Cast No Shadow (continued)

Disclaimer: See Chapter One

A/N: And now the Dean stuff, as promised. Thanks and thanks and gravy thanks to my awesome betas, Karasu and Deanish, for all their help, and to Serafina for putting up with my on-the-spot Help Meeee pleas. This story wouldn't be here without their expert advice, and that's the truth.

And thanks to you, the readers, for taking the time to read and review or offer feedback on the chapters before this. I hope this chapter satisfies, too. Like a Snickers bar, but with prose instead of nougat. Hee, nougat. I love that word.

Two chapters left in this crazy tale…

Chapter Twelve

{Earlier, just moments after Sam's first "occurrence," when he witnessed Dean accidentally killing a man}

Dean Winchester's death warrant has been signed. In fact, he signed it himself—dotted the 'i' and crossed the 't' in his last name the moment he killed that innocent man. Every stride he takes as he storms away from the road is accompanied by an accusatory chant.

KILLED him KILLED him KILLED him KILLED him

Dean lets it play on, in no mood to argue with the truth. Constant vigilance, huh, he growls to himself, recalling his father's orders from so long ago. You gave in to the dark side, and now look what happened.

The hunger pains stab in again. Dean has never been so hungry in his life—and that is saying something. Nothing satisfies his Need anymore. It's like a switch turned within him after he skipped town: One moment he was fine (well, invisible and alone, but otherwise fine), the next, starving. He tried taking in bits of energy from his surroundings, but it only made the hunger worse. The Need wants everything, everyone. Only Dean's legendary stubbornness stands in its way. It yells at him again, but Dean grunts and keeps moving, gluing the memory of the driver's last breaths front and center in his mind. He had blue eyes, that man. Blue eyes that bulged as Dean fed, stared as the internal lights went out, and fixed on his invisible killer as the body collapsed and expired.

And you didn't even try to heal him, Dean curses himself now. Just took off and ran. Some hero you are.

His inner voice scoffs. Yeah, cos it wasn't like your powers were out of control and there wasn't a damn thing you could do about it. No, that's just nuts. Dean ignores it, of course, even as it keeps talking. Always black and white with you, Deano, even though everything in your life is draped in shades of grey.

So what, I'm supposed to give myself a by because it was an accident?

Wouldn't hurt, the inner voice shrugs. Dean nods, temper rising.

Yeah, all right. So I didn't mean to kill him. Hey, that makes everything better. I'm sure his wife and kids will understand. I'm a good guy, just having an off day! Sorry, folks.

A billboard bends over and breaks as Dean walks past it, literally moved by his raw emotion. You done? the inner voice challenges. Or you want to wreck more of the scenery with your hissy fit?

Shut up and leave me alone.

Why, so you can find some nice, isolated spot to kill yourself? You know Sam would just love that game plan.

Yeah, well, Sam isn't here.

The inner voice chuckles. You sure about that?

Dean doesn't answer, his thoughts already turning back to the car in the ditch. Above the anger and the shame and the hunger, Dean had felt something else—something familiar. Like he was being watched. At the time he chalked it up to his guilt working overtime, but now? The inner voice chuckles again. Dean shakes his head furiously. No. Impossible. Sam's back in that small town. He doesn't know what I did…

Dean's panic quivers up through him. What if it wasn't just a feeling? What if, somehow, his little brother HAD seen it all? Saw me…kill that man. Dean swallows hard, shaken by the possibility. He'll never forgive me for it. Never look at me the same again. Dean pictures the disappointment in Sam's face, the harsh judgment in the normally friendly puppy-dog eyes.

I know it, Sammy, Dean utters in his mind, fully accepting Sam's verdict. I'm a monster. And I'll take care of it. I swear.

You're not a monster, the inner voice grumbles back. You're still Dean Winchester.

Oh yeah? Last time I checked, Dean Winchester didn't go around killing people just by looking at them! Dean glares around in the dark light of pre-dawn, daring his inner voice to disagree. It doesn't. I'm not human anymore, Dean declares, wounded and angry. And I'm hurting people. That makes me something that needs to be hunted down and stopped

His ears perk as he hears the unmistakable whine of an EMF detector. Dammit, Dean, stop tempting Fate... The Need locks onto the new energy at once—two people are closing in on him. Dean looks back the way he came, using his 'night vision' to search through the shadows. No hunters are in view yet, but he sees something else that's bound to get their attention, whoever they are: scorched, lifeless earth. The reeds of switchgrass Dean had passed through as he moved away from the road are bleached white and dead. Deep scratches have been carved into the ground, like chains have been dragged through the soil, straight from the road and up to Dean's feet.

Nice one, Dean—lead them right to you, he scolds himself. Sure enough, two figures soon appear, flashlights bobbing as they jog. Dean takes off before they get any closer. He hears the hunters give chase at once.

I thought you wanted to be hunted down and stopped, the inner voice comments.

They can't stop me, Dean thinks back. I've never hunted something like me before. Don't want to risk killing them while they brainstorm a way to end me. He heads for a grassy hill up ahead. The EMF cries even louder, a siren after the killer on the run.

"It's here, we got it!" one of the pursuers yells. Dean hears the other guy puffing to keep up with the first one.

"Don't…lose it…" he wheezes back.

Amateurs, Dean concludes, slowing down. Real hunters would never give away their positions like that. He stops at the top of the hill and watches two young teenagers run into view. The kid with the EMF comes to a stop about five feet from Dean, holding the device away from him like a crucifix. He stuffs the flashlight under his armpit and giggles as he looks at his readings. His chub of a buddy comes a few seconds later, bending head over knee to catch his breath. He clutches his own flashlight in one hand and two narrow, L-shaped rods in the other. Dean smirks.

Divining rods? You gotta be kidding me.

"Spirit from beyond," the first kid announces in a nasal, pre-pubescent waver. "Reveal yourself to us."

"It's not just gonna show itself, dumbass," Chubby remarks. "We gotta trick it."

Still smirking, Dean folds his arms. This should be good.

The EMF kid shushes the other one and moves around, still holding the EMF out in front of him, his arm so rigid, it's shaking. "We know you're a powerful spirit, Spirit," the teen tries again. "We were camping up at Ghost Lake last night."

"Yeah, props," Chubby beams. "Dead trees and burning snow? Fuckin'-A, man."

You were there? Dean thinks at them, alarmed. Did they see everything or just the result? Have they been following him this entire time? And who else noticed? Police? Real hunters?

His questions drain away as his body locks up: The Need reaches out to the boys and grabs them by their hearts. Just HAD to stop and watch the Idiot Show, didn't you, he yells at himself. The electronic whines from the EMF deepen in Dean's ears, turning to ghastly moans that give voice to the life force he wants so badly. The adrenaline pumping through their systems push their hearts into jungle drumbeats, pounding in time with Dean's and calling to the animal inside him. Don't, he tells himself, fighting his new instincts. You'll kill them, too… He stumbles back, but his Need pulls him forward, overriding Dean's protests with promises of warmth, power, and satisfaction. The EMF explodes with noise as Dean draws near.

"Get the camera, it's RIGHT HERE!" the first kid whispers in excitement. The chubby kid drops the flashlight, pulls the camera out of his pocket, and starts taking pictures of everything around him. Dean TKs the camera away to frighten them off. The teens lock eyes on each other, grin madly, and stay right where they are.

"It tore my camera right from my hand!" Chubby shrieks, staring at his hand like it's a holy relic.

"Excitement orgasm, dude," EMF kid agrees. "Hey spirit, take something else! Here," he holds the EMF detector flat out in front of him. "Knock this away, I dare ya!"

Dean frowns at them both. You're supposed to be scared, not turned on! The teens are dancing with excitement. Dean summons up the TK again and trips them up, making them both flip and land on their backs. The boys shout "AWESOME!" and help each other back up. Dean just looks at them, flabbergasted. He sees them shivering and backs off, only just realizing how close he was to them. Ice starts to crackle into formation around their shoes.

"Cold spot!" Chubby whispers with glee. "Dude, it's right here!"

"Don't…move…" his buddy instructs, grinning ear to ear. "Don't scare it away."

"I'M trying to scare YOU!" Dean shouts at them, making them jump sky high. They're soon grinning again, eagerly looking around for the spirit in their midst. Dean resists the urge to smack sense into both of them and just asks, "The hell is wrong with you?"

"The recorder, get the recorder!" EMF kid squeals. Chubby fumbles with the pocket-sized device as EMF kid looks around for the source of the voice. "We hear you, spirit! What's your name? What do you want?"

"We don't want to hurt you, we swear," Chubby adds.

Dean rolls his eyes. It's too fucking weird being on this side of things… He TKs them back, like he's shoving them. "Move. Go home." He shoves them again when they try to come forward. "Find a nice stack of porn and your dad's whiskey flask, and do as nature intended."

"But spirit, you're way better than porn!" Chubby insists. There's a pause, then a ghostly sigh.

"Dude…SO many layers of wrong in that sentence." Dean TKs them a third time, as hard as he can without making them fall, but the teens just won't get the hint. He considers trying to reappear for a moment, but decides against it. That'll probably make them both tentpole, knowing my luck. He sticks with the shoving. "LEAVE! Am-scray! Fuck off before—"

A gunshot interrupts him, its unexpected, noisy announcement startling Dean and both teens. Chubby retrieves his flashlight from where he dropped it and shines it on a female state trooper. She steps forward, bringing the gun raised straight up in the air back to her side as she walks forward into their light. She shines her own flashlight back in his face. "Evenin'," she says, moving the light to EMF kid. "Or mornin', depending on how you look at it." An even smile appears underneath her wide-brimmed hat, and Ellen Harvelle looks over the two teens, entirely unimpressed.

I suck at the incognito, Dean decides, frustrated by the crappy returns on his good intentions. He looks past Ellen, fully expecting Bobby or even Sam to be the next to appear.

"You boys feel like paying attention to me now?" Ellen asks. The teens look at each other, clearly confused, and she looks between them. "You didn't answer the first two times I called, so I used my megaphone." She tucks the gun into the back of her waistband. "Mind telling me what you're up to?"

"Ma'am…" The EMF kid blushes as the device goes nuts again. He looks to his friend for help, gets none, and tries to speak again. "This is…I mean, we're just…we didn't—"

"Don't know, don't care," Ellen declares. She takes the EMF away and gives it a look—an uninterested glance to the teens, but a readings' check to Dean's trained eye. She pockets the device and frowns at the teens. "This is private land. You're lucky I found you first—the owner's batshit crazy. What say you leave before he wakes up, hmm?" The teens hesitate, hearing the EMF going crazy from inside its pocket prison, and the trooper points back toward the road. "You're not gone in five seconds exactly, I'm calling your folks." The boys still don't move. "GET!" she yells in their faces. The boys start to turn—just as the ground starts to shake.

"Oh God, get out of here," Dean pleads, his voice sweeping through them in its own rumble. Ellen's face fills with recognition…then apprehension. The air grows very cold, and about ten feet in front of them, a sort of human-shaped cloud begins to form. Vibrant white light appears around it in outline, lighting up the hillside. The teens run past Ellen, EMF kid swiping his device from the trooper's pocket in the process.

"Find the camera!" he yells at Chubby, who's already looking around for it. Ellen grabs them both by their jacket collars and hauls them back.

"Playtime's over, kids," she mutters, keeping her eyes on the form as she turns the boys away. Chubby shirks out of her grasp and lunges for his just-spotted camera.

"What, are you deaf AND stupid?" Dean shouts, stopping Chubby dead in his tracks. "I said LEAVE! Before I…ungh! Before…"

The spirit's voice is stifled by a cry of pain. The teens look at each other, finally worried. "Spirit?" EMF kid asks. "You all right?"

The ground shakes again. All around them, there's a crash of noise as hundreds of birds take flight as one, fleeing the scene, while hooves and paws and claws race away down the other side of the hill. Ellen grabs both boys by the arms and pulls. "Let's go. NOW."

"But the spirit—!"

"We're in danger, now MOVE!"

EMF kid digs his feet into the ground and points. "Look…"

Dean has faded into barely seeable view, the outline of white light now illuminating the pain on his face. His glowing green eyes look past the thunderstruck teens and right at Ellen, trapped. Ellen shakes her head once in disbelief, eyes sparkling with tears. Dean starts to say something, but his body flickers, and he buckles over. The ground trembles as he falls to his knees. Ellen rushes for him and Dean waves his arm.

"NO!" The gesture sends Ellen and both teens flying backward. Unhurt and unfazed, Ellen gets back up at once and sees Dean looking at her, wide-eyed and sorry. Then his eyes shut and he's shaking again. The ground shakes with him, dead grass vibrating all around them, trees in the woods rocking back and forth. Ellen and the teens hold their arms out to keep from falling over.

"Get them out of here," Dean bellows at Ellen. "Can't stop it…too strong this time…!"

But the Need won't let them leave; Dean feels it taking hold of them, telling them to stay right where they are. It orders Dean to take them. No. You can't. I WON'T. He gets up to move away, but his body is so heavy with power that it's like trying to walk through drying cement. Dean grunts and keeps going anyway, one step, then the other. A happiness overtakes him, like he's being cheered on. He ignores it, certain it's another trick courtesy of his Need. Then a voice appears in his mind—Sam's voice, calm and sure.

Keep going. You can do this.

Dean takes pause and looks around, his whole body saying "what the hell?" for his voice, which has momentarily forgotten how to work. Dean? Sam says again, wherever he is. Did…can you hear me?

All at once, the Need presses forward, turning Dean back around to face the next victims. He tries to fight it, form flickering as he pits his own energy and will against the force inside him, but the Need tugs at its puppet's strings, pushing Dean when he tries to stop, pulling him when he won't move fast enough. Their life force is so strong—right there, right within his reach.

Dammit, Dean, don't do this! he begs of himself. The ground freezes and cracks underneath him as Dean fights back. Three heartbeats synch up with his own and Dean tastes their energy…and their fear. He licks his lips and hates himself for it.

They're not food, they're people.

The Need opens the floodgates. Dean dams it up again and fights back, shaking even harder.

People, not food! PEOPLE!

Dean flushes with warmth as the energy trickles through breaks in the dam. It gathers in his belly. Feels so good.

Don't do this you can't you'll hate yourself you're a failure you have to fight I can't fight it's too much I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm SORRY

More holes poke open. Pleasure overcomes pain. Dean gives in and lets the wave of power rush over him—

"DON'T!"

The energy stops at the word. Dean opens his eyes and sees Sam standing next to him, looking scared. The Need cowers behind Dean as his brother stares at him. Dean wishes he had a place to hide as well.

"Sammy?" Dean's voice comes out as a sigh on arctic-cold wind; he's too weak and too freaked to do any better.

Sam's form flickers like a spirit, and the fear on his face is soon replaced with reason. Dean feels trickles of emotions that are not his own: fright, worry, love. Dean won't believe it, bracing for the Something Awful he's sure is coming instead. Sam stares at him until Dean is sure he's peering right into his brain.

"Don't," Sam says again, looking Dean in the eye as he says it. Then he flickers out of sight. Everything falls quiet and still. Dean stares at the area where Sam had just been. The power inside Dean grows restless as his thoughts and emotions churn.

Couldn't have been him, he determines right away. Right? It was just a hallucination from the life force acid trip. Had to be. Dean frowns when his own words don't convince him.

"Dean…"

Dean whips around and sees Ellen on her knees, next to the two teens. She's checking their pulses. Dean's sensors go out to gauge their life force, but he reels them back in right away. Haven't you caused enough damage? he thinks at himself. He watches Ellen's face for the truth, and is relieved when she nods and takes her hands away.

"They're alive. Sleeping, in fact." She stands up and looks around, and Dean notes the patches of blood on either side of her jeans. He sees the source at once: the once grassy hill is now a frozen wasteland, each blade of grass transformed into a sharp blade of ice. Dean looks at the teens but sees no marks on them. "I tried pulling them down, and they fell on me instead," Ellen explains, giving them both a look. "Idiots. If they would've just left when I told them to…"

"Take them and get out of here." Dean's barely-there body is flickering again, but he glares his order all the same. Ellen shakes her head and smiles at him.

"I'm not going anywhere, honey," she tells him, eyes sparkling once more as she looks him up and down. "Dean, you are a sight for these tired, bloodshot eyes. You have no idea how good it is to see you." She gestures to his ghostly form. "Even if there isn't much to see. Bobby brought me up to speed on your condition last night while we were chasin' your taillights across the state."

"You were following us?"

"Sam." Ellen looks at Dean sadly. "We were following Sam. Wanted to be there for him when…" She stops, looks away, and lets it drop. Dean nods, understanding and grateful. Ellen takes a deep breath and speaks again as she sighs it out. "So seeing you here, Dean, knowing Sam got you out of the deal somehow…it's Christmas, what can I say." She starts to walk forward, and Dean puts his hand up, glowing green eyes locking onto her surprised browns.

"Don't come any closer," he tells her. "Please. I'm barely holding it together over here. Don't want…" He cuts himself off and pleads with his eyes. Ellen nods and remains where she is. She gets out her phone instead. The phone immediately flings itself from her grasp and lands at her feet. Ellen glares at Dean, but Dean's face is hard.

"You can't let anyone know where I am."

"I've gotta tell them I found you, Dean. Bobby's worried sick. Sam, too, I'm sure of it."

"No. You can't tell anyone anything, hear me? It's too dangerous. You saw what just happened."

"Yeah, I did. And God knows who else saw it." She stands her ground as Dean's eyes narrow. "The police scanners are flooded with reports about strange phenomena in the area. Dead trees, weird lights, isolated cold spots…heard all about it in my truck." She glances at the slumbering teens. "How the Junior Ghostbusters managed to find you before anyone else is beyond me. I would've stopped to check it out even if I hadn't seen the big scrapes in the roadway leading off into the country. You left quite a trail." She turns a little to take in the surroundings. "Your latest handiwork is going to catch more than a few casual glances, too."

"Fuckwad," Dean grunts. Ellen flashes him a look. "ME, not you." He paces back and forth, eyes glowing brighter the more worked up he gets. "Can't do anything right anymore. Leave Sam so he won't get hurt, and he gets hurt trying to keep me from leaving. Stay out of sight so no one can see me, and hey, I draw a damn dotted line so anyone and their cousin can find me. Wonderful." He catches Ellen moving closer and he glares at her. "Dammit, Ellen, don't. The last thing I need right now is to kill someone I know."

"So don't kill me," she says.

Dean stifles a laugh and looks down. "Just like that, huh."

"Yeah, just like that." Ellen folds her arms and looks him over again. "That's how it works, kid—either you kill something or you don't."

"It's not nearly that simple anymore."

"Since when?"

"Since I killed an innocent man." Ellen looks surprised, and Dean gives her a cruel smile. "Just like that." Dean moves into another pace, watching Ellen to make sure she doesn't approach. She keeps her eyes on him but remains where she is.

"What happened?"

Dean doesn't look at her as he responds, "I turned into a monster."

"Funny. You don't look like one." Dean gives her a 'very funny' look for that. Ellen's face becomes stern. "Dean, you're gonna have to give me a little more than your usual low opinion of yourself. I can't help you if I don't understand what's going on."

Dean laughs and looks at her, glowing-green eyes narrowing again. "You think you can help me?"

"Doesn't matter what I think. I can't leave you, Dean. I won't." She hears Dean grumble under his breath, and she puts her hands on her hips. "You bitch and moan all you want, darlin', won't make any difference. Tell me what's going on. What was all that—the light, the rumbling?"

"That was me, keeping you from being the blue plate special." He suffers a look of pity from Ellen, and he glares at her. "Don't feel sorry for me. You're still on the menu. I'm just trying to convince myself I'm not hungry."

"So you got a hankering for human flesh now?" Ellen asks, sounding matter-of-fact instead of disturbed. Dean shakes his head.

"Life force—it's what's for dinner. Yours," Dean looks to the area around them, "everyone's, everywhere. Before I could just take some electricity for a fix, but now it's different. Nothing satisfies it anymore." Dean shuts his eyes and ducks his head down, unable to look Ellen in the face as he admits this. "I can taste the life of every person in a 30 mile radius," he says softly. "I'm so…cold. I can't feel a thing, not my body, not even my own heartbeat. But theirs…" He gives pause as he thinks about it. "They're so warm. So ALIVE. Do you know how easy it would me to just let go and take it all in? They'd die in their sleep. Never know what hit 'em. And I'd feel better for a while—till the next craving comes, and I need to find more. But even just a few seconds of relief… the temptation… Christ, you have no idea." He opens his eyes again and looks plainly into hers. "Still think I'm not a monster?"

"I know you aren't," Ellen replies. "You're fighting the monster inside you."

"Yeah, and losing. Just look at that driver up the road. One moment of weakness, Ellen, ONE. That's all it took. This thing inside of me reached in and took everything from that man. EVERYthing. Every last drop of life force he had." Dean shakes his head at himself, the self-hatred painted on his face. "And it only made me want more." His body flickers again, and he puts his hand over his belly. "Please, just leave," he begs. "I have to stop this on my own, before I hurt anyone else."

"Uh-huh. And while you're busy trying to protect us weaklings, you'll be out there alone and suffering. That makes everything right in the world, now don't it?" Dean gives her a dirty look, and again, Ellen replies with one of her own. "Cut the martyr crap, Dean."

"Only if you cut the Tough Love bullshit."

Ellen rolls her eyes. "I'm here and I'm helping and that's it. Don't like it, hey, I don't care." She stares at Dean until he backs down, still holding his stomach and looking miserable. Ellen sighs. "I know you, Dean. You're a good man. Damn good hunter. None of what you're going through is your fault."

"Quit making excuses for me," he snaps. "Just because you know me doesn't make what I've done, what I've… become… any more right."

"So don't let it own you! Control it! I'm sure you can if you just try hard enough."

"You know, Sam said the same thing," Dean remembers, looking very bitter. "Right before I nearly killed him." Ellen looks shocked. Dean nods at it. "And that was just the first time. Last night it happened again—he got me out of my deal, and I repaid him by almost ending him instead."

"But you DIDN'T, that's what matters—"

"You really believe that?" Dean challenges. "Think about it, Ellen. If you were hunting something that could steal life force and stop people's hearts, it wouldn't matter if it ganked someone or not. The threat would still be there. THAT is what matters." Ellen doesn't deny it, and Dean nods at his winning point. "There's no going back from what I did. I have to stop it."

"Fine, so what's your plan?" He just looks at her, saying it all with his dead-eyed stare. She shakes her head slow. "Dean…killing yourself is not the answer." Dean stands stoic and keeps looking at her. "You couldn't do that to Sam. It's not in you."

Dean holds his arms out to either side. "What's IN me is the problem! And the sooner you realize that, the safer you'll be." He gestures to the sleeping teens. "Now take them and go."

Ellen glares after Dean as he turns away. "Don't you fucking tune me out, Dean Winchester—I'm yelling at you, and you're going to…listen." Dean turns back and sees Ellen putting a hand to her head. She scowls when she sees Dean looking at her. "It's nothing…just…" She winces and wobbles on her feet.

"Ellen?"

She shakes her head and hands out and regains her alertness. "Just tired," she mutters. "Long night, lot of driving." Her gaze finds its way back to Dean's concerned face, and her features sharpen. "And don't you change the subject on account of my little headache. You don't just tell a person you want to die and then walk away."

"I don't WANT to die," Dean fumes, "but if I stick around, people are gonna get hurt. If I don't die, THEY will! I have no choice."

"Like hell you don't! Dammit, Dean, for once in your miserable life, will you PLEASE think about yourself?" Ellen's voice cuts through the darkness and right through Dean. The two stare at each other, Dean resolute, Ellen tough. She lowers her voice as she begins again.

"One night when you were a kid, you visited my home in Nebraska. Probably don't remember it—you were pretty young, maybe 7 at most, and it was very late…" She marks the curiosity in Dean's face and keeps going. "But your dad was hurt. He was so weak…don't know how he managed to drive at all. I had to practically carry him into the house. We asked him what was wrong, and you told us, Dean—said he'd found a witch and she hexed him. Bill went out to finish off the witch, and I stayed behind to take care of John." She smiles a little as she thinks back on it. "Turns out I didn't have to do a thing. Not with you there."

Dean looks puzzled, and Ellen's smile broadens. "You did everything, Dean. Stuffed pillows under his head, covered him with blankets, helped him get his shoes and jacket off, wiped the blood off his face—even brought him a beer. And Sam was bombarding you with questions the whole time… God, I can still hear that little, scared voice. 'What's happening, Dean, what's wrong with Dad, where are we?' You answered every question with patience…confidence. You told him they'd be fine, that you were taking care of them."

Her smile falters, and she looks away. "It was the saddest thing to see. This sweet little boy, knowing what was out there in the dark, but taking care of his family instead of letting them take care of him." Her eyes darken as she looks upon him again. "You were scared, I could tell, but you never let it out. Stayed by John's side all night, shivering. I gave you an old sweatshirt, and you put it over your sleeping brother instead." She smirks. "No comfort for Dean, not then, not now."

"Why are you telling me this?" Dean asks softly.

Ellen pauses for a moment to put her hand to her head again before she answers. "Because I still see that sweet little boy in front of me right now. He may be all grown up on the outside, but inside, he feels just as scared and taken for granted as ever." The glows go out of Dean's eyes, and he looks away to the woods. "You know, John did the best he could with you boys—I know that, probably better than anyone. But somewhere between the shooting lessons and the basic training, he forgot to teach you the important things, like love, comfort…belonging. Had you so…obsessed with taking care of him and your brother that you grew up thinking that only they mattered."

She regards him with sympathy. "And what about you, Dean? Did he ever mention the fact that you matter too? That they cared about you just as much as you cared about them?" He doesn't answer. She gives a single, knowing nod. Then her head lolls and drops, and she staggers back.

"That's not just road daze, Ellen—talk to me." Dean watches her as she tires to shake it off, only to wince in pain and clutch her ears.

"Hurts…dizzy…son of a…" Ellen's eyes go blank and the color drains from her face. Dean lets the Need out to check on her life force and discovers that it's already out there, sipping away. There are straws in both of the teens as well.

"It's me…" He looks at Ellen, petrified. "I'm still feeding. I don't even feel it anymore, it just happens…!"

Ellen's dazed gaze falls into his eyes and clarifies. "Fight it," is all she says. Then her body tips forward. Dean spirits to her side and tries to grab her, but his she falls through him and lands on the icy spikes. Blood seeps from her chest and thighs onto the frost-covered ground.

"Ellen?! Shit…" He reaches inside himself for energy to heal her, but the Need locks onto her life force instead. Dean starts shaking at once. "NO, dammit, we have to heal her, not kill her!" The ground starts to quake as Dean fights the urges. A crack forms underneath the ice, pulling Ellen's body further into the spikes. Again, Dean reaches for her, but the Need reaches as well, and Dean has to pull back and put his willpower toward fighting himself instead of saving his friend.

"Stop it," says a male voice. Dean looks around for Sam again, but sees no one. "Stop it, Dean," he says again. "The more you fight it, the more you'll want her life force."

A spirit appears: Tall but built, shoulder-length dark-blond hair and matching goatee, dirty jeans, work boots, and an olive hunting vest over an old white tee. "Reach into the ground and tap into the earth's energy," he instructs Dean. "It'll satisfy the craving."

The ground quakes harder as Dean struggles to get the Need out of Ellen's heart. "You can do this," the spirit encourages. "Come on, you deflected it the other day, when it went after Sam. Take charge and keep it off Ellen now."

Dean looks up at him. "How do you—?" He buckles as he's hit with pain, the Need torturing him to give in and take Ellen's life. Every part of her his linked by one of the Need's tethers, quivering with the urge to pull. "NO," he growls at himself. "Not Ellen…not…anyone…" Dean struggles to cut his links, but they just quiver more, sending pleasure through him. He gives a cry and shuts himself off again, and more pain flows through him.

"Don't try to lift them all at once—just focus on one. The rest will follow."

Dean nods and concentrates on the tether attached to Ellen's little toe. He pictures it piercing her skin, and he puts one hand out like he's working to untangle the little hook. Let go, he orders it. The string quivers—pleasure and pain—but does not let go. Go on…why settle for a snack when there's a buffet right below you? The tether releases and hooks into the ground. Sure enough, as soon as the vast energy at the planet's core becomes known, every other tether releases and shoots into the ground. The rumbling stops as the Need finally backs off and releases Dean. He falls onto his back, shaking, as his body works to equalize itself with the incoming energy. The spirit steps up and smiles down at him.

"Not bad, Dean. We'll make a ghost out of you yet."

Dean frowns and squints at him. "Tommy Shaw?" he asks. The man smirks and shakes his head.

"Not quite. He's still alive and rockin' the 'Renegade.'" He offers his hand to help Dean up, but Dean just looks at it, not sure what good it will do. The spirit grabs his hand, spiritual energy connecting them as flesh, and Dean gets pulled to his feet. Dean looks him over again, still not sure what to think.

"How did you know how to help me?"

"When you've been a ghost as long as I have, you learn a few tricks."

Dean nods, though he's still not entirely convinced. "So what, you're my Obi Wan now? Here to teach me to use the Force?"

The spirit laughs. "I can give you some pointers, but you're on your own for the rest. You're not really a spirit, after all. And besides," he looks over to Ellen, "I'm here for her, not you." He glances back. "No offense."

Dean shrugs, and the spirit flickers past him and goes to Ellen. "Is she going to be all right?" Dean asks, afraid to check on her with his life force sensors now that he just got them off of her.

"Wounds aren't too deep—she'll be fine." He bends down on one knee, looks her over, and tsks the sight. "She'll be pissed when she wakes up, though. This was her favorite jacket. Now it's got holes and blood all over it." Bending over, he gently lifts Ellen up into his arms. "Don't worry, sugar pie, I've got ya," he coos. Dean moves out of the way so the man can walk past, staring at him all the while—though not because he's concerned about him dropping Ellen.

How the hell do you do that? Dean marvels, watching the spirit carry Ellen like he's really there and solid—a trick Dean has yet to master.

"Let's go, Dean," the man calls, headed toward the woods. "Gotta get her warmed up before hypothermia sets in."

"What about Dumb and Dumber over there?"

"They'll be fine—wake up any minute and go home."

Dean looks over at the boys and sees them stirring. Then he hears the spirit give a sharp whistle, like he's calling to a dog. "Move your ass, kid."

Dean glowers but follows. The ice cracks and breaks as he moves; Dean looks behind him and sees the tether trail following him, gouging scraggly lines into the tundra. The spirit yells at him not to worry about it, but Dean can't help but worry. Is that always going to happen now? What if I sit in the Impala—will I tear right through her? He shudders at the very thought.

He catches up to the spirit just as they reach a small campfire in a clearing. Dean looks closer and finds that the fire is burning without any wood—the flames are gathered a few inches above the bare ground. "Spectral fire," the spirit explains. "Another cool trick." He lays Ellen down next to it and brushes the hair away from her face, smiling fondly.

"You're Bill Harvelle, aren't you," Dean says. The spirit grins and nods, though he keeps his eyes on Ellen.

"I was."

"He's one of the spirits that alerted me to your plight," says a new voice—female. Dean turns as another spirit flickers into view behind the fire. "Hello, Dean." Aree smiles at him in that same nice but know-it-all way of hers that got right under Dean's skin when she was still alive. Now she's dead and he's immaterial—yet his not-there skin prickles all the same.

"So now I see dead people," Dean says, eyeing both spirits.

"At least you're acknowledging me this time," Aree replies. "Not like yesterday, when you drove by without so much as a wave." She glides past Dean and sits down next to Ellen.

Dean gives a wan smile. "I didn't know if you were real," he admits, thinking back to the drive to the lake, when he thought he spotted her on the roadside. Aree doesn't respond—her attention is on Ellen now. Aree puts her hand over Ellen's forehead, and a pale blue light glows between her fingers. Bill watches her but says nothing, so Dean follows suit. The Need scans them out of curiosity but finds no life force. Both beings are instead pulsating with strong spiritual energy.

"Stopped the bleeding," Aree announces a minute later, opening her eyes to the fire. Dean looks over Ellen and confirms it: the cuts have already started to heel. He peers up at Aree as she says, "Now she just needs rest."

"Thank you, Aree," Bill says.

"Yeah," Dean mutters, pissed at himself, "and no thanks to me." He gets up and turns to leave.

"Running away again?" Aree calls from behind him. He looks back over his see-through shoulder, irate, and Bill speaks up.

"Since when does Dean Winchester run from a fight?" Dean's glare switches to Bill, but Bill just crosses his arms and looks back, unruffled. "I've watched you for a long time, kid. You don't back down and you never give up. Not until today, anyway."

"Yeah, well, things are a little different this time around, don't you think?" Dean grunts.

"Why?" Aree asks. "Because you're dangerous? Because people might get hurt if you stick around? No. You're running," she tilts her head, "because you're afraid someone will find a way to save you."

"And if we care enough to save you, it means you're worth something," Bill continues. "And you're not worth anything—'least, that's what you've grown up believing, even if it ain't true."

"You're running from the truth."

"From your past, from your feelings…"

"From yourself," Aree sums up.

Dean gives them a bitter smile. "And everyone's an armchair shrink."

"You can fight this," Bill tells him. "You ARE fighting it—you just need to learn control. We can teach you—"

"I don't have time for Casper lessons!" Dean snaps. "This is life or death here! If I don't stop myself, someone else will die. That's why I have to find someplace nice and quiet and pull a Ghandi. If I don't eat, no one else gets hurt. Done and done." He turns away again. Aree's voice calls out from behind:

"The power inside of you won't let you starve. The hunger will wear your body and mind down, freeing the power to reach out whenever it wants and take as many lives as it desires."

"Then I'll find some other way."

"And while you're soaking in denial, Sam will die."

That gets Dean's attention. He spins around and looks at her, just as furious as he is afraid of what she'll say. "The spell he worked to save you last night was a powerful one," Aree informs him. "You're connected now—spirit to spirit."

Both of Dean's eyebrows go up at this, and he looks at Bill with hope that he'll call bullshit on everything Aree's just said. But Bill keeps quiet, nodding to Aree to go on. "I know you've seen him," Aree says, looking past Dean's doubt. "Felt his presence. Heard his thoughts. It's because your energy is feeding his psychic abilities, and you're both sharing the results through your connection. Unfortunately," she folds her arms, "that's not all your sharing. He can also feel your emotions, your fears…" She looks into his face. "Your pain."

Dean jolts like he's just been punched in the gut. "I'm…hurting him?" he whispers, scared to the core.

"Indirectly, yes. The weaker you get, the weaker he gets. Everything you feel, he'll feel, too."

Dean shuts his eyes and looks in on the Need. Though all the tethers remain in the ground, he knows it's only a matter of time before his next attack. And with him attached to me and his life force right there for the taking… Dean's eyes flash open again and he walks back up to Aree.

"You have to stop it," Dean tells her. "Disconnect us."

"I can't, Dean. It doesn't work that way."

"Then how DOES it work?" His frantic eyes go to each of the spirits in turn, demanding answers they can't give. "There has to be a way to stop it," Dean says, desperation in his voice. "I'm supposed to protect my brother, not hurt him!"

"Like I said, it's a powerful spell," Aree replies, looking genuinely sorry. "Even death can't break it. If you die, you'll take Sam with you."

Dean drops his head and takes in a shaky breath, thinking it all over. The I'm Being Watched feeling, the hallucination on the hillside…it was all real. He did see what I did, he thinks with shame. Now he's suffering with me. Dammit, Sammy, WHY did you have to try and fix me?

"I hate to say it, Dean, but there's more." Aree waits until his eyes lift back up, though his head remains tipped down, as if it's grown too heavy to move. "News of the trick Sam pulled to keep you out of hell has spread. It's not just the crossroads demon that's upset with him now. Her boss, his boss, all their combined minions…they want his head on a platter." Dean gives a small nod of acknowledgement and looks away again. "And the reapers aren't too happy, either. They made you into a weapon. You're supposed to be down in hell, sucking demonic energy left and right. Instead you're topside and killing humans, throwing off the Balance as you go. If you can't find a way to stop it, they will."

Dean takes this all in and sinks, his shoulders heavier than ever by the new weight he's forced to carry. "So there's no hope, is what you're saying," Dean utters. "If the demons collect on my one-way ticket to hell, Sam comes along for the ride. If the reapers take me, Sam dies, too. And that's only if I don't kill him myself, first. LOVE those odds."

"There's always hope," Bill tells him. "If you learn to control what you can do, you can fight back—save Sam, save everyone."

"But what if…" Dean trails off as the Need feels something odd. Dean looks to his right and stares at the dark spaces between the trees.

"What is it?" asks Bill. Dean motions for him to be quiet. The Need picks up on it again: a new power source, one unlike anything Dean has encountered before. It's not life force or spiritual energy or even the dark, demonic stuff. It's cold…gloomy. Sinister. A black hole instead of a star, sucking energy instead of providing it.

"Something's coming." Dean points to Aree to stay with Ellen, then waves for Bill to follow. As they move to the side of the small clearing, garbled whispers protrude through the branches and bushes, scraping through Dean's ears.

Find him close by find him

They appear in flickers: thin, humanoid creatures, darker than night; even in Dean's 'night vision', they remain black. They stare with buggy, red eyes as they emerge from the woods in limping strides. Others appear behind Aree and Ellen, and still others walk up the path that led them to the clearing. "What are they?" Dean asks Bill.

"What are what, Dean?"

"What are…?" Dean gives Bill a look, then points to the creatures. "THEM! The gimpy, anorexic, daeva wannabes!"

"Shadow people," they hear Aree gasp. Dean turns to run back, but Bill puts his hand on Dean's shoulder, and they reappear right in front of the fire. Dean wobbles for a moment as he comes to grips with the sudden shift in scenery, then whirls on Bill.

"Warn a guy before you teleport!" Dean yells, freaked and showing it. Bill starts to roll his eyes, when Dean grabs his attention back. "Wait…can I teleport, too?" Bill nods, and a big, dorky grin opens up on Dean's face. "Nice!" Bill smirks, and Dean turns his grin to Aree. She is staring past him, and even for a ghost, her face is pale. Dean and Bill both clear their throats and adjust their weight. "So, shadow people," Dean says in a deep, getting-back-to-business voice. "What are they besides ugly?"

"Balance keepers, like reapers, but they deal with what comes after death, not the transition. Bigger picture matters."

"What, like life after the afterlife?"

Aree nods, solemn and still staring at the distance. "When the reapers can't interfere, the shadow people come instead—they have no problem killing anyone or anything they consider a threat to the Balance." She takes in a sharp breath of air as she seems to discover something, and her dark eyes focus on Dean's face. "It's just as Nokomis feared…" She shakes her head, sorry, scared, and breathes, "Dean—they are not here for you."

Dean's eyes glow green as he looks back upon the encroaching creatures. They move in droves, dancing between the ground and the trees. Their whispers cut through his ears as blades.

Found you, Sam Winchester.

The spectral fire lights up the horror that crosses Dean's face. "Sammy…"

We know what you did. You must die to make things right.

Dean's vision clouds as smoke hazes over his eyes and stings; he waves his hands to clear it, to no avail. The woods become watery, blurring into long walls of brown and green. The forest floor smoothes into speckled carpeting. Sam's hands come up and rub Dean's eyes as the smoke fills both their lungs.

No… Sam says in Dean's mind. Get out of my head. You can't—

We can. We are. Sam coughs again, and Dean feels his chest burning. The whispers keep spreading, more and more voices giving strength to their words. Everywhere now. No stopping this. You are ours.

A bright light shines from up ahead. The whispers turn to shrieks. Sam pushes with his mind, hard as he's able, and Dean is shoved back. The smoke vanishes as the clearing reappears, tilt-a-whirling around Dean as he fights to regain his bearings. "Sam…" He feels Bill grab his shoulder and steady him. "They're after Sam," Dean tells him, pushing away to look at him directly. "Show me how to teleport. We have to go. NOW."

"If they've decided that Sam has endangered the Balance, they won't rest until he's dead," Aree warns.

Dean's eyes flare a brighter green. "How do I stop them?"

"You don't."

"Everything can be stopped, Aree!"

"She means that you can't be the one to stop 'em, Dean." Dean's angry glows fall on Bill, but Bill stands his ground. "Just a couple-a minutes ago, you were ready to kill yourself cos you were so afraid of what you would do to anyone that got too close. If you go barging back to Sam now, what do you think'll happen?"

"It's better than standing out here and being talked to death!" Dean shouts back, the ground rumbling again with his temper.

"You'll hurt him," Bill shouts back over the din. "Hurt him trying to help him. That force inside you will reach out and kill him before any shadow gets close. And then where will you be?"

Dean's eyes shut and he bellows "DAMMIT!" at the area. His voice blasts through the closest trees, sending them crashing down on top of each other. Dean doesn't even acknowledge it, just looks back at Bill, frustration in his eyes as the glows go back out. "I can't just…" He paces, shaking his head like a bull about to charge. "I have to help him. I HAVE to."

"You can help Sam once you learn control," Aree says carefully.

"He'll be dead by then! No…I have to do something, and if I can't go…" Dean looks back to Aree and walks up to her. "Teach me."

"I'm sorry?"

"Teach me how to use this connection! Sam's been appearing to me—how do I talk to him?" Dean glares at Aree when she stumbles over a reply. "You said you could teach me how to use my powers!" he bellows. "So teach me!" His eyes glow again and he rips energy from the ground without even thinking about it. All Dean can focus on is Sam—Sam in trouble, Dean not there to stop it. "I need to talk to my brother, NOW," he tells Aree, Bill, Fate, Reality—everything. "I have to warn him about the shadow people!"

Aree's face disappears, replaced by some sort of medical room. There are lights shining at him from everywhere. Dean brings an arm up to cover his eyes, only to feel a familiar presence in his head and his heart. It's Sam—Dean knows it as surely as he knows his own name. He tries to speak, but no words come out, so he reaches out with his mind instead.

Sammy? Can you hear me?

There's a pause, then a voice comes back inside Dean's head. Dean?

Dean smiles in relief, and he feels Sam smile as well. Then Sam asks, How are we doing this?

Don't know, don't care, Dean answers quickly, just listen. You have to get out of there. Shadow people—

I know, Sam replies. They're already here. Demons too.

Well aren't you Mr. Popular, Dean remarks. I'm guessing the demons didn't just drop by to say howdy?

No—to play bodyguard. They protected me from the shadow people. Dean's surprise radiates through both men, and Sam adds, 'Course, that was only so they could try and kill me instead.

Yeah, lucky you. Dean looks around the room, making out more details as his eyes adjust to the light. Where are they now?

Dunno. It's like they had one little fight and took off. Must've been entry-level minions.

Or they were told to find you and report back to base. Dean's using Sam's eyes to find the exits now. Double door, no windows, no vents. Doors it is. Have to get you out of there before the Hatfields or McCoys make their next move.

Wait…what did you say?

Dean doesn't answer—he's just realized that his view of the room is far too low. He angles Sam's head down to take a look and sees something that shouldn't be there. Are you…in a wheelchair? he asks Sam, even as he confirms it with his own eyes.

Yeah, but it's nothing, Sam answers, trying to sound tough—at least, that's how Dean hears it.

Like hell it's nothing! Dean shouts back, furious that Sam is so hurt and he wasn't there to stop it. What's wrong?! Can you walk? Fuck that—can you RUN? You have to run—

Then the view darkens. Dean feels Sam's presence growing weak. Sam? Talk to me, what's happening? Sam only cries out in pain. All at once, Dean is pulled into it—intense pressure on either side of his head, sledgehammers pounding away. The view 'outside' goes crooked as Sam tilts over the side of his chair, riddled with dizziness and breathing hard. Dark red spatters on square white tile as blood drips onto the floor from Sam's nose and ears.

They were right, Dean thinks to himself, scared and full of guilt. I AM hurting him. He starts to back away. I'm sorry, he whimpers through their minds, feeling the pain in Sam's head getting worse. I'm going. I never should have tried this. He feels Sam reach out for him, asking him to stay, and the sledgehammers become wrecking balls for his trouble. Dean pushes off his brother's slight hold and keeps backing away.

All at once, the lights go out all around them. The sound of crackling ice hits their ears, and Dean feels Sam's skin prickle with goosebumps as the air grows cold.

Am I doing that? Dean half-jokes, half-fears. Sam doesn't show that he heard him. Whispers answer him instead.

He is here

They look up and see two red, bugged-out eyes looking down from the ceiling. Another pair blinks into view next to it, then another. Soon they're everywhere.

He is here he is here he is here he is here

The shadows drop on top of Sam, wrapping him in cold and dark. Long, black fingers push down on Sam's chest, straining the sutures. They press in from all sides. Smoke seeps in through his skin and wounds, curling around him until it covers him as a veil. Sam coughs hard, wheezing for air, and Dean feels himself being pushed out of Sam's mind by hundreds of unseen hands.

I'm not going anywhere. Dean pushes back, desperately listening and feeling for Sam. Hear me, Sammy? He grabs on to Sam's fading presence and holds tight. I won't leave you, I promise! His heart sinks. But if I do stay, I'll hurt you. He feels Sam starting to panic, and Dean grabs on even tighter. All right, I'm staying. I'll think of something, I always do, right?

Sam doesn't respond. The shadows are everywhere now—outside and in. Their layers grow deep, stealing the oxygen from Sam's lungs and the strength from his limbs until he's trapped. Only his eyes are able to move, and he looks around and over himself, unable to see anything but black. The whispers grow more cutting, clawing at his ears and mind.

You are Wrong, Sam Winchester.

Different voices talk over each other:

Freak Liar Coward

Pathetic

Unwanted and unacceptable

A curse to everyone that knows you.

He always puts the toilet seat down, too, the girl. Dean rolls Sam's eyes and turns his mind to Sam's ever-weakening presence. Come on, Sam, show these asshats the door before they whisper more sucky nothings in your ear. Sam doesn't reply. His presence grows more dim. Sam? Dean calls, 'feeling' around for him. Still with me? Cold silence. The shadows regroup and speak again as one.

You think you've saved your brother, the collective whispers. You haven't. You can't. He will die.

Sam's defiance flares up at the words. Dean is strong, Sam thinks back. You can't get to him.

Damn straight, Dean agrees.

Dean is weak. Scared. So angry at you. Sam shakes his head no, coughing hard as he fights to block them out, but they whisper on. You failed him.

That's not true. I saved him from hell.

And brought him hell on earth. You used forbidden magic and trapped him here, walled inside his destroyed body.

Dean feels something grab at him, like he's being tugged by his collar. Oh what, it's my turn now? he asks the shadows, hackles and energy rising up in defense. Give it your best shot, assholes. The tug turns into a punch, then a painful grab, as a big burst of energy gets ripped out of him and thrown at Sam. Dean screams along with his brother, feeling Sam's chest being stabbed by the same anguish that attacks Dean. All at once, the pain is gone again, leaving only cold and shock behind. Sam's presence has weakened badly; Dean can't even hear him anymore, and only barely sense him.

He suffers because of you, the whispers tell Sam. And he hates you for it.

Sam's presence dwindles further, despair trickling in to Dean's mind via their connection. Don't let them get to you, Dean begs, praying Sam can still hear him even if he can't hear Sam. The reapers and the demons screwed me over—you didn't do anything wrong. He pulls at his hold on Sam's presence like he's lifting his brother off the ground. And I don't hate you, Dean swears softly. How could I ever hate you? Dean pauses to let that sink in. To his discouragement, he's met with more despair, then more pain as Sam coughs, the strain on his chest from smoke and pressure making it increasingly hard to breathe. The whispers return in force.

And now your brother will die, thanks to you, they hiss, because all that love you have died because of you. A memory opens up in Sam's mind, appearing as a small picture just to the side of Dean's vision. Sam's eyes open up to Jess, gutted and glued to the ceiling. Your girlfriend. She bursts into flames. Dean feels Sam trying to shut off the memory, and the shadows switch to a new one: John Winchester, lying dead on the floor of his hospital room. Your father.

Stop it, you bastards, Dean snarls, fighting right along with Sam to stop it. They shut it down, but a third memory replaces it.

Your mother.

Mary Winchester runs into the room and looks at the man at her baby's cradle. The one with yellow eyes that's just slit his wrist open and is feeding baby Sam demon blood. No, Dean thinks, repulsed by what he's seeing. These are lies. Have to be… They're fucking with your mind, Sammy. Don't you fall for it, hear me? Sam doesn't reply in words, but Dean feels him fighting hard to stop this memory—harder than either of the others. It keeps playing.

You, Mary Winchester says to the demon, and as Dean looks back at her, he sees the recognition in her face.

You knew him. Dean stares at her as the demon TKs her to the wall. Sam's adult voice screams for her in his memory as Baby Sam cries in his crib. Then a second man, who also sports a pair of yellow eyes, jokes that Sam probably doesn't want to see the rest. Shadow and smoke envelop the picture.

Can't be real, Dean thinks and prays. You would've told me…you wouldn't keep something like that from me.

He would, the shadows reply, speaking to Dean directly for the first time. He did.

Guilt and despair wash over Dean, radiating from every part of Sam's being. Dean is too shocked to do or say anything. The memory repeats itself in his own mind. Demon blood. His mother knowing the demon. Sam keeping it all from him. His thoughts are broken up by harsh, wheezing laughter that hits his ears as nails on a chalkboard.

Your brother knows the truth about you, Sam. Until now he's only seen you as a burden. Now he knows you for the monster you are. Dean feels a tear run down his brother's face. He tries to yell that it's not true, but the shadows talk over him. He's wasted his entire life saving you. You! A demon blood-infested freak, posing as his needy little brother. Sam's head nods underneath the shadows in agreement. If he had known the truth about you, he never would have made that deal. Never would have risked his life for you at any time. If he'd known, they press in very close and sigh, he would have let you burn as a baby.

And Sam's voice comes back to Dean, not as thought, but afterthought, soft and sad. He should have, Sam thinks. Believes. He SHOULD have.

What's left of Sam's presence shrivels to a single spark, which is forced into the deepest recesses of his mind. He doesn't fight it. Outside, the shadow people devour him whole, making his skin and limbs freeze from the onslaught of cold as his lungs burn from their smoke. Sam coughs on reflex, but no longer struggles—a corpse awaiting his toe tag to make it official. The shadows surge through him and stand him up, and even the ungodly hurt it brings his battered body isn't enough to make Sam care anymore.

Should've let me die, he thinks, over and over, sitting down in one of his mind's darkest corners to await his punishment. It too is filled with smoke, but quiet, akin to a cigar bar at closing time. Even the whispers are blocked out by the insulating despair. Sam brings his knees up and rests his forehead against them. Should've let me die, Dean. WHY didn't you just let me die?

Sam hears a switch turn, followed by static. He looks up as an old TV appears before him, rabbit ears casting long shadows past the light on the screen. The channel turner moves on its own until a clear station comes through—black and white at first, then gradually building to color. Two words appear on screen: The Truth. Then the background opens up to a nightlight: a yellow moon with a cow in the process of jumping over it. Its warm glow illuminates details of a child's bedroom. Toys, a football, crayons and a coloring book flipped open to a just-started picture. Sam feels sleepy and yawns. A small hand comes up on the other side of the screen, and the view is obscured as little knuckles rub at a half-opened eye.

A scream rattles the calm scene. The view shifts forward as the viewer sits up, now wide awake. "…Mommy?" a little boy's voice asks.

"Mary?!" a man yells. He keeps yelling the name as he bounds up the stairs and runs down the hall. Onscreen, the view switches down to little feet hitting the carpet, then up at a huge door. The same small hand as before turns the knob and opens it quietly, and the view goes lopsided as the viewer peers down the hall. The door at the end is open.

That's Sammy's room. What's wrong with Sammy? The thoughts go through Sam's head instead of out the TV's speaker, and his heart starts to pound in time with the audible heartbeat on the 'show.' There's a rush of motion, and Sam is drawn into the little boy's mind. He's nervous. Mommy screamed, and Daddy yelled. Mommy never screams, and Daddy never yells. But the little feet creep toward the room anyway, the kid's worry for his brother overcoming his worry over what's going on. Gotta check on Sammy. Gotta make sure he's okay.

Then Daddy yells again, and an awful whooshy noise comes right after. The hallway lights up in red, and black smoke comes out of Sammy's room. Sammy cries. The little feet run, but Daddy comes out of the room and gets to him first. The view centers on Daddy's face. He's crying.

"Daddy!" He wants to say more but he's too scared and too little—the words get jumbled up in his throat. His thoughts play out on loudspeaker instead. Why are you crying? Where's Mommy? Is Sammy okay? What's going on?

Daddy puts Sammy in his small arms, and he holds him strong but not too strong—no squishing, just like Mommy taught him. "Take your brother outside as fast as you can," Daddy tells him. "Don't look back! Now, Dean, go!"

The view onscreen whirls to the top of the stairs, then blurs as the little feet dash down them. Arms hold Sammy close the whole time so he won't get hurt. The door opens, and the little feet slap the walk that leads from the house. They don't stop running until they get to the end of the yard. Then the view goes up to the window on the second floor. It's red and black, just like the hallway.

"It's okay, Sam," little Dean says softly, watching the window. Then he remembers Daddy's words to not look back, so he turns Sammy away from the scary looking house. Sammy is no longer crying. He snuggles up to his big brother's chest, and the view switches down to the baby's face. There's something on Sammy's lips. Dean's thumb comes up and wipes it off, then brings it right up to the screen for a closer look. It's dark red and sticky. Blood…that's what Daddy called it when he scraped up his knee. He cleaned it up and Mommy kissed it and it was all better.

"Wha happind?" he asks, looking the baby over. "You can tell me…you won't get in trouble." The view goes back to the big green eyes looking up at him. Sammy seems happy enough. Then the window breaks with a loud crash, making the little boy jump. Sammy grabs for Dean's hand with tiny fingers, and Dean holds him closer. "It's okay," he tells him again. "I gotchoo. You won' get hurt. Promise."

Then Daddy runs up behind him and grabs them both. They get to Daddy's big black car just as the fire truck shows up…

…and the TV goes static. "No!" Sam jumps up from his corner and starts messing with the antennae. "Come on, come ON!" The picture fuzzes and buzzes and fills with rotating lines. Sam switches to manual science and kicks the thing. "Useless piece of…"

The picture comes back. Sam sits down right in front of the screen, captivated. The scenery has changed. An unknown, frilly room sets the stage now, complete with caption: One Month Later… The view is still through Dean's eyes—Sam can tell because the kid is looking at his own reflection in a mirror adorned with unicorn stickers. He sits on the end of a small pink bed, an unreadable look on his face as his eyes stare at his own. Their dad is in the background, walking in and out of reflected view as he talks on the room's phone and paces next to the bed.

"…because he's barely said a word since that night…"

He's talking about me, Dean thinks, his thoughts again projecting through Sam's mind. Daddy's mad at me again.

"No, I don't want you looking in his brain, I just want you to help me TALK to—!" Daddy looks at Dean in the mirror, then turns his back and talks more quietly into the phone. "Missouri, please. I've tried everything. I need help here. We all do." He nods, looks back at Dean, and nods again. "Thanks. Yeah—thank you. We'll be there tomorrow morning. No, not too early… no, not too late, either. Thanks. See you soon." He hangs up the phone and sits down next to Dean on the bed. "We're going to visit a friend of mine tomorrow," he tells him. "She's a real nice lady…good listener, too." He leans over and looks Dean in the face. "Think you'll be up to talking to her?"

Dean doesn't answer. He looks over at Sam instead. The baby is lying in a crib next to Dean's bed, sleeping peacefully. Daddy ruffles his hair and stands up. "Gonna run down to the kitchen. Take care of Sammy—I'll be right back."

Dean hears the door open, shut, and lock behind him. He keeps his eyes on Sam's but says nothing. He just doesn't feel like talking. Hasn't for weeks. There's too much noise in his head, too much hurt in his heart. And Daddy's always so sad now. He smiles at Dean, but he doesn't mean it…his eyes still look sad. Dean doesn't know what to say to make him really smile again. So Dean keeps his mouth shut.

But Daddy seems to talk all the time now. He's always talking to people…cownslers and pleece-men and that tall man with shiny shoes and the big, square bag that Dean's not allowed to touch. The people don't talk to him, just stare at him, like he did something wrong. Dean keeps extra quiet around them. At least the old lady they're staying with is nice, but she thinks he's her granddaughter—keeps calling him "Mandi" and bringing out dolls to play with. Dean doesn't talk to her because he remembers that rule about saying nice things or saying nothing at all that Mommy taught him...

Mommy.

Dean shuts his eyes. There's her smile again, her arms holding him, saying his name, over and over. Dean leans forward…and nearly falls off the bed. He opens his eyes. Mommy's gone. His chest starts to hurt and his eyes start to water. No. Don't cry. Mommy hates it when you cry, cos it makes HER cry. Dean bites down on his lip and stares at the mirror again. Don't cry. Don't let Daddy know you miss Mommy. He'll yell again.

The screen switches to a series of flashes, little Dean asking where's Mommy, why isn't she here, when will I see her again? John growing more and more upset by the difficult questions until he finally yells at Dean to be quiet. A moment after the angry words are out, his face falls, growing shocked and sad. He reaches for Dean, but Dean runs away. Sam feels the little guy's heart drop and shatter.

"Dean," Sam murmurs, putting a hand to the screen. "It wasn't your fault." The smoke in the room seems to thicken right around Sam and the TV, but Sam waves it out of the way, then rubs his sleeve over the screen to clear off the film that's settled over it. A cute little sound comes out of the speakers. Sam feels the emptiness and longing leave little Dean the moment he hears that sound, and the view goes back to the little girl's room.

Hiya Sammy! Dean thinks, looking down at the crib. You awake? Sammy is reaching up for him, making burbling noises and smiling. Dean picks him up and helps the little hands go around his neck. The only person in the whole world that still likes him is his baby brother. Didja sleep okay? Didja have good dreams?

Sam's little head looks around and scrunches up as the hazel eyes take in the room. This room's no fun, is it Sammy... all yucky pink. Dean glances at the beds behind him. I liked the motel. It had the fun wiggly jiggly beds. 'Member? I put you on my lap and put the coin in the coin thingy and it was just like that ride at the grosh-ree store! Sam coos and pumps his chubby arms, like he's remembering it, too. Now we're stuck here with girl toys. I miss my toys. Do you miss your toys? The baby puts his hand on Dean's nose and honks it, and Dean giggles. Sammy, that's my nose, not a toy! Sam just pats his face, and Dean sits them both down. He turns Sam around so that he's on his lap, but facing him.

Daddy says we're going tomorrow. Maybe there'll be toys there? Sammy's head bobs down, looking at his socky feet, and Dean nods again. I know. Not as cool as our toys, but they're gone now. The fire ate them. His heart lifts as an idea hits him. Maybe Santa will bring us more! It's Krismis soon! Santa always brings me lotsa presents—he'll bring you some, too! His heart falls again. But our house is gone. How will Santa know where we are?

The little face looks up at Dean. Dean looks back. No Krismis. No toys. No home. No Mommy. No love. The tears start to come. Dean shuts his eyes and squints hard to keep them in, but they come anyway, hot and fast. Why'd it have to happen? Why did Mommy have to go, and Daddy's always sad, and Sammy can't have Krismis…

Hate these feelings. Hate being alone. Want everything like it was before! Want happy again! The tears flow harder, and Dean turns his head away, not wanting his brother to see him like this. Hate the fire! Took everything!

Then he feels something on his chest. Dean's watery eyes open and see Sam's hand there, resting over his heart. Dean sniffles and looks at his brother's face. Sam's eyes are big, but nice. He makes a little sound and pats his hand a few times on Dean's chest. Dean looks down at it, not sure what it means, but he feels better. He looks back at Sam's face. Thanks, Sammy, he thinks, spirits lifting. You're still here, right? You didn't go 'way.

He turns Sam around so he's facing the mirror with his big brother. I promise I won't go 'way. I'll stay with you. I'll watch out for you, forever an' dever. And you can watch out for me, too. Okay? Sammy makes a happy sound and kicks with his arms and hands. Dean turns him back around and hugs him, and Sam burbles right into Dean's ear. Dean giggles.

"I love you too, Sam."

The words are spoken in two voices: little Dean's and adult Dean's. The TV switches off, the picture of baby Sam tunneling out of sight. Sam stares at the screen, too moved to move.

"Can you hear me now, Sammy?" It's all adult Dean this time, echoing from somewhere on the other side of the smoky room. "Sorry for the TV trip down memory lane, by the way," Dean chuckles lightly. "It was the only way I could think of to get through to you."

The TV disappears, and Sam reaches his hands around the now empty space, suddenly frightened at the idea of being alone. "I just told you, I'm not leaving," Dean says. "I'd never leave you. I'm just showing you the truth. The shadow people slipped you some emotional roofies and got you believing all kinds of bullshit."

"Shadow people," Sam mutters. Images flash before his eyes—smoky fingers, terrible cold, awful words. His vision grows blurry as his head fills with a heavy haze.

"You have to fight it, Sam," Dean tells him. "Use that big brain of yours to push them out of your head."

"My head…wh-what? Dean…what…" Still disoriented, Sam takes long looks around the smoky room as he stands up, confused as to how he ever got there. "Where am I?"

"Two places. Part of you is locked away in your own mind. The other part is outside, getting suffocated by the shadow people."

Sam's eyes sting as a new image reveals itself through the smoke: a dark hospital room, and a nebula of shadowy forms covering the doors. Thousands of red eyes look back at him. They come closer—no, Sam himself comes closer to them. His legs are walking in stiff, short strides.

"You're dying, Sam," Dean says firmly. "And you're gonna have to fight if you want to live, and yes, you do—no more of this deathwish crap, all right?"

"Deathwish…suffocating?" Sam starts to cough, and he sways on his feet. He feels so woozy and weak. "Where are you, Dean? Why can't I see you? Why's my head so fuzzy..."

"No time for 20 Questions, Sammy, just listen. Are you listening?" Sam nods and coughs. "I need you to push. Not with your hands, but with your mind."

"How do I do that?"

"I don't know, you're the psychic!"

Psychic freak, dark whispers comment from behind Sam. Sam whirls around to look, but there's no one there. He feels Dean groan as much as he hears him.

"Yeah, you're a psychic freak with demon blood. Big fucking deal, Sam, I'm a spirit-hybrid freak that sucks the life out of people. Least I still have my looks."

"You know about the demon blood?" Sam asks, voice so tiny that even he barely hears it.

He looks back at his corner, wanting to retreat to it so badly. But a sensation comes over him, like someone's putting his hand on his shoulder. Sam looks at it as Dean speaks again.

"Yeah, I know. And look at that, I don't hate you. You shoulda TOLD me about it, jackass," the invisible hand thwops him across the back of the head, "but you're still my brother. Always will be."

Sam smiles up at the ceiling as he feels warmth breaking through the cold. "And you're still my brother, Dean. Even though I saw what happened to that guy in the car." The warmth starts to chill again, and Sam sends some of his own love right back up. "It's all right. I know you couldn't help it. I forgive you, Dean. You don't need it, but I know you need to hear it."

The smoke in the room curls toward Sam, and he breaks into a coughing fit. "Hallmark moment's over," Dean says, sounding relieved, even as Sam feels his worry. "You have to get the shadows out of your head so they can't hurt you anymore."

Sam nearly passes out from the sheer thought of all the work that will involve. "Can't…too weak…too many…"

"You can, and you will. You're strong, Sam. You can do this. Meantime, I'll take care of the ones on the outside."

"How?"

"I have a plan. I'm awesome like that. But you gotta swear, you'll tell me if it hurts."

"Why would it hurt?"

"I don't know, but it might—look, stop asking questions for once in your life, all right? Just trust me and fight and DO this. Ready?"

Sam nods, his training making him ready despite his body and spirit telling him to sleep. "You can do this," Dean tells him again. "I believe in you. Dig deep and push with all you've got. Don't stop for anything. On the count of three… Three!"

The smoky room lights up in a green glow. Sam shuts his eyes and concentrates hard, imagining the shadows as solid things he can shove away. The pressure around him begins to lessen. Sam feels his strength returning, and that warm presence around him sends him confidence. Sam doubles his efforts and shoves at the smoky fingers holding him down.

Out of my head, Sam commands, blasting them with another mental push. Out of my heart.

Outside, the hospital room lights up in the same green glow, fueled by the new lights behind Sam's eyes as Dean's presence shoots forward into his body. The glow becomes a glare, blinding the creatures in the room. The shadow people freeze in place, caught in the supernatural headlights. The nebula shrieks in protest and surges forward, trying to extinguish the green light as they join with their brethren already covering Sam's body.

Ohh no you don't. Dean ups the power flowing through him, the Need seeking out their sinister energy and surrounding them. The hospital starts to shake. The shadow people fight to push out of its hold, but Dean holds them there…and pulls. The shadows burn green, long fingers and limbs curling up as burnt paper. Their absorbed energy combines with the energy Dean is pulling from the earth, and green light erupts from every pore in Sam's body, frying the shadows covering him. Inside, Sam feels the last of the weight lift off him, and his presence comes forward. He looks through his own eyes again just in time to see the remaining shadows in the nebula scatter, escaping through every crack they can find.

The windows, Dean! Get the windows!

Every last window in the place shatters, and Sam steps out of the room and into a dawn-drenched hallway. Orange light from the rising sun shines from every room in the place. The shadows scream, hoarse and powerless, and Sam and Dean both keep them pinned right where they are, watching the ashes fall with satisfaction. Dean holds up Sam's hands and shoots more energy into the walls, seeking out any deserters.

Almost too easy, isn't it Sammy? Dean readies himself to finish them off…only to feel something very wrong. Before he can tell what it is, Sam drops to the ground, his body falling into seizures. He's being electrocuted by Dean's power. Dean realizes it at the same time Sam does. Oh God oh FUCK…it's me. I'm doing this to you…! Dean pulls back at once, but finds himself unable to disconnect. No, lemme go! He pulls harder, and Sam's body lifts off the ground, then drops back down, hard. The seizures get worse. Sam's presence fades as blood and drool foam out of his mouth.

Then the doors at the end of the hall burst open. A super-bright white light blinds them both. Dean hears words that he doesn't understand, and in an instant, he's flying backward. The woods come back into view all around him. He's lying on the ground, Aree and Bill both looking down at him.

"What happened?" Bill asks.

Dean sits up and looks east. "I don't know…" he pants, working to catch his breath as his body flickers in and out. "I helped him, I hurt him…I don't know..." He gets to his feet and looks to Ellen as she starts to stir. "Bill, take her, get her back to the truck before she wakes up."

"Why?"

"Just do it, hurry!"

Bill reaches down and scoops her into his arms, and he turns and heads back up the path, Aree and Dean following close behind. Dean thinks out to his brother as he runs.

Sammy? Sammy…talk to me, PLEASE. Tell me you're all right.

But he gets nothing…no feeling, no words, not even a flicker of presence. He has no idea that Sam is struggling to reach out to him as well.

Dean? You still there? What happened?

Back at the hospital, Sam's body falls still, and the burning pain soothes itself into the normal, aching pain of his beat-up body. Sam groans and rolls onto his stomach, then instantly regrets it as his sutured chest hits the cold floor. "Dean," Sam croaks, coughing as he rolls onto his side now. "Dean…I'm all right…mostly… Where are you?"

He catches movement out of the corner of his eye and sees a few shadows already regrouping on the walls. Sam tries to get to his knees but his body won't have it. The shadows start to spread along the walls, and Sam resorts to dragging himself along the floor. Then he hears the crack of a flare being snapped. Sam shades his eyes as all around him, the shadows screech and sizzle in the light. Bobby's voice comes out of the white void.

"I've got you Sam…where's your chair?" Bobby moves off before Sam can even answer. A few, still-blind seconds later and he feels two pairs of hands grab his arms and pull him up. Sam staggers to his feet and into his chair, and in no time he's in motion, moving through the white and into the next hallway. Bobby runs on ahead, throwing doors open and popping more flares as they move. They don't stop until they reach the parking garage. Bobby's old Chevelle is already started and waiting. Nina helps Sam into the back seat, then jumps in the passenger seat as Bobby runs around to the front. He guns the gas and the car zooms out of the hospital.

"That was too damn close," Bobby gripes, looking at Sam through the rearview mirror. "You all right kid?"

Sam nods into the seat, lying on his side and not remotely strong enough to sit up at this point. "Dean…"

"We'll find him, Sam. First we gotta find a place to regroup."

"No…Dean…he was here. Helped me." Sam shuts his eyes and thinks out to him. Dean…can you hear me? Are you all right?

Something pinches the back of his hand, hard. "OW!" His eyes flash open and are greeted with a deep frown from Nina.

"Do not make me interfere again."

"What?"

"You are not balanced yet. If you continue to try and contact your brother, you will only cause yourself harm. He must learn to control himself first. Do you understand?"

Sam gives a small nod. "I guess…"

"Do you HEAR me?" Nina demands. "Will you actually listen to me this time?" Sam nods again, bitch face forming as he keeps his eyes on hers. She nods back. "Good." Then she turns back around and looks at the road. "I will tell you were to drive."

Sam tries to sit up again, but his body has shut down for all intents and purposes. What a way to start the day, he thinks to himself. Bobby makes a hard left, and Sam wraps an arm around a seatbelt and holds on.

Dean, he thinks out, not caring one bit about Granny's warnings. He has to know that Dean is all right. Dean! Come on… No answer, so Sam turns his thoughts off and opens up his heart. The warmth is there, strong and definite. Okay, okay, okay, it pulses with Sam's heart. Sam finally lets himself relax.

Okay, Dean. I hear you.

Dean's heart is saying the same thing. Not in some mushy, chick-flick, sharing and caring way, but comforting. Happy. Dean just knows that Sam is all right. It makes him smile with relief. Ellen wakes up to that smile as she comes to.

"You all right Ellen?"

Ellen sees that she's in the driver's seat of her truck. "What the…" She looks out the window and sees Dean standing next to her. She rolls down the window and watches his smile broaden, even as his body flickers in and out of view.

"Dean? What are…" She looks around. "How the hell did I get back here?"

Dean glances at Bill and Aree, standing invisible next to him. Dean looks at Bill especially, asking him with his eyes if he should tell her the truth. Bill smiles but shakes his head, so Dean looks back at Ellen.

"You have to go," he tells her. "Call Bobby. He'll tell you where to find him."

"I already told you, Dean, I'm not leaving you."

"It's all right. I'm not going to kill myself." Ellen looks skeptical, and Dean raises two fingers up together. "Scouts honor."

"Then what are you going to do?"

Dean's good humor turns to resolve. "Fix this." Ellen looks him in the eye, expecting to find a lie, but doesn't see one. She nods slowly. "Call Bobby," Dean tells her again. "And do me a favor. When you see Sam…" Dean pauses for a moment, collects himself, then starts again. "When you see him…tell him I'm not running anymore."

Ellen nods. "Okay, I can do that…"

Dean nods back, looking grateful. "Thanks." He backs up and gives her one last smile. "Guess I'll see ya when I see ya."

And he looks to his left and mumbles something about giving the "teleporting thing a try." A second later and he's gone. Ellen stares at the spot, woman's intuition joining forces with her motherly instincts and warning her that Dean is still in trouble. "He's a Winchester," she grumbles to herself as she gets her phone out, "'course he's in trouble." She turns it on and sees the low battery warning. "I don't have time for electric problems—let me talk to Bobby for two seconds." The phone wisely obeys and connects her.

"Ellen? That you?" It's Sam's voice.

"Sam? Are you all right? Where's Bobby?"

"He's here—we're fine."

"Sam...I saw Dean." There's a long pause. "He's fine, Sam," she says, guessing what he wants to ask but can't bring himself to. "Well, that's a lie—he's still more spirit than human being, but he's alive. Said to give you a message, though. Sam, he said to tell you that he's not running anymore."

"I know," Sam nods, the phone bobbing with him as he holds it to his face. Still lying in the backseat of Bobby's car, Sam smiles at the upholstery as he gets more I'm Okay vibes from Dean. "I'm not running after him anymore, either. Don't have to."

"'Scuse me?"

Sam doesn't reply—he holds the phone away from his mouth to talk to Bobby. "Bobby, can we make a quick stop? We're going to need a few things." Bobby and Nina throw looks at each other. Sam sits up on his elbow and switches the phone to his other ear. "Ellen, how close are you to Hayward?"

"Not far…can probably be there in ten."

"We need you here as soon as possible. I'll put Bobby on in a sec to give you directions, but floor it, all right?"

Ellen's boot presses the pedal down, and her truck picks up speed. "Lemme guess—you've got a plan."

"Yeah." Sam looks at Bobby's eyes in the rearview mirror and smiles. "We're going to start a war."