Disclaimer: See Chapter One

Timeframe: Set in late Season Two. Madison's been killed, but they boys haven't taken a trip to Folsom Prison quite yet.

Author's Note: Thanks to those who have sent me comments. Did I mention that this story is a little more touchy-feely than I normally do? Of course that doesn't mean it's more comforting. Thanks to the awesomeness that is MAZ101 for the beta job. She rocks!

Chapter Three: Guilt Comes in all Forms

Everyone has two equilibriums. A physical one to keep oneself from falling over and a mental one to keep oneself from going over. For each there is a force, whether it be a hand that shoves or words that push, that can throw an equilibrium off balance. If a force is successful, the person in question, will fall.

It took a full ten seconds after getting to the parking lot for Dean to, well, explode.

"A dragon slayer, Sam? A dragon slayer?" Circled around him once or twice. "What is this? The Little Mermaid?"

Eva chuckled at that. "The Little Mermaid? No, honey. This would be more like Shrek or Mulan, maybe."

"Never Ending Story," Sam added.

Dean smirked at them. "Great, Disney 101 lessons by a couple of princesses." Paced back and forth. Was going to run a groove into the dirt sooner or later. "This isn't funny, Sam. Are you saying that you're here to slay a real dragon because, just in case you forgot, dragons don't exist."

"That's what we thought about vampires."

Dean ignored the look of pure horrific confusion from Eva and stopped walking, just stared at his brother. Remembered those words spoken to his dad and how his dad's eyes twinkled with childhood delight when he explained to his eldest that there were things out there that would still surprise his son.

His heart skipped a beat. "Dragons. Gets funnier and funnier each time I say it." Except it wasn't funny and regardless of what Sam's visions showed, dragons couldn't exist. He started walking again.

"Wait a minute… who are you guys?" Eva asked, voice husky, belonging to the man that was buried deep inside of her.

So Dean walked a small trench into the dirt while Sam tried to enlighten Eva in the vaguest way possible. Touched gently on their job and the family business and about the monsters that were hiding in the dark. This was the part that Dean always found shocking: when the common person learns of what's really living out there amongst them and how resilient they can be.

"How does this all tie to you, Sam?" Dean asked, stopped pacing again and waited. "And I swear to God if the next words out of your mouth are I don't know, I'm gonna clock you one." Could tell by the look on Sam's face that he knew his brother was serious.

"In my dream," Sam tilted his head, eyebrows climbed together, "it's still unclear."

"So you don't know." Hands clenched. Couldn't help it. All this shit they'd been through leading up to this moment and Sam was just going to keep it all to himself. He waited on Sam, stared him down. In the distance, a dog barked. Dean didn't miss Sam's eyes shift. Caught the sound of it. And listened.

"You smell that?" Sam asked.

Dean narrowed his eyes. "No. But I hear a dog barking."

"I smell something," Eva blurted. She tipped her nose into the wind. "Stinks. Sometimes I smell something like it over at the club. Really rank."

Dean concentrated. Didn't smell a damn thing.

"And if that's the stray brown and white dog that comes over looking for scraps after the shows, don't try and pet it. It's a mean ol' bloodhound. Tried to bite my hand off." Eva's voice had dipped, caution dripping from the end of her words.

"I see the sword," Sam talked quickly. "I know there's something in front of me. It's big and it's hot –"

"Are you hurt?" Kicked a rock. Almost hit his brother's leg. "In the dream does it get you?"

Sam closed his eyes. Replayed it the best he could. "I'm walking. I hear my name being called and I turn around. I see Eva –"

"You've seen her all along?"

Eyes opened again. "Yeah."

"Yeah." Dean waved his hand in an impatient gesture – keep it going.

"Uh, you're there. You're on the ground and I think you're hurt."

Dean kept his expression blank, didn't give Sam the satisfaction of reading anything that he might let go.

"I feel a heat behind me, I know it's… a monster… and it's huge. Then I wake up."

"That's it?" Dean scrubbed a worried hand down his face.

Sam was quiet for a couple of insignificant heartbeats. "Yeah."

He could already smell the sulfur coating itself all over this one. Made Dean's stomach turn. Freaky visions lead to Hellish demons. Sam's tie to them - whatever bond this was – was getting bigger than either of them could handle. But, together – stared hard at Sam – together, they were stronger. "Just…Just… don't keep me out of this, man." Voice paper soft.

Dean watched Sam glance over at Eva. Even though she pretended to not know what was going on. Eva wasn't clueless. And Dean could tell that she was already figuring out the love and desperation that pulled these two together and apart.

"You're telling me everything?"

Sam's eyes narrowed. Looked Dean straight on. "Yes."

Had to make sure, though. "Is it a demon?"

"I don't know."

His hand was still clenched in a fist and Dean swung so fast that it wasn't until he almost connected with Sam's jaw that he realized what he was doing. Pulled up short, saw Sam jerk instinctively away, and ended up clipping the tip of his chin. Still, it stung and Sam's hand was up, smoothing his pained skin. He looked at Dean, his face stricken, muddled and mixed-up.

Dean closed his eyes but behind his lids, all he could see was Sam's torn face, his tears streaking his cheeks, because he had to end a girl's life. Dean had offered to do it for him, but Sam, stubborn son of a bitch that he was, refused.

"You saved her, Sam." Dean had said afterwards. Meant for it to be comforting. "She didn't want to be a monster."

You gonna be the pot or the kettle? Sam had asked.

Opened his eyes because living through that again was worse than the happenings in this parking lot.

It was Eva, not Sam, though that came after Dean. Pushing her finely manicured finger at his chest, screaming obscenities at him, pushing him away from his brother, bossing him around. "This is how you two talk? This is how you two work a case? This is going to help me? What the hell is wrong with you?"

"Don't get me started, sweetheart." Dean slapped her finger away.

Eva's chest was heaving, breathing irregular causing her to put a heavy hand up to her forehead. "I don't understand you. You are brothers… and yet, this is how you treat each other?" There was a pause, Eva looked from one to the other. "You," at Sam, still nursing his bruise, "you don't tell him what you're seeing? Are you a psychic or something?" Didn't wait for Sam's answer. "Whatever you see, you're keeping the truth from him?" Hesitated again. "Why? What does that accomplish? And you," voice deeper, a hand flying in Dean's direction, "using fists? Demanding? Not believing him?"

"What me and Sam have been through… Look, you don't know any of it and you don't want to know –" Dean interjected.

"I know enough."

Dean laughed and turned away. Idiot. Can't talk to idiots.

"Let me tell you something," Eva's mouth dangerously flapped, "every person in the world has relationship problems. I've been around, you know? People don't talk. They don't trust. They take each other for granted. They think of only themselves. Don't think you're that much different than anyone else. Just because you go out and fight creatures and monsters, it's no different than fighting off a drunk who thinks he can go all the way with you. Don't think that you are any different than me."

Dean turned on his heels. Felt his hands clench again. Eva, however, didn't flinch. "You know, Eva, we don't even know your real name. That's a difference. And the way you live, the way… you're dressed…" bit it off quickly because he wasn't sure he wanted to go there, but her hand was fixed on her hip and those jeans she was wearing looked like they'd been painted on. "Your pants are so tight that we – and everyone else – can see that you are not a woman."

Eva gasped.

Dean pointed to her groin. "It's right there, Eva. And we can all see it – you dress to the left. Okay? That is different."

Eva's eyebrows were wrinkling her forehead again. She was looking at Dean like his head had just spun around his shoulders and he was suddenly going to start talking with his index finger Redrum. Redrum.

"Well, darling, I stand corrected."

And Dean knew then that he'd hurt her feelings. Didn't recognize it on another face at first, but now, could see her eyes had gotten all soft and sad and Dean had to look away.

"You know, boys, I'm not dumb, but I can't understand… why? I just thought brothers would treat each other nicer." Eva shifted her handbag over her shoulder. "If I woulda known even one of my brothers, I would of treated him nice." She walked past Dean, opened the door to the Impala, chose shotgun. "And to think, soon? I'm going to be the one running my tight ass jeans through a forest trying to save your ass."

WWW

They dropped Eva off. She lived in a small white house with a pink picket fence. Looked quaint, actually. Sam took his place back next to Dean on the front passenger side. Sat down, let the leather cuddle him in. Every ass has a seat. Watched the darkness roll outside. Remembered how when he was a kid, he'd pretend he was in a movie and every place they'd go, every run down home they had, were just scenes out of the movie. Sometimes, he was just a character in his own life. There were times when it was just easier that way.

He always liked having a brother, though. And Dean was always his brother. Sometimes Dad was Uncle John. Sometimes he was another brother. Sometimes he was a stranger and Sam would imagine walking away from him and never looking back.

But the thought of Dean always kept him there. Until Stanford called and Sam felt the need to get up and answer it. Didn't realize at the time that he wasn't the black sheep of the family, he was the underdog. Out to prove that he could make his life better than what Dad had given him. Now, looking out the window, he didn't imagine a movie anymore. He never gave himself a happy ending. Wondered if that was his own damn fault.

Sam shivered. The weather was changing, the nights getting colder and he regretted not having a jacket.

Dean reached over and flicked the heater on. And the music up. There was something caught in the vents that had been rattling there for some time. It would stop and then reoccur at a later date. Some coin or toy stuck down there years ago. The song that was playing was mellow, though, so it had to strain to get released from the speakers.

In these days of changing way, so called liberated days, a story comes to mind of a friend of mine…

"There's a demon," Sam started. "I think."

Georgie boy was gay I guess, nothin' more or nothin' less, the kindest guy I ever knew…

Dean released a sigh. A forgiving, non-heated, sigh. His shoulders fell and his hand relaxed with the turn of the wheel. "Okay."

"I'm not sure how it's tied in… yet, but I think it has something to do with Marcel. At the club, his tattoo, I think it came to life. So I was thinking Marcel, maybe he's the demon or working for it and the dragon… I don't…" refused to say I don't know. Brushed the back of his hand along his still-sore jaw.

"We should do our homework," Dean said, oblivious to Sam's movements or just choosing to ignore it, didn't know for sure. Didn't really care.

"Yeah, I could try and interview him tomorrow," Sam suggested.

Dean made a sound, a huff or sorts. "Not alone, you're not."

"Did I say I was going to go alone?" He looked hard at his brother. "We'll have to tell Eva. Let her know what we're doing so she can back our play."

"That means," Dean's lips tightened, visibly swallowed, "we'll have to go back to the club."

"Uh," Sam thought about it, knew there was no 'out' for Dean in this situation, "yeah."

Of course, they'd have some apologizing to do. Have to make amends with their newfound friend and hope that she didn't take things personally. Of course, in their experience, everyone took everything personally.

The song continued on, Sam listened to the haunting lyrics. As it ended, Sam winced. Things didn't turn out good at all for Poor Georgie. It was a switchblade knife that found his demise. Sam shook his right hand, worked his fingers loose. A switchblade. A sword. A blade was a blade.

"I shouldn't have said those things to Eva." Dean's voice held a bite of regret to it.

"She's a big girl."

They both chuckled. It wasn't funny, but it was. "Did you see it, Sam?" Dean glanced over.

Sam's face had cracked, dimples galore. "How could you miss it?" And then, didn't really want to say it, but knew they were both thinking it: "It's… huge."

"Enormous," Dean agreed and giggled again. The car curved around to the right and they quieted down.

Regardless of Eva's large endowment, Sam could see that Dean really was unsettled with how he had treated her. "You could buy her some flowers? Make it up to her. She'd like something like that."

"Eh." Dean was considering it, Sam could tell. "I wonder why she's dreaming of this… dragon, too."

Sam took a breath. He'd been wondering the same thing. "Well, her mother didn't die in a nursery fire."

"Nope."

"And she's what? Fifteen years older than us?"

"At least. Maybe twenty."

"So, not part of the cult of the special children. She's part of it some other way."

"Cult?"

Sam breathed. "You know what I mean."

Dean cocked his head toward Sam. "Okay. So, like, she has to be there for some other reason."

Sam thought about the dream, watched his reflection in the side window, a faded version of himself. He didn't recall being afraid for Eva. Didn't remember her doing anything except shout his name out and kneel next to Dean. Wouldn't discount it, though. Was fairly certain that Eva had some part to play in all of this. If a demon was going to show itself at this location, it wanted her there.

"There's more," Sam admitted quietly and Dean turned the heater down, the blower softening. The radio was next, volume almost completely off.

"The dragon wants me. Or wants something from me. When I see it in my mind, you're bleeding, Eva's with you, and I'm going down and there's blood everywhere."

"Who's blood?"

"Could be the dragon's."

"Could be yours?" said it as a question, with a small bit of fear woven in.

Sam shrugged. "Could be."

Dean was patting his right leg now. Nervous habit and Sam actually knew the next question, had played it out in his mind before Dean ever asked it. "Well, which one is it? Is it yours or the dragons?"

"I think it's mine," he answered without any hesitation. "It feels like I'm falling and I'm hurt." Sam wrapped his arms loosely around his middle. "I'm bleeding out." Thought about Dean, curled up and bleeding. Maybe it wasn't Sam's or the dragon's blood…

"Well, that sounds," Dean stopped, looked out his own window for a few seconds, eyes back on the road, "that doesn't sound good."

Nope, Sam thought as they took the exit Eva had told them about for the cheapest motel in town. It didn't sound good at all.

"Dragons," Dean muttered. "Gets funnier and funnier each time I say it."

WWW

Sam was falling.

Eva was right: it was night. There were trees above, the branches extended way out, leaves scarcely covering them; most had fallen to the ground. Which made for a crunchy approach, Sam noticed. Every step he made, his boots smashed dead leaves. It was like a final voice for them, chomping out a warning that danger was approaching. And Sam was that danger. He was going to be totally detected.

His eyes fell to his right. A shiny silver sword. He held it up. It was engraved, the blade, wasn't sure with what, but he didn't recognize it, no idea how it ended up in his hands. Up ahead was a large brick building. He thought maybe it was a house, but it was so big it could've been… a castle.

"Sam!" Dean's voice, from a distance. Behind him or to the side of him. Definitely some distance away. He needed to keep going, keep his focus straight ahead, but –

Sam turned around. There was a spotlight centered on his brother. He was on the ground, on his side, reaching for Sam. Blood was pooling on the dead leaves. Behind him was Eva, big and muscular, pulling Dean back. Protecting, Sam recognized. Eva screamed Sam's name and he noticed then that Eva was bleeding. Blood covered her chin, dripping on her clothes and kept spreading across like it was a disease. She never looked down, never noticed, just kept her concentration on Sam. Suddenly, her eyes rounded like dinner plates.

Something was heating up behind Sam. There was a shadow cast around his view, the spotlight shaded against the night. Dean's eyes widened and Sam felt a beast of enormous size and power behind him. He started to turn but the next thing he knew, he was falling. Eyes squeezed shut, the wind against his face as he fell further and further down and Sam felt his body somersault in the air. He could feel the rush of blood leaving his body and he opened his eyes and looked up from where he came from.

Then the ceiling lit on fire and blonde curls swung down to singe his face.

WWW

Dean had fallen into a deep sleep hours ago. Slept pretty damn well, too. Stomach this time, hand wrapped around the hilt of his knife. Index finger caressed the leather handle every fifteen minutes or so. Habit. Comforted him somehow. Didn't even know he was doing it.

"Sammy, I don't think we got a choice here any more."

Shoulders tensed.

"I hate to say it, she's a sweet girl, but part of her is…"

His eyes fluttered open and closed. Wake up. Wake up.

"Evil?"

No. "Yeah."

We shoulda tried more. Could've looked harder.

"Yeah, well, that's what they say about me, Dean. So you won't kill me but her you're just gonna blow away?"

Yeah, Dean thought. Something like that.

Hours into sleep and this is what he was dreaming. Couldn't get out of it, either. Wrapped in Sam's eyes and accusations. Stuck in Sam's fear of not being able to save another one. To have another fucking girl attach herself to him… only to be put in the ground the next day. Still, through all this, he heard the whimper. Conditioned to it by now. Visions. Nightmares. Daymares. Knew it all. Becoming just a part of his every day routine. And the whimper was reality. It was the now and his dream, it was just the then.

Dean pushed up on his elbows, released the hilt of his knife and heard the bones in his neck crick as he turned to look to the left. Sam. Sam was on his back, gasping for air. Strangling in his sleep. Dean turned to his side, challenged his right foot over his left to see who could get the blankets off his body first. He was so tired, though. He was dragging to get out of bed.

Then Sam screamed and Dean shot up, but not as fast as his brother. By the time he'd reached the other mattress, Sam was awake but confused, his eyes wild in the night, fingers scratching at the bed, trying to claw his way through or away from something. Or someone.

"Sam!" Dean barked. Used his diaphragm, no point in pussying around.

Sam didn't flinch. Awake but still stuck wherever his nightmare had him tangled. Dean sat down next to him, grabbed his shoulders and shook him once. Again, a bellowed, "Sam!"

A long, sobering blink of the eye and Sam seemed to come back into the room. He zeroed in on Dean's face, eyes mellowing as he slowly realized that his hand was gripping a pillow, not a weapon and that, yes, he could indeed breathe.

Dean sighed. Recognition. "Sammy." He exhaled, tried not to crowd him, felt his torso lean back with his next breath. "Jesus Christ, these dreams… they're starting to scare me." Didn't mean to use the word scare. Wanted to take it back and say You're an asshole for waking me up but it was already out there just like the hundreds of other things he wished he could take back.

He knew the parking lot had just been the tip of whatever was festering in Sam. With Sam, there were always several layers of emotion and, for Dean, it could be exhausting.

"Oh, Dean." Sam's voice was thin and young and his eyes full and pained. "It was…" Got caught in his throat, clogged with tears. Swallowed hard. "It was…"

Dean's fingers squeezed Sam's shoulders. He felt dizzy all of a sudden. Not sure what to do next. Wished they were someplace else far, far away from there. A beach. Full of women in bikinis. Real women with real women parts.

"She… was there." Sam stammered. And Dean wanted to ask right then who she was. Eva? Mom? Madison? But the list ended there and hopped like a thought bunny out of his mind as Sam fell forward, his shaggy head hitting Dean's collarbone and then his brother lost if for a few seconds.

Dean swallowed, felt his Adam's apple rub against the top of Sam's head. Wanted desperately to say the right words that would make this pain, this grief just go away. Knew then that she was Jessica. Because she was always Jessica. And there was no other she in the world that could reduce Sam to a blubbering mess. Dean found his hand wrapping silently around Sam's back, long strokes against a soaked t-shirt.

"You're going to fucking talk to me about this," he whispered. Wished he had more. Shoulda paid attention better in Psych 101. "Because…" Dean's eyes burned. Because I care about you? Because we have to get the job done? Because I love you? Cleared his throat and stilled his hand, pressed it into Sam's back. "Because this is killing us."

Used us. Hoped Sam would take note.

Just as fast as the tears started, they stopped and Sam pushed Dean roughly away. Used what energy he still had to sit up properly and wipe his eyes and nose with the corner of the bed sheet.

Better than Dean's shirt, Dean figured, but he shoved off the bed and stumbled through the dark to the bathroom for some tissues. He flicked on the light and let the florescent warm up for a minute. Scanned the counter of the sink. No fucking Kleenex. Leaned over and unrolled half the toilet paper, tearing it with one swipe. Dean grabbed at the one and only paper cup and tore off the protective paper it was wrapped in. Filled it with water and then turned towards the tub and threw a punch at the shower curtain.

All right, something like this starts happening to your brother, you pick up the phone and you call me!

Dean threw another punch. Hit the curtain again. Watched as it playfully swayed away and back again. He remembered his mom would hang laundry out on the line when he was a little boy. Then they'd run through the sheets and they would do that – sway happily back and forth. Dean punched it again. It swished back to him. Taunting him. Grabbed it with both of his hands this time and pulled hard.

Call you? Are you kidding me, Dad?

He yanked on the plastic curtain until one of the rings gave way, felt his body falling down. Wanted to shred the goddamn thing to bits.

What did you know, Dad? Fuck you. Either have to kill him or save him. What kind of shit is that? Who gives those orders? Who the hell do you think you are? Were… Dean tussled the curtain back and forth. Were. Who he was. 'Cause Dad was a was. Dean lost his footing and fell to the floor.

"Dean?" he heard Sam call out. Quickly used the toilet to pull his body up. Shower Curtain 1, Demon Hunter 0.

"I – I slipped on some water, Sam!" he called back. "I'm okay. Be right out." Pressed a hand down his chest as he stood. Counted back from five. Breathe in and breathe out. Felt his heartbeat calming. Slow and steady wins the race. Put a hand out to catch him so he wouldn't fall. He didn't ask for this. Not his fault.

Looked at the bathroom. During the scuffle, he realized that he had actually spilled the cup of water. He pulled down the hand towel and soaked up the mess. Calmly, he tossed it to the side and picked up the empty plastic cup. Filled it again.

It was then that he allowed himself a bit of time out of his busy night of sobbing brothers and beating up shower curtains, to look at himself in the mirror. His face looked green under the fluorescent but he could see the dark circles riding under his eyes. His freckles were pouncing off his cheeks, leaving him looking like a zombie. Felt like it, too.

The three of us, that's all we have. And it's all I have. Sometimes I feel like I'm barely holding it together, man. And without you or Dad –

The water was overflowing the cup. Dean looked down and cursed. He noticed he'd been gripping the inside of the sink with his fingertips. All the pressure and weight he had building up, he had subconsciously forced into the tips of his fingers. It hurt like a son of a bitch letting the sink go. And that felt wonderful.

He picked up the cup, poured out some of the water and grabbed the wad of toilet paper. Left the light on this time and the door cracked open so he could see his journey through the motel room. A stubbed toe would've surely brought on a meltdown. Wasn't quite ready for that.

Dean handed Sam the water and the tissue. The dim light cast an eerie glow on Sam's face. Distraught, it was. Abandoned and regretful. It was heartbreaking and, yet, Dean knew he was the only person in Sam's world who could relate. He shifted his rear onto the mattress and sat back down next to his brother, hip to hip. Made sure to divert his eyes the other way, though. Speak to the wall and it was easier to talk to Sam.

"What is it your afraid of?" A glance back because it was all about the expression. Not about the words.

Sam was staring off to the right, wet eyes gazing into the light coming from the bathroom. He brought the wad of tissues up to his face. Swiped at new tears.

"Is it you? Are you seeing – are you afraid you're going to die?"

A shake of the head.

Dean waited. "You afraid of Eva dying?" Swallowed. "Of me? You afraid of me dying?"

And Sam turned his head on that one, met his brother's eyes, glared.

"I don't know, Sam!" Dean shouted. Was afraid his brother was going to start with the fucking water works again and that – that – scared him. Sam not saying a goddamn word to him and Dean trying to read his mind. He wasn't a fucking mind reader. Opened his mouth and was just about ready to scream that at him when Sam spoke.

"Guilt." Said it so grimy that it sounded like a virus. "Dean. I'm full of it." Didn't follow it through with And there's nothing you can ever do about it because he wasn't a kid anymore. He was a man and a man doesn't throw shit like that at their big brother. Instead, they let their eyes say it for them.

Dean looked down. He'd lost this one. There was nothing he was ever going to be able to say to make this better. Jessica's death – the way she died – and, worse yet, the Haunting of Jessica – it wasn't going to go away and there wasn't anything Dean could do about it. There was no forward from this. And if there was, neither one of them knew how to start.

"Yeah, well," Dean flashed a tight smile. "Guilt comes in all forms, Sam."

Sam's face twisted. Like he was drunk and some guy just challenged him to a Theory of Evolution throw down. That All Mighty, Holier than Thou crap. It pissed Dean off. Sam scowled. "I'm not saying –"

But Dean was up and crossing the tiniest two steps to his own bed. Crawled under the covers. It's not his fault. "Good night, Sam."

"Dean."

He could hear the sounds of Sam shuffling, ripping off pieces of the toilet paper, moving the plastic cup off the table and back to the table. Could hear the pounding of his brother's heart and knew, without a doubt, that if Sam felt guilt before, he was now shitface drunk with it. Sleep on that, asshole, Dean thought.

Saw a faint glow beyond the curtains. Morning was finding her way to them once again. He heard Sam sniffle and wondered how much of this was really about the past and how much was about the present. Wondered if he could, possibly, do something about that.

Dean sighed. And felt guilt.

Playlist:

The Killing of Georgie performed by Hot Rod Stewart