Note: any and all websites mentioned I made up – if they really exist, it's entirely coincidental

Thanks to all you oddballs out there enjoying this oddball fic! I'm just having some fun here!!

Chapter 8

"So, Dean," Sam said over their hot scrambled eggs, "what are these new responsibilities?"

Dean scowled at his brother. He did not really want to discuss this, now or ever. "How are your eggs?"

Well, Sam was certainly open now, that was for sure. The annoyance with his avoidance was palatable. Dean tried to ignore it, but Sam's glare was like two hot beams boring through his skull. He tried to eat but the food tasted bland, washed-out.

"Fine," Dean sighed, setting down his fork. "I have to help people." He waited, knowing Sam would have a thousand and one questions about that.

Sam continued to glare at him. "And?"

Dean shrugged. "That's it." He picked up his fork again.

"Help people how, Dean?" Sam demanded.

Dean could feel the intensity of his brother's question, but could not understand why it was so important to Sam. He was the one who needed to do it, after all. "Whatever they need, Sammy. Heck, you were there at the motel."

Dean watched comprehension dawn on his little brother as he scooped up a forkful of egg. He chewed, watching Sam's internal struggle. "So…those people? The couple at the motel? That was one of your jobs?"

"Like you said," Dean replied, attacking more egg, "I guess I'm pretty good at it."

He chewed slowly, waiting for the inevitable. It came. "How can I help?"

Dean looked up, frowning. "How's that?"

Sam pushed some egg around on his plate. "I want to help." Those warm eyes a puppy would envy centered on him. "How do you know what you need to do?"

Dean shoveled some egg into his mouth, to give himself a little time to answer. He did not really have a good answer for that, he was still trying to understand it himself. He swallowed, knowing Sam would not wait forever. "I'm not sure, I just kind of know. You know how sometimes when someone breaks down on the side of the road and they don't have a cell phone and no one is expecting them anywhere so the fact they're late isn't noticed?" Dean waited for his brother to nod before continuing. "Then somebody just pulls up and happens to have exactly what that person needs to get up and running again?"

Sam nodded slowly. "I've heard of that."

Dean had the distinct impression Sam had more than just 'heard' of that, but he did not comment on it. There seemed to be no need. "Well, I guess that's what I'm supposed to do."

"I can help," Sam reiterated. "Like at the motel." His brother gave a quick nod before diving into breakfast. Dean watched Sam warily, wondering how exactly his brother thought he could help. "Just back you up," Sam said. "And I'll back off when you say."

"Oh, really?" Dean chuckled. "That'll be a new experience." He relished the dirty look Sam shot him.

Their waitress, Sheryl, returned. She folded their check and set it in the middle of the table, a little white tent between remnants of eggs and toast crumbs. "Take care of that when ya're ready."

A bright line shot out from her midsection, through the wall. Dean followed it with his eyes. At the other end was a girl, fairly cute except for the fact her face was streaked with tears. A nonphysical part of him reached out to the girl, sensed her homesickness and a tremendous amount of fear. It was the intensity of the fear that got Dean.

"Sheryl?" Dean tore his eyes away from the girl to look at their waitress. "How's that daughter of yours?"

Her face darkened. "How do you know about Denise?"

"We were in here not too long ago," Sam said quickly. "You told us about her."

"Oh." She relaxed a little. "Fine, I guess. I haven't heard from her in a couple of weeks. I'm sure if she needed anything, she'd call."

"Really?" Dean pulled out his cell. "You know how stubborn kids can be. Let's give her a call. Here," he handed it over to Sheryl. "Call her." Sheryl stared at him. He smiled. "Tell her I said hi."

Sheryl punched the buttons on his phone with shaking fingers. He exchanged a meaningful look with Sam. There was definitely something going on, he knew it. Sam knew it now, too.

"Denise? Hey, it's Mom. I was just talking about you and…" Sheryl's voice trailed off. "Baby, what's wrong?" The color drained from her face. "Honey, honey, listen to me. You listenin' to Mama? Listen now. You're coming home, right now. You hear me? No, no, you need to come home. I'm going to go buy your plane ticket right now, and it'll be waiting at the airport for you. Baby, you just go pack a bag and come on home, we'll worry about everything else later, okay? Yes, I'm at work. You can call me here, just go get on that plane." She wiped away a tear. "Okay, honey, I'll see you soon."

Sheryl handed back the phone. "I need to go buy a plane ticket."

"Check with airline-discounts-dot-com. I think they're running a special," Dean suggested, wondering where in the hell that one came from. Maybe he should have looked away when Mike challenged him?

After Sheryl left, less shaky and more determined, Sam leaned in. "What was all that about?"

Dean dropped his voice. "Her daughter is pregnant and freaking out. Didn't know how to tell her."

"I meant the website," Sam replied.

Dean ran a hand over his short hair. "I'm not really sure. That was a first."

"Okay." Sam stood, heading outside. Dean moved to follow, but he had the distinct impression that his brother would be right back. As he waited, he noticed Sheryl holding an animated conversation with a woman in the back, probably her manager, then Sheryl disappeared into the office. No new, bright lines appeared, much to his relief. Not that he minded helping people, but they needed to get to Seattle before that spirit attacked anyone else.

Sam returned clutching a legal pad. Dean tried not to groan. Sam shoved their dirty plates to the side and wiped down the table with a few napkins before setting the pad down. "Okay," Sam said authoritatively, "let's make a list. First, the eyes. Then, what? You could read my thoughts and emotions, right? Oh," Sam waved his pen, "and the grocery store thing. I doubt I'll ever forget that."

Dean glared at his brother. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing," Sam replied with a wave of his free hand. "What happened after that? You started leaving angel tracks. What else were you doing at the motel that night, other than the fighting couple?"

Dean's eyes slid down to Sam's list. Angel tracks? What the hell was that? He pointed out that item on Sam's list. "Sammy? Something you want to tell me?"

"Oh, uh," color flushed high on Sam's cheekbones, "you and Mike kind of leave tracks. I can see them. He didn't seem too happy about it, either."

"Then it's a good thing," Dean decided. "Put a star next to that one."

Sam chuckled as he did it. "What else happened at the motel?"

Dean rubbed the back of his neck. "Connections." Sam just looked at him, not getting it. He lowered his voice. "I can see the connections between people."

Sam added it to the list. "Okay, how?"

Dean rolled his eyes. "How the hell should I know? It just happens."

"Fine, Dean, fine. But what do you see?" Sam persisted.

"Lines. Bright lines of light, connecting people." He shrugged, leaning back and picking up his almost empty cup of coffee. Swallowing the last of it, he knew Sam waited for more explanation. "If I follow the lines, I can see the people on the other end, too."

Sam's eyebrows disappeared behind those shaggy bangs. "You see the other people?" he whispered, leaning across the table. "As in, see them – see them?"

"Yes, Sam!" Dean hissed back, feeling both annoyed and ashamed, which was kind of weird. Why should he feel ashamed? Maybe because it was an invasion of privacy? Well, yeah, there was that, he had to admit.

"How?" Sam asked, pen poised above his legal pad. "Ghost-like images, or like you're watching a commercial break in reality, or more like you're really there?"

Dean could not believe how calm his brother sounded. Or felt, for that matter. Sam was not freaked out, period. Pretty strange considering how much it freaked him out. "More like I'm really there."

Sam nodded, head bowing down as he added a new item to the list. "Okay, what other jobs did you do at the motel?"

Dean cleared his throat. "Well, there was this guy whose wife hadn't called. I talked to him for a minute about how unreliable cell phone coverage was in some areas until I managed to get her to remember to call him. Then there was," he cleared his throat, looking away, "the baby."

"Okay, right. How did you get the wife to remember? She wasn't there, the husband was, right?" Sam asked, glancing up from the legal pad.

Dean took a few bills out of his wallet and tossed them on the table. "We can go now. I guess Denise is headed for the airport." He stood and left Sam with his stupid list. What the hell did Sam expect to accomplish with some damn list anyway? Besides, he felt like an idiot talking about it; it all seemed just so surreal.

"Dean!" Sam shouted from the door as he reached the car. "Hang on!" He heard his brother's running steps as he opened the driver's side door. Sam really shouldn't run like that with his bum knee. As the thought crossed his mind, Sam slowed to a fast walk. "Happy?" Sam asked as he approached the car.

"Ecstatic," Dean grumbled, lowering himself into the driver's seat.

"Look," Sam's door slammed shut, with just a touch too much force, "I'm sorry if my list is pissing you off, but I think it's something we need to do." Sam turned that glare on him again.

"Why, Sam? Let's just go do the Seattle job." Dean backed out of their parking space, heading for Washington State. Sam simmered in the seat beside him.

"Because it helps me understand," Sam said suddenly, after a good twenty minutes of silent brooding.

"Understand what?" All Dean could sense right now was his brother's extreme irritation, and it was all his fault. That did not make it any easier.

A loud Sammy huff filled the car. "I am trying to understand what's happening to you, to us." Big ol' Sam hands filled the space between them, motioning forcefully. "What's wrong with that?"

Dean ground his teeth. Okay, so technically there wasn't anything terribly wrong with that, except that it annoyed him beyond belief. "A list, Sam?"

Sam held up the legal pad. "What's wrong with a list? I make lists all the time. It's a study technique."

Dean rolled his eyes. Well, that certainly explained it. No wonder he found lists so annoying. "Fine," Dean sighed. "What else do you need for your stupid list?"

He could actually feel Sam's grin, though his brother tried to hide it. "Okay, you explained the couple and the guy waiting for the phone call, and the waitress and her daughter. There was a lost dog at the restaurant, too, right? You had to return it to some kid?" Dean nodded, keeping his eyes on the road. Maybe Sam forgot about… "What were you saying about a baby?"

Damn.

Dean cleared his throat, shrugged, keeping his eyes on the road. "It was nothing." Well, that was true, it was nothing. Technically air was nothing. A gas bubble was air. It wasn't like the kid would have died from a little gas bubble, just made his parents horribly anxious and possibly kept them up for hours.

"What kind of nothing, Dean?"

Like a dog with a bone, he thought, grinding his teeth. "Gas. The kid had some gas, okay. Like I said, it was nothing."

He felt Sam's eyes on him, staring in utter disbelief. "Your job was to burp a baby?"

"You know, it just sounds stupid when you say it like that," Dean snapped.

"All right, all right," Sam held both hands up. "But why? I mean, the parents weren't freaked out over a little gas, were they?"

Dean shrugged. There did not seem to be a need to admit to that. If he had been the father he certainly would not want anyone to know he was freaked out over his kid having some stupid gas. Babies got gas, it was all part of the natural order of things. He heard the scratch of pen on paper beside him.

"Dean, I think I got it." Sam motioned down to his list. "You have to help people who are totally, possibly irrationally, freaking out over their situation. That explains the baby, but you were actually helping the parents, the guy whose wife forgot to call, the couple fighting, the kid with the runaway dog, and the waitress' daughter."

Sam sounded real proud of himself. "But why?" Dean asked, slightly surprised to hear himself voice the thought aloud. "Why would I need to help people who are freaking out? There are other people I could help too."

He felt Sam shrug, still hunched over the notepad. "Maybe that's someone else's job."

"Great," he breathed out. "I always get stuck with the people losing it."

"That's why!" Sam pointed a triumphant finger in his direction. "Because it's something you're already doing and you're good at it."

Dean waved it off, without taking his eyes off the road. Not going to risk his baby again, they were lucky last time. "That's silly, Sam. Dealing with people like that isn't something I'm good at. You are."

"Dean!" Sam huffed, collapsing against the seat. "Seriously, dude, you never give yourself enough credit. Unless single, slutty women are involved."

Dean laughed. "They don't have to be single." But Sam's irritation worked its way up his spine, spoiling his joke. Not that it was much of a joke in the first place. "Oh, now what?"

"Dean, why wouldn't you think you're good at something other than taking care of ghosts or women?" Sam demanded, and that irritation coiled around his spine flared.

Dean winced, involuntarily jerking the wheel to one side as pain flared up from his spine and down his arm.

"Dean!" He leaned back so Sam could surge over, grab the wheel. Dean pressed down slowly on the brake, slowing the car as Sam steered them off the road. He pressed his right arm against his side, eyes closed against the searing pain. This was even worse than his back usually felt after sleeping out on the ground all night.

"Stop the car." Sam's voice was calmer now. Dean pushed the brake all the way down, still clutching his arm. He felt Sam put the car into park then rest back against the passenger seat. "Dean? What happened?"

Dean shook his head, talking was really not an option now. The pain flared again, searing flames from his fingertips, up his arm and across his shoulder. A second searing pain shot through his shoulder like lightning, down his arm. Somehow the two seemed to cancel each other out. Taking a deep breath of relief, Dean cracked his eyes open. Sam's twin pools of worry and concern hovered so close Dean could smell breakfast on his brother's breath.

"Back off, dude," Dean tried to snap, but it came out weak and watered-down.

"Is it better now?" Sam demanded, eyes radiating intensity.

Dean nodded, flexing his arm. It felt almost normal now. "What the hell was that?" he whispered, feeling completely drained.

"No idea," Sam replied. "Fortunately I was able to stop it before it could spread any further."

"Stop it?" Dean asked, rubbing his shoulder. "How?"

Sam grinned, snapping his fingers. Sparks flew from Sam's fingertips and Dean's eyes grew wide. "You didn't?"

"It worked, didn't it?" Sam asked, grasping his shoulder.

Dean rolled his eyes. "We're not going to make it to Seattle, are we?"

"Yes, we are. I'm driving." Sam got out, walked around the car. He opened the driver's side door. "Move over."

Dean sighed, sliding over slowly. His whole body ached, lingering tingles from Sam's electric shock. As the Impala pulled back onto the state highway, Dean allowed the familiar vibrations to sooth his nerves and muscles. He leaned back into the seat, familiar scents of leather and Sam and greasy take-out food filling his nostrils. Warm sunlight shone through the windshield, warming him and easing the aches in his body. He closed his eyes, feeling safe and secure, allowing the road noise to lull him to sleep.