Sorry for the long delay! Betaed as always by the ever fantastic Phoebe. If there are still parts that suck it's because I don't have sense enough to listen to her good advice.

He was right.

The “More, please, FUCK! YES! MORE!” litany that dripped from those pretty lips was fantastic. But the, “NO! PLEASE, FUCK! STOP! PLEASE!” was better.

And he'd gotten laid and had a chance to practice his new trade.

Damn, it was good to be him.

The rush he felt while making his way down her front walk, knowing what he’d done . . . well it was almost enough for him to consider sparing the life of the trucker. Almost.

It would be much more satisfying to go through with his plans though.

Some people lit a cigarette after sex. He lit up a tractor-trailer. Just proved the old adage true: Size does matter.

He made sure the driver had the front seat for the show, then nearly laughed himself silly when he took a peek in the back as he was spreading gasoline. It was full of cigarettes.

Fucking perfect.

He watched the driver burn from a safe enough distance that any arson investigators wouldn't take note of him, staying until the fire trucks blocked his view, then headed back to the motel.

Ben was still awake, looking miserable and, at the same time, even more terrified than before. Probably because Sniffles had stretched out across his bed—and pinned his feet underneath her.

She had this thing about feet. She liked sleeping on them, sitting on them, licking them . . . Dean didn't know if it was a normal dog thing, or if she just had a foot fetish, but it was harmless, so he'd never stopped her.

Though you'd think she was eating Ben's feet the way he was staring at her.

Dean frowned. He’d better not find out that Sniffles had scared Ben.

He liked seeing pain and agony and fear, but not on his son. Ben shouldn't be afraid of anything.

Anything should be afraid of Ben.

Or at least his father.

“She's not gonna hurt you,” Dean said as he took off his jacket and tossed it over a chair, before stepping out of his jeans and leaving them, with his over shirt, in a pile on the floor. He sat on his bed. “Ben.”

The red-rimmed hazel flicked up to him.

He waved a hand to indicate Sniffles. “She's not gonna hurt you,” he repeated. He smiled slightly. “In fact, this means she likes you.”

Ben's eyes dropped to the big canine body—bigger than him actually—and then came back up to look at Dean, but he said nothing. He didn't seem very reassured.

Dean looked to the table and saw the bag of food was still untouched, then looked back.

“Cold fries are nasty, huh? You want me to go get something else?”

Ben shook his head.

They stared at each other for a few more minutes, then Dean moved to the other bed, laying one hand on Ben's knee.

Ben flinched and looked away, but not before a big fat tear escaped his eye and rolled down his cheek.

“Hey now, what's this?” Dean said, putting a hand on Ben's cheek and turning his head back to face him. He bent forward and brushed a kiss against Ben's head—or tried to, anyway.

Ben finally moved, reaching up and shoving at Dean, kicking his feet to free them so he could back away. He wasn't paying attention though and probably would have backed right off the bed if Dean hadn't grabbed his arm to stop him.

He finally spoke. “No! Let me go! Don't touch me, you bastard!”

“Ben! Ben!” Dean said, then yanked, pulling Ben toward him until he could trap the writhing, kicking body in his arms.

Sniffles had woken up at being kicked in the side, but just watched sleepily as Dean wrestled Ben under control.

“First of all, watch your language. Second, I'm not going to hurt you,” Dean said, both of them panting, though Ben's breathing was the verge of hyperventilation.

“You said— You said— You hurt— I saw—” He was babbling, unable to actually vocalize what he'd witnessed. “And— and—”

“Shhh,” Dean said, rocking a little bit back and forth. “I know what I said, but then I thought about it. And a man's life's work doesn't mean much if he doesn't pass his legacy on. Everything I do will be forgotten unless there's someone to keep it going after I'm gone.” He snorted. “Well, you know, if I'm ever gone. Anywho, you're my son and it's my responsibility to teach you about life. And there's no better way to teach that than to watch as it fades out of a person's eyes, to really get a feel for how far you can push before that happens.”

Ben stiffened in Dean's arms, then went limp. When he spoke the tears were thick in his voice. “I don't wanna— I can't— I just wanna go home.” The sobs came faster and faster, all of Ben's nine-year-old defiance and composure gone in the light of this new revelation about his future.

“You are home, Ben. You're with me and I'm family. We're a 's all home really is.”

“No!” Ben wailed. “I want to go back to my house with my mom!”

Dean huffed a snort. “Yeah, well, uh, not exactly possible, dude.”

Ben was past the point of paying attention though. He continued to sob and cry and wail about how he wanted his mom and to be at home. He wiggled and bucked, trying to get free, but Dean just held on until it became obvious it was pointless and the physical fight stopped.

Dean might have gotten angry at Ben if he didn't remember how many times Sam pulled a tantrum like this because he was hungry and over tired. As it was, he sighed, remembering his little brother, and just held on. He shoved at Sniffles' hip with one hand. “Move,” he ordered and she stood and stretched, then shifted down to the foot of the bed, tail wagging, tongue lolling.

Dean stretched out on the bed, still holding onto Ben, but this time got them under the covers. As soon as he was settled, Sniffles lowered herself to cover his feet and went back to sleep with an exhale of breath.

Dean turned off the light between the beds then wrapped his arm back around Ben, cuddling the weeping child to his chest and knowing that the kid would cry himself out and fall asleep soon enough.

He'd let this go on for tonight. Tomorrow, though, he and Ben were going to have a little talk about how things had changed and what was acceptable behavior for a Winchester.

Until then, he was gonna get some sleep.

o.o

Sam woke to sunlight streaming in his face and the smell of coffee in his nose.

He inhaled deeply, savoring the oh so fabulous scent, then opened his eyes.

If Ruby was making coffee that meant she was going to ask for someth—

Sam blinked.

There was someone sitting at the table, sipping coffee and tapping at his computer, but it wasn't Ruby.

It was Dean.

Sam blinked again, then sat up slowly, wiping at his face as he tried to figure out if this was a dream. He discreetly pinched his earlobe as he scratched at his head.

It hurt, but then, Sam remembered that getting his ass kicked by that kid with the dream root had hurt too. Myth: busted.

Dean glanced up from whatever he was doing on the computer and smiled. “Morning, sunshine. I was wondering if you were gonna sleep all day.”

He stood and came over, a cup of coffee in his hand that he offered to Sam.

Sam looked at it in a way he imagined most people would look at a live grenade and shook his head.

“Dude, you gonna take it or what? I don’t drink half-caf vanilla lattes.”

Sam's eyes did a few jumps between Dean's face and the cup, then he accepted it and sipped. He couldn't help the groan that slipped out before he gulped down more of the hot drink.

Ruby never got his favorite when she was trying to kiss his ass. She came close, but she always managed to forget something. And really, after a couple of months, how hard could it be to remember? Scheming demon whore.

Dean grinned and sat on the other bed.

Sam swung his legs over the side of his bed and stared at his brother, all the while feeling like he was in a Salvador Dali painting. There were no melting watches, but the surreality of this whole moment was no less prevalent.

Unless he'd dreamed the whole damn thing? It did feel sort of the same way he'd felt after waking up on that last Wednesday in Broward County.

Man, if this was another of the Trickster's games he was seriously going to find a way to kill that thing once and for all, demi-god or not.

And then there was the flush of a toilet in the bathroom and the door opened a moment later. An exhausted and pathetic looking Ben shuffled out.

“Ben?” Sam said. He didn't appear to have any new physical injuries, but something had obviously happened since the last time Sam saw him. He was too complacent and, well, more resigned than accepting of his new situation as he ignored Sam.

Sam wondered if it was grief for his mother and his loss of normalcy, or if Dean had done something to him to make him like this.

His eyes flicked back to his big brother and Dean shrugged.

“We had a talk this morning about what it means to be a Winchester,” he explained, reading Sam's mind.

“A talk?” Sam said darkly. The old Dean would never have use physical force or threats to gain cooperation from a child, but then, this wasn't the old Dean was it?

“Yeah,” Dean said easily. “A talk.” His eyebrows lifted. “You know, college boy, with words and shit?”

Ben didn't even look at the two men as he continued his journey to the table where Sam saw that a half-eaten meal McDonald's breakfast was laid out. He just took his seat and mechanically finished his breakfast.

Sam was alerted to the other presence in the room when Sniffles sat up and panted, giving Ben her best puppy dog eyes and eying his hash browns.

“Sniffles,” Dean said in warning. “You already ate yours, you pig. Leave Ben alone.”

She looked over her shoulder at Dean, guilt all over her face, then laid back down next to the table.

Sam looked back to Dean who grinned and sipped his coffee.

“So,” he said, “I was gonna just leave your ass, but then I realized I had all your crap.” He shrugged. “Wouldn't exactly be fair of me to rob you blind, now would it?” He jerked a thumb at where Sam's clothing duffel, the weapons' duffel, and a few other things that Dean would never have claimed lay in a pile near the door of Sam’s room.

“You are gonna have to get a new car. I appreciate you watching out for her, but I need my baby back. Hell just doesn’t have great cars. 'Sides, now you can get one of those hybrid thingies you always said are good for the fucking environment.” His grin was crooked.

Sam couldn't help cocking his head and smirking bitterly. “I thought we weren't supposed to swear in front of Ben,” he pointed out. It was a struggle with the way Dean was acting so very . . . Dean, but he was trying to remember that this wasn't his brother. He couldn't forget that.

Dean actually looked chagrined briefly. “Oops. Sorry, Ben.”

While Sam wondered about that and how it didn't exactly fit with Dean's new personality, Dean drained his coffee, tipping his head back, Adam’s apple bobbing, and Sam was distracted suddenly by the thought that his brother's neck was exposed to him right now.

And he had Dean's favorite hunting knife—now blessed and cursed, and all the other things you had to do to a knife to make it lethal to demons—under his pillow, three inches away from his hand.

One swipe for the demon in his brother's body and a second for the hell hound, and he and Ben could get out of here.

The kid was going to need therapy until he was a senior citizen, but Sam felt more than enough guilt for his part in all this—for Dean's going to Hell, for not figuring out sooner what was going on, for letting Dean take Ben even if only for a night—and he'd happily pay for it. Especially if it meant they got out of here alive and Dean was stopped.

It could all be over right now.

His hand inched under the pillow until it was wrapped around the hilt, then it froze.

Not from indecision or fear.

If the gleam in Dean's eye as he tipped his head forward was any indication, he was fully aware of Sam's intentions and had taken measures to prevent them from coming to fruition using those new abilities he'd gained in Hell. Dammit.

Sam really needed to wrap his head around the fact that Dean had changed—in ways that weren't obvious by looking at him. If he didn't, he had no chance in hell of every stopping him.

Dean crumpled his coffee cup, but instead of throwing it in the trash, he held it in his hand and watched as it burst into flame.

The fire seemed to almost mesmerize his brother, convincing Sam he might have a chance. It would have to be a stab to the heart, but it would still kill just as well if he could only . . .

Dammit.

He even tried to use his mojo, but whether it just wasn't working, or Dean was blocking him, or he actually needed his hand up, nothing happened.

By the time the cup was ash that Dean poured onto the carpet, wiping the residue on the bed cover, Sam had accomplished nothing but perhaps a light coating of sweat.

Dean's eyes met his again. “You ready to go?”

Sam's head tilted in confusion. Surely Dean didn't think it was going to be this easy.

He realized Dean wasn't talking to him when Ben stood and crumpled the papers from his food around the remains of his breakfast, then stuffed them in the bag.

“Yes, sir,” the boy said quietly. Sniffles arched her back into her rising and then gave a good thorough extension of each of her limbs. She panted at Dean as if to say she, too, was ready.

“Okay then.” Dean stood and headed for the door. Sam discovered too late that when his brother moved out of physical reach his movements were no longer restricted.

He stood as well, wishing he had something to say, but unable to think of what would even apply here.

Pleading? Threats? Bargaining?

Hell, he'd recite a Shakespearean sonnet if he thought it would do any good. But he was pretty sure that Dean was past the point where words would help.

Way past it.

Dean was opening the door and about to walk out and Sam couldn't do a damn thing to stop him.

Then Dean stopped and half turned back.

“Hey, Sam? You remember when we were kids? We'd play hide and seek in the junkyard at . . . Uhhh . . .” He snapped his fingers rapidly. “What's his name's place. Wears trucker hats.”

“Bobby?” Sam said.

“Yeah! Bobby! Dude, I should pay him a visit now that I'm back.” He lost focus for a second and Sam felt his heart rate pick up. He needed to warn Bobby about Dean.

Dean refocused. “Anyway, remember that?”

Sam swallowed, the grin on Dean's face not at all reassuring. “Yeah,” he said slowly.

Dean's grin widened and turned a shade predatory—not an altogether unfamiliar look on his face, but not one that was usually leveled at Sam. Mostly it was reserved for the fugly they were about to kill or the woman Dean was about to pick up.

“Tag. You're it.”

Dean's hand flicked and Sam flew back to his the far wall. The air in his lungs rushed out as he was hit, hissing as he slid down the wall. He sat down hard on the floor with a grunt, blinking dazedly at the comforter about a foot from his face. He was bent in half in the narrow gap between the bed and the wall and just had time to look up and see Dean shut the door.

He struggled to his feet and raced over, but by the time he yanked it open, the roar of the Impala was already fading away as the car disappeared down the street. Ben's face was briefly visible in the rear window, but then Sniffles licked his cheek and he ducked back and down, out of sight.

Sam watched them go, then turned and reentered the hotel room, dropping to sit on the bed, then putting his head in his hands.

He'd vowed to himself that he would be the one to take care of Dean since it was his fault that all this had happened anyway, but if his track record in dealing with his demonic brother so far was any indication, the world was fucked.

He picked his phone up off the charger. Hit speed dial 2. Ring. Waited as patiently as he could. Ring. Chewed his lip. Ring. Finally.

“Sam? What’s up, kid?”

Review, plz&thx. I can't guarantee when a new update will come exactly, but I can tell you that knowing how many people are reading and want this will guilt me into getting more written and posted. :D