By the time Sam alerted Dean to the situation and they got on the move, they were too late. He had called his brother and said Andy "got away," and after some artfully creative cursing on Dean's end, he'd picked up Sam in the Impala and asked how the hell Andy had gotten away and in which direction he'd gone. Sam had no answer for either question, which only served to fuel his brother's frustration. The town was small and they had tried to find the boy, but he was nowhere to be found.

Now as they leaned against the van, awaiting the sunrise, Sam found himself harboring an all new reason to be guilty. Because he had become too emotionally invested in the hunt, innocent people had undoubtedly been hurt and very possibly killed. Dean of course had no idea just how badly Sam had screwed up, but the younger brother had every intention of keeping it to himself. No one needed to know the extent of what had conspired between him and Andy. Right now all that mattered was finding him, which would be easiest if they simply maintained their position by the only home he had to return to.

The more time that ticked by, the more wrong it all began to feel. The brothers were growing antsy. Sam took a gun and said he was going to go looking for Andy, telling Dean to stay on guard by the van. The eldest sibling was quick to point out that Sam had already let Andy slip through their fingers once and they couldn't afford for it to happen again, but Sam argued that it wouldn't happen again, and took off for the woods before his brother could proceed with his protests. Andy had become Sam's responsibility, even if it came down to killing the boy.

Faced with the prospect of killing Andy finally forced Sam's emotions to fully surface. The thought of looking into those warm brown eyes and pulling the trigger of his gun, putting out the light in them for good, put a whole new prospective on things. Sam hadn't the faintest of a clue how he had been stupid enough to pull it off, but within the short amount of time he'd known the boy, he'd fallen in love with Andy Gallagher. And killing him would be the hardest thing Sam would ever have to do in his life.

He made his way into the woods, having not seen in which direction Andy had gone but figuring that he would have fled to somewhere secluded. Flecks of blood dotted a cluster of leaves. Sam touched his fingers to the blood and felt that it was so fresh that it was still warm. It was lightly splattered across other areas of greenery, putting the hunter on a clear path, but after a few moments of debate, Sam realized something was off.

If the blood was that fresh, then it would have been shed after the sun came up. After the full moon had set. So either Andy had shed this blood after a long night of howling at the moon, it was Andy's blood that freckled these surfaces, or there was another party at play here. Sam was betting on the second or third option, not only because he still couldn't picture that sweet boy as a killer, but because a gut instinct was telling him that there was something more than the simple hunting of a werewolf taking place here. A deep sense of foreboding was worming its way into him.

"S-Sam?" choked a hopeful voice.

Sam whirled to his left and saw Andy, curled up on the ground and shaking pitifully. His clothes were nowhere to be found, he was pale, and the sight of Sam had cast such a childishly hopeful expression across his face that for a moment it was easy to forget he was a killer. Sam knelt down next to him and hurriedly asked what had happened, trying to pull the boy into a sitting position and halting when Andy cried out in pain, laying back down on the forest floor.

"She's dead, Sam," he said quietly, flecks of blood drying on his face.

"Who's dead?"

Andy looked bewildered and grieved. "Tracey! My ex girlfriend, the waitress from the diner."

An image of the pretty blond from the diner popped into Sam's mind. "What happened to her?"

"He killed her…" Andy whispered, finally managing to move, only to fall shakily into Sam's arms.

Sam instinctively rubbed Andy's back soothingly. "Who, Andy? Who killed her?"

"His name…is Asnem Weems. He said he's my twin."

This new insight had Sam's head whirling with new possibilities of the entire case as he scooped Andy up into his arms as easy as a mother would her child. Andy whimpered softly (and in a fashion not unlike that of a dog, or more appropriately a wolf, feeling hurt or scared) and pressed against the taller man's shirt, his fingers clenching in the thin white cotton. As Sam carried him out of the woods with a tenderness no hunter should feel for their natural enemy, the Winchester realized that regardless of what Andy may or may not have done, he simply couldn't kill him. It wasn't a matter of simple emotion or guilt any longer: he just couldn't. Couldn't pull the trigger, couldn't watch the light go out of those warm brown eyes he'd come to love in such an inadequate amount of time. Dean could hate him if he wanted to…Sam was beyond caring.

Dean was waiting by the van, so Sam snuck back to their motel room and grabbed some of Dean's clothes for Andy since Sam's were too large. Andy whispered his thanks and slid into the clothes, which still hung down past his wrists and ankles in spite of Sam's efforts. A loud growl rippled through the room, and Sam drew his gun immediately, moving in front of Andy.

The young werewolf smiled sheepishly. "Um, sorry, that was my stomach."

Sam laughed at his own idiocy and tucked his gun into the back of his jeans, pulling his jacket down to cover it. "Hungry?"

"Starved," Andy admitted.

Sam shook his bangs out of his eyes and started out the door, Andy tailing him. "So, what are you in the mood for?"

"I'm in the mood for something that doesn't involve leaving this room, Sunshine…"

"Not that you perv! You sure do recover fast for someone that just had a near death experience," Sam laughed.

"Get me a bong and an orgasm, I'll be better in no time."

"Andy!"

They were like an old married couple. Banter, playful exchanges of innuendoes, laughing when the other tried to sound scolding…it was kind of sweet, and kind of scary because neither of them knew how they'd come so far, so fast. It had gone from their fateful first meeting, to laughing and goofing off in a records store, to mind-blowing sex in the back of a van, to…well, whatever this was. All Sam knew was that it felt damn good to see Andy happy again, seemingly recovered or at least well on his way to being recovered from the incident in the woods.

"I want tacos," Andy declared, wriggling past Sam in the doorway and giving the hunter's ass a slap on his way out.

Sam smacked the boy's hand away from him with an attempt at a scowl. "Is there even anywhere to get them around here?"

"Sure there is. Come on, follow me."

Andy happily padded outside, Sam at his heels. They took a route that avoided the van and Dean's line of sight, and it was a short walk to a small, old fashioned Mexican joint. It was early in the morning, but according to Andy the place usually opened before the sun was even up, which was rare for a family owned business. Nonetheless, Sam was grateful. He was pretty hungry himself.

Early morning light lit their path as they walked down the desolate sidewalk, the rest of the town still sleeping. Andy's hand found Sam's, and the hunter only hesitated for a small moment before lacing their fingers together. He'd already grabbed on to the hope that maybe Andy wasn't responsible for this after all, and he intended to cling to it until he had undisputable evidence that proved otherwise. Holding tightly to the boy's hand, he took solace in that knowledge as they finally arrived in front of El Padre's.

Old, brownish red bricks on the outside, and an interior that could make one feel as if they had really just stepped into a restaurant in Mexico. The staff was Hispanic, the waitresses beautiful with their dark skin and fathomless brown eyes. However, Sam was only interested in one person there, and it was the boy walking next to him. Perhaps it wasn't entirely fair to call Andy a "boy" since they were about the same age, but the bright, bubbly personality that Andy practically radiated with made it hard to refer to him as a man. Especially when he flashed that bright, cheery smile.

The hostess seated them in a booth, the leather seats slightly weathered. Sam sat across from Andy and thanked the waitress as she handed them menus and bustled off after taking their drink orders. She was brisk, but polite. More than he could say for most waiting staff these days. Andy hummed his own little beat as he thumbed through the two pages of menu, grinning when he reached the taco selection, the list bordered in bright, festive red swirls.

Still staring at the menu, Andy said, "So I never thanked you…"

"For what?"

"Everything, I guess. Trusting me, saving me…everything," Andy said softly.

Sam swallowed back a lump in his throat. "There's something I have to tell you, Andy. Something I should have said a long time ago."

Andy raised his chocolate brown eyes to meet Sam's, so the hunter continued, albeit with great reluctance.

"I didn't stumble into this town by accident. My brother and I…came here for a reason. We go from town to town for the same reason, over and over. And we thought this would be just another day. But it wasn't. We've spent our entire lives being taught not to get attached, but this time…there was someone here, and I got attached. Really attached."

Andy was shaking his head confusedly. "What are you talking about?"

Sucking much needed air into his lungs, Sam reached across the table and took Andy's hand. "I'm so sorry for not telling you this sooner, but…I'm a-"

"You boys ready to order?"

Sam could have happily screamed at the waitress right then for her timing. He swallowed back his frustration and let go of Andy's hand, pushing aside his confession for the time being. Andy watched the hunter apprehensively for a few moments before turning to the waitress and asking for her six pack taco combo, hold the lettuce. When she nodded, jotted it down, and asked Sam what he wanted, Sam distantly replied he would have the same, too buried under his thoughts to really acknowledge the proceedings of the outside world, let alone order something to eat. Thankfully she didn't take his detachment personally (not that he would have really cared if she did) and bustled off once more.

"What were you going to tell me?" Andy asked, taking a drink of his Coke.

"Um, nothing. I'll tell you later," Sam muttered, the courage he'd gathered to admit his secret having deflated upon the waitress's untimely appearance.

Andy shot him a dubious look but didn't choose to comment, and they ate their food in silence when it arrived.