Sam couldn't believe he had actually told someone about this, about what he had dreamt and seen. And now that it was out, he was anxious, scared even. Not so much of what George and the others would say, though. It was Dean's reaction he feared.

The couch in the presently closed-off common room of the main mansion was comfortable enough, but Sam felt anything but comfortable. Dean was standing by the doors leading out into the hallway, his arms crossed over his chest, and even though Sam hadn't met his gaze since he'd revealed the truth, he knew that Dean hadn't taken his eyes off him yet.

George stood across from him, next to a high-backed armchair, and watched him quietly. They seemed to be waiting for something and he had no idea what, but the silence was extremely uncomfortable.

"Sam," George finally said, "what exactly did you dream?"

Sam stared almost stubbornly at the worn surface of the coffee table in front of him, tracing the grooves in the wood with his eyes, desperate for Dean to say something, anything, that would make him feel better. But his brother had yet to make a sound and that was what stopped Sam from looking directly at him. He was afraid of the disappointment or maybe even fear in his brother's eyes.

"Sam?" George asked again.

"I ... uh ... I was ... standing in a barn ... much like the one ... at the back of the compound," he started hesitantly and briefly glanced in Dean's direction. He had never needed Dean's support more than he did right now, but it didn't seem like Dean was going to offer any support at this moment. He swallowed hard. "I felt myself slipping. I ... lost control. I moved, but it wasn't me." He glanced up at George, at least daring to meet his gaze and was minutely relieved that at least George did not seem to condemn him. At least not yet.

"How do you know it was the demon?" George asked. His tone was kind, mellow, and it made it a bit easier. But in the end George's acceptance of his present problem wasn't what mattered. And still he could not convince himself to look directly at Dean.

"I could feel it," he nearly whispered, afraid his voice would break if he spoke out loud.

George nodded lightly, then sighed. "This is bad news, Sam. We have to find a way to repel this, to ... I don't know ... drive it out of you. But I don't know how. I'm going to have to research it, find a way. Until then, I want you to stay at the house ... and never alone. It's a precaution. If you loose control, Sam ..."

"I know," he agreed quietly and bowed his head. Damn, he was so scared right now, he was trembling. It raised tears in his eyes, tears of fear, of shame, of downright terror. He closed his eyes hard and tried to get a grip on himself, well aware that he was wide open to demonic possession right now.

And then a hand slipped onto the back of his neck, squeezing lightly. "You gotta calm down, Sam," Dean said quietly and settled down next to him.

He balled both hands into fists, fighting against the fear and losing by a mile. He felt like he was five again, scared of the dark, screaming inside for comfort and the soothing words that there was nothing to fear, and all he got was a gun pressed into his hand and the harsh words that if anything moved, he should shoot it. "I'm scared," he whispered, only barely preventing himself from embarrassing the hell out of his brother by throwing his arms around him.

"I know you are. But you're not gonna fight this alone, Sammy. I'm not going anywhere," Dean countered and slipped an arm around his shoulders, pulling him close. "You're not in this alone," he repeated.

The couch gave a little when George settled down on the other side of him. "Dean is right. You don't have to face this alone. We will help you in any way we can," he promised.

Something inside him broke and the anger surged through him like a live current. Without consideration for his previous fear and the fact that, for once, Dean was actually administering the comfort he craved, he rose abruptly and pulled away from both of them. He still couldn't face Dean, couldn't look him in the eye, and it made him angry. The window he came to a stop at overlooked the front part of the compound and Sam eyed the others out there, others that George claimed were like him. But the old man had it wrong, didn't he? Nobody was like him.

"Sam?"

Dean sounded concerned and that annoyed him too. Why couldn't Dean just have a little faith in him? Why did he always have to question his motives? He folded his arms over his chest and just stared out the window.

"Sam," Dean tried again, his tone carrying that edge that made him sound like dad.

Sam bristled. He couldn't help it. The thought of his father's tone of voice when Sam had refused to answer him rippled through him and upped the anger another notch.

"Answer me, dammit," Dean demanded.

Sam turned back to finally face him, noting that Dean had risen but had not closed the distance, and that poured fuel on the fire that was already burning inside him. "What's the matter, Dean? Are you scared of me now?" he asked. He was completely incapable of keeping the sarcasm out of his voice even though he really saw no specific reason for taking his anger out on Dean.

"No, I'm not scared of you. Why the hell should I be?" Dean countered, his tone tightly controlled.

George rose too while never taking his eyes off Sam. "Take it easy, Dean. Sam's not completely in control right now," he said quietly.

Dean glanced at George, then back at Sam and his expression changed from angry bewilderment to deep concern. But he said nothing.

Sam glared at him for a moment, then turned his attention to George. "I'm completely in control," he snarled.

"No, Sam, you're not," George countered calmly.

"Don't tell me what I am!" Sam snapped angrily, his eyes burning, his mind swirling with hateful thoughts. "You don't know anything about me!"

Dean took a hesitant step forward. "Sam, come on, man. Can't you see how you're behaving here? It's not you," he tried.

"SHUT UP!" Sam yelled and turned the power of his mind on his brother. The result was devastating. The psychic push threw Dean backward right into a glass-fronted cabinet. The glass in the doors shattered and the cabinet itself broke apart, burying Dean under the remains of its content. The shock of what he had done hit him like a fist in the guts, and Sam suddenly found it hard to breathe while the color drained from his face. Yet he couldn't convince himself to move, to rush to his brother's aide.

George helped Dean get out of the pile of now useless wood and glass and sent a sad look in Sam's direction. "You okay?" he asked Dean.

Dean swallowed and flinched lightly when he pulled a glass shard from the back of his left arm. "That'll leave a scar," he growled, then focused on Sam too. "I suppose you have an explanation for why the hell you just did that?" he asked sternly.

Sam stared at him for a moment, his eyes wide, his mind swirling with thoughts that crashed into each other, confusing him by a mile. He couldn't decide on whether to be horrified by what he had done or indifferent because Dean had asked for it and this ambiguity made it impossible for him to remain where he was.

Without further consideration, he left the common room at a run, determined to find a place where he could sort out why he felt the way he did. He didn't get far, though. The front door slammed shut in his face and he couldn't open it no matter how he tried.

"That was a pretty foolish move," a voice said from halfway up the staircase.

Sam turned around and glared up at the woman standing there. "Open this door," he demanded.

"Not going to happen, Sam," she countered.

The anger this caused nearly ripped his heart out. It was like a surging fire spreading through him, devouring his sense and reason in the process. He couldn't have controlled himself if he had wanted to and he most certainly didn't want to right now. To prove a point as much as anything, he focused his anger on the woman. But nothing happened. She remained on the steps, watching him calmly.

"You're not going anywhere while you're this much out of control," she said quietly. The doors on both sides of the entrance hall slammed shut, blocking his retreat. There was no way out but past her and she had already proven herself to be unaffected by his mental abilities.

"I am not out of control," he snarled and took a threatening step toward her.

She sighed lightly, then waved a hand at him, which slammed him back against the front door and stuck him there. He couldn't move at all. Slowly, she descended the steps and came to a stop in front of him. "It is very important that you see the folly of your ways, Sam. Very, very important. We can't help you if you don't admit that something is wrong."

"I ..." he tried, but couldn't get the words out.

"You're not fine, Sam. You're being taken over by the worst of the worst and somewhere inside, you know it too," she said quietly. "You have to fight it, sweety. You have to find your way back before you hurt someone seriously. And only you can do it. There is no other cure but your strength, your ability to be self-sufficient, your sense of justice and your love for your family. All that will help guide you back to where you need to be. And you need to be here. Because your brother can't handle what lies ahead without you."

He swallowed, tried in vain to break the psychic bonds that held him, and felt the anger start to dissipate. But he was afraid to let go of the anger because he knew what lay beyond that; the embarrassment, having to face Dean after what he had just done, having to live with the consequences of this temper tantrum. He wasn't so sure he could do that, not now, not in his present state. "I ..." he tried again, but still could not say what he really wanted to say; mainly because what he really wanted to say wasn't something he would ever consider saying to anyone.

"It's alright to be sad, Sam. It's alright to be scared. But both these feelings make it so much easier for it to take over and you really don't want that to happen, do you?" she continued, her tone still quiet and a little sad.

At that, the tears came unhindered, spilling down his face while the remains of the anger left him along with his stamina. The psychic hold on him stopped and deprived of the support, he sank down on his knees, unable to remain on his feet. The woman, whose name he didn't even know, knelt down in front of him and wrapped her arms around him, pulling him against her, and the contact broke what remained of the dam that had held in his emotions. In mere seconds he crumbled into a blubbering mass, unable to stop crying, unable to stop hugging her. God, he felt awful. He hated feeling like this, like his whole damned world was falling apart into grains of sand and there was nothing he could do to stop the decay.

It took a long time before he finally gathered enough strength to stop the tears, to stop shivering like a beaten dog, and the first thing he was consciously aware of was the bone-deep embarrassment he felt; the need to crawl under a rock and hide was so strong he nearly couldn't control it.

The woman pushed him back a little and cupped a hand against his cheek. "Look at me, Sam," she said.

He could only barely obey her.

"I know how you feel. Many have felt like you do right now, but life goes on and I know for a fact that your brother cares deeply about you. And a little incident like this will not make him care for you any less. Do you hear me?" she asked.

He met her eyes and was almost overwhelmed with the need to start bawling again. He only barely managed to subdue that urge once more. Since his voice could not be trusted right now, he settled for a vague nod.

The woman rose and pulled him up with her. "Up you go," she said and smiled lightly. "I'm Annie, by the way. George's wife," she added.

Sam rubbed away the remains of the tears, well aware that his eyes at least would give away this total breakdown. A quick glance at the door to the common room showed him that said door had remained closed throughout this and for that at least he was grateful. At least Dean hadn't witnessed him coming apart at the seams.

"Nobody knows about this and nobody needs to," Annie said. "Come here, sit down," she said and pulled him over to the stairs, where he sank down on the second step and gratefully accepted the tissue she handed him.

Annie settled down next to him, resting one hand lightly on his shoulder. "You two have had such a hard time for such a long time that this ... it's been a long time coming," she said.

"It's because of the demon," he muttered while he stared sadly down at the floor.

"Some of it," she agreed. "But not all, Sam. You may not want to hear this, but you are a sensitive soul. There's nothing wrong with that, but it does make you more susceptible to these outside forces like the demon."

He briefly closed his eyes, then glanced over at the door to the common room again. "Won't they worry?" he asked and glanced sideways at her.

Annie's smile stayed on. "No, they know the drill," she said, getting what he meant at once. "If doors are slammed shut like that, it means stay out."

"Don't tell Dean about this," he added quietly.

"I won't. Don't worry," she said and sighed. Every single door that had slammed shut opened again, including the front door.

Sam had somehow expected curious glances and bystanders, but there was nobody out there. Everybody was going about their business as if nothing had happened.

Dean stepped out into the hallway, looking a little battered and a whole lot concerned, and Sam instantly averted his eyes.

"It's alright. We talked a little. He feels better now," Annie said and rose.

She descended the steps and withdrew to the common room with George, closing the doors behind her and leaving Dean and Sam alone.

Sam glanced out the front door, then rose and quickly climbed the stairs to the first floor. He couldn't face Dean right now, didn't know what to say other than sorry, and that was just not enough anymore.

***

Dean watched Sam go, his right hand wrapped around his still bleeding arm, and tried not to be angry. Actually, he really wasn't angry. He was scared out of his mind that after all they'd been through, he would still lose Sam. And watching his brother snap like that had done nothing to stem those fears.

"Care to tell me what happened?"

Tony's voice snapped him out of it and he glanced back at the other man with a slight frown furrowing his brow. "Not really, no," he countered.

"Want me to deal with that?" Tony asked, nodding toward his arm.

Dean glanced at his blood-soaked sleeve. "Nah, I'm good," he lied. It hurt like a bitch, but it kept him sharp.

"Nice. You're bleeding all over the place, man," Tony countered sarcastically, nodding at the spatters of blood on the floor where Dean was standing. "I already told you, Dean. Your macho bullshit won't fly here. Nobody's impressed by it. Let me see."

Dean had learned enough about Tony to not oppose him on this one, so he removed his hand and hissed when the release of pressure on the wound opened it up again. Tony draped his hand over the wound and after a moment released his arm again. The only thing left was his blood-soaked sleeve to remind him.

"You'd better go see to your brother. I don't think he should be alone right now," Tony suggested.

Dean glanced at him, arched an eyebrow and turned to climb the stairs. But he paused briefly and glanced back at Tony. "Thanks," he said and left the other man standing there.

He assumed he would find Sam in the same room Sam had spent the first night in and it turned out that he was right. Sam was sitting on the bed with his back to the door, quite obviously affected by what had happened. "Sam?" He stepped inside and closed the door behind him.

"Go away," Sam said quietly.

"Not gonna happen," Dean countered and sighed. "Talk to me, man. What's going on with you?"

"You shouldn't be anywhere near me," Sam said. His voice had that thick quality to it that proved abundantly that he had been crying. A quick wipe across his face with one hand cemented the idea. "Look at what happened downstairs. I could have killed you."

"I'm tough to kill," Dean countered and dropped down on the bed next to Sam. Sam glanced at him and flinched at the sight of the bloodied sleeve. Dean glanced down at it and made a face. "That was my favorite shirt, dude," he said a little sadly.

When Sam obviously couldn't see the humor in that comment, Dean settled for punching him on the shoulder. Sam shifted a little and rubbed the now sore spot on his arm. "Why do you even bother?" he muttered.

"Because I do. You know me, man. I'm stubborn to the bone. I can't help it. Besides, if you turn evil, I'm gonna have to hunt your ass down and that wouldn't be any fun because I'd be doing it alone. I'd rather drag you along for all the fun," Dean countered.

Sam made a face. "Dad would have done the right thing by now," he muttered, grimaced and turned his face away, obviously still close to tears.

"Dad was an ass. And if you ever think that he would have done anything to hurt you, you're a hell of a lot dumber than I ever thought you could be. And that's saying something, little bro," Dean countered. He waited for a moment, hoping that Sam would come to his senses, but that didn't seem to be happening any time soon. "If you think I'm going to leave you alone while you're going through this, Sammy, you've got another thing coming. There is no way in hell that I'm leaving your side while this is going on. And I don't frigging care if you throw me out the damned window."

"What if I hurt you severely?" Sam asked and got up. He turned around to face Dean and there was nothing but raw fear in his eyes. "What if I kill you? How the hell am I going to live with that, huh?"

"Well, first and foremost, Sam, it wouldn't be your fault. Now, I've harped on about that enough with no result, so I'm not gonna go on about it. But you are gonna have to try a hell of a lot harder than throwing me against the damned wall before you'll manage to drive me away. We're in this together, come hell or high water. Deal with it!" Dean countered. "If George and his gang can come up with a way to fix this, I'm more than willing to accept the help. If they can't ... well, I'm sure Bobby has a remedy for this in some way. We've driven demons out of you before with great success. I'm not worried."

"You should be," Sam countered quietly and pulled back a step, averting his eyes once more. "You should have left me for dead. It would have been easier for all concerned."

Dean had to forcibly restrain himself from slapping Sam across the face for that comment. He took a moment to compose himself before he said anything. "Don't you say stuff like that. Ever! Do I make myself clear? You're not supposed to die young. That's not how this story is going to end."

"How do you know?" Sam demanded almost angrily. "How can you know anything about that?"

"I just know, okay?" Dean shot back and rose. "Dammit, Sam. Don't you get it? Can't you just get it through that thick skull of yours? You're all I've got left. You're my family. There's nobody else. I'll level Hell before I let you go."

Sam stared at him, quite obviously taken aback by his words, and seemed incapable of coming up with a reply.

Dean sighed heavily and dropped back down on the bed. "Just stop the self-reproach, Sam. It's not doing you any good and it's leaving you wide open for demonic possession. You know that. You have got to get a handle on this."

For a moment all Sam did was just stand there and stare ahead of himself. Then he sighed too and sank down on the edge of the bed next to Dean. "How the hell can I get a handle on this?" he asked while staring ahead of himself. "I'm not in control."

"You are if you want to be," Dean countered. "Don't refuse to cooperate from the get-go. At least try. Okay?"

They sat there and stared ahead of themselves for a long while after that, neither moving or talking, until it finally got too much for Dean and he rose again. "I'm gonna go downstairs and see if there's anything I can do to help out. Either stay here and wallow in self-pity, or do the same," he said, turned and left the room.

It took a moment longer than he had thought, but eventually Sam followed him downstairs. Dean grinned lightly and strode out the front door. As long as he could motivate his little brother into activity, things weren't half bad.

***

A week later

Sam kept a low profile over the next many days and he stayed well away from Annie. Not because he saw her as anything dangerous, though. He just felt pretty embarrassed about the whole deal and wasn't really keen on facing her at the moment.

After a few days, Dean had started to settle down again and wasn't watching him like a hawk all the time. And it gave Sam the chance he needed to withdraw a little. That his brother was so overtly into this place was a bit of a surprise and he had never seen Dean put in this much hard work without any monetary or physical benefits in sight. But Sam had the feeling that Lisa might be making it worth his while.

Dean kept his word and stuck close to Sam most of the time, but there were a few hours here and there that were unaccounted for. Not that Sam minded. He generally felt like he was under arrest when Dean wouldn't leave his side.

As for Sam's little incident, it didn't repeat itself and he had the odd impression that Annie had something to do with it. He was still pretty much depressed most of the time and the anger still reared its head now and again, but it was not nearly strong enough to make him lose control. And the benefit of it all was that he slept like the dead. He couldn't remember a single dream, which in his book was good news.

At present he was sitting on the steps leading up to the porch of the main building, watching his brother putting on a damned show for Lisa, who was ooh-ing and aah-ing to such a degree that it was starting to be nauseating. And Dean was just lapping it up. Sam made a face and tried to divert his attention away from the couple, but there was nothing really interesting to look at and he constantly ended up watching those two again.

"Nice show, huh?" Jennifer dropped down on the step beside him and watched Dean and Lisa for a moment.

Sam glanced at her and made a face. "Not so much, no," he countered. "Where have you been? I haven't seen you in a few days." It was only the moment the words were out that the thought hit him that she might misunderstand his intentions.

She grinned. "You missed me? Aw, that's sweet," she cooed and jabbed an elbow into his ribs. "I was off doing undercover stuff," she added and sneered. "What is it with those two? Why don't they just get a room?" she added with vague disgust in her tone.

"Beats me," Sam agreed. Dean was trying to show Lisa something and was so not respecting her personal space. Not that the girl seemed to mind. He shifted a little and rubbed the small of his back. The ache from the wound on his spine wouldn't go away and it made him edgy and uncomfortable most of the time.

"You okay?" Jennifer asked, having noticed his actions.

"Yeah. Just a little tired," he said. It wasn't really a lie. He did feel a bit tired. But it wasn't the whole truth either. He eyed the ground in front of the last step for a moment and then glanced over to where Dean and Lisa had just been. But they were gone now and he briefly sent a glance around, noting that they had disappeared from sight. "Where'd they go?"

Jennifer smiled. "They've probably gone off to be alone somewhere," she said and winked at him.

"Right," Sam muttered and returned his attention to the ground while he wondered why he was responding the way he did at the moment. The constant ache in his back could probably have something to do with it, but he also believed that George and Annie had it right. There was something else, something more to him now than there had been before. And he once again thought that the world might have been a better place if Dean hadn't made that damned deal and brought him back.

"Are you sure you're okay?" Jennifer asked again, her tone more serious now.

Sam smiled halfheartedly. "Yeah, I'm fine," he said and this time it was a lie.

***