Ashes of Another Life (Sam/Dean, NC-17) (5/5)

[lostt1]

Dean let himself into the dark apartment, trying to keep quiet as he made his way across the room. He knew he should have probably given Sam a heads-up that he'd be there, but he hadn't known himself until the last minute. The job in New Orleans had taken longer than he'd expected, but it was finally finished. Unfortunately, Dean wasn't given any time to savor his victory before the next problem smacked him in the face. He'd left New Orleans in a hurry with one thought pressing all others to the background.

Get back to Sam.

Dean stumbled, banging his shin on the coffee table, and let out a low curse. He was so busy muttering about Jess and her strange obsession for rearranging furniture that he didn't notice the presence behind him until it was too late. A hand, large and warm, grabbed hold of his shoulder and Dean lashed out, reacting on instinct. He turned sharply, fist already flying.

His shot was deflected and Dean quickly dodged to the left, barely avoiding a kick to the head. Dean twisted again, avoiding contact with the dark outline aiming for his side. He recognized Sam's fighting style from several years of sparring and he thought briefly about putting a stop to the constant back and forth punches. But honestly, he was having too much fun to say a word.

The two of them traded blows, Dean managing to land a single blow to Sam's chest before Sam nailed him in the ear, making his head spin. Dean shook his head to bring the world back into focus and swept his leg along the ground, knocking Sam's feet out from under him. Sam fell to the floor with a heavy thud, Dean tumbling down on top of him.

"Whoa. Easy tiger." Dean could feel the rise and fall of Sam's chest as he tried to catch his breath. He rubbed a thumb along Sam's bicep, the muscle quivering beneath his touch.

"Dean?" Sam's eyes widened in surprise. "You scared the crap outta me."

Dean chuckled, letting his body weigh Sam down. "Yeah? That's because you're out of-"

The rest of his words were lost as Sam wrapped a hand around the back of his skull, pulling him downward and crushing their mouths together. "God, I missed you."

Dean rested his forearms on either side of Sam's head and licked his way into Sam's mouth, tasting the lingering flavor of Sam's minty toothpaste.

"Sam?"

The light turned on and Dean rolled off of Sam, the two of them looking up into Jess's amused expression. Sam buried his face in Dean's jacket and Dean chuckled.

"You know, I always liked the Smurfs."

Jess glanced down at her pajama top and rolled her eyes. "Keep your perving to your boy there." She raised an eyebrow. "You know Sam has a perfectly good bed just down the hall, don't you?"

Dean grinned and climbed to his feet, reaching down to help Sam up. "Yeah, I think I remember something like that. But I need to show Sam something first." On Jess's questioning look, he continued. "We'll be right back, mommy. No need to worry."

Jess walked over to Sam and poked him in the chest. "Just try to keep it down, ok? Some of us actually have to work in the morning."

Sam ducked his head and ran a hand through his hair, expression sheepish. "Sorry Jess. We'll be...well, we'll try to be quiet."

Jess laughed and headed back down the hall to her room.

Sam turned to Dean and tilted his head to the side. "You have something you want to show me?" He waggled his eyebrows and Dean shook his head.

"Not like that," he took a moment to enjoy Sam's bright smile before changing directions. "Dad's missing."

"What do you mean missing?" Sam frowned, standing up straight, catching the serious edge to Dean's voice.

"Just what I said. Missing. As in I still haven't heard from him."

Sam sighed. "So what were you going to show me?"

Dean tilted his head toward the door. "Come on, it's out in the car." Sam followed Dean outside without another word into the quiet night. A car drove by and Dean waited for it to get further down the street before popping the trunk.

Sam let out a low whistle when he saw the arsenal inside. He brushed a hand along the smooth barrel of one of the shotguns. "I remember this."

Dean shrugged, trying to act as if that statement didn't send his heart soaring.

Sam's fingertips danced across the design etched into the handle. "You gave it to me for my birthday."

Dean could only nod. He busied himself with digging through the various weapons to find what he was looking for.

Sam leaned against the car, his hip pressed up against the cool metal, and crossed his arms. "So what? We were raised like warriors? Weapons training, melting silver into bullets, that sort of thing? It's like something you see on TV."

Victorious, Dean pulled out the tape recorder as he grunted his reply. No sense in denying the truth. Their childhood had been unconventional at best.

"Dad's in real trouble right now, if he's not dead yet. I don't-" Dean took a deep breath, hating to show any sign of weakness, especially in front of Sam. "I don't want to do this alone."

Sam turned back to the trunk and pressed up against Dean, silently giving him strength. "So what's the story here?"

Dean pulled out a stack of papers and went over what he knew. Their father had been looking into the mysterious disappearances of several men, ten in the past twenty years. They all disappeared on the same five mile stretch of road, never to be heard from again. Dean hadn't heard from their dad since that morning three weeks ago, back in Sam's bedroom.

"Then I get this voicemail yesterday." Dean pushed play and Sam leaned in closer to the player. He listened to the garbled message, frown deepening.

"You know there's EVP on that?" He shook his head. "How'd I know that?"

Dean gave him a small smile. "Not bad, Sammy. Kinda like riding a bike, isn't it? First the fighting, now this. Wonder what else we can draw out of that freaky brain of yours." Sam rolled his eyes and Dean held up the recorder again. "Alright. I slowed the message down and ran it through a Goldwave, took out the hiss. And this is what I got."

I can never go home.

Sam shivered. "I can never go home? That's ominous."

Dean slammed the trunk shut and turned around, leaning back to rest against it. He looked at Sam and shrugged. "So it looks like I'm heading to Jericho now." He paused, chewing on his lip. "I want you to go with me. I mean, if you can. I know school is keeping you busy and everything, but-"

Sam stared off down the street, watching a cat as it ran across an empty lot. He took a deep breath and turned back to Dean. "Ok, so then I'll go with you. I'll try to help you find him." Dean forced himself to remain calm, to not get too excited at the idea of Sam joining him on a hunt. Sam tilted his head down, his eyes drawing Dean's focus. "But...I have to get back first thing Monday."

Dean raised an eyebrow. "What's first thing Monday?"

Sam gave him a grin and leaned in, placing his hands on either side of Dean's hips. "It's a surprise."

The corner of Dean's mouth tilted upwards in response. "That so?"

Sam pressed closer. "So how about we get some sleep?" He bit down on the lobe of Dean's ear. "Get a fresh start in the morning."

Dean shivered as Sam's breath ghosted across his bare neck. He bit his lip and opened his eyes wide. "Sleep?"

Sam shrugged. "Or not." He pulled back and began walking toward the apartment. He tossed a glance over his shoulder. "You coming?"

Dean was up off the car and following Sam in no time flat, a grin tugging at his lips.

Sleep was overrated, anyway.

xxxxxx

Sam pressed up against the cold metal of Sylvania Bridge and stared down into the murky water below. Dean stood at his shoulder, his eyes never leaving Sam's profile. Sam chewed on his lower lip, deep in thought. He leaned forward, the rail preventing him from tumbling over. "So you think your dad would've been here?"

Dean frowned, wondering if Sam would ever refer to their father as 'Dad' again. He shrugged it off and turned to stare out into the night. "Well, he was chasing the story and we're chasing him."

Sam nodded, accepting his answer. He turned to Dean and cocked his head to the side. "Ok. So now what?"

Dean pushed away from the railing and started walking down the empty street, Sam at his heels. The night was cool and clear, the thin sliver of the moon shining down on him from above. The pavement was bathed in the soft glow of two streetlights and Dean glanced out at the area where the light faded into darkness. Nothing moved in the shadows. There were no strange noises. Nothing but the sound of the nearby trees dancing in the breeze and their footsteps echoing across the pavement. It was a perfect night but Dean couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong.

"We'll just keep digging until we find something." Dean wished he had a more solid answer for Sam, something that said 'Hello, I’m a professional. Ask me how!' But the truth was, answers never simply appeared. Hunting was just as much about research as it was the actual hunt. And that had always been Sam's area of expertise. Not his.

Sam stopped and glanced over his shoulder, a small frown in place. Dean stopped and raised an eyebrow in silent question. Sam just shook his head and returned his focus to Dean. "Just don't forget, I need to be home by Monday."

Dean sighed at the reminder. He'd been so happy to have Sam by his side again, he'd honestly forgotten his earlier promise. He'd just wanted to get Sam out there, get him hunting. He wanted to see if any of his other memories would resurface. Sam was still a pro, his hunting skills sharp despite the lack of memories to support them.

"Still not going to tell me what for?"

Sam grinned and moved closer. He leaned in, his lips brushing the outer shell of Dean's ear. "Nope."

Sam started to walk away but Dean grabbed his wrist and swung him around. Sam's back slammed up against the steel frame of the bridge, his breath escaping in a soft whoosh.

Dean pressed his body flush against Sam's, his fingers digging into the sharp angles of Sam's hips. He leaned down and scraped his teeth against the soft skin of Sam's neck. Sam groaned and he shifted his weight, his legs falling open enough to pull Dean closer. His hands bunched in the heavy material of Dean's jacket and he tilted his head down, his lips meeting Dean's in a hungry kiss.

They traded kisses, fast and fierce. Dean's fingers found their way into Sam's hair, tangling in the silky soft strands. He still couldn't believe that he was allowed to have this, still surprised he wanted it in the first place. But he definitely wanted it.

A sudden movement, barely a flicker in the corner of his eye, caught his attention and he pulled back. He turned to find a gorgeous woman staring back at them from her perch on the railing. Her dark, dark hair was a sharp contrast to her long, white dress, rippling in the soft breeze. She looked right at Dean, right through him, her large brown eyes filled with pain and sorrow. "Uh Sam-"

Sam took a step closer to Dean, immediately falling back to stand point at Dean's shoulder. It was a comfort, Sam slipping into old habits without conscious thought. "Holy shit," Sam's breath ghosted across the back of Dean's neck. "That's her. From the paper."

No shit, Sherlock.

Dean swallowed down his sarcastic response as Constance stepped forward and fell into the dark. He and Sam took off running, but they were too late. The ghost was gone, vanished into the night. Sam leaned forward, the steel railing digging into his stomach. Dean stepped closer, ready to reach out and grab him, if necessary.

The low rumble of the Impala's engine broke through the eerie silence. Dean's head whipped towards the sound as the headlights turned on. He squinted, momentarily blinded by the sudden light. "What the fuck?"

Sam moved close behind him, his chest brushing against the back of Dean's arm. "Who's driving your car?"

Dean reached into his pocket, searching for the familiar ring. Grasping the cool metal, he pulled out his keys and waved them in Sam's direction.

"Well that can't be good."

Sam's quiet murmur was nearly drowned out by the sound of the gunning engine, the tires spinning as the car raced forward. It only took Dean a moment to react but it was a moment wasted. He turned and ran, dragging Sam along.

His only thought was Sam. Keep him safe, get him out of harm's way. He could hear the car drawing closer, practically feel the weight of it at his back. The end of the bridge was too far away and Dean knew, without a doubt, that they'd never make it. So he did the only thing he could do. He veered to the right and dove over the side rail, pulling Sam with him.

There was an odd sense of weightlessness as Dean tumbled through the air, arms waving as he tried to find something, anything to break his fall. The sudden shock of cold water took him by surprise and he sucked in a breath, inhaling as he sunk beneath the surface.

It took less than a minute for his mind to jerk back online, his survival instincts taking over. Using his legs and arms, he pushed himself upward until his head broke the surface. He took a huge, gasping breath and swam for the shore.

Dean pulled himself out of the water and onto solid ground, his body weighed down with water and mud. As he lay there, taking a moment to catch his breath, he heard his name in the distance.

"DEAN!"

Sam sounded frightened, frantic. But at least he was alive. "What?" Dean coughed up some of the water in his lungs and looked up to see Sam hanging off the side of the bridge, his long legs wrapped around a steel beam.

Sam leaned out as far as he could, his face pale in the moonlight. "You ok?"

Dean let his head fall back into the mud and exhaled, happy to have survived another close call. "I'm super."

Sam laughed and Dean could see the flash of teeth, bright against the dark sky. He struggled to his feet and grabbed hold of a tree trunk for support as he climbed up the steep embankment.

Sam stood up slowly, careful not to fall, and pulled himself over the railing and back onto the bridge. He jogged over and waited until Dean was close enough before reaching over and offering his hand. Dean grabbed hold, firm grip, and allowed Sam to pull him the rest of the way up.

Once both feet were on the pavement, Sam leaned in before deciding better of it and stepping back. Dean glanced down at his clothes and groaned. He was covered in mud. He could feel it squishing around every time he moved, making him uncomfortable. "Super."

Sam scrunched his nose. "No offense, man, but you smell like a toilet."

Dean glanced over at him and rolled his eyes.

The corner of Sam's mouth tilted upwards. "We could go get us a room, get you a shower. I'll even wash your back."

Dean glanced around. There wasn't anything else they could do that night. And a hot shower with bonus naked, wet Sam sounded like heaven. "Deal."

Sam tossed a cautious glance at the car, now sitting silently on the other side of the road. "You think it's safe."

Dean felt the sudden flare of anger that anything dared to fuck with his car. "It better be." He began walking toward the Impala, needing to check her for damages. "That Constance, man. What a bitch."

xxxxxx

Dean dropped down onto the concrete and paused, crouched, listening for any signs that he might be discovered. Hearing none, he stood up and adjusted the bag on his shoulder. He could feel the heavy weight of his father's journal pressed up against his chest, secure inside his jacket. He didn't know why his father had left it behind but he wasn't going to let it fall into the hands of strangers. It contained too much valuable information.

He could still see his name and the numbers '35-111' written in a heavy black scrawl against the lined page. His father's last message to him before he left town.

Thank god for small towns and their inadequate police departments. They had all rushed off in such a hurry, they hadn't bothered to make sure Dean was locked up in a secure area. He rubbed his wrist where the skin was raw from the cold and unforgiving press of metal where the sheriff had cuffed him to the table. One fake 911 call, thank you, Sammy and a paper clip later, Dean was a free man.

He spotted a pay phone a couple blocks away and headed in its direction, being careful to stick to the shadows. It had been hours since the cops grabbed him and he needed to check on Sam, needed to know he was doing ok. The Sam he once knew would have been fine, had been raised on the hunt. But this Sam had none of the experience and only a few memories to keep him safe.

Dean ducked into the booth and popped some change into the slot before quickly dialing the familiar number. He breathed a sigh of relief when Sam picked up on the third ring.

"Fake 911 phone call? Sammy, I'm impressed."

Sam snorted. "You're welcome."

Dean glanced down at the journal. "Listen, we gotta talk."

"Tell me about it." Sam didn't give Dean a chance to respond before he was off and running. "So the husband was unfaithful. We are dealing with a woman in white. And she's buried behind her old house. So I'm assuming that should've been your dad's next stop."

"Sammy, would you shut up for a second?"

Dean sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose, waiting for Sam to take a breath. He had to admit that he was impressed though. Sam had managed to get a lot of information while he'd been locked up. He'd make a good hunter. He was born to do it.

"I just can't figure out why he hasn't destroyed the corpse yet."

"Well, that's what I'm trying to tell you." Dean could tell he finally had Sam's attention. "He's gone. Dad left Jericho."

Sam sighed. "Well that sucks."

Dean fingered the loose pages of his father's journal as he debated whether or not to mention it to Sam. He finally decided against it. Sam probably wouldn't remember it anyway. He listened to Sam ramble on, asking rhetorical questions here and there. He could hear the low growl of the Impala's engine as Sam drove. The sound was so familiar, comforting, that sound of screeching brakes didn't penetrate his mind at first. But when it did, his heart began to pound.

"Sam? Sam!"

There was no response. Dean wanted to shout Sam's name again but bit his lip to keep silent. He strained his ear, trying to hear anything from Sam's end that could tell him what was going on. He had a feeling, a twisting in his gut, that told him something wasn't right.

"Take me home."

The words were muffled, barely more than a whisper. And they were definitely not Sam's. Dean's pulse raced as he recognized the voice from the EVP.

Knowing Sam's time was running out, Dean dropped the phone and ran.

He was still running, but at least this time he had a destination.

xxxxxx

Dean pushed the pedal to the metal, silently urging the car he'd stolen to go faster as it tore down the quiet streets. He made a sharp turn onto Breckinridge and knew he was getting close. But he was also painfully aware that every minute that went by was another minute Sam didn't have.

The old, dilapidated house loomed in the distance, its state of disrepair obvious even in the dark of the night. As he got closer, Dean could see the familiar outline of his beloved car and he swallowed around the sudden lump in his throat. If anything happened to Sam-

Dean slammed on the brakes and jumped out of the car, his sole focus on finding Sam. He could hear Sam's screams long before he could see him, the sound sending a shockwave to his heart. He drew his gun, loaded with rock salt, and circled the car.

As he got closer, Dean could make out the flickering image of Constance's ghost, her face a grotesque mask. She was facing away from the house, her back against the steering wheel. As she leaned forward, Dean heard Sam let out another agonized scream.

Sam was pressed back against the driver's seat, Constance sitting on top of him, her hand on his chest. He screamed again, his head thrown back, neck muscles straining.

Dean didn't hesitate. He lifted his gun and fired four shots, blowing out the window. Constance disappeared, but only for a moment before she was back, clawing at Sam's torso. Dean shot a couple more rounds in her direction, hoping like hell he made it in time.

Constance disappeared a second time and Sam sat up, his face a mask of rage as he turned the key and the engine roared to life. Dean didn't have a moment to react as Sam put the car into drive and floored it. The car tore forward, ramping the porch and ripping through the wall before finally coming to a stop inside the house.

Dean stared at the gaping hole in the wall, unable to believe what had just happened. He shook his head and focused on the first problem. There was a ghost nearby, she was dangerous, and Sam could be hurt. He took off running and jumped up on the porch, dodging debris in order to get to his brother.

"Sam?"

"Here." Sam's voice was strained but strong.

"You ok?" Dean was already reaching for the door, pushing things out of the way so he could pull it open.

"I think."

Dean gave him a quick, assessing glance. They had to move fast. He didn't know when Constance would be back. Rock salt could only repel spirits for so long before they returned. "Can you move?"

"Yeah." Sam leaned over, reaching an arm out to Dean. "Help me."

Dean wrapped his hands around Sam's bicep and pulled him closer. Sam struggled out of the car, leaning heavily into Dean as he stood up. Dean straightened up and looped his arm around Sam's waist, offering him support. Sam closed the door and looked up, falling back against the car in surprise.

Dean followed his gaze and found Constance glaring back at them, a dust-covered frame in her hands. She tossed the photo aside and backed away, making room for a large dresser to slide across the room. Dean knew what was coming and tried to brace himself for the impact. He stepped partway in front of Sam before the shelves collided with his legs, forcing him back against the car.

Sam grit his teeth as he and Dean pushed against the dresser but it was no use. They were pinned.

The sound of running water took Dean by surprise. He glanced up at the staircase to see the liquid rush over the edge, pooling onto the wooden floor below. Sam stopped struggling at his side and they watched as Constance moved slowly toward the stairs, her eyes focused on something at the top.

"You've come home to us, mommy."

Dean felt Sam shiver at the sound of two unearthly voices. Constance turned in their direction and in the blink of an eye, two small forms appeared in front of her. They rushed forward and wrapped their arms around Constance's waist and she tossed her head back, her screams filling the air. Dean could only watch in horror as fire and light enveloped the three ghostly figures and they were sucked into the ground, Constance's screams the only sound.

When the lights stopped flickering and the water faded away, the pressure against Dean's waist disappeared and he knew it was over. He and Sam shared a look and with a nod, they shoved the dresser away from their bodies, letting it flip over onto the floor with a heavy thud.

Dean stumbled over to the spot where the three spirits had vanished. Sam moved to stand beside him, staring down at the wooden floor with a look of mild curiosity. "That was..."

Sam's voice trailed off but Dean knew what he was getting at. "Yeah."

Sam glanced up at Dean and tilted his head to the side. "So that's why she could never go home? She was too scared to face them?"

"You found her weak spot. Not bad for an amateur." Dean ran a hand gently across Sam's chest, his fingers tripping across the small holes. Sam's face twisted in pain but he turned toward the car, attempting to hide his reaction.

Dean watched Sam walk away, his heart still pounding at their near miss. He glanced at the car, still buried in the rubble. "Dude, if you screwed up my car, I'll kill you."

Sam rolled his eyes and Dean bit back a grin. They hadn't made it out of the battle completely unscathed, but they made it out. And in Dean's book, that was definitely a win.

xxxxxx

Dean tore down the highway, watching the pavement rush by, the road illuminated by a single headlight. He hummed along with the stereo, turned down low, and concentrated on the music. Anything to keep his mind off the man sprawled in the passenger seat.

Sam was staring down at a map, his eyebrows drawn together in concentration. He had his lips wrapped obscenely around the end of a flashlight, the light focused on his lap as his fingers traced invisible lines across the wrinkled paper. He tapped a location and reached up, removing the flashlight from his mouth with a slick pop. "Looks like these coordinates are for this place in Colorado. Black Water Ridge. Appears to be in the middle of nowhere."

Dean nodded and glanced in the rearview. "Sounds charming. How far?"

He could feel Sam's eyes on him and he shot him a sideways look. Sam shrugged and reached up, pushing his hair out of his eyes. "About 600 miles."

Dean sighed. "I can try to make it by morning. But I got to get you home first."

Sam frowned and slouched down in the seat. Dean glanced over and found him staring down at an old photo. He recognized the image as one of the rare weekends that was about doing something fun as a family. Dean had been about nine when the picture was taken, somewhere outside of Toledo. Their father had taken them hunting, deer instead of devils. Sam was perched on their father's lap, a small grin on his innocent face.

Sam rubbed the pad of his thumb across the faded image. "So this is Dad?"

"Yeah." Dean coughed, the sudden rush of nostalgia catching in his throat.

"I still don't remember him." Sam admitted, voice soft. He stared down at the photo with sad eyes. "We didn't get along, did we?"

Dean frowned, careful to keep his eyes averted. "What makes you say that?"

He could see Sam shrug out of the corner of his eye. "I figure there must be some reason I don't remember anything about him." Sam sighed. "It seems like the harder I try to remember my past, the further away it gets."

Dean swallowed and glanced sideways at his brother, wishing like hell that he could make it better. "Don't push it." He felt like a fraud saying the words. Part of him wanted Sam to remember everything. But the other part of him was terrified of what would happen when he did.

Sam opened the glove compartment and carefully placed the photo inside. "I guess you're right." He stared out the window and watched the scenery fly by. "I mean, I’m remembering more and more every day."

"Exactly."

Silence settled over the car, each of them lost in his own thoughts.

Dean drove along the quiet streets of Palo Alto, body tired but still determined to push on. Sam shifted, turning to face him. "I'm going to talk to my grandma."

"Ok." Dean looked at Sam, watching the way the passing street lights traced patterns across his face.

Sam sighed and dropped his head back against the glass of the passenger window, his eyes never leaving Dean's profile. "I'm going to talk to her tomorrow."

Dean remained silent, patiently waiting. Sam shrugged again and closed his eyes. "I called her before we left, said I wanted to talk." He paused, the silence growing heavy. "I told her it was important. Jess decided to stay with Sarah tonight when I told her Grandma was coming. I think she wanted to give me some space."

Dean took a hand off the wheel to rub the bridge of his nose. "Sam, she said she couldn't change things." Dean had accepted that truth long ago. He didn't want Sam to get his hopes up for nothing.

"I know." Sam huffed, obviously frustrated. "I don't want to make anything go away. I like who I am now. I love my family. But maybe there is something she can do to help me remember my other life."

Sam's words settled over him like a blanket. He hadn't considered that option.

"Doesn't change things between us."

Dean shot a quick glance to the passenger seat, hoping his thoughts hadn't been so transparent. Sam gave him a small smile and shook his head as Dean pulled up outside of his apartment. He grabbed his bag out of the backseat and turned to Dean. "You sure you don't want to stay the night? We'd have the place to ourselves."

Dean was tempted, his body begging him to rest, his muscles weary and skin bruised. He bit his lip and sighed. "Nah, I should get going. The sooner I finish up this job, the sooner I can get back. We can figure out what to do about Dad then."

Sam leaned in and brushed his lips against Dean's. "Call me when you get there, ok?"

Dean nodded, swallowing around the lump in his throat as Sam climbed out of the car. He watched as Sam headed toward the building and reminded himself that the separation was only temporary.

"Hey Sam!"

Sam stopped and turned around, a small smile on his lips.

Dean leaned closer to the window to get a better view. "You know, we made a hell of a team back there."

He grinned and pulled back, not waiting for an answer. He just threw the car in drive and pulled out onto the street, heading back the way they'd just come. He took a deep breath, watching Sam grow smaller in the rearview mirror. A little over 600 miles? No sweat.

He reached down and grabbed a random cassette tape, shoving it into the deck. AC/DC blasted through the speakers and Dean smiled, miles of highway stretched out before him.

Dean barely made it five miles outside of Palo Alto when everything went to hell. He had been tapping out the beat to 'If You Want Blood' on the steering wheel when the music cut out and the air was filled with short bursts of static.

Frowning, Dean reached down and tapped the clear plastic of the stereo. He glanced down at his watch only to find that it had stopped, the second hand at a standstill. He took a deep breath, trying to dislodge the sudden tightness in his chest. Something was wrong. And somehow, he knew it had something to do with Sam.

He swung the car back around and pressed down on the accelerator, watching as the needle climbed. The trip back took only a fraction of the time, but Dean could barely breathe, scared he might be too late. He jumped out of the car and raced up the stairs, heart in his throat. As he drew closer, he could hear Sam's muffled screams from deep within the apartment. Dean didn't hesitate, just brought his foot up and kicked in the door, Sam's name on his lips.

Dean could hear the crackle and hiss of the flames long before he reached Sam's room. He rushed through the doorway and paused, his hands pressed against the heated wood, unable to believe the horror in front of him. Sam's entire room was engulfed in fire, the flames licking their way up the walls and across the ceiling. His eyes, though, were drawn to Sam.

Sam was flat on his back, scrambling backwards on the mattress, his eyes on the ceiling. "Grandma! Oh god, no!"

Dean tore his eyes away from Sam long enough to glance up and immediately wished he hadn't. The fiery corpse of Grandma Mae looked down on him with dead eyes, the white of her nightgown marred by the blood dripping from the gash in her stomach. It was just like his father's stories, stories about his mother, pinned to the ceiling as his whole world crumbled around him. Dean could only stare back, transfixed, as the fire pressed closer from all sides, but Sam's terrified cries pulled him back to the present.

Dean raced forward and grabbed Sam by the shoulders, physically dragging him off the bed and to his feet. Sam struggled against him, eyes still on the ceiling, screaming for a woman that could no longer hear him.

"We gotta get out of here!" Dean put himself between Sam and the fire and pushed him out the door, the flames at his heels. "I'm not gonna lose another person I love to this bastard." He couldn't breathe, couldn't think, until he knew Sam was safe.

Dean could hear the sirens wailing in the distance, drawing closer as he pushed Sam out into the cool night air. He could feel his clothes sticking to his skin, thick and heavy with smoke, as he turned his head up to watch the gray clouds pour out of Sam's apartment windows.

Sam leaned up against him, face buried in his neck, hands fisted in his coat. "Dean-"

Dean closed his eyes at Sam's broken cry and wrapped his arm around Sam's shoulders, pulling him even closer. He could feel the tremors course through Sam's body as Sam fisted his hands in Dean's shirt.

By the time the fire department arrived, Sam had gotten himself under control. He was staring blankly at the billowing smoke, eyes red-rimmed and watery. "I want to go with you."

His voice was rough, scratchy from screaming, but there was no question that he was serious.

Dean dropped his arm but didn't move away, not wanting to let Sam get too far away, needing to feel his body pressed up against his own. He stared up at Sam's profile, noticed the stubborn set of his jaw. "I'm sorry about Grandma Mae."

He didn't miss the slight tremble of Sam's lower lip. "Me too. She was my-" Sam took in a deep, sucking breath and stared at the ground. He pressed his knuckles into his eyes and bit his lip. "She's gone and now...now I may never get my memories back."

"Sam-"

"No, Dean-" He closed his eyes and when he opened them again, they glistened with unshed tears. "She wasn't even supposed to be here. If I hadn't...she wasn't supposed to be here. It's all my fault."

Dean turned to face Sam and grabbed his shoulders, giving him a rough shake. "This is not your fault. You hear me?"

Dean's hands shook with fear and the last traces of adrenaline. He had come so close to losing Sam twice that night. The thought that one day, he could lose him for good, had his heart in his throat.

"God. How could everything go so wrong? It was supposed to be a surprise."

"What was?" Dean frowned, having difficulty following Sam's rambling train of thought.

"I'm graduating early." Sam glanced over at him and Dean could see he was being serious. "I want to go with you. I hate it when you leave. I hate not seeing you for weeks at a time."

Dean took a deep breath, hesitating. He thought about the nightmares this night had given him, remembering what it was like to almost lose Sam twice.

"Dean-" Sam didn't even give him time to respond, the words just pouring out of his mouth. "I can't lose you. And now that I know the truth, that's all I can think about. And Grandma- it's my fault she's gone."

Dean's eyes shot up to meet Sam's, lips drawn in a tight line. "Sam, it's not your fault."

"Yes. It is." Sam stared at the ground. "That's how it happened."

Dean sighed. "Sam, talk to me, man. You're not making any sense."

"The dreams," Sam lifted his chin and Dean watched the tears slowly track their paths down Sam's dirty cheek. "That's how it happened."

Sam turned and walked over to the Impala, parked at an angle, half on the curb. He popped the trunk and reached inside, running a hand along the barrel of a shotgun. Dean followed him but stood back, giving him some room. Sam seemed fragile at that moment, his stance and expression screaming 'handle with care.'

Sam tossed a glance at him, his face a mask of misery. "The fire, you...it's exactly how I dreamed it. I knew what was going to happen, but I didn't stop it."

Dean shook his head. "Sam, you didn't know-"

"No?" Sam raised an eyebrow. "No, I knew. I just didn't want to believe it. After everything you've told me, I should've listened to what the dreams were telling me. Maybe then Grandma-" He dropped his chin to his chest and sobbed.

Dean couldn't take it anymore. He grabbed Sam and pulled him closer, wrapping both arms around him in a tight hug. He buried his face in Sam's soft hair, cringing at the smoke clinging to his brother's skin. "We'll figure this out, Sammy." Somehow, he was going to find a way to keep Sam safe, to protect the fragile bond between them.

Sam tilted his head and pressed their lips together, pouring his pain and misery into the kiss. Dean grabbed the back of Sam's neck and pulled him in closer, gladly sharing his burden.

Sam pulled back and rested his forehead against Dean's, both of them struggling for air. "I have a meeting with my guidance counselor first thing tomorrow morning. I'm going to go and you're going with me."

Dean nodded, unable to find the words to let Sam know that he was never letting Sam out of his sight again. He would go to the bowels of hell if it meant keeping Sam by his side. Or go see a guidance counselor. Same thing.

"And then-" Sam reached out with one hand and shoved the trunk closed while the other twisted in the soft material of Dean's t-shirt, just above his hip. He took a deep breath, as if steadying himself and when he stared back at Dean, there was a firm resolve in his eyes that hadn't been there before. "And then we're going to Black Water Ridge, Colorado."

Sam glanced over his shoulder at the smoking remains of his apartment before returning his focus to Dean.

"Come on. We've got work to do."




Thoughts and Thanks:

So I can honestly say that I have never been this terrified to post a fic before. But I am. Absolutely, completely terrified. This entire thing started because I had a dream, back before season 3 even aired. What if Sam went off to college and when Dean finally met up with him again, Sam didn't know who he was? What would Dean do? And if Sam hit on him... Basically, I had a lot of 'what ifs' and wanted to do something with them. So when sign-ups were posted, I took a deep breath and jumped right in.

This wouldn't have been finished without a lot of help along the way. __tiana__ and pyroblaze18 for their constant handholding and encouragement, questions, and words of advice. And benitle, whose read through gave me so many ideas on how to smooth things out here and there. And everyone who took the time to read through this beast at one time or another in order to give me feedback, including keepaofthecheez, chaotic4life, bm1893, twofourteen, and clex_monkie89. But seriously, every last person who listened to me bitch and moan and continued to encourage me deserves a medal.

And, of course, it wouldn't be big bang without the fantastic art by causette. She really managed to capture the boys as I saw them, and even ended up using the same cap I did when visualizing the boys as I wrote without knowing it! She's incredible! Be sure to go and tell her that here!

Thanks also to audrarose and wendy. Without big bang, I honestly don't think this story would have seen the light of day.

Phew. Long story, even longer thanks.

Hope you guys liked it. :)