TT—Ch 10

Dean stood in the dark yard, staring up at the sky. Sam had said he thought he was responsible for the barrier. Dean refused to believe it then; he wasn't too sure about now. The logic of it escaped Dean, never mind how. He'd come back to how later, but why would Sam do anything like this?

Maybe if this did originate with Sam, it wasn't something he'd made a conscious effort to do? Sam spent his life being pushed. Every emotion the kid had tested and retested. All in all, he'd coped amazingly well, they both had, but everyone had a limit. Possibly this was Sam's?

Dean's return may have been weeks ago, but he wondered if Sam would ever recover from Dean's death. He hid it most days, but it would creep out to smack the two of them when least expected. Dean would see the insecurity, the panic edged fear spark in Sam's eyes from the memory, always hovering just under the surface, of Dean being torn away from him, literally. Dean hated it. He didn't know what to do about it, or how to fix it. He had no words to reassure Sam in even the smallest way.

He'd considered, briefly, that Sam's strange vision on the roadside the day before was nothing more than a repressed reaction to the Hellhounds' attack.

Then Dean began to see them too.

That first month after his return, Sam hadn't let Dean more than two feet away from him. Dean had to, more than once, bodily shove Sam back so he could get a shower or use the bathroom by himself. He understood. He'd been the same after Sam died, after he'd made his deal. He'd tried to be patient, but it wore thin some days. Sam had been a wreck. He'd lived life without Dean twice now, and he'd seen him die hundreds of ways, watched, helpless as Dean was shredded by Hellhounds. There wasn't much Dean could do to fix that other than what he'd always done. Take care of Sam and endure.

Sam was still a wreck though.

There'd been more than one night he'd woken up with Sam tucked against him as if he were five again. Each time Dean would ask, "You okay, Sammy?" Sam would nod, grumble something affirmative and brush the question aside. Dean knew better, far better. Twenty-five year old men who were okay didn't use their big brothers for pillows.

There wasn't much Dean could do about whatever had been done to return him from Hell. Other than take his gun and send himself back…and—no.

This all brought him back to the gut wrenching decision Sam had snapped. The barrier, the odd visions, maybe even the people disappearing and becoming violent, might very well be the result of Sam's mind letting go and losing control. That scared Dean. It was a weapon they didn't recognize, had no idea what its capabilities were and was now possibly released unchecked.

Yet the logic of it all completely escaped Dean. Then, an insane mind held no logic.

Sounds from the house, made Dean swivel around. He caught a glimpse of Ernie pointing at him from the doorway. Sam nodded and was walking fast toward Dean, hands stuffed in his pockets, shoulders slumped slightly, head down watching his feet as he went.

The change in the sky as Sam crossed the yard drew Dean's attention up. Frozen in place, he watched the gray, misty barrier resolve as Sam drew near; giving the impression it followed him. It took up the sky once more, shimmering and fluctuating exactly as it had earlier.

"What are you doing?" Sam stopped in front of him.

Dean craned his neck back and turned away long enough to follow the barrier from horizon to horizon.

"Do you see it?" Sam asked.

Turning back to face his brother, Dean nodded. "Do you?"

"I have every time I've looked." Sam shivered and dug his toe into the grass. "You said you wouldn't go where I couldn't see you. You promised me."

Dean released a heavy sigh, how was he going to explain this? "I'm sorry, Sam. I had to check out something, and I had to be alone. I should have told you, but I didn't want to wake you up. I thought I'd be back sooner."

"Check out what? What are you looking for?"

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Dean laid his other hand on Sam's shoulder. "C'mon, it's cold out here. Let's go back inside."

Sam didn't move. "Dean, please."

Facing Sam, a hand on either side of his neck, Dean took a deep breath. "Sammy, I need you to trust me on this. I need to work this out in my head before I tell you. And not here, we can't stay here, Sam, you understand that, right? We're gonna get the Impala, and if we can't leave this town, if this is all there is then we have to find somewhere to ourselves. Just us. I'll tell you everything, every detail, Sammy I promise I will. But not here."

Sam nodded. He stood still, not saying anything, doing nothing but watching Dean for a minute. Slowly he reached out one hand, fingers curling tentatively around Dean's amulet. He tightened his hold, staring down at his hand. Lifting his eyes again, Dean saw they were shimmering.

"I never let go. I hung on as tight as I could." Sam's voice was soft. "And I never let go, not once. I took you to Wyoming and…" A sob stopped Sam's words. He gulped in a breath, straightened his back and continued. "When you weren't there anymore I still didn't let go." Sam bit down on his lower lip.

"You also got drunk."

Nodding, wiping tears from his eyes with the back of his hand Sam looked down, puffed out a short laugh. "Yeah, I did."

Dean brought his hand up, wrapped his fingers around Sam's wrist. He felt a tingle, like a low level electrical charge as soon as his fingers touched the skin of the hand in which Sam held the amulet. Holding his breath, Dean moved his gaze from his and Sam's hands to Sam's face. Their eyes locked. "You feel that?"

Sam nodded. Opening his fingers he let Dean's amulet slip away. The second it hit Dean's chest the sensation vanished. Dean still wasn't clear on what Sam had done, how he'd brought Dean back. He was convinced Sam didn't know either. He resigned himself to the fact he may never know. More to the point, maybe he didn't want to know.

"I'm tired." Sam yawned.

Dean looked at Sam, into his eyes, studied his face. Sam stood placidly looking back. What Dean saw was open, honest and trusting. Sam hadn't caused this, whatever this was. This was causing Sam's reaction, it was overloading him somehow. Whatever this was, whoever caused it, this couldn't be totally hidden from Sam.

Sam wasn't the cause.

The revelation hit Dean square between the eyes. Sam was, however, the reason Dean saw the barrier and maybe the numbers.

A weapon is only as good as the man who wields it.

"Me too." Dean put one arm around Sam's shoulders as they walked back to the house. "We're gonna rest up here another day, get our stuff, collect some supplies and then we're finding somewhere as far from here as we can go."

"We're running away?"

"Yes, Sam, we're running away."

"What about the people here? Don't we have to help them?"

"We'll do what we can, but this time…we help us first."

"Where are we going to live?"

Dean shrugged. He hadn't actually thought that far ahead. "I dunno, Sammy. How about a cave? Like the Batcave?"

"No." Sam wrinkled his nose.

"Well that was pretty decisive. We'll find a house to live in."

"With a yard?"

"You betcha, Sammy—maybe even a swing set and a dog too."

They stopped at the door; Dean reached out to punch in the door code. His fingers hovered over the keypad for a few seconds before he dropped his hand to his side. There was one more thing.

"Did you forget the code?" Sam asked.

"No. Sammy, there is something else, and this is very important. You have to promise me something." He waited for Sam's nod before he continued. "If something ever happens to me, you go to Lynn, or if you can't do that, you come here. You do what they say. You never hurt anyone."

"Why do you think something will happen to you?"

"I don't, Sammy. But just in case I want you to have a plan and know what to do."

"Will you do that too? If something happens to me?"

"Yes."

Dean punched the code into the keypad and the door swung open. Warm air greeted them. Four glasses of water, one trip to the bathroom, and a promise from Dean he'd not take any more walks tonight later, Sam was settled and sleeping.

Sam sat staring at the plate of food in front of him pretending not to notice the sidelong glances Dean aimed in his direction every few minutes. He listened to Dean and Peter talking as they took inventory of their food stocks. Ernie had twice offered them whatever they needed, though Dean declined for now. He did seem to want to help Ernie prepare his bunker for more people Ernie was sure would eventually show up.

Sam liked Ernie. The man wanted to help everyone. He'd obviously prepared this place with the intention of housing just not himself, but any others in need of shelter. In a way, Ernie reminded Sam of Dean. Never asking for himself, just doing for everyone else.

Peter was a different story. Sam not only disliked Peter, just being near the boy caused him pain. The thought, the feeling of Peter's neck encased in his hands while he closed his fingers, crunched muscle and bone and snapped that same neck was a constant. When he closed his eyes, Sam could imagine the pain Peter caused him fading away as the warmth and life faded from Peter's body. Dean saw it, Sam knew he did. His repeated reminders to Sam how he mustn't hurt anyone, especially Peter, made that clear.

To make everything worse, whatever was going on in Sam's head had him acting like a small child, dumping on Dean his own fears and feelings from the Hellhounds. He'd worked so hard to keep that inside, away from his brother, not hurt him anymore, and in a few short minutes it'd all come bubbling out.

So, there he sat, pretending to eat. When he was done pretending to eat, he'd pretend to read. All the while what he was really doing was listening to Peter and Dean, watching Peter for any sign that he was starting to affect Dean the same way he affected Sam. Promises be damned, that kid did one aggressive thing and Sam was going to forget he'd promised not to hurt the boy and never regret it for one second.

As if reading his mind, Dean stopped what he was doing for a few seconds, leveled a sharp look at Sam before turning back to the box of supplies he was repacking.

Sam let his eyes drop to the table. Shoving the plate away, he took the comic book Ernie gave him earlier and slumped in an overstuffed chair a few feet from Dean and Peter. He pretended to ignore them. Sam didn't really want to read a comic book but he didn't feel like finding anything else just then.

"I like school." Peter sat next to Dean, taking count of what Dean handed him, writing dates with a magic marker on some of the packages. "But what I really want to do is go to seminary school. Another few years and I can go. Well, I would have been able to go."

"You're kinda young to decide now what you want to do. Don't you think you should try other things?" Dean smiled at the boy. When his eyes skipped to Sam's face, his smile softened then dropped away. Sam studiously stared at the comic book.

"It's what I've wanted to do since I can remember."

"Hmm. Goals are good."

Peter shifted around so his back was to Sam and he sat cross legged on the floor. "Can I ask you a question?"

"Shoot."

"What do you think is going on?"

"I don't know." Dean's voice was steady in the same way it was when they were talking to victims.

"Do you think the people who disappeared will come back?"

Dean stopped, facing Peter completely. "I don't know that either. I sure hope we can find them, help them."

Peter was silent for a few minutes. "Maybe they disappeared for a reason. Maybe we're left for a reason. Maybe those other people had to go because they got in the way."

Sam felt a shiver worm its way down his spine. He snapped his head up, looking at Dean. His brother stilled, he sat staring at Peter then met Sam's eyes over the top of the boy's head. Sam's thoughts spun around themselves. What Peter said, how he said it, he'd heard it before and so had Dean. Where and from whom, Sam couldn't grasp the answer. It formed and the instant he was about to grab onto it, off it went skipping just out of reach. He felt fried. Concentration was a memory just now.

"I'm not afraid of him." The words coming from Peter's mouth made Sam's skin crawl. They made him wish he really was five again so he could hide under his blankets and behind his big brother.

Dean's eyes dropped to the floor for a few beats. When he raised them to meet Peter's, Sam could see the slight change in his brother's expression. Dean was guarded and wary, in a few brief seconds he'd slipped from Dean the regular guy to Dean the hunter. The smile he offered Peter, while looking warm and kind to an outsider Sam knew was nothing but a hollow ruse. "Sam? No reason to be afraid of him."

The tone Dean used was one Sam was all too familiar with and it quelled his insides. The overpowering jealousy Sam knew was stupid and pointless eased back. Dean's voice, his entire body language was open and easy for Sam to read, even if others couldn't. Dean had been honest when he'd said they'd do what they could, but this time it was them first.

Everyone was drawn to Dean, Peter was no exception. Dean made even the darkest room light up. He was a safe haven to Sam and to others as long as Sam wasn't in jeopardy. Sam sometimes felt like nothing more than some dingy, dark moth circling the bright flame that was Dean Winchester. It didn't matter though, since who Dean preferred to keep close was Sam, no one else. Peter could do or say what he wanted; Sam had every intention of sticking close. Hell hadn't managed to take and keep his brother from him. There was no way some freaky thirteen-year-old would accomplish what Hell couldn't. Sam would make damn sure of that if he had to.

Ernie's voice from across the building calling to Peter caught Sam's attention. He followed the boy's movements as he left Dean to help Ernie with yet another task. All the while Sam ignored how Dean watched Sam watch Peter.

Gaze shifting to his brother, Sam watched as Dean stood slowly and brushed his hands off on his thighs. He gave the boxes surrounding him another long look. Carefully stepping over them, he made his way to Sam. "How ya feeling?"

"Better." Sam looked up, not quite able to meet Dean's eyes. He felt foolish and a bit embarrassed, remembering what he'd been like yesterday.

"Listen," Dean pulled a chair up and settled beside Sam. "Need you to do me a favor?"

Instantly on guard, Sam sat and waited. He wasn't going to agree to anything right now, not without knowing the details. Something in Dean's tone and the way Dean was almost looking at him set off warning bells. Sam had the distinct feeling he wasn't going to like this favor.

"I thought I'd head back in a bit, get our stuff and the Impala, and—"

"We." Sam corrected immediately, getting where Dean was going with this. "We go back." He kept his voice low, hissing the words out. The way Dean straightened, glanced around before coming back to look at Sam's face he could tell Dean wasn't giving in so easily.

Too bad. Neither was Sam.

"Sam," Dean's voice was equally as low as Sam's but his tone was deep and soothing, or at least Sam figured that's what he was going for. Leaning forward a bit, resting his arms on the side of Sam's chair, Dean took a deep breath. "You're okay in here. You're better this morning. Whatever is going on out there, it's not in here. An hour, I promise, no longer."

"You promised we'd stick together. You promised you wouldn't go anywhere I couldn't see you. Are you saying you're breaking that promise? Again?"

"Sammy—"

Catching sight of Peter moving closer, Sam pushed out of the chair and glared at his brother, snarling out, "No."

Dean's eyes darted to Peter then back to Sam.

Clenching and unclenching his fists, Sam tried desperately to soften his harsh breathing, calm his nerves and shut up the voice in his head chanting kill, kill, kill.