Disclaimer – Not my characters, I just use them improperly.

You like? You don't like? Review and tell me why! (Constructive criticism only please, if you don't like the subject, don't read the story.) If you haven't read Full Moon, Fast Cars and Cracks in the Glass yet, you'll probably want to read those first or this probably won't make sense… Betaed by the wonderful Phx :)

Thank you to everyone who reviewed the last chapter, I love hearing what you guys think! The next chapter will be up same time next week…

Chapter 9

The sun was setting behind the row of buildings when Dean finally stepped out of the used bookstore, Gareth shutting the door with a heavy slam behind them. Tony's body had been left out back, shoddily concealed behind a dumpster for some poor unsuspecting homeless guy to stumble across during the night. The bullet hole between his eyes wouldn't leave anyone in much doubt as to the probable cause of his death, and the files listing Tony's various money-lending scams left open on the computer in the office should be enough to lay to rest the question of motive.

Dean crossed the street to the Impala, fishing his keys out of his pocket. The papers on the Grigori were clutched firmly in the other hand. Gareth followed, pausing on the sidewalk.

"Well, guess this is 'see-ya-round' then."

Dean looked up in surprise. "You're going?"

"Yeah." Gareth shot a crooked grin his way, shrugging one shoulder. "Got another job, 'bout ten miles north. This was just a stop-off on the way."

"Oh. Okay, then." Dean held out his hand and Gareth took it, shook roughly. "I'll tell Sam I ran into you."

"Yeah, you do that. Pass on my best, all that shit."

"Hey, if you're gonna be in Kansas for a while longer, why don't you stop by the house? We're sticking around, at least for another couple of weeks. I'm sure Sam'll be glad to see you." Dean managed to keep the grimace off his face as he said it, involuntarily picturing two more weeks of Missouri's barely-concealed disapproval.

Gareth glanced to the side, one finger scratching delicately at his scarred eyelid. "Well, I dunno. Been a while, Sammy prob'ly doesn't remember me, like I said."

"You kidding me? Sam's got a memory like a damn elephant. Kid can remember what he had for dinner a year ago to the day." Dean grinned. "And even if he doesn't, it'll give me an excuse to get outta that damn house. Couple of hours shooting the shit in some bar, playing some pool."

Gareth grinned, nodded reluctantly. "Sure, why the hell not. You got my number, Winchester. Gimme a call in a day or two, see where we're at. And," he paused, pursing his lips for a moment, "tell Sammy I'm sorry. 'Bout his dad, and everything that went down back then. I shoulda done more."

Dean frowned. "Hey, don't beat yourself up about it, yeah? He's good now."

"It's good to know. But…can't help but blame myself, y'know?" Gareth gave a rueful nod, his expression bittersweet and distant, like he was lost in memories. "I shoulda took him with me, 'fore ol' Jim got wind of it. Maybe it woulda worked out better, for both of us." He heaved a huge sigh, then shook his head violently as if he was clearing out cobwebs. "But anyhow. It'd be good to see the boy again. I thought about him a lot these years gone. Nice to see him all grown up."

Dean grinned. "Well, he is that, I can tell you. Kid's taller than me now."

Gareth's grin came back, a curve to his lips that wasn't there before. "Can't say I'm surprised. Still got that baby-face though, I'll bet?"

"Yeah." Dean felt suddenly homesick, pangs of missing practically bringing tears to his eyes with their intensity. He could see Sam's face, that delighted smile that drew dimples in his cheeks and crinkled his eyes when it was surprised out of him. He shook it off before Gareth could catch it, pulling a grin across his face like a mask. "Looks as innocent as a choir boy."

"That boy always was too damn sweet for his own good." Gareth said, nodding in agreement. "Well, Winchester, was good ta meet you." He slapped Dean on the shoulder, hard enough that he almost stumbled under the weight.

"Yeah. Hey, hopefully catch you soon, right?"

"Right." Gareth echoed, his hand raised in a half-wave, half-salute. His eyes were fixed on some point beyond Dean. "Definitely."

Dean nodded in farewell, climbing into the car. His feet were itching to get going, to get back to Sam. He'd feel a lot better once he was there to see for himself that Sam was okay. Quite honestly, the implications of this Grigori stuff scared the living shit out of him, but he wasn't going to trust anything demon-Tony had left behind until he had a chance to check it out for himself. Or had Sam check it out for him, whatever. The kid was a lot better at the research thing than he was.

Gareth nodded as he pulled out onto the street, and it eased something inside Dean to know that there were others out there that cared about Sam, that would protect him if it came down to it. If Dean wasn't there to do it himself.

As he turned onto the main street, he pulled out his cell phone. Both Sam's cell and Missouri's house phone were being blocked off by the yellow-eyed demon somehow, he was certain of it, but he still had a way to check up on the kid.

The grin that spread across his face was unheeded but welcome. Margaret was going to hate him.

The headache started after dinner, a dull throb behind his eyes that made Sam wince and nearly drop the plate he was drying. Missouri looked at him in concern, the washcloth hanging forgotten in one hand, dripping soapy water all over the kitchen counter.

"You okay, sweetie?"

Sam frowned, turning his head away from the neon strip light above his head. "Yeah, just…headache. Should…shouldn't they have gone, now I'm taking the pills?"

"It might take a bit of adjustment." She smiled gently at him, guiding him to sit in a chair. "Think of it like a pulled muscle. Your mind isn't used to working this way yet, but it'll get easier now you've made that first step forward." She stroked a damp hand through his bangs, brushing them away from his eyes. "You just need to practise stretching out that place in your mind."

They were interrupted by the sudden appearance of Margaret, her face screwed up in a tight scowl. "Your friend just called me. Again. Apparently I've become his personal messaging service now. He wants me to tell you that he's on his way back."

Sam's breath caught in sudden sharp relief and some of the weight fell from his chest. Dean was coming back. He was okay, and he was coming back.

Missouri pursed her lips, standing. "Well, he is tenacious, I'll give him that." She muttered, low enough that Sam barely caught it. To Margaret, she said, "Honey, I'm sorry he's bothering you. I'm sure he's just concerned about Sam."

Margaret sighed, helping herself to a mug of tea from the pot. It seemed to soothe away some of the anger, enough that she flashed a small smile in Sam's direction. "Don't worry about it, it's not your fault, Missouri. And I can understand, I suppose. He just…rubs me the wrong way."

Sam couldn't suppress the grin. "Yeah, I think he has that effect on a lot of people."

"Well, he also asked me to tell you that he's been trying to call you, but there's something wrong with your cell phone? He said not to worry about it though, he'll fix it when he gets here."

"What?" Sam frowned. "But it works fine. I've been using it all week."

Margaret shrugged. "That's all he told me."

Sam pulled a face, wincing when it made his head throb again. That sounded like Dean, all right. It wouldn't occur to him to explain. Sam used to think it was Dean's half-assed way of trying to be mysterious, but after the first two weeks travelling together, he finally realised that it was Dean just being half-assed. It was cute, except in situations like these.

"Um, I think I'm gonna go lie down. My head's hurting." He mumbled, pressing a hand to his forehead. Before anyone could reply he got up and left, wishing Dean would get here faster.

It was late in the evening when Dean steered the Impala into Missouri's street in Lawrence, feeling dirty and exhausted. He'd driven through the night, mentally giving the finger to the speed limits and keeping his foot heavy on the gas. It was like a repetitive chant had taken up in his head, a neverending rhythm to match the growl of the motor and the steady beat of his heart; Sam Sam Sam Sam Sam. He had to get back to Sam, had to be there to protect him should the demon come calling.

He blinked away the growing panic at the thought of his dad. One worry at a time. First get to Sam, then find dad. The problem was, there seemed to be a lot more worries behind that, all of them queuing up, and he wasn't sure which one to deal with first. The blocked-phonecalls? The Grigori thing? John and Caleb missing? Sam's psychic shit? Demon-Tony and all the questions raised behind that little fuck-up? He had a feeling that if he picked the right one then the rest would solve themselves, one way or another, but it was the choosing that was the hard part.

Dean's eyes were sore and grainy with missed sleep. The Impala seemed to glide into the parking spot outside Missouri's house almost by itself – lucky really, because Dean couldn't remember guiding the big car into the small space. He stumbled out onto the sidewalk, pausing at the gate to think about his stuff locked in the trunk, then shrugging it off. He was so close now, almost there.

His hand was on the door handle when it occurred to him that maybe walking straight in like he owned the place would be rude, and might possibly get him kicked right back out on the street again. He couldn't have that, not with Sam somewhere behind this door.

Violent knocking, Dean learned a few seconds later, generated much the same response as walking in uninvited. Although it might've had something to do with Margaret answering the door. Her first remark was something along the lines of; 'who the hell do you think you are, calling me at all hours', but Dean blocked it out.

Unfortunately he found he couldn't do the same with Missouri. She stood in the hallway, seeming to take up all the space, blocking his way when he was so nearly there, and he took a deep breath in preparation because something told him she wasn't going to let him past without having heard what she had to say.

"Dean Winchester." Her hands were on her hips, her eyes narrowed. "We expected you back an hour ago. I made dinner."

And whatever Dean had been expecting Missouri to complain about, it wasn't that. "What?"

"You should've been back an hour ago. Your chicken-fried steak is getting cold."

Ignoring the way his saliva buds burst into wakefulness at the mention of chicken-fried steak, Dean cocked his head to one side. "I thought you were psychic? Couldn't you tell if I was gonna be late?"

Her lips narrowed into a thin line. "Only if I go lookin', and believe me, one peek in your head was enough for the day. Now, are you gonna come eat this steak or not?"

"Uh, where's Sam?" He asked, trying to peer over Missouri's shoulder into the kitchen behind her.

"Sleeping." She said shortly. "He's had a bad headache since yesterday afternoon."

Margaret made a tskking noise beside him. "Probably he couldn't sleep through all your phone calls in the middle of the night – oh wait, that was me." She glared at him as she said it. "Maybe next time you go away, you can check that both your phones are working? Or would that be too much trouble for you?"

Dean scowled at her, trying to think up an appropriately witty yet scathing response. But too long driving with too little sleep had apparently muddled his brain, and he ended up settling for a weak; "Yeah, whatever."

Missouri startled him with a soft tired-sounding sigh. When he turned back to her, he saw his own exhaustion reflected in her eyes. "Sam's made some breakthroughs since you've been gone, but it hasn't been easy. I'll let him fill you in when he gets up, but for now, how about you have something to eat and let him rest a while longer? You can talk to him once you're both recovered a little."

Surprised by her soft tone, so at odds with what he'd come to expect from her, he nodded and followed meekly as she led him into the kitchen.

He paused in the doorway, glancing back at Margaret. The younger woman was walking back into the living room; apparently she treated Missouri's home as her own. But it did give Dean a chance to have a talk with the older woman. He shoved down his exhaustion, trying to fix a serious expression on his face. "Uh, Tony…wasn't as I expected him to be. Did…did you…"

Missouri turned to face him, her face drawn. "Did I what?"

He lowered his voice. "He was possessed. Did you know?"

She looked as if she'd been slapped, her mouth falling open. "He was… How? Where is he now? What happened?"

"He's, uh…" Dean's eyes fell to the floor. "He didn't make it. Another hunter was in the area, he came in just as…just as Tony made his move."

"Oh, oh my goodness!" Missouri said, her voice high and faint. She stumbled, reaching blindly for a chair. Her other hand fluttered in the air around her face, her eyes wide. "He's…he's dead? But-but I only talked to him a few days ago! I would have known if…when I talked to him, if I couldn't… I knew his grandfather, Michael, he was such a good man. I promised I'd look out for Tony, when Michael passed."

Dean swallowed, feeling awkward and guilty. "Look, I'm-I'm really sorry…"

She looked up at him, her eyes filled with unshed tears. Then she blinked, taking a deep breath, and the iron resolve he'd never seen her without was back. "Maybe you should go and wake Sam up now. I think this is something he'd want to hear."

Dean knocked lightly on the door. There was no answer. He reached for the door knob, paused for a second – what if Sam was in the middle of getting changed or something? And then opened it anyway, shrugging. There wasn't anything Sam had that he hadn't seen before, washed while the kid was half-unconscious, stitched back together after a hunt gone wrong.

On first glance the room was completely empty, and Dean had to bite back the urge to yell at Missouri, on the opposite side of the house or not. He'd gone through enough shit the last few days, all he wanted was to see Sam, goddamnit.

And then he heard a muffled moan coming from the bed. The bed sheets moved, falling away to reveal a messy head of hair on one of the pillows.

Dean could have cried. Actually, Dean could have danced a victory lap around the street wearing nothing but his boots, but that would have taken him away from Sam, his Sam, the only person in the world who he'd ever felt actual,physicalheartache at being separated from. That meant something, something big, but Dean decided to ignore it for the time being and focus on that shaggy dark mop of hair.

He closed the door quietly behind him, Missouri's house rules be damned, and stepped over the rumpled clothes scattered all over the floor to sit on the bed. He frowned for a second; Sam wasn't usually untidy. Hell, Sam was the only seventeen year-old Dean had ever met who got back from thirty-eight hour hunts and then made the bed. Before messing it up again by going to sleep in it. But he didn't dwell on it for long, instead reaching out shaky fingers to run through that soft hair.

Sam's entire body twitched, toward Dean or away, he couldn't tell, and then the kid rolled onto his back. Beautiful sleep-smeared eyes blinked up at Dean, dark and heavy.

"…'ean?" Sam mumbled, frowning as the beam of low sunlight hitting him in the face registered.

"Yeah." Dean whispered, unable to stop the huge smile spreading across his face. "Hey, Sammy. How've you been? Your head still hurtin'?"

"…missed you."

"I missed you too, kiddo." He stroked Sam's cheek, gently brushing a lock of hair away from his eyes. The touch felt too small somehow, too little, so he bent over to press a lingering kiss to Sam's forehead. Missouri couldn't object to that, right?

She'd probably object to Sam's hand hooking around Dean's neck though, guiding him into a proper kiss. Surprisingly, Dean didn't let the thought of her disapproval stop him.

Somehow one kiss became two, became three and four and five, and then Dean was licking into Sam's warm mouth, tasting his sweet sleepy flavour. Sam wrestled his other arm free of the bed sheets and used it to tug Dean's body down until he was laying on top of the younger man, his legs either side of the lump that was Sam's sheet-covered body. Apparently the kid's headache was cured. Sam made a low sound deep in his throat, almost a whine, arching up into Dean as he ate at his mouth, wet and dirty. Dean closed his eyes; let himself go with it for just a second, just a second to properly…appreciate the moment. But when he felt the telltale bulge between Sam's legs, barely noticeable under the thick covers but still there all the same, he made himself pull back.

"Sammy, stop."

Sam did whine then, and Dean had to press his eyes shut again at the kid's flushed cheeks and neck, the spit-shine of his lips. "Dean, please…"

"We can't, kiddo. Not like this, not here."

"But I want to." And if there was anything Sam could have said to convince Dean, that would have been it, had it not been in the tone of voice a three year-old would use to beg for the last candy bar. On the plus side, it did wonders in killing off his hard-on.

He sat up straight, pinching the bridge of his nose between thumb and forefinger. "Sammy…"

Sam pouted for a split-second before pushing his body upright. The sheets pooled in his lap, and of course the kid wasn't wearing a shirt, miles and miles of smooth toned skin spread out like a buffet inches from Dean's face. He was distracted for a moment, before finding himself with an awkward lapful of unwieldy Sam-limbs as the kid tried to hug him and untangle his own body from the sheets at the same time.

"I'm glad you're back." A lopsided smile appeared on his kiss-swollen lips. "Even if you aren't gonna…you know."

Dean grinned, hugging him tight. "Kiddo, if you can't say it…"

Sam wriggled his way around so he was straddling Dean's legs, wearing nothing but thin boxers and a slit-eyed expression. "I can too say it. Sex. Fucking. Your dick, my ass." His face turned progressively redder with each word.

Dean rolled his eyes, ignoring the way his own dick perked up again. "I had no idea you were such a romantic, Sammy."

Luckily, or possibly unluckily depending on how Dean looked at it, at that moment Sam spotted the bruising around his neck. They had darkened over the last few days, clear finger-marks in a sunset of colours. Sam's eyes widened and his hands came up to cup Dean's chin, tilting his head from side to side so he could inspect them.

"What the hell happened?"

"Just got into a disagreement." He rubbed both hands up Sam's bare back, shrugging. "Can we talk about it later? I kinda just, y'know, want to…chill for a minute." He finished lamely.

Sam raised an unimpressed eyebrow. "Dean, you've got finger prints embedded in your neck, I've spent the last four days worrying about you, hearing what's going on from Missouri's next door neighbour of all people, and you're using the word 'chill' in a sentence. Obviously something's wrong. Now stop avoiding and tell me what's going on."

Dean rolled his eyes, wishing just for a second that Sam was the kind of person to let things go. But Sam wouldn't be Sam if he didn't stick his nose into everything like an inquisitive puppy, desperate to know. He wrapped his arms around the kid's waist, squeezing tight, just for a second before he let them fall away. "Okay, kiddo. We better get downstairs, 'cause Missouri wants to hear this too."

Sam nodded, satisfaction at getting his way replacing some of the worry on his face. "Gimme a second; I gotta find some clean pants." He got up, rummaging through the mess on the floor until he located a pair of fraying jeans, pulling them on and turning back to face Dean.

Dean pretended he hadn't been checking out Sam's ass as he bent over. "So, Missouri said you've been busy too. Predicting the lottery numbers yet? 'Cause that'd be useful."

The remark pulled a smile out of Sam. "Naw, although I did see some kinky stuff in the head of one of Missouri's customers."

"Kinky, huh?" Dean said, waggling his eyebrows. "Anything good?"

Sam blushed to the roots of his hair.

Missouri was waiting for them in the kitchen. One place was set, a plate holding Dean's chicken-fried steak and assorted vegetables. Sam watched as Dean's eyes grew big, the smile that'd been on his face since the older man woke him stretching even wider. It was kind of hurting his cheeks now. But he couldn't suppress it any more than he could get his eyes to leave Dean for longer than a few seconds, as if the older man might vanish again without Sam watching him at all times.

His happiness was dampened a little when he caught sight of Missouri's face. It looked as if she might have been crying, her eyes red-rimmed and her mouth pinched closed. She looked up as they entered the room, beckoning Dean to the plate of food.

"What's wrong?" Sam asked, sitting down opposite her.

She tried a wobbly smile, reaching over to pat the back of his hand. "Oh nothing sweetie, just me being a silly old woman, remembering things."

Dean paused in his attempt to inhale his steak, glancing around the room. "Where's Margaret gone?"

"I said she should go. I thought we'd better discuss your trip in private." Missouri said. "Have you told Sam what happened?"

Dean looked guiltily down at his plate.

Missouri rolled her eyes. "I take it that's a no, then. You boys, honestly."

Sam looked from one to the other. "What? Is this about the bruises on your neck? What happened?"

Dean met his eyes, all seriousness now. "Turns out that Tony – the guy I went to see – was possessed. He got the jump on me, but it ended up worse for him." His eyes darted to Missouri for a second and then away again. "Another hunter was after him, got there in time to, uh, help me finish him off. Actually, the guy said he knew you when you were a kid, Sam. Name of Gareth, big guy? He got pretty beat up by your dad at one point, he's got scars all over one side of his face."

"Gareth?" Sam frowned, "I don't really remember anyone called Gareth… But what happened with Tony? Is he…"

Dean nodded, pursing his lips. "Yeah, he…didn't make it. I don't know how long the demon had been in him, but I found a load of research by his computer – stuff on the Grigori?"

"The Grigori? Like fallen angels?"

"Do you have it with you?" Missouri broke in, her brow crinkled in thought.

"It's out in the car. I'll get it after-" Dean waved his fork at his half-eaten steak.

Missouri rolled her eyes, and Sam was relieved to see she looked less upset. She spoke with a hint of amusement in her voice. "As long as you have your priorities right, Dean Winchester."

Dean's foot tapped gently against Sam's under the table, making him smile.