A/N: Thanks, sifi, for the wonderful vision of Wet!Chesters. The credit goes to you for this idea!

Warning: Some language, nothing too much, but still...

Chapter Nineteen

Sam quickly ended the call, shutting his cell phone off and slipping it in his pocket as Dean got out of the bathroom.

"You okay?" Dean asked at Sam's hasty movements.

"What? Oh, right. Um, yes, I'm fine." Sam said, closing the laptop and packing it up. Dean raised a brow, not really convinced.

"You sure?"

"I don't know, Dean. How are you feeling?" Sam asked pointedly. Dean rolled his eyes.

"Fine, be that way." He grunted, shouldering his duffle. "You coming, or what?" Sam shouldered his own duffle, following his brother out to the car.

They had been quiet at breakfast; Sam, because he was still troubled about having yet another vision of Lynn burning on the ceiling, and Dean, because Sam was making him eat a healthy breakfast again. Well, he ordered it, at least. No one said anything about Dean actually eating this stuff.

"Dean, grow up and eat the vegetables, would you?" Sam snapped at him. Dean muttered something under his breath, turning the page of the paper he had been reading and taking a long swig of his coffee. "It's muffins, Dean. You like muffins!" Sam noted.

"I don't like bran muffins." Dean muttered petulantly, but ate it just the same at Sam's aggravated eye roll. "Dude, if you're gonna keep ordering every meal we eat, I'm gonna starve!" he said in an undertone as Sam got up to pay the check.

The rain started again as they were on their way back to the Jefferson house. This time, Dean drove the car to the front of the house. He pulled the car over by the long driveway, taking the keys out of the ignition. Neither brother moved to get out of the car. They both sat, staring at the house and the tiny drops of rain slowly covering the windshield.

"You sure you're ready for this?" Sam asked, glancing at Dean, who gave a slight nod.

"Yes." He took a deep breath. "Good day for some sprit ass kicking, don't you think?" he smirked, turning to look at Sam.

"Dean…"

"I'm fine, Sam. Good as new." Dean promised.

"Well, we're not separating this time." Sam insisted. As a matter of fact, he didn't plan on letting Dean out of his sight.

"You don't need me to hold your hand or anything, though, right?" Dean asked in mock seriousness, and then smirked again as Sam opened the car door. The rain had nearly stopped, but there were large puddles all around the house, some of them looking pretty deep. "Should've come out the back again." Dean noted as the brothers started taking their gear out of the trunk.

"Widdle Dean is afwaid of the big puddle?" Sam grinned.

"Shut up!" Dean spat, putting a few extra shells in his pocket. "I just don't like to get my feet all soaked." He added, closing the trunk.

"Well, I don't think you should worry," Sam said as they started towards the house, "I mean, they're pretty big, yeah, but look," he walked right into a puddle, "totally shallow." Dean shrugged, following Sam but avoiding the puddles as best he could. Unfortunately, there was a huge puddle right in front of the front door, with slippery mud everywhere. Dean tested the mud, trying to get around the murky puddle. Sam laughed at him, pulling him along.

"Would you come on? It's not like it's…"

The rest of Sam's words were drowned in the splash sound the puddle made as two Winchesters found themselves underwater.

"Well, the rest were shallow, how was I supposed to know?" Sam protested at the murderous look Dean shot him as they stood in waist-deep muddy water, wet and covered in muck.

"You'd better pray it's the spirit that gets you, Sammy!" Dean gritted, spitting out mud, as he tried to climb out of the slippery puddle, the thick mud all around making it impossible to find a stronghold that would help them out. "Well, that's just great!" Dean huffed, shaking his hands to get the mud off.

"Look, I'm sorry, alright?" Sam asked, and then blinked, taking in his brother's wet form. He did his best to stop from bursting out laughing, knowing all too well that Dean might take it the wrong way.

"Damn, the rock salt!" Dean cried out, quickly fishing the rifles and the extra shells out of the murky water and onto the mud, hoping they won't get ruined. "I am so kicking your ass, Sam!" Dean said, trying to claw his way out of the water again.

That's when he heard something unexpected. Slowly, with deadly seriousness, he turned his deadly glare on his younger brother. "What are you laughing at?" he demanded, only to be hit by a slab of mud. "Oh, you so did not throw that dirt thingy at HEY!" he cried when Sam splashed some more water his way. "That's real mature, Sammy. Real mature." He said, and with a little hop and a shove, managed to completely submerge Sam.

"Dean!" Sam cried, spitting out water and dirt as Dean laughed. "Why'd you do that for? You'd better not gotten dad's journal all wet, we need the ritual to get rid of the spirit!" Sam snapped.

"You started it." Dean muttered, pushing himself out of the water and helping Sam out, but not before pushing him under again. Payback's a bitch, but that doesn't mean it can't be fun sometimes.

Sam rubbed his shoulder, waiting for Dean to lock the door. The hunt had gone surprisingly well, with the slight exception of Sam slipping in one of the pools of water the two had left on their way to the bathroom and landing hard on his rear end. It was still a little sore, but all things considered, Sam couldn't even remember a hunt going that well in the past, well, ever.

Both brothers used the opportunity to shower and wash their clothes in the Jefferson's large washing machine, and Sam had to admit, the fabric softener was a nice touch, even though Dean kept muttering something about hunting down some teddy bear.

They even confiscated a little treasure; imported beer Dean had found in the fridge. Dean said it would be a crime to leave it hanging around, and so he didn't. Everything had gone without a hitch. They even found a Led Zeppelin CD and played it, listening in surround with those perfect speakers.

Dean seemed like he'd just glimpsed at heaven, sitting there in the leather recliner, with his feet up, a beer in his hand, his eyes closed and a huge grin on his face, while Sam did his best to clean up after them.

"You know," Sam said as they turned away from the house, pursing his lips and shaking his head. He just had a bad feeling about this.

"What?" Dean asked, frowning at the look on Sam's face. Sam shook his head again.

"I don't know," he said, "I just have this feeling…"

"Feeling? Like, 'I wanna hug a tree' feeling or like 'I see dead people' feeling?" Dean asked, slipping the keys in his pocket and taking out the car keys. Sam shot him a look.

"Funny." He said dryly. "No, it's just… it was… almost… easy, don't you think?" Sam stuttered, trying to find the right words to describe the nagging feeling deep in his gut. Dean nodded his head in a 'yes, no' gesture.

"Well, you didn't get strangled." He noted.

"And you didn't get flung across the room." Sam offered, and Dean nodded again as they headed back to the car. "I mean, it's our luck after all… I just feel like something bad is going to happen, you know?" Sam asked, still feeling on edge, still waiting for the other shoe to drop.

And then it did.

Dean pushed him in the deep puddle again.

"DEAN!" Sam yelled, but couldn't help the grin spreading on his face to the sound of his brother's laughter. He wiped the muck from his face, rolling his eyes, and climbed out of the puddle. He will get his revenge. Oh, he will so get his revenge. "Whatever man," Sam said as he finally made it to the car, where Dean was standing, cracking up. "I'm just glad you're okay." He added.

And then, without warning, Sam hugged Dean. He made damn sure to get his brother as dirty and wet as he was. Plus, the whole hug-horror face Dean had was totally worth it.

For about half a second.

And then Sam yelped, his eyes widening at Dean's pleased smirk.

Dean had a hand full of mud. Mud that was making its way down the back of Sam's shirt.

"Dean!" Sam cried, but Dean just laughed, cleaning his hand on Sam's shirt, and got in the car. Sam shook his head. That would never have happened if they'd still had the Impala, he thought, shuddering at the sticky feeling in his back, and climbed onto the car.

Something was different when Sam came out of the shower. He could instantly tell something has changed.

Dean was sitting on his bed, resting against the headboard and leafing though John's journal like he'd done a million times before. Sam dried his hair, tossing the wet towel on the floor when he was done with it. He reached for his duffle and took out his last clean shirt, putting it on. Definitely time to do some laundry. Too bad they didn't bring their clothes with them to the Jefferson house - that was one big washing machine. Dean didn't look up from the journal. Sam ran his fingers through his hair, trying to fashion it to his liking. Dean still didn't look up, not even to make inappropriate hair jokes.

"Well, I'm starving. You want to go grab some dinner?" Sam suggested. "I'll even let you order your own food this time." Sam smiled, trying to joke. It didn't work. It actually backfired.

"Stop treating me like I'm freakin' four, Sam!" Dean snapped. Sam raised a brow.

The ride back to the motel had been great. It was wonderful actually, mud and wet, clingy clothes notwithstanding. It was just like it used to be before… Before. They joked, and teased, with loud rock blaring through the speakers and high spirits.

Nothing happened when they got to the motel. Dean went in the bathroom, and then Sam finally got to shower, and then he got out and there was tension in the air again. He couldn't understand it. He had no idea what had happened. Well, he had one idea actually.

"Anyone called while I was in the shower?" Sam asked, keeping his voice as nonchalant as possible. Dean glanced at him.

"No. Why, you expecting a call?" he asked, and Sam could swear the temperature in the room just dropped a few degrees. He shrugged.

"Just asking." Sam said, "Anyway, what about that dinner? 'Cause I really am starving." Dean gave him a sidelong glance, slamming the journal shut, and got off the bed. "You know, if you're tired or not feeling well, I can always…"

"I'm fine, Sam." Dean stopped him. "Let's go eat." He said, grabbing his jacket and heading for the door, leaving one flabbergasted Sam behind.

Sam shook his head, rolling his eyes, exhaling loudly. "Just talk to me, man." He said in a small voice. "Dean, just… Please, talk to me."

"There's nothing to talk about, Sam." Dean said dryly, trying to separate his clothes into two piles; dirty, and really need a wash, putting the latter into the machine. Sam was sitting Indian style on his own machine. They weren't the only people at the Laundromat at this hour, but neither really cared.

"Dean…"

"There's nothing to talk about, Sam." Dean repeated, louder this time, and closed the machine door, starting it.

"What happened?" Sam pushed, "One minute everything was fine, and then I go to the bathroom, and it's like, I don't know, I don't know what I did, Dean. Just tell me what I did." He pleaded.

"I don't know what you're talking about, man." Dean said, sitting atop the washer, "You didn't do anything. I'm not mad. Everything's fine." He added a moment later. Fine. Sam was really starting to hate that word.

"Fine." He muttered, looking at his watch. "So, the laundry should take about an hour, we can hit the road in about two, two and a half hours, be back in Armain just after midnight." Sam said, watching Dean's reaction. And there it was. The jaw clenching, looking away, biting the lip. He still thinks I'm gonna leave him? Damn it, Dean, what can I do, what can I say to make you believe me? I'm not leaving you, would you get that through your thick skull?

"Yeah, well, I doubt that." Dean said, jumping off the washer. Sam frowned.

"What's that supposed to mean?" he demanded.

"Means I'm not going back there." Dean said, and then looked at Sam, "And neither are you." he added, a hint of warning in his tone.

"Excuse me?"

"We're not going back there, Sammy, so just… Call your girl, tell her it's not gonna happen." Dean said gruffly.

"Dean!" Sam got to his feet, getting in his brother's personal space. "First of all, stop calling her that. She's not my girl, she's not my girlfriend, and I'm not trying to get back there just to get laid, got it?" he demanded, and then went on just as Dean was about to speak. "And second, I'm not going to just pretend I didn't see what I saw, Dean. I saw her die. I can't pretend I didn't. I can't just walk away and then read about it in the paper!" Dean glanced nervously at the people staring at them with interest.

"We really need to do this now?" he asked. Sam narrowed his eyes, crossing his arms over his chest. This was not over. Not by a long shot. He turned, jumping back on the washing machine, and just sat there, seething.

"We're going!"

"No, we're not!"

"Dean,"

"Damn it, Sam!"

"Why?" Sam demanded, raising his voice, "Just answer me this, Dean, why?" Dean suddenly found the carpet extremely interesting. He gazed up to meet Sam's intent stare.

"I just… I have a bad feeling about this, okay?" Dean said, "I've been doing this long enough to trust my instincts, Sam." He added just as Sam was about to speak, shaking his head. "This… this thing… It just doesn't feel right." He explained.

"Well, maybe it doesn't feel right because you don't feel right." Sam snapped, "Maybe it doesn't feel right because you're sick, and you can't just go kicking down doors and saving the day, d'you even think about that?" he demanded. Dean gritted his teeth, clenching his jaw.

"You know, maybe I have been a little off lately," Dean said in a small voice, the hurt evident in his voice, "but I've still been doing this a hell of a lot longer than you, Sam, and I'm telling you, this doesn't feel right. It feels like a trap." He said, and Sam shook his head, not willing to listen to this again. "Look, why do we keep going back there?" Dean demanded, "We're always ending up back there! How many times have we tried to leave that town, Sam? And we always come back!" Dean said, raising his voice. "It just feels wrong, Sammy, can't you see that?"

"It's Sam!" Sam snapped, "And no, I can't! All I can see is another woman pinned to the ceiling with blood dripping over my bed!" he yelled. "I can't let her die, Dean! I won't!"

"Well, I won't let you go back." Dean said assertively, trying to keep his voice at a normal level. "We're not going back, and that's it!"

"Who do you think you are to say that?" Sam demanded, "I'm the one who saw the vision, I'm the one that keeps seeing her die!"

"The vision?" Dean snorted, smiling bitterly, "Screw the vision, Sam!" he bit out, "That thing's been screwing with you for ages, if you hadn't noticed!" he yelled, "When was the last time you had a vision that actually turned out the way you saw it?" he demanded.

"I can't ignore it, Dean. I won't!" Sam shouted. Dean's look spoke his mind for him. Sam shook his head, exhaling loudly. "All right, so, maybe the visions didn't turn out exactly as I saw them, but they did come true!" Sam said, "They always come true, and you know it!" Dean said nothing. He didn't need to. His body language spoke for him. We're not going, period. "We can't just ignore it, Dean! We can't just do nothing!" Sam yelled. They've been at it for the better part of the last hour, and so far, neither of them seemed to be willing to give in.

"And what are you going to do, Sam? Huh?" Dean demanded, "What? Say the Demon is there, what are you doing to do? You going to cunningly drown it in your own blood? Huh? What, you're gonna lecture it to death?" Dean demanded angrily. Sam glowered at him, his face red with anger, but Dean didn't care. "We don't have the Colt, Sam, remember? If it is the Demon, how the hell are you going to kill it?" Dean yelled. For a slight second, Sam seemed to actually listen. He let out a long breath, scratching his head, and then shook it as he paced back and forth in the room.

"I can't just walk away and let Lynn die." He said, pursing his lips.

"You want to help her? You want to save your girlfriend?" Dean demanded, and Sam couldn't help but grimace at Dean's tone, "Well, the best thing you can do for her is walk away! Walk away, Sam, and the Demon won't have a reason to hurt her." Dean finished. Sam stared at him. He couldn't believe Dean would say that, he couldn't believe Dean would use such a low blow. No matter how true. It's my fault, Sam thought. Mom, Jess, they died because of me. They died because they got in the way. Dean nearly died because he got in the way. And now, Lynn… Maybe Dean was right. Maybe, if he just stayed away, she'd be safe? But Jess wasn't safe. I wasn't there, and Jess still died.

"Look, Sam, I'm sorry." Dean said, walking over to Sam and making the younger man look at him. "You want to do this? You want to go after the Demon? Fine. Call dad, get the Colt. Hunt it together. But don't go out there alone and unarmed, okay?" Dean asked. Sam studied him for a long time before giving a slight nod. The fact that Dean excluded himself from the hunt did not go unnoticed, but he didn't have the energy to deal with it right now.

"Okay." Sam said in a small voice. He sat on the bed, his head lowered.

"I mean it, Sam."

"I said okay!" Sam snapped. Dean crossed his arms over his chest, looking intently at the younger hunter, trying to make up his mind whether or not this fight really was over. And then Sam got to his feet. "I'm gonna go take a walk." The younger man said, and walked out the door.

Sam returned back to the room more than two hours later. He needed the time to think, clear his head. Okay, so some of the things Dean said did make sense. Without the Colt, there really wasn't much Sam could do against the Demon. And it did sort of seem strange that they kept finding themselves back in Armain. He wasn't stupid, he was pretty sure the Demon had been there, that the Demon was after that little baby, and yes, there was the chance that the Demon had moved on – his father was tracking it, after all, but Sam just couldn't get rid of the sight of Lynn pinned to the ceiling. He wasn't going to let that happen again. He couldn't.

And the way Dean was reacting to the whole thing… That was a whole other can of worms. Since when did Dean stop wanting to go after the Demon? Or was it just because he suggested their dad get involved? And what was the whole thing between Dean and their dad anyway?

Sam was almost back at the motel room when the vision struck again. Twice in as many days. That's it. There was no way he can ignore it now. He wasn't there to help and protect Jess, he won't make that mistake again.

"You alright?" Dean asked when Sam stumbled back in the room.

"Headache." Sam said, pinching the bridge of his nose. Without word, Dean got up and brought over a glass of water and a bottle of aspirin. Sam took two aspirins, thanking Dean, and flopped down on his bed.

"You want something stronger?" Dean suggested, looking at Sam. Sam considered it a second.

"No, I'm good." He said eventually.

"Another vision?" Dean asked softly, touching the younger man's shoulder.

"Just a headache." Sam lied. "Look, I just want to go to bed, if you don't mind." Sam said. Dean shrugged.

"Sure. Anything I can get you?" Dean offered.

"No." Sam said, taking his shoes off, changing his clothes. He got in bed without another word. Dean stayed up for a while longer, reading John's journal, working on the laptop for a while, no doubt looking for their next hunt. Finally, already feeling the tug of sleep and seeing as his brother was asleep, Dean took his pills and slipped into bed.

That was exactly what Sam has been waiting for. He waited a while longer, making sure Dean was out cold, before getting out of bed, changing his clothes and quickly and quietly packing his things. He kept looking over his shoulder, making sure Dean was sleeping, making sure Dean stayed out of it. Dean didn't want to be a part of it. Fine. There was no need for him to be. It wasn't him the Demon was after anyway, Sam thought, slipping out the door. There was a car in the parking lot just begging to get stolen…

TBC