I changed just a few details in the summary, and starting now the rating is jacked up to M. I figured out where I'm going with this, and it's not a very pretty place. Possibly not sexually explicit, but definitely violent, and there's going to be some language on the way. Thanks again for all the reviews. Them is nice.

With a sigh, he helped Dean into the Impala. The stress, the rush of the conversation, something had taxed his brother's reserves allowing the alcohol to hit him hard. He wasn't quite stumbling drunk, but Dean's step wasn't steady either. Sam didn't doubt he would have been hard pressed to find the Impala in the dark on his own. Dean's nameless observer had been right. Even he didn't protest being placed in the passenger seat. For now.

"So...tables turned," He asked, head resting heavily against the back of the seat, "You think you could make the same promise?"

"Huh?" Having thought his brother to be practically asleep, Dean's question caught Sam a little off guard.

"You know what I'm talking about. It's my turn to be all drunk and emo... Think it's your turn to—"

The slur in his speech, audible over the phone, had become more pronounced, but that wasn't the only reason Sam had trouble deciphering his brother's meaning. He barely remembered that night at the Pierpont Inn, though the pain of the next morning was emblazoned on his memory with agonizing clarity. That and the pinched look on Dean's face, and the knowledge that he'd added even more weight to the burden his older brother carried.

"And if I ever turn into something that I'm not—" Though knowing how much it hurt him hadn't change Sam's view on the subject. Hadn't caused him to take it back.

"It's not the same thing, Dean." He said, suddenly feeling as tired as his brother looked. "We don't even know for sure this is real. Bobby's evidence was pretty circumstantial. We're probably better off just forgetting."

"Dunno. Maybe. But still, you know? If I do ever..." He trailed off for a moment, brow furrowed under the apparently monumental effort to think clearly. "Maybe don't kill me, but don't let me hurt you either. Okay?"

"You wouldn't Dean."

"Hell, you don't know." He mumbled drowsily, the words of his protest his falling almost below hearing. "Tricky bastard, you know..."

Sam shut the door gently, leaning against the car and giving his mind a chance to rest. Thankfully for him, they'd had most of their gear packed and ready to go before Dean's disappearing act. Before... God, more than anything right now, he wanted to forget the whole mess.

They should have been gone, blown, out of town hours ago while there was still enough light to carry them through to the next town, the next motel, and hopefully a bit of downtime before their next gig. As it was, daylight was a lost cause, but Sam might be able to find a place before the exhaustion of a worried day caught up to that from their hunt and just became too much.

He walked around the front of the car to give his farewells to Bobby. He was leaning against his truck which he'd parked nearby wearing an expression of concern that seemed to be becoming the default when dealing with the Winchester boys. The old hunter was the closest thing they had to family, their only link to a time when it hadn't been just the two of them. When their father had died, Bobby had given them a home, and for them—or to Sam, at least, though he hadn't realized until just that moment—he would always carry that with him. It was something neither of the brothers had wanted to let go of easily. Maybe if they had they would have gone on their way when it was time instead of lingering.

And his ideas and where they had lead... Sam didn't blame Bobby for the mischief they had caused. It just wasn't fair to the man. As much as he wanted to address them again, the topic had become untouchable to him. For a moment, he and Bobby just looked at each other, each knowing what was on the other's mind or the color of it, but neither wanting to say a word. But silences like that have to end in some way.

"So...uh..."

"You boys take care of yourselves. Don't need me comin' to bail your asses out again. Not in the next week, anyway."

Sam smiled weakly, glancing at the Impala. Bobby's eyes followed Sam's, and the older man let out a sigh.

"I didn't mean harm by it..."

Sam just shook his head. Not denial, not dismissal, just... God, he felt tired.

"Doesn't change anything, Bobby. Don't worry about it." Bobby looked at him uncertainly at first. It seemed to fade slowly. Perhaps weighing it against everything else their family had endured. He gave a slight nod.

"Don't let it." He said finally, climbing into his truck. "Don't think I could forgive myself."

Sam watched as Bobby drove off. His gaze returned to his brother, not fast asleep in the car.

Don't let it. If nothing else, Sam owed Dean that much. Because his brother had never made that mistake with him. And even if it cost them both their lives, Sam knew, he probably never would.

The road flew by quietly, anonymously, quickly in the dark. So much of the country's roadside had passed him by from the car's windows that he hardly noticed anymore. The world was the same size it had been growing up, but lately he thought he could sometimes feel it shrinking around him. Around both of them. The horizon stretched on as it always had, but there was a lie to it. Sometimes the world was only as large as the Impala and the road under her headlights.

As restricting as that was, it almost seemed to Sam to be all his brother really needed. A highway for his music to echo against, black night before him and swallowing where he'd been...and someone in the other seat to grin at as he went. The idea that he was merely Dean's captive audience brought a brief smile to his face. He looked over into the passenger seat, expecting to see his brother still asleep there.

The sight of his brother's profile against the dim light coming in through the windows was more than a familiar sight to Sam. And so he knew immediately that this wasn't Dean. For a split second the light of a streetlamp revealed the face of the dark woman from the bar. Looking at Sam with eyes almost possession black, she sat in his brother's place in the shotgun seat. No word, no motion, not even the bat of an eye. Only her stare that seemed to look through him, possibly without seeing. And when the light passed, she was gone.

Heart beating wildly, Sam's foot went to the breaks before he had more than a moment to consider. Only half prepared as the wheels screeched, he slammed against the steering column. The horn blared and kept on sounding as if possessed, and he almost missed the echoing thump of Dean hitting the dashboard beside him. His fingers gripped the wheel almost helplessly until the noise finally stopped leaving his ears ringing.

"—the fuck, Sammy?!" For an absurd moment, memory of the apparition fled his mind as he realized he'd forgotten Dean's seatbelt. With a muffled groan, his brother settled himself back into place, and soon fell back to sleep. Though perhaps not peacefully.

Sam pulled the Impala onto the side of the highway and sat for a few minutes. Ghost, vision, dream? He wasn't sure. If he'd been asleep, adrenaline from the sudden stop had taken care of that. The other options, while well within the realm of possibility, were less desirable to consider.

Sam suddenly felt very exposed, and out in the darkness, alone, that was a terrible thing to be. He flicked on the highbeams pulling back onto the road, eye out like a hawk for the next exit.