Thanks so much to my wonderful beta, Mizpah for all her help. A big thanks and extra cookies to all you kind people who sent me comments, makes me all warm and fuzzy.

Laura

Sam ignored the looks Dean kept shooting his way, not even trying to hide them. He'd spent the better part of the last few hours trying to appear as if he hadn't noticed a single one. His second endeavor, to sit still was far less successful. His headache, though a regular, normal headache, was a headache just the same. He'd probably given it to himself, and the thumping and pounding in his skull increased with every mile marker passed by. Not able to find a single comfortable position, Sam squirmed and shifted and leaned one way then the other. Valkyrie, apparently totally disgusted with his wiggling around, had long ago jumped into the back seat, propped her head on the back seat rest and stared out the back window. She shot him a look of annoyance every few miles. Then to make her point clear, crystal clear, she'd hang over the seat, lick Dean's face and resume her vigil of the rear flank. Sam decided the dog was just eerie sometimes. It sort of bothered him she didn't seem to want much to do with him the last few days, but who could blame her? He did, after all, nightly now, interrupt her sleep and had twice moved so quickly in his sleep she'd been bounced off the bed. Last night she'd planted herself firmly on Dean's bed, burrowing around, making a nest with a huffed out sigh and challenged Dean to try and remove her. The dog so had them so well trained.

South Dakota was looming up quick, getting closer and closer.

Rubbing his temples, ignoring yet another dirty look from Valkyrie and another concerned one from Dean, Sam shifted around, trying to stretch his legs, which were cramping. It wasn't helping.

"That's it, I've had it." Dean grumbled.

Sam pretty much ignored him until the Impala swung sharply to the right. Dean gunned the engine at an off-ramp coming up far too fast for Sam's taste. His head pounded harder. Hand shooting out, bracing against the dash, "You trying to splatter us all over the highway?"

Dean glared, but lifted his foot off the accelerator, slowing in time to take the turn off the highway. "And I've ever done that when?" Great, now Sam had Dean shouting at him. "You're miserable, you obviously don't feel good, and you're bouncing around like a jumping bean, you haven't squirmed this much since you were ten! We could have stopped anytime, all you had to do was ask."

"I know." Sam grumbled, rubbing his forehead. He didn't want to get into it with Dean, to explain he wanted to do what they came to do and put about a thousand miles between them and South Dakota. Truth be told, he knew he didn't have to explain anything, and Dean probably felt the same as Sam times ten.

"Vision?" This time Dean's voice was softer.

Sam massaged the tense muscles along the back of his neck, and twisted his head side to side. "No. It's a headache Dean, just a simple tension headache. Can't we keep going and get this over with?"

Anger and tension drained away from his brother, Sam could see him change, his expression, his whole body language now radiated concern and simple care. Dean reached over and rubbed the back of Sam's head for a few seconds. "South Dakota, Sammy, everyone packs up and goes home at four. By the time we get there any offices we need to go into will be closed. I'm not wild about calling Forge, though we can if we need to. And I'm really not wild about risking breaking into somewhere we can walk into and check out public records."

Sam wasn't wild about those things either, and admitted as much. A large part of his headache was probably worry over Dean being there, being caught somehow.

Another few miles passed in silence before Dean pulled into a motel parking lot. "You sit tight. I'll get us a room. You get a hot shower, and we'll grab some food, and you'll feel better."

Sam nodded. Valkyrie hung her head over the back of the seat, whimpering a bit, tail wagging lazy circles, when Dean left the car. Sam reached back to scratch her ears, but she ducked away, and stretched out on the back seat.

"I'm sorry, ok? Don't you ever have a bad day?"

Valkyrie ignored him, which bothered him. He jerked awake and away from the passenger window when the car door opened. Dean gave him another concerned look and shook his head a fraction.

"We'll be there by late morning tomorrow. Maybe we can wrap this up in a day, and get moving. Sound good?"

Hunching, then stretching and rolling his stiff shoulders Sam nodded, managed a smile. "That sounds very good." Then parked in front of their room door, as Dean shoved his door open, Sam grabbed his arm. Dean looked back, one eyebrow arched, waiting. "Thanks. A lot. For everything."

Dean smiled, placed his hand over Sam's gave it a squeeze. "You betcha. We'll get this all taken care of Sammy, we will. I promise." He tossed Sam the room key. "You go get in the shower, I'll get our stuff and take Miss Snotty Pants here for a little walk. This place has a diner, we can eat there, or get pizza, or whatever you want."

"I can carry…"

"Go." Dean cut him off, packing more authority into that one gently spoken word than most people could a whole sentence. Sam didn't argue, his brother only meant well, and the shower sounded really good.

Standing in the shower, letting hot water pour over him Sam had to consent, Dean was right, it did make him feel better. Little needles of water, warm and soothing relaxed his back, loosened the muscles of his chest as they beat down. Soaping up, he worked his sore arms and neck with his fingers, thinking there would be no more hot water for anyone else by the time he was done. Minutes later he heard Dean and Valkyrie moving about the room, the distinctive sound of dog food being poured into a dish.

Knuckles wrapped against the partially opened bathroom door, "Sammy, you ok in there?"

"'M fine. Almost done." Sam had to smile. He was in the shower, not lost, and still he knew Dean liked updates, to know he was ok. Sam was ok with that, more than ok it that. It was good to have someone around who cared, make sure the evil soap monsters didn't get him in the shower.

He found Dean sitting at the small table near the window, menus spread out like tarot cards. His head felt better, even getting into his sweats and t-shirt felt better than jeans and boots and flannels.

"How ya' feel?"

"Better." Sam stood looking over Dean's shoulder. "What's our choices?"

"Pizza, Chinese, Greek, or we can hit the diner, and I think I saw a few other places on the way in."

"I wouldn't mind staying here, if that's ok with you?"

"Sure. You be ok here by yourself for a bit, I'll run out grab food, and get some beer, snacks?"

Sam chuckled, "I'll be fine. I will." He flopped on his bed, started clicking through the few stations the motel offered.

Dean stuck his knife under the pillow on his bed, and pulled on his jacket. "I'll be back in a half hour, forty-five minutes tops."

"Um humm.." Sam was already a bit drowsy. He slid farther down in the bed, readjusting the pillows. Dean must have kicked the heat up a bit when he'd come in. Between that and the shower, Sam was feeling relaxed and comfortable.

The sound of the TV, he wasn't even sure what was on it, drifted away, receding into the background. Sam pulled the blankets up, more asleep than anything, thinking as he sank deeper, eyelids slipping shut, he and his brother were lucky, they had each other. The last thing he remembered was Valkyrie curling behind his knees and thinking the dog must like him again, that made him feel good.

Sam woke with a start and half a cry from the vision…or nightmare…he wasn't sure which, to a dark room and Valkyrie snarling at him. The room was dark, it shouldn't be this dark. Where was Dean? He should have been back. Memory of the latest assault on his sleep still fresh, Sam was shaking. He wished his eyes would adjust faster to the dark. Panic squeezed his chest, sent more shudders up and down his spine.

Why was the dog snarling at him?

Put a gun to his head, backed him against a wall, and pulled the trigger. It was all Sam remembered. Dean had done that. The memory of it, the hate in his brother's eyes made Sam gasp and wheeze, his throat constricted, he couldn't breathe. "D-d-dean?" It was little more than a whisper. Dean had killed him, in cold blood, shot him without care or remorse or….and where was Dean? Hearing movement between the beds Sam turned in that direction, voice a bit stronger this time, "Dean?"

"Your food is cold." Dean's voice was colder. Another shiver ran the length of Sam's back, his hands trembled.

"I-I'm sor-sorry, I f-fell asleep I guess. I had a…"

"You know what? I don't give a goddamn!"

The room was suddenly illuminated in bright light. Dean must have turned it on. When Sam turned to the voice, found his brother he flinched away involuntarily. He couldn't place it, but Dean's eyes were wrong. Dean was wrong. Not void of pupils and demonic, but wrong. Frighteningly wrong. They were hard, and cold and angry. Very angry. Angrier than Sam had ever seen them. The hate boring out of them into Sam was palatable.

Dean advanced on him, shouting, "You know what, Sammy-boy? I've had it! I'm done with your whiny, sniveling bullshit!"

Sam couldn't help scrambling backwards across the bed, away from Dean. Dean who was currently scaring the crap out of him. "What did I—" His question was abruptly cut off when Dean backhanded him so hard Sam flipped away, sprawled half on the bed and half off the other side. Sam's mind whirled faster than the room had as he tried to get his feet under him, get out of Dean's reach. But this wasn't Dean, it couldn't possibly be him. Dean would never hurt him. They'd fought with each other since Sam was old enough to stand, but never to hurt. There'd been wrestling and even the occasional honest to goodness punch, but never brutal, violent attacks.

Couldn't be Dean, not Dean, couldn't be Dean….

Sam's mind chanted over and over.

"So what was in your stupid, freaky nutcase head this time? What stupid thing did you dream up now that I'm supposed to make all better?" Dean bent down, before Sam could get moving he was held captive, Dean's fists hauling him up by his shirt. "Well?" Dean shouted so loud Sam was sure the people in the next room would hear. He shook Sam furiously.

Trying uselessly to loosen Dean's grip on him Sam sputtered out, "You...you shot me…in…the head."

Dean snorted, "Wouldn't waste the bullet Sammy boy, more satisfying to do it with my bare hands."

Before Sam could process the words Dean landed a hard, vicious punch to Sam's jaw, sending him back across the bed. The next thing was Dean's weight pinning him, knees to Sam's chest, fingers wrapped around Sam's throat, hands pressing together, cutting off Sam's air.

Not Dean, can't be Dean, dream, dream, in my head, no…no…Dean...no, don't please, don't, can't be Dean….

Red and black haze started forming at the edges of Sam's vision, he tried calling Dean's name, break him out of whatever this was, but he couldn't talk. He bucked, somewhere in the distance Valkyrie barked, then squealed when Dean's foot shot out, catching her in the side. Sam bucked harder, almost dislodging his sibling from his chest, brought both hands up and slammed them with enough force to really hurt into either side of Dean's head. Throwing Dean off, Sam rolled off the bed, gasping and choking, trying to breathe and stay away from his brother, and find the dog all at the same time.

"You miserable little FREAK!" In a single frighteningly fast movement Dean spun, grabbed his knife and was over the bed and at Sam again.

Sam blocked the blow, grabbed Dean's arm as he plunged the knife straight at Sam's chest. Sam gritted his teeth, kept his elbow locked, his arm extended. Scrambling backwards, he spun Dean around, pounding his hand into the wall, trying to make him give up the knife. He pounded again and again, Dean's hand and the knife just above his head, until he felt Dean's blood drip into his hair, down his face.

It took a few seconds for him to register, Dean's blood was cold. Blood shouldn't be cold.

The knife fell to the floor, clattering on tiles, but there'd been carpet on the floor. The blood turned to water.

"Sammy!" Dean's voice, different this time, thick and raw and full of fear.

Sam jerked away from Dean's hands, colliding with the back of the tub wall, cracking his head. Dean wouldn't hurt me, wouldn't hurt me, not Dean, he didn't….

"Sam." This time there was more insistence, this time it really sounded like Dean.

Sam lifted his chin, looked up. His brother looked fine, other than appearing rather scared, and he was bleeding from a slice across his thumb. Dean's other hand was pressed against Sam's chest holding him in the shower of cold water.

"Sam?" Dean let go of him long enough to grab a towel and wrap his hand, stall the oozing blood.

Letting his gaze drift around the small bathroom, Sam's eyes fell on the knife, lying on the floor just outside the tub. He started to shiver, only partly from the cold water, his teeth chattered. Dean's eyes followed Sam's gaze. He immediately kicked the knife away. It spun out of reach, coming to rest against the wall behind the toilet.

"Cccoo-oolld." Sam stuttered out, trying to clamp his teeth shut.

Dean offered him a lopsided grin, "Good. It's an improvement." He reached back and shut off the water. Then turned and started sliding his hands under Sam's arms.

Sam garbled a 'please…don't' and wrenched away, again hitting the end of the tub. Dean froze, giving him an odd look that evolved to hurt, then concern.

"Hey, easy, take it easy. It's ok, it's me. Dean." His voice was soft, full of gentleness and sounded very normal, very much like Dean. Sitting back on his haunches for a few seconds, Dean seemed to scrutinize him. Then, standing to his full height Dean simply held out one hand to Sam.

Sam looked around again, still the bathroom. He was sprawled haphazardly in the tub, dripping wet clothes clinging to him, cold and confused. He grasped Dean's offered hand, gripped it as if his arm were a lifeline and pulled himself up against the iron strength of his brother's grip. Dean didn't let go once Sam was out of the tub, pulling him out of the bathroom. Sam stopped long enough to get a glimpse at himself in the mirror. No bruises ringed his neck, no marks from being punched, no split lip from Dean's first blow. In fact, other than he was dripping wet, shaking like a leaf and still fully clothed Sam looked perfectly fine.

Dean pulled him to his bed, sitting Sam firmly on the end, grabbed a towel and draped it over Sam's head, then pulled the blankets up and wrapped them around his shoulders. Sam sat, watching him, confused.

Kneeling in front of him, Dean laid one hand on Sam's knee, peered into his eyes, "Hey, you with me?"

Sam had to think about it for a few seconds. Dean would never hurt him, it was some awful nightmare, just tension and… When he felt something against the top of his head, moving, Sam flinched away, startled. Losing his balance he ended up on the floor between the beds with a jolt to his butt. His arms and legs suddenly a tangled mass hampered by the blankets. He couldn't move, couldn't get away, couldn't fight back if….wasn't Dean, wasn't Dean, Dean would never do that, not real, dream, not real….

"Sam!" Annoyance crept into Dean's voice, which oddly enough made Sam relax. His brother had a pretty simple method to stop Sam's scrambling about. He wrapped both arms securely around Sam's shoulders, pinning Sam against his chest. Valkyrie got in on the act, hanging over one bed, slurping upside down kisses at both brothers, mostly getting Sam's ear wet. "Slow down Sammy, it's me, just me."

For the first time Sam realized Dean was shaking, his heart hammered like an engine piston against his ribcage. Relaxing a small bit more, Sam let his head rest under Dean's chin. He felt Dean raise one hand to gently push Valkyrie back…..Dean wouldn't kick the dog, would never kick the dog….or hurt me, he wouldn't… Sam felt suddenly trapped, struggled against his brother, trying to push away. The same hand Dean used to move Valkyrie away came back, resting firmly against Sam's head, holding him still.

"Sam, tell me, talk to me. Take it easy, it's ok, just you and me here. You're safe, it's ok. Tell me what they did Sammy."

Sam shook his head, "Wasn't them. Was you."

"Was me? Ok, relax and tell me what happened to me."

"Not you." Sam just had to keep repeating that. He'd read somewhere that puppies in a litter, as well as human babies were lulled by the heartbeats of those around them, their mothers. Sam had no memory of his mother's heartbeat, though he was sure he'd heard it. But Dean's he was just as sure he could've picked out from a hundred others if he'd needed to, he'd heard it that much, knew it that well. Sam understood how it happened, sitting there now, listening to Dean's jack-hammering heart rate slow to normal Sam felt calmer, could literally feel his muscles relax, the fear and tension dropped off him. Dean rubbed his back. "It was you, but wasn't."

"Ok, Sammy, come on dude, you need to tell me, we need to figure it out. Cause kiddo, I don't mind telling you, you're one scary mother with that knife. And I do not want to have to do that again."

Sam smiled and laughed a bit. Dean levered them both up, sitting Sam on the bed. Stepping away, one hand on Sam's shoulder, "You ok? You're soaked. You need to put on dry clothes." Retrieving dry sweats and another t-shirt Dean handed them to Sam, then disappeared into the bathroom, back out in a few seconds with the knife, which was taken immediately out and locked in the car trunk.

By the time he'd returned, Sam had changed, was still sitting on his bed toweling his hair dry. Carrying the first aid kit Dean set it on the bed between them, started digging for bandaging material.

"You should clean that first." Sam's voice sounded strained even to his own ears.

Dean gave him a sharp look, Sam braced for another assault, but his brother merely shrugged, smiled and said, "I know."

Sam sat, listening to the water run, Dean's soft curses as he scrubbed his hand. Mindlessly laying out some of the supplies he'd need, Sam tried to think of how not to tell Dean of his dream, vision, whatever. He imagined Dean's reaction, the look on his face when Sam told him his attacker had not been Redding or McCreedy this time, but his own brother. Dean was not going to take it well. Then there was the worse fact Sam had cut Dean with the knife. If it'd been a gun…that thought made Sam's hands shake violently for a few seconds before he got control of them. If it had been gun instead of knife he'd quite likely be sobbing over Dean's lifeless body about now.

Dean returned, hand scrubbed raw, a clean towel held firmly against it. Sitting on the bed beside Sam, twisting so one knee was bent in front of him; he rested his wounded hand there. Sam was happy for the distraction of bandaging Dean's hand. He hadn't intended to tell Dean all of it, just the highlights, but as soon as he started he couldn't help himself, the words tumbled out of his mouth. He felt Dean go completely still, heard his breathing quicken to something harsh and raspy. Sam wished he hadn't looked at Dean's face, because it wasn't nearly what Sam imagined it would be. It was far, far worse.

He'd expected Dean to be upset, maybe a little defensive. Dean however was devastated. The horrified expression deepened, darkened with every word Sam couldn't stop from spilling out.

"Was it a vision?" Dean's voice was thin, barely more than a whisper.

"I don't know. I don't think so. I don't know what it was, but it seemed real." Sam didn't have to add how much it'd scared him, Dean could see it well enough for himself.

"Sam, you know I wouldn't….I couldn't…"

Sam looked up, meeting Dean's eyes, wiping away the tears threatening to spill down his cheeks. They held each other's gaze for a long minute. "I know."

Dean stared at the ceiling. The room was dark, except for the occasional reflection of light through the window from headlights pulling into the motel parking lot. One arm folded under his head, he glanced to the side, towards Sam. His brother's form was fairly still, a lump under the blankets. The steady rise and fall of Sam's chest, along with the sound of his breathing let Dean know Sam wasn't sleeping any more than he was.

"You awake?" Sam's voice tore at Dean's heart. It was too soft, too tentative, too uncertain.

"Yeah."

"How's your hand?"

Holding his hand up, turning it over in the dim light Dean let it drop to the bed at his side. "It's ok Sam. I won't even know it was cut in a week."

"I'm sorry."

"Sam," Dean rolled on his side so he could face his brother. "It's ok, don't be sorry."

"But if it'd been a gun…" Sam's voice trailed off, choking to a stop.

"It wasn't. Until we get this worked out we'll keep all the weapons in the trunk."

"I took your knife and went for you?"

Sighing heavily, Dean said, "Yeah, Sammy. I told you before what happened." Wish I'd kept my mouth shut.

"It seemed so real." Sam sounded more like he was talking to himself than to Dean. "I kept telling myself it couldn't be you."

"Did you believe what you said?"

"What? Dean, of course I didn't believe it was you. It was wrong, you were wrong."

"Wrong how? Other than the fact I was beating the crap out of you?"

He heard Sam's soft chuckle. "I don't know. Something I can't quite grab, put my finger on. Like it was you, but not you."

"That's helpful." Propping up on one elbow, Dean asked quietly, "Sam, you've never had anything like this happen before, have you?"

"You know I haven't."

"Even when you were at Stanford?"

"No."

"And up until tonight you've dreamt of Mike Redding and Joey McCreedy after me, or after you, or both of us."

"Yeah."

"Do you find it odd this happened when we're just a few miles from the South Dakota state line?"

The rustling of blankets signaled Sam rolling on his side, turning to Dean. "Not a coincidence?"

"No. I don't think so. Have you seen them again, other than when you're asleep?

"I wasn't sure about before, I told you that. And no."

"Maybe we should pull back Sam, put some distance between us and here, do some investigating first."

"Investigate what? What do we look for we don't all ready know?"

"I don't know. But these have gotten worse the closer we've gotten, and up until a half hour ago every time I moved you flinched. Which I don't mind telling you Sam, is starting to bother me."

Dean couldn't see Sam well in the darkened room, but could hear the movement, feel how his brother's chin dropped.

"I'm not sure I can come back again. This has got to be over Dean, for both of us."

Dean admitted as much, and Sam was right. Making both of them continue to be haunted, maybe literally, by Redding and McCreedy was only going to make things worse, not better. Dean wasn't sure if he didn't do this now he'd be able to come back either. He remembered how he'd inadvertently discovered one of the methods he'd used. A simple thing, that helped them both so much. Returning, just a week later, to the same places Sam had been kidnapped from, taken to and held captive in had done so much for both of them. Going together, knowing what each provided the other was the key, Dean was sure. For Sam he'd faced those places, those events with the knowledge Dean was there, would protect him, keep him safe from further harm. For Dean it was being able to see Sam, feel secure in knowing his brother wouldn't suddenly be taken from him, vanish without a trace, be harmed further.

"All right Sam. But let's give it a day, do some searching online, check out a library, see if we can get answers, cut our time there down as much as we can."

"Yeah, I like that idea."

Relief flooded through Dean, more tension eased out of his chest and shoulders. They could do this, they could.

"Dean?"

"Yeah Sammy?"

"I remembered something else. Valkyrie."

"She's right here, sleeping on my bed again." Dean thought, not for the first time in the last few days, this was odd. Since she'd come to them, Valkyrie usually slept with Sam. Maybe it was his nightly nightmares. They generated not only thrashing, but at least once a night now Sam would be up, moving. A few times the poor dog had gotten bounced right to the floor.

"She snarled at me. In my dream, she was snarling at me."

That ripped out what was left of Dean's heart. Sam's voice, the hurt and confusion nearly crushed him. "She didn't mean it any more than I did Sam."

"Maybe it means something, some kind of clue?"

"I don't know. She has been acting weird the last few days."

"I thought she was mad at me for waking her up at night." Sam huffed a small laugh, which made Dean smile.

"That's probably it."

When he was abruptly awakened by Sam's voice, Dean realized he'd dozed off. A glance at the clock told him he'd been asleep no more than a few hours. Rolling on his side, he watched Sam. The kid was restless in his sleep, muttering something Dean couldn't make out. Dean waited, it would either escalate or Sam would return to normal sleep. Their weapons were securely locked in the trunk, but Dean, not wanting to be beaned with a lamp or something else Sam could grab wouldn't be approaching him too quickly if Sam's nightmare got to that point.

Sam jerking upright in bed had Dean swinging his legs over, perched on the edge of his. "Sam."

Breathing fast and sharp Sam ran one hand through his hair, turned to Dean's voice. Eyes wide, skin pale with a slight sheen of sweat, limbs trembling, he looked awake.

"Sammy?" Dean rose, slowly, not wanting a repeat of earlier. He took a tentative step toward his brother's bed.

Scrambling backwards, but holding Dean's gaze, Sam held out one hand, shook his head. "No." The word was choked out. "Stay away. Please."

Stopped, feeling as if he'd been knocked in the head with a sledge hammer Dean watched Sam intently, still not sure if he was awake or not. "Sammy, you with me?"

Wide-eyed, still trembling, Sam nodded immediately.

Dean backed up, feeling numb and dizzy. When the back of his calves hit the edge of his bed he dropped onto it, eyes still fixed on Sam. Eyes still way too wide, Sam looked around the room, then brought his gaze back to Dean. Slowly, very slowly and carefully Dean reached out and turned on the light. They both squinted for a minute, waiting for eyes to adjust. Cold shivers ran through Dean. This was new, totally new. Sam might not have always wanted to talk about his dreams, there had been days Dean had to force the information from the kid. But never, ever had Sam not in some way reached out, looked for reassurance from his older brother. That ran the gamut from a few moments of quiet words, to getting up and watching TV or leaving for a walk or run together, or sometimes finding somewhere open late to eat, have a beer, to Sam collapsed against him, holding on so very tightly while he struggled to stop the tears. Dean often wondered who benefited more, Sam or him.

Not knowing exactly what to do with this reaction, Dean simply sat there, staring at Sam. Finally he spoke, his voice coming out barely more than a whisper. "Sam. It's ok."

Sam nodded in quick, jerky movements, fists bunched in the bedding, eyes following Dean's every move. Now that he was prevented from doing so Dean felt an overwhelming urge to close the space between them, make some contact no matter how small.

"Was it me again?" God help him Dean didn't want to hear it had been, in the few brief seconds before the answer came Dean did some serious begging to whatever universal force was listening it hadn't been him again.

A shake of Sam's head, again quick and sharp.

Dean collapsed back onto his bed with relief.

After a few more minutes he sat back up. Sam hadn't moved at all other than to flinch away when Dean moved. Rubbing the back of his neck Dean caught Sam's gaze, held it with his own. "Sammy, what was it?"

"M-me. It was me."

"What?"

"I, it was me, and I k-killed…"

Dean cut him off, "Like before, where they forced you to do something?"

"No. They weren't there, just me. I did it. It was me." Sam's voice quivered and trailed off.

Now the reaction made sense. Sighing, Dean stood, ignoring Sam shaking his head and crossed the small distance between the beds. It was more difficult to ignore Sam wincing away from his hand when Dean's fingers curled around Sam's shoulder. "Sam." He clamped down harder, keeping Sam in place. "Sam. It's ok. It was just a dream." Dean lowered to the bed beside his brother. "You wouldn't really do those things, Sam, it's ok."

"I don't remember much, just it was me. But it didn't seem like me."

Squeezing Sam's shoulder Dean gave him a gentle shake. "Come on, get dressed, let's get out for a bit, take the princess over there for a walk."

Sam nodded, pulling on his clothes. Once ready himself, Dean snapped on Valkyrie's harness, she was delighted, and it seemed, ready for a walk no matter the hour. It scared him some, how complacent Sam all of a sudden had become, following along without question. Dean tucked his pistol in his jeans waistband, he'd lock it back in the trunk when they were back. However, wandering unfamiliar streets in the middle of the night unarmed wasn't too bright. They walked in relative silence for a mile or so. Valkyrie pranced along, tail wagging, quite happy. They stopped so she could sniff along a row of trees. Stealing a glance at his brother Dean thought Sam looked a bit more relaxed. The pinched look had left, his posture was normal. Sam suddenly grabbing his arm, jerking him around startled Dean.

"Sammy, what the…?"

"Dean?"

Rolling his eyes Dean nodded, "Yeah."

"How'd I get out here? What are we doing out here?" Sam looked around, expression plenty confused. He quickly stepped closer to Dean, close enough their arms and shoulders brushed.