—John Winchester—

The Impala's rumble alerted John that his son . . . sons, had returned. Straightening from his makeshift vegetable garden, he casually scanned the scene. Dean was driving, stopping the car and hurrying around the side to carefully pull Sam from the car. John hesitated—should he go forward?

He delayed too long, and his sons went inside the house. John sighed, tossing down his rake. To his surprise, Dean emerged again, going over to his own car and peeling out of the driveway in a rush.

John approached the house, entering with his key.

"Sam?" he called.

He found Sam passed out on the couch. John checked his pulse—fast and a little weak, but not yet worrying.

In a blur of motion, a knife was at his throat. Fevered eyes met his.

"Sam, it's me."

Sam swallowed. "Dad?"

Hearing that name from Sam did something to calm John. "Yeah, Sammy." He gently took the knife away. "You're okay."

"I didn't kill it. I tried, but I was only able to send it to Hell. I'm sorry."

John swallowed, guilt rising up into his throat. "You have nothing to be sorry for." For so long he had been imagining it was better for Sam to be dead—better that he never fulfill the prophecies John had heard, the signs and portents.

He would repent of those thoughts for a long time.

"I'll get him. I'll finish him off," Sam slurred. His eyes roved against the ceiling. "Not gonna be like him."

"No, son." John rested his palm against Sam's hot forehead. "Sleep."

It was only when Sam was unconscious again that John could whisper his apology.

—Dean Winchester—

"This here's my little brother Sam."

Tom scoffed. "Yeah, little. Sure, try again, Winchester."

Dean grinned, slinging an arm around Sam's shoulders and drawing him down to his height. "C'mon, Sammy, tell 'em the truth."

Sam nervously nodded, biting his lip and cringing in on himself. Dean drew him away from his coworkers and their squabbling to the corner of the yard.

"Hey, Sammy, you okay?"

"I'm not five," Sam suddenly spit, throwing off Dean's arm. "I'm not your charity case."

Dean waited for Sam to calm down. "I'm just trying to get you to make friends."

"I don't need friends," Sam muttered.

"You telling me you've never made friends?"

Sam's eyes went distant. "Some."

Dean paused. "You want to find them?"

"What?"

Dean gestured expansively. "I get that your life sucked, Sam, but you've got options, now. How 'bout that girl you mentioned?"

Sam's hands twisted together. "She wouldn't want me back," he whispered.

"You know that for certain?"

Sam looked trapped. Dean sighed.

"Give me a sec, and we'll get out of here."

Dean made his excuses to the other firemen and snagged some leftover barbecue. When he turned, however, Sam had disappeared. Swearing to himself, Dean exited hurriedly, the fear creeping up his spine trickling away as he found Sam in the driver's seat of the Impala.

Sliding into the passenger seat, Dean waited expectantly.

"I'm not giving up hunting."

"What the—"

Sam's intense eyes found his. "Hunting is my life, Dean. You stopped hunting when you were sixteen, and I'm happy for you. I can't. It's the only thing I know how to do, and I'm one of the best there is. I get out of the game, people die. That's the way it is."

Dean looked down at his hands to find them in fists, nails biting into skin. He forced himself to release.

"Sam, how many times have you come close to dying on a hunt?" he bit out.

Sam shrugged. Dean was five seconds away from punching him in the face.

"You can't just go out and get yourself killed, I won't—"

"—Won't let me? I'd like to see you stop me," Sam returned, his nostrils flaring.

"Sam, the shape you're in—" Dean reached out, ignoring Sam's automatic flinch. He grasped Sam's forearm, flipping it over and pushing up the sleeve. "What was this from?"

The white scar was large and jagged, almost circular.

"Vampires," Sam muttered.

"Case in point," Dean said. "So—"

"So, that was when I didn't care if I survived or not," Sam returned matter-of-factly. Dean suppressed a shudder. "When I was with Jess, I took care of myself on hunts. I'd do that now."

Dean released Sam's arm, folding his own across his chest. "Yeah?"

Sam calmly watched Dean. "Yeah."

"And why's that?"

For the first time since Dean had found Sammy again, a flush crept up Sam's neck and high into his cheeks.

"I, uh, have a reason. To, um, live."

Dean opened his mouth, but Sam barreled on. "Before, I always tried to survive my hunts because I figured if I died, then whatever monster it was would go on to kill more people. But, um, sometimes I didn't really try that hard to survive. Now that won't be an issue."

The brother in Dean wanted to make fun of Sam. Or maybe the brother part of him was the part that wanted to wrap Sam up in a blanket and never let him outside.

Dean sighed. "Fine. But you consider retiring, okay? And checking in on that girl—Jess? If anyone's done enough hunting, it's you."

"Fine."

"And I'd like to come along on close hunts."

"Maybe." Sam eased the Impala out of Tom's driveway and drove away from the barbecue.

—Bobby Singer—

"You come to apologize?" he drawled.

Unabashed, the kid got out of the Impala and walked over to the porch. "I hear you have a hunt."

Bobby raised an eyebrow. "I that all you have to say to me?"

Sam's placid face gave him no answers. "What would you have me say?"

Bobby fumbled for words.

"Let's do the hunt," Sam said.

Scowling, Bobby let him in the house, staring at Ben—Sam with a mixture of frustration and admiration.

"Why didn't you ever tell me your name?" he asked.

Bobby could see the tension in Sam's shoulders ratchet up a notch, if that was possible. "You were an unknown. I felt it best to disappear."

"An unknown?" Bobby resisted the urge to smack the kid. "Idjit, how many times did you and Dean stay over at my house?"

Sam's eyes were dark and haunted. "You never liked me as much. You liked Dean. I didn't want to burden you."

The accusation hung damning in the room. Bobby bowed his head. "Sam, just because I talked cars and hunting with Dean didn't mean—"

"It doesn't matter," Sam cut him off. "The rugaru?"

"It does matter," Bobby said tiredly. "For what it's worth, I'm sorry."

"Nothing to be sorry for."

Squirming guilt still in his stomach, Bobby sat down and spread out his research. "Okay, Ben—Sam. Let's do this hunt."

—Johnny Mackeroy—

Johnny groaned, rubbing his face. Working his way through the ranks was as fun as he remembered the first time.

With a sigh, he tucked his current check into his pocket. He had to get to the bank before they closed.

"Hey, Mackeroy!"

"Yeah, boss."

"Listen, you never told me."

Johnny waited. "Told you what?" he prompted.

"How you saved those kids. I know you were blamed for everything, and I'm so sorry for the way we've treated you," his boss said earnestly.

Johnny gaped for a moment. "Um, okay?"

His boss clapped him on the shoulder briefly. "Keep up the good work, Johnny."

Johnny shook his head as the man left. Weird.

The next day at work, there was similar weirdness. All his coworkers kept giving him strange glances, and some kept thanking him for no apparent reason.

"Hey, Johnny."

Johnny jumped and turned, eyes wide. "Sam?"

"Yeah, man."

The guy was still wraith-like, bony. His hair was longer than the shaved-close of prison, and he seemed more . . . well, better. Sort of.

"What are you doing here?"

"Did it work?" Sam asked.

"Did what work?" Johnny returned dumbly.

"The hacking job I did. Got your file cleaned up a little—those charges. I owed you."

Johnny gaped. "You what?"

Sam sighed. "I'm sorry, I guess it didn't work. I'll go."

"No, wait—" Johnny reached out. "C'mon, Sam, let me help you. You're out, have you found a job?"

"Of sorts. I have to go."

Sam disappeared before Johnny could stop him. Frowning, Johnny went to his desk. Googling his own name, he paused, swearing under his breath. Whatever Sam had done, it was to the effect that Johnny was more of a hero than he actually was.

He just wished he could have helped Sam more.

—Jessica Moore—

Her phone was ringing. Jess grumbled to herself, shoving aside her homework. If this was her mom again, calling to tell her yet again about her brother's new girlfriend.

"Hello?" she asked tiredly.

There was silence on the other end of the line.

"Anyone there?" Jess absently flipped through her notes. This quiz was going to kick her butt.

"Jess."

Only one person Jess knew could say her name with a combination of love and despair. "Sam?" she yelped. "You're not dead!"

"Uh, no." Sam's voice held a hint of the dry humor she loved. And then Jess remembered she was supposed to be furious with him.

"You jerk! You left me high and dry and oooh, when I see you again I'm going to smack you. But don't you dare not come back because I'm going to smack you. You better come back. You hear me?" Jess cut off her babbling, terrified she had scared him away.

"I missed you too," Sam said, voice thick.

Jess dashed away her tears. "Sam, please, come back? I love you."

"I . . . I can't. Not yet. It's dangerous, and there are things I need to tell you. But . . . I will."

Jess sniffed. "Well, don't take too long. I want to have kids before I get gray hairs."

"You, wha—you aren't—there's no one else you—"

"No, you great big buffoon. So don't take too long with your secret spy missions or whatever you're doing."

"Yeah." For a moment, they just waited for the other to say something. Jess finally laughed.

"Alright. Well, I have a stupid quiz, and since you aren't helping me study, I better get to that."

"Good luck," Sam murmured.

"Thanks." Jess stared at the phone after he had hung up. "Just come back."

—Sam Winchester—

Sam pulled up and shut the engine off. The Impala was silent. Sam gathered his strength for the questions and the close glances.

It would be easier to leave. Just drive on, never look back. Dean would never find him. Dad would never find him. Sam could be alone, solitude, which he had always found was the safest.

And the loneliest.

He took a deep breath. He got out of the car. He knocked on the door.

"Hey Dean," Sam said. With effort, he managed to draw up one side of his mouth into a smile. "I'm back."