A/N: Hugest thanks to RoweenaC for the long-distance hand holding and two years of drooling, and to Primrose, for curbing my long-as-a-piece-of-string sentences... Seriously. She had this in her tender, lovin' care for all of a week and about doubled the punctuation. It's a good thing. Trust me. (Or her.)

Spoiler warnings: set immediately after 4x10 (Heaven & Hell) so anything up to that point is fair game. Additional warnings for potty mouths and the odd gory bit.

I disclaim, therefore I am. Not mine, generating no money. Or shame.

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NOW

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The Red, Red Changes in the Sky.

It took a moment before I lost myself in here.

It took a moment and I could not be found.

Again and again and again and again I see your face in everything,

It took a moment the moment it could not be found.

~~HoC~~

"Well that's not creepy at all."

Sam blinked himself awake, stared blearily through the window for a moment, trying to remember how to make his eyes focus and felt his brother's gaze skitter over his skin.

"What?" he finally managed, the word garbled by fading dreams and confusion.

"The town. Devil's Shores."

He reached up, knuckled sleep out of his eyes and blinked again, finally seeing clearly and wishing he hadn't bothered as he glanced over at the older man behind the wheel, lit too clearly by the afternoon sun.

Dean was pale, skin around shuttered eyes tight and bruised, lips drawn together into a pathetic shadow of a grin as his hands tightened around the wheel, tendons writhing as his grip shifted and locked. It wasn't a new look.

"We still in Mississippi?"

Sam had never had the same internal map of the country his brother had, the name of the town meaning nothing at all to him and with no idea how long he'd been sleeping, he had no way of knowing where they were.

"Texas."

"Oh."

Five states. Non-stop.

If that didn't scream of running, he didn't know what did. He shifted in the seat, dragging himself up from his slouch, silently glad of the big car, remembering falling asleep in Louis' Mondeo back in Stanford once and needing his friends' help to climb out again after his legs and back seized up completely.

Sam winced a little as he stretched, feeling bruises on top of bruises tingle uncomfortably. Jumping out of windows was never a good idea, even with an SUV beneath to break your fall and he ached in places he didn't know he had.

Glancing over at his brother again as the older man resettled his left arm, resting across his lap when it would normally be draped along the window sill, he wondered how Dean was still awake, still functioning.

…I wish I couldn't feel anything, Sammy…

Then again, maybe he knew. Somehow, the young hunter thought that maybe the pain of his brother's injuries was still less than the pain of the nightmares waiting for him. He sighed under his breath, faked a yawn to cover it up as Dean shot a quick glare in his direction.

"We stopping?"

He could almost feel the indecision in his brother as Dean hesitated, then sighed himself.

"Yeah. I gotta take a leak, and my baby needs some gas."

"Dean…" We need to stop. Stop running, just for a while.

"Don't, Sam. I know."

It was hoarse, a bitter reminder of the battles they'd so nearly lost. The war they hadn't won. A chill crept down his spine as he listened to a quiet laugh in his head, a sound like gravestones scraping together. Sam frowned, turned it to the window so the older man couldn't see the hurt in his eyes, couldn't read the futile prayers behind it.

I just want to help, man. But I don't know how. I think maybe you were right. There's no making this better.

He saw the reflection behind him in the glass, his brother's bloodshot eyes staring back at him, one hand rubbing absently at the shadows that were all that was left of the faded scars ringing his throat. His heart twisted in his chest, a sharp pang of guilt as he thought again that this was the only way they really looked at each other now, that across five states they'd existed in a world of monosyllabic questions and non-answers, of avoiding each other while they sat side by side.

Houses began to drift past as the town grew around them, hiding the wide river.

Devil's Shores, he guessed, wondering at the name, once-buried instincts stirring. With an internal shrug, he set the idle curiosity aside. The one thing he didn't want right now was a hunt. The car rocked beneath him as Dean slowed, the cl-click, cl-click of the blinkers loud in the quiet as he signaled to turn into a gas station.

Sam was out of his door before the engine even rumbled into stillness, stretching again, spine crackling loudly.

"Freakin' Sasquatch."

The quiet mutter made him grin as he turned to stride across the forecourt, heading for the bathroom. The smile still stretched his lips as he locked the door behind him, but it dropped like a stone as he saw the haggard stranger in the mirror.

"Jesus."

In the gloomy bathroom, pale skin stood out like a beacon, bruises turning his face piebald, etched with scrapes. He took a slow, hesitant step closer, saw the blood still ground into his fingers as he reached up and traced the line of stubble in his reflection.

Licking dry lips, he leaned against the cracked, dirty sink, gripping it tightly as vertigo swamped him, threatened to drop him to the filthy floor.

He squeezed his eyes shut, forced himself to take slow, even breaths in, forcing them out through his teeth as his heart pounded at his ribs, exhaustion both physical and emotional shaking him hard.

Slowly, it passed and he opened his eyes, pried one hand free of the porcelain and twisted the tap. Cloudy water sputtered out, gritty against his fingers as he cupped them under the ragged flow and splashed the tepid handful over his face. Dripping, he reached out for a towel, scraping one knuckle against the rusty edge of the empty dispenser. The thin skin tore, a narrow trickle of blood winding hot and slick over his fingers and something snapped inside him, all the restraint and frustration that had been choking him for hours suddenly overwhelming. He froze, bloodied hand slowly curling into a trembling fist.

The crack of the mirror shattering as he slammed it into the pitted glass seemed muted, dull against the roaring in his ears as he snarled at the crazed reflection.

"Sam?"

He flinched at the call from the other side of the battered door, spun away from it, away from the sight of himself but he couldn't not hear his brother as Dean pounded on the metal.

"Sam! Open the damn door!"

"In a minute," he tried to call, nothing but a strangled whisper coming out as he tried to force down the memory of sitting silent and still on the car as his brother fell apart, doing nothing as Dean shattered right there beside him, guilt and grief as effective walls as anything the elder Winchester had ever built inside his own head.

The door shook in its frame, "Sam!" Ringing as something slammed into it, again, the hunter stumbling into the tiny room as it gave way under the third kick. Sam half-turned before he could stop himself, before he could hide the tears that burned guiltily on his cheeks and he heard his brother stop dead in his tracks, would have sworn neither of them even breathed, the silence was so complete.

It held, stifling and oppressive until his skin crawled and his stomach churned, the urge to reach out building and fading with every beat of his heart. Finally, the older man turned without a word, walked out, carefully pulling the warped, twisted door closed behind him and Sam winced as the latch clicked into wobbly place.

He realized his hands were clenched into fists so tight he could feel his fingernails gouging at his palms and forced them to uncurl slowly. The knuckles crackled, sounding just like his spine had, minutes earlier.

Freakin' Sasquatch.

He swallowed down the sob that wanted to escape, suddenly missing his big brother with a longing so acute it took his breath away, the fragment of Dean's habitual sarcasm and snark not enough to let him believe the lie the older man tried so hard to sell.

He turned to the cracked mirror, met his own stare squarely.

"You're not okay, man. You're not, and maybe you were right, maybe I can't make it better. But I have to try. I have to."

It hung behind him as he hauled the door open and strode out into the forecourt, blinking a little in the bright sunlight, incongruously warm against his skin. The Impala stood behind the pumps, sleek and dark under the dust, and empty.

Spinning on his heel, Sam made it halfway to the door of the small shop before he realized there was no sign of his brother inside either, no sign of anyone other than the bored clerk dozing behind the counter.

He turned a quick three-sixty, worry sliding up his spine as he scanned the road, the empty lots on either side of the garage, the river shore peaking through the buildings on the other side of the road and there, just before a semi roared between them with a rush of hot tar and diesel, a flash of short hair and leather, half-hidden by a scraggly, dead-looking tree beside the river.

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The tree was uneven, hard against his back. A worn stump of broken branch dug painfully into the back of his shoulder, sent sharp tingles down to his fingers but he didn't move, wasn't sure he could if he wanted to. It wouldn't take long for Sam to find him, he'd made sure he was visible from the parking lot when he'd first spotted the leaning, leafless tree and headed for it as if it was an oasis in the desert, something to put his back to in the face of the pity and horrified awe he'd seen in his brother's eyes.

Don't pity me. Not for what I did.

Dean screwed his eyes shut at the thought, felt the burn of his own tears in his throat and locked it down, twisting his aching shoulder back into the stump until pain flared hot up his neck and down his arm. He hissed out a slow breath between his teeth, waited for the flare to dull back into the muted throb it had settled into during the long drive, buzzing harshly in his ears.

Through the hum, he heard metal scrape, the bathroom door slamming shut across the gas station forecourt and grit his teeth, stared hard out over the wide river.

Move. Now.

It shivered under his skin, curled his hands into fists and he saw himself push up, run back to the Impala and peel out, leaving his brother standing in the dust.

Just keep moving.

He would never be able to outrun it and that knowledge turned bitter and sharp in his mouth, burned in his throat until he coughed, lifted one fist and pressed his knuckles deep under his jaw, rubbing his thumb across the thin faint ridges of raised tissue.

Behind him, a heavy engine rumbled, trembling through the ground and as it faded he heard footsteps hurrying across the road, scuffing in the dirt and even as a weight eased off his chest, his shoulders climbed up, scraping against the tree. A tall figure flickered in the corner of his eye but he didn't move, just shut his eyes and waited for his brother to sigh and wander down to the water's edge, letting it lap at his toes, grimacing at the oily film on top of the murky water and taking a long stride back. Dean snorted a little.

"You get that crud on your shoes, you're walking."

He cracked open one eye, watched the tall hunter shy further away from the foul river. Letting it drift closed again, he tipped his head back against the rough bark, weariness uncurling through him, dragging at his shoulders. The sound of the water drowned out the rush of traffic on the road behind him, then faded itself into the steady beat behind his eyes. He lifted one hand, pinched the bridge of his nose between finger and thumb, as if he could squeeze out the dull ache that had clogged his mind up since he recognized the gloating demon trying to pound his face to hamburger.

"Like you could drive anywhere right now."

The soft mutter was suddenly close, right in his ear and he started, tried to cover it up with a false smile.

"Dude, I could drive to freakin' Alaska right now."

It carried a bite, a quiet edge of warning but his brother didn't seem to notice, just quirked one eyebrow sceptically at him.

"Sure, Dean."

"Sam."

There was nothing quiet about the warning now, the name bitten off sharply, the smile long gone. The younger man just lifted a hand and Dean scowled as he saw keys dangling from Sam's fingers.

"You picked my pocket?"

It was meant to be a growl; instead it came out closer to a whisper.

"I wouldn't be able to if you weren't practically out cold, Dean."

He thumped his head back against the tree, huffing out an exaggerated sigh. Problem was, he knew his brother was right. Sam never should have been able to get close enough to him to pull the keys from his pocket, but distracted by the throbbing in his head and shoulder, by the bruises inside and out, Dean hadn't even noticed they were gone.

"There's a motel a couple blocks down."

It sounded so reasonable when Sam said it, no reason at all for the idea of stopping for the night to make his heart trip over itself, to turn his palms clammy with the same cold sweat that trickled down his back and almost hid the chill lurking at the base of his spine as it stirred restlessly.

He held out a hand, let his brother pull him to his feet, steadying each other as they both swayed a little.

"Fine, but I'm drivin'."

He could almost hear the protest, knew exactly what his brother would say and snatched the keys out of Sam's hand where it hovered by his elbow.

"It's a couple blocks, right?" Dean forced the rasp out of his voice, let the sarcasm drown it. "Think I can manage that, Sam."

He had to, simple as that, clinging onto what little control he had left after letting the walls around the memories that wouldn't fade crumble into a tear-soaked confession. He would never have given it without the heat of the engine-warmed hood under the backs of his thighs, without the subtle touch of home surrounding him.

The hunter pulled away, refusing to acknowledge the shaking in his legs as he strode back to the car, hauling the door open, the world blurring as he heard the familiar groan. He blinked away the weary sting in his eyes, wondering again why, in the four months he'd been…gone, Sam hadn't fixed the creak that used to annoy the younger man. And wondering again why it mattered so much that he hadn't.

The passenger door creaked, leather squeaking softly as his brother slid in beside him. He dropped his left arm into his lap, feeling the pounding beat in his shoulder echo through his head and fade into the rumbling purr of the engine. But his heart still skipped a beat at the thought of stopping, of being still for long enough for the past to catch up again, his palms slick against the steering wheel as he gripped it hard.

"Dean?"

The hunter blinked, realizing he'd been sitting there, silently throttling the steering wheel, staring blankly at the faint reflection of a bruised face he barely recognized in the glass.

"Yeah."

Beside him, Sam paused, drew breath and huffed it out again without saying a word. He turned to the window, slouched down in the seat, leaned his head against it and Dean heard the dry click in his throat as he swallowed. It was too quiet, the radio silent and the hush was oppressive, cloying but he didn't move to turn it on, didn't want to jar the fragile peace. He felt his brother glance over at him, still had to remind himself that the weight of the younger man's eyes was real, not some delusion.

Sam sighed slowly, still watching him in the window as Dean sat beside him, knuckles white around the wheel, the ragged growl of the engine filling the silence and the empty space between them.

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A/N2: As always, the playlist (for lyrics and chapter titles) will come at the end. This story is completed, so will post every week, hopefully.

Thanks for reading...