Title: Roll the Dice

Author: Disasteriffic Kaz

Info: A collection of Stand-Alone One Shots, each chapter prompted by a literal roll of the dice. See each chapter for details. Hurt/comfort/awesome/bamf!Sam/Dean/and many others.

Author's Note: I held off on this one until after the Olympics. I didn't figure many people would even notice the wait with all that Olympic goodness going on. Lol Also, I FINALLY GOT A DAMN JOB! So that's sucking some time as well. Heh. But that's a good reason.

For the record, I've mostly avoided writing in season 4 over the years because my pathetically soft widdle Winchester heart can't handle the rift between the boys in this season. I admit it. XD But since I decided to go up by season in this collection, I refuse to wuss out here in chapter 4/Season 4. :P I'm gonna try to bring the angst but don't be surprised if I slip off the wagon back into comfort town by the end. Heh.

*For those reading on Fanfiction dot net, you can see pics of each roll on my Facebook page or the AO3 posting of this story, if you're interested. Lol

Beta'd by the always awesome JaniceC678 :D– Friend and Muse's co-conspirator.

**Follow me on Facebook as "Disasteriffic Kaz" for frequent fic updates or just to chat!
~Reviews are Love~
Disclaimer: They're not mine. The world's not mine. But Kripke is my, er, Chuck? And I worship at his altar. Heh.

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Roll the Dice:
1: A treasure chest
2: A mirror
3: A ship

Setting- Season 4

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Dean looked up with a scowl as the motel room door opened and his brother appeared. "You duckin' out while I'm in the shower for a reason? And it better not be short, hot, and demonic. Again."

Sam stopped half in the door and stared while Dean's angry words hung in the air. He shook his head and came in all the way holding up a brown take-out bag. "I got dinner."

"Oh." Dean cleared his throat uncomfortably while Sam closed the door and came over to the table, setting the bag down. "Uh, thanks."

"Yeah." Sam set the bag on the table and swallowed the bitter taste in his mouth at the evidence of his brother's lingering distrust. "Chinese from the place down the street." He opened the bag and started pulling out boxes. "And you need to stop worrying about me every time I'm out of your sight for more than ten seconds."

Dean snorted and grabbed the Kung Pao before his brother could. "This where you tell me you're a big boy now? 'Cause I've got evidence to the contrary."

"Dean, dammit." Sam blew out a breath and threw his hands up in frustration, pacing away from the table. He took a moment to collect himself and his temper, reminding himself again, as he always did, that his big brother was alive and that was worth some frustration. It didn't stop the constant distrust and lack of communication from making him want to pull his hair out, though. "You and Castiel made it clear if I keep trying to learn to use my power, I'm dead." He turned back to his brother and shrugged. "So I stopped."

"Because it's wrong, Sam." Dean stared him down angrily.

Sam shook his head. "No. It's how we're going to stop Lilith." He waved a hand and headed for the bathroom. "Or it was. Can we just… can we not argue about this?"

Dean sat back with his food while Sam put the bathroom door between them. "Dammit," he muttered. On the one hand, he could understand how Sam had been taken in by that Ruby bitch and even how his little brother could see 'good' in the powers given to him by a demon. Hadn't they spent the better part of two years once trying to use Sam's visions for good? Sam could pull demons from people without harming the host; Saving people. He could see how his brother was seduced by that. Yet, as great as that might seem on the surface, Dean knew with every fiber of his being, even without the angelic commentary, that it would only lead to a dark place that Sam might not come back from.

He shook his head and took a bite of his food. On the other hand, the rage that had built up in him during his time in hell sure seemed to enjoy using Sam for a target and 'rational' didn't always enter into it. Dean knew that objectively, yet even the thought of Sam with Ruby made him see red. Some soft voice in the back of his mind wondered if his emotions had been screwed with, knowing the angels had pieced him back together from the ground up and weren't above manipulating them, but it was quickly silenced and forgotten as the bathroom door opened and Sam came back into the room. "Food's getting cold."

Sam took that for what it was - the only peace offering Dean was able to give him just then. "Thanks." He took the container of Mu shoo before his brother could complain and sat across from him. "You find any trace of Lilith while I was gone."

"Not sure." Dean nudged the laptop toward his brother. "Got signs of demonic activity near San Diego. Could be anything, though."

"It is Lilith."

"Shit!" Dean yelped and spun with his gun out and Sam beside him, only to be faced with the serious expression of Castiel behind his chair. He briefly considered shooting the angel on principle but wisely lowered his gun. "Wear a damn bell, Cas!" He waved his left hand back and forth between them with a scowl. "And how many times we gotta discuss personal space? Get off my ass."

Sam quickly put his own gun away and took several steps back from the angel of the Lord. He wondered if it would ever not hurt that the angels he had spent his life praying to thought he was an abomination. He gave his head a shake, stuffing those thoughts back down deep. They were right, and there was nothing he could do about it. "Castiel. Are you sure it's Lilith?"

"Her or her demons, yes." Castiel moved away when Dean turned and dropped back into his chair and pulled the laptop closer. "She's trying to break another seal."

"Which one?" Sam asked curiously.

"We are unsure," Castiel said with a scowl for the youngest Winchester. "She is after more than one seal right now. We are tracking her demons attempting to break two other seals." He looked down at Dean and nodded. "You will have to stop her in San Diego. We can't spare the troops."

"Wait. You're gonna send us after a pack of demons, and you're not comin' along for backup?" Dean stood angrily and gave the angel a hefty push to his shoulder that would have sent a human reeling but did little more than nudge Castiel.

"We can only fight this war on so many fronts, Dean." Castiel's gaze slid past the hunter to his brother. He felt a brief, slight twinge of guilt at the danger he was sending them in to but he ruthlessly crushed it before it could show on his face. He had his orders. "I must go. They are in the San Diego Museum of Art. Stop them from breaking this seal."

"How many?" Sam asked hurriedly before the angel could vanish again. "How many has she opened now?"

Castiel's lips thinned. "If she succeeds in breaking all three seals she is after right now, she will have broken thirty-three."

Sam sucked in a breath as the angel vanished with a soft fluttering sound. "Half. She'll be halfway there," he whispered and felt cold inside at the implications. "I didn't think she'd broken that many already."

Dean ran his hands through his hair in a moment of frustration. "Ok, let's go. If we shag ass, we can be in San Diego by morning." He caught his brother's eyes before they both started packing, and Dean could not shake the sinking feeling that was settling into the pit of his stomach.

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Sam stood on the sidewalk and looked up at the carved stone façade of the museum. He smiled. "You know those statues are actual artists?" He pointed. "That's Diego Velasquez. He painted for King Phillip in seventeenth century Spain, and…"

"Only nerds care, Sammy." Dean interrupted and chuckled at the disgusted look his brother gave him. "Come on." He looked around the empty parking lot and headed for the side of the building. "We need to get in before the next security pass."

They rounded the side of the building and Sam grabbed his brother's arm, pulling him to a stop. "Dean. Look." A white SUV with 'security' painted across the doors sat at a diagonal, front end resting against the white brick of the building with the headlights still gleaming.

"Shit," Dean groaned. "Stay back."

"Not a chance," Sam said with a roll of his eyes. He drew his gun and approached the car cautiously with Dean at his side. "Body behind the wheel."

"Yeah." Dean moved up on the driver's side and pulled the door open. "Ah, crap. This poor bastard's had it." The front of the security guard's white uniform shirt was red with his own blood from a gaping wound sliced in the front of his throat.

"They're already here." Sam put his gun away and pulled the shotguns out of the bag on his brother's back, passing Dean his.

"No parlor tricks, Sam," Dean said firmly. "I mean it. You do not give those dick angels a reason to smite you."

Sam gritted his teeth together and gave a short nod. "Can we focus on not getting killed now?" He beat Dean to the side door and pulled it open, peering inside. "Clear."

Dean followed him through the door and felt tension singing along his nerves. He heard their footsteps echo softly on the marble floor, and they stopped at the end of the short hall to listen. "You hear anything?"

Sam frowned, moving out into the impressive entry of the museum. "Nothing." He looked around at the stone and glass and posters for the various exhibits. He closed his eyes.

The silence was making him twitchy, and Dean gave a low growl in his throat when he saw Sam with his eyes closed, concentrating. He slapped his brother's shoulder. "Dude! What did I say not two minutes ago?"

"I'm not…" Sam sighed and opened his eyes to look at Dean. "I wasn't doing anything bad, alright? I don't think they're here anymore. We missed them." He strode out into the museum. "We need to know what they were here after."

"And if they already broke the damn seal." Dean shrugged off the urge to ask how he knew the demons were gone and headed for the first exhibit hall. He already knew the answer and bringing it up would just be poking an already sore spot. Regardless of what Sam said, though, he kept his shotgun out and ready. "Place like this, there should be more security guards somewhere." He had a feeling, though, they were either already dead, like the man outside, or worse, walking around with black eyes.

Sam knew they were alone but kept his gun out anyway; it never paid to be cocky, he knew. No demons in the building didn't mean no threat, and his hunter senses were still telling him there was something there. "You feel that?" he whispered.

Dean nodded. "Yeah. There's something lurkin' in here." It was an itch along his spine he had learned long ago to never ignore; a lifetime of honed instincts that warned him they were not as alone as they thought they were. He spotted a flickering light through a doorway ahead of them and waved a hand at his brother to peel off to the far end and a second door so they could flank whatever was waiting for them. He moved quickly to the door and led inside with his shotgun.

"Anybody home?" Dean asked as he surveyed the room. It was a display of jewels and ornate, wooden boxes like treasure chests. The banners hanging from the thirty-foot ceiling proclaimed it to be a collection of Russian antiquities. Three bodies lay sprawled across the floor, staining the marble red with blood. Between them, lay the remains of one of the chests. It had been smashed open, and pieces of wood were scattered around the room. Dean frowned and knelt down.

"Find something?" Sam asked softly as he eased into the room opposite his brother.

Dean picked up one of the slats of the destroyed chest and held it up, looking at it in the light flickering from above. "Dude, I think this used to be a curse box. There's runes burned into the wood."

Sam lowered his shotgun in surprise and looked around for a bigger piece. He spotted what must have been the lid and went to a knee. "I think you're right." He turned over the wood and traced his fingers over symbols he recognized. "This looks like ancient Slavic maybe. I'd need a reference to actually read this, but I'm pretty sure that's the symbol for binding of power."

"Man, am I glad you spent your teens inhaling Bobby's library." Dean looked up and smirked at his brother. "Nerd."

"Shut up," Sam muttered but he smiled, pleased to hear the familiar teasing tone in his brother's voice. Being on a hunt together felt natural. It felt right as few things had since his big brother had been saved from Hell. It was comforting that, at least for a while, they could slip back into the easy balance that had always been a part of who they were. "Do you think this was the seal?"

Dean shook his head and stood, turning to survey the room again. "Last seal she broke while we were around was total mayhem and bodies dropping like flies." He nodded to the three dead men on the floor. "This ain't enough for a broken seal."

"And demons didn't kill these guys either," Sam observed. He bent over the nearest body, careful to keep his knee out of the blood pool. "These look like slash marks, like claws."

"What the hell happened here?"

Sam put his fingers against the dead man's throat and his frown deepened. "This guy might actually have been a demon. He's cold." He wiped his fingers on his jeans and got back to his feet. "Like, long dead. Skin's already going stiff."

"And we know demons don't mind rackin' up the mileage on their meat suits," Dean muttered. "So whatever they let out, it can take down demons. Great." He turned back to his brother and froze. "Sam," he hissed. There was something large and dark in the shadows behind Sam's exposed back, something with a single yellow eye watching him, and that particular eye color had never meant good things for them.

Sam managed to half-turn before his brother's shotgun roared in front of him and something heavy slammed into his back and rode him to the floor. He shouted in surprised pain, feeling the bite of claws into his back and left arm. "Get… off!" Sam shouted. He shoved up against the thing on his back with all his strength and saw Dean's boots suddenly in front of his face.

"Head down, Sammy!" Dean yelled. He turned his shotgun and used the butt like a golf club, taking a swing at the ugly head of the creature. His strike drove it from Sam's back in a tumble, and Dean grabbed his brother's arm, dragging Sam to his feet. "You good? What the hell is that thing?"

Sam wheezed for breath and aimed the shotgun he had managed to hold onto at the creature. It had a single wide, yellow eye in a bald head. Its body was covered in tough brown, leathery skin, and Sam shuddered when the long, talon-like claws on its fingers scrabbled over the marble floor. "Likho. I think… looks like a likho."

Dean backed them both up a step until he felt his heel hit one of the bodies behind them. "Great. How do we kill it?"

"Aim for the eye?" Sam said and raised his own shotgun accordingly.

"You don't sound sure of that." Dean felt Sam stagger against him and used his shoulder to keep him standing.

"Best guess." Sam's vision was beginning to blur, from blood loss or pain he wasn't sure, but he knew he needed to sit down and soon. He fired into the likho's face at the same moment his brother did, the sound of the shotguns firing filling the air around them. The creature screamed, clawed at its own face, and spun away from them.

"Come on." Dean pulled Sam with him out of the room and shoved him into the wall outside the door. He let the weapons bag slide off his shoulder to the floor with a thump and shoved his shotgun inside. "You stay here."

"Dean, no," Sam protested. He had to slam his eyes closed for a moment when Dean pushed his shoulder, and hence his back, into the wall. The pain radiated through his body and took his breath.

"Yeah. You're outta this one, little brother." Dean eyed the smear of blood Sam's back left on the wall worriedly. He drew his gun from the small of his back and ducked down to pull one of the machetes from the bag. "Give it another face full of salt if it tries to get past me."

"Dammit." Sam scrubbed his free hand over his face and then forced his aching body upright. He would not let his brother down. "Be careful."

Dean snorted. "Not in the job description. Ok, ugly. Let's dance." He rushed back into the exhibit room and found the likho huddled over one of the bodies with its claws speared into the man's chest over his heart. "Playin' with your food. Nice." He sent a lead bullet into the beast's eye that whipped its head back and quickly followed with a second shot and then a third into where he hoped its heart was. It howled and fell to the floor, writhing with its hands curled over the bloody hole where its eye had been.

"Dean?"

"I'm good." Dean spared a look and found Sam leaning in the door with his shotgun pointed at the creature. He tucked his handgun away and gave the machete a twirl. "Let's see how this thing does without a head." He stood over the creature, and, as it raised its head from the floor with a snarl, swung his blade and severed the head with a grunt of effort. It fell to the floor with a wet splat, and Dean kicked it across the room.

"You better step back," Sam warned while the likho's body continued to twitch, one clawed hand shooting out toward his brother's leg.

"Crap." Dean danced away from the claws and stomped his boot down on the wrist. Another swing of the blade severed the hand and left a chip in the marble floor that quickly filled with blood.

Sam allowed his shotgun to droop and leaned more heavily against the wall now that the immediate danger had passed. "They were cannon fodder."

Dean nodded. "Yeah. They left these bastards behind to keep one-eye busy while they got away with whatever was in the box."

"If you start quoting 'Seven', I'm taking the car and leaving you here." Sam smiled when Dean grinned at him. He spotted the empty display the curse box must have come from and walked stiffly over while his brother dragged the likho's body and head into the center of the room with the dead demons. "You're not setting a fire in a museum."

"You got a better idea?" Dean waved a hand. "We can't just leave that thing here for anyone to find."

"Plenty of room in the trunk." Sam walked stiffly to the empty display. He reached in, careful of the jagged pieces of broken glass, and pulled out the information plaque.

Dean nudged the likho's body with the toe of his boot and scowled. Sam was right, he supposed. He stripped a suit jacket off one of the dead men and wrapped the creature's head in it. He had a feeling that he should keep it away from the body. "What do you got?" he asked, looking up at his brother.

"According to this, the box was found in a burial mound in the northern Ukraine." Sam looked down at the remnants on the floor. "It was in a crypt with old east Slavic poems carved into the stone depicting the figure of Baba Yaga and how God imprisoned her."

"Baba-who?"

Sam shook his head. "We need to get out of here first."

Dean sighed. He picked up the head and handed the make-shift sack to his brother. "You carry that." He narrowed his eyes, watching Sam move stiffly and carefully. "How bad you hurt?"

"I've had worse," Sam said simply. He left the room and bent to pick up the weapons bag. He slapped a hand out to the wall to stay standing when his back protested the movement. "Crap." He forced himself to straighten before Dean could see just how injured he was.

"Not foolin' anyone," Dean muttered at his brother's retreating back. He knew Sam was hurt worse than he was admitting to, and he would damn soon find out just how bad. First though, they had a body to deal with.

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"Sam, get the hell out here already!" Dean shouted through the closed bathroom door. His little brother had made a beeline for the bathroom as soon as they got to the motel. Dean had glanced over at Sam's vacated seat and the sight of the blood staining the vinyl had scared the crap out of him. Whatever issues might be between them at the moment did not change in the slightest Dean's instinctive need to protect and take care of his little brother.

He had the first aid kit in hand now and pounded a fist on the door. "I mean it, Sammy. You open this door or I'm knockin' it down!" He let out a breath, reigning in his temper, remembering the empty tone in his brother's voice when Sam had spoken about his months spent alone patching himself up. "Sam, come on. You're not alone anymore, remember? Let me look at it. Sooner we get you patched up, sooner we get on with this job," he said, trying for reasonable. Dean let out a relieved breath when he heard the lock click and the door inched open.

Sam let the door swing open and shook his head at himself. "Yeah, alright." He had fully planned on taking care of his own wounds, but even stubbornness couldn't get past the fact they were mostly on his back and out of his reach. "Sorry. Uh… old habits."

"Uh-huh." Dean gave him a push toward the table. "Sit down and get your shirts off," he ordered, seeing that Sam had already left his jacket on the sink. He bit his lip when Sam went past him and he saw the bloody tears in the back of his flannel. "Geez, dude."

Sam gave a soft huff of laughter as he sat. "That jacket's toast. Gonna need a new one. That thing had claws like a freak."

"I'll go roast it in those woods behind the motel after I get you patched up." Dean grabbed the ice bucket off the bathroom counter and pointed an imperious finger at his brother on the way to the door. "Don't go anywhere."

Sam rolled his eyes while Dean stepped out to the ice machine and closed the door. He pulled his t-shirt and flannel up and struggled to get them off over his head, cursing his usual habit of wearing layers just then. He was gasping for breath by the time he got them off and left them in a pile on the floor next to his chair. Sam slumped forward over the table and rested his head on his forearms, giving in to a moment of weakness now that he knew Dean was going to fix it. He snorted another laugh and felt tears burn his eyes, realizing just how much he had missed that. For his entire life, the one sure thing that remained as constant as the tides was that, no matter what happened, his big brother would be there to fix it. Until he wasn't. Sam squeezed his eyes closed as the motel room door opened again and Dean's heavy steps returned, setting the ice bucket next to his head.

"Sammy?" Dean asked, concerned when his brother didn't lift his head. He heard a sniff and swallowed back the snarky comment. Instead, he rested a hand on the back of Sam's neck for a second, the age-old gesture of comfort coming easily for a change. "Your back looks like burger meat. This ain't gonna feel good. Stay like that."

"Ok." Sam ducked his head a little further when his voice came out rough, feeling humiliated at letting his emotions get a hold of him like that. The fact that Dean wasn't poking at him about made it all the harder to breathe past the lump in his throat.

Dean knew he could be a dick sometimes, but he wasn't so much of a dick that he would harass his little brother for missing him. Even now, years later, the memory of that fateful night in Cold Oak and the pain of that loss was as clear in his mind as if it happened yesterday. He eyed the three long furrows clawed down his brother's back and opened the bottle of disinfectant. "Incoming."

Sam nodded and sucked in a breath while Dean performed well-meaning torture on his back, pouring the disinfectant over the wounds. He gritted his teeth together, digging his nails into his palms until finally he got the two solid pats on his shoulder that meant it was over. He blew out the breath he had been holding and lifted his head. "Stitches?"

"Too ragged." Dean caught the other chair with his foot and dragged it over. "Probably would have been cleaner if the claws hadn't had to go through the jacket first."

Sam looked over at his left biceps where there were two more sluggishly bleeding marks, more puncture than slash. "Give me a bandage."

Dean glanced at Sam's arm and nodded, handing him one of the self-adhesive ones and the disinfectant. "Clean that out first. Don't lose it to freaky Slavic monster spit rabies."

That made Sam laugh. "Pretty sure that's not actually a thing."

"Like hell it's not." Dean started the laborious process of closing Sam's wounds with butterfly strips. By the time he was nearly finished, he almost wished he had gone with stitches anyway given how many of the strips he used. "I'll see if Cas can heal this crap next time he checks in. Otherwise, you're gonna have a hell of a roadmap back here."

Sam snorted. "What's it look like?"

Dean turned his head sideways to change the angle and shrugged. "I dunno. Montana maybe." He chuckled. "Think I'm closing up I15 here." He flicked a finger at the mole on his brother's back. "So that must be Helena."

"Are you done yet?" Sam tossed a hunk of bloodied gauze over his shoulder and only got a laugh in return. "I need the laptop. I've got to figure out what was in that curse box."

"Stop squirmin'." Dean slapped his brother's good shoulder and bent back to finish closing the last slash.

Sam did his best to wait patiently through the rest of Dean's ministrations and the expected slap to his wounded back once everything had been bandaged. He winced and rolled his eyes for Dean's inability to avoid the customary big brother poke.

"There." Dean rose and went to the bathroom. He washed his hands quickly and Sam was already bent over his laptop when he came back out. "I'm gonna go roast ugly while you do that. You need anything?"

"Five minutes of quiet?" Sam said facetiously and looked up in time to catch Dean's sneer. He smiled. "Go burn something. That always puts you in a good mood."

Dean chuckled and left his brother to his research. He pulled his jacket tighter against the chill night air before he slid behind the wheel of his baby and got the engine running. He pulled around the back of the motel, up against the woods before he cut the engine again. Dean took a moment as he got out to check the area and nodded, seeing that he was safely alone and away from prying eyes. He popped the trunk and looked down at the remains of the likho. "Ok, ugly. Time for s'mores."

The flames from Dean's impromptu bonfire rose up into the night. He watched the glowing embers flicker up in between the trees for a moment, remembering simpler times that seemed ten lifetimes ago; back when he and Sam could park under the stars with a six pack and call it a good night. Now, after Cold Oak and hell and Ruby and angels, he wondered if they would ever be able to get back to the way they had been before. He blew out a breath and looked back down, checking to make sure the body was burning well. He wrinkled his nose at the vaguely sulfurous smell.

"Man, you stink." Dean ducked down and grabbed the bundle containing the head. He had wanted to make sure the body was good and toast first. He swung the head toward the fire and had almost let it go when he felt something in the jacket wrapped around it. "Hang on." Dean knelt, set the head down, and untied the sleeves of the suit jacket wrapped around it. He pulled it open, ignoring the creature's dead eyes and checked the pockets.

"What do we have here?" Dean muttered. He quickly tossed the head into the flames and went back to rifling the dead man's pockets. He pulled out a crinkled, blood-spotted brochure and unfolded it so he could see it in the firelight. "San Diego naval training center." Dean stood and tossed the now empty jacket onto the flames with the rest. "Demons sight-seeing?" He left the fire to burn out on its own and found Sam where he had left him by the time he returned to the motel.

"Dude. Have you even moved in the last hour?" Dean demanded with a half-laugh.

Sam looked up from the screen and shrugged, then winced as it pulled the wounds on his back. "Uh, no. I think I know what they were after though."

"Yeah, and I know where they're going." Dean held up the brochure. "Don't know why though. Got any idea why they'd be headed to a naval training center?"

Sam's eyes widened and he nodded. "Actually, yeah. So, get this; the artifact in that curse box was…" he stopped and shook his head as he looked at the screen. "It was the mirror that God supposedly used to trap the original Baba Yaga for all time. There's lesser versions of her, like a twisted Bloody Mary. But this is the first one."

"A mirror?" Dean frowned. "That box wasn't that big."

"It's a hand mirror." Sam turned the laptop so his brother could see the screen and the image there. "An ornate golden hand mirror." He tapped the picture of the ancient mirror. "According to the lore, Baba Yaga was basically gobbling up God's children."

"Us." Dean nodded and sat down for a better look. "She liked long-pig is what you're tellin' me here."

Sam snorted. "Dude. Ew. And yeah. She wouldn't stop, so God supposedly crafted this magical mirror. He threw it on the ground in front of her and it became a lake that swallowed her up. Then God sealed the mirror away for all time."

"All time, my ass. Great. So not only have we got demons to dodge, we're gonna have some primordial badass after us too?"

"I don't think so." Sam pulled the laptop back. "If I'm right, they have to release Baba Yaga and then kill her to break the seal."

Dean groaned. "Fantastic." He tossed the brochure on the table. "Guess that explains why a navy training yard. They need a boat for this lake-mirror thing."

Sam opened the brochure and read through it himself. He quirked a brow. "Decommissioned training yard. There aren't any boats there anymore. Wait. Hang on, I think…" He scowled and pulled up a new browser page.

"What?" Dean shifted his chair around so he could see. "You know you didn't actually finish that sentence, right?"

"Jess had this uncle who served in the Navy." Sam typed furiously and then sat back with a smile when he found what he was looking for. "I remember he said he got posted to the USS Never-sail once. I didn't know what he meant so I looked it up. It's a dummy ship, a two-thirds scale replica of a naval destroyer escort used for training new recruits. It doesn't have an engine or anything, and…" he turned the screen to his brother to show him. "It's on dry land. That's where they're going to open the mirror."

"That's only twenty minutes from here." Dean stood and closed the laptop. "We gotta shag ass."

"We might already be too late." Sam stood and stiffly pulled on a new flannel, not bothering to try and get a t-shirt over his head.

Dean shook his head. "No way. If we were, you can bet Cas would already be here to tell us we blew it. Come on."

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The clouds broke as the brothers slipped through the empty naval yard. They had easily gotten in through a gaping hole left in the fence, no doubt by the demons who had beaten them to it. The few buildings remaining were dark, their windows boarded up against the elements. As they rounded the tiny visitor's center, the bulk of the USS Recruit came into view. It looked like a small destroyer had been dropped into the middle of a parking lot. Between the moonlight and the street lamps on the pavement around it, they could see several shadowy figures moving on the bow.

Dean nudged his brother's arm and pointed. "Gangplank." He glanced over at his brother's face, glistening with sweat in the moonlight just from their run. "You up for this?"

"I'm good." Sam gave him a smile. "Try to keep up."

"Try to…" Dean snarled when Sam broke into a sprint toward the ship. "Oh, I'm gonna kick your ass, little brother." He followed Sam's lead and easily caught up, even with the weight of the weapons bag on his shoulder. That alone told him how much Sam was hurting. They miraculously reached the gangplank without anyone sending up the alarm, and Dean easily slipped ahead of his brother to go up first. He waited until they were close to the top before he stopped and pulled their shotguns from the weapons bag. He handed Sam one and then took out two bottles of holy water, passing one of those to his brother as well.

"Sure as hell hope there aren't too many of them up there." Dean peered up over the rail and ducked back down. "Looks clear. I'm gonna draw them off. You go for the mirror." He smirked. "Probably need to check your hair anyway, princess."

"Cute, Dean." Sam gave him a shove. "I wish we had more time to plan this."

"Yeah." Dean blew out a worried breath. "Alright, let's move."

"What if Lilith's up there?" Sam asked suddenly.

Dean ground his teeth together for a moment. "Give her a face full of rock salt, grab the mirror, and shag ass for the car. Simple."

Sam let out a quiet, nervous laugh. "Right. Simple."

"No Shining up there. You got me?" Dean stared his brother down until Sam gave him a nod. He felt like an ass for making the demand yet again, but he couldn't shake the knowledge that there were angels willing to kill Sam if he didn't stop. The thought scared the crap out of him, so he would do whatever he had to keep Sam safe. He took the lead and stepped out onto the starboard deck of the ship. The control tower above them left them in shadow, hidden from the moon, and they moved quickly toward the bow. They began to hear voices as they neared, several of them raised and chanting in what Dean had come to know was Enochian. They were out of time.

"Go." Sam gave Dean a push toward the front of the mock-boat and fell back, pulling out the can of spray paint he had stuffed in his pocket earlier. Sam knelt down, ignoring the pain in his back, and began to hastily mark out a devil's trap on the deck in silver paint. With any luck, the demons would be so busy chasing his brother, they wouldn't see it until they were on top of it and trapped.

Dean jogged up to the front of the boat and peered around the corner of the con tower. Four demons stood at the compass points of some arcane symbol scrawled on the steel deck. A fifth stood in the center with the mirror held up above her head, short, green hair dancing around her head in the stiff, ocean wind. Dean's only relief was that it wasn't Lilith they were facing, assuming, of course, she hadn't simply found a new meat suit. He turned for a quick look over his shoulder and saw his brother's shadow dash out of sight at the back of the con tower, no doubt heading for the starboard side to give Dean room to work.

"Here goes nothing." Dean rolled out his shoulders and aimed his shotgun at the nearest demon. "Hey, ugly!" he shouted and fired a round into the man's chest. The demon screamed and went to his knees. Dean fired again, this time at the woman holding the mirror, and knew he was just that second too late as the mirror gave a brilliant silver flash and flew over the bow and out of sight while the demon screamed angrily. "Crap!" They were too late and Dean's hopes of stopping this seal from breaking sank. He gritted his teeth together and fired another salt round at the woman, knocking her back. Dean turned as the two remaining demons came after him and ran.

Sam heard all hell break loose at the front of the boat - shouts, Dean's shotgun blasting, and a scream. He picked up his pace, jogging up the starboard side, and bolted around the front of the con tower. He swallowed a lump of fear because there was only one demon left. That meant the others, however many there were, were chasing Dean.

"Where is it?" Sam asked under his breath when he could see no sign of the mirror, but he heard a roll of thunder from the front of the boat. He gave the woman demon moaning on the deck a wide berth and went to the rail. He leaned over to look down at the pavement and stared in surprise. The mirror had shattered on the cement. The pieces glittered in the lights and seemed to be expanding as he watched. They grew and, he realized, flowed liked water. The rumble came again. A bright white flash of light filled the night air, and, when Sam blinked his eyes clear, he saw the mock ship was surrounded by water as though it were truly at sea.

"Whoa. This is bad." Sam shook his head. He turned to look for his brother and instead found himself facing the demon, now back on her feet and glaring at him with soulless, black eyes.

"Sam Winchester." She smiled and waggled a finger at him playfully. "Lilith said there was a chance you two would show up." She brushed green hair out of her face and blew him a kiss. "Day late and a dollar short, Sammy."

"It's Sam," he said and swung his shotgun up toward her face only to have it ripped away. He felt her power pick him up until he was floating a foot above the deck. He frowned, seeing that she was looking around him suddenly. "What?" He tried to turn his head, but the demon's grip was too strong.

She looked back up at him and smiled again. "I'd really love to take the time to play with you. I mean, seriously." She let her eyes drag up and down his body appreciatively. "You have no idea how much I want to peel all that pretty skin off." She shrugged sadly. "But duty calls. We're not done here yet, and you'll just be in the way. Shame you two chuckle-heads didn't show up a few minutes earlier. You might have stopped this."

Sam opened his mouth to try and distract her, but instead he gasped as he was lifted and thrown backward over the bow of the ship. Sam tumbled through the air and felt the impact with the water like a physical blow, knocking the breath from his lungs, while a dark figure towered above him. He struggled and kicked until he reached the surface, spitting water and coughing. Sam looked up and shouted for his brother just before a massive dark hand pushed him back under. "Dean!"

Dean slid to a stop beside the gangplank and spun back, aiming at the demons behind him, and he grinned as all three of them came to an abrupt stop in Sam's devil's trap. "Heh. Can't believe you asshats didn't see that coming." He lowered the shotgun and cleared his throat. "Exorcizamus te, Omnus immundus spiritus. Omnis satanica potestas…" His brother's voice calling his name rang out in the night along with a peal of thunder he could feel through the deck beneath his feet. He took a step forward, but then stopped, resisting the instinctive urge to run instantly to Sam's aid, and made himself finish the exorcism. He didn't want to leave three demons at their backs. It was the longest exorcism of his life before he finished and the demons smoked out of their meatsuits in a black cloud back to hell. The men they had been riding all collapsed to the deck in a heap, unmoving.

"Sorry, fellas," Dean muttered. He jumped over them and headed for the bow at a run. "Sam!" He jacked a fresh salt round into the shotgun and burst onto the front deck. He skidded to a stop and stared. The green-haired demon woman was at the rail being held aloft by the shadowy figure of a gnarled woman holding her by her throat. He raked the deck with his eyes but couldn't see his brother anywhere. He flinched as the shadow woman's voice cut through the air like knives on his ears.

"A demon-spawn of hell thinks it's strong enough to destroy Baba Yaga?" She laughed in the demon's face. "You're a fool, like all of your kind."

The demon struggled in the monster's grasp. She flung both hands out, shoving power toward Baba Yaga and snarled when it barely nudged her. She choked out words around the crushing grip on her throat. "You… shouldn't be… this strong. What…" She screamed as Baba Yaga threw her into the side of the con tower.

Dean watched the demon slide down the wall, leaving a bloody smear behind, and hit the deck with a heavy thud. He cringed. "Man, you should'a brought the big guns, huh?"

"Puny mortal."

"Uh-oh," Dean muttered and warily turned back to the creature. He rolled out his shoulders with her bright, red eyes glaring down at him. "Hey, bitch! Where's my brother?"

Baba Yaga tilted her misshapen head and a smirk spread across her dark face. "He matters to you?"

Dean swallowed as Baba Yaga floated slowly away from the bow of the ship over shimmering water he only then realized surrounded the mock ship. "He's my brother, you loony bitch. Where is he?" he shouted while a sick feeling began to fill him with dread.

Baba Yaga laughed. She opened her arms wide. "I am free to feed once more after so long. Your brother is the first to slake my thirst."

"What?" Dean ran to the rail and leaned over to look down. The waters beneath Baba Yaga began to boil, and, out of that churning water, just for a moment, he saw Sam's back rise up before it sank out of sight again. "NO!" He dropped the weapons bag to the deck and turned just in time to watch the demon smoke out of the woman Baba Yaga had broken. "Great."

"You're not strong enough to stop me, mortal." Baba Yaga flicked her fingers and water rose up to wash over the deck and knocked Dean to his back.

He washed up hard against the base of the con tower. The impact forced the air out of his lungs, which saved him from being drowned by the flood. Dean coughed and got to his knees, bracing a hand against the cold metal. "Crap." He caught the strap of the weapons bag before it could slide away and quickly pulled out his machete. Dean climbed to his feet with the cold knowledge that every moment Baba Yaga remained alive was one minute less his brother had to survive. For all he knew, it was already too late. Dean shook his head and forced that thought away. "Alright, bitch. Time to die."

Baba Yaga laughed again and floated back to the bow of the ship. She lifted above the rail and settled on two legs that looked like twisted, gnarled tree trunks. "Your brother fought valiantly," she taunted Dean. "He tried so hard to reach the surface." She leaned in fearlessly to the hunter, flashing him a mouth full of blackened teeth. "Your name is Dean, isn't it?" She pressed one clawed finger to Dean's chest over his heart. "Your name was the last thing he said." She laughed. "Before you failed him."

"NO!" Rage blew through Dean like a hot wind. He shoved Baba Yaga back and swung the machete up. She reared back, but he managed to hack at her left arm and sliced it off cleanly. It flew out and over the rail into the water with a splash.

"What have you done?" Baba Yaga's voice roared out into the night.

Dean ducked under the swing of her remaining arm and came up behind her. He spun, using both hands to put all his weight behind the swing, and cut into Baba Yaga's neck. Dean shouted with the effort, turning his whole body into the motion. He knew he had gotten lucky, surprising her with the pain of a severed limb, and he didn't wait to give her the chance to recover and make him a smear on the deck like she had the demon.

Baba Yaga toppled to her right side with Dean following her down. He shouted in surprised pain when she managed to sink the claws of her left hand into his calf, and then the machete blade bit through her spine. It sliced cleanly through the rest of her flesh and hit the deck with a clang while Baba Yaga's head rolled away with a splash.

"Son of a bitch," Dean gasped, going to his knees. Baba Yaga's body gave a massive twitch and Dean reared back. He waited a moment, but she stayed still and he nodded, sure that she was dead - or at least dead enough for now. He scrambled back to his feet and ran to the rail. "SAM!" Dean bellowed his brother's name down at the water, but there was nothing to see. He dropped the machete and climbed up onto the rail, ready to jump in and find him when there was a sudden clap of thunder. The force of it knocked him back to the deck with a grunt. Bright light flared, blinding him, and he threw an arm over his eyes to protect them. A fierce wind rushed past him, freezing his wet clothes to his skin, and then it went silent.

"What the hell?" Dean gasped. He got back to his feet and leaned over the rail. The mystical water was gone. In its place was a drenched parking lot and Sam's unmoving body lying face down in a puddle. "No! Sammy!" He snarled and ran back to the gangplank, snatching up the weapons bag on his way in case Sam needed the first aid kit. He leaped over the unfortunate victims of the demons and all but flew down the ramp to the ground. It seemed to take forever to run the length of the ship before Dean was sliding to a stop beside his brother in a wave of leftover water. He dropped to his knees with a splash and quickly rolled Sam to his back.

"Sam?" Dean tilted Sam's head back and saw his blue lips in the lights. "Sammy, come on. Don't you do this." Sam's shirt was shredded from Baba Yaga's claws, but he ignored it; he could worry about that later once Sam was breathing again. "Come on." Dean leaned up and pressed hard in and up just below his brother's sternum. He did it again and again, watching while water bubbled up out of Sam's mouth. "Come on, please!"

Whatever issues were between them were instantly forgotten in a rush of desperation as Dean offered up a silent prayer to whatever cosmic entity might choose to listen. He leaned down over Sam's head, pinched his brother's nose closed, and blew two quick breaths into his lungs. "Ever tease me about mouth-to-mouth and I'm kickin' your ass." He gave him two more and leaned up just as water fountained out of his brother's mouth with the first, beautiful cough. "That's it! That's it. You got it. Breathe, little brother." Dean pulled Sam up and rested him against his shoulder, letting Sam cough water down his back and gasp like a marathon runner. "I got you." He thumped his hand into his brother's back a few times and then scrubbed it over his face, taking away tears he hadn't felt himself shedding. His own heart was thundering in his chest for just how close he had come to watching Sam die again. "I got you."

Sam coughed his way back to awareness. He choked on water and felt a rough hand hitting his back a moment before Dean's voice registered in his ears above the rushing of his own blood. He had thought he was dead. He vividly remembered trying to escape Baba Yaga's hand as she had shoved him under the water and held him there, how her red eyes had gleamed at him as she watched and laughed. The moment he had been forced to breathe and sucked in water instead of air was going to be seared into his mind for a long time to come, along with the pain of his realization that he was never going to have the chance to make things right with Dean again. He was going to die with so much left unresolved between them.

"Keep breathin', buddy." Dean held on to his brother with Sam's head resting heavy on his shoulder and tried in vain not to be reminded of the last time he had held Sam like this, when there had been no groans, no gasps for air, or the feel of Sam's hand even then curled in the back of his jacket holding on - nothing but death. "I got ya'."

Sam finally coughed up enough water through a throat that felt raw and managed to choke out his first word. "Dean." He figured that would always be his first and last word, no matter what happened between them or how strained things became; he could always count on his brother to be there for him. "Get her?"

"Yeah, she's toast." Dean slowly, grudgingly eased Sam back up so he could see his face and was relieved to see the blue tinge gone from his lips. "Her and the demons."

Sam closed his eyes and let his head drop forward. "Broke the seal."

"Screw it," Dean said fiercely. "They didn't give us enough damn time to stop this in the first place." He propped Sam's head up with a hand on his jaw, scowling fiercely in reaction to nearly losing him again. "You good? We need to shag ass outta here in case someone heard all this and called the cops."

Sam nodded, weary beyond words, but he let Dean pull him to his feet never the less. "You alright?"

"Am I…" Dean shook his head fondly. He tossed the weapons bag back over his shoulder and took his brother's arm, pulling him toward where they had left the Impala. "You realize you're bleedin' all over the place?"

"Huh?" Sam looked down at himself, saw the bloody slashes in his shirts, and only then did the pain strike, as if it had been waiting for him to see the wounds first. "Ow," he groaned suddenly and hunched forward as he wrapped his right arm across his chest.

Dean gave a breathless chuckle, light-headed with relief. "Yeah. She did a number on you. I'll fix it up back at the motel." He didn't look back at the mock ship until he had settled Sam safely in the front seat with their ratty, green, army-issue blanket pressed to his chest to stop the bleeding. The moon glinted off the con tower as Dean closed the car door and he gave a little shiver. The parking lot around the ship still glistened wetly from the mystical water. Dean gave himself a shake and looked away, walking around the car, and slid into the driver's seat where he finally let out the breath he had been holding since he had seen Sam drowned.

"Dean?" Sam reached tentatively across the seat and rested a hand on his brother's shoulder. There was a look on Dean's face he couldn't decipher. "You sure you're alright?"

"Yeah, Sammy." Dean glanced over and quirked a brow. "Leg's a little stiff but it's nothin'. How about you use both hands to keep your insides where they belong 'til we get to the motel?"

Sam smirked, nodded and wrapped his arms back over the blanket to hold it to him. He let out a long breath, shuddery with pain, and sucked it back again when he felt his brother's hand land on the back of his neck. He closed his eyes, remembering how much he had missed this; missed Dean in the months that Sam had lived without him. He thought back to all the times he had dealt with wounds like this alone and how he had prayed to have Dean back to take care of him, to be there with that hand on his neck that said 'It's alright. I got you. I love you.' And that had been Sam's one, true constant the whole of his life. Even as he chafed at still being treated like the 'little brother', he would never not want Dean there to give him that uncompromising care and love.

"Dean, I'm sorry. When I thought I was…I couldn't…I didn't want things to be left like they have been and not…" The words seemed to burst out of him without his permission. He tried to swallow around the fresh lump of emotion in his throat and couldn't. He coughed and ducked his head, trying to hide what he was feeling.

"Hey, just keep breathin', ok?" Dean looked over worriedly as he drove. "We'll figure out the rest of that crap later. We always do."

Sam raised his head slightly and glanced over at his brother. He managed a grateful nod and a small smile but could not hide the tears that still shone in his eyes.

"Seriously, how bad you hurt? Hospital bad?" Dean scowled when Sam quickly shook his head. "Dude, really."

"M'ok," Sam wheezed. He coughed again and put his head back up, managing a more convincing smile before Dean full-on panicked and took him to an emergency room. "S'tough." He caught his brother's gaze and smirked. "Being mostly dead all day… hard on a guy."

Dean stared and then laughed, putting his eyes back on the road. "Dude. If you can quote the Princess Bride, you're better than you look."

Sam huffed a soft laugh and leaned back more against the seat, trying to look less like the corpse Dean had found him as. He could still see the tightness around his brother's eyes and knew it had been bad. He looked out the window as they drove away and said a silent thank you to whoever might be listening that they had both come out of it alive and a prayer that the angels he had always believed in wouldn't get them killed. "I'm good. Promise."

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The End.

Rolling the dice…