A/N: Dang it, I forgot to put in a disclaimer. One day I will get this all right on the first shot.

Disclaimer: The Impala, Sam Winchester and (oh, this one hurts) Dean Winchester and various other characters don't belong to me. Some of the things referenced in the story also don't belong to me, but then some of them do. All these things, sans my own words, belong to Kripke Enterprises (Scrap Metal & Entertainment) and The CW. Not trying to step on toes or claim ownership, much as I would really enjoy that.

Weaver, Chapter 3

Sam appreciated Dean's efforts even if it didn't show, and he knew it didn't show much at all. He stared down at his drink not because he respected women too much to overtly ogle them the way Dean did but because every single one of the beautiful women…and the beautiful men who looked like women, he thought…made him cold and dark inside, like his dreams left him. They looked just like the girl in his dream before she morphed into Jess, and then Max, and that terrified him.

Sam also appreciated that Dean was putting on as much of an act as the women were. The guy had only played a couple hands of blackjack, hit one slot machine and one roulette wheel before claiming that poker and pool at a regular bar were more his style. That was probably true, and if he hadn't caught Dean shooting him worried and/or paranoid glances several times Sam might have bought into that excuse. If he had any idea why he was still freaked out about this one dream – it wasn't the worst he'd ever had, especially lately, he'd be annoyed by his brother's behavior. He knew Dean perceived it as bad, too, because it went against everything for him to be faking interest in the beautiful women before them, and Dean definitely was doing that.

"You know, this really isn't my thing either," Dean said. "Too...flamboyant. You sure you don't want to hit a strip club with me?"

"I'm sure." Sam shook his head at Dean's real look of disappointment, and that actually made him feel a little bit better. "You can drop me off and go by yourself if you really want to do that."

"Dude, you have got to lighten up a little. I know I tell you that all the time, but shit – you need to find an outlet for all that chick flick angst of yours."

"I'm not like you. I can't just switch it on and off."

Dean muttered something under his breath and turned to stare sullenly at the elaborate show that continued on stage. Sam almost followed his gaze, but caught himself in time. One brief glimpse as they'd walked in had left him nervous. He stared at the condensation on the drink Dean's winnings had paid for. He shook his head. His brother was actually a pretty lucky person, at least on one level. All the while claiming he wasn't into blackjack, he kept winning. They had enough to pay for a couple hotel rooms the honest way for a change, and still have enough for food and coffee.

"You should try harder," Dean said, gaze still locked on the stage.

"Look, Dean, I'm tired. I don't really want to talk about this. I just want to get back to the room and rest a little. You can go stare at naked women by yourself."

In truth, Sam wanted to get back on the road, to get back to…normal. God, did he really consider his life normal now? No, it was just that jobs gave him something to focus on, something besides Jess and Dad and the demon. He looked up and caught Dean doing the paranoid glance thing. He realized he'd just admitted his tiredness when he'd denied it before. He didn't think that's what made Dean keep staring almost at him.

"I'm that obvious?"

Dean looked embarrassed for a second before he regained a completely expressionless face. Expression wasn't necessary; Sam saw the concern in the eyes.

"You've been looking at me like I'm going to stop breathing while I'm sitting here," Sam said.

"Oh."

"It must have been residual effects from Max's influence." Sam didn't buy that theory himself, not really. "His skills were a lot more powerful than mine."

"Skills."

He rolled his eyes and looked away. Sam caught a glimpse of the showgirls leaving the stage. Their headdresses were exactly like those in his latest dream. He closed his eyes before one of them had the chance to look like Jess. Dean smacked him on the shoulder. Sam opened his eyes and slid away from the table. They wouldn't do any more of the non-talk about the non-breathing thing, or his…skills. He followed Dean out of the theater and remained mute while the valet collected the car and shot the shit with Dean about the Impala. He really was damned exhausted and couldn't avoid sleep forever. He'd already tried that once. As soon as he slid into the passenger seat, he slouched and rested his head on the back of the seat. His knees dug into the dash.

"I'm going to hit the In-N-Out I saw on the way," Dean said. "You hungry?"

"Not really."

"Good, then you can watch the car while I go in."

Dean fairly pealed out of the parking lot, showing off how sweet the car was. Sam smiled to himself. Some things about Dean would never alter, and the whole car machismo thing was one of them. Inherited from their dad, Sam thought, and yet another thing that made him so different from them. He was more concerned about fuel efficiency in his cars than looks. Sam watched the bright lights of Vegas streak by and felt as disconnected as ever. He didn't even notice when the car stopped and the engine noise cut out.

"I'll be back," Dean announced. Sam nodded, then his stomach growled.

"Hey, Dean? I changed my mind. Pick me up a burger too," he said. He hadn't felt like eating much for the past twenty-four hours. "With extra pickles."

"You got it."

Sam pretended he didn't see or understand the flicker of relief that flashed across Dean's face. Things were definitely on their way back to routine. He hoped Dean would get tired of this limited time off kick he was on, and soon. Sam had never really had much desire to visit Vegas, which Dean would only point out as a huge indication of how big a geek he was. He watched Dean join the crowd of people standing in front of the counter. The smell of grease was thick in the air, making him both revolted and hungry. Dean managed to find the prettiest woman to stand next to and proceeded to spend more time looking at her than the menu board.

The woman, though, looked straight out the big glass restaurant window and right over to Sam. Her eyes were large, he noted, and very dark. Sam sat up uncomfortably as the eyes got larger and darker by the second. Dean didn't even notice. Sam watched his brother for signs of alarm, but as Dean blatantly undressed the woman with his eyes he gave no indication he thought anything was wrong. He turned toward Sam himself and mock whistled while pointing to the woman behind his raised hand. Sam looked at her again, and she was Jess now. No, no. Jess smiled at him, her teeth yellow and sharp, her smile so wide it looked as though it would split her face.

"Dean," he said.

Sam bolted forward, and was jerked back by his lap belt. He hardly ever used the damned thing, and now… He fumbled with the clasp, fingers made clumsy by urgency and awkward because he didn't dare tear his eyes away from his brother. The thing pretending to be Jess laughed at him and lunged toward Dean.

"Dean, look out!" he shouted.

Dean didn't hear him, and even if he had it was too late. The thing wrapped its arms around Dean, seeming now to have more than two. It clung to his brother, spun him around so his face was to Sam. Dean now looked shocked yet resigned to what was happening. The thing stroked Dean's hair and stuck a tongue in his ear. Sam's hands felt as though they were covered in gauze. He was trapped, able only to watch.

"Someone help him!" He didn't recognize his own voice, it was so distorted and deep with emotion. "Help him."

No one moved, as if they were frozen in place. It made his own worthless movements seem all the more frenetic. He already knew it didn't matter if he ever got free. The thing had its mouth over Dean's in an evil parody of a kiss, and its hands were under his shirt. Sam saw a dark stain spreading across Dean's abdomen, saw his brother convulse and fight weakly. Sam became frozen himself, staring at the image of Dean and the thing. The thing released its hold and Dean slumped to the floor, bloody and lifeless. The thing stood above him. Sam didn't know what it was, and yet he knew exactly what it was.

"Dean," he said again, barely able to get the name past the tremendous lump in his throat. "Oh,

God."

All the air seemed to suck out of the car, despite the open window. Sam couldn't catch his breath. A five hundred pound weight might as well have been sitting on his chest. Dean was dead and it was his fault. Sam couldn't look away. The thing laughed at him as it had before, teeth dripping red with his brother's blood. It wiped Jess's slender arm across its mouth, leaving a wide maroon streak down the forearm. He watched, still transfixed, as the thing wavered and flickered and melted into something else, a gray shape with black, unkempt hair, strangely familiar. Its teeth remained the same, gory yellow and red and sharp. Sam gasped for air. The compression on his lungs, whether real or psychological, left him in distress. He tried to look away from the hag and couldn't.

Sam bucked against the pressure of the seatbelt, his body fighting instinctively to break away from the force on his abdomen. It felt like more than the seatbelt, that it pressed down on him and pinned him in place. It really felt as though some invisible weight sat on him, but the biting pain on his hip told him it was only the car's safety device. He opened his eyes and heaved for air, throat raw. He slumped back, the pressure that was keeping him in place easing slightly. He heard a tapping noise, saw two figures at his window.

"Hey, man, you might not want to take a nap here," a voice with a slight Southern drawl told him. Sam blinked at the square-jawed face peering at him. The guy's eyes were partially obscured by a dark baseball cap, but he didn't seem threatening. "You'll get yourself mugged. Or worse."

"Picture that," the other, faceless guy said, a dark tan hand reaching for his buddy. "Come on, Nick. Guy's probably just waiting for someone. And I'm damn hungry."

Sam's heart tripped again when he read the letters LVPD emblazoned in glaring white on the guys' jackets. He sat up slightly. He wasn't wearing the lap belt. He wiped a hand down his face, then waved the two cops off. They walked toward the restaurant, each of them giving him at least one more long look before apparently deciding he was fine.

He looked around in confusion. He didn't remember closing his eyes or…he'd fallen asleep. Sam pinched the bridge of his nose; his head hurt a lot. He dropped his hand onto his lap and stared into the restaurant. Dean still stood in line. There was no blood, no death. Dean noticed the LVPD duo and glanced over to him with a nervous expression. The beautiful woman who'd been there before, and in Sam's dream, was gone. No premonition, he thought, just his very overactive imagination playing out in his subconscious. He gave Dean a slight nod to let him know the line had moved. Dean turned away, business as usual, but Sam found he couldn't relax entirely.

Nothing happened. Dean finally got to the counter, picked up a couple greasy burgers and then they drove back to the hotel. By the time they got there, Sam convinced himself it was no big deal and he hadn't been fighting for air when he woke up. The car reeked of fast food, kind of oppressive and yet his stomach growled. He was more than just hungry; he was starved.

"It's going to take forever to air the car out," Sam said as he slid out of the passenger seat.

"I know, dude, but I didn't want to stick around," Dean told him, looking across the car with a miserable expression on his face. "I almost came to drag your sorry ass inside, but…" He paused, expression changing to chagrin. "You're not going to believe me. There was this girl checking me out."

"And?" Sam failed to see the relevance. Dean opened the hotel door, then tossed the keys onto the nightstand by his own bed and dug through the greasy paper bag. He handed Sam a foil-wrapped sandwich. "How is that different from usual?"

"She kind of creeped me out. I mean, she was hot and everything, but something about her wasn't quite right."

Sam closed his eyes. He watched the thing that wasn't Jess suck the life from Dean. Not real, not real, didn't happen. He opened his eyes again and walked to the room's small table. He dropped the burger on it, no longer quite as famished, before he sat down.

"What?" Dead said. "It's not like I'm into every girl I see."

Dean plopped down across from him. He already had his burger half unwrapped and he proceeded to take a huge bite out of it. Sam shook his head, slightly amazed and revolted by his brother's total lack of table manners. He could smell the food even more now, surprised when he instantly regained a little of his appetite. It wouldn't do any good if he ran himself ragged without food.

"She looked familiar, though."

"Dude, don't talk with your mouth full."

Dean stopped chewing for a second, long enough to give Sam an icy glare and then he continued chewing noisily and swallowed purposefully. Sam swore sometimes he was the older brother. He took a normal human-sized bite out of his sandwich and chewed slowly. Dean rolled his eyes and raised his left pinky in the air when he brought his burger back up to his mouth.

"It felt like I'd seen her somewhere before," Dean said between bites. Sam wondered why he kept talking about it. He was on edge. "She kind of looked like…never mind."

Ignoring the napkins, Dean rubbed his fingers on his jeans and looked awkwardly at a spot just over Sam's left shoulder. Sam had to force himself not to look, half expecting there was something behind him. Dean's expression was intense, but somehow carefully blank.

"Like what?" Sam said, but he didn't really want to know. He put his sandwich down and reached for a napkin. He forced his own expression – a smile – and forced himself to be normal. Play normal. "Dean, drama's my gig, not yours."

"She looked sort of…a lot like Jess," Dean said, and grimaced as if he regretted saying it.

Sam wanted to puke.