I think I hear the phone before he does. That is both unusual and unsurprising. He's so tired. And not only because of the sixteen hour drive. Just because Sammy is off somewhere on his own, it doesn't mean the hunting has slowed down. We've found our share of monsters to keep us busy. The bitey kind. Vamps are not easy to put down, and they are generally the most difficult for me. On vampire hunts, Dean has his hands full not just with the non-sparkling Twilight rejects, but with me and my emotional and vengeance-filled baggage. We all have our entry story, that one thing that brought us into this life. Mine begins with an obsessed vampire and ends with dead parents.

Dean hates witches; he thinks they're skeevy. He pursues them with a need to get the hunt over with because he just can't stand dealing with them. Demons have become the particular mission in life for both him and Sam. But for me, vampires will always be the ultimate kill. Every one of them has to die. Every one. They all have to pay for the crimes of that one, that one that took everything I knew. And they have to pay hard, and bloody, and at my hands. Uncle Bobby never sends me on vamp cases. Dean never wants to take me. But when I'm on the road with him, sometimes it can't be helped.

The last case was hard on me and my man. I fell into the rage the sight of fangs always takes me to, and Dean had to watch until I was done. He didn't stop me. He never stops me. He says I have just as much right to my anger as he has to his. It doesn't stop him from worrying for me. Add to that the rain-soaked sixteen hour drive and our enthusiastic bedtime activities, and he can be forgiven for taking more than a full second to hear his phone vibrate. His reflexes are still quicker, though, and he has the phone to his ear before I can even reach for it.

"Damn it, Cas, I need to sleep!"

I can't help but crack an exhausted smile. He just doesn't get it, and that's so Cas. The angel and I have formed something of a cautious understanding over the past few months. I don't really see him as the threat I once did. Dean's trust in him is growing, and I trust Dean's judgment. Dean genuinely likes him. "Friendship" might still be too strong a word for me and Castiel, but I think we're getting there. Cas has helped us out of a tight spot or two. He makes me laugh, and I can't really blame him for the whorehouse. The chuckle bubbling to the surface dies in my throat at Dean's next words.

"Sam? It's quarter past four."

There must be a reason for Sammy to be calling, and nothing good has ever come from a conversation at quarter past four. I roll over to face my side of the bed and pull my sleepy ass upright. Time to shower and get dressed. No telling what action this call will require. When my feet hit the floor, I realize that we both fell asleep nude. Under normal circumstances, for normal people, in normal places, that would not be a problem. But nothing about us is normal. Naked wouldn't equal dead, necessarily, but it might be uncomfortable if we suddenly had to deal with claws. It would equal embarrassing if we had to run in a hurry. Tends to attract a lot of attention, too. That's not ever our goal, really. We're getting complacent, and complacency definitely equals dead.

I glance over to where Dean is cradling the phone to his ear while pulling his jeans up over his boxer briefs. Once I pull my gaze away from his body and meet his eyes, his smirk at catching me looking disappears. His rueful expression tells me he, too, understands our mistake. It was nice while it lasted, that easy intimacy, that comfortable normalcy, but it's time to get back to reality. Sam calling is a reminder for both of us.

I grab a change of clothes from my bag and get the hot water started. I hesitate to close the door all the way, but decide, as I usually do, to give the boys their privacy. Some things between them are just between them. The shower is surprisingly great for a place like this, and I take as much time as I dare. Either we will need to go quickly, or Dean will want to get a shower of his own. He'll be up for a while after a chat with his brother. Getting dressed and wrapping my wet hair in a towel, I walk back into the room. Dean will let me know if he needs more time alone.

He's sitting in a chair with a beer, a weary look on his face. He waves me over and shifts so I can sit on his knee.

"So, you're his vessel, huh? Lucifer's wearing you to the prom?" And now I know why he needs me close. Or maybe he knew I'd need him. "Just when you thought you were out, they pull you back in, huh, Sammy?"

I pull the towel off my hair and lean into his chest, my head resting as close to the phone as I can get, dampening his shirt. I want to hear. I need to know.

"So, that's it? That's your response?" Sam asks incredulously.

"What are you looking for?" is Dean's exasperated reply.

"I don't know. A, a little panic? Maybe?"

"I guess I'm a little numb to the earth-shattering revelations at this point," Dean sighs.

Sam wants back in. He wants to come back, travel with us, hunt with us. The very thing that just weeks ago, he said he could not trust himself to do. Dean is worried that with revenge as his motive, this will get messy. I think Sam is looking for redemption. I'm not sure that makes a difference. Neither is Dean.

"Look, Sam, it doesn't matter, whatever we do. I mean, it turns out that you and me, we're the, uh, the fire and the oil of the Armageddon. You know, on that basis alone, we should just pick a hemisphere. Stay away from each other for good." I know how hard that was for him. I hold him tighter, and he lets me.

"Dean, it does not have to be like this. We can fight it." Sam is pleading, begging, and I wish i could comfort him, too.

"Yeah, you're right. We can. But not together. Not me and you. We're not stronger when we're together, Sam. I think we're weaker. Because whatever we have between us - love, family, whatever it is - they are always gonna use it against us. And you know that. Yeah, we're better off apart. We got a better chance of dodging Lucifer and Michael and this whole damn thing, if we just go our own ways."

"Is Jane still there? Dean, I can help, too, just like she can. She's a weak spot. Won't they use her against you?"

"She makes me stronger," he says, leaning his head against mine. It's that simple to him. He's never said anything, ever, that has meant more to me.

"Please."

"Bye, Sam." And he downs his beer, hangs his head, and is silent. I pull up my legs and curl into him.

All the light we regained in our dark world has dimmed so quickly. It's like we were playing in the sun and now it's raining. Dean feels it. Once again he is laid low, pieces of him bending so far that I'm waiting to hear the snap. One phone call has brought him back not only to the harshness of our reality, but heaped upon him another round of the heavy and hard decisions he never seems to be able to escape. One phone call, and we're both living life in grayscale.

It's easy at this moment not to miss Sam at all.

A/N: Leave a review. Reviews are nice.