SAM - TWO WEEKS

Everything had that grey filtered haze of early morning when dawn was just hanging out of reach when Sam woke all cramped and wrong in the backseat. His blurry mind was skipping around trying to remember why he was sleeping in the car, face all pressed and lined by the vinyl when a pained sound floated through the air. Limbs were rather uncooperative, all tingling as he got himself into more of a sitting position, barely missing disturbing some books that Michael had left in the back, half under the passenger side.

Dean was under his coat in the front, fingers flexing against the hem, eyes closed, face taunt as he muttered. Sam recognized the noise after a few more quiet repeats as a name and he sighed. Not like Dean was talking outside of complaints of her being a giant pain in his ass, or about the nightmares that seemed to be clawing in a bit further each day.

Years of practice guided his movements as he pushed the door open without sound. They were parked some dirt side road by a rural highway that seemed rather unpopular. Trees had begun cautiously budding, wary of winter's lingering bite. Alone for miles and he felt confident that he could a piss without having someone drive by gawking like he was some twisted pervert behind a bush.

That being taken care of he went back to the car, stomach plaintive and body exhausted and just all around not in a good mood. Dean was still asleep, words more frequent now and Sam picked up something like 'no please' followed by a jerk of his muscles. The way his brother had been when he found Michael all packed up and moved out, brooding to the point of muteness and Sam would have to have been hit over the head with stupid to not know that something had happened between them. Whatever it was, it obviously far worse than their normal fights. He wondered what God was thinking sticking the two of them together – two angry bulls in a small pen while spectators hoped nothing died.

Opening the front passenger door, he saw Dean's hair sticking up at strange angles as he brothers form jumped at the impolite reminder of reality.

"Morning, sunshine," Sam told him as those eyes squinted then winced at the intrusion of light. "Thought you might want to get going in a few."

"Yeah, yeah, on it."

Dean was already moving, hauling himself out to go take his own turn behind the stick bushes as Sam went to the trunk. He'd do anything for a shower and a bed complete with a hot, ready breakfast before sleeping for about ten hours.

Seeing the deep circles and small twitch of muscles by his brother's left eye informed him that wasn't today's menu.

Dean dragged him himself over to the trunk as Sam pulled out a shirt and a power bar. Best morning ever, he sourly told himself as Dean was rooting around in his own bag. They still had another fours and early this morning both of them were so bad that it probably would have been a joint effort in keeping the Impala somewhat on the road.

There had been a heavy thickness in the car when Sam had suggested that they pull over and try to rest their eyes for a couple of hours. Like Dean was challenging the laws of nature to even try to keep him from where they needed to be.

"Ready?"

"Yeah," he said sliding into the front again, stretched but still aching because his body never liked to fit anywhere well.

Air was cool here as the engine turned, Dean still having the habit to glance into the review mirror. As if there would magically be an archangel with her book, or magazine or whatever it was she had that day with her permanent frown as she glared back. Those little glances, the way his brother kept staring at his phone hoping for a call to at least say she was fine and go the hell away. Sam wanted to shake her till she got some sense because she should know Dean was a blood hound. That he wouldn't stop unless she told him too.

Probably not even then, he thought as he saw the rigid line of his brother's stooped shoulder like Dean was relying on the steering wheel to keep him up.

Yeah, he couldn't take much more of this silent man pain and they both had to stay awake as he dragged out the box of tapes to rummage through. Till he found something he wasn't expecting and held it up, eyebrow raised, waving the offending item in Dean's general direction. A glance complete with nonchalance like it was common to find candy pop amidst Dean's love of classic rock. Well, classic rock John had loved and nothing else.

"You kept it?" he finally asked when there didn't seem to be an answer forthcoming.

"Wanted to find a way to give it back to her with style," his brother blustered, shit eating grin despite the small flush on his face. "You know, repay that whole thing."

Sam snorted. "Sure."

"Not like you didn't help her."

"Dude, please, she knows how to work the internet. Sugar Sugar is famous."

"Not something a man should ever have to listen to in his safe space," Dean grumbled as he flexed his hands against the wheel, looking a little more relaxed despite his superficial air of peeved. "Lucky I didn't cut her hair off."

"Yeah, because that would have taught her," Sam said, going back to sorting through the tapes to find something tolerable. He was fairly certain if his dreams had a soundtrack it was from this box. Plus , it hid his grin at the memory of his brother, face twisted up in a silent scream desperately trying to beat the blaring radio off; Michael leaning against the motel's door with a knowing smirk.

What had caused her to specifically track down something to enrage Dean he didn't want to know. There were days that he was surprised that the air didn't just erupt in a sudden flashover when they shared the same space for more than an hour.

"Could have done it sideways, you know all diagonal," came the huffy reply as Dean made scissor motions with his fingers. Finally, Sam found something that wouldn't make him want to rip the tape apart in less than thirty seconds this morning as his brother ranted on, savoring his imaginary victory. "She's so anal, would have driven her nuts."

All he could do was shake his head and held back the comment that if he didn't piss her off in the first place then maybe she wouldn't plot against him. So, instead he pushed the tape in, listening to it click over, glancing at Dean. He seemed more focused and not quite so lost as he settled back.

XX

"Agents Ashcroft and Morrison, to see the sheriff," Dean was saying as they showed off the badges and Sam hated how put together his brother managed to look. He even smelled good while Sam felt like he had been rolling around in a cesspool due to the lack of stopping anywhere with something larger than a sink.

It was a small department, probably only a handful of cops in a tiny town, the seat of sparsely populated county. A few desks, old and dented with name placards; an officer hunched over a copier sending them glances that didn't exactly spell out friendly. A lazy fan stirred the air, limping along as if it too couldn't be bothered to expend much effort. It definitely wasn't moving the stale stiff feeling of the air all cooped up in here that felt thick and suffocating.

The officer on duty was a tall woman with her dark hair all done up in the back, severe in face and he knew that wasn't helping his brother's mindset any.

"Sure, one sec," she said, getting up to go to one of the few rooms, knocking on the door.

Sam rolled his neck. A hobo wash in some non-descript place before the suits and he felt like a layer of grim. All that was going on now was a single minded determination from his brother that was a heat driving them forward. The only thing they had to show for it was dead end after dead end like Michael made it a game to make sure they could never track her down.

The sound of a door opening and Sam saw a middle aged man, plump a bit around middle step out and wave them over. At least he didn't look hostile or suspicious. A bit worn but nothing that hinted of anything terrible or evil or wanting to eat them. Which was always a good way to start the morning off instead of being met with fangs and sharpened claws.

She motioned to them and Dean was already off towards the pair, face blank in a way that always worried Sam. It spoke that his brother was losing the ability to interact with normals slowly, by small fractions.

"Gentleman, nice to meet you. Sheriff Christian Paul," the man said, extending his hand, a soft drawl evident in his voice. It was warm and dry as Sam shook, Dean following with his face in that blank yet strict expression that really didn't suit it. "Come on in."

Files were stacked all over the place, the only few places without at least a scattering of them were the chairs and a small space on the sheriff's desk that Sam assumed was for writing more files to enhance existing piles. There was a window, looking out on the main drag. Through the partially open blinds he could see the red neon light of a diner, a beacon of mocking hope. There was a growl from his protesting stomach at the sight, the promise of things close to actual food and not compressed particle board smeared with chocolate.

"Here's the picture, sheriff," Dean was saying all charm but slightly stilted as he handed over his phone. "We've been looking for her for a while."

A low whistle as the man took it in and Sam had wanted to ask why Dean even had a picture of her but he knew better. That was opening up a whole new chapter, especially with what was in that picture and he didn't need more silent self-flagellation thank you very much. Though this, this looked promising as recognition was in that face as the sheriff handed the phone back.

"Yep, that matches Robin's description right down to the scowl. Started a bar fight after she was accused of hustling by one of the regulars here. Put some hurt on them too."

"Do you know where she went after that?"

"Probably out of town, best guess. She didn't seem to be the type to stick around after mayhem." The man leaned back a bit, lacing his fingers behind his head. "Why the Feds all interested in her?"

"We think she might be in danger," Sam supplied when Dean failed to answer, a slight click to his brother's jaw.

That earned a real, amused laugh.

"Son, let me tell you, I'd say she's the dangerous one seeing she took on those odds and walked it off."

"Anyone who might of seen her exit out of town?" Dean asked, shuffling his feet as he put the phone back in his pocket. Sam curled his fingers against his leg, trying not to look nervous as they rarely worked something this personal.

Something that could be screwed up in an instant.

"Them boys, well probably not. Robin though, she works early during the week normally. She'd probably be able to tell you more."

"Did you not ask?" a rough edge to Dean's voice, something bordering on anger and Sam refrained from kicking his brother. Couldn't risk being seen in this open space but fortunately the man didn't take any offense.

"Didn't see no need to," the sheriff shrugged. "Them boys always start stuff and this time they did it with someone who finished it for them. Despite accounts of her two wielding cues like swords, she didn't hurt them much. And between you and me, with their rap sheets and how small she sounds it would be hard to get a judge to buy she took them on. If I had known she was sought after, would have gotten a bit more. But she was already gone by the time my boys got there."

"That's okay," Sam said hurriedly before his brother could put something else out there. "Thanks. Where's the bar at?"

"Down yonder," a thumb was jerked to the right, "towards the edge of town. The Night Owl though its usually got people in the morning. All dry counties around us so we get a lot of commuters. No wisdom in those laws if you ask me."

"Nope," Dean said, standing and visibly anxious as Sam joined him. "Thanks."

"Don't mention it."

They were out of the office and walking back through the main room as Sam tried not to stare longingly at the donuts. That stupid fan still creaking as useless as Sam felt.

XX

"Oh yeah, that small angry thing. I don't think I'll forget her as long as I live," the bartender said, handing the phone back over with a slight nod. "Came in knocking back a couple and got a few leers her way, though given how she looked not surprised."

"Uh huh, and why's that?"

Dean's face was all brittle and close to fury but the woman's eyes didn't seem to take it in. She was almost half asleep, lids heavy with a few drowsy early morning customers slumped at the bar or mismatched tables. Some little dive with pieces of itself collected over decades Sam figured; replaced when one of the locals broke something with collections from local yard sales.

"She's a looker, not dressed like the usual in here," A shrug, small roll of her shoulders as her hands wiped down glasses. "At any rate it was still calm for a couple hours before one of the boys didn't like losing his hard earned check to her. Less booze buying that way and called her out. Think they thought they were threatening."

A smile, something amused and impressed now as she pushed blond strands out of her face. Sam glanced over, lights in that corner still had busted up shades and he wondered when they'd get new ones. Not that it mattered, evidence of a fight seemed to fit with their motif here and he thought the few missing chairs would be a higher priority. More seats for butts wanting to drink and all that.

"Do you know what happened to her when the cops were called?"

"Nah, sorry, can't say that I do. Saw her going out the back to skip the trouble and that was the last I saw of her. Pretty busy night with it being a pay day plus traffic off the interstate."

"Was she hurt?"

Sam glanced over at the strange softness of his brother's question, worried like the little solider of heaven could be injured. Which was a far cry from his brother insisting that he hated her and wished she would just leave. Or that they were only looking for her because Dean didn't want God all up in his face over losing His first born.

Of course, them being on the road trip from hell to track her down proved that.

"Busted lip, probably some bruises but nothing serious I could see. She was upset because they ripped her collar."

Dean smirked with a nod. "Thanks ma'am."

"Don't mention it."

The light outside was almost blinding as they pushed their way out of the little grim hole, door whooshing shut behind. Gravel scattered under their dress shoes as they walked in silence to the car, little puffs of loose dust clinging to their pant cuffs. Which really wasn't what Sam needed because he felt dirty enough as it was.

"What do you want to do, Dean? I mean we can wait it out, see if there's a regular – "

"Won't matter," his brother muttered, leaning his head against the driver's side, before hitting his fist on the Impala's roof. She sat like a dusty road worn jewel out here next to the low end at times rusty other offerings. Sam was fairly certain one of them hadn't been driven in a decade given the state of the tires melding with weed infested asphalt. "She's long gone, doubt we'd even get a viable direction."

"Okay," he said, leaning against the front grill. "So, why don't we skip over a town and try to get some rest. Eat maybe, a shower. Right now we have no leads and it doesn't do any good to just keep driving."

"I don't even get how she's traveling. Daddy clipped her wings, she's more useless that way than Clarance and I doubt she rings bells," Dean muttered shaking his head. "How'd she even get here?"

"I wasn't the one that taught her the art of boosting a car," Sam replied pointedly.

"Well, didn't think she'd use that against me. Jesus, it's like she's a ghost."

He swallowed down the suggestion that maybe they needed to ask for help. It had been just over two weeks and now their last lead was dead. She could be another state over by now, keeping her distance especially after the scuffle here. Knowing it would attract their attention because her beating up a bunch of dudes was bound to turn a few heads. At least Bobby maybe could come up with something.

Well, after knocking them upside the head for not telling them who he was hosting under his roof while she was recovering.

How she could be that injured, obviously feeling everything that happened to that body. That if she had been truly human she probably would not have survived. How he had found his brother asleep, propped up against the head board in the same bed the next morning; passed out keeping watch over her. Michael's back was a maze of bandages and small blood stains that hadn't been cleaned off yet, asleep with her face pressed against Dean's hip and –

There were not helpful memories and he tried to shove them away. It wasn't like he didn't think God didn't already know. He wondered if eternal damnation was a thing for teaching the oldest of angels how to skirt the law and steal cars.

"Well look, we know she's okay, she was through here recently," he tried and got a small head shake, Dean all squinty eyed staring at the stretch of road laid out by them. "We need to regroup, start figuring out why she's going the way she's going instead of assuming she's just running. It's Michael, she's probably got a plan."

"Yeah, alright," Dean said, opening his door and Sam felt a bit of relief. "Regroup and figure our own asses out so we can go get hers."

Sam nodded, letting the smart ass remark to that stay in his mouth, not liking the wear that ate at his brother's face.

XX

At least he had gotten a shower, he thought morosely as he dragged himself the couple blocks back to their hotel. And at least this place had a library with a reference section because he had gotten a better handle on things. Well, maybe, he wasn't sure but it made the most sense.

Passing by the Impala black sheen in front of their room, he got the door open and found Dean sitting hunched at the table, eyes all blurry staring at the laptop screen. The whole room had some strange harvest theme going on and he felt personally assaulted by the burgundy wall paper that was indiscriminately pelted with a row of wheat 'growing' half way up its walls. At least the accents of the room and comforters where done in a respectable off white.

Those eyes, all red rimmed as they took him in as he managed to get his large feet to not trip over themselves showed that Dean had not found his happy place.

"Dude, what happened to the nap?"

"Couldn't," came the response, skin pale as Dean's free hand was spinning a half full plastic cup of whiskey on the table. "Find anything?"

"Yeah, actually," he said dumping his notes on the table and himself in a free chair. He was ready for a drink and about a day's worth of sleep. "She had been working a case about fifteen miles away. Some poltergeist thing from the looks of the articles."

"You sure?"

"Called the locals. Said they had an angry, pretty agent there, all business asking question with the first name of Michelle. They don't where she went but things calmed down."

"So she did that, rolled into a bar, got into a fight and then skipped. Great, she's Calamity Jane."

"Dean," Sam said, leaning over the table to get his brother's attention. "The other solid lead we had, well it looks like there was a case around that area too. I think we've been going about this wrong, thinking she's running. We need to look at what she's doing while on the road because this might be more of a lead."

Dean rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands and Sam didn't add that he had a sneaking suspicion that Michael may not think they would look for her. Or if they were, it was out of some sense of duty to God, not the whole 'we want you to come back'. And yeah he if he was being honest he missed the bitchy sort-of still an archangel and the way she was.

That night when she stared at him all intense and way too close and said he wasn't Lucifer's poison.

"She's ganking monsters because that's the only thing she knows down here?"

"I think," he said, trying for patience instead of violence over Dean's obtuse brain, "that she knows about killing evil. We taught her how to hunt on human terms. Smush those together," he said clapping his hands and appreciating Dean's jump, "and we got what she's doing."

"Till she meets something that's a bit meaner than most."

A sour twist at Dean's mouth and Sam already knows he's thinking about the Lamia. Not matter how many times he tried to tell him that it was no one's fault, that they had assumed it was a wolf. They hadn't even expected to see it that night in that place. Even Michael had been surprised. Not that it helped when Dean blamed himself for her, all that blood, so much it seemed impossible she was conscious as she breathed half spaced out instructions.

Dean torn between trying to stem the slick of blood coming from her back and helping to ignite the bastard that did it.

Yep didn't need those memories right now and Sam shoved them right back into their dark little corner of his brain.

"Alright, well you work on cases starting with close and going out and I'll go take a quick shower."

"Sure," Sam said softly, knowing he should be pissed right off at being given the work again but Dean needed it. "We'll find her."

"Uh, huh." His brother paused, looking all conflicted and constipated and Sam managed not to roll his eyes at that. Trying to say thanks for something emotions was not his brother's strongest trait.

"She's important to you. It's okay."

"Whatever." Dean paused and then seemed to want to defend his manhood. "At least it's quieter. Not to mention the constant stream of complaints like 'Dean, I hate bladders', or 'Dean, why did you give me the flu', or 'Dean, you need to change the channel for I do not wish to watch this'."

Sam put his hand up as though his was rubbing his nose to hide his smile as his brother was just getting warmed up.

"Or how she seems to like shed hair everywhere. I mean, I don't think I've met a drain she doesn't manage to leave a nasty clump of that stuff in, not to mention how it's stuck to everything she's near. Or mess with my stuff, always complains that her bed is worse or that I didn't – Sam!"

"Sorry," he protest in vain enjoying that bulging vein in his brother's forehead. "It's sweet, it really is," he got out between snickers as Dean's face turned to something trying to mimic the color of beets. "The way you love to hate each other is jus t-"

"Shut your cakehole, Sammy," Dean muttered looking a cross between tired and beyond embarrassed, trying to find his footing in one of his trademark grins and failing. "Just – just do something useful while I go hose myself down."

Then his brother was just a flash to the bathroom before he could think of a retort as it had been far too long since he had been able to tease Dean at all about this sort of thing. Sam turned the laptop to face him, seeing police reports still up on the screen. His brother had been searching for victims and perps with her description again and his stomach clenched.

Some part of him wished Dean was back to just complaining, like he had at the start when he yelled at her and demanded she just shut up and not say another damn thing. Blaming her silently, fuming right before the Lamia when he had screamed at her about if she was happy, if her Daddy was proud yet.

Sam swallowed, rubbing his temples as he heard the water running now. She had left that night too, gone out and hadn't come back till well after dawn. Dean looking like he didn't care if she never showed back up at all. Back then he had thought Dean just hadn't seen her. How she was unable to look them in the eyes for months, the way she looked at his brother that wasn't all fury and grief when Dean's back was turned. All the ways it seemed like she was just going to shatter and fall to pieces to blow away out of the pain that was her.

Maybe he had though. Maybe he should have given Dean more credit. Because he knew, oh he knew by Dean's behavior that he was being eaten up by guilt and he didn't even know if Dean deserved it or not. Probably only half of it given those two.

The water was shutting off and Sam got himself to focus on the here and now. Searching the whole surrounding area and then spreading out to neighboring states and beyond – well it was going to be a long day.

At least this dump had a coffee maker.