Big thanks again to everyone following. My apologies for making you wait for this chapter, but it needed editing - thanks to hotshow for pointing out the weak points! I hope it was worth the wait.

Chapter 15

Bobby set the phone down on its cradle. He made contact with only two of the other hunters from that particular hunt. They were alive and well, relatively speaking. From the others, one had disappeared completely and his friends assumed the worst. Another he knew had been found mauled about three weeks ago, which at the time had not raised too many alarms since it looked like a wild animal attack. The last one no one had heard from in the past week, which was not normally unusual, but knowing one of the creatures might be hunting them had Bobby worried.

He shoved his cap down over his brow, trying to remember the areas those guys worked. Pulling out a map, Bobby took a pencil to outline the approximate area for each hunter. The two he spoke with lived closest to him. The one that disappeared a little over a month ago was the furthest from him. The hunter killed by mauling was the next farthest, and the one that had disappeared last week was considerably closer to him than that. It was like something was working its way to him, killing anyone who had helped along the way.

Sometimes he really hated it when Dean was right. John had warned him, more than once, to take all of Dean's observations seriously, even if the boy didn't sound serious. John said Dean's ability to draw correlations, and sometimes to get inside the enemy's head, was downright scary. Well, he had Bobby scared now. This damned thing was out to get him and everyone else involved in that hunt, and it was headed his way. He already warned the other two hunters that they may have missed one, so hopefully they were taking precautions.

Bobby tapped his pencil against the desk. What they really needed to do was find this thing before it could go after anyone else. But if it was working its way to him, why had it already approached Sam? And how had it known? Unless…this was where it stayed.

The hairs on the back of his neck stiffened. How long? He routinely protected his house and rarely left at night. Maybe he had just been lucky to survive this long. Or it had other plans for him.

He scratched at his jaw. It approached Sam, spoke to the boy. Why would it make contact like that? Why would it have the toy? The damn things must be smarter than he gave them credit for. But why hadn't it killed Sam? Must be because he was the target, not Sam. Couldn't assume the boys were safe here, though. Bobby doubted Dean had anywhere else to take Sam. And he really didn't want them to leave, which was purely selfish on his part.

One, Bobby would feel much better if Dean were part of this hunt, especially with it being right here in his own backyard. That boy was damned dangerous, in a good way. And two, he hated the thought of the boys leaving with Sam in that condition, even if they might be safer elsewhere. He felt an obligation to John to look out for them. Hell, he just liked them, and this old house hadn't felt this alive in years, if ever.

"Well?" Dean sauntered out of the kitchen, eating something from a bowl. From the smell, he would have to guess the boys found some canned chili.

"Two are fine, one dead, and two unaccounted for," Bobby replied.

He watched Dean's eyebrows shoot up. "You needed five more hunters for those things? Seriously?"

"It was a whole family of them, Dean," Bobby stared the boy down, only now noticing Sam hovering in the background.

"Family of what?" Sam asked stepping into the room, chili drips on his shirt.

"Uh, nothing, Sam," Bobby shifted uneasily in his chair.

"The things that make werecats, Sammy," Dean said, shoveling another spoonful of chili in his mouth.

Sam leaned against the wall. "What's a werecat, Dean?"

Dean swallowed what he had in his mouth. "It's like a werewolf, only instead of a person turning into a wolf-thing the person turns into a cat-thing. Silver bullets still work."

Bobby watched Sam's eyes dart between them. "Bobby's hunting a werecat?"

Dean shook his head, stirring his chili. "Bobby is researching the things that make people into werecats."

"Why?" Sam asked. Bobby could swear the boy sounded more like himself. Even that annoyed, demanding tone sounded just right.

Dean slurped more chili, not answering.

"Why, Dean?" Sam demanded, that tone increasing.

Dean shrugged, shoveling in more chili so he would not have to answer. Bobby caught Dean's eye. Dean turned so Sam could not see his face and winked. It was all Bobby could do not to give anything away. So, in addition to conning Sam into working on the car with him, Dean's plan involved hinting at hunting without ever coming right out and saying as much. Well, no one knew Sam better than Dean, and if Dean thought this was the way to handle things, far be it for Bobby to stand in the way. Besides, he was pretty sure Dean would just knock him down if he did.

-------------

Dean watched Sam out of the corner of his eye. So far, so good. Sam had definitely taken the bait. He knew there was hunting going on and Dean was involved. Hopefully that would be enough to convince Sammy's sub-whatever that it couldn't keep them from hunting. Yeah, and the frigging tooth fairy was picking him up later for a couple of beers at the strip club.

Dean drained the last of his chili. As he walked past his brother, he frowned. "Sammy? You finished eating?"

Sammy glared at him. No, that was definitely a Sam glare. It couldn't be this easy, he told himself. No way. Nothing was ever easy for a Winchester. Sam was going to have to decide he wanted to be himself again, assuming, you know, the whole damn amnesia thing really wasn't because his skull kissed the pavement just a bit too hard. But it made too damn much sense, and it explained perfectly why that Jeffries bitch wanted to sink her claws into Sam. Physical trauma inducing psychological trauma. Son of a bitch.

As he dumped his bowl in the sink, Dean glanced over his shoulder. Sammy sat at the table, slurping chili. It was Sammy, not Sam. Sam never slurped. Sam had impeccable table manners, something that got on his nerves something fierce, but he really would not mind seeing too much now. He swallowed the sigh forming in the back of his throat, turned it into a single deep breath. The fact he saw glimpses of Sam would have to be enough for now. There was hope.

But he had to know something, something Sammy mentioned earlier today. Dean spun one of Bobby's dark wood kitchen chairs around, straddled it to sit facing Sammy. He gripped the back with his right hand, unsure how he would take an answer he didn't like.

"Sammy? Can I ask you something?" His voice sounded hollow, but he needed to know.

"What, Dean?" Sammy looked up from the chili, eyes bright under those bangs.

"Earlier today, you said I beat up the car last time." He waited for his brother to nod. "Do you remember seeing the car beat up?"

"You used a black stick." Sammy said, still looking through his bangs as if they could hide him, protect him from Dean. Sammy shivered, sending another spike of guilt through Dean. He had no idea Sam actually watched when he lost it like that. Not good.

"You, uh, acted like you didn't want to see me do it again." Dean gripped the chairback so tight he imagined he could feel the woodgrain through his skin.

Sammy's head turned slowly from side to side. "Scary."

"I don't want to scare you, Sammy," Dean said softly.

Sammy did look up then. "You'd never hurt me, Dean. That's not what's scary."

Dean leaned forward, pressing his chest against the chair. "So what scared you?"

Sammy's mouth twisted to one side and one eye squinted shut. "Don't know. But I don't want you to do it again."

"How's the chili?" he asked, desperate to change the subject.

"You won't, right?" Sammy asked. Persistent bastard. Dean shook his head, figuring it was the least he could do. "Not bad. Dad's chili is better."

"Think so?" Dean studied his little brother. "I thought he put too much of that tomato paste stuff in it."

Sammy rolled his eyes. "You always say that."

"Yeah. Guess I do." The weak smile he gave Sammy was rewarded with a bright grin from his little brother.

"Dean, can you tell me the story about Snow White and the seven dwarfs tonight?" Sammy asked, scraping up the last of the chili in his bowl.

Dean felt like pounding his head on the table. "Geez, Sammy. Can't you pick stories I actually remember?"

Sammy's bright eyes studied him for a moment. "But I don't like the stories out of Penthouse, Dean."

That constant tightness in his chest eased just enough to allow a chuckle through. "You sure, Sammy? Some of them are pretty good."

Sammy laughed back. "Got you, didn't I?" He pushed his empty bowl toward Dean.

"Yeah, you got me." Dean picked up the bowl, deposited it in the sink.

Sammy yawned and stretched. "Can we go to bed now? I'm really tired."

-----------------

"Me, too," his big brother told Sammy. Sammy followed Dean out of the kitchen. Bobby was on the phone again, but he waved good night anyway. Bobby smiled and waved back.

Dean said he should change his shirt before bed. Sammy saw the chili on his shirt then. He felt kinda bad about it, but Dean said it happens to everybody, not to worry about it. So he didn't worry. After they both crawled in their beds, Dean started to tell Sammy the story about Snow White. He was pretty sure none of the dwarfs were really named Cranky or Talky or Hot Stuff, but he didn't say anything to Dean. If Dean wanted to change the names, that was okay with him. He had the best brother in the world.

---------------

Sammy looked around. He was outside, watching Dean work on the old car. When did they come outside? He scratched his head. He walked closer to his brother when he noticed Dean was dressed funny. Dean had a long black cape on. Why did Dean need a cape to work on the car? Sammy looked down. He was wearing a bright red shirt and green pants. Where did he get green pants?

When Sammy looked at his brother again, Dean was talking to Lion-o. Finally! Someone who could help him remember! Sammy ran toward Lion-o, wanting to demand Lion-o keep his promise about helping him remember. But then Lion-o's claws popped out. Sammy tried to scream for Dean to watch out, to duck, but his screams were silent. Lion-o slashed down and Dean fell to the ground. The ground under Dean was red and wet with his brother's blood.

Sammy ran to his brother. As he ran, he felt like he was running in a dark tunnel, and Dean was just on the other side. It was dark and wet. When he came out of the tunnel, they were in a basement. He couldn't see where Lion-o had hurt Dean and there was no blood, but his brother was not moving. Sammy leaned over, put his ear by Dean's mouth. He wasn't breathing either. "Dean!"

Blackness passed over his face, making Dean disappear. Sammy rubbed his eyes. What was going on? Where was his brother? He turned around to find a doctor standing in front of him. They were in the hallway of a hospital. The doctor was saying something. He couldn't hear the words, but he knew it was bad. They couldn't do anything for Dean. The doctor wanted to tell him that Dean would die.

"Nononononononono…"

"Sammy!" He felt hands shaking him and it sounded like Dean's voice. But Dean was right there, in the hospital bed, the same color as the sheets. "Sam!"

It was hard to breathe. Those hands shook him again. "Sam!" It really sounded like Dean. Sammy squeezed his eyes shut, hoping when he opened them again Dean would be there, watching over him, like always. He forced his eyes open slowly, afraid of what he might see. Dean's face hovered over him, looking really worried.

"Dean," Sammy breathed, feeling relief wash over him. He reached up, wrapping his arms around his big brother's neck, squeezing tight.

"Sam? Sammy," Dean squirmed in his grip, but Sammy held on tighter. "Dude, can't breathe."

"Sit," Sammy insisted, pulling Dean down. The bed shifted as Dean sat next to him. He wanted to crawl into his brother's lap, but he was too big. When did he get too big to sit in Dean's lap? Why did he have to like his veggies?

It was still dark, he could not see that Dean was okay. "Light."

"You'll have to let go of me first," Dean's voice was softer this time.

Sammy took a deep breath and held it as he let his brother go. He listened as Dean walked over to the lamp and turned it on. When he saw how good his brother looked in the light, how his skin was nice and tan, how he moved easily, Sammy felt himself relax a little.

Dean came back, sat beside him. "Bad dream?"

Sammy nodded, leaning to the side, against Dean. "Real bad. Dean?"

"Yeah?" He felt Dean's hand on his back, rubbing in circles.

"I don't think Lion-o is a good guy." Sammy scooted closer so he could lay his head on Dean's shoulder.

Dean cleared his throat. "Yeah. I don't either. And I don't think it's really Lion-o."

"Dean?" Sammy swallowed hard. "I don't want you to die."

"That was a pretty bad dream, huh?" The circles Dean rubbed on his back were faster. "Think you can go back to sleep?"

Sammy shook his head. "Not by myself."

Dean groaned. "Oh, come on, Sammy. You serious? I'm only two feet away."

Sammy used that look he knew always worked on his big brother. "Please, Dean? Please?"

Dean stood, glaring at him. "Can't believe," he mumbled, shaking his head. Sammy grinned. He knew Dean would do it now. Sammy jumped up so he could help Dean push their beds together. When Dean crawled back into the bed by the door, Sammy frowned at him. That meant Dean's hurt side would be by him.

"No, Dean. You have to sleep on that side." He pointed to his bed.

"What for? I always sleep by the door," Dean protested.

"Come on, Dean," Sammy whined.

Dean grumbled and moaned, but he shifted over into Sammy's bed. With a smile, Sammy jumped into Dean's bed.

"Means you have to turn off the light," Dean told him, and his brother did not look happy. Sammy was happy his brother just looked alive.

He reached out with his long arms to turn off the lamp. Now that it was dark, Sammy squirmed closer to his big brother. He grabbed Dean's good arm and wriggled himself around so his head was on his brother's good shoulder and he could hold on to Dean's arm. Happy now, Sammy closed his eyes and tried to think of good thoughts so he would have good dreams. Mean ol' Lion-o couldn't get his brother now; it would have to go through him first.