SPN: The Narrow Way Part 2 of ?

[lunesque]

Rating: PG-13

Warnings for this chapter: Unrequited incest

Chapter summary: Dean's hands were clenched white on the steering wheel, and Dean was shaking his head. "First, that was sacrilege. Second," and his grip relaxed as he shot a challenging smirk in Sam's direction, "bring it, bitch."

Additional story notes and disclaimers are in the first chapter.



Chapter Two: Free Will

The streets were dark and wet with rain; it was still drizzling off and on. Catherine Mendez shivered, pulling her coat more tightly around her, and flipped her collar up, trying to get a little more protection from the chill and dampness. The way home was usually very well lit, but for some reason, tonight, the street lights were flickering steadily, obstinately lighting the way and plunging her into darkness with every step. The hollow sound of her footsteps against the pavement was the only thing she heard, and she felt the urge to hold her breath.

She laughed a little at herself, quickening her pace. It was ridiculous. She'd been walking back and forth in this part of town for years; it was silly to let a creepy, rainy night scare her out of her wits.

She made it to her vehicle without any problems, but the street light that she had parked next to was doing a valiant job of attempting to strobe her into seizure, so she held each of the keys on her keychain, remembering by feel which one she needed to unlock her door.

"Hey."

Catherine gasped, dropping her keys onto the pavement as she whirled around. It was Bradley, the Jones' son from down the street, and she glowered at him until he bent and picked up her keys, presenting them to her with a flourish.

Catherine snapped the keys out of his hand, still annoyed at him and not afraid to show it. "Hello, Brad. Is there any particular reason why you're out here tormenting poor unsuspecting folk minding their own business?"

"Sorry," Bradley said, and he did look sincere enough that Catherine relaxed. "I just saw you and thought I'd say hi."

"I'm sure." Catherine shivered again, crossing her arms over her chest and squeezing her arms. "And of course you thought it would be perfect to say Hello out in the rain instead of at our meeting tomorrow?"

"Yes," Bradley said and stepped closer.

Catherine licked her lips, backing up until she felt the handle of the car door dig into her back. "What is it, then?" Catherine's heart was already speeding up in excitement; she was flushing with a warmth that made the chilly drizzle against her skin a negligible sensation.

Bradley's eyes went black, and he leaned into her space, raising a finger to trace the curve of her cheek, the small cleft in her chin. This close, Catherine could see the strange jut of bones in his fingers, the sticky way his hair dangled in his face, the long stripes of red bleeding through his shirt. Still, when he brought those broken fingers up to tangle in her hair, she let him, leaning her head back to follow the pull. He trailed his split lips against the skin of her throat, up and down, before he pressed his body flush against hers, mouth against her ear.

"I want you next," Bradley confided.

Catherine laughed, a shaky, delighted sound, and she laid herself bare before him. "Yes," she breathed. "Please. Yes."

~*~

Sam looked up from the old, flaking book he was cradling in his hands to see Dean trying to balance a beer bottle on his forehead. "Dude," Sam said, astonished by his brother's complete stupidity. "What did you do before I started hunting with you? Did you just wander around with your weapons and trip on things?"

"Hey." Dean removed the bottle from his forehead so that he could give Sam an impish look. "I can do my own research—I just figured, you like to do it so much, it would make me a bad big brother to deny you."

"Sometimes I really think I hate you." Sam glared at Dean, fighting the urge to hit him.

Dean's smarmy grin didn't waver. "Liar, you know you love me."

"Are you sure you boys are taking this hunting business seriously?" Bobby wandered away from his own desk piled with books to take Dean's bottle and toss it into the trash. "Because you're sounding like a bunch of five year olds."

"If he would pull his weight, maybe I wouldn't complain so much," Sam insisted to Bobby, mostly to hear Dean splutter. It happened on cue.

"I do pull my weight! Who's the one that kills these things you're researching? Ninety percent of the time, it's me!"

"By that logic, you should be doing at least ten percent of the research, shouldn't you?" Sam smirked at Dean.

Dean scowled at Sam and nabbed the smallest book in the pile before going to Bobby's living room to sulk in one of the chairs. Bobby shook his head, looking like he wanted to say something, but he remained silent, retreating back to his desk and the mounds of books and papers he could hide behind.

Sam heard the sound of the television being turned on in the living room and shook his head. He was kind of frustrated at Dean's attitude—the Apocalypse was coming, the actual frigging Apocalypse, and he was alternately taking it too seriously and then not seriously enough. They needed to be prepared.

The television cut off abruptly, and Dean wandered back into Sam's and Bobby's vicinity, a frown creasing his forehead. He went over to the pile of old newspapers that Bobby kept around for research purposes and began to leaf through them silently, pausing every now and again to stare at a page before moving on. He methodically worked his way through every pile, single minded enough that he caught Bobby's attention, and both Bobby and Sam stared at Dean, wondering what he was up to now.

Then Dean's expression brightened and he brought four of the newspapers over to Sam, laying the pages out over his books. "What do you see, Sammy?"

Sam shot a look at Dean and then looked down at the newspapers strewn around the table. "Expired newspapers? What am I supposed to be looking for, Dean?"

Dean sighed in exasperation, turning to Bobby. "Bobby, come on, man, help me out here."

"I don't know what's going on in that fool brain of yours!" Bobby protested but came out from behind his books to take a look at the newspapers Dean had selected. "These newspapers are months old, Dean."

"That's the point!" Dean insisted.

Bobby continued to look, ignoring Dean's outburst, and tapped each page. "The only thing I can see here are the abductions. That what you're thinking about?" Sam took a closer look at the articles that Bobby pointed out, scanning over the headlines.

"It's not just that," Dean said. "I turned on the television, and I was watching the Travel Channel, you know?" Dean scowled at the amused look Sam turned on him. "Shut it, Sammy. They have those haunted houses of America things. And they were talking about some new towns, ones that were thriving places two years ago but have dried up. Like, new ghost towns. I was thinking that it might have been that Roanoke virus thing—"

"Croatoan," Sam interjected.

"Whatever. But none of these places have any carvings like that. 'Course, it's possible that the reporters are just dumbasses and can't film their way out of a paper sack. But they're in the papers, too. I think we should check it out."

"So you think it's this virus thing showing back up again?" Bobby asked.

Dean shrugged. "Well, it's either that or the Rapture. But it started a little over a year and a half ago. Doesn't that strike you as a little funny?"

Sam nodded. "That's when the Hell Gate was opened. Okay. Let's get on it."

Dean gave Sam an insolent grin. "Didn't know I needed your permission, princess." He went to the closet and pulled out his jacket, shrugging it over his shoulders. "Besides, now you can't complain at me about research. Five minutes on the boob tube and I find us a hunt. How's that for turnaround?"

Sam shot a narrow glare in his direction. "I'm not convinced it is a hunt yet, but it's worth checking out. Don't let it get to your head."

"Sammy, I'm crushed!" Dean said, giving him a wounded look. "How could you even think—"

"Get out of here, ya idjits," Bobby said, his gruffness waylaid by the obvious fondness in his voice. "Call me if anything turns up."

"Sure thing, Bobby," Dean said and headed out the door, leaving Sam to scramble, setting the books back in their places and grabbing his stuff before chasing after his brother.

Dean was waiting in the Impala by the time Sam was finished, tapping out the beat of 'Enter Sandman' against the dashboard and blaring it obnoxiously from the speakers. Sam shook his head for what felt like the millionth time since Dean had come back from Hell—Dean was in one of his I-am-the-annoying-older-brother moods, which always made him harder to keep in line than a toddler, with his teasing and pranking. Fortunately, Sam had made a preemptive strike.

Sam slid in the passenger seat just as the first song ended, so he had a front row seat to Dean's expression when it became The Lettermen's 'Put Your Head on my Shoulder.' Dean stared in mute horror at his cassette tape player as though it had personally betrayed him, and Sam couldn't help laughing hysterically, bracing his palms against the dashboard and choking out his mirth.

Dean's mouth worked soundlessly as the song transferred from 'Put Your Head on my Shoulder' to the theme song from Sesame Street, and then he bolted forward to push the eject button and fling that cassette tape into the back seat.

Sam eventually stopped laughing, wiping tears of hilarity out of his eyes, and when his vision cleared, he snuck in a look in Dean's direction. Dean's hands were clenched white on the steering wheel, and Dean was shaking his head. "First, that was sacrilege. Second," and his grip relaxed as he shot a challenging smirk in Sam's direction, "bring it, bitch."

Sam couldn't help laughing again, even though he knew he was in for an awful payback, and settled back into his seat, pulling his seatbelt around and clicking it safely into place. "Oh, I've brought it, jerk."

They started their way toward the Omaha area, where the first of the 'haunted' towns began popping up, and Sam carefully marked all of the missing towns that Dean had already pointed out in the papers. Then he went to his laptop, snagging free wireless signals when they passed them, to hunt down any ghost towns that had appeared within the last two years.

"Wait," Sam said, halfway through their first day of driving, and Dean paused his drumming against the steering wheel in order to look at Sam curiously. "I don't think we need to go to Omaha first. If what I'm thinking is right, then the first dead town that showed up was Naselle, Washington."

Dean frowned. "That's a long ways away from the Hell Gate, Sammy."

Sam shrugged. "It was pretty far away from where those demons came after us in the police station, too, but that didn't stop them."

"Huh," Dean said, looking down the long stretch of road ahead of them. "Okay then. Washington it is."

They drove on in silence for a little while, and Sam played solitaire until the battery in his laptop beeped a low power warning. He breathed a sigh and shut the laptop down, sliding it into the back seat. Sam sighed again and propped his chin in his palm, staring out the window. He bounced his leg along with the music and wistfully wished that he could stick his iPod jack back in and listen to his own music again.

"Are you really bored already?" Dean asked incredulously, stealing a look at Sam.

Sam shrugged. "Dude, it's hard to keep entertained when you're the passenger."

Dean made a sound of agreement and they fell silent again for another few miles. Then, out of the blue, Dean smiled and said, "Do you remember when Dad was alive, all of the rides we took—"

"You mean, all the hunts we went on?" Sam interjected.

Dean continued without a pause, "—me singing along with the radio until Dad told me to shut up, you kicking your heels in the back asking 'where are we going?' and 'are we there yet?'"

Sam nodded. "I remember that being one of the few times we were allowed to act like kids. I kinda think Dad pretended a little too, sometimes. You know, like Mom was just wherever our destination happened to be—Minneapolis, Salt Lake City, Tulsa—that we'd just been gone a long time and Mom just happened to be waiting for us.”

"Aw, Sammy, you're such a softy deep inside," Dean teased, and Sam scowled, annoyed at his brother's easy ability to bring up the memories and mock what they meant to him. He looked out the window again, a little surprised when Dean continued softly, "I never really felt that. Being on the road meant not having to suffer another stupid transfer from the old school to a new one. It was you behind me and Dad—" Dean laughed wryly and shook his head a little, keeping his eyes on the road. "Jeez, listen to me. And I call you a walking chick flick."

"That's not necessarily a bad thing, you know, Dean?" Sam attempted to reassure, not at all used to hearing that nostalgic tone in Dean's voice.

Dean laughed, "You mean it's not a bad thing that you're a walking chick flick? I'm not sure I agree, Sammy."

"I mean," Sam said, exasperated, "it's not like there are really very many people we can talk to when we want to remember Dad, right?"

"Yeah, maybe," Dean said, but he didn't really seem inclined to say anything—not about their father or anything else. Sam looked out the window and tried desperately not to feel disappointed.

~*~

When they got to Naselle, Washington, the first thing they noticed was the absolute stillness. It wasn't quite the same feeling as that one town with the Croatoan virus, but it was still spooky. Lived in but empty, lives stopped in the middle of moving forward, motion in potential.

Sam and Dean wandered back and forth down the roads, pausing for a second here and there to search a post for any carvings dug deep into the wood; they knocked on doors and entered houses to look at the walls. The only thing they were able to ascertain was that it seemed like everyone really had just stopped whatever the hell they were doing at the time. There were some houses with meals set out on the dining room table, rotten and half eaten by bugs, half-drawn children's pictures, random bits and pieces of clothing lying where they were dropped.

Once Sam and Dean had decided that there wasn't really anything more sinister than a little emptiness, they split up, and Sam made his way through three more houses, looking sadly at the discarded toys and the still, musty air of disuse that seemed to hover over the entire town.

He crossed a browning lawn at a leisurely pace, moving from door to door. In the one recorded instance of the Croatoan demon virus he had witnessed, the carving seemed to be the first thing to show up. Naselle wasn't that large, so Sam was worried about the fact that they hadn't seen it yet. Dean popped his head out of an alley and waved vigorously—Sam waved back and gave his brother a thumbs up just to let him know he was doing all right.

Sam crossed the street and went into the next house, wrinkling his nose at the interior. There were ash trays strewn all over the floor, making the air acrid and bitter. He poked his head in to peek at the kitchen and didn't notice anything particularly interesting, just grimy white tile and dishes piled in the sink and left there.

The master bedroom was the same as a hundred different bedrooms he'd seen over his years of hunting, and a quick survey of the bathroom showed absolutely nothing but a lack of running water. He turned around to go back into the master bedroom and stumbled, catching himself on the door frame.

Ruby was sitting on the bed, leaning on her palms, her legs crossed. "How are you doing, Sam?"

"Ruby?" Sam darted a quick look right and left, as though he expected Dean to jump out of the closet any second. "What are you doing here?"

"I would've thought the better question would be what are you doing here?" Ruby eased her way up, diffidently tossing her long, dark hair over her shoulder. "Naselle, Washington, Sam? Didn't I tell you we weren't ready for this?"

Sam stared at her, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning against the door frame. "Weren't ready for what, Ruby? Because I really don't remember you mentioning anything about Naselle, Washington, or the fact that there's a trail of empty towns across the U.S.”

"I'm talking about demons, Sam. This thing that you're following, this trail you've picked up? It's cold, and even if it were hot as hell, you aren't ready to handle it yet."

"So, what do you know about the Croatoan virus anyway?" Sam asked curiously, and Ruby arched an eyebrow.

"Is that what you think this is?" Ruby propped her hands on her hips. "The Croatoan demon virus?"

Sam shifted uncomfortably. "That's our working theory," he said lamely, and Ruby scoffed. "I don't see you offering any advice."

"Would you even listen to me right now?" Ruby asked softly, and then took toward Sam. "You still haven't told Dean anything, have you? About your powers, or me."

"No," Sam said stubbornly. "I haven't. He doesn't need to know."

"What do you think you're getting by keeping him in the dark?" Ruby asked. "Is this some bizarre thing where you think you're protecting him? Because you're not. We are hunting demons, Sam. If you think it's your reputation keeping them from going after Dean, you're so wrong it's not even funny. Your brother's lucky he has an angel perching on his shoulder, or he'd be dead meat a hundred times over."

"Back off, Ruby!" Sam clenched his jaw, his eyes narrow, and Ruby subsided into a sulky silence, crossing her arms over her chest and pouting. "I'll tell Dean when I'm ready to do it, okay? You pushing me isn't going to get it done any faster." Sam huffed a breath and stood straight, pushing away from the doorway. "Now, if you're not going to help me, then I would suggest that you figure out what the next demon we're going to exorcise is. Okay? Can you do that for me, Ruby?"

Ruby rubbed a tired hand over her face. "Fine. I'm on the trail of someone right now. As for this?" Ruby raised a hand and spun around slowly, indicating the room, the house, or the whole town, "If you're thinking the demon virus did this, then you're wrong there, too."

"So you do know what this is," Sam insisted. "What's going on here?"

Ruby laughed, wry and rough, giving him an annoyed look. "Fine, fine. I'll tell you what. The answers you're searching for sure aren't going to be here. The thing that did this? It's in Arizona. And pretty damn hard to miss. Have fun getting your asses handed to you, Sam." Ruby headed for the door.

"Don't let Dean see you leave," Sam called after her.

Ruby paused, shook her head ruefully, and continued out.

Sam followed but stopped in the living room, trying to think seriously about Ruby's suggestion. It wasn't that he actually meant to hide this from Dean for so long; it's just that one thing led to another, and every time he meant to sit them down and say Dean, I lied, and I hope you can understand, he got stuck on Dean's hands on the steering wheel of the Impala, where they belonged, or his stupid laugh or how really green his eyes could get, and how he'd forgotten so many details over the last four months, when he swore to himself that he would never, never forget. Dean's smile; his awful plaid shirts; how obsessed he was with classic rock; even how he smelled, like sweat and gun powder and cheap hotel soap and Dean.

And Dean wouldn't understand what it was like to be a hunter without him, how hard every single day had been, and Sam knew he was whining; even in his own head his rationalizations sounded thin and pathetic, because while he had been living, his brother had been dead and in Hell, being tortured in ways that Sam probably couldn't even imagine.

But he was saving a lot of people with his powers. Surely that accounted for something.

"Hey, Sammy!" Dean's bellow jolted Sam out of his thoughts, and he obediently followed Dean's voice, down the front steps and into the yard. Dean was standing in the middle of the street, looking around with an annoyed look on his face. Dean would notice him when he turned around, so Sam took the moment to steal another look at his brother, his jacket and jeans and spiky hair, and affection swelled in his chest, warm and slow. "Sammy!" Dean paused and bellowed again, before he completed his circle. Sam felt a dopey smile creep across his face and tried to hide it, pressing his lips together tightly.

Dean scowled when he saw that Sam had been waiting right behind him. "Why didn't you answer me?" Dean asked crossly, and Sam shrugged.

"You looked like you were having fun," was his lame excuse, but then he tugged on his jacket and stepped closer. "So, what is it? Did you find anything?"

"No," Dean said, "and that's the biggest clue that maybe there's nothing here anymore. The EMF isn't picking anything up, and I feel like I've been in a hundred houses, and it's all just stuff that was left behind. What about you?"

Sam shook his head. "Just a lot of the same." Dean sighed loudly and began the way back to the Impala, Sam falling easily into step beside him. "And you didn't find the carving either?"

"Nope." The word was short and curt, but then Dean shrugged, and some of the tension went out of his shoulders. "But then, I wasn't really expecting anything to be in this town, except maybe the carving."

"Well," Sam said, considering what Ruby had told him. "Maybe it's not the demon virus. Maybe it's something else."

"Something else?" Dean cocked his head to the side, shoving his hands in his pockets. "Something that works like the virus, but isn't? Damn, that sucks."

"Yeah," Sam agreed softly. "It does."

"So, where do we try next?" Dean asked as the Impala came into view.

"I think Arizona," Sam said.

Dean gave him a curious look. "Arizona, huh?" Sam nodded. Dean waited and gave him a look, nodding his head as though that would help prod Sam to continue with his next words. "Where in Arizona?"

Sam chewed on a hang nail and laid his other hand on the Impala's hood, touching it lightly. "I don't know yet. It's something that I'm working on." He opened his door and slid into the passenger seat, stretching his legs in the space beneath the dashboard, and waited for Dean to get into the driver's seat.

"There was a hotel in that place we passed—" Dean began.

Sam gave Dean an amused look. "'In that place we passed'. That's coherent."

Dean waved his hand dismissively. "That town four or five miles back. Napkin or Nappy Time or whatever it was called?"

Sam blinked. "Knappton?"

Dean nodded. "That's the one."

Sam shook his head. "You are the dumbest person ever."

Dean scowled at Sam and cranked the Impala into gear. "What was it that I said about shotgun and his cake hole?"

Sam frowned, his forehead creasing deeply. "I thought that had to do with choosing the music!"

"Well now you know better! Shotgun shuts his cake hole, got it?"

Sam grinned. "Sorry, Dean, I didn't know you were so insecure about your intelligence!"

"Pushing it, Sammy!" Dean growled, and Sam's smile deepened.

"I missed you," Sam said, happily and sincerely. Dean gave him a wide, disbelieving look, and Sam flushed but shrugged, refusing to take it back.

"You were getting into their hooch, weren't you? That's why you were gone for so long!" Dean exclaimed, jabbing a finger into Sam's shoulder. "Dude, share!"

"Dude, I'm not drunk!" Sam said, shoving Dean back. "Just shut up and drive, will you?"

"Just saying, Sam," Dean admonished as they continued down the road. "You can't horde all the good stuff. You have to share, okay? It's a rule."

"That's crap!" Sam laughed. "You just made that up because you think I'm drinking on the job!"

Dean gave him a shrewd look so over the top that Sam couldn't help but laugh again. "I'm on to you, Sam. You think you've pulled the wool over my eyes, but I know what a little sneak you are."

"I'm not a sneak!" Sam protested, but Dean didn't hear or chose to pretend that he didn't hear him, deciding instead to crank the stereo up to ear shattering levels.

"So," Dean sang along with Pink Floyd as they flew down the road, long and empty and perfectly theirs, "'So you think you can tell. Heaven from Hell, blue skies from pain…'"

~*~

It was dark by the time they reached Knappton, Washington. Sam and Dean pulled up to the first hotel on the strip, and Dean, as always, went inside to pay for their room. Once that was taken care of, they went to their room, arguing good naturedly over which bed they were going to take, where they were going to go first for information (the conversation went like this:

"The menu says they have all sorts of pie!" Dean said.

"You had pie two days ago!" Sam insisted.

"Well, yeah, but that was two days ago. I'm going through withdrawal!"

"Dean, you're gorged on it," Sam laughed. "Why do you want more?"

Dean looked at him like he had just committed blasphemy and said, "Because it's good." He pounded his hands on the table and grinned widely at Sam. "The kind of good where the Lord made pie and decided it was good, good,") and Sam had snagged the first shower.

He slouched his shoulders and ducked his head, letting the water sluice down his back. The water pressure wasn't great or all that hot, but that's what you got with a cheap hotel. It was better than it would have been after Dean had gotten through with the bathroom, at any rate.

That empty town had felt like it had crawled beneath his skin and left dirty marks on his soul, and Sam had no idea why it felt like that at all. He scrubbed at himself until the cheap hotel soap was gone, and then got out, stealing one of the towels to wrap around his hips before he strode out of the bath room to get his clothes.

Dean was laying on his bed, eyes closed and hands laced behind his back, so Sam grabbed his boxers and slid them on before he removed the towel, tossing it on his bed as he searched for a shirt and a fresh pair of jeans. They were going to have to do laundry soon, Sam noted as he pulled his shirt over his head and grabbed a pair of socks.

Once he was dressed, he folded the towel and set it on the sink counter, hoping it would dry out before Dean thought he would need to use it, and then looked at Dean, striding over to his bed to take a closer look, bending over as he tickled the tip of Dean's nose very carefully. Dean shook his head with a little snort, and he eyed Sam balefully as he snagged Sam's wrist.

"Dude," Dean said, voice annoyed, "what are you, five?"

"You're one to talk." Sam pulled his wrist from Dean's grasp. "You ready to go?"

Dean brightened automatically and rocked to his feet. "Am I ever! There's a little place about two blocks from here—I checked it out while you were taking forever in the shower, and they've got Wi-Fi."

"Cool." Sam scooped up his laptop without a thought, following Dean out the door. It was actually kind of funny, Sam decided, how so many towns looked exactly the same, with different names that related to its culture and its own particular pride. They found a seat in the restaurant, and the waiter took their drink orders before Sam let Dean look at the menus. Once Dean was occupied, Sam set his laptop on the table between them, taking it out of its power saver function and logging into the Wi-Fi.

"What do you want to get?" Dean asked.

Sam waved a hand at him. "Just order me something." He glanced at Dean over the top of his laptop screen. "Something good." Dean looked innocent, but Sam knew better and stared him down until Dean began to look at the menu again.

So. Ruby mentioned Arizona. Sam tapped his fingers on the table, staring at his desktop while he tried to figure out what to do. He'd already told Dean about it, so he couldn't completely keep Ruby's warning in mind to just not go there in the first place, but it wasn't like he was going in completely blind. They were just demons in the long run. And he had a lot more experience with dealing with them now. On the other hand, Ruby hadn't even mentioned them as a viable demon hunt. Was it something that she was hiding, some ulterior motive causing her to steer Sam clear of the demons, or did she really believe they simply weren't ready for it? Again, he was with Dean, not Ruby, so he already felt a little more optimistic just having his brother by his side.

Sam noticed Dean giving him sly looks from beneath his ridiculously long, girly eyelashes, and Sam gave him another warning look as he brought up his bookmark menu. He had maps for all fifty states saved in there as well as the links for all of the newspapers that had a website of their own. Sam chose a newspaper published out of Flagstaff, the Arizona Daily Sun, and clicked on the bookmark.

Immediately, loud moans and husky epithets spewed from his speakers, as loudly as the speakers could handle, and Sam blushed a horrible, angry red, hands flailing for the volume button as people looked around in shock and clapped their hands over their children's ears. On the screen, outlined in horrible yellows and vibrant purple flashing text was a woman and a horse, and oh my god. Sam slammed the laptop lid down, traumatized and breathing heavily as though he'd been running for miles.

Across from him, Dean leaned back in his chair and smirked his most smarmy, most disgustingly superior grin. "A little excited there, are you?"

Sam refused to give in to the bait and gave Dean his most unimpressed expression. "Changing my links to porn sites, Dean? That's ancient."

Dean's smile refused to go away. "It might be an oldie, Sammy, but it sure is a goodie."

Sam braved his laptop again, making sure his volume was turned all the way down before opening it, and he clicked through his links one by one. He shook his head in disgust. "Every single one? When did you even have time to do this?"

Dean shrugged, long and slow and full of complete self satisfaction. "Magic."

"Ha ha. You're hilarious," Sam said, and began the painstaking process of re-marking all of the information on his browser. Fortunately, or perhaps unfortunately, depending on the circumstances, Sam had had so many laptops die in the service of hunting that the first thing he did whenever he got a new one was to create a file with all of the important information he might need, and he kept it consistently updated. So the link thing, while incredibly annoying, wasn't that important. Just time consuming. Damn Dean.

Ignoring his bookmarks for now, Sam pulled up Google and typed in the search for the newspaper, clicking on the first couple of articles in quick succession. There didn't seem to be anything incredibly unusual, at least, not unusual enough to be reported in the Arizona Daily Sun, so Sam went to the next newspaper site, and the next. He was in the middle of reading through the fourth newspaper archive when their meals came, and Sam barely spared a look for it, pushing his laptop just enough so that he would have room for the meal.

He sipped at his drink and read a few more pages before he stumbled on it. Massive rolling blackouts in Bluewater when it appeared the rest of the state had had no problems with power whatsoever; even the power company was confused by it, because all of their sensors said that Bluewater's power was consistent and without any explanation for the fluctuations in the machinery. No cattle mutilations, but there seemed to be a recurring series of electrical storms in that general area, as well. Two out of three wasn't bad at all.

"Dude, are you going to eat that?" Dean asked, and Sam shoved a piece of toast into his mouth without looking, scrolling down a little to finish the article. Once he'd reached the end, he closed his laptop again and set it on the seat next to him, turning toward Dean and his lunch and giving them both his attention. Dean chewed on a sausage and arched an eyebrow at Sam. "Yeah?"

"It looks like for the last couple of days, the town of Bluewater has been suffering from blackouts. Might be a good place to start."

"Huh," Dean said and forked a bite of pancake into his mouth. "Cattle mutilations?"

"Nope." Sam shook his head. "But there are electrical storms around the area."

Dean shrugged. "Good enough for me. Let's take a break here and start over there tomorrow."

"Fine with me," Sam agreed and turned his full attention to his meal.

~*~

Sam continued to research when they got back to the motel, despite the fact that Dean had found a horrible movie on the hotel television to play, but he couldn't really find anything that confirmed for him that these demons they were hunting now were any more peculiar or dangerous than any number of the other demons that he and his brother had fought before.

"Ugh," Dean said and turned the television off, tossing the remote onto his bed. "I hate daytime television."

"Really?" Sam said dryly, hiding the screen from Dean's view and pulling up Minesweeper instead.

Dean kicked off his shoes and tossed his jacket over the back of a chair, rubbing the back of his neck. "I'm taking a shower."

"No one's stopping you," Sam said, light and snarky, and Dean looked at him as though he'd like to flip him off but was trying to figure out whether or not he was worth the effort. Apparently, Dean decided that he wasn't worth the effort, because he just sighed and shook his head before going to the bathroom and closing the door behind him.

Sam immediately jumped up, taking the one long step over to Dean's bed. He yanked the covers down to the foot of the bed, changed the tuck and fold of the sheets with a couple of quick tugs and adjustments, and then folded the covers back into place. Once that was complete, he tucked the pillows in as carefully as they'd been tucked in before he'd messed with them, taking a deep breath before sliding smoothly on his own bed, going back to his game as he waited for Dean to come out from his shower. Sam admitted to himself that short-sheeting Dean's bed wasn't exactly the most clever or original of pranks, but it would still count, and this way he'd have a little bit of freedom while Dean decided what his retaliation would be.

Dean came out of the bathroom about fifteen minutes later, hair damp and spiky, face flushed with heat, and Sam watched him discreetly from beneath his half lowered eyelids, still feeling that small warmth in his chest that appeared every time he realized that his brother was alive again. Alive, and saved from Hell by an angel.

"What're you smiling about?" Dean wondered, and Sam opened his eyes to give Dean a curious look, only to realize that he did, in fact, have a tiny, pleased smile on his face.

Sam shrugged and interlaced his fingers behind his head. "I'm just being a girl."

"Oh," Dean said nonchalantly. "Nothing out of the ordinary, then."

"Dude, shut up," Sam said and closed his eyes again.

"Are you going to sleep or something?" Dean asked him, and Sam cracked open an eye to stare at him.

"Is it a day off or not?"

Dean shrugged. "Well, if you want to sleep the whole time, be my guest." He sat on his bed and put his boots on before lacing them up tightly.

Sam yawned and closed his eyes again. "It's not like going to the bar and hustling pool is my idea of a good time."

Dean made a sound of indignation, and once he'd realized Sam wasn't going to bother looking at him, laughed. "Suit yourself, Sammy."

Sam must have fallen asleep some time directly after that, because the next thing he knew he was being smacked solidly upside the head with a pillow. "What? What's going on?" Sam flailed up against the pillow hits to find Dean behind his weapon of choice, obviously dressed for bed in a T-shirt and boxers, eyes a little unfocused and hazy.

"Dude, you freaking short-sheeted my bed! I can't believe you!" Dean was weaving a little on his feet but managed to get another good knock against the side of Sam's head with the pillow anyway.

Sam grabbed for the pillow, and surprised when he caught it, pulled hard enough to find Dean off balance, and he fell in a heap onto Sam's bed. "Oh, my god," Sam huffed out. Dean had managed to sink his elbow solidly into Sam's solar plexus. "Are you seriously telling me that you're so wasted from your night out that you can't even figure out your own bed? And get off me; I can't breathe because you're heavy as a rock."

Dean answered him with a snore, sprawled out against Sam as he was, and Sam let his head fall back to his pillow. He was undeniably awake now after Dean's attack, and he stared up at the ceiling for a full minute before getting up and unsteadily leading his drunk, sleeping brother over to his bed, where Sam just barely had time to slide his pillow under his head before he was out from his half muffled consciousness, flung out on his stomach and slack with exhaustion. Sam took a second to affectionately ruffle the back of Dean's head, dragging his fingers through the short, prickling hairs.

Sam's phone over on the nightstand vibrated, and Sam snatched his hand back to go after the phone, just in case the loud vibration might wake Dean up, and went outside, closing the door behind him quietly.

The caller ID said it was Ruby. "Yeah?" he answered, instead of giving her an appropriate greeting.

"Nice, Sam," came Ruby's dry, ironic voice, "not even a 'Hello.' Sounds like you're picking up your brother's bad manners, too."

"What is it? Or are you calling just to check up on me?" Sam asked, leaning against the wall outside the door.

"I don't need to call you in order to check up on you," Ruby told him, her voice going sharp and annoyed. "I called to see if you were up for a hunt tonight. Thought maybe you could slip Dean's short leash for a couple of hours."

Sam rolled his eyes. "Yes, I can do it. I'm in—"

"Knappton," Ruby interrupted. "I know. I'll be right there."

Sam snapped his cell phone shut and snuck back into the room, both to make sure Dean was still sleeping like the dead and also to grab a small bottle of holy water and some chalk, just in case he needed to make a devil's snare; he went back outside to wait, and soon enough, Ruby pulled up alongside him in a yellow sports car that he knew she must have stolen.

"He's in the next town over," Ruby said the moment Sam had gotten into the passenger seat and shut the door behind him. "At most, it should only take us a couple of hours, so you should have plenty of time to get back here before Dean wakes up and finds you gone. Okay?"

Sam nodded. "Sounds good."

Ruby didn't say anything for the first couple of miles, but once they were out of city limits, she relaxed enough to increase their speed, and Sam sat back, watching the scenery fly by. "You haven't used your powers since Pontiac, have you?" she asked suddenly, drawing Sam's attention from the world outside the car.

"No," Sam admitted. "Haven't really had the opportunity, now that I'm hunting more than demons again."

"You can't let them weaken too much, you know. There're some demons out there that are just waiting for you to weaken and step wrong." Ruby kept her eyes on the road, taking a left turn and spinning a little rubber on the asphalt.

"I can handle it," Sam said adamantly. "Dean's back, and that's all that I care about. We can take out anything they throw our way."

Ruby scoffed. "That's really sweet and sentimental, Sam, but you need to be realistic. You guys couldn't fight against Hell hounds, and there are hordes of monsters out there that you and your brother can't even comprehend yet. We're getting incredibly close to the end of days, and there's no way either of you are even close to ready."

"What do you know about Revelations and the Apocalypse, Ruby?" Sam asked sharply, looking at her profile, mostly set in shadow offset by the green light of the dashboard.

"Just enough to know that it's bad news." Ruby shrugged. "Enough to know that Hell will leak through the cracks of the world if it happens."

"And that doesn't affect you at all?"

"Are you kidding?" Ruby gave him a startled look before turning her eyes back to the road. "Demons claw their way here because we want to get away from the Pit, not because we want to bring it with us."

"Hmm," Sam said. "Do you think that's just the way you feel?"

"What, you want me to be the spokesperson for all demons now? I can't read their minds. I don't know their motives, and quite frankly, I don't care. I just want them gone." With that, Ruby drove in a crawl, decreasing speed as she flipped the headlights off. "We're here, anyway."

Sam looked around, surprised that they'd gotten here so fast. "How many speed limits did we break to get here?" Sam asked, and Ruby rolled her eyes.

"I told you that it was the next town over. Were you even listening to me?" Ruby slid the car into park and pointed toward a small watch shop. "That's where I found him earlier today. It's eleven at night now, so I figure this would be when he's active, if he's getting himself into any trouble."

"Wait," Sam said, "it's only eleven?" Sam had figured it to be around two in the morning or so, with the way Dean had come in, but Sam supposed it wasn't all that unusual as he was thinking, since that was Dean after a full day at the bar. "Anyway, is he still there now?"

Ruby gave him an irritated look but didn't say anything, reaching into her jacket pocket instead. She pulled an item out and laid her hand flat. It was a small piece of metal in the shape of an arrow, and she closed her eyes, forehead creasing in concentration as she whispered in some language that sounded thick and lacked consonants. Sam sank further against his seat, his arms folded uncomfortably in front of him; he always disliked seeing Ruby work her witch magic. The arrow spun around the axis of Ruby's palm until it hit northwest, where it trembled like an eager dog ready for the hunt. She clenched her hand shut over the arrow and slid it back into her pocket.

"He's that way," Ruby said unnecessarily, and they both got out of the car, Sam double checking the items in his pockets before they headed out.

They found a couple of dark alleys along the northwest direction the demon-spelled compass had pointed, and Ruby pointed her head in the direction that she wanted to go. Sam nodded and pointed out his own preferred road, and they made their way down their separate alleys, both moving carefully and silently. There was a shadow to his left, and Sam shot his hand out but didn't feel the pressure of a demonic presence; for all he knew, it could have been a rat. He thrummed with adrenaline and had to admit that the thrill of hunting demons with Ruby was part of the reason why he kept coming back, even though every trick he learned helped him to save lives as well.

And I'm supposed to tell Dean why I do this? Sam thought despairingly. After a moment, he shook his head. It was so much more complicated than simply, it felt good, although that was definitely a part of it. It was the hunt—the knowledge that if he was quick enough, then he could save a life—the way it felt to do that, and yes, even the way it felt to use his powers, because damn it, it was satisfying that he didn't have to use the book and Latin to put these creatures back where they belonged. He could totally see that going well, too. Yeah, Dean, you might have been pulled out of Hell by an angel, but I can exorcise demons with my mind. Is that more or less a win in my column in the long run? God. There was no way he could do that. No way. Dean would pitch a fit.

"Sam, now!" He heard Ruby call, and he turned blindly toward her voice, seeing a man run from her section of the maze-like passages toward him, and he hurried after the man, swinging his arm out before him and freezing the guy in his tracks.

The man's eyes went black, and he stared at Sam from where he was frozen.

"Any last words before I send you to Hell?" Sam said tersely.

The demon laughed. "What does it matter if I have something to say? You don't care, and I'd rather not waste my time." He smiled a cold, mirthless smile. "I guess all I can say is that it's kind of ironic, you know, that you're trying to do the right thing so much, and you suck at it. If only your daddy could see you now."

"That's enough, jeez." Sam rolled his eyes. "I ask for a few last words, and I get a monologue."

He shook his head and then shut his eyes in concentration, feeling the power pooling deep within him and causing him to ache, desperate to be released and molded. Sam released that alien energy inside of him without waiting another second, and he opened his eyes to see the man vomiting the demon up in long, black streaks of smoke. Once Sam was sure that the demon was completely removed from its host, he focused on sinking it back to Hell. It fizzled and popped like a dying fire. All told, this exorcism had taken six minutes maximum, and Sam stood back, weighing himself internally. No headaches, right off, which was incredibly awesome, no additional weakness. He felt pretty normal, actually.

He stood over the demon's victim and pressed his fingers to the man's neck, gauging his pulse, and smiled in relief and satisfaction as he felt the beat strong and steady beneath his touch.

"Sam?" Ruby asked, and laid a light hand on his back. "How was it?"

"I feel great," Sam admitted, looking up at Ruby. "There's no pain or weakness. Nothing."

Ruby smiled and nodded. "That's very good. I'm glad."

"Come on." Sam brought the man (he didn't know his name; he never knew their names anymore) to his feet, stabilizing him so that he wouldn't fall back down again, and allowed the man to drape an arm around Sam's shoulder for security. Ruby hurried over to his other side and slid under the victim's other arm, supporting him as best she could as well, and together they got him to the car with hardly any trouble at all. He passed out cold in the backseat. Sam and Ruby got him over to the hospital and left before anyone could get their names, and as Ruby had promised, Sam was back at the hotel within the hour.

Sam let himself in quietly and checked in on Dean. Dean hadn't even moved, if the puddle of drool on his pillow and the soft snores were any indication. Sam carefully got ready for bed and lay down, interlacing his fingers and setting them on his stomach as he stared up at the ceiling. He wasn't doing anything wrong, he decided. And it wasn't like he was keeping this from Dean because he was ashamed or anything. The time just hadn't been right to say anything, what with Dean coming back from the dead and the rising of the witnesses and the banshees. Sam would tell Dean tomorrow.

With that decision, Sam turned over on his side and resolutely closed his eyes to sleep.

~*~

The next morning, Sam woke up groggily to the sound of the local radio station playing classic rock and Dean moving about in the room. For one horrified moment, Sam remembered the Tuesdays that always, always ended with Dean dead, and he bolted up in bed, looking over at Dean just to confirm that he was there and that he wasn't imagining it.

Sam hated to admit it, but the six months that the Trickster had spent on him, forcing him to live without Dean, was actually better than the reality had been. He didn't want to go through either again.

"Time to wake up, Sammy!" Dean said cheerfully. "We've got just enough time to scramble up some breakfast before we head out."

Sam exhaled a deep breath of air and nodded, scrubbing a hand through his hair and going to the bathroom. He took his morning piss and washed his hands before reaching for his toothbrush, absently slathering it with toothpaste before shoving it into his mouth.

He noticed the weird smell of his toothbrush three seconds too late; he already had a mouthful of what had to be the most disgusting thing ever. He spat it out and dropped his toothbrush in the sink, running the water and rinsing his mouth out hurriedly. "Dean!" Sam yelled.

"What?" Dean stuck his head into the bathroom.

Sam made an expansive gesture that encompassed the entire bathroom and ended at the sink. "What did you do to the toothpaste?"

Dean's expression was surprisingly sincere, and he cocked his head to the side. "What did I do to the toothpaste? What are you talking about, Sammy? I didn't do anything."

"You're lying, Dean," Sam insisted. "You lie like a rug."

"Dude, what?" Dean laughed at that, coming more fully into the room and leaning against the doorway.

"I'm saying—" Sam began snippily, but shut his mouth with a snap when the indifferent expression on Dean's face fell off, and Dean started cackling madly.

"Oh, I just can't do it!" Dean gasped through his laughter. "The look on your face. I guess you didn't like the taste of Preparation H, huh?"

"Preparation H, Dean?" Sam couldn't even look at his brother and stared at the sink again. "What if you'd poisoned me?"

Dean shook his head carelessly. "You'd only have gotten yourself poisoned if you'd swallowed it, Sammy." Dean gave him another sly look. "All the good boys are supposed to spit."

Sam inhaled a calming breath, reminding himself that he did, in fact, not want to kill his brother again. That, in fact, he had actually just reminded himself how horrible it had been when Dean was dead not even five minutes ago. "Get me the toothpaste, Dean," Sam said through gritted teeth. "The real stuff."

Dean gave him a brilliant smile. "Sure thing, little brother."

Sam closed his eyes and counted to ten. It would not be a good idea to kill Dean at all.

~*~

After breakfast, Sam and Dean checked out of their hotel and continued driving in the Impala. It was already early afternoon, and Sam didn't even know where the time had gone. The night with Ruby, the demon hunting, had taken on a weird dreamlike quality, although Sam knew it was most likely sleep deprivation setting in, because it hadn't been all that special or magical in the first place. Just Ruby, her little yellow car, and a demon sent back to Hell. Simple, easy.

Dean continued to sing along with the radio as Sam traced the road maps he'd pulled out of the glove compartment, his fingers following each line and indentation with single-minded intensity. Bluewater was really only home to those blackouts for the last couple of days, and although he was confident in Dean's ability to floor it, he was also really concerned about not getting there on time. What if they got there and the demon had already left? How would they catch the trail again after that? He couldn't keep relying on Ruby to feed him information, and he was pretty sure she was pissed off enough with him as it was. Sam stared out the window, letting his shoulder rest against the glass as he watched the scenery.

"Were you always this emo?" Dean asked him abruptly, and Sam straightened, smacking his head against the roof of the Impala.

"Ow!" Sam said unhappily and rubbed his head as he glared at Dean. "Do you even know what 'emo' is, Dean?"

Dean shrugged, taking one hand off the steering wheel to gesture at him. "It's what you are when you're doing your wistful sighs and staring out the window like a love-struck girl."

Sam shook his head. "Emo is not synonymous with 'girl,' Dean. Seriously."

"Come on. What's wrong with you?" Dean asked, tapping his fingers on the steering wheel as the amusement bled out of his voice. "Does Prep H really taste bad enough to spoil your day, even after breakfast?"

"It's not the pranks," Sam said. "It's just that—Everything. The Apocalypse and Revelations and angels. Don't you find it the least bit, oh, I don't know, overwhelming?"

Dean stared out the windshield toward the road, face completely serious. "Yeah." Dean's answer was so soft that Sam wasn't quite sure he'd heard it correctly over the music. Dean glanced over and saw Sam's confused expression; Dean cleared his throat and shifted in his seat uncomfortably. "Yeah," Dean said again, loud enough for Sam to hear clearly. "Yeah, it freaks me out. You know it does. You with your weird ESP stuff last year,"—Sam averted his eyes, but Dean didn't notice—"the fact that I was torn apart by Hell hounds and resurrected by an angel. It's all weird, and it hurts my head too much if I think about it for too long. So we do what we do, we go and we hunt. And that's that. I'm sure if we're doing something wrong, God"—and Dean's voice held disbelief still—"will tell us to buck up and get cracking. All right?"

"Right," Sam said, and for some crazy reason, although it made no sense at all, Sam was reassured by Dean's words.

~*~

The back of Sam's neck started to prickle within a mile of Bluewater, and he and Dean exchanged a look, as though trying to confirm and verify that they weren't the only ones who felt the bizarre disconnect or the strange crackle of electricity over their skin.

"Okay," Sam said.

"There's something big going on down here, Sammy," Dean said, completely serious, a muscle twitching in his jaw.

"I'm calling Bobby," Sam decided, and Dean gave him a curt nod, not even questioning his decision for a second.

"Do that. I think we might need him," Dean agreed, and they continued down the road as Sam pulled out his cell phone.

The phone rang twice before Bobby picked up. "Hello?"

"Hey," Sam said, "Bobby, it's Sam. We think we found the next town that's going to disappear."

"What?" Bobby asked. "This fast?" He sounded impressed and a little pleased.

"We went to Naselle, Washington, where we figured it actually started," Sam told him, "but I kept looking for demonic omens. We don't—I don't think that it's the Croatoan virus anymore. I think it's an actual demon running around, and the area around Bluewater, Arizona has got rolling blackouts, weird weather patterns, the works. And it feels wrong here. I can't explain it, but—"

Dean snatched the cell phone out of Sam's hand, ignoring his glare as he brought the cell phone to his ear. "Hey, Bobby. What the English major over there was trying to say is that we don't know what's going on, and we'd sure like it if you'd give us some back up. Thanks!" Dean nodded in response to something Bobby said, and then answered, "We'll be at the first hotel we come across in Bluewater, going from I-40." Then Dean clicked the phone shut, tossing it back in Sam's direction without looking.

"I take it Bobby's on his way," Sam said dryly, and Dean laughed.

"That's a hell of a guess, Sammy," Dean said, and Sam rolled his eyes.

The first hotel they came to was a tiny, two floor Days Inn, and just to shake things up a little bit, Dean made Sam go in and pay for their rooms. The host was a bored looking twenty-something, who barely grunted a word at Sam as he swiped the card without looking or asking for identification and passed over a key card without removing his eyes from the small television playing behind the counter.

Sam shrugged and palmed the key card without asking any questions, content to let it lie, and headed back out to the Impala.

He didn't notice the way the man's eyes sharpened on his back when he went outside or see the man pick up the phone. If he would have known what he had missed, he would have tried to blame himself, but the simple fact was, Dean wouldn't have noticed either.

~*~

The room was like a hundred others they'd been in, kind of comfortable beds flavored with tackiness, stained yellow wallpaper hanging from the walls, a motif of sunflowers and green fields overflowing from the paintings to the bedspread and the light fixtures.

Dean took a look around the room and arched an eyebrow, tossing his duffle bag on his bed and shaking his head. He seemed to be doing a lot of head shaking these days. He and Sam both were. "Is it just me—"

"It's really yellow, yes, Dean," Sam said, already taking the opportunity to unpack his laptop and get it plugged in to the electrical outlet by the table.

Dean looked at a cheesy painting of a giant sunflower. He shuddered. "Some of these places must keep bad artists alive on their budgets alone." Dean turned away and flopped on his bed, nudging his duffle bag out of the way. He tested the springs of the bed, and Sam could tell he was a little sad that it wasn't one of those vibrating coin beds, and Dean looked at his watch instead, sitting up when he noticed how late it was. Sam had already known, of course. One of the most annoying things about sitting shotgun was the ability to count the minutes as they crawled past. "Hey," Dean said, cocking his head in Sam's direction. "I bet the bars are open."

"Go ahead and hustle pool. I'll stay here," Sam said, his eyes already glued to a game of Free Cell.

"The hell I am!" Dean said loudly. "This would be a great time to get some information from the locals, and you know I skeeve people out."

"Dude, it's a bar. That's where you fit best!" Sam protested, but he saved his game anyway and closed the lid of his laptop, deciding to look up at Dean instead of getting out of his chair.

"Come on!" Dean wheedled, giving him an engaging grin. "Let's go play some pool. We can have a couple of drinks, pull the wool over a couple of rednecks, and have a couple of drinks. It's good times!"

"Speaking of those rednecks"—Sam arched an eyebrow at Dean—"I think I see one of those rough necks right in front of me." He didn't mention anything about how attractive Dean's enthusiasm was. For one, Dean would never let him hear the end of it, and for two, any time he did think about it, he always ended up going along with it against his better judgment.

"I'm hurt." Dean leaned against the table, crossing his arms over his chest. "You can admit it. You're just tired of me being around all the time again. No douching up my baby, shotgun all the time again, losing out on all the hot chicks."

Sam's mouth worked soundlessly as Dean teased him so damn easily. A chill ran down his spine, and when his voice finally worked, it sounded wrecked and raw, "No, Dean. God."

"Hey," Dean said, and he slid his eyes to the side, glancing at Sam without turning his way. "It's cool." His face held an awkward sort of silent apology, and Sam sighed, deep and heartfelt.

"Dude, whatever. It's only been a couple of weeks. There's no way I'd be tired of you yet," Sam revealed, and Dean rewarded him with a blinding grin and a nudge of his elbow.

"So, what do you say then, Sammy?" he asked, and Sam knew he was doomed. "Drinks?"

"Fine," Sam sighed and got out of his chair, snagging his jacket. "We'll go play some pool."

Dean slapped a hand to Sam's shoulder. "That's a boy. Come on. It'll be fun."

~*~

They found a little hole in the wall that attracted Dean's eye and went in, choosing a little table in the corner, and Dean flagged down a cute, dark-haired waitress in slim jeans and a jersey to get them a pitcher of beer. Dean surveyed the little bar the way a king would survey his kingdom, leaning back in his chair and gracing Sam with another one of his blinding smiles.

The waitress brought the beer after just a minute or so, giving both Dean and Sam a flirtatious smile. Dean sized up the competition over by the pool tables and cocked an eyebrow at Sam. He leaned in close to Sam, his breath warm against Sam's ear and fluttering the lock of hair that winged out at Sam's temple. "Want to take them on?" Sam shook his head, flushing again with warmth at Dean's voice, and he scratched the back of his head, edging away just a little to give himself some space. Dean leaned back, apparently not even noticing Sam's strange behavior. "Okay, then, I'm just going to play, hang out with the locals."

"Sure," Sam croaked, licking at his dry lips as Dean eased out of his chair and headed toward the pool tables. Sam forced himself to look away and pour himself a mug of beer from the pitcher, but he felt his eyes being drawn inexorably back to Dean; the easy rapport he was already building with the townspeople, how he smiled and flirted his way into the game, the way he hefted each pool cue, his fingers graceful and sure as he chose which one he was going to use, the bend and curve of his back, the swell of his ass in his jeans, the way his arms flexed as he took his first shot and made the break. Sam took a quick swallow of his beer, averting his eyes from Dean and staring at the foam in his glass instead, flushing in embarrassment. He knew that he was more aware of Dean since he'd come back from Hell, but there was a difference between looking at him because it had been so long since you'd seen him, and you thought that there was a time you'd never see him ever again, and looking at him because you're checking him out. Sam shook his head; he'd been doing a lot of that lately as well.

"You have a really cute boyfriend there," the waitress drawled from behind him, and Sam jolted, turning to look at her in surprise. "You don't have to look so surprised!" she scolded him.

"You've got the wrong idea," Sam tried to say, but the dark-haired girl shook her head.

"You don't have to worry, okay?" she insisted. "Just because we're a small town in Arizona doesn't mean that we're bigots."

Sam opened his mouth again to deny it—he didn't really care all that much since they were routinely mistaken as a gay couple anyway—but the waitress was cute and might be Dean's type, and Dean would be pissed at him if he knew Sam had just allowed her to think that and spoil his chances—but the girl gave him a nice smile and stuck out her hand.

"Oh, listen to me. I was just trying to be friendly and I've made you uncomfortable."

Sam smiled and shook her hand. "It's okay. Really."

"Great!" the waitress said brightly and gestured at his beer. "Is that all right? Do you want anything to go with it?"

Sam took another drink of his beer, a little longer, and shook his head at the waitress. "No, thank you. I'm fine."

"Well, my name's Cathy. Give me a holler if there's anything I can do for you, you got that?"

"Yeah." Sam nodded, smiling back at her politely. "I will."

"Great." Cathy waited there for a minute as though she were looking for something to happen, and Sam wondered if she wanted more conversation (the bar did look a little empty, but it was only Monday, so maybe she was bored) or if she wanted a tip, but that was a little forward of her if that was the case. He took another drink of beer and topped it off from the pitcher, making a note to himself to get something to eat before he drank too much more, or Dean would be dragging his drunken ass back to the hotel. Just as he was about to ask if there was anything that she wanted to talk about, Cathy gave him a final smile and pointed a thumb over her shoulder. "Well, I ought to get back and do some work now. Looks like your boyfriend is beating our local boys pretty good."

Sam gave her another awkward smile and turned back to his beer as she left, sliding looks to the side to catch glimpses of Dean playing pool across the room. He felt like he was thirteen in high school, where he had had a crush on Brenda McPherson in his Algebra class and could only look at her indirectly, lest he explode into an embarrassing teenage ball of hormones.

And this was his brother.

Just then, Dean won a game of pool with a little laugh of victory and looked over to find Sam, eyes sparkling at him even from this distance as his opponent dug into his pocket for some cash. Sam felt an answering smile cross his face, and even though he knew that he should be at the hotel looking for information on what was going on in the town or flirting with the waitress himself to get more information about the population or any number of a thousand things that he could be doing to help Dean solve this case, he couldn't regret being right here, in the corner where Dean could look at him and smile.

He was so screwed.

~*~

In the end, Sam forgot to actually eat anything but stopped short of getting drunk, so he floated along in a pleasantly warm sort of haze, his arm around Dean's shoulder more for guidance than for actual support, and Dean was bitching in his ear. It was so familiar and good that it made his throat swell a little with emotion.

"Dude, I can't believe you drank all of the beer yourself!" Dean was saying as they staggered their way to the Impala. "Haven't you ever heard of, I don't know, sharing?"

"You were playing pool," Sam pointed out, tightening his hold on Dean as Dean got him over to the passenger side. Sam leaned on Dean as he opened the door, giving Dean a dopey smile. "I figured they were buying you drinks."

"I can't believe you got drunk," Dean groused and toppled Sam over into the seat by slipping out from under his arm.

"I'm not drunk," Sam said, and Dean shut the door in his face, so he waited patiently until Dean got into the driver's seat. "I'm just a little buzzed. I made sure there was plenty of time for it to work out of my system. I'm not even slurring."

"Huh." Dean gave Sam another disbelieving look. "You would have ordered another pitcher to yourself if we'd been there any longer."

Sam shrugged. "I'm just loosening up, that's all. Like I said—not slurring, not drunk. And it got Cathy to drop by a couple of times, so I was chatting up the locals. Just like you. So quit worrying, will you?"

"Yeah, whatever." They pulled out of the parking lot and headed back toward the hotel. "Did Cathy tell you anything interesting?"

Sam laughed. "Just that half the girls in the place were hot on us, but they thought we were hot on each other."

"What? You're lying," Dean said, but then took another look at Sam's expression and deflated. "They really did? That sucks. Why does everyone think we're gay for each other?"

Sam opened his mouth, not having any idea what to say, and just shrugged instead. "You have to admit that it's a good cover."

Dean snorted. "Yeah, Sammy. In Arizona, it's a good idea. That's brilliant, College Boy."

Sam slumped into his seat. "Whatever. At least here they thought we looked cute."

"We always look cute," Dean revealed and pulled into a parking spot in front of their room. "We're smokin', dude. We'd be cute no matter what."

"Huh," Sam said eloquently and got out of the Impala, heading toward the room and pulling out his key card. "I guess."

The room was dark when Sam finally managed to get the door open, and he wished absently that they'd kept a light on as he felt around the wall for the light switch. When the light flashed on, Sam blinked for a second until his vision adjusted, and then he took a step back in surprise, stepping on Dean's foot as he came up behind him.

"Ow! Jesus, Sammy, why'd you just stop—" Dean got a look over Sam's shoulder and his mouth clicked shut. Castiel was sitting on one of the beds, paging idly through the Bible that had been in the top drawer of the dresser. "Oh. Sorry." Dean said as he stepped out from behind Sam, a blush flushing over his cheeks.

Sam looked from Castiel to Dean, and then looked once more around the room, noticing a black man in a crisp looking dark suit standing by the window. "Um. Hi?" Sam said lamely, still a little buzzed and all the more embarrassed for it. He swayed in place, and Dean put his hand on Sam's shoulder to steady him.

Castiel nodded once at them and set the Bible aside. He stood, locking his eyes on Dean. "Why are you here, Dean Winchester?"

Dean dropped his hand from Sam's shoulder and took a step forward, giving Castiel a concerned, confused look. "I'm hunting. What are you doing here? Don't you have some crazy holy war to fight?"

The man by the window stirred, and the hair on the back of Sam's neck prickled. To Castiel, Sam said, "You left before I could ask you any questions, last time we saw you." Sam's tongue felt a little thick in his mouth and the room swam in and out of focus for a second.

"We do not care about your questions, Samuel Winchester," the man by the window said, and Castiel tilted his head, as though he wished to interrupt.

Dean gave Castiel another look and then stared daggers at the black man's head. "Who's Chuckles over there, Castiel?"

"That is Uriel," Castiel said, voice stern but otherwise inflectionless. "And both you and your brother need to leave here."

"Like I said," Dean said stubbornly, "I'm busy hunting here. Got a reason why I should be somewhere else?"

"Who is Uriel?" Sam asked. Uriel turned to look at him, and he felt incredibly small, even though he towered over the other man. Sam had vague recollections of reading the Bible, and of the angels that were mentioned in the text, but he was still floored by the fact that he was even meeting angels that he was a little confused and awestruck. Also, still maybe a little more drunk than he'd realized.

"Who I am does not concern you," Uriel said and made his way to stand before them, his stride graceful and without a single wasted motion. "Castiel has already told you what you must do. Any other information is unnecessary."

"Wrong answer," Dean said, shooting a scowl in Uriel's direction. "No one is doing anything until I get some more information." He turned to look at Castiel again, and Sam shifted, uncomfortably aware that Castiel's intense stare had not moved from Dean for a second since he'd walked into the room.

Castiel took a breath and exhaled; if it were anyone else, it might have been considered a sigh. "Uriel is—"

"Your wingman?" Dean said with a grin. At that, Sam actually did sigh; Uriel shifted impatiently, clasping his hands behind his back, and Castiel just looked at Dean as though waiting for an explanation on why that should be funny in the first place. Dean's smile slipped off of his face, and he crossed his arms over his chest. "Never mind."

Castiel nodded once and then continued as though he were never interrupted in the first place. "Uriel is a specialist. He's here to complete our task."

"And your task is?" Dean asked.

Uriel stepped forward. "It's not your concern," he said coolly and stared at Dean. "The only thing that you need to know is that we've told you to leave. You should heed us."

"Excuse me if I don't like to take someone just on their word, okay?" Dean said insolently, and Uriel rose up onto the balls of his feet for a moment, mouth opening as though he were about to say something. Castiel stuck an arm out in front of him, and Uriel took a deep breath, settling himself.

"Dean." Castiel said his name earnestly, and Sam took a step closer to his brother in response, his hackles rising the longer that he was in the room with the angels. "You need to go, for your own safety. You were never meant to be here in the first place."

"Well, I'm here now," Dean insisted, and Sam felt a kind of admiration for his brother. Who else would talk back to an angel, seriously? "So tell me what's going on. Maybe we could help."

Uriel snorted at that, and Castiel sent him a quelling look, the first time he'd looked away from Dean that Sam had noticed. "Like Dean said," Sam interjected, "we're really in the middle of something here." Sam shook his head, trying to clear it; Dean shot a look over at him in concern.

"There are demons here," Castiel said abruptly, eyes returning beseechingly back to Dean like a lodestone pointing to true north. "You are not able to end this. This is a matter for angels. You must leave."

"Why are you so insistent we go, Cas?" Dean asked.

"Because—" Castiel began, but Uriel interrupted.

"Because we are going to purify this town," Uriel said, and crossed his arms over his chest.

Dean blinked. Sam looked back and forth between Uriel and Castiel, unable to figure out who he should look at.

"And by purify, you mean … ?" Dean trailed off, waiting expectantly for one of the angels to pick the sentence up and finish it for him.

"We must destroy this place," Castiel said softly, intensely, and he took a step closer to Dean, inching into his personal space. "Do not make this any more difficult than it has to be, Dean Winchester. You do not know what we face here."

"You can't actually be serious!" Dean said, his voice pitched low and taut with anger, and if anything, Sam noticed Castiel's expression become just a little sadder, as though he were disappointed in the fact that Dean was fighting against him even now. "Are you saying that you're going to kill over seven hundred people, and you're not even going to blink an eye?" Dean looked over at Uriel, who remained in place, calm and impassive. "Are you okay with this?"

Uriel seemed mildly surprised that Dean had asked the question of him, and looked at Dean, an expression of distaste crossing his dark features. "I do as the Lord bade me, Dean Winchester. God will raise the righteous." He looked around the room, and then went back to the window, staring out it once again. "If there are any to raise in this pit."

"You have got to be kidding me!" Dean turned back to Castiel. "There are people here."

"You're angels," Sam added, looking at Uriel, and then, when he didn't even bother to turn his head and look back at him and Dean, focusing on Castiel as well. The anger helped to clear the fog from his head. "Aren't you supposed to show some mercy? Aren't you supposed to have reasons before you just smite a place?"

Castiel tilted his head, transferring his gaze from Dean to Sam. "Just because we choose not to tell you our motives, Samuel Winchester, does not make them any less true, or any less just."

"So," Sam said slowly, "this plan is just? On what merit?"

"The plan is from Heaven," Castiel said, his voice still not rising above a normal conversational level, as if he were having a really intense conversation about tea. "That makes it just."

"And that's okay?" Dean asked.

"It isn't your decision," Uriel said, and he looked at Castiel. "We have given our warning, Castiel. Let them do with it what they will."

"You speak to us of mercy," Castiel said, looking at Sam; Sam swallows and keeps himself utterly still. He fights the urge to cross his arms over his chest, unnerved by that still, deep, focused gaze turned onto him instead of his brother. "We can be merciful."

"You sure haven't acted like it," Sam slurred, and he staggered, falling to a knee as he tried to shake more clarity into his head again.

"Sam?" Dean asked warily, eyes darting between Castiel and Sam.

Uriel scoffed a final time and vanished; Castiel knelt next to Sam, placing gentle fingers against his temple. "He has been drugged."

Dean blinked and swore softly. "The beer. That waitress—"

"He will be fine." Castiel looked at Dean again, as though he wanted to say more, but took a breath instead. "Do not ignore this warning, Dean." Castiel was gone before Sam could even blink.

"God damn it!" Dean yelled spitefully after them and then turned to look at Sam, annoyed. "What the hell's going on here?"

Sam thought about Ruby, about how she said that they were not ready for whatever it was that was at work here, and remained silent.

"Damn it, Sammy," Dean said and hauled him up to his feet. Sam took the opportunity to snuffle against the back of Dean's head, blurry and full of satisfaction.

"I really think I'm out of it," Sam confessed.

Dean scoffed. "I hadn't figured that out! Sniffing my hair is just so normal for you!"

"Shut up!" Sam said, but Dean just laughed, shoving him onto his bed.

"Go to sleep, and don't die, or I'll have to hunt down some angels."

"Your concern is touching," Sam said foggily and then passed out.

~*~

When Sam woke up the next morning, Dean was already up again and had made the rounds of the town, which was still all in one piece.

"So, what are we going to do, Dean?" Sam asked and then stuck his toothbrush in his mouth while he was waiting for his response. Now that there was something serious going on, Sam trusted the prank war was on hold for now and had not planned his return prank for the Preparation H. He was actually a little surprised he even remembered that after the previous night and shook his head, a little annoyed with himself and the shallowness of what his brain decided to keep.

Angels were about to destroy a town for some unknown reason and had only given them a limited, unspecified time to leave before they were taken down with it.

"What the hell do I know, Sammy?" Dean asked curtly, stalking about the room. "Am I supposed to have gotten something out of that that you didn't get? Because I didn't."

"Do you really think they'll kill you if you stay here while they're getting ready to destroy this place?" Sam asked, a little worried. "I mean, they pulled you from Hell, so that would be a lot of effort wasted."

"I don't think Cas would do it, but I don't know about that other guy, Uriel.”

"So," Sam said, going over to toy with his laptop just for the sake of having something to do with his hands, "Castiel seems really … proprietary toward you."

Dean turned to give Sam a disbelieving look. "Dude, are you serious?" He crossed his arms over his chest. "What are you even talking about?"

Sam blushed furiously and hunched over his laptop. "It's just that he was really up in your space. Never mind."

"You're right, never mind," Dean scowled. "What we need to do is get these townspeople out of here—"

"Wait, Dean," Sam said, and Dean paused, waiting impatiently for him to speak. "They're angels. It's stupid of us to think that they don't know what they're doing, isn't it?"

"Make up your mind, Sammy," Dean said. "Either we save these people, or we leave town and let the angels smite it. There're only two choices here."

"Well, the thing is," Sam said, and he abandoned his laptop, moving to stand in front of Dean so he could plead his case face to face with his brother, "what if they're right about something bad being in this town? What if it is something that we can't help with?"

"If you believed that, would you have brought us here?" Dean demanded, staring up at him with furious eyes. "We hunt because we help people, Sammy. We don't just give up with our tail between our legs because angels told us to! If you want to leave, fine, but I'm not budging until I find out what's going on here."

Dean side stepped Sam and strode over to the door, flinging it open in his angry, dramatic way that he had when they were arguing, only to find the hotel helper out in front of the door. "Um," he said, sidetracked by the sudden appearance of an actual person from the establishment, "sorry about the noise—my brother and I were just having a little argument."

"No problem," the twenty-something kid said, and Sam stepped closer, wondering what it was he wanted if it wasn't about the noise.

"Is there something we can do for you?" Sam asked.

"There sure is," a familiar voice came from behind him, and the twenty-something kid moved out of the way to reveal Cathy, the waitress from the bar. "Sam, Dean, we'd like you to come with us, please."

Sam blinked. "I never told you our names."

Cathy smiled and shrugged. "Lucky guess?" Her eyes went black, and Dean jumped back, swearing loudly. Sam reached for the flask of holy water that he always kept in an inside pocket of his jacket and uncapped it as Dean brought out the knife, but the twenty-something barreled into Dean without hesitation, showing no fear of the knife. Dean bounced hard under the man's tackle, the knife skittering under one of the beds, and Sam splashed the holy water on Cathy's face.

Cathy screamed, smoking horribly, and shook her head, stepping unsteadily forward.

Sam grabbed her wrist and reared back to punch her or to pull her out, he really wasn't sure which, but her hand came up to grab his wrist as well, and she was smiling, all teeth and ill intent. "Surprise," she said, and then all Sam saw was black.

~*~

When Sam woke up, he woke up fast and suddenly, and he pried open an eye to take a discreet look around. He was at the bar, tied to one of the support beams that littered the place, and if he flexed his hands he could feel the rope binding him and brush his fingers against Dean's. Sam breathed an internal sigh of relief. Dean was with him. That was better than just being alone.

"Nice of you to join us, Sam," Cathy said, and she nudged him with the toe of her boot.

Sam attempted to continue the farce of being unconscious, but Cathy just kicked him harder and crouched before him, grasping his chin in her hand. "Wakey, wakey, Sammy boy," she sing-songed, tapping her nails against his cheek. Sam gave up the pretense as she continued to poke and prod at him, and shot her a narrow look from under his lashes.

"How do you know my name?" Sam asked, watching her dark eyes.

Cathy smiled sweetly. "You hear a lot of things, traveling around. Like things about the demon killer and his angel-blessed brother coming around to try and clean up your nice and cozy establishment. That one was a surprise. But I suppose I should thank you two." Cathy let Sam's chin go and stood back up.

"What do you mean?" That was Dean, voice rough and sounding dangerous. "That you should thank us?"

Cathy shrugged. "If it weren't for you, we wouldn't know that the angels were here."

"We?" Sam asked, carefully testing the knot that tied him and Dean together.

"Yes." Cathy smirked, and several townspeople they had seen on the streets stepped up beside her. "You didn't think I was alone, did you?"

"How exciting," Dean said, his voice sharp with irony, "we have more than one demon bitch to take down."

The kid from the Days Inn walked over to Dean, and Sam heard the sound of a fist striking flesh. "You should show some respect," he growled, and Sam heard Dean laugh.

"I don't do that for angels. What makes you think I'd do that for demons like you and the bar maid here?"

"You have the wrong idea there, Dean," Cathy purred, and Sam looked at her carefully, then at the people by her side.

"Dean," Sam whispered in a sudden, illuminating epiphany, "they aren't all demons."

"What?" Dean asked.

Cathy looked at Sam with a smile. "Your brother isn't the sharpest tool in the shed, is he?" she asked conversationally and walked around until she was facing Dean. "Let's see if I can put this into words small enough for you to understand, shall we?" Sam craned his neck to the side so that he could see at least a little of her. Dean's hands were working against his, and Sam could feel a little sliver of something sharp cutting into the ropes. Sam hastily froze the movement of his hands, trying to make it a little easier on Dean to get them released.

"Do you see this pretty little body?" Cathy asked, and she ran her hand through her hair. "She asked for this. It was an honor."

"What the hell are you talking about?" Dean demanded. "No one in their right minds would ask a demon to ride them!"

"You'd be surprised at how many people would," Cathy said, circling around until she was facing Sam again. "We ride them and put them away wet, and they love us for it. They make us strong. It's delicious." She gestured, and one of the beefy guys that Dean had been playing pool with the night before stepped up, cracking his knuckles ominously. "We aren't going to let you or your angels take this away from us."

The front door of the bar creaked open just as Dean worked the last thread of their ropes through, and Cathy looked toward the intruders, pretty face twisting in rage. At that moment, Sam lunged upward, curling his hand into a fist, and slammed it into her chin with the full weight of his momentum. It made her stagger for just a second, but that second was long enough for Sam to turn around toward the door with Dean and find Uriel and Castiel standing there. Castiel looked distinctly disappointed; Uriel just looked impatient.

"Dean. Sam." Castiel gestured them forward. When they followed his instructions, he placed a hand on each of their shoulders and leaned forward. "Leave now. Get what you need and don't look back."

"Wha—" Dean began to ask, and Sam had no idea why he was even opening his mouth.

Castiel turned a blazing look on Dean, and Dean went silent. "Don't look back," Castiel repeated and shoved them through the doorway.

Dean made as if to turn, but Sam put his hand on Dean's back and shook his head when Dean looked at him, a little curious and a little hurt.

"Let's not argue with them this time, Dean," Sam said earnestly.

"There are people in there, Sammy!”

Sam shook his head. "It's too late for them. And if we don't hurry, it'll be too late for us, too." He watched as it finally sunk into Dean's head that they needed to go, needed to go right now, and they both took off running toward the hotel.

Dean skidded into the parking lot, diving for the Impala, and Sam made a quick stop at the room, opening the door with the key card he still had and grabbing his laptop and slinging their duffle bags over his shoulder. He had a second to give thanks for the obsessive neatness their father had instilled in them when packing on a hunt, and hurried out to the car where Dean sounded like he was laying on the horn.

Sam tossed the duffle bags into the back seat and dropped the laptop gently on the floorboard beneath his feet. Dean was already flooring the gas pedal as Sam shut the door.

They didn't look back.

~*~

Sam and Dean flew down the highway in the Impala, Bluewater left in the dust behind them, and Sam felt Dean slam on the brakes before he saw Castiel and Uriel in the road directly before them.

Dean was out of the Impala, storming toward the angels, and Sam followed him on instinct.

"What was that about back there?" Dean shouted at them; Sam winced, but neither of the angels did anything. "Did you kill them all? What if someone had been innocent? What if they hadn't known?"

Castiel gave Dean a probing look, as though he couldn't quite believe that Dean was asking him this. "No one that was left in that town was savable, Dean."

Uriel gave Dean a cool look. "We did not come to answer to your mortal judgment, Dean Winchester. We came to tell you that if this happens again, we will not waste the time to warn you of our intentions."

Castiel cast his gaze to the side. "Uriel."

Uriel turned to Castiel, already dismissing Sam and Dean now that his message had been delivered. "Be finished with these mud monkeys, Castiel. They make you weak." He took one final look behind Sam and Dean, toward the town that now lay fifty miles behind them, and shook his head. "I don't understand humans," he said finally, and Sam thought he could detect a little sadness beneath the anger. "You were given the gift of free will." Uriel said, and looked straight at Sam. "Yet you still choose damnation." With that, Uriel vanished.

Castiel stayed for a moment longer. "It had to be done," he said, simply and honestly. "If there had been any other way—"

"You could have not done it," Dean said angrily. Sam put a hand on his shoulder, reeling him in just a little.

"I do not have to explain my actions to you," Castiel said, his voice iron beneath its softness, and Dean deflated. Castiel softened his voice even further. "Why is it so difficult for you to simply have faith?"

Sam shifted uncomfortably—he felt as though he were intruding on a private moment between them, like this was a conversation that they'd had before. Dean shrugged off Sam's hand, and Sam gratefully slunk back another couple of steps.

Dean opened his mouth as though he were going to say something, closed it at the last minute, and shook his head instead. "Forget it. Come on, Sam."

"Dean," Castiel said.

When Sam and Dean looked at Castiel, he had his hand held out, palm up, and there was the knife. Sam remembered with vivid clarity the confrontation at the hotel room, the way that the knife had fallen from Dean's grasp when that guy had tackled him, the way it had skittered under the bed. Sam had forgotten it when he grabbed their things.

Dean stalked up to Castiel and snatched the knife out of his hand. "Thanks," Dean said ungratefully and turned away, eyes sliding past Sam as he moved.

Sam followed Dean without a word back to the Impala. He watched Dean from the moment they went back to their seats to the moment Dean started the ignition.

When he finally had the courage to look up, Castiel had already gone.

Sam felt strangely relieved by that. "Dean," he began, not even sure what he was going to say.

"Don't, Sammy," Dean said, and Sam looked at him again, a little more closely. Dean looked exhausted, as if that last exchange with Castiel had stripped him of all the angry adrenaline that had brought him here. "Could we just. Not talk about it?"

"Sure," Sam said, although he felt like that was the biggest lie out of all the lies he'd told to Dean thus far. "No problem."

Dean kept his eyes on the road. "You'd best call Bobby and let him know … " Dean trailed off.

After waiting about thirty seconds to see if Dean would say anything else, Sam picked up his cell phone and dialed. "Bobby?"

"Sam?" Bobby asked.

"Yeah, it's me. Sam. You don't need to come to Bluewater. It was kind of taken out of our hands."

"What do you mean, it was kind of taken out of your hands? Did you find out what was going on or not?"

"Yeah, we did. It was a demon. And some humans. And Dean's angels threw us out and took them down."

Sam kept waiting for Dean to make a crack about that, about how Dean's Angels sounded totally kick ass, but Dean remained silent, focused on his driving.

"Are you boys all right?" Bobby asked, and if he was annoyed about having to drive out to who knows how far, only to turn right back around, Sam couldn't hear it from his tone.

Sam shot Dean another discreet look. Dean didn't notice. "Yeah," he answered. "Dean and I are fine. Sorry for making you come out for a false alarm."

"I'd only just got to Arizona," Bobby said diffidently, as though he hadn't (although he must have, by Sam's calculations) driven all night just to get that far. "I need to check out a salt and burn anyway, so there's nothing to worry about."

"Okay." Sam nodded, although Bobby couldn't see him, and then continued, "We'll probably stop for the night soon, and then get back to your place in the next couple of days unless we find a hunt."

"You do that," Bobby said, and the line disconnected.

"So," Dean said, "how mad is he?"

"I think he's okay," Sam answered.

"That's good," Dean said, and went quiet again.

Sam wanted to continue a little more, to ask Dean to talk to him, but he didn't know how he could do that without setting Dean off again. Castiel and Uriel were creepy, and they were pricks, but Castiel seemed to get under Dean's skin. Maybe it had to do with being the one who took Dean out of Hell, or maybe it was something else, but Sam didn't like it at all. And he couldn't really say anything about it without feeling absolutely ridiculous.

Instead, he rummaged through Dean's tape collection and popped in a Bad Company cassette. Dean shot Sam a look from the corner of his eye, and as the first strains of music poured from the speakers, Dean warmed from that tension he'd been carrying, relaxing into the seat of the Impala, tapping his fingers along to the beat against the steering wheel.

They drove until they were hungry for dinner, and Dean pulled into the next town they came to, looking for dinner and a place to sleep. It was so painfully normal that Sam could almost forget that there had been a town of over almost eight hundred people that was gone now.

Almost.

And Sam had an idea to take Dean's mind off of it, too.

~*~

Sam woke up early that morning while Dean was still asleep (and it was actually kind of funny how they traded days off like this) and snuck out of the hotel room to go to the little convenience store on the corner. He bought talcum powder, disposable razors, toothbrushes, toothpaste, and deodorant to replace the stuff he was pretty sure they lost when they fled town at the angels' behest, and also made sure to grab a couple of pastries and some piping hot coffee, taking it all back to the hotel. He knew that if he brought the food in, Dean would wake up, so instead, he set the coffee in the cup holders and the pastries in the driver's seat of the Impala for a minute while he uncapped the talcum powder and carefully poured it into the vents, making sure he left no mark that might give Dean a hint as to what Sam was doing to his baby. When Sam was finished, he tossed out the empty talcum powder container and gathered up their breakfast, letting himself back into their room.

On cue, Dean twitched in his bed, opening bleary eyes to take in Sam and breakfast. "Mmm," Dean purred and tossed off his blankets, stretching and making grabby motions toward the coffee. Sam found himself eyeing the curve and bend of his brother against the mattress and wanted to bang his head against the wall; instead, he just grinned and passed over the caffeine.

"Up and at 'em," Sam said, taking a bite of his pastry. "We have places to go and miles to burn."

"I hear ya, man," Dean said agreeably, voice still rough from sleep, and he sat up before taking a long gulp of his coffee. Sam tossed the basic toiletries he'd gotten while he was out onto Dean's bed, and Dean nodded as he gathered it up. "Good thinking.”

Sam took advantage of the last moments of wireless as Dean finished breakfast and got ready for the day, scouring over his normal newspaper links to see if anything worth chasing had shown up since the last time he'd looked.

The Arizona newspapers didn't say anything about Bluewater. Sam supposed it was a blessing.

Once Dean was ready and their stuff was safely stowed in the backseat of the Impala, it seemed like the only thing left to do was move forward. Sam lurked outside the Impala for a minute as Dean opened his door, wondering if he should wait until the car had started before getting in, just so he could avoid the powder attack. For a moment, it looked like Dean was going to slide into his seat like normal, but then he stuck his head back out, crossing his arms over the door as he looked at Sam.

"What is it?" Sam asked, trying to look as unassuming as possible.

"I was just thinking," Dean said, "what with all the angels and the demons and the missing towns and whatever, maybe we could just call a truce on the pranks for a while. You know? Just for the next day or two."

Sam felt his eyes widen at that. "You want to declare truce?"

Dean flushed, giving him a very annoyed look. "I'm not surrendering or anything here. Just a breather."

Sam shrugged easily. "Yeah, sure. No problem."

"Okay, then." Dean gave him a brief smile that was all insincerity and bright teeth and slid into his seat, sticking the key into the ignition.

"The thing is," Sam said hurriedly as he sat down and shut the door, "I don't think we should use the air conditioner right now, okay? We can lower the windows if we need air circulation."

Dean looked at him in confusion for almost seven seconds before his eyes went narrow and accusing. "What did you do to my girl?" he demanded.

Sam absolutely, positively did not look at Dean or blush or hunch his shoulders against Dean's rage. "I'll clean it up, Dean. There's nothing to worry about. I promise!"

"Sammy!" Dean yelled, but Sam remained silent on this one, and Dean didn't use the vents.





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Comments

[sweetnlow]

OMGOMGOMGOMG!!!!

This? is *AWESOME!*

I love your Uriel. It makes me wish he wasn't dead on the show.

And Sam with his unrequited feelings toward Dean are wonderfully Sam and not like a whiny girl [as I have read in far too many fics.]

I freakin' flailed like an idiot when Dean was balancing the beer bottle on his head, because the Dean in my head does this all the time! Yes, it's a stupid thing to flail over but it kind of made my day.

Your banter is great and this entire thing is just so damn engaging. I want to make other people read it and then point to it and say "I totally know the author!" because it really is just that awesome.

Yeah, this is a really incoherent comment and I know my feedback isn't helpful at all, but I love this like crazy and can't wait for more.

*LOVES*

[lunesque]

♥

Heh. At this point, I'm totally posting this for you.

[sweetnlow]

I am so very okay with that! :D