Dean snuffled against Sam's chest. Sam pressed his lips to the top of Dean's tawny head and smiled. A creak from the closet made him tense. Dad had told him about the supernatural, the ghosts and goblins, a few weeks ago, handed him a gun, and taught him how to use it.

They had agreed to keep it a secret from Dean—Sam had insisted, actually—until Dean was older. It made him feel better, knowing Dean could have something normal. But Sam felt awfully alone in the dark.

"No!"

Dad's voice was muffled by the door, but it carried. Sam carefully slid out from under his brother, letting him settle down before creeping to the door and easing it open a crack.

"I'm telling you, Bobby, I'm right. I've talked with experts, and this isn't just a one-time thing. There are kids whose parents have died in a fire. It's always in one child's room, though, and a lot of those kids have turned out . . . questionable. There isn't any doubt about this."

Sam felt something inside of him twist, though he wasn't sure why.

There was a pause. "Bobby, I'm not going to do anything. Not now, anyway. I'll need proof."

"Dad?" Sam whispered. His dad turned on him, gaze thunderous.

"What are you doing out of bed!?"

Sam swallowed. "Thirsty," he murmured.

"No, Sam."

"Why not? All the other kids get to go!"

"It's too dangerous."

Sam scowled, crossing his arms. "How is it dangerous? We visit graveyards regularly, this is a birthday party."

"I don't want you getting close to other kids."

Sam blinked. That was . . . different.

"What?"

Dad was just drunk enough to keep talking when normally he would've told Sam to shut up and go away. "It's dangerous for them. Being around you."

Sam felt sick. "I wouldn't . . . I wouldn't hurt my friends, Dad."

His dad didn't respond. Sam backed away from the table, slipping towards the window. He climbed out onto the fire escape and hunched in on himself. What was wrong with him?

Sam handed in his paper with a smile. "Finished early," he said.

"Excellent, Mr. Winchester." The teacher had a strange look on his face. "If I could just see you after class."

Sam hesitated, worry in his gut. "I—did I do something wrong?"

"No. Just the opposite, really."

Sam obeyed his teacher, waiting until the other kids filed out.

"What is it, Mr. Jameson?"

"You've shown . . . promise." His teacher rounded the desk, staring down at Sam with a strange expression on his face. "I had to see for myself."

Sam shifted from foot to foot. "Um, thanks? I need to go pick up my little brother."

Mr. Jameson suddenly grabbed his chin, forcing him to look up. "It's hard to see," he murmured. "But I have great hopes for you."

Uncomfortable, Sam took a step backwards. Mr. Jameson let him go, eyes intense on him. For a second, Sam could've sworn they flickered a different color.

"You may go," Mr. Jameson said.

Sam ducked his head, hurrying his steps until he found Dean leaving his class.

"Dean?"

"Hurry up." Dean tugged on his sleeve. "There's some bigger boys, they promised to beat me up after class."

Sam frowned. "They can't do that. Did you tell your teacher?"

Dean snorted. "She doesn't care."

"Well, I care." Sam felt rage bubbling up. "Stay behind me."

"Aw, little Deanie got big brother to come protect him."

"What did Dean do to you?" Sam demanded.

The boys smirked. "He owes us lunch money."

"Well, you have an option." Sam slipped his hand into his bag. "You can have Dean's lunch money. Or—" He drew out his gun and pointed it at the boys. "You can run."

The boys cursed and ran.

"Freak!"

Dean grinned up at him. "That was awesome, Sam."

Sam swallowed, feeling something dark inside. "Was it?"

"Yeah it was. You're like a superhero."

"You don't think I'm a freak?"

Dean crossed his arms. "You are the least freakiest person I know."

Sam took a deep breath. "Thanks, Dean."

Dad had declared they were too old to sleep in the same bed anymore. Sam shivered again. He'd woken up from a nightmare without Dean's arm flung over his stomach and everything felt jittery and wrong.

From the other bed, Dad snorted and rolled over. Sam ducked his face into the pillow. He didn't need Dean there. He was a teenager, not a little kid anymore.

Something tugged at his blankets. Sam turned a tear-stained face up to see his little brother clambering under the sheets.

"Dean? You're not supposed to sleep here."

"Deal with it," Dean said sleepily. "You needed me."

Sam took a deep breath . . . and then buried his face in Dean's tousled hair. "I'm sorry I'm so weak."

"Sammy." Dean's voice was softer than usual. More and more he'd been trying to act like Dad, to be the best hunter possible. The soft lines that Sam had tried to give him were being honed into sharp edges. "I think you're the best big brother there is. And you aren't weak. I used to have nightmares all the time, remember? I would've gone crazy without you."

"Thanks, Dean." Sam sniffed. "You're the best little brother there is."

"I know," Dean said smugly. "You owe me pie." Sam laughed, pulling Dean a little closer.

"I can do pie."

"You have some guts, showing up here."

John didn't move. There were actually flowers in his hand. Like that could make up for anything. "I am sorry, Dean. I know what I did, and I am sorry."

Dean felt his mouth twist into an unpleasant shape. "But you still would've done it, right?"

John crept a little closer. When he leaned down to set flowers at Sam's grave, Dean snapped. He raked a fist across his father's face, and sent him stumbling back.

"Leave before I do worse," he promised. His fingernails bit into his palms with how hard he was clenching them.

For a few minutes after John left, there was peace. Dean slowly let himself relax, settling down into the grass in front of the simple wooden cross.

"Little Winchester."

Dean drew his gun, pointing it at the man behind him. "Where did you come from?" he demanded.

"Just waiting for daddy dearest to leave." The man had a smile full of teeth and no warmth. "I have a proposition for you."

"What's that?" Dean asked roughly.

"You get Sammy back. Whole and fit, just as he was."

Dean's world crashed to a halt. "What? You can do that?"

The man's smile widened. "Like snapping my fingers."

"And the cost?"

"Just your soul. Quick swap in ten years. Ten years is forever, isn't it?"

Dean swallowed. "A devil's deal."

"That's right, kiddo," the demon wheedled. "Wouldn't you like to see your brother again?"

Dean thought of Sam's last words. He shook his head slowly, feeling his entire being ache with regret. "No. The answer will always be no."

The demon's true nature was revealed as it snarled, eyes flashing yellow. Dean backed up, hand going to his gun, but the demon smoked out before it did anything else.

Dean's hand was shaking as he lowered his gun.

"I hope you're happy," he muttered to Sam's grave. "Because I really really didn't want to do that."

Someone cleared a voice behind Dean. He pointed his gun without looking.

"I swear, if one more person comes here and disturbs me, I am going to do some serious damage."

"Dean."

Dean blinked. "Uncle Bobby?"

He dropped his gun and turned, just in time to get wrapped up in a hug from the hunter.

"What are you doing here?"

"I came as soon as I could get away." Bobby took a step back, gruffly wiping his eyes. "I'm so sorry, boy."

Dean felt the pain in his gut again. "Yeah, well." He stared dully at Sam's grave.

"You aren't alone, kid."

"Aren't I?" Dean said bitterly. "Sam was the only—the only one who ever really loved me. Without him, what is any of it worth?"

"You think your brother wants you to talk that way?"

Dean bared his teeth. "What do you know."

"I know that Sam loved you. I know that all his life, he did his best by you. And I know that he left you a large stack of money at my place."

Dean lifted his head. "What?"

Bobby handed over a thick envelope. "He told me that he once had dreams of getting out. Going to college, the whole nine. But it wasn't in the cards. He said that you deserved the chance too, if you wanted it someday. But he also said that if it wasn't, you could use the money for whatever you liked. Just not booze and girls. His words, not mine."

Dean snorted at that, running a quick hand over his running eyes. "Sounds like Sammy."

"Come back with me," Bobby said. "Take some time."

"I will." Dean cleared his throat. "Give me a minute, will you?"

"Sure thing." Bobby clasped a quick hand to his shoulder before walking away. Dean knelt at Sam's grave, touching the marker.

"Always looking out for me," he whispered. "I'm going to make you proud, Sam. I promise."

A/N: The end!

Well, this fic went quite a few directions I never expected. I hope, despite the disjointed and loooong time between updates, that you enjoyed!

A quick poll, before you go: should I put a warning at the beginning that it's a death fic? I'd hate to ruin the surprise in some ways, but I also know a lot of people really really don't like death fics so maybe I should? Please let me know!

As far as future stuff goes, I've determined that what I really really need to do is rewatch supernatural. I haven't watched it in years now, except for random clips, and I think that's why it's so hard to write it now heh. I doubt I'll make it through the whole series; I expect I'll skip a lot of episodes and probably won't make it past season 7, but at the very least I hope to refresh myself on the characters and maybe come up with some new ideas.

Soooo that's it for now! Hopefully it won't be too long before I write again. Please let me know what you thought, and thanks for reading! :)