Author's Note: You guys are making me feel so proud of this story. Thank you to everyone who reviews, and even to those who don't. Again, I'd like to thank Amy and Carikube for their outsanding guidance.

Dean threw himself on the bed and groaned, rubbing his eyes. "Ten solid hours. My eyes are burning. I don't think I've studied so hard ever, for anything."

Sam glanced at him as he dropped the duffle bags onto the second bed. "Doesn't surprise me." Dean's sarcasm and jokes fell uselessly against his leaden heart. Their research had been fruitless. There was no information about yellow-eyed, clawed demons, no information to prove Sam's innocence. Nothing to prove validate his fear, either, as Dean had pointed out- but it did little to quell Sam's anxiety. With his stomach in knots, Sam pulled the chain on the lamp, illuminating the small room. The clock on the nightstand read 11:17.

"We didn't even find anything useful, unless you count blisters and aneurisms. Oh, and a free lunch. We did get that."

Sam rolled his eyes. "You were drooling all over Ellen's bar. You were scaring away her customers. It was a pity lunch." A pity lunch that he had been unable to eat.

Dean shrugged. "Hey, I'll take what I can get, man."

Sam unzipped the weapons bag and began pawing through it. "Obviously."

Propping himself up on his elbows, Dean frowned at him. "Okay… so brooding it is. That's cool. Just trying to-"

"Don't." Sam fell still, glaring at him. "Who- I killed a girl, Dean! I was missing for two days and have no idea what happened, then I cut a girl to pieces in cold blood, you saw the body! It was my knife, her blood all over my hands-"

"Hey," Dean said, sitting up. "What happened to you almost believing it was the monsters? I thought we were making progress here."

Sam shook his head in denial and continued to search the duffle bag. "Well one thing's for sure- I'm not going to let it happen again."

"Damn straight, because we're going to hunt down the bastard that did it." He paused. "What are you doing? I just cleaned everything last night."

At last. Sam's fingers closed over the cold steel of the handcuffs and he pulled them out. "The demon could come back," he said, setting the bags on the floor. Then he sat down, facing Dean, and held out the handcuffs. "I need you to cuff me to the bed."

Dean stared at him. "Come again?"

Sam waved his hand. "Come on. I'm serious. I could kill you, Dean." His stomach twisted into a nervous lump at the thought.

Dean stared at him a moment longer, then snorted breathlessly. "No way. You need to relax, Sam. Nothing's going to happen to you, understand me? Put those away."

Sam read the lines of determination on his brother's face and withdrew his hand. "Fine. I'll do it myself." He shuffled backwards, to the opposite side of the bed, and closed one cuff around his right wrist, the other around frame of the bed. The feeling of steel around his wrist sent a shiver down his spine, but it was the only way he could be safe. When he sat up again, Dean was glaring at him.

"You've lost it, man. Seriously fucking lost it, you know that?"

"I'm keeping you alive."

"You're being paranoid," Dean shot back. "I told you before, I can handle you. Do I need to kick your ass again to prove it?" He got up, going to the duffle bags. "Where the hell is the key?"

Sam laid back, his head banging softly against the wall. He tried to cross his arms but he was stopped with a jingle of metal on metal, his right hand barely on top of the mattress. With resignation, he draped his left arm over his stomach, letting the other hang. "Don't undo them," he warned. "Not until morning. Promise me."

"Sam, what if the building catches on fire? I can't leave you chained to a bed. If you were someone of the opposite sex, and those were covered in pink fur, then I might reconsider... but you, for that reason? No."

Sam glared at him. "Take them off and I'm getting a different room, then I'll cuff myself to that bed."

Dean stopped, one arm elbow-deep in the weapons bag. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. "Fine," he relented at last. "But I'm holding on to the key."

Sam shifted uncomfortably. "You should hide it, just in case."

"No."

"But if-"

Dean dropped the bag and faced him, the small key flashing in his palm before he closed his fist around it. "Look- this insane little idea of yours? We're doing it on my terms. I'm keeping the key; this is as good as it gets, Sam. Deal or no deal."

The brothers glared at each other; a high stakes, who would blink first. Sam saw the tension coiled in Dean's rigid stance; the worry behind his eyes. They could argue all night on this point but Sam knew his brother wouldn't back down. Dean had reached the end of his rope, couldn't be budged. This would have to be good enough. And honestly Sam didn't want to spend the night alone with only his thoughts for company.

Sam gave the cuffs a tug, satisfied that he truly wasn't going anywhere without Dean's consent. "Fine," he said with a sigh.

Dean grinned, his shoulders relaxing. He twirled the key on his finger. "Wise decision, Sammy. I knew you'd see it my way. You know," he started, stalking around Sam in a way that a fox circles sheep. "All kinds of unfortunate accidents could happen tonight. Your hand might fall into a bowl of warm water. Fire ants could get into your sheets. I hate to see you suffer through something like that."

Sam glared. He did not need to worry about Dean and his childish pranks on top of everything else, even if they were just an attempt to lighten the mood. "Don't even think about it. I didn't do this for your amusement."

"Oh, but you did," Dean snorted.

Already a headache was forming. "Dean-"

"Alright, alright," Dean surrendered, raising his hands. "I'll be good." He tossed the key on the dresser, which was across the room and well out of Sam's reach, and lay down. He reached over, turned off the light, and said into the darkness, "Sleep tight, little brother."

Hours later, Dean was snoring and Sam was staring at the TV as Emeril Lagasse prepared roasted duck, the volume muted. A lot of shows were actually better without sound. No tell-tale spooky music to warn you of hiding serial killers, no anemic, weak-ass, pop-princess music to amp the angst factor on soapy dramas. No voices to ask stupid questions. Just the images on the screen and whatever soundtrack your mind came up with.

Sam set the remote on the nightstand and the handcuffs jingled softly with the movement. He squirmed a little, redistributing his weight, and tried to get comfortable. His head had finally stopped throbbing, but now a stress headache was beginning to take root. As long as it didn't erupt into a vision, he could live with it.

Something moved out of the corner of his eye and Sam turned sharply, staring at the window. Moonlight caused the thin curtains to glow with pale silver light, shimmering as they rustled in the breeze. Sam frowned, the hair on his arms standing tall. He didn't remember opening the window…

Dean's cell phone rang, trumpeting 'Smoke on the Water' from the depths of Dean's duffle bag. Sam turned towards the sound, recoiling when he came face to face with Nicole. Her skin was almost translucent in the moonlight, and her eyes dark and malicious. For a heartbeat Sam just stared, even his heart frozen in shock as his mind raced to discern if she was real or not. Before he could blink, she raised her arm and swung down, the glint of cold steel briefly reflecting Emeril and the duck.

Then came the pain, searing and sharp. The knife glanced off his ribs as he rolled away, tumbling to the floor in a tangle. He scrambled to his feet only to be yanked back down by the unforgiving handcuffs, jerking harshly against his wrist, pulling his shoulder. The bed jumped across the floor a few centimeters as Sam backpedaled against the wall, searching the darkness for any flutter of movement. Where was she now? His heart pounded with regret and fear as he fought the restraints, his fingers tingling.

"Sam- what the hell?" Knife in hand, Dean launched himself across the room in a blur of shadow and blue light. He just missed Nicole as she darted to the window and leapt through it with hardly a rustle of the drapes.

Dean crashed into the window frame, leaning outside, searching. "Fuck," he spat, turning to Sam. "Are you okay? What the hell happened?"

Sam had one arm clamped against his side like a broken-winged bird. "It was Nicole," he said, lifting his arm as Dean inspected the wound. "She appeared out of thin air..." Like a ghost.

Dean tossed the knife on the bed and used both hands to peel away the torn, wet material. "You're bleeding pretty good," he murmured. "Get up on the bed."

The handcuffs kept him bent over as he sat on the edge of the mattress. Sam watched Dean shut and lock the window, then grab the duffle bag and handcuff keys. He took deep, steady breaths as Dean returned, and it was then he noticed the cell phone was still ringing.

"You gonna get that?" he grunted, jerking his head towards the bag.

Dean turned on the lights and they both winced. "It can wait," Dean replied, dropping to his knees as he unlocked the cuffs. "Told you this was a bad idea."

"She's avenging her death," Sam said, rubbing his wrist as the steel fell away. "I killed her with my knife, now her spirit is trying to kill me with hers."

Dean pulled out a bottle of rubbing alcohol and some gauze. "Yeah? Since when do restless spirits wear perfume or escape through open windows? That was no ghost, Sam. That was Nicole, or at least someone who looks a hell of a lot like her."

"What?" Sam jerked more from surprise than from the bite of the alcohol. Confusion darkened his mind and he frowned. "But, she's dead. I saw her- we both saw her body. The blood and the knife… she's dead."

Dean glanced up at him. "I know the difference between a ghost and a living person, Sammy."

Sam sucked in a breath, holding it till it burned. Nicole was dead. They'd seen her. Hadn't they? "I don't understand… But- if she was really here, why'd you let her get away?"

"What was I supposed to do, let you sit here and bleed to death?" Dean snapped, cleaning the wound more forcefully than necessary.

"I would have been fine," Sam replied. He flinched under Dean's scouring and ground out, "It's not that bad." Nicole was alive? But how? What the hell was happening?

"Funny, you said the exact same thing that time you broke your leg and I could see your shin bone sticking through your jeans!"

Another chorus of 'Smoke on the Water' started and Sam snapped. "Will you answer the damn phone?"

Dean glared at him before slapping a large bandage against his ribs. "Put that on," he growled, then snatched his phone and opened it. "What?" he barked, the vein in his temple throbbing.

"Nicole's not dead!" Ash exclaimed so loudly that even Sam could hear it, "I found a news story on the internet- 'Police respond to call, find life-like doll covered in goat's blood'. It says they traced the doll back to some special effects guy and they brought him in for questioning. And get this- he says a friend of his said she wanted it for a prank, and her name is not being released yet."

Dean held the phone between his shoulder and ear, prying Sam's hands away to inspect his handiwork. "Yeah, we know."

"You know?"

Belatedly, Sam peeled his ruined T-shirt off over his head and tossed it on the floor.

Dean packed the supplies back in the bag and replied, "Yeah, she just paid Sammy a little visit. Left him a nice parting gift, too."

"Well hol-ee shit," Ash whistled. "You guys okay?"

Dean glanced at Sam. "We're fine. I want this bitch's last known address, you got it? I think I'll pay her a little visit tomorrow."

"I'm on it."

Dean grunted his appreciation and snapped the phone shut.

"I'm going with you," Sam said. "If she's mixed up with the demon, I wanna know why and how. I want to know what the hell is going on."

Dean nodded, then smiled slightly. "I told you I was right- when are you going to start listening to me, huh? I told you you're not a cold-blooded killer." he said, patting Sam on the head as he moved to the second bed.

Sam frowned, smoothing his hair, trying to shift away from the pain in his side. "Yeah," he said slowly. He still had no idea what the fuck was going on, why he was being set up, and that was even scarier. "Guess I should have listened."