Dean twisted far enough to look at Sam. His eyes were still wide, though he'd lost much of the panicked expression.

"They're gone," Sam hissed, barely loud enough for Dean to hear.

Reaching over and squeezing his brother's shoulder, Dean nodded. "It'll be okay, Sam."

"Are you mad at me?"

"Course not, Sam, why do you think that?"

Sam blinked away tears and looked down at his knee, picking at the edge of his frayed jeans with one hand. He squirmed around so he lay sideways in the seat, knees drawn up, his head resting against the seatback, watching Dean. "You only call me Sam when you're mad at me."

Dean couldn't help laughing softly at that. How long had he endured nasty glares and repeated snarls of it's Sam? Only to be told it wasn't Sam, it was Sammy. Rubbing Sam's arm a few times before he play punched the same arm Dean leaned back, letting his head drop against the seatback. Rolling his head far enough to look at Sam, he half expected him to be sucking his thumb and was ridiculously relieved Sam wasn't. "I'm not mad," he mumbled, letting his hand fall from Sam's arm and rest on the seat between them.

Head bouncing with the truck jerked Dean awake. For the second time that day, he'd simply dropped off to sleep. This town and its constant adrenaline spiking events were beginning to play havoc with him. It was the only explanation he had right now. Sam was still half curled in the same position on the seat next to him, one hand on Dean's shoulder, his fingers loosely gripping his jacket.

Stretching as much as he could in the confined space, Dean turned his head side to side and pushed straighter up in the seat. He rolled his head far enough to see Sam. His brother was quiet and still. Dean kept his movements to a minimum, not wanting to wake him yet. It took another glance before Dean realized Sam wasn't asleep. He followed Sam's gaze. The sheer hate rolling out of Sam and aimed with narrowed eyes at the back of Peter's head had Dean suppressing a shudder. Finding their motel room empty, Sam and Peter gone, scared a huge reality check into Dean.

Sam was unraveling, becoming rapidly unstable and Dean was going to have to face the fact, unwanted or not, that could make Sam a very dangerous person. He had no delusions; Dean knew exactly what had happened to the glass wall in the diner. Even though he hadn't seen how the broken glasses littering the tables surrounding Sam had gotten that way, he knew.

It probably hadn't been intentional, but Dean knew full well Sam had broken the glasses as well as the wall.

For the first time Dean considered maybe it wasn't Sam becoming evil that might be the issue. Sam could never be evil. Dean was convinced of that, now more than ever. Possibly it was the loss of control on Sam's part that was the real danger. It was the one thing Sam wouldn't talk to him about much, no matter how Dean coaxed.

He strongly suspected whatever hold Sam had was tenuous and the fact Sam wouldn't talk to him about it told Dean a few things. Foremost it told him Sam was afraid, maybe afraid to acknowledge fully what he held within him, certainly afraid of Dean's reaction. Secondly it told him Sam was afraid of what would happen if he let himself use what he had, afraid of not keeping a tight lid of control over this unnamed, largely unknown, power.

That lid was kept firmly in place until Sam started losing his grip on reality and adulthood.

It was only a matter of time before Sam's hatred of Peter spiraled out of control, and Sam harmed or killed the boy. Dean knew that would be merely the first step. Dean had no idea how to stop it or reverse it once it got that far. For the first time ever, Dean worried Sam could very easily become a killer. Using a gun, his hands, or some power he carried within him, it didn't matter. Sam would cross a line both he and Dean had worked so hard to stay away from.

Ernie's Bunker…

The truck rumbling to a stop pulled Dean's thoughts to their surroundings. Straightening further in the seat, Dean watched as Ernie jumped from the truck. They'd stopped in front of what looked suspiciously like old fashioned iron fencing. A quick glance at Sam confirmed his brother's attention was still honed in on Peter. Twisting in his seat, Peter shot a look at Sam, then one at Dean. He couldn't help thinking the boy recognized the threat in Sam's face, in his body language. Peter didn't seem overly upset or worried, but he also didn't seem to care if it stopped.

"Mr. Adaey has a cool house," Peter quipped. He was speaking to Dean, but his eyes slid to Sam, resting there for a few long seconds. A quick flash of something cold and hard in Peter's gaze appeared and vaporized almost at once, making Dean shiver. Sam didn't even blink.

Dean resisted the urge to wrap both arms around his brother, gather him close and hide him away from Peter, from the world.

Clearing his throat to keep the tremor from his voice, Dean looked at Peter, wondering if he realized what Dean had seen, was seeing? "Does he?"

"Yeah, he says we can live there for a decade if we have to."

Brushing away the question of why Ernie would tell Peter that bit of information, and he'd obviously done it long before now, Dean forced a chuckle, "That's pretty cool, don't ya think, Sammy?"

Sam's eyes lifted to meet his. The only response was a slight shrug of one shoulder. Dean pressed his lips together in one of his best poker smiles.

Dean hoped Ernie's bunker had separate rooms with locks on the doors.

"Okay, just another few minutes." Ernie was pushing up into the truck and pulling the door shut behind him as he turned to talk to Dean. "Glad we got here now, it's getting dark out. Best thing would be to hold up here for the night, figure out what to do in the morning."

"I agree."

Ernie's gaze slipped for a second to Sam's face, then trailed to Peter. Ernie sported his own poker game smile, not nearly as convincing as it should be. Dean cringed inwardly. The man recognized the silent glares, the thinly veiled anger passing between Peter and Sam. Dean wasn't sure if he should be thankful or fearful.

As Ernie guided the truck to the front of his bunker style house, Dean couldn't help thinking this whole situation was one big powder keg waiting to blow. He needed a walk to put some distance between Sam and Peter before the whole thing blew up in their faces.

"Mind if we check it out?" Dean jerked his thumb over his shoulder at the parcel of land surrounding the house. His other hand snagged Sam's jacket as he climbed down from the truck. "C'mon, Sammy, let's stretch our legs a bit."

"Nope, not at all, just let me know when you are ready to come inside." Ernie dipped his head to a security camera mounted near the main door.

Throwing one final halfhearted glare at Peter's retreating back as he and Ernie headed into the house, Sam followed willingly. Nodding to Ernie, Dean stepped away from the truck, Sam keeping pace with him. They walked to the corner of the house then circled it. Ernie's cannon stood silent sentry at the back.

Sam snickered, "Dad would've loved this guy and his house."

Dean circled the cannon. Sam reached out and touched it, running his fingers along one wheel. "This is cool." Dean didn't even try to keep the admiration from his voice.

"Yeah," Sam agreed. Dean thought he sounded a bit awestruck.

Stuffing his hands into his pockets, Dean rocked back and forth on his heels, gazing up at the sky. He craned his neck as far as he could then twisted on his toes to follow a line of barrier from horizon to horizon. "You see it, Sammy?"

"Yes. I never stopped."

Dean sighed. "Me neither, kiddo."

Though it was evident night was closing in, the sky above was still gray haze. He knew the moon and stars should be visible by now, but there was nothing except the gray haze.

"Dean, what if it doesn't go away?"

Swiveling to look at his brother, Dean felt his stomach drop. There was Sam, twenty-five, but really no more than five, asking what they were going to do if this was what was left of the world? It hurt. What was he going to do with a somewhat psychotic brother who'd suddenly lost his ability to think, and act, like an adult? Add to that the fact Sam could at least break glass with his thoughts, never mind what he was capable of with his bare hands if he so chose.

"I don't know, Sammy." Admitting it doubly hurt.

Sam turned back toward the bunker. "Are we going to live here forever?"

A cold chill rushed against Dean, making him pull his jacket closed. Stepping towards Sam, he gave in to the urge to place a hand on the back of Sam's neck and turned him to the house. He suddenly wanted his brother close, within touching distance. "I don't know that either, Sammy." He stopped just before they reached the door, turning Sam so he had to look at Dean. "Sammy, you have to listen to me, and do something for me, okay?"

Sam nodded solemnly. As a child a request from Dean was treasured and sacred. That part hadn't changed so much. The fact Sam waited quietly for Dean's request and didn't offer questions or opposing opinions was what ran a spear through Dean's heart.

"I never want you close enough to Peter to touch him. No matter what happens, you never hurt him, even if something happens to me."

Sam's eyes skittered to the house then came back to settle on Dean. He nodded. "I promise."

"Good."

"Don't go where I can't see you."

Dean smiled, patting Sam's shoulder before he released him and reached for the buzzer to alert Ernie they wanted inside. "Not that I planned to, but fair enough."

Ernie's house wasn't homey, or even very much house-like. It was more like one big panic room built to withstand aliens. Dean noticed right away it was also built to withstand a variety of supernatural threats, even if Ernie didn't even know what he'd accomplished. The walls were six inches of concrete embedded with iron and salt. There was buried iron piping circling the house. Ernie informed him it kept a constant flow of saltwater around the house. Dean found no symbols, but then Ernie wouldn't know to use any. Ernie thought he needed protection from aliens, not demons. Maybe Sam had been right when he'd suggested they were one in the same.

The entire structure was the size of a three bedroom ranch, and might have been that at one point. Now, other than a kitchen and a bathroom, both of which were sectioned off, it was one large, open space. The rest was taken up with storage cabinets for weapons and supplies. There was a section in one corner with clothes hanging from free standing racks. Seeing them made Dean remember, everything he and Sam owned was back in the town. They would have to make one final trip back, even if it was merely to retrieve their things and the Impala, they, or at least he, would have to make one more trip back.

It may have been a type of bunker meant to be defended against attack, but Ernie obviously lived here in some comfort and with plenty to keep him busy and entertained if the stereo and television equipment was anything to go by.

Thinking of being here long term, if not permanently, startled Dean. It was a reality, however; Sam would never be safe in the town. Not that Dean was all that sure he was any safer here. For now, at least, here was where they were and they'd have to make the best of it. He wondered, not for the first time, how much more unraveled Sam was likely to become, and if he'd be his normal twenty-five year old adult self again. As Dean's eyes scanned their new surroundings, he bid a silent prayer to anyone who'd listen that Sam wouldn't repeat his teen years. Dean would be forced to shoot them both himself if he was required to relive that. Once was more than enough for any person. Surely even God, the Devil, and all their angels and demons combined didn't want to endure that.

Just as they'd seen in Peter's house, the numbers were everywhere, seen in whatever direction Dean looked. One fast glance at Sam confirmed his brother saw them too.

"We can go back for your stuff in the morning," Ernie seemed to read Dean's thoughts. "You two can bunk over there for tonight. We can rearrange things as we need to later." He shot a look at Peter. "If it's even necessary."

If the situation in town was anything but temporary, Dean decided right then and there, he and Sam were striking out on their own. They'd find somewhere to live quietly, and hopefully safely. No way in Hell were they staying here for a single minute longer than they had to. Having Sam and Peter together in such close confines for any length of time made Dean itch. He'd raised Sam, taken care of him, taken care of them both as children and adults. There was no reason to think he couldn't do the same again.

"You got a first aid kit in here?"

"Got more than a kit." Ernie opened one of the cabinet doors and stepped back, proudly displaying a small clinic's worth of medical supplies.

Dean plucked some antiseptic cleanser and cotton from a shelf and motioned Ernie to a nearby table and chair. "You look a bit gruesome there, man." Holding up the medical supplies, Dean grinned. "Lemme help you out here."

They settled at the table. Dean let his eyes shift to Sam for a beat, unspoken words indicating he should be over here. Sam slid quietly into a chair, head turning one way then the other, wide eyes gawking and taking in the sight of their temporary home.

Dean made quick work of cleaning and dressing Ernie's wound. "Any blurred vision? Nausea?"

Ernie silently shook his head no. After a few minutes' work, Dean placed everything on the table. Ernie touched his head. "I shouldn't be alive." His eyes stayed trained on the table top.

"Tell me about it." Dean snorted a short laugh, "Eh, chicks love scars, and that one is gonna be a doozy."

"How about your arm?" Ernie picked up the gauze and antiseptic Dean had pulled from the cabinet.

Grabbing Dean's arm and jerking it toward him, Sam snapped out a ferocious, "I'll do it."

Ernie blinked and straightened in his chair, mouth dropping open.

"We're used to having just each other for this stuff. He can do it just fine." Turning to look Sam in the face, Dean frowned a bit. "Sam, knock it back a few notches, okay? Time to relax a bit."

While Sam dabbed at the cut then put a better dressing on it than an old rag, Dean let his gaze wander the area, taking in more. There were books, hundreds of them on a shelf taking up nearly one wall. The one bit of open wall space in that part of the bunker was filled with pictures, awards, diplomas.

"I got an older generator that works so we'll have some light, but we'll have to be prudent. There's firewood, plenty of candles and I have two Coleman gas camping stoves, so hot meals."

"Can we have stew?" Peter asked. He'd been sitting so quietly, half the building's length away. Dean had nearly forgotten him.

"Sure. You know where it is, why don't you break out a few cans, get us some dinner going."

Sam nudged Dean's leg with his knee, leaned over and whispered, "I'm hungry."

"Guess we're having stew."

Then he poked Dean's side, pointing to the wall opposite the bookshelves. "Can I play darts? I promise to be careful."

"Uh…I…Sam—" He wasn't so sure Sam with small, sharp projectiles was a good idea either. The wide-eyed, open expression Sam offered him surprised Dean. He honestly wanted to play a game. Ernie's hand on his forearm stopped him mid-sentence.

"Do you know how?" Ernie asked. Sam grinned and nodded vigorously. "As long as it's okay with your brother and you don't put holes in your fingers."

Sam's gaze shifted to Dean. With a small nod at the dart board, Dean said, "Go on."

He sat and watched Sam gather the darts and settle himself on a tall stool, lower lip sucked between his teeth as he concentrated on hitting the target. The enormity of it sunk in and Dean fought to steady his breathing, fought wanting to crumble to the floor in a helpless puddle. He had no one to go to with this; no one who'd understand or offer help to Sam. Dean was in way over his head with this and he knew it, yet the responsibility rested on his shoulders alone. He didn't have anyone to confide in, seek assistance from, or even ask to care for Sam if something should happen to him. Even Bobby, Dean suddenly realized, would see the threat of how dangerous Sam could become and act upon that.

For the first time since his father died, Dean didn't wish he was here to help. At least he didn't have to deal with John's reaction, which would be fast and deadly accurate. If Sam lost control, became a threat, Sam would need to be put down. Warm bile burned the back of his throat thinking he might have been put in the position of protecting Sam from his own father. His stomach churned. A cold drizzle of sweat slithered along his spine.

"He's amazingly good at that." Ernie interrupted his thoughts. "Hey, you okay? You look pale."

Dean twisted around to face Ernie. "We play all the time." His voice sounded anemic and far away.

"I think it's time we get some calories." Ernie patted Dean's arm before moving to the other side of the structure to help Peter with the cans of stew and stoves.

Needing something else to focus on, even if for a few minutes, Dean wandered to the plaques hung on the wall next to the shelves. In the center was a picture of a smiling young couple holding a tiny baby. A plaque along the frame read Ernest Fred Adaey, June 24, 1959.

"My parents owned that ship. They were commercial fishers," Ernie said from somewhere behind Dean. A warm bowl tapped Dean's elbow.

"Thanks." He took the offered dinner, stomach rumbling when he realized how long it had been since they'd last eaten. Sam, darts in one hand, spoon in the other, was sitting at the table, shoveling stew into his mouth.

"I was born while they were at sea, international waters. My mother took every opportunity to remind what a paperwork nightmare that was."

Dean chuckled.

"They're gone now."

"I'm sorry."

"It was a while ago, and it happens. Your parents get old and they die. They had good lives, and each other." Ernie shot a glance at Peter, then Sam. "It's just the two of you?"

Dean leaned against the shelves and took a bite of the stew. "Yeah, mostly just us our whole lives."

"Lot of people would have just put a kid like that in a home somewhere. You didn't, I admire that."

"I'd never do that to Sam." Dean wasn't sure exactly what he'd do if Sam didn't snap out of this and return to his normal self, but some kind of mental home, if any were even left, wasn't it.

They spent an hour after finishing their meal moving things around for the night. There were a half dozen or so cots at one end of the building. Ernie was set up for other people being in there with him, probably Peter's entire family. He and Sam moved two of them to a corner of the building. Dean decided not to wait a few days to change things and used some of the clothing racks as temporary dividers. They'd do little to shield Sam from anything, but they gave Dean a sense of privacy and allowed him to relax away from Peter and Ernie.

Finally, Sam settled on one of the cots. Stretched out, a book in his hands, he thumbed at the pages. Dean could tell he wasn't really reading. They all needed sleep, but Sam was fighting it. Moving silently, Dean crossed their part of the bunker, Sam's eyes following him until he sat cross-legged on the floor next to his brother.

"Whatcha reading there, Sammy?"

Sam's shoulders moved up and down, he handed Dean the book. "I don't understand most the words. Would you help me?"

Glancing at the book, Dean snorted a laugh and flipped through the Mechanics of Gun Construction. "Sure, but not now. Time for sleep."

"We have to go back tomorrow?"

"Yeah. We're not leaving the Impala; she stays with us."

Sam smiled and nodded. "You used to read to me all the time. How come you stopped?"

Dean chuckled. "You went to college, kiddo." He had to force himself to not slip onto the cot, wedge himself between Sam and the wall and read to his little brother as he'd done for years when Sam was small.

"I missed you." Sam's voice was soft.

"I missed you too." Dean laid his hand on Sam's forearm and twisted his head far enough to meet Sam's eyes. Somehow dealing with Sam as a child just came naturally to Dean. Dealing with Sam as an adult, not always so easy.

"I'm glad you came and got me."

That surprised Dean. He'd never been sure how Sam felt about that time. Moving around to rest one arm on the side of Sam's cot, Dean waited for his brother to continue.

"Even with Jess, I never belonged there, with those people. They were nice, but not like…They'd never understand. None of them ever needed to take care of anyone."

"Yeah, not everyone is like us." Dean reached out, brushed Sam's bangs away and pulled the blanket over his shoulders. "Time to go to sleep now, and this time I mean it." He'd forgotten how good at distracting him Sam had been with the goal of not going to bed.

"What are you going to do?"

Dean remembered that part too. "Sit right here until you're asleep. Then," he pointed to another cot, "I'm going to pull that cot over here and go to sleep too. I'm tired."

Sam yawned then smiled suddenly. "Me too."

Another few minutes and Sam was asleep. Satisfied he'd be alright, Dean moved off the cold floor to his own cot. Sam's voice, at first incoherent mumbling and soft whispers filtered into Dean's brain. Something in his subconscious set off the tinkling of warning bells that crescendoed into sirens. Dean's eyes snapped open. It took him a minute to process why he was staring at a concrete ceiling.

Pushing up on one elbow, Dean grumbled out, "Sammy." He sat up, and glanced at his watch all then reached out and shook Sam's shoulder. He knew the words coming from Sam's nightmare even if they were a jumble. If he didn't wake Sam up soon, Sam would wake Peter, Ernie and anyone in a ten mile radius.

Rolling off his cot, Dean landed in a crouch between the two cots. This time he gripped Sam's arm and gave him a firm shake. "C'mon, Sammy, wake up. Just a bad dream."

Dean had blanked out pretty quickly when the Hellhounds attacked him.

Dean remembered pain, fear, then the stark mind shattering terror of Hell, but now only as one remembered a bad dream. His memories resurface more like random thoughts, like something he'd learned in school or read years ago that popped into his mind. The only difference was this was accompanied by intense emotion, lasting a few seconds to a minute at most. By the time he could give them thought or honest consideration, they were gone and he had nothing to grab onto.

It was Sam who'd suffered the most. He'd seen Dean ripped apart. For Sam, it was still painstakingly real and Dean relived it constantly through Sam's nightmares.

Sam jerked awake in his grasp, looking around. His hand shot out and latched onto Dean's arm. He scrunched his eyes shut, but even closed, tears oozed out and ran down Sam's cheeks.

"I'm sorry, Dean," Sam choked out, obviously trying to cover the soft sobs trying for freedom.

"Hey, take it easy. It's just a bad dream."

"They came and got you and I couldn't do anything. I promised you I'd stop it and I didn't and—"

"Sam. Stop it." He kept his voice low, but Dean put all the authority in it he could muster. "I'm right here."

Rolling to his side, facing Dean, Sam's voice dropped but more words tumbled out of his mouth making Dean realize Sam as an adult had barely coped with this; he had no prayer of doing so as a child. "She let them in. I wanted to stop them, I tried, and I couldn't. Those things tore you up…I tried so hard, I did. I was scared and alone and I tried."

"Shh…shh…Sam." Dean scooted close enough to Sam's cot he rested his elbow on the frame. He'd never be hearing this confession from Sam if he'd been himself. Dean closed his eyes as the enormity of it pressed against him again. He drew a deep, shaky breath and opened his eyes, looking directly at his brother. "Sammy, listen to me." His other hand he laid on Sam's head. "You did just fine. I'm here, and you're here. I'm right here because you got me out. You don't be sorry for anything."

"I didn't let go," Sam said in a small voice, "but I'm not sure how it happened."

Dean smiled, "I know. You're a stubborn ass bastard, and for that I'm thankful. The only thing that's important is you and I are here."

Sam sniffed and nodded. Dean pulled the blanket over him.

"Now go back to sleep. We have a lot to do tomorrow."

A short time later, Sam's breathing evened out and he was asleep again. Dean, however, was wide awake. Pushing to his feet slowly, he rubbed his legs for a minute. He'd spent a few too many minutes crouched beside Sam's cot and he was losing some feeling. Moving silently, tossing looks back to Sam every few seconds, Dean wandered to the far end of the bunker, away from both Sam and the section Peter and Ernie occupied.

Leaning one arm on the window, Dean let his chin rest on his forearm and gazed out the window. He stared out at the night, not really seeing anything at first. His mind did a one-eighty and shot back to the motel when he'd come out of the bathroom and found Sam and Peter gone. More specifically his brain suddenly focused on the outside of the motel.

He'd been too intent on finding Sam at the time to take much notice, but now...?

Dean squinted out the window. It was night, but there was a difference, just like when he'd run out to find the Impala's keys dangling from the car door. He craned his neck to see up as far as he could.

Twisting around, Dean assured himself Sam was still deeply asleep before he looked back out the window. It hadn't registered earlier, not completely, and Dean had brushed it off, attributed it to his inattention.

There was still no moon or stars, but he couldn't see the gray barrier. Nothing in the sky shimmered or moved.

When he'd run out of the motel room after finding Sam gone, Dean had barely paid attention to the fact he couldn't see the gray barrier then either; he'd been so worried about finding his brother. Every other time he seen the barrier he and Sam had been together. Sam had been awake.

Hurrying back to his cot, Dean pulled his boots on before moving back to the window for another look. This time Ernie was up, rummaging around in the kitchen.

"Is he okay?" Leaning in the kitchen doorway, bottle of water in one hand, Ernie dipped his head toward the part of the bunker Sam and Dean occupied.

Dean rubbed at the back of his neck. "Yeah, bad dream. He's fine. Thanks." Alone in this.

Ernie nodded. "It's a wonder we all aren't having them."

Snorting a short, soft chuckle, Dean had to agree. "Hey, I thought I'd take another look around outside." He glanced at Sam's sleeping form then Peter's, before coming back to Sam.

"Sure. I'll keep an eye on them." Ernie moved to one of the many cabinets, fished out a flashlight and handed it to Dean. "Code for the door is three-zero-eight."

"Thanks. I'll be back in a few." Dean managed to remember to turn away before rolling his eyes. Of course that was the combination for the door lock, three-zero-eight, three ones, a zero and four two's. He'd seen them so much his brain was doing the math without prompting. "If he wakes up—"

"I'll bring him out."

Stepping out into the crisp night, Dean's boots crunched on the short grass. Since he'd been back this was the first time he'd left Sam alone at night, left him sleeping somewhere. The nightmares Sam had now were ten times worse than those he'd had after Jessica's death. The thought of his brother waking up from one of those nightmares, the ones about Dean, alone, sent chills through Dean and churned his insides. As it was Dean's heart broke every time he had to wake the kid up from one.

He didn't intend to be gone long, however, this was important. He had to know what was going on, and he had to be without Sam to find out. Stopping halfway between the house and the fencing, Dean let his head drop back and stared at the sky.

No gray barrier.

It was there, Dean knew it was there. No stars, no moon, no clouds, just blank.

He pulled his amulet away from his chest and stared at the thing. "Awful quiet now, aren't you?" He gave it a frustrated shake. "Dude, do something."

Nada, zilch, nothing. No tingling, no electric current, not so much as a shimmer.

Dean looked back at the bunker for a few seconds before turning his gaze back to the sky. Sam had suggested he'd caused this somehow. Dean saw the barrier before, but why not now?

What the Hell? What the freaking Hell?