Chapter 7.

Present Day.

Dean wakes abruptly. He jumps, scaring the shit out of himself and Sam, who about runs Baby off the road. Dean resists the the strong urge to lean over and take over the steering wheel, but lets Sam handle the impala as he catches his breath. The adrenaline fades, Sam's sends him a concerned look, Baby rumbles underneath them...all is back to normal.

The dream had been vivid. But all his memory dreams were that way. He was used to it, when you live through enough nightmares you stop dreaming and just start reliving. He's not even aware of the fact that he leans down to scratch his leg until Sam knocks his hand away again.

He sends his brother a peeved look and looks around finding their close to home. He's been asleep a long time. Which means Sam's been driving the whole time, a twelve hours...wow. Sam never drove that long, didn't really like to drive. Only drove when he needed to think or Dean couldn't.

Dean didn't particularly like the idea of Sam having all that time to get lost in his head space. Lord knew, both brother's were probably stressing out over each other when they should have been paying a little more attention to themselves. But that's how it's always been, and probably would always be.

"Why didn't you wake me up? Could've taken a turn driving." He asks, stretching and yawning monstrously.

"Nah, is okay." Sam says, "Wasn't really all that sleepy anyway." He cuts his eyes at his brother over in the passenger seat. "Weird dream?"

"Yeah," Dean answers. Rubbing his hands over his face and resisting the urge to scratch the scar. It just itches, sometimes more than others, tonight was one of those nights. Sam always hated it when he scratched it, understandably.

They had never really talked about that night. But Dean saw the haunted look that filled his little brother's eyes when it came up in conversation. Sam had looked differently on werewolves after that, and Dean did too. But then they had always found there were good variations of all supernatural creatures.

Dean didn't know what had triggered that memory. But showing the scar to Gunner and then the old wrestler saying, "But I'll be damned if I don't get back up again." Dean recognized a fellow struggling soul. Life was hard, but he and Sam always worked hard to make the best of it. When things were bad they worked hard, and when things were good they worked even harder to keep them that way.

Dean had always gotten back up. Hell, every morning when he woke up it was the thought he had, "One day at time." He and Sam knew the best of all people that you just had to keep on grinding. And that you always had to get back up. No matter how hurt you are, no matter how scared you are. No matter who you lost. You always have to get back up.

This hunt had been meant to be a vacation. It was supposed to be their break. Of course he should have known with their luck things would go south. He laughs quietly to himself. They'd just have to get back up. They just needed to keep grinding. Keep working for the greater good, for each other.

Some days that's the only thing keeping Dean going. Sam needs a world to live in. He needs somewhere to be happy, and have books, and be safe. And sometimes that's the only reason Dean can find to get back up. Sometimes the only reason to keep grinding is because he's a damn stubborn Winchester, and Winchesters don't give up. But that's a part of who he is. That makes him the man he is, and no matter how much he may want it to, that's never changing.

And as long as he's alive and breathing, as long as he is Dean Winchester, as long as Sam is by his side, he'll be damned if he doesn't get back up again.

...

Sam comes from the shower feeling refreshed, but definitely ready for a good night's sleep. In his bed. He hadn't seen Dean since his rather passionate declaration of certain victory in the map room where his brother left to presumably get a shower of his own and find refuge in his own (admittedly softer) bed. Sam sighs, and pads from his room in search of his elder sibling just to make sure he's alright.

Dean always seemed to draw the short end of the stick and he'd gotten thrown around a little on this hunt, as well as the closest to plastered Sam had seen him in years. Not to mention, Sam was a little concerned for his brother, worried about what was exactly going through that head, what feelings were exactly feeding Dean's seemingly never ending steam. He hopes Dean will just settle down and sleep for twenty four hours straight and then they can get back to the real world and their work.

Knocking at Dean's door, he waits for an answer but gets nothing but silence. He opens the door exposing an empty room with Dean's unpacked duffle on the end of his bed, which is entirely untouched. Sam bitch faces, leaving the room and is a little disgruntled by the fact that Dean is in fact doing something other than resting after their latest gig.

He yawns making his way to the kitchen which is dark and quiet so he comes into the map room from the hall. All the lights are off, but the low lighting from the library shines off the wood floor and lights Sam's way up the stairs. Most of the lights are off, but the lamps on the desks are still illuminating the room softly.

Everything has been made neat. Their mess from the last week is cleared away, a few slightly more promising files stacked on the table. Most of the books have been returned to their rightful places, a few older ones lay stacked on top of each other, spines facing out so the titles are easily read. Sam shakes his head, sometimes his brother makes him laugh, sometimes his quirky ways fills Sam's heart to the aching point.

He sighs finding his laptop off and closed on the table, charger cord snaking down to plug into the floor socket. The file and the books he'd last been looking into stacked together beside it, his pen and notebook there on the other side, ready for him.

In the morning.

Leave it to Dean to go on a cleaning spree on the one night Sam wants to take a breather. He finds said brother in one of the leather, high backed easy chairs, laptop sitting on his legs which are stretched out on one of the table chairs. He's already nursing a cup of jet black coffee, and a large dusty book is open leaning against his chest.

Sam sighs again, standing staring at him, hands unconsciously coming to his hips, while he's unaware of yet another bitch face. Dean looks up at his brother's sigh and just rolls his eyes at Sam's posture and facial expression.

Dean feels better after his shower even if he still doesn't feel too hot. He had showered and got all the travel smell and grime off him. He'd put on some faded, soft jeans and an old tee and then made a bee line for the kitchen and the coffee machine there. Brewing an entire pot, he waited straightening things up a little. The he poured himself a cup and then made his way back to the library where he straightened up too, because honestly the untidiness over the last week had been killing him.

After everything was in its place and symmetrical he grabbed his laptop and the last big, dusty book he'd been going through. He drags a table chair over so he can prop his feet up on it and then sighs as he sinks into the depths of the leather chair. Coffee in hand, he leans the book against his chest and then begins to check police reports from the last 48 hours for anything they might have missed. Leads on Amara or Lucifer.

He hears Sam padding around, knows his little brother is looking for him and he knows he won't be too happy finding out that Dean isn't going to bed. But Dean had slept off his concussion in the car and he was too restless to lay down again. His mind was too awake, would want to think through the latest hunt, Cas letting Lucifer in his body, Amara going silent. And he just couldn't, if he wanted to keep grinding, he couldn't stop to think.

Sam walks almost soundlessly up the stairs and into the library and stands frowning at him with hands on his hips. Dean feels reprimanded for some reason, he shifts a little under Sam's stare.

"What?" He asks innocently.

"Nothing," Sam says, shrugging and dropping his hands from his hips.

He pulls up the other high-backed leather chair and props his feet up beside Dean's after grabbing his laptop and the files that had been left there. He sighs and Dean gives him an appraising look. Sam looks tired, but when were they not these days? He needs to go to bed, after all Sam had driven the whole way home.

"Aren't you tired?" He asks, looking back to the laptop, reading down the reports.

Sam sighs deep again but shakes his head. "Nah, think I'm kinda past that point now, maybe this'll help me wind down." He says, motioning to his laptop of the paper work at hand.

Dean cocks his eyebrow, "I could just drug you like you did me."

Sam chuckles, "You were concussed and I saved your ass from an embarrassing 12 hour drive because you were in a talkative mood."

Dean groans, "You have enough black mail material as it is."

Sam grunts in a agreement.

"I made coffee," Dean offers, holding his cup up as proof.

"Yeah I saw, but," Sam shrugs and motions towards the kitchen, "I just sat down and the kitchen's a long ways away."

Dean huffs a laugh. "I'll go get it for you."

"Dean," Sam says as Dean moves to get up, "It's fine really, I'm sure we'll be getting sleepy here soon."

"I won't, slept all the way home."

Sam internally groans.

Dean leaves to get Sam's coffee and come back with a giant mug fixed just the way Sam likes it. Dean watches as he inhales the steam and moans over the heavenly smell. Dean smirks over his own cup.

"Who needs a little privacy now?"

Sam rolls his eyes refuting Dean, "I drove us all the way home."

"That's why you're so grumpy."

"Shut up," Sam says into his coffee mug, gulping down the hot brew. Dean makes a killer cup of coffee.

Dean snickers looking over his laptop screen, "Awwww, did Sammy miss his nappy?"

"I hate you."

"Yeah, yeah, I know you do."

Sam rolls his eyes again and sighs taking his feet off the chair. "Whatever, I'm going to bed."

"Good idea."

Sam flips Dean off, which only makes his older sibling laugh.

"Night, night, Sammy, sleep tight." Dean calls after him.

"Hope the bed bugs eat you alive." Sam mutters under his breath on his way to his bedroom.

Sam thinks about what Dean said before in the map room lying in his bed. His brother was right, alarmingly so. Sam always worked hard for whatever end he had in sight. He knew if you worked hard for something most of the time it paid off. So everyday when he got up he thought, "One day at a time, one day closer."

What it was he works towards he doesn't really know. All he knows is that Dean is there at the finish line, laugh lines a little more obvious. Worry and exhaustion and that haunted look Amara had put there gone. Maybe he works hard so they could go back to their roots; saving people, hunting things. Maybe he works so someday, somehow, he and Dean can retire...maybe he really does work to save all the innocent people.

He doesn't know if they can save the world. He doesn't know if they will survive Amara's reign. Hell, he doesn't even know if they can simply maintain this trust and honesty they've been sharing. But Sam does know, if Dean is there by his side he'll be damned if he doesn't get back up again.

the end.

Thank you so much to everyone who followed me along on this little adventure and left me reviews! I hope that it made hiatus a little easier for some of you like it did for me. :) Can't wait for Wednesday!

This is the last chapter so if you liked this story, please...pretty, pretty please...LEAVE ME A REVIEW! ;)

thank you (again3)