ESCALATION

"Dean, it's not a good idea to come here, not right now," Bobby said emphatically.

Dean flicked a glance at Sam, who was leaning against him to listen in on the conversation. "I know Bobby, but I gotta tell you, we really could use some help. Sam's not getting a hell of a lot of sleep; this shithead's in his melon pretty much every night –"

"Do you know Gordon Walker?" Bobby interrupted.

"I don't know him, but Dad does," Dean answered. "He's a hunter."

"Yeah, a damned good one. I threw him and his partner off my property last night. They're hunting Sam."

The two brothers looked at each other. Sam's eyes were dismayed, Dean's - furious.

"Dad said that Walker's a whack job," Dean said tightly into the phone. "He won't even hunt with him."

"Not many people will. There's nothing that bastard won't do to finish a job. He doesn't care who gets hurt. Or killed. All he cares about is finishing the job."

"Great," Dean said sourly. "It's not bad enough Dad sends a couple of rapists after us; now he's sends a homicidal maniac."

"What? He sent a what?" Bobby's voice rose.

Sam pulled away from Dean, scowling. "What the hell, Dean!"

Dean lowered the phone and started after Sam, who was stomping to the door. "Sam, I'm sorry, I didn't mean –" he caught his brother's arm and pulled him to a halt. "Stay inside!"

Frustrated, breathing hard, Sam slammed a hand against the door. "Damn it!"

Bobby's voice was spouting metallically from the phone into the air. Eyes on Sam, who'd thrown himself angrily down onto the bed, Dean raised his cell back to his ear. "Sorry, Bobby."

"What the hell did your idiot father do? Are you okay? Is Sam okay?"

"He's fine, Bobby," Dean reassured him quickly. "We're fine."

"What happened, then?"

"Not now, Bobby. Okay?" Dean said in a low voice.

Bobby growled a little bit. "I want to hear about this later, Dean!"

Dean murmured an assent.

Reluctantly, Bobby dropped it. "Like I said," he went on, "it's not a good idea to come. I haven't seen Walker since I ran him off, but I got the feeling he's around here somewhere."

"Hell," Dean said. "Perfect goddamned timing. Have you ever – do you know anything that could help us keep this bastard demon out of Sammy's head?"

"Gimme a minute." Dean heard him put the phone down on the other end.

While he was waiting for Bobby to return, Dean sat down on the bed next to Sam, who looked a little calmer.

"I'm sorry, Sammy. I wasn't thinking," he said apologetically.

"Yeah, I know. It's okay." Sam shook his head wearily. "I'm just tired and – I don't want him thinking of that when he looks at me. Bad enough that –" he broke off.

"What?"

"Nothing" Sam gave Dean a small smile. "I'm an idiot."

Bobby picked up the phone and at Dean's gesture, Sam sat up to listen in.

"I got an idea," Bobby said. "I know somebody a couple states over, a psychic. Her name's Pamela Barnes. She might be able to help Sam."

"What help could a psychic be against a demon?" Dean said doubtfully.

"Well, seems to me it's a matter of Sam being able to shield himself. A good psychic has to know all about that kind of thing, otherwise they'd have people tripping in and out of their head all day long."

Sam nodded, feeling a little hopeful. "That makes sense."

"I called her but she wasn't there. I'll try again later."

Relieved, Dean grinned and ruffled his brother's hair, earning a shove. "Sammy was right, Bobby. He said you were the one to call."

"Yeah, well, don't throw me any parades just yet," Bobby said practically. "Wait till I talk with her, see what she says. Don't want you two turning up on her doorstep like lost puppies before I have a chance to give her a heads up.

"Okay, Bobby."

"Listen - you sure Sam's okay?"

With a shrug, Dean handed the phone to Sam.

"I'm fine, Bobby," Sam said.

"Good. Keep it that way. Listen, I'll call back in a couple of hours. In the meantime, hang in there. We'll take care of this."

"Okay, Bobby. Thanks." Sam clicked the cell shut when Bobby disconnected and got restlessly off the bed. "I'm gonna pack up the car. I want to get out of here."

"We can't go to his house, you heard what he said about Walker," Dean said firmly.

"I know," Sam said irritably. "We don't have to go to Bobby's, let's just get on the road."

Dean started to protest, thinking of Sam and bed; then, looking at his brother's not very receptive face, shrugged. "Sure."

A few minutes later, packing, and regretting his earlier sharp tone, Sam said abruptly. "Listen, I know it's not gonna make a difference to whether he finds me in my dreams or not, it just makes me feel better when we're moving. Like, I don't know, maybe he has a harder time finding me."

Dean started to answer, but his cell rang. Closer to it, Sam retrieved it from the bed and flipped it open. "Hey, B –"

"Hello, Sam," his father said.

Sam froze, his mouth going dry. Alarmed at the look on his face, Dean straightened¸ clothes falling from his hands.

"Nice job on Jack and Frank," John went on. "I'm guessing Dean killed them, since you're not much of a fighter. But their deaths are still on your head."

"Dad," Sam stammered. "I – you - " He looked at his brother helplessly and Dean snatched the phone away.

"You prick!" he spat. "You got some fucking nerve calling us!"

"I want you to come back to me, Dean," John said calmly, ignoring Dean's outburst. "If you come back, I'll leave Sam alone."

Dean's mouth opened but nothing came out. Finally, "Are you fucking kidding me?"

"You've got to get away from him, Dean. You killed two humans," John said persuasively. "How long before you start killing innocents? How long before your soul is so tainted you don't even know the difference anymore?"

"I didn't –" Dean stopped, not wanting to give their father any more ammunition.

"It was Sam?" John asked, surprised. Recovering quickly, he said in an amused voice, "Guess some of my training sank in after all."

"Fuck you, Dad."

Sam shuddered and moved away and Dean let him, not wanting him to hear any more. Sam went into the bathroom and shut the door sharply behind him.

"You'll be back, one way or another," John said with certainty. "Come back now. Sam will be fine."

"Yeah, until Gordon Walker catches up to him," Dean said bitingly.

John didn't answer.

"Didn't think we knew about that, did you? You sent killers after my brother," Dean said succinctly. "You sent rapists."

"I didn't know –"

"Don't lie," Dean interrupted, voice cold. "So far as I'm concerned, you're not my father anymore. Don't call me again."

"Dean," John said urgently, "I never told them to hurt your brother in that way. You need to remember that Sam has a tendency to exaggerate. He probably just misunderstood what was happening and his overreaction killed two good men. He was always –"

Suddenly the bathroom door opened and Sam appeared in the doorway. "Dean, hang up!" His voice was panicked.

Dean looked at him, puzzled. "Sam, what –"

"Dean, hang up." He grabbed the phone away from Dean and, ignoring John's voice, turned it off. Dropping it to the floor, he lunged for his duffle and rooted through it until he found his own cell and turned it off. "He's just trying to keep you on the phone!"

Dean's mouth dropped open. "Oh, shit!"

"How the hell did he get your number?" Sam grated. His gun was in his hand as he paced quickly to the window and peered outside anxiously.

"I don't know. Damn it!"

"Do you think he traced us?"

"I don't know, maybe. Damn it, probably." Dean had his own gun out as well. "We've got to get the hell out of here."

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Bobby's call went straight to voicemail and he left a message. When he hung up the phone, his lined face held a worried frown. Why wasn't Dean answering? He knew damned well the boy was worried sick about his little brother and was probably champing at the bit, waiting for word that it was okay to go to Pamela's.

So why wasn't he picking up?

John. Had he found his sons?

He pushed that thought firmly away. The boys were fine. It wasn't like they were helpless civilians. They could take care of themselves.

Bobby sighed. He wished it were possible for the idjits to come stay with him for a while and rest up – they were probably worn down with all the shit that had gone down lately - but with Walker somewhere around, it was best not to take a chance.

Damn John anyway, for setting that lunatic on his sons. And what the hell had Dean been talking about, a rapist? What damned rapist?

He would get the full story out of Dean, and soon. Dean and Sam Winchester were the closest thing he had to family. And if someone had hurt those boys, either of them, especially in that way, he was going to be having words with John Winchester – more than damned words, he would have the bastard's blood!

Too riled to settle, he grabbed his shotgun from behind the door, checked to make sure it was loaded and then walked outside, whistling for Rumsfeld. He'd take a walk around, see what he could see. And if he happened to see Walker – well, he wouldn't be missing this second chance at him.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Fondling his rifle, Gordon watched sourly as Singer walked by below him, dog pacing silently beside him. Eying the big dog, he was thankful for the earlier brief but heavy rain which had washed his scent away.

He wanted to put a hole in the old bastard, and in his dog, too. What the hell was the old fool thinking anyway, running him off, protecting Winchester's demon spawn? Singer had enough years of hunting under his belt to know you couldn't take any chances when it came to monsters. If you didn't kill them today, they'd sure as shit be killing your ass tomorrow.

Walker frowned. Was it possible that Singer himself had been turned? Was he sheltering the Winchester boys because the demon had plans for the boy, not in spite of it? Walker ground his teeth in rage, eyes hot on the retreating older hunter.

He should kill the bastard now. But - if he did and the Winchester boys couldn't reach him, they might not come.

On the other hand, they might decide the old guy needed help and ride to the rescue. He chewed his lip in indecision.

In the end, his only decision was to wait, and he reluctantly watched Bobby and the dog move out of sight.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

A little surprised that he'd managed to make it to the Impala without getting his head blown off, Sam watched the road behind them as the Impala ate up the highway.

He could feel Dean taking quick little glances at him, trying to gauge his mood, but he didn't look back at him. He did not want Dean to know how freaked out he really was.

Damn it! Just when he thought he had a handle on this bullshit with Dad, some little thing would happen and he'd be right back where he started.

It had been a phone call, just a damned phone call, and what had he done? Turned into a helpless, whiny little crybaby needing to be rescued by his big brother. Come on, how hard would it have been to just hang up on the bastard? Or tell him to fuck off and die? Too hard, apparently, for his fragile little self. Sam snorted disgustedly, not seeing Dean's startled glance, not even realizing he'd done it out loud.

It felt like there was a goddamned target on his back; like he was surrounded by enemies, with every damned one of them fixated on killing him. Or fucking him. Or both. He brushed an errant lock of shaggy hair back from his face, hand trembling. It had been a mistake, staying with Dean. He had demon blood, for shit's sake. He was going to get his brother killed if he stayed with him -

"Jesus, Sam, the crazy is practically leaking out of your ears! What the hell is going on over there?"

Sam twisted around to face the front, fingers tapping nervously on his knee. "Nothing!"

He heard Dean draw an exasperated breath and said quickly, "What're we gonna do about Bobby? He's probably already trying to reach us."

"I've been thinking," Dean answered. "We're going to his place," Dean answered.

Alarmed, Sam whipped around to face him. "But he told us not to come!"

"Not specifically," Dean said evenly. "He just said it would be better if we didn't."

"But what about Walker? And Dad?"

"We'll deal with that if – when - we run into them." He sighed. "We gotta stop running, Sammy. So long as we run, they'll keep chasing us. If we make a stand –" his voice faltered at the thought of what, who, they'd be facing – "we can get back to our lives, not have to worry about watching our backs every minute of the damned day."

After a minute, Sam said, with a faint smile, "So, all we'll have to worry about is monsters?"

Dean laughed. "Business as usual." He reached across and pulled his brother next to him. "We can handle this. You and me - together. We can handle it."

Sam, trying to ignore his misgivings, nodded and leaned into him, feeling a little of the morning's stress drain away.

"Freaking Dad," Dean added. "I was planning on dragging you back to bed this morning. I'd like to kick his ass for that if nothing else."

Sam grinned and tilted his face up. "What's wrong with right now?"

Dean smiled back at him, feeling a familiar excitement start to curl inside his belly. He kissed Sam lightly, flicking his tongue inside his mouth, and felt his brother shudder. "Oh yeah, right fucking now." He pulled the Impala off to the side of the road.

"Sure you don't want to wait until we get to Bobby's?" Sam said, voice mischievous.

Dean looked horrified. "Oh, dude, we are not banging at Bobby's!"

Sam gave a low laugh. "So, you don't want an audience?"

Dean started to say no, then reconsidered. "Audience, maybe. But Bobby? No!" he said emphatically. "Now shut up."

"You shut up –" Sam started and Dean shut him up, covered Sam's mouth with his own, moved his lips against Sam's, licking them, nibbling them, trying to start slow, make it last, but it had been too long, the heat within him rose fast and when Sam moaned, Dean sent his tongue in deep, licking out his brother's mouth with a deep growl.

He felt Sam tremble under his hands and chuckled darkly, slipping his hands under his brother's shirt, pulling it up over his head and tossing it to the floor. Sam moved against him, murmuring his name, his hands moving to Dean's belt. Then Dean felt Sam go still and draw in a sharp hissing breath.

"Sam?" Dean pulled back a little and looked into Sam's face. "What's wrong, baby?"

Sam stared through him for one frozen moment before his eyes rolled back into his head and his body fell back onto the seat.

oooooooooooooooooooo

Bobby shuts the front door behind him and crosses to the kitchen, setting the shotgun down on the hall table as he passes into the kitchen. As he goes through the kitchen doorway, an ugly blast roars through the quiet house and Bobby flies back through the door, his chest a bloody mess.

As he lies on the hall floor, gasping for air, struggling to get up, a man drifts in from the kitchen, shotgun ready.

"Bet you wish you'd taken that shot now, huh, Singer?"

He fires the shotgun again, smashing Bobby's body back down onto the floor, the old man's hands outflung, eyes wide open in death.

oooooooooooooooooooo

"Sam! Wake up!"

Sam snapped back into the Impala, hands clutching at Dean, who was hovering agitatedly over him. He drew in a deep, sobbing breath, trying to speak past the pounding pain in his heart and head. "Dean!"

"Sam!"

"Bobby!" Sam gasped. "We have to get to Bobby!"