"Dean! You okay?"

"Dude – give a guy some space already!"


Dean levered himself over to the side of the bath and sat on the edge while he lifted the toilet seat cover. Standing painfully, he relieved himself and flushed the toilet.

Catching sight of himself in the mirror above the washbasin, he noticed the state of his tee shirt. Formerly freshly crumpled out of his duffel, but basically white; it was now crusted and stained mostly brown. He lifted it up to see where he had been bleeding from.

Apparently nowhere.

Dean lurched out of the bathroom – oblivious to the pain of his feet.


Sam ran over and grabbed him. Dean looked ready to collapse or maybe hurl. He wasn't entirely sure, but he manoeuvred him to the nearest bed, where Dean sat heavily before clutching at Sam's face.

"Sam – where are you hurt?"

"What? I'm not hurt Dean."

"You must be – look at all this blood! Don't lie to me! Where are you hurt?"

Dean looked haunted – desperate.

Sam gently removed Dean's hands from either side of his face and knelt in front of him, holding each of Dean's forearms.

"Dean, I'm fine. No injuries. That blood – it's not mine."

Dean turned the slightest shade of green.

Sam grabbed the waste basket.

Dean hurled.

When he was done, Sam put the waste basket aside.


"Yeah, I guess."

Dean looked up, quickly scanning his brother for any tell-tale signs of injuries. Seeing none, he slumped back onto the pillows on Sam's bed.



"What's goin' on?"

"Wish I knew."

Dean was falling asleep. Sam sorely wanted to get that tee-shirt off him and get him cleaned up, but decided sleep was more important. He picked up one of the duvets Dean had discarded from the other bed earlier and placed it as gently as he could over his brother.

Slipping on his jacket, and snagging his cell from the pocket, Sam ducked out of the room.


"What now Sam?"

Sam was strangely pleased at the abrupt non-greeting. He quickly filled Bobby in.

"You're on your own Sam."

"Wha… " Sam stared at his cell in utter shock.

And redialled.

"You're through to Singer's Auto. Please leave a message. We'll get right back to you."

Sam felt sick. Why would Bobby, of all people, disown him? Worse. Why would Bobby disown Dean? They were like father and son.

Father and son.

Sam sagged against the wall.

Father and son.

Where did he fit in?

John and Dean Winchester.


And Sam.

The problem. Look after him or kill him. Didn't that mean control him or kill him?

"I'm not bad!" He shouted, to the black, starlit night.

But the stars, they didn't have a thing to say to him. So he went back inside to his vandalised brother

Dean had an aura about him.

A green aura. It enveloped the whole bed.

"shit" Sam whispered.

Dean slept.


Sam was blown backwards off his feet.

He scrambled back up, ready to defend Dean. But he didn't know what to defend his brother against.


Sam ran towards Dean, only to be bounced back by what appeared to be a force field.

And then he saw him…well… it… a little green man...in the corner…. glowing.