They stopped at a run-down motel in the heart of Saginaw, Michigan. The weather had taken a turn. Temperatures dropped radically and a cold rain began to fall. Dean took over the driving when conditions worsened and Sam's exhaustion became all-too-obvious. Sam paid for the room and stumbled through the freezing rain to the room. Dean had the door open before Sam could get the key in the lock.

"Take a shower, and eat something," he ordered, ushering him inside. "When I get back I'll help you get some sleep."

"Where are you going?" Sam asked wearily.

"Scouting," Dean interrupted before Sam could object. "I know you were going to try to scry her out again, but I want that to be a last resort."

"She's not going to let you find her."

"Yeah, but she knows we're on her tail. Maybe she's freaked enough that she's slipped up somewhere and left a clue. If she did, I'll find it."

"Okay, sure. Whatever."

Dean left him, hoping he'd do what he was told and get some food. He hadn't pretended to think Sam could get to sleep on his own. He'd seen the lines of pain around Sam's eyes even if he hadn't already sensed it. Even as exhausted as he was, the headache wouldn't let him rest. What sleep he managed to get would be spotty at best and he needed something more restorative. The idea of putting Sam out and leaving him out until after Ruby and her kid were dispatched had crossed Dean's mind, but scrapped the idea. As much as he wanted to, he couldn't just push Sam aside entirely. The monster they hunted was their own flesh and blood, Sam's son and probably only progeny. He had a right to be involved whether anyone liked it or not.

The first place Dean went after leaving his brother was the bar across the road. Evan was a few years shy of being legal but a fake ID and a little Heavenly nudge got Dean through the door and a drink in his hand. His superiors would be appalled at such an abuse of angelic power. Dean didn't give a rat's ass. They wouldn't approve of him drinking in the first place, but he didn't give a rat's ass about that either.

He drank more out of habit than anything else, because it would take a tanker truck full of whiskey to get him buzzed, and because just going through the motions calmed his nerves. He downed a fifth of gin before he left the bar. The music playing on the juke box had been good, and he'd been tempted to hustle some pool just for old time's sake, but even when he'd been alive Dean knew when enough was enough. There was a time to kick back and relax, and there was a time to do the job. It was now time to do the job.

Castiel could have searched the entire state of Michigan within seconds. It took his underling about an hour to search 99% of Saginaw and her surrounding suburbs, and comb through library archives to see if there had been any signs of demonic activity in recent days. He wasn't surprised when he came up with nothing.

He had been surprised that Sam had come up with something. From what Dean had learned since becoming one of the angel corps – including what he'd told Sam – Ruby was no slouch. She had both witchcraft and the powers inherent to demon-kind at her disposal, not to mention centuries of knowledge passed on to her from Lilith. Dean wasn't familiar with the scrying spell Sam had used, and he understood his brother had some pretty powerful mojo of his own, but he still couldn't believe Ruby had let herself be tracked that easily. Something felt – off – about it.

We could be walking right into a trap.

But why? If Ruby wanted Sam dead, she could have easily killed him at any time over the past five years, whether she was running from her fellow demons or not. Instead she waited for the angels to join the chase, and for Sam to actually find her, before doing anything, and then she made the risky choice of sending the hired help after him.

Dean paused outside the motel room door. He'd come back from his search a few minutes earlier, coming to rest a block or so away instead of just materializing in the room. Walking helped him think, and kept his vessel in good shape. He figured Evan would appreciate having his body back in the same state it had been in when Dean borrowed it.

How was this going to end anyway? Dean wasn't sure. He still didn't know how he was going to save Sammy from dying, let alone dying and being cast down into the Pit. Being a lesser angel, Dean didn't have the power to resurrect a human. Just keeping Sam patched together was stretching his abilities to the max. He doubted he could get any help from Castiel, and asking another of his superiors would definitely push his own luck.

Would a crossroads demon even deal with an angel? And what would I have to offer? Technically my soul belongs to God now. It's not mine to barter with anymore.

With a sigh, Dean rested his head on the door, poised there with his hand upon the doorknob latch. He closed his eyes and opening up his mind, he made one last sweep of the city, searching for Ruby's psychic scent trail.

Almost immediately his head came up and his eyes grew wide. He'd felt her presence, and it was coming from the other side of the door!

Sam obeyed Evan's orders without a grudge. He took a shower, warming a body chilled to the bone, and managed to eat a bowl of soup and a sandwich from the diner next door to the motel. He hadn't realized how hungry he'd become, unable to remember the last decent meal he'd eaten. The food stayed down too.

When Evan didn't come back for some time, Sam decided to take sleep into his own hands. His head was throbbing, the pain extending into the back of his neck and down into his spine. When he was sure his dinner was going to stay put, he took his meds, including a double shot of a semi-illegal sedative for which he'd paid an exorbitant sum of money. He chased it all down with a hearty swig from a bottle of Tequila he'd acquired from the bar across the street and within minutes had passed out in the bed.

He'd hoped he wouldn't dream this time, but he did. He always did.

The lake was familiar. He and Dean had been there before many times. Though their primary routes often changed under varying circumstances (including being pursued by the law, or their enemies) Hunters tended to keep true to certain "markers" along the way. This particular Wisconsin lakefront was one of the Winchesters' regular cross-country stops. John had inherited it from Dan Elkins. The fishing and hunting in the area was good, and the land wasn't posted. If they needed to spend a night, or longer, there was a cabin a few miles up into the woods on the lake's easternmost side. They'd made use of the cabin once or twice, once when they got caught in a sudden, nasty snowstorm and had nowhere else to go.

Sam had first seen the lake in the summer time, when the cool, clear water was a welcome respite from days spent confined in the back-seat of a car with no A/C. Sam and Dean had swam and splashed in the water with so much mirth and laughter John was finally forced to let down his guard and join them. In all his life Sam could recall only a few times his father had played with them – played like a normal father. This was no war game designed to teach them survival skills, this was just fun. That day had become a cherished memory for both Sam and Dean, because it had been such a rare experience.

After John died neither Sam nor Dean ever returned to the lake – whether it was together, or by themselves. They were of like mind on the matter, although they had never discussed it out loud. It was as if both of them had crossed the location off the map. They found another place in Wisconsin to make their pit-stops and never went back…until now.

It was summer once more, the first big tip-off to Sam that he was dreaming, and the lake was virtually still. Only a few wind-borne waves lapped at the rocky beach shore in a soothing rhythm: "Hush, hush, hush…."

Sam sat on top of a picnic table, his feet propped up on the bench, with one hand dangling a beer between his knees. He squinted out across the water. He wore nothing but a pair of jeans and a t-shirt, his feet were bare, but the sun was bright and warm. The breeze that stirred the waves also stirred Sam's hair, just enough to cool the sweat beading up upon his sun-warmed skin. He felt no discomfort, none at all, and for a moment he wondered if he were dead.

"No, just sleeping."

He turned his head to glance over his shoulder. There on the beach, sat the Impala. Her chrome gleamed in the sunlight; her highly polished black hood reflected the sky above. Leaning against her grill, with his arms crossed over his chest, stood the angel, Evan. He was also looking wistfully across the lake, although he still wore boots and oddly, the battered leather jacket that had once belonged to Dean, and before him, their father.

The voice, however, had not come from the angel. Evan didn't speak, but he did turn his eyes toward Sam and nod slightly, looking not at Sam, but beyond him.

Sam quickly turned to look in the other direction.

Ruby was standing there beside him.

Oddly, he felt no sense of alarm, partially because he knew he was only dreaming, and partially because of the expression she bore. She looked as she had the last time Sam saw her, clad in the body of the young brunette she'd last taken, but with one exception. Ruby had never exhibited fear. During the times in which she had appeared afraid, she'd been faking it.

She was not faking this. It was obvious in the way she wrung her hands and shifted her weight, in the way her eyes darted back and forth, and the tremor in her voice. At some point she had been crying. Streaks of mascara ran in crooked lines down her face as if her black demon eyes had sprung a leak.

"Sam," she said hoarsely. "I don't have much time."

Sam climbed down from the table. With a calculated slowness, he placed his beer down on the bench and approached her. "You're in my dream?" he asked quietly, cocking his head slightly. "How? Why?"

"It…it's hard…for a demon." She cast an uneasy glance toward Evan. "We're not angels. It's easy for them."

"Because there are no lies here," Evan remarked.

"Because it's a difficult spell, you ass," Ruby snapped back. Her eyes narrowed. "And you're a fine one to talk about lies. Why don't you tell him what you're hiding?"

"Mind your own damn business!"

"Tell me, did they castrate you when you got your wings? Oh, no, wait – they didn't have to. You always were a ball-less dick."

The angel's jaw clenched. "Watch your mouth, bitch. You're defenseless here and you know it."

Sam glanced from one to the other. "So why," he repeated, interrupting the exchange before it went any further, "why are you here, Ruby?"

She looked away from him. After a moment she replied, "I made a mistake."

"Try several."

"Evan," Sam admonished. "Let her talk."

"I need help, Sam," Ruby whispered. She cast her eyes back toward his. They were dark, black, reflective, like the steel skin of the car behind them, and they were filling with tears. "You have to help me. Please!"

"You betrayed me."

"I know."

"You killed my brother."

"I know. Sam, please…."

A hot flash of anger suddenly swept over him. He grabbed her by the shoulders, his fingers digging into her flesh, his lips curled back in a snarl. "Why should I do anything for you?"

"I loved you!"

"You loved Lucifer more, and you still do. I know about the boy, Ruby. I know what you're planning on doing with him."

Her expression shifted, growing more alarmed than before. "No," she whispered. "I'm not. I can't!"

Sam shook her, hard. "Don't lie to me!"

Abruptly a hand fell upon his arm. Evan was there, stopping him from giving the demon another shake. "Sam, wait. She's not lying." At Sam's startled look he explained. "I wasn't just blowing smoke out my ass, and neither was she. She's a demon. It was a hell of a spell she had to cast to get in here, and she doesn't have enough strength left to mask anything. She can't lie to you, not here in your dreamscape."

Sam let Ruby go, and lowered his hands from her shoulders. His brow knitted as Evan turned to her and asked, "Is it Sam's?"

She nodded, looking at Sam, not the angel as she replied. "But I didn't realize…I didn't know this would happen. If I did I would have never…" She stopped, and never finished.

"Either way, you gave Sam a little understudy didn't you?"

"No," Ruby whispered frantically. "That's not…I was wrong. You're wrong. Lucifer is first and foremost an archangel…"

"A decidedly warped archangel," Sam interjected hotly.

"He would never touch the kid!" Ruby shrieked. "Don't you get it?" Her gaze shifted back and forth between human and angel almost frantically. "Don't you get it!"

Evan took a step back. "It's a true abomination," he murmured. "Lucifer only tolerates a human vessel because he has no other choice. She's right. He'd never take a half-demon kid as a vessel!"

"I made a mistake," Ruby repeated, backing away, now clearly terrified, "a horrible, horrible, mistake!"

"Ruby…"

She shook her head, tears still staining her cheeks. "Sam," she pleaded. "Help me. Please help me!"

He heard the crash of thunder. Looking up, Sam could see dark clouds rolling across the sky like a hoard of demons. They blotted out the sun. He heard a woman's agonized scream.

"RUBY!"

She was gone. The storm, the lake, the beach were all gone.

Sam sat up, gasping for breath, his eyes stinging from the sweat running down his forehead and his fists clenched in the bed sheets. He smelled blood. His nose was bleeding again. Swinging his legs off the bed he sat on its edge holding his throbbing head in his hands. Distantly he heard the click of a lamp and the darkness was edged out by a dim yellow light. He watched a drop of blood fall from his nose onto the carpet.

Slowly raising his head, Sam saw Evan standing in front of him. "I know where she is," he said hoarsely.

The angel's expression was grim as he nodded. "We need to go, Sam, right now."

It was an ordinary ranch house, circa mid 70's, and looked disturbingly similar to the one occupied by the Brady family. Dean ran the theme song through his head – it was practically obligatory – and wondered idly how in the hell he would have taken care of five siblings. One was hard enough.

They all had hair of gold, like their mother…

"So," Sam said.

…the youngest one in curls.

"What are you hiding from me?

Dean suppressed a groan. Sam hadn't said a word since they'd left the motel, nor for the first ten minutes they'd been sitting in the car watching the house they believed Ruby and her son now occupied. Not breeching the subject was too much to hope for, and Dean knew it.

Here we go.

"And don't tell me you aren't," Sam concluded. "You said yourself Ruby couldn't lie in my dream, and she said you were, so either way, you're a lying bastard."

"That's a little harsh."

"So is taking advantage of a cripple."

Dean was genuinely shocked at the accusation. "What? What are you talking about?"

Sam met his gaze with a stony expression. "You've been pulling little Jedi mind tricks on me all this time. I did a little psychic self-test and I found all the 'look the other way' suggestions you've been putting in my head. If I wasn't half brain-dead…."

"Sam," Dean winced. "You're not…"

"If I wasn't half brain-dead…" Sam continued mercilessly. "I probably wouldn't have fallen for it so easily, and believe me, now that I know what to look for, you won't be able to do it again. So, do you want to come clean about what you're trying to keep from me, or do I have to waste time and energy busting through your smokescreens to find out myself?"

"This isn't a real good time, Sam." Dean pointed at the house.

"You expect me to survive this?"

The question was softly spoken, earnest, not intending to be anything but a simple fact. They both knew whatever awaited them inside the house wasn't going to be pretty. Sam was giving Dean the chance to do the right thing by him, offering to accept truth without consequence, to hold no grudge.

Dean glanced over at the house again. He'd never been comfortable with the powers Sam had been gifted – no, cursed – with, the psychic abilities he'd cultivated despite every warning. Sam had honed his mind into a powerful weapon, turning on Lucifer himself, using what he'd learned to continue the fight against evil despite the dangers in doing so. Dean had never liked it. It seemed to make his brother more kin to the creatures they hunted than to a human being – to Dean himself.

After death, Dean had inherited a few abilities of his own, and the irony of his former discomfort had not been lost on him, nor was it easy to overcome. His angst regarding Sam's abilities had carried over into his afterlife. Even at his low rank Dean should have been able to manipulate Sam enough to keep his secret safe, but always reluctant to screw around with psychic hocus-pocus, he was – so to speak – developmentally delayed for an angel of his status. The truth was he had taken advantage of Sam's illness. If he hadn't Sam would have recognized him immediately.

"I'm sorry, Sammy," Dean murmured, and before Sam could protest, he reached out and put the tips of two fingers against his brother's forehead. "But you're not going in there."

Sam immediately went limp, slumping against the passenger's side window with a soft moan.

Taking a deep breath, Dean left the car, re-materializing just outside the front door of the house. Flitting around like a flippin' moth still made him dizzy, and putting Sam out had taken a lot more energy than he'd expected. He took a minute to catch his breath before he pulled another trick out of his angelic bag of tricks to coax open the locked door. It had not occurred to him to just pop into the house on the first trip. Unlike Castiel, Dean hadn't honed the ability to sense just what he was popping into before he got there. Cas could jump from the top of the Empire State Building to the proverbial head of a pin even if said pin was sitting on the opposite side of the country, atop the Golden Gate Bridge.

I'd crash land in the middle of a cornfield in Topeka.

Just popping in and out of the Impala had taken a lot of calculation, and he half suspected it only worked because he was so attuned to the car in the first place. Even after being away from her for a very long time, he could still visualize her long, sleek body both inside and out, right down to the minute details. He knew where every tiny flaw could be found, from the slightest ripple in her shiny black skin, to the scorched mark on the carpet beneath the driver's seat Dean had left once when he'd dropped a match.

I miss her. I miss Sam. I miss being on the road – and God, I never thought I'd say that.

Dean pushed open the door and stepped inside. He took a few steps down a short hallway which then opened up into a brightly lit living room, and it was there that he stopped abruptly.

Two things immediately jumped out at him. One was the sight and smell of the enormous amount of blood soaking into the wall-to-wall carpeting. The other was the fact there was a small boy standing there in front of him, a small boy who Dean recognized as the one they sought, simply because of his uncanny resemblance to Sam at the same age.

Except, he thought. Sam never snarled like that.

Seconds later the child rushed him, and Dean became painfully aware of the fact he was in way over his head.