Let There Be Light

For my dear friend K Hanna

Happy Birthday!

It felt as though they'd been driving forever. At first, Sam hadn't felt liking saying anything. He'd simply slid down in the seat and leaned his head against the window, his back as much to Dean as possible. He didn't want his big brother to see the tears he could no longer keep at bay.

Months. They'd searched for Dad for months with no success. And then suddenly, there he was, standing in their motel room. The reunion was nothing Sam had thought it would be…and everything he'd hoped for. When he'd left for Stanford, he'd been certain that was it; his father had told him not to bother coming back. When Dean had come to get him, telling him Dad was missing, Sam had assumed their father was simply off somewhere drinking himself into oblivion, as he often did when the anniversary of Mom's death approached. When he'd discovered that wasn't the case, he'd agreed to join Dean on the search, even though he knew his father would not want to see him.

But when they'd recovered Dad's journal and Sam began to read the passages, it was as if…as if someone had punched a hole in his gut. Interspersed with pages and pages of notes on the supernatural were small personal entries, some of which even seemed to be addressed to Sam and Dean. Sam realized his father missed him. He'd hardly dared believe it. And when Dean had told him Dad had visited Stanford, just to make sure he was okay, well…

Then came the reunion. Sam had watched his brother and father embrace, had lagged behind with tentative steps, a myriad to what-ifs playing through his mind. But Dad had turned to him then, no trace of anger in his eyes. When he spoke, his voice was rough with emotion, and he confirmed what Sam had read on those journal pages. He'd pulled Sam into a tight embrace, and Sam held on, years of not knowing melting away. He felt a security he'd thought long gone returning. Maybe they really were stronger together. And for a moment, he allowed himself to think maybe…just maybe…Dean wasn't so wrong about them being a family again.

Then in the space of twenty minutes, Dad was gone. Sam felt his stomach twist into a tighter knot. He swiped at his nose, tried not to sniff. The tears had made the cuts on his face sting at first, but now they just itched.

Sam shifted in the seat. The car was too quiet. No conversation, no music, nothing. He couldn't take it anymore. He needed to talk.

"Dean?"

No answer.

Anger rose to replace the hurt. So now Dean was going to ignore him because he didn't feel like talking? No way. Dean always expected Sam to vent, to tell big brother what was the matter, but when the situation was reversed, Dean sealed up tighter than a clam. Sam turned toward his brother…and the anger died as fast as it had been born.

In the dim glow of the console lights, Dean looked absolutely pale, stark against the dark blood still caked to his face. He was gripping the steering wheel with both hands, staring straight out the windshield. He didn't even blink.

"Dean?" Alarmed, Sam sat up.

"What?" Dean's head turned his way, and he looked almost surprised to see Sam sitting there.

"Hey, man, are you okay?"

Dean was taking way too much time to think about it, and then the car abruptly swerved.

Sam grabbed the wheel. "Dean, stop the car!"

The Impala screeched to a halt so suddenly, Sam didn't have time to brace himself. He hit the dash…hard.

"What is it?" Dean asked urgently, suddenly snapping to awareness. "You okay?"

Sam winced as still-sore limbs protested the new abuse. "Me?" Sam shook his head. "Dean, where were you? Because you sure weren't here."

"What are you talking about?"

Sam slid back in his seat, eyeing his brother with concern. Dean watched him, waiting for an answer, then began to blink as if trying to focus. "I think maybe I should drive," Sam suggested.

"Dude, I'm—"

"You're not fine, Dean, okay?"

Dean glared at him for a moment, then growled, "Yeah, whatever." He opened the door and slowly climbed out of the car.

Sam's eyes narrowed. That had been way too quick a surrender, another sure sign something was wrong. His chest tightening, he got out and circled around to the driver's side before Dean even made it to the front bumper. His brother had one arm wrapped around his middle, the other stretched out to use the car to keep himself upright. Sam grabbed his brother's shoulders and tried to look in his eyes. "Man, why didn't you say something? Why didn't you stop?"

"Sam—!" Dean grabbed a fistful of Sam's shirt but then stopped. Dazed eyes finally found Sam's. "I think I'm gonna hurl…"

Sam let him go, watching as Dean staggered around the front of the car to the side of the road. He collapsed to his knees, losing his battle with nausea. Dragging his fingers through his hair, Sam followed, unable to do anything more than lay a comforting hand on his brother's back.

The violent heaving finally ceased, leaving Dean looking impossibly worse. He sat back on his heels, his eyes closed, the headlights illuminating his face.

Sam gasped. "Is that blood?" He took Dean's face in his hands. There was fresh crimson blood on his lips. "My God, Dean, I need to get you to a hospital."

The headlights flickered.

Sam's head snapped around. No. No, the shadow demons could not have possibly followed them. He waited, tensed, but nothing happened. He turned back to Dean, and saw his brother's eyes narrow.

"Sam, you look like crap," Dean said.

Sam actually laughed, lowering his forehead against Dean's. "You're such an ass." He stood up slowly and eased Dean to his feet. "Come on."

Sam got his charge settled in the passenger seat, then hurried around to the driver's side. Sliding behind the wheel, he grabbed the door, then suddenly stopped. "Uh…Dean?" Sam gazed ahead at the barren highway with no road signs, no lights. "Where are we?"

Again, no answer.

Sam turned. "Dean?"

"I don't know."

Sam tried not to sputter. "Well…wha…what state are we in?"

"Sam, I…" Dean looked like he was trying really hard to remember. "I don't know."

Sam sat back, trying to keep the panic from blossoming. What time had they left Chicago? How long had they been on the road? Which direction had they gone? He realized with growing anxiety that he had no idea, either. He'd been too wrapped up in his own sorrow and guilt to notice anything else…including how injured his brother really was. Okay. Okay. Think. Sam reached over the seat and found his bag. One-handed, he unzipped it and dug around for his compass. Impatience hampered his search, but finally his fingers closed around it. He turned back, noting with concern the shallowness of Dean's breathing. Come on, come on, he urged silently as the needle wavered, then finally settled in place. Southwest. Sam nodded. So…Missouri? They couldn't be in Oklahoma or Arkansas yet, right?

Dean coughed. It sounded wet.

"Hang on, Dean. I'm going to find—"

The headlights blinked again, and from the backseat came a high-pitched whine. The EMF detector. In Sam's palm, the compass began to spin. And then everything stopped. Everything.

"Oh, no. Please, no!" Sam grabbed the keys hanging from the ignition and tried to restart the car. It wouldn't turn over. He pounded a fist on the steering wheel in frustration. "No!"

"Hey," came the weak protest from the passenger seat. "Watch the car." Dean lifted his head off the seat and looked out the window. "We find trouble, or did trouble find us?"

"I don't know," Sam said tersely, sticking a leg out the open door. He grabbed the keys, and started out, but a hand caught his wrist in a surprisingly strong grip. He looked back at his brother.

"Where're you going?"

"Trunk," Sam explained. "I thought we could use some supplies."

A pause, then his arm was released. "Okay." Dean nodded. "But stay in shouting distance, huh?"

Sam smiled. "Right." As he climbed out of the Impala, he saw his brother's head fall back against the seat as if that moment of concern had cost him what little strength he had left. Something very cold settled in Sam's gut. The darkness, coupled with the quiet, was unnerving. He walked to the rear of the car, his senses in hunter mode. Something had caused the EMF, but what? Sam opened the trunk and scanned the contents. It was hard to decide what to use when he didn't even know what they were up against. He decided on a little bit of everything—handgun, knives, flares, shotgun, rock salt cartridges—just in case. He closed the trunk, then opened the back door and began packing the supplies in their bag, when something caught his eye. Sam stood up, gazing over the roof of the car.

Lights.

It was hard to tell from this distance, but it looked like lanterns, or possibly flashlights bobbing along through the darkness. Campers, maybe? Several of the lights moved quickly in and around the others, like children playing tag. Whoever it was, they could help, could tell Sam where he and his brother were, where the nearest hospital was, maybe even get them there. Hope swelling, Sam grabbed the bag and closed both back and front doors. He rounded the car to the passenger side, opened Dean's door, and crouched down into his brother's line of sight. "Dean?"

Heavy eyelids fluttered open. "Yeah?"

"I saw lights out there. I'm gonna go get help, okay?"

Dean's eyes opened wide. "Like hell you are."

Sam sighed. "Dean, you need—"

"Sam!" Dean was using his I'm the older brother and you listen to me tone. "Something's going on out here. You're not going anywhere by yourself." He turned in his seat, sliding his legs out of the car with a grimace. "I'm going with you."

"What?" Sam was appalled. "No!" He watched with a mix of anger, fear, and admiration as his brother hauled himself out of the Impala and stood there practically panting at the effort. "You can barely stand, you moron!"

"I'll be fine." Dean hobbled a few steps out so he could shut the door.

Shaking his head at the stubbornness of older brothers, Sam complained, "You're unbelievable, you know that?" He held out the keys. "What, you don't think I can take care of myself?"

Dean took the keys. "Of course I know you can take care of yourself. That doesn't mean you should have to. Not while I'm around." He pocketed the keys and started walking—slowly.

Sam sighed but allowed a smile to touch his lips. He should have known better than to argue, but then again, that was a younger brother's job, wasn't it? Shouldering the bag, he caught up with Dean in a few easy strides and gave him the other shoulder to lean on.

oooOOOooo

Sam could still see the lights in the distance, closer now but not close enough. He wasn't sure how long they'd been walking—their watches had stopped, too—but it seemed like forever. Dean remained uncharacteristically quiet, except for some sharp intakes of breath whenever his foot found a sinkhole beneath the knee-high grass. He was leaning heavily against Sam now, the stuttering breaths betraying the exhaustion he was trying so desperately to hide.

"Hey, Dean?" Sam waited until his brother's head lifted and he knew Dean was listening. "Can we stop for a minute? I need…I need to rest a minute." Because he knew Dean would never allow Sam to stop just for him.

Dean paused a moment. Yeah, he probably knew exactly what Sam was doing, but he didn't argue, just nodded. "Sure." Another grimace as Sam eased him to the ground. "You okay?"

"Yeah." Sam sat beside him.

The problem with a long, silent walk was that it left you with lots of time to think. Sam looked over at his brother, still able to make out the slashes across his forehead and the dark trails of blood from the myriad of other cuts on his face. Dean hadn't even bothered stopping to clean up. Sam knew his brother was harboring other injuries, ones below the surface, ones that couldn't be seen. Those were the ones that terrified him. So why had he escaped relatively unscathed?

He thought back to the warehouse, when the daevas had attacked. One had slashed him across the face, knocking him to the floor. Then it had twisted his arm behind his back and pinned him there while the other went after Dean, knocking him clear across the room. And back at the motel, again he had been tossed aside while the shadow demons tore into Dean and Dad.

"Why didn't the daevas try to kill me, too?" Sam asked the question, but he already knew the answer.

Dean's eyes found his in the darkness. "I don't know, Sam."

Okay, not a very truthful answer, but he recognized big-brother-mode when he heard it. "They had orders not to, didn't they?"

"Sam." The don't go there was implied. Dean just didn't have the strength for it.

Sam didn't say any more, but he couldn't stop the thoughts, the memories, the fears from creeping in, twisting through his insides until he thought he'd be sick.

"Hey." Dean's quiet voice broke the silence. Sam looked over at him. "Anything comes after you, it's gonna have to go through me first."

Yeah, that's what I'm afraid of.

A hand settled on his shoulder. "Sam?"

Sam nodded, offered a smile.

The hand clapped his shoulder, but there wasn't much power to it. "Now, can we get moving?" Dean paused to take a breath. "I think I'm sitting on an anthill."

Dean always knew how to make him laugh, even when Sam thought he never would again. He loved the guy.

Sam pushed up on stiff legs, then bent to help his brother, who was attempting to get up on his own and failing miserably. Sam eased him to his feet, then waited while his brother blew out an explosive breath, wrapping a protective arm around his middle.

Finally, Dean nodded. "Let's go." His right arm slid up Sam's back, his hand hooking over Sam's right shoulder.

Sam grabbed that hand and held onto it as his eyes searched for the lights. He saw them and blinked. Were they closer now? The two of them had come farther than he'd thought. Maybe they would make it out of this, after all.

With renewed strength, Sam pushed on.

The lights flickered, faded, brightened, then finally disappeared altogether. Sam didn't realize his pace had quickened until he heard Dean's panting breaths. Slowing, Sam scanned ahead, seeing the darkness deepen as though…

Woods. And a cabin. Shapes like black paper cut-outs against the darkness. Hope flared. Maybe the campers had retired to the cabin for the night.

Dean sagged against him. Sam staggered under the additional weight but managed to get a more firm grip and keep his brother upright. "Hang on, Dean," he pleaded. "Almost there." He started moving again, wincing as he fought seizing leg muscles; he'd been doing all right until he'd stopped. Dean was barely conscious, his boots dragging with the effort of every step, but he doggedly kept moving.

Thankfully, there was no porch to the cabin, no steps to climb. Sam reached the door with a silent prayer of thanks. It took real effort to uncurl his fingers from around his brother's hand long enough to knock. Then he waited, listening.

Nothing.

Sam knocked again. "Hello? Please, we need help."

But no one came.

With an impatient huff, Sam reached for the wooden latch and opened the door. It swung inward to reveal…nothing.

"No."

The cabin was empty. No lights, no furniture, no sign anyone had been there in a long, long time. Sam stood just inside the doorway, chest heaving as his lungs tried to draw in enough air for him to breathe. He felt Dean's head lift from his shoulder, then it suddenly dropped back and Dean's weight was dragging him to the floor. "Dean!" Sam dropped to his knees, slowing his brother's collapse and trying to cushion the impact. He lowered Dean to the floor, then sat back, pillowing Dean's head on one thigh. Staring down into the slack face, Sam pleaded, "Come on, man, don't do this to me." He tossed their bag aside, then pressed shaking fingers to his brother's neck. He was rewarded with a pulse, erratic but there. Dean's skin was damp with sweat and icy cold to the touch. In all his determination and exertion, Sam had failed to realize how cold it was outside. Without a second thought, he took off his jacket and laid it over Dean. Without the extra layer, Sam found the cold painfully obvious. But Dean needed the warmth more.

Warmth.

Sam looked around, spotted the fireplace on the wall to his right. But after years of disuse, who knew what was living in the chimney? The heck with it. The cabin had a dirt floor. He'd build a fire right in the center of the room. A small fire, just enough to chase away the chill until morning came. Sam pulled off his sweatshirt and made a bundle on the floor. Moving slowly, he slid out from under his brother, and gently lowered Dean's head onto the makeshift pillow. He laid a hand on his brother's forehead. "Hang on, Dean. I'll be right back." As an afterthought, Sam grabbed the bag with their weapons and, just in case, tucked his handgun in the waistband of his jeans. He left the bag within Dean's reach.

Sam paused at the door and turned back, silently cursing himself for dragging Dean on this fool's errand.

Violent shivering rattled the stack of wood in Sam's arms as he made his way back to the cabin and Dean. The woods were only a few yards from the cabin, and he'd been able to gather most of the tinder right at the trees' edge. He didn't want to leave his brother alone too long.

Sam was a few feet from the door when he saw it. Light, seeping out from the cracks in the door and the boarded-up windows. He dropped the armload of timber and bolted for the cabin. "Dean!" he cried as he burst through the door, gun in hand.

Dean jarred awake at the cry, then grimaced and curled in on himself with a groan of pain.

No one else was there, and the light was gone. Sam stuffed the gun back in his waistband and dropped beside the writhing figure on the floor. "Dean, oh, God, I'm sorry. Dean?"

"S'okay." The response came through gritted teeth. "Just gimme…minute."

Always the stoic big brother. Stupid jerk. Sam felt utterly helpless as he watched his brother struggle through the pain. He grasped Dean's upper arm with one hand and used the other to keep the dark head from hitting the floor through the spasms. He held on until, finally, Dean shivered and collapsed back to the floor.

"Okay," Dean croaked, "that hurt."

"Dean, I'm sorry, I saw…I saw a light."

"Again with the lights…" A small smile touched Dean's lips, a macabre sight considering the blood.

"But I saw it," Sam insisted. "In here, with you." His brows drew together in confusion. "You…you didn't see it?"

"Sammy…"

Great. Now Dean thought he was losing it. But he was certain, as certain as when he'd seen them on the horizon. Sam ran a hand through his hair. Now was not the time for debate. "Never mind, just…I'll be right back." Sam stood and went outside to retrieve the firewood he had dropped. As he bent to pick it up, his gaze wandered. Nothing but darkness. Nothing. With a frustrated sigh, he went back inside.

It took some time to get the fire going, but he hadn't had to resort to "rubbing two sticks together" as Dean had so helpfully suggested before tossing over his lighter. At least Dean's sense of humor was still intact. Sam endured several comments about Boy Scouts before he finished, but, truthfully, it was good to hear his brother's voice, weak as it was.

It wasn't until Sam turned a smug smile of triumph on Dean that he saw in the firelight how horribly pale his brother had become. He hadn't looked this bad since…

No. Please, no. Sam couldn't go down that road again.

Dean had fallen silent, half-lidded eyes gazing into the fire. He was sitting against the wall, his arms still wrapped around his middle, shivering. Sam moved beside him, wondering where his brother's thoughts were. "Hey," he said gently, "can you move up a little?"

It was a moment before Dean responded, "What?"

"Come on," Sam urged. "We need to get you warmed up." Very slowly and with great care, Sam helped him move forward, away from the wall. He slipped behind him, then pulled Dean back against his chest, wrapping his arms around him.

"Sam…"

"Just shut up, Dean. Don't give me any of that macho crap, okay?" This was more than something Dean could sleep off, and they both knew it. But saying it out loud would make it real.

Sam felt completely lost, in every sense of the word. Jess was dead, Dad was gone again, and Mom…. A terrible ache settled in his chest, and his breath hitched. He couldn't lose Dean, too.

Sam felt his brother slump against him. "Dean?"

No answer.

"Dean?" Sam said a little more urgently, and was relieved when his brother stirred.

"Hmm?"

Sam swallowed. "Tell me about Mom."

"Mom?" The question had its intended effect. Dean focused, concentrated. "I was only four, I—"

"Anything you remember, Dean. Anything at all."

"I…I remember the day…we brought you home."

Sam felt his throat constrict. That certainly wasn't what he'd expected to hear. "Yeah?" He hoped Dean didn't notice the tremor in his voice.

"Yeah." Sam could hear the smile in Dean's voice at whatever he was seeing. "Me and Dad, we…showed up at the hospital that morning…to pick up you and Mom. Mom was holding you…you were so little…not like now, you freak."

Sam smiled, giving his brother the gentlest of nudges.

Dean breathed a laugh. "I wanted to ride in the wheelchair…with you and Mom, but Dad said I was…too big. He let me…help push."

"Yeah, and you're still always pushing me around," Sam teased.

A laugh, then a gasp. "We got down to the car, and…Dad took you to…get you into your car seat. Mom pulled me up into her lap and…gave me a hug…and said… 'Dean, you're a big brother now…and that's a…a very special thing to be…it's your job to look after Sammy…You think you can do that for me?'…I slid off her lap…and I saluted…just like I'd seen Dad do…and I said… 'Yes, ma'am.' And I climbed in the back." Dean paused, trying to catch his breath. "And that…little brother…was the first time…I watched over you."

Sam could barely see through the haze in his eyes. "And you never stopped doing that, either." He closed his eyes, leaning his head against Dean's, feeling the warm wetness spill over his cheeks, the heat from the fire, and the beating of his brother's heart. A good thing, too, since Dean was so still, so quiet. After another moment to make sure his brother was asleep, Sam gave in to exhaustion and let the darkness claim him, too.

Something startled him awake, and Sam jerked, eliciting a soft groan from Dean. The cabin was still empty, no sign of an intruder, and yet…

Slipping cautiously from behind his brother, Sam remained alert, his eyes darting from darkened corner to darkened corner. There was something…he just couldn't explain it. Gooseflesh raised the hairs on his arms, but it wasn't from the cold. He settled Dean carefully back against the wall, then pulled out his gun.

His fingers curled around the wooden door handle, and Sam took a breath before pulling the door open with one quick yank and raising his weapon.

There was nothing there.

Sam stepped farther out into the darkness, hunter senses tingling with awareness. There was no movement, no sound. Huh. He was sure—

It came from behind him.

Light.

Inside the cabin.

Dean.

Sam bolted back inside, his brother's name a cry on his lips, and skidded to a stop in a cloud of dry dirt from the floor, eyes wide. Instinct brought the weapon to bear, but he knew it would do no good. These were the lights he had seen on the horizon, but that was all they were: lights. Like orbs, only bigger. Well, most of them, anyway. But orbs normally couldn't be seen with the naked eye. So what were these things?

There were seven of them, all round but of varying sizes. And right now, their interest seemed to be in Dean, who remained still, his head bowed forward. The lights changed in intensity when Sam entered, and he had the distinct feeling they were watching him. And that was fine, as long as they stayed away from Dean.

In a placating gesture, Sam raised a hand and bent at the knees to set the useless weapon on the floor. He stood very slowly, keeping his eyes on the orbs. The smallest one zipped over—they moved in the blink of an eye—and hovered just above the gun for a moment. Studying it? Then it darted up to float right in front of Sam's face. He leaned back, squinting at the brightness so close to his eyes. It moved to the side, to the gashes on his face, and before Sam could move out of the way, it made contact.

Sam yelped, jerking back. The tiny charge had been no more than a static shock; he'd heard the crack. But it set off new waves of pain in a wound that had finally numbed. Okay, so they were electrical. That explained the EMF. He wondered if all of them together had been the cause of the drained car and…and if that was the case, the others were way too close to Dean.

Sam began to move, slowly, each step bringing him closer to his brother. He was within a few feet when the largest of the lights blocked his path. On a hunch, he took a step to the left. It moved with him. So these things were aware, but what did they want?

The little one was back, bouncing in the air behind him. Several of the others were lingering over the weapons bag. Maybe they were concerned he was a threat?

"Can you understand me?" he asked. Now he was talking to lights. What would Dean have to say about that? "We're not here to hurt you. We need help. Do you understand?" He kept his voice calm and spoke in soft tones.

Until one of the orbs disappeared into Dean. Dean's back arched off the wall, his eyes wide, his mouth open in a silent cry.

"No!" Sam needed to get to his brother. "Get away from him!" He dodged right and made it one step beyond the largest orb.

There was a bright flash, and then nothing but pain. His entire body went rigid; he couldn't move, couldn't speak. His head felt as though it would explode, the agony worse than that of any vision he'd ever had. Yet through the haze of pain, he could see Dean writhing on the floor. No. Please, no.

And then it was gone.

Sam sank to his knees. It had been in his head, he realized. The little one. And in the wake of the pain there was something else…he just couldn't…the lights were dimming…were they going away?…or maybe he was…no…no, he couldn't leave Dean…Dean…

He felt himself begin to topple, then…nothing.

oooOOOooo

He was cold. Shivering. Dean probably stole all the covers again. Between Dad's snoring and Dean's problem with sharing, sometimes Sam thought he should just sleep in the bathtub. He reached back, groping blindly for a sheet, blanket, bedspread, anything to keep him warm. All he got was—

Dirt?

Sam's eyes shot open, and he found himself staring at a beamed ceiling draped with cobwebs.

What? Where…?

He rolled his head to one side and saw the remnants of a fire, smoldering embers still glowing red in the dim light…light…Lights! Sam's head whipped to the other side in search of his brother. He rolled up on one elbow.

Sam's jacket lay on the floor, but there was no sign of Dean.

Sam was on his feet in an instant, bolting to the cabin door and throwing it open. Sunlight practically blinded him, but he kept going, shading his eyes, scanning the tall grass, the woods. There was a lake behind the cabin. He hadn't seen it in the darkness. It didn't matter. Only one thing did.

"Dean!" Oh, God. Please… "Dean!"

The lights…they'd been after Dean. And now he was gone and Sam hadn't been able to help him. Feeling sick to his stomach, he ran to the edge of the lake, looking out over the still water. "Dean!" he bellowed one more time.

"Sam?!"

Sam wheeled around so fast, he nearly lost his balance. It was his brother's voice, not too far away, sounding urgent and relieved. "Dean? Where are you?" he shouted.

"The woods."

"Hang on, Dean. I'll find you." He broke into a run.

"Just keep talking, Sammy. I'll come to you."

Sam stopped, puzzled. "What?" How could he—? "Wait. Dean? Are you okay?"

There was a crashing of brush, then Dean burst out of the woods. He was running. Running. He skidded to a stop a few feet from Sam, panting, his eyes narrowing.

Sam stared back.

"Dude, your face," they said in unison.

Dean's hand went to his forehead, Sam's to his cheek. It was healed. Completely. But more importantly, so was Dean. There were no claw marks on his forehead, no blood, not even a bruise. He was standing upright, not hunched over like he had been the night before.

"But you were…" Dying was the word that came to mind, but Sam trailed off, deciding not to go there. The overwhelming relief was making him giddy, and he grinned, cocking his head to one side. "Why were you in the woods?"

"I dunno, man." Dean shook his head, looking bewildered. "I just woke up out here. I didn't know where you were."

That Sam understood. He nodded, growing serious once more. "Yeah."

"You okay?"

"Yeah. You?"

"Yeah." Dean sounded surprised, hesitant. For a moment, it looked as though he were taking a mental inventory of everything that should hurt and coming up short. "Yeah," he said with a little more conviction. "Uh…what just happened here?"

A thought occurred to Sam and his eyes widened. By the look on his brother's face, he knew Dean was thinking the same thing. They bolted for the cabin. Sam burst through the door first, expecting to see his own body on the floor.

The cabin was empty.

Dean's hand clapped his shoulder, lingered there a little longer than usual.

Sam laughed, the relief washing away fear and leaving him bone tired. But he felt good. Better than he'd felt in a long time. He combed a hand through his hair and scratched the back of his head. "Okay, you know what—?"

"Sam, if you start talking about lights again…"

But out of the corner of his eye, Sam could see Dean looking, too. He smiled.

Dean nodded toward the field of grass. "Come on. Let's get back to the car." He took a few steps, then waited in the open doorway.

"Let me get the stuff." Sam quickly grabbed their bag, then kicked dirt onto the dying embers of the fire. He was almost in the doorway, Dean a few paces ahead of him, when he saw it. In the farthest corner of the cabin, up near the rafters, was the smallest orb. Sam paused, turned back.

"Sam?" Dean called, concern in his voice.

"Thanks," Sam said softly. The little ball of light glowed brighter, then darted up and disappeared.

"What?" Dean asked when Sam joined him.

"Nothing," he said innocently. Sam took a breath of the fresh air, then grinned. "Race ya," he said, and took off. He could hear the muttered complaints, the threats, then the pounding of feet as his brother tried to catch up to him. Sam laughed again, considering maybe just this once letting Dean…

Nah.

oooOOOooo

Sam hit the print button, then stretched the kinks from his back and neck. Library chairs were not all that comfortable, but at least he'd found them a gig. He'd found something else, too.

His curiosity getting the better of him, Sam had done a little research on the spectral lights and come up with similar instances, the most prominent being the Marfa Lights in Texas. There were many speculations as to what those lights were, but no one seemed to know for sure. In another instance, in Connecticut, similar orbs were rumored to be the spirits of those who had drowned in a nearby lake. Intrigued, Sam researched the history of the area they'd been holed up in—in Missouri, they'd discovered—and found that a family had been wiped out by cholera. Then he'd seen the picture. A very old picture of a prominent east coast man and his family who had decided to give it all up and head west for a new start. Father, mother, and five children. It was the smallest child who drew Sam's attention. She looked to be about nine or ten years old, dressed in her Sunday best, light ringlet curls hanging down from under her bonnet. He was certain he'd seen her face before…somewhere. Ellie. Her name was Ellie. He didn't know how he knew that, but he did. She smiled back at him from the photograph.

"Hey."

Sam started at the too-loud voice that was earning glares from the librarian. He turned to find Dean grinning at him.

"So where're we goin'?"

"Well, I figured since we'd be passing through Texas, I'd check out some local news," Sam told him, grabbing the sheets from the printer. "Found something."

"Texas." Dean sounded pleased. "Well, all right." He headed for the stairs, casting his most charming smile at the scowling librarian.

Sam watched the scowl melt and shook his head. He moved the mouse to close the screen, but Ellie caught his eye once more. Even in death, she and her family were together. There was something to be said about that. Okay, so Dad was missing again, their family was fractured. But he still had Dean.

Thanks to a little ball of light.

Sam clicked print, then closed the window. He picked up the sheet carefully, neatly folded it, and slipped it into his pocket. He hurried after Dean, who was already halfway to the lower level. "Did you remember my soup?"

"Yes, I remembered your soup, college boy."

"Did you—?"

"Yes, I got you a spoon…"

The End