Thanks so much to all who've been reading, comments are very much appreciated. Big thank you to Mizpah and Maygin for their work as betas.

Laura

Dean dropped the book he held onto the bed, flopped down with a loud huff and pinched the bridge of his nose between two fingers. "Find anything else online?" He asked without opening his eyes or moving at all. Valkyrie opened one eye, gave him an annoyed look before settling back to her nap in the middle of Dean's bed.

"No." Sam shook his head, not that Dean would see it, because he now had a pillow over his face. "You ok?"

The pillow inched away from Dean's mouth. "Just ducky Sam. In the past two days I've beaten you up, called you a freak, tried to kill you, oh wait did kill you, and threw you out of a car. I'm just damn friggin' ducky." Dean lifted the pillow and threw it viciously across the room, his voice caustic.

"It was in my head, it wasn't you."

"Yeah, Sam, I know it wasn't me, but it was me who tried to pound your face off because I thought you were something that made me kill you. Oh and lets not overlook the fact you jump every time I move too fast, even though it wasn't me who tried to strangle you among other things." Now Dean was sounding sarcastic. "And I kicked the dog."

"It wasn't…." Sam's voice dropped off with a heavy sigh. He could say it all he wanted, but he doubted Dean would feel much better. The fact was Dean didn't deserve this, not at all. Dean didn't hurt things. He helped people, made their world safe. He was a good person who never wanted to see anything hurt. The things they hunted were killed quickly, Dean never tried to hurt them, or make them suffer. The sheer pain in Dean's voice was worse than any injury Sam had ever received, far worse, slicing through him, a hot, white pain.

Swinging up, dropping his legs over the side of the bed, his feet to the floor Dean looked at Sam, really looked him in the eye for the first time in nearly a day. "Define wrong Sammy."

Sam shook his head slightly, hands out in a questioning motion.

"You keep telling me I was wrong, you told yourself over and over it wasn't me, you knew pretty quick it wasn't me, or at least suspected as much, right?"

"Yeah." Another slight nod. Sam took a swig from a bottle of sweet tea wondering if tea was really grown in Arizona.

"So, besides the fact I keep hitting you; tell me how I was wrong?"

Closing his laptop, Sam's hand rested on it. "I'm not sure, like I said before nothing I can put my finger on exactly."

"Well Sam maybe you could try!" Dean barked.

Sam struggled to keep himself still, not flinch or jerk away. Dean was watching him like a hawk for any wrong move. His brother lashing out like this spoke volumes to Sam as to how lost, out of control and just plain scared Dean was feeling. Still the fact every twitch of Sam's skin was being scrutinized and analyzed for the cause was unnerving at best. The real Dean was getting desperate and frightening in a way Sam hadn't felt or seen in a very long time. He'd gotten his brother back, barely, after their father's death and now Sam felt as if it was that time all over again, and he'd lose Dean forever this time. Sam was determined it wouldn't happen now anymore than it did then. Determination didn't keep Sam from being afraid for his brother, however.

"Some were very obvious, like you hitting me, shoving me out of the car. But before that it was like I was watching someone pretend to be you. The movements weren't quite right, even how you breathed was off, your expressions, your voice. I can't say for certain how. The first time when you looked at me, that was real obvious."

"How so?"

Looking down, Sam was hoping Dean would take what he'd said and leave it at that. He should have known better. "Dean, you don't…it's not impor—"

"Sammy." Dean's voice was calm, even, his tone tender. It was the tone Sam knew well from experience that Dean wasn't going to let this drop and wasn't going to give up until he had answers.

"You were angry, angry with me but not in an everyday way. Angry that I even existed. You hated me. Your eyes had nothing but anger and hate." Not able to look at his brother, Sam stared at the floor, picked at the label on his bottle of tea. "You hated me." Saying it out loud made it worse, made him feel worse than just knowing it happened in some bizarre dream.

"Sam," Dean used that tender tone again, "Sam, look at me."

He could feel Dean's eyes on him, hear him keep his breathing even, knew he was waiting for Sam to look up. Another soft "Sam" prompted him to meet his brother's eyes.

"You know I don't hate you, I never hated you, and I never could. Something is doing this, messing with our heads. There's no truth in the feelings from those nightmares, dreams, whatever they are. So don't worry about how I look when it's not me."

That, right there, Dean had hit it, and Sam didn't even realize thinking Dean might hate him was what had been bothering him, deep down for the last few days. He dipped his chin, a tight nod. "Sammy-boy, in my dreams you called me Sammy-boy." He didn't add it made his name sound like something evil, despised.

Dean's head dropped, his hands hung between his knees. "You've been having nightmares about something happening to me, sometimes things you are forced to do, since we left South Dakota after…after you were taken. Then all of a sudden they change to these dreams or whatever they are since we've been heading back to South Dakota, and now we're both having them. Or some variation on them. Samm….Sam, are you sure they've been just nightmares all this time?" It was the first time Dean put into spoken words what happened to Sam during their last stay at Bobby's.

Sam felt as if some weight had been crushed into his chest and back, he turned away, not able to stop tears from welling in his eyes. He wiped them away, now Dean was afraid to call him 'Sammy'? "Dean," he said quietly, "you don't have to stop calling me Sammy."

"Are you sure about the dreams Sam?"

"No."

"What about when you saw them?"

"I'm not sure about that either. I woke up, and thought I saw them in our room. It was a glimpse, a flash, just for a second. I might not even have been really awake."

Dean hissed out another sigh, rubbed the back of his neck.

"I'm sorry." Sam couldn't help choking on the words.

Dean's gaze popped up at him, "For what Sammy?"

"This is my fault, if I'd not been such a selfish brat, stayed in the store with you, or—" He stopped when Dean stood faster than Sam thought really possible, covered the distance to the door in seconds, flung it wide and stalked out. Hearing the trunk to the Impala open, then slam shut, Sam was powerless to stop from jumping when Dean stomped back into the room, door kicked shut behind him. Waking instantly, head up, ears alert, Valkyrie gave up Dean's bed for the arm chair in the corner, taking one of her bones with her she curled in the chair, chewing away happily, one eye kept on the brothers.

Sam's eyes fell on an envelope Dean held, his knuckles white. Ripping it open, pulling out the contents he shook them in Sam's face. "Look at these!" Dean demanded, shouting, he was shaking. "Look at them Sam!"

Taking the pictures from Dean's hand, Sam held them. He didn't need to look through them again. He'd seen them plenty.

"You damn near passed out the first time you saw those. Sammy, listen to me," Dean's voice wasn't as harsh, or loud, "He followed you, us. He stalked you. Planned his moves and we had no clue. None. There wasn't a damn thing you could have done differently that would change it. He would have eventually gotten to you. Those pictures, those right there are proof." Dean took a few deep breaths, pulled the pictures from Sam's hands, put them back in the envelope and tossed it on top of his duffel. "It wouldn't have mattered Sam. If he didn't get you that day, he would have the day after. It wasn't your fault. None of it was your fault. Will you please get that through that hard head of yours?"

Sam could only sit there, sort of numb, looking up at his brother. "You honestly believe that?" And how didn't that just rock Sam to his foundation. The brother who from Sam's earliest memory told him he'd protect Sam always, it might even be Sam's earliest memory, was telling him there were times he couldn't? Sam always knew it was truth, but he'd never heard Dean say it, even hint at it.

"That he would've eventually grabbed you? Yes. Neither of us had a clue, we weren't looking out for someone, taking any kind of precautions. It was stupid, but scum like that isn't exactly what we normally guard against. We didn't have a chance that time Sammy, we just didn't. It wasn't your fault, it wasn't my fault, it was just real bad luck."

Chuckling low and soft, Sam felt something in him untie and drop away. All this time Dean never blamed him, and Sam never thought to ask, he'd just gone on feeing guilty for his kidnap, being responsible for all Dean had been put through.

"That's really how you feel?" Sam couldn't help sounding like a little kid being offered a day at the fair.

Dean's hand dropped to Sam's shoulder, rested there warm, strong, reassuring. "Yes. I do. We were in the wrong place at the wrong time, and have been paying for it and dealing with it ever since. We Sammy, not you, not me, we. At this point I'm honestly just happy you got out alive."

"You got me out." Sam corrected immediately. 'Sammy' he was 'Sammy' again, never realizing until a few minutes ago how much he loved being 'Sammy' and how much he missed it when he wasn't.

Dean actually felt queasy when they crossed the state line into South Dakota. He glanced sideways at Sam. He was leaning his head on the back of the seat, staring at the car ceiling looking drawn and tired. Even the dog looked a bit peaked.

"You ok Sammy?" He glanced up too, "There naked women up there?"

"Hnnn….wish…headache, think it's my sinuses. A bit nauseous too." He rolled down the window, "It's hot in here. Can we turn the heat off?"

Looking away from the road long enough to lay his palm on Sam's forehead for a few seconds before shifting to his cheeks Dean was pleased there was no heat from his brother's skin, no flush to his features. Sam rolled his head to one side, looking over at Dean. "Heat's not on. No fever."

"I could have told you I didn't have a fever."

"Yeah, well you know I'd want to check for myself." Dean squirmed and arched his back, stretching as much as he could in the car seat. "It's a nice day, there was a lake, picnic tables a few miles back. You hungry?"

"You want to go fishing?" Sam pulled his head up, blinked lazily at Dean.

"No. I thought we could find a store, snag some burgers and dogs, take a few hour breather and cook out." He reached over and rubbed Valkyrie's ears. "The princess needs to stretch her legs."

Sam blew a soft laugh, "What did we use for an excuse before her?"

"Umm…you bitched a lot."

Sam waved one hand vaguely in Dean's direction, "Screw you." He said without force or malice, and resumed studying the top of the car.

They found a small country store, Dean heard Sam's door creak open, felt the car shift as his brother swung his legs out. "Try to take a nap, I'll get the food." Dean offered.

Looking back over his shoulder Sam flashed him a quick smile, complete with dimples and white teeth. "No way dude. I'm never waiting outside while you go into a grocery store again."

Dean laughed at that, giving Valkyrie a quick pat, "Watch the car chicky." He stood next to the car, waiting for Sam to catch up. Making a quick sweep of the small, but well stocked store, not only did they find plenty of food to grill, there were ample amounts of M&M's, homemade pie slices as well as corn, beer, snacks and pop.

The sun was not quite at zenith when they finished their meal. Sam stretched on one of the tables near the lake, legs slightly bent. Dean sat on the shore, tossing stones in the water. Valkyrie sprawled in the grass beside him. Shedding his jacket, using it for a pillow Dean leaned back, the sun was warming him.

"Ya know Sam, the history of the house, the property sure explains why they were as wacko as they were."

"Uh huh." Sam rolled onto his stomach, chin propped on his arms folded in front of him, ankles crossed his heels bumped the backs of his thighs. "There were at least three others who lived in the house before them that had homicidal tendencies. I couldn't figure out if they were related at all though. I didn't find a reason why Redding used a different last name. It was his mother's maiden name."

"The house burned pretty thoroughly, but when we went back before there were still things around. If it was just bulldozed there could be lots of things for a spirit to use to stay here." Dean scratched his nose, yawned, it was really warming up for such an early spring day. "Might explain why the same things happened generation to generation, something buried, new house built on top."

Sam groaned. "Am I sensing digging in my future?"

"Not likely Sam," Dean yawned again, and eyed Valkyrie curiously when she rolled over and slunk away from him, ears down, to settle near the car. "Not unless we can score a back hoe. Maybe Redding used that name so he wasn't linked immediately with the evil twins."

Whatever Sam was saying was lost as he drifted off under the warm, spring sun. Wrenched too suddenly from his nap by screaming, and barking. Sam! Sammy! Sam was screaming, screaming? Not shouting, not yelling, screaming for him. Screaming like he was being eviscerated, screaming Dean's name. Struggling against something, he couldn't sit up, his legs and arms sluggish, moving as if something pulled against them. Hazy vision confused him. Turning his head in the direction of Sam's voice screaming Dean was more confused why his neck worked just fine and his limbs felt like they had weights on them. His body felt weightless and weighted down at the same time, and cooler than he thought it should be considering how warm he'd just been.

Panic coiled in his chest, rolling around Sam finally came into sight. The panic unraveled, winding and twisting a path through his entire body, wrapping around his brain and pressing in. Finally catching sight of Sam undid any hold he had on rationality and sent him diving straight into complete mind-numbing horror. Tied to a tall, heavy wooden pole near the picnic table…where the hell did that come from?...Bound securely, hands behind him, neck cinched so tightly Dean saw the skin beneath the ropes chafe when Sam tried moving his head to look at him. More importantly how the hell did Sam get like that? Why doesn't anything move!

Sam thrashed and struggled against his restraints, but in actuality he moved little more than a fraction of an inch. Dean saw how his entire body shook, the fear in his eyes, face, not fear, terror, absolute terror. The kid was terrified, damn terrified. Valkyrie stood by the car, barking and snarling at him. He fought whatever restrained him, arms and legs still sluggish and too heavy. Then he saw the reason behind Sam's actions, responses. McCreedy, Joey McCreedy stood beside Sam. Dean saw his brother was sitting on top of wood, kindling built to a small point behind Sam's back. Sam's kicking and struggling barely dislodged any of the pieces of wood. Pyre, Sam was tied to a pyre.

McCreedy's hollowed eyes glinted and reflected the early afternoon sun. He smiled revealing a mouth full of half rotted out teeth. Every movement brought small flickers. Glaring straight at Dean he shoved a gag into Sam's mouth, tying it so Sam's head was held fast to the pole. Stake. Burning at a stake! The mad man, ghost of the mad man was back to finish what he'd started half a year ago, and was going to burn Sam alive.

"SAAUUMMMM.." Dean's shout was garbled, and the second his mouth opened water flooded in, down his throat, filled his ears with roaring. He was in the lake, far out in the lake, far enough he couldn't touch bottom. Kicking frantically, arms pin-wheeling to pull himself to the surface and out, the second he breached the surface some force pressed hard on the top of his head, forcing him under. His ears popped, he hadn't the time to take a breath, water rushed up his nose, his vision blurred from tears and water. Barely making it to the surface Dean gulped for air. Something strong and solid wrapped around his chest, he swung out, knowing it was useless but had to fight back anyway.

He was dragged back under the water, catching a glimpse of Mike Redding's face over his shoulder. His throat constricted when more water rushed in, flooded down his throat, garbled another shout to Sam. Vision swimming the thought slowly wormed its way through his mind. Drowning. He was drowning. Red haze slithered in from the periphery of his vision. His lungs ached, pressed for air. He fought to not take a breath, but his body wouldn't listen to his mind, mouth opening he sucked in, more lake water filled his mouth, nose, ears. Arms flailing, slowing down, he tried to swing again at Redding, break free of his grip, legs scissor kicking desperately. The roaring in Dean's ears, the pressure spreading through his chest to his back, abdomen increased, crushing him from the inside out.

Slipping farther down in the water he could still see Sam, white, shuddering, tears rolling down his cheeks, eyes fixed on Dean. The kid was sobbing. His entire body wracked with agony, horror, grief from watching his brother drown. McCreedy's smile broadened. He held up a welding torch for Dean to see, Sam to see. Sam's head twisted side to side, begging with his eyes. As Dean slipped farther down, black replaced red haze, white flashes erupted behind his eyes. McCreedy lit the torch, making sure Dean had a clear view of how he lit the pyre Sam perched precariously on.

As Dean fell into unconsciousness his final view were flames lapping around his brother, climbing up Sam's legs, across his belly. Then McCreedy bent over Sam, lighting the kindling next to his hair.