Thanks Jenjoremy for the awesome beta job, and thank you all for reading, reviewing, fave'ing and alerting the story. I really appreciate your support.

Chapter Three

Time travel was not a precise art. A lot of it came down to sheer luck, rather like throwing a dart at a board with one eye closed and fingers taped together. Cas knew that, so he was pleased when he managed to get Sam to the exact time and place he wanted in the past. He should have known that his luck wouldn't repeat when he returned to his time. It was almost a week after he and Sam had left that he arrived in Bobby Singer's house in his own time. He came to rest in the library and pulled his wings in close to him as he looked around.

It was a mark of how desensitized to Cas's comings and goings Bobby was that he didn't slop coffee down himself at his sudden reappearance. He merely set the mug down carefully between the masses of books on the desk and took a deep steadying breath. "Cas," he said in a heavy tone. "Tell me you've got Sam tucked in the pocket of that coat and I'll kiss you."

Cas's mouth pressed into a thin line. "Things are not going well?"

Bobby shook his head and sighed. "Things are about how you'd expect them to be given we've got a soulless dick in the basement and we've been dealing with him and his crap for a week."

"I do not have Sam. He is still in place."

Bobby looked disappointed. "Balls. I guess I knew that it would take a while coming in, but it don't make it no easier now."

"No, I don't imagine it would."

Cas looked around the room, taking in the familiar faded wallpaper and surfaces strewn with books and papers. There were signs of Dean around, his car keys on a side table and his jacket slung over the back of a chair, but the man himself was nowhere in sight.

Seeing his gaze sweeping the room, Bobby said, "Dean's downstairs with… him."

Cas made for the stairs, but Bobby didn't follow. He looked back over his shoulder. "Are you not coming?"

"Coming down there with the dick who wants nothing more than to end my life so he doesn't get his soul popped back in? Nah, I think I'll stay up here."

"He has made an attempt on your life?" Cas asked.

"No. Not yet anyway, but he hasn't changed his mind. I can see it in his eyes. He's just as damned determined as he was last time. It's the way he looks at me."

Bobby wasn't someone who jumped at shadows. Cas trusted his judgment. If Bobby believed his life was at risk, Cas agreed with him. He would need to put more protection in place before he left again, to strengthen the defenses around Bobby and Dean. There was nothing to be gained by Sam killing Dean, but perhaps he would do it anyway in the course of his escape. It was not worth the risk.

He made his way out to the hall and through the door that led to the basement. His footsteps were heavy on the wooden steps and as he plodded towards the panic room. He had no fear of Sam, soulless or not, but he had once threatened Cas's life and that didn't endear him to Cas's heart. It was more than that though. Sam without his soul was a disgrace. He fought and killed without mercy to achieve his ends, and he had no emotional connections or reactions. Sam, who usually felt everything so openly and clearly, cared nothing for anyone. It was just wrong to look at him now that he was not pretending to be his true self. Cas didn't know how Dean had been able to bear it for so long, though he supposed for Dean there was no choice. It was still his brother in some form, and that meant something to Winchesters.

Dean heard him coming. He was waiting at the panic room door. His eyes were ringed by dark shadows and tight with tension. They lightened slightly when he saw Cas, and a hopeful smile hovered on his lips. "Did you bring him back?"

"I'm afraid not. There are still things for him to do before I can return him."

The small smile faded and Dean's jaw gritted. "But he's okay, right?"

"Yes, he is fine. We should talk." Cas glanced past Dean into the room to see Sam. He was lying on the cot, his wrists and ankles shackled with leather restraints. His head was tilted to the side and his expressive eyes bored into Cas. "And Bobby should be present."

Dean cast a glance back into the panic room at his tethered brother. "Yeah, he should." He still looked reluctant though.

"I will ensure he cannot escape. Does Bobby possess chains of some sort?"

Dean looked conflicted for a moment and then he nodded. "Yeah, in here." He went back into the panic room and moved to a corner. Cas followed him in and saw a loop of thick iron chains hanging from a hook on the wall. There was also rope and wire, but Cas thought the chains would be better. They were not only the strongest, but they also looked more reassuring for Dean and more intimidating for Sam.

Dean hefted them from the hook and brought them over to Cas. Sam watched it all through narrowed eyes.

"Chains?" Sam said when Cas took them from Dean and moved toward him. "You must really think I'm a threat. That's quite a compliment coming from an angel."

"We are not protecting others from you," Cas lied. "We are protecting you from yourself."

"Think I'm going to hurt myself? The chains are a little redundant then, don't you think? What with you here to fix all my aches and pains and sucking chest wounds."

"Not physically," Cas said, "but Sam, the real Sam, would not want us to risk it."

Sam tutted and looked back to the ceiling. "Fine. Do what you need to do."

Cas wound the chains around his chest and looped them under the cot. He didn't make them too tight, he wanted Sam to be able to breathe, but he made sure the weight of them could be felt. Dean watched it all in silence from his place ten feet away. When Cas held out his hand, Dean moved slowly towards him and placed a heavy padlock into his hand. Cas threaded it between the links and snapped it closed.

Sam shifted slightly, making the chains clink together, and then rested his head back against the pillow and closed his eyes as if about to sleep impossible sleep. "Comfy."

Cas caught Dean's eye and they nodded in unison. Dean could leave now, comforted that Sam was safe, and Cas could assure the real Sam that he was restrained when he returned to him.

They walked from the room together, up the steps and into the library. Bobby was at the counter when they entered the kitchen area, pouring two mugs of dark coffee. He handed one to Dean who murmured his thanks, then they both turned to Cas.

"How's he doing?" Bobby asked.

"We have restrained him suitably for now and I will ensure there is support for you both before I leave again," Cas said.

Bobby shook his head. "I mean how's our Sam doing? The one you shoved back a few years."

"Oh. He is doing well under the circumstances."

"The wall?" Dean prompted.

"Is in place again. I was able to create it without too much difficulty. Sam is protected from his hell."

Dean looked away from them for a moment and ran a hand over his face, his relief obvious. "Good. That's…good." When he turned back, his expression had hardened into anger. Cas was taken aback by the change, but when Dean spoke again, he thought he should have expected it. "Where the hell have you been?"

"In 2008," Cas said simply, "with Sam."

"A week, Cas! You've had us going crazy with worry, leaving us with that thing in the basement. You couldn't have popped back to let us know he was okay?"

Cas wondered if it was worth explaining the mechanics of time travel to them, to attempt to make them understand the sheer impossibility of aiming yourself at an exact moment in ebbing and changing time, but he decided it wasn't worth the effort. This wasn't all about his delayed return. This was Dean venting his anger at an impossible situation, and he had earned his release. "I apologize. I was delayed."

Dean shook his head slowly, seeming beyond words. Bobby spoke up. "Delayed by what?"

"Samhain. Sam and Dean have been facing him in that time and I needed to stay close to ensure their protection. Sam was successful. The witches were killed before the ritual could be completed, though it was merely moments away from happening. Samhain never rose."

"Yeah," Dean said, his tone calmer now. "I figured. It's confusing though. I remember both times, one feels more real than the other. Sam snapping that girl's neck feels real, and the other feels kinda like a dream. You're saying he really did it, though? He killed her?"

"He saved a seal," Cas said pointedly. "The witch's death was a part of that." He recognized the similarities in Dean's two reactions, one of this time and one of the past. He wondered if Sam was right, that changing things the way he did was going to change things between him and his brother. It made sense in a way, but he still resented it. Though this Dean knew the stakes and that Sam had no choice, he still seemed to disapprove of what Sam did.

"But it's not changed everything, has it?" Bobby asked. "I mean, that's the only changed memory I have, too. I still remember the apocalypse and everything that led up to it—Sam doing what he did. That's not changed."

"Not enough has changed yet to avert the path."

"But you said that was the pinnacle moment or whatever," Dean said in a low tone. "Why wasn't that enough?"

"I think because of the demon blood," Cas said apologetically.

Dean sucked in a harsh breath. "Dammit. He's all juiced up in that time."

Cas nodded. "Yes. Sam, in that time, is drinking demon blood and has only just ceased using his powers. He did not use them against Samhain, there was no need, but the blood lingers. I do not know if he continued to consume it even after he stopped using them last time."

"He was still acting shady, so he might have been," Dean said and then cursed. "God, he's going to have to go through withdrawal again, isn't he?"

"I am afraid so. He is aware of it. We have discussed it, and he wasn't…" Cas wondered how to frame his words, how to tell them of the look of sheer fear in Sam's eyes and the quaver in his voice when he realized he would have to suffer through that again. ""He wasn't happy," he said lamely.

"No, I bet he wasn't," Bobby said in a heavy tone. "Still, we know he can do it. He did it twice and he survived. He can do it one more time."

Dean didn't seem comforted by Bobby's assertions. Cas thought he was remembering how it had felt for him to listen to his brother screaming for help through that heavy iron door. He remembered, too, how he and Dean had stood outside the panic room, listening to Sam's suffering, unable to do a thing about it. It had not been the easiest thing he had ever done.

"He can do it," Bobby said again, seeming to be reassuring himself as much as Dean.

"So, other than the Hell wall and the demon blood, how's he doing?" Dean asked after the silence had become uncomfortable.

"He is adjusting better than I thought he would," Cas said then smiled. "Do you remember the first time Uriel and I met Sam?"

Dean grinned. "That really happened, too?"

Cas returned his smile. "Yes. Uriel especially was unhappy."

"What happened?" Bobby asked.

Dean turned to him, amusement in his eyes. "He sassed the crap out of them. It was brilliant. Of course, at the time I was worried that Uriel would smite him out of sheer annoyance, but looking back, it was one of Sammy's more awesome moments." He eyed Cas. "I guess you weren't too pleased about it then either, were you?"

"No," Cas said. "I wasn't. I see the humor in the situation now though. It is strange for me to see that side of myself again. It makes me more ashamed of how I behaved. Despite what I once told you, I was a hammer."

"It's not your fault," Dean said, the humor still within him. "You had the whole stick-up-the-ass thing going on. Once you pulled that out, you were good."

Cas was unsure of the correct response to that, so he merely said, "Thank you."

"So," Bobby said, "what's next? In that time, I mean. How do we stop the apocalypse and get Sam off the blood without breaking the damn wall?"

"I don't know," Cas admitted; he locked eyes with Dean who looked like he was concentrating hard.

"Okay…" he said slowly. "After Samhain we took the Concrete hunt—the cursed penny in the fountain," he added, seeing Bobby's confusion. "That should be an easy one for him, right? All he's got to do is persuade that Wes guy to pull the coin and we're golden. Hell, if he gets there in time, he could even do it before all the wishes start piling up. There's nothing there that would put a strain on the wall, is there?"

Cas shook his head. "Nothing I can think of, but I admit I don't know enough about the wall to know what kind of strain it can withstand."

"Sam's strong," Bobby said. "And he's got the blood in him at the moment. As much as I hated it, hate it still, it does power Sam up. I think he'll be good a while longer at least."

Cas could tell Dean was trying to accept Bobby's words as comfort, but he wasn't entirely succeeding. He wished there was something he could say, some knowledge he could impart that would reassure them both. The problem was that he didn't know what was going to happen. He could only see as much as was happening at the time.

"I should go," he said regretfully.

"Yeah, of course," Dean said. "Get back to him. He needs you right now."

Cas nodded, though he was thinking of the other place he needed to go before he could return to Sam. There was a pretence he must maintain to keep Crowley from suspecting his defection. "There is something I want to do first," he said. "Dean, I assume the reason for your obvious exhaustion is in the basement."

Dean shrugged. "Who's exhausted?"

"You are," Bobby said firmly. "Keeping watch on a guy who don't sleep is taking you to the mat. What are you thinking, Cas?"

"I was thinking I could call in assistance for you. Would you be averse to an angel's presence?"

Dean opened his mouth, possibly to object, but Bobby spoke over him. "No. Whatever you've got so Dean can get a decent night's sleep works for me."

"In that case would you please pray to Balthazar?"

Dean rolled his eyes. "Awesome. Hugh Heffner is our backup."

Bobby smiled and raised his eyes heavenward. "Balthazar, you mind coming down for a minute? We got Cas here and he needs a chat."

They waited for a moment before there was the sound of rushing wings and Balthazar appeared. "Gentlemen," he said brightly. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"Balthazar," Cas said, pleased to see his old friend. "Would you be adverse to staying here for a while as additional protection for Dean and Bobby?"

"Little old me?" Balthazar asked. "Protection from what may I ask?"

"Sam. He is without his soul again. He might attempt to flee or…"

"He might try to kill me," Bobby said. "Again."

Something indefinable flickered across Balthazar's face for a moment before he schooled his features into a bright smile. "If that is what you need, I am happy to assist. There are things I require, of course: a flow of Krug and canapés for example."

Bobby rolled his eyes. "Sure, let me just check the cellar. You can make do with coffee, whiskey and donuts like the rest of us."

Balthazar sighed heavily. "The things I do for you, Cas. Fine, I will sign up for babysitting duty, but for Father's sake, don't keep me here long. There's only so much Old Spice I can inhale before I am forced to smite myself."

"Thank you," Cas said sincerely. "I will return as soon as possible."

"Oh, and Cassie," Balthazar drawled, "I would be remiss if I didn't ask where exactly Sam's soul is if it's not here."

Cas caught Dean's eye and saw his slight shake of the head. "It is somewhere safe," he said, before spreading his wings at his back and taking flight.

Crowley was sitting on the chair usually used for the alpha's interrogations with an ankle resting on his knee and a glass of whiskey in his hand. He looked perfectly at ease, as if he couldn't smell the stench of Eve's rotting corpse on the table and the spilled blood in the room.

"Castiel," he said lazily, "I was wondering when you'd show your face again."

For a moment, Cas was afraid that Crowley had discovered his defection, but then the King of Hell smiled and Cas's worries calmed somewhat.

Crowley inhaled deeply and then sighed. "So, I can tell from the stench of Old Spice and even older books that you've been visiting Bobby Singer's humble abode. What, pray tell, were you doing there?"

"I was seeking assistance," he lied.

"Really? You were seeking assistance from the menaces who killed our best hope at getting Purgatory open?" He pointed at Eve's corpse. "Or were you perhaps attempting to repair the bromance between you and your favorite humans?"

Cas locked eyes with Crowley, brazening out his lie. "I thought perhaps if I could persuade Dean and Sam to join with us, we would have a better chance at succeeding. They have proven themselves more than capable in the past."

"That they have," Crowley agreed. "Unfortunately, they have also proven themselves to be epic pains in the ass." He clucked his tongue. "Last time we spoke, you seemed to think we were beyond making nice with them. What changed?"

"I thought, with time, they would have changed their stance." Cas looked into his eyes. "They haven't."

Crowley massaged his temples with one hand. "And let me guess, you're all sad and misunderstood about it? Really, Cas, this is beyond their stunted brains to understand. They just can't see the stakes here. They think because they beat Lucifer once, they can do it again. They aren't worried about Raphael popping open the cage because they think they can handle what comes after. Stunted."

Cas's jaw tightened at the reminders of Raphael and what he was fighting for. If it worked, if Sam was successful, this conversation would never be necessary, but the chance it would fail was heavy within him. He could do it all, risk Sam the way he was, and still end up in this position. What would he do then? He could not allow Crowley to gain even one soul, but the only alternative was to take them all himself. What would that do to him? Would it even be enough?

"What's with the constipated face?" Crowley asked with a raised eyebrow. "What's going on in that head of yours?"

Cas inhaled deeply and then sighed, his nose wrinkling at the stench of the room. "I am just thinking of Raphael."

Crowley stood and walked toward Cas. He rested a hand on his shoulder. Cas stiffened at the demon's touch. "Dear me. You're all in knots, Cas. You need a massage. I can suggest a very talented demon if you're willing."

Cas stepped back, away from Crowley's touch. "No, thank you." He would not let an abomination touch him if he could avoid it.

"Let me get this straight. You're not too good to saddle up with the King of Hell but you're too good to take a little relief from another demon?"

"Yes."

Crowley laughed. "That's some twisted morals you got there, Cas."

"I am working with you because I have no choice. If there was any other way, I would take it."

Crowley shrugged. "Just as long as you are still working with me, I don't care."

"I am, Crowley," Cas lied shamelessly. "Until our plan comes to fruition, I am working with you."

"Good, good. Now, my boys are on their way with a particularly devilish Alpha Kumiho for me to chat with. You want to stick around, enjoy the fun a little?"

"I am needed in Heaven. My forces must be supported."

Crowley shook his head and tutted. "You need to learn to delegate, mate."

"Perhaps," Cas said. "I will return when I can."

"You do that," Crowley said with a smile. "You know how much I enjoy our little chats."

Cas nodded and a moment later, he was gone, leaving the King of Hell to his next victim.

The longer Dean drove, the more his tension seemed to build. Sam watched as his hands ceased their drumming on the steering wheel and tightened around it instead. He saw how he went from singing the lyrics in accompaniment to the tape deck to clenching his jaw and staring solidly out of the windshield.

Sam's own tension grew in response. He tried to hide it, but the mere fact that Dean was reacting like he was made his own hands fist. He wondered if it would be better to tell him the truth, to call Cas and have the conversation Cas thought was such a bad idea. Only the knowledge that Dean's reaction to the truth would be exponentially worse if he knew what Sam did in the future compared to what he had done now—killing the witch the way he had – kept him silent.

Dean was scared, that was the simple truth of it; he was scared of Sam and what he was doing, perhaps of what he was becoming. Sam understood it. If their positions were reversed, he would feel the exact same way. He would perhaps react even more strongly, given Dean's recent excursion to Hell. He would think it had changed Dean more than he had thought previously. Sam wished Dean would tell him the truth already. After he'd confessed to his shame of what he'd done in hell, things had seemed a little easier for him, as if the strain of the lie was harder than the strain of the truth. Anything that would help Dean was worth it to Sam. He considered pushing him for the truth, maybe lying about what Dean was saying in his dreams, but decided against it. Dean would probably just shut down even further if he tried.

They turned onto Bobby's road and Dean steered the car through the wrought iron arch that led to the scrap yard. Sam was glad to get there, not just to escape the stifling tension of the car but also to see Bobby. It felt like a lifetime ago that he had last seen his friend, even though it had been only a day or so. He was not going to see that Bobby though. This was going to be the Bobby who hadn't yet lived through an apocalypse, the Bobby who had not been betrayed by Sam, at least not that he knew of.

The driver's side door creaked as Dean threw it open, and Sam was startled from his thoughts. Dean didn't wait for him to get out before taking the steps two at a time and throwing open the door. Sam climbed out of the car and followed him in.

Bobby was at the stove, stirring a pot of something that smelled mouthwatering. They had only stopped for breakfast on the road—an uncomfortable affair in a diner during which Dean spoke in monosyllables to the waitress and avoided Sam's eyes—and Sam was hungry.

"Hey, Bobby."

Bobby looked up and smiled slightly. "Hey. You boys hungry?"

"Starved," Sam said, but Dean grunted something about taking a shower before striding from the room.

"What's up with him?" Bobby asked.

"Tough hunt."

Sam went to the fridge and pulled out two beers. He twisted off the caps and handed one to Bobby then took a deep draw from his own. He sat at the table, staring at Bobby—he hoped—covertly. There were a few less lines around his eyes and fewer grey hairs creeping out from under his trucker cap. It was more than that though. Bobby looked… freer? He hadn't the cares he had in the future even though they were heading toward the apocalypse. In this time he had faith that they could avert it. He didn't know Sam would doom them all.

"I got something on my face?" Bobby asked, fixing Sam with a pointed look.

Sam ducked his head, embarrassed to be caught staring. "I guess I spaced. Sorry."

"It's fine," Bobby said with a grin. "I know I'm irresistible."

Sam laughed. It was a bright, happy sound in the room, and it made him feel lighter.

The sound of the shower starting up came from up the stairs and Bobby's eyes drifted to the door. "So, tell me about this tough hunt."

Sam's good mood evaporated. "It was Samhain, real badass demon."

Bobby nodded. "Heard of him."

"Yeah, well some witches were attempting to raise him. It was one of the seals."

"And you failed?" Bobby guessed.

"No, we stopped them. Only…I don't think Dean liked the way I did it."

Bobby raised an eyebrow. "Let me guess, you got your psychic whatever on."

"No," Sam said, stung despite the fact Bobby was close to the truth of the other time.

Bobby raised his hands, placatory. "Sorry. You can't blame me for thinking it though."

"No, I guess not," Sam said quietly. "Anyway, you want to hear the ending?"

Bobby gestured for him to go on.

"I killed the first witch easily enough, used Ruby's knife. It was the second that was the problem. She was so close, Bobby, to getting the ritual done, I had to do it." He drew a deep breath. "I broke her neck."

Bobby's eyes widened. "You broke her neck! With your bare hands?"

Sam nodded reluctantly. "Yeah."

Bobby whistled between his teeth. "I see."

"I had no choice," Sam said defensively. "It was that or a whole town getting wiped off the map by the angels."

That was the crux of it. Sam did what he did to save a whole town. He hadn't enjoyed it, he wasn't proud, but he'd done the right thing. The seal was saved and the witches were dead. That was all that mattered.

He could feel Bobby's eyes on him and he looked up, meeting his gaze. "I did what I had to do."

"Yeah," Bobby said slowly. "I get that, I do, but at the same time…" he sighed.

"What?"

"You're different."

Sam closed his eyes, trying to calm himself. Of course he was different. He had been different the first time he lived through these days, too. He had lived four months without his brother, doing everything he could to save Dean, almost killing himself. That had changed him even without the demon blood. Now he was back with a mission. He had to save the damn world from the dick angels. Dean was carrying Hell on his back, and Sam was carrying the world.

"Yeah," he said, turning away. "I am."

"Sam…" Bobby said behind him, consoling and a little apologetic.

Sam didn't look back. He went out to the car and grabbed his duffel from the truck. When he came back inside, Bobby was staring pointedly at the pan on the stove. He didn't say anything as Sam passed through the room and made his way up the stairs.

Sam went into the bedroom he and Dean shared when they were crashing at Bobby's. He sat on the edge of his bed and rested his slightly shaking hands on his knees. He had thought Bobby would understand what he did, even though Dean hadn't. Bobby hadn't even been there, and yet his reaction was almost a carbon copy of Dean. Maybe Sam had made a mistake by insisting that they come back here. Maybe he should have let the dust settle, given Dean a chance to get over it before coming back, so he would have a little support. Would he though? Was this something Dean would ever understand?

He heard the shower shutting off and a minute later, Dean came into the room with a towel wrapped around his waist. He glanced at Sam with an unreadable expression and then picked up his duffel and rooted through it for clean clothes.

"I'm gonna shower."

"Bobby's cooking," Dean reminded him without meeting his eye.

"Not hungry," Sam lied. He was hungry, starving even, but he didn't want to deal with the disapproval from two angles while he tried to eat.

When Sam was showered and dressed, he padded down the stairs and into the hall. He was on the verge of entering the library when he heard the voices within.

"He just snapped it, like snapped it?"

"I told ya, Bobby, it was like he was a machine. Bare hands. No emotion. No regret. Just determination." He heard the sound of metal scraping china and he realized they were eating. He was apparently the dinner conversation.

"That don't sound like him," Bobby said. "I mean, he told me what happened, but he didn't exactly seem proud of what he did."

He heard a heavy sigh and then Dean's voice. "Proud or not, he did it, and it was cold. I don't know, Bobby, he isn't the same man."

"Who is anymore?" Bobby asked. "You're different, I'm different, and Sam is, too. We've had a hell of a year, and we've got these damn seals looming over us and angels flapping around."

"That's another thing. He met Castiel and this other dick Uriel, and he just… I don't know, he wasn't scared of them at all. They were threatening to take out the whole town and Sam treated it like a joke."

Sam frowned. He hadn't treated that like a joke. He'd been dead serious. The only time he gave the angels crap was when they gave it first. They deserved it, too.

"I thought Sam was down on the side of the angels," Bobby said.

"Me too, but he sure as hell wasn't when he was with them. It was like he didn't care what they thought. It wasn't that long ago that he was praying and all dewy eyed at the thought of them."

There was the sound of cutlery being dropped heavily down onto the table and a scraping that told him someone had pushed their plate away. "I don't know that this is a bad thing," Bobby said, and Sam's head snapped up. "He might be a little different—"

"Little," Dean scoffed.

"—but he's hunting like a pro now. Isn't that what you and your daddy always wanted? He's committed in a way he's never been before. Even the last year, when you were careening toward the rack, he didn't care about the hunt; he was all about saving you. He's a damn good hunter, too, and we're going to need him if we're going to come out on top over Lilith. I think you just have to trust in your brother, Dean."

There was a prolonged silence, and then Dean said. "Remember what Yellow-Eyes said, about Sam coming back different?"

"Yeah."

"Maybe this is it," Dean said in a low voice. "Maybe there really is something wrong with him."

Sam sucked in a quiet breath. He didn't know Yellow-Eyes has said that to Dean. It all clicked into place now though. Why Dean had been constantly asking him how he felt and if he was okay. He wasn't concerned for Sam; he was worried Sam was changing.

Sam had heard enough. He wouldn't, couldn't, listen to this anymore. He didn't want any more insight into what his brother was thinking. If this was how he was reacting to one dead witch, how would he handle it if he knew about what Sam was yet to do? Sam hoped he never found out.

So… There's still tension between Sam and Dean in the past — sorry about that — but we got some good Soulless Sam time in the present. I love Soulless Sam.

Until next time…

Clowns or Midgets xxx