to rest Dean." Sam told him, not quite believing his brothers seemingly complete lack of self-regard.

"Just need some caffeine and a sugar rush," Dean said, shrugging off Sam's concern dismissively. "We got pie, right?"

"Your brother's right Dean." Bobby appealed gently. "You should rest up. The drive's gonna be best part of a day, even at the speeds you go."

"Got a bed all made up for you." Ellen added, indicating towards the rooms at the back. "Like always."

Dean looked between the three of them, his lips thinning to a grim line and his eyes seeming to grow hard.

"There's a job to do, so I'm gonna do the job," he said coolly. "It's not up for debate."

Bobby and Ellen seemed to shrink at his reply, sharing a look with each other before looking away. Sam didn't understand why people seemed so skittish around his brother. If anything, he would say he intimidated them, and he didn't like the thought of that at all.

He also knew however that he wasn't about to let Dean have any such sway over him.

"What about Deanna?" he demanded, locking his brother's unflinching gaze with a well-practiced one of his own.

The question seemed to throw Dean and he frowned.

"What about Deanna?" he echoed, irritation mingling with the confusion in his voice.

"How do you think she's gonna feel when she wakes up to find her uncle's disappeared now too? Without saying goodbye? Just like her Mom."

For once, for perhaps the first time in their entire lives, Dean looked somewhat chastised by Sam's words. He shook his head in an attempt at denial.

"She won't even notice," he argued, but Sam could hear it in his voice; Dean wasn't sure.

"Seriously?" Sam pressed. "After Jess and Kyle, you think she needs that from you too?"

Dean wavered, then tried arguing again.

"She'll underst–"

"She won't. She's five. And if I'm asking you? Me, who's got more reason than anyone to want you back there, figuring this out, if I'm asking you to wait just a few hours? Then I think you'd better trust my judgement and wait."

The two brothers glared at each other, neither one seeming ready to give way, until Dean finally buckled.

"Fine." He growled, clearly not happy. He got up and stalked away from the table before Sam could say another word.

"Well damn." Ellen muttered, looking as though she'd witnessed a mini-miracle.

"Told you they're brothers." Bobby said to her.

She and Bobby clinked the necks of their beer bottles and she eyed Sam with a half amused, half impressed gaze.

"Well who knew?" She remarked, taking a swig from her beer. "To win an argument with Dean Winchester, all you needed was a law degree."

Sam flicked a glance between the pair of them.

"I'm guessing he doesn't usually listen to reason." He surmised, not quite sure yet how he felt about his and Dean's relationship, however burgeoning it was, being sized up and analysed so openly by others.

"Honey," Ellen drawled, standing and gathering some of the empty bottles from the table. "A deaf dumb jackass would listen to more reason than your brother."

-oOo-

Dean knew Ellen meant well. She always had a room ready for him, despite his hardly even taking up the offer. He certainly hadn't done so in a long, long while.

And even though it was only going to be a few hours, Dean had his reasons for not wanting to stay in the Roadhouse. Reoccurring nightmares of Hell topped the list. No one knew anything about that, about the relationship he had with Hell, and he wanted to keep it that way. But here, there were just too many people, too many ears, too many opportunities for someone to accidentally overhear the too many horrors and secrets he might inadvertently scream out into the unforgiving night. It had been bad enough in the motel with Sam and the kids, but luckily he'd been able to stay awake most of that time. Which of course meant he hadn't really slept at all in a while.

Dean liked Ellen, he really did. He respected her, he valued her, he was even a little bit scared of her at times, in a good way. But he just couldn't afford to be around her, around any of them. But damn it, Sam had a point, and as much as Dean hated admitting that, he knew it was a damned good one.

He couldn't help looking in on the children as he walked past their room. Sunny, still curled up at the foot of Deanna's bed, perked up his ears and looked at him askance, head resting on his front paws as he watched him. Dean supposed it was a good thing the dog was there, all things considered. An extra pair of eyes watching over the kids couldn't hurt. Ellen had been right about one thing; they couldn't be too careful. His eyes drifted to the wardings on the wall. He wasn't surprised Sam hadn't recognised most of them. Along with things that Bobby had uncovered, there were Enochian symbols that Cas had taught him some time ago. Symbols none of them had known before but had gotten very familiar with since.

Stood there however, all he could think about was leaving the Roadhouse and finding answers. Sam and his family didn't belong here. But in truth what he really meant was that they didn't belong anywhere near him. He wanted to get them back into their own lives and as far away from rooms with Enochian symbols drawn on walls as he possibly could.

But even as he thought that, he felt himself swaying on his feet.

He hated Sam being right, and he'd never admit it out loud, but he felt exhausted. The hunt he'd just finished when Sam had knocked on his motel room door felt like a lifetime ago, and he hadn't had the chance to sleep that one off, let alone rest his aches and nurse his bruises, before all this had landed in his lap. He couldn't deny that fatigue was catching up with him.

The room Ellen always had ready for him was right next to Sam and the kids', and the bed seemed to call invitingly to him. 'Just an hour or so' he told himself. Perhaps it wouldn't be long enough to dream. Or at least, not long enough to scream out loud.

As he flopped on the bed, eyes instantly heavy, he murmured a request for Cas to show up. But nothing happened.

As sleep overcame him, the memories he kept at bay with drinking and driving and hunting, all slowly crept out from the shadows, inching closer with each heartbeat, to infest his dreams once more.

-oOo-

Sam was awake before anyone else, because Eric was awake before anyone else. The toddler was on the tail end of teething and was restless, almost slightly feverish, because of it. At his first gurgle of discontent Sam was up, cradling him in his arms and quickly stepping from the room to keep Deanna from being disturbed.

Leaving the door open to keep an eye on her Sam moved to the main area of the bar. He uttered quiet consolations to Eric as he ambled back and forth with him, holding him close and gently rubbing his back. Like most baby's, Eric could usually be soothed when he was held and paced with, and despite his mild fever and disquiet, it was enough to keep him placated.

It was perhaps on Sam's twentieth turn with Eric, when the toddler was settled and almost asleep, that Sam noticed something amiss in Dean's room. The door was ever so slightly ajar, allowing a thin sliver of light to spill across the floor and slash across Dean's face. It was the movement of Dean's face rather than any sound Dean was making, the back and forth of his head catching the light and then losing it, like the flickering of a blinking neon, which caught Sam's eye, alerting him to his brother's discomfort.

Making his way cautiously into the room Sam still didn't hear Dean say anything particularly coherent, even when he was practically stood next to his bed. But the deeply pained furrows etched across Dean's features, distorted but visible even in the dim light, and the murmured half phrases that sounded disturbingly like supplications, were enough to indicate to him his brother's intense distress.

"Dean," he called gently, eliciting a flinch and deepening the injured expression on Dean's face despite Sam's attempt at placidity.

Sam held Eric more securely as he bent down a little to shake Dean's shoulder lightly.

"Dean," he repeated, slightly more forcefully than before.

Sam should have known better than to wake Dean when he was clearly having some kind of nightmare. He did know better, he just didn't think, having forgotten his brother's habit of sleeping with a gun under his pillow.

But with his son in his arms, he really should have been more careful.

In a motion so sudden and fluid it sent Sam jumping backwards, Dean was up, his body angled crookedly on the bed, gun held steady in both hands as if drawn from thin air, and trained perfectly at Sam and Eric.

Eric let out a startled cry, both as much from his father's sudden movement as in response to the increased pressure with which Sam had pulled him into his body. His sharp cry pierced the silence in the room, but rather than bring Dean back to reality, it seemed only to heighten his mania. His eyes were wide, face wet with sweat, chest heaving yet gun unwavering, unflinching, and Sam didn't know if Dean was even aware of where he was or what was real.

"Dean!" Sam hissed, loud and harsh, hoping it would puncture whatever dream induced haze was clouding his brother's perception. He dared not move, in case Dean translated the movement as a threat and let off a few rounds at whatever he was seeing.

At Sam's sharp appeal however, Dean blinked, and just like that, even though the gun remained trained on him, Sam felt the tension break and he knew Dean was returning.

"It's me, it's me…" Sam appeased, blowing air out through his teeth when he finally saw full recognition flood into Dean's eyes. "Jesus Dean... Put the damned gun away, it's me."

Dean blinked again several times, then seemed to become aware of the gun in his hands. He lowered it instantly, letting out a breath and screwing his eyes shut. He pressed his thumb and forefinger into his eyelids, as if trying to gouge out remnants of whatever images had been plaguing his nightmares, before looking back up to face Sam.

"Christ Sam. What the hell are you doing in here?"

Sam wanted to retaliate at the anger in Dean's voice. Wanted to defend his own actions against Dean's accusatory tone. But Eric was on the verge of crying inconsolably, and Sam realised the last thing he wanted was to steep further into whatever pointless argument was suddenly brewing between himself and Dean.

"Go back to sleep Dean." He said instead, turning to leave.

"Sam–"

But Sam didn't want to face Dean right then.

"I need to calm Eric down." He said, cutting Dean off and not caring if his excuse sounded contrived. He headed out without a backward glance, closing the door fully behind him as he left.

He rocked Eric as he paced once more, soothing the upset toddler and redoubling his previous efforts to cajole him back to sleep.

Calming his son was easier than calming himself.

The look on Dean's face had bothered Sam. The pain in his features, the broken murmurs that had seemed disturbingly like tortured pleas, the panicked frenzy in his eyes, all of it had bothered Sam. What bothered him even more, was the fact that this was the second time in barely 24 hours that Dean had pulled a gun on him. What bothered him even more, was the fact that in either case he couldn't say with any degree of confidence, that Dean wouldn't pull the trigger.

But what bothered him most of all, more than any of those concerns, was the realisation that something was very seriously wrong with Dean.


tbc

Slowly but surely we're getting there!

Hope you all are safe and well out there, wherever you are. And as always, thank you for reading :-)