Ch 7

"Come again?" Dean sputtered.

"Oh, hell no I wouldn't call a demon, I'm scared to death of demons." Concha said. "But it was my fault, because I triggered that one particular vision."

"So, you mean to say when he has a…"

"Yeah. Potentially. In theory."

Dean abruptly sat down. "I think I'm gonna be sick." He sort of wished Sam would sit down too instead of standing there, looming over him, but forgot to ask him to sit. Sam looked confused, it seemed Dean connected all the dots Concha was laying down a step faster than Sam this time. Which was fine by him, it would give him more time to work out how to deal with the fall out soon to come. Mostly fall out from Sam. Dean's mind was already working out the words, how to convince his brother he'd been the victim, not the cause. Because most assuredly Sam would somehow decide this was his fault.

"What are you talking…." Sam's words faded from shouting to nothing. Dean figured he'd connected the dots.

"Not calling in the traditional sense of course, more like a conduit. It will only happen when the conditions are right. Has it ever happened before?"

"I don't think so, not like the other night where one got in here, somewhere protected." Dean looked up at Sam, raised his eyebrows a bit silently questioning his brother. Sam had moved on from looking stunned to shell-shocked. He just turned a vacant gaze from one to the other. Finally, wanting him to focus better than he was Dean reached over, grabbed Sam's wrist and gave it a healthy shake. "Sam!"

Sam's attention at long last focused again, his head jerked looking down at Dean as if only now realizing his brother was there. "They, the visions, they're always demon related somehow, but more taking me to it, or someone else connected to it, not the other way around."

"That's very good!" Dante said. "Which means maybe what happened the other night was just an isolated incident and unless you purposely try it again, it won't really happen on its own."

Dean decided he really did like that man.

"Oh, trust me, not getting that headache again." Concha turned to Sam, "just how do you put up with those? They're awful!"

Shrugging a bit Sam said, "not much I can do about them."

"This all just goes to show I've been right all along!" Bobby announced, coming back into the kitchen, though Dean didn't realize he'd ever left. Dropping one of his ancient texts, Bobby seemed to have an endless supply, on the table between them all he waved grandly at it. Then, taking Dean's shoulders lightly, he turned him in the chair to face the book. "This passage here. It describes the combination of men," he smiled at Concha, "humans needed to kill a demon."

"People can't kill demons, just exorcise them and send them back to hell." Sam pointed out.

"Not so. There was once a proper combination of humans, all men in that case, who by working together, each with given talents, were able to kill demons. I like to think it's where the horsemen of the apocalypse legends came from. I also believe the demon here the other night wasn't just vanquished, but was actually destroyed."

"It just evaporated when I knifed it." Dean said. He'd still not figured out quite what happened, it was odd how the demon just turned to dust then vanished, but he wasn't going so far as to believe he'd actually killed the thing.

"I think that was demon death." Bobby had written a passage from his book on a piece of paper. He grandly held it up, "I had this translated years ago. Their mother," waving at Dante, then Concha, "did most of it. Read this Sam, out loud, for me, will you?"

Sam took the offered paper, "Those with the ability to destroy a demon, not just return it to hell, come in a set configuration of elements. Siblings, two sets of two, the one who….holy crap!" He stopped, staring at Bobby. "How long have you known this, had this?"

"Almost two decades." Bobby cracked a grin. In a soft voice he urged, "Sam, read it to them."

After a few deep breaths Sam continued. "Siblings, two sets of two, four elements together. The one with gift of foresight, and with that foresight the ability to call forth demons, lead them to their own destruction unknown. The one not a demon, but with power such as a demon has. Power that allows the trap be made by man, not symbols. With each their champions who protect them, warriors granted the power to bring a demon to end."

This was certainly a turn Dean didn't expect.

Happily it derailed his need to deal with Sam-fall-out, at least for now. One little passage from one very ancient text gave them all a purpose, more importantly defined roles that really seemed to fit. For a minute or more Dean was sure if a feather dropped they'd be able to hear its settling against the floor tiles in the stunned silence enveloping the room.

Then Bobby began explaining.

"The demon here the other night, you didn't vanquish it, or just drive it away. You killed it! It came here following Sam's…." Bobby stopped, seemed to grope for a word, "…signal. Concha grabbed it, literally pulling it into a trap etched on the floor, but you probably didn't really need the circle. Dean used a knife Dante had fashioned specifically for use with supernatural quarry to kill it. Now, granted it was only a moderate level demon, and trapping one of a higher level will be trickier, but if this text is right, and I damn well think it is, it can be done. I've had this for nearly twenty years. I've known, don't ask me how, but I've known since you two boys were little," he looked first at Dean, then at Sam, "you two were one of the sets. Every time I saw you it just screamed out from you. These two," he waved two fingers at Dante, then Concha, "they were a little more difficult to peg. Honestly the age difference is what threw me. I was expecting at least one of the second pair to be Sam's age, and have similar circumstances."

"So we have to figure out this symbol thing, and how to bring the demons when we want them. Or be prepared when one arrives, to do what we do and take it out?" Concha leaned against the counter.

"Ok, then," Dante was suddenly in motion, going around the room, gathering the books, and papers. Piling them all up he dumped them in Sam's arms. Reaching out he snatched Concha's arm, pulling her along, nudging Sam ahead of them. "Guess it's time you two hit the books." Waving at them in a 'shooing' type motion, "go on, get the homework done."

Dean cracked one eyelid up when the door to their room opened just wide enough for Sam to slip in. He listened to Sam move around the room, knowing his brother wouldn't bother making too much effort to be quiet. Almost any movement in the room would wake Dean up. He was touched by Sam's consideration; he hadn't turned on any lights. Smiling in the dark when he heard a mushy 'clunk' and Sam swear softly he rolled over, stretched and mumbled, "Sammy you should turn a light on before you hurt yourself."

"Yeah, yeah….." another clunk, "God bless it."

Laughing softly Dean rolled over, and flipped the light beside his bed on. "Dude, really, you always do this. You know I'm going to wake up when you start tripping over things in the dark, so why not just turn on the lights and spare us both?"

"It's called being considerate Dean!" Dropping on the bed Sam rubbed one foot, mumbling something else Dean couldn't quite make out.

"What?" He yawned, rolled on his back, flinging one arm over his eyes to shield them from the light.

"What, what?! Nothing!" Sam barked.

Sighing, Dean sat up, looking squarely at Sam, wishing he'd done so sooner. Or had the foresight to be more of a presence while his brother and Concha worked on their research. At least then he might have been able to put a stop to this nonsense before Sam had had much time to brood and think over it. Too late, now it's fall out time! Sam almost never raised his voice at Dean in anger. It was generally deeper than anger, it was generally fear. Anger had a whole different pitch and tone, not to mention flapping arms and Sam right up in his face.

Dean bravely plunged right in. "Sam, what's the matter, why you pissed? I didn't do anything." He silently ran over the events of the last few days, deciding, no he hadn't done anything to anger anyone. Must be slipping.

Sam literally glared at him. Dean gave up, shook his head, waving one hand half-heartedly in the general direction of his brother and laid back down, rolling on his side away from Sam. "Whatever. Tell me or not."

"I'm not angry with you, or at you."

Dean snorted, "hummppffff…..could have fooled me."

"Why do you always have to be such a pig headed ASS?!"

"Me? Sam, what the hell did I do? I was here, sleeping, minding my own business, not bothering you or anyone else." Tossing off the covers he bolted straight up, swung both legs around the side of the bed, spread both arms wide and shouted, "what the hell is wrong with you?"

"What's wrong with me? What's wrong with me?!" Sam launched off the bed, began to pace. Dean bit down the urge to laugh at him, since he really was funny to watch when he'd gotten himself this worked up. "Oh, shit, Dean I don't know….maybe the fact that I'm a walking demonic homing beacon sort of upsets me just a tad! Because anywhere I am this thing could show up and land on…"

Dropping his head, locking fingers of both hands together behind his neck, elbows rested on his knees. "On what? On me? That's what you were going to say, isn't it?" He looked up, trying to meet his brother's eyes, and failing, miserably. That just pissed him off. "Look at me!" He snapped in such a low, venomous tone Sam stopped his pacing, a shiver running down his entire frame. Dean would feel guilty about that another time. He purposely kept himself rooted to the bed, if he got up he knew one thing for sure, he'd put Sam right through the glass window-wall they both disliked so much.

Sam stood stock still, staring at him, Dean rarely raised his voice at his brother, he rarely had to. This was an exception. Taking full advantage he forged on, "Stop being so dramatic, this is old Sam, this whole conversation is getting GODDAMN OLD! I'm done with it. Let a demon drop on me, because you know what? At least I have a chance, I can defend myself, most people can't. The bastard hasn't gotten me yet, and it's had plenty of chances up to now."

"But I'm the one who can lead it right to you." Sam said softly, taking a step back.

"And that's different from the past couple of years how? Because we have some more information suddenly the situation is worse? I don't see it that way, not at all. The more we know the safer and better prepared we'll be. Any idiot ideas you have of me being better off, or safer without you and so help me…"

"What?" Sam cut him off. "Or what, don't come back?"

That threw Dean totally off guard, he straightened, watching Sam for a few seconds before speaking, making sure there was not a glimpse of harshness in his voice. "No, Sammy, I'd never say that, not to you, not to anyone. Especially not to you." He smiled wickedly, "what I would do though is track you down, hog tie you, gag you and keep you in the trunk of the car, letting you out once a day to eat and pee."

Sam blinked at him, stunned into silence. Then smiled, his face nearly splitting in two. "That's the stupidest thing I've ever heard. You couldn't even do that, I wouldn't fit!"

Standing slowly, crossing forearms over his chest Dean tipped his head to one side and put on what he hoped was a seriously sinister expression. "Try me." He had to bite down on the inside of his cheek to keep from grinning at Sam's expression, obviously not sure if he should believe Dean or not.

Relaxing, Sam sat in the one chair in the room, shrugging a bit. "I dunno, some days, not all of them, just some, feels like…I don't even know what."

"Sammy, none of this is your fault. You're a victim, not a cause. I'm a victim too. But that doesn't mean either of us has to live our lives worried about what might happen. Arguing with each other over who is going to cause what, and what could happen, that doesn't get us anywhere. You've got to stop worrying about it, you really do, it's not helping, Sam, it's really not. And it won't make a bit of difference. Put it to rest already, what happened happened. You can't change it, neither can I. All we can do is try to make the future better."

"You seriously wouldn't lock me in the trunk."

Dean shrugged casually. "Dunno, maybe, if I had to. Guess we'll have to see if I will or not."

"You're such a control freak." Sam eyed him warily.

"If called for, yes," Dean said, stretching out on his bed once again. "I'm going back to sleep. Maybe you could keep the grumbling and all sort of quiet?"

"Night Dean."

Dean huffed a laugh at Sam, as he drifted off to sleep he heard Sam move to his own bed.

OOOOOOOO

Concha's eyes were the only thing moving, hand holding coffee mug poised midway between her desk and mouth. She tracked Sam, plate of food in one hand, his own mug of coffee in the other, as he stalked across the room. The plate was dropped, less than gently, onto the long table snuggled against the opposite wall as her desk. He dropped himself into the chair next to the table with even less care. The coffee, she noticed with a smile, was treated with far more respect. He muttered something under his breath about car trunks.

"Good morning." She offered.

Sam started, looked over at her, surprised. "Sorry." He rubbed the back of his head self-consciously, "morning."

Concha leaned back so she could see between the double doors out into the living room.

"He's taking a shower."

"Ah." Concha glanced at the doors again, this time they slid quickly and quietly closed. That got Sam's full attention, she laughed outright at his expression. "What, you think I don't use it? I just generally don't use it in public, it sort of weirds most folks out."

Frowning a bit, Sam grumbled, "it weirds me out."

Concha just smiled, "you'll get used it. Anyway I've found it's much wiser when venting to not let the object of your venting hear you. Only causes problems later, have to make apologies for things you didn't really mean to say and all."

Sam's expression turned sheepish. "You heard last night? I'm so sorry."

"Sam, I think they heard you and Dean all the way over in Idaho. Which is nothing, you should hear Dante and I when we go at it. We're probably heard all the way in Connecticut."

That earned her a laugh, she saw Sam relax.

"He's so busy worrying about me, he never stops to think what might happen to him. Some days I'm not even sure he cares what happens to him."

Concha was silent for a minute, took a few deep breaths. "I highly doubt that's true. Your brother seems pretty darn stable to me, not reckless at all. As a matter of fact I'd have to say he might be the most stable hunter I've met, aside from Dante." She turned back to her computer, reading through emails as she spoke. She shrugged a bit, "I suspect it's like a parent being more tuned into danger to their child than to themselves. Easier to lose one's self than one's child."

"I'm not a child, and I'm not Dean's child."

She turned back to him. "Technically that's true. But I mean, who really did all the things for you a parent does, when you were little? Who really raised you?"

Sam scrunched his eyebrows together, not looking at her, but the ancient text he'd been studying the evening before. "My da—" from Concha's perspective it looked as if it was almost involuntary, his response and how it stuck in his throat. He looked back up at her, studying her now. "Dean."

She nodded. "So from his view point it's probably nothing more than carry over from when you were kids. Old habits and all. Probably nothing he even thinks about consciously, just reflex. I have seen one thing, he sure has a lot of pride from you."

"Yeah, he even tells me once and a while."

"Not in you, which I'm sure he has that too. But because of you. I'd bet if you asked Dean Winchester what his single greatest accomplishment in life is, he'd tell you Sam Winchester. I see a guy who's very proud he got the two of you through childhood in general and you both managed to be pretty decent people."

"I just want him to be a little more concerned about what can happen sometimes. I mean, I don't think he's got a death wish or anything. It's just I'd like him to realize some things work both ways."

"Well, if you find a way of getting that message through, share it would you? I'd like to give it to Dante too."

Sam laughed softly, "okay, deal." He scooted his chair closer to hers, the book on his lap. "Here, look at these." He pointed to one symbol. "See this one here, I've used this before. Anything you put it on a demon can't open, or get into. I used it on the car once, like a lock box. When I drew it on the trunk I thought Dean was going to give birth to a cow right then and there. He made me wash the car daily for a month after he did some restorations on it. We could use this ourselves, to help stop a demon from getting inside. Maybe even have it tattooed on somewhere."

Concha gave him a foul look. "I am not getting a tattoo. Not gonna happen, end of conversation."

Sam stared at her for a minute, then grinned. "Ok, you're kidding, why not?"

"Dude, it would hurt!"

Sam shook his head, smiling, focusing down at the book again. "Well, maybe some kind of temporary one, or a necklace or something."

"Hummmmm…..what else you find in there?"

Sam showed her a series of symbols, each with corresponding crystals or gems. "Each one of these represents the four elements, earth, air, fire and water."

"Five."

"Huh?"

"There are five elements Sam, earth, air, fire, water and metal. Do you think we need to figure out who is who? Cause your brother is metal, all those guns."

"He says I'm an airhead. Demons would be fire." He scanned more of the translations. "There doesn't seem to be anything important about who is what element. I don't think it matters."

"If the demon is fire, and Dean is metal and you're air, I get to be water and since Dante isn't in here right now to defend himself, he gets earth, 'cause I don't want dirt for mine."

"We'll each need something representing an element, lucky Dante he gets a pocket full of mud. And each element has a corresponding symbol. Then the symbol that locks a demon out, I think we should use that too." Sam spoke without looking up at her, still turning pages.

"But the passage said a trap of men, not symbols."

"I've been thinking of that. I think it's a certain way we stand, using the elements and symbols. And there's this." He swung the book around to show her. "An incantation."

"Read by the one who calls." Concha read the note next to the incantation.

"That would be my job then I guess."

"And oh, I don't really like this little gem." Concha pointed to a passage farther down the page, then showing Sam the same passage on the translated pages. "Held in the trap of men by one with the power such as a demon has." She scrunched her nose. "I gotta grab another one." Deep sigh. "Peachy. Not using beer again."

"Then you really need this, on you, somehow, at all times." Sam pointed to the protection/lock-out symbol.

"No tattoo. I'll get it engraved on something, but no tattoo."

"I think as long as it's on you somehow it'll be ok." He smiled at her.

"Better be." She slapped his knee, "because if not, and I get possessed, you're the first one I'm coming after."

"We need supplies. And to get all this worked out before we tell them."

"Guess it's time to head back to civilization." Concha said.

"Guess it's time to hunt." Sam added.