It's a fact of life

If you make one wrong move

With a gun to your head

You'd better walk the line

Or you'll be left for dead…."Alive" by Meat Loaf

"This is insane Sam."

"I don't remember, Dean, God, please believe me. I don't remember what it was about. I don't remember anything after we were talking about your hand, and I was upset thinking if the knife had been a gun. I dropped off to sleep, and when I woke up I knew I'd had a dream, nightmare, vision, something and it was me, I killed you, I killed a lot of people, kids. But that's all I remember." Sam's voice rose then cracked, the last few words stuttered out. "Then I was walking with you, and I didn't know how I got there or when or anything."

"You haven't a vision, a real vision in months!" Dean barked.

Throwing both hands in the air Sam stood, stepping away from the bed he'd been sitting on. "I don't know what it was." He immediately sank back down; head held in both hands, "I don't know."

Dean collected himself with a few deep breaths, shoulders sagging somewhat he rolled them back and forth a few times, massaged the nape of his neck and counted to about eighty before straightening. He was tired, he was cranky, not to mention confused and if one pressed the issue, scared for Sam, for himself, scared for them both. Yelling at Sam wasn't going to help the kid remember, and if the look Sam wore told him anything it was that Sam wasn't thinking any better than Dean was at this point.

"You said it was you this time. You'd killed a bunch of people, kids, you said you killed a bunch of kids. I don't know if you meant just kids or kids and other people. The way you looked, acted, it was like when you have visions." Sam was wide-eyed, pale. Dean wished he'd kept his mouth shut about it. "Sam, your visions, if it was a vision, don't always happen the way you see them. Events have changed."

"I know." Sam stared at the spot of floor between his feet.

Someday Dean might actually learn to keep his mouth shut. Problem was Sam always found these little, annoying details out anyway. "I need some sleep, and so do you." Dean grumbled.

"I don't want to sleep, again, ever again."

Glancing down at the floor, Dean smiled, huffed a quick laugh, shook his head and crossed the room. "Yeah, I don't blame you. Me either, but I don't think that will actually happen, or be too good." He pushed against Sam's shoulder, making him lay down, sitting on the edge of the bed next to him. "We'll take turns. You can't do a lot of research if you can't keep your eyes open. So you go first, take a nap, then I'll take one." He pulled the blankets over Sam's shoulders.

"Will you really?"

Shrugging in agreement, "Sam, hell yes. I'm beat. I am. By the time you wake up I doubt anything will keep me from sleeping. I'll get started, see what I can find online. After we've both had some rest," A quick glance at his watch, "It's only five A.M. now, by the time we've both had some sleep it'll still be early enough to hit the library. We'll go together. In the meantime we'll just stay here, dig up what we can on the computer. Sound good?"

"Yeah. It does." Sam nodded, his eyelids sliding lazily shut and open again, eyes slipping into and out of focus. Dean could tell Sam was trying to stay focused on his face to stay awake. When he yawned Dean smiled and rubbed his shoulder a few times.

"Go to sleep Sammy. I'll be here." Dean's fingertips brush a few wisps of Sam's hair away from his face.

Nodding, sighing Sam's lids slipped shut again, staying shut. He grumbled something Dean couldn't exactly make out.

"I'll be here Sam." He slowly stood, careful not to rock the bed, pull Sam back awake. Silently Dean crossed the room, settled at the table, booted up their laptop.

Another sleepy nod, Sam was more asleep than awake, Dean could tell even from across the room. He watched Sam while he waited for the computer to load. Sam looked far too much like the small boy Dean would tuck into bed at night, far too much like the small boy who'd sleep wedged against Dean's side in the back of the Impala. No matter how old or big Sam got, it seemed he looked forever six when he slept. Turning back to the computer, Dean shook off the memories, tucking them back where they belonged, putting them away for safe keeping.

An hour older, and not really much wiser, Dean stood and stretched, twisted side to side smiling when his spine popped and cracked. He'd found a little, but not much. A glance in Sam's direction assured him his brother was still deeply sleeping. For the first time in enough days Dean lost count Valkyrie was snoozing alongside Sam. His movements woke her, drew her attention. Rolling on her back she stretched fully, wagging her tail in lazy waves side to side. Dean smiled and laughed softly, crossing to Sam's bed, offering the dog a quick tummy rub. What was it about this animal, he wondered, that had two grown men so completely enamored they knew what she said even though she couldn't speak words?

Valkyrie rolled to her feet and hopped off the bed with practiced stealth. Sam never so much as hitched a breath because of her movements. It was as if she understood what they needed. She padded across the room, sitting in front of the door, glancing from it to Dean and back again, tail wagging, ears alert, eyes bright and happy.

Well, at least the dog was always happy.

"What's up chicky? Need a little walk? I could use some air too." The bushy tail wagged with more vigor. Dean grabbed her harness, snapping it on, leash hooked to the ring under her breastbone. He smiled at the dog's ensemble. Actually she had three grown men wrapped around her freckled paws. Bobby had sent them the harness, some special thing, with a matching leash no less. He told them he'd picked the color, a deep jade green with pink roses, because he thought it would go well with her light red and white fur. "Gotta be quiet though, so we don't wake up Sammy, ok?"

In response Valkyrie sat up, eyes again settling on the door. Snagging the room keys on his way out, along with his jacket, Dean and Valkyrie slipped soundlessly out the door. They headed to the small grassy area behind the motel. It was fenced off for people to walk their dogs in. Once he'd started looking Dean was amazed how many places were happy to take pets. It was the place few and far between that didn't allow them their dog. But one look at Valkyrie and her soulful expression, and Sam and his, especially when Sam scooped Valkyrie up, holding her in his arms, both of them wearing the same look, it was a deadly combination. Yeah, Dean realized no mortal (or probably immortal) could deny them anything, him being on the top of that list.

They made a few stops along the way, to sniff a tree, or plant, Valkyrie, not Dean. The sun was creeping over the horizon, brightening the world from the grays of night to vibrant colors of day. It was early spring, and the day promised to be nice later, sunny and pleasantly warm. Right now there was still the chill of night, the temperatures dipped to near freezing after the sun set each evening. Dean flipped his jacket collar up, and pulled it closed against the early dawn damp and coolness. The air smelled sweet. The sheer trauma of the previous night's events began receding as sunlight increased. Arching his back, Dean flexed and relaxed the muscles of his thighs moved his head around to give his neck a good stretch.

Once in the fenced pet area, Dean unleashed Valkyrie, smiling, he watched her bounce around the small enclosure, chasing some imaginary bug and sniffing everything she could. After a few minutes she did what she needed and pranced back to him. Someone passing by caught her attention, causing the hair along her neck and upper back to puff up, standing stock still she blew a few surprisingly deep woofs (considering her size) out her long snout making her lips billow out.

Dean laughed outright, reached down and patted her side. "Stand down killer. You're only thirty-five pounds." She turned her attention immediately to him, tail wagging, and he swore she smiled with her eyes more than most people could with their faces.

Feeling much better by the time he ducked back into their motel room Dean's stomach dropped and he had a moment of vertigo when he realized Sam's bed was empty. Sounds of running water from the bathroom drew his eyes there in time to see the door open, Sam step out. Ever since the kidnap, Dean noticed part of the aftermath was Sam had the uncanny ability to wake up if Dean wasn't where Sam thought he should be. If Dean left the room, or when they were at Bobby's left the house he'd predictably return to find Sam awake. At first Sam would be looking for him, concern and panic something had happened to Dean written all over his face, in his eyes. Now, six months down the road, Sam would still wake up if left alone, but the fear was not as often present. It was another of the subtle changes in his brother that made Dean wonder; would Sam ever be the same again?

"Sorry, didn't mean to wake you up."

"Na, don't be sorry, it's ok." Sam gave him a mild look and a kind smile. He didn't deny this new quirk of his, but thankfully he'd gotten it under control, this time he simply appeared curious.

"The princess here needed a stroll." Dean smiled back, taking off Valkyrie's harness. "Go on back to sleep, I'll be here." How many times had he repeated that, told Sam he'd be here? Dean had no idea, but it worked, saying the words aloud, letting Sam know by doing so he was aware of the emotions boiling through his brother, acknowledging it was an issue and accepting it was a necessity. He said them as much for himself as for Sam. They both needed reassurances, some days more than others, that each was there, would continue to be there. It was another of the weapons in Dean's psychological repair arsenal.

Sam shrugged, "I think I had just enough sleep to not be able to get more for a while. You go ahead, you're swaying, and I think you look worse than I feel."

"Ok." Dean agreed, yawning, grateful actually he could lie down and get some rest. "If I'm not up by checkout time, wake me up, we'll get something to eat, and find a library."

"It's a plan."

Untying his boots, toeing them off, Dean shed his clothes down to t-shirt and boxers. It felt good to stretch out on the bed. The place wasn't exactly up to date on its motif, and the mattress had a dip in the middle, but the sheets and blankets were clean and smelled fresh, like they'd been hung outside. He didn't even fight closing his eyes, letting his mind drift and wander as sleep floated over him closer and closer.

Feeling the bed rocking beneath him, it was an odd sensation, as if he was in something moving, but he was on his bed. Why was it rocking, moving? Sam must be playing with the dog. He could picture her jumping from bed to bed, a game they often played. Rage filled him, more so than he thought capable of feeling toward Sam or the dog. The ungrateful little bastard, after all Dean did to take care of him, to make sure he got peace and quiet to sleep. All the nights Dean had been wrenched, sometimes violently, from his own slumber by Sam and his stupid, freaky nightmares, and this is how he's repaid?

The rocking motion increased, setting his stomach ablaze, contents roiling around dangerously. Damn, he was just going to smack that boy unconscious. Cracking open an eye, it was dark, when did it get dark? The stupid kid, he'd told Sam specifically to wake him before check out, usually around noon. Noon certainly wasn't supposed to be dark, they weren't in Alaska. Pushing off the bed and onto his feet, the room was rocking ever so slightly, making him stagger slightly when he walked.

This was wrong, where was Sam, Valkyrie? Why did Sam leave him in the dark, and why the hell was the stupid room moving?

Out of habit, his hand went to his back, searching out the gun kept in his waistband when he carried it. Where'd the gun come from? He stalked across the room, anger, hate, vile base emotions growing in him like some kind of infestation. When he found Sam, didn't realize the room was so freaking big, he was bubbling over with a fury and resentment as he'd never known. The room rocked more, lights flashed from the outside, flickered in his eyes, adding to his general annoyance level.

Grabbing Sam around the neck, forcing him back until stopped by a wall he ignored the struggles and protests from his brother. He was tired of it, taking care of the brat, putting up with his holier than thou selfish attitude. Sick to death of his whining about turning evil and Dean needing to kill him. Dean decided right then and there, to hell with it, just do it and be done.

His hand didn't even seem to belong to him, he watched, fascinated as the gun raised, barrel pressed firmly against Sam's forehead. Dean ignored Sam's pleas, the hurt look, teary eyes. Dean snarled at him.

He pulled the trigger.

Blood and warmth, something sticky and solid, don't even want to know what that is, hit Dean's face. Sam's weight dropped against Dean's hand. Holding him up seemed pointless and a waste of time and energy, so Dean let go. Sam crumpled to the ground.

His breath caught, the world closed in on him, black and red wisped in from the periphery of his vision. Moving his hand across his face, smearing around bone shards, blood, brain matter. Sam's. What had he done? What the hell had he just done?

"Oh my God, Sam!"

Bolting upright, Dean caught a glimpse of it, looking like Sam, sitting at the table, elbow resting on it, forehead against one hand, reading. He looked over at Dean, startled. "Are you—" It jumped, and the can of pop next to Sam's computer was sent flying to the floor by its arm.

Up and moving immediately at the thing that only seconds before forced him to kill Sam, Dean didn't stop to think or sort it out, he was twice as enraged it just sat there, looking like Sam. In a split second he had it up, backed up against the wall, forearm pressed against its neck. He'd kill it. But first it would suffer, suffer as much as Dean could make it suffer for Sam's death. No quick, painless death for this thing, it would be slow and torturous.

"Dean!" It tried tricking him, making him think it was Sam, sounding like Sam, looking like Sam. Shouting wordlessly Dean pressed his arm against its throat, other fist coming up. He'd slam it so hard its face would split.

"Dean!" It sounded scared, and oddly not evil.

Hesitation could be his downfall, but there was something, something wrong….something…Dean froze, held his breath, then let it out in big ragged gasps. The thing held in his grip trembled, eyes wide—Sam's eyes—spoke with a shaky voice, sounding very much like Sam. Sam's voice.

"Dean?" Sam's voice was little more than an exhale. His head turned to one side, plainly waiting on the blow about to be delivered.

Dean gulped in another breath, shoved Sam away from him and backed up. Now he fully understood Sam's reaction the night before, not wanting Dean near him after his nightmare. Sam took a step forward, visibly flinched when Dean snapped a harsh, "Don't."

Holding both hands out, palms up, they were empty, Dean stared at them briefly.

"Dean, please." Sam didn't move, his voice was more its normal pitch.

Looking around…shot Sam, shot my own brother, backed him to a wall and shot him in the head…hesitantly, with the tips of just his first two fingersDean felt his own forehead, his cheeks. His other hand still held out, he fought to keep his voice even. "Stay there Sammy, just don't move for a minute."

"What happened, what was it?"

"Not right now Sam, just not…"

"No!" Sam shouted, making Dean look up quickly. "You don't get to do that. You make me tell you every little detail, and I do, I follow the rules, so you have to too. I was the one taken, but it happened to both of us. And you don't get to hide behind walls, or keep me out, or bury it all behind some smartass façade." He stopped, chest heaving, choking over his words. "It happened to us both. Redding might have been a psycho, but he was a cop for a long time and saw all sorts of this stuff, and he was right when he said we were both victims. So was Forge. It happened to us both." He'd stayed where Dean asked him to, but Sam was shaking with anger.

Dean nodded, swallowed, sat on the bed and took a deep breath. "I can still feel the gun in my hand. Feel me holding your neck, your blood splattering on my face. Hear the gunshot." He looked up at Sam. "It was so real. I could see it, smell it, feel it, all of it. I—I j-just, I had my pistol, and I…"

"Backed me up against a wall, put the gun to my head and shot me?" Somehow it didn't sound any better coming from Sam.

"Yeah. Then I woke up, thinking you were something else, the thing that made me kill you."

Sam apparently wasn't any better at staying away from Dean than Dean was from Sam. He crossed the room and even as Dean shook his head, tried to hold one arm out in protest, Sam was sitting on the bed next to him, watching him with too wide eyes. Sam reached over, his fingertips brushing Dean's shoulder before his hand slid down to rest beside Dean's leg. Dean sat there, concentrating on breathing, pulling air into and pushing it out of his lungs, it seemed all he could do at the moment.

"How do you defeat an enemy Sammy?" Dean didn't wait for an answer. "Divide and conquer. Cut them apart, don't let them rely on established methods, break them by attacking their weaknesses."

"What enemy Dean? Who are we fighting? We don't even know."

"We have an idea Sam. Your dreams started with Redding and McCreedy, we start with them. Things get worse the closer we get to where they lived."

"Dean maybe this has nothing to do with them, maybe it's all in my head, like Forge said. Maybe you're just freaked because I vanished, it's not like it was the only time. Hell, it freaks me out too."

"Of course it freaks me out Sam! It scares the hell out of me. But you and I having the same sort of dreams, kiddo, we're close but we sure as hell don't share the same brain or subconscious. We don't have the same ID."

"ID? Did you just say ID?"

"Yeah, so? It's part of your subconscious…."

'I know what it is Dean."

"Then you know unless you've developed some more psychic powers and can make me dream stuff that you dream, I'm thinking this is coming from somewhere, and right now Redding and McCreedy are the best lead we have."

"We stick to our plan?"

Dean nodded slowly, "We stick to our plan until we need a new one."

"The stuff we dug up on their house, interesting, don't you think?" Dean gave Sam another sidelong glance.

"Yeah. It is." Sam met his brother's eyes for the briefest second then looked back at the pile of papers and books. They drove, in relative silence, back from the library. They'd found a surprising amount of information about Redding, and McCreedy as well as the property their home had been on. He and Dean had gone to the library together, ended up spending more hours there than originally planned. But it had been a good day, with good results. He could tell by the expression Dean wore his brother was more relaxed, and that was a good thing as far as Sam was concerned. He was still getting the looks every few miles, but it was ok, he actually never minded those. Sam hadn't missed Dean's attempts at conversation, and he felt a bit bad not talking much. There were a few questions he had about when he was kidnapped, questions only Dean could answer, and he didn't want to upset his brother's better mood.

There were things he needed to know, and things they needed to face. Sam simply didn't know where to start exactly. He decided starting with the first thing on his mind might be the best way to dive in.

"Why me?" Turning to face Dean, Sam folded closed the file folder he'd been reading from.

Dean drew a deep breath, eyes swinging to him, then back to the road, obviously wanting to choose his words carefully. "I've been asking myself that ever since I walked out into the parking lot and you were gone." He shook his head a bit. "I don't know why you, I've got a few ideas, but I don't know for sure. I did find out while I was looking that all the kids taken, you included, had at some point met him, he targeted them partly in video stores. I'm pretty sure he was in the junk yard at least one time before he took you. I noticed a general physical similarity in all the victims. Dark hair, darker eyes. They all, well except for you, they all seemed to be on their own, no one to notice right away they were missing."

Sam stared at his hands. The tone his brother used, it made his heart wrench, his chest squeeze. Dean was a good investigator, and good with patterns, he'd immediately pick up on what they all had in common. Sam could hear in Dean's voice how deeply troubled he was by it still.

"He picked a certain age group, your age group for a reason. They were all old enough to be out on their own, not uncommon to spend several days out of contact with family and friends. Young enough to provide a satisfactory emotional response, he probably thought they'd all be more easily intimidated."

Dean's face was impassive, but his voice laced with pain, now took on a far away quality as if Dean had been over this hundreds of times. Sam realized he probably had. Intimidated? Sam had been intimidated all right. He'd been blatantly scared to the point he still felt it. Despite years of hunting Sam could honestly admit nothing had ever frightened him so deeply and profoundly or with such lasting affects as the McCreedy's.

Leaning his head back against the seat Sam wondered when Dean had turned the heat up. He glanced at the dash, the controls, thinking as his mind wandered nothing had been moved. A thought, another piece to the puzzle dropped into his head, slipping away just as quickly. That annoyed him, his ability to concentrate taking flight when he least expected it, most needed it. Was it that simple, dark hair and darker eyes? He fit an age group, liked video games? He didn't think he was very easily intimidated, but honestly maybe that pertained more so to things they hunted, not people. Sometimes he envied Dean, able to fit in with all sorts of people. To Sam most people were a mystery. He could extract information all right, but the ability to really connect, be part of something…that often eluded Sam. Dean frequently said Sam trusted strangers too much, believed they were harmless too much. In reality Sam felt uncomfortable around most people, didn't like large groups at all and honestly only felt at ease if Dean were around, with him. The only time he truly felt himself, not someone who had to put on some act, was when he was with his brother.

"Can't you stay awake for ten freaking minutes?" Dean snapped.

"Huh?"

"Oh, right, I'm sorry, freak-boy needs to rest. Must be tiring having to carry that freaky brain around all the time."

"Dean, what--?"

"Shut up!" Dean's hand shot out, grabbing Sam's jacket collar, shaking him. "Shut the hell up! I'm so sick of your whining, sniveling bitching about….crap I don't even listen to most of it. You're nothing but an annoying freak!"

"What did I…"

"Can't you ever do anything right? I said shut your freaky mouth."

Sam blinked. He couldn't be hearing correctly, this had to be in his head. Not Dean, not Dean, wrong, he's wrong, Dean wouldn't say that, not Dean. The words cut through him like a white hot poker.

"Know what, Sammy-boy? I've had it, really had it this time." Without warning Dean reached across Sam's chest causing him to wrench away in spite of trying not to. Dean fumbled with the door handle.

"Dean, what are you doing?" Sam managed to stutter out. He grabbed at Dean's hand, the car swerved wildly, tires screeching, horns blasting from irritated drivers assaulted his ears. "Deeeeeaaann!" He couldn't help shouting, turning to screaming when he was shoved out into oncoming traffic. Fumbling with the door, trying to grab it, haul himself back in Sam lost his grip and spilled out of the car, hitting the road hard he rolled a few feet.

More squealing tires, gravel flew in all directions, some hitting Sam's head. The movement of air from cars, trucks, whatever was on the road whipped his hair, caused him to shiver from the rapid change of temperature. The next thing he knew Dean was hauling him to his feet by his jacket. In one quick movement Dean shifted his hands, grasping Sam under his arms, pulling him along somewhere.

Struggling against Dean's iron grip Sam's arms and legs refused to work properly, he just tangled his legs together, stumbling he would have fallen had Dean not been holding him. Wrenching away from Dean, Sam sprinted away from the car…not Dean, not happening again, not Dean, not Dean…getting about two steps before he was grabbed from behind, yanked back with enough force he landed on the ground. Hearing cars whizzing by, squealing tires again, more gravel flung from somewhere.

Hauled up and wheeled around with such speed and force Sam's head spun Dean pinned him to the side of the Impala, one arm across his chest.

"Sam! Sammy!"

Sam was pulled forward, in the next second his back was shoved, not very gently, against the car again. Dean shook him. Latching onto Dean's forearms, Sam ventured a look around, screwed up his courage to look at Dean's face, his eyes. Dean looked….just how did he look? Shaken? No beyond that—scared, terrified.

"Sammy!" The sheer rawness, uncovered emotion from Dean sent shivers coursing up and down Sam's spine. Dean held him fast, pinning him tightly to the side of the car by using his entire body. Sam felt how his brother's arms trembled with the effort. He wondered why the rest of Dean was trembling too.

Sam looked around again, not making any effort to extract himself from Dean's grip. He was shaking more than Dean was. "What happened?" Gaze shifting to meet his brother's he barely managed, "Dean?" Gulping air in. "You shoved me out of the car."

Taking a few deep breaths he felt Dean relax, but not loosen his grip on Sam any. "Shoved you? Sam, you opened the car door for no reason and got out. I was in the middle of the road, and nearly ran you over trying to get off the road." Reaching around Sam, freezing for a few beats when Sam flinched, Dean moved his hand slowly to the car door. Opening it, he shoved Sam inside, kneeling in front of him. Hands still firmly gripping Sam's arms Dean searched his face with desperate eyes. "With me Sammy? You ok?"

Nodding, Sam tried swallowing, but his mouth was too dry. "Can we go back to the motel? Please, now?"

"Sure thing, as long as you can manage to stay in the car." Dean smiled a bit, reached up and gently rubbed the back of Sam's head.

They returned to their room in silence. Once inside however Dean wasted no time in wanting answers. "What happened Sammy? What was it? Me again?"

Sam hated the look on Dean's face, the quality of his voice. He hurt, Dean hurt, deep down and it was Sam's fault. Not that he was doing anything on purpose, but he was the cause of Dean's pain. He was always the cause of Dean's pain. "Do you think I'm some kind of freak?" He couldn't look at his brother's face when he asked. Of course Dean didn't, not really. The odd way Dean inhaled told Sam how much that question shocked him, disturbed him.

"Sam. No. Of course not. I mean, I've said it before I know, but as a joke. No Sam."

"You, in my head, you called me a freak, then opened the car door and shoved me out." He tried to meet Dean's eyes, but couldn't. "You were wrong, I could tell, but it seemed real, so real. I couldn't tell I wasn't awake, I don't even remember feeling drowsy. I wasn't even tired." He wiped tears pooling in his vision away.

Dean heaved a heavy sigh and dropped into a chair. "Earlier, when I woke up and grabbed you, for a second, just a flash, when I first work up you were wrong too. It was like there was something else, something that made me kill you. I can't even remember what it looked like, or anything about it. Wrong like that, was I wrong like that?"

"I don't know." Sam sat in the chair opposite Dean. "What's happening to us Dean?"

"Another thing we don't know. But I do know one thing, we'd better figure this out fast or we'll kill one another." Dean wiped a tired hand over his face, reached across the table and laid one hand on Sam's arm until Sam could finally look his brother in the eye. "We'll beat it Sam, we will. We have to."