AN: I'm going to post a few chapters today because I've been writing like crazy but only have sporadic access to wifi. (The horror, the horror, the author wailed, channeling Joseph Conrad.)

Anyway, bear with me for inundating you.

Shazza: Thank you for the compliment about the conversation between Dean and Bobby. I was happy with how it came out. Bobby rules!

sfaulkenberry: I completely agree that Sam can be the scariest Winchester! I'm glad you like the humor, though I don't think there's much of that in the next few chapters.

Scealai: So much falls on poor Dean, doesn't it?

Stormy: Oh, I'm so pleased that you find the voices in character! You're absolutely right that John is difficult to write. I write him more sympathetically than many, but I find him complex. By the way, I'm 90% sure that you are the one that introduced me to this particular kind of monster and I've been waiting for a chance to write about one.

Timelady66: Thank you for reading! I really hope it keeps meeting your expectations. I'm sorry to hear that you've struggled with a younger sibling!

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Somebody said something to Sam, but he was distracted, so he just grunted. Food was plunked onto the table in front of him, but he just pushed it to the side and grunted again. He looked back at the newspaper article and compared it to the lore book he was reading. He ignored the sensation of someone looking over his shoulder. He knew neither his dad nor his brother could read French well enough to figure out what he was reading, and that was key. Excitement thrummed through Sam. If he was reading the signs right, the town of Lake Charles, Wyoming was being bedeviled by one of the biggest, most dangerous monsters the Winchesters had ever faced.

He had to get his family there without letting them know that were going to face a tarasque. No matter that he had been proving himself a good hunter lately, they'd never let him go with them if they knew they might be facing a dragon.

A hand fell on the back of Sam's neck and he jumped. "Sammy?" said Dean, softly. Sam looked up to see Dean studying him and he fought the urge to squirm. Being the subject to that kind of scrutiny felt a little like being in a spotlight.

He shrugged off Dean's hand before he could allow himself to appreciate it. If he let even a sliver of brotherly affection in, he'd shatter. For three days, Dean had hovered close, his teasing gentler than usual, all but inviting Sam to spill his guts. It was dangerous to Sam's plans. He'd always found it impossible to keep things from his brother, but he absolutely had to this time. "What?" he asked with careful casualness while inside he was yelling shit shit shit.

"Sam, we've been trying to get your attention," said Dad, brows low. Sam deliberately didn't look at the concern he knew he'd see on Dean's face. "We got you food," Dad continued. Now he was looking at Sam like he was a puzzle to solve.

"Oh, yeah." Sam glanced at the sub he'd shoved to the side. "I found us a hunt." He deliberately allowed his excitement to leak into his tone and pushed the top article toward Dad, the safer target. "All the victims are in the same general category had their viscera is eaten. We could be looking at an okami family unit."

It was sort of the truth. All of the victims were white, but they were both male and female and their ages spanned a 30-year range, both of which were unusual for okamis. Also, far more was eaten than just the organs of the abdomen, but it was the closest monster match he could make. He just hoped they'd trust his research and not check too closely. Luckily, tarasques were so rare as to be considered extinct to most hunters. Sam had stumbled onto them in his research by pure luck, but they matched the location and feeding method perfectly, right down to the phase of the moon.

Dad pulled the newspaper to himself and flipped open his journal. "Okamis, huh?" he asked, successfully diverted just that easily. He began muttering to himself, every bit as distracted as Sam had been just moments earlier. "We should call Singer. He's dealt with these – I'm sure of it."

"Sam – " said Dean, completely not diverted.

Sam looked sideways toward the book he'd been reading, unaccountably nervous about looking at his brother. "I'll eat, Dean. I was just busy looking for a hunt." He picked up what he'd thought was a sub only to find a wrap.

"Grilled chicken club," Dean explained. "Light on dressing, heavy on the rabbit food."

Sam was surprised. The healthy options he preferred were not often available at the diners they frequented, or they simply weren't as portable as a burger. Truth be told, Sam didn't bother to ask very often any more, but just ate what was put in front of him. He swallowed hard. Dean was looking at him with raised eyebrows, inviting Sam to ask why he'd gone out of his way to get what Sam wanted. But Sam wasn't going to open that door. With effort, he kept his heart on lockdown. "Cool," he said, unwrapping the food and taking a bite in lieu of holding his brother's eyes. Thanks, Dean, Sam thought, but didn't say it. Food didn't have much taste lately, but he'd be touched by the gesture, if he let himself. But it was far too dangerous to let himself feel anything right now.

Dad, still mumbling, stepped outside to make some phone calls and Sam cursed silently. He felt like a bug under a microscope under Dean's continued scrutiny. Dean propped a hip against the table and folded his arms. He didn't say anything but narrowed his eyes in a way that made Sam want to spill every dirty secret he'd ever had. He took a quick gulp of his flat Coke and told himself he doesn't know anything so just keep your mouth shut. "You gonna take a picture or what?" he said finally groused, wondering if he were as transparent as he felt.

Dean took a long time to answer, a tactic Sam recognized from Dad's repertoire. Sam endured and even managed at least a weak scowl. Finally, Dean spoke. "What's up with you, Sammy? You're a million miles away, and you've been that way for a while. When Dad says stuff that normally pisses you off, you don't say anything, and then you're pulling us from one hunt to the next. It's like living with a pod person version of my super geek brother."

Sam shrugged and took a big bite to give himself time. Just a few more days. Just one more hunt and I can rest. Then Dean and Dad can be happy just hunting together. But I gotta keep my trap shut. "I don't know what you're talking about," he blurted. "I want to hunt now, just like you and Dad, so what's the problem?" Even Sam's worry and annoyance felt muted, but he played it up

"I call bull." Dean leaned forward. "There's something going on with you. Something big, and you are going to tell me what right now." He didn't raise his voice, but let it deepen with conviction, and he stared right into Sam's eyes like he could read the truth there.

Sam was trapped, locked in place by that stare. He was no longer a 16-year-old hell-bent on taking his own life, he was a 4-year-old who wanted nothing but his big brother to make everything better. He opened his mouth and forced himself to close it again. No, no, no, no!

"Sammy." Dean's voice softened. "It's me. Whatever it is, just let me help."

Sam was so screwed. His throat itched, his chest felt tight, and his eyes were stinging. He knew what he had to do, and knew that he was seconds from caving and tell Dean everything. Honestly, he'd never been able to keep anything big from Dean before. Feeling loss and fear and release all at the same time, Sam dropped his eyes and opened his mouth once more.

And the door banged open so violently that Sam jumped to his feet, tipping over his chair. Dad stood in the doorway with an ancient, coverless book in his hand. "Boys, we leave in five," he barked. "If okami are feeding in a frenzy like this, it means the females are breeding. We have to kill them before the family becomes a whole clan and starts to spread across the U. S. Let's go!"

"Yes sir," the boys chorused.

Dad was already closing the door and grabbing his bag out from under his bed. Sam turned away, nearly shaking from the adrenaline of coming so close to blurting everything out. Dean grabbed Sam's arm, his lips pinched tight and his eyes narrowed. He obviously wasn't pleased by the interruption. "Sam, we're not – "

"Five minutes," Dad repeated, giving Sam the opportunity to pull away. Sam hurried to put as much space between himself and Dean as the room allowed and hastily packed the few things that weren't already in his bag. He no longer tried to make any of the places feel like more than they were – just temporary stops – so it was easy.

"I'll load the trunk, Dad," he offered, because damn, that had been close. He couldn't afford to be alone with Dean any more, not for one minute. "There's a book I want to dig out of the trunk. I think it has more information on Japanese monsters and I want to make sure we know how to kill it."

Dad nodded and held out the book he'd brought in. "Check this one, too. If we can get the research done before we ever get there, so much the better." Sam nodded back and scooped up the three duffels of clothes. He ducked out the door without a backward glance, hearing Dad tell Dean to go to the office and check them out.

Sam managed to avoid Dean until they were ready to go, and briefly wondered if his brother would resort to sitting in the back with him. But after a charged glance, Dean merely got into the front passenger seat. Now I know what it feels like to be hunted by a Winchester, Sam thought. He remembered back to a summer 4 or 5 years earlier, when Dad had sent them out into the woods in Vermont with instructions that they had a 30 minute head start, and he wanted to see how long they could hide from him. And then he'd added this caveat, "If I find you two together, we're starting over. I want to see how you each do on your own. The one I find first does laundry for the next two weeks."

There had been a kind of thrill to be the hunted, to know Dad was trying to find them. But even then, Dean had been mostly on Sam's side; he'd helped Sam find a hiding place before hiding himself. This felt different. That sixth sense Dean had in abundance was in full force, and it was focused on Sam, on finding out what Sam didn't want him to know. It was no longer thrilling or exciting. Nor was it comforting like Dean's attention usually was. It was terrifying.

With effort, Sam refocused on his research. He had to be very careful. He couldn't have them going in with the wrong weapons even though he was feeding them the wrong information about what they'd be facing. He didn't want Dean or Dad in danger just because it was time for Sam to "shuffle off the mortal coil." * Sam mentally rolled his eyes, wondering what iteration of geek Dean would have called him if he'd heard the quote.

Damn it, the very thought made Sam emotional. He was getting ready to say goodbye to his brother forever, and it was making him feel a lot of things he hadn't been feeling all summer. Sam pulled in a deep breath and held it until the constriction around his heart loosened a little. He had to figure out what to say about the hunt they were headed for.

Luckily, it took a while to find what he needed, which gave him the perfect excuse to avoid Dean's eyes in the rearview mirror. The tarasque was supposed to be kind of a dopey looking hybrid creature with six legs, a turtle shell, and tamed by a simple sprinkle of holy water. The truth was far more complex and dangerous, as the truth often was. The best sources said tarasques were voracious man-eaters with a hard carapace and very few weaknesses. But everything had a weakness.

"Hey, I found something," called Sam above Johnny Cash's singing. The music switched off almost immediately, his cue to continue. "The traditional way to kill an okami is by stabbing it at least 7 times with a bamboo dagger that's been blessed by a Shinto priest. But it sounds like it's a lot more effective to use a wood spear that's been soaked in holy water." Such a spear through the heart of a tarasque was the only agreed-upon way to kill it.

Dad was nodding. "The spears won't be any problem, but we'll have to find some daggers to have all the bases covered. Okamis look mostly human, right? And they're fast?"

Sam knew where this was going, and he was reluctant to answer. A spear was a lousy weapon against a fast, relatively small opponent. He couldn't let Dad think the daggers would be enough. "Yeah, sounds like it," Sam admitted. "Maybe we should soak all the weapons we're bringing in holy water. Consecrated rounds too." That should make everything they carried effective against the French dragon Sam was pretty sure they'd be facing.

Dad nodded again. "Okay. Keep looking for more information about when and where they like to hunt. I'll call Singer again when we stop. I bet he's got a couple of those daggers, or knows where we can find some. We can make more holy water and treat our weapons tonight." He switched the music back on, decisions made.

Sam relaxed a little. His family would be correctly armed for the fight. They'd get their chance to avenge him, and hell, he'd go out against a really badass monster. It was time – he could feel it. He would get his release soon.

Cash's distinctive voice filled the Impala as Sam ducked his head and continued to avoid Dean's eyes.

As Billy Joe fell to the floor

The crowd all gathered 'round

And wondered at his final words:

Don't take your guns to town.

* The quote is from William Shakespeare's Hamlet.

The lyrics are from Johnny Cash's song "Don't Take Your Guns to Town." It's about a boy who decides he's an adult now and wears a gunbelt into town, where he loses his temper and is killed in a gun fight. I thought it appropriate for this story!