Hello everybody! Thank you all for your patience. Here we go again! The biggest hug for my beta Emrys, who despite her busy schedule manages to find the time to make this story a bit more readable.

-5-

In the daylight, the sight of what was left of my brother's apartment was disheartening. The façade was blackened and had peeled off. The windows had exploded and there were pieces of glass all over the sidewalk. The door was hanging off of its hinges, but the unbarred doorway was sealed off with police tape. There was a patrol car keeping watch on the place, and one of the officers stepped out of the vehicle as soon as he saw us coming. Sam, mask firmly in place, moved forward to meet him and said his piece without blinking. Or at least without blinking any more than was strictly needed to convince the cop to let us have a look inside, just in case there was something left to save.

A couple of minutes later we were in. Truth be told, I didn't know Sam had become that good.

Inside, the apartment was completely wrecked. The walls were carbonized, the furniture, shattered. The floor had the spongy quality of moist cinder and was a mess of dirty tracks and footprints that spoke volumes about the frantic activity of firemen, cops, and probably appraisers too. The ash muffled our steps, dried out our throats and made our eyes itch. Over our heads, part of the ceiling had collapsed and debris had piled up under the gap. Beams protruded from the ceiling's cracked edges, and cut cables silently swung slowly in the void even though there was no breeze. It was like entering a nightmare realm.

I glanced at Sam in the half-light, but I could only wonder how being back there was affecting him since his expression was set and he wasn't giving anything away. Seemingly unfazed by the destruction around him, he took out the EMF detector and scanned his surroundings with a critical eye. Apparently, the memory of what the apartment had once been to him had been shoved deep down in his mind. Instead of seeing the past, he was putting all his energy into the search for whatever it was that had destroyed it. I respected him for it. More than that, I admired him.

I connected the video camera and set it on night vision to help scan what was left of the small living room. The EMF detector wavered almost immediately, and Sam tensed.

"I'm getting something," he grunted.

"It's just a residual," I whispered back, eyes locked on the little video screen as I carefully walked through the room.

"How can you be so sure?"

"Because the camera's getting nothing. There's no supernatural presence, only traces, and that's what the EMF is detecting," I replied evenly.

He didn't argue back.

The last room we walked into was his bedroom, which was in even worse condition than the rest of the apartment. Sam hung back a moment as if he was reluctant to go in. But just when I was about to suggest I'd go in alone, he followed me with movements that were only a little bit more hesitant. As soon as he got in, he glanced toward the ceiling with eyes that were a little bit more haunted. I smiled sadly to myself. It was one way Sammy was different than me; no matter how much it hurt, how scared he was, he always had to see, to ask questions, to find answers. To know, regardless of what it may take from him, even if it was his life, his sanity.

Me, I probably would've avoided looking at the ceiling at all cost.

But what I saw was Sam's bed, practically buried under rubble. What I knew was that he had been close to dying in there, and that single thought was making me sick.

"Sam," I called when it didn't seem like he was going to tear his eyes from the collapsed ceiling anytime soon.

He blinked and snapped out of his staring spell to look back at the detector. He was trying to be professional, but the hand holding the device was shaking slightly.

"The signal is stronger in here," he said, clearing his throat.

I approached him and looked over his shoulder to see the detector. He tilted his head and turned around to meet my eyes. I took a few seconds before meeting his gaze, knowing he was expecting me to confirm there was something in the house.

Something that could be killed.

"Another trace," I said, shaking my head and looking away. "The parameters of the signal are too low."

"But…"

"Bring it over here."

Sam frowned and didn't move until I nodded at him.

"C'mon, check this out," I said, insisting that he come closer.

He walked to me and eyed the debris on his bed through the camera screen. The edges of its collapsed fragments glowed in the greenish image. He clenched his teeth and brought the detector closer. The signal intensified.

"What is it?" he breathed.

I was already kneeling next to the bed and studying the debris. Carefully, I ran my fingers over the surface and felt the sandy substance that got stuck on my fingertips before smelling it.

"I'll be damned," I swore under my breath.

"Dean?"

"It's sulfur."

Sam paled visibly.

"Sulfur?" he repeated.

"I think so, yeah."

He hesitantly ran his hand over the pieces of rubble and then sniffed it. He wrinkled his nose and dropped his hand immediately, swallowing furiously.

"You think it…it could be a…"

"A demon."

"But how…why?" He was forcing his voice to be steady, but it still sounded raw to me.

"I don't know, Sam. We don't even know if it's a demon. Maybe there're other things that can leave sulfur traces."

"But it's the same thing, right? The same thing that killed Mom?"

"Maybe… Maybe not."

Not for the first time, I realized how little we knew about the thing that had killed our mother 22 years ago. However, Sam didn't seem to have the slightest doubt that the demon was involved with Jessica's death, and that knowledge spurred him to conscientiously resume his search. While my head swirled with the new information and my stomach flip-flopped so hard it felt like I had swallowed an iron ball, Sam was completely focused.

A demon

How was that possible?

A demon

What did that mean?

A demon

Did my father know?

A demon. A demon. A demon.

Why? Why us

I shook my head, maybe to clear my thoughts, probably to banish them completely. After all, that was my MO: deny what I was unable to process, bury it for the time being and hope that in the future I would find a way to either deal with it or at least stop it from exploding inside of me.

Aware that I had spaced out for a while, I came back to my senses, and realized I could no longer hear Sam rummaging around.

"Sam?" I called out.

When he didn't answer, I left his wrecked bedroom and went to the living room.

"Hey," I said, tilting my head in response to the curiosity I was feeling. Sam was kneeling on the floor in front of what once could have been an end table and was staring fixedly at something in his hand. "Found something?"

He turned his head a couple of inches, but didn't face me.

"No," he replied hoarsely. "Nothing."

He stood up and stormed out of the apartment, avoiding my eyes and leaving me astonished. I opened and closed my mouth, wanting to call him back, then thinking better of it and finally getting ready to bolt after him. But first, I eyed the floor next to the end table and spotted what had gotten my brother so shook up. It was a picture, half burnt but still intact enough to clearly show an image of Jess and Sam holding each other and smiling happily at the camera.

oooooooooooooOooooooooooooo

Sam barely made it to the back alley before throwing up. His breakfast had been meager at best, and when I got to him he had already emptied his stomach and was retching dryly. I took a hesitant step forward but Sam raised a trembling hand to keep me at a distance. Another heave racked his body, and he couldn't stop the pained moan that escaped his lips. I swear it wasn't just sympathy that made me wince, but real, pure pain of my own at seeing him crumpled brokenly on the dirty floor. Seeing my brother hurt was something that had always made me react physically, and when a new violent heave made him whimper I had to bite hard on my lip to choke back a cry.

I stood there, watching Sam helplessly for more than five minutes before the retching subsided and his stomach finally gave him a break. By then, he looked terrible; his face was covered in sweat, and he was as pale as a ghost. He tried to stand up, but his knees buckled and he swayed into the wall with a grunt. I swallowed, tasting copper in my mouth and came closer.

"Hey," I said, placing an arm around his waist.

Sam groaned and tried to free himself from my grasp, but I was pretty sure that if I let go of him he would fall on his face, and I wasn't going to allow that.

"C'mon, dude."

"G-get off m-me."

I pursed my lips and sighed.

"In a sec," I promised, trying to appease him. "Just take it easy now, okay?"

"Dean…"

He sounded as if I was suffocating him, so I caved in and loosened my hold to give him some room to breathe. Still unsteady, he allowed me to keep a hand over his back while he bent forward with his hands on his knees and struggled to catch his breath. The dizzy spell abated after a few seconds, and he straightened up against the wall, tilting his head backward. Only then did I let go of him, rubbing his back as I dropped my hand with a gentleness that surprised me. I was afraid that I needed him to feel I was there more than he actually needed me to be, and that if I didn't get a grip on myself, my own emotions would take over. If that happened, I wouldn't be of any use to Sam at all.

"Sammy."

"I'm fine," he grunted.

His voice was firmer, shaking just a little on the edges. It was proof that he had gotten himself together and wanted me to drop it, but this time I couldn't. So far I had been okay with not forcing him to talk, probably because it scared me as much as it scared him. But damn, his girlfriend had just died. That tough Winchester attitude stunt of his seemed wrong on all levels. It wasn't like him. It was more like…

"Sam."

Well, me.

"Dean, don't!" he snapped, stepping away from the wall. "I said I'm fine."

I definitely recognized what he was doing. I had done it so many times, and I had seen our father doing just the same thing often enough. Years of trying to make Sam one of us was exploding right in my face.

"Man, I know it's hard," I said, following him and struggling with the words. "But if you need to talk…"

"Talk? What's there to talk about?" he retorted.

"Sam, you're not fine," I blurted. "Damn, nobody would be after what you've been through!"

"And what do you want me to say? What are you gonna say to me, huh?" he challenged, turning on his heels and facing me with a deadly glare.

Here it was: the anger. And I had brought it on all by myself.

"I don't know…" I said, swallowing heavily.

"Exactly, you don't know shit, Dean. Leave.Me.Alone," he hissed, his face only inches away from mine. And then, as an afterthought, he twisted the metaphorical knife deeper. "Hell, if I had wanted to fucking talk, I'd have gone and stayed with Simon."

I knew that he was upset and that he was just trying to provoke me. But he had a point. Staying with me must have seemed like safe ground to him. I wasn't a caring friend who would make him deal and help him through his grief. I was a cold, careless demon hunter who wouldn't push him and would go all business on him instead. After all, since when did we talk? Definitely not during the last four years, that was for sure. And currently, my inability to find the appropriate words was doing nothing other than proving him right.

I refused to let him see how much his words hurt me, although I think my eyes betrayed me, because something changed in his expression before I managed to find my voice.

"It's not too late for that," I murmured. He blinked at me in disbelief, and I thought I saw his chin tremble. "If that's what you need, I'll drive you there myself."

He held my gaze for a few, terrible seconds, wearing that unsettling look that screamed 'You don't get it, right? You don't get anything at all.' And I didn't, okay? I.Didn't. And that made me want to scream too.

Finally, Sam bit his lip and looked away.

"We don't have time for this. We have to do more research."

On that note, my brother turned and headed for the car. After a beat, I followed.

oooooooooooooOooooooooooooo

That night, the nightmares started. Or at least at the time I thought that they had started then. Sam woke up screaming, and I jolted awake, my hand clutching the knife under my pillow. Before I had had time to get my bearings, he had gotten up and locked himself in the bathroom. I sat up on the bed, tossed a look around to make sure there was no danger, and then took a couple of deep breaths to steady my heart rate. Sam used to have nightmares as a kid, but he hadn't woken up screaming from one of them since his early teens.

Then I figured that his having nightmares after what had happened was…well, about the only normal thing that had happened since this whole mess got started.

My brother exited the bathroom twenty minutes later, visibly upset, but more in control of himself. He glanced at me, saw that I was awake, and immediately averted his eyes to rebuild his walls. I didn't need to ask to know that any show of concern from me wouldn't be well received, especially after our earlier fight.

"Sam?"

But I had to try anyway.

"Go back to sleep, Dean," he ordered as he laid down on his side, his back to me.

I gave a bitter chuckle, knowing that neither of us was going to get any more sleep that night.

"Nah, I'm not sleepy," I muttered.

I reached out for the remote and turned the TV on. Sam shifted in the bed to glare at me, but there was no heat in his eyes as he wordlessly surveyed my profile under the bluish glow of the screen. I stared ahead stubbornly, as if watching commercials at 4AM was my most secret dream come true. Finally, he sighed and lay on his back to distract himself with the program too. To an outsider, it would have seemed like we were both absorbed by the television, but in reality we weren't paying any attention. We were just resting in silence as we hid from the sandman.

For a moment, a wave of familiarity enveloped me, and I savored it with nostalgia. When Sam was little and wasn't able to go back to sleep after a bad dream, I used to keep him company during his vigil. He would curl up against my side, and I'd read to him the first thing I had at hand.

I had nothing to read now, and some mindless television chatter replaced my voice. Suddenly I missed my brother's warmth; I missed feeling him relax against me…I missed feeling goddammed useful for a change. Sensing his distress, I eyed him sideways and cursed the abyss that separated us, which was much more insurmountable than the gap that separated our beds.

oooooooooooooOooooooooooooo

I'm aware I might be playing with your patience. Don't get nervous! I'd say we're half-way through the story. More angst coming!

Love xx