A/N - Well, this one fought me pretty much the whole way. This is my 3rd "chapter 20", each starting at a different point in time, in a different location. Apparently, Sam & Dean weren't ready to leave Bobby behind. So says my Muse (who's a stone cold bitch, by the way). So, here we go.

As always, thanks so much to my wonderful reviewers — responses are at the end with clarifications.

I still own nothing and cry myself to sleep about it nightly.

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Singer Salvage

Sioux Falls, SD

August 18, 2001

7:30 pm

Dean leaned against a giant oak tree at the edge of what Rick now called "Sam's Meadow".

What had been the perfect circle of dirt left behind when the Cloud Things had come for his baby brother two and half months ago was now covered in grass and wildflowers.

Dean knew that Mother Nature moved quickly to reclaim her land, sending up shoots of grass and flowers within weeks, if a forest burned. He'd expected grass to grow quickly, to be maybe a couple inches high before the end of July. He hadn't expected that the grasses would be halfway to his knees, and that wildflowers would be almost to his waist. No one had. Because, as Bobby so eloquently put it, "that shit ain't natural."

Sam had taken to coming out to the Meadow to sit and meditate, and somehow that had spawned the two most unnatural parts of the meadow: number 1, that the flowers were growing in what Rick and Sam told Dean was a "Fibonacci Spiral", and B, that the heads of the flowers all faced the center of the spiral. Exactly where Sam had fallen when the Cloud Things came for him.

Where Sam sat now, still and quiet, his legs crossed in what he called the yoga "easy pose" (and when the hell had Sammy taken up yoga, anyway?), with all the little flowers practically leaning towards him.

If he were honest about it, Dean would have to admit that seeing Sammy sitting in a field of flowers, with the flowers seeming to just…look at him…well, it creeped Dean out, more than any of the other things Sammy had started to do since he woke up just over five weeks ago.

Dean had gotten used to Sam calling out "Bobby, it's the FBI line," or "Dean, phone," a half minute or so before the phone actually rang.

He was getting accustomed to hearing Sam tossing and turning for hours before grabbing his cell phone and making a call, saying, "Dammit, Rick, it's 2:30. Go the hell to sleep already, will you? You're keeping me up." (Dean didn't want to normalize the reciprocal calls from Rick on those nights where Dean and his brother stayed up until damn near dawn researching a hunt or — equally likely — watching movies. Rick knew never to call when the Winchesters were actually hunting.)

And he wasn't jealous about that connection between Sammy and his best friend. At all.

Really.

He actually deeply appreciated it when, during a salt and burn, Sammy would suddenly shout to Dean to duck or drop or just yell your left, letting Dean know where the ghost was going to be a second or so before it appeared. They'd both racked up a lot fewer injuries lately, that was for damn sure, even when hunting more often. The CTH (Concussion to Hunt ratio) — originally developed by Dean to help teach a seven-year-old Sam his fractions and ratios — was at an all-time low.

And they were hunting more often now, averaging a hunt a week, sometimes more, in the run up to heading to California. Hunts that were, for the most part, found by Sam.

Sammy never said he was using the hunts to get some private time in the car, kidding around and arguing with Dean. But Dean knew he was.

Dean never said he held on to those moments like a lifeline, carefully filing away the memories against the time, fast approaching, when Sammy started college. Dean certainly never said he was worried that once his baby brother finally got to be Joe Normal with the other brains on campus, he wouldn't need Dean anymore.

He sure as fuck would never admit — even to himself — that he was flat out terrified that, worse than not needing his big brother, Sammy would decide he didn't even want Dean anymore, and would just…walk away, leaving Dean with….well, nothing really. Nothing that mattered, not without Sammy.

Dean hoped to hell Sammy didn't have a clue just how worried Dean was about all of that. Just how scared he was that, rather than stock piling memories of hunting before he stopped forever, what Sam was really doing was giving Dean memories to hold on to after he told Dean goodbye.

Dean crossed his arms, and continued to stare at his brother's bare back, watching the way the shadows shifted over the slim, sun tanned figure as the trees bent in the wind.

Dean wasn't stupid. He knew Sammy was leaving the hunt, probably forever, as soon as he started his classes. He'd known that for literally years, and had no issue with it, so long as Sammy was happy.

He'd do anything to make Sammy happy, and he'd known since Sammy was about twelve that Sammy happy equaled Sammy not hunting. He just hoped that Sammy happy didn't equate to Sammy without Dean.

"Dude," Sammy said dryly, "you've been watching me long enough to have crossed to the wrong side of the line between patient and creepy." Sam lifted his linked hands above his head to stretch before grabbing his discarded t-shirt (it was 80 degrees in the shade, after all) and standing to face his brother. "What's up?" he wondered, as he pulled on his shirt and crossed the Meadow, somehow managing to not damage a single flower (all of which turned their little flower heads to follow Sammy's progress, Dean refused to notice).

"You've been out here a while," Dean hedged with a shrug, as the pair started walking towards Bobby's."Rick'll be here soon with the last of the stuff you asked for."

Sammy gave a half-smile and shook his head, glancing sideways at his big brother — his oldest, and still best, friend, his only real parent and, occasionally, his Designated Worrier. "Oh," he said casually, "I thought maybe you were worried about me being in the Meadow alone."

"Nah," Dean assured him, equally casually. "Just didn't want to have to come get you after Rick got here, that's all."

Sam wasn't fooled for a second. "I told you," Sam assured him, placing a hand on Dean's shoulder, "they won't come back here again. Not while I'm here, anyway."

"Yeah," Dean nodded, his voice perhaps a touch sharper than it needed to be, "but you can't tell me why they won't come back here."

Sam dropped his hand from his brother's shoulder and gave a careless shrug. "I don't know why," he admitted. "I just…"

"Just know," Dean spat and stopped walking, turning to face his brother. "Forgive me if that's not entirely comforting, Sammy."

"It's Sam, and I'm sorry it's not comforting, but there're a lot of things we don't know the why of and just accept are true," Sam argued.

"Like?" Dean challenged.

"Like, I don't know why women think you're attractive, but you still get laid."

"A lot, Sammy," Dean grinned and started walking again. "I get laid a lot. And it's not just my exceptionally good looks, you know. I also happen to be ridiculously charming. Chicks dig that. I could teach you…" He paused and glanced at his brother. "Hmm. Maybe not. I'm not sure even my charm could overcome your looks."

"Jerk."

"Bitch."

They reached the edge of the forest, in time to hear a high-pitched mechanical whine coming from the front yard.

Dean winced, and shook his head, disgusted. "His dad owns how many car dealers? And he can't friggin' tighten a fan belt. Honestly, how hard is it to keep your machine tight and lubricated?" Dean wondered, not noticing the way Sam looked down and away, biting his lips. "I mean, I'd be happy to tighten anything he needed," Dean added and stopped when Sam failed to suppress a snort.

"I'm sure he'd love that," Sam said, turning slightly red from the effort of holding back his laughter. "I'm sure he'd let you tighten — and lubricate — aaanything you liked," he added and lost the battle, bursting into laughter.

Dean narrowed his eyes and slapped the back of his brother's head. "Not like that, you…you..deviant."

"I'm a deviant?" Sam marveled, still laughing as the pair made their way to the front yard where Rick had parked. "This from the man who's boasted, on more than one occasion, that he never met a sexual position he didn't like."

They rounded the corner of the house, to find Rick leaning against his car, waiting for them. "I really wish I'd heard the beginning of that conversation," he grinned at the brothers and followed them up the front steps and into the house, his gym bag in hand.

"No you don't," Dean assured him. "I was noticing the way you don't take care of your car."

"Seriously?!" Rick laughed. "Dean, it's held together with Bondo, spit and bailing wire, what do you expect me to do with it?"

Dean shook his head, disgusted, leading the way to the library. "Never mind," he sighed, defeated. "She's just a damn Volvo anyway. Not like she could be a nice car."

"At least my car gets more than 8 miles a gallon," Rick muttered and Sammy quickly grabbed Dean's elbow and propelled him into the library before his brother could respond.

Bobby looked up from his desk, where he was carefully measuring a dark green liquid into a copper bowl. "About time you idjits got here," he groused. "Starting to think I'd need to send the dogs out to find you boys. Rick, did you get everything?"

"Eventually, yeah," Rick shrugged and handed Bobby his bag. "Turns out, myrrh is surprisingly difficult to find in the summer."

"Did you get the stones?" Sam wondered, leaning over to open the bag and look inside before Bobby swatted him away.

"Yep. The quartz and fluorite were easy. It took three stores to find natural, unprocessed chalk. Four to find the apophyllite," Rick sighed. "And for the record, don't ever ask me to do this again, man. All those new age stores. I almost had an asthma attack from all the friggin' patchouli, and I don't even have asthma."

"Why do you think we sent you?" Bobby said, and sprinkled some salt from a small hollowed out quartz into the copper bowl. He paused and looked at Sam. "You're sure about this, boy?"

Sam nodded.

"Well, I'd like to go on record as saying this is a damned stupid idea, and I don't like it one bit," Dean said from where he was leaning against the wall, arms crossed, and generally glaring at the world.

"I am aware, Dean," Sam assured him.

"As long and as loud as you've been bitchin' about it, half the neighbors are aware," Bobby snorted.

"Look, Dean," Sam began.

"I've heard it before, Sammy," Dean snarled.

"Well, maybe you'll listen this time!" Sam snapped back.

Rick shook his head. "Still don't understand how you guys can pull off being feds or whatever. Soon as you talk to each other, anybody with a sibling knows you're brothers."

Sam shot Rick a dirty look, and the teen raised his hands in surrender.

"Sammy," Dean began again, his voice sliding nearly into pleading.

"Dean," Sam interrupted, his voice hard and determined. "There's no other choice, not if I'm going to go to Stanford."

"You have your powers under control, Sammy. We've been working on it for months. I've pushed every button you've got, and no matter how mad you get — and you know I can piss you off more than anybody else on the planet," Dean reminded, ignoring the quiet ain't that the truth from Bobby. "No matter what I do, you don't use your powers," Dean reminded. "You got it all under control, Sam."

Sam huffed a laugh. "Under control," he repeated. "Just a month ago, I woke up and threw you into a door because you startled me. If the door hadn't been opened I probably would've thrown you through it. And you think I have it under control."

"That was an extraordinary circumstance, Sammy," Dean reminded him, putting a hand on his brother's shoulder, frowning when Sammy shrugged him off.

"And what if there's another circumstance and I get startled out of sleep, Dean," Sam challenged. "I have a nightmare, and my roommate drops something. Can you honestly say that you're sure I wouldn't toss the poor guy around? No," Sam decided. "The only solution is to bind my telekinesis so I can't use it."

"And what if those, those fucking Cloud Things come after you?" Dean replied. "The only reason you, Bobby and I are even still alive and not doing a pancake imitation under a pile of cars, is because your telekinesis saved our asses. Or did you forget that bit?"

"We're only binding the telekinesis, Dean," Sam reminded. "I can still use a protection spell, I can still ask for help finding a way out."

"Can you?" Dean countered. "What if your abilities are interconnected, Sammy, huh? They could be, you know. Telekinesis was the first power you found. What if it turns out that they're the basis of all your powers. Then what?"

"Well, maybe if they all shut down, those things won't be able to find me, did you think of that, Dean? Maybe they use my powers to find me. The only two times they've come after me, I was using one of my powers. In the woods, it was telekinesis, sure. But when they first showed up, in the salvage yard, I was asking for help finding Bobby's lost keys, remember? It could just as easily be that using any power will attract attention. Maybe we should just bind it all. And I don't get why you're so dead set against this, anyway. We agreed, if I didn't have it under control, we'd bind them."

"As a last resort," Dean reminded, full out yelling now. "We said we'd do it if you couldn't get your powers under control. But you have, Sammy. We don't need the last resort, Sam. Training was good enough."

"I don't…"

"Will you idjits shut up!" Bobby yelled.

"The problem," Rick chimed in, "is that you're both right."

"Exactly," Bobby nodded.

"Sam," Rick continued, "Dean's right. You have been working hard. I've watched you train — hell, I've helped you train, more than once — and you do have it all under your control. And we're all really proud of you for that."

"I…" Sam began, and stopped talking when Bobby chimed in.

"Dean," Bobby said calmly, "Sam's right, too. We haven't tested for every possibility. We can't, not in the time we've had since you guys started the training. So the bottom line is this. There's no way to be sure that Sam won't accidentally hurt a civilian."

"And," Rick nodded in agreement, "can you stand there and honestly say that either of you would ever forgive yourselves if something did happen."

"Put it another way," Bobby added. "Them huge ass cruise ships are tested every which way for safety. Crews are trained for any eventuality, and there're damn few incidents in modern times of a cruise ship sinking. But they still have a full complement of lifeboats, and every damn voyage includes a lifeboat drill. It's called preventative measures, Dean, and it's usually considered to be a damn good idea."

Dean frowned, understanding the points, but still not liking it. Given a choice between Sam maybe hurting someone and Sam maybe getting hurt…For Dean, there was no contest. Ever.

"Exactly," Sam nodded. "Bottom line, Dean, it's my life. They're my powers, and it's my decision, and I'm going through with the binding."

"All right then, Tituba, so you put together a spell to bind your telekinesis. Good on ya, I guess. But riddle me this," Dean argued, "do you have an antidote?"

"Dean…" Sam frowned.

"You have the binding spell, Einstein. Do you have an unbinding spell? If you shut it off, can you turn it back on if you need to?"

"Dean…"

"No! No, Sam," Dean persisted. "I know you're giving up hunting, and not just while you're in school. I know you, and you'll never want to hunt again, once you're out. I get that, that's cool. But something is hunting you, Sammy. Can you get the telekinesis back, and quickly, if something, anything, comes after you again?"

Sammy sighed and shook his head slowly. "I'm not an idiot, Dean. I know damn well there are things after me, maybe several things, and that there may be a point where having my telekinesis is the only thing that would save me or, more importantly, some civilian in the wrong place at the wrong time. Of course, there's an antidote," he assured his brother, and crossed to Bobby's desk, picking up a small glass vial full of a semi-transparent liquid that was a nauseating shade of brownish grey, with a small piece of what Dean was pretty sure was turquoise floating in it. "Give me a little fuckin' credit, will ya? You're right, I do want to stop hunting. But I was trained by the best —John, Bobby. You. I know what's out there, and I'm not so stupid or stubborn that I'd leave myself, or the people around me, unprotected. All I have to do is break this vial, say a few words, and the binding is broken. Now are you going to help me, or not?"

Dean sighed and shrugged. "I guess I have to," he admitted, "because I'm not letting you do it without me. Bobby, how safe is this spell, anyway?"

"Damned if I know," Bobby frowned. "Sam came up with it, pulling together a bunch of components from three or four witch binding spells, and making up some stuff on his own. It should work," Bobby added. "Everything we're doing makes perfect sense. But, well…it's magic, boy. I know a lot, but I ain't no expert."

"Great," Dean frowned.

"It'll work," Sam assured him. "I know what I'm doing."

Dean narrowed his eyes at him.

"Probably," Sam admitted, looking at his shoes. "Like, 95%. 90. 85 at the flat out worst. Probably."

"You're not helping your case, here, Sammy," Dean assured him.

Sam shrugged. "We don't have any choice," he said quietly. "If we don't do it, I can't, in all good conscience, go. I'd have to give it all up. Stanford, becoming a lawyer, the scholarship. It's all gone, unless I do this. Because I won't take the chance, Dean. If my powers hurt somebody, however accidentally…that makes me the monster."

"You're not a monster, Sammy," Dean said softly.

"Not yet," Sam agreed. "And this is how I make sure I don't become one."

For the first time since they'd started debating — okay, arguing — the issue, Dean took a moment to look into his baby brother's eyes. The fear and the worry and the sorrow — the sheer unmitigated hurt in the familiar blue-green depths made it hard for Dean to breathe. The last time he'd seen that look in his brother's eyes had been the day of their last hunt with Dad. Sam had had that look when he'd asked Dean to leave him alone for his appointment with Dad. And he'd had it again when Dean had found him in the bathroom, three quarters of the way to dead.

He'd sworn then he'd do anything to keep from seeing that look in his kid's eyes again.

Time to put up or shut up, Dean, he thought and slowly nodded. "Okay. Okay, Sammy. You know I got your back, little brother. Always."

Sammy smiled at him, his full on dimpled grin, and the unbridled hurt in the familiar blue-green eyes was replaced with Sammy's my big brother is the greatest look that Dean saw less and less of these days. That look had always had the ability to make Dean feel invincible, and he couldn't help but smile back, as the knot of worry in Dean's chest loosened a little.

"You got the paint?" Sam wondered, turning his attention now to Rick.

"Yep," Rick nodded and reached into his gym bag again, pulling out three cans of spray paint. "And again, harder to find grass-safe spray paint than you'd think. I hope this is what you needed," he added, handing the paint out to three hunters.

Sam smiled. "They're perfect, Rick, thanks," he assured his friend and set his spray can down on Bobby's desk.

"Listen, Rick," Sam said softly. "I haven't done this before, and I don't know…"

Rick grinned and nodded. "Yeah, I get it, Sam. Honestly, just knowing what I do know about you and Dean and your life…I'm perfectly happy to not be here when this goes down." He stepped forward and put a hand on Sam's shoulder. "Call me later and let me know if it all worked, okay?"

Sam nodded and gave Rick a quick one-armed hug before pushing his friend towards the door. "I will. Get out of here," Sam smiled.

Rick paused by Dean and looked at the older Winchester. Dean nodded to him solemnly, and Rick nodded back before heading through the living room to show himself out, knowing that, one way or another, he'd get a call that night.

The three hunters waited until they heard the front door close, before getting back to business.

"So," Dean began, wincing slightly at the whine of the fan belt in Rick's POS Volvo. "What do you need me to do?"

"Let's take this outside," Sam suggested. "It needs to be done by the light of the new moon."

"There is no light from a new moon," Dean observed, following his brother outside.

"You know what I meant, jackass."

Sam led the hunters to Bobby's backyard.

"What the hell is this?" Dean wondered, looking at the five wooden stakes — okay, sticks — pounded into the ground.

Sam ignored him. "Bobby, the house is square to the compass points, yeah? The back of the house faces Due West?"

"Dead on," Bobby confirmed.

"Okay," Sam nodded, and uncapped his spray can, quickly connecting the five sticks.

"A pentagram," Dean said, disgusted. "Man, when you witch out, you don't fuck around, do you? I bet you even measured it out perfectly, huh? That sucker's gotta be forty feet across."

"50," Sam corrected, "and what, you'd rather I did it by eye at the wrong angles, and accidentally bind my lungs so I can't breathe, or something?"

"What?!" Dean grabbed Sam's elbow as his brother went by. "That can happen?!"

"Well, no," Sam admitted. "Not as far as I know. But all the rituals I found said the pentagram needed to be laid out north to south, and I'm not going to half-ass something this important."

Dean let him go. "Whatever, Captain OCD."

Sam shot him a bitchface and finished the pentagram. "Okay." He crossed to Bobby and Dean and pulled three folded sheets of paper out of his back pocket, handing one to each hunter and keeping one for himself. "We need to paint these symbols in and around the pentagram. And it needs to be exact, Dean, including the orientation to the pentagram" he added.

Dean rolled his eyes. "I know how this works, Sam. Been copying sigils since before you could walk."

Bobby cuffed both boys on the back of their heads. "Rick's right, it's a wonder everyone you meet don't peg you for brothers. Or married," he added and started on the sigils needed in and around the southeast point of the pentagram.

Dean and Sam shared a brief, amused look and started painting.

Half an hour later, the trio stood between the two southern points of the pentagram, checking their handiwork.

"Looks good," Sam nodded. "Bobby, do you mind…"

"I got it," Bobby told him and went into the house to retrieve the rest of the items Sam required.

"Last chance to change your mind," Dean said quietly as they waited for Bobby to get the remainder of the components for the spell.

"Not gonna happen," Sam said equally quietly.

"Yeah," Dean nodded. "Yeah, I know. So walk me through it. What happens?"

"Well," Sam began, "right now, Bobby is using his brass mortar and pestle to grind up a few flakes of the apophyllite with the chalk and myrrh. While he's working on that, I need to transfer my power to something."

"Transfer?" Dean frowned. "How? For that matter, why?"

"It's a symbolic transfer," Sam admitted, heading towards the divide between the backyard and the salvage yard, where Dean now noticed the door from a car resting on the ground in front of the fence. "With a traditional binding, you bind a representation of the witch you want to incapacitate. Usually, it's just a picture, and depending on the ritual and the casting witch's intent, it either stops the witch in the picture from doing any harm or from doing any magic at all. I don't want to bind everything I can do, just the telekinesis. So, I'm going to use my power on this door, and we'll use that in the ritual instead."

"And that'll work."

"Hope so. It should, based on my research."

"But you don't know," Dean pressed.

"No, Dean, I don't know. Turns out, in all the books of lore and all the grimoires that I could get my hands on, there's not one spell for keeping a telekinetic from using their powers. Go figure."

"And if it doesn't work? Then what?"

"Then we're not taking a roadtrip to California next week," Sam shrugged. "Now shut up, will you, I need to concentrate."

Instinctively, Dean stepped back from his brother, and watched Sam take one deep breath…two…then raise his right hand towards the car door, his fingers outstretched, parallel to the ground. Sam's fingers curled slightly, and Dean saw the door rock slightly.

Sam slowly tilted his hand upwards at the wrist, and the door began to tilt until it was standing on edge in the grass.

Carefully, as if he were moving each muscle, each tendon separately, Sam began to curl his fingers closer towards his palm, and the edges of the door began to warp and buckle as if they were nothing more than paper.

Dean's breath caught in this throat as he began to see distinct grooves collapsing inward, as if a giant hand were squeezing a ball of clay.

Sam shifted his hand slightly, and flexed his fingers out then back in, and new grooves appeared between the existing ones, and the metal of the door began to screech in protest. The window glass blew out with a strangely muffled pop, traveling only inches from the frame before reversing direction and digging into the metal of the door itself.

The screech of metal under pressure grew and Dean flinched away, covering his ears, though his eyes never stopped looking back and forth between the steadily collapsing car door and his brother's hand.

The door rose slightly off the ground, hovering a foot or so above the grass, and Sam shifted his invisible grip again, forcing the metal, no longer recognizable as any part of a car, into a tighter ball, now about half as wide as the door had been.

Behind him, Dean could hear the screen on the back door open, and the motion activated lights on the back porch came on. The light wasn't strong enough to fully penetrate the night to where Sam stood, slowly pulling his fingers inward and collapsing the door further, but it let Dean pick up on a few details he'd missed.

In the faint light reaching his brother, Dean could see something dark dripping from Sam's hand to the ground, and started to move forward, to stop Sam from hurting himself more, but was stopped by an unexpected hand on his arm.

"Leave him," Bobby said quietly. "He knows what he's doin'."

"He's bleeding, is what he's doing," Dean frowned, keeping his voice as quiet as their friend's, and jerked slightly against the restraining hand.

"And he's self-healing," Bobby reminded him. "So, do ya honestly think breaking his concentration is going to make him bleed less?"

Dean subsided, unable to refute Bobby's logic and hating it.

Before them, Sam tilted his head to the side a tiny bit, and took one more deep breath before squeezing his half-closed hand suddenly into a tight fist.

The door screamed one last time, and as Sam staggered slightly and fell to his knees, the door shrank to just six or eight inches across and fell back to the ground with a dull thud.

"Sammy!" Dean rushed to his brother's side, kneeling beside him to grab Sam's arm, keeping him from face planting into the grass.

"I'm all right," Sam said, the shaking of his voice — and the blood dripping from his nose and hand — proving him a liar.

"Yeah, I can see that," Dean scoffed and guided Sam back so he was sitting on the ground, leaning back against Dean's chest as he tried to catch his breath.

"Here ya go," Bobby said quietly and handed Sam a bandana from his pocket,

The blood had already stopped flowing from his nose and his hand, and Sam wiped the remnants off with the cloth.

"Hey," Dean said softly, and brushed Sammy's bangs away from his forehead. "Just rest," he urged and pulled Sam back against him when the younger boy tried to pull away. "Maybe we can finish this in a couple of hours," he suggested.

Sam shook his head, and gently extricated himself from his brother's hold. "Can't," he said a little breathlessly. "The more time between my using my power on the door, and my doing the ritual, the less likely it is it'll work. Every second we delay, more of my power leaves the door, and it's probably a matter of 25, 30 minutes before the door won't be a good enough representation of my telekinesis."

"Then we better get to it," Bobby nodded and leaned down to help the boys up.

"Okay," Dean agreed, reluctantly. "What do you need me to do?"

Sam shook his head and gave his brother a light pat on the shoulder. "Nothing, yet" he shrugged. "For right now, it's pretty much all on me," he told them and retrieved the ball of glass and metal from where it lay by the fence, carefully carrying it over the chalk lines into the middle of the pentagram.

"Bobby," Sam said and held his hands out to take the copper bowl and mortar from the older hunter, then carried them to the center of the pentagram, setting them down so the copper bowl was in the very center with the mortar on the western side, and the door on the east.

From a pocket, he pulled the clear quartz and green fluorite that Rick had brought, along with a piece of rose quartz and a piece of malachite that Bobby had provided. He set each stone in the center of one of the points, the green fluorite in the eastern point, the rose quartz in the south east, the clear quartz in the south west, and the malachite in the west.

From his back pocket, he pulled the butterfly knife he'd received for graduation, and flipped it open before he laid it in the center of the northern point, pointing away from the rest of the pentagram.

Finally, he pulled the vial he'd shown Dean, as well as a book of matches, from his other pocket and returned to the middle of pentagram, kneeling behind the line of implements and facing north. Carefully, he set the vial between himself and the copper bowl, and opened the matchbook before laying it on the ground beside him within easy reach.

"Dean," Sam said quietly.

"What do you need?" Dean asked without hesitation.

"Can you kneel just outside the eastern point? And Bobby, can you kneel to the west? Right at the tip, facing me, but outside the pentagram, and be sure you're not touching the chalk lines."

Both men quickly moved to do as he asked and Sam spared them both a quick glance and a brief smile. "You're both witnesses to my good intentions," he explained and they both nodded.

Carefully, Sam reached into the mortar and mixed the powdered chalk, myrrh and apophyllite, before using his left hand to sprinkle the mixture into the copper bowl, as he began to speak the spell he'd devised.

He stood and began by raising his arms, palms up, saying, "Ignem aquilonis," then turned east. "Aerem orientis," he continued, then turned towards the south. "Terram Austri," and finally turned to the west, saying "aquam Occidentis," before tipping his head back to look up at the moonless night sky, raising his arms towards the stars. "Et spiritum uniens omnia invoco."

Slowly, Sam lowered his arms and turned to the north before he knelt again, rested his hands, palms still up, on his thighs.

"Nunc audi me. Animam meam, corde meo, mente voco. Nunc audi me. Clamavi oculis meis, auribus meis, lingua mea. Nunc audi me. Voco totis habeo, totis scio, totis sum. Nunc audi me. Invoco terram et planetas et lunam et solem. Nunc audi me."

Sam paused, and picked up the book of matches, pulling one free and lighting it. Long habit had him leaning back on his heels and looking just slightly to the side as he dropped the match into the copper bowl, keeping himself clear of the bright green flame that spouted forth, a brief fountain of fire several feet high that quickly settled to a steady flame, barely visible above the edge of the bowl.

He picked up the crumpled metal ball that had once been a car door, and placed it within the fire, before continuing the spell.

"Totis invoco, totis adiuro et compello, nunc hanc potestatem, quae ad me pertinet, positam in medio spiritus sideris alligo. Hoc facio proposito bono et puro. Accipe voluntatem meam. Hoc facio, tueor, neve noceam. Accipe voluntatem meam.

Hoc ego salvum facere et non nocere, Accipe voluntatem meam. Hoc facio cum charitate et sine avaritia. Accipe voluntatem meam. Ego hoc animo et scientia. Accipe voluntatem meam. Hoc faciam cum humilitate et peto gratiam."

Sam picked up the vial and held it over the fire, where the ball of metal was beginning to melt.

"liga hanc potestatem in me," he continued. "Contenta huius phialae dote cum potestate quam nunc desere. Cum liberam voluntatem. liga hanc potestatem a me.

Cum bona voluntate. liga hanc potestatem a me. Cum animo meo pacificis. liga hanc potestatem a me."

The fire in the bowl shot up again, enveloping the vial — and the hand holding it — in a crimson flare.

"Sam!" Dean started to move into the pentagram, wanting, needing to get to his little brother before Sammy got hurt.

I'm good, Sam's voice echoed in his head. I'm fine, stay there.

Reluctantly, Dean stopped and sat back on his heels again, shooting a glance past Sam's kneeling form to Bobby, who looked as worried as Dean. Bobby just shrugged and shook his head, and the pair stayed where they were, but braced themselves to move in if necessary.

And still, Sammy kept reciting his spell. "Serva potentiam incolumem. Donec revoco me. Insueta custodi virtutem. Donec revoco me. Ut potentia pura. Donec revoco me.

Nunc audi me. Accipe voluntatem meam. liga hanc potestatem a me. Donec revoco me."

Sam dropped the vial into the tiny inferno.

As the vial fell, the flames changed color from crimson to orange, to green to blue and, finally, to a blinding white which exploded out from the bowl, pushing out from the center in a wave of heat and wind and power and noise that shot across the grass to the edge of the pentagram…and stopped, leaving Bobby and Dean untouched.

When the light died away, and the spots cleared from his vision, Dean turned his attention to the center of the pentagram.

He wasn't sure what he expected, if Sam would be burned, or unconscious or unharmed.

What Sam actually was, was not there.

"SAM!" Dean yelled and scrambled to his feet. "Sammy?"

A soft moan reached his still-ringing ears, and he turned sharply north, to find his baby brother lying on his back in the northern point of the pentagram, looking for all the world as if he'd been thrown against a wall marked by the eastern chalk line.

"Sam," he breathed and ran to the north point, dropping to his knees and reaching slowly towards his brother, unsure if he'd actually be able to reach inside the pentagram or not.

His hand reached easily over the chalk line and brushed the hair out of Sam's slowly opening eyes.

"Sam?"

"Well," Sam breathed and gave his head a little shake, looking back into the center of the pentagram, where the copper bowl continued to smoke, with no sign of the metal ball remaining. "I wasn't expecting that."

Dean shook his head and pressed a hand to Sam's chest when his brother would have stood. "Give it a minute," he urged. "And, just so you know, I think we may want to consider getting you football pads before you do another spell. I'd suggest a helmet, but with your hard head…" he teased, and pushed his hand a little more firmly down when Sam tried to get up again.. "Stay down," Dean urged. "That was a lot, and you were already shaky when you started the spell."

Sam nodded and let his head settle back on the grass, then shifted his hips with a little grimace. "The hell am I lying on?" he wondered.

Dean started to shrug, then froze when his brain finally caught up to his eyes and realized exactly what he didn't see in the northern point.

"Oh, nonononono," Dean whispered to himself, and leaned across Sam, grabbing the boy's right shoulder, and gently rolling his brother towards him, shifting him so Sam lay on his left side, his head resting on Dean's thigh. Son of a Bitch. "Bobby," he called across the pentagram, forcing his voice to stay even and calm,

Bobby looked up from the center of the pentagram, where he was picking up the paraphernalia Sam had used for the spell. "Dean?"

"Get over here, will ya?" Dean said casually. "Captain Trouble Magnet has done it again."

"What…" Sam muttered and slowly blinked his eyes as a wave of dizziness hit him.

"Easy, little brother," Dean urged softly. "Just hold on to me," he said and hitched Sam further into his lap, keeping him on his side.

Sam slipped his left arm behind Dean's back and grabbed hold of a belt loop. "'Sgoin' on?" he slurred, and Dean sighed.

"How many fingers am I holding up?" Dean asked, and waved his upraised middle finger back and forth in front of Sam's eyes.

Sam slapped Dean's hand aside — hitting it accurately, Dean was relieved to see — and shot Dean a will you cut it out, jerk bitch face.

Bobby walked up to them and stopped behind Sam, staring down at the boy. "Balls! Dammit, kid," he frowned and knelt to get a better look. "Are you trying to kill me?"

'What's…Dean? What's wrong?"

Dean shook his head and brushed Sam's bangs out of his eyes. Again. "Just you being you, Sammy," he said quietly, " 'Cause only a trouble magnet like you could slide over the handle end of a knife and still end up with the blade in your back."

"I've got…" Sam's voice trailed off for a second before he rapidly blinked his eyes a couple times. "Oh. Well. That explains the pain, then," he said conversationally.

Dean shook his head. His baby brother discussed his own pain like he was talking about the weather. "I guess so," he agreed and looked at Bobby, who knelt on the ground behind Sam, examining the wound more closely.

Bobby looked up. "Could be worse," he said quietly. "Missed the spine completely, and I don't think it hit an artery. We're 50/50 on whether or not it got his kidney or something."

"Didn't," Sam piped up.

"Good to know," Bobby nodded. "We need to get him inside so I can pull that knife out. Sam?"

"I'm here, Bobby."

"See that you stay that way," Bobby said gruffly. "This going to be one of those things I have to pull out real slow, like the car glass?"

"No," Sammy sighed. "You can just pull it out, and I should be able to heal it okay."

"So long as you didn't just bind that power, too," Dean muttered, and Bobby looked up at him sharply, frowning in part reproach, part worry.

"Whatever, we should get him inside before I pull it. I'll want to disinfect that before you start piecing yourself back together, Sam."

Sam nodded.

"Hold him," Dean said softly, and Bobby moved beside Dean. "Come on, princess," Dean said quietly, "Let me go. Get hold of Bobby now, so's I can stand to get you back to the house."

Sam frowned. If they weren't in the middle of an argument about his hair, or something he'd said that Dean thought was too girly, there was only one circumstance where Dean called him princess.

"I can walk, Dean," Sam insisted.

"Yeah," Dean scoffed and stood up, stretching his back slightly before he moved behind Sammy and squatted down. "That's not happening," he assured his brother and slipped a hand across Sam's back to his left shoulder, reaching his other hand down to Sam's giraffe legs. "Bend your knees, Sammy," he ordered and Sam complied as Bobby gently rolled him fully onto Dean's arms.

With a grunt, Dean stood, shifting his brother slightly in his arms. "You could help, you know," he said sourly as he turned slowly to head back to the house, Bobby leading the way to get the screen door open.

"Yeah, I could walk," Sam insisted.

"Uh-huh," Dean nodded. "Sure you could," he rolled his eyes and shifted Sam a little more, pulling his brother closer to his chest, wincing at the small, pained hiss the movement pulled from his brother's throat. "You know, if you'd just put your arms around my neck already, like a good little princess, you'd be steadier, and I wouldn't have to shift you around so much, and maybe you won't be in so much pain."

Sam huffed a sigh, and wrapped his arms around Dean's neck as instructed, with a muttered, "Whatever." The new position did keep him steadier, and had the added bonus of taking some of his own weight off his back.

It also pulled his face closer to his brother, and Sam couldn't resist pressing his nose in against the warm skin between Dean's neck and shoulder.

Dean smiled to himself, remembering all the hundreds of times Sammy had nuzzled him just that way, when a younger Dean had carried a much smaller Sammy to bed after his baby brother conked out on some crappy couch in some chappy hotel watching some crappy movie.

I miss my little little brother, Dean realized with a sigh as he carefully climbed the back steps. Sometimes.

"I miss my big big brother," Sammy muttered against his neck. "Occasionally."

Surprisingly-bigger little brother snuggled closer, as no-longer-bigger big brother shifted his arm slightly, so his hand brushed lightly against Sammy's too-long hair.

Whatever, bitch, Dean thought back. I told you before, no matter how tall you get, I'll always be taller, even when I'm shorter than you. Which I'm not.

"Keep telling yourself that, Dean," Sam chuckled out loud as Dean walked through the screen door and into the kitchen, heading for the table.

"Just sit me on the edge," Sam told him. "I don't need to lie down for this."

Dean nodded and gently lowered his precious cargo to the table, keeping his arm behind Sam's shoulder until Sam seemed steady.

"All right," Bobby said, and moved behind Sam, disinfectant at the ready.

"No, hang on," Sam told him. "Let me try to pull it out myself. First test to see if the binding worked."

"Okay," Bobby nodded.

Dean stepped in front of his injured brother, frowning, and rested his left hand on the back of Sammy's neck. "You sure? I mean, is that a smart test to be running? What if you didn't bind your telekinesis, but you changed it, somehow, so that it works differently? Like, what if you think you're pulling it out, but everything's all fucked up now, and you just drive it in deeper."

Sam shook his head. "I think it worked. I'm pretty sure. And anyway, if it failed there was nothing in the spell that would alter the power. And if it had, I'd know if it was different."

"That you know of," Dean countered. "Nothing in the spell to alter it, that you know of. But you just made this up, right? So how do you really know that you know? Or that you would know?"

"I know, okay?"

"That's a helluva lot of knowing," Bobby said dryly, "but not any actually hug doing, and while you too idjits are arguing, Sam's dripping all over the kitchen table — again — so, before I have to refinish the wood —again — or you two jackasses start throwing punches, I'm just going to go ahead and do this," he said and pulled the knife cleanly out from Sam's back.

Sam gasped and jerked upright a little as Bobby poured the disinfectant over the wound, slamming his eyes closed and reaching blindly out in front of him.

Dean stepped forward until Sam felt the brush of Dean's shirt against his fingers, and grabbed on tightly.

Dean took another step forward, and laced his fingers behind Sammy's neck, and pulled their foreheads together.

"Relax,Sammy," he soothed. "I gotcha. I always gotcha.

Sam nodded and took deep slow breaths for a minute…two…until he slowly opened his eyes and pulled his head back just slightly, being careful not to break Dean's grip.

"Well," Bobby drawled, "that's one power that ain't bound," he reported and lightly patted Sam's shoulder. "Pity you can't fix the shirt," he added and gave Sam a small push. "You idjits get out of my kitchen while I disinfect the damn table. Again."

Sam smiled and nodded, and Dean stepped back so Sam could get off the table. Dean detoured to the fridge to grab a beer and Coke in one hand. The brothers didn't speak, barely looked at each other, but together they went through the library and living room, and on to the front porch. Dean settled himself on the top step, his back against the supports flanking the stairs, one leg bent, the other resting on the stair below. Sam walked down the stairs, settling on the last step, leaning back against the stairs behind him..

Dean popped the tops off the bottles with his ring, then leaned slightly forward to tap Sam's shoulder with the Coke.

Sam reached behind him and took it, holding the bottle above his head long enough for Dean to clink it with his. It was a ritual that had been standard for the Winchesters since they were kids, a silent acknowledgement that they were there, safe, reasonably healthy and, most importantly, together. That they had survived another day as Hunters.

They sat in silence for a while, sipping their drinks and looking up at the stars.

Sam kicked off his shoes, dug the toes of one foot into the grass.

The clouds that skittered across the sky looked refreshingly normal, and Dean let himself relax a little. Doesn't look like those things noticed Sam's pyrotechnics.

"Nope," Sam agreed, aloud. "Doesn't look like anything's coming. And the only news my little friends have for me is that there's a skunk back in the woods that we probably want to avoid."

"Well, that's a total of two and half abilities that are still working," Dean smirked.

Sam's voice slipped into his mind. Let's call it three.

"Three it is," Dean nodded.

"Yeah, but now's the real test," Sam sighed and stood, stretching his back slightly. He took a few steps into the grass and set his half-full Coke on the ground, before retreating to the stairs.

"You sure you're up to this, now?" Dean wondered and sat up, swinging around to face his brother's back. "That had to take a lot out of you. First, the spell, then stabbing your own self in the back."

"I didn't stab…" Sam started, then chuckled. "You know you're an ass, right?"

"Am not," Dean grinned. "I'm doing my job, saying things like that. I'm not an ass, I'm a big brother."

"And there's a difference?" Sam laughed and ducked when Dean tried to smack him on the head. "And anyway," he said suddenly serious, "the sooner I know if it worked at all, the better. I mean, yeah, I'll still have to test it out the next couple of days, but at least we know that it did something. If not, I…" Sam let out a deep breath. "If not, I need to let Stanford know I'm not coming."

"You're going," Dean said firmly. "Regardless of how this plays out, you're going."

"Dean…" Sam began, his tone dripping exasperation, coated just faintly with affection.

"Sam," Dean interrupted, deliberately mimicking Sam's tone. He moved down the stairs to sit next to his brother. "You're not not going," Dean insisted. "We'll figure it out, Sammy, but I'm not…I won't let you give up your dream. I won't."

Sam looked sideways at Dean, then held out a hand towards the Coke bottle. He closed his eyes, let out a slow breath, and slowly closed his hand as if picking the bottle up. He pulled his hand back towards him, and cracked one eye open.

The bottle didn't so much as twitch.

Sam opened his eyes, and pulled his hand back to shoulder, flinging it forward as if throwing a frisbee.

The bottle stayed where it was.

Dean finished his beer, and walked over to the Coke bottle, picking it up. He shifted the beer bottle in his hand, turned and threw it at his brother's head, hard as he could.

Instinctively, Sam held a hand up and flicked his wrist to the side, like he'd done a hundred times to change the trajectory of a bottle, a ball, a bullet.

The bottle whizzed past his hand, and hit Sam directly above his left eye, shattering on impact.

"OW!"

"Shit!" Dean rushed to his brother's side, and pulled Sam's hand away from his forehead, wincing at the blood he found dripping down into his brother's eye.

"DAMMIT, Dean," Sam shoved him away. "What the hell was that?"

"I…I just…"

The screen door opened and Bobby stepped out. "Everything all right out here?"

"NO!" Sam yelled and stood, pushing Dean away with both hands. "That hurt, Dean!"

"I'm sorry," Dean said in a rush. "I just…I mean…we know the spell worked," he said, his face a hopeful, slightly apologetic smile.

"We…" Sam started then stopped, sending Dean the mother of all bitch faces, and raising his hand to touch the large cut above his eye. "If I couldn't heal myself, this would've needed stitches, Dean!"

"Yeah, but you can heal," Dean pointed out. "So…no harm, no foul. Right? Right, Sammy?" he pushed and nodded.

Sam glared. "SUCH an ass!" he yelled and stomped into the house.

Dean started to follow his brother into the house, but stopped when Bobby grabbed his arm.

"Why don't you deal with the mess out here, boy," Bobby suggested. "I'll deal with the one inside."

Dean bit his lip and nodded, looking down. "I didn't mean to hurt him, Bobby. I just…we've done that a hundred times in the last few months. And honestly, once his power failed, I…I thought he'd duck," he admitted lamely.

"It didn't occur to you that he might not have time?"

"No," Dean admitted with a sigh.

"Even if he could duck, Dean…why the hell would you throw it at his head, boy? Kind of idjit are you? I mean, I've seen some boneheaded, badly planned, ilconsidered, stupid ass, Winchester ideas, but this…" Bobby pulled his hat off and smacked Dean on the head. "This takes the cake. Clean this up," he repeated and returned inside, slamming the screen behind him. "Oughta lock the idjit out…" Dean heard Bobby mutter through the screen door. "Throwing shit at people's heads…."

Bobby's voice faded in the distance, and Dean sighed before heading out to the salvage yard to grab broom and dust pan.

Twenty minutes later, he'd just returned from dumping the dust pan into the garbage and returning the supplies to the shed, to find Sam sitting on the porch railing, his back against the support and his feet balanced on the rail before him.

Dean approached cautiously, watching Sam who continued to watch the stars.

"You okay?" Dean asked cautiously.

Sam raised a hand to his forehead and turned his head slowly to look (further than normally) down at his brother. "Well, I healed the cut, and Bobby says I don't have a concussion….so…." Sam shrugged.

"I'm really sorry, Sammy," Dean frowned.

"It's Sam."

"Sam. Sure. Of course. I'm really sorry, Sam."

Sam rubbed the back of his neck and sighed. "Well, you were trying to help."

"I was," Dean nodded enthusiastically. "I really was." he climbed the steps and sat on the railing at the other end of the opening, facing his brother. He pulled one leg up, so their toes were almost touching. "Forgive me?" he wondered.

"Well. Okay," Sam shrugged. "Like you said: no permanent harm. So, I guess no foul."

"Okay. Okay," Dean nodded and grinned.

"I gotta say, though, Dean," Sam looked his brother in the eye.

"Yeah?"

"You've got a really fucked up version of help."

========SPN========SPN========SPN======

a/n

A Fibonacci Spiral is a specific type of mathematical spiral curve that increase with each curve according to the "golden ratio". It occurs naturally in nature, in the pattern of a pine cone and the seeds of a sunflower, among other things. The Fibonacci spiral is related to the Fibonacci sequence, which is a sequence of numbers formed by adding the previous two numbers together. As the Fibonacci sequence gets larger it gets closer to matching the Fibonacci Spiral. Once. you've seen the pattern of a Fibonacci Spiral, it is very easy to see it when you come across it again.

Flowers really will turn to face some people. I've actually seen it happen, once, when I went to a lecture given by a spiritual leader. He was a sweet, old sprite of a man, and as an "offering" several people in the audience brought him potted flowers, which were set at the front of the stage. At the beginning of the lecture, the flowers were all facing the audience. By the end of his two hour talk, every flower was facing him, and the stems started to lean towards him, as if he were the sun. I have taken the liberty of speeding up the process for Sam.

held together with spit and bailing wire is (somewhat old) American slang for "about to fall apart at any second", if that wasn't obvious.

Tituba was a slave in Salem, Massachusetts, and was the first person accused of witchcraft by Elizabeth Parris and Abigail Williams in 1692, when the famous Salem Witch Trials began. She eventually confessed to being a witch (probably under emotionally pressure from her prosecutors, and maybe after torture), giving disturbing testimony about serving the devil and other actions. (Interestingly enough, she was imprisoned for a year, but never executed. She was purchased from the jail by an unknown person, and disappeared from historical records after that.) And, before anyone starts thinking that Dean called Sam "Tituba" because he actually does think Sammy's evil… No. Just, no. Tituba is a famous historical witch, and just the first one that popped into his head.

(Also, who said fan fiction isn't educational?)

riddle me this is a phrase that was popularized in the 1960's television show Batman starring Adam West. The phrase was used by the arch villain The Riddle (played by Frank Gorshen) to give the Batman clues as to what his next crime would be. Although the phrase has been used since the 17th century to present a riddle for someone to solve, Dean's usage comes from the television show and from the movie Batman Forever, where it was used by Jim Carrey's Riddler.

I trust I don't need to explain who Einstein was (and yes, Dean is referring to Albert, not to the dog from the Back to the Future movies lol)

Time to put up or shut up is slang in the US (and maybe elsewhere) meaning that the person needs to either do it, or stop saying they will. The phrase may have developed from gambling card games, particularly poker, where a player is being told to either make or match a bet, or to quit the hand.

The binding ritual Sam mentions, used by one witch to prevent another witch from causing harm, is real, although I have never heard of using the ritual to prevent a witch from using their power at all. The idea that Sam's ritual can be used to bind his own power, by transferring his power into the poor abused car door comes purely from my own twisted imagination.

The words of the spell itself were, as usual, created by me in English and translated to Latin using an app. The spell does follow some general rules for creating spells, such as calling the directions, elements and other forces of potential power, followed by stating the witch's intent, then the action and subject of the action.

The actual English for the spell follows:

I call upon the fire of the North, the air of the east, the earth of the south, the water of the west, and the spirit that unites them all. Hear me now. I call with my soul, with my heart, with my mind. Hear me now. I call with my eyes, with my ears, with my tongue.

Hear me now. I call with all I have, with all I know, with all I am.

Hear me now. I call upon the earth, the planets, the moon and the sun

Hear me now.

With all I call upon, with all I conjure and compel, I now bind this power which belongs to me, laid in the center of the spirit star. I do this with purpose good and pure

Accept my will. I do this to protect and not to harm. Accept my will. I do this to save and not to harm. Accept my will. I do this with charity and without greed. Accept my will. I do this with intent and knowledge. Accept my will. I do this with humility and ask for grace.

Bind this power in me. Endow the contents of this vial with the power I now relinquish. With my free will, Bind this power from me. With my good purpose, Bind this power from me. With my peaceful intent, Bind this power from me.

Keep the power safe, until I call it back to me. Keep the power unused, until I call it back to me. Keep the power pure, until I call it back to me.

Hear me now. Accept my will. Bind this power from me, until I call it back to me.

Dean's recommendation that Sam consider "football" pads comes from the American version of football (not to be confused with then game the rest of the world plays, which is called soccer in the US). In US football, players wear a variety of safety devices, including shock absorbing plastic and foam pads on the st the collar and shoulders which extend a foot or so down the chest. There is also a helmet whic is supposedly designed to prevent concussions and whic mostly don't. The rest of the world pretty much makes fun of the US for using this safety equipment.

CorvusVeritatis First, thanks so much for commenting. I'm glad to have you aboard for the ride!

I spend a lot of time on the relationship between the boys, so I'm glad it seems right to you.

RE: the Cloud Things — you got it; you were the second person to comment on it at all and both of you were dead on, so I'm glad my little hints worked. Apparently

I actually have to credit the amazing iamwoomie for the explanations — I saw it all her stories, and I thought "what a great idea", so I'm glad its working for you. I hope you enjoy the latin, this time, too!

At this time, I haven't delved into AO3, but I keep hearing good things about it, so I may check it out!

Thanks again for reading and commenting!