Chapter 4 
 

“So, Ms. Moseley,” Sam said hesitantly, motioning his latest unexpected guest to take a seat on one of the wicker porch chairs scattered around the decking to the rear of Grandma Nixon’s house. 

“Call me Missouri, honey,” the woman who had been standing on his doorstep instructed him graciously, taking the proffered seat and eyeing Dean a little suspiciously as he took one of the chairs opposite. 

Sam smiled weakly, gaze trailing across Grandma’s orderly little garden as his brain struggled to come up with an opening gambit. 

“Don’t worry, Sam,” the woman in front of him got there first.  “Dean didn’t mean what he just said.  And Danny will forgive you.” 

Sam’s mouth opened and closed with only a barely audible squeak to show for it, eyes automatically searching out Dean’s, who frowned at him before leaning forward slightly in his chair. 

“No offence, ma’am,” he said, voice flinty.  “But how do you even know who we are, never mind –” 

“– What you said about Danny not being Sam’s brother?” Missouri finished for him, blinking at him innocently, and Dean leaned back in his chair, consternation causing his mouth to clamp tightly shut. 

“How did –” Sam began, but Missouri waved a hand at him, big brown eyes locked on his now that she’d managed to silence his brother. 

“Danny’s just a little jealous right now, Sam,” she said, smiling sympathetically.  “He’s a teenager, after all.  He’ll get over it.” 

“Okay, lady,” Dean put in, suddenly regaining the use of his vocal cords.  “Who the hell are you?” 

Missouri’s smile became a little more indulgent.  “A friend,” she said amiably, before a frown clouded her features.  “Or at least, I think I was supposed to be.” 

“Begging your pardon, ma’am,” Sam said.  “But I don’t believe I’ve ever met you before in my life.”  He inclined his head to one side before adding, “Have I?” a little uncertainly. 

Missouri shook her head.  “No,” she admitted shortly. 

When their mysterious visitor didn’t offer to elaborate further, Dean put in, “So how do you know who we are?” 

“Well, because I’ve been dreaming about you, of course,” Missouri said, as if that should have been obvious. 

That shut them both up. 

“Run that by me again?” Dean managed at length, glancing over at Sam who shrugged cluelessly back at him. 

“I’m a psychic,” Missouri explained matter-of-factly, as if she was telling them her star sign.  “Obviously.” 

A look of surprised disbelief settled on Sam’s features, while Dean’s brow furrowed. 

“Obviously,” he repeated.  Then, “So, you’re like Jennifer Love Hewitt or something?  You gonna Ghost Whisper us?” 

Missouri shot him a withering glare.  “Boy, I look like some skinny white girl to you?” 

Dean blinked, surprised at the intensity of the rebuke.  Especially from someone he’d only just met.  Usually took him at least a couple of hours to get a woman so worked up she wanted to slap him.  “I just meant...” 

“Now that Patricia Arquette,” Missouri continued, a small grin tugging at her lips.  “At least she has some meat on her bones.  And, you know, I kinda wish Alison Dubois was here right now ’cause I could sure use her help.” 

“What, you’re not psychic enough or something?” Dean asked, eliciting another withering scowl from Missouri. 

“I’m a psychic, not a medium,” she explained shortly.  “You know the difference?” 

Dean shrugged like he didn’t know and didn’t really care, risking a quick glance at Sam who just bit his lip and shook his head.   

“Not really,” the younger brother said awkwardly, feeling like a school kid who hadn’t done his homework. 

Missouri sighed heavily.  “You boys know anything about the supernatural world?” 

Another exchanged glance.  Another shrug. 

“I know that if your head spins and you start to barf pea soup, it’s not a good sign,” Dean hazarded.  “Beyond that, I’m not exactly a believer, lady.” 

Missouri narrowed her eyes and huffed at him.  “Then you’re in for a rude awakening, boy,” she told him.  “So listen up.  A medium is a conduit; a channel through which those who have crossed over can communicate with the living.  Sometimes the dead have unfinished business in this world, or other times they just can’t let go and move on.” 

“Uh-huh,” Dean grunted, just to prove he was following, convinced the freaky psychic lady was looking at him like she thought he might be one pickle short of a Big Mac.  “Don’t feel like you have to over-simplify on our account,” he added, emphasising the ‘our’, although he got the distinct impression Missouri wasn’t looking at Sam in the same way she was looking at him. 

Missouri pursed her lips.  “Hmm,” she murmured, sounding less than convinced.  “As for myself?” she continued, leaning forward.  “I sense energies; the presence of things not visible in the ordinary world; thoughts sometimes; the future occasionally.” 

“You’re a mind reader?” Sam asked with a disbelieving frown. 

Missouri shrugged.  “I guess you could call it that.”  She paused, a deep furrow forming between her brows.  “But this?” she indicated the two of them with a wave of her hand.  “This isn’t exactly my area of expertise.” 

“What isn’t?” Sam asked gently, all nervously rapt attention. 

Missouri took a breath.  “These dreams I’ve been having,” she explained.  “Of you boys?  It’s like – like someone’s trying to send me a message, but I can’t quite pick it up.  You know, like an old TV set with a busted aerial?”  She glanced at Dean sharply as he opened his mouth to say something.  “Don’t you even think about calling me ‘old’, boy,” she snapped, eliciting a look of blatantly insincere surprise on the older brother’s face. 

“I didn’t say anything!” he protested. 

“Well don’t think anything either,” Missouri returned. 

“Look,” Sam interrupted.  “No offence, Ms. Moseley, but why should we believe any of this?  Ghosts, psychics – it’s fiction.  Bad fiction.  I don’t believe in any of this supernatural mumbo jumbo –” 

Dean quirked an eyebrow in mild surprise.  “What he said,” he agreed. 

Missouri nodded, no trace of offence on her placid features.  “I think that’s the problem,” she said cryptically.  “I think that’s what these dreams are trying to tell me.  They’re a warning.  A warning that you boys are in danger because you don’t know what’s really out there in the dark – what’s waiting for you...  You’re not prepared.  You’re not ready to face it...” 

“Face what?” Sam asked hesitantly. 

Missouri considered him for a second.  “Whatever it is that’s after you, Sam.”  She glanced at Dean.  “Whatever it is that’s after both of you.  It’s something bad.  Real bad.” 

“Lady,” Dean said with a disbelieving shake of his head.  “Either your psychic aerial is seriously on the fritz or Casper the Friendly Ghost is feeding you a load of bull.  Me and Sam may be brothers, but we only met yesterday!  How the hell can we have pissed anyone – anything – off so much that it would be after us?” 

Missouri’s frown deepened.  “You boys only met yesterday?” she clarified. 

Sam nodded.  “Our parents died when we were kids,” he explained.  “We were – we were separated.” 

Missouri seemed distinctly nonplussed by that snippet of information.  “But these dreams,” she said at length.  “It’s almost like watching a movie of your life,” she explained.  “Except – except you’re together.  As children.  The two of you and your father –” 

Dean shifted.  “Our father’s dead,” he informed the psychic flatly.  “Died with our mom in –” 

“– A house fire,” Missouri finished distractedly, running a finger across her chin. 

“How did you know that?” Dean demanded, already half way down the road to well and truly freaked. 

Missouri met the older boy’s increasingly agitated gaze.  “I saw it,” she informed him.  “In my dream.”  She shook her head, sighing.  “Weirdest thing I ever saw,” she said.  “And let me tell you, I’ve seen some weird things in my time.”  She leaned forward slightly, gently touching Dean’s fingers where they rested against his knee.  He didn’t recoil like Sam thought he might; just glanced down at the psychic’s calming hand then back up into her sorrowful eyes.  “She was on the ceiling,” Missouri said.  “On fire.” 

Dean shuddered visibly. 

“You saw that?” Missouri’s fingers tightened around Dean’s hand. 

Dean didn’t answer.  But he didn’t need to.  Missouri could see it in his eyes. 

“What else did you dream about?” he asked instead, voice thick as he tried to pull himself together. 

Missouri considered.  “Big black car,” she said.  “Scary-looking old thing.” 

Dean nodded.  “Like that one?” he asked, pulling away from her to indicate his Chevy, which was just visible on the street to the side of the garden, crookedly parked where he’d abandoned it after Sam had tried to jump out while it was still moving. 

Missouri turned to look over at the street, nodding thoughtfully.  “Your daddy’s car.” 

Dean didn’t ask how she knew that this time. 

“In my dreams,” the psychic continued, “that car was the closest you boys had to a home when you were growing up.” 

“I never saw that car before today,” Sam informed her. 

“I got it when I was eighteen,” Dean explained.  “Last time I saw it before then, I was four and Dad was driving us home from the mall.” 

Missouri tapped a finger against her lips.  “You say your father died with your momma?” 

Dean nodded.  “He – he went back.  To try and save her.” 

“You were standing on the front lawn holding a baby –” 

Sam started, and Missouri looked at him.  “What, Sam?” she asked. 

Sam’s cheeks coloured.  “Nothing,” he said, rubbing his hands together where they rested between his knees. 

“That dream you had,” Dean said quietly.  “That was the dream you had.” 

“Dream?” Missouri seized on the word.  “What dream, Sam?” 

Sam looked distinctly uncomfortable, shoulders hunched over as he awkwardly examined the decking beneath his feet.  “I’ve been having it for as long back as I can remember,” he said.  “I saw a boy standing on a lawn in front of a burning building holding a baby.”  His eyes met Missouri’s.  “That’s how – when I met Dean – that’s how I knew who he was.” 

“You met how?” Missouri asked. 

“Pulled his ass from a fire,” Dean replied with a grin.  “Being a fireman’s usually a great way to meet chicks...  Didn’t expect to find my long lost kid brother.” 

“Fire?” Missouri sounded surprised.  “Last night?” 

Sam nodded.  “My parents’ house. Jessica and I were staying with them for a few weeks when –” 

“South Harper Street, right?” Missouri put in. 

Sam opened and closed his mouth several times before managing a mute nod of his head. 

“Well I’ll be damned!” Missouri burst out.  

“What?” Dean asked, rapidly beginning to lose his grip on the conversation. 

“I called you,” Missouri said, wide-eyed. 

“Huh?” 

“Well, maybe not you personally,” she amended.  “But I was the one who called the Fire Department to your house last night, Sam.” 

Sam just looked at her.  “You – you did what?” 

“I dreamed of a house and a fire,” Missouri was staring at him, hand drawn up to her chest where she twirled a gold pendant absently.  “And when I woke up, I knew the exact address.” 

Sam’s eyebrows disappeared into his hairline. 

“You called the Fire Department on the strength of a dream?” Dean sounded scandalised. 

Missouri scowled at him.  “I was right, wasn’t I?” 

Dean shrugged, eyes suddenly downcast.  “Wondered how come the fire hadn’t really taken hold by the time we got there,” he muttered. 

“I guess – I guess we owe you our lives,” Sam stuttered.  “My family; me; Jess –” 

Missouri looked up suddenly.  “Jess?” she repeated.  “Jessica?  Your girlfriend?” 

Sam seemed taken aback.  “Ye-eah,” he said slowly.   

“She’s here?” 

“Yeah –” 

“And she was in the fire last night?” 

“Yeah she was.  Dean’s buddy got her out right before Dean came and got me.” 

Missouri shook her head, slowly massaging her forehead.  “She’s not supposed to be here,” she muttered. 

Sam’s face twisted.  “She’s not?  Well – well where is she supposed to be?” 

Missouri looked up at him, a crushing sadness in her eyes, but no explanation forthcoming.  “Maybe things are trying to put themselves right,” she mused, more to herself than her companions.  “Maybe – maybe reality is trying to reassert itself...” 

Dean glanced at Sam, just to make sure he wasn’t the only one who didn’t have a clue what Missouri was talking about.  Sam shook his head uncertainly. 

The psychic looked up suddenly.  “This is wrong,” she stated flatly.  “All of it.  You boys weren’t supposed to grow up apart, that much I know.  That’s what the dreams are showing me: That this life you’re leading – it’s all wrong – different.  You were supposed to know each other.  And you were supposed to know me.  Maybe – maybe your meeting wasn’t an accident.  Maybe whatever has been altered is trying to set itself right again...” 

“Altered?” Sam echoed.  “What’s been altered?  What are you –?” 

“I think my dreams are showing me the life you boys should have had,” Missouri said.  “It all makes sense now.  Dean – so what?  You’re a firefighter?”  Dean nodded.  “And you Sam?” 

“I’m going to Law School in the fall,” Sam replied uncertainly. 

“That’s not what I’ve been seeing,” Missouri told them.  “That’s not the life the dreams have been showing me.  In my dreams, you grew up with your father.  Together.  He trained you to fight the evil in this world; the evil that’s coming for you.  The evil that took your momma.  That was his purpose in life: to prepare you so you wouldn’t fail, wouldn’t falter, wouldn’t be vulnerable, wouldn’t –” She stopped abruptly, biting her lip and running a hand across her face. 

“Wouldn’t what?” Sam asked breathlessly. 

For a second, Missouri couldn’t look at him.  “It’s marked you, Sam.  The thing that took your mom.  It’s marked you and I think that maybe all of this – this life you’re living – is its way of getting to you – making you do whatever it is it wants you to do.” 

Sam blanched slightly.  “What does – what does it want me to do?” he barely dared ask. 

Through a great effort of will, Missouri managed to maintain eye contact.  “Honestly?” she said quietly.  “I don’t know.  But I – I don’t think it’s good.” 

Sam digested that for a second.  “But I – I’m nothing special,” he stammered, panic beginning to gnaw deep in his stomach.  “I’m just a law student.  Why would something – something evil be after me?  What did I do?  Why come after my family...?” 

“I can’t answer that, Sam,” Missouri admitted.  “All I can say is that in this other life I’ve been dreaming of, you were prepared to deal with it.  Your father saw to that.  Made sure you were ready.  Made sure your brother was ready.” 

Sam couldn’t look at Dean just then.  “What does it have to do with him?” he asked, panic beginning to give way to anger.  “If it’s me the thing’s after – this – this isn’t even his fight!” 

Missouri opened her mouth as if to reply, but for once Dean surprised her by saying something she’d not foreseen. 

“Maybe not in this life,” he said softly, raising his eyes to meet Sam’s.  “But if something’s after my brother then that makes it my fight – whether we grew up together or not.” 

“But you hardly even know me –” Sam began to protest. 

“That doesn’t matter,” Dean returned shortly.  “If you’re in danger, if something’s after you, then it’s my fight too.”  He glanced at Missouri.  “Right?”  That’s what you meant?  In that ‘other’ life?  That’s what our dad was doing?  Training both of us to stand up to this thing.  Together.  Right?” 

Missouri nodded.  “Here,” she chose her words carefully, “Sam is untrained and unprotected.”  She looked deep into Dean’s eyes.  “You understand?” 

Dean nodded.  He understood more than Missouri probably realised.  “That’s why Dad gave Sam to me,” he said.  “I was supposed to look out for him – protect him –” 

“In that life,” Missouri agreed.  “Yes.  In this one?  I don’t think so.  I think maybe that was this evil thing’s plan all along – split you boys up and it leaves Sam vulnerable.” 

“Wait a second,” Sam raised a hand.  “That life you’re talking about – where we grew up together.  Missouri, that never happened.  So how could this – this evil thing know that splitting us up would help it get to me?” 

“Who says it never happened?” Missouri demanded.  “Maybe it did.  Somewhere.  Somehow.  Maybe something happened to change things.  We can’t see everything that happens in this universe, Sam.” 

Sam frowned sceptically.  “You’re talking alternate universes now?” 

Missouri shrugged.  “Call it what you will.  I don’t have all the answers, Sam.  All I know is that you –” she glanced at Dean, “– and your family are in danger.  I think that’s why I was shown that other life, why I was sent here: to warn you.” 

Sam paled.  “Why would my family be in danger?” he asked, lips suddenly painfully dry. 

Missouri took a breath.  “I told you that your mother died in that other life?” 

Sam nodded. 

“Sam, she died to protect you.  And I think – I think your father did too.” 

“I thought you said he didn’t die in the fire?” Dean put in. 

“No, he didn’t,” Missouri replied.  “But he did die.  When you were a little older than you are now.  I’m a little hazy on the details.  But I do know he died trying to protect you boys.  This evil thing?  It stripped away your protection in that life, Sam.  First your mother, eventually your father.  And – and –”  She looked away, eyes distant for a second, before turning back to meet Sam’s increasingly horrified gaze, a hand gently catching hold of his, much as she’d done earlier with Dean’s.  “Sam, in that other life?”  She took a shallow breath.  “It took Jessica.  Just like it took your mother.” 

Sam wasn’t sure whether Missouri continued to speak after that, the sudden rush of blood pounding in his ears drowning out anything but the hammering of his heart.  He was aware that Missouri’s mouth was moving; that she was looking at Dean, who was suddenly clutching Sam’s arm.  But beyond that, he could only see the edges of his world turn white as the colour drained completely from his vision. 

“Sam?  Sammy?”   

Dean was calling his name, but he sounded as if he was at the end of a long tunnel, a long white tunnel with a pinprick of darkness way off in the distance. 

“Sam?” Missouri said firmly.  “Listen to me.” 

He looked at her, eyes just barely registering her presence as her words continued to echo around his head.  It took Jessica... 

“It’s going to come after your family, Sam,” Missouri pressed on.  “In this life; this one you’re living right now.  Sam, last night’s fire wasn’t the first there’s been in your parents’ house, was it?  When that address came to me in my dream I checked the public records: I saw that there was another fire in that house eleven years ago, wasn’t there?” 

Sam heard her somehow, just about comprehending her question.  He nodded mutely. 

“It started where, Sam?” 

“My sister’s nursery.”  His voice sounded thin.  Empty. 

“How old was your sister?” 

“I guess – six months maybe?” 

Missouri nodded, but didn’t elaborate on the reason for her question.  “I think the evil came for your family that night, Sam,” she said instead.  “But something stopped it; something distracted it.  So for some reason your family was spared.” 

“And last night?” Dean asked hoarsely.  “Last night it came back to finish the job?” 

Missouri bit her lip.  “I think maybe it did,” she replied.  “To strip back another layer of protection.  In this life, it’s taken your mother and your father already –” 

“Now it wants my new family?” Sam’s voice trembled as the implications sank in.  “Jess?” 

Missouri dipped her head slightly.  “And Dean.” 

Dean looked up at her, expression caught somewhere between fear and stubborn determination. 

“You’re Sam’s last line of defence, Dean,” Missouri continued, catching hold of the young man’s wrist and looking him right in the eye, just to make sure he understood what she was saying.  “You boys weren’t supposed to meet in this life, not according to whatever scheme this evil thing had in mind.  Something has upset its plans and I think it’s looking for a way to put things right.”  She squeezed Dean’s wrist tightly, pinning him in her intensely dark gaze.  “It’s going to come after you next, Dean.  I’m certain of it.” 

“Did it –” Dean began to ask, but realised he didn’t have enough air in his lungs to finish the question.  He drew in a slow, deliberately even breath.  “Did it kill me in that other life?” he managed eventually.  “Did I die with Dad?” 

Missouri’s brow crinkled.  “I told you.  Whatever’s trying to get through to me has kept your father’s death very vague in these dreams I’m being sent.  Everything else – your mother’s death, you childhoods – has been clearer.  Kind of like an old movie playing out for my eyes only.  A lot easier to get a sense of what’s going on.”  She sighed, finally releasing Dean’s wrist and shifting in her seat.  “But your father’s death?” she continued, shaking her head.  “That’s been limited to – to feelings; impressions.  The things I usually pick up on in the waking world.”  She held Dean’s gaze thoughtfully.  “I think your father did something to save you.  When the evil finally came for you in that life.  I think he did something he shouldn’t have –” 

“Sam?” 

Dean was prevented from questioning the psychic further by Lucy skidding out onto the decking from the open patio door.  She glanced once at Missouri before turning her attention to her brother. 

“Sam, Mom wants to know if Dean and your other friend are staying for lunch.” 

Sam blinked, something so mundane and everyday as food preparation jarring dramatically with the conversation he’d just been deeply involved in.  He’d have laughed at the ridiculousness of it if hadn’t been for the fact that he couldn’t help but wonder whether there was some truth to Missouri Moseley’s dark portents of doom: dreams; alternate lives; mediums.  Some dark evil presence stalking him and his family in two different realities. 

Jessica dead. 

It was nonsense.  Had to be nonsense. 

“No, honey,” Missouri answered for him, turning to look at the child intently.  “Dean and I were just leaving.” 

Lucy turned large blue eyes on the psychic appraisingly.  “You’re Sam’s friend?” she asked. 

Missouri paused, an odd frown darkening her features.  “I hope so,” she said carefully, not taking her eyes off Lucy. 

Sam didn’t fail to notice Missouri’s almost perplexed scrutiny of his little sister as the psychic slowly rose to her feet. 

Dean followed her cue, rubbing awkwardly at the back of his neck.  “So...” he began uncertainly, glancing from Missouri to Sam, acutely aware of Lucy standing watching them.  “What happens now?” 

Sam deflected Dean’s gaze back to Missouri, both the brothers staring at her hopefully, as if maybe she was going to pull a magic wand out of that big purse of hers and somehow make this all better. 

“Well,” the psychic said slowly, hitching her purse up onto her shoulder but making no move to remove anything – magical or not – from within.  “A lot’s going to depend on whoever’s trying to contact me,” she said.  “Until we know what it is they need us to do for them, all I can suggest is that you boys make certain you keep each other – and your family – safe.” 

“What makes you think we’re supposed to be doing anything?” Sam asked, gaze flitting briefly to Dean.  “What if we’re doing what we’re supposed to be doing right now?  What if just by meeting we’ve altered things...?” 

Missouri’s lips twisted into a thoughtful pout.  “Oh, you’ve certainly changed things alright,” she agreed.  “And as far as you two are concerned, as far as protecting you both is concerned, for the better.  But as far as –” she glanced at Lucy, “– as far as this thing goes?  It’s not gonna be happy.  It’s gonna do everything in its power to reassert its control over the situation.”  She looked pointedly at Dean.  “You understand?” 

Dean considered for a second before nodding, suddenly realising that Missouri wasn’t questioning his intelligence: she was merely ensuring that he understood the implications of his role in all this.  And for the first time, he was pretty sure he did.  Dad hadn’t put Sam into his arms on a whim.  Dad had trusted him with his little brother’s life.  That wasn’t something he could easily dismiss – in that life or this one.  “Watch my back, right?” he offered with a grin he didn’t really feel, avoiding stating the obvious. 

“And his,” Missouri said, stating it for him as she inclined her head in Sam’s direction.  “And you?” she turned her attention to the younger boy.  “You watch out for your family.”  She nodded meaningfully in Dean’s direction.  “All of them.” 

*** 

“So does he really have to come for lunch on Sunday?” Danny whined sulkily, shoving a forkful of mashed potato into his mouth and scowling across the table at Lucy. 

“Why don’t you like him?” the girl demanded, squirting an obscene amount of ketchup onto her plate before looking back up at her brother.  “He’s so –” she rolled her eyes dreamily, causing Danny to snigger. 

“Lucy has a boyfriend!” he sang tauntingly. 

“Daniel, how old are you exactly?” Fran suddenly demanded sternly.  “Because last time I checked, you weren’t eight.” 

Danny ducked his head even more sulkily. 

Alan sighed, helping himself to more vegetables.  “Dean seems like a nice enough young man,” he said, noting the sceptical look that crossed Grandma’s face and the hurt expression fracturing Sam’s when he looked over at his little brother. 

“For an axe murdering psycho serial killer maybe,” Danny muttered through another mouthful of potato. 

“Danny, why on earth would you think that?” Fran asked, exasperation clear in her voice.  “Dean’s been nothing but polite and – and downright charming as far as I can see –” 

“Yeah, I’ll bet that’s what Hannibal Lector’s neighbours said, too,” Danny continued to aim his words at his plate.  “Before he hacked them into little pieces and ate them for dinner –” 

“With a nice Chianti?” Sam offered, managing to plaster a smile on his face somehow, before shaking his head at his kid brother.  “Look, Danny, just ’cause Dean has an axe in his trunk doesn’t make him an axe murderer –” 

“Oh no?” Danny looked up at him suddenly.  There was something in his eyes that came damn close to anger, but Sam was pretty sure it was actually something else entirely. 

“What?” Sam frowned.  “Danny, what are you –” 

“’Cause I saw a gun case in there, Sammy,” Danny emphasised the last word sarcastically.  “Why’s he carrying a gun around in his trunk if he’s so harmless?” 

Sam sat back in his seat slightly, the frown still creasing his face.  “Danny, what were you doing looking in the trunk of Dean’s car?” he asked, pretty patiently he thought. 

Danny’s cheeks reddened.  “I – I was –” he stammered.  Then there really was anger in his eyes.  “Well he shouldn’t have left his stupid car unlocked!  Especially with a gun in the trunk!” 

“What?” Sam returned.  “He should have stopped and made sure his car was locked before he jumped out and ran into the house to make sure you guys weren’t all getting burnt to death?” 

Danny clenched his jaw and returned to staring at his plate.  “I’m just saying,” he groused.  “This guy could be anybody.  And we just invite him into our house –” 

“He’s ‘anybody’ who saved Sam’s life, Danny,” Jess put in softly, reaching for Sam’s hand under the table. 

Danny looked back up at that, just in time for Sam to pin him in a determined stare.  “And he’s my brother,” he added firmly. 

Danny recoiled as if slapped.  He blinked a couple of times before snapping, “Maybe that’s what his DNA says.  But he wasn’t here.  Not like – not like I was.  And you just invite him in to play big brother.” 

Sam sighed.  “No,” he agreed, voice still calm but firm.  “He wasn’t here.  But that wasn’t his choice, Danny.  He’s not as lucky as we are – he doesn’t have a family like we do.”  He held his younger brother’s gaze pointedly.  “And I think if I’d lost my little brother the way he lost his, once I found him again I’d be hanging on for dear life and would never let go.”  He inclined his head enquiringly, attempting to ensure his brother understood what he was saying.  “’Cause I’d hate to have lost my kid brother the way he lost his.” 

Danny maintained eye contact with his older brother, grudgingly at first, but Sam could already see his edges starting to soften. 

“Yeah well,” he huffed.  “I guess – I guess that would pretty much have sucked.” 

Sam recognised that as the closest he was going to get to an apology.  “He’s never going to replace you, kiddo,” he added, glancing around the table.  “You guys are my family, right?” 

Grandma looked at him over her pile of broccoli.  “Told you you were the smart one.” 

*** 

Sam figured the cavernous room ought to be hot, but he felt oddly cool as he wandered calmly between stacks of steadily burning packing crates. 

The flames were licking up the whitewashed walls to the already smoke-blackened skylights above his head, fingers of flame reaching out to caress the piles of boxes stacked almost to the ceiling on every side. 

Somewhere in the distance Sam heard breaking glass and raised voices, flashing blue and red lights piercing through the smoke blackening the air as a static crackle above his head caused him to look up. 

And his knees nearly buckled right out from under him. 

“Winchester?  Dean?  Kid, where the hell are you?” a disembodied voice crackled, while Sam’s eyes locked with those of his big brother looking down at him from his unnatural vantage point splayed out across the glass ceiling. 

“Dean!” 

Sam tried to scream the name but no sound left his throat, as blood dripped down onto his cheek from the jagged gash spreading across Dean’s stomach, unnaturally bright red against the yellow of his protective clothing.  His helmet and breathing apparatus had been strewn across the black tiled floor, and with no mask covering his ash-white face, all Sam could see was the absolute terror in his brother’s eyes as he slowly opened his cracked lips. 

“Why Sam?”