Promises

They stayed at the Roadhouse for five days, after which time Dean had announced that if he didn't get to kill something soon, he was going to lose his sanity. No one questioned him on that. In the five days since they'd arrived, bringing John with them, Dean had gotten into two physical fights with his father, three shouting matches, and every other word Dean said to the man was either dripping with sarcasm, or specifically designed to piss him off.

On the sixth day, Sam sat across from John, a map and several news articles in front of them. "So, there's a man in Sacramento that shot himself in the head three times. Apparently, it's not the first violent, unexplainable suicide, either. This was the fifth one in the past five years, all men."

John looked over the printed articles, "You put this together, Sam?"

"No, Dean did. He's practically got a sixth sense for the supernatural."

"Really?"

Dean gave a huffed laugh from where he was sitting next to Sam, his arms crossed over his chest. "Yeah, Dad, looks like being a freak kind of runs in the family."

Sam cringed, but tried to ignore the comment. Honestly, Dean had already said worse than that this morning. "So, we're about a day's drive from there. If we head out now, we can make it just after sunrise tomorrow morning."

John looked at the map. "We taking 80 all the way in?"

"We were thinking 80 to 76, then switch to 70 in Denver, 15 up to 50 and 50 puts us back on 80 about thirty minutes outside of Sacramento. It'll shave a few hours off the drive."

"Not bad."

"That's Dean's work. I'm not much use until we're in the thick of things. Dean's the one that finds the job and gets us there."

"Yeah, who'd have thought that I had brains?"

Sam grabbed Dean's knee under the table, pinching it painfully and making him jump slightly. John looked between the two of them. "So, what is it that you do, Sam?"

"I'm research boy and back up. Not much good until we get there."

Dean looked at Sam sideways and batted his eyelashes playfully. "Oh, Sammy baby, you're good for a lot of things before we get there."

John's face went that particular shade of red that was an interesting mix of embarrassment and anger. When Ellen or Jo were around, Dean was on his best behavior where Sam and his relationship was concerned, but the moment they were left alone with their father, Dean seemed to take particular delight in making the old man as uncomfortable as possible.

Note, the sausage incident. It had started as an innocent breakfast between the three of them, that moved into a display of exactly how talented Dean's mouth was, which turned into a yelling match in where John had been arguing "appropriate" and Dean had been arguing "fuck appropriate, it's your fucking fault, anyway." Then John had yelled, "I didn't tell you to become a whore!" which had ended with Dean's fist in John's face and John's fist in Dean's stomach and the two of them rolling around the kitchen until Ellen and Sam had finally managed to pull them apart.

Sam frowned at Dean and pushed the map over to his brother. "I'm going to load the car." As expected, Dean followed him, leaving John at the table alone. Sam had done most of the packing that morning, because it had been an easy way to ensure that they didn't leave the room until well after their dad was done eating. It wasn't going to be easy once they were on the job, though. They'd be forced to spend more time together and if Dean couldn't manage to get himself under control, then that was just begging for disaster.

"Stop pouting."

Sam looked over at Dean, who was sitting on the end of the bed. "I'm not pouting, I'm annoyed." He zipped up his bag and shoved it aside, sitting next to Dean. "If you keep acting like this, it isn't going to work."

Dean scowled at his knees. "Maybe I don't want it to work."

"Dean." Sam waited until Dean looked at him and that was going to make it harder. While Dean may have been able to hide it when others were around, it was just the two of them in here, door closed, and the hurt in those eyes was easy to read. "I know it's not easy, but it's safer this way and you've seen all the research he's done. Staying with him, we've got half a chance of catching this bastard and ending it."

Dean sighed, leaning his head back against the wall. "This isn't going to end for me, Sam. I'm not going to stop hunting just because we kill the biggest bad. Hunting's all I know, Sam, it's all I'm good for."

Sam couldn't hold back the grin that made the corners of his mouth twitch upward. "To quote a certain someone, 'baby, you're good for a lot of things.'" Dean hit his arm and Sam retaliated by grabbed the back of his brother's neck and kissing him, hard, drawing it out until he had to breathe. "We'll worry about the future when it gets here, okay? Right now, there's something out there that wants you dead and me... well, we don't really know what it wants from me, but whatever it is, it's not getting it. If we have to stick with Dad to keep safe, then that's what we do and you will stop trying to bait him."

"I can't help it. When he's around I feel like I can't breathe."

"I know." Sam pulled Dean forward, wrapping his arms around him. "It'll get better, Dean, I promise."

Dean laughed a little. "Rules, Sammy, you're always forgetting the rules. It's barely dawn."

Sam tightened his grip protectively, but didn't response.

Ellen watched John and Dean glare at each other as they walked to their respective cars and Sam couldn't help but feel that this was going to be a very long eighteen hours. She gave Sam a long look, "You sure this is a good idea?"

Sam shrugged, wishing he had a better answer. "I don't know, maybe not. If it looks like they're getting ready to kill each other, I'll drag Dean home."

"You do that." He gave her a quick kiss on the cheek before sliding into the all-too familiar passenger side of the Impala.

That had been only four hours ago and he was starting to think that them killing each other wasn't as ridiculous an idea as it had sounded back at the Roadhouse. Dean's eyes were glaring hard at the taillights in front of them as he spoke into the phone, his voice firm and raised just above normal, "No, for the last time, I'm not stopping. Then pull over and catch up with us later. Look, this isn't up for discussion, old man."

That was it, Sam reached over and grabbed the phone from Dean, cutting his father off in mid-rant about how he was in better shape than most twenty-year-olds. "Dad! What's going on?"

"Your brother is refusing to pull over and get gas."

"And you can't do that without us because?"

"For one, it's not a good idea for us to separate and for another, I know for a fact that gas guzzler gets about the same mileage as my truck."

Sam looked over and, sure enough, the needle was hovering over empty. He nudged Dean and gave him a look that clearly read, 'What the fuck?' motioning towards the gauge. Dean just shook his head and nodded to a sign that they were passing. Proctor, 5 miles. Proctor? What was in... oh.

"Dad, you go ahead, I'll talk to Dean, but if we don't stop, give me a call as you're pulling out." He hung up before John could argue and turned to Dean. "We need gas, Dean."

"No."

"You don't even have to get out of the car."

"Sam..."

"I know, but we've driven this stretch maybe ten time and you know as well as I do that there isn't another gas station for twenty minutes outside of Proctor and you're not going to make twenty minutes."

With a curse, Dean put on his signal and got into the right lane, preparing to exit. "I'm not getting out of the damn car."

Sam didn't say 'that's fine,' because when Dean got edgy like this, the less talking the better. No chick flick moments and any talking about why Dean didn't want to stop in Proctor was definitely going to qualify as a 'chick flick moment.'

John pulled into the little Conoco and Dean followed after him. He turned the car off while Sam filled it up, but didn't release his white-knuckled grip on the steering wheel. John parked on the other side of the pump and Sam tried to act nonchalant, but it was hard when he could see the motel across the freeway and the bar/diner next to it, looking not nearly as ominous as it had back then, which was somehow worse.

"Sam, you want to tell me what's going on?"

He looked over at John and tried to think of a way to explain things without going into unnecessary detail. It was a damn good thing Dean's door was shut and that John had chosen to speak in a lowered tone, because just that question could have led to another outburst and the last thing they needed was to get in trouble with the police and have to spend even more time here.

"We got ourselves stranded here for about a week."

"And"

"And... it was a week stuck in a town where Dean couldn't scam cash and we needed money for a hotel and to get the car fixed up. Look, Dean's usually pretty good with these kinds of things, there are very few places he won't stop - Rachael, Nevada; Vallera, Texas; and Proctor, Colorado. That's it and considering the kinds of shit he had to do, that's not that bad."

"What happened in Vallera and Rachael?"

"Vallera's where I got taken by the vampires."

"Rachael?"

Sam felt the hairs on the back of his neck bristle. "You don't want to know."

"I wouldn't ask if..."

Dean opened his door and they both stopped talking, staring at him like guilty teenagers. "If you two ladies are done gossiping, I'd like to get back on the road."

Sam cringed at the accusation in Dean's voice, but finished filling the tank silently. Part of him wanted to tell his dad, it would serve the man right to hear all the gritty details and, honestly, how could Dean expect John to really understand if he didn't talk to him about it? Other than the few yelling matches they'd had, the topic seemed to be even more taboo than Sam and Dean's sex life - Dean didn't want to mention it, John didn't want to hear it, and it wasn't Sam's place. So, they were stuck, each only half understanding what the other was going through and at this rate, it really wasn't going to get any easier.

Dean didn't talk for thirty minutes after Proctor, but when he did, it was back to the same old shit. Sweep it under the rug, and pretend nothing had happened. Sam shifted his cramped legs and leaned against the door, taking in his brother's serious profile. "So, what are you thinking?"

"I'm thinking that it's probably a cursed object, or maybe some kind of demonic possession."

"That's not what I'm talking about."

"I know."

Sam shook his head, but decided to play along. "Cursed object makes more sense, maybe something that's getting passed around. We should check the archives when we get into town, find out if the victims have a link or something in common."

"See and that's why I keep you around. That and the blow jobs." When Sam raised an eyebrow, Dean smirked, "That was a request by the way."

Rolling his eyes, Sam turned the music up and leaned back in his seat. This was definitely going to be a long drive.

They rolled into Sacramento just before dawn and got a motel room. Dean said that they should catch some sleep and get the investigation started first thing in the afternoon. Sam would have argued that, but he hadn't been able to sleep very much in the car with Dean's music blaring and he was stiff and sore from sitting in the same position for seventeen hours.

However, sleep wasn't the only thing on Dean's mind. No, top priority went to fulfilling his promise to make Sam scream and, much to Sam's eternal shame, it turned out that Dean was right. Apparently, there was a hell of lot more to sex than mutual masturbation and blow jobs and, apparently, Sam really, really liked the rest of it. Liked it enough that when he sat down to eat lunch several hours later, John gave him a cold, calculating look that said he knew exactly why Sam was walking a little more stiffly that afternoon than usual and it had nothing to do with the car ride.

Dean grinned across the table at John and picked up his drink, sucking at the straw suggestively. "Sleep well, Dad?"

John frowned, but managed to reign in his temper. As much as Sam wanted to be thankful for small favors, he didn't think it would last. They were twenty-four hours overdue for a fist fight. He just hoped he managed to get some food down before it started.

Shifting uncomfortably in his seat, Sam took a packet of crackers. "So, we were thinking about hitting up the old archives first to see if we can find a link between the victims."

"Already did that." Sam looked up at his dad, questioningly. "Some of us couldn't sleep."

Dean chuckled, to which Sam promptly stepped on his foot. "What did you find?"

"The victims were related. Kevin Aimons was Carl Richardson's son-in-law, who was Mark Braynard's step-father, who was Toby Braynard's younger brother, who was Clark Kingstone's cousin by marriage. So if we're thinking cursed object, then whatever it is, they're keeping it in the family." Dean chuckled again and managed to dodge Sam's foot this time.

Sam set his menu down and fought the urge the shift in his seat again. It really wasn't going to help, anyway. "Okay, well, Kevin Aimons had a wife, right, Lily? Let's go talk to her and see what she can tell us."

The waitress came over to take their orders - coffee all around, eggs and toast for Sam, Dean wanted sausage and Sam kicked him in the shins this time, telling the waitress to make that bacon, please. If they wanted to fight, he'd let them, but what he wasn't going to allow, was another screaming match over Dean's prostitution in the middle of a Denny's.

They ate silently, though Sam did notice that John hardly touched anything on his plate and neither did Dean, who was looking far too pleased with himself for it to be genuine. John paid for the meal, or, to be more precise, Frederick Gray paid for the meal, after which a quick call to directory assistance got them Lily Aimons' home address.

Dean and Sam had suits, all John had was slightly less wrinkled jeans and a button up that had seen better days. So, since the article had said that Kevin worked for a private law firm, Dean and Sam decided that it was probably better for them to go question Lily, and John could flash his fake badge and get into county records as an off-duty investigator to see what he could dig up.

Of course, it wasn't the best arrangement. Dean hated the suits and he fussed the entire time, right up until the door to the apartment opened, revealing a petite blonde with large, blue eyes, wearing only an oversized t-shirt. Instantly, Dean's sneer melted into a winning smile.

"Mrs. Aimons? I'm Dean Rodgers and this is my associate, Clive." Sam fought the urge to throw him the 'I hate you' look. That was the last time he let Dean introduce them. "We worked with your husband and we thought we'd stop by and offer our condolences."

She looked confused for a moment, but nodded and moved aside, opening the door. "Of course, come in." They stepped through the door. "I'm sorry, what did you say your names were?"

"Dean and Clive."

"Right, and you worked with my husband?"

Dean nodded, "Yes, ma'am."

Her eyes scanned their suits and she was looking confused again. "You're janitors?"

Sam stepped in, seeing Dean falter, "No, but we worked in the same building. Saw him around a lot."

"Oh." She closed the door and motioned to the couch. "You must work late hours. Kevin didn't even start until eight."

Dean sat on the edge of the sofa nearest her, "Yeah, we're just raking in the overtime. We were really sorry to hear about Kevin. They said you were there when it happened?"

Lily nodded gravely, "Yes, we were having a fight and... I guess I just never realized how unhappy he was."

Sam scooted forward, putting on his best sympathy face. Tag teaming a grieving widow wasn't exactly high on Sam's list of 'things he was proud of,' but it worked well enough. "Lily, did he act strange before he died?"

"Strange?"

"Like, did he talk to himself, or say that he was seeing things?"

"No, of course not. Why?"

Dean made a subtle gesture with his hand, a specific sweep of a thumb across the back of his hand that told Sam Dean thought he should investigate the place. Sam gave his puppy dog eyes, "No reason, I didn't mean to pry. Do you have a restroom I could use?"

"Down the hall to the right."

Sam stood up, leaving Dean to charm her while he disappeared into the hall. He opened and shut the bathroom door just loudly enough to be heard and snuck forward into the bedroom. The bed was unmade and the bedside table had scraps of paper and mail covering it and spilling onto the floor. The dresser next to the door had several picture on it, all of them face down.

He picked one up carefully. Wedding picture - according to the article, he'd only been married two years. A heart shaped box on the bedside table caught his attention and he shifted the mail carefully to the side, opening it. A small silver ring sat inside it, newly polished and shining, a symbol carved into it in dark relief. It looked... strange. Not quite right. Just looking at it made him feel uneasy.

Rummaging around on the table, he found a scrap of paper and a pencil and copied down the symbol before replacing the ring. Quietly, he snuck back through the hall and into the bathroom, where he flushed the toilet and ran the sink for a minute before returning to the living room... to find Mrs. Aimons three little inches from sitting on Dean's lap.

What the fuck?!

Sam cleared his throat, "We'd better be going."

At least she had the courtesy to blush. God, her husband was only three weeks in the grave!

"I'll call you." Dean winked at her and slipped his hand discreetly into his pocket. Sam heard the familiar sound of paper crinkling. Tramp!

She nodded and walked them to the door, winking at Dean as she shut and locked it behind them. "Dude, what the fuck was that?"

"Well, let's just say our dear Mrs. Aimon's isn't exactly grieving."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"He was cheating on her. She found out a few days before he offed himself. According to her, they were trying to work it out, but she didn't really think it was going anywhere."

Now that he thought about it, the room had been seriously lacking in the usual mourning signs. No tissues, no sleeping pills, all the pictures had been turned face down so she didn't have to look at them... So, no love lost then. Still, "Did you have to take her number?"

"Dude, come on, it's been months since I've added to my collection. Last time was... wait..."

"Robin, waitress in Indiana."

"That's right, the big breasted brunette that was wearing those shorts that rode up her..."

"Dean!"

Dean rolled his eyes, but he had that twinkle in them that said he was having fun, which almost made it okay. Almost, because Sam knew that when this sort of thing started up again, there was always a reason for it. Usually it was because there were other hunters around and Dean was trying to fit in, be 'one of the boys' as it were. Sam never discouraged it, because they were always hiding their relationship anyway and Dean flirting with women only helped that. Now, though... he'd bet anything this had to do with Dad, though he'd be damned if he knew how.

"Come on, let's get back to the motel."

"Oh, god, Dean."

Dean lifted his mouth until just the head of Sam's cock was pressed between his lips. Sam gripped the headboard tighter as the fingers in his ass twisted, brushing against...

"Boys, are you in there?!"

Sam dropped his hand and bit it to keep from crying out as Dean chose that moment to deep throat him. The tingle that had been building in his balls shot straight to his cock. He whimpered against the pain in his hand and the pleasure of Dean's throat milking the cum from him.

"Oh god, oh god, oh god..." It was muffled by his hand and the knocking on the door, but Dean apparently understood it well enough, because he lifted his head, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

"Not god, little brother, just me."

Sam swatted at Dean, and forced his shaky legs to move. Where the hell had Dean thrown his pants?

"Boys?!"

"In a minute!"

Dean lay back on the bed, shirtless, wearing only his jeans. Sam eyed the obvious bulge in Dean's jeans, "Would you mind?" Dean shrugged, but raised his knee and adjusted himself so it couldn't be seen from the door.

Pulling his button up on, Sam opened the door with a serious expression that he hoped would belay every other goddamned sign that they'd been doing something other than research. It had started as research. It had started with Sam on the laptop, looking for details on the other victims in a national database that wouldn't be available to their father in the local archives. It had quickly declined, however, when Dean started rubbing him from behind, moving his arms under Sam's shirts and into his pants. From there, it had been a short five minutes to getting Sam undressed and sprawled on the bed, long legs hooked over Dean's shoulders and Dean's oh-so-talented mouth latched onto his cock.

John's eyes traveled over him in a speculative sort of way and Sam felt his face turning redder. He knew what he looked like with that healthy after-sex flush on his cheeks, his hair slick with sweat at the temples, his shirt open to his similarly sweaty chest and his jeans slung low and unbelted on his hips. He might have tried to pass it off with, 'I was exercising' except Dean was grinning like a goddamned Cheshire cat from the bed.

"Is that all you boys do?"

"No." Really, talking about sex with your dad was embarrassing enough, but talking about the sex you're having with your brother? So, not happening. "What did you find?"

"Can I come in?"

"No, I'll come out. Dean, go take a shower." Sam stepped outside, ignoring Dean's sour look. Usually, Sam would have felt guilty about leaving Dean unsatisfied, but if he were honest with himself, he wasn't feeling giving at the moment. He was mad at John, too, but he was getting sick and tired of Dean dragging him into the display he was making of himself. If Dean wanted revenge, fine, but he didn't have to use Sam to get it. "So, what did you find?"

John waited until the door was firmly shut and Sam was buttoning up his shirt to answer. "Not much, but I did find local rumors that Toby Braynard was having some kind of fight with his brother when Mark died. Something pretty bad, too. Bad enough that even though they had three witnesses, they still felt uneasy calling it suicide."

"Hm, Lily said her and Kevin were fighting. She found out he was cheating on her a few days before he committed suicide."

"Okay, so maybe that's the connection."

Sam shook his head, "I don't know. Maybe. Carl Richardson was the one before Kevin, right?" John nodded. "Okay, let's check and see if we can dig up any old friends, see what was going on with Carl before he took a dive."

Mr. Richardson wasn't fighting with anyone in particular, but he'd had plenty of enemies, his own son-in-law being one of them. According to one of the boys that worked in Richardson's Auto Shop, Carl had tried to put his foot down when his daughter had announced she was marrying her trailer trash boyfriend. Apparently, he didn't think the 'good-for-nothing floor sweeping nigger' was fit for his baby girl.

Dean looked over the list again. Seven people with enough reason to push the bigoted asshole off the bridge, but he hadn't been pushed. Now they just needed to figure out why. He looked over at Sam, scrolling through articles and gossip on his laptop with John leaning over him, making suggestions and pointing out anything that caught his eye.

They looked... not comfortable, but maybe at ease with each other. Like they were okay with the close proximity and that made Dean's blood boil. He had to get out of there. "I'm going to go visit Lily again."

"Why?" He caught the jealousy in Sam's tone, but ignored it. If Sam wanted to play nice with John, fine, but Dean didn't have to sit and watch.

"Maybe Kevin told her something about Daddy dearest that we haven't been able to find in the records."

John nodded his approval and Dean felt a sudden rush of inexplicable pride in himself. Fuck, he really did have to get out.

Sam didn't look so convinced. "Be careful. Call in an hour."

"You're starting to sound like Ellen." Dean dodged the empty diet Coke can that Sam threw at his head and shut the door behind him.

Sam waited until he heard the grind of the Impala starting up and the rattle of it driving out of the uneven motel parking lot. He didn't realize John was watching him until he said, "You think it's a mistake letting him go?"

"Maybe." Sam took a deep breath and looked back at his laptop. "But Dean's a big boy, he can take care of himself. Besides, if he doesn't check in, I'll stir up trouble with Ellen."

John tensed up a little. "She really cares about you boys."

Sam shrugged, still scrolling through the hits to his search, scanning titles and summaries for anything promising. "Why shouldn't she? She practically raised us."

There was something he wasn't telling him, something in the way he stayed tense, but if there was something between Ellen and John, Sam would much rather hear it from Ellen. A promising article caught his attention and he clicked on it. No, that wasn't it. He was running out of options.

He sat back and chewed his lip. Maybe... maybe it wasn't Carl or Kevin. Something about Lily bugged him, something more than her giving her number to Dean, or her obvious lack of mourning. He typed in Lily Aimons then backspaced, changing it to Lily Robinson.

"So, this thing with you and Dean. That just about sex or... something else?"

Sam didn't move, but he could feel the heat building in his face. "Um, something else."

"You don't sound so sure about that."

Closing his eyes, Sam took several deep breathes before opening them again and focusing on his computer screen. "If this is about last night and this morning, we're both consenting adults. Leave it."

"Sammy, I'm only worried about you."

Now Sam did look up, his face set firmly. "It's Sam and don't bother worrying about me. I'm the one that wanted this in the first place. So, if you want to worry about someone, worry about Dean."

John didn't say anything to that and Sam went back to the computer. "Here's something. Lily Robinson, daughter of Marian Robinson, a local voodoo woman who was found murdered in her home ten years ago." There was a picture of Marian next to the article. Not a pretty woman, Lily must have taken after her father...

Something caught his attention and he clicked on the picture to enlarge it. "There."

John stepped forward again. "What there?"

Sam pulled the paper out of his back pocket and held it up to the monitor. "This was on a ring I found in Lily's place, same symbol as the necklace her mother's wearing."

"You think Lily has something to do with this?"

"It fits. Lily's father objects to her getting married, he jumps off an overpass in front of oncoming traffic. Her husband cheats on her, he shoots himself. Kind of a big coincidence."

"That doesn't explain the others, though." Sam looked at the symbols and then shut his laptop, grabbing his leather bag from the floor. "Where are you going?"

"We are going to the library." Sam shoved his computer in the bag and pulled it over his shoulder. "I want to find out what this means."

Dean felt guilty. Really, really guilty. He also felt really, really good. It had been over a year since he'd been in this position. Lily hadn't felt much like talking when he'd gotten there. In fact, she'd offered him a drink and he'd barely gotten out "no thanks" before she jumped him, pulling him down onto the couch on top of her. Part of Dean wanted to protest, but the other part - the part currently fondling her breast and sucking on her neck - thought this was a great idea. Nothing made a girl more talkative than good sex.

She bent one of her legs over his and arched into him, pressing her slim hips up against his groin. He moved his hand from her breast and pushed it into the waist of her pants, feeling the tops of her cotton underwear against his fingertips...

And he couldn't do it. It wasn't supposed to be her under him, it was supposed to be Sam, it was always supposed to be Sam, even before he knew Sam wanted it, before he realized he wanted it. Sam was the only one he trusted, the only one he could let his guard down with. Every girl he'd been with had been an act, but not Sam, Sam was the real thing. This was just a cheap substitute.

Sitting up, he cursed and glowered at the ground while Lily watched him, confused and looking more than a little uncomfortable. "Dean?"

He raked his fingers through his hair before throwing her an apologetic smile. "I'm sorry."

"Oh." She sat up, pulling her shirt back down and the look on her face was just close enough to ashamed of herself that Dean flinched.

"It's not you, okay? I just... I've already got someone and I thought this was a good idea and you're really attractive, but apparently..." He couldn't help but laugh a little, "Apparently, I'm gay."

She looked at him questioningly, "You're partner? What was his name, Clive?"

Dean nodded and sighed a little in relief, because her voice wasn't so much upset as embarassed. "Yeah, he and I are... kind of a thing."

Lily nodded and there was that awkward moment where neither of them said anything, then, "He's lucky."

That made Dean laugh, because he was the lucky one, not that he'd ever say that out loud.

"Do you want that drink now?" She was heading towards the kitchen and he started to shake his head, but, what the hell?

"What have you got?"

Twenty minutes later, Dean was rethinking the whole 'getting drunk' thing. It had sounded like a good idea. She was a stranger, so anything he said wasn't going to get back to Sam, or John, or, god forbid, one of the other hunters, but, honestly, she didn't need to know this much.

"So he just left you for no reason?"

Dean nodded into his glass, his fourth one actually. "Yup, picked up and left. He says it was because he was protecting us, but you know there are only so many ways a fifteen year old with no papers can make money and none of them are pretty."

Her brows came together for a moment and then shot up. "Oh!"

"Yeah, that shit's not easy to forgive, you know?"

"I can imagine."

"It's like he just wants me to roll over and say 'it's okay, Dad, I understand,' except I don't and... and..." he looked at the clear concoction in the half empty glass, "what's in this, anyway?"

Lily giggled, sipping her own. How many had she had? Must not have been much, because she seemed perfectly in control. "Enough tranquilizer to knock out an elephant."

"What?" Had she just said tranquilizer?

"Vodka, lots of it. So, you were saying?"

"Hm? Oh, no, that's about it, really. He disappears, fucks up my life, reappears and now everything's even more fucked up. Sums it up all nice and neat."

"What about your partner, Sam?"

Sam... he should probably give Sam a call soon. Dean gulped down the rest of the drink, noting that the room was starting to tilt. He really would have to find out what was in this.

"Dean?"

"Huh?"

"How does your partner feel about this?"

"Sam... I should call him." He closed his eyes to get his head straight and when he opened them again, the room was still swimming. Something wasn't right. "Wha...?"

He looked over at Lily, but she was just watching him. She looked... patient, like she was waiting for something and that's when it hit him. She'd said Sam. He stood up, or, more to the point, tried to stand, but he had to grab the arm of the sofa to keep his legs from buckling under him.

"Wha'd you do?"

She smiled, as pretty and pleasant as she had the day before, nothing giving away that she'd done anything at all. He looked at the door, but she didn't move to stop him. No fucking wonder, because his legs were going numb.

"Just a little something to help you relax. Don't worry, it'll only last a few hours, but that's more than enough time."

"Ti' t' wha'?" Oh perfect, his tongue wasn't working. Dean slid to the floor as the room pitched sideways and she stood up then, but only to walk around and kneel next to him.

"Sh. You'll see."

He didn't want to see. He wanted... he needed... but his vision was going black around the edges and she was dragging him down so his head was in her lap. He didn't even have the strength to flinch as she stroked the side of his face while he slipped into unconsciousness.

"Okay, so apparently this is a symbol called a Veve and it's from the African practice of Vodoun, a precursor to Voodoo." Sam spread out the copies he'd made on the table and John picked up his coffee to make more room. "I couldn't find much on Vodoun and most of it was on about how it was misunderstood and the persecution of the slaves in France, not a whole lot on the hows and whys. However, I did manage to find this."

He pushed one of the pages forward. "This is the symbol for Ayizan. Ayizan is kind of motherly, she protects places and she punishes people for doing wrong. She's also a patron of the priesthood, female counterpart to a god called Loco. Now traditionally the symbol doesn't have any power unless it drawn on earth. Putting in on jewelry would be merely symbolic. So, I'm thinking Marian was a priestess..."

"...and she passed it onto her daughter." John finished. "Still doesn't make Lily a killer."

Sam shook his head, gathering the papers and shoving them in his bag. "No, it doesn't, but there was something about her, something... not right."

"You'll need to be more specific than that."

"Look, just trust me on this, okay? Something isn't right and it has to do with Lily Aimons. Let's go talk around, see what we can find out about her and her mother." He shouldered his bag, then pulled his cell out of the front pocket and looked at it, frowning. It had been almost two hours since Dean had gone to Lily's. He'd said to call in an hour, but when Dean was in one of his moods, there was no telling when he'd decide Sam had waited long enough. Chances were, he was already waiting for them in the motel room, sulking. Still...

"Dad, did Dean call you?" God, it felt weird saying 'Dad.'

John shook his head, leading the way to his truck. "No, but I'm sure he's fine."

Sam wanted to believe that, he really did, but Dean and he never split up unless it was absolutely necessary and even then things tended to go badly on one end or the other. Like when they'd gone to Iowa or the time they'd been investigating that creepy ass scarecrow and he'd let Dean go to the college alone while he kept an eye out for any other potential victims. Yeah, splitting up always worked so fucking well in the past.

Damnit. He stopped outside the truck and dialed Dean's number, gripping the strap of his bag to keep from tapping his foot impatiently on the ground as the phone rang. And rang. And rang. Until, 'Leave a message.'

He'd never gotten Dean's answering service before and quite frankly, before the worry and fear set in, his only thought was, 'That's abrupt. Kind of rude, actually.' Then he realized that Dean hadn't picked up. Dean always picked up for Sam, no matter how annoyed he was with him.

John looked up and saw Sam, standing too still and stiff beside the truck. "Sam, what's wrong?"

"Dean didn't pick up."

There was a tremor in Sam's voice and he hadn't looked up from his phone. John got a sinking feeling he wasn't going to like what that meant.

Dean's mouth was stuffed with cotton. He tried to move his head, but it throbbed painfully and he groaned into the cotton. No, not cotton, that was his tongue, only it felt too big and his eyes felt like they'd been glued shut, but he managed to pry them open, only to find himself staring into darkness.

Where the hell was he and how had he gotten there? Slowly, his memory came back to him and he groaned again, this time at his own stupidity. Great, just fucking great.

His hands were stretched out on either side of him and he pulled at them only to find that they were tied in place and they weren't the only thing, his feet were stretched out and lashed, ankles together. You know what, fine, this day officially sucks. He thrashed around for a minute, hoping that what they were tied to would give, but no such luck. Goddamn, fucking bitch! Why couldn't she have tied his hand behind him? At least then he'd have half a chance at getting them undone.

He rolled himself to one side, yanking his right arm so taught it hurt, but giving his left arm some slack. Feeling around the roped with his fingers, he tried to find the knot. Nothing doing, she'd tied it off at the back of his hand, too tightly to twist it around. Giving up, he relaxed on his back and panted.

His hip vibrated and he almost laughed in relief as the sound of Deep Purple filled wherever the hell he was. ...except that he couldn't get to his fucking phone with his fucking hands and feet tied out like he was being fucking crucified! That was it!

"Hey!" He didn't get a response, but his voice didn't echo either, and somehow that was a comfort. "Hey, bitch!"

Nothing - not a sound, not a flash of light, just a whole lot of nothing. He laid his head back against the ground and took a deep, earthy breath. Okay, it was dark and it smelled like rock and dirt, so he was probably in a cave. That was almost good to know, except that he was just familiar enough with the geography of California to know there weren't that many cave systems near Sacramento.

His phone stopped ringing and he put his head down on the ground. He was so fucked.

Sam stood in front of Lily's apartment and knocked firmly. Dad was waiting by the truck, obviously irritated that they'd taken this detour. He'd argued that if Sam really thought she'd kidnapped Dean, then it was more important that they gather information about her, because she wasn't going to just open the door and invite Sam in.

However, that was exactly what she did. Her door opened and she smiled brightly at seeing him. "Clive, right?"

He nodded. "Yeah, look, have you seen my partner, Dean? He was supposed to have come over here earlier." She was dressed in a t-shirt and faded jeans, no blood, her hair wasn't even messed up.

Her cheeks tinted pink with a blush and she ran her fingers through her hair. "He was, but he left."

Oh, he did not like that blush, or that tone in her voice that said she was one small step from giggling. "Really? Do you mind if I come in?"

She shrugged and stepped aside, no hesitation, no looking behind her to make sure there wasn't anything out of place and as he looked around, he realized there had been no need for it. Everything was exactly the same as it had been the day before. The only changes he could find were that the sofa pillows were a little disheveled and there were two glasses sitting on the coffee table. Nothing to get excited about, nothing that indicated a struggle.

Lily watched him as he took in the apartment, patient and not in the least suspicious. So, why did she still make him feel so uneasy?

"When did he leave?"

"About... half an hour ago, maybe."

Sam nodded thoughtfully, "If he calls you, could you tell him that I'm looking for him."

"Of course."

Reluctantly, he opened the door to let himself out. She stopped him.

"Hey, Clive? I think you should know that... well, nothing happened. I mean, it almost did," there was that flush again, "but he stopped and we had some drinks and he left. That was it." Why was she telling him that? "I'm sorry, I know it's none of my business, but he told me about the two of you and you looked kind of pissed just now and I wanted to tell you there wasn't anything to be pissed about. He really loves you. Not many men can stop when they've got they're hands literally down a girl's pants."

Now that was just a slap in the face; except her expression was open and honest, like she hadn't meant anything hurtful by it. There was something there, something he was missing, he just knew it, even if he couldn't put a finger on it. "Thanks."

Her smile brightened, obviously pleased with herself, "Good luck finding him."

He looked back, but the door was already shut. That had sounded almost like a challenge. Sam walked back outside to John, who was waiting impatiently by the truck. "Well?"

"He's not there." Sam got in and waited for John to follow before continuing. "There weren't any signs of a struggle and she says he left half an hour ago after they had a few drinks - not beer." Which was bad, because Dean didn't often drink hard liquor, but when he did, it was with the sole intention of getting drunk. Of course, that was assuming she wasn't lying.

John watched Sam closely as his son chewed on his lip, obviously not believing what he'd been told. "She could be telling the truth."

Sam shook his head, "She's not. Dean would have called."

John wished he could believe that, he really did, but he'd been less than a week with his boys and he'd seen Dean do some pretty reckless things. Sam trusted him and that was good. If you were going to hunt in pairs, you needed to be able to trust your partner, but John wasn't convinced Dean was worthy of that trust.

Still, Sam wasn't likely to listen to anything John had to say on the matter. "Look, we'll question some more people, but it's almost seven and there's not much more we can do tonight."

"There's bars."

"Sam, we drove straight in from Ellen's and you got maybe four hours sleep last night, I got less. In a little while we're both going to be doing more harm than good."

John didn't know, couldn't know, because they hadn't told him that when Sam had gone missing Dean hadn't slept for nearly three days - not until they'd been safe in Bobby's truck. He didn't say that, though, because that fell under the category that Dean had dubbed 'none of John's fucking business.'

Still, Sam wasn't resting until he found out where the hell Dean was and so help him, if he actually had gotten drunk and passed out in his car somewhere, he wasn't getting laid for a week. Actually, two weeks, because Sam was already planning on holding out a week for the bastard putting his hands down some slutty girl's pants. He didn't care what kind of information she might have had, that was just plain unacceptable.

Deep Purple was playing for the twentieth time since he'd woken up. Fuck, he was never going to be able to listen to that fucking song again after this. It finally stopped after an agonizing thirty seconds and he was trying to decide what he was going to change it to, when light slowly began to filter into the room as he heard the sound of footsteps shifting gravel.

Oh, thank fucking god, it felt like he'd been in that room for days. "Hey! Hey, who's there?"

The light suddenly became blinding as someone came around the corner. He closed his eyes but that didn't stop the pain from shooting through his skull.

"I thought you'd be awake by now." Oh, great, it was the bitch. "Did you have a nice nap?"

"I've had better." Dean forced his eyes open, letting them adjust to the light. Lily was holding a Coleman flashlight, a bright smile on her face. He'd been held captive before, not with the same regularity as Sam, but once or twice and at least those people had the decency to look guilty or evil or... well, anything other than that fucking chirpy.

"I'm really sorry about this, Dean, but I couldn't take any chances with you."

"Lady, I don't know who you think I am, but..."

Her smile faltered for a moment and she knelt beside him, frowning. "Let's not do that, shall we? I'm not an idiot, Dean Winchester."

He scowled. "Okay, fine, what the hell do you want with me?"

"Oh, nothing with you really." She pulled the backpack off her shoulder and set it down, "Did you know that in the dark underworld, you boys are pretty well known. After your little visit - and by the way, Kevin didn't work nights, you really should have done more research - I made some calls and I didn't get past 'two, attractive young men' before they said, 'Winchester.'"

It really shouldn't have been flattering, knowing that he was that well known among demons. It should have been annoying, because anonymity was pretty important in his line of work, but...

"Although, it isn't so much you or your brother that they're worried about as your father." Hey! "There's a price on his head, one I intend to collect."

"What?!"

"Oh, yes, a certain yellow-eyed friend of yours has offered quite the reward if I can end the Winchester nuisance for him." What stung most about that was the fact that it had stung at all. His father had abandoned him. He shouldn't be feeling this tight chested at the idea that some bitch was going to kill him. Hell, he should be thanking her, but he couldn't. It was like someone had forced the air out of his lungs.

"Of course, getting to him is going to be tricky... Well, I thought it would be, but you just walked right into that, didn't you?"

Lily was drawing something on the ground with a stick, a symbol that he couldn't see from his angle. "Don't feel too bad, though, once you've helped me take care of your father, I have every intention of sending you to join him. I'd let your brother follow, but," she put down the stick she'd been using and crawled over to him, leaning down to whisper, "I'd get in a lot of trouble if I let anything happen to little Sammy."

She pulled back and Dean strained against the ropes binding his wrists when he saw the happy, satisfied smile on her face, like she'd just sold her last box of girl scout cookies or something. Lily kissed his cheek and leaned back, grabbing a jar from her bag before leaning over him. It was too dark to tell what it was, but when she opened it, the tang of blood invaded his nostrils.

The jar was set down next to him and she straddled his chest, taking his face in one of her hands. He tried to turn his head to the side, but she was surprisingly strong, holding him still as she dipped her thumb into the jar and mumbled something in a language that he didn't recognize as she ran it over his forehead. A tingle ran through him, something unnatural and there was a feeling like something was trying to crawl under his skin.

Lily got off him and went over to where she'd been drawing on the ground. She took the jar with her, setting it open in front of her. The murmuring continued breathily as she sat back in the circle with her eyes closed in an almost meditative pose. The mumbling stopped and as eerily silent as the cave may have been before, it suddenly had the quality of a sound proof room. Lily's eyes opened and they were solid black, not a trace of pale blue or white. Fuck.

She crawled forward with grace like a serpent. There was nothing in her face that resembled Lily anymore. Her legs straddled his hips and pressed down against him as she laid with her chest against his, running her tongue over the blood on his head.

"Punish the wicked." Her voice sounded hollow and her lips met his, making him gag as her blood-coated tongue forced its way passed his lips. His body suddenly felt drained, like he was floating in a dream. She continued her assault, filling his mouth with her tongue and the taste of blood. It was like the tongue was extending, reaching up through his throat and into his brain.

Dean screamed as everything he'd felt in the past ten years was pulled out of him; every memory, every emotion, he felt them all over again and, oh god, they hurt! Even the ones with Sam were coated in guilt. Sam was his younger brother and why was it that the one person in the world he should feel dirty having sex with, it felt right? Did that make him a bad person, or just more of a freak than he already was? Did Sam really love him, or was Dean just the one thing that had always been stable in his life? Was that Dean's fault, because he'd always encouraging Sam to keep their past a secret between only them?

She moaned above him and her pelvis pressed down against his lewdly, her mouth continuing to suffocate him while she raped his mind, forcing him to relive moments that he'd tried so hard to forget. The first time he realized that Sammy knew what he was doing and if he hadn't felt dirty before, he was filthy now. The look on Sammy's face just before Dean was raped, those green eyes too wide and frightened and Dean knew he couldn't fight off a man twice his size and the only thing he could do was tell his brother to look away. His first training session with Caleb and when the man had touched him, just to show him a hold, he'd felt sick and he'd known then that he was never going to be normal, that he was just going to have to learn to deal with it. How he'd had sex with Jo for six months and he hadn't liked it, not once, because it had felt damn good, but he'd been physically ill after every time and he couldn't break it off with her, because he'd hoped it would go away, that it would get better, even if he knew it wouldn't.

Everything, every little memory, jumbled together and replayed for the thing winding itself through his head. It flipped through them all, speeding through the ones with Sam like that wasn't what it was looking for. It slowed down at them finding John, at his realization that his father had left them, had left him, not because he was hurt, or dying or possessed, but because he'd wanted to and it didn't help that John said it was to protect them. What the hell kind of parent protects their child by leaving? The resentment and the hate, the need to hurt John in any way he could, not just physically. If Dean's relationship with Sam made the man sick, good, because Dean could use that too and it hurt Dean to use it as a weapon, the one thing that he could almost find solace in, but he didn't fucking care.

Then it stopped and he knew he was crying, could feel the wet tears on his face. Lily was staring down at him, black eyes filled with lust. She leaned down to kiss him again and he could have turned away this time, because she wasn't holding him still anymore, but he was... maybe in shock? He couldn't feel anything, inside or out, couldn't wrap his head around what she was doing.

She pulled away, reaching between them to unbutton his shirt and he tried to force himself to ask the questions he needed to know the answers to, but all he could get out was, "What...?" before his throat locked up.

"Sh." She kissed him chastely on his bloody forehead and pushed his undershirt up, kissing his chest, her fingers working the fastenings of his belt. He couldn't breathe. His body was hyper-aware and the memories were back, but they were of Sam. His Sam, sweaty and staring down at him, but that wasn't… Sam didn't get on top, he knew how uncomfortable it made Dean feel, how trapped.

He tried to ignore the hand as it wrapped around his cock, stroking it until it hardened, because Sam's hands weren't that soft, they were callused and they were bigger, but it didn't seem to matter what his body was telling him, the only thing he could see was Sam. Sam looking down at him with a relaxed smile that said everything was okay. Sam's hands on his chest. Sam's tight heat enveloping his cock and making him dig his nails into his palms to keep from moaning. Sam riding him, lifting up and down and rolling his hips and Dean was cuming, calling out Sam's name, and closing his eyes because it felt like something was being ripped out of him.

And just like that, the illusion was gone. The probe or whatever the hell it was that had tapped into his mind, evaporated and left him, staring up at Lily as she tried to catch her breath. She didn't move for several seconds and when she did, it was to lay down beside him with her head on his shoulder.

"Dean?"

He didn't move and she hovered half over him. The black was gone, replaced by normal, pale blue and her face was relaxed, smiling again, like she hadn't just violated someone on the dirty floor a cave.

"Dean, can you hear me in there?"

Dean scowled, but still didn't say anything. She sighed and put her head down again. "I've done this five times, Dean, and that... that was a rush." A finger trailed along his jaw. "You have so much pain, it's... oh, god, it made me feel like I was on fire."

"What did you do?" He would have congratulated himself on finally getting it out, but she laughed at the question, one of those lazy, post coital laughs that sounded a whole hell of a lot like Sam and that just pissed him off.

"The same thing I did to Kevin and Daddy and my brothers and Uncle Clark. Although, it's never been that intense before." Dean's scowl deepened and she laughed again. He was going to rip her head off with his bare hands. Her voice dropped into a conspiratorial whisper. "I'm a Priestess of Ayizan. Did you know that?"

One of her hands was sliding back down his abdomen towards his exposed cock and he clenched his hands harder, feeling them cramp.

"My mother taught me how to call on the spirits and harness their power. It's an unbelievable high. Of course, mother dearest always said that it was dangerous and that it should only be used for good and blah, blah, blah. I really got tired of listening to it. So, I killed her. I did it the sloppy way, though, I pinned her to the bed, slit her throat and then called the paramedics, claiming I'd woken up and found her that way. I was only thirteen, so of course they believed me."

"Then old uncle Clark got suspicious. I didn't want to kill him, I liked him, he gave me candy when I was little and a place to live after mother, but, survival of the fittest and all." She was playing with the trail of hair that led down to his crotch. His happy trial, except it wasn't so happy right now. "I couldn't just kill him, though, it had to look like an accident or something. So, one night, I'm calling the spirits and they did the most amazing thing. They snuck into their bedroom late at night put a bloody hand on my aunt's forehead and took all her anger, built up over something like thirty years of marriage and then they touched my uncle and made him see it and assert a little of their own will for justice into him, just a push to help him on his way and the next morning, he killed himself. Just like that. I didn't even have to find the body, hell, I wasn't even there."

"I'm sure you've done your research. You'll know all about Clark, and Toby and Mark and Carl. They went a little overboard with Kevin, though. Apparently, he really didn't need that much of their will to push him. Surprised the hell out of me when he just kept shooting. That's what caught your attention, right, the article about his death? Still, I suppose I should have changed my methods up a bit, but it was just so easy. Suicide with witnesses, I mean, what more could a girl ask for?"

Dean's mouth opened before he could stop it. "Candy. Flowers. Jewelry."

"Oh, witty." Her rubbed her palm over his limp cock and he bit the inside of his mouth to keep from vomiting. "Like I said before, though, it's never been this intense. Usually, I let them take my body and they search them out for me, the ones that harbor the most animosity for the intended victim. They can see it in them and I can too when they're part of me. Touch and blood is all that's really need. Put a little blood on my palm and shake their hand and I'm in business. It's a little disconcerting for them, sure, but none of them were like you, they didn't have nearly as many delicious memories as you did. It's like the difference between a handheld flashlight and a flare."

He tasted the bile in the back of his throat and bit his cheek harder, drawing blood.

"You're such a good boy. When Daddy gets here, I'm going to show him exactly why you can't forgive him and we'll see how long it takes him to turn that precious gun of his on himself."

Sam sat at a table in the back of the bar, holding his beer out at arm's length, staring at it in disgust. Despite John's insistence that they sleep, it was rounding on midnight and he had yet to go back to the motel. That wasn't entirely true, actually, their second interview was with one of the late Toby Braynard's best friends and it turned out that Toby had been saying none-to-flattering things about his step-sister a few weeks before he died and that, no, no one had seen it coming - Toby had been captain of his football team, looking at a scholarship to a good university, dating a pretty girl steady for about a year, prom just around the corner. There was just no reason for him to step in front of an oncoming train. After that, John had turned on the tracking device and they found the Impala, parked behind the motel, just out of site.

So, they hadn't gone to bed, instead they'd gone back out, looking for people who might have more information on Lily. The only problem was, Sacramento wasn't exactly a small town. This wasn't one of those places where anywhere they went they'd bump into someone who knew their suspect.

"Clive?"

Sam looked back down at his cell phone, thinking about calling Dean again, but he hadn't picked up the last forty times and unless he did, they couldn't track him with it. After this he was having one of those GPS chips put in both their phones. Of course, he realized, he was assuming Dean even had his phone on him.

"Clive?"

Whoever took him, could have taken his phone as well.

"Clive!"

He jumped as a woman's voice yelled into his ear and turned around to find himself staring at Lily Aimons. Red-brown dirt dusted her clothes, from her overly tight t-shirt and short, corduroy skirt to her black sneakers. That wasn't what bothered him, though. She was leaning close to him and he could smell something familiar on her, something other than the sweet perfume she was wearing. He could smell Dean. Maybe it was that they'd lived too long in too close quarters, but he'd know that smell anywhere and in any crowd.

"I thought that was you!" Lily smiled brightly and leaned away from him. She sat down and he glanced back at the bar, where John was still talking to someone. "So, did you have any luck finding Dean?"

"Um, no." He forced his attention back to her. "You haven't heard from him?"

"No." Lily sat back and raised an eyebrow, "Are you okay?" When he didn't answer, she shrugged, "You look upset about something."

Quickly, Sam tried to straighten his face the way Dean had always been able to, but Sam was an open book and he knew it. "Hard day. I'm worried about my partner."

"Oh." She looked at the bar quickly, as if checking for something and her smile twitched that much wider at whatever she saw. "I'd better be going. Good luck, again, let me know if I can be of any help."

Sam waited until she was half way to the door and stood up, shoving his way through the crowd to the bar and grabbed his dad by the jacket. "Come on, we have to go."

John pulled away and gave an apologetic glance at the man he was talking to. "What's wrong?"

"She's here and she's leaving and she smells like Dean." He didn't even think about how weird that last comment was until he saw the look on John's face. "Look, we just... we have to go, okay? If you want to stay here, fine, then give me the keys."

"No, we'll go together." With another nod to the man he'd been talking with, John followed Sam out the door, concerned by his youngest son's agitation. Sam had always been the thinker, which was why John and he butted heads a lot, ever since he was old enough to talk. For every order that John gave, Sam had always had a question and he would simply refuse to move until he knew the answer. There had been more than one occasion that John had to physically drag Sammy to the car, because explaining would have taken too long.

However, Sam wasn't thinking this through, or if he was, he was suffering from the same impatience that John had with him when he was a small boy. Sam looked around the parking lot as they walked towards the truck. "She's in the black Jetta by the road. It looks like she's checking her hair or something.

"Sam, has it occurred to you this could be a trap?"

"Doesn't matter, she's got Dean."

John almost argued that, but it was true. If she had his boy, he'd walk into her trap. Of course, he'd walk into it heavily armed. "Get in."

They waited until she'd pulled out and turned left, then followed. It shouldn't have been easy to follow a black car in the dead of night through a crowded city, but either it was definitely a trap, or John was just that good at tailing people. Sam couldn't really tell which and at that point he didn't care.

As soon as they were out of the city, following her at a safe distance through hilly country road, John sat back a little in his seat and took his eyes off the road just long enough to assess Sam, who was so tense on the edge of his seat it looked like he was itching to jump out the door. Actually, he probably was.

"Sam, you need to calm down." Sam looked at him sharply and then, slowly unwound himself, releasing his grip on the dash board and sitting back. John wouldn't have called him relaxed, but it was a start. "Tell me what's going on."

"She came in, said hi, she was covered in dirt and smelled like Dean and don't look at me like that. I spent a year and a half in a car with him, most of the time in various stages of un-washed. Knowing what he smells like is pretty much inevitable."

"We went through this before we left Ellen's, Sam. I'm not going to tell you that you can't be with Dean and I'm not going to pass judgment on it, either. Doesn't mean I have to like it, though. Especially with Dean shoving it in my face constantly."

"Yeah, well, he's hurt, what do you expect?" The rigid line on Sam's body had eased some with the conversation and John was relieved for that, at least. If Sam went into the fight tense, especially considering that they didn't know what they were up against, he could get hurt. He needed Sam alert to his surroundings, not so focused he couldn't see anything other than Dean.

"I expected him to act civil."

"Civil?! There's nothing civil about this entire situation. You know what, I'm beginning to think coming with you was a bad idea. All that talk about sticking together to stay alive, but is it honestly worth it if it puts Dean through this?"

The tension was back and anger on top of it. There was a fury behind Sam's words that surprised John. "When I left, Dean was the one always protecting you. When did that change?"

Sam's face went blank, not in any angry way, just in that way that said John had struck a chord. For nearly a minute, the car was silent and then Sam started laughing, little chuckles that said he'd come to some realization that he found amusing. After a few minutes, he looked back at John and he was smiling and it was the same smile that John remembered from when he was Sammy - broad and honest and contagious.

He kept his eyes off the road longer than he probably should have, considering they were following someone a half a mile up the road, but it felt almost like they were father and son again and that was too good to give up right away. Sam broke the eye contact first, looking out over the road, that smile still on his face as he answered John's question, "I guess when I realized there was something I could protect him from."

He looked back at John, his smile softening. "The only reason he does those things is to make you uncomfortable so that you won't notice how uncomfortable he is. He thinks he should be this impenetrable fortress or something."

"He always did. Ever since your mom died. I think I saw him cry maybe once."

"How often did he see you cry?" Sam had a point, John honestly couldn't think of a time when he'd cried in front of his boys.

Before he could say anything, the Jetta turned off the road.

Dean heard the footsteps and resisted the urge to yell. Sure enough, the queen bitch came around the corner. She hadn't bothered to change clothes and he wondered about that, but she didn't give him the chance to ask.

"Your brother's a very intelligent boy, Dean. They should be here any minute."

Fuck. "Don't you fucking touch them."

She knelt down next to his head. "What about Daddy?"

"Either of them." Because he'd had hours alone in this fucking cave to think about it and he was still mad, he still didn't really forgive the man, but damnit, he'd just gotten him back and he couldn't lose him again, not now.

"That's so sweet, too bad it isn't going to do any good." She pulled the bag she'd left over to her and rummaged around inside it, pulling out a length of cloth. "Open wide, Dean."

He clenched his teeth. "Without those spirits, you're just one messed-in-the-head chick. There's no way you can beat them."

She scowled and it was an ugly thing, reminded him of the psychopath from way back when. "Who said anything about doing this without the spirits."

Her fingers gripped his jaw and forced it open pulling the gag through his teeth and behind his head, tying it tightly enough to hurt. Black had seeped in over her eyes and she was smiling that creepy ass smile that said she wasn't the only one in there. Holding one of her fingers up to her mouth, she stood up and backed against the wall, next to the opening.

Not good, not fucking good at all. When they walked in, the only thing they were going to see was him tied to the floor and, oh, please let them know this was a trap, don't let them do anything stupid like run in unarmed.

Sam was the first to come into view. His gun was in his hands and his eyes were wary and for one brief moment Dean thought 'thank god, he knows it's a trap, he's not going to do anything stupid,' but then Sam's eyes fell on Dean and all wariness was replaced by concern as he tucked the gun into the back of his jeans and rushed forward.

Behind the gag, he tried to curse at Sam, because it was far too late to warn him, especially since he hadn't gotten two steps into the room when Lily kicked him from behind, sending him crashing into the floor. Not waiting to see if Sam was getting up, she grabbed John by his shirt and spun him around, pressing his back to the wall and holding him by his neck so that his toes barely scraped the floor.

Sam groaned, lifted a hand to his head as he tried to sit up, swaying slightly. Dean yelled as loudly as his gag would let him, which wasn't loud and it certainly wasn't coherent, but Sam must have heard it anyway, because he looked up, a little dazed, but focusing on Dean. There was blood on his face from a gash just over his eyebrow. It wasn't gushing, but it wasn't a trickle, either.

He shifted his gaze while Sam crawled forward, still swaying slightly and fumbled with the knife, sawing through the ropes holding Dean's hand down. John was still against the wall, struggling in Lily's grasp and staring into the bitch's eyes and Dean knew what he was seeing. He only hoped that John could keep her attention long enough without getting himself badly injured, or worse.

As soon as his hand was free, he took the knife from Sam and hacked the other wrist free. He lunged at Sam and grabbed the gun from the back of his brother's pants, aiming it point blank and shot. The bullet blew a neat whole into the side of her head. Dean stared at her, panting because he couldn't breathe for the fear that was clenching in his chest.

She looked at him and there was nothing human in that gaze. Lily was gone, only the spirits animated that body. For a moment, he was afraid he'd made a big fucking mistake, because psycho chick had to be easier to handle than a corpse full of pissed-off spirits, but she just stared at him for few moments, then the black in the eyes drained, a shapeless, shadowy form falling from the body like water on oil and slipping across the floor to the symbol before seeping into the earth. Lily's body fell with a heavy thud, her pale blue eyes staring out at nothing.

Dean wanted to lay back on the ground and breathe a sigh of relief, but he couldn't, because that thing hadn't been exorcized, it had let go and that meant it had done whatever it was that it wanted to do. Even if he hadn't known that, the look of shock and disgust written on his dad's face would have told him.

He cut the ropes around his feet, not caring that he nicked his ankle or that he sliced through his favorite jeans - he was going to burn them anyway. "Dad."

He crawled over and there was so much disbelief in the man's expression that Dean nearly did something unthinkable. He nearly cried. Couldn't cry, though, that wouldn't make anything better, not when he could already see the tears welling up in John's eyes. One blubbering mess was enough, thank you.

"Dad, don't, okay? Just..." But what was he supposed to say, don't cry, don't feel guilty? This was what Dean had wanted for the past week, for his father to understand, to feel really and truly sorry for what he'd done and now Dean wanted to take it back, because it wasn't worth it if it cost him Dad's life.

"Oh, god, Dean, I'm so sorry."

Dean opened his mouth, but nothing came out. It wasn't all right, he didn't forgive him, but he didn't want him gone.

"I should never have come back."

"No." Dean cringed at the sound of his own voice. God, he hadn't felt this broken since Ellen found out about his whoring.

"It would have been better if I had died, but, Dean, it wasn't for nothing, okay? What you did, you did for Sammy and he's safe, right?" If you could call perpetually getting knocked around by demons and spirits safe, then yeah. "I'm not ashamed of you."

And wasn't that what he'd been afraid of? He hadn't known it until he'd heard John say it, but there it was, out in the open and it was true. He'd thought there was no way in hell his dad was ever going to be proud of him again after what he'd done, what he was doing with Sam. He'd thought he'd never see that look on his dad's face that said he'd done good, because no matter how many spirits he wasted, no matter what kind of evil he vanquished back to hell, there wasn't anything he could do that would take that away.

"Dean, look at me." John gripped his shoulders tightly, making Dean look him. "I'm proud of you. You kept yourself and your brother alive and maybe you tripped up along the way, but it's my fault for leaving. You were always so strong and I just forgot you were only fifteen and I was supposed to be your father. So, don't you dare think that I don't love you and don't ever blame yourself again. Do you understand me?"

He did, it wasn't that easy to accept, but he did understand.

"Dean, tell me you understand." Dean nodded, because he couldn't get his throat to work. "Good, now where's Sam?"

Oh, fuck, Sam! He turned around and went to his brother, who was trying to wave him off. "I'm fine."

"No, you're not, you're bleeding." He moved Sam's hand away from his forehead to look at the cut.

"I bleed all the time." Sam tried for a reassuring smile, at least Dean thought that was what it was supposed to be, but it came out as more of a pained flinch.

Dean helped Sam stand, but they were both a little wobbly, if for different reasons. "Sam, how many fingers am I holding up?"

Sam frowned at Dean's hand, gripping his brother's arm tighter. "I know it's two."

"Okay, how many are you seeing?"

"Four, but they're kind of overlapping, so technically it's three."

Dean laughed, trust Sam to get technical when he had a possible concussion. "Come on, we've got to get you to a doctor. Dad?"

John stood up, his legs shaking slightly, "I'm okay. Whatever that thing did... well, I'm not going to off myself if that's what you're concerned about. Let's get Sam to a hospital, then... then we've got to talk."

Yeah, they did and Dean was surprised to find that it wasn't such a scary thought anymore.

"Hi, Ellen, just calling in to check up."

There was the sound of a glass being put down. "You never call on time. What happened? Is Sam okay?"

"Sam's fine, he's got a mild concussion, but the doctor said he just needs to rest for a day or two."

"You already got a room?"

Dean sat back on the hood of the Impala, looking at the door to the hotel room where John was currently taking care of Sam so that Dean could make his call. Dean had been reluctant to leave them alone and not only because he didn't entirely trust John with Sam's safety, but because he still wasn't sure John wasn't going to off himself the first chance he got.

"You still there?"

"Yeah. We got a room for the night, but we'll be heading home soon."

Ellen paused, caught slightly off guard by Dean referring to the Roadhouse as home. "John coming with you?"

"Hm, yeah, I don't want to let him out of my sight for a while."

"What happened?"

He had a brief moment where he wanted to tell her everything, it would be easier now, when it was over the phone, than when he had to face her. Except, Dean really wasn't sure how to put it into words just yet. "I'll explain things when we get there."

"Just promise I won't be seeing your face on the news this time?"

Dean chuckled and nodded at the ground, even though she couldn't see him. "No, I was totally discreet. Now, Sammy on the other hand..."

"Dean Winchester, that'd better be a joke about to come out of your mouth."

He didn't even have to answer that. It was one thing for Dean to have an FBI profile and a warrant, that just made him cooler, but if it were Sam... well, Dean wouldn't be laughing about it. "You know it is. We'll probably be there by Wednesday, maybe sooner if Sam's feeling better tomorrow."

"I'll have your room ready."

Hanging up the phone, he shoved it in his pocket and stared at the ground. He was considering whether or not he was ready to go into the room, when the door opened and John came out. He looked worse for the wear, but then, Dean wasn't doing any better and he knew it. Self-consciously, he wrapped his hand around the rope burns on his wrist and rubbed at the sting.

John held something out and Dean looked up to see a can of Coke in front of him. After a minute, he took it and popped it open, drinking deeply. His stomach growled at the first offering of food in over twenty-four hours. When he'd drained half the can, he stopped to breathe, nodding at John. "Thanks."

"I thought maybe you could use it. You looked like you were going to keel over the entire time we were at the hospital."

"Really?" He hadn't thought it was that obvious.

"It was all I could do to keep the doctor's away from you. Figured you wouldn't want them prying."

Dean cleared his throat at the uncomfortable reminder that John now probably knew that part of him better than anyone, maybe even Sam. "Yeah, thanks for that, too."

John sat on the car next to Dean, who scooted over, not sure if he was making more room, or just distancing himself a little so they weren't touching. The silence stretched between them for several minutes. Awkward didn't even begin to cover this. It had been okay when Sam could guess at what he was feeling, even when he got it right nearly a hundred percent of the time, but John knowing, intimately, personally knowing what Dean felt and especially when John was the one to blame...

Finally, John looked up and broke the silence. "When you left the other day, Sam said something. He said that this thing between you and him was his idea. He said that if I was going to be concerned about anyone it should be you. To be honest, I didn't really agree with that at the time, but... well, all things considered, I suppose I am. So, are you okay with it?"

Dean didn't answer right away, not because he was unsure about Sam, far from it, but because he didn't know how to put it into words. He'd never had to. Their relationship had always been based on an unspoken understanding. Sam wanted it, Dean needed it and that was all there was to it. He'd never bothered to analyze the hows and whys.

John sighed, putting his elbows on his knees. "I remember when you two were younger and anytime Sam would ask you for anything, you just couldn't say no. Didn't matter what it was. When you first told me, I didn't think about that. I only saw that flirty fifteen-year-old you were and I saw shy little Sammy and I thought... god, I don't even know what I was thinking, but after what that girl showed me, after knowing how you feel..."

"It's not like that." Dean interrupted him, unable to listen to John stammering on any longer, but at the same time unable to make eye contact. How was he supposed to explain that on some level, he'd always known about Sam's feelings? How it had been so obvious when Dean fooled around with Jo and she couldn't leave her room in the morning without pissing off Sam, or how when he broke up with her and it was the girls in the bar flirting with him, he'd caught Sam glaring daggers at them from across the room?

Sam had always wanted so badly to be normal, though, that Dean refused to acknowledge all those signs. He preferred to just think of it as Sam being over protective. Then when Sam had blurted all those things out, it had been like someone just opened the door for him and there it was, everything he'd always known was there, but hadn't been able to admit to himself. And, wouldn't you know it, the idea wasn't frightening, or disgusting, it was like... it was like coming home, because Sam was his home. Hell, he'd had sex with men for money and with women he didn't know just to keep up his reputation, so why not give it a try with Sam?

From the first kiss it had been different and they'd taken it painfully slow. Sam would start things and then he'd sit back and let Dean take them as far as he was comfortable. Come to think of it, the kid had the patience of a saint. There had been almost two months before Dean was comfortable with the 'getting naked' part. Of course, Dean would have insisted it was for Sam's benefit, but they both knew better and Sam never called him on it.

There wasn't any easy way to put that into words, so Dean just said, "We're both okay," and he was surprised when John nodded and didn't press the point further.

"Did you call Ellen?"

"Yeah, told her we'd be leaving in a few days."

John sighed, "Dean, I know I can't be your father anymore, I'll be lucky if you consider me a friend, but I'd like to try."

The bottom dropped out of Dean's stomach and not because he was upset, but because he was... hopeful, maybe? "I think I'd like that."

"Good." John looked at him sideways and there was a smirk on his lips that reminded Dean of the one he himself used so often. "We'll have to lay down some rules, though."

"You know I hate rules."

"Too bad. Rule number one, we don't stop at motels that can't put us at least two rooms apart." Dean felt the corners of his mouth trying to tug upward. "Rule number two, no more grabbing your brother's leg under the table when you think I'm not looking."

"Aw, Dad, I always knew you were looking."

"Smart ass."