Sam paced from the window to the bathroom door, stood listening to Dean's singing for a minute, then wandered back to the window. Standing to one side he watched the men they'd seen the night before loading up trucks parked near the corner of the building. He'd made Dean promise not to go out alone, to wait for him. Now Sam was stuck doing the same thing. He was hungry and wanted coffee.

Mostly he wanted coffee.

Crossing to the diner, while not a long walk, would put him in direct sight of the other hunters. They had no idea why these men were here, but Sam no longer had a bit of trust for any hunter not Bobby, Dante or his brother. For that matter he had not a bit of trust left for anyone, hunter or not.

It would be foolish, endangering not just himself, but Dean. Putting himself on the line didn't bother Sam. Putting Dean there was unthinkable. If the other hunters even knew they were here, who they were…Sam suspected they did indeed, he'd seen a few of them pacing around the Impala, giving it curious stares. Could be simply someone interested in classic cars, but Sam doubted it.

Settling at the small table, giving the defunct coffee maker in their room a silent snarl, Sam flipped open the book Concha had given him. Head braced against palm, Sam read some more. Try as he did, the anger welling up from somewhere in his belly to fill his chest couldn't be stopped. Yet another thing about him kept from him, from both of them.

Biting his lip, Sam's other hand balled to a fist against his leg. His chest and throat were heavy and tight. Drawing in deep breaths, get a grip, it was a long time ago, doesn't matter now. Somehow his heart wouldn't agree with his head.

"You about ready?" Dean's voice made him start; straightening too fast the chair bumped across the carpeting. Dean's hand dropping on his shoulder made him jump a bit. "Whatcha reading?"

Having no choice, Sam leaned back in the chair so Dean could see the book. He caught Dean's profile; the sudden smile that made his eyes crinkle. The tightness in Sam's chest doubled, the heated angry worm in his middle chewed at his insides.

Holding his amulet up and out to face him, Dean laughed. "Hey look at that buddy. You're in one of those musty old books." He was talking to the amulet.

"He knew." Sam pushed the words out, thinking them hurt, saying them were agony.

"Who knew what?" Dean turned the book a bit, reading over Sam's shoulder, at the same time turning his amulet to compare it from different angles to the sketches in the book.

Shut your mouth Sam. "Nothing."

"Sam." Dean growled a warning. It wasn't one of the endearing growls Sam liked so much.

"I don't want to talk about it. I…just…forget it, okay, I never should have said anything."

Dean straightened, looking down at Sam. "You don't want to talk about it? Sam, you make a career out of wanting to talk about it. You always make me talk about it, so dude, you are too."

"Your amulet."

"What about it? You pissed at him now too?"

Not Dean's fault. "He knew." Sam barely managed to keep from shouting the words at Dean.

"My amulet knew what?" Dean looked so genuinely confused Sam wasn't sure if he was being played or if Dean really wasn't getting it.

"You're amulet is not a HE."

"Then who are we talking about?" Dean shouted, arms thrown out to his sides, confusion replaced by frustration on his face.

Sam stood and backed away a few steps so quickly the chair turned over, he tangled in it and barely avoided landing on his ass. "Dad!" He shouted back, grabbing the offending chair and heaving it to the side, bouncing it off one of the beds.

Dean's mouth opened, closed, opened again. His head dipped forward, eyebrows scrunched together. One side of his upper lip pulled up in a you're not making sense gesture. Blowing out a soft breath, Dean's right hand rose to his waist, dropped with a thud against his thigh. His left hand slammed the book shut and scooped it off the table.

For a few seconds Sam thought Dean was going to smack him across the face with the heavy book. Instead he tossed the book onto Sam's duffel. "Sam, you gave me this amulet. You. Not Dad. You."

"But he knew what it was. Told you not to ever take it off, because he knew."

"Sam! He told me that because I was twelve and lost shit all the time. And for the record you stupid moron, I never took it off BECAUSE YOU gave it to me! Not because of anything Dad said. I don't give a goddamn what he knew. I may have followed orders, but that doesn't mean I didn't think for myself or have my own feelings. Half the time what I did, I did because I wanted to, not because I was told to…by anyone!"

"You've never lost anything that's important to you."

"Give it a rest Sam. Enough. Stop. You need to stop this. It's nuts. You're so wrapped up in what Dad knew, didn't know, said, whatever. It's nuts Sam. He's dead, and nothing will change. Let it go."

"But he—"

"He what Sam? You've got to stop this. It's doing nothing but tearing you up. What the hell? I took care of you, I was always there. I did everything for you, not him. What the hell? Wasn't I good enough for you? Didn't I do enough for you? Why are you so damn concerned with what Dad didn't do? Or how he felt? I'm sorry he treated us differently, I am. But I can't do anything about that, I never could." Dean's hands fisted tight, pressed to his legs. His entire body trembled. It was plain to Sam, those words, sentiments, were never meant to come out, be spoken, hang between them. They were meant to remain forever locked inside Dean's head.

Sam's intestines oozed and slithered around themselves, his lungs constricted, unable to work properly. His knees felt wobbly. Tears blurred the world around him; he blinked them away angrily. How could he be that mean?

"Dean—"

Holding up one hand, visibly struggling to calm down, Dean's voice was low, a rough growl, an actual growl. "I don't want to hear it. I don't care. Dad is dead. It's done and over and I don't care about what he knew anymore."

"I'm sorry." Sam rasped out, anger draining out of him, deflating him and leaving him feeling hollow. "I didn't mean…I'm sorry."

Dean gave him a look that literally made Sam cringe, unsure what to expect from his brother. "Just…" he turned away, waved one hand at the room in general. "Just drop it." He moved about the room, stuffing things randomly into his duffel, throwing other things at Sam to be packed. "We're going to grab some food, you're going to shut your damn mouth on the subject, then we're getting to the orphanage, check it out and then find somewhere to hole up until this hurricane passes. End of discussion. Now get your ass to the car. Or stay here, whatever the hell you want."

Sam deciding moving his ass to the car was the wisest choice. Dean rarely became so angered with him, and suddenly he'd managed to do so to such a degree twice in a month. He'd been wrong to bring the subject up, let it bother him so much. It wasn't fair to Dean, who'd given up so much for him, to constantly have it thrown in his face how Sam felt about their father. It wasn't Dean's fault. He certainly had no control over any of it, suffered as much as Sam did, only in a different way.

They sat in silence at the diner. Sam ate, but didn't even pretend to taste or enjoy the meal put in front of him. Dean would flip out even more if he didn't eat, so Sam just shoved the food in, ignored how it needed to be forced down his throat, how his stomach protested being put to work.

"So what did he know, or what do you think he knew?" Dean snapped the words out, though is voice was soft. His gaze settled somewhere behind Sam, then dropped to his coffee cup.

Sam's own eyes flicked up, then away fast, startled by Dean's voice as much as his question. Dean was angry, but curious. This was new territory for Sam. Usually Dean would shut down, shut him out and ignore these issues. Completely caught off guard Sam stared, wide-eyed, at the table, his brain suddenly fumbling for something, anything to say, any words to come out his mouth that made even a semblance of sense.

"Sam." His name was spoken evenly, firmly, no malice, a quiet request.

When Sam looked up Dean was watching him, met his eyes, and held.

Completely uncharted territory.

Or maybe not. Dean had made some promises, maybe more to himself than to Sam recently. Dean never broke a promise to Sam in his life. No more secrets. I'll listen. Though Sam could never say Dean didn't listen. Maybe it was more Dean was honestly trying to see things from Sam's side. He tended to forget, getting so wrapped up with what might become of him, Dean was just as affected. Maybe even more so.

Dry tongue scraped over drier lips. "There are a few legends attached to it, your amulet. One of the more prevalent ones is it protects the wearer from evil, specifically people touched by evil, turned into something evil." Sam stared at his plate, aimlessly moving his fork around it as he spoke.

"And you've decided that means protect me from you?" Dean's voice was calm, almost too gentle. His face softened. "So that's what has you so cranked up? You think Dad knew this all along, even when you were little?"

Somehow hearing Dean say it aloud made the entire concept seem far-fetched and silly. Rationalizing didn't make Sam feel any better however. He shrugged.

After a few more minutes of fumbling around with his napkin and fork and Dean waiting patiently, Sam looked up. "Bobby told me it was for protection, that was it. Then ya know, a few months later Dad starts making a big deal out of you not taking the thing off. I figured he dug up more details."

Dean sighed, rubbed his forehead. "Sam, Dad hated the thing. He also kept telling me to stick it under my shirt, or don't you remember that part?"

Sam did. Smiling sheepishly his eyes drifted back down at the table. "I remember."

"Let. It. Go Sam. Whatever anyone other than you and me know about this—" Dean crooked his thumb through the leather cord around his neck, pulling it away from his chest and giving a shake so the amulet danced a bit, catching the light and reflecting it around the room. "—is irrelevant. If we need to know, we'll find out ourselves. You and me."

Sam wasn't thoroughly convinced, and maybe he never would be, but the expression Dean wore ended his desire for any further discussion right now. There was something odd about Dean's interest and his request to put the matter aside. Something deeper Sam wasn't seeing, and Dean wasn't talking about. He spent the few hours driving to the orphanage mostly quiet, mulling over in his head what the spoken as well as unspoken words from his brother meant.

The whole thing, every fact and detail kept from them by John under the guise of protecting his children hurt Sam. It must have gouged Dean to his very core. Finding out he wasn't as trusted, depended upon by their father as he'd always thought. Dean took it upon himself to be caretaker; it was his nature. Yet at every turn it seemed he'd been denied information. Sam, he could live with that, expected it. What it did to Dean angered him, not what John hadn't told him.

Grover's Point Orphanage, the original structure, sat nestled between a stretch of beach and gently rolling landscape. Today the dark gray skies edging to black, met with a dark, angry sea. Waves lashed the shoreline, coming higher and higher.

"When?" Dean asked. He found a higher spot to park the Impala. They'd walk from here. No way was either of them risking losing their car to encroaching waves. The more sandy ground surrounding the old building would be unstable from the rain and water, leaving the simple fact, their heavy car would mire down, getting stuck in the sludge and mud.

"Landfall is in three days."

"Direct hit?"

Sam nodded, wiped rain out of his eyes, and pushed wet bangs away from his face. "Of course."

"Figures," Dean sighed.

They slipped and slid their way toward the building. Sam trailed a pace or two behind Dean, watching with fascination as Dean's footprints in the sand filled with water oozing in from everywhere.

"We'll get what we can from here, but I want to be gone well before dark. No arguments. We're finding somewhere to ride this storm out. There'll be plenty of residual trails for us to follow, and I'm betting this thing hangs around for a bit after the storm to cash in on the emotional aftermath. Kids after something like this will be easy pickings." Dean stopped so fast, Sam bounced off his back. He had to take a few steps back so Dean's finger didn't poke up his nose. "And no lip or arguments from you about it."

"I wasn't giving you any, dumb ass."

Dean rolled his eyes, then his shoulders, nodded. "Well then, good."

The old building had stood the test of time, somewhat. The doors and windows were boarded up, but that was a small deterrent, nothing more than an inconvenience really. As soon as they stepped inside the musty entranceway, shivers slipped over Sam's skin, the feeling of tiny feet skimming his skin everywhere at once, despite the heat and humidity of the surrounding air.

Dean's eyes slid at him. "You feel that?" Bringing one hand up, Dean rubbed the back of his neck a few times, then let the hand fall to his side. It was an unconscious, nervous habit he had. Sam knew it was a sure a sign of Dean's unease as anything.

"Yes." Sam shivered again, pushing away thoughts of how warm and safe the spot between Dean's open jacket and his side looked just then.

Twisting his upper half as far as possible, Dean's gaze swept the room. Sam waited, knowing his brother needed to have a good mental picture of every inch of the place, where they were exposed, where they were confined, where to get out. It was sheer instinct, this hunter part of Dean, and something Sam never completely mastered, no matter how hard he worked and tried. So he waited for Dean to do his assessment. Sam supposed this was what a true team was, each had their strengths. Where Dean was weak, Sam excelled and visa versa. It made them a whole, strong, invincible, formidable. It was a weapon in itself.

The hunter.

Even their Dad always said Dean could sniff out a spook from a mile off. Which really, was a pretty good trick considering spooks and spirits had no body odor.

Sam found the legends, the sigils, incantations, and artifacts they often used. Dean put them into practice. It was in that part of the hunt Sam stood back, took his cues from his brother and backed him up. Dean was the true hunter. Sam found over the years staying behind his brother and following his lead was not only productive, but smart and the safest thing to do.

He watched as Dean stepped away a few paces, peering down a hall, then aiming his flashlight up a flight of stairs, every few seconds turning back to make eye contact with Sam. Another shiver skipped through him, more tiny pinpricks edged with frost slithered over his arms, neck, back. While his lungs filled with frigid air, his brain filled with thoughts of Dean hunting alone while Sam was at Stanford. Dean without someone to bounce his ideas off of, figure out the fine nuances of each case with, tell his crappy jokes to, just talk to, churned Sam's stomach. Sam knew the hunts their father and Dean teamed up on were few and far between.

The hunter.

Dean was better. Better than Sam, better than Bobby, better than John. Better than everyone. It occurred to Sam just then, maybe part of Dean's being better was his ability, his preference to hunting with someone, with Sam. Each had their own strengths and weaknesses, complimenting each other perfectly. Dean was one of the few, if not the only hunter Sam knew who preferred a partner. He'd preferred Sam, but had worked with others. Sam had met some, heard stories from Dean of a few. It was Dean's ability to work with someone, bring out their strengths and use them, that contributed to making him better Sam was sure.

The chilled air made the sweat trickling down Sam's back an icy ribbon on his skin. It wasn't unnaturally cold, but it shouldn't have been cold in here at all.

Dean took a few steps toward one hallway. The floorboards creaked and groaned, Sam saw a few of them bend under his brother's weight. Aiming his flashlight first down the hall, then to the floor, then swung around to a hall opposite, Dean shook his head. "This is…safe." One foot out in front, Dean leaned more of his weight on it, bounced his knee a few times.

Smiling Sam stepped behind him, testing the floor as he moved. Sam was taller, but Dean actually weighted slightly more. Their combined weight might be too much for any spot of floor at once, so Sam sidestepped, putting a few feet between himself and Dean, spreading out their weight.

Pointing with his light, "There's bound to be an office or records' room around here. Why don't you try that way, I'll check this part out."

The hunter. The prey.

"No!" The word hissed between Sam's lips before he could stop it. Reaching out before Dean could move away, Sam's fingers wound in the material covering his brother's arm.

Dean froze, turned far enough to give him a searching look. "Sam." It was a talent, how Dean could roll question, order, comment and affection all into one word. The guy was just busting with talent Sam decided.

When Sam didn't answer immediately Dean quirked an eyebrow and raised his free arm out and to his side.

"I…I don't know. Okay? I don't know."

Dean nodded, free hand moving in to pat Sam's chest before he stepped toward the closest hallway. A gentle tug of his arm had Sam moving with him. "Stick close."

Well, ya, wasn't that sort of the point Sam was trying to make?

Huffing a breath, Sam let go of Dean as they came to the first doorway. Sounds of rain and wind outside faded the further into the building they moved. The rooms inside, old and dusty, appeared to be some sort of apartment, probably belonged to one of the staff. The other doors lining that hall produced pretty much the same sort of rooms, so they made their way to the other side of the main floor. There they found a records' room, offices, places to start their search. Places likely to yield results.

In short order they'd pulled out and were going through records, doing fast scans. What they wanted to examine more completely they'd take with them, read them by something other than yellow tinted flashlight in a building likely to come down around their ears at anytime. One after another Sam saw, as he skimmed each file he'd pulled from a cabinet lining one wall, children. Unwanted, unloved, unprotected children left open by circumstance to be preyed upon by this demon, this boogeyman.

Chest tightening, Sam felt hot tears sting his eyes. He wished desperately these children had been given, felt, even for a day, what he had while growing up. That thought was so startling it made him stop reading. He'd never considered his childhood anything but wrong. Yet here was evidence to the contrary, in these musty old files. These children never knew a loving family or the kindness and security of someone who cared for them. They'd never known anything but hate, distrust and bigotry. Not so for Sam, who'd been loved, cared for, kept safe his entire life. For maybe the first time ever in his life, Sam was thankful for the childhood he'd had.

A heavy hand resting on his shoulder, strong fingers curling around and gripping shocked him enough he nearly yelped. That he jumped was totally unavoidable. Behind him Dean snickered. When he turned, Dean's face sobered at once.

"You alright?"

"Why wouldn't I be?" Sam didn't mean to sound so harsh, but the way Dean's eyes skimmed his face, it was unsettling. Why did he always feel like he was transparent to Dean when his brother wore that look?

"You just looked a bit pasty there for a second." Dean gave him another glance before moving a few steps away. Maybe Sam was transparent to Dean.

Sam smiled softly. "I'm fine." He put down the file he held, rubbed his arms with his hands, then crossed them over his chest, burying fists in armpits. "There was no comparison." He blurted out.

"Huh?"

"Between you and Dad. There never was. He couldn't even begin to come close."

Dean turned, gave Sam a silent, appraising look before dipping his chin down and back up once. He studied Sam's face for a few seconds, seemed about to say something when confusion slowly spread over his face. Sam thought for a few seconds he hadn't heard him, or understood what Sam said. Or worse yet Sam managed to reignite Dean's earlier anger.

Along the edges of Sam's vision the world darkened by a fraction, or maybe it was illusion, his imagination.

Dean's eyes widened. Confusion gave way to apprehension, then outright fear. Dean sucked in a breath and lurched at Sam. The world's edges were definitely growing dimmer, murkier.

It can't hurt us Sammy, it has no power over us. We protect one another, believe one another. We have each other.

"Dean!" Sam met Dean halfway, both fists bunching in Dean's leather jacket, trying to pull Dean to him. Dean's feet scrabbled along the mildewed wooden flooring. The dark edges of the world folded inward, coming at them. Dean's hands grasped his arms at the elbows. "Hang on!" Sam shouted.

It can't just take us or it would have.

Sam desperately tried insinuating himself into that spot between Dean's jacket and side. Dean was doing everything he could to help Sam's efforts. The cloud of black rolled ever closer. Dean started sliding away, threatening to be yanked from Sam's grasp.

The black spread farther, crowded closer to them, Sam pulled with everything he had, trying to haul Dean back, closer to him. Dean's feet pushed along the floor, tried to propel him at Sam. His fingers gripped Sam's arms tighter, with incredible strength.

As if hit by some electric shock Dean's body arched, his mouth worked, but no sound came out. His eyes snapped shut, then open. He tried twisting around, putting himself between Sam and the encroaching black. At the same time he pushed against Sam in an attempt to move him back, as Sam pulled on Dean to move him away.

Dean's entire body jerked, arms and legs captured by spasms. Then his fingers opened. A surprised yelp and Dean was torn from Sam's grasp, flung with arms and legs trailing at the black cloud.

"SAA—AMMHEE!" Was Dean's final cry, plea, as he was sucked away into the darkness.

The silence was deafening. Sam stood there for a heartbeat, not processing what just happened. "Dean! DEAN!"

In the next instant thunderous crashing coming from everywhere at once erupted. Sam shuddered, then was shoved back a few steps. "DEAN!"

The floor beneath him bent and groaned in protest. Splintering, it fell away, sending Sam plummeting down into darkness.