CHAPTER SEVEN

"Hey, Sammy!"

Sam's eyes flew open and he bolted upright in bed.

The demon, the demon, yellow eyes blazing, stood at the foot of the bed, grinning down at the two brothers. "Well, don't you two look cozy!"

"Dean!" Sam shook his shoulder. "Dean!"

Dean didn't wake; he didn't even twitch. Sam glared at the demon. "What did you do to him?"

"Sam, Sam," he chided. "Think."

Sam tried to push down the adrenaline rushing through his body. After a moment, he said flatly, "This is a dream."

The demon shrugged. "Well, it's kind of half and half. After all, if I tried this while you two were awake, I'd end up having to kill Dean and I don't want to do that. Right now he's the only thing standing between you and a bullet in the head."

Sam flinched and the demon laughed. "Nothing like a father's love, eh, Sam?" He shook his head. "He's coming for you. You should have killed him the day you left, kiddo."

Sam paled. "He's my father," he said tightly.

"Maybe someone should remind him of that," the demon said maliciously. "Oh, Sam, almost forgot, I wanted to thank you for sending down Jack and Frank." He dissolved into helpless laughter. "You'll be happy to know they're paying for their little, um, indiscretion."

Sam felt ill. "You son of a bitch!"

"Oh, lighten up, boy! I saw what those two had in store for you!" He gestured to Dean with a cruel glint in his eyes. "Even if you'd lived through it, I doubt lover boy here would've wanted anything to do with you once they were done. That kind of thing tends to leave a bad taste in the mouth –"

Sam grabbed up the bedside lamp and heaved it at the jeering demon.

"Get out of my head!"

OOOOOOOOOO

Cold and shaking, Sam woke. He and Dean were alone in their motel room. His brother slept on his stomach, arm thrown over Sam's stomach, breath showing warm in the chill night air.

Moving carefully, Sam slid out from under Dean's arm and sat at the edge of the bed, running a trembling hand over his face.

He's coming for you.

Like I didn't already know that, he thought bitterly. Why don't you tell me something useful, you prick?

Unless . . .

Rising, he padded quickly to the window, snagging his pistol from the top of the dresser on the way. He pulled the curtain out from the side and looked out into the parking lot.

Quiet out there. And dark. He couldn't see any movement; couldn't hear anything. Didn't mean there wasn't anything out there, of course.

He's coming for you.

Yeah, he was coming. Maybe not tonight, but some day. And salt wouldn't keep him out. Neither would the wards. With a sense of futility, Sam took one of the chairs from the kitchenette and wedged it under the door knob. That would at least slow him down.

"Sammy?" Dean mumbled from the bed. "Everything okay?"

Sam went quickly back to the bed and crawled in beside his brother. "It's fine, Dean. I was just getting a drink of water," he lied.

"Umm." Dean pulled him in close and wrapped his arms around him. "You're cold," he complained sleepily.

"Sorry," Sam whispered, cuddling against him as Dean slid back into sleep.

He lay awake the rest of the night - watching, listening, and worrying about how his brother would take the news that the yellow-eyed demon was back and rattling around in his lover's head.

OOOOOOOOOO

Kubrick dropped his cigarette to the ground and stomped it out. "How long do we have to stay out here anyway?"

"As long as it takes," Gordon replied, staring toward the distant house.

"What makes Winchester think his kids are gonna show up here?"

"A man knows his own sons."

"I s'pose." Kubrick rubbed his hands together. "It's freezin' out here!"

Gordon gave a quiet sigh, regretting, not for the first time, his choice in partners.

Kubrick paced around the clearing, jittering nervously. "Why don't we go into town and have a drink? We can be there and back in an hour."

"No."

"We could get something to eat," Kubrick persisted.

Gordon wheeled to face him. "Damn it, will you shut up?"

"Jeez, what's your problem?"

"My problem," Gordon snapped, "is that you don't know when to be quiet! You're going to get us killed!"

"Ah, come on, what are you so worried about?" Kubrick scoffed. "He's just one old man."

Gordon looked at him disbelievingly. "Are you stupid? Have you met Singer?"

Kubrick shook his head.

"That old man will kick your ass all the way around his property if he hears you. He's one of the toughest sons of bitches around and I don't want to wake him up."

"Too late, asshole."

Gordon and Kubrick froze at the gruff voice, which was accompanied by the unmistakable sound of a shotgun being racked and a low, throaty growl.

Bobby Singer walked into the clearing, a large Rottweiler at his side and a shotgun leveled at the two hunters.

"Singer," Gordon said.

"Gordon Walker," Bobby said contemptuously. "It don't surprise me that John sent you. You're just as crazy as he is."

"Where's the boy?" Gordon growled.

"If I knew I sure as hell wouldn't tell you," Bobby said harshly. "Now take your sidekick and haul your ass out of here. And don't come back. Next time I won't bother with a warning."

"Why are you protecting a demon?" Gordon demanded. He took an angry step forward but stopped when the dog rumbled warningly.

"He's not a demon, he's a kid," Bobby said coldly. "You're starting to piss me off, Walker." He jerked his head toward their car. "You two git. Now."

White-faced, Kubrick jumped into the car. Gordon didn't move. His disHark eyes blazed. "You're making a mistake, Singer."

"They're mine to make. Last chance. Go."

Careful not to move too quickly, keeping his hands away from his sides, Gordon stepped back and maneuvered himself into the car.

Lowering the shotgun slightly, Bobby watched as the car pulled out onto the highway. When the headlights had disappeared, he started back toward the house, dog at his heels.

Should've shot him, he thought sourly. That bastard's gonna be trouble.

OOOOOOOOOO

Three miles down the highway, Gordon pulled over to the side of the road and turned in his seat to glare at his partner. "Get out."

"Wha -?"

"Get – out."

Confused, Kubrick looked out the window. Nothing out there but the dark. "Why?"

"Because you almost got me shot, you moron!" Gordon said angrily. "Now get out of the goddamned car!"

"Gordon – it's my car!" Kubrick protested.

Gordon pulled out his gun and cocked it. "Out."

Kubrick fumbled the car door open and scrambled out. Mouth tight, Gordon reached into the backseat, grabbed Kubrick's backpack and threw it out the door after him.

"Shut the damned door," he ordered.

Kubrick obeyed and watched resignedly as Gordon peeled away. He thought briefly about calling the police and reporting the car stolen. Then he decided that he'd rather not have his ex-partner pissed off at him anymore than he already was. Like the old man had said, Gordon was kinda crazy.

Slinging his backpack over his shoulder, he trudged on down the highway.

OOOOOOOOOO

Dean woke up alone.

"Sam?" Craning to see the alarm clock on the bedside table – 6am – he saw a note with Sam's familiar scrawl propped up against the lamp. Gone for breakfast. Back soon.

He settled back against his pillow, frowning. Kid was up early. Come to think of it, he'd been up early yesterday. And the day before. Was he having nightmares again? Or was he just nervous about Dad?

The laptop's lid was open on the kitchen table, though it had powered down, indicating that although Sam had been on it this morning, it had been idle for a while. Maybe Sam had just been up digging up a hunt for them. They were both more than ready to move on.

He was tempted to go over to the computer and check it out, but the bed was so soft, so comfortable, and warm. Maybe if he played it right, he could get his brother back in bed for a little early morning -

The door opened and Sam walked in, balancing food and coffee. Seeing Dean awake, he smiled, nudging the door closed with his hip. "Hey.

"Hey," Dean said lazily, eyes gleaming speculatively.

Sam dumped the food onto the kitchen table and went over to the bed, sitting down next to his brother. "Hungry?"

"No." Dean pulled Sam's head down and kissed him thoroughly. "Come back to bed."

Sam pulled back and said teasingly, "I brought french toast. And strawberry syrup."

Dean groaned and glanced over at the table. Then he yanked Sam in for another kiss, sending his hands under his brother's shirt and going straight for his sensitive nipples.

At the contact, Sam gasped and mumbled into his brother's mouth, "Hash browns."

The brothers looked into each other's eyes.

Sam cleared his throat. "Scrambled eggs. And bacon."

Dean pushed him away and jumped out of bed. "I'm gonna go wash up. Out in a minute." He ran into the bathroom and slammed the door behind him.

Laughing, Sam went back to the table and started pulling food out of the bags. Then he set the table using the worn plates and utensils the motel had provided with the small kitchenette.

Dean came up behind him and snaked an arm around his waist, nuzzling his neck. "What's the occasion?"

"No occasion. I just thought it would be nice -" He caught his breath when Dean's hand slipped under his shirt again and skimmed across his belly, then dipped lower. Sam leaned back against him with a little moan.

With a laugh and a rough kiss, Dean released him and sat down at the table, grinning up at him wickedly. "I hate cold eggs."

His breathing a little uneven, Sam dropped into the chair opposite and piled a few slices of french toast onto his plate. "Fucking tease."

Dean stuffed a piece of bacon into his mouth, green eyes sparkling with amusement. "I'll make it up to you."

Sam dipped a finger into the syrup and stuck it into his mouth, sucking the sweet stuff off loudly. "Oh, I know you will."

Dean stopped chewing for a minute, his eyes on Sam's mouth. Then he snorted and stuffed another piece of bacon into his mouth.

OOOOOOOOOO

Forty-five minutes later, replete, Dean leaned back in his chair and let out a large belch.

Sam rolled his eyes. "Oh now that's attractive."

Dean reached out and cuffed him on the side of the head.

"Dude!" Sam slapped his hand away. "You got syrup all over my hair."

"Stop whining, you little bitch. You can take another shower. That was in my game plan anyway." Dean wiped the grease and syrup from his hands and tossed the crumpled napkin onto the table. "Okay, Sam, spill it."

Still thinking about "shower" and "game plan", Sam said, "Huh?"

"Come on, man," Dean said chidingly. "The last time you brought home this much food, you'd scratched the Impala's rear fender. You brought enough chinese food to kill three men."

Sam recovered quickly. "And you ate it all," he scoffed.

Dean grinned. "I'm not an ordinary man." His face sobered quickly. "Come on, Sam. You haven't been sleeping the last few nights. We promised we wouldn't have any secrets. What's up?"

Sam sighed. "Yellow Eyes is back."

Dean sat up straight in his chair and his lips peeled back from his teeth in an angry snarl. "Son of a bitch!"

Knowing the words weren't meant for him, Sam managed not to flinch but Dean saw the pain in his eyes and grimaced. "Sorry. I just freaking hate - what's that rat bastard telling you now?"

"Mostly that I should have killed Dad." Sam shrugged. "Said he's coming for me."

Dean snorted. "Like we didn't know that already. Hell. This is why you've been up the last few nights?"

"Kind of hard to sleep knowing he's there waiting for me."

Dean blew out an angry breath. "No kidding." Trying not to sound accusatory, he asked, "Why'd you wait to tell me?"

Sam flushed. "I'm sorry – I was hoping it was just dreams. It's been good, since we left Dad, except for –" he drew in a deep breath. "Dean - I'm tired of him poking into my head whenever he feels like it. I need to find a way to block him, fight him. Something." Forehead creased in a worried frown, he added, "I'm worried, if he can get inside my head, maybe he knows where we are."

"I don't think he wants to hurt you, Sammy," Dean reassured him quickly. "He's spending a lot of time making sure you stay alive."

"It's not me I'm worried about," Sam said simply. "And that's not all."

"Oh, crap. What?" Dean asked apprehensively.

"He knew what happened with Jack and Frank. He said they're – down there."

Dean didn't understand at first, then it clicked and his jaw dropped. "Whoa. Really?" He thought about that for a minute. "You think he was just screwing with your head?"

Sam shook his head. "I'm pretty sure they're both burning in hell right now."

"Jesus." Dean was a little pale. "I don't know what to do about this. Give me a straight fight and I'll do my best to kick his ass, but this is way over my freaking head." He got up from the table and Sam watched as he nervously paced the room.

"Maybe there's a protection spell or a charm that'll keep him off," Sam said tentatively. "We could go see Bobby. I know he said it's not safe, but he knows as much about this kind of thing as Dad. Maybe more."

Dean shook his head. "I don't think –"

"Even if he doesn't have an answer," Sam interrupted, "maybe he can point us in the right direction."

Dean hesitated. "We could call. That would be safe enough."

Sam's face fell.

"It's not really safe to go there, Sam."

"I know." Sam tried to smile. "It's just – it would be good to see a familiar face – one that's not trying to kill me."

"Yeah. Yeah, it would." Thinking, Dean pulled his cell phone out. "I'll talk to Bobby. See what he says."

OOOOOOOOOO

Gordon hid the car in a copse of trees about three miles from Bobby's house and hiked back in, a bag of supplies in his arms and a sniper's rifle slung across his back.

Close to dawn, he crept into the scrap yard. Careful to stay upwind of the house, so the old man's dog wouldn't catch his scent, he managed to make his way to a three car pile-up. Crawling into the top car, he settled in and waited.