Hey - so this is going up a little later than usual. I had a hell of a head cold and my brain has been usless for over a week. It's only falling back into wack recently, hence the delay.

As usual - I want to extend my thanks to everyone who has been reading and posting reviews! And as always… to Melja : )

Now here's some hook up to 'No Exit':

Decisions In Blood

Ch 6

Although his eyes were shut, Dean could see the orange glow of sunlight as it warmed against his lids. He didn't think the small room they had gone to sleep in behind the Roadhouse even had windows, he hadn't seen any last night, but then again, he hadn't seen much of anything last night. Dean let himself wake slowly. He came to sense his surroundings, and found he was lying in the exact position he had remembered going to sleep in. He loosened his grip on the knife. If anything foreboding were to happen at this point, the weapon would do him no good, as his entire arm felt the harsh infliction of tingly blood loss. It would be a bit before that limb would function properly.

Dean took a deep breath and rolled his head back towards his brother, his first instinct being to check on his sibling's safety. Dean opened his mouth into a wide yawn as he stretched open his eyes. Oh shit.

Sam was completely awake, staring at him with an inquisitive smirk. He was lying on his side: one arm propping him up, the other arm… Oh God!

Dean glanced down at his own hand to quite unfortunately find it right where he had left it. Dean jerked his hand out of Sam's hand and brought it up onto his face.

"What the hell are you smirking at?" Dean challenged without hesitation. Sam pursed his lips and brought his arm back to his own cot.

"Dean, I don't remember much about last night, but I remember the part where you said nobody was gonna come after me. I don't need you to protect me," Sam concluded.

"I don't know what you're talking about," Dean squirmed as he pulled his flaccid forearm from under his pillow and began beating it back to life with his other hand. Sam twisted his head incredulous.

"Dean… you moved your cot!" Sam pointed out. Dean glanced around, all fake confused like.

"I don't know how I got here."

"And there's not one, but two guns laid out on the floor next to you," Sam continued accusingly.

"I thought those were slippers," Dean insisted, leaning over the side of the cot to glance at them again. Dean continued to rouse his floppy arm, as Sam pushed himself fully up and finally spoke of what was being eagerly avoided.

"You were holding my hand."

Dean sat up, and cradling his numb arm in his functioning one, turned to his brother ready to put this at an end.

"Oh no you don't! The hand thing was totally you!" Dean lied. "This is my dance space," he said indicating his own cot, "and that's your dance space," he continued indicated Sam's cot. "Your arm was in my dance space! I think it's clear Baby is the one at fault here, not Johnny!" He finished, indicating himself as Johnny. Sam's eyes went wide as his jaw dropped open.

"Did you just reference 'Dirty Dancing'?" Sam accused, in a dumbfounded tone. Dean's eyes twitched with resentment. He stood and threw his working arm up in exasperation.

"Don't get on me for 'Dirty Dancing' dude, you're so the one who started that!" Dean spat as he marched from the room.

"What?!" Sam questioned in total bafflement, but it was too late, Dean was long gone. Sam scratched a hand through his hair attempting to understand his brother's ranting, then broke down into a slight but definite smile. He was worried about me. Sam let the idea feel good for a total of ten seconds, then the feeling dropped away. He pinched the bridge of his nose between his fingers as the pain spilt across his head. God forbid he just come out and say it.

Dean had left the room, walked to the back of the building, leaned himself against the wall, and slid down to the ground. He was sober, sober in the respect that the alcohol had left his system, sobered by the clear-headed sting of re-grasping every painful thought he had allowed himself to suppress for the past twelve hours. Dean pressed a palm to his head, then let go and intentionally banged his head back into the wooden wall. He needed to do something, he needed to pull himself together and confront his brother. There was enough bad shit out there with its eyes and plans set on Sam, things that wanted his kid brother dead, or just plain wanted him. How the hell am I suppose to protect him from this shit if I can't even fucking protect him from himself? Dean banged his head hard into the wall again.

Inside the room, Sam sat on his cot, angrily eyeing his surroundings for whatever the hell unexplained banging was making his headache worse. Sam threw himself back onto the cot. He plugged his fingers into his ears, and squinted his eyes shut, as he waited for the pain to pass, and for the banging to stop.

Sam stood inside the walls of the old Philadelphia apartment building, holding a flashlight out in one hand, and his phone up to his ear with the other.

"I'm almost done with the first floor, I just need to check the southeast wall," he updated the duo on the other end. Without really waiting for a response, he hung up and shoved his phone into his back pocket.

Sam continued to work his way along the inside of the wall, there really wasn't much left to go, and his gut was already telling him there was nothing to find. He continued anyway, thankful for the time alone, thankful for the time away from his brother. Dean had been keeping a watchful eye on him, and it was beginning to get on his nerves. The fact that Little Miss Nancy Drew had decided to tag along on their hunt wasn't exactly an ideal situation, but it had allowed Sam the ability to make himself obsolete, to disappear literally into the walls and out of site from everyone.

Ever since Sam had woken up on the floor of the gas station bathroom two days earlier, things with Dean had been different. He had snapped fully out of his 'deal with your shit yourself and leave me out of it' attitude, and shifted full force into the more familiar role of protective big brother watching over from afar. This meant no straight forward conversation on the subject, but instead, consistent concerned glances in Sam's direction when Dean thought his younger brother wasn't paying attention. Sam was paying attention, he was always paying attention, and keeping aware of Dean's relentless unspoken concern for him was becoming exhausting.

Sam reached the end of the wall. There was a little more to go, but the space was way too tight for him to fit. He reached his arm in with the flashlight and moved it around, checking and finding, as suspected… nothing. Sam pulled his arm back, and shut off the light. He stood in the dark, in the wall, listening to his breath, trying to remember something, anything of the times he had passed out. He remembered very little from all three, only the feeling of an overwhelming panic, and then waking to his brother's concerned glare. Sam hated that glare.

It didn't convey the sort of brotherly concern Sam wanted or needed, the: 'I want to be there for you, and help you through this', type of concern. This was typical Dean concern. Dean's look plainly stated: 'there's something wrong with Sam, I need to protect him'. Sam didn't need protection, he needed his brother, plain and simple.

Sam felt his breath start to quicken, felt it pull up his throat in a raspy, uncontrolled manner. He rolled his head back against the wall and brought a hand to his chest suddenly terrified by the familiar feeling panic. Sam had no idea how to fight it, he just knew he wasn't about to let it take him down again. He didn't care how, but he wasn't going to wake up, after being found unconscious inside a wall, with his brother's dark concern bearing down on him.

"No… no." Sam shook his head in dispute, then dropped his flashlight and ran, blindly. He held his hands out against the confined space of the brick walls and ran through the dark, fast and hard, hitting the turns, letting his rapid breath convert from panic, to physical exertion. As he caught the final stretch he pulled his fingers from the roughness of the bricks and broke into a sprint. He could see the box of light at the end, the box of light he had created simply by removing the vent which had rested snug in the lower part of the wall. It had been his entrance, and now it would be his salvation.

With each step Sam pulled focus away from his thoughts, harsh and crippling, and pushed into his movement. He was almost there, almost at the light. He would need to drop, arms in front, grasp to the top of the hole, then flip and pull through with back to the floor. He didn't remember executing the move, only planning it, but he was out, kneeling in the hallway, shoving the vent back into place. Sam stood and set off into another run, moving now through the halls with no idea where he was headed. He picked up his pace, turned a corner, and BAM! Sam collided smack into his brother.

"Woah!" Sam reacted with a startled turn.

"He's got Jo!" Dean blurted, without missing a beat.

"What? How'd that happen?" Sam asked automatically falling into step behind his brother.

"I wasn't with her. I left her alone. Damn it!"

"Okay, hey look. We'll find her, alright?" Sam moved his mind swiftly and thankfully to the new situation.

"Where?" Dean questioned.

"Inside the walls."

"We've been inside the walls all night! None of the other girls are there, she won't be either!" Dean picked up his pace as he rushed down the hallway back towards the apartment. Sam followed behind, closing the memory of his panic off in some dark, distant space of his brain, similar to the way he had replaced and secured the vent, trapping the threatening solitude which had tracked him down between the walls.

Dean had agreed, it was better to lose whatever time it would take to pick up a metal detector, in exchange for the time it would save not having to roam around outside the apartment building, blindly searching for an opening to the sewer. That was, until they got stuck in traffic.

"Fuck!" Dean cursed as he punched the steering wheel. "That's it!" Sam glanced at his brother, not really sure what 'that's it' meant.

Dean pulled the Impala out of the line of cars, and into the first spot he could find. Sam eyed his sibling as he questioned the older hunter's logic, and patience.

"Dean, we're like a mile and a half away."

"Yeah, so let's get walking!" Dean jumped out of the car and went to the trunk, while Sam sighed deeply, and set his own logical opinion aside. He stepped from the car and pulled the metal detector from the back seat. He was going to love lugging this thing the remainder of the distance.

Dean threw a backpack over his shoulder, took a shovel up into his left hand, and slammed the trunk shut.

"You ready?" He looked at Sam. Sam shrugged in a way which he hopped would convey the statement, 'yeah, ya crazy son of a bitch, if you're actually serious about this', then watched as his brother turned away and started walking. Sam sighed and walked after him, given the added length of his legs, he caught up almost too easily, then shortened his stride to match his brother's. They walked in silence for a few minutes, then it started. Sam could see the concerned glances shooting his way. It was inevitable really, Dean wouldn't be able to do anything about Jo until they reached the apartment building, his efforts and agitation needed to land somewhere.

"How you holding up?" Dean asked. Sam shook his head at what he easily interpreted to be a loaded question.

"How am I holding up?" Sam raised an eyebrow and looked down at his brother.

"Yeah." Dean gazed up as he tried to keep pace with Sam's quickening step.

"I'm fine, Dean… why?" Sam questioned with accusation.

"Nothin'," Dean countered, sensing Sam's tone. "It's just… I feel like I haven't even seen you since we got to Philly."

"Yeah well… I'm still here."

"Good."

"And I'm fine," Sam added sharply.

"O-kay," Dean returned in a similar tone. They continued to walk in silence for several beats. Sam couldn't let it drop; he abruptly stopped walking.

"Ya know Dean, I'm not stupid. I know what this is about!" Dean stopped and turned on him with a fixed stare.

"Really?" Dean questioned. "Wanna fill me in?"

"I'm not passing out anytime soon if that's what you're worried about?!"

"I'm not worried." Dean turned and started to walk.

"Right…" Sam caught up with him. "You know, you might be spending the majority of your efforts watching out for Jo…"

"Yeah, hell of a lotta good that did!" Dean criticized; Sam just continued.

"…but I seen you keeping tabs on me too, Dean!"

"What?" Dean questioned curtly, as he kept moving.

"All last night man," Sam elaborated, "the concerned glances… over my headache… which, by the way, was brought on as a direct result of you and Jo bickering for three hours straight!" Dean stopped and turned on him.

"I wasn't glancing… and I sure as hell wasn't bickering!"

"Uh huh… and when I was in the bathroom too long… because I was trying to get away from the two of you- you were shouting to me like every five minutes!"

"I needed to go!"

"Bullshit, Dean! You needed to check on me! I'm not fragile, I'm not gonna break, and I can look out for myself!"

"Yeah well, I think the jury's still out on that one," Dean quipped. Sam frowned.

"You already used that line on Jo… do us all a favor, back off!" Sam started to walk away, then turned to add, "And get some new material." With that, Sam took off down the sidewalk, leaving his brother standing alone, and totally pissed off.

"I swear to God," Dean bitched to himself. "This younger sibling shit is gonna be my damn death! Between Sam and Jo I feel like fuckin' 'Charles in Charge'!" Dean sucked it up, and took off after his brother.

"Look!" Dean caught Sam by the arm. "I admit it, okay!" Sam stopped and listened, slightly taken aback. "I'm a little… just a little, concerned about whatever the hell's going on with you!"

"Dean--"

"Sam, you passed out three times with no explanation--"

"Dean!" Sam severed his brother's words. He wanted to talk about it, sort of, but not at the expense of someone's life. "We don't have time for this! We need to find Jo!" Dean's current thoughts stopped cold.

"You're right," he abruptly agreed, letting go of Sam. "You're totally right." Dean shifted awkwardly, and ran his free hand through his hair. "Let's go," he said quietly, and with that, Dean dropped his external concern, and led the way back to the apartment building.

Dean crouched in the shadows, his brother at his side, as they patiently waited for the spirit in question. They were at a good distance, far enough to keep out of site, close enough to get there in time. Dean ran a thumb along the barrel of his shotgun, and peered through the darkness at Jo.

"Sam," he whispered, keeping his voice extremely low, "we doing the right thing here?"

"What?" Sam replied, matching his brother's volume. "Using Jo as bait?"

"Yeah… I mean… he already took her once, and--"

"Dean… it may have been your idea… but it was her choice, she agreed."

"So?"

"So she wants this Dean, she wants to nail this bastard."

"She was scared, Sam." Dean turned and looked at his brother. "When we got here… she was different. She understood… she understood the risk."

"So what?" Sam questioned. "Dean when the hell did understanding the risk ever stop you?"

"I'm not talking about me!" Dean tore the words at his brother, his volume still low. "She shouldn't be in the middle of this. She should be someplace safe, living her damn life. She should be at college, she should…" Dean turned away. "I shouldn't have dragged her into this."

"Dragged her into it?" Sam repeated; his brother wasn't making sense. "Dean, you didn't drag anybody."

"Yeah…" Dean whispered. "I did."

Dean kept his gaze steadily in front of himself, and Sam felt a slight sinking feeling as his gut tightened with recognition.

"You're not talking about Jo… are you?" Sam asked. Dean slowly turned and caught eye contact with his younger brother; Sam's gut tightened further. Before either of them could say a word, Sam shifted his eyes and fixed them on something far behind his brother. His eyes widened with readiness, H.H. Holmes had taken their bate.

Dean didn't need to peer back over his shoulder to know what Sam was looking at. He motioned for his brother to move to the opposite wall, ran his hand up the barrel of his gun, and grasping its underside, turned to do his job.

"It was your father Dean!"

"What?" Dean stood just outside the Roadhouse trying to absorb Jo's words.

"Why do you think John never came back," Jo continued, "never told you about us? Cause he couldn't look my mom in the eye after that, that's why."

"Jo…" Dean began weakly.

"Just, just get out of here… please, just leave." Jo turned and walked off.

Dean stood, staring at the dirt, piecing together certain things which suddenly made sense. He collected his thoughts, somewhat, then headed straight back into the bar. He pushed open the door, and spotting Ellen, quickly moved towards her.

"Ellen! Ellen, we need to talk."

"No Dean," Ellen said as she began to walk away. "We ain't got nothin' to talk about."

"Yeah, well… I think we do," Dean persisted.

"Get out of my bar!" Ellen instructed. Dean stepped forward and as she turned, he grabbed her by the arm.

"Listen to me," he began with a slightly pleading tone in his voice. Ellen stopped, he had her attention. "I know what you must have went through, worrying… about Jo."

"No you don't!" She responded fiercely. "You have no idea!"

"Don't I?! Ellen, all I have is Sam. And don't try to tell me that it's different, cause hell, I'm the one that raised him!" Both Ellen and Dean stood motionless as the words cut out into the bar. Dean caught his breath and continued blindly, words floating from his head, to his mouth, to his ears… "My Dad… hell, he barely knew how to raise me… but Sam? Sam was mine… he was all mine, from the beginning. And if anything--" Dean glanced away, his eyes turning soft, then hardening. "This Demon… these abilities… Sam's life is in danger every day. Every damn day!"

"I'm sorry for your troubles Dean… I am," Ellen commiserated, then her eyes hardened, "but all the more reason to keep the hell away from my daughter!" With those words she yanked her arm out of Dean's now loose grasp, and pushed through the swinging door into the back room.

Dean stood in the bar alone, unsure of what he had even said, or why the hell he had been compelled to say it. I'm talking to a fucking stranger… I'm talking to my fucking self!

Dean breathed deep as his fear and concern converted back into aggressive anger. Without hesitation, he grabbed an empty beer bottle off one of the tables, clinched the base tight in his fist, then cocked his arm back and threw it with all his rage into the front door. As it shattered against the wood, he took brief satisfaction in the object's destruction.

Dean stared hard at its broken remains, somehow, he related to it.

Thanks for reading everyone! As always, hope to hear your thoughts : )

Kate