I've known for a long time. I know my boys, Sam almost as well as Dean, and I knew something was different. Wrong. Sammy keeps secrets these days, even from me. He never used to, and I think he has to work harder around me because of it. We know each other's tells. Shutting me out doesn't come naturally, I guess. We used to tell each other everything, Sammy and me. Then Dean went to Hell, I went crazy, and Sam went away. Nothing has been the same since. Especially Sam.

Dean has changed. How could he not? Gone is the easy humor, the ever-present glint of mischief in his eyes. I see flashes of it, brief glimpses of what used to be. He fakes it as well as he can, and I know he's working on getting it back for real, but he is just fighting so hard for normalcy. Our kind of normalcy, anyway. Me, Sam, purpose; this is what's important to him. There was always a dangerous dark side in Dean. But there is a new hardness in him, this man who was already such a hardass.

I changed. My world exploded, collapsed, disappeared. And so did I. Since getting Dean back, I have been so much weaker, so much less confident in myself than I have ever been. My faith in Dean is unshaken; my faith in myself is questionable at best. I'm trying to build myself back up, trying to feel the strength I used to have. I used to be a damn good hunter, and a damn smart woman. I wish I could be those things more often these days. Dean is helping. He still believes in me, in my choices, in my ability.

But Sam. Sam is a different person. I still love him, would still kill for him, would still die for him. I would just like to know who the hell he is these days. The anger and distance I first noticed when we found him again after Dean's return is still very much between us, though he hides it well most of the time. He's not the boy who was my best friend, not really, not anymore. It's not the psychokinesis or whatever you call it, his psychic powers. Azazel left that little gift for him. It isn't his fault or his choice that these abilities lie within him. The problem is the lies, the secrets. Ruby.

When he told us he was going to stop using his power, Dean believed him. But something in Sam's voice . . . I just knew. This was not over. And I was right. He was able to take out Samhain a couple months ago, as well as be completely unaffected by the famous demon's attack. When Uriel warned him to quit for good, I still had my doubts about Sammy's sincerity. It was when he escaped without a scratch when Alastair attacked him and Dean in that cemetery in Greybull just a few days ago that I knew for sure. He had no plausible excuse for me when they got back to the motel. I was nursing a concussed Dean while Sam struggled to come up with a story he thought we'd believe.

I've known for a long time. I just didn't know this.

A high-ranking demon who nearly destroyed the greatest hunter alive, and was seconds away from banishing an angel from his vessel, went flying across the room at the sheer force of Sam's will. And he isn't stopping there.

"Stupid pet tricks," Alastair sneers from his place on the wall.

"Who's murdering the angels? How are they doing it?" Sam demands, hand still extended to hold the monster in place.

Sam, so clean in this room of blood and filth and water and bile, chokes the battered demon with a twist of his wrist until its eyes turn white. Sam, so powerful in this room of broken bodies, standing tall and strong as he tries to strangle answers out of a growling Alastair. I can barely pay attention to the interrogation. Dean is getting worse, struggling for breath on the floor. Cas is climbing down from the hook behind me, recovering slowly. There are too many horrors to keep track of.

"Sam," I say, too quietly.

"I don't believe you," Sam insists when Alastair tells him the demons are not behind the angelic murders.

"Lilith is not behind this. She wouldn't kill seven angels. Oh, she'd kill a hundred, a thousand," Alastair says, complete awe in his voice.

"Sam!" I shout, demanding his attention. Finally, I have it.

"What?" he snaps. He is so removed from everything in this room except for Alastair and himself.

"Dean. Sam, he needs a hospital. Right now."

He looks from me to Dean and back to Alastair, an indecision on his face that I would not have believed if I wasn't seeing it for myself.

"Now, Sam," I plead as he refocuses on Alistair, a new look of determination in his eyes.

"Oh, go ahead. Send me back, if you can," Alastair challenges, no real fear in his voice.

A smile on his face, Sam chillingly responds, "I'm stronger than that now. Now I can kill."

What he does to Alastair, the pleasure he feels in killing the demon with his mind, the power it demands, scares the living hell out of me. For the first time since I've known him, since I was nine years old, I'm afraid of Sam Winchester.

Castiel and I silently stare at the changed man in front of us. I needed him, I was trying to contact him, and now that he's here, I don't want him anywhere near us. Glancing at Castiel, I see disgust, a little anger, maybe even disappointment. But not surprise. This is why I was taken and he was left behind. This is why the angels didn't want him here. Sam is dangerous. Sam is using a power he should not explore. That he should not have. But, my God, how is he doing it? Why is he stronger? How long have the angels known? WHAT do they know that they haven't told Dean and me? And I'm even more afraid for us all at the thought.

And then a flurry of activity in the heavy silence. Castiel disappears in a ruffle of wings, Sam calls an ambulance and gives them the address. I'm grateful for his presence if only for the fact that he knows where the hell we are. And I cradle Dean as much as I dare, still protecting him, but from what, I don't know anymore.

Sam approaches, but when he sees my expression, when he meets my eyes, he slows down. Much more cautiously, he closes the few feet between us and kneels to the floor in front of me.

"Jay, let me check him, okay?"

I don't answer, I grip Dean tighter, more confused than I have ever been. This is Sam. But can I trust him?

"Jay," he says gently, realizing immediately in his uniquely Sammy way that he has to be very careful here.

"You scare the hell out of me right now, Sam."

He hangs his head, "I know. I'm so sorry."

But he isn't. He might be sorry I'm afraid, be he is not at all sorry for scaring me. Not sorry for what he did. The apology is not for showing me what he can do.

"How? And how long? Sammy, what the fuck?"

"Later, Janie. Right now, just let me check on Dean."

"He's bad, Sam," I say, finally leaning on the strength I need from him. We take care of each other, damn it. I need him now to keep me going, he'll need me later to understand when he's ready to explain, Dean needs us both to keep him alive. "He's so hurt. That son of a bitch was going to kill him!"

"But he didn't. He's gonna be fine," he assures me with conviction, working to convince us both.

Sam leans over his brother, concern and love clearly etched on his face, until the ambulance arrives.

A/N: This one has maybe one more chapter. Leave a review and let me know - good, bad, or indifferent.