This is the third part of a series. If you have not read the first two, it might be a good idea to give them a try :)

It might be a bit hard to follow otherwise.

(...)

(...)

The alarm buzzed loudly, and Sam opened his eyes. He'd already been awake for a while, just waiting for the clock to signal the point at which his day was supposed to begin. He let the thing continue to buzz for a bit longer. He wanted to hate it, the clock, wanted to want to sink back into his dreams. But he'd already been trying to get back to them while he waited for the buzzing to begin. And there was no way they were coming back to him.

He didn't deserve dreams anyway.

Sam shook out his sleep stiffened limbs as he pushed the sheets off his legs and stood up. He ignored the dull ache in his knees. It had settled there a while back, in another place, and it wasn't showing any sign of going away. A fatigue without physical cause. He walked to the far side of the silent room, running the cold tap and splashing water onto his face. It did little to endear him to the coming day.

Just another day. Every day was just another day. In some random town he would never call home. He didn't even know the name of the hotel he was staying in, or the bar he worked in almost every night. He tried desperately to recall what exactly had driven him into this empty life.

It wasn't that he'd actually forgotten anything. It was all too clear, the events that had ripped him from his old life and thrown him back down in this empty hotel room. The amnesia hadn't come back, but Sam was still waiting for it. Things were going too well for him, something had to tip the balance back before long.

Only things weren't good. They weren't bad. They just were.

The life he was living, it was the same as the one he had left. He was still living out of a hotel room. Doing a job that he didn't really care for, but was good at. Waiting for something, anything to happen. The only thing that seemed to be different was the company, or lack of it. He hated to admit it, but he missed his brother like hell.

He was still waiting for Dean to burst through the doors and demand Sam come with him on whatever new scheme was in the making. But the doors remained intact, like prison bars.

Sam was too lost in thoughts that he hadn't realised he'd been staring straight into the mirror over the basin, cold water still pushing rivulets over his skin. He had been standing there for at least three minutes, not seeing anything.

He turned away from the reflection. It didn't matter who he was anymore.

(...)

The work was boring. He'd poured his fair share of drinks, with his always just-this-side-of-socially-acceptable-drinking father, and the jobs he'd picked up in bars going through university. That didn't explain where his steady hand came from, though. Whenever someone would complement him on it, he would smile and wave it off. He had a horrible suspicion about just when he'd picked it up.

It had been the natural thing, to offer his services in a couple of the bars around the place. It had taken him a couple of difficult days in the hotel room to realise that he wasn't going to get any further down the road, and only a couple more to set up the job. He sometimes felt like he'd hardly moved since.

He knew why it was natural. It was fairly easy, not too permanent, and very busy. The work was boring, but demanding. People went to bars looking for attention, and he soon realised that he was only really there to provide it. It had been more than enough to distract him for a while. It was just what he needed.

Different people would come in night after night. A couple of regulars, but they kept mostly to themselves. Only the bar never really changed. The conversations were the same, day in day out. Nothing really changed in that bar. And soon it was all too second nature. The unimaginative flirting lost the little novelty it had had in the first place. It had never had authenticity to begin with. Soon it became an undemanding routine he pretended to enjoy. But in truth it left him with far too much spare time, and nothing to think about but what he'd left behind.

But however bad evenings got, they were nothing compared to the days. He'd tried to pick up a second job, but there was little to nothing available in the one horse town. There was nothing to do, nowhere to take himself that he might escape from his thoughts, if only for the hour.

He'd considered moving on a couple of times. Going to some other place, somewhere bigger, somewhere he might actually have a shot at re-writing the blank script of his life. Back to some city, where he could start something new. He'd found himself in the front seat of his car once or twice, keys dangling from his non-responsive fingers. Moving on was a good idea. He had to get somewhere, find something that would actually occupy his mind and time. He was good at moving on.

But he couldn't do it.

He couldn't, however many times he tried, forget the night that he'd arrived in this place. Somewhere along the way it had started raining, but Sam hadn't realised. Until he'd gotten out of the car and the raindrops had begun to drench his jacket and cause his hair to stick to his face and get in his eyes. He'd just stood in the rain, car door still open wide, trying not to consider what he was doing.

He'd driven through the night, into the day, and hadn't stopped. Until the night had crept up on him again. He couldn't remember the last twenty four hours.

He couldn't forget the twelve before that.

He was exhausted. He felt shattered. Broken into a million pieces and stomped on, doused with petrol and lit on fire. Still, he could barely resist the temptation to get back in the car and drive, as fast as he could, back in the direction he had come. There was kind of elastic band in his stomach, which had stretched over the distance, and was at its breaking point. He knew that he wouldn't, couldn't, go any further. Not if the hounds of hell were barking at his heels. This was it. This was as far as he could go. He'd still waited a few days until he'd been absolutely certain, hoping and fearing, in equal measure, that the sensation would fade. But he had known, even then, that it would never leave him alone.

He knew it was stupid. Gabriel wasn't back there. He'd moved on. Sam had forced them both into this, and Gabriel had done what Sam couldn't. He'd packed up his paraphernalia and himself and left.

Because of what Sam had said to him. Done to him.

It had been so difficult to leave in the first place. So difficult to turn his back on something he couldn't have, but needed desperately. It had taken so much effort, that now it was physical. He could not, physically could not, take another step away from the past he'd refused to acknowledge. He wouldn't go back, but he couldn't go any further.

And every time Sam woke up, waiting for the buzzing of his alarm, he knew with more and more certainty, that he would never he happy again.

(...)

The closest he came was in his dreams.

Sam never remembered them when he woke up, and for that he was both grateful and disappointed. But he was sure that he dreamt of Gabriel. Of just loving someone. Of the feeling of completeness he had when he was in the same room as the man. The way that he could only remember having felt three times in his entire life, and yet had been feeling for years and years. The memories of Gabriel that he didn't have, they had become his dreams.

He could still feel it, feel that way for a fleeting second after he woke up. Feel right, and whole, and like the world made an infinite sort of sense.

A deep unhappiness settled into him, impervious to the brief moments of ridiculously fragile near-contentment, in the split second of his waking. The unhappiness weighed down on him, pressing him into the ground, making each step more difficult, near impossible. The greyness of it stretched out into his life, infecting the world around him until nothing was left but that gold. It shone bright through his memory, burning destructively somewhere within the confines of his skin.

And all it would truly do was make him feel the loss, and his own mistake, all the more sharply.

But he couldn't go back.

(...)

He couldn't go back. Not after everything. He wouldn't turn around just to find himself back in the middle of that mess. That tangle of lives he was supposed to be living, people he was supposed to be. It was all so complicated, and so unclear that he still wasn't sure what the truth really was.

He'd said that it was all for Gabe. That had been what he'd told his brother. That had almost been what he believed himself. Give Gabriel a better chance at actually living his own life again. One that he chose. Giving Gabriel back some of the time that Sam's amnesia had stolen from them all. He'd been trying to act as some kind of force, pushing Gabriel out of the rut he'd been in with Sam.

He had definitely felt like he was giving something up, like he was the one who was sacrificing something. He'd had to be the one to show Gabriel the downside to his recovery. That was on him.

He'd clung desperately to some kind of hero complex, needing to feel like he was saving someone, something, like there was something real and good within his grasp after all. Even if it meant giving it all up.

But that had all disappeared eventually. And all that was left now was the truth. The selfish truth about why Sam had run away from it.

Sure, he might struggle through the new life he'd made for himself. He would find himself getting more and more distracted by nothing, simply unable to focus on the complete blankness of his existence. But it was better than the alternative.

Sam didn't think that he could live that way, with Gabriel always belonging to who Sam had been. It was selfish, he knew. It had had nothing to do with Gabriel. Not really. Nothing to do with his brother, or with anyone else. It had just been him.

He wouldn't have survived, loving someone who could never love him back.

Because Gabriel didn't love him back. Sure, he thought he did. Felt like he did. But it wasn't real. And Sam would resent himself for not being the man that Gabe wanted. Eventually Gabriel would resent him too. That was the future that they would have had to look forward to. That was why Sam had left. Because feeling this way every time he looked in the mirror was nothing compared to seeing Gabriel hate him.

(...)

The bar was particularly empty. It was still about an hour away from final call and closing, but there were barely enough customers to warrant the running tap. Sam was leaning absently against a sticky bar, thoughts in other places. He'd almost completely lost the ability to keep his mind in the present, and people were beginning to notice. He knew that he would have to do better, try harder, if he was going to make it to the end of the year. That was the mark he was working towards. Tomorrow seemed too empty, too disgustingly familiar, to be a goal. There was nothing to look forward to in tomorrow.

A clicking sound invaded his thoughts, brought him back out of himself and drew his attention towards the counter. It was coming from some woman incessantly taping her ridiculously fake nails against the hard wood of the bar. She'd been hanging around for the last couple of hours, giving Sam more attention than he knew what to do with and definitely more than he wanted. Once upon a time, Sam might have guessed that she was Dean's type of woman, but he wasn't sure he was qualified to judge Dean's type anymore. It seemed to have taken an extreme and permanent turn.

The woman at the bar clearly wanted to take up more of his time and personal space, so Sam went over and removed the glass that she had put down before the tapping had started.

"What can I get you?"

She smiled at him knowingly, though exactly what she knew Sam had no idea. She hesitated, before putting in her drink order. Sam prepared it for her, knowing that he was being watched closely, every time he had to turn his back.

He placed the glass down in front of her and waited for her to take it and leave.

Of course, she didn't. She just stood there, like she was waiting for something else. Ignoring the predatory look in her eyes, Sam wondered if he might have spaced and forgotten to give her something that she had ordered.

"Was there anything else I can do for you?" He asked, really hoping that it was just another drink.

"No. I'm fine for now." She paused again. "Unless there's something I can do for you."

Sam smiled politely despite wanting to tell her exactly what she could do for him: leave and never return. She smiled back, but there was nothing pleasant or polite about the curve of her lips.

Okay, he took it back. Definitely not Dean's type of woman. Even Dean was picky enough to turn this one down.

Sam walked to the other end of the bar to escape from her smile, and realising that he wasn't coming back, the woman left. Sam sighed in relief. He was safe. For the time being.

(...)

She cornered him again when he called for any final drinks. He'd been intentionally avoiding the corner of the bar that she'd crawled back into, hoping futilely that she would just leave. His luck seemed to have deserted him completely though, because as he finished replenishing the stragglers' drinks, she was there, clicking her claws against the bar. Sam bit back the sigh that her reappearance tried to pull from his lungs.

He reminded himself forcefully to be polite.

It was a difficult thing to do. He was tired. It was late.

As he approached, she almost purred at him, and he considered just turning around and walking away. Away from her, away from the bar, away from anything that was remotely recognisable. But he'd turned his back on too many lives, he couldn't do the same with this one, with this shred of a life he was pretending to live. So he continued to approach the woman, whose smile grew more perverse with every step he took.

"Another?" He asked, fairly sure she wouldn't be able to twist his question into an ugly innuendo.

She didn't say anything. Sam didn't feel safe. She nodded, tipping her empty glass forward as some form of indication, her eyes never leaving Sam. He wanted to shiver, to push the memory of this woman out of his mind via his spine. Instead he smiled, and got the woman another drink.

As he placed it down in front of her, a taloned hand shot out and grabbed his wrist. Her strong grip forced his hand flat against the bar and she leaned forward, pushing most of her weight through her own hand to hold him in place. The abruptness of it shocked Sam into place, leaning forward slightly, towards his attacker. Her grip on him wasn't painful so much as it was promising to be, if he attempted to move his hand out from under hers.

He glanced at her in shock, unhappily finding her leaning even further into his personal space. She smelt like the bar, and whatever concoction she'd been drinking, and she was breathing heavily into his face.

"I like that you didn't ask me my name."

She tutted as Sam decided it was time to remove his hand, shifting back slightly to press the knife-edge of her hand across the back of his harshly. The only way to get away from her would involve breaking fingers, and that wasn't really a viable option. He might not like her, but he certainly didn't want to hurt her.

So he just continued to glare at her venomously, but she didn't seem to notice. She was purring again, starting to crawl over the bar, for what purpose Sam was sure he didn't want to know. She looked ridiculous, one scantily clad knee finding purchase on the alcohol stained wood, dangerously close to his fingers, the other one presumably dangling in the air behind her. Her free hand began inching towards the front pocket of his jeans, and Sam may have forgiven her crude attempts at flirting before, people get drunk and do truly stupid things, but this was far beyond reason. He shoved his own free hand into his pocket, blocking her access. She didn't seem too fazed, just started towards the other pocket, but Sam had frozen.

For a moment it seemed like everything had stopped. He forgot to breath, his heart stopped beating, his mind took a temporary break. When everything started again, she'd managed to hook her index finger into his pocket.

She froze when she looked up and saw the look on his face. Carefully, he leant forward, watching her shift back uncomfortably.

"Please get off my hand." It was as polite as he could manage, more so than she deserved.

She shied back, shame spreading quickly across her features. It looked like she'd finally gotten the message.

She released his hand and he gladly took it back, taking a few steps away from her. She didn't look at him as she went back to her corner, only staying there long enough to grab her coat before she was heading towards the door, keeping her head down the whole way.

Sam sighed, went back to leaning against the bar. Thanked whatever luck he had left that that didn't happen too often.

But, as always, his mind was elsewhere. He slipped his fingers into his front pocket and pulled out the short bit of string, studied it in the palm of his hand. It looked so small, so insignificant.

But it had been enough to make his heart stop. It had been enough to make him reconsider, for a second too long, everything that he was trying to do.

The piece of string belonged to a life that he wasn't living anymore, but that he'd never been able to leave. Would never be able to leave.

What if he could? Go back.

What if he could go back?

"What're you lookin' for?" A voice from the end of the bar jolted him out of his thoughts. The woman smiled at him warmly. Sam's boss, with whom Sam rarely spoke. Sam didn't even know her name, but he knew that she was a good person, and all of her staff said so.

"Excuse me?" Sam asked, shoving the string back into his pocket.

"You've been workin' here for a while now. Still haven't found what you're lookin' for. Might I be correct in assumin' that ain't it?" She asked, indicating the door through which Sam's assailant had thankfully a-sailed.

Sam nodded, feeling the strangely familiar sensation of the string in his pocket. The woman nodded back at him, clicking her tongue.

"My guess would be you ain't found it any other night either?"

"Why do you think I'm looking for something?"

"Everyone's lookin' for somethin'. So tell me. What are you lookin' for?"

Sam considered, trying desperately to remember what it was that he'd come here looking for. Something he'd thought that he'd needed. He felt the string, twisting around his fingers, but that just made him feel more confused. He couldn't believe that he had forgotten it. It weighed heavily, drawing his thoughts constantly. What did he want? All he wanted was…

"A silver lining." He said, looking at the woman. "I'm just looking for a silver lining."

She laughed softly, but Sam knew it wasn't aimed at him.

"You won't find many of those around here. Or people who deserve 'em." Sam half smiled, at the truth of her words. "Tell me, you got a girlfriend? Or a wife?"

"What?"

"There someone out there who loves you?"

Sam shook his head. Not anymore.

"Of course there is." The woman corrected forcefully, and Sam didn't dare contradict her. "You just haven't found them yet."

Sam paused, thought of Gabriel, of finding him and losing him. "What if I did find them? What if I screwed it up and I don't know how to fix it?"

The woman looks at him kindly, a hint of sadness in her eyes. Perhaps she understood what he was saying too well.

"Love wasn't what you expected?"

Sam nodded.

"Well," the woman sighed, kindness brimming in her voice. "There's your silver linin'."

And that was enough. The thing he'd been looking for, it wasn't in a no name bar in a no name town. He wasn't going to find it pouring drinks for strangers, or waking up in the same empty hotel room every day.

He'd made the wrong decision, been the wrong guy, over and over and over again every day he'd chose to stay. But he had to believe that it wasn't too late to stop making the wrong decisions and head back in the right direction.

He'd always known that he couldn't stay, been living on the edge of turning back for so long, but the string was the final piece of the puzzle, it galvanised him into action like endlessly waking up in a silent hotel room hadn't been able to. No matter how many times he told himself that he was never going back, he'd always known that he was lying to himself, and fighting a losing battle.

Because now he knew, this was his last chance and he had to take it. There was no other option. No choice. No maybe tomorrow, or maybe next week.

He had to go back. His whole life was empty and emptiness, and he wasn't really living it.

At that point he barely even cared what he was going back to. He was desperate, desperate to feel something, anything, again.

Sam couldn't forgive himself for what he'd done. He hated it. He knew he didn't deserve another chance, but there was nothing he could do to stop himself from hoping that Gabriel would give him one anyway.

Because he loved Gabriel, and no amount of time would let him forget that simple fact.

And he had to fix what he broken.

(...)

The theatre looked just as he remembered it. Sam approached without hesitation. He knew that Gabriel wasn't inside.

He'd been in town for a few hours, going first to the Mystery Spot Café and then easily finding his way to the last place he'd seen Gabriel. His familiarity with the town barely registered. It had felt strange once, but not anymore. He was glad for it, not only for allowing him to find the performance hall, but for getting him back into town in the first place.

He'd worried about coming back, but it had been surprisingly easy.

The Mystery Spot Café hadn't been too different either. He hadn't been back in a long while, but the place still struck him with a sense of un-ease. It was the strangest Café he'd ever been in, and he still didn't know what was going on with the person who'd designed it. But it was familiar, and that at least was reassuring. He'd spoken to the waitress, but she didn't know who he was, must have been newly hired. She couldn't tell him anything about the magician who used to put on daily shows in the town theatre.

The noticeboard out front had been taken down.

Sam had thanked her, not too put out by her lack of information. He hadn't really counted on it. He'd headed to the theatre, knowing if there would be information anywhere, there it would be found.

He hadn't come back to town looking for Gabriel. He didn't know exactly what he was looking for, but he wanted to find information about the company that Gabriel worked for. Then maybe he could find out where they were performing. He'd follow a trace of Gabriel around the country if he had to. Around the world.

But as he crossed the red-wine carpet inside the theatre, he began to worry that he wouldn't find anything there either. The show had left town a long time ago, countless performances had been held on the stage since the one he wanted to know about.

He bit back the doubt as he approached the board, scanning the big, colourful posters on it. Underneath the posters there were plastic pockets full of flyers for various events.

None of them held the information he was looking for.

He stood in front of the posters, not seeing them, trying to figure out what his next move should be. He didn't know any other part of the town, wasn't sure if anyone could tell him anything. He'd have to try something else, try somewhere else. Somewhere there had to be someone who could help him.

He headed back out of the theatre, figuring he could make it to the next town over before night fell. He didn't want to stay in the hotel in town. He'd woken up in that hotel far too many times.

"Sam?"

Sam looked up at the sound of his name being called. A young man was walking towards him, having exited the ticket booth from a partially hidden door. Sam recognised him as the teenager from who Dean had bought show tickets, one Tuesday a long time ago. He looked a little older now, and he was beaming at Sam like he was a long lost friend.

"Hey."

"I thought it was you. Man, I haven't seen you in ages."

Sam wasn't quite sure what to say. He remembered the man, but didn't remember ever having spoken to him. Then again, he probably knew more about those years of Sam's life than Sam himself.

"How have you been? How's Dean? What have you guys been up to? I mean, you just stopped coming by one day, and Gabriel left and-"

"Right. Ah, good. I've been good," Sam cut him off, offering a thin smile in place of his manners. "We're all good. How are you?"

"I'm good. You probably don't even know who I-"

"I'm really sorry," Sam interrupted again, feeling rude. "But I'm looking for Gabriel."

The young man didn't seem fazed by Sam's abruptness, instead he smiled like he understood completely.

"Course. But he'd not here, like I said. He left."

"I know. But I was hoping that someone around here might know the name of the company he was with? Or have their phone number or something?"

The man thought for a second, then shook his head.

"I don't remember, sorry."

Sam hid his disappointment, smiling kindly at the helpful kind-of stranger.

"Thanks anyway."

"But I do have a poster. It might have contact info on it. A name at least."

Sam's hope shot up, and his smile widened.

The kid smiled back at him, sensing Sam's enthusiasm. He walked back to the ticket booth.

He was only gone for a minute or so, then he was headed back to Sam, a small poster in his hands.

"You're in luck. It's all here."

He handed the poster to Sam, who searched through it greedily for the information he needed.

The poster was just a blank piece of paper, no pictures, and block letters of various sizes offering various things. He found what he needed quickly, wrote it down on a scrap bit of note paper from his pocket.

When he was done, having scanned the whole poster twice, he handed it back.

"Thank you. I'd almost lost hope. I can't believe you kept this."

The boy looked at him a little shyly.

"Well you guys were something special. I wanted to remember that. Like some sort of story you only see on TV. A real love story."

Sam felt the shame in his heart, at having destroyed that love story, though his stupid, selfish actions.

Somehow the young man seemed to know what he was thinking. The boy didn't even know the whole story, but he could tell from Sam's face that it had gone wrong, and that Sam regretted it more than anything.

"You're trying to find him now. That's all that matters." He reassured.

Sam thanked the man, genuinely more than grateful for his help.

He walked back through what could only be the main street of the town, keeping an eye out for a public phone. He'd left his mobile in the bottom of his backpack, in the back of his car.

Against all odds, Sam managed to find a phone booth. He squeezed himself into the graffiti lined interior.

Sam called the number of the entertainment company-Angels and Acrobats-from a public telephone. His heart beat faster as he listened to the phone ring, waited for someone on the other side pick-up.

By the third ring his euphoria had worn off, his sense that he was finally getting somewhere.

"Hello?" The voice on the other end of the phone sounded distant, but decidedly female.

"Hi. I was looking for information about a magician's show that I saw a while back."

The woman sighed, and Sam could tell that she wasn't very happy about being the person who answered phones. Maybe she didn't have to do it normally. She sounded like the sort of person who would hire someone to do that sort of thing.

"We have two different magicians currently touring. Could you be any more specific about the show that you saw?"

"The magician's name was Gabriel. I was just hoping to find out where the show might be now."

The voice was silent. Sam expected to hear the click of a keyboard, but he heard nothing.

"Sam?"

Sam was taken aback at unexpectedly hearing his name for the second time in an hour.

"Yes?" Sam sent back though the phone in his hand.

"I thought I knew your voice. I'm Lucy. I don't know if you remember ever actually meeting, but we did know each other. And Gabriel used to talk about you all the time. Far too much actually."

"Right," Sam said, a little less comfortable with this stranger knowing about him than the other. "Could you tell me where he is?"

The voice went silent again, but this silence felt different. Less like a calculating silence, more like a hesitation.

"I'm sorry, Sam, but we lost track of Gabriel somewhere in California."

"What does that mean?"

"Gabriel doesn't work with us anymore."

(...)

There were two different numbers on Sam's phone. One was repeated, over and over again, a couple hundred times. Each entry had a different title, ranging from random false names, to famous musicians and actors, to a business apparently called Beatrice's Bees and Bacon. Sam hadn't paid a lot of attention to them before, hadn't paid a lot of attention to anything really, but he remembered as soon as he pulled his mobile out from the bottom of his backpack, that it was the magician who had put all those numbers into his phone, each time he pretended to meet Sam for the first time.

He knew, before he'd even pressed on the little green call button, that it wouldn't be a real number. It couldn't possibly be that easy.

He'd called anyway, hoping that he was wrong. Hoping that maybe he could reach Gabriel after all, from a number that had been in his phone the whole time.

Beatrice answered. Sam apologised at taking up her time and wished her luck with the Bee's and Bacon business.

He was beyond hope. Beyond it because he had no idea where he was supposed to be looking next. He couldn't see what his next step should be.

He'd left the town, driven to the next and stopped for the night. He'd wondered what it was going to be like, to leave the place again. But it didn't mean anything. That town wasn't a part of his restlessness. It wasn't part of the past that he couldn't put behind him. It was all Gabriel. The place wasn't substantial, it wasn't anything to him. Not without Gabriel.

He'd sabotaged his whole future when he'd walked away. It didn't matter that he had good intention, or told everyone that he had good intentions, or that now he wanted to take back all the stupid that he had done. None of it would matter if Sam couldn't find Gabriel.

So he did what he'd always done, the few times he'd been lost beyond all hope. There was still one more number in his contacts. He called his brother.

Sam didn't tell Dean why he was calling. He was sure that his brother would know. He couldn't talk about it over the phone. Not with Dean.

Dean was too loyal to tell him anything about Gabriel over the phone anyway. He might not like the guy, but that would hardly matter. The only way he could convince Dean, to show him that he was really serious about the whole thing, would be to see him in person. Talk to him face to face.

It wouldn't feel right to direct his apologies to the neatly creased sheets of the hotel bed. That was why he'd hesitated, trying other ways, instead of just calling Dean in the first place.

He wanted to see his brother. He wanted to know, for sure, with abundant evidence, that he wasn't as alone as he felt.

Sam awkwardly fumbled his way through asking Dean where he was, but as soon as he had the address, he felt better. Dean issued the invitation with only a little uncertainty.

The address wasn't too far away, only a couple hours by road, but it was already late. Too late to start driving. Too late to make amends. For today at least. Tomorrow maybe he'd have a chance.

This was it. This was his final chance at finding Gabriel. After this there would be nothing left to do but perhaps the hardest part of this whole thing. He had to make it right, somehow, with Gabriel, which meant that he had to do it right. And he had no idea which way he was supposed to be the right way.

Sam took the piece of string out of his pocket. It wasn't much. When he'd first seen it, he'd thought it was nothing. But it was enough. It was enough to make him walk away. It was enough to make him realise that he had to go back.

And suddenly it hit him. Just an idea.

It might not work. Probably wouldn't work.

But maybe it would.

All Sam had was a potentially bad idea and a half formed plan, and things could go very, very wrong. But he'd done more with less. And he had to do something.

He just had to hope that it would be enough.

(...)

The house looked so normal.

Sam didn't really know what he'd been expecting, but he hadn't expected it to look so…normal.

Dean wasn't just a normal guy. Neither of them were just normal guys. Not after the upbringing they'd had. They knew how to keep going, keep moving, and never stop. Not how to settle down.

Or at least that's what Sam had thought. Sure, he'd always hoped that they'd find a way out of their life, but he'd never really expected it to happen. He'd never really thought that things would change.

But looking up at the house, his brother's home, he knew that they had changed. And while he didn't really know how, he was okay with it.

There is nothing as strange as an ending. Finding the happy ending that once seemed so far away. Sam wished that he'd recognised his, seen that what had happened could be his happy ending even if it wasn't the one he'd expected.

It unsettled him a little that this was the one that Dean had found, but only because it was totally unexpected. Only because it was right in front of him, and it was so unexpectedly normal.

And it made him happy.

He knocked twice on the front door. He heard sounds behind the door and was suddenly reminded of visiting friends after school, the few times he'd been able to make friends close enough. He didn't feel like he was visiting his brother, but someone that he didn't really know.

But then the door opened, and it didn't matter that the man in front of him was a stranger, in what had seemed like too many ways. Dean would never be a stranger in the ways that truly mattered.

Sam was suddenly struck by just how much he'd missed his brother, as the man before him couldn't suppress a smile and just the sight of him made Sam feel less empty. The hope, the worry, everything that he'd been feeling, the things that were slowly starting to fill his empty life again, they were nothing compared to the way that seeing his brother again made him feel.

Sam smiled back at him, trying to convey an apology for the things that he'd said the last time they'd been this close to one another.

Dean seemed to understand, or maybe he didn't, but he pulled Sam towards him and hugged him tightly. Sam held him back, and for a second it felt like everything was okay.

"Hiya Sammy." Dean said when they'd stepped apart.

"Hey Dean."

(...)

Sam followed Dean out onto the porch. There was no light outside, but the moon was bright and the sky clear, so there was nothing Sam couldn't see clearly as the cool night air embraced him.

"It's a nice place you've got here." Sam watched his older brother smile.

"Yeah well, I like it."

They were both silent for a while, slowly getting used to the other again.

"Look, Dean…I'm sorry. I'm sorry about what I said when-" Dean cut him off, calmly passing him one of the bottles.

"It's okay Sammy. It wasn't one of your best days. I get that. Believe me, I really do. I'm not about to hold any of that stuff against you."

"I was way outta line."

Dean just shrugged, and went back to casually scanning his yard.

"I really like Cas. He's a great guy."

"Yeah. I like him too."

Sam's reunion with Cas had gone surprisingly well, all things considered. Cas had frowned at him for a little while, they had stepped forward and embraced him awkwardly.

"Gabriel is my cousin, and he didn't deserve what you did to him. But you are my friend too, Sam."

Castiel had stepped back and smiled crookedly at him. Sam finally understood exactly why Dean was there. And why he'd probably never want to leave.

It had still been awkward around the three of them, and Dean had grabbed a couple of beers and lead him out onto the porch.

"I'm sorry Sam. I shouldn't have let you go off by yourself. Not when I didn't know if you'd be okay. I should have gone with you."

Sam glanced at his brother in confusion. Dean had nothing to be sorry for, as far as he was concerned.

"No, Dean. You were right to stay."

Dean didn't say anything, just leaned quietly against the railing.

Sam couldn't stop himself then, from thinking the thoughts that he hadn't let himself think since he'd found the piece of string again. They came rushing in, because it was Dean, it was his brother. No matter how far they'd grown apart, how far they continued to grow apart, that alone would never change.

"He knows now." Sam said hesitantly, ignoring Dean's quiet groan as they continued to discuss feelings. "He'll always know that I have the capacity to hurt him like this. He won't want to take that sort of risk."

"He will though. You hurt him, sure. But you had a reason."

"Not a good one. Not even an almost okay one."

Dean looked at him, then raised his beer to his lips and drank, silently reminding Sam that he wasn't the one who'd brought this up in the first place.

"Fine," Sam amended. "What if it's not the way I acted like a sadistic idiot? What if it's the amnesia?"

Sam still couldn't wrap his head around what had happened to him. But that didn't stop his fears. His brain had struggled for so long, unable to cling onto anything around it. For more than a year. Then, by some random chance, his brain had strung together enough nerve endings to form a memory. And that was all that it had done since. Continued to make connection after connection, spanning the damaged tissue of his brain.

Sam had no assurance that one day the scars wouldn't become too much to bypass. He would be left again in the loop his traitorous brain had already thrown him into once before.

What would he do if he lost another yesterday?

How could he put Gabriel through all that? Again? After everything he said, everything that he'd demanded and taken, how could he ask Gabriel to take a chance on an uncertain future?

What right did he have to try and get Gabriel back?

"You mean, if it comes back? It hasn't yet, has it."

"But that doesn't mean that it won't. Why would Gabriel want to be with me when he knows what could happen if…" Sam trailed off, not wanting to give more words to his fears, to talk himself out of everything. Dean paused, bottle held centimetres for his lips again. After a moment he took a swig and lowered the bottle.

"Gabriel will take risks, if he thinks it will be worth it in the end."

Sam detected a bitter edge in his brother's voice, and for a moment he couldn't account for it. Then he suddenly wondered if Dean was talking about the accident which had taken years of his memory. Did Dean think Gabriel tipped the precarious balance between risk and reward one time too many?

Dean couldn't possibly blame Gabriel for what happened. Sam didn't. Terrible things happen sometimes. Sometimes they happen a little too often, but that was something Sam had come to accept a long time ago.

He considered asking Dean about it, but his brother had moved on, the bitterness fading from his voice. Sam didn't really want to bring it back, didn't want to start an argument.

"And he thinks you're worth it. Believe me. You don't know him like I do."

"You don't know him like I do." Dean glanced at him sharply, apparently confused by the change from assurances of stranger-hood to his current claim to overriding knowledge.

"Did you remember something?"

"No. I just…I think I always knew. It's like how there are some things you never forget, no matter what happens. He's one of them. I know him, without knowing him. If that makes any sense."

"Not really, but I think I get it."

Sam nodded, grateful for his brother's ear, however unhappily borrowed.

"You really need to find him, don't you?"

Sam didn't need to nod this time. He conveyed everything in a single look at his brother, who sighed and put his empty bottle down on the porch railing.

"Ask Cas. Gabriel calls once in a blue moon to remind us that he's still an annoying prick. Cas might know where he is."

Sam didn't thank him verbally, but he knew instinctively that he didn't have to, that Dean wouldn't want him to. He left his brother out front and went to find Castiel.

(...)

Sam stared at Castiel for a moment, disbelief evident. Surely that couldn't be right. Not only did it not make any sense, but Sam had already been there, had already exhausted that avenue of hope. How could he have missed it?

Cas just looked back at him, a little too knowingly.

"Cas, that can't be right. Why would he…?" Sam trailed off. He knew all too well why Gabriel would. Castiel did too, but he spared him having to hear the answer.

"I don't know Sam. He just did."

(...)

Dean closed the front door behind his brother and went back into the house. Castiel found him.

He turned to Cas.

"Do you think Gabriel will forgive him?"

Castiel smiled at him.

"What do you think?"

They were both quiet for a moment.

"Do you think that Sam will be able to forgive himself?"

Dean thinks about it, thinks about Cas' question. Thinks about his brother, and the look in his eyes.

"He wouldn't have come if he could."