Supernatural 1. Pilot

Coda 1x01

Sam slammed the car door as he moved out into the cold night. He turned and came level again with Dean, leaning in through the open car window.

"Maybe I can meet up with you later?" Sam said, shifting slightly.

"Yeah, alright." Dean gripped the steering wheel a little tighter. Dean turned, and tried to smile reassuringly at his little brother, like he was supposed to. But he didn't particularly feel like smiling. Having Sam around was better than he had ever imagined. The kid had practically become a man overnight. Dean felt his stomach toss uncomfortably. _No thanks to you. _Four years was a long time. He wanted to say more to his brother. Things like "I'm sorry", and "I wish things were better between us."

Silence fell, and Sam smiled awkwardly, and turned to leave. Big displays of emotion were not exactly normal for the Winchesters. Saving each other's lives, yes. Little things like a hug here, or "I missed your stupid gigantor face", not so much.

Dean knew he had to say something. Anything. "Sam!"

His brother turned, expectant.

"Y'know, we made a helluva team back there." The question in it, almost too obvious. _We should keep doing this. Keep hunting. Let's find Dad together. I don't really want to do this on my own. _

Sam nodded slightly. "Yeah." The gentle rebuttal. _I'm sorry, Dean, I can't. This is not a life I want. I never wanted it. Please don't ask me to go with you. _

Dean returned Sam's nod, and without another word, drove away.

The Winchesters were masters of having conversations without ever speaking the actual words they needed to.

Dean had pulled around the corner of Sam's apartment building, fully intending on heading to Colorado, but something made him pull the Impala into a vacant parking space. He sat in silence for a moment, a sick feeling invading his stomach. Something he couldn't place. He hadn't felt this feeling in a while. He frowned, trying to place it, when it hit him low in the stomach. Sam. The last time he had felt like this was the summer before Sam hit his growth spurt, and some older kids thought it would be funny to jump him as he walked home from school. A quick flash of remorse tore at Dean that it had taken him to realise that this was his innate "Sam's in trouble" sense, but then he hadn't had much use for it in the last couple of years. Dean grabbed his gun, and bolted out of the car.

It took him a couple of minutes at a hard run to get to Sam's apartment. He could hear his brother inside, shouting something. He kicked hard, and the front door gave way.

"Sam!"

A sudden sound of air rushing filled the apartment, and heat blossomed from the walls. Fire. Dean needed to find Sam. He ran through the small home until he found Sam. Lying on a bed, his hands over his face. Jess stuck on the ceiling. _Jesus Christ. _

"Sam!"

Sam was not moving in any direction Dean needed him to. He crossed the room, pulling his brother up, and manhandling his large frame out the door. Sam fought him weakly, trying to get to Jess, shouting her name.

It wasn't a moment too soon when Dean finally deposited Sam onto the Impala. He watched as the windows finally exploded.

"Let me see." Dean needed to see if Sam was hurt.

Sam didn't say anything. Just sat there as Dean grabbed his hands and turned his face side to side. Satisfied, Dean pulled his brother into a hug.

"Sam, I'm sorry." he said softly.

Sam didn't say anything. _Everything's gone none. What's the point? There is nothing for me here. _

"Why?" Sam's voice cracked. Dean wasn't sure whether or not it was from the fire itself or Jess.

"I don't know, Sammy."

Sam pulled away. He leaned back against the car, watching as the emergency services tackled the blaze. His face was lit by the blue and red rotating lights of the sirens. Dean didn't say anything, merely stood beside him.

It took nearly 2 hours for the fire to be extinguished. When there was nothing but smoke rising from the broken windows, Dean slowly made his way closer, trying to hear from the police and firefigthers what their working theory was. "Electrical fault" seemed to be working theory at the moment, and Dean exhaled a breath he wasn't aware he was holding. Turning, he saw Sam standing over the trunk of the Impala, checking a shot gun. Dean joined him, not saying anything. Just watching Sam fiddle with the gun. He didn't say anything as Sam clenched his jaw as a stray tear landed on his nose when he threw the gun back into the trunk, saying almost more to himself than Dean,

"We got work to do."


	2. Wendigo

Wendigo

1x02

"Wake up, Sam." someone was gently rocking his shoulder. He grumbled. It was too bright and he had spent all night driving to make it back here in time for his interview.

"You're gonna be late." said Jess, smiling, "You have to get up. I don't know what you and your brother were up to, but you smell awful. You need to shower."

Sam cracked an eyelid open. He saw Jess lying on her side, her eyes on him, and wrinkling her nose. He grinned.

"It was a pretty late one, yeah. Had to drive pretty much all night to make it back here. What time is it?"

Jess turned, her long hair tossing as she fumbled for her cell phone. "Close to 8."

Sam sighed, and pulled her closer to him.

"I wasn't joking, Winchester. You smell horrific." Jess poked him in the side, but settled her head on his chest anyway. "Did you find your dad?"

Sam could feel his chest constrict a little. "Not yet, but Dean is still looking for him. We think he may have gone to Colorado."

"I hope he's ok. I mean, I know you and your family don't exactly get along, but I hope your dad is ok." Jess traced mindless shapes on Sam's chest.

"Me too, Jess."

They lay in silence for a couple of more minutes. Then Jess gently pried herself out of Sam's hug. "Up and at them. You are gonna nail this interview."

Sam shook his head, smiling, and swung his legs out of bed. He headed for the shower, as Jess sat brushing her hair in the mirror. Just like any other morning really. He stepped under the hot water, and felt the tension he had been carrying all weekend flow from his shoulders. True, he was nervous about the interview. I mean, who wouldn't be? It was his entire future. Ten minutes later, he had emerged smelling much better from the bathroom. Jess had gotten dressed and was now pulling on her boots. She stood, and hugged Sam, pulling him in for a kiss.

"Much better."

"Not looking so bad yourself." Sam said, raising an eyebrow. Jess smirked.

Suddenly a scream cut through the bedroom. Sam caught Jess, holding her in his arms.

"You hear that?"

"Hear what?"

Sam frowned. Silence. Then the scream again.

"That! Jess, please tell me you heard that."

"Sam, you're starting to worry me. Are you ok?" Jess reached up, and touched the side of Sam's face, her eyes concerned.

"Fine. What the hell is that?"

Images came tumbling into Sam's mind. A dark night. Comfortable bed. Drip. Drip. What is that? Blood? What the - ?

Jess. Jess!

On the ceiling. Pinned by something. Her stomach slit open. Blood falling. Need to get her down. Can't move. It's too hot. How? Fire. Fire behind her. Burning her. Silent screams.

Jess!

"Sam. Sammy, come on. Sam!"

A different voice now. Familiar. Sam looked down at Jess. She smiled at him, as her skin bubbled off her bones, and Sam could feel her bones turn to ash. He tried to hold onto her, to keep her safe, but the more he grasped, the faster she slipped away. His stomach churned as he could smell the acrid smell of burning flesh.

"Sam. Wake up, Sam!"

Sam's eyes flashed open to see Dean standing over him. It took Sam a couple of seconds to realise where he was. Shitty motel room in some no name town.

"You alright?" Dean had one hand on Sam's shoulder.

"Peachy." said Sam, his voice sounding broken even to him. He cleared his throat.

"Nightmare?" Dean narrowed his eyes, as he released Sam's shoulder, moving to sit back on his own bed.

"Something like that." said Sam, as he stared at the ceiling.

"You, uh, want to talk about it?" asked Dean.

"Not particularly. What time are we leaving at?"

"Not for another couple of hours. It's only 4 a.m."

"Fantastic." Sam sighed, bringing his hands up to wipe at his eyes.

"Try and get some sleep. Look, I know things aren't easy right now," Dean shifted uncomfortably, "but we will sort it out, ok?"

Sam didn't say anything as he closed his eyes again, and tried to think of anything other than Jessica Moore.


	3. Dead in the Water

Dead in the Water

1x03

"Its funny," Sam began, waving an errant chopstick as he looked up from his takeout, "I can't ever imagine you being scared."

Dean doesn't glance up from his food, his eyes still on the picture that Lucas had given him earlier this afternoon. "Hmm?"

"Just what you said to Lucas earlier." Sam shrugged, "Just never thought you were scared of anything."

Dean took a bite of some suspect looking chicken, "What can I say? I was a kid."

"Yeah, I guess."

They ate in silence for a few moments.

"Did you see her?" Sam asked, not meeting Dean's eyes. He didn't need to clarify. They both knew what he was talking about.

Dean didn't respond.

"Dean?"

"You know the story as well as I do, Sam." Dean said, crossly. "The details haven't changed. Ever. Can we just drop it?"

Sam sighed. "It's always the same. You always do that. Shut me down when I ask about her. Dad used to do it too. Can you just talk to me about it?"

"You were always a nosy brat, you know that?" Dean frowned.

Sam just stared at him.

"Freakin' puppy dog eyes," Dean grumbled. "Fine!" He pushed his paper plate away from him, and took a swig of the cheapest beer that they could afford. "I was in bed, and it was really dark. I had this little star night light thing, yknow? It had gone out, and that's what woke me first. I hated the dark. Cried if Mom didn't plug the stupid little light in before I went to sleep. She would always tuck me in, and say that nothing was going to hurt me, because she was there. She would say that she would protect me from anything that the darkness hid. She would sing "Hey Jude" to me as she stroked my hair, putting me to sleep." Dean stopped, and took another swig of beer, before continuing.

"I had just woken up and was about to call out for Mom or Dad to fix the light when I heard someone scream. I didn't know it was Mom. I ran out into the hallway to see Dad come out of your room. He screamed at me to get out of the house, so I did. Next thing I knew we were sitting on the trunk of Dad's car, and he was crying. I asked him where Mom was, and he didn't answer. Just looked away. And right then, that's when I knew that something bad, real bad, had happened."

Dean cleared his throat, and stood up. "I'm going for more beer." He left the dingy motel room, the door snapping shut behind him.

Sam stared at the empty seat opposite him. He felt guilty for pushing Dean into recounting the story, again. But this time he had found out a little bit more about that night, and his brother. He reached over to the paper bag on the counter behind him, withdrawing two bottles of beer. He hoped Dean was alright, wherever he had gotten to. Sam reasoned he would give him an hour or two before calling him.


	4. Phantom Traveller

Phantom Traveller

1x04

"Dean, you gotta relax." Sam was saying quietly.

"I am relaxed." Dean responded, his back stiff.

"I've seen more relaxed looking statues. Just take a deep breath." Sam said, soothingly.

"I swear, I will punch you if you keep telling me to breathe." Dean spat, his mouth clamping shut again. No way was he going to vomit. Sam would never let him hear the end of it.

"We will be taking off in a few minutes. You are going to give yourself a stroke if you don't at least relax a little."

"I would have been so much more relaxed if you had let me buy that bottle of whiskey." Dean shut his eyes. The prospect of flying was making him sweat. Christ, he hated it.

"Yeah? And what use would you be, drunk off your ass, when we find this demon? We still need to take care of that, and I can't have you drunk doin' that. Sorry, man." Sam reached out and picked up the in flight magazine.

"How much longer?" said Dean, through gritted teeth, his fingers gripping the armrest. Sam was the picture of composure. Stupid Sam, with his stupid.. stupidness.

"Shouldn't be too much longer. I think they are just getting ready now." Sam said, not looking up. "Hey, you wanna buy a totally legitimate samurai sword?" Dean chanced a glance at what Sam was pointing at. Freakin' Sky Mall. Dean snorted.

"Sure. Made by Hattori Hanzo himself, I'd imagine."

Sam grinned. "And all for the low, low price of 299.99 bucks."

"Ladies and Gentlemen, we will be taking off soon. Can you please ensure that your seatbelt is fastened securely, and please direct your attention the flight attendants in the centre aisle, as they will shortly begin their safety brief." a disembodied voice echoed around the cabin.

"This is gonna suck." said Dean, weakly.


	5. Bloody Mary

Bloody Mary

1x05

"Sammy?!" Dean came to halt over his brother. He reached down and grabbed for Sam's face. He saw the trails of blood coming from his little brother's eyes. He shook Sam's shoulder. Anxious seconds passed as Dean waited for a response from his brother. Suddenly, Sam's eyes focus, and Dean can see the life in them. The relief that floods his veins almost bowls him over.

"It's Sam."

Wiseass. At least it means that he's ok, if he can make smart ass remarks. Dean wiped some of the blood from Sam's face.

"God, you ok?

"Yeah." Sam said, softly.

Dean gently manoeuvred Sam so that he can easily support his brother's weight. He's not exactly sure as to what that evil ghost bitch did, but they needed to get the hell out of this store and fast. Sam grunted a little as Dean began to move.

How many times had he walked his brother out like this? _Probably too many. _How long had Sam been doing this? Since he was 12? Dean grimaced as he held onto his brother. Every single time. Every time that Sam got hurt, a little piece of Dean fizzled away. He knew he shouldn't blame himself. That the circumstances were always beyond his control. He would never willingly put Sam in danger, but still. Having your little brother's blood on your hands was never a pleasant feeling. At least John wasn't there to drive home Dean's already blooming feelings of guilt. _This time. _

Sam stumbles a little, and grunts as pain rips through him. Dean tightens his grip. They need out of here and need out of here now.

The sounds of crunching glass stir softly from behind them. Dean slowly releases his brother, not knowing if Sam can even support his own weight, but whatever is with them in the room, certainly isn't a good thing.

Five minutes later and it's definitely over. Dean watched Mary Worthington melt into some sort of questionable puddle, but at least it was done. It had taken them longer than he would have liked to get the hell out of the trashed store, but at least they were out, and both moderately alive. Bleeding from your eyes certainly does take out of a guy. He watched Sam wash his face from a bottle of water, and wipe the blood away, careful not to splash the car. It irked Dean when Sam had suggested doing it here instead of the motel, but Sam had reminded him that Charlie was there, terrified out of her mind. She didn't need to see them with blood pouring out of their eyes.

How Sam always thought of other people in these kinds of situations baffled Dean.

"You ok?" Sam asked, as he passed Dean the water bottle.

"Super." The cold water stung his face, and he wrinkled his nose.

"Job done?" said Sam, pushing his hair back out of his eyes.

"Job done."


	6. Skin

Skin

1x06

Standing in Becky's kitchen, Sam's eye is drawn to the refrigerator. With a jolt, he realises there is a picture of him, Becky and Zach pinned to it. In it, he's smiling, with his arms thrown over his friends' shoulders. He remembers the day it was taken, and then memories come, unbidden.

The bar was loud. Too many people in this small a space always made the place a sweatbox, and tonight was no exception. Last night of finals. Sam had finished his last exam 6 hours ago, and his plan was to unwind with a beer and his copy of "Slaughterhouse Five." But alas, Brady had other plans.

"Dude, you are not staying in tonight. No freakin' way." Brady had jabbed the air indignantly when he learned of Sam's plan. "You, my friend, are coming out with me, and we are gonna get wasted!" He flashed a perfect grin at Sam. "Come on, it'll be fun."

They had arrived at the bar shortly after 7. Brady promptly abandoned him to do shots with some of his classmates. Sam sidled up to the bar, and ordered the cheapest beer. It tasted foul, and he grimaced as he swallowed. The place was already starting to fill up.

"Sam?" came a questioning voice.

Sam frowned, and turned, his face breaking into a smile as he recognised who it was. "Becky! It's good to see you." He stepped towards her, and enfolded her into a hug.

"You too. How was today?" she smiled up at him as she gestured for two beers.

"It was ok, I guess." Sam fiddled absently at the label on his bottle.

Becky snorted, amused. "Come on, Winchester. You did nothing but study for the last month. I'm sure it was a cakewalk."

Sam didn't say anything, but returned her smile.

"You here with Brady?" Becky asked as she handed over a 10 dollar bill to the frazzled barman.

"Yeah, my plan of staying in didn't really sit well with him, so here I am. And there he is." Sam pointed to the other side of the bar where Brady was laughing raucously with a group of girls. "He really is the life of the party lately."

"You wanna come sit with us? We're over beside the DJ booth. Zach, Molly, Pete and Ashley are already here." Becky indicated a vague direction behind her.

"Yeah, I'll head over in a few minutes. I'm just gonna go let Brady know where I've gone."

"Sure. See you soon, Sam!" Becky grinned as she slowly picked her way through the ever increasing crowd.

Sam finished his beer in one swallow, and ordered another. This took a significantly longer time than his first, as the barmen always tended to serve the girls first. Sam stood impatiently for about 10 minutes before Brady suddenly clamped a hand on his shoulder.

"I want you to meet someone." He was shouting now, his breath hot and dripping with alcohol, close to Sam's ear. Sam was starting to get a headache. The music was achingly loud and the strobe lights were flashing in a dizzying pattern. Brady was steering Sam back to where Brady's friends were standing. He stood beside a slim, blonde girl who had her back to them.

"This is Jessica Moore. She's hot, and a complete nerd. I think you'd get on great." Brady smiled a wicked grin, as he winked at Sam. Sam rolled his eyes. This wasn't the first time that Brady had tried to set him up. He was in the middle of protesting that he could get his own dates, thank you very much, when Jessica turned around.

She was beautiful. The lights caught in her hair and made her entire face glow, as if some beacon of light was slowly spilling from her skin. Brady leaned into her, and said something close to her ear, pointing at Sam. Sam could feel himself blush slightly. Thanking God that the bar was darker than was necessary, he reached out to shake her hand when her gaze landed on him.

"Sam Winchester." Sam found he had to lean closer to her so that she could hear him. She smelled like peaches.

"Jessica Moore. You're a friend of Brady's?" She had to stand on her tiptoes to shout into his ear, and Sam thought that this was possibly the cutest thing in the entire world.

"Friend? Long time sufferer more like." Sam grinned. Jessica returned it. Sam thought right then, in this crowded bar, drunk and sweaty bodies pressed all around him, that this girl's smile might change the world.

Later that night, as he stood outside the bar, after a long and mostly shouty conversation with Jessica, waiting for Brady to get his ass out here, he felt butterflies in his stomach in a way that he hadn't since he was 15 years old. He cleared his throat as Jessica passed him.

"It was nice meeting you tonight." Sam said awkwardly.

"Yeah, it was. You want to get coffee sometime?"Jessica asked easily.

"Su.. Sure." Sam stuttered.

"Wednesday suit for you? The Arts Cafe at say, 4?" Jessica carefully tucked a long strand of blonde hair behind her ear.

"Sounds awesome."

"Sure does. See you then." And with a little wave, Sam watched Jessica slip her arm around the waist of her slightly more inebriated friend as they walked to hail a taxi.

Brady materialised at Sam's side, clutching his jacket.

"What did I tell you? Huh?" He elbowed Sam in the ribs. "She's something else."

"Yeah, " said Sam, shaking his head, "she's something else."


	7. Hook Man

Hook Man

1x07

Sam felt sorry for Dean. He had just dumped another box of old records on the already crowded desk, and his brother was looking up at him from his seat as if he had just told him that they had run out of pie.

"No way, dude. There's more?" Dean hissed, as he waved his hand in the direction of a teetering pile of papers.

"Computer's busted. We have to do this the old fashioned way." Sam rubbed the back of his neck with his hand.

"I hate research." Dean grumbled.

"Baby."

"Bitch."

"Jerk."

"Seriously, Sam. If I have to try and decipher some dead guy's chicken scratch for another second, I may just set fire to the whole friggin' lot." Dean tossed the file he was looking at across the desk.

"Primary sources. Nothing quite like them." said Sam, not looking at Dean, re-reading the notes he had already made.

"This is college, huh?" asked Dean abruptly, as he stretched out, his long arms arching over his head.

"Pretty much. Just add more time pressure and more alcohol."

"Hmm." Dean yawned, and paused. "I'm going to get a coffee."

Sam heard Dean wander away through the directory section, and dimly heard a fire door open and shut. There wasn't too many people around at this time of the day, for which Sam was grateful for. He was absently tapping his pen against the desk when it struck him that Dean really had no clue what college was like, beyond what he had seen in the movies. He felt a little twist in his stomach that he had never even asked if Dean had wanted to go to college. Sure, he had dropped out of high school as soon as he could, but Sam felt that was more to do with their lifestyle, and Dad's expectations, than what Dean wanted.

Dean was smart. Images of little machines that Dean had constructed over the years flashed in Sam's mind, eventually settling on the EMF reader that Sam himself had tucked into his bag. Sam reached in, and drew it out. His brother had modified an old Walkman into something that could detect ghosts. Sam frowned as he realised that he didn't know how to do that, turning the device over in his hands.

A sudden wave of sadness washed over Sam as he thought about what his brother could have been, if their lives had been normal. If Mary hadn't died, and John hadn't dragged his kids into the royal shitstorm that was hunting. Maybe Dean would have gone to college. Met a nice girl. Graduated. Got a normal job, with a normal house, and maybe kids. Dean was 26 years old, and Sam felt a loss for his brother that he never had. Not for what Dean was, because even though he was a dick at times, he was still a pretty awesome guy, but for what Dean _could have been. _

"Here, Princess. I brought you one of those fruity iced coffees." Dean placed the takeaway cup in front of Sam, snapping him out of his little daydream.

"Thanks." Sam cleared his throat, glancing up at Dean.

"You find anything?" Dean settled into his seat again, taking a long sip from his predictably black coffee.

"Not yet."

Dean sighed. "Why am I not surprised?" He pulled a new ledger, dating from 1850, towards him. "Why can it never be in the first place we look, huh?"


	8. Bugs

Bugs

1x08

"What time tomorrow are we meeting that Professor?" asked Sam, cracking his knuckles.

"Two." answered Dean, not glancing up from Dad's journal.

Sam paced the room, and rubbed his hand along his jaw. "Are you going to be pissy with me all evening?"

Dean snapped his head up, his forehead creased in a frown. "Pissy?"

"Yeah, Dean. You've had your panties in a bunch since we dropped Matt off." Sam said, angrily.

"What do you expect, Sam? All that talk of "you'll finally be free", and "only two more years until you can make your own choices"? Was it really that bad for you?" Dean shut the journal with more force than was necessary. "You're telling the kid to abandon his family!

"Maybe he should, Dean!" Sam's voice was loud. "I'm just coming from a place with experien-"

"Experience?!" Dean cut him off. "Experience? Are you kidding me, Sam? Are you saying thats how you felt? Like you were trapped?" Dean stood, and walked slowly over to Sam.

"Yes. Dean. That's exactly how I felt. I never wanted to be a hunter. Hell, I _still _ don't want to be. Dad never gave me a choice. I just wanted some normalcy." Sam was shouting now.

"Dad was only trying to protect you!" Dean's face was flushed, he was trying to keep his voice even.

"From what, Dean? Little League? Friends? Sunday dinner? I just wanted to have what everyone else had. Was that such an awful thing?" Sam said, sarcastically.

"Shut your mouth, Sam, or I will punch you." Dean grabbed at Sam's shirt, managing to haul his brother up by the lapels, even though Sam was taller.

"Try me, Dean. Just try me." spat Sam, wrenching himself away.

They stood in silence for a few moments, angry energy permeating the room.

"I'm gonna go take a walk." said Sam, pushing past Dean.

"Yeah, you go do that." Dean answered as the motel room door slammed shut.

Dean stood in the centre of the room, letting the anger slowly leach out of him, before dropping roughly onto his bed.

"Goddamnit, Sam."


	9. Home

Home

1x09

Dean had wanted to leave straight away. He was practically itching at the wheel when Sam sank into the passenger seat. He had driven for 7 hours straight, until they had left Kansas completely. Dean hadn't spoken all that time. Eventually, he pulled into a non-descript parking lot of a seedy motel, too much neon, and offering rooms by the hour. After throwing some cash at the bored teenager behind the front desk, Dean lead Sam to their room. Once inside, Dean dropped his duffel bag, and climbed into bed, not even bothering to remove his jacket or trousers.

Sam sighed, and quickly stripped, climbing into the identical bed on the other side of the room. He heard Dean shift, but knew better than to ask him anything right now. It had been Sam's idea to go back to Lawrence. He knew that Dean was uncomfortable about stepping foot in the town, even more so as it was a direct result of Sam's freaky dream. Still, they had managed to save a few lives, and Sam got to see the house where it all happened. The beginning. He had even stood in his old room. Where his mother had died, where their lives had changed forever.

And then, seeing her. Seeing Mary Winchester. It was so different to the pictures. Seeing the way the the moonlight coloured her face, the sparkle in her eyes, her smile, the way she walked. Sam knew she wasn't alive. She was a memory. But still, the few pictures John had saved, and the stories that both John and Dean told him could never have illustrated just how _alive_ Mary Winchester seemed. It would be something Sam would treasure forever. He didn't know it yet, but in years to come, when things seemed at their worst, when there seemed like there was no hope, he would remember that one night in Lawrence, when his mother saved his life.


	10. Asylum

Asylum

1x10

"Dean, you know he won't be there." said Sam, as he unwrapped a slightly wilted sandwich that he had purchased in the gas station 30 minutes prior.

Dean clenched his jaw, and didn't answer his brother, settling instead for keeping his eyes on the dark road in front of him.

"I'm just saying, why do we always have to do what he says?" Sam asked, through a mouthful of bread.

"Because we do. Now shut it. This discussion is over. We're going to Illinois and that's that." Dean tightened his grip on the steering wheel, throwing an angry look at his brother.

Sam wasn't looking at Dean, settling instead to look out the passenger window, but Dean could tell from the set of his jaw that Sam was pissed, and that meant that this conversation may be over for now, but Sam sure as hell wasn't going to let it go.

_Why did Sam always have to push like that? Couldn't he just do what Dad asked him? It was always so much easier when they did. There was so much less fighting. _Dean snorted softly. _Ever since Sam could talk, he was such a nosy brat. Always asking "Why?" "Why do we have to move schools, Dean?" "Why can't I go play with Jonathan?" "Why can't I have more, I'm hungry, Dean!" "I want to play in the soccer team, Dad, why can't I?" As he got older and finally Dean told him what their dad did, and the real reason why they moved around, it only served to further inflame Sam's sense of rebellion. "But why did you have to do that, Dad? It's only a baby." "Why did you leave us again?" Finally, it was just too much. "Why can't I go to college, Dad?" "I'm going, and that's it. You can't stop me."_

Dean shut his eyes. He really didn't want to remember the night that Sam left. The night that his little brother walked out, with nothing but an acceptance letter, his few clothes, and bus fare to Palo Alto. Dean shook his head. _Not now._

He heard Sam's final words that night, again and again in his head. Had done for years. Sam standing in the driveway of the abandoned shack, Dean begging him to come back inside. _"I'm sorry, Dean. I just can't be who he wants me to be." _

Truth be told, Dean was slightly afraid of what would happen when John and Sam finally met again. It had been years since they were in the same room together. Dean had only just gotten his brother back. A small part of his brain was afraid that Sam would walk away again once they found John. That John and Sam would argue again, because they always did, and Dean would be caught in the middle, just like he always was. Loyalty to his father and protective of his little brother, it was a fiercely uncomfortable place to be in.

_Maybe this time would be different. Maybe because Sam was older, he would see the sense in just accepting Dad's instructions. _

A sour thought crept into Dean's head, reminding him that he liked not having to take orders. That he was his own man, and enjoyed the freedom that came with it.

He was a damn good hunter, and he loved having Sam with him. He'd be damned if he was gonna let Sam and John at each other's throats when he was so close to having them both back.

_Maybe Sam was right. He won't be here. But I need him to be. _

Dean shook his head. He was getting nowhere with this train of thought. It just kept coming back to the beginning. One giant circle. He chanced a quick glance at Sam, who was resolutely not looking at Dean.

_Screw this._

Dean turned up the radio, and let his fraught thoughts be washed away by some Def Leppard.


	11. Scarecrow

Scarecrow

1x11

"That's what I want you to do." said Sam, his face lit up by the moonlight. Dean watched his brother shoulder his bag, and jut his jaw out. Sometimes Sam was just too stubborn for his own good. Dan shook his head in disbelief. Every fiber of his being told him not to leave Sam on this lonely road, to force him to get back into the car, but Sam was just not having any of it.

Fine.

_Fine then. Stand out here in the dark, you idiot. Walk for miles to get to the highway, or a road that sees more traffic. I don't care. _

Dean slammed the trunk closed. "Goodbye, Sam." He moved quickly to the driver's side and dropped into the seat. He tried not to look into the rearview mirror as he shifted the car into gear and slowly drove away. He rounded a corner and Sam disappeared from view.

The sting in the tale of it was that Dean could understand why Sam was angry, why Sam felt so hurt. Dean hadn't meant to push as far as he had in their argument. He supposed the line about being a good son was the one that finally broke Sam.

_Shit. Shit, shit, shit. _

Dean drove for another 10 minutes before stopping. He shouldn't have left Sam on his own. Even if his brother was insanely pissed at him, and he was, no doubt about that, he shouldn't have left him in the dark. Dean knew better than anyone what could be lurking in those woods. He tried not to imagine Sam being hurt, being taken, eaten, killed.

Dean swallowed, hard. He sat in silence for a moment, debating whether or not to turn around. To go back and force Sam to come with him. But Sam wasn't a child anymore. Dean couldn't just pick him up and make him stay, as much as he might want him to. Sam wasn't completely defenceless anyway. Dean had seen him pack a weapon. That soothed Dean's nerves somewhat.

Maybe the best thing to do would be leave Sam stew for a couple of days. It wouldn't be the first time Sam ran off. Dean just hoped that he would come back. Eventually.

Dean sighed, and started the car again. Indiana was a long way away.


	12. Faith

Faith

1x12

Sam sat with his head in his hands. He was re-reading the journal again, half for his Dad's contact lists that were haphazardly written in the corners of entries on Wendigos and the various incarnations of Skinwalkers, and half on the hope that he may see something that could help Dean. Sam's stomach lurched violently, a silent request for food. Sam glanced at his watch. It had been 18 hours since he had found out that Dean was going to die, and he wasn't any closer to discovering anything that could help.

_Dean was going to die. _

His brother was going to die. Sam had spent an hour calling every number his Dad had ever had, leaving messages on any that had voicemail, begging John to call him, to help him save Dean. Sam's phone stayed stubbornly silent. He hated the way the relief flooded his veins when his cell lit up, only to discover that it was a text message or a call from Caleb or Pastor Jim. He hated that John hadn't called.

_Maybe he's dead. _

Sam couldn't shake that helpful thought. It made more and more sense as the hours ticked by. Of course Dad would call if he knew Dean was in trouble. Of course he would call Sam immediately with a solution. The only reason he hasn't is because he can't. He's dead.

Sam could feel the panic starting to seep into him. He was nowhere near a fix to help Dean. His Dad was dead. Soon Dean would be too. Then Sam would be alone. No father, no brother, no girlfriend, no home. Nothing but a whole lot of anger and loneliness. Sam helplessly wondered what he would do on his own. Pick up the hunt where John left off? But Sam didn't know anything helpful about hunting whatever it was that John seemed to be closing in on. Go back to school? That was a no go. Everything seemed so much more important, so much larger, than college right now.

_Please call me, Dad, please. I don't know what to do. I don't want Dean to die, please God, please call me._

The motel room seemed too large at that point. Dean's things strewn messily over the other bed, his dirty socks sitting indignantly on the pillow. Sam felt his chest contract painfully. He would have to tidy away his brother's things after he was gone. Dean would never ask for pie again. Never sing so painfully out of tune in the shower. Never moan about having to eat vegetables again. Never grin over from the driver's seat and gleefully tell him to shut his cakehole as he blasted AC/DC.

_No, no, no._

Sam's vision blurred momentarily, the weight of the impending loss almost overtaking him. He needed to do more, do anything.

He stared at the dismally short list of his Dad's contacts, and although he had already called them once, or twice in some cases, he started at the beginning, and began to dial someone called Martin C, cradling the phone, as he flicked on his laptop.

Dean was going to be fine. He had to be.


	13. Route 666

Route 666

1x13

A fleeting thought that Sam might be wondering where he was entered Dean's mind, but then Cassie shifted and settled comfortably on his bare chest, and all thoughts of his little brother quickly left his mind. He knew she wasn't asleep. Her eyes were closed though, her breathing soft. He wondered how she was doing, really doing, after her father's death. She hadn't spoken about it, just to tell Dean that he had died. He watched her stamp her feelings about his death down, and he knew she would eventually release them once this was all over.

Dean felt a little stab of guilt. He wondered if he would still be here when that happened. Would he be the one to hold her close as the tears fell? Would he be the one to gently soothe her frazzled fears? The one to help her pick up the pieces? He wanted to be, really. Another stab of guilt asked him if he could guarantee that Cassie wanted that. He couldn't even guarantee that Cassie would want him here in the morning, not after the bombshell he landed on her the last time they were together.

He was only trying to be honest. To explain to her why he had to leave, not because he wanted to leave, but he _had_ to leave. He needed to root out bad things and save people. Cassie had not taken it well. She had shouted and screamed at him, and told him to go. Never to call her, never see her again. That's how he knew that it was serious when she called him. Of course he would come to her. He lo-

Dean put the brakes on that thought immediately. It would be more difficult to leave if he acknowledged that again.

"Dean?" Cassie moved slightly, tilting her head up to look at him.

"Hm?" Her eyes were too brown. Too dark. Too beautiful. It was her eyes that had initially attracted him. It also helped that she had an amazing smile that could knock a man on his ass from 20 feet. And that body -

Dean closed his eyes, desperately trying to not follow those thoughts. It would be harder to leave again.

"Do you think you'll be able to stop it?" Cassie sounded small, like she didn't really believe the question she asking.

"I don't know, Cass. But I promise that I'll keep trying until I do. Sam is working on it at the moment." Dean sounded reassuring to his own ears, surprisingly. He moved his hand, stopping it on Cassie's arm, and pulled her closer to him. He glanced down at her. She smelled like she always did, something fruity and sweet, intoxicating. She looked away from him.

She didn't say anything, but Dean felt her clench her jaw tightly, and the brush of long eyelashes against his chest. Her breath was warm as she said quietly, more into the dark than directed at Dean.

"I believe you."

Dean didn't say anything, just focused on how much harder it would be to leave this time. He knew he would leave, and he knew Cassie wouldn't stop him. He selfishly hoped that she might want to try the long distance thing. Maybe. If he was lucky. If she wanted to.

Dean closed his eyes again, but sleep was a long way off.


	14. Nightmare

Nightmare

1x14

He had tried. Honestly, he tried so hard to convince Max not to do it. For one, tiny, hopeful second he thought he might have been successful. But then Max had flung Sam into the closet, and moved the heavy dresser in front of it, preventing Sam from leaving. He had shouted himself hoarse, begging Max not to do it, that he was better than that, that by killing his step-mother he would be only playing the game the monster wanted him to.

When he got no answer, he felt panic coil in the pit of his stomach. Dean was out there, and he didn't know what was going to happen. Maybe Max would kill him too. Sam knew that Dean wouldn't just willingly allow Max to kill his step mother.

Sam smacked the heel of his hand against the door frame. He tried to throw his weight against the door, but it stayed resolutely closed. He wasn't able to get enough space between him and the door to really make any effort to get out. He made a strangled noise in his throat as he realised he was well and truly trapped.

Suddenly, a knife pierced his skull. At least, that's what it felt like. Sam felt the strange sensation of a vision settle into his head. He saw exactly what he thought might happen. Dean putting himself between Max and his mother. Max pulling the trigger, and Dean's brains being splashed all over the moss green walls. The jarring contrast of red on green brought bile to Sam's mouth as the vision lifted.

He needed to get out of here now. Needed to save Dean. Needed to stop Max. The thoughts swirled fast in his head, becoming almost a desperate mantra. Sam closed his eyes, seeking a solution. Any solution. He needed to move that dresser. Needed it to be gone, away from the door. Needed to save Dean. Needed to stop Max. Move the dresser.

Move the dresser.

Move the dresser.

Move the dresser.

The closet was inexplicably bathed in light pouring in through the slits on the closet door. Sam stood, confused for a second, before gingerly touching the door handle. The handle felt warm to Sam's touch. He barely acknowledged that he was freezing cold all of a sudden. The door swung open and Sam stepped out into the room. The dresser was exactly where it was before Max had moved it.

Sam stood in shock as he realised that he had moved the dresser. It was the only explanation. He didn't know what this meant. Were his freak powers expanding? Growing? What the hell did that mean? Would he eventually want to hurt people, like Max was doing now? Why was this happening?

Sam dimly heard raised voices from downstairs, and it was in that moment that time seemed to return to it's normal speed. He needed to stop Max. He could worry about his problems later, after he saved Dean.


	15. The Benders

The Benders

1x15

Dean shifted in the passenger seat, trying to ease the knot that had formed in his shoulders. The night outside was dark, and the road was quiet. He had no idea where he was. Kathleen had driven them over miles of country road, and now he wasn't sure exactly where they were. Kathleen seemed to though, so at least that was something. He glanced over in her direction. Her eyes searched the treelined verges, as if waiting for something to catch her attention. He was glad that Kathleen hadn't thrown his ass into lock up for lying about being a cop. Really glad.

The police radio crackled into life, an unintelligible voice on the other end. Kathleen frowned and ignored it.

They reached a crossroads, and Kathleen stopped the car. She sat for a couple of seconds, as if deciding on which route was best.

"We should call it a night." she said, softly.

"What? No way! Sam is still out there!" Dean was incredulous.

"And with the best will in the world, we won't be able to find him the dark. These woods go on for miles, and I can't see anything. We'll just have to come back in the morning, and try that track there." Kathleen pointed to road to the right.

Dean sat in silence, trying to keep his objections quiet. He knew she was right. Didn't mean he had to like it.

Kathleen took his silence as affirmation, and slowly moved the car forward again.

"Sam is like a brother to you?" Kathleen asked quietly.

"Yeah, dumb kid is all I got left." said Dean, not looking at her, "So that's why I have to find him. To make sure he's ok."

"I get that. I had someone like that. I know the feeling of wanting to make sure they're ok."

Silence fell over the car.

"This reminds me of another case." Kathleen swallowed, "Another guy disappeared, same MO, same area, same everything. Just vanished into thin air. We tried searching for him, for weeks, months. But nothing."

Dean didn't say anything. He wouldn't stop searching until he found Sam. And Sam would be fine. He had to be fine. No other possibility was acceptable. It made him sick to think what may have Sam.

It was at times like this that Dean hated being a hunter, having a hunter's upbringing and a hunter's knowledge. Every baddie, every monster, everything that went bump in the night, that could possibly live in this area, ran through his head. Everything that could have snatched Sam like that. Everything with sharp claws, and pointy teeth, and strong mandibles. What sort of death Sam would get at the hands of each creature paraded through Dean's mind. Sam's neck broken. Sam's skin missing. Sam's torso ripped open and beasts feeding on his insides.

Maybe he'll become something that Dean will have to kill.

Dean's stomach dropped further. He hadn't thought of that until now.

Suddenly the car was too small. He fumbled at the car door, trying to open the window. He felt like he was going to pass out. He couldn't hurt Sam. Couldn't kill him. Needed to find him. He'll be fine.

"Hey, hey!" came Kathleen's voice. "You ok?"

Dean could only nod, not trusting himself to answer.

Kathleen reached over, and grasped Dean's hand. "We'll find him, ok?"

Dean tightened his jaw. "Yeah we will."

Kathleen smiled and turned her attention back to the road. "Yeah, we will."


	16. Shadow

Shadow

1x16

The dull sensation behind Dean's eyes that had been threatening a migraine for the last 20 miles had finally let loose. He wasn't sure if it was from leaving Dad or a side effect of the daeva. Either way, it hurt like a bitch. He caught a glimpse of himself in the rearview mirror, and cursed silently at the shallow cuts on his forehead, and the bruise slowly blossoming on his temple. Dean felt old, much older than his 26 years. He had been beat on and broken for as long as he could remember, but tonight? Tonight just felt too much.

Seeing his dad, then for a split second hoping that they could finally, _finally, _all reunite, and take on the world as one. It'd be different from when they were kids. They were adults now, they could actually help John. Hold their own. Make themselves useful. Find the thing that ripped Mom away. Get vengeance, and maybe then it'd be all over. _Of course that couldn't happen. Nothing good ever happens to a Winchester, _Dean thought bitterly.

Sam hadn't looked at him once since they left Chicago. Hadn't opened his mouth. Dean knew that Sam was angry at him for sending Dad away. He got it, he really did. He knew how badly Sam wanted to take out the thing that killed Jess, knew that Sam felt guilty for her death, that he was weighed down by it. No matter what Dean said, no matter what he didn't say but needed Sam to know, no matter how much Dean tried to help him through this, Sam refused to let him in.

"_This is my fault Dean. I have to make her death mean something. Have to stop whatever is doing this. I should have protected her, and I failed." _Sam had slurred one night after too many beers, as Dean shoved him into bed.

Dean brought his hand up to his eyes, and tried to rub the tiredness away. It didn't work. Sam shifted in the seat next to him. He was fiddling with his cell phone, twirling it between his fingers as his eyes never left the empty road in front of them.

"Sam." Dean said, sounding a little too rough. He cleared his throat and tried again. "Sam."

"What."

"Dad had to go on his own. We would have made him a target. You know that." Dean wasn't sure why he was saying this. Maybe he just needed Sam to understand that Dean had only done it for the best.

"And we could have helped him!" Sam snapped.

Dean recoiled slightly. He was too tired for this. "Maybe. Maybe we would have just painted a bullseye on his back. Sam, Dad will let us in when it's safe. He kno-"

"Don't you dare tell me that he will "let us help". Don't do it, Dean. You know he won't. He'll do exactly what he always does. He will tell us "exactly what we need to know", and keep is in the dark about everything. You know, I'm not even sure what the hell the thing that killed Jess is! What the hell does it want? Why did it kill her? Why does it want me? And the others?" Sam took a breath, and continued.

"I just want this to be over. I want to kill that son of a bitch, and then go back to normal. I just want it to be over, and everytime I think it's just done, something else comes up and chews us up and spits us out." Sam bit out, and silence fell abruptly.

Dean's migraine throbbed unhelpfully, reminding him that he was a beaten man.. Nothing more. A thought flt across his pained mind, "How can I make this better?" That was his default mode. Had been for years. Making things better for everyone else. His brother, his dad, strangers and once known lovers. He didn't know how to save himself, to make it better for himself. Wouldn't even know where to begin. He figured that if he could make it ok for Sam, then that would be good enough.

Dean swallowed, and said quietly, "Can you drive for a little while?"


	17. Hell House

Hell House

1x17

"Don't say I didn't warn you!" said Dean, trying not to laugh.

"Dean, my hair…" Sam said, weakly. He ran his fingers through his now purple tinged mop.

Dean flashed him a grin. "I told you, you can't beat me at this, Sam!"

Sam stood in front of the mirror in their hotel room, helplessly tugging at his hair. Dean had replaced his shampoo with hair dye, and now his ass brother was sitting smugly on his bed. He would have to get his own back. Had to. No way was he going to take this one lying down.

"Oh, it is _SO _on." Sam turned to Dean, waving a finger threateningly.

"I'm terrified, Boy George. I'm shaking in my shoes." Dean flopped backwards, stretching his back out.

"You better hope that this comes out easily." Sam said, as he moved back towards the bathroom.

"Yeah, yeah. I'm sure it said "temporary" on the bottle." Dean propped himself up on his elbow, "Or it could have said "semi-permanent", I'm not sure."

"Dean." Sam growled. "This better come out. I can't have purple hair! What kind of FBI agent has purple hair?"

"The sassy kind?" Dean answered innocently.

"You are so dead." said Sam, slamming the bathroom door, as Dean dissolved into laughter.


	18. Something Wicked This Way Comes

Something Wicked This Way Comes

1x18

Dean shifted uncomfortably. The bed was too hard. He twisted and lay on his side. Across a small gap, his brother was fast asleep in the other bed. Dean shut his eyes again, willing himself to get some sleep. His mind raced, showing him the kid from earlier on feeding his little brother and then Dean tumbled into sleep.

"But I'm hungry, Dean!" said Sam crossly, his little arms folded.

"I know you are. I am too. But I want to wait until Dad gets back before I make us some dinner." Dean said, trying to keep the desperation out of his voice. Dad had said that he was going to be back this morning. That was 9 hours ago. Dean had no money left. Dad had been gone a week this time, and he had only left him 30 bucks. He had spent the last of it yesterday on bandages for Sam. He had caught his hand in the bathroom door, and no matter how much Dean tried to make him feel better, Sam insisted that he would only feel better if he had a plaster. Dean's eyes glanced down at Sam's right hand, which was covered in 4 different bandages. He smiled in spite of himself.

"What? What are you laughing at Dean?" Sam stared at him petulantly. "I want dinner!"

"I said, we are waiting for Dad, and that's it! Go watch tv or something." Dean picked Sam up, the 6 year old squirming and wailing, and dumped him in front of the black and white tv.

"This doesn't even have cartoons!" Sam said, sulking, sinking back into the worn brown chair.

"I don't care. Find something to watch." Dean had crossed the room again, and was sitting on the cupboard under the window. He was going to watch for his Dad. Dad needed to come back soon. Dean's stomach growled unhelpfully. He was hungry. Hungrier than Sam was. He had given Sam the last of his cereal this morning, after Sam wanted seconds. There was nothing left. Nothing. He glanced up at the clock, 9 p.m. When should he call Pastor Jim?

Dean chewed the inside of his mouth. He knew that if he called Pastor Jim, and John came home, John would be annoyed at him, telling him he jumped the gun, telling him maybe he shouldn't be watching Sam if he couldn't hold on for a few hours. If he didn't call Pastor Jim, and John didn't come home, where would that leave him and Sam? Dean turned these thoughts round in his head for a few hours, trying not to think too much about the possibility that Dad may not come home. He glanced at the clock again, 12.05 a.m. Sam had fallen asleep in front of television, his little sleeping form lit up by the television.

He would wait until tomorrow. Maybe John would come back in the night time, and in the morning, everything would be ok. Maybe Dad would take them for pancakes. He normally did if his hunt went well.


	19. Provenance

Provenance

1x19

"Sam, stop fussing! God, you're such a girl sometimes." Dean didn't even look up from the television, but the slight smile on his face comforted Sam.

Sam was standing in the middle of the motel room, looking lost. He had changed his shirt twice already, and was now running his hands through his hair nervously. He made a small noise that could have been a whimper.

Dean glanced up from the spanish language version of Dr. Sexy. "Dude, it'll be fine. Sarah will just be happy you asked her out."

"Yeah, but she wanted to go to some fancy restaurant. Dean, the waiters there have waistcoats. Waistcoats! I don't have anything that doesn't make me look like a homeless student. Or an FBI agent." Sam said, helplessly.

Dean rolled his eyes, "Sam, calm down. That blue shirt, wear the black suit jacket. Problem solved."

Sam was silent for a few moments, and pulled the jacket on. He stood in front of the mirror for a few moments, not saying anything, not moving.

"You ok?" Dean asked.

"Yeah, I guess." Sam exhaled slowly, "This is just new, y'know?"

And suddenly Dean understood. This was the first time Sam had been on a date since Jess. The first time he asked a woman out since Jess. The first time he had to dress for a first date since Jess. Maybe the first time that Sam felt anything for someone else since Jess. Dean realised that Sam was probably beating himself up pretty badly about this. It was a testament to how much they needed to solve this case that Sam was even going through with it. Dean knew he would never have done this if they hadn't needed those provenances. Dean felt his stomach clench when he realised that he had been pushing Sam to ask out Sarah, and now he felt horrible.

"Hey." Dean said softly, from his perch on his bed.. "It'll be ok. She would want you to do this."

Something flickered in Sam's face, and his entire body tensed, and Dean wasn't sure whether Sam was going to hit him or cry. Sam clenched his jaw, and inexplicably, his body sagged slightly as the tension eased.

"I miss her." Sam's voice was quiet.

"I know, Sammy. I know."

Silence fell, as if there was more to say, but for the life of him, Dean couldn't think of anything to say.


	20. Dead Man's Blood

Dead Man's Blood

1x20

Dean stood alone in the middle of the road. Sam was seething in the Impala, and his Dad had just marched back to the big black truck he was driving these days, the anger radiating from him.

"Terrific." Dean muttered. He turned back to get into the Impala, and he was suddenly reminded of argument that finally splintered his family.

Sam had applied without telling John. Had completed all the forms, all the tests, everything, without telling John. Dean had been hurt that Sam hadn't told him either, but part of Dean was proud of his brother. _Stanford. Full ride. _Dean wasn't sure what those meant, not completely but Sam had done it. Sam had gotten a place in university. Even with all the crap that they did. Even with all the moving around, and school changes, and living out of motels, Sam had managed the almost impossible. Dean wasn't even sure how Sam had managed to keep on track with receiving mail, what with all the changes.

Dean had stood, flinching, in the corner of the old house that they had been using for the last month or so, his dad and brother spitting fire at each other. John had found the acceptance letter, and was now waving it like a sword.

"When were you going to tell me?" John balled the piece of paper up, and flung it at Sam.

"When the time was right!" Sam was now taller than John, a fact that nettled John no end.

"Oh, when the time was right?!" John mimicked, "You aren't leavin', boy. We need you here."

"Need?" Sam scoffed, "That's a good one. All you _need _is someone to read the books and look stuff up while you and Dean swoop in and save the day. I'm done, Dad. I don't want to keep doing this."

"You can do whatever the hell you want once I kill that thing that took your mother." John said, his eyes narrowing.

"Because you're so much closer now than you were, what, 6 months ago? A year? A decade? Face it, Dad. We may never find the thing that killed Mom."

John had crossed the room in two strides. "You shut your mouth." He was dangerously close to Sam now.

"I'm right though. And even then, what happens after you kill it? We just go back to normal? Little house in the country? White picket fence? Nothing changes, Dad. Nothing. You'll just find something else, some other reason to drag me and Dean around the country."

John had grabbed the lapels of Sam's jacket. Dean felt himself move. "Dad, let him go."

John ignored him.

"You need to learn some respect, boy." John growled at Sam.

"And you think scaring me is gonna achieve that?" Sam snarled back, "I haven't been afraid of you in a long time, John."

"Sam, please, stop." Dean could hear what sounded like a note of desperation in his voice. He had seen them argue before, but not like this. There was a tone of finality to their words, and Dean was afraid of it. He couldn't let them tear themselves apart. He shoved John's hands away, and pushed himself between the two. He lay his hands on Sam's chest, and moved forward, separating Sam and John. He could feel Sam's heart hammering under his hands. "Sam, please, just stop." Dean was whispering.

Sam ignored him, shouting over Dean's shoulder.

"You cannot dictate to me what my life will be."

"Go, then."

Dean dropped his hands, and twisted around to face his father. "What?" he asked.

"Dean, your brother has made his decision. He is going to leave. Going to go to school. Going to live a normal life whilst me and you hunt without him. He's a liability now.." John was standing stock still in the centre of the room. He said this directly to Dean, as if Sam was no longer in the room.

There was few beats of silence, and without another word, Sam exited the room. Dean could hear him pound up the stairs, and the door close far above his head.

"Dad, please. Don't do this." Dean said, desperately. "You guys always fight. You can fix it in the morning."

John didn't say anything to Dean, but sat heavily into one of the moth eaten couches. He reached inside his coat pocket and withdrew a hip flask.

The pounding on the stairs echoed again, and Dean turned to see his brother standing in the hallway. It struck Dean just how few possessions Sam had, at that moment. His duffel bag lay at his feet, and a small leather satchel slung over his shoulder. He had a look of utter determination on his face, but Dean knew that Sam hadn't ever imagined it would end like this. His entire body seemed to be unsure.

Dean bent down, and picked up the discarded letter. He walked slowly over to Sam, who nodded as Dean smoothed out the wrinkles, and handed it to him. Sam picked up his bags and made to move outside. Dean followed.

It was a clear night. No clouds. Just thousands of stars and a moon that seemed too bright. Sam walked slightly ahead of Dean.

"Sam."

"Dean, don't try to change my mind."

"Just come back inside. Sleep on it. We can talk tomorrow about it. Just don't go. Not like this." _Please don't leave. Please. You and Dad are all I have. _

Sam shifted the leather satchel on his bag, and smiled sadly at his brother, "I'm sorry, Dean. I just can't be who he wants me to be."

Sam began to walk, away from the house, away from Dean. He had gone about 30 paces, when he half turned and waved.

Dean felt his hand mechanically wave back. _This can't be happening. It can't be._

Dean wasn't sure how long he stood in the driveway of that house. He had watched Sam as he got smaller and smaller, and eventually disappeared over the horizon. The sun was starting to come up, and sky was streaked with red and blue. Dean suddenly realised he was cold, very cold, and headed back inside. John was asleep on the chair that he had been in when Sam left, an empty whiskey bottle at his side. Dean swallowed thickly and wondered how he could pick up the pieces after this. How he could fix this.

His hands fumbled with a cup, and it fell from his grasp, shattering loudly on the concrete floor. "Son of a bitch," he mumbled. _How can I fix anything, if I can't even fix myself a cup of coffee?_


	21. Salvation

Salvation

1x21

**A Year Ago**

John sat immobile in front of the laptop. A soft glow illuminated his tired face. He had been waiting for the email all day, and now that it was here, he could hardly believe it. A hunter in California had been checking out some cattle mutilations for him, and here were his findings.

_It fits._

John could hardly breathe. _It all fits. It's a pattern. Finally._

It was it, the thing, the monster.. It had to be. He wasn't sure when it happened in Arizona, and had more of an inkling from the incident in New Jersey, but this time, after the latest fire in California, it had to be it. He had to go check it out. Needed to see for himself if there was anything left after the one in California. It was the closest site after all. He glanced across the motel room, and found Dean sprawled over one of the beds, snoring lightly.

John found himself torn. Should he wake his son? Explain that he had finally found a trail? Dean would want in on this. Want to help find the thing that killed Mary. John's stomach lurched, as it always did when he thought of Mary. It had been over two decades and he never felt any differently. His entire world ended that night in November 1983, and he was finally on track to enact vengeance for all he lost. He couldn't do it if he was worried about Dean getting hurt. This thing, demon possibly, whatever it was, would stop at nothing. It had already proved how dangerous it was. _No. _He wouldn't bring Dean into this if he could avoid it. The kid had already lost enough.

John's thoughts turned to Sam. At least he was safe. He looked happy the last time John had swung by Stanford. Happy in a way that John had never seen. It hurt John that they had parted on such bad terms, and so much time had passed now, it seemed like opening old wounds to pick up the phone and call him. He wouldn't want any part of this hunt anyway. Might as well not tell him anything, not until it was all over.

John's skin itched. He needed to get to get to California as soon as possible, but how to do so without making Dean suspicious?

He flicked through his journal, and landed on a couple of notes he made concerning what sounded like a spirit in Jericho._ Bingo._ California. That sounded like it would work. He needed another case, something on the other side of the country preferably, something that Dean could do. Something simple. Something that would keep him out of the way until John was in the wind.

He scoured the internet, and within the hour had something that he thought would hook Dean. Hoodoo. New Orleans.

_Perfect._

It was 7 a.m. John packed his bag, slipping his journal into his front pocket.

"Dean."

Dean's eyes snapped open instantly. John watched his son's hand move reflexively under his pillow, knowing that Dean's hand had closed on his pistol.

"Dean. It's fine." John said, softly. "Just new cases."

Dean relaxed, and sat up, yawning. "Cases? As in plural?"

John nodded. "Yeah, they both need looking at. That is, if you're up for it?"

John felt a small, old, stab of guilt when Dean's eyes lit up. Dean crossed the room, and sat easily into the chair opposite John, who handed him the few meagre notes he had made about the possible case in Louisiana. Dean read silently, as John poured two cups of coffee, placing one in front of Dean.

"Seems straight forward." Dean was frowning. "You're not coming?"

"I have to go check out this one in Jericho, California." Lying to his children was nothing new to John. Didn't mean he liked it. Necessary though. "I'm leaving now."

"Now? Why?" asked Dean, surprised. He took a sip of coffee. "Are you taking the car?"

"No. You are." John smiled. Dean loved that car, and now seemed as good a time as any to give it to him.

Dean placed his coffee cup heavily back onto the table. "Seriously?" He was incredulous.

"As long as you take care of it."

Dean narrowed his eyes. "Why? You love that car."

"So do you. And I'm going to California, you're going to Louisiana. One of us is gonna have to acquire a car. Might as well be me. Consider it a gift." John said nonchalantly.

Dean was silent. _He's suspicious, _John thought. He reached into his pocket and pulled out the keys. He slid them across the table.

"Seriously, Dean. Take it."

Dean looked at the keys, and then his gaze landed on John. "You'd tell me if there was something up?"

John cleared his throat. "Yes. Go to Louisiana, Dean."

They sat in silence for a few moments, before John stood up. He picked up his bag, and turned to his son. "I'll call you when I finish up in Cali."

Dean also stood. "Be careful, Dad."

"Always am, son. Always am." John smiled as he left, throwing a little wave at his oldest child, who stood alone in the motel room.

_I'm coming for you, you evil son of a bitch. You're gonna wish for death by the time I'm done with you._

John shouldered his bag, and walked out of the almost deserted parking lot.

He had work to do.


	22. Devil's Trap

Devil's Trap

1x22

Bobby stood in the kitchen, holding a glass of whiskey. It tasted foul against his tongue, but he drained it in one go. This morning had been trying. Sam and Dean Winchester showing up, and then this demon? It certainly wasn't the morning he had envisioned when he woke up.

And how those boys had changed. Bobby hadn't seen them in over 4 years. Granted, he had nearly shot their dad on their last visit, but Bobby always had a soft spot for these kids. John always seemed so hard with them, so militant. They never had time to be kids, and ever since Bobby had met John, many years ago now, Bobby had tried to make things easier for them, when he could.

Bobby remembered the first time John asked him to look after Sam and Dean. Sam couldn't have been more than 8. Full of innocence and wanting to know everything about the world. Dean was older. Already weighed down with the knowledge of what the world was. Bobby always felt sorry for that kid. He seemed so much older than his years, even now.

That's how Bobby ended up teaching Dean things that his dad never would. Like how to play catch. How to throw a ball around. How to relax, and do things that normal kids his age did. He was only 12, for Christ's sake.

When he started to get older, Bobby taught him other things. Like how to shave. How to tie a tie. How to hold himself. How to shake hands like a man.

He remembered making dinner for those boys, on one of the hunts were John had been gone for a few weeks, and them all sitting at Bobby's wobbly table in the kitchen. Dean had swiped one of Sam's meatballs, and they were arguing. But they were arguing over something _normal. _Something every set of brothers argued over. Not "Why did Dad kill that vampire?" or "How can a skinwalker possibly do that Dean, do you not know anything?!" It made Bobby feel content that perhaps these kids were getting some memories of their childhood that weren't bloodstained.

And then John would show back up. Reeking of blood and sweat, and often he would bundle the kids back into the car and take off immediately. Bobby hated the change that came over Sam and Dean when John came back. Dean's back immediately straightened, and a little of the sparkle in his eyes left as he clambered into the passenger seat. Sam seemed to close in on himself, his back rounding, and his eyes never leaving the floor. He took up residence in the back seat, his legs stretched out over the seat.

Bobby would stand, and wave at them until the car disappeared out of sight, and he would wonder how long it would be before he would see them again.

Bobby shook his head, and was brought back to the present. He watched Dean as he shouted at the demon, shouted until his voice was scratchy. Sam was standing outside the Devil's Trap, a book open on the exorcism ritual that was most effective, his face expressionless.

_They don't look human, _Bobby thought. _They look like hunters._

Bobby cleared his throat, and poured himself another drink. He couldn't shake the feeling that this wasn't going to be the worst thing that happened to these boys.

_Goddamnit. _


	23. Season 2 - In My Time of Dying

In My Time of Dying

2x01

They say your life flashes before your eyes in the seconds before you die. John Winchester knows that thats a goddamn lie. The memories of his life were always present, always just bubbling below the surface. His life was divided into two phases. "Before Mary Died" and "After Mary Died". Everything before seemed so bright and alive, full of sound and laughter, even in the bad times. Even when they fought, and Mary cried, and when John would drink too much. It was all wonderful, because she was alive.

And then she was taken from John, and his life stopped. All the colour drained away and the world slowly became silent. All John could see was the thing that killed her, and he _knew _he would kill it, even if it took him a lifetime. His children, for the longest time, existed in this black and white world. He was unable to look at them without being reminded of the life that he once had. Constant reminders of Mary. Even the little things tore at his heart. When they were kids, the way little Sammy cried in his sleep reminded John that Mary would always get up and go to him because she knew that John had work in the morning. The way Dean smiled up at him when John spoke to him reminded John of the way Mary would stroke her son's hair as she tucked him at night.

Now his sons' were grown. He knew that they should never have had the life that he gave them, but he couldn't change it. They were so close to killing the demon that murdered Mary, and John knew that he would have to sit this one out. He knew that Dean and Sam would be able to take care of it.

Sam had shouted at him earlier, and he was right. John had cared too long and forsaken too much in his pursuit of Mary's killer. Now his eldest son was going to die and he needed to do something about it. Anything to get Dean to live. It repulsed him to make the deal with the yellow eyed demon. Made him sick to his very core to even speak to the thing that ruined his life, but if it could save Dean…

John had the sense to add the caveat to make sure that Dean was ok, and alive, and healed, before he allowed Yellow Eyes to come for him. In the split second before his soul was ripped from him, his thoughts focused on his children.

_I can finally do something right by them. _

He was gone before his body hit the floor.


	24. Everybody Loves a Clown

Everybody Loves a Clown

2x02

Every carnival and funfair always looks the same. There are the old rides that probably are a little bit dangerous, that spark unnecessarily and are always manned by either a disinterested teenager or an old man with a baseball cap that looks right through customers. There are the side attractions, like the water pistol range or the air rifle range, with walls covered in cheap plush toys imported from China. There are the "fun houses" and the walls of mirrors, that stopped being novelties around the same time as every 7 year old got access to the internet. There are food trucks that even the folk running the place wouldn't eat in. Hot dogs, and candy floss and enough soda to make several dentists cringe.

Dotted throughout every carnival and funfair are the performers. People on stilts with colourful wigs and long trousers. Moving statues who sit perfectly still, even when little kids stick their grubby hands all over their costumes. Jugglers and acrobats move through the crowd, drawing children to the next attraction, their parents rushing to keep up. And finally, the clowns. Clowns making balloon animals for a delighted toddler. Clowns falling over themselves to sounds of applause from onlookers. Clowns spraying an unsuspecting man with their flower pistol.

Throughout the electronic din, and the flashing lights and the whoops and screams of patrons, Sam stood still. He was watching the exchange between the now wet angry man, who was gesturing wildly and the clown who was shrugging exaggeratedly. Sam's stomach twisted unpleasantly. He hated clowns. Always had done, ever since he was kid. He wasn't sure where the fear came from. Even after facing terrors untold, things that were often considered merely myth, nothing could wake him from a deep sleep quite like the "Clown Dream."

It was always the same. The clown stood still, never moving. It seemed to draw him closer and closer until all of a sudden, it rushed at him with supernatural speed, all of it's teeth sharp as knives and a smell of burning flesh on it's breath. He generally woke up just as it sank its teeth into his bicep. Just another nightmare in whole long litany of them. None quite as old as this one though.

Sam moved to pick up a discarded popcorn bucket, and placed it gingerly inside his already half full sack of trash._ Why did it have to be clowns? _

He tried to recall the first time he ever remembered being scared of them. Ronald McDonald, whilst creepy as all hell, only compounded Sam's fear when he was little. He would hide his face in Dean's side when they would order food and try not to look at it. Dean would laugh and pat his head, and call him a "baby", wherein Sam would pout and try to explain why clowns were weird. When he was older, he would look the other direction, or refuse to go inside at all.

It had to be the time that Sam accidentally watched "It" as a kid. He would have only been 6 or 7 when he watched it. A movie about a child killing clown that lives in the drains under a town? A clown with bright hair and makeup and teeth like razors, who enticed children to play with him?

Sam shivered. Yep, that's the one. The source of it all. Goddamn Pennywise.

A song slowly filtered through Sam's thoughts. He listened for a second to place it, through the cacophony of noise around him. When it came to him, he snorted and went back to picking up trash.

"Everybody loves a clown, so why don't you?"


	25. Bloodlust

Bloodlust

2x03

"Dean, I don't trust him." Sam said, dropping his rucksack onto the floor.

"Why? We finally get a break, and you want to just throw it away?" Dean rounded on Sam, jabbing his finger pointedly at him.

"It's hardly a break," Sam scoffed, "I just don't trust him. There's something about him, I just can't put my finger on it."

"Another hunter, who knows what he is doing, who wants the same thing as us, to take down these goddamn vamps and you want to just walk away?!" Dean was almost shouting at this point, his frustration seeping into the room.

"Yes, Dean. I want to walk away. I don't want to be around that man for another second. There is something rotten about him. Something broken." Sam finished quietly, not sure of what he was saying, but knowing instantly it was the truth.

"Something broken?" Dean laughed bitterly. "Maybe that's why I like him. In case you haven't noticed, Sam, everyone's broken. You, me, Bobby, Gordon, it's all gone to hell. Might as well ride it out."

Sam didn't reply. An uneasy silence fell between the two brothers. The only sound that could be heard was the cars driving by the motel, and the soft hum of the neighbouring rooms television.

"We are staying. We are going to work with Gordon. End of discussion." Dean said, sitting heavily on the bed farthest from the door.

"No."

"No?" Dean frowned.

"You can do what you want, Dean. But I'm not working with that man. I don't think you should either, but hey, I can't stop you. Ellen says he is bad news, and I'm telling you I don't trust him. If that means doesn't start alarm bells, fine, do what you want." Sam answered, folding his arms, "just don't expect me to come to your rescue when it all blows up in your face."

"Screw you, Sammy." Dean spat.

"Fuck you too, Dean." Sam said over his shoulder, as he breezed out of the motel room.


End file.

Supernatural, Angst, Hurt-Comfort