This is the last chapter, hope y'all enjoyed it!

Chapter 3.

Dean's eyes are shut, he's squatted down in the midst of the ferns growing underneath the towering pine trees. One knee supports him on the pine needle covered ground, one hand rests there, the other grasps a loaded, extra strength flare gun held low and against his body.

His head bows in concentration; Dean hears everything...the birds and insects, or lack thereof, the wind ghosting through tree boughs and ferns...an eery wailing roar, footsteps thundering into the earth. Sam.

Dean is on his feet and racing through the ferns in a millisecond. His calm appearance thrown to the wind, calmness and mediation used for their purpose...find Sam. Now is the time for action. He races a relentless straight line in the direction he's chosen.

"Sam!" He yells into the silent woods that are falling prey to dusk. He runs on, breaths pushing through his lungs burning with the cold air.

"Dean!" It's a shout repeated back to him amidst the proud trunks of the pine trees with a tone of relief and hope. Dean's heart aches at the fear and loneliness it also implies.

"I'm coming, Sam!" He yells, pushing himself harder through the darkening woods.

It's at this moment he feels the chilly wind breeze over the side of his face. The supernatural terror whizzes part him so fast his human eye can't pick it up. It's racing in front of him towards...Sam.

"Sam!" He screams, pushing himself to his absolute limits, "Sam watch out!"

He hears the Wendigo's savage roar followed by a softer yell.

Dean's heart stops, the sun disappears, the moon raises her elegant head, he breaks through the ferns into a clearing.

Dean slides to his knees by his brother's prone figure. It only takes a second to observe the gaping throat wound, the beautiful hazel, glassy eyes staring into oblivion, the thread of velvet that seeps from his baby brother's lips and runs down his chin...it only takes a second but to Dean it fills his eternity as he gathers Sammy close to him in his arms.

His brother is already gone. No goodbyes, no honest words, no loving glances, no touches or embraces to remember him by...just blood. The blood that covers Dean's hands crimson and reminds him of his soul deep guilt.

He lifts burning eyes to stare at the creature before him as tears cascade freely down his face to fall to Sam's. The Wendigo seems to know what it's done, it stands and watches just across from Sam's body as the agony rips through Dean.

"You killed him!" He screams at it, and the grief breaks from his throat as he buries his face in Sam's hair to hide the rest of the uncontrollable sobs. "You killed him!" He repeats, voice cracking from his tears and intense volume. He grips the flare gun and chunks it at the Wendigo as hard as he can.

The gun hits the beast squarely in the stomach and falls to the forest floor. The Wendigo looks slowly from the gun on the floor to Dean, slumped over his baby brother's corpse, staring at it with red, predator eyes of his own. It turns away from Dean.

Dean watches through tear blurred eyes as the Wendigo departs.

"Kill me you bastard!" He screams at it. Please, kill me, he thinks as he looks down into his little brother's white face. Don't leave me, Sammy, he pleads. Don't go somewhere I can't be with you. He can't do this without Sam, he doesn't want to do this without Sam. He needs his little brother, he needs Sam, he's his heart, his conscience...his purpose. He would gladly go with him, he couldn't live with the guilt that he'd gotten separated from Sam, hadn't been there to have his back

...had let him die alone.

The Wendigo turns back and stares at him. Dean sees the lift in the grey lips, the intelligence in its eyes. Its knowledge that this man would be in more pain to live than to die, it wouldn't put this man out of his misery. He turns again and is gone in a breath of wind.

Dean is left alone in the clearing grasping the body close to him, feeling the warmth leave the blood still seeping into his clothes and coating his skin. The moon is looking down on the two brothers like a queen, the stars are her twinkling subjects. Dean listens as crickets start up their chirping lullaby, a coyote wails somewhere over the hills, an owl hoots it's welcome to the night. The world puts Sam Winchester to sleep.

The breath is stuck in Dean's lungs, the weight lying on his chest like a mountain. He gasps huge, shallow, sobbing breaths, a hand on the chilling face as he tries to memorize the beloved features.

"Sam," he whispers, gasping, "I'm sorry, Sammy, so sorry..."

Sam's eye open. And Dean jerks away in shock. He sits up and looks down on Dean's horrified face. He is white in the pale moonlight, he blinks coldly at Dean.

"You let me die," he says, frozen tears sparkling in his eyes and on his pale cheeks, "You killed me!" He hisses as his eyes glow a warm yellow.

"No," Dean whispers.

"YOU KILLED ME!" Sam yells and leans into Dean's space, "You will be alone," he whispers as he backhands Dean across the face...

...

Sam hits Dean so hard his hand ricochets off his cheek and Dean's head is brutally knocked to the other side of the pillow. Sam tries to shake the burning sting from his palm as he steps back, hands gripping in his hair, instinct telling him WHEN HITTING DEAN, GET AWAY IMMEDIATELY.

Dean's stiff, fevered body arcs off the bed as he gasps in a huge breath through blue lips, causing painful coughs to wrack through his body. His green eyes fly open, they immediately seek out Sam. Looking for the fortress in the storm, looking for something to hold onto, something to fight for.

Sam grabs his arm and presses a hand to his chest pushing him back towards the bed praying the stitches haven't torn. Dean grabs his wrist where it's just above his chest and holds it as he heaves quick, painful looking breaths. Sam tries to smile calmly.

"Hold still for me Dean," he says, "We don't wanna tear your stitches."

"S'mmy?" He asks, looking up blearily. He sounds insecure, hesitant, but sounds like he wants an answer to his question, sounds...like Dean.

Sam places a cool hand on his forehead and nearly cries with relief. Dean's temperature must have broken in the crisis of whatever the hell that episode had just been. "Yeah, it's me," he answers as he strips the cold sheet off his brother and pulls up one of the blankets to cover him.

"S'm? Is that really you?" He asks, still sounding uncertain, pupils still blown wide.

"Yeah, it's me," Sam assures, and runs fingers through Dean's sweaty hair.

"Are you alright?" He asks, almost desperately, his other hand coming to grasp Sam's forearm.

Sam had half expected this, "Yes, Dean, I'm fine, I'm good...especially now that you're doing better."

Dean's hand comes to cup Sam's cheek and he looks into his eyes as if gauging Sam's honesty. Dean finally looks down and away, trying to hide the tears glistening in his bloodshot eyes.

Sam covers Dean's hand with his and brings it down from his face and holds it tightly.

"We're both good, it's all good." Sam soothes, thinking maybe the fight before all this was still bothering Dean.

"It was just a dream then." He chokes out, a lot less certain than he wanted to sound. God, that fear, that failure he'd felt. So keen, so sharp...so real.

And suddenly he knows that's why he always throws himself in front of Sam and danger, sure it's to protect Sam, but also to avoid that fear, that sorrow more painful than any physical agony he's ever experienced. He understands Sam, finally. Knows what he goes through, knows what he feels and experiences when Dean sacrifices himself...

And he can never stop, some hurts are less damaging than others. Sam would survive fear and anger, he wouldn't survive having his throat torn out by a Wendigo.

"Hey," Sam whispers, thumbing the tears away from Dean's cheeks and leaning to rest his head on Dean's shoulder. "It's okay, Dean, it's okay now, I'm not mad anymore." He's rambling, but he just wants to assure Dean he's there and he loves him and he's not going anywhere.

He's alive, Dean thinks, grasping Sam's forearm tighter, fingers snaking into the mop of chestnut hair surrounding the face hidden in his shoulder. He's alive and safe with me, all is well.

But all is not well. Dean can't protect Sam against the panic and agony he's still recovering from. Can't protect him against the hell of losing his brother, god, Sam had already gone through that many times.

And that right there was the problem, they knew what it felt like, they knew the pain, the fear, the loneliness...they were willing to do ANYTHING to prevent THAT from happening. They knew what it was like to hold cold, limb corpses. They knew what it was like to bury a brother and walk away forever, they knew what it felt like to have a whole world before them and to care nothing for it because they were alone.

There was only one road for them, the road to each other. They didn't care where it lead, they didn't worry about heaven or hell afterwards, they followed each other down the same path. They took turns leading...they took turns falling. But in the brother's minds there was one road ahead of them...the road together.

It was easy to find, it was easy to follow with the directions etched on their hearts. They followed what they believed, they followed the love and loyalty in their hearts. And as long as they followed these things the road was clear, was shining, it was like a yellow brick road in their hearts right to each other...

Heaven knows it wasn't pretty, there was a price. The road wasn't easy, wasn't lined with flowers and bubbling brooks. The bricks weren't yellow...they were a deep velvety red, coated with the blood both of the innocent and the guilty, it was built on a foundation of broken promises and souls...it was the price paid to stay together. It was the road that brought them to each other.

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