A/N: I was talking to a dear friend of mine and asked her a question. She gave me her answer so I went to check it out and see what she saw. Needless to say all I saw was power. Read Soncnica's It's a Trust Kind Of Thing. You'll know why my mind came up with this.

Thanks so much, sweetie, for the talks lately and everything you've taught me over the course of a couple projects and well...everything. This is for you! And be warned, this is not the last time you(personally) will see this. 'Member that thing I have up my sleeve?*zips lips* ;P

And It Works Both Ways

You pull yourself out from under the twisted metal you've been using as your excuse to breathe air and squint into the South Dakota sun. The shift in position has abused joints popping in protest, the rust in your eyes has you blinking back wetness that's not entirely due to the red metal flakes turning to dust and fluttering into pools of green and… heartbreak. The wheels of the creeper you've called a bed, chair and…salvation… squeak and remind you that you don't have a familiar panel of shiny, curvy black metal to open and close and greet you with the sounds of home. It's now just another twisted piece of carnage jutting up awkwardly in a testament to your wrecked life.

"Friggin hell." you say, shaking your head and easing your boots into the South Dakota dust, watching as it stir and settles over the worn black leather in a cloud, hugging the well worn softness like a child hugs their teddy bear.

So you kick viciously at the dirt and swear as you run a greasy hand through dusty hair and you swivel on your dusty boots and stalk off into the junk yard, beating your knuckles off the rusted hulks of ancient vehicles until they're bloody. Pain lances up your arms and still you pound on another chunk of metal, relishing the agony.

"Sonuvabitch…" you slur out, feet splaying out in front of you as you land on your dusty ass at the base of an overturned Suburban, back resting against the crumpled roof. You lean your head back and then close your eyes, relishing the glare of the yellow sun through the lids of your eyes, feeling the burn of the red light and wishing to open your eyes and never have to see again. But you still do, you see it all in surreal Technicolor. You see…dad. Just for a second, then you see dad, with a hard table under his back, his shirt open as they stick paddles against his chest. You gasp and your eyes fly open-hoping they'll just burn to ash, to nothing- and yet you're still watching him, watching…dad…his back arching as current blazes a path through his heart. All the while you're watching, watching the doctor's lips move in a flurry of words, yet you hear nothing…nothing… except the pounding of your heart and the roaring of pain in your mind.

"No, god, NO!" you cry, banging your head off the roof of the big truck, willing your mind to turn off the images and it works as you hit your head hard enough for black to crowd out the vision of …dad…silent, still. Doctors standing back, dropping their hands and heads, turning off the machines that you still can't hear.

"Why Dad? Why would you do this…leave me…die for me…Never asked for that!"

You turn your head now, away from the building lump that keeps painful contact with rusted metal behind you. You rest your temple against it and you feel the chalkiness of the rust in your hair, on your skin. You feel water trickling down your face and absently wonder when did it start to rain? The water is ignored even as it drips off your chin and onto your hand where that rests on your jean clad thigh over a tear in the well worn fabric. From there the water doesn't move, just…dies…and dries on your skin, forming a perfect circle of salt, thin and white on tanned and dusty skin. And you're somewhere else again…

You're back to that moment in the hospital, your heart barely beating a regular rhythm after choking on…pain…the tube down your throat. You're propped up against a pillow and you're feeling this…pit…anguish…pain…holy freakin' terror… deep in your gut and you have no goddamned idea what it is. And then you see him…dad… and your pit gets a little shallower until he smiles that- heartbreak- smile. Then the bottom drops out of the pit and you feel like you're…freefalling… reaching the deepest pits of hell in the second it takes to figure out you can't breathe. You're staring at him and he walks forward and he says "Take care of Sammy, Dean."

"Yeah Dad, you know I will." And you stare at him again, your eyes are closed, head resting against the rusted metal behind you and you're still seeing him. Staring at him. "You're scarin' me."

"Don't be scared, Dean." He answers, leaning in to whisper in your ear. And all of a sudden you're falling again, faster than the tear on his face, deeper than you thought you could ever fall when he says… You have to save Sammy. If you can't save him, you have to kill him. And oh god, I can't breathe… you're alone and…fighting for your life and his. Sammy. The baby thrust into your arms all those years ago and you hear it again, like you're there again.

"Take your brother outside as fast as you can and don't look back…Now Dean GO!" And you're running. Breathing and running and screaming in your head.

And you rock your head back and forth-no,nonononononono- coating the side of your forehead with rust and I don't give a rat's ass….I'm stuck in my head and my heart's stuck in my throat and I CAN'T BREATHE!

You clamp your teeth together and you feel and hear…grinding…and you relish the pain again and your heart beats once before you feel it again, his breath against your ear, your life being pulled out from under you. "If you can't save him Dean…kill him."

…kill him…killkillkill…Sam. Sammy.

"NO!" you scream, to the hunk of junk behind your head, to the heavens, to dad…at dad. No, nonononononononoooooo! You pound the back of your palm into the rusted roof at your side, pain splintering up through your little finger, the silver of your ring shining in the sun and bathing in the blood brought to the surface by the impact and the edge. You don't feel it, you don't feel anything…sadness, pain, anger, fear. FEAR. Freakin' terror. Heartache, heartbreak, tears streakin' down your cheeks. Nothing and everything all at once. Huh, does it really cancel itself out? And you're realizing you can't breathe…AGAIN and your head bangs off the roof of the Suburban AGAIN and now there's a dent, you think, maybe in both surfaces, and your vision blacks out again.

Next thing you know your knees are pulled to your chest…tight… and you're wrapping both arms around your shins…tighter. Rocking back and forth brings plume after plume of South Dakota dust up to your nose but it doesn't bother you because you can't breathe.



"Dean… ey…to me…'ean… talk…me?"


"'mon…snap…it, Dean…'ease…!"

Can't breathe. Sam?

"'isten, man…take….easy…with me…Breathe…me…."


"Come on man…'m here. Dean, breathe…have to…"


"Dude, in……out……'s it…hey m'here alright?"

"Sammy?" a whisper.

"Yeah man. Just breathe Dean."

"S'mmy?" Stronger, slurred and he's pulling your head away from the Suburban, large hands on both your cheeks and he feels… Sammy… warm. Shaking. Worried.

"Yeah Dean. I'm right here. Just breathe for me."

"Sammy." There, finally. You said it. Not slurred, not whispered. And you can breathe. And he's pressing his forehead to yours, his hair in his eyes and tickling your nose and he's "Sammy."


"He's not here…anymore."

And blue green, so close that you can see the flecks of both colors, is covered by lashes and you feel warm breath against your chin and he whispers "I know."

"I don' know what to do."

"I know."


"I'm here." He says, pulling back. And you look at him and you see the smudge of rust, bright orange and peeking out from under his hair on his forehead and you think…Later. I'll tell him later. And you look at him as he reaches down and pulls you up. And you pull in a breath, for the first time smelling the South Dakota dust. And you can finally look at him and say…

"I know." Forever if I can help it. You'll be here forever. 'Cos I'll save ya Sammy.

Please let me know what you think.