Don't Come Back
By Alone Dreaming
Rating: R or M for Mature (for language)
Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural. If I did, this wouldn't be posted under fanfiction.
Warnings: Foul language, suffering, anguish, mild fighting, and unhappy endings
Dedication: To Steph for helping me figure out which path to take.
Quick Author's Note: Please be aware that this takes place two years before the pilot episode. Also, I apologize about this, but this story has not been beta'd and therefore, may have numerous grammar issues. I've read it through a few times myself but I always find that I miss things. I'll fix anything horrid that I come across once I read this again. Please enjoy it anyway!
He had often contemplated visiting Sam at Stanford.
Daydreamed about it was more like it. During the long hours on the road, he would think about what the visit would be like. He would plan it out, step by step, starting with his casual arrival in the Impala. He would be in town, banishing some spirit and just happen to have the time to drop by. Sam would be happy to see him, welcome him with a pat on the back and show him around the campus. He'd be introduced to Sam's friends, learn a few things about college life and maybe even pick up a few babes. God knew there were plenty of hot girls at college. Overall, he'd have a good time and things would be like they used to be with Sam. Happy, content, good; a healthy relationship just like they once had.
But somehow, whenever those daydreams ended, he knew that it wouldn't happen that way. He knew that if he ever got the nerve to go by Stanford, even just to say hello, that Sam wouldn't be waiting with open arms. No, Sam would be edgy, irritated as hell that he had dropped in without saying anything first. Sam wouldn't demand for an explanation but Sam would stand there looking cold until he finally got so nervous that he wished he'd never visited in the first place. And, if that didn't happen, he knew that he and Sam would fight. It wouldn't be a little petty fight either. It would be a nasty, angry, cruel fight that would end with him storming off and Sam slamming the door.
Of course, that knowledge made it all the harder for him to stand on Sam's doorstep, his fist inches from the door. He had thought about this for a long time, and considered all his options. This wasn't his first choice but he couldn't see any other way. He had gone through all of his resources and this was his last resort. Had there been anything else he could have possibly done to avoid this, he would have done it but he was here. He had called Dad, he had contacted everyone else he knew and in the end, he was standing at his Sammy's door.
And it was nothing close to his daydreams. First off, the Impala wasn't here so he hadn't arrived in style. He had walked several miles through the rain to get here. It had been a day or two since he had eaten a good meal and the walk in the cold, wet weather was the last thing he needed. He was nowhere near sexy or suave like he could have hoped and he doubted there was any girl who wanted a miserable, pale, dripping, unshaven guy; not even a desperate girl. Shit- this was even worse than he imagined on bad days. At least, in the bad days he arrived dry with money and a car.
He put his head against the door frame and let his hand drop to his side. This was not what he wanted. He didn't want to come to Sam just to beg for money. There were many reasons for it, not the least of which being it felt wrong to ask Sam for money when they had left on such bad terms before. No, it didn't just feel wrong- it was wrong. He couldn't not speak to his brother for two years and then expect for Sam to just give him money at the drop of a hat. It made him feel like a heel and what made him feel even worse was the thought that Sam might actually do it.
And if Sam did give him money, it would prove Sam right. That getting a job, and going to college and being normal was better for you than doing what they did. Deep down, he knew that it was true but he didn't have the energy to accept it. Not to mention, he didn't want to tell Sam that Sam was right. Because Sam wasn't right. Sam had deserted him and their dad for the sake of "being normal." The last thing he wanted to do was give Sam a pat on the back and say that Sam was right all along. Hell, he might as well just join the school itself and move in.
Closing his eyes and sighing, he lifted his hand again and rapped his knuckles on the door. Despite the problems he saw with this and all the upset this was causing him, he needed to go through with it. All his other solutions had gone out the door ages ago. He had called Dad six or seven times but gotten no response, attempted to apply for another credit card but failed and hustled some pool only to get bruises to add to those from his last hunt. Sam's charity and maybe, the remnants of the love they once had, were the only two things left for him to try. If it didn't work, he would just find a place to lay down and die.
Dramatic- maybe- but honest.
He had seen the lights on and he knew that Sam was there. He could hear voices laughing inside, and Sam's rich tone was one of them. Just his luck that Sam would have people over when he came to visit. Not only would he be begging for cash but he would be doing it while making a puddle on the floor in front of Sam's well-off and intelligent friends. He heard the sound of chairs dragging across the floor and more laughter. Footsteps resonated as someone approached the door and he braced himself for the door to open. He could do this. All he had to do was stay still as the door opened and his brother appeared.
The door opened when he was half-way down the stairs and by the time Sam peered out, he was around the corner and in the rain. His ears heard the creaking of wood as Sam stepped out onto the landing and he could just picture his brother's puzzled face. A frown that wrinkled his nose and an all knowing glint as his eyes searched for some sort of answer to the unknown noise. Sam would be thinking that possibly, it could be something supernatural wandering around knocking on doors and the old Sam probably would have gone to get a gun. But the new Sam, the Sam he would have fought with creaked away and closed the door.
He huddled under the window and listened to the distant merriment. His head was aching from lack of food, and sleep. If only he had been strong enough to stand his ground, he might have been inside now with something in his stomach and a couch, or a chair, or even the floor to sleep on. Or, it was possible that he'd still be standing out in the storm, pondering what his next step would be. He could go back to the Impala but that was a six mile trek he wasn't prepared for. Though he loathed to admit it, his legs were already shaking underneath him from just the strain of going up and down Sam's stairs. He wouldn't make it to the car.
When he was positive Sam wasn't coming out again, he inched back to the stairwell and settled on the top three steps. Water ran down his face and dripped off his nose, adding to the puddle that was gradually forming under him. Christ, this couldn't get much worse. If he had any change at all, he'd try calling Dad again and pray that Dad would pick up this time. Even a message would be good in his eyes. Forget that he hadn't responded to all the ones before. Asking Sammy for help had been the wrong idea and he would have to keep trying his other options. Had he managed to actually brave the conversation with his brother, he would've considered it one of his worst ideas ever.
He ran a hand down his face and sighed.
Fuck it. When had it really become so hard to talk to his brother? It didn't seem to be that long ago when they were still good friends. Best friends, even, considering that neither of them spent enough time in a school to gain other companions. They told each other everything- or at least, everything they ever thought of telling another person. No, wait, that wasn't true either. He and Sammy had told each other mostly everything but he knew they both left a few details out. He never expanded on those "hunting trips gone wrong" or the cold nightmares that he had or how he truly felt about anything. Sammy always left out how much he hated being a part of the family. Sammy always left out how much he wanted to get away.
Until, of course, Sammy got a full ride to Stanford and informed he and Dad that he, Sammy, was taking this opportunity. Then it all came spilling out at once and turned into a fight of epic proportions. He had stood back and watched his Dad and brother tear each other apart until finally, Dad had laid down the ultimatum. "If you leave, then don't come back." And it was the excuse Sam needed to wave a substantial amount of money in Dad's face before storming out the door, a satchel on his shoulder. Sam only needed that one last little shove and that was exactly what Dad dished out.
He followed Sam out the door, hoping for a good-bye, but he hadn't gotten one. Sam was already out of the measly parking lot of their current hotel and was running to catch the bus into town before it left. He watched his little brother catch the bus just in time and saw him fly into it without a single regret. That stung but what stung more was the fact that Sam didn't ever look back. Sam didn't say goodbye. After that push, that proverbial straw, Sam wanted nothing to do with the family anymore. And he was a part of the family.
But that wasn't where it started. It had to have started before that because the old Sammy wouldn't have just left. Now that he looked back on it, he was sure it was a gradual thing. Once Sam entered high school and began to see the seriousness of college and life- he was sure that was when it began. Sam started avoiding hunts when he could, complaining of illness, or being tired, or even, sometimes, homework. Dad would let him stay home on occasion but more often than not, Sam would be forced to come along. It didn't take much for Sam to start getting angry about having to put down his pencil to pick up a gun. Sam wanted so desperately to be normal, like his school friends, that it took little provocation for him to blow.
He had watched as his little brother went through high school and refused the hunt more and more often. Gradually, his Dad stopped forcing the issue because it only led to anger and clouded judgment. Better to have two people thinking clearly then three people irritated, Dad would say to him as they drove to take care of a spirit. Sam would have to just miss out and stay home studying for a Physics test or writing an essay for English. Dad had thought that was punishment. But he knew that Sam couldn't think of anything better to do because not only did Sam have the drive to be good at school, he had the brains too. He, unlike Sam, had never had the brains at school. He had been lucky to get the high school diploma.
He remembered that one of the defining moments was a few months into Sam's senior year. Dad had practically begged Sam to join them on a hunt because Dad believed that three people was a necessity. It was right in the middle of a busy time for Sam. He could remember Sam slaving away over research papers, tests and projects. The idea of a hunt was completely unappealing to Sam and to top it all off, most of the work was due during that time anyway. So, he watched Sam firmly tell Dad no. It led to a fight and the fight led to he and Dad leaving without Sam.
And Sam's absence led to him getting injured badly enough that Dad was nervous. He could only remember it in a fuzzy manner but it was enough. The spirit had clobbered him across the middle and Dad had managed to torch it before it could hit him again. But the one hit had been enough. He spent the ride home retching out the car window and when they got home, he didn't make it to the bathroom in time to continue. Bile came up and with it, a liberal amount of blood. The blood was what made Dad nervous and he would have been nervous too except he was so hazy at that point that nothing seemed to matter.
Sam wasn't home when they got back but ten minutes later, he was in the doorway. Dad was talking to Sam and Sam was staring, watching his older brother heave up his stomach again. He tried to smile at Sam, to give him the reassurance that everything was okay but it didn't work. It died on his lips midway, just before he heaved again, and Sam walked right out the door. Sam didn't stop when Dad shouted, or when he threw up again, this time more blood than before. Nothing stopped Sammy at all as he walked out of the apartment complex and away.
And Sam was gone for a while. He couldn't remember how long. The vomiting took all his strength out of him and when he finally managed to stop, he was on the verge of passing out. Dad heaved him into a bed, put a bowl at his side, just in case, and told him to rest. His stomach hurt so badly that he didn't think he could but he tried. He was trying so hard, that he didn't notice that Dad had left to look for Sam. He didn't notice that he managed to doze on and off. Everything was about controlling the pain and trying desperately not to throw up again. He couldn't handle it another time.
Dad didn't find Sam either. Sam came back on his own accord while Dad was still out. He could hear his little brother shuffling around in the other rooms, moving stuff about. Eventually, Sam came into their bedroom and sat at his side. He was only half-there at that point, barely realizing that Sam was resting a hand on his face. Nor did he notice that when Sam coaxed him out of bed, that they were heading out the door. He wasn't even close to coherent enough to realize that Sam's face was pinched with tears flowing down it. It took him much longer to figure that out.
"Dean," Sam had said to him. "Dean, I can't do this anymore."
He had been too sick to really form proper words. "D-do what... Sammy?"
"Hunt things," Sam told him, sounding upset. "Watching you and Dad get hurt. Traveling to a new state nearly every month. I can't do it anymore."
"'m okay, Sammy," Dean had slurred in reply before passing out.
But he had been more ill than he had bargained for and had woken up in the hospital to be informed that he had nearly bled to death internally.
That was Sam's real turning point. He could see it so clearly now. After that, Dad had stopped asking Sam all together. Even when Sam had volunteered to come, Dad had said no. Tempers had grown shorter than ever. Sam was rarely home, often staying at a friend's house to avoid the "friendly" family atmosphere. When Sam did come home, though, he rarely spoke to Dean. In fact, he barely spoke to him at all. It was as though there was a barrier there and seventeen years of love couldn't tear it down.
He had a headache from thinking about it. Rubbing at his forehead, he looked up towards Sam's room. It wouldn't be any different now. Real life was nothing like the day dreams. Things hadn't been even similar since before Sammy left. He had simply been clinging to a surreal world in order to keep himself happy. The creation of an alternate reality had been his way of avoiding the truth. Sam was no longer his friend- in fact, he wasn't even sure if Sam still loved him. All he knew was that coming to college to ask Sam for money was like going up to a stranger's door and begging for cash.
He didn't ask people he didn't know for money.
The door opened upstairs and he heard the voices. Sam's friends were leaving and it was now time for him to go too. He stood up quickly so he could disappear before anyone saw him only to stagger as the blood rushed to his head. The world darkened in a spotty manner causing him to sway into the doorway. Blinking rapidly, he managed to get a bit of his vision back but his stability was still shot. He just barely managed to stumble out of the building before several college students appeared at the bottom of the stairs.
"Sam, you're no fun."
"Seriously, man, it's only twelve thirty! We've got hours to waste!"
"I know- I know-" It was Sam. "But unlike you jerks, I've got stuff to study for and a job to go to in the morning."
"And a girl to take care of."
"So, that's the story! Sam's got a girl and he's gotta keep her-" There was some sort of motion.
"Good night, guys." Amused; happy; when had he last heard Sam happy?
"See ya around, Sam!"
"Don't work too hard!"
"Don't let her work you too hard!"
The group, no less than five kids, disappeared out into the parking lot. He watched them go, emotions warring him. These people made his Sam happy and he couldn't figure out why. They didn't seem special or different and yet, he had never heard Sam sound that comfortable for years. Being around these normal people made Sam joke, and smile and laugh. He swallowed hard and his throat throbbed angrily. Sam was happy.
That made it official. He couldn't disturb this. The apple pie life that Sam had found didn't have room for him in it. It had room for girls, for friends but not for a family that was as fucked up as theirs. Brothers who were broke, wet, and pathetic had no right to invade this American dream. Being that brother meant he should stay away and out in the distance. Maybe the friendly phone call every now and again would be plausible but until he embraced the same life as Sam, he had to stay away. He wasn't ready to do that now- and he doubted he ever would be.
Sam was heading back up the stairs, shaking his head. His hair was shaggier than Dean remembered it being and he was thinner. The muscles developed from years of training had waned a bit, but not in a bad way. His clothing was relatively the same- jeans and a t-shirt- though it had gotten a different feel to it. The jeans didn't look so old that they were going to fall apart and the shirt was one that Sam wanted to wear, not one of Dean's hand me downs. Even his shoes looked newer, enough so that the heels were duct taped on. It was Sam going back up to the room in Stanford but not his Sam.
But- Sam was content and though he selfishly wished he could have been a part of this new life, he was pleased. Sam had what he wanted.
He had no right to destroy it.
Just as he turned to start the six mile trek back to the Impala, one that could plausibly end with him unconscious in a ditch, he threw one last glance over his shoulder. Sam had reached the steps where he'd been sitting and one of the new sneakers slipped in the puddle. Several things happened consecutively, without him even registering. Sam started to fall backwards, and he bolted back to the doorway. Sam's head was nearly hitting the stairs when he got his arms around his lanky brother, cushioning the fall. Instead of Sam falling and hurting himself, possibly badly, the two of them tumbled together and crashed into the concrete.
They both hit their heads, despite his best efforts. He lay beneath all six foot four of Sam, stunned to the point where he was forgetting to breathe, his mind racing through what he had just done. After all his contemplating and firm decisions, he had ended up doing exactly what he didn't want to do. He had confronted Sam. Maybe not in the way he thought but still, he had barged into Sam's life when he shouldn't have. Even it it had simply been to keep Sam from breaking his neck.
Now, they were going to have to talk and they were probably going to fight. He was going to not only destroy Sam's good mood but also, he was going to get hurt. Sam was the king of saying the most heartless things possible. He had been up against ghosts and demons that said less hurtful things than Sam could. Sam would be furious, he would be hurt and they would both leave without saying goodbye again. God only knew if they'd meet again, and since Dean didn't really believe in God, no one truly knew.
"Fuck," Sam moaned, rolling off of him.
Wrapping an arm around his stomach, he turned in the opposite direction. "Damn, Sammy, you've put on weight." Which happened to be ironic because he looked so much thinner. Or maybe it was just that Dean had no pain tolerance at the moment. It didn't matter.
There was no avoiding the dreaded conversation now.
He could tell Sam was startled. After practically raising the kid, he knew the sounds of a nervous Sammy. There was sneakers scrabbling on the floor and he could see Sam scooting away in his mind's eye, his face shocked. Probably thinking that this person on the floor wasn't really a person at all but a shape shifter or a ghost posing as his brother. Dean would expect no less of him. If Sam's guard was too low to think something like that, then he hadn't been trained properly.
"Dean?" Sam croaked, sounding like he did going through puberty.
"No, your friendly neighborhood Spiderman," Dean quipped in reply, pressing his cheek against the ground.
Sam was not amused but he never much appreciated Dean's humor. "What the hell are you doing here?"
"Apparently, saving your ass," Dean groaned, finding that he ached all over now. Well didn't that show him? Just when he thought he couldn't feel much shittier, he did. If he just died right here, it would make things easier. Sure, Sam would mourn his death and his father would be a bit put out but it would make everyone's lives easier. Right? Well, he didn't feel bad enough to die really anyway but he could dream.
Sam was silent very briefly. "I mean, what are you doing here, at Stanford?" His voice was tense as though he was trying to keep himself from blowing.
"Just thought," Dean began, ready to spew a lie. He stopped himself. "I was-" He trailed off again, realizing that the excuse was no better than the first.
"Dad didn't put you up to this, did he?" Sam asked quickly, staring at his brother's back. Dean could feel the eyes boring into his spine.
"No!" He said it a bit too quickly. "No, he didn't have anything to do with this."
"He's not trying to make me come home?"
"He's not trying to get you to put weird spells around the school grounds to fend off ghosts and demons?"
"Fuck, Sam, no. I told you the first time. He has nothing to do with this."
That wasn't entirely true. If Dad had responded to his calls, then he wouldn't be here. Technically, Dad had everything to do with this, just not the way Sam thought he did.
Sam seemed a bit lost. "Then... what are you doing here?"
"Am I not allowed to come see how my baby brother is doing?" Dean questioned, slowly sitting up. His back ached as did his head. Reaching back, he brushed the tender spot on his skull. It was only a small bump, not enough to warrant a concussion, much less his brain hemorrhaging. He'd survive it.
"You could call." Sam was not sounding convinced. He had been trained a little too well.
Dean didn't answer. There was no need to. They both knew that if he had called, Sam wouldn't have picked up. Dean wasn't offended by it anymore and it didn't really hurt to admit it. After all, had Sam called he probably wouldn't have answered either. Unless, of course, Sam had left a panicked message about needing him. Then he would have called right back and driven day and night to get there.
But that wasn't the scenario and so he didn't say anything. Instead, he tried to get to his feet and found that his legs were jelly. If he was going to fight, he was going to do it standing and looking into Sam's face. Just like he didn't fight a supernatural being without staring it down, he wouldn't go up against his brother without a determined gaze. But in this case, the spirit was willing but the flesh was weak. His limbs were irreversibly heavy, keeping him from turning or getting up. No matter how hard he tried to push himself up, he kept sliding down.
This was pathetic.
"Dean?" Sam murmured, his voice a bit softer than before. "Are you alright?"
Dean let out a bark of laughter. "Peachy keen, Sammy. Wonderful, I assure you."
"Are you sure?" Sam queried, his voice tentative.
"When am I not?" Dean snipped in return, trying to use the nearby railing for support. It wasn't working.
Sam's response held some of their old camaraderie and it warmed Dean's heart. "Always, jerk."
"Bitch," Dean grunted in reply, ignoring the spots in his vision. He was going to get up on his own.
"Dean, seriously," Sam said, switching gears. "Why are you here?"
His tone was no longer accusatory or angry but it wasn't precisely friendly either. Dean took in a deep breath which irritated his throat and turned so he could see Sam. This was the part he wanted to avoid from the very beginning. He was afraid that when he told his real reason for being here that those familiar brown eyes would go dark and a refusal would come. They looked so hopeful right now- it would be so wrong to destroy that. He could never bring himself to hurt Sammy; ever. It was his job to protect Sammy.
Even if it meant Sammy needed to be protected from him.
"Well, I was wondering if I could use your phone," he lied. "Mine's dead and I have no change for a pay phone."
Some of the light in Sam's eyes died and Dean knew why. They had been trained to lie for years and in turn, had learned to recognize lies when they were told them. Sam knew that he wasn't getting the whole truth and it hurt. His lips pursed and he averted his gaze to the stairs while Dean stayed focused on him. God, Dean was so tired and hungry that he almost wished he'd just been honest. For all he knew, Sam could have his cell phone in his pocket and he'd be making his "call" right there and then.
"What sort of call?" Sam finally said, not changing where he was looking. "Because if it's Dad, we both know he won't pick up."
Yes, he knew that and that's why he just wanted money. It wasn't a lie that his phone was dead and that he didn't have any change. "Yeah, I know, I was just going to call-" Hell, who would he call? "Uh-" He didn't even know who to spit out or what. His head was really messed up now. "Well, you see-"
Sam had a temper that could not be rivaled except perhaps by their father. While Dean had a more subdued nature when it came to expressing emotions, Sam could blow at the drop of a pin just like their Dad could. That was half the reason the two of them fought so much. Once they got set on a point and someone got on their case, they were like mules. Angry, firecracker up their ass, mules but mules all the same. It wasn't at all surprising to Dean that after falling down the stairs and seeing the brother he'd been trying to avoid, that Sam exploded.
"Cut the shit," Sam snapped, "and tell me the truth! Why the hell are you here? One more lie and I don't care what it is, I'm not going to help."
He didn't crack really. For one shining moment, he considered just losing his mind. But he rarely ever did that and if he did, Sam would probably just leave him ranting on the staircase anyway. So, he did the only logical thing he could possibly do. He thumped onto the ground, pinched the bridge of his nose, and told the truth.
"I'm fucking broke," he started, keep his voice low and honest. "I don't have a dime to spend. My credit cards have been shut down and I haven't been able to apply for new ones. I've been trying to get a hold of something to spend for almost a week now, just so I can eat, and I haven't been able to. I called everyone; Dad, Jake, anyone who would listen but no one called back." He took in a deep breath. "I came here, Sam, because you were my last choice. I needed- I need- a bit of money. Not much. Just enough to get a square meal, a tank of gas and a place to sleep." He couldn't look at Sam. "I understand if you don't want to give me that much. But I'll even go for ten dollars. Enough to get the Impala out of the parking lot I left it in, a package of M&Ms and a bar of soap."
He expected an 'I told you so' or a 'screw you' or maybe, just maybe, 'sure, I'll help you.' There were plenty of ways to respond to someone pouring his heart out to you. Especially, when that someone never did anything remotely close to opening up. In fact, Dean was relatively surprised that Sammy didn't just faint on the spot. When was the last time Dean had admitted to weakness of any sort, much less monetarily? The two of them had been at odds about money making for years and Dean would never admit that he was wrong about hustling and credit card scams. This was Sam's shining moment to say that he was right and to rub it in Dean's face.
So- the very last thing Dean expected Sam to do was to storm up the stairs and leave him sitting there, wilting and pathetic. Alone too- so very alone. He hated telling the truth in instances such as these. It always meant that he would get hurt or would hurt someone else. And the only things that could hurt him were things that he wasn't prepared for or things that hit too close to home. It always seemed that when it came to the truth and Sammy, he got a dose of both. He wasn't prepared to be deserted again and yet, being deserted hit right by his heart because deep down, he expected it.
He should not have come but now that he was here, he couldn't move. His legs had ceased functioning and his brain wasn't interested in anything anymore. A sad excuse for a cough escaped him and he damned it all to hell. His physical weakness, his emotional leakage and his stupidity all needed to be exorcised. They were his own personal demons that he and everyone else would do better without. If only he could find the right items to use to destroy them forever.
"Here," Sam's voice said in his ear. "It's all I have on me right, now. It should be enough to get a motel and some gas."
A wad of cash was shoved into his hand. "Don't bother paying me back," Sam continued. "Just- just do me a favor, okay? Don't come back."
And then Sam was gone again and he was alone once more but this time he had what he came for. Money to get gas, food and shelter. It looked like enough, even to take him to a rendezvous point with Dad. On the top, there was even a dollar in change so he could use a pay phone. He had what he wanted. He got what he came for. It seemed very wrong for him to feel so empty.
He knew that his request wasn't going to be accepted with open arms. From the moment he came to the decision to stop here, he knew Sammy wasn't going to give him the money with a smile and a pat on the back. But, he had known that it would be a fight. He had known that they were going to shred each other with words like they usually did. Or at least, he had thought he'd known that. Sometimes he was wrong.
And only two things could really hurt him. Things that he wasn't prepared for and things that struck to close to home. He got what he wanted without a fight as soon as he got the guts to ask for it. There hadn't been any mean words, just empty silence and an ultimatum; things he didn't expect. And the last part, the last part struck so close to home that he could barely breathe. He had known that Sam didn't want his family anymore even without Sam directly saying it to him. But when the words trickled out of Sam's mouth, it made it clear. Sam didn't want him around anymore and wanted him to stay away; forever.
Knowing that banished the daydreams, the what ifs, and the could bes, and gave him the strength to get up and walk away.
"In almost two years, I've never bothered you, never asked you for a thing..." -Dean Winchester, Pilot