Sam slowly opened his eyes. Something hard was digging into his shoulder blades, his lower back and down his legs. His arms hurt. Why did his arms hurt? And why couldn't he move his feet? He bounced up and down a little, experimenting; he could move his ass, but not far. It was dusk, that time between light and dark and it was difficult to see. Moving his head made his stomach turn inside out and want to separate from its lining and he took a deep breath, trying to calm it down. Where was he and what the hell was going on?

Gradually memory came back to him. Anderson, pills, dead people and a trap for Dean. Shit. His arms were raised above his head and he tugged, experimenting. Metal. Handcuffs then. Same with his feet. He was cuffed to… he sniffed. Oil, gasoline. He was cuffed all catawampus to the… Oh, God.

"Good, you're awake." Anderson. "I was afraid I might have given you too much and you'd die without knowing it. You're so big I wasn't sure how many pills it would take to knock you out."


"Huh? Why?"

Sam grunted and nodded. Carefully.

"You know why. I'm not finished, yet, and you and your brother are in the way."


"I can't stop. This is how it's going to be. Those people chose to ignore what was happening to my daughter and because of them she killed herself. I intend to rectify that as soon as you and your damn brother are out of the way. I am sorry, though, Sam. I didn't want to have to kill the two of you. It's your own fault though. You chose to interfere so you're going to have to suffer the consequences."

"Dean won' le' you ge' 'way wifis." Hurry, Dean, please hurry.


Anderson was playing with him.

It had taken no time at all for Dean ensure the house was completely empty and get back on the road. He knew exactly where to go; the toy trains had pretty much been no-brainer clues.

You know what it's like to raise a child, love him with all your heart and watch him die. Don't you Dean?

Mind on the job, not on the little brother who was counting on big brother to show up for the big rescue. The sad thing was Dean knew exactly how Anderson was feeling and could honestly sympathize with him; after all, look at what he'd been willing to do to bring Sam back after Cold Oak. The difference though, the one major fact that separated both he and Sam from people like Anderson was the simple truth that they wouldn't kill humans. As much as Dean had wanted Sam back he would never have killed another person to do it. At least not purposely; he remembered how it felt after being electrocuted to find out an innocent man had died in order for him to live.

Coming up to the train crossing, Dean pulled the car over to the side of the road and parked. Now for the hike to the spot where Stacey had died. Again grateful for the trees and bushes in this part of the country, Dean carefully crept through the woods. He stilled when he heard voices.

"Dean won' le' you ge' 'way wifis." Sam, his voice slurred. Drugged then?

"Dean won't have any say in this. I can make him do what I want just as easily as I did the others."

"How … ca' you do'is? You hep people, di' goo', an' …"

"Like you wouldn't want revenge if your brother was killed?"

"Stay cee kil herself."

"She was driven to it!" Anderson's voice was shrill.

Dean moved closer, making sure not to step on any dead branches or noisy leaves.

"No' same."

Sam really sounded out of it and Dean was afraid he wasn't going to be any help when the time came. Then again, Anderson hadn't yet been able to 'mind-whammy' him—Dean figured he had Bob and the angels to thank for that—so it would probably make it easier for Dean to take him down if Sam wasn't an active participant.

Oh, fuck. Peering around a tree, Dean felt his heart hit his toes. Anderson had Sam handcuffed to the railroad track just waiting for Dudley Do-Right to arrive. Pulling his gun out he aimed it at the back of Anderson's head, but before he could open his mouth Anderson spoke up.

"Welcome to the party, Dean." He turned sideways just enough to let Dean see the gun that was trained on Sam's head.


"Your daughter asked me not to hurt you. I'd like to honor her request, but you're not helping." Dean kept his own gun aimed straight at Anderson's heart.

"You saw her?" His voice wavered, but the gun stayed steady.

"Saw and spoke. She was happy to move on, no salt and burn required. She showed you the diary because she didn't want you to feel guilty."

"She showed it to me because she wanted revenge," Anderson countered.

"She wanted them to hurt, not die. You were the one who chose to go that extra step and move from man to monster."



"You told me," Sam carefully articulated from his perch on the track, "that I could choose to use my gift for good or evil. Nobody could make me do anything I didn't want to do." Whatever drugs Anderson had given Sam earlier seemed to be wearing off. "When you chose to start killing people you destroyed all the good you'd done over the years. You became a worse monster than the people you were murdering."

"I'm not a monster, they killed my daughter."

"You murdered innocent people—children—whose only crime was typical children's bullying and ignoring that bullying. It wasn't their fault your daughter couldn't deal with it," Dean pointed out, wishing Anderson would drop his guard long enough to grab him and get the handcuffs key.

"Or felt she couldn't come to you for help," Sam added.

"They deserved to die," Anderson insisted. "Now put down the gun, Dean, or I'll shoot Sam."

Sat in the bushes and put his rifle nozzle in his mouth.

Dean gave his head a quick shake. "Don't do this. I don't want to kill you."

"You think you can kill me before I can shoot Sam?"

The click of both guns being cocked was loud, but not as loud as the distant sound of a train whistle.

Anderson smiled.

You know what it's like to raise a child, love him with all your heart and watch him die. Don't you Dean?

It wasn't something he was going to watch again. The train whistle was getting closer. It was now or he was going to be watching his brother be ripped to pieces. He closed his eyes and lowered his head—but not the gun—a fraction, then pulled the trigger.

A second shot pinged off the metal of the railroad tracks as Sam started shouting. "Key, key. Pant's pocket, Dean, it's in his front pocket."

Dean was moving before Sam had finished speaking, his hand grabbing the key from the moaning man. So, Dean's shot hadn't been a kill shot; he hadn't expected it to be and was glad it hadn't killed him, although he had no idea how they were going to get Anderson to the cops.

"Hurry, Dean, loud whistle, getting louder," Sam panted as he reflexively started jerking against the handcuffs.

"Hold still, Sammy, keep still, I've got this." Dean swiftly unlocked the cuffs—Christ that was a loud whistle—and yanked his brother off the tracks just as Anderson pushed against them attempting to shove them back on. "Oh, hell, no!"

Elbows, fists and feet all flying at once, Dean threw Sam away from danger as Anderson stumbled, standing straight and tall for a split second before he closed his eyes…

… and dropped to the track.

Dean closed his eyes. Yeah. That was a damn loud whistle.


Dean had Sam up, back to the Impala and firmly ensconced in the passenger seat almost before the caboose had gone by. It would take the train a while to actually slow down enough to stop, and for the cops et al to arrive, but there was no reason on earth that he and Sam had to be around for that. The engineer might have seen enough to know there was at least one other person at the tracks, but it wouldn't really matter. Anderson's death would most likely be classed as a suicide due to grief and depression over his daughter's death—especially since he committed 'suicide' in the same place.

He gunned the engine and pulled out, fishtailing in the gravel before straightening up on the road and high-tailing it away. Beside him Sam moaned a little and Dean quickly glanced over. His brother's eyes were closed and he was holding his head.

"You gonna puke?"




"We gotta stop at the motel. I'll grab our stuff and then we'll blow this hick town. Find another place so you can rest."


True to his word, Dean was in and out of the hotel room in under ten minutes and they were headed out of town five minutes after that. Sam fell back to sleep before another fifteen minutes had passed not waking till Dean was pulling into a tiny motel.

"Feeling better?"

"Yeah." Sam got out of the car and stretched. "Still sleepy, but not planning to hurl any time soon. Where are we?"

"Pennsylvania. Greenville. I'll get a room."

Sam was leaning against the car, ready with their duffle bags when Dean returned with the room key. "Okay, Sammy?"

"Yeah. Just thinking."

Dean groaned, unlocked the room and plopped down on the first bed. "We're gonna talk aren't we? I can't get out of this damn chick-flick moment?"

"Yes, we are, and no, you can't." Sam sat on the bed next to him.

"Do we gotta hug?"

"Hell, no!" Sam was grinning at him. Maybe this wouldn't be as bad as Dean feared.

"Okay. So, go ahead and emote, little brother."

Sam took a deep breath and began. "Look. You know I've been worried that I'll make the wrong choice, or that I won't have any say when it comes down to the wire—"

"I think the whole world knows that by now," Dean interrupted.

Sam frowned at him. "Do you want to know what I've decided or not?"

Dean nodded. "Sorry, Sammy. Go ahead."

"Anderson was right about one thing: I do have a choice. I can control what I do, I can choose to use my powers for good and refuse to use them for evil. It's my choice, what happens isn't written in stone. I CAN CHOOSE and I choose to do the right thing. I'm going to control my destiny, such as it is, it's not going to control me."

Dean sat quietly, waiting for more. His brother turned towards him, his most earnest look adorning his face. "I can't do it without you, though, Dean. I need you, I need you to be strong for me, with me. Together we can do anything. I know I can make the right choice as long as we work together. I need my big brother."

Dean was never going to watch Sam die again. And….Sam was wrong. They did end up with a hug.