Song choice for this chapter: Breaking Benjamin's "Away"

Part 3: Where Were You When

Dean had to quell his then second urge to reach for his ankle blade now that the supposed cause of Sasha's distress had appeared. And she knew Sasha. That got Dean's head buzzing. Random incubus was one thing. But hot chick with silvery doe eyes was so totally different. Sasha hadn't ever mentioned any exes but that didn't mean he didn't have any. It made Dean scowl to think that that might be what she was.

The girl was gorgeous too, wearing a deep burgundy shirt, jeans, and a silver necklace that sported two rings as a pendent and rested gently on her chest. Her hair was like new copper, shimmering and hanging straight and thick past her shoulders with wispy bangs. Her trim figure was very different from Shiarra's voluptuousness, but it seemed fitting, and she even had a dusting of freckles that just added. There was also that ethereal glow to her eyes that told Dean definitely not human.

Sasha just sat there so frozen at first, watching her as she was watching him. Then the slightly shocked expression melted from the girl's face and as soon as she smiled—soft and hopeful—Sasha broke into a smile too. He was out of the booth then. Hugging her.

"Charis," Sasha sighed like the greatest relief, enveloping the delicate looking girl as Dean had only ever seen Sasha do to a select few, "You look…you look so…" Sasha trailed, pulling this Charis person away so he could hold her in front of him and look her over better, "So grown up," he said finally.

Charis laughed—a shy giggle. "You too. Almost didn't recognize you. Hair gave you away though," she smirked a little as a hand came up to brush through Sasha's crayola red hair with fingers that just seemed so at home touching him.

Their smiles were so affectionate towards each other too that Dean felt his jaw clench. He cleared his throat loudly, hating that he was on the inside of the booth, blocked in by Sam. "Hey," Dean said when Sasha and the girl turned to him, "Introductions might be nice." Dean hoped his own smile didn't look quite as tense as it felt on his face.

"Oh, uhh…right," Sasha smiled sheepishly, like maybe he had forgotten Sam and Dean were there. His large hands were still holding Charis' shoulders, and while one fell away to gesture at Sam and Dean in turn, the other slid down to Charis' lower back with familiar ease. "Dean, Sam," Sasha said, "This is Charis. We grew up together."

Which meant she probably knew a lot of things about Sasha that Dean didn't. It made Dean's jaw clench tighter, staring at where Sasha's hand was now hidden behind this girl.

Thankfully, Sam salvaged them from whatever tension might have arisen by standing just slightly from the booth and reaching over to shake the girl's hand. "Nice to meet you," he said with all that annoyingly genuine friendliness, "Charis, huh? That's an interesting name."

Charis' smile flashed a little wider with a sort of bashful lowering of her head, and she accepted Sam's hand gratefully. "It's for Charismatic. I think my parents were being wishful thinkers."

Sam returned her smile and gave a polite chuckle. "I get the feeling you're probably being modest," he said.

"Sort of goes with the territory being a succubus, right?" Dean chimed in, noting how startled Charis looked upon hearing that he knew what she was, "Unless there's some incubus/succubus transvestite thing I'm not aware of." Dean immediately felt Sam's foot stomp down onto his and he turned a ready glare onto his brother in rebuke.

"What he means is," Sasha said, shaking his head at Dean before turning back to Charis, "Well, before…I…" he smiled humbly, "I thought I sensed an incubus."

Charis' expression maintained its look of unease and her eyes darted from the brothers back to Sasha like she had something to say but wasn't sure how to word it.

And then a new voice sounded close beside their booth, this one undeniably male.

"You did," it said, fiercely low and not at all pleasant. Dean saw an arm reach for Charis before he saw the whole man, and when this new stranger stepped forward, jerking Charis away from Sasha to rest securely and possessively against him instead, Dean knew to be worried again.

A quick glance at Sasha confirmed that thought too. The redhead looked downright scared now. "Lin…" he said like a breath, but not one of relief this time.

Dean eyed this newcomer and would have laughed if the air wasn't so thick with tension. The guy looked that same end-all incubus age of twenty-five, but he had white hair—not platinum but white—like that damn lutin from Danville. The hair was longer than Sasha's, though still not as long as Sam's, and his eyes were an angry, intense green. It made Dean think of nuclear waste or acid. The guy's expression sure was acidic enough. He was in jeans and made a strange parody of Sasha since he too had on a long-sleeved black shirt.

Beside Dean, Sam was pretty tense now too and he nudged Dean's thigh as if to say they needed to be ready to defend themselves even in a crowded karaoke bar. Dean couldn't have agreed more. This guy was not looking to be friendly.

"Lindsey, please," Charis was saying, turning in her companion's hold to stare at him beseechingly. He ignored her and kept his eyes dead-centered on Sasha. Dean almost expected to start picking up on the sounds of growling.

"Okay…" Dean said, holding up his hands in hopes of deflating things before this guy threw any punches, which for some reason he looked very close to doing, "Nobody wants a fight here. Why don't we all just stay calm and—"

"Stay out of it!" the white-haired incubus snarled at Dean, more than just growling but flashing red eyes and fangs for a moment too. Dean felt something like fear climb up the back of his neck. He'd be damned if he'd show it though.

Charis was still trying to calm her…well, Dean assumed Lindsey was more than just her friend. "Lindsey…" she implored again, a hand pressed gently to his chest, "After all this time—"

"Don't you even begin to defend him," Lindsey said, his almost neon green eyes looking down on Sasha with revulsion. Looking down literally, Dean realized, because Lindsey was just as trim as Sasha but he was taller and would probably be eye to eye with Sam if the younger Winchester were standing. "Sitting here with hunters," Lindsey said then in distaste.

The pleading on Charis' face vanished upon hearing that, leaving sudden fear instead as she clung to Lindsey and stared wide-eyed at Sam and Dean. So much for her being on their side.

With an arm around Charis now, tight in his claim over her and how he had seemingly won, Lindsey snarled one final blow at Sasha before walking away. "Traitor," he said. And then they were gone, heading right back towards the door they must have only recently come through.

Angry as Dean was, he realized that what bothered him the most was how Sasha had just stood there. Not once did Sasha try and raise his voice to defend himself or even raise his head, lowered as it was like a child being scolded. It was as if Sasha believed he deserved that treatment.

Dean might have turned his anger onto Sasha because of that too if it weren't for the way those brilliant blues were swimming, and how Sasha just looked so damn young and broken down.

"Hey…" Dean prompted since Sasha was just standing beside their booth, staring at nothing. Dean waited a moment for Sasha to turn to him but when that didn't happen he forced a smile and called, "So, who was that asshole, huh?"

That at least got Sasha to raise his head, but he didn't look at either of the brothers. A sickly smile crossed his face like he was trying so hard not to cry. It broke Dean's heart to hear the exhaled false laugh before Sasha finally said, "My best friend," and then almost lost it completely, having to rub at his eyes as his tears betrayed him. "I need to, uhh…I-I'm just going to…" Sasha trailed, and before Dean could think of anything to say his friend was headed off to the bathroom.

"Sasha!" Sam called as the redhead hurried off. Almost immediately, Sam turned back to Dean and Dean took the hint. They had to do something.

"Out," Dean commanded, already scooting across the seat and nearly hip-checking Sam in the process. Once they were both on their feet Dean pushed Sam in the direction of the bathroom and made to head out the main door himself. "Go check on him," Dean said as he turned away.

An almost painful grip took hold of Dean's arm before he could get even a step. "What are you going to do?"

Dean shrugged, only turning to face Sam halfway. "Just thought I'd get some air."

"Dean…"

"What? There's a law says I can't get air?"

"Dean," Sam said more firmly, "Don't do anything stupid."

This time Dean did turn fully to face Sam and he cracked his most unassuming smile. "Don't know what you mean, Sammy. Now get your ass in that bathroom and make sure Sasha's okay, or I swear I will put you down and make you look like a bitch in front of all these nice people. Got me?"

Sam just frowned, much as Dean thought that deserved at least a small laugh. Still, Sam released him and Dean didn't look back again as he made for the door.

The first thing Dean was certain of was that they hadn't left in a car. There were no sounds of a nearby engine, the parking lot still and empty, leaving only the highway, and there hadn't been enough time for the pair to get that far. They also couldn't have risked using their wings in the open, but Dean had to guess that using them somehow had to be their plan since he couldn't see them walking anywhere either. That left only one option then for a place to unfurl said wings and take off—the makeshift alley behind the restaurant, where a few other buildings converged as well.

Dean headed there without a second thought. Part of him itched to draw his gun as he walked into the darkness, but that would probably lower his already zero credibility with these people. Dean also thought about calling out, but he still wasn't exactly sure what he planned to do. He just couldn't leave things as they were. Sasha deserved better.

This was probably a time where that incubus night vision would benefit Dean, though Sasha had said it wasn't good enough to see through pitch black. Dean could barely see anything though, and just as he was about to say 'fuck it' and call out after all, what he was actually not at all surprised about finally happened.

The blow came from Dean's right, sudden and so brutal that Dean's shoulder was only one small pop from being dislocated after he hit the wall. At first he was pinned so hard he could barely breathe. Then he really couldn't breathe because a grip like a damn vice was on his neck and clearly didn't care about the damage it was causing.

"Lindsey!" Dean heard in Charis' light, concerned voice, but all Dean could see was red, vibrant and fierce in front of his face. In hindsight this may not have been the best idea.

"Is this what you do, hunter?" Lindsey growled in nothing even resembling a human voice, "Is this how it works! You keep him around, keep him alive, and in turn he leads you to us? Is that it!"

Much as Dean wanted to say no, shake his head, anything, the hold on him was too tight. Crush your windpipe tight. He wouldn't be conscious for long if this kept up. He tried to speak with his eyes but he knew they were bulging, so he went with his emotions instead. He doubted Lindsey was listening, but he tried to emote, well, everything. That sure, he was angry, but he didn't mean any harm. That he cared for Sasha. A lot. That he really, really didn't feel like dying right now.

"You're all the same," Lindsey said in a furious whisper, his breath hot on Dean's face and his fangs glinting, "You're just using him. Biding your time until you kill him too. And he'll allow it. He'll probably fall at your god damn feet, thinking at least he did some good." Lindsey growled low in his throat as he said that. "He's just a fool."

"Lindsey…" Charis said again, softer this time but closer, as if she was standing right next to them, "Please, if you'd only listen for a moment you'd know he doesn't want to hurt us."

"He won't hurt us," Lindsey promised, though to Dean it sounded much more like a threat.

"Lindsey."

Things were getting hazy. Dean felt his body growing limp and he hated that he was so helpless. He started counting down the seconds to when he'd be out, passed out and who knows what else afterwards. Therefore, it was almost more painful to suddenly be released, Dean's throat burning and his body so sore as he fell straight to the ground.

Dean was hauled up almost immediately, pinned again though not quite as harshly. In fact if not for that hold, Dean doubted he would be able to stand. He started to feel hands patting him down and he blinked unfocused at the white blur of Lindsey so close to him.

"Dude…" Dean tried, even though it hurt to talk, "If you…wanted to get frisky…you could have just said so." Dean hoped his smirk actually looked something like a smirk but he couldn't be sure.

Lindsey huffed in response. His hands came around to Dean's back, up beneath his leather jacket, and he found the gun tucked into Dean's jeans.

Shit. "Never…leave home without it?" Dean said by way of explanation, starting to get his breath back a little.

"You expect me to believe you wouldn't have used this?" Lindsey replied sharply.

Dean could focus better now, felt at least a little steadier, and he stared right up into those once again green eyes. "No. I do expect you…to survive lead bullets though. So if I had fired…it really just would have been…me blowing off steam…at your bad Billy Idol impression." Dean flicked his eyes up over Lindsey's hair. Even Billy Idol never had hair that white.

Lindsey did not look amused with Dean's snarky comments, but he released Dean completely then, apparently seeing no threat in the hunter as he unloaded the bullets of Dean's gun into his palm.

Wavering a little, Dean had to lean back against the wall to keep from falling, but at least he could somewhat stand. He had to smirk again when Lindsey grimaced at finding the bullets to be lead after all, just as Dean had said. "Missed something though," Dean said, raising his right foot a little.

Fresh anger rippled over Lindsey's face. He bent down, pulled up Dean's pant leg and promptly removed Dean's ankle blade.

"Now that's iron," Dean admitted, "But I didn't have to tell you about it. I'm also kind of fond of that thing if I could have it back at some point."

Lindsey now had all of the weapons Dean had bothered to bring along for what should have been just a night out. Yeah, Dean felt defenseless considering even his hardest punch would barely faze an incubus that actually meant business. He was confident now though that his encounter did not have to end as badly as it had begun.

"You done spewing your bullshit now?" Dean asked.

"What do you want?" Lindsey asked right back, tossing both gun and blade over his shoulder onto the dark ground behind him, "Did he send you out here like a coward? Huh? He can't defend himself?"

Dean had to laugh. His neck and throat throbbed but he was more or less back to his senses. "I thought you knew him. Or at least used to," Dean countered, "No, Sasha didn't send me. He'd probably filet me if he knew I was out here. See, whatever you may think, we don't have any power over him. No deals or bargains. We're a team. Friends."

"Who just happen to be fucking?" Lindsey shot back, looking Dean up and down like he could smell Sasha all over him. Maybe he could. "So tell me, is that his trade off or yours?"

Okay, now this guy was getting on Dean's nerves. He glanced to the side where he saw Charis not too far away from them. "You actually put up with this?" he said.

Not Dean's brightest moment considering Lindsey reared back and immediately slammed Dean into the wall again. That was it for Dean's right shoulder. It was definitely dislocated now. "He left us," Lindsey snarled, "Say what you want, but he's the one who turned his back on his own people, on his friends. He's the one who kills his own kind now. And in the name of what? Justice? She was family."

"She was a murderer," Dean grit out in reply. He had no sympathy for Sasha's girl-killing aunt. Right and wrong had plenty of grey areas, but some things were too clear to ignore.

Lindsey just shook his head. He wasn't listening. "If he can turn on family, how soon until he leads you to the rest of us? And what then? You kill us all and he gets a free pass? I know better."

This was a lost cause, Dean realized that, and it wounded him for Sasha's sake. Especially since it was so painfully obvious that Lindsey didn't hate Sasha at all like he let on. "You don't know anything," Dean said, "And it's a shame. It's a shame that the same story keeps repeating. Good guy gets the shaft because the people that are supposed to care about him won't listen. Well…I listen."

"Really?" Lindsey practically scoffed.

"Yeah. I do," Dean said evenly, "Loving him kind of makes it hard not to."

That got an interesting reaction.

For a moment Dean almost thought he was getting through to Lindsey. The green eyes lost their malice, the incubus' expression drawing blank, maybe even questioning with curiosity. But too soon the sternness was back and Lindsey stepped in so close that Dean wondered if he was done for.

All Lindsey said though was, "Never come looking for us again," before he turned to walk into the darkness of the alley and left Dean behind. "We're leaving," he said to Charis as he went. Then he was gone like a ghost melted back into the shadows.

Charis didn't immediately follow him. Her face exuded sympathy, clearly torn between two men she obviously cared much about. Dean could only imagine that her choice to ultimately side with Lindsey was out of love, and as much as he wanted to be angry, he couldn't bring himself to hate her for that.

While Dean was in a pretty sad condition right now, leaning into the wall behind him, neck throbbing in pain and his right arm hanging limp out of joint, he attempted a weak smile. The pretty succubus seemed to be made up of all these delicate little pieces that somehow still made her strong but not strong enough to get in the middle of this fight. But despite that she remained behind long enough to walk up close to Dean and speak tenderly.

"You look out for him?" she asked, that same beseeching in her tone.

Dean sighed a little before nodding. "We look out for each other."

"Good," Charis said, returning Dean's smile finally in a way that lit her whole face and got Dean lost for a moment in the metallic beauty of copper and silvery blue, "Keep it up then. Sometimes…it's the good guys who need the most help, you know?" she said, turning her head to look after Lindsey.

"Yeah," Dean had to laugh a little, reaching his left hand up to hold his right shoulder, "I know."

Again, Charis didn't immediately leave but instead leaned up and kissed Dean on the cheek. When she did finally turn to follow after Lindsey, Dean felt a small sense of accomplishment despite all his failures. He better have accomplished something given his sorry state.

Dean managed to retrieve his gun and his ankle blade before the sounds of running feet approached and Sam and Sasha finally appeared before him from around the building. Both of them frantically looked Dean over, even in the meager light of the alley. They weren't happy, that was for sure, and Dean expected to be given a lot of shit for what he had done, but he also assumed it would mostly be wrapped in sympathy considering how beat up he was.

He was wrong.

"What the hell were you thinking!" Sasha growled, just as fiercely as Lindsey had before, blue eyes shimmering in anger, "He could have killed you! Did you think you could make things better by hurting me more!" As Sasha yelled, he ran his hands none too gently over the bruises forming on Dean's neck and over Dean's injured shoulder.

Sam looked just as upset at finding Dean like this, but even he was slightly shocked by how angry Sasha sounded and how rough the incubus was being with Dean's wounds.

"I didn't ask you to come to my rescue!" Sasha pretty near shouted in Dean's face, "You had no right to interfere in this!"

"Well excuse me!" Dean yelled right back, easily falling into the fight since Sasha seemed so intent on making it one, "Maybe if you had actually stood up for yourself instead of cowering like a fucking child I wouldn't have needed to!"

Sasha's eyes flashed red so fast that Dean didn't even have to time to defend himself as the incubus pushed him hard enough in the chest to knock him back against the wall yet again. "I don't need you to protect me!" he cried, almost hysterical, "Don't turn me into your fucking damsel in distress! I'm not another brother for you to throw your life away for, Dean!"

All the fight in Dean instantly drained. His chest burned now, but not because of the remaining stitches that had been struck by Sasha's blow. The redhead looked ready to punch Dean hard enough to snap his neck, and Dean almost wished he would. But the weight of what Sasha had said suddenly hit the incubus and those glowing red eyes returned at once to blue.

Sasha stumbled back, staring with horror in his expression at Dean. At Sam. At Dean. "I didn't…I didn't mean that."

"Yeah, I think you pretty much did," Dean grumbled softly, feeling so heavy suddenly, like his body carried more weight than his bones could support.

Sasha just looked crushed, completely and utterly undone, and not in any way but the worst kind possible. Dean's instincts told him to help, comfort, save, protect, make better, make okay, make right. Sam always told Dean that he was too self-sacrificing. Like Sam was any better. Like any of them were. But did it have to be such a horrible thing?

Sam was just standing there, tall and still and silent, but Sasha was looking around frantically now, like he felt trapped and just wanted to run. Dean saw that very urge in Sasha's eyes, the belief that running was his best option. Running. Leaving.

"I…I'm gonna find a way back to the hotel," Sasha said too fast, his eyes never staying in one place and his feet shuffling compulsively. He tried to move off out of the alley then but Dean leapt forward, wounds be damned, and grabbed Sasha's arm as hard as he could with his left hand.

"You're not finding anything," Dean said, wishing those blue eyes would look at him. Just look at him. "We'll…we'll just go. Okay?" Dean tried to look around Sasha, find his face, his eyes, any part of him that would at least acknowledge that yeah, Dean was still there. Dean wasn't going anywhere.

"Okay," Sasha said, so softly that Dean barely heard it.

Dean glanced over at Sam. His brother's face, one he knew so well, was just so damn empty. He hated when Sam looked like that, like he was thinking so much that even humanity got left out of the expression. Sam was agonizing over all of this, over all the ways he could blame himself for it probably, and Dean wanted him to stop. He wanted both of them to stop wearing these burdens on their backs when Dean was more than willing to share the load. It would be okay. Somehow it would be okay. Dean would make it okay.

He just didn't know how.

The three of them trod sluggishly back to the car soon after that. Sasha and Sam apparently thinking that Dean's shoulder was just hurt, not completely out of socket since Dean's leather jacket covered it. The shoulder really did hurt too, but Dean didn't want to draw attention to it. Not right now. He hadn't even bothered to ask if the other two had paid the check.

Sam climbed into the front to drive again and Sasha went straight for the back. Dean wanted to climb back there with him but he got the feeling that that might not be the best idea right now. So Dean allowed Sasha his space and climbed into the front passenger seat instead.

It was a horrible half hour, quiet and suffocating. Dean spent the entire trip thinking about how he could salvage the night in some way. Nothing came to him.

Happy Birthday to me, Dean thought wryly. Twenty-nine years down…three and a half months to go.

They arrived back at the hotel and Dean was about ready to burst. He couldn't take this kind of unresolved silence, thick and hot like walls encasing them. They were barely through the motel door when he grabbed Sasha with his left hand. "Hey. Come on, cut this shit out. You need to talk about what happened, fine. We'll do that. But I need you to look at me."

Sam was behind them, stuck halfway out the door because of how they had stopped. Dean knew his brother had to be feeling like the most obvious and awkward third wheel in all of history right now, but Dean couldn't be bothered by that. He just wanted to see some sign that was Sasha was still in there, hidden somewhere behind all that god damn pain.

That pain and something like guilt was what Dean saw when Sasha finally did turn to look at him. The incubus' eyes were so wet that Dean had to wonder if there had been tears shed in the car he hadn't seen.

Sasha turned in Dean's grip, twisting his arm so that Dean had to let go but in turn squeezing Dean's wrist in what Dean took for apology before he pulled fully away. "I…I think I just want to get another room, if that's okay," he said.

"Okay. Sure," Dean nodded, "We'll get another room."

Sasha's face cracked further into anguish and he shook his head. "Not we, Dean. Just me."

Come again, Dean almost said aloud. Those words were too much for him. It just wasn't in his nature to hold back the anger that rose within him after hearing that. Sasha and Sam both complained about how Dean shut them out instead of dealing with things. Well if they thought that was purely one-sided then they were idiots. Dean expected more from them. He expected them to try, at least try when he so often couldn't. This felt too much like betrayal. Like Sasha didn't trust him. And it filled Dean with fire.

Fuck him, Dean thought. He didn't need to put up with this shit.

"Fine," Dean said through clenched teeth, "Do whatever. Sulk all fucking night for all I care. You want rid of me, I'm happy to oblige. Won't have to put up with me much longer anyway." Ignoring whatever calls there might have been made after him, Dean pushed past Sasha into the motel and headed for the room.

He didn't notice that Sam was right on his heels until he reached the room and slammed the door shut behind him only to have Sam open it again a moment later. "Dean."

"You fucking say anything to me, I'll knock you're fucking teeth out," Dean warned. He needed to work this out of his body, drown in the shower for an hour and go to bed. He didn't care that it was barely ten o'clock. He didn't want to deal with any of this.

Achingly, Dean slid out of his leather jacket, hissing as his dislocated shoulder jarred when the heavy fabric fell from it. He ignored Sam's concerned gasp now that the truth was revealed. Dean just needed a wall to brace himself against; he didn't need sympathy.

Walking towards the bathroom, Dean grabbed onto the doorframe for support and prepared himself to just do this. But before he could there was a gentle hand on his good shoulder. Dean whipped his head up with a ready glare, but what he found was the most pitiable version of the puppy eyes he had yet seen. Sam didn't say anything but he turned Dean towards him and Dean understood. At least the anger he felt towards Sam started to ease out of him. Dean took a deep breath and nodded.

All it took was one good jerk aided by Sam's super strength and Dean's shoulder was back in place. It happened swift enough that Dean only grunted and grit his teeth for a moment. He'd certainly had worse. A weak 'thanks' fell from Dean's lips and then he turned into the bathroom. Sasha would be back to grab his stuff after getting a new room. Dean didn't want to be out there when he did.

The hot water felt good against Dean's sore muscles, beading over his shoulders and down his back. He held his whole face under the stream for a few minutes, near scalding as it was, and just tried to drown everything out. He pretended not to hear the muffled voices when Sasha did finally come back to the room. He didn't want to know what they were saying. He just wanted Sasha to leave as quickly as possible.

As time passed though and the rumble of Sasha's baritone continued to remain, Dean realized how much he wanted Sasha to stay. Therefore, the eventual sound of the room door shutting and the following silence made Dean angry all over again. This was all a big mess and it wasn't fair.

Dean emerged from the bathroom several minutes later, pulled on sleep pants and a T-shirt and did his damnedest to avoid looking Sam in the eyes. It was past 10:30 now. Still early, but good enough for bed time when Dean was aching and sick of the waking world. The problem was Dean couldn't seem to get into bed. He started pacing without realizing it, back and forth across the room.

Sam was sitting on his own bed, clad in only his boxers, and he watched Dean for awhile before finally giving a loud sigh and calling, "Dean."

"What did I tell you?" Dean snapped without looking.

Sam sighed again. "That you'll deck me if I say anything," he droned, "No offense, Dean, but I'm not really feeling the threat right now. You're a frickin' basket case and you're blazing a trail into the carpet. He's in room 309. Go talk to him."

A huff left Dean like that was the very last thing he wanted to do right now. He kept pacing in front of the beds and turned his head to glare at Sam properly. "Not so fun being the one in the middle is it?" he taunted, having absolutely no problem throwing back in Sam's face what it was like for him when Sam and Dad fought so damn often.

The expected return glare didn't come though. Sam just looked all pitying again. "He didn't mean to hurt you, Dean. And you didn't mean to hurt him. So…" a strangely satisfied smirk started to form, "Maybe you should stop being a girl for two seconds, shake it off, yell, hit each other, whatever you need to do, and get over it. Sasha has some issues he's working through. Sometimes that means a person needs to be alone. But I don't think he should be alone right now, Dean. I'm really worried about him." And just as quickly that small smirk was gone.

Dean's brother was a chameleon. He was also probably right. Dean stopped his pacing just in front of Sam, his brows furrowed but the actual anger fading away again. "Did you…just call me a girl?" Dean said, fighting the smile that tugged at his lips, though not really fighting it since Dean would take a smile over a scowl any day, "What's that called? Oh yeah. Role reversal."

Sam breathed out a small laugh and shook his head. "Dean…"

"Yeah," Dean said, taking a few deep breaths to just calm down and realize how right Sam was. Dean could be resentful and angry if he wanted, but not at the expense of…well, anything involving Sasha. Sasha was hurting too. Sasha was hurting more. "Yeah, he shouldn't be alone. Probably starting up a marathon of brooding in there. Can't have that. Wish he wasn't so damn stubborn though. Sometimes I can't figure the guy out at all, ya know."

Sam's brown-green eyes turned patronizing. "Me? Oh no. I don't know what it's like to live with someone like that at all," he said a little too sarcastically, "However will we cope?"

Right. "Bite me, Sasquatch," Dean grumbled.

"Make me," Sam snarked back.

Dean fought off another grin. "Bitch," he said as he turned away, heading immediately for the door whether he was ready for this or not.

"Hey. Jerk," Sam called after him. Dean turned back and Sam tossed him one of the hotel keys with the number 309. "Swiped the extra key from him," Sam shrugged.

Leave it to the giant to have the nimblest fingers. "Go to sleep, Sammy. If something comes up, I'll let you know." Dean headed out the door.

As he was making his way down the hallway, Dean decided that he was not going to bother knocking when he got there. He probably had a better chance of forcing his way in than smooth talking anyway. He was still too on edge not to get upset, and he really didn't want things to escalate again. He knew he had been wrong with some of the things he had said. But so had Sasha. Dean just hoped the incubus hadn't slid home the chain lock.

Room 309 wasn't far from their other room so Dean didn't have much time to think about what he was going to say or do. Going in and seeing how things went from there seemed like the best option right now, but maybe that was because Dean was afraid to imagine all the ways this could go horribly wrong. It wasn't as if he and Sasha hadn't ever had a fight before. This was just…different. This was Sasha hiding things from Dean. When it came to some things, Dean actually didn't know Sasha all that well. He kind of hated that.

Bolstered as much as he was going to get, Dean took a breath and tried to be quiet with the key. Thank goodness this was one of the newer hotels that had those swipe cards. Dean was used to older places that still used actual keys. It made it easy to slip the card in, get the green light of approval, and slowly open the door. Maybe if Sasha was in the bathroom or something Dean could get himself settled and think over what he was going to say.

But Sasha wasn't in the bathroom. That became pretty clear to Dean as soon as he cracked the door even the smallest bit. He could hear the faint strums of his dad's guitar, a little shakier than usual, but definitely by leave of Sasha's long fingers. And then came Sasha's voice, also shaky, uneven and broken up, filling Dean's ears as he slipped inside the room.

Sasha was turned away, facing the wall. He didn't see Dean enter.

Cold am I
I'm beside myself
Because there's no one else
Have I grown
So blind
Only god could save you
If you knew your way to the light

Dean didn't know this song, but he got the feeling that Sasha wasn't singing about Lindsey or Charis. It made Dean's throat clench. He managed to close the door behind him without alerting Sasha either, and for a while he just stood there, listening to the somber tones of Sasha's voice.

So fly away
And leave it behind
Just stay awake
There's nowhere to hide

Everything about Dean's life was made up of music. He spent more time in the Impala then he did on cases really, and his music accompanied him even when he was on the road alone. Sasha was made up of music for Dean too. Playing. Singing. Music always reminded Dean of something—Sammy, Dad, this damn war, but so much now of how he felt for the incubus that had weaseled into his heart. Lately though, every song Dean heard reminded him of the end of the year. His year.

And Sasha was right there with him.

I see you
Cause you won't get out of my way
I hear you
Cause you won't quit screaming my name
I feel you
Cause you won't stop touching my skin
I need you
They're coming to take you away

Sasha's voice choked on the last word like a sob and his fingers faltered and stopped on the strings. Dean froze, afraid to breathe and draw Sasha's attention now. But Sasha was up in his own head. He wouldn't have known Dean was there even if he had been looking right at him.

"What am I doing…?" Sasha said to himself, a hand coming up to wipe at his eyes that Dean knew had to be leaking tears.

Silence raged then, filling the room. Sasha was just sitting there staring forward, the guitar resting on the floor now but its neck still gripped tight in Sasha's left hand. Dean could see how Sasha was just shaking and shaking. Something about all this made Dean think things were far more serious than he first realized.

The tension started to build like an electric current, static and pulsing throughout the room. Dean thought of Nicollet Avenue in Minnesota when he felt Sam's power about to erupt just before it did, bending over all those signs with TK. This felt too much like that and it filled Dean with panic.

He was moving forward before he had the chance to second guess himself. Just as he reached the bed, Sasha rose to his feet, his left hand lifting the guitar so that his right could grab further down the neck, raise the whole thing high above his head and swing.

Sasha howled, ready to smash the guitar into splinters on the floor if Dean hadn't stepped in, swift enough that he was in front of Sasha and grabbing Sasha's hands on the guitar before it could happen. The guitar came to a sharp stop mid-swing between them. How Dean had managed to move fast enough or find the strength to stay Sasha's blow, Dean had no idea. Sasha looked pretty surprised too.

"Dean…" the incubus said in an almost frightened whisper.

If Dean needed any more proof to know that Sasha was barely holding himself together then the flickering of those beautiful eyes from blue to red and back again was definitely enough. "Your dad's other guitar didn't get smashed on a hunt," Dean said, realizing the truth even as he spoke, "Did it?"

The tears in Sasha's eyes flooded further and more of them streamed down his already wet cheeks. He shook his head. He was shaking so hard now that he couldn't keep the guitar up anymore. Neither could Dean with his shoulder still sore. It fell limp to the side right out of their hands. Dean tried to guide it as best as he could, and at least managed to save it from falling too hard, though it still thumped onto the carpet.

Dean wasn't prepared for how Sasha fell limp right along with it, pitching forward into Dean so that the weight of the incubus brought Dean down too, causing them both to sink and land hard on their knees. Sasha was sobbing, pawing and clutching at Dean's T-shirt as he buried his face in Dean's neck. All Dean could do was hold him, arms wrapped tight around Sasha's larger body to keep them both steady.

"I can't…" Sasha wept, gripping Dean's T-shirt so tight in his fingers that it almost tore, "I can't do it again. I can't."

"Hey, slow down," Dean said as comfortingly as he could into Sasha's hair, sliding one of his hands up into those soft locks to hold Sasha against him, "What are you talking about? You can't do what again?"

A few more sobs broke free before Sasha replied with a trembling, "This. Mourn," he said, "Losing everything again, I…I can't do it, Dean. Mom and Dad I didn't even know. But it still hurt. Every day. And it was so much worse later…when it was friends leaving out of choice. They were my whole life. I…I didn't w-want…anyone else to be that, but I did want it too because I missed it so much. And then…then there was you and Sam, and I…I just wanted it to be real. I wanted this to be real."

"This is real," Dean said, "I'm real. You feel that?" he said, pulling Sasha even more firmly into his chest, "That's real. Do I look intangible? Like a god damn ghost? Huh? Do I look like I'm going anywhere?"

Another sob replied. Damn it. Dean realized like a blow how foolish his last words were. As far as the order of the world was concerned, Dean was still bound for Hell. He couldn't promise that he would beat that. He could hope. He could try. He could put all the faith he wanted in Sam and Sasha to save him. But there was no guarantee. The only guarantee Dean could give was that he would never leave out of choice.

Never.

"Okay…not my best argument," Dean admitted, squeezing Sasha a little tighter, "But you can't go taking up Sam's slack like this in the breakdown department. You were the one getting on his case about losing hope and giving up back at the Roadhouse."

"H-How…how did you know about that?"

Oops. Dean shrugged within their embrace. "Eavesdropping's part of the life," he said, "Now come on. You're making Sammy look butch in comparison with all this sorry for yourself crap. And the sorry for me crap is a helluva lot worse, I can tell ya. I don't need sympathy. I need you stronger than this. If we're gonna beat this then we gotta hold it together here. I'm sorry you had to deal with that asshole Lindsey, but I don't think those ex-friends of yours are as out of reach as you think. You know what the chick said to me before heading off?"

Sasha didn't prompt Dean further, but the stilling of his now gentle sobbing told Dean that Sasha was listening.

"She wanted to make sure I was keeping an eye on you. Kissed my cheek even. She was kinda cute actually…" Dean let his voice trail like he was thinking about Charis.

As always, he managed to pull out the very reaction he wanted. Sasha lifted his head, turning towards Dean with their faces too close together, and said, "You're already…taken," almost in a pout, trying so hard to go along with the joke and stop crying.

"Yeah…that I am," Dean grinned, "Guess it's just my bad luck that I love you so much."

Sasha laughed through the last of the tears drying on his cheeks. He had the strangest glow about him after crying, his eyes sparkling even more unnaturally blue than usual and no longer flashing back and forth to red. "You know," Sasha said, leaning back to make it easier for them to look at each other, "You're really very sweet when you wanna be."

"Only when I wanna be?" Dean sulked, "Not all the time? Coz personally I think I'm adorable."

A snort rose up out of Sasha again. "Or you just need your ego stroked once in a while."

"Eh. Whatever works for ya," Dean said, "Can we maybe get off the floor now? I think you bruised me with that whole crumbling in my arms thing. And I've had enough of being manhandled by an incubus for one night. Unless we're talking the sexy kind of manhandling." Dean waggled an eyebrow as they helped each other to their feet.

Sasha was still a little unsteady. He shook his head at Dean and his expression turned serious again. "Dean…"

"Yeah, I know," Dean jumped in, "I'm an idiot. Never should have gone after Brangelina alone. Just pissed me off so much to see how that guy treated you. Didn't even give you a chance. Besides, I think I deserve a little credit for managing not to get killed."

Sasha laughed again and Dean also detected a slight roll of the eyes.

"But I mean it when I say there might be something there. And not just with Charis. Seemed to me Lindsey was more concerned with us turning on you someday then actually having any real hatred for you. Might take a bat upside the head but…I think there might still be some of your friend in there. Doesn't mean I'm ever gonna like him," Dean finished, wrinkling his nose, "Dude, what was with the white hair? Seriously? That can't be natural."

Quickly drying blue eyes looked at Dean skeptically. "You've met me before, right?"

Dean flicked his eyes up at the red hair he loved so much. "Yeah, but…that looks cool." Hearing yet another laugh, Dean decided he had officially broken the last of the tension. "Wanna head back to the other room or…still feel like sleeping alone?" Dean asked, smirking a little but betraying his insecurity only too easily at what Sasha's answer might be.

"Can we maybe stay here?" Sasha asked hopefully.

"We?" Dean repeated.

A warm smile flashed. "Yeah," Sasha said, pushing a hand around to the back of Dean's neck and scratching lightly at the short hairs, "I'm kinda tired. But I…I don't want you to…go."

Sweet victory. "Okay," Dean smiled wide, "Gotta go for a second though. If I don't tell Sam's what's up he'll think I ran off or something."

Sasha nodded, understanding of that, and used his hold on Dean's neck to pull their heads together. That light brush of lips, a flick of Sasha's tongue, and everything was okay. It wouldn't be forever, it might all end in a blaze of blood and gunsmoke—probably would—but whatever they could have while things were okay, Dean would take it. There were no guarantees but he'd be damned if he didn't plan on hoping till his last breath that he could beat anything. Even Hell.

Dean felt all around better about things as he headed for his and Sam's room. Not the best birthday, but Dean didn't mind. He knew something new about Sasha, having met those old friends. Dean wanted to ask more about them, about Sasha's other friends, and find out everything he didn't already know about Sasha's life before hunting. He'd have to give the incubus a little time before he brought all of that up, but he knew when he did that Sasha would tell him.

Slipping quietly into the room, just as he had with Sasha, Dean was pleased to discover that Sam had taken his advice and was already sleeping. That kid could go out like a light when he wanted to. Dean snuck over to the bed. It hadn't been that long since he left, so he didn't feel too bad about waking Sam up. He knew Jumbo would sleep better anyway knowing things were okay.

But maybe Dean was wishful thinking. As he approached the bed he saw that everything was not alright. Sam looked like he was…having some sort of all over spasm? Convulsing? Seizing? But it was so subtle that had Dean not been really looking, he probably wouldn't have noticed.

"Sammy?" Dean called softly, sitting on the edge of the bed and reaching for Sam's shoulders to shake him, wake him up, anything.

What happened after that happened so fast, so sudden that Dean actually cried out.

Sam's hands shot up to grab Dean's wrists tight enough to make Dean cringe. And then Sam's eyes were open, staring not at Dean but straight up at something Dean couldn't see, and probably was glad he couldn't see considering the clear mottled yellow color that shouldn't have been there. Those damn yellow eyes weren't supposed to have anything to do with Sam when Dean was awake.

Dean tried to tug his hands away but Sam's grip was too tight, his face otherwise benign if not for the eyes. "Sam," Dean called again, hating how small his voice sounded, "Sammy..."

This wasn't happening. It wasn't real. It couldn't be real. Not Sam.

And then it was over. Sam blinked and his eyes were hazel. His grip loosened on Dean and he pulled back, blinking in confusion and staring at Dean like he had just woken up and Dean was to blame for waking him. "Dean? What is it?" Sam asked groggily, running a hand through his hair but not bothering to sit up, "Did you talk to Sasha?"

Dean didn't know how to respond. Had he imagined that again? No, he couldn't have. It was too vivid. He could still feel the bruises forming on his wrists.

"Dean?" Sam prompted again, more concerned now since Dean was just staring at him.

"Nothing…" Dean managed, slow and careful, "Just, uhh…came to tell you it's all okay now. I'm…gonna go back and stay in Sasha's room."

Sam smiled tiredly. "Good. That's…good, right?" Sam looked Dean over like Dean had the most cryptic, traumatized look on his face. Maybe that was what Dean looked like right now, and Dean wouldn't be surprised by that either, because traumatized was about the best word he could think of for how he felt.

And Sam didn't seem to know. There was something inside of him and he didn't even know. "Yeah…" Dean said, forcing a smile, "It's good. We're…good. You just…you go back to sleep, okay? We'll leave bright and early for Maine."

"Dean?"

Sam still sounded worried and when Dean looked down at his own hand he realized why. Dean had reached over and was smoothing Sam's hair back from his face tenderly. "Uhh…" Dean instantly pulled his hand back, "Man, you…need a haircut so bad it's embarrassing," he said quickly, smirking wide, "You ever look at yourself in the mirror with that bedhead? Best laugh of the day I get."

Either Sam was just willing to let Dean get away with that or he actually believed it, because he swatted Dean's hand further away and resettled back into bed. "Asshole," he grinned, "Get back to your incubus." Sam promptly closed his eyes to go back to sleep.

Dean might have sat there another minute or more but he didn't want Sam to try questioning him again. So he just got up, looked over his shoulder at Sam so peaceful in the bed, and left the room. The hallway was quiet when Dean stepped into it. He couldn't move. Not yet. So he fell back against the door and closed his eyes. He wanted to tell himself that that hadn't happened, but he knew better. He knew he wasn't dreaming this time.

Opening his eyes again, Dean stared down the hallway towards the room Sasha was in, waiting for him. There was chaos there too. Sure it was stilled for now, but what if Dean did go to Hell? Would what happen to Sam and Sasha then? Dean didn't want to think of all the frightening possibilities. All of them lead too close to his nightmares.

And the worst of it was…Dean had no idea how to make it better.

tbc...

A/N: The angst returns. I must first direct all of you over to deangirl1 to begin reading her new story Incubus Redux III, a furthering of the kisses arc that will show things later in the relationship, beyond chapter 19. It is an 'M' rating folks, and the first part is hot, hot, hot fun with the jukebox in the Roadhouse. Go now!

Again, Sasha's angsty song is "Away" by Breaking Benjamin. Here is the second verse, because I think it also fits the story quite well:

Frail and dry
I can lose it all
But I cannot recall
It's all wrong
Don't cry
Clear away this hate
And we can start to make it alright
So fly away
And leave it behind
Return someday
With red in your eyes

Thank you all for staying with me. So, what's up with poor Sammy and shall we be seeing more of Sasha's old friends? Stay tuned.

Crim