CHAPTER ELEVEN

Sam sat slumped against Dean, head hanging, eyes glassy and unfocused.

He knew he was in the car, knew he was with his brother. He knew they were on their way to a friend of Bobby's who was supposed to be able to help them.

But Sam was also back in the house when his father had discovered him trying to run away. He was in the cemetery, burning the bodies of the dead teenagers. He was in a motel room, trapped beneath the body of the hunter he'd just killed.

Consciousness was split into fragments, jagged shards, dreams and memories. Beneath those fragments, the blood. The blood he'd seen, the blood he'd spilled. His blood, cursed, proof of the evil that lay within him.

Sam forced his eyes open wider, tried to focus.

He was so tired his body ached; so tired he was nauseous with the desperate need for sleep. But beneath the pain and nausea was the absolute certainty of what would happen if he surrendered to that need.

No.

Please. God . . .

God wasn't going to help. Not him.

Please.

Not Dean. It hadn't been Dean.

Not.

Sharp-toothed darkness nibbled at him, dragged him deeper, into fear, into chaos and terror. Too much, all too much. Last night's terror, Dean's assault, his father's body crushing him, violating him - smothering him.

Sam tried to shove it back. It was a lie. His brother would never hurt him that way. Dean would kill himself before he'd hurt Sam. And his father had never – had never -

Demons lie.

But what if . . .

Did the demon know something they didn't know about their father? Was that why John had sent those men after him? Did he want to – did he -

"Sam?"

Sam's dark head jerked up and he looked wildly around, hands raised defensively.

"Easy, kid. We're here." Dean rubbed Sam's arm, quieted him, watched the panic slowly fade from his eyes. "You alright?"

The sudden surge of adrenaline abruptly left Sam and he sagged back against the seat. "I'm fine," he said dazedly. "Where's here?"

"Bobby's friend. The psychic. Remember?"

"Oh. Yeah." Sam nodded, moving away from his brother. He managed to fumble the door open and slide out, wincing away from the glare of the noon day sun. His eyes felt like they'd been sandpapered. "Shit."

"Come on." Dean slid an arm around his shoulder.

"I said I'm okay!" Sam shrugged him away, ignoring the hurt in Dean's eyes. Legs stiff, uncoordinated, he went on toward the house, Dean close behind.

Once there, he couldn't force his legs to get him up the stairs. He made it halfway and got stuck. After a minute, Sam's legs still stubbornly refusing to do their job, Dean ignored his protests and hauled him the rest of the way up to the porch.

The front door was open, house secured only by a latched screen door. But the bass-heavy rock music was blasting so loudly inside the house that Dean had to ring the bell several times before the volume was finally lowered and the tread of heavy footsteps approached the door.

"What the hell do you want?"

Great. Dean sighed inwardly, douche bag alert sounding off loud and clear.

Tall, bronzed. Shaggy blond hair. Blue eyes. Good-looking in a "God Gave Me Beauty, What Do I Need Brains For" kinda way. He stared down his nose at them with such a snooty expression, Dean wanted to freaking smack him.

But they were here looking for help. And knocking this schmuck around wouldn't help Sam.

So Dean kept his tone even. "We're looking for Pamela Barnes."

The man looked at Dean's arm, tight around Sam's waist, and smirked. "Yeah?"

"Yeah," Dean bit out.

Ass Hat leaned against the door. "What's your name?"

"She's expecting us." No way was Dean giving this creep their name.

"Yeah, sure," Creep said nastily. "What's your name?"

"Dean," Sam slurred. "Let's just go."

He tried to turn back toward the steps, but the trip in from the car had taken most of his strength. His legs gave out and he started to go down.

"Whoa, Sam, hold up!" Dean grabbed onto his brother and steadied him until he found his feet again.

Watching, Ass Hat snickered. "Little too much to drink?"

"No!" Dean snapped. "He's sick! Is she here or not?"

"She's busy right now. How about you two girls come back later?"

Dean's face reddened. "You son-of-a –"

"Jesse?"

Ass Hat flushed and he turned away from the door as a beautiful young woman, in her late twenties maybe, with dark curly hair and beautiful cat's eyes, came up to the screen door with a welcoming smile.

"Hey! I'm Pamela. You must be Dean. And Sam." Her expression sobered a little as she took in Sam's condition; she flipped off the latch and opened the door wide. "Please, come in."

When Dean made no immediate move to come in, simply stared at Ass Hat with hostile eyes, the psychic frowned. "What's wrong? Jesse?"

Jesse didn't answer, just shrugged and left the room, a sour expression on his face.

Puzzled, Pamela stared after him. Then, puzzlement turning to resignation, she turned back to her guests. "Come on in, guys. Please. You're welcome here."

With just a slight hesitation, Dean nodded. He managed to get them both across the threshold without Sam face planting in the hall and sat him down on a chair in the hallway, standing over him protectively as he faced the strange woman.

Pamela didn't crowd them, sensing that Dean was still edgy from whatever had happened between him and Jesse. She could see that both young men were more than a little worn looking; Sam considerably worse off than his brother. Extending her special sense, she took a quick sweep over the younger boy and winced.

"Bobby told me he was in bad shape," she said sympathetically, "but I didn't realize - how long has it been since he's slept?"

"I don't think he's had more than five or six hours over the last week," Dean said. "Hey, Sammy? This is Bobby's friend, Pamela Barnes."

Sam roused. "Hi." He gazed blearily around the hall, trying to focus. "Can we go now?"

Dean tried to smile. "Hey, man, we just got here. What's the rush?"

"You're at my house, Sam," Pam said. "You're safe here." She looked at Dean, lowered her voice. "I can't do anything for him when he's like this. He's got to be rested so he can concentrate. He's got to sleep."

Voice low or not, Sam heard that and his eyes flew wide. "I'm not tired!" Glaring at Pam, he lurched up from the chair and staggered to the screen door. Yanking it open, he lurched back out onto the porch where he stood swaying drunkenly, looking around for the Impala.

Dean was beside him in a heartbeat.

"It's okay, Sammy, you don't hafta sleep if you don't wanna. But listen, just come back in. We'll get something to eat before we hit the road."

"I'm not hungry." Sam headed for the steps, then jerked to a halt when Dean caught his shoulder. "Dean, lemme go!"

Dean loosened his grip, but spoke quietly into Sam's ear. "Baby, you may not be hungry, but I'm starving. Can't we stay long enough for me to eat?"

Pam took her cue. "I've got fried chicken," she said from just inside the door. "Mashed potatoes. Gravy. A nice green bean casserole."

"Oh, man!" Dean groaned. "You hear that, Sammy? Next thing you know, she's gonna say she's got pie!"

"I do have pie." Pam laughed at Dean's pole-axed expression. "Pumpkin. With real whipped cream."

Dean looked at Sam pleadingly, only half-teasing now. "Sammy?"

With a last, longing look at the Impala, and a distrustful stare at Pamela, Sam agreed, reluctantly. "I'm not sleeping, though!"

"Yeah, kid, you said that already."

"Promise?"

Dean sighed with exasperation. "Jesus, what are you, two?"

Sam just waited stubbornly.

Dean sighed. "Okay. I promise."

Dean giving Sam what little support he'd accept, the two boys followed Pam back inside and to the kitchen, where she waved them to a table and started pulling food out of the refrigerator.

"Holy crap," Dean said in amazement. "You do have freaking pie!"

"Sweetie, I never lie about pie." Pam cut a large piece, topped it generously with whipped cream and set it in front of him. "Here, you can start with dessert while I get the rest of it warmed up."

Dean took a bite and groaned in ecstasy. "Awesome!" he said through his next bite.

She grinned at him. "I don't cook a lot, but sometimes I get in the mood. Just so happens my mood coincided with your visit." She looked inquiringly at Sam. "You want some pie, grumpy?"

Sam blinked at her, but didn't answer.

Pam cut another piece of pie, a little smaller, and placed it in front of him. "Whipped cream?"

"Sammy loves whipped cream," Dean said softly.

Sam looked vaguely at him as Pam spooned some of the cream onto his pie. He didn't make a move for his fork so Dean leaned over and cut a piece for him, guided it to his mouth.

Sam frowned and pushed the fork away. "Told you I'm not hungry," he said irritably.

"You don't have to be hungry to eat pie. Come on, don't be a bitch. Open up." He had to nudge Sam's closed lips with the fork a couple of times before the boy opened up and accepted the bite.

While Pam went to the stove and started heating up the main course, Dean went back to work on his pie, giving Sam an occasional encouraging word or nudge. Still, by the time Dean's pie was gone and the rest of the food was ready, Sam's pie was only half eaten and it was clear he was done.

Pam put a heaping plate in front of Dean. "Here you go."

Dean shook his head, looking worriedly at Sam. The boy was sitting sprawled awkwardly in his chair, staring blankly into space, clearly checked out.

"You need to eat." Pam put a comforting hand on Dean's shoulder. "You starving yourself isn't going to make things better for him."

"I know, but – damn it! I don't know what to do!" His hands tightened into fists. "He can't go on like this, he's got to sleep. But if he sleeps, that son of a bitch is going to screw with his head, mess him up even worse than he already is. And if I dope him up – " Dean shook his head helplessly. "I don't want to do that."

"Sam's going to be okay," Pam said reassuringly, pressing his fork back into his hand. "I can help, I promise."

Dean nodded and started to eat. In the end, though, the food turned to dust in his mouth. He put his fork down and looked contritely at Pamela. "I'm sorry. You went to a lot of trouble."

She shrugged, trying to hide her concern. At this rate, Dean wasn't going to be much better off than his brother. "No problem. I'll put it in the fridge. You can have it later. Come on, I've got a place set up for you two downstairs."

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Sam was so out of it, Dean didn't even need to think of a cover story to explain why they were going to the basement.

The steps were narrow so they went down side-by-side, Dean keeping a hand on Sam's arm so he didn't take a header down the stairs and break his neck.

Once they were down, Dean looked with interest around the room, taking in the unfinished walls, the stacks of neatly labeled boxes, dusty shelves crowded with numerous bottles and jars of herbs, and faintly suspicious-looking liquids.

In the corner of the room, there was a heavy-looking door, with a peephole at eye level, and sigils painted on it of a type Dean had never seen before.

"What's that?" he asked suspiciously.

Pam smiled proudly. She pulled the door open and they all looked inside. "This is my safe room. Walls, ceiling, floor – salt-embedded iron. Ghosts, demons, monsters - nothing gets in here I don't want in."

Dead on his feet, Sam still caught the one word that was important to him.

"I'm not a demon!"

Oh, crap. "I know, Sam," Pamela said, deeply regretting her choice of words. "This room isn't meant to lock you in. It's to keep them out."

"You're lying!" Sam, eyes wide with betrayal and panic, pulled away from Dean and headed unsteadily for the stairs.

"Sam, wait!" Stricken, Dean started after him but Pam stopped him at the foot of the stairs. "We need to get him in there, but it's better if he goes willingly," she said softly. "Forcing him isn't a good idea, the shape he's in."

Dean nodded, took a grip on himself. Calm. Keep calm. He started slowly up the stairs.

Sam was clinging to the bannister, halfway up. At Dean's approach, Sam went up another couple of steps, then stopped again, swaying dizzily.

Shit. Dean asked softly, "Sammy, sit down on the steps before you fall. I won't make you do anything you don't want to, I promise."

Sam's hand tightened on the bannister, then he sat down. Clumsily, but down.

Dean breathed a sigh of relief. Tried a smile. "Sam, have I ever lied to you?"

"What?" The question caught Sam by surprise, brought him a little out of his panic. Dean. This was Dean. "No. Never."

"That's right. Never. And I'm not lyin' now," Dean took a step up, encouraged when Sam just stared at him, confused. "You're tired and your head's not working right. You need to sleep."

At that, Sam shook his head violently. "No!" He swallowed back the sudden need to cry. "I can't!" Looking down into the panic room, he could see a neatly made cot and a wave of desire swept over him at the sight. Sleep - lovely, dreamless, empty sleep.

No.

Sam tried to focus, tried to think. "Dean, I can't sleep. He's waiting for me."

"Baby, you'll be safe in there. Don't you see all the protections? The sigils? Iron and salt! There's no way he can get to you in there."

Sam just stared at him indecisively.

Dean pulled out the big guns. "Listen, kid, I'm tired. I need to get some rest, too. I'll stay with you. If you have a nightmare, I'll wake you up."

Sam's lips trembled. "Why can't we just go?" His gaze swung to Pamela. "She can't help us." He tried to get up, but lost his balance and fell back down onto on his butt, drawing a startled hiss out of Dean, who sprang up the steps and knelt down, staring intently into his brother's face.

"Listen to me." Dean shook Sam by the shoulders, gently. "You listening?"

Trembling, Sam nodded. "Yeah."

"Do you trust me?"

Sam's breath caught in his throat. He started to look away, back toward Pamela, but Dean caught his chin and forced his gaze back. "Do you trust me?"

"You're gonna make me go in that room if I say yes!" Sam cried out despairingly. A tear slipped down his cheek.

"I'm not gonna force you to do anything," Dean promised. "But come on, kiddo! You don't get some sleep soon, you're gonna lose your looks and I'm gonna trade you in on a younger model!" He sank down on the steps next to his brother with a smile that almost managed to be teasing.

Sam tried to smile back, but his eyes kept skittering to Pamela, who was watching from below with calm, concerned eyes. "Dean," he whispered. "We don't know her."

"That's true," Dean agreed, eyes intent on Sam's, "but we know Bobby, right? And we trust him. You trust him?"

Sam nodded.

"So if Bobby says that Pam's okay, maybe we could give her the benefit of the doubt, huh?" Dean tilted his head to the side, gave Sam another half-smile. "What do you say? For Bobby?" A slight pause. "For me?"

Sam looked down at Pamela again. Then his eyes swung back to Dean's and fixed there. "Okay," he said in a low, defeated voice. He let Dean help him up and guide him back down the steps.

At the bottom, Sam staggered and fell against his brother. Dean grabbed him, held him up. "Sammy?"

"Dean," Sam whispered brokenly. "I can't - I'm so tired. Please. I'm so -" With a half-sob he buried his face against Dean's chest.

Without a word, Dean picked Sam up and headed for the panic room.

Pam stopped him at the door. "Hold on." She reached out to Sam's head and Dean shifted his brother away from her.

"What the hell are you doing?" he snapped.

"I want to make sure he's alone in there," she said, calm eyes firmly on his.

Dean blanched. He didn't fight her when she reached out again and touched Sam's head. Her gaze unfocused and she was still for a long moment. Then she came back to herself and stepped aside. "Bring him in."

With a sigh of relief Dean carried Sam's unconscious body past her and into the panic room and laid him down on the cot. He gently pulled off his brother's boots and jacket, covered him with the thick quilt that lay folded at the foot of the cot and knelt beside him, staring into his peaceful face.

Sleeping. Sam was sleeping.

At last.

Yes.

And, if this room was all Pam said it was, if she was all Bobby said she was, he'd stay that way for a while, with no visiting dickheads to disturb him.

Dean got to his feet, turned and saw Pamela at the door with a strange, introspective look on her face, which vanished as soon as she saw him looking at her.

The two stepped into the outer basement, so as not to disturb Sam's slumber.

"You going to sleep?" she asked.

Dean shook his head wearily. "I'll stay up for a little while, make sure he stays down."

About to ask if he wanted to go upstairs and finish eating, Pamela changed gears. "I'm going to bring your plate downstairs. You'll sleep better on a full stomach."

"You don't have to bother," Dean said halfheartedly.

"If it were a bother, I wouldn't do it," Pam said, nudging him back toward toward the panic room and his brother. "I'll be back in just a minute. Oh, by the way, inside, the door in the corner leads to a bathroom. It's got a shower, if you two want to use it later."

Dean sighed. "Pam – I know I haven't said this yet. Thank you."

She shrugged, smiled. "Any friend of Bobby's . . . "

OOO

Dean finished his food this time.

He and Pamela sat just outside the panic room door while he ate, so he could keep an eye on his brother.

Sam slept through it all.

"What did Bobby tell you?" Dean asked, a little nervously.

"He only said that Sam needs help keeping something supernatural out of his head. He didn't tell me exactly what. But now, seeing him – " Pam hesitated – "feeling him, I've got a pretty good idea what's going on."

"The last week or so, it's been getting worse," Dean admitted. "Especially the last couple days. Last night," - he swallowed hard at the memory of Sam's terror – "I don't know what happened, but it was bad enough Sam won't talk about it."

"I haven't had a lot of personal experience with – them," Pam cautioned him. "Up to now, it's been mostly research and whatever I could pick up from other people. But from what I know, the protections I've got here – " she motioned around the room – "should keep him out."

"Sam can't stay in here forever."

"No, he can't. But I've got some ideas about that, too."

"Ideas?" Dean could hear the suspicion in his voice, but couldn't help it.

Pam seemed to understand. She gave him a wry smile. "There's not a lot out there on these bastards, not verifiable, at least. I'll do my best."

Dean nodded, couldn't stop the yawn that practically split his face in the next instant.

Pam nodded to the second cot. "You should get some rest."

Dean yawned again and nodded. "I'm beat," he admitted, rising.

She watched as he kicked his boots off and dropped his jacket to the floor. Ignoring the second cot, he pulled back the quilt and lay down beside Sam,

"Shall I leave a light on?" Pam gestured toward the lamp sitting on a small table next to the cot.

"Probably a good idea."

She turned the lamp on and then switched off the overhead bulb.

"Pam?"

Halfway out the door, she paused, looking back. "Yeah?"

"Thanks," Dean said with sincerity. "I mean it."

"My pleasure, Dean. " She smiled, eyes crinkling with humor. "And not just for Bobby's sake. For you two as well. Get some sleep, okay?"

As Pam closed the door, Dean curled up around Sam, pulling the quilt up over them both. Sam started to stir awake and Dean shushed him. "It's okay, baby," he whispered. "I gotcha. Sleep."

With a low murmur, Sam turned into his brother's arms and snuggled in. After a few minutes, he moved back into deeper, more peaceful sleep.

Soon after, Dean followed.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Can't believe how long it's been since I updated this fic. For those who follow it, my sincere apologies. I'm already halfway into the next chapter, so it won't be as long before the next update. Hope you like how this is going.