Title: Don't Look Back

Summary: They say time heals all wounds. They just leave out the part about how much time. Slightly AU. Oneshot.

Disclaimer: I only wished I owned them.

Warning: Spoilers for it all. Not hardcore, but you might get confused if you're not caught up with the season. This story really got away from me, and most of it is just junk that came out. But I really need to get back into the swing of things. Oh, and Rae Artemis did make a note towards the large amount of Hurt!Dean. So if you like that… (It really wasn't my intention to hurt the poor guy so much… it's just so easy. And when Sammy gets all protective? Well now, that's just love.)

A/N: First off, thank you to the wonderful Rae Artemis who did a great job beta-ing for me. Look guys! The end of numerous stupid mistakes. But all that you might (but hopefully not) see are completely my bad.

A/N Part 2: Wow, it's been a while. I haven't posted anything in like, forever. But for anyone who cares, I've got a lot of stuff on the back-burner. I was in California for a week and got all these new awesome ideas, that's a good place for my writing mojo. For those who read The Ghost of Me, I promise, it's just on hiatus, I haven't ended it. And I will someday, eventually, before I die, post a new chapter. This, however, ends right where Hunted starts off. As for a starting point? Well, right after In My Time of Dying, I guess.

Okay, now go enjoy.


Dean woke when the door slammed against the wall and caused the whole trailer to rattle. He instantly looked across the small room.

Sam moaned and rolled over, his eyes still closed.

The older brother breathed out a sigh of relief. Sam hadn't been sleeping well since he'd broken his arm.

But Dean had a feeling it was more the trauma than anything else. The five year old had spent nearly three hours in the clutches of a crazy ass poltergeist before John could swoop in and save the day.

Dean got out of bed, his body still aching, and crept to the kitchen slowly.

He didn't like living in the trailer park, much preferred motels, but at least they had a home, and Sam could go to the same school for more than a few weeks like he wanted.

Two months and counting.

But when Dean saw his father in the kitchen, downing a can of beer, he had a feeling tonight would be their last night here.

"Dad." The nine year old whispered.

John turned around and looked at his son, his eyes glassy with exhaustion, pain and maybe the alcohol was getting to him.

He had stopped at a bar before he went home, after all.

"Go back to sleep, Dean." John slurred and suddenly lurched forward.

He'd expected to taste the floor, but his son had steadied him.

"Dad. You're hurt." Dean trembled, taking way more of his father's weight than he should have been able to hold.

John laughed bitterly. "No Dean. I'm fine." He assured his son.

Well, he wasn't fine.

But he wasn't injured.

Not the way Dean thought, anyway.

"I just need to sit, and I'll be fine, Dean." John guaranteed him. Dean helped his father to the ratty old couch and watched him with wide, worried eyes.

John melted under those eyes.

"Stop lookin' at me like that, Dean." John muttered and lifted the bottle to his lips. Dean snatched it away.

"This is bad for you, Dad. It makes you mean. You scare Sammy. You scare me."

"Give it back, Dean." John demanded, but Dean stayed strong in his decision. "Dean!" John roared and made to get up. "I said give it back!"

Didn't Dean understand? He needed to forget. Had to forget what he'd just done or it would kill him.

When he was younger, he never knew that a werewolf was a person. An innocent person who'd been in the wrong place at the wrong time.

He knew that now.

He knew that all too goddamn well now.

"No!" Dean yelled back. John grabbed his arm and Dean threw the bottle against the wall.

It shattered and the precious carpet was stained by cheap convenience store beer.

Before he could stop himself, John backhanded Dean across the face with an anguished cry of rage, hard enough to force his son to the ground.

They were both silent and John closed his eyes hoping he'd open them to the world he'd lost the night his wife had died.

Mary, what have I done?

"Dean…" John whispered and knelt down, reaching out to his first-born. When Dean flinched away, John knew he'd become a monster.

He was well on his way to becoming the very things he hunted.

Monsters weren't born.

At least not the human kind.

They were created out of circumstance.

Created out of men and women who'd been at the wrong place at the worst time.

Monsters were born out of rage and vengeance and blood and tears.

"Son I'm sorry… I…" There were no words. There was nothing he could say to fix what he'd broken.

There was no way to fix all the damage he'd done to his boys.

Dean sat up, his hand over his cheek. "I'm sorry, Dad. I just… I want you to be yourself again."

Dean was apologizing?

His son was apologizing? For what? What in the world did Dean do wrong? He did everything right. He was everything right.

John shook his head and gathered Dean into a big hug. "Don't be sorry, Dean. I'm sorry." John whispered, rocking them both, his chin rested upon his son's blonde hair. "I'm the sorry one, Dean."

Dean fisted the material of his father's shirt, holding the man tightly. He didn't know when the next time he'd get to hug his father would be, so he'd take what he got, even if it was poisoned by whiskey and burning cheeks and stern hands and tears.

His father's tears…

Dean pulled away and looked up at his father's face.

"Dad, why are you crying?" Dean asked. John closed his eyes and looked down, shaking his head softly as a tear hung from his eyelashes.

"I just am, Dean." Is all he could manage.

Dean put his hand on his father's shoulder and squeezed gently.

"It's okay, Dad." It's okay to cry. It's okay to hurt.

John shook his head again. It's not okay.

But he held Dean tighter and dreamed that Mary was alive again and Sam had just gotten into an accident learning to ride his bike and Dean wasn't the adult in the relationship.

"It's okay." Dean said again and couldn't keep his voice from breaking. Dean stood and helped his father to his feet. "Let's get you to bed."

John nodded and followed his son down the hall, falling onto his bed as soon as it was in reach. He rolled onto his back and watched Dean take his boots off.

"You should be sleeping. You were sick." John remembered. Dean had had the flu. Bad too. That's why Sam had been free to wander off and get captured. Because Dean was home sick in bed and John couldn't play Dad and hunter at the same time.

"I'm better now." Dean insisted and sniffled softly. He looked at his father and smiled gently. "Night Dad." He whispered and pulled the ragged quilt up to his father's chin.

John muttered a slurred, "night De…" Before falling asleep. Dean smiled and left the room, heading towards the bathroom.


The middle Winchester turned and saw his baby brother standing in their bedroom doorway, his hair sticking up in all directions and his eyelids heavy with sleep. He rubbed one eye and clutched his blue bunny rabbit, Ducky, close. "Is Dad okay?"

"He's fine, kid. Go back to sleep." Dean whispered, walking towards his brother. Sam didn't move. "Did you have a nightmare?"

"It had me again." Sam whispered so quietly Dean nearly missed it.

"Sammy…" Dean breathed and put his hand on Sam's head. "You're safe. We've got you. Not the ghost. Alright?"

"It told me you and Dad weren't coming. It said it killed you. I was so scared, Dean." Sam sobbed and wrapped his good arm around Dean's waist and held on tightly. Dean pulled Sam's arm away and knelt down so he and his brother were eye to eye.

"Sammy. I'll always come for you. This time Dad just got there first, but believe me I was on my way. No matter what, I'll always be there for you. Understand? Always." Dean insisted.

"What if you die?"

"Nothing will stop me, kiddo. And I don't plan on dying for a really long time." Dean explained and smiled. "Now come on, you've got school in the morning." He ruffled Sam's hair and helped the little boy back into bed. "Night, Sam." He turned to leave, but Sam's little hand was still fisted around his shirt.

"Sing me Momma's lullaby, Dean." He whispered, his eyes closing.

"Sam." Dean groaned.


"Fine. But we're both getting too old for this." Dean whispered and couldn't help but grin when Sam giggled into his pillow. He cleared his throat. "I'll love you forever." He reached out and ran his hand over Sam's forehead, the way he remembered Mary doing. "I'll love you for always. As long as I'm living, my brother you'll be."

He'd substituted baby for brother, just the way Mary had told him to.

"You sing Sammy our lullaby when he's scared, okay Dean?" Mary whispered, holding Dean on her hip, watching Sam sleep.

"But Sammy's not my baby." Dean whispered, watching his new brother breathe.

"Right. Sammy is your brother." Mary agreed, amazed that she could still function being around these two miracles each day.

"My brother he'll be." Dean whispered, resting his head on his mother's shoulder, smiling when Sam shifted and opened his eyes.

"As long as you're living, your brother he'll be." Mary told him, smiling when Sam stared at them both.

"Forever and for always." Dean whispered.

It was less of a lullaby and more of melodic whispers. But it lulled little Sammy to sleep either way.

John had put too much on his son's shoulders.

But Dean never complained, and he never would. Not as long as he had the soothing simplicity of a mother's lullaby to remind him that there was good somewhere in life.


Eleven and a Half Hours After

"You shouldn't be up." Sam whispered, shutting the door behind him, a Styrofoam cup of coffee in his hand.

Dean grunted in reply and continued to struggle with the buttons on his shirt.

"At least let me help." Sam said tiredly, setting down his things and reaching out to help. Dean swatted his hands away.

"I got it." He growled angrily.

Sam sighed and watched his brother. The paleness of his skin, the tight lines of pain around his mouth and eyes…he wasn't ready for this.

Neither of them was. Not really.

"Maybe we should stay another day, Dean. Just to make sure you're really okay." Sam offered quietly.

Because they had thought Dad was okay too…

"I'm really okay, Sam." Dean muttered and grabbed his jacket, pulling it on slowly. "I just gotta get the hell out of here." There was a pleading in his voice that made Sam's heart ache.

Dean didn't do mourning.

He pushed away the pain and let it out in bursts of rage and self destruction.

When his mother died, he didn't talk for almost a year and developed an almost obsessive interest in fire, which led to a small experimental period as a pyromaniac.

God only knew what he'd do now.

"Okay." Sam gave in and grabbed Dean's shoes. "Sit down."

"I can do it."

"No. You really can't." Sam said monotonously.


"Dean. You were in a coma less than twenty four hours ago. You almost died! Would it be so terrible to admit you need my help?"

"Yeah, Sam it would!" Dean yelled and Sam dropped the shoes back on the ground.

"Fine you stubborn bastard. Good luck picking them up." Sam sat down and crossed his legs, ready to watch the show.

Dean stared at his brother angrily.

"Dean… just let me help." Sam said softly, starting to get up. He couldn't stand this much longer.

Dean shook his head, took a deep breath and bent at the knees and then slowly at the waist.

His fingers stopped a few centimeters short and he grunted and grimaced. "Sonofa…" He leaned down a little farther and his knees gave out.

"Dean." Sam breathed and stood up, reaching out to help his brother back to his feet.

"Lay off, Sam." Dean snapped, sitting on the floor, one hand wrapped around his middle, the other keeping him upright. "I'm fine. I meant to do that."

Sam laughed at that. "Sure you did. So, how'd the floor taste."

"Screw you, Sam." Dean grumbled, but smiled despite himself. He held up his hand. "Help me up." Sam grabbed his hand and hoisted him up, steadying his brother when Dean faltered slightly.

"You sure you're ready to bust out?"

"I can't stand another day of white walls and white sheets and hospital food." Dean answered. "Please, Sammy…just get me outta here. I just need…I need to get away from everything. "

Sam couldn't deny him that.


Four Weeks After

"Dean!" Sam yelled as the ghoulish woman materialized behind the oldest brother. "Look out!"

Dean whirled around to face her. She wasn't scary. Ghoulish, definitely; scary, not so much. She looked sad, lonely and maybe a little frightened.

But then she grabbed his face, and she looked pissed off and very dangerous. A splitting pain rushed through his system and he lost consciousness with a weak cry.

Dean sat up, what to him as only seconds later, and the graveyard was quiet. He rubbed his head and looked around. "Sam?" He called.

No answer.

And it was dark. Cold. And Sam was no where to be seen.

Their shovels were still there, but no Sam. The grave was un-dug and there was a fire crackling inside, but there was no little brother.

Dean turned when he heard sobs. Off to his right there was a small form huddled against a tombstone.

"Hello?" Dean called and the form stilled and a small face appeared. "Who's there?"

"Who are you?" The voice called back, and Dean realized it was a young girl. A young girl who was crying awfully freaking hard.

"I asked you first." Dean groaned as he got to his feet and staggered over towards her. "Are you okay? Do you need help?"

She didn't answer, just looked back at the grave.

David Grayson Libby. Beloved son, brother, husband and father.

"Your Dad?" Dean asked.

She nodded. "He died four days ago. Funeral was yesterday, I just didn't go home after. I… I didn't want him to be alone." She shook her head. "How stupid is that?"

"It's not." Dean whispered. "My Dad died too. A month ago."

"I'm sorry." She whispered and reached out to touch the gravestone. "I hate him." She whispered, cold and serious. "My eighteenth birthday is in a month, and he's not going to be there. My senior prom and graduation… he's going to miss it all." She bit her lip and her chin quivered. "He's not…" her voice broke and she looked at Dean as her eyes filled with tears. "He's not going to walk me down the aisle at my wedding or meet his grandkids and I hate him for it."

"I'm sure he would have traded anything to be able to see those days." Dean whispered thickly, well aware that John would have missed those things regardless of life or death.

"He died of lung cancer. He smoked. He had twenty years to quit, to give himself a chance, but he didn't. He could have saved himself, but I guess he was just too selfish to give a damn about the people he was leaving behind. I guess we weren't enough to get him to quit. I'm never going to forgive him for letting himself die." She turned to Dean. "He told me he was going to miss me." She laughed bitterly. "It's worse for those you leave behind. That's who death hurts. I guess he didn't know that."

"I had to do it, Dean. I love you so much, son. Don't blame yourself for this. It was our only solid chance, and I wasn't going to take risks with your life on the line."

"They know." Dean whispered. "They just…its easier knowing the person you miss misses you too."

"What about your Dad? How'd he die?"

"He was killed."

"I'm so sorry."

"He died for me." Dean whispered, finally free to admit it. He looked around. I should really be looking for Sam. "It's my fault…"

"No, Dean." The girl whispered, putting her hands on his face. He looked at her and suddenly realized he'd seen her somewhere before. "It was his choice. His. He died so he could give you the life you deserved to have."

"Not until I kill the demon." He whispered, savoring the feel of her skin upon his. He hadn't been touched in so long it seemed. She smiled sadly.

"Oh, Dean." She whispered and pulled his head down to kiss his forehead softly. "I wish I could have been there for you."

"Libby… Mom's maiden name." Dean realized and looked at the girl who he was starting to recognize more and more. "Grandpa died before I was born… Mom?" He asked and the girl nodded. "Am I…"

"No, sweetie." She laughed and shook her head. "Unconscious. That ghost gave you quite a hit to the head. You'll be okay in a few minutes."

"Why are you…eighteen?" Dean asked, pulling away from her hands.

"To show you how much your Daddy loved—loves—you. My Dad died because we weren't enough. Dean, your Daddy died because he loved you more than anything. Please don't blame yourself, honey. You know your father, he gets an idea in his head and nothing can stop him…"

"Is he…okay? Have you seen him?" Dean asked.

Mary nodded. "Yes and yes. The first thing he did was ask how you two were doing." She explained and Dean laughed, tearfully. He closed his eyes and shook his head. "Dean." He looked at her. "Please talk to your brother." She whispered. "He's so worried about you."

"I can't Mom…" Dean whispered. "You know what Dad did…and I didn't tell him. I can't…he'd lose it." Dean sighed. "One of us deserves to think it was all an accident."

"Maybe Sam would feel better if he knew John died for you."

"I can't tell him."

"At least talk to him. Tell him you're hurting too. Tell him that no, you're not okay because baby, I'm your mother and I know when my babies are in pain and I can tell you hurt so much." She held his face again and suddenly she was no longer eighteen. "It's almost time for you to go." She whispered and smiled sadly. "You've grown up to be such a good man, Dean. I'm so proud of you."

"Mom…" Dean whispered, his chin quivering. She ran her hand down his cheek and he noticed her skin was growing cold.

"I'll love you forever. I'll love you for always." She sang softly, just as he remembered. "As long as eternity, my baby you'll be." The alteration of words made Dean smile and he let his head fall into her lap, suddenly weary as though he hadn't slept in weeks. "I love you, baby." She whispered and stroked his forehead.

"I love you, Mom." Dean whispered and closed his eyes. He felt her lips press against his forehead as he fell into darkness.

"Okay, Dean. It's time to wake up now." She spoke angrily and gave him a little shake. "I mean it. Wake up."

Dean groaned and turned his head to the side.

"Dean! Come on, man!"

Well that wasn't Mom.

"Sam?" Dean groaned weakly and the shaking stopped.

"Jesus Christ, Dean. You scared the hell out of me." Sam whispered and Dean opened his eyes.

Sam's hands were fisted in Dean's shirt and his face was pale, blood running down one side of his face, pooling in his ear and caking all the way down his neck.

"You alright?" Dean asked, his voice low and gruff. Sam laughed.

"Asks the guy who was just out for twenty minutes." Sam muttered and got to his shaky legs. "Come on, it's cold out. You're shivering."

And he was. Dean was frozen to the bone and he wasn't sure he could move. Not with that splitting pain in his head.

"Did she hit me?" Dean asked, dazed. He reached up and felt his forehead. His fingers came back wet.

Sam nodded and couldn't keep the smile of his face. "Um…she kinda…head butted you." He explained and laughed.

Dean looked at his little brother in disbelief and then shook his head, smiling. "Gees. Ghetto ghosts, who would'a thunk?" He asked and held out his hand.

Sam took it and pulled Dean to his feet.

"You sure you're okay?" Sam asked softly as they walked towards the Impala. Dean stopped walking and Sam did too. "Dean?"


"No what?" Sam asked, his face taking on that worried look again.

Dean shook his head. "I'm not okay. Not really." Dean admitted. He looked at his brother. "I miss him." Dean explored his back molars with his tongue and looked around the cemetery. "And…" He sniffled. "I just…" He shifted on his feet, letting his eyes fall to the ground.

Sam stood there, watching his brother fight to keep his emotions at bay and still be open enough to let Sam get his foot in the door.

"I just miss him, Sam." Dean explained and shrugged, shoving his hands into his pockets as his eyes filled with tears quickly. He looked up at his brother and a tear rolled down the side of his nose, though he had fought against them. He bit his lower lip. "Dad is gone. It just doesn't seem real. I can't… I won't accept it." His chin started shake and Sam knew Dean was this close to losing it. "There's gotta be a way to fix it. To bring him back…"

"Dad's dead, Dean. We can't fix that."

"Who says?" Dean yelled. "You saved me when I dying!"

"That was different!" Sam yelled back. "Jesus Christ, Dean. Dad is gone. The only thing we can do it deal with it and get that Demon for it."

Dean looked down and nodded. "Yeah…" He explored his molars again, wondering in amazement how any of them still had teeth considering how often they went to the dentist. "Well then I guess we're just going to die like him too, then huh?" Dean asked and walked past Sam, bumping in to him.

"What are you talking about, Dean?" Sam asked.

Dean whirled around, his face red. "The Demon didn't kill Dad, Sam! This stupid quest for revenge killed him! Sure, the Demon's the one that finished the job, but Dad started it!"

"No! The Demon started it when he killed Mom!"

"But Dad went after it! It was done with him, maybe done with us. I guess we'll never know though because Dad put us in the line of fire." Dean took a deep breath. "You go ahead, Sam. You go after it. But sooner or later it's going to get you. Maybe it won't kill you; maybe it really does have plans for you. But regardless, you're going to walk right into a trap. And it will have won."


"No, Sam! Let me finish! Dad told me to take care of you. That's basically the last thing he said to me. But I can't watch out for you if you're willing to jump right back into the fight because, damn it, I'm not ready for it. I'm not. And I don't know if I will ever be ready because I don't think I can survive losing anyone else, Sam. If I lose you…" Dean looked at his brother with steely hazel eyes. "I won't watch anyone else burn away, Sam. I've lost too much to that damn Demon, I won't lose you too. For the first time in a long time I have no idea where to go and I'm scared out my mind."

"Don't be scared, Dean."

"Dean…" Sam whispered. "I'm not going anywhere. We're in this together. I promise."

Dean swallowed thickly and nodded. "Yeah. Dad said the same thing once. Look where he is."

"I'm not Dad." Sam said strongly.

Dean set his jaw and spoke in low tones. "You certainly act a hell of a lot like him."

"I won't go out like he did. I'm going to end this fight and walk away from it, Dean. We both are. No one else is dying because of that yellow eyed bastard. No one."

Dean swallowed and walked past Sam towards the car.

Dean stared down at the hole. It looked like there was no end. A heavy hand fell on his shoulder and he flinched.

"Relax kid. I've got you now. You're safe." John whispered, pulling Dean close to his chest. Normally they didn't show this much affection.

But Dean had just spent almost a day at the bottom of a bottomless pit. A hug here and there was okay for now.

"What a way to kick start my birthday, huh?" Dean asked softly, his face nearly smothered in his father's chest.

John laughed and nodded. "Twenty three. I can't believe it."

Dean nodded and looked back over at the hole. John grabbed his shoulders and pulled him away. "Dean. It's over."

"I know…" Dean whispered and looked at his fingers, dirt still stuck under his nails. "I just…I didn't think you were going to find me in time. I thought you'd really taken off."

John cupped the side of John's face and made his son look at him. "Hey, I'm not going anywhere. We're in this together. I promise."


Seven Weeks After

"Man. She was so checking you out." Dean chuckled and watched the blush on Sam's cheeks deepen.

"Too bad her gang of leather wearing, chain toting boyfriends were there." Sam muttered. Dean rolled his eyes.

"Aw, if you wanted her we could'a held them off." Dean said honestly and laughed. "I'm pretty sure your head would have fit in one cup of her bra."

"I'm pretty sure both of our heads would have fit." Sam muttered and they continued to laugh.

The biker chick had come right up to Sam and grabbed his ass.

His ass!

Just came right up there and gave him a little squeeze. He'd been beyond mortified.

Especially when he turned around and saw the lunch lady in an extremely risqué leather get up. Dean had nearly choked on his beer when he'd seen her, in fact Sam remembered Dean cupping his hand around his mouth and seeing some beer come out his nose.

"It was SNL flashbacks to Chris Farley in drag." Dean managed to choke out through his laughter.

Sam nodded. "Had the mole and everything."

"Oh man, Sammy. You attract the winners." Dean patted Sam's shoulder. He dug in his pockets for the keys to the Impala.

He'd managed to get it running. It was a patchwork of different parts, but as soon as they got a new paint job on her, she'd be good as new.

"Shut up." Sam muttered embarrassedly and looked over at the old warehouse they'd parked near. The fence surrounding it had barbed wire looped around the top and it looked like it was an electric fence. Quite expensive security for a rundown junkyard.

They heard a group of motorcycles rev and Sam turned.

"Look, it's our buddies from the bar." Dean said with fake happiness and slammed the door shut. He walked over to stand next to his brother as the three bikers who'd told them so nicely to leave the bar advanced towards them.

"Hey, it's Bulk and Skull." Dean muttered and nudged Sam in the ribs. But Sam wasn't laughing.

Not at all.

The biggest guy, the one with the bandana around his head pulled a heavy link of chains from behind his back. The thinnest one, who wasn't wearing a shirt beneath his jacket put on brass knuckles and the 'tub o'lard' as Dean had called him, pulled out a switchblade.

"Ah, man." Dean muttered under his breath.

Dean and Sam steadied themselves.

"We told you pretty boys to beat it." Bandana-Head growled.

"And we told you we were on our way out." Dean answered. "But if your sister, or girlfriend or whatever the hell she is to you would have released my little brother's butt cheeks, we would have been long gone by now."

"Dean." Sam hissed, realizing these men were going to have no patience for Dean's smart aleck remarks.

Bandana-Head looked over at Tub-O'Lard and then at Shirtless-Guy. They formed a makeshift circle around the boys and the Impala.

"Look, guys, we were really leaving. We don't want any trouble." Sam said calmly.

"You really hurt Margaret's feelings." Bandana-Head muttered, caressing the chain and looking the car over.

"I'm sure she's a nice lady. But she's just not my type."

Dean raised his eyebrows and nodded nicely at Tub-O'Lard, who pretended not to notice. He was cock-eyed and Dean wasn't sure if Tubby was looking at Bandana-Head or him. To be sure, he waved his hand in the air and smiled when Tub-O'Lard frowned.

"Can't let you go around breaking girls' hearts." Bandana-Head swung the chain and shattered the Impala's back window.

"Hey!" Dean shrieked, turning his back to Tub-O'Lard when he heard the breaking glass. "He's the one who did it! Don't punish me!"

"Dean!" Sam yelled when the fat guy charged. Dean turned, but it was too late. The man pinned Dean on his stomach against the hood of the car and Dean groaned beneath his weight.

"Get off me!" Dean yelled and attempted to reach back to hit the man, but he was very much pinned against the car.

Tubby opened his knife and brought it dangerously close to Dean's face. "How about I cut out your tongue? What then?"

"Get off him!" Sam yelled and grabbed Tubby's arm.

"Sam!" Dean wheezed and Sam turned it time to see the chain coming towards his ribs.

He grunted as the air was knocked from him and doubled over. Bandana-Head brought the chain down across his back and Sam dropped his knees.

Shirtless-Guy grabbed his face and lifted his chin so he could get a real 'purty' shot right to the kisser. Both of Sam's lips split open and he thought he'd knocked a tooth loose. He got another punch right above the ear that had him seeing stars and tasting the pavement. Somewhere he heard Dean cry out.

He tried to get to his feet, but a swift kick to the chest knocked him back down.

"Sam!" Dean yelled again, and his time it wasn't as breathless. When someone lifted Sam off the ground, he knew why. Tubby was no longer crushing Dean. He'd opened the passenger door of the Impala, punched out the window and hooked Dean's arm inside, resting Dean's hand against the interior before stabbing his knife through the older brother's hand and into the door.

Much more effective than handcuffs.

"Take him to our place." Bandana-Head muttered and Sam groaned as someone carried him, not so gently, towards the fence he'd been studying before all this crap went down.

"Sam!" Dean yelled again and then grunted. Sam guessed one of the bikers must have hit him. He was going on sounds now, his vision too blurry to trust.

Sam squirmed against his captor, but his limbs weren't really listening to his head, and damn did his head hurt!

Someone opened a gate and Sam was dumped on the ground.

"Get up." Bandana-Head, at least, maybe it was Bandana-Head, ordered.

"You… get up." Sam whispered breathlessly and he struggled to roll onto his stomach.

"Smart ass." The same voice, Sam was pretty sure it was Bandana-Head, was angry now. He grabbed Sam's hair and lifted his head up.

There was a knife to Sam's throat and he couldn't keep his stomach calm when he saw that it was all ready stained with blood.


"Get on your feet and fight."

Sam got to his feet, grimacing the whole way and stood, albeit shakily. But he was standing.

It was the fighting part that was gunna be a bitch.

It was a quick fight.

Record breaking even.

Sam swung. Bandana-Head ducked, kicked out Sam's knee—and shoot, because Sam heard something break—and Sam went down. Bandana-Head kicked him in the face and he was out like a light.

The whole ordeal took about ten seconds.

Sam was going to have some explaining to do when he came to.


They hadn't stabbed Dean like Sam had feared. Well, not anywhere besides his hand, that is.

They'd just realized they needed the knife.

So, Shirtless-Guy had thrown a hard jab to Dean's jaw, knocked him out and then ripped the knife from his hand.

And damn it, because they'd never gotten their asses kicked this bad by bikers. In fact…they'd never gotten their asses kicked by bikers ever.

So when Dean woke up a minute or so later, he wasn't all that happy.

"Sonofabitchjesuschristgoddamnitimakillthoseidots." He grumbled and he laid on his back on the cold tarmac, breathing heavily, trying not to focus on the pain in his hand. He risked a look and whimpered.

Well, so much for playing pool for a while.

Thank God it wasn't his shooting hand or they might be in trouble.



They were in trouble.



Where was Sam?

Dean rolled over and got to his hands and knees.

Well, there was a small puddle of his blood. And he got some sick reassurance that he was the only one left bleeding on the pavement.

"Sam!" Dean yelled and cleared his throat when he barely made a peep. "Sammy! Where are you?"

There was no answer.

Dean got to his feet, using the dented Impala door as leverage and staggered towards the open parking lot.

No. No. No. He was not going to lose his brother. Not now. He couldn't do it alone. He wouldn't.

"Damn it Sammy. You promised you wouldn't go anywhere." He whispered.

He vaguely remembered Bandana-Guy telling Tubby to carry Sam to their place. Where ever the hell that was.

Dean scanned the area, taking in landmarks, video cameras, cars that hadn't been there before.

But he didn't need to look far.

Sam was lying in a heap on the other side of junkyard fence, near the wall of a rundown shed.

"Sam!" Dean yelled and ran over towards his brother. "Sam." He breathed and reached out to steady himself on the fence.

He instantly pulled his hands back when a sharp jolt of electricity shot down his arms. It wasn't a big enough charge to be fatal, even if he decided to lay against it for a while, (which would be a really dumb thing to do…) but it hurt like hell.

Who the hell put an electric fence around a junkyard?

He walked over to the gate and pulled at the handle, but it was locked. He grabbed at the gate, yanking his hands back when he found out the hard way that the gate was also electric.

Damn rotten luck.

"Sam!" Dean yelled, kicking at the fence with his shoe. "Come on, little brother. Wake up so you can unlock this damn gate."

Sam didn't respond.

Dean groaned, knowing he was not going to like what he was about to do. He stepped back and took in the fence.

He'd scaled higher.

But there was electricity and barb wire and not to mention his messed up hand and damn this was gunna hurt.

He stepped back to get a running start.

"Don't you dare." Sam groaned and opened his eyes. Dean sighed and walked over to the fence, he was about to grab it again when he remembered.

Come on Dean.

"Sam." Dean breathed. "Thank God. Are you okay?"

"Peachy." Sam winced and pushed up onto his hands and knees. He got to his feet slowly and as soon as he put weight on his right leg he winced and staggered back against the shed wall. The aluminum siding clanked and clattered, the sounds echoing in the dead night. He clutched his leg, wincing and cursing under his breath.

"Damn it."

"What?" Dean asked worriedly, again stopping himself from clutching the fence.

"One of them kicked out my knee." Sam muttered and nearly fell when his other leg gave out, but he managed to steady himself.

Before Sam could protest, Dean scaled the fence, grimacing the whole way. When he landed on the other side, he shook out his bloody hands.

"Damn, that sucked." He muttered and then walked over to Sam. He cupped the side of his brother's face, turning it this way and that to survey the damage and smearing his blood across Sam's cheeks. "You've got a concussion." Dean muttered vaguely. "Why are you slumped?" Dean asked, looking over Sam's posture.

"'Cause my knee hurts like hell, my ribs ache and it's hard to see you all the way down there from all the way up here." Sam muttered and smiled.

Dean smiled softly and then hooked one arm under one of Sam's and threw the other one over his shoulder. The action was so foreign, Sam was unsure what his brother was attempting to do.

But when Dean's arms rested against Sam's back, Sam realized Dean was hugging him.

Dean hadn't hugged him a long time.

Sam wrapped his arms around Dean, not about to lose this chance because he'd actually been scared out of his mind tonight, and smiled. "Are you okay?" He asked, laughing.

"Shut up." Dean whispered, his face nearly against Sam's neck. Dean pulled back and patted Sam's shoulder, clearing his throat, leaving that moment behind because; Dean Winchester is not a chick. "Come on, let's take you to a hospital."

"You hate hospitals."

"Yeah, but I need you to be able to walk, and my hand is fucked." Dean explained. Sam noticed Dean's hand for the first time, the way it was covered in blood and curled in on itself, hanging lifelessly at his side, blood dripping from his fingers.

"Jesus Christ." Sam whispered. "You really need to go to the hospital."

"No one is going anywhere."

Dean turned around and groaned. "Fellas. this is old." He muttered when Bandana-Head and Shirtless-Guy came from one side and Tubby came from the other.

The chain was now in Tubby's hands and Dean had no doubt that he could do the most damage with it.

Bandana-Head had the knife and Shirtless-Guy was still fond of those brass knuckles.

Either way, this was going to suck.

But Dean was in protector mode. He had to get Sam to safety.

Tubby struck first. He'd had the chain folded in half, to do the most damage. But when he saw the look in Dean's eyes he knew that if he got too close, it was all over. He dropped the bottom end of the chain and let it hit the ground.

Then he lashed out with it like it was a whip. Dean raised his left arm and the chain smashed into it and wrapped around it. Like a fucking action movie, dude! Hurt like hell, but played right into Dean's plans. Dean yanked his arm back, taking the chain with it.

He grinned. "Not so tough without a weapon, are you?" Dean asked.

"Dean!" Sam yelled when he saw Shirtless-Guy start to charge. Dean whirled around, the chain still wrapped around his arm, and clothes-lined the poor—but not so much—guy. Knocked him out cold and probably broke his face.

He uncurled the chain and tossed it to Sam, giving him a knowing wink and then looked at Bandana-Head. "You're down one man, and you're the only one with a weapon. Best option is to let us leave and we'll never see each other again. And I promise you its going to get really ugly if you take your other option."

"Someone needs to teach you a lesson."

"Watch your back, Dean." Sam whispered.

"And are you going to be doing the teaching?" Dean muttered and turned around when he heard Tubby start to charge. He dropped to his knees and used Tubby's weight against him. The much larger man tripped over Dean and fell on his face. He didn't get up after that.


Dean jumped to his feet and Bandana-Head had Sam, one hand holding a knife to his little brother's throat, the other pointing a gun directly at Dean's chest.

Well crap.

And Bandana-Head was scared out of his mind, if his shaking hand was any indication. Not a good combination.

"Bet you're wondering how the tables turned so fast, huh?" Dean asked.

Bandana-Head cocked the pistol in his hand and drew the knife closer to Sam's neck, eliciting a wince from the youngest Winchester.

"Let him go." Dean growled.

"Who are you guys? You just dropped two guys nearly twice your size." Bandana-Head said nervously.

"I drink a lot of milk. Let my brother go." Dean spoke hurriedly.

Bandana-Head's gun hand was shaking worse now, and Sam was staring at it. He knew he could disarm him. Only if that goddamn knife was away from his Adam's apple.

"At least put the knife down." Dean bargained. "What do you want to gain out of this? If you hurt my brother I'm going to kill you. If you let him go, we'll walk out of here and not touch a hair on your head." Dean said it so casually that Sam shuddered.

He would too. Sam knew he'd kill the man without blinking. Because he'd hurt Sam. Dean would kill him.

Bandana-Head lowered the gun and then stepped back, letting Sam limp over to Dean. "Go on."

"Gladly." Dean grabbed Sam's arm, put it across his shoulders and half carried Sam over to the gate.

They were almost free when Dean heard the click of a gun. He shoved Sam to the ground and whirled around in time to see Bandana-Head fire.

Dean charged straight at him, tackling Bandana-Head to the ground. He pinned him down and started throwing punches. Punch after punch straight to the guy's face until he felt someone's bones give way. Either the man's cheekbone—which Dean knew from experience sucked ass—or his knuckles. "Don't! Fuck! With! Me!"

Then he got up and started kicking him. Hard. "Don't! Fuck! With! My brother!" Anywhere and everywhere until Bandana-Head had curled into the fetal position and was left whimpering on the ground.

Dean picked the gun up off the ground and aimed it right at the man's head. He cocked it, slid his finger to the trigger and stalled.

It would have been so easy.

To just shoot him and end his pathetic excuse for a life.

Why were worthless worms like him still alive while good people were buried under six feet of dirt or ashes in a goddamn urn that didn't mean a goddamn thing?

"Dean. Don't. He's not worth it." Sam whispered, getting to his feet. "Let's just go. He's not going to hurt anyone else now." Sam's voice shook and Dean knew Sam had watched the whole thing. He'd watched Dean lose himself and sink to a level of barbarism that had scared the hell out of both of them.

Dean nodded and slid the clip out of the gun, tucked it into his pocket dropped the gun to the ground. Dean knelt down and grabbed the back of the guy's head. "Today is your lucky day, you son of a bitch. If you'd have shot my little brother, what little brains you have would be all over the ground. Remember that." He shoved Bandana-Head away and stood up.

He turned around and Sam was staring at him, pale and wide eyed. Dean tried to smile reassuringly, but Sam's eyes were focused on the ugly crimson stain that had spread across the bottom of his shirt.

Dean mumbled something along the lines of "I'm okay" before he fell forward.

"Dean!" Sam cried and knelt at his brother's side.

"He shot me." Dean whispered, looking down at the blood soaking his side.

"I can see that, you idiot." Sam muttered, pressing down on the wound. "But you still had to go beat the hell out of him, didn't you?"

"Couldn't let him have the last word." Dean muttered and groaned. "Stop it. That hurts." He tried to push Sam's hands away.

"I have to try and stop the bleeding." Sam looked around. "Dean. I want you to hold this on your stomach, hard, okay?" Somehow Sam's jacket was pressed again Dean's gunshot wound. Dean didn't remember seeing Sam take it off. It was cold, he needed it. "I have to go get my cell phone and call for help. Keep this here."

"I'm not four. I know what to do." Dean muttered and held the jacket in place. "Sammy?" Dean asked as Sam stood.


"Get me some water. I'm really thirsty."

Sam nodded, smiling sadly and then ran off.

Dean remembered that Sam's leg was hurt and he figured it probably wasn't good for him to be running on it.

But he was really tired so he went to sleep.


"You're really dumb, you know that?"

"Dad?" Dean groaned, sitting up.

"Yeah, dumb ass, it's me." John muttered, sitting at his side.

"Why are you mad?"

"Because you jumped in front of a bullet and almost got yourself killed. That's why I'm mad."

"Oh." Dean said lamely. "That."

"Yeah." John muttered and then smiled. "It's good to see you, kiddo."

Dean shook away enough haze to remember that their Dad had died seven weeks ago. "I'm really getting sick of you guys tricking me into thinking I'm dead. First Mom and now you, it's getting lame and I don't think my heart can handle a third time."

John smiled and reached out to pat his leg. "Well we can't handle seeing you be so reckless with your life, Dean. I didn't die so you could join me right away."

Dean looked down and John grabbed his shoulder. "It's a funny thing, dying. You get to see your whole life, live it again. 'Course only the important parts, but you get my drift. I saw my whole life and realized that I screwed everything up, Dean. I took so much from you boys and I hardly gave anything back. I'm sorry for that. But I'm not sorry about this. I did the only thing I could think of. I wasn't going to lose you, and I wasn't going to let Sam lose you." He squeezed Dean's shoulder when he saw Dean fall apart. "It's okay, Dean." He whispered. And Dean felt everything John had held back in those three words. He felt all his hopes, his pride and his love. But it was just too little, too late.

Dean shook his head. "No. It's not. It's not okay Dad because you're gone. We still needed you. I can't… I can't do it without you."

"You've been doing it without me for years. You haven't needed me in a long time, kiddo."

"Sam needs you. He needs you to be there to answer his questions and to tell him that you love him and that you know he loves you…"

"Of course I knew. I always knew he loved me. And besides, he needed you more, Dean. He's always needed you more." He brushed back Dean's bangs. "You need a haircut."

"Hair doesn't seem important when your Dad just died." Dean snapped and John smiled.

"Are you ever going to let that go?" John teased and then gathered Dean into a big hug. "Damn kid, if there had been another way… But I wasn't going to let you die. Not if I could do something, anything, to stop it."

Dean pulled back and looked over his father. "Death looks good on you, Dad." Dean whispered and they both smiled, knowing their time was coming to an end. "And seriously, white is totally your color."

John looked down at his heavenly garb. "Mary picked it out for me. Gotta say I miss my leather jackets."

Dean swallowed thickly and nodded. When he looked back at his father he wore that heart shattering pout and his eyes were red and wet.

"I love you, Dad." Dean whispered. John reached out to hold him again.

"You have no idea." John whispered back and then Dean woke up.

"You're an idiot." Was the first thing Sam whispered when Dean opened his eyes. "A big dumb, idiotic jerk."

"You sound like Dad." Dean muttered and watched Sam pale.

"You saw Dad?"

"Dreamt about him, yeah." Dean whispered.

"You sure it was a dream? It was really touch and go for a while." Sam whispered.

"Well. He did tell me to stop being stupid and jumping in front of guns." Dean explained. Sam laughed and smiled, honestly smiled in a way he hadn't in a while.

"Sounds like Dad."

"And he told me he knew. He knew you loved him, Sam."

Sam was quiet and looked down at Dean's bed sheet. He nodded, trying not to cry anymore—because he'd been a basket case twenty minutes ago when Dean was in his drug induced slumber.

Dean pushed away his ego and reached out to grip Sam's hand. "Hey. It's okay. We'll be okay."

Sam nodded, his much too long hair flopping back and forth. "Dean… Promise me you'll never do that again."

"What? Get shot? Sammy, you know I'll try. But I kinda promised you the last time in Harlem would be the last time too…"

"No. Go crazy like that. Dean, you almost killed that guy. I mean, man you lost it." Sam took a deep breath. "And it was because you wouldn't talk to me. You wouldn't talk to anyone and you pretended you were fine and Dean I knew you weren't okay. If you would have just talked to me man…" Sam was in his panicked, rambling state that always made Dean smile because Sam could be such a girl sometimes.

"Sam." Dean whispered. "We talked. I told you I wasn't okay."

"One time doesn't make everything better, Dean! Getting it out once obviously wasn't enough because look what happened tonight. I mean, did you even realize he had shot you until you fell?"

Truth be told, no. Dean hadn't known. He'd been so hopped up on rage and adrenalin, he was pretty sure a truck could have run him over and he'd have thrown it off the highway.

"I was focused on getting the gun away so he didn't kill you."

"But you didn't care what happened to yourself?"


"God! You're so selfish!" Sam yelled. "I'm afraid of losing you too, Dean! It doesn't just go one way. You're all I have left too! You act like you're the only one who doesn't have a family left! Neither do I, Dean! And as scared as you are of losing me, I am just as scared of losing you. I've never not had a big brother! Damn it, Dean. I need you too, okay? I need you too." Sam let his head fall forward on to Dean's chest.

"Sam." Dean whispered, running his hand through Sam's hair. "Hey. Look at me."

Sam lifted his face, embarrassed but not enough to give a damn.

"I'm not going anywhere."


Twelve Weeks After

"Jesus!" Dean yelled as another knife broke through the door, dangerously close to his head.

"Sam!" Dean screamed, trying to keep the door shut. "Hurry the hell up, man!"

Another furious gust of wind hit the door and it opened a few centimeters before Dean could slam it shut again.

When he did, a knife was lodged in between the doors and he felt his knees go weak.

For that knife had been this close to lodging itself amid his family jewels.

"Sam!" Dean bellowed again. "Ice Princess is getting too close for my comfort!"

"There are two more girls upstairs." Sam yelled as he ran past.

Right now, they were dealing with a girl who'd died in a blizzard and she'd come back violent with ice breath.

Oh, and those knives…weren't really knives, but icicles.

You can imagine their skepticism when a hot blonde sorority girl came to them, asking for their help, claiming to be Ash's sister.

Yeah, Ash. "Business in the front, party in the back" Ash.

Anyway, she'd come to them claiming there was an ice witch, like the one from Narnia—yeah, those were her exact words—haunting their house.

Apparently, Brenda Little, had come to her old sorority and shut the place off and turned the inside into a freezer. Sam and Dean were trying to save the twelve girls who'd been inside and get themselves out alive.

Obviously they'd been cold towards her.

The door blew open, sending Dean back against the wall in a burst of cold air.

He shook away black spots and opened his eyes.

"Crap." He groaned when he realized he was royally screwed.

Ice Princess was kneeling in front of him, her blue hands reaching out to him. Her hair was white, like snow and she was wearing a long white nightgown. Her entire body appeared frozen, covered in crystals and she left behind frost on everything she touched.

She grabbed his face, her fingers so cold that they burned.

Dean winced and grabbed her arm.

Bad idea.

He yanked his hands back, the skin on his palms red and burning.

So screwed.

She lifted him up, holding his chin. "I'm cold." She whispered, her breath sending chills down his spine.

"Me too. How about you let go?" Dean tried.

She reached up and ran her hands over his forehead.

His head snapped back and he felt like someone had just run his head into a wall. Jesus…his head fell forward and he tried not to thrown up on her white dress. Because that crap stains.

"I was so alone." She whispered and let him drop to the ground.

He instantly raised his hand to his head.

When they found her she had head injuries from debris, but they said it was the hypothermia that killed her.

Dean groaned as he realized she'd inflicted her injuries upon all her victims. And he was going to be next his Sam didn't hurry his skinny ass up.

"He'd said he was coming. He promised. But he was spending the night with her." She gripped his shoulders harshly and he winced as her fingers dug into his skin, gouging at the muscle and tissue.

"Dean!" Sam yelled.

The girl whirled around and hissed.

"You!" She shrieked at the girl Sam held in his arms. She was nearly blue and shivering violently. "You bitch!" She tore one hand from Dean's shoulder, and Dean's scream drowned out the sound of ripping flesh and muscle. She pointed at the girl limp in Sam's arms. "You stole him from me!"

Sam didn't have time to react before the girl in his arms was torn from his grasp and slid straight to the Ice Princess.

The spirit dove on the poor sorority girl and they both screamed.

One in pain.

The other in rage.

Basically, she was screwed and even though it twisted Sam's stomach to do so, he ran past them and straight to Dean who was a pale blue and didn't look so hot.

"Hey, hey. Dean, look at me." Sam whispered.

Dean's eyes were transfixed on the scene in front of him.

"Sammy." Dean whispered, his teeth chattering. "Help her."

Sam turned in time to see Ice Princess rip through the girl's throat. He swallowed back the bile rising from his stomach and turned back to Dean.

But Dean was unconscious.

Suddenly the room returned to a normal temperature. Sam turned and watched the Ice Princess whirl around to face him, her now brown hair fanning around her shoulders.

"I'm sorry." She whispered and then melted away.

"Our lives are so screwed up." Sam whispered before turning back to his brother. "Come on, man. You've got to stop doing this." He whispered before standing and pulling Dean up into a fireman's carry.

"I can walk." Dean grunted and Sam set his brother down gently.

Dean took one look at the girl, her throat open and squirting blood with each weak beat of her heart as it attempted to keep her alive—the affect similar to a horrible horror movie—and he doubled over and puked.

Sam wasn't quick enough and his shoes got the worst of it.

"Dean." Sam groaned.

"Sorry." Dean muttered and wiped the back of his hand. "M'cold." Sam nodded and wrapped an arm around Dean's waist, careful not to jostle his shoulder and helped Dean walk to the front door, shielding Dean's view from the dead girl.

Twelve steps and Dean's knees buckled.

"Dean." Sam whispered gently and lowered them both to the ground. He propped Dean against the wall and sat down next to him.

"Stop saying my name like that." Dean whispered.

"Like what, Dean?"

"Like that! Like I'm fragile or something." Dean whispered. He sighed heavily and let his eyes fall closed. "I'm tired, Sam."

"We'll get back to the hotel, clean and warm you up and we'll be fine."

"No. I'm tired of this." Dean elaborated, waving his hand around the room. The walls, which had been covered in ice and crystals, were dripping water as the Ice Princess evidence melted. "I'm tired of not doing enough. We should have saved that girl. We shouldn't lose them."

"We can't save everyone, Dean. You know that."

"We should."

"But we can't. Dean…sometimes it's just their time."

"Like it was mine?" Dean asked harshly. "I don't…I should have died back at the hospital. But someone saved me…Why couldn't we save Dad?"

Sam sighed heavily and got to his feet.

Everything always came back to Dad. Came back to Dean's guilt.

"Come on." Sam whispered, pulling Dean to his feet. "Let's get you back to the motel. You need to sleep."


Fourteen Weeks Later

Dean knew he shouldn't have said that much. He knew it was wrong. He'd promised.

He'd promised to protect Sam and this was going to hurt him more than anything else.

"Dean, what did he tell you?"

Dean shifted on his feet, fighting against the word vomit he knew was coming. God, he had baited Sam after all… he just couldn't… he couldn't handle the weight of the secret anymore.

Sam had asked for it…

No! Sam didn't deserve that burden. John had given it to Dean and to Dean alone. It was his weight to carry, and he wasn't going to unload it on Sam.

"Dean!" Sam yelled, his voice so sharp and loud that it brought Dean back to the present, his facade shattering along with the beer bottle that had slid from his fingers.

Dean jerked back when, suddenly, Sam was in his face. His fingers dug into Dean's biceps in a grip that'd leave behind bruises.

"Leggo…" Dean muttered, trying uselessly to pull free, wondering how much time had drifted by while he'd zoned out… he needed to sleep. To close his eyes and sleep for a hundred years and then wake up, take a piss, and sleep for another hundred or more. He'd sleep this Demon into oblivion. He couldn't take Sammy if he couldn't find Sammy….

"Dean!" Sam yelled, shaking him. "What did he say?"

Dean looked at his little brother, Sam's puppy-dog eyes full of almost-tears and his lip bloodied from where he'd bitten it repeatedly.

How had they gotten here?

They'd just survived a demonic epidemic, though it'd been close. Sam should have been infected, they both knew that…and Dean had been so ready to throw in the towel and give up.

"I can't Sammy…" Dean winced, when Sam's fingers came too close to his still healing shoulder.


"I can't!" Dean yelled back. "Don't you understand that, Sam? I promised Dad. He made me promise! It's the man's freaking death wish, for Christ's sake!"

"Dad is gone, Dean!" Sam barked. "I'm all you've got left, and you'd better start talking unless you want to lose me too."

There was silence for a while after that.

Dean looked at his brother, hurt and betrayal on his features. "That's low, Sam."

"I need to know what Dad said to you." Sam took a deep breath. "Dean, what did he tell you?"

Dean chewed at the inside of his cheek for a while. "He said that he…" He stopped and took a breath. "He wanted me to watch out for you." He paused again, staring at the ground, voice thick with emotion. "Take care of you."

Sam shook his head, confused because none of this was new, or information he couldn't have guessed. "He told you that a million times."

"Well, this time was different." Dean insisted meekly, eyes still fixated on the ground.

Sam's frown softened, only for a minute, as his mind ran through all the possibilities.

"He said I had to…save you." He looked up at Sam.

"Save me from what?"

"He just said that I had to save you." Dean explained and Sam looked away for a moment, angry that his father's death had raised more questions than they had answers too. Angry that Dean was beating around a damn bush right now. "And that nothing else mattered… And if I couldn't, I'd…" Dean's voice was thisclose to breaking, and Sam knew—knew deep down—that this was killing Dean, but he needed to hear the rest.

"You'd what, Dean?"

"I'd have to kill you." Dean said, staring directly at his brother. Sam's frown deepened and he took a small step back. His mouth quirked to the side for an instant, and his head cocked slightly, like he was waiting for the punch line that just wasn't coming.

Dean swallowed, and if Sam hadn't been acutely tuned into his brother's features, he might have missed the slight quiver of his chin. He opened his mouth, and shut it quickly, searching for words…but the word vomit kept coming. "He said that I might have to kill you, Sammy."


A/N: Oh man, I had such HUGE issues ending this. I must have had twelve different ending points, but there were just so many ideas in this weird head of mine.

So, tell me what you thought. Please? Reviews are the only form of compensation we fanfic writers get for pouring our hearts and souls out on our keyboards. (Wow, now I feel like I need to go review a whole bunch…)

Also, Rae pointed out a few possible back stories for me to do, or some tangents I could take for new stories. I don't know if you're interested unless you review. :P