I am SO sorry it has been a literal year since I updated this story. Suffice to say it's been a tough year and my muse deserted me. But I'm home after major surgery and writing again. I hope this 17,300 word chapter will go part-way towards a decent apology!

Dean was stirring the beef broth idly, his mind wandering, when his phone buzzed on the counter. He snapped out of his reverie and picked it up, smiling faintly at Lindsey's name illuminating the screen.

Is Sam up for a visit yet?she asked, clearly impatient to see him but not wanting to push him.

Dean bit his lip absentmindedly, wondering if Sam was ready for a visit. His brother still seemed so fragile, and yet, he'd endured so much and was still kicking.Against his will, his brain reminded him unkindly. He drove the thought away, allowing his own horror at being denied control over his very existence to supplant his anger at Sam's situation. Control. He could give Sam some control back. He'd ask his brother if he wanted to see Lindsey instead of deciding for him. It was small, but it was a start.

Tim and Reggie smirked at him, laughing at his ineptitude. "You are supposed to end the world but you can't even exorcise one little demon without some blood? Not even to save your brother? You're more pathetic than I thought!"

The demon inside Dean chuckled too, dragging a blade across his own wrist and holding it out to Sam. "C'mon, Sammy. Just one little taste and you can make this all go away."

Sam watched the blood drip off Dean's glistening skin and onto the dusty floor, power oozing from the escaped droplets. His mouth watered and he had to hold himself back from tackling the demon. He weakly shook his head. "He wouldn't want me to. Not even to save him."

"You're being pretty selfish there, Sam. You think Dean gives a shit if you sully yourself if it meanshe's okay? Besides, don't you think it's a little late to be all goody-two-shoes? You're basically one of us, now. Your eyes went black when you killed Lilith! That stain ain't ever coming out and it's not like it can get much darker." The demon stepped towards him arm raised. "You know you want it… Just accept your fate…"

"No, I don't want it! Leave me alone! I won't! I won't do it!" He backed away but Dean kept advancing, pinning him against the wall. He smeared his blood over Sam's face and the mesmerizing aroma filled his nose.

"Sam? You don't have to do anything." That was Dean's voice but Dean's lips weren't moving. "Sammy, listen. You're dreaming. I'm here. Follow my voice. C'mon."

Tim and Reggie laughed again and the demon was screeching and he struggled to pick out Dean's voice over the cacophony.

Eventually Dean's soft words coaxed him out of his panic. "Sam. Sam? You're awake now, right? Lindsey wants to know if she can come over for dinner. Are you feeling up to it?"

Sam cracked his eyes open and peered at Dean, waiting to see if his eyes would turn black. 'What?'

"Lindsey wants to see you tonight. Think you can handle it?"

He still felt exhausted from earlier, but Sam could feel something like hope from Dean's mind so he decided to agree to the meeting.'Yeah, I would like that.'

"Alright. I'll text her and let her know. Anything I can do for you?"

Make all of this go away?'No, thanks. Well, uh, what time is it?'

"Little after four. I'll tell her to come by around 6:30?"

Sam nodded. That gave him some time to prepare himself.

Sam had just finished buttoning his flannel when he heard the telltale flutter of wings and his body began to hum with a novel dissonant energy.

"Sam." The gruff voice caused Sam to flinch and he was further distracted by the confusing array of emotions condensed into the single word.

He turned, expecting to see the stoic face of the trenchcoated angel and was instead blinded by the effervescent bluish light spilling from Castiel's skin. Large dark shadows in the shape of wings painted the walls behind Cas. He brought a hand up to block the light as he closed his eyes and twisted away.

"Sam?" Castiel queried, confused.

'It hurts to look at you. You're glowing.'

There was a pause and Sam could imagine the perplexed expression adorning the angel's face before he answered. "You must be seeing my grace. I will attempt to, um, suppress it for you." Sam heard the rustle of Cas's coat as he adjusted himself then the buzz abated. "How about now?"

Sam looked back and saw only a slight shine but it was easily tolerated. 'Much better.' He forced an appreciative smile onto his face.

"How are you doing?" Castiel stared at him with unnerving intensity, making his soul feel exposed. Could the angel see his soul? See the pollution and the corruption and the utter devastation? He felt so unworthy of being in the presence of divinity that he wanted to hide under the bed. Instead he merely averted his eyes and shrugged.

'I'm alive. Haven't said 'yes' to Lucifer. What else matters?'

Sam sensed rather than saw Castiel's deep frown. "I think you underestimate how much you matter, to your family, and to this fight."

Sam snorted in derision. 'We all know I'm the weakest link. We're all just waiting for me to slip up and bring the end of the world one step closer.'

"I am not convinced that will happen. You are strong—"

Sam rolled his eyes. 'Yeah, I'm the very picture of strength,' he interjected. 'Can barely walk half a mile without falling over.'

Castiel's grace flared slightly as impatience crept into his tone. "I'm not talking about physical strength, Sam, but rather spiritual strength. You have survived an unprecedented attack on the human soul and while I recognize that you have not emerged unscathed, you are still here. Your perseverance is unmatched in my experience of the human condition."

Sam gawked at Cas, a little dumbfounded. 'I… I don't understand. Why are you telling me this?'

"Because you need to hear it. You need to honor your tenacity."

'To make sure I don't say 'yes'?'

Cas took a step forward but stopped. "Not only that, but also to let yourself live again. I was wrong about you, Sam. You are far more than just the Boy with the Demon Blood. I hope one day you can allow yourself to believe that."

Sam blinked slowly as he swallowed down the frenzy of emotions threatening to choke him. When he opened his eyes, the angel was gone. He sat on the bed and fought back tears, torn between accepting Castiel's absolution and the solace it provided or writing it off as shrewd words calculated to keep Lucifer out longer with a dash of insincere praise meant to persuade Sam. He sat there a long time debating between the two, giving up only when Dean called him downstairs.

Sam preoccupied himself with helping Dean prepare dinner. He sliced the vegetables carefully, aiming for even, thin slices. Anything to keep his mind offeverything.

His anxiety grew as he watched the minute hand slink towards the hour hand. What if he scared her? What if she was furious with him? What if—

How can she not be scared of you? You're a freak who got her kidnapped and almost killed. You think people forgive that kind of stuff? Your very existence altered the course of hers. You derailed her life. Don't you think that deserves some kind of punishment? Don't you think you owe her that? You should be offering yourself up on a silver platter for whatever she wants to do to you. It's the least you can do.

Sam looked over to Dean, who smiled at him. 'Dean, I don't know if I can do this.'

"What, see Lindsey?" Sam nodded. "Why not?"

'I don't know if I can face her…'

"What do you mean? She's been bugging me to come see you."

'Probably to come chew me out for fucking up her life.'

"Cut it out. She came to see you when you were still locked inside your head and I can tell she cares about you. She's not angry with you. She's worried about you."

Sam stared at the floor. 'I don't deserve that.'

"Whatever, dude. She's got the hots for you and apparently having psychic mojo didn't change that for her." Sam threw a withering look over and Dean grinned. "You gonna start blushing on me?"

Sam's face twitched in irritation but he allowed it to cover up his fear. He didn't want anyone touching him like that ever again.

'Shut up, Dean,' he shot back with a playfulness he didn't feel.

But Dean couldn't tell so he grinned even wider. That was fine. Sam was good at pretending.

The knock on the door had Sam flinching slightly but he quickly recovered himself.

Dean opened the door and smiled at Lindsey. They exchanged a quick hug.

"Thanks for coming, Linds. Sam's in the kitchen. Can't remember if I told you, but he doesn't talk out loud, only telepathically."

"Like, in my mind?" She was a little bewildered.

"Yeah. You get used to it though."

Lindsey shucked her coat and hurried to the kitchen, her chest growing tight as she prepared to turn the corner. She breached the doorway and Sam was standing there, clearly doing his best to look her in the eye and keep a smile plastered on his face. He was thin, but better than when she'd last seen him. Despite the weight gain, he looked smaller, like he trying to take up as little space as possible.

"Sam!" she said excitedly, stepping towards him. She noticed how he leaned away from her slightly and she stopped. "Is it alright if I give you a hug?"

Sam swallowed nervously but nodded in agreement. She embraced him slowly and felt how gaunt he really was. He was trembling minutely as he wrapped his arms around her and squeezed. She broke away and looked up into face. "How are you doing?"

His eyes darted away and back to hers. Maintaining eye contact was clearly a struggle. She didn't miss the faint red streaks in his left eye. 'O-okay, I guess. I mean, things could be worse.' He smiled lopsidedly and her heart clenched.

They took a seat at the table while Dean prepared plates. "They were, I know. But I'm so happy you're out of that mess. Heck, I'm happy you're even alive. I was so sure that thing in the woods got you and it was all my fault and—"

Sam frowned at her. 'No, hey, none of this is your fault. It's mine. None of this woulda happened to you if I'd chosen a different town—'

She waved her hand dismissively. "It's fine, really. It's been worth it to get to know you, Dean, Bobby, Castiel, Ellen, and Jo." Sam regarded her with disbelief. "It has! I promise. My life wasn't going anywhere anyway but now I can help out here and there with hunts. I might even try to get into it more."

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, you didn't tell me that," Dean interrupted as he set down a plate for Lindsey.

"What, I gotta run everything by you, now?" She was teasing but it was laced with a challenge.

"No, but, this is dangerous stuff. Don't want you getting hurt."

"Thanks, dad," she jibed and Dean flipped her off.

They talked about hunting for a while and what were some of the safer things she could go after to get her feet wet. Sam chimed in frequently, much more comfortable talking about hunting than himself.

"So, Dean told me you have some new abilities," Lindsey brought up casually. Sam startled and nearly dropped his spoon. "I think it's cool!" Lindsey clarified.

'You do?' Sam seemed mystified.

"Yeah, actually. I even like whatever this is." She pointed to her eye as she nodded towards Sam.

Sam flicked his gaze away. 'It doesn't scare you?'

"Not really. Makes me curious more than anything else."

'It's from Lucifer. His eyes glow red instead of the normal angelic blue because his grace is so twisted and warped. I don't know how but he did this to me. I can't make it go away. I hate it.' His voice dropped to a whisper by the end.

Dean was frozen as he listened; this was the most he'd heard Sam talk about his physical changes.

But Lindsey took it in stride. "You know there are non-prescription contacts you could get to cover it up, right? We can probably even order some online to match your regular eye color. You got a computer? We can go look at some right now!"

Sam smiled, a genuine, relaxed smile, and Dean's heart leapt for joy. This would help return a bit of normalcy and control to Sam's life. He was disappointed in himself that he hadn't thought of it but was damn grateful for Lindsey.

The two moved off to the living room to surf the web as Dean did the dishes. He heard the occasional laugh coming from Lindsey and waves of amusement coming from Sam. Maybe, just maybe, he could get his brother back.

Dean watched over the course of two weeks as Sam applied himself assiduously, working to get back in shape, eating more, rebuilding his strength. He was recovering way faster than Dean thought possible. He considered there may be something unnatural about that but he decided not to look a gift horse in the mouth. Couldn't they have something go their way for once?

He continued to try to ply Sam's emotions and get him to open up, but Sam was decidedly sealed shut. It even escalated to the point of Sam shouting at Dean that he didn't 'want to talk' and 'just wanted things to go back to normal!' The small halo of objects that flew away from him in his rage did not reassure either Winchester that normal was possible.

Regardless, he could see that Sam was getting restless. There were only so many books to read, jogs to take, things to eat. So he thought he'd float the idea of a hunt.

"What if we start with something simple? Looks like there might be a haunting a couple hours away. We could probably do it in a day."

'Do you want me use my powers? Because I don't know if I'm ready for that.'

Dean shook his head. "No, just to get you back in the groove. Don't think I haven't seen you scouring the papers."

Sam blushed slightly and smiled meekly.'Okay, so maybe I was.'

Dean grinned. "I knew it."

The next morning, Sam stood at the top of the steps listening as Dean and Bobby argued.

"Dean, dammit, this isn't a good idea. He's not ready."

"Then whenishe going to be ready? Physically, he's miles ahead of where he was. Mentally, he's sitting here stewing in his own juices. That's not healthy either!"

"I don't know but I think it's too soon. He doesn't have a handle on his powers and you wanna go throw him in a dangerous situation?"

"It's just a minor salt and burn. I'm not worried about it."

Bobby huffed angrily. "Your arrogance is going to be the death of you. You know as well as I do that simple hauntings rarely end up being just that."

"So then we deal with it," Dean countered. "What's the worst that happens?"

"I would say one of you two idjits dies but I'm guessing your archangel pals won't allow that."

"Michael hasn't said as much but probably."

"It's one thing for you to go throwing your life around but does Sam appreciate you doing that to him?"

"Pretty sure any monster death will be easier than what he's already been through." A slight pause. "You would know," Dean lobbed the words like nuclear weapons.

"Don't," Bobby growled. "I did that for your own good, boy. And I don't regret it."

"Fine. If I have to trust your judgement, then you gotta trust mine."

Strained silence reigned for a few moments before Bobby sighed in defeat. "It's your funeral."

"Sam, you ready?" Dean called up the stairs. "I'll be in the car!"

Dean waited until they were on the highway, headed towards a foreclosed house with reports of ghost activity.

"I figure you heard all that, huh?" Dean asked apologetically.

Sam nodded stiffly.

"Sorry about that, man. I think we're both just trying to look out for you and can't agree on how best to do it."

'I don't even know what I need,' Sam admitted, sighing heavily. 'If I knew, I'd tell you. But I don't.'

"I know, I know," Dean soothed. "But you think of something, you'll tell me, yeah?"

'Yeah,' Sam answered automatically.

They were quiet for a few minutes before Sam spoke up again.

'What did Bobby mean, saying he was doing something for your own good?'

"Oh, that. Bobby wouldn't let me see the records those bastards kept on you. Said they would be too upsetting for me and that he would tell me anything important. He hasn't told me a lot but I don't know how much he's gone through. Probably isn't easy for him either."

Sam snickered morosely. 'No, probably not…' He wondered if he'd want to see the records for himself, see what they thought of him. What did it matter though? He already knew, knew what everyone thought of him. Seeing it confirmed on paper wouldn't change anything. Nothing could change what he was. Nothing.

Dean followed Sam closely, letting Sam take the lead without letting on that's what he wanted. Sam was still hyper-reactive and would flinch at the smallest thing, but he kept it together. It turned out the ghost actually wanted to be laid to rest. It led them to where its remains were stashed in a dusty crawlspace and they made quick work of the spirit. Dean considered it a success. Ghost salted and burned, no problems with Sam. He felt vindicated in the face of Bobby's doubt and smiled to himself.

Dean put their tools in the trunk and slipped into the driver's seat. He started the car and turned the music low. "How do you feel about stopping by The Roadhouse on the way back? It's not too far out of the way. Ellen said she wanted to see us."

Sam's shoulders hitched uncomfortably. 'Don't think that's the best idea.'

"Why not?"

Sam's face twitched and he looked over to Dean. 'Me. Hunter bar. Not the greatest combination.'

"What do you think is going to happen?"

Sam shrugged. 'Nothing good.'

"Sam, no one is going to fuck with you with meandEllen there."

Sam dropped his gaze to his lap. 'Not necessarily worried about that.'

"Okay… Then whatareyou worried about?"

Sam's Adam's apple bobbed frantically in his throat. 'What if someone recognizes me? Or I recognize them?'

Dean fought and failed to suppress a sigh. He'd been hoping Sam would feel up to it but clearly his brother wasn't ready. Though, really, who was he kidding? If they went in there and Sam froze up because he saw someone who had tortured him, Dean wasn't sure he'd be able to control himself. Maybe it was just as well they didn't go in.

"Fair point. But Ellen still wants to see us so we'll have her just come out to the car. And maybe bring me a keg. That okay?"

Sam looked up but stared straight out the windshield. He nodded then reached over and turned the music up, making it obvious this conversation was over.

There were more than a few times in college that Sam had fantasized about having a photographic memory. How easy would it be to flip through his law books, stare at the pages, and have all the statutes imprinted into his brain? That was the dream right there.

But now he was inordinately grateful that he wasn't blessed with that neurodivergent quirk. To remember the face of every person who had harmed, abused, or tortured him would be overwhelming. He'd be constantly scanning every crowd, terrified some random face would turn into a snarling attack. As it was, he still felt like he had to look over his shoulder, his body always tensed and ready to flee.

He forced himself to take breaths, steering his mind away from all the memories that threatened to suffocate him. He was safe. He was with Dean. Dean wouldn't let anything happen. Dean would protect him. Like he always had.

Dean pulled the Impala around the back and called Ellen's cell.

"Dean! Good to hear from you!"

"Hey Ellen. Are you at The Roadhouse?"

"I am, what's going on?"

"Come out back to say 'hi'."

"Why don't you just come in, have a beer?"

"Sam doesn't want to come in."

"Sam's with you?!" She sounded excited but doubtful.

"Yeah—"

"I'll be out in a sec!"

Dean hung up and smiled at Sam, who tried to muster the courage to return it. Dean got out of the car and leaned against her as he waited for Ellen. Sam took a few more deep breaths and then followed Dean out.

Ellen burst out of the backdoor and grinned widely at them. "Oh it is so damn good to see you boys!" she exclaimed, hurrying over to them. She gave Dean a quick half-hearted embrace before turning to Sam, her eyes maternal and expression caring.

Ellen swooped in for a hug and Sam didn't get a chance to prepare himself for the close contact. Her arms closed around his chest and he got an overpowering dose of what was on her mind: the last she had seen of him, which was the picture on some hunter's phone. Ellen's remembered nausea swept through him as he felt her horror. He saw himself hung from a tree by razor wire, blood pouring down his battered body. 'TRAITOR' was carved into his forehead and 'EVIL' was burned across his cheeks. Tim stood to one side and a man Sam didn't recognize was on the other. They looked so damn pleased with themselves, like they'd just won the lottery, like they'd had the most fun of their entire lives, like killing him was the best thing ever.

He recalled how they set him free from a cage in the woods, gave him a head start, told him tofucking runbecause he was the prize game animal they were hunting that day. If he wasn't caught, he'd have the night off. If he was, they could do whatever they wanted to him. They left him barefoot but he couldn't care about that, could only run through the pain in the hope of avoiding something so much worse. He should have been more careful, more observant, more something, but it was getting dark, he didn't see it, didn't notice the open bear trap hidden underneath the leaves. He knew he was fucked the moment he heard the metal hinge creak but it was too late. His ragged scream gave away his location. He tried prying the damn thing apart but only succeeded in ripping up his fingers. He decided to keep moving even with the teeth of the trap chewing through his bones but ultimately the handicap was too much to overcome. The hunters caught up with him and tied him up, laughing and taunting him. He felt the barbed wire digging into his wrists and ankles, the knives slipping under his skin, the razor wire slowly decapitating him until he was being dragged behind a car and his head was sliced clean off—

He snapped out of it to find himself alone in the darkness.

'Dean?!'

Hindsight was always 20/20 but Dean kicked himself for not foreseeing this. Ellen bounded out of the bar and practically pounced on Sam, wrapping the kid in a tight hug. Dean hadn't warned her that Sam didn't like to be touched and clearly something set him off. The second after they made contact, a blast of fearful panic radiated out from Sam, physically shoving them away and shattering all the lights in the area in a blinding shower of sparks. Pitch blackness descended upon them and Dean could hear Sam hyper-ventilating.

'Dean?!' Sam cried out, desperately searching for an anchor.

"Sam, I'm right here!" He pulled out his phone and turned the flashlight on. Sam was in the same spot, chest heaving as he fought for breath. Ellen was still on the ground, stunned. "Ellen, you okay?"

She nodded hesitantly. "I, uh, think so. What the hell just happened?" She stood up slowly, wary of making any sudden movements.

"He has a bunch of new powers that aren't always super well controlled, especially when he gets upset. Sam, concentrate on my voice. One, two, breathe in, three, four, breathe out."

Dean repeated that for about a minute before Sam stopped shaking.

"What is there to get upset about? I didn't do anything!"

'Ph-photo,' Sam said weakly so they could both hear.

"What photo?" they asked in unison.

Sam looked at Ellen and she saw his glowing red eye for the first time. 'Of m-me. Hanging. Hunters. Strung me up…'

Ellen visibly paled and her face fell. "Oh sweetie, I am so sorry! I was thinking about that and you read that off me, didn't you?" Sam nodded jerkily. "I didn't know, I—"

'I-it's okay. Not your fault.' Sam provided magnanimously despite the fact he looked ready to shrink into nothingness.

"Ellen! Power's out in the whole bar!" a voice called from inside and Sam dropped his head in shame.

"Don't you go worrying about this, okay, Sam?" Ellen's voice was firm but compassionate. "I'll be right in," Ellen shouted back. "Now you two take care of yourselves and I wanna see you again soon, you hear?"

"Will do," Dean answered and moved towards Sam to shepherd him into the car. Ellen gave Dean an uncertain smile then headed back into the building.

Without touching Sam, he helped him into the Impala.

Dean assessed his brother as he started the engine. "Alright, man, we're heading back to Bobby's, getting a night's rest, then we're heading to Missouri's. We gotta get this under control."

'I'm sorry,' Sam replied quietly, remorse emanating from his hunched body.

"It's fine, Sam. We just gotta figure this out. That's all."

As if it were ever that easy, Dean thought to himself sourly. It's not like they had a lot of choice in the matter though. They couldn't exactly let this go on uncontained and have Sam blowing out the national power grid every time he got flustered.Flustered?his brain critiqued.You were quite a bit more thanflusteredwhen you saw that picture of Sam. You wanted to line up all those hunters up and execute them!

Okay, so maybe he was being unfair to Sam. He never handled these revelations well and he was only learning about them. He didn't have to remember them. He bit back a sigh and clenched his hands around the steering wheel, determined to do whatever it took to help Sam.

He was watching cartoons on the couch, sipping on a fruit punch Hi-C juice box with a bowl of grapes in his lap. A blast of cold air whipped behind him and he turned his head to see if a door or window was open. Nope, everything was closed and locked, just like his parents had taught him to do when he comes from school. He went to pull a blanket over himself and found himself unable to pull it towards his body. He yanked harder and the lights flickered as he fought something he couldn't see for control of the blanket. Things started flying off the table and counters. Terrified, he let go of the blanket and got up as fast as he could, grapes bouncing everywhere. He ran to the front door and tried to open it but it wouldn't budge. He curled up in a ball and wrapped his hands over his head.

"Leave me alone!" he cried, begging whatever was after him. "Please, please let me be! I'll be good!"

The doorknob began to turn and the ruckus suddenly died down. The door pushed open and he wasn't sure he'd ever been so happy to see his mom!

Dean glanced over at his slumbering brother, appreciating how the constant lines of tension on his face had eased as he slept. His face was still gaunt but his eyes no longer had that sunken-in appearance that made him look like he was constantly teetering on the edge of death. Every day, Sam looked a little bit better. He felt the ties around his heart ease a little bit. Sam snoozing in the Impala just felt right and Dean was glad Sam could relax enough to even fall asleep.

But of course, their luck never did hold out.

They were on the northern outskirts of Omaha when Sam's face started to contort in pain.

Dean wrenched the car to the side of the highway as Sam reached out frantically both mentally and physically. 'What-what's happening? Dean? Where am I?'

"Sam, I'm right here. You're in the Impala. What's wrong?"

Sam snapped his head over to Dean and looked at him with wide eyes and a quivering lip. 'I… I think I just had a vision…'

"A vision? Like back when Yellow Eyes—"

'Yeah,' Sam interrupted but didn't elaborate. He turned his head to look out the window, a standard pensive Sam maneuver.

Dean waited a few seconds, watching Sam's fingers nervously knot into each other. "So? What was it about?"

Sam was quiet and Dean let him collect his thoughts.'A little kid in his house… Lights started flickering, cold spots, things started moving… Probably a poltergeist. Seemed hellbent on terrifying him.'

Dean fiddled with his lip as he listened, mulling over the information. "Anything identifying?"

Sam shook his head. 'Kid was white and young, maybe between 7 and 9?'

"That's not a lot to go on."

Sam huffed in annoyance. 'I know, Dean. Sorry I'm just as useless as ever!' Dean couldn't tell if the last bit was directed at Dean or himself.

"Whoa, whoa, slow down there. No one said you're useless. Usually the visions give you enough information to do something about it right? So we just gotta wait until the next one."

'But that was before. Who knows how things work now?'

"Then go back to sleep and maybe you'll see more."

Sam shifted in the seat, obvious discomfort slinking around his long limbs. 'I guess I'll try…'

Sam arranged himself to sleep again but a deep frown remained etched on his face.

A few miles of driving did nothing to lull his brother back to sleep. Instead, he tossed and turned.

"What's wrong, Sam?"

Jesse Turner's innocent, brave face stared at him and guilt boiled through him.

'I gotta save him. I just… I gotta save him.'

"We will. We got this. Now go do your psychic thing so we can kick some ghost ass."

Sam nodded weakly and settled in again to sleep.

And here I was thinking we'd get this stuff under control… Idiot…Dean thought to himself, torn whether to be amused, bitter, or just resigned. He decided he'd have a lot of chances to figure it out.

Cozy, warm. A soft, light green blanket splayed out beneath his tiny fingers. His other hand gripped a small golden dragon stuffed animal with drooping wings. Flipping the covers back, he saw the comfy flannel pajamas with cartoon dinosaurs in the flickering hallway light. He slid out of bed and slowly approached his bedroom door. The closer he got, the colder he felt, until he could actually see puffs of breath hanging in the air.

"Mama?" he called out quietly. "Daddy?" Getting no answer, he crept into the hallway and went towards his parents' room. As he approached, the picture frames lining the space started to rattle against the wall. He hurried along the corridor to their door. Something wafted into his nose and he recognized it as smoke. Smoke?! Looking down, tendrils of smoke were creeping out under the door. He knew he wasn't supposed to open their door if it was closed, but that didn't count if it was an emergency, right?

"Mama! Daddy! There's a fire! We gotta go!" He went to grab the door handle but snapped his hand back when he felt how warm it was. He banged on the door and tried shouting some more but nothing happened. Covering his palm with the sleeve of his pajamas, he gripped the doorknob again and twisted it open despite the intense flash of pain. As he swung the door open, flames leapt towards the fresh source of oxygen, enveloping him in fire.

It was less than twenty minutes later when Dean felt a strange static tingle along his fingertips. It crawled up his arms and neck to the back of his ears before it suddenly escalated to a flare of heat as Sam woke in a panic. He was quicker to reorient himself this time, the familiarity of Dean and the Impala soothing his nerves.

Sam sighed and rubbed his eyes with his hands. 'I was that same little kid and there was still something in his house. Poltergeist acting up. I… he tried to go to his parents bedroom but there was smoke coming out and when he opened the door, flames came towards him. That's when I woke up.'

Fire. Great, Dean's mind chided sarcastically and he forced his brain to lock it down. He didn't need Sam picking up on that kind of energy. "Alright, um, any more clues?"

Sam pinched between his eyes and tried to focus. 'No, nothing that — Wait!' Flashes of the picture frames danced ahead of him and he tried to catch the fleeting glimpses. Family portraits, a photo of a house with the family in front of it, a diploma, with a name!Alyshia Steele … awarded the degree of Doctorate of Philosophy in Quantum Chemistry from the University ofS– Dean hit a pothole and it snapped Sam out of the memory. But he had enough. 'I got a name. Alyshia Steele. We need to find them, now, Dean.'

"Alright, let's call Bobby and get him working on it."

'No, we need to do this now. What if the fire is tonight? We might be too late.'

"We don't even know where they are, Sam. Call Bobby and we'll get going on this."

'Fine,' Sam huffed in resignation, but dialed the number and put it on speaker.

"Heya boys," Bobby greeted gruffly.

"Hey Bobby. Sam says hi," Dean added as usual. Sam didn't like to be left out due to his muteness.

"Everything alright? You two just left a few hours ago…"

"Yeah, well, wonders never cease." Sam threw him an annoyed look and Dean dropped the attitude. "This is actually serious. Sam had a vision—" Sam thrust two fingers in front of Dean's face. "Visions," he emphasized the s.

"You sure? A vision? Sam hasn't had one of those in—"

"I know, Bobby, but I believe him. It was just like before. Headaches, grumpy, twitchy, whole nine yards." Sam scowled at him and Dean gave him a 'what?' look in response.

'Jerk,'Sam said half-heartedly.

'Bitch,' Dean replied before refocusing on Bobby.

"Any leads then?"

"A little kid being antagonized by a poltergeist. There was a fire in the parents' bedroom. Sam got a name, the mom I'm guessing. Alyshia Steele." He spelled the name out for Bobby as he looked at Sam for any more information.

'She has a Ph.D. in quantum chemistry from a University of S. I couldn't see what the rest of the name was.'

Dean relayed the information for Bobby. "There can't be too many of those so I'll call you back as soon as I have an address."

"Thanks Bobby. We'll talk to you soon."

Sam ended the call and tucked the phone away. He sat quietly for a few moments, feeling something percolating in Dean. He decided to wait for Dean to tell him instead of rudely taking it from his mind.

He didn't have to wait long.

"Okay, here's what I don't get. Weren't all the visions before related to Azazel? Why would you be having visions about some random poltergeist now?"

Sam shrugged. 'It's not like there're any rules this has to follow. All I know is it felt exactly the same and I'm not gonna ignore that.'

Dean nodded in agreement. "I hear ya, I'm just trying to work this out. See if we can't figure out what else you might be hiding up your sleeve." With the small smile on Dean's face, he obviously meant it as an off-the-cuff joke, but it unexpectedly struck Sam with deadly accuracy and threatened to capsize him.

Yeah, Sam, what else are you hiding? Any other tidbits about supernatural kids you might wanna share with Dean, hmm? Maybe how youdrank a human childand didn't even feel that bad about it?

No, that's not true! I didn't want to!

I recall you being pretty damn excited to taste that freak's power. You were ready to rip him open with your own teeth if it came to it. You only changed your tune when it turned out his blood did nothing for you.

Sam shook his head in denial.I—I didn't want to drink him! They made me! They were gonna kill his parents and he wanted me to do it to save them!

Is that what you tell yourself? That you did it because they made you , because he wanted you to ? Maybe I need to remind you, maybe you don't remember how damn strung out you were… Let's take a quick peek…

Sam felt an intrusive wave crash over him and he was powerless to fight the tide. Then he was back there, in that bedroom, Jesse's mom bleeding out while Jesse's wide green eyes begged Sam to do something. He felt the pain of his own gunshot, felt the blood from his ruptured eardrum, felt the dried demon's blood on his lips. He noticed the fear and revulsion, the desire to be anywhere but there, but he also couldn't deny the thrill that was pulsing behind his eyes as he imagined the surge of infernal power that would come from even a drop of the Antichrist's blood. In the moment, he had been focused on Jesse and what to do. Now, he had the opportunity to observe everything else. He thought he had been shaking and uncertain as he took Jesse's switchblade, but now he could see that he was sure and eager. His mouth became thick with anticipatory saliva, his throat swallowing convulsively as it greedily awaited its greatest prize. He couldn't wait to taste the ambrosia underneath that quivering skin. The beautiful ruby blossom called to him, sang to him, and he answered its call without hesitation.

And then how sharp, how crushing, how maddening the disappointment when nothing happened, when it was just lowly human blood! He had been robbed of ecstasy! His snarl revealed bloodstained teeth as he looked back at his captors to tell them they were wrong, but they didn't care, they didn't trust their demon spawn not to protect another. Only then, as he sucked the worthless kid dry did his humanity come back to him and he regretted his very existence. Only in his failure to achieve his high could he recognize how fucked up the situation truly was. And yet, it didn't matter. Hot blood still flowed over his tongue and he couldn't breathe, he couldn't fucking breathe—

He coughed painfully and blood sprayed from his lips, painting the dashboard and the windshield with fine red confetti. Distantly he heard Dean exclaim "what the fuck?!" before swerving the Impala to the side of the road. All he could focus on was the taste of blood in his mouth, covering his tongue, coating his teeth, trickling down his throat, making him choke and spasm. The car hadn't even come to a standstill by the time he was shoving the door open and throwing himself out, frantically trying to spit it out, spit all out. 'Human, it's human, stop this, please…' he cried. A hand was on his back, a voice urging him to breathe, and all he could do was retch violently as he scrabbled helplessly in the dust. Tiny rocks dug into his hands and he clung to the fine pinpricks of pain they provided, begging them to ground him. A water bottle appeared in front of him and he lunged for it like a lifeline, tearing the cap off and dousing his face and mouth, frantic to wash the blood away. A few rinses reduced the overpowering taste to a few drops and he belatedly realized the source was not a demon or a child, but his tongue. He must have bitten his own stupid tongue during his little spastic flashback and worked himself into a frenzy.

Crisis averted, he deflated like a leaky balloon and slumped against the Impala. Dean was over him in a second, his voice fraught as he asked if Sam was okay, what happened, does he need more water, Sam, you hearing me? Sam?Sam?

It didn't matter. None of it did. He wasn't back there but that didn't matter either. He'd done it and he'd wanted it. He knew his mind, body, and soul were corrupted; now he could add his beloved intentions to that cursed list. Nothing about him was worth saving. Nothing.

"I hear ya, I'm just trying to work this out. See if we can't figure out what else you might be hiding up your sleeve." In some ways it was like a game: what new crazy power will Sam reveal next? Not that Dean wanted Sam's life to be an unending maze of psychic discovery, but he felt sorry for the kid. As if everything going on wasn't hard enough, add in some unpredictable metaphysical abilities to make sure they were both always on their toes! Dean sighed and looked over to Sam. At least with the visions they had quite a bit of experience. Sam was shaking his head at something but otherwise still looking out the window. That was fine. This Sam didn't like to talk things to death. He was much more reserved, more selective with his unspoken words. Compared to his previous arrangement, Dean supposed Sam was probably downright chatty. He understood it though. He didn't expect Sam to bounce back to his regular emotive self overnight. If ever, maybe. He bit back the eternal sigh that yearned to leave his chest, the one that wished it could fill the gaping void in Sam's soul. Nothing, not even God himself, could fix that, though.

Vaguely he wondered what itfeltlike to be his brother. Was his head always on fire from the psychic crap? Did it come and go? Did he even notice? Back when it was just visions, it only seemed to bother him when he was actually having one or in the immediate aftermath. But now it was hardly 'just visions.'

As though timed perfectly to emphasize his thought, or perhaps mock it, Sam coughed violently and a mist of blood suddenly sprayed from Sam's face. "What the fuck?!" he shouted as he quickly guided his Baby to the shoulder. Sam was out before he'd even stopped moving. He put the car in park and rounded the hood to find Sam on his hands and knees trying to throw up and failing miserably.

'Human, it's human, stop this, please,' he heard Sam plead but he couldn't figure out what that meant. Maybe he was just babbling.

He crouched and soothed small circles on Sam's back. "Breathe, man, you're okay. Breathe." He caught a glimpse of Sam's face and saw blood speckling his lips and chin, but he couldn't discern the source. He stood and grabbed a bottle of water from the car and held it out. Sam threw his whole body at it, ripping it from his hands. Like a man possessed, Sam yanked the cap off and dumped it over his face, washing away the blood and spit. He began obsessively rinsing his mouth, using the whole bottle to swish his mouth out nine or ten times. Only when the water turned and stayed clear did Sam relax. Then it was like a switch had been flipped and he collapsed against the car.

Dean hunched over him and tried getting his attention. "Sam? Are you okay?" He got no response and tried lifting Sam's head up. He was limp and unresponsive. Clumps of hair stuck to his face haphazardly. "What happened? What the hell was that?" The empty water bottle fell from Sam's hand and rattled in the dirt. "Do you need more water? Sam, are you hearing me? Sam? Sam?"

He lightly slapped the sides of his brother's face, trying to keep him conscious. Gathering up all his panic and urgency, he put his fingers over Sam's temples and screamed a heartfelt 'Sammy!' into his brain.

Sam jolted and his eyes flew open, but the pupils were blown and the gaze unfocused. Sam blinked a few times before shaking his head and pinning his eyes on Dean.

"You with me now?" Dean asked softly.

Sam opened his mouth and took a deep breath then closed his eyes as he expelled the air through his nose. His tongue slipped out to lick his lips as he took a few more breaths. He nodded shallowly.

"You wanna tell me what the hell that was about? 'Causethatwasn't no vision."

Sam opened his eyes and an inscrutable expression passed over his face before he shifted his stare away from Dean. Several minutes passed and Sam made no effort to explain anything. Dean sighed and took a seat on the ground next to Sam, letting the sounds of the highway be their entertainment.

Sensing that they weren't going anywhere until Sam explained, after a few minutes he offered a detached 'I bit my tongue.'

Dean had to stifle the slightly hysterical laugh that wanted to burst out of him. "How does you biting your tongue lead to a full blown panic attack?"

Sam thew Dean a hint of a glare but was clearly too out of it to put any real heat into it. 'It freaked me out.'

Dean waited for a further explanation and suppressed the irritation he felt when he realized that was all he was going to get. He may understand this closed-off Sam but goddammit he did not have to like it. Or even put up with it, actually.

"What freaked you out about it?" he asked carefully.

He watched Sam's jaw twitch as his brother formulated his answer. 'I don't like the feel of blood on my tongue.'

Dean's forehead started to crease in confusion before blinding clarity struck him.Oh. OH.

Sam looked over at him nervously and he looked like he was gonna be sick.

"Nope, I, uh, yeah, I get it now."

Sam tried and failed to clear his throat and instead let his head fall down to his chest and worked on breathing in deep breaths.

A million thoughts dashed through Dean's mind but one stopped him dead in his tracks. Sam had said 'human, it's human, stop this, please.' If the blood was human, not demon, why would he be agitated? If he knew the difference, knew it wasn't demon blood, shouldn't that calm him down? What was he missing? Or was it that he was pissed itwasn'tdemon blood?

"Sam?"

'Y-yeah?'

"I'm gonna ask you this and I want you to be honest with me."

'Dean, don't, please.' That same piteous tone was back and it was almost enough to make Dean reverse course. Almost.

"Why were you upset that it was human blood?"

Sam's sharp inhale told Dean it was the question Sam hadn't wanted him to ask. His hands started looking for any distraction, any loose thread or piece of rubber on his boot, a stick, something.

'You don't want to know. Trust me.'

"Sam, I'm here for you, no matter what. You know that."

Sam shook his head fiercely. 'You say that, but you don't know.You don't know. Leave it. Please.'

"You know I can't."

'Yes you can. Please, Dean.' Sam's head rose to meet Dean's and his eyes were already filled with tears. His mental voice was strangled in a whisper. 'You'll hate me. I hate me.'

Dean tamped down his impatience. "I already told you, dude, I don't hate you and I can't hate you. Not in my being. So lay it on me. We're not going anywhere 'til you spill."

Sam looked away and his hair fell so that it shielded his face. Silence hung between them like a death sentence and neither wanted to breach it first. Dean waited so long he lost sensation in his butt and then his thighs and then the rest of his legs. The cold wind pelted them mercilessly as countless cars zipped past them on the two lane highway, rattling the Impala against their backs. And still Sam said nothing. Dean was cataloging ways to make Sam talk when his phone suddenly rang and they both flinched hard in the gravel.

Dean slipped the phone out of his pocket and answered, switching the phone to his far ear and purposefully not putting it on speaker. He wasn't gonna reward Sam for withholding something important from him! "Bobby! What'd'ya got?"

"I got an address. 17327 South Creek Circle, Omaha 68136. There's—"

"Wait, Omaha?"

"Yeah, why?"

"We're in Omaha now. Well, almost. We're on I-29 heading into Omaha."

"So Sam's visions are local now?"

Dean wiped a hand over his face. "Fucking beats me. Any other dirt?"

"Yeah, mom is a professor at the University of Nebraska Omaha. Dad, Stefan Grander, is the store manager at Hy-Vee Supermarket. They got a nine-year-old son, Marcus."

"Thanks, Bobby."

"Any time."

Dean hung up and looked over at his brother, who hadn't moved an inch. "We got an address, so we got a case, but don't think that means we're done with this."

He stood and brushed his hands off on his jeans, not offering to help Sam up. He wasn't sure if he was being unfair or not. No, he couldn'tmakeSam talk, but whatever it was, it was major. Sam may have changed some, okay,a lot, but new Sam or old, his brother didn't deal well with keeping things buried inside.

Sam was sliding himself into the seat by the time Dean started the car. Sam still hid his face and it was burning Dean to not know what had him in such a state. What could be worse than drinking demon blood, than letting Lucifer free? Whatever, he'd get it out of his brother one way or another. He punched the address into his phone and started the car, not even asking if Sam was ready or not.

They stopped by the house, which Sam confirmed was the one from his vision, but no one was home. Seeing as it was early afternoon on a weekday, that wasn't much of a surprise. The dead-end street didn't provide them much protection in terms of a stakeout, so they decided to come back later. Sam relayed that his fire vision seemed to happen at night so there was no imminent threat.

Tension clung to them like swamp air and Dean had had about enough of sitting two feet from Sam yet feeling like his brother was miles away. He checked them into a motel and started unpacking, leaving Sam to mope in the front seat.

He tossed his duffel on the bed then pulled out his phone and dialed, pacing the room as it rang.

"Hey Missouri," he greeted with false enthusiasm.

"Not that I don't wanna see you, but why I do I get the feeling you aren't coming here tonight?"

"Damn you're good. We were on our way when Sam started having visions outside of Omaha and turns out they're about a family in Omaha."

"Did you say visions? Sam's having visions again?"

Dean ran his hand through his hair. "Yeah… Just kinda popped up outta nowhere. So we need to stay and check this out, then we'll be on our way. I hope you understand why—"

"It's alright, Dean. I never told you this, but first time I met you two as grown-ups, I could tell Sam had powerful abilities. Stronger than my own. So he has a vision, you better follow it up."

That stopped Dean in his tracks. "What? You knew? About Sam?" Dean couldn't help but feel a little betrayed.

"He knew the poltergeist was still there when I thought we had cleansed the house. I knew he had the gift, but it was completely untamed. I wanted to tell him, and tell you, but your father didn't—"

"Dad?" Now Dean was at a complete loss.

Missouri sighed. "Yeah, your daddy was there when you two were. He wanted to see you both, he really did, and I wanted to tell you, but he made me promise. He didn't want to see you until he knew the truth—"

Abruptly it all slotted into place. "About Sam. About how I'd have to either save him or kill him. That son of a bitch!" Dean ended in a growl.

"He thought he was doing the right thing."

"That must have been nice for him," he spat bitterly.

"Dean—"

"You don't need to explain for him, Missouri. It doesn't matter anyway. What's done is done. Doubt it woulda changed anything. I could never kill Sammy."Even when you find out what he's hiding from you?his mind countered.However terrible that is?His train of thought derailed and he found himself adrift in the room.

"Dean? Dean, what are you thinking, honey?"

Dean took a deep breath and thought about how to phrase this. "Something happened after one of the visions… Sam had some kind of panic attack but he wouldn't tell me what caused it. I tried just sitting on the side of the road with him until he told me but Sam wouldn't budge and then Bobby called with the address. Whatever it is, it's bad, and he won't say, but I know him, he needs to get it out. How can I make him tell me?"

Missouri let out a soft chuckle and Dean frowned at the perceived disrespect. "You say you know him, but you're letting yourself get in the way. If he needs to, he will tell you. Just give him the space and don't force it. If you need to know, he'll share."

"Dunno if you noticed, but him not sharing some key info is kind of what started this whole damn apocalypse, so excuse me if I don't trust him to be an open book all of a sudden."

"You're angry, Dean, and you have every right to be. But Sam's soul… It's scared, damaged… He was alone for a long time with only a fallen angel for company. It's not going to respond to your anger. Your best bet is compassion, and everything else will come, onhisschedule."

Missouri's sympathetic words bulls-eyed his psyche and he remembered, with crippling precision, every time he'd ever answered Sam's questions or decisions or cries for help with frustration, with 'no, because I said so', with 'suck it up' instead of patience and understanding. Shame welled up within him and it threatened to cut off his oxygen.

"Hey, hey, don't go doing that. You said it yourself, what's done is done. But what you can do now is be there for Sam the way he always needed you to be. You haven't forgotten how to do this, you've just forgottenwhyyou do this."

Dean heard the car door close and knew he would have company very soon. "You're right, Missouri. Thank you. Sam's about to come in, so, I, uh, should probably go."

"Keep in touch, dear."

"Yes, ma'am."

Dean hung up the phone as the doorknob turned. He quickly wiped his eyes and put his phone away. He looked up to see Sam silently slip in the room, shut the door, and creep past him.

"Sammy," Dean said, louder than he intended. Sam flinched and Dean winced.

Sam stopped walking, a few feet from 'his' bed. 'You want me to leave?' Sam asked in a small voice, resignation already plain in his tone.

"What? No!" Dean hurried out. "I was gonna say I'm sorry for pushing you earlier. That wasn't fair and I won't do it again."

Sam's head tilted forward for a second before he turned and studied Dean's face for a few moments. Apparently finding what he saw satisfactory, he gave Dean a small smile. 'Thank you,' he offered solemnly. Then the moment was over as he spun and dropped his duffel on the bed.

Dean nodded to himself, hoped that was enough, then decided to move forward. "So, uh, what do you wanna do for dinner? Probably got a few more options here in Omaha than our regular podunk towns. I'll even go to, what was it, Panera, with you."

That got a rueful smile from Sam and they bickered about what healthy-ish food Dean could possibly stomach from Panera. Dean felt their regular cadence return and he surrendered himself to wait for Sam, however long that took.

They decided to go with the "we're detectives looking into some burglaries in the area" disguise since they couldn't find any relevant history on the house or the family.

The mother opened the door. Dean flashed a winning smile and caught her attention before she could engage Sam. "Hello. I'm Detective Mullen and this is my partner, Detective Evans." Sam nodded a greeting as they both showed their badges. Dean made a show of checking his notebook. "Assuming I've got the right house, you must be Dr. Steele, right?" The woman nodded. "We're investigating some recent burglaries in the area and were hoping you'd have a moment to answer a few questions."

"Burglaries? Here? Well, um, I… Yeah sure, I have a minute." She appraised them briefly. "You wouldn't happen to have been near anyone who was sick recently?" The brothers gave her a confused look and shook their heads 'no.' "Sorry, I have to ask. It's just that my son had a liver transplant recently and he is very susceptible to illness."

"I'm sorry to hear that, but I'm glad he got a transplant," Dean offered.

She beckoned them inside and Sam took the opportunity to say something with her back turned so he didn't seem completely mute. 'Has he been recovering well?'

She led them into the kitchen where Stefan was cooking and Marcus was playing with some toys on the table. "Yes, thankfully. The doctors say they've never seen a kid bounce back like Marcus! I'd attribute it to us actually following all the rules but who knows, maybe we were just lucky."

"Luck favors the prepared or something like that, right?" Dean recalled. Alyshia beamed up at him and stroked Marcus's hair.

"Mom!" he protested and tried to wiggle out of her grip. While she was distracted, Dean dialed Sam's phone so it rang and allowed him to step away. They had practiced Sam 'throwing' his mental voice so he would be able to search places while Dean interacted with their victim or suspect. Dean re-introduced themselves then continued a casual line of questioning while Sam did a quick sweep of the house. He didn't even bother with the EMF: he was far more sensitive. He sensed a malevolent energy that seemed to be localized to the kid's room. It didn't totally match with his visions but Sam knew his visions never revealed the whole story.

He rejoined Dean as his brother was wrapping up and they left with the family promising to give them a call if anything unusual happened.

They got into the car before exchanging info. "Definitely poltergeist." 'Definitely poltergeist.' they both said at the same time. Dean deferred to Sam. 'I felt it. Some kind of negative energy, mostly in the kid's room. Definitely malicious.'

Dean nodded. "Checks out. Seems like it started when they came back from the hospital after the transplant. They chalked it up to them being just over-tired or maybe not used to the sounds of the home because they were gone so long, but they have noticed things moved or missing."

'Were you able to question Marcus at all?'

"The kid? Nah, but he stopped playing when we went over that stuff and was real quiet. I'm betting there're things going on he's not telling mom and dad about."

'I agree. Saw grapes under the couch that looked pretty fresh. Guessing my first vision happened either yesterday or today.'

Dean scrunched his eyebrows. "Grapes?"

Sam waved a hand in dismissal and smiled impishly. 'Sorry. In my first vision, kid got scared and spilled a bowl of grapes.'

"You know, Sam, if I didn't know you, I'd say your head was broken." He couldn't keep the playful tone out of his voice.

Sam smiled and shrugged. 'I take what I can get. Beggars can't be choosers.'

"Yeah, yeah. Alright, you wanna stay here or head back to the motel for a little bit?"

'Up to you.'

"No man, I asked you. Your visions, your call."

That made Sam pause and he swallowed nervously in the silence. 'I'd like to stay.'

"Had a feeling you'd say that, so I grabbed some cold ones for us." He reached into the backseat and pulled a sixpack out. Sam took the proffered bottle with an uneasy smile and settled himself in to watch.

It was 11:36 pm and Dean was on the dregs of his fourth beer. They'd been in the car for over five hours while Dean's tapes kept them in companiable near-silence. The AC/DC cassette ended and Dean halfheartedly searched for a tape they hadn't heard yet before giving up and draining his beer. He debated for a few minutes whether he should save the last beer before deciding waiting was for losers. He grabbed the last one and was about to offer it to Sam when he saw his brother's bottle was still over halfway full in the cupholder. Sam's attention was glued to the house, waiting patiently for any sign of trouble. Dean twisted the top off and took a swig. He was grateful he'd fully swallowed the gulp or else he may have choked on it as Sam chose then to drop the bomb.

'I killed a kid.' Sam's voice was flat, emotionless.

Dean was about to ask if he'd heard that right, but, uh,duh, it was being projected directly into his brain. How could he mishear it?

"What?" was all he could manage over his astonishment.

'I killed a child. About Marcus's age.' Myriad emotions leapt up, warring for dominance. Horror, disgust, sympathy, rage, but he had to push it all down and hear Sam out. This was what he'd offered and he needed to follow through.

"How did it happen?" Dean asked evenly, sealing a tight lid over his feelings so he wouldn't scare Sam away.

Sam was motionless, staring at the house. 'Second huntthey— Tim and Reggie —' (Dean thinks that's the first time he's ever heard Sam say their names.) 'forced me on. After the baykok where they burned me to ash.' (Dean had to suppress that photo of his brother's lanky body folded up in a dog cage, the flesh on his bones slowly growing back. He suddenly regreted all those beers.)

'They got wind of some sort of demon spawn in Alliance, Nebraska. They went to go investigate and left me in the kennel.' (God, that fucking kennel!) 'I dunno if it was withdrawal or what, but I started hallucinating something fierce. Jess,' (Sam still said her name with such reverence that Dean's heart skipped a beat.),'myself in college…' Sam's face folded slightly in confusion. 'I think even Lucifer was there at some point…' He shrugged and his blank expression returned. 'When they came back, they carted me off and said if they couldn't kill this kid, I had to do it. Plan went out the window the moment we got there because there was already a demon there, trying to take the kid. Turns out he's the Antichrist, one of the stars of Lucifer's army.'

Dean's eyes bulged in shock. How come he, Bobby, or Cas didn't hear about this?!

'They'd given me a tiny hit of blood before we went upstairs. Not enough to do anything, but enough to stop the demon's powers from working on me. They wanted me to exorcise it but I didn't have the juice and the damn thing knew it. It reached for the kid and Tim or Reggie shot her. Some of the blood—' Sam stopped, glanced at Dean minutely then back to the house, 'Some of the blood got on me and… I'm sorry, Dean,' his voice shook a little bit, the first hint of emotion he'd shown so far, 'I was so damn weak. But I brought it to my mouth and, it was so good, I just had to have more, I was so thirsty…' He took in a shaky breath and Dean took the opportunity to reassure his brother.

"I know, Sam, it's an addiction. You don't have to apologize to me for it. I get it. I don't love it, but I get it. And you don't need to hide that from me. Is that what you were so worried about?"

Sam's throat let out a choked, bitter laugh that reminded Dean a little too much of demon-Sam and he tensed despite himself. But Sam didn't notice and plowed on. 'I wanted to drain the whole demon but they pulled me off. Told me to kill the demon and then kill the kid.'

Ah, Dean thought.Here we go.

'I thought I was just going to crush the Hell spawn with my power, I had enough now.' Dean noted how Sam absent-mindedly licked his lips. 'But they…' he sighed angrily, 'those fuckers, they planted the idea and once it was there, there was no getting around it.' Sam's hands started to flex and clench in tight fists. 'I fucking knew it was wrong but I couldn't help myself. I still wanted it and it sounded like the closest thing to Heaven I was ever gonna get.' His breathing had picked up and Sam was panting now.

Dean wasn't following. "What was? What idea? What are you talking about?" he whispered, an indescribable anticipatory fear stealing his voice.

Sam's lips curled in an ugly moue and Dean was again reminded of demon-Sam. 'They said,'Sam turned to look at Dean and the red of his left eye glowed brightly in the darkness, ''You think you get a rush from regular demon blood? Imagine the high the Antichrist will give you!''

Dean felt his breath leave his lungs like he'd been punched in the gut.No. No. No, no, no, no, no!

Seemingly satisfied with Dean's reaction of revulsion, Sam looked back to the house. 'Oh, I tried telling myself it was reprehensible. I argued with them. Said, he's just a kid! He's innocent! But part of me, a big part of me, was just begging to get a taste…' Sam stopped, seemingly caught up in the memory. Dean was definitely regretting those beers now. He bit his lip to suppress his nausea.'In the end, I was too pathetic to even decide for myself.'Sam started speeding up now, agitated.'They shot the mom when I didn't move and the kid begged me to do it to save his parents, even gave me his own engraved switchblade.' Sam laughed dementedly but Dean was somehow comforted by the fact that Sam hadn't followed through on his own volition.

'So I did it, I fucking did it, I sliced this little kid's throat open, used my teeth to widen the cut, and I fucking drank him, Dean.' Sam snapped his head over to gaze at his brother and Dean prayed to a God he knew was absent that it was just the shadows that made Sam's eyes look black. 'And the best part? Out of everything?'His voice was high now; Sam was straining to keep it together. 'It had no effect! It didn't do anything! The kid believed he was human so he was. I tried to stop, to tell them, but they didn't care. So I had to drink an entire child's-worth of blood, human blood, for absolutely fucking nothing!'Sam's expression was manic now and his chest was heaving with exertion. Dean had to fight the deeply instinctual bodily urge to open the door andrun.

The words were slow to register but when they did… "Human blood! That's why you freaked out! Because you thought you were back there, andyou didn't want to be. That's good, Sam!"

Sam shook his head violently. 'Don't you get it? Iwantedit to be something, I wanted to take his power from him, to be something… something that… Aghhhh I don't even know!' It ended in a scream that had Dean cowering to protect himself as Sam punched the roof of the car hard enough to leave a small dent.

When Dean opened his eyes and peeked between his raised arms, it was as if the entire episode had never happened. Sam was back to staring at the house, chest rising and falling almost imperceptibly, hands idle in his lap. His voice was glass-calm when he spoke again.

'That's why I just let everything happen. Not that I could have escaped easily anyway, but it was what I deserved. I've known I was a monster for a long time, but it always came second, after some other descriptor. But I was fooling myself. I was a monster first, hunter, brother, or Winchester second.' His face curled in disgust. 'Everything that happened to me was unfair if I was anything else first. But I'm not. In that moment, my true colors came out, and they're not rainbows and unicorns. I'm evil, Dean. If you had any damn sense, you'd find a way to lock me away forever.'

"Don't say that," Dean gasped, hurling the words at his stoically drowning brother. He may have meant it as a lifeline but he didn't have the strength to reel his brother in.

Sam lifted a shoulder listlessly. 'What? It's true. I don't need you to deny it for me, Dean. I've already accepted it. I would have dealt with the problem myself if I were able.' Sam laughed again, that not-quite-sane laugh. 'In fact, that was one of the first things I told Lucifer when he found me. When I realized he needed my consent, I told him 'I will kill myself before letting you in.' How full of righteous suicidal ideation I was for those few seconds! Then he rolled his eyes, saying 'And I'll just bring you back.' I never got the chance to test it for myself like I intended but, uh, I think we both know the devil wasn't lying that time.' Sam's grin was so at odds with what he was saying that Dean's mind threatened to blue-screen-of-death as it tried, and failed, to process everything.

"You… you were going to kill yourself?" Dean breathed.

'And avert the apocalypse thatIstarted?! Hell yeah! I'd still do it if we could find a way to make it stick.'

"You don't mean that," Dean spat desperately.

Sam looked at him like he had three heads. 'You're kidding, right? Swap one failed little brother for continued celestial peace on Earth? It's a no brainer. You feeling alright, Dean?' Sam raised his hand to feel Dean's forehead and the older Winchester involuntarily flinched. And wasn't that just fucking peachy! Sam smiled knowingly and looked back to the house. His voice was still tight but it had lost its deranged furor. 'I know you only keep me around so you can keep an eye on me. Make sure I don't go fucking up any more shit. It's okay. You don't have to keep pretending. I'm cool with it. Fuck, I need it.You're doing me a huge favor.'

"No, Sam, no. Just… Goddamit!" Now it was Dean's turn to leave an angry mark on his Baby but his fist was the only thing that took damage. His brain was bursting at the seams and he couldn't keep track of any one thought. He took a deep breath. "I won't lie to you. I did think that at one point, that I had to watch you, make sure you didn't fall off the wagon again. But, uh, something happened, and it made me change my mind."

Sam threw him a cursory glance that told Dean to continue even if Sam wasn't sure he believed what Dean was saying.

"The night you called me and told me that you were Lucifer's vessel, and I said all that stupid shit to you…" Dean sighed heavily, trying to purge his body of his relentless regret. "When I woke up, I was five years in the future." Sam turned an upraised eyebrow at him. "I shit you not. It was Zachariah. He was trying to teach me a lesson and get me to say 'yes' to Michael. He said I could prevent all of this from happening. In this future, the Croatoan virus had infected most of humanity and there were only isolated refugee camps left. Apparently, you and I hadn't talked since that phone call and you…" Dean took a deep breath. "You said 'yes' to Lucifer." Distress radiated from Sam and his fingers started tangling aggressively. "Hey, that isn't how it's gonna go. This was just Zachariah fucking with me. He wanted me to agree to being an angel condom but that's not what I took away from it."

'N-no?' Sam asked quietly, his voice shaking and meek.

Dean watched Sam's throat convulse. "I realized that, yeah, maybe we are each other's Achilles' heel, and maybe they'll find a way to use us against each other. But we're all we've got. More than that. We keep each other human. I called you the second Cas rescued me and then I was looking for you from there on out."
The convulsions graduated to painful looking spasms as Sam dragged his eyes over to meet Dean's. 'But look at me now. I'm barely human.' His voice was an agonizing mixture of hope and despair.

Dean shrugged casually, trying to ease some of the tension before he suffocated. "Eh, human is just a state of mind. You're human where it counts. I mean, I don't see you signing up to let an angel in."

Sam shook his head defiantly, eyes fervently shining with unshed tears. 'No, I wouldn't, I'm not, I won't ever say 'yes' to Lucifer. You have to believe me, Dean. He's tried so many times but I always said 'no'.'

"Idobelieve you, Sam," Dean returned ardently, but Sam was still pleading with his entire being. Dean leaned over and put a hand on Sam's thigh to reassure him. Savage electricity radiated from the point of contact and Dean was enveloped in a maelstrom of schizophrenic memories. A thousand fractal scenes of Lucifer gently urging Sam to say 'yes' and save himself; Lucifer only partially healing Sam, knowingly perpetuating his suffering; Lucifer threatening Dean, Bobby, anyone or anything that Sam had ever cared about; Lucifer explaining that oblivion awaited Sam if he didn't concede this very instant. Dean wanted to rip his hand away and halt the deluge but instead, he squeezed firmer and projected comforting thoughts towards Sam with all the mental strength he could muster. The two of them laying out under the stars; driving down the highway on a warm spring day; relaxing at Bobby's after a hunt; enjoying a beer by a glittering lake… On and on until he felt the oppressive vortex of Sam's mind subside.

He wasn't sure when it happened but when Dean returned his attention to the outside world, he realized they were locked in a tight embrace and Sam was crying into his neck. Sam's body was twisted uncomfortably but it didn't seem to matter. He just needed Dean and the unqualified acceptance the older brother was offering. Dean continued to hold Sam and stroked his back, chasing away Sam's doubts with murmured words of faith and confidence.

Eventually the tears ebbed and Sam slowly pulled away. He shyly caught Dean's eyes before staring at the house. 'I don't get why you're so good to me.'

Dean let out a tiny scoff but found himself searching for a sufficient answer. "I know I haven't always been the best brother—" Sam looked at him, ready to debate that claim, but Dean just held his hand up. "I haven't. But it never meant I stopped caring about you, about wanting what was best for you. Man, it killed me when you went to Stanford, but I knew it was rightfor youand I was so proud of you for doing that for yourself. And right now, you'd have every right to just crash and burn and say 'to Hell with it!', me included, but you're not. You could have given into unimaginable power, but you haven't. You could have gone full darkside and I don't think anyone who understood what you were going through would have really blamed you for it. But you didn't. You fought back against the darkest parts of yourself, continue to fight, continue towin, and here you are, ready to go another round to help some stranger. I don't think I could be prouder of you if I tried."

Dean was a little breathless by the end of his pronouncement and Sam looked wholly unable to comprehend what had just been shared. Tears threatened his vision again and he sniffed, body fighting to hold in the sobs. Sam's mouth opened and closed experimentally before he set his jaw and forced out a faint and raspy, but decidedly spoken, "Th-thank you. R-really."

Dean let out a small gasp and he grinned, eyes going from Sam's lips to his brother's adoring gaze and back. "You just said that out loud! Holy shit, Sam!"

Sam nodded and tried to say something else but it only culminated in a pained sigh. Sam looked disappointed but Dean was still ecstatic. "Hey, baby steps, man. That's really good."

Sam smiled and absorbed Dean's excitement, letting his own frustration blow away like dust. If it was good enough for Dean, ifhewas good enough for Dean, then it was good enough for him.

Sam felt oddly calm after the intense —that was a fucking understatement if there ever was one— conversation. Or maybe he was just exhausted. He couldn't tell anymore. But Dean hadn't rejected him. In fact, the opposite had happened. It genuinely baffled him but he was too damn grateful to surrender to his typical over-analysis and mental vivisection. Dean wanted him there, was evenproudof him! It was a better outcome than Sam could have ever dreamed of. He allowed himself to revel in the approval, embracing Dean's acceptance. It felt like a burst of oxygen to his soul and it somehow reignited the smothered spark of self-worth within him. Maybe he still had a chance at redemption.

An annoying hum buzzed in his ear and Sam shook his head to dispel it but it lingered. He eyed the radio, thinking maybe it was static, but the volume was off. Over the next several minutes, the intensity increased and it started to prickle his nerves. It progressed to a subtle burning and he began to fidget, which of course caught Dean's attention.

"Dude, why the ants in your pants?"

'I… I don't know… Something's wrong… Do you think maybe the poltergeist is acting up?'

They both looked to the house but nothing seemed amiss. Dean checked his watch. "It's almost 4 am. Wouldn't hurt to take a sneaky look around."

Dean grabbed the duffel with their supplies. He expertly unlocked the back door and they slipped in. The smell of smoke was undeniable. Sam was off running for the bedrooms before Dean could stop him. "Sam!" Dean called, not wanting his brother to go in un-armed. "At least wait for the damn sawn-off," he grumbled, pulling both the guns out and loading his pockets with salt rounds. He hurried after Sam, just in time to catch his giant sibling full body tackle Marcus to the ground as flames reached out of the doorway. Sam quickly pushed the kid up and shoved him towards Dean.

'Get him out! I'll get the parents!'

"Sam, don't! The smoke! It's too late!" Dean tossed Sam his gun and beckoned Marcus forward.

A grin splashed across Sam's face and Dean heard a giddy laugh echo in his mind. 'Can't die, remember?'

"Dammit, Sam, 'unlimited resurrection' isnotthe same as 'can't die'!" Dean shouted as he darted towards Marcus.

'Toe-may-toe, toe-mah-toe,' Sam answered flippantly and charged into the burning room.

"Sam! They arenot the same!" he yelled and scooped the ten-year-old up.

'Trust you to be pedantic in an emergency,' Sam jibed from out of sight.

Dean could only growl in response as he turned away from the fire. He wanted to tear his pain-in-the-ass little brother a new one but it would have to wait. "Okay, kid, let's get you outside." He brought Marcus out to the driveway and set him down. "Stay right here. We'll be right back with your parents."

Dean dashed back inside and returned to the same hallway. Thick smoke now obscured his view of the doorway. He was about to run in regardless when Sam was suddenly in front of him, pushing the husband into Dean's arms. The man was barely conscious and clearly disoriented. "This way, c'mon," Dean urged.

Stefan weakly flailed against his arms. "My wife, and my son!"

"Sam's got 'em. Let's go!" He half-carried the coughing man out of the house and to a relieved Marcus. Dean spun and was about to go back inside when Alyshia came stumbling out. "You got somewhere you can go tonight?" he asked briskly. Though dazed, she nodded. "Go there. Don't come back until morning!" He guided her to her rescued family then set his mind on saving his own. As soon as he turned his head towards the door, it slammed shut.

Fuck!

Sam directed Alyshia to the front door then made a break for the weapons bag. He pulled out the fire extinguisher and salt rounds then raced back to the master bedroom. He wasn't sure if his eyes or lungs burned more but he had to put the fire out before hunting the poltergeist. By then he'd have Dean to back him up. He let the P.A.S.S. acronym from his college RA training guide him: pull the pin, aim at the base of the fire, squeeze the handle, and sweep from side to side. Within a few seconds, he had the fire doused. He threw the windows open to clear the smoke and let himself get a few breaths of fresh air. The buzzing from earlier abruptly returned and he knew he was out of time. He rose and stalked across the bedroom, expecting the thing to be waiting for him in the hallway. Sawn-off poking around the doorframe, he stuck his head out but nothing happened.

Distantly he heard Dean calling his name and pounding on the door. Damn thing must have locked Dean out. Sam padded down the hallway towards the front door. He turned the corner and came face to face with his quarry. He'd never physically seen a poltergeist but there was no doubt that's what was before him now. Poltergeists were usually only detectable by their effects and actions, but Sam could clearly see the malevolent spirit. The vague, distorted outline of a man hung in the air, a permanent snarl etched on its flickering face. Thin tendrils of whitish orange energy, almost like staticky flames, coursed over the thing's body in frenzied patterns. Fingers had deformed into claws and these reached out for Sam's neck in a lunge. He swung himself backwards as he called for his brother.

Sam slid back around the corner and ran down the hall as he prepared to lift his sawn-off. He spun halfway down but he was too slow. No sooner had he begun to sweep his arm up, the spirit screamed at him and he was thrown back into the wall, pinned, head shattering a picture frame. Sam felt warm blood spring from numerous slices on his scalp but he couldn't move to check the damage.

'Dean!' Sam called out again as it approached. His cry for help seemed to anger it further. A wispy hand clamped over his mouth, a clear message to be quiet, the contact sending searing pain through Sam. He tried to struggle against the grip but a second ethereal hand lanced his heart and he couldn't repress the guttural cry of agony that ended up trapped in his throat.

The poltergeist brought its enraged face directly in front of Sam's. Its whirling, bloodshot eyes expressed extraordinary hate and complete disdain. "Filthy," the ghost hissed at him. The confusion that sprung up on Sam's face must have provoked a further explanation. "I used to hunt creatures like you, the freaks of nature that stain this world. Monsters, ghosts, anything unnatural, but my favorite prey were those whopretendedto be human, like you."

'You are — were — a hunter?'

A feral grin spread in wicked little flames. "That's right. And you must be hunted. You might fool most everyone else, but I can see your corruption from a mile away. And now you're trying to spread like a metaphysical infection. You must be stopped!"

'Wait, what? What do you mean?'

The spirit laughed mockingly. "Don't play dumb. It's not a good look for anyone, even Hell spawn like you. You're trying to turn the little boy! I can't allow it!"

Sam's brain worked frantically to understand what the poltergeist meant. But he didn't get much of chance as the thing moved one hand to also cover Sam's nose and the other started to curl around Sam's heart.

'Dean! Dying!' he shouted as loud as he could, suddenly not feeling so cavalier about the repeated death and unlimited resurrection thing. The desperation with which he called for his brother leaked some power from his soul and pushed the poltergeist back slightly, allowing him to heave in a deep breath. It must have disrupted the ghost's hold on the front door as well because Sam heard it swing open and Dean rush in.

'I'm coming, Sammy!' Dean called and Sam could hear his boots thundering towards him.

The poltergeist pounced on him again and was more vigorous in its attack. Dean turned the corner and saw Sam pinned to the wall. "Where is it?" he asked, shotgun up and ready to shoot.

'You can't see it?! It's right in front of me!' Sam cried, frantic for air.

Dean moved so that he wouldn't hit Sam and fired, freeing Sam for the moment. Sam dropped to his knees and sucked in oxygen.

"You alright?" Dean asked as he reloaded.

'Yeah,' he managed, rubbing his chest. 'Thanks.'

"You could see it?" Dean resumed his defensive posture and scanned the space for any threats.

'Yeah. It's like a ghost but a little different. Kinda… mutated by anger, I guess.'

"Seeing a poltergeist. That must be a hunting first!" Dean sounded impressed.

A chill ran down Sam's spine.'Yeah, um, Dean. The spirit? It's a hunter.'

Dean snapped his head over his shoulder to look at Sam. "What?!"

Sam merely nodded in confirmation.

"But doesn't it know we're hunters? Why is it attackingus?"

Sam gulped uncomfortably. 'Because of me. It can sense my… evil. It said that I'm filthy and that I'm spreading like an infection. It said I'm corrupting the kid somehow.'

"How? You've never even met him!"

Sam's brain had been churning the last minute or so as he recovered and it presented its results with devastating clarity. Sam immediately knew it was the only thing that made sense: 'The liver transplant.'

"What?" Now Dean was extra lost.

'Whentheyharvested my organs… Marcus must have gotten a piece of my liver. And it's contaminated with demon blood. So now this psycho hunter poltergeist thinks Marcus is evil because he was unlucky enough to getmyorgan!'

Dean's gun wilted in his hands as he processed that. "You're shitting me, right?"

'What else could it be?! How could I be 'corrupting' Marcus if I haven't met him? Unless he has a literal piece ofme, Mr. Evil Incarnate, inside ofhim?' Sam motioned to his abdomen to further drive home his point.

Dean scowled at Sam for that last part then rubbed his hand over his face. "This is too fucked up, even for me." He lifted his sawn-off and looked around himself warily. "So now what?"

'Poltergeist first. Marcus second.'

"Agreed."

'Got the purifying satchels?'

"In the duffel."

Moving as one, they made their way to the backdoor, senses keen for any sign of their enemy. It was quiet though, and that made them more anxious. Sam stood guard as Dean fished out the satchels. "I think we should stick together. One watches, one places 'em." Sam nodded in agreement and they moved to the first cardinal point of the house. Dean kicked in the drywall and threw the satchel in. The temperature dropped precipitously.

They hurried to the next room and repeated the maneuver, earning them a few thrown objects which they ducked with agility. The third satchel had to be placed in the brick wall of the living room. 'There's a hammer in the bag. You gonna be okay on your own for a sec?'

Dean shoved the little bag in his pocket for safekeeping and readied his shotgun. "Go for it."

Sam gave Dean a quick jerk of his head then ran for their supplies.

Dean scanned the room, ready and waiting for the evil bastard to pelt him with books or send him careening into a wall. What he wasn't expecting was the cold breath in his ear. That had him flinching and spinning in a tight circle.

"You call yourself a hunter! And yet you lay your head to rest every night while thatthingcontinues to exist!" The rough voice was simultaneously distant and intimate, quiet but overpowering.

Dean felt his cheek twitch in irritation. "Now I know you're not talking about my brother."

"Brother?" the spirit hissed in his other ear. He felt and heard a deep inhale. "You're clean. You can live. But he must die."

"Not happening," Dean growled.

"You would defend evil?"

"He's not evil," Dean stated firmly.

"You choose to ignore his corruption?"

"He'snotevil," Dean repeated through clenched teeth.

"Then I must cleanse him of his wickedness and you of your ignorance!"

"Gimmie your best shot," Dean jeered as Sam hurried into the room.

Sam nearly fell over himself he stopped so sharply. The poltergeist was behind Dean, seemingly whispering into his ear.

Dean snapped his fingers at his frozen brother. "Sam! The wall!"

Sam rushed past Dean and started wailing away at the brick, immensely grateful it was only a single decorative layer. Dean turned and was reaching towards the hole when he was suddenly driven backwards and splayed against the far wall. In his surprise, he had dropped the satchel.

'Dean!' Sam exclaimed and dove for the satchel, but it disintegrated in his hands as the poltergeist crushed it under its flickering foot.

The spirit glared down at Sam, hate frothing from its translucent lips. "You know what's worse than evil?" It pointed to Dean. "What's worse is good allowing itself to be seduced by evil!" The poltergeist gripped Sam's hair and cranked his neck at an unnatural angle as he bent down to whisper into Sam's ear. "He thinks you're not evil. I don't know how but you have ruined him as well. He refuses to destroy you, therefore, I must deal with him before I can destroy you. Those who protect evil are doomed to perish with it! That is your legacy, demon!" Spectral hand still woven deep into Sam's locks, it jerked its arm roughly and slammed Sam's head into the marble coffee table. Sam dropped to the floor, motionless.

"Sammy!" Dean shouted with panic but was powerless to assist his brother. Sam's unresponsive body was dragged over and dropped in a crumpled heap in front of Dean. He couldn't see the damn thing but he could feel the freezing, angry energy rippling around him. Dean saw blood trailing from Sam's hairline but wasn't sure if he was breathing. Whatever, what's one more to add to the tally of Sam's deaths Dean couldn't prevent? "Joke's on you, fuckface! He can't die!"

"Maybe not. But you can!"

A wedge of agonizing cold dove into his chest and he couldn't even scream before the air fled his lungs. "All it takes for evil to triumph is for good men to do nothing. You're doing worse than nothing. You're protecting evil!" it screeched and the lights flashed chaotically. Dean tried to gasp for breath but it felt like two tons were pressed against his ribs, slowly forcing the life out of him. His hands scrabbled against the wall, his fingernails tearing and breaking as he fought for leverage. Black spots danced in his vision and he regretted not being able to tell Sammy one more time how much—

'Get your creepy-ass handoutof my brother right fucking now!'

Sam appeared in Dean's wavering sight, blood trickling down his face, body wobbling, chest heaving, right hand outstretched towards Dean. Sam was concentrating on the space immediately in front of Dean and Dean watched as the air gleamed unnaturally. The faint outlines of a figure materialized in front of him. Dean's strength was failing him; his head dropped to his sternum and he saw the phantom hand buried in his ribcage.

'I said. Get. Out!' Sam groaned with effort and the apparition started to recede from Dean, pulled towards Sam by nebulous strands of light emanating from the core of Sam's body. It thrashed against its bonds, releasing a continuous maddening howl. After taking a deep breath, Dean was struck with severe déjà vu as he recalled a similar scene as Sam exorcised Samhain from his vessel that fateful Halloween. Sam's face back then had been riddled with shame and uncertainty; Sam now was determined andpissed.

Once he was sure the poltergeist was free of Dean's body, Sam slowly clenched his fist, wrapping the tendrils of energy around the writhing spirit. Though freed of his metaphysical restraints, Dean looked on in unmoving wonder and horror as the light condensed into a bright ball hovering between them. The glowing sphere illuminated the dark blood flowing vigorously from Sam's nose and down his face. His left eye glowed fiercely in the darkness and it seemed to pulse in time with Sam's elevated heartbeat. Sam growled and bared his teeth as the pressure increased. Dean didn't know whether to be in awe or terrified of his brother.

Both. Definitely both.

The poltergeist's wailing was so loud now that Dean had to clasp his hands over his ears to save them from bursting. Sam's left hand flew to his head as he coaxed the luminous orb tighter and tighter. It shrunk to the size of a golf ball before exploding as Sam let out a throaty yell. A thin wave of light billowed through the room, breaking lightbulbs and glass in its wake before dissipating into nothing.

Plunged into absolute darkness, Dean knew something was wrong only by the heavy sound of Sam's unbraced body hitting the floor.

"Sammy?!" Dean dropped to his knees and felt for his brother. Sam weakly found one of Dean's searching hands and gave it a disturbingly soft squeeze. "Sammy? You with me?"

'Mmm… 'm 'ere,' Sam slurred feebly.

Dean patted Sam's head and realized Sam was bleeding from multiple head wounds. "Fuck, Sam. We need to get you to a hospital."

The little puff of air that passed through Sam's nose was his best approximation of a scoff in his current state. 'Can' die, Dee.'

"You don't stay dead is more accurate." He tried to sound amused but no, goddammit, were they gonna let Sam die again?

'S-same resul'. J-ju' sss-tay wi' me?'

Dean gulped and forced back his tears. "Of course, Sammy. I'm not leaving you. Not ever." He moved so that Sam's head was tucked in his lap and he held Sam's hand.

'K. Th-tha-nk—'

"No, you savedme.Thank you!"

'Cause y-you sav' me. L-leas' I could do.'

Dean's eyes burned and his free hand went over Sam's heart. "Shhh, save your energy, Sam. I'll be right here when you wake up, alright? I'm not going anywhere. I got you, baby brother."

'K, Dee…'

It was a few more minutes before Sam gasped his agonal breath and his heart gave out. Dean pulled Sam's body up and cradled it against his chest. "This doesn't get any easier, you know," Dean said morosely to the empty room. "You'd think it would, especially knowing you're coming back, but I'm always scared this will be the time it doesn't work, that Lucifer doesn't bring you back, and then what? What am I supposed to do then, Sam?" He shook his brother's corpse, hot tears dripping onto cooling skin.

He sat in the dark and waited, absent-mindedly stroking Sam's hair as Sam's blood soaked his jeans. The sun was almost over the horizon when Sam drew in a deep breath. The chains around Dean's chest eased and he let himself relax.

"Welcome back, man."

Sam groaned and brought both hands to his head. 'Too loud… Nothing like a residual concussion to start the day.'

Dean slid out from under Sam. "I'll get ya some painkillers."

'And a change of clothes!' Sam called after Dean.

Already way ahead of you, Dean thought to himself. Sam's congealed blood made his movements stiff and awkward. And would probably traumatize the already terrified family when they returned. Dean rubbed his face. Fuck, they still had to deal with the kid. Dean shook his head and put it out of his mind. That was a problem for future Dean.

They finished placing the purifying satchels just in case and then worked on cleaning the house up the best they could while waiting for the family to return. It was always difficult to determine how much they should tell victims about the supernatural, but here they decided to give them more than just a glimpse behind the curtain. But not the whole saga. They didn't need to know the whole story of how their child may have some demon blood now because of Sam's extended involuntary organ donation. It was still a tough conversation.

"Wait, you're saying Marcus has some kind of paranormal abilities?" Alyshia sounded like she didn't buy it.

"We can't really prove it to you, but bad energies like the poltergeist that tried to kill you last night are often drawn to people with the gift."

"And you know this how?"

"Our mom died in an unnatural fire. And my brother here has some… abilities."

"Like what?" Stefan asked. He and Alyshia looked to Sam, their expressions a mixture of shock and disbelief.

Sam glanced at Dean who nodded imperceptibly.

'Telepathy, for starters. Visions, telekinesis upon occasion, sensing spirits…' Sam didn't really want to bring up hisotherpowers. 'Alyshia, I can tell your brain is whirring to try to explain this with science, as some sort of quantum anomaly.' He shrugged. 'We don't really have an explanation for it. We just accept it and move on. Stefan, I can see that you feel this explains a lot of the weird stuff that's been happening recently, and those things you saw in the mirror that you thought were just remnants of bad dreams.'

Stefan's eyes got wide. "I never told anyone about that!"

"Like I said, he has abilities. And Marcus may have them too, or he may develop them." Dean held out a necklace. "Here is a charm he can wear that will help ward off spirits. And when he's older, we suggest he gets this tattoo to also protect himself." Dean handed over the necklace and the sheet of paper as Sam pulled down his shirt and revealed his anti-possession tattoo. "We'll leave some cards of people you can contact for more information. For now, you should be safe. We cleansed the house, sorry about the holes in the walls, and got rid of the spirit. Take some time to rest and get your head around it. It's a big crazy world out there but you don't need to be scared if you're prepared."

The couple still looked shell-shocked but there wasn't much more the brothers could do for them. They said their goodbyes and retreated to the motel for a well-earned rest.

Dean thought back over the events of the day and of all the revelations. Sam seemed immensely distraught by what had happened with the kid Tim and Reggie had forced him to kill. Understandably so. But Sam obviously still felt intensely guilty and had no way to remedy that. Perhaps they could do something about that. Dean looked over at his brother who had already slipped into bed and closed his eyes. Dean turned out the light, deciding he could bring up his idea with Sam another time. But he must have been broadcasting his thoughts too loudly.

'What is it Dean?'

Dean knew better than to beat around the bush. Sam could tell, even without his mindreading powers. "The, uh, the Antichrist kid. What was his name?"

Dean felt a small flare of energy pass through him but Sam's voice was even when he responded. 'Jesse Turner.'

"I was thinking, maybe, if you wanted, we could go and do something for him. A little service or a ritual or something…"

Dean held his breath, worried about triggering Sam. But he hoped it would provide some closure for his brother.

Dean couldn't decipher the emotion in Sam's voice but it didn't seem negative. 'Yeah, that's a good idea. I'd like that.'

"Cool, we can head there tomorrow if you want, or whenever. Up to you."

'Thanks, Dean. For everything.'

'Always, Sammy."

As Sam's breaths evened out in a contented sleep, Dean sent a prayer of thanks to Missouri, for reminding him of the how and why of being Sam Winchester's big brother. It wasn't an easy job, and it wasn't one he'd always wanted, but Dean knew now he wouldn't trade it for the world. That poltergeist knew nothing about good and evil. Nothing.

A/N: Man, I wanted to use this quote from Skyrim SO BAD but Skyrim wasn't out yet. "What is better? To be born good or to overcome your evil nature through great effort?" Good ol' Paarthurnax.

Reviews/comments/kudos are love.