The Reason

Chapter 1

A/N: Hey everyone. I know you were probably hoping for an update on my other stories but don't worry. Those are a comin'. I just had to get this little plot bunny out of my head so that I could work on the others. I'm sure where this came from or how good it is, but I just needed to put it out there.

Spoilers for Season 2 and VERY SLIGHT spoilers for Season 3. Unless you've seen Season 3, I doubt you'll know they're there. Nothing serious is revealed let's put it that way.

Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters from Supernatural. They belong to Kripke. This is done strictly for fun, not profit. Also, if anything looks familiar, it's not mine.

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Rhythmic pounding of shoes against pavement, beats out a fast staccato in the pre-dawn gloom. Heavy breathing, rhythmic and flowing, adds to the beat as the birds' incessant chirping adds the vocals. And suddenly, if you listen hard enough, you might hear the musical symphony of sound which is that of a lone early morning runner.

Unnoticeably normal…or so one would think.

Dean's breath came out in little puffs of white as he ran along the road leading back to the small town they were currently staying in and his body moved with a fluid grace that spoke of long years of practice.

When he had first woken from a restless sleep to a dark room, his body had at first protested his usual workout with a vehement intensity. And yet, he had still gotten up. Moving like an old man with too many aches and pains and only a few hours of sleep, Dean had quietly pulled on his sweats and shoes, written a note for Sam in case he woke up, and then headed out for his run.

He could still feel the exhaustion from the hunt in his bones, but he also knew that there was no way he could have tried to sleep anymore even if he tried. After the hunt they had had last night, he had been too wired to sleep and continued to toss and turn long after Sam had finally crashed. And as he lay there trying to get to sleep, his mind kept coming back to how he had screwed up last night; and the fact that it had almost cost Sam his life, which was just unacceptable in Dean's book.

Finally, after seeing the red numbers of the alarm clock click over on 4:00 a.m., he decided enough was enough and got up. 'Might as well be productive with my restlessness,' he had grumbled to himself before throwing back the covers.

Besides, he needed to clear his head.

As he ran, he kept going over every detail of the hunt and could clearly see that it had been one mistake after another. Looking back at it now, they shouldn't have even thought about going on 

that hunt. Of course, he'd had to insist they go to that house on February 29th even though he knew the risks that they might never come out again.

Oh come on Sam, it could be like our Grand Canyon. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

If he'd been even two seconds slower in getting that door open Sam would have been dead and then…he'd be going to Hell for what? The reason he had fought Sam so hard against finding a way out of his deal was because if they did Sam would die instead and then Dean goes and puts Sam in a situation where he could get killed most assuredly. Smooth, Dean, real smooth.

Unconsciously, Dean ground his teeth together and put on a little more speed as the events from the night before played out again in his head. His stomach still tightened at the memory of realizing that Sam was missing. Just one moment he was there, and the next…poof. Gone, and not having a freaking clue of where he went.

He still wasn't quite sure how he had found his brother in time, the fear clouding his mind at the simple idea that Sam might not make it out of this one, and the fact that it was because he had suggested this hunt made Dean's stomach flip-flop even more. He swallowed hard to keep his nausea at bay and continued on. At least Sam would be okay. For now.

Up ahead, he could see the edge of town come into view, the sun just beginning to lighten the sky and Dean knew that before too long it would crest the eastern horizon in a dazzling display of color. The small gas station, with its price sign silhouetted against the growing dawn, wasn't even showing signs of opening yet and Dean knew he still had some time.

Yeah, time…that elusive measurement that seemed to keep slipping through his fingers no matter how hard he tried to hold on to it. It used to be that time was measured by how big Sam was getting or how long his Dad was gone on a hunt, and then it was measured by how long Sam had been away at college or by how many days it had been since his Dad had went to Hell for him.

Now, his time was measured by how many more days he had until his deal came due; and as his time kept ticking down, he found himself hoping more and more that he could just find something that would stop the clock or at least turn it back. But even with every freaky thing they had hunted and killed, Dean knew that there was no way to truly turn back the clock.

And what about Sam? It seemed like recently that no matter how hard he tried, it always seemed like Sam was in trouble. He was either getting kidnapped, or strangled, or pinned by some demon to a wall that was Hell bent on taking out the so-called 'Boy Prince' of Hell. Of course, since that thing with the Trickster this last time, Sam had been a little harder, a little more self-reliant...perhaps a little darker even. But he still needed his big brother to save his ass sometimes. And what would happen when Dean was gone? Dean only hoped that Sam wouldn't go off the deep end after he was gone or hoped at least that Bobby could keep him from that fate. Of course, that had worked so well with Dean when Sam had died.

As he drew closer to town, he thought about some of the other questions that surrounded his brother. I mean, he knew that demons lied; but he still couldn't help but wonder if old Yellow Eyes hadn't maybe been telling just a little bit of the truth last May when he had asked Dean how sure he was that what he had brought back was one hundred percent pure Sum. The memory of his brother shooting a full clip into Jake, and the cold look on his face when he had looked up at Dean had definitely made him pause and think. But he also knew that at the time there was no way he could live without his little brother. Sam was his whole world. But now…he was going to make Sam live without him.

Just like his father had done to him.

And wasn't that a kick to the gut when that thought had finally been brought to light. By Bobby no less, the only other man in this world that he looked up to more than he had his Dad.

How do you think Sam's going to feel, when he finds out you're goin' to Hell? How did you feel when your Daddy went for you?

Dean snorted and shook his head slightly at the irony of it all. Like father, like son. Right Dad?

He finally passed the edge of town and he unconsciously took stock of his surroundings. Silent, dark buildings slipped past until he was close to the heart of the small town and then he finally saw a few lights coming on in the surrounding buildings. The diner they had eaten at yesterday afternoon was just starting to show signs of life, but still showed a 'Closed' sign in the door.

He still had some time.

He headed towards the park he had spotted when they first came into town and continued his steady pace. Sweat dripped down his face and back as he continued to pound the pavement, but it felt good to work his body through its paces. He had spent years training, first with his Dad and then with Sammy learning what he was and wasn't capable of and even now he knew for certain that if he needed to he could run for hours without stopping.

When the little park came into view from a couple blocks away, Dean took off like a shot sprinting for the edge of the grass at full speed. His arms and legs blurred as he forced himself to run faster and his muscles burned from the effort after the long, steady run of before but he needed to do this. Speed drills, his Dad used to call them.

As the ground blurred by, he silently timed himself to see how he did. He didn't used to be this fast, but after he had been too slow to stop a werewolf once from getting the drop on Sam he had made sure to include some speed work in his workouts. Sammy still had the scars from that incident across his back even though it had been over ten years since it happened. Thankfully, Sammy didn't have as many visible scars as Dean; but he still wondered what Jess had thought of the ones he did have or how Sam would have explained them away. Oh, well, chicks dig scars. Right, Sam?

He reached the edge of the park and finally allowed himself to slow down coming to a stuttering halt on the dew covered grass as he gulped for air and tried to get his heart rate back down to normal. His legs felt a little rubbery but he locked his knees and forced himself to walk over to the small playground where the jungle gym he had spotted when they had come into town a couple of days ago was.

He leaned down to get under the bars where most kids swung by their knees, and then gripped the highest bar before letting himself drop to arms length. With quick steady movements he began to do some pull-ups counting out a steady rhythm in his head and reveled in the feel as his taunt muscles moved with a fluid grace.

He knew how important it was to keep in shape with what they did.

Know what your body can and can't do.

His father had taught that to them early on, but it still had taken a few close calls to drive that notion home. Being able to pull himself out of a grave or being able to run flat out could mean the difference between whether he or, more importantly, his family lived or died. And after everything that had happened to him he was not going to lose another family member to this war.

His muscles burned and shook as he performed the final pull-up with gritted teeth, and he let himself drop to the ground with a small grunt from the effort. He looked around the park for a moment as he massaged the palms of his hands where the steel of the bar had rubbed, and noticed the set of swings and teeter-totter that set not too far away from where he stood.

Looking at the teeter-totter, he suddenly remembered a time before the Demon had come to destroy their family that fateful night. He remembered his parents taking him to the park to play one sunny afternoon and his Dad sitting on one side while his Mom held him on the other. It had been one of the few times that he could remember his Dad smiling and laughing as they went up and down. After the fire, he couldn't ever remember his Dad smiling again like that without a hint of sadness behind his eyes.

Dean looked down at his hands trying to rid himself of the memory and studied his hands for a moment. Tanned, sinewy hands with a little dirt under the nails stared back at him. A few nicks and scratches along the knuckles told of previous scuffles with poltergeists and irate pool players that didn't take kindly to him hustling them out of their money. As he ran his fingers along the palm, he felt hardened calluses from previous workouts, weapons, or digging and he wondered what someone thought when they looked at him.

They say you can usually tell how a person has spent their life by what their hands look like, and if anyone looked at Dean's hands he wasn't sure what they would or wouldn't see. Would they see that he was a hunter? A big brother? A devoted son? Or perhaps someone that would sell his soul just to have his brother back if it only meant he would be with him for only a year? Or would they just see the shady, criminal that most of the nation thought he was thanks to his being on the Wanted list? One thing he did know for sure was that no amount of calluses or scars could ever show exactly what all kinds of hell he had been put through in his short life.

As he shook his head at how pathetic he sounded, he turned his attention back to his workout. The sky was starting to lighten with the pending sunrise and Dean knew that he would have to get back to the motel before too much longer. He climbed up the bars at the end of the jungle gym before hooking his feet between two of the bars and carefully lowering himself down until he was vertical. The unmoving metal bit into his legs slightly, pushing on hidden bruises, and his back popped several times as it stretched; but he pushed the pain aside and concentrated on taking deep breaths. He then slowly curled up using his stomach muscles and then lowered himself again to his prone position.

He continued to do crunches feeling the blood running to his head as his feet strained to keep him hanging there, but he didn't stop. Come on, just twenty more. As he moved through the familiar movements he let his mind wander for a moment remembering the times he took Sam to the playground when they were kids.

Usually they would go when they had been cooped up in a motel room for way too long and it was either get out of the room or strangle his kid brother when he wouldn't stop asking 'why'. They would traipse out into the world with Sam's hand held tightly in his until they reached the playground or park and then Sam would run around laughing and screaming to blow off some steam while Dean watched and read comics.

If they were at a playground with a jungle gym, Dean would stand down below holding Sam's legs as he learned how to swing across the bars, or sit on top and try to get Sam to pull himself up to get a snack after he had learned how to hang from the bars better than a monkey from a branch.

In those days, that was Dean's way of getting Sam to 'workout'. He knew that Sam wouldn't understand why they had to train and he knew that when Sam finally did learn about what their family did, he wanted Sam to be prepared. But until that day came, Dean and his Dad wanted to keep Sammy as innocent as possible and that meant playing at parks and watching cartoons. Still that day of discovery had come way too soon and it still broke Dean's heart how Sam had found out about Hunting.

Dean's hand brushed against the amulet that hung from his neck and he smiled slightly at the thought of when Sam had given it to him. The bittersweet memory could still make him smile slightly. Out of everything they had, that was his most prized possession.

Dean did one more crunch and then struggled to grab the bars to pull himself back up so that he could release his feet and climb down. When he was finally standing again, he stood there for a moment to let the blood flow back into his body and the little black spots fade from his sight before moving on to the next thing. His muscles quivered slightly from exhaustion and he relished the feel of knowing he had worked his body to its limits.

He finally walked over to the grass and began to stretch with long fluid movements Breathing deeply as he tried to clear his head a little more. His thoughts kept traveling back to Sam though and he couldn't help the pang of worry that went through him. His one mission in life had always 

been to protect Sam. Keep Sammy safe. Everything he had ever done or learned or practiced had been done so that he could do that one job better. And now…in three months that job would be done.

The weight of that realization floored Dean and he suddenly had to sit down to keep from falling down. It would be done. No more worrying, no more fighting, no more having to bury who he was to help those that he loved first. He didn't want to go to Hell, but he also felt a slight giddiness at the thought that this Hell would finally be over. The constant worrying and fighting had taken its toll and even though he was still a young man, under it all it felt like he was ancient. He knew it was wrong, but in some ways he almost felt…relieved.

Dean sat there for a few more moments holding his knees to his chest with his head buried in his hands and tried to tell himself that the shaking of his body was just from fatigue, but he knew that it wasn't just that. It was always more than just that. After a while, Dean finally pulled himself together and wiped his tired, gritty eyes. Suddenly he felt terribly exhausted and incredibly sad. It was that deep down tired that seemed to penetrate your bones and weigh you down even more until you didn't want to move ever again. And then Dean realized after everything he just felt…tired.

He sat there listening to the early morning sounds and felt the dew covered grass dampen his pants but still he didn't move. Not quite ready to slip his suit of armor back on and face another day. Finally, goose bumps started to prickle his arms as the brisk morning air cooled his sweat soaked body and he gave a heavy sigh before he started to move again. He did a few more stretches to ease his tired legs and then began hesitantly to get to his feet and squared his shoulders. The sun was just starting to peek over the horizon and Dean suddenly realized that it was starting to get late. Sam would be getting up soon and he needed to get back before then.

As he walked, he tried to think of what to do with the rest of the day. The hunt was done and both of them needed a little time off to heal. Maybe a movie? Dean thought he saw a theater that had a daytime cinema on the weekends. Yeah, that sounded good. Maybe afterwards they could go and do some practice shooting and drink some beer. That is if he could pull Sam away from his computer and research long enough for that.

Dean frowned slightly at the thought. Lately, the only thing Sam could think of was how to break Dean's deal. In some ways, Dean was grateful for his little brother's stubbornness to not give up until every stone had been turned; but he was also worried. Sam had hardly slept or eaten since he had learned about the deal and frankly he was starting to look like a zombie, which was not a pretty thing. He needed to take a break and Dean wasn't quite sure how to make that happen. Maybe he could play the sympathy card one more time and get Sam to take the day off just this once. Besides, he wanted to do something with his brother that didn't involve the supernatural for a change. Yeah, he could do that.

Dean walked towards the small diner and noticed the middle aged waitress just turning the 'Open' sign around and Dean gave her a small smile as she looked up and met his eyes.

She opened the door and gave him a big smile. "Well, lordy sakes, you're out early, Sweetie. Would you like some coffee?"

Dean nodded his head and returned her smile as he took hold of the door. "Yeah, that would be great. Two to go please?"

She nodded and headed back behind the counter. "Black?"

"One black, one with two cream and sugar, please." Dean sat down at the counter and looked around. It seemed different being in here this early. He could hear the cook chopping up things to the quite strains of country station playing in the kitchen and the smell of coffee brewing was just starting to permeate the air. Dean looked over and noticed that the pot was only half full the stream of coffee still going strong.

"You look like you've been up for a while," the waitress said making small talk as she waited on the coffee. "Long night or couldn't sleep?"

Dean just gave a tired chuckle and looked away slightly. "A little of both I guess," he said quietly before running a hand across his tired face.

"Do you want some breakfast before you go?" the waitress asked as she filled the two to-go cups, and Dean could detect a little bit of concern in her voice.

Dean just smiled and shook his head. "Nah, I'm good. Me and my brother will probably be in later for breakfast anyways. Besides, I don't think your customers would appreciate my sweaty smell mixing with their scrambled eggs."

The waitress just chuckled slightly at that. "Yeah, you do smell a little ripe. Of course, there's nothing wrong with working up a little sweat now and then." She smiled and then stuck out her hand. "The name's, Connie."

"Dean," he reached forward and shook her hand. "Nice to meet you, Connie."

"Same here, sugar." She placed the two coffees on the counter in front of him as the bell above the door chimed and a couple of good-old-boys walked inside. "Now if you'll excuse me I've got to go take an order."

"Sure, uh, what do I owe you?" Dean reached for the few dollars he had in his sock and hoped that they weren't too sweat-soaked.

"No charge, darlin'. Besides, I know you'll be back later." Connie flashed a grin and a wink and then took off to go help her other customers.

Dean couldn't help the smile that crawled across his face as he watched Connie walk away. Maybe Sam wasn't the only one that had the touch with older women? He pulled out two dollars anyway and laid them on the counter before taking the coffees and going.

The motel wasn't too much farther and Dean walked along in a comfortable silence with a slight grin on his face. Even though it had been brief, the little chat with Connie had helped to lighten his mood and he was thankful for that. He moved quickly now towards the motel and then noticed the Impala glinting in the early morning light. A smile started to grow on his face as he took in the beauty that was before him and he couldn't help but balance the two coffee cups on top of each other so he could run a hand along her side as he passed as if to say hello. "Hey there, baby. Missed me?"

He walked towards the door with a final look back towards the car and then carefully set the coffees down so he could get his key out. He quickly slipped inside and took stock of the room. Thankfully Sam was still asleep and Dean grinned a little at the sight of his not so little brother sprawled out on the queen sized bed arms and legs all akimbo and his mop of brown hair spread out across his face. Dean tiptoed towards the bed and then sat Sam's coffee cup on the night table next to Sam's head.

Dean took a sip of his coffee before he started to pull off his shoes. He watched as Sam came slowly awake, the smell of coffee finally penetrating his sleep before a hazel eye cracked open to stare blurrily at him. Dean just smiled and then reached over to take another sip of his coffee. Sam just groaned and mumbled something incoherent before turning and burying his head in his pillow

"Oh come on, Sammy-boy," Dean started with an obvious smile in his voice. "Rise and shine. The sun is up, the birds are chirping."

"And older brothers are being really annoying," Sam grumbled into his pillow before groaning again. Finally after a very put-upon sigh, Sam managed to drag himself to a sitting position on the side of his bed facing Dean. With his eyes at half-mast and his hair going every which way he looked every bit the little boy Dean used to drag out of bed every morning for school.

Dean chuckled slightly and slipped off his shirt. "And you're supposed to be the morning person?" Dean clucked his tongue a few times and shook his head. "Sammy, Sammy, Sammy. I think you're slipping?"

"Why are you so cheerful?" Sam grumbled and tried to smooth down his hair.

Dean just shrugged. "One more day of being with my brother I guess. Hey I thought maybe we'd go get some breakfast and then maybe go to a movie later. What do you think?"

Sam looked up at him a little grumpily. "Do they even have a movie theater here?"

"Yup, I saw one when I was out earlier. It looks like they're playing some cheesy monster movie. It'll be great. So get ready." He threw his smelly shirt at Sam and smiled when it smacked his brother in the face. He then got up and headed for the bathroom. "I'm gonna go take a shower and then we'll go."

Sam's nose wrinkled slightly as his sense of smell finally woke up to the rank smell of his brother's shirt in his face and he recoiled from the wet feeling as he threw it to the floor. "Were you training?" Sam said with an incredulous sound to his voice.

"Yeah, well, what can I say, Sam. You don't think this fine physique comes naturally do you?" Dean turned back to Sam and struck a pose before flashing a toothy grin. "You know, you might benefit from some good old exercise yourself. That is if you think you could keep up with your fabulous big brother."

Sam scoffed slightly as he reached for his coffee cup and took the lid off. "Yeah right, any day, Dean, of course I don't think anybody could keep up with your ego. Some days I don't see the reason why you even bother with training. It's not like you need it."

Dean just stood in the doorway and looked back at Sam as he sipped at his coffee. He may look a little tired and bruised but at least he was sitting there. Alive. And that reason alone was why Dean bothered to do anything. "Yeah, Sammy, but everyone could use some improvement. That's what counts I guess." And with that he shut the door.

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A/N: Okay, guys, there it is. I hope it wasn't too rambly. Let me know what you think by pushing that little button and sending me your comments. I love to hear what you think. And in the meantime, I'll get back to writing on my other stories. Catch you soon.