By: Karen B.

Summary: Season Seven spoiler warning. Short tag to 7.06. Brotherly angst and love.

Disclaimer: Not the owner.

Rated: I don't know? Shrugs... Just a quick Band-Aid holdover until Friday. I keep saying I am not doing tags but the muse keeps kicking my ass until I do. This was written very quickly. Ugh! Help!

I think you have to know who you are. Get to know the monster that lives in your soul, dive deep into your soul and explore it – Tori Amos -American pianist, singer-songwriter and composer.


With each passing second the tension built inside his body. Sam couldn't think straight, all his thoughts lumping together, eyes flaring with so much anger all he saw was red.

Dean had killed Amy. The one thing he'd asked him not to do. The one thing he trusted him not to do. The nausea of it all curled his toes and sent a river of fury flowing through his veins. All he wanted to do was pummel Dean and that scared him, scared him so badly he had to run. He had to get away, far, far away. His lungs were squeezed breathless and he fought for air, fought for control of his anger. It took everything in Sam to turn and storm off.

He finally found a quit spot, and sat down on the edge of the pier, feet dangling toward the water, right hand picking nervously at the scar on his left. He'd been here for hours now. Just staring out over the cool, choppy bay and trying to let the crisp harbor breeze numb the ache that he was stuffed full of. Sam concentrated hard on nothing more than the screams of seagulls fighting over food, the whistle of the wind, the slapping of water against the supports of the pier, and the rhythmic snapping of Old Glory strung up a nearby flagpole.

But concentrating was hard. Everything was so out of whack. There were too many thoughts floating inside his brain. Lucifer yammering in his ear about his time in the cage, Dean, his last moments with Amy, damn his head felt like the polished silver ball inside a pinball game, the plastic flippers beating against the sides of his temples, rocketing him from one bumper to another.

The wind picked up, sending whitewater caps peaking like meringue out of the bay. Sam hunched up in misery, battling his feelings like the flag up the pole battled with the wind.

What Dean had done was a blow to his heart, cold as any icicle jammed through his chest.

The shuffle of footsteps drew him from his misery. Sam looked over his shoulder, the footsteps had stopped and he didn't see anyone. Slowly he turned back toward the water and the moment he did the footsteps started his way again, a little faster and a lot louder, not trying to hide their presence.

He thought about bolting, knowing exactly whose feet were headed his way, but he didn't have the strength to move. He shoved his clenched fists deep inside his pockets and waited; finally the footsteps stopped right behind him and a green Coleman Cooler dropped to the pier with a heavy rattling thud beside him.

"You really think drinking solves everything, don't you Dean?" Sam questioned, not bothering to take his eyes off the water.

There was a long stretch of silence before Dean said, "You ready to talk yet?"

"Talking about it," Sam hesitated, "Won't bring Amy back," he said, his voice dripping with a mixture of hurt and anger.

"True, but Oprah says….it's good to air your feelings, purge your guilt and all that crap."

Sam didn't say a word.

"Fine. If you don't want to talk, I'm going to sit here and fish."

Sam clenched his jaw; lips pressed tight as he watched his brother out of the corner of his eye open the lid to the cooler. Sam noted the cooler wasn't full of beer, but a string of freshly caught perch and a carton of shrimp bait.

"Really," Sam growled. He'd been sitting here suffering and his big brother was off fishing.

"Want to know the secret dad taught me about fishing?" Dean side glanced over at Sam as he quickly baited his hook with a frozen shrimp and cast his line out into the bay.

Sam didn't answer, his body tightening. He just wanted to be alone.

"To land a fish you have to be the fish," Dean said, sitting on top the cooler.

Sam just rolled his eyes.

For the next hour neither said a word. Dean annoyingly whistling 'Smoke On The Water' as he cast and recast his line with great patience waiting for a hit; while Sam wanted nothing more than to hit Dean and falling deeper into his despair.

With every reel and every cast, Sam's anger grew. The truth of what Dean had done was scrambling his insides, making him want to vomit. Did nothing Sam say to Dean mean anything? Did everything that came out of his mouth go unheard? What was this all for? This life, it was all so stupid. What did it mean? Who could he trust? Who could trust him? Who could he love? Who could he believe? Sam's confusion ranted on until he could stand it no more and he clambered to his feet.

"Why, Dean?" he burst out, glaring down fiercely at his fishing brother.

"About time you were ready." Dean nodded, reeling in his line he stood before Sam. "Because she would kill again," he said, his tone firmer as he let the rod plop carelessly to the planks.

Anger burned inside of Sam, he wanted to set the world on fire he was so mad. "You don't know that, Dean," he grit out his teeth.

"To understand the monster you have to be the monster, Sam, plain and simple. She killed for her kid. She loved him that much and she would do whatever it took to keep that boy safe. Lie, steal, bargain her soul, and kill as many people as she had to as often as she had to," Dean assured. "Look, Sam-"

Sam couldn't stand to hear anymore. "Shut up," he grunted pulling both hands from his pockets and shoving Dean backward away from him.

Dean stumbled, tripping over his fishing pole and landing on his ass to the pier. "Sam."

Sam followed Dean down. "Why'd you lie to me?" he hovered over Dean gripping his leather jacket firmly. "Why didn't you just tell me?" he yelled, pulling Dean back up and teetering off his own feet as he shook Dean roughly. "Damn it, Dean, why?"

"Sammy, I-I didn't want to… "Dean stopped cold couldn't talk, tears burning in his throat and glossing over his eyes. "This rotten, stinking this, "he whispered, "I couldn't let… Sammy I couldn't not-" Dean shook his head slightly, unable to say more.

"You wanted to talk." Sam's chest heaved; he couldn't breathe, he wanted to hit Dean, but held back. "Talk!" he demanded yanking Dean closer to his face.

"Sammy, I didn't want to. It killed me to have to. You understand? Do you think I enjoyed it? Knowing how she'd saved you. A killer knows a killer. She was a monster, Sam. We all are in our own way. And she would have killed again."

That truth was the biggest sucker punch of them all. A power punch that hit Sam so hard he trembled and nearly fell to his knees.

"You know it's true, Sam. Amy knew it too," Dean added, barely above a whisper. "That's what we all do. Murdering monsters is a two way street."

"No," Sam choked his breathing coming fast and hard as he felt his face flush red. "No," he repeated louder.

"I'm sorry, Sammy, I'm sorry."

Sam regarded his brother closely seeing the truth imprisoned in the dark void of his brother's tear-filled eyes; he loosed his grip on Dean's jacket and let out frustrated sob, clenched jaw going slack.

The pain he saw in his brother's eyes equally mirrored his own. It had killed his brother to do what he had to do, and then to withhold the truth from him.

They stared at one another, the silence reaching beyond words. Strong emotions didn't always have to be aired verbally. Sam could feel what Dean wanted to say. He knew Dean's faults as much as Dean knew his, and they accepted each other fully. His brother was a man who would go up against a pack of ravaging wolves, not to save himself but to save someone else.

The scene played out before Sam, shining in Dean's watery eyes. His brother had been perfectly clear, not pissed, not drunk, not hyped-up in a vengeful rage. He'd acted within his nature. Had done what dad had taught them both was their sacred duty. Dean was right. Amy would do whatever it took to keep her boy safe and that meant killing again-sooner or later. Sam had known it at the time he'd let her go. Knew he shouldn't have. Just the same as he knew it now. But - didn't have the heart to do it. Somewhere between here and there he'd let his emotions come into play. He wasn't brave enough or strong enough and Dean knew it. Damn his bleeding heart.

"Deeeaaaan," Sam slowly exhaled, taunt shoulders going lax, body sagging toward his brother, tears plummeting from his eyes in surrender.

Dean reached out to him and pulled him close. "You're my baby brother, Sam, I never wanted to hurt you, that's why I didn't tell you, man."

Sam shuddered, leaning further into Dean, sick at heart. It was a bitter pill to swallow - the truth always was.

They stood that way a moment. Sam's head tucked down into the crook of Dean's neck, his brother's strength unwavering. Dean had done what Dean always did, protect him.

Dark clouds started to roll in out of nowhere and rain began to dot the pier's wooden planks.

"Come on." Dean eased Sam upward. "We gotta get moving."

Sam straightened his limp body, pulling his shoulders back. "Dean, I'm so-"

Dean held up a hand stopping him. "Sammy, trust me, I get it. Okay?" he questioned, brows raised.

Sam gave a weak smile. "When my brother asks me to trust him, that's what I do."

Dean gave a small smile in return and patted Sam's stomach. "Ditto."

"Another Swayze pass, Dean?"

"Absoultly," Dean admitted firmly. "Now gather up the fishing gear and meet me at the car before it rains. I need a beer." He headed off not looking back.

The blah-blah -end