AN: One last chapter tonight! I hope it's not repetitive but I didn't feel like the angst before the big action was done yet. The next chapter has lots of action! It will be written today or tomorrow but I'm not sure when I'll be able to get it posted. Hopefully not too long!

Please see chapter 1 for warnings.

Stormy: I hope I do justice to the totally awesome tarasque. Sorry it took so long for me to find the right spot for such a cool monster. :-) I'm so glad you told me about it. Please tell me what you think once I write about the fight with it.

sfaulkenberry: I am SO happy that you like the way I've treated the little family! It isn't always easy to figure out how they all fit together since we don't actually get much screen time with all 3 together. Thanks for your comments!!!

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Sam was going to kill his brother. Since Sam gave up on pretending to nap, Dean had been beyond annoying. Sam knew Dean was trying to pick a fight, getting him riled up so he'd blurt out what was on his mind. It was a technique the older man should have patented. But just because Sam recognized the tactic didn't mean it was easy to ignore.

At the diner for supper, Dean had unashamedly flirted with the pretty 20-something waitress then thoroughly embarrassed Sam in front of her while Dad rolled his eyes and refused to interfere. Then Dean tripped Sam on the way to the car and laughed at him for being clumsy. He turned the music (and Sam used that word lightly, not being a Motorhead fan) up as high as it would go, Dad again declining to step in. Back at the motel, Dean dumped out Sam's duffel, claiming Sam had taken his shirt, then didn't put anything back because "I'd never get it the way your OCD self wants it, anyway." Then as Sam picked stuff up, Dean flicked the back of his ear every chance he got.

Sam didn't feel a lot of things right now, numb to most of what normally got him excited or riled up, but even so, he couldn't ignore this forever. This is our last day together, Dean, he thought, trying really hard not to resent his brother. Please don't make it a day you'll regret. That thought was still echoing in his mind as Sam stood to rezip his bag and Dean flicked his ear again. It was the last straw and Sam suddenly just reacted.

He spun and threw a punch without conscious thought. But it was a wild punch, and Dean apparently was expecting it because he simply wasn't there by the time Sam's fist was. Instead, Sam was overbalanced, and Dean grabbed his wrist and used his own momentum to pull Sam's wrist behind him and pin him against the wall.

Even knowing he couldn't get out of the hold, something cracked inside of Sam and he fought like his very life was at stake. It wasn't a reasoned out plan of action, it was wild and uncoordinated and furious, and Dean held him with very little apparent effort, leaning his weight against Sam's wrist and back and just waiting for Sam to fight himself out or realize the futility of his position. His calm just made Sam angrier, and he bucked and threw his head back, trying to hit Dean's nose. But of course Dean expected that.

"Get. Off. Me," Sam all but howled, hardly recognizing his own voice. All the rage, all the fear, all the disgust at the blood he'd shed, all the emotions that stayed pent up except when he was fighting monsters, rushed to the fore. Didn't Dean understand that Sam couldn't live like this, that he could feel his soul shriveling as they traveled from place to place, grungy angels of death whose endless, bloody mission didn't allow any normal, any connections without other people? Didn't he know that when Sam hunted, he was turning into something even worse than the monsters they took out, that he was becoming a heartless killer? And didn't he know that if he pushed Sam too far, Sam might hurt him?

At the thought, Sam all-out panicked. He struggled so hard he started to wrench his shoulder, even though Dean wasn't holding his wrist very high. Dean pushed a hand against the back of Sam's neck and leaned harder, not letting him hurt himself. Right in Sam's ear, he said, "Stop it. Sammy, stop fighting me. Just stop." He wasn't just talking about the hold, Sam knew. "I'm here," Dean continued. "And I'll always be here. Stop ducking me, stop covering everything up and just tell me what the hell is going on. Then whatever it is, we'll take it on together. You hear me? No more of this strong and silent shit, Sammy. I mean it."

Breathing hard, Sam stopped moving. He didn't relax, but he did listen. He found himself unable to completely tune out Dean's voice, the voice he'd listened to and trusted his whole life. The voice that had calmed his nightmares and encouraged him and been his lifeline. Tears gathered at the corners of Sam's eyes. He could handle anything right now except kindness. Just when he thought the dam would burst and he'd pour everything out to Dean, Dad walked in. This feels familiar, Sam thought. Dad had walked in and interrupted the last time he'd been in danger of spilling his guts, too.

"Let him go, Dean," Dad directed, a little distractedly. He was already in hunting mode. "We need to gear up so we can be in place before the moon rises."

Dean stepped back and let go, and Sam was in the bathroom before his brother could say a word. He got just a glimpse of the worry and disappointment in Dean's eyes as he closed the door. Sam took a long, deep breath, clenched his fists until it hurt, and rested his head against the door. Nobody could make him feel vulnerable like Dean. Scratch that. Nobody could make him feel simultaneously vulnerable and safe except Dean.

Sam took time to slowly wash his hands and try to shore up his failing walls. And here he thought deciding to commit suicide would be the hard part. He couldn't fail again tonight or Dean would never let him have another chance.

Sam wasn't the only Winchester lost in his thoughts as the three left, which meant none of them noticed that Dean's cell phone had fallen out of his pocket as he'd sparred with Sam.

WINCHESTER * WINCHESTER

Bobby couldn't sleep. Typically, this was an issue that Jim Beam could successfully treat, but tonight was different. There was something nagging at him, and he knew better than to ignore it. Rufus avoided complimenting people as much as he possibly could, but even he had admitted (and more than once) that Bobby's instincts were usually spot on.

What was it that was bothering Bobby now? He wasn't sure. He didn't have any hunts pending for himself, nor did he have any hunters he'd sent out that he was worried about specifically. So, that usually meant it was the Winchesters on his mind. Those boys had weaseled their way into his heart, which caused him no end of worry and angst.

Bobby thought about what Dean had revealed about Sam. He didn't doubt for a second that there was something up with Sam, because he'd never met two kids more in tune with each other. If Dean said Sam was keeping secrets, then Sam was keeping secrets. It worried Bobby, but he was pretty sure that wasn't what was impeding his own rest. Maybe it was their current hunt. He hadn't heard a lot of details, but he thought through what he knew. He was one of very few American hunters who had ever encountered an okami. The facts as he knew them fit the Japanese monster well enough, though it could be many other things too.

Resigned to not being able to slumber until he'd plumbed his own paranoia, Bobby started the laborious process of dialing up the internet. He might hate the technology, but it was useful.

Bobby skimmed the articles about the people who had died near or in Lake Charles, a frown creasing his face as he realized that they were not, in fact, all in the same victim pool. There was far too much variation in age, not to mention gender, to match an okami's M.O. He pulled up the last article. This one had an arial view of the lake itself with red xes marking where bodies had been found. Bobby's eyebrows flew up, his eyes going wide open. "Balls!" he cried.

Bobby jumped to his feet so fast his chair slid backwards, and he ran to a pile of books on the other side of the room. He found what he needed quickly, and paged rapidly through the dusty old tome. Then he froze in horror at the pencil drawing in front of him, and the damning words beneath it.

Hiding in deep, inland lakes with rocky shores, tarasque dragons ripped and ate their way through southern France up until the last 1600's. Ambush predators that prefer human to any other food, the giant beasts will often eat the abdominal organs out of their prey and leave the rest. They can hibernate for years at a time, then emerge and engorge themselves for a few weeks, mostly on bright, moon-lit nights. Then they will disappear again until they are disturbed or get hungry. Assumed extinct –

Bobby stopped reading and ran back to his desk to disconnect from the internet and pick up his phone. He dialed Dean, since John turned off his phone while hunting and Sam didn't have a phone yet. As it rang, Bobby realized that Sam had done the research for this hunt, and since he was good at it, it was unlikely the others had double checked his facts. Chances were great the little shit knew they weren't going after any okami. He was the last one to read the book Bobby had just referenced; he had to have a guess that it was an ancient dragon. Apparently, he was hiding something.

What was Sam's endgame in this? Did he want the glory or the praise for being the one to kill such a big, rare creature? That motivation didn't feel right. Kid had never cared much about such things, except from Dean, and Dean already gave him all the support he needed. No, it was different.

A cold wind touched Bobby's soul. Did the boy want to die in a blaze of glory? He hated the hunting and the killing. Was this his way out? Bobby prayed he was wrong.

"C'mon, boy. Pick up, Dean. Pick. Up," Bobby pleaded.

In the Winchesters' motel room, the abandoned phone rang and rang.