Proximity

Author's Note: The completion of another story has arrived. I'm excited. This has got to be one of the longest "tag" scenes ever…I want to briefly tell you how much this story has escalated on its own from my original plot. If you're interested, you can read it. If not, that's okay.

Originally, chapter one was basically true to what I had in mind. Only, after Sam was initially taken, Dean would have caught up, and the phantom attacker would have relented, having caused its mischief already (after researching them, all I mainly found was that they were a nuisance, at most). From there, Dean and Sam would continue their walk home, they'd talk, and that was basically it. So, somewhere I decided to give the phantom attacker(s) a cruel spin, I added a cave (which, by the way, I wonder now how that's even plausible…a cave? What was I thinking? I'll roll with it…), then, for kicks, I brought Riley in. Also, I was going to have Sam and Dean get trapped in this mysterious 'cave' but…I've done enough damage to them in this story. I need to save some angst for the next one I have planned. -grins-

Anyway, I think I tied up the loose ends…I did add a sort of memory/flashback/dream thing for Dean, just to give some added insight. It's in his perspective and it was different, but fun, for me to write. I'll just…quit this novel of an author's note and let you read.

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Dean ran towards Sam, who was running, or rather half-jogging and half-limping, over to him. A fleeting thought flashed in his mind before he reached Sam, that after this—he'd choose not to run ever again unless he was being chased by a demon threatening to scar his face (or, naturally, if Sam needed his help in a hasty fashion).

Sam practically fell forward in his brother's near presence, but Dean caught his shoulders in time and held him up firmly, desperately, and for the first time in a long time he felt accomplished. Sam met the studious, concerned eyes of his older brother.

"Are you okay?" he asked, placing a hand on Dean's shoulder and squeezing subconsciously, needing to affirm it really was his brother there before him and not some vision, some nightmare.

"That's a really dumb question, College Boy," Dean said, shaking his head with a light but growing smile. Sam shuddered out a laugh.

"I thought you weren't gonna come looking for me again," Sam did his best to smile through the pain as he threw his brother's earlier words back at him. The two remained partially standing and partially hugging for a moment, neither really knowing what was supposed to happen next. Dean clapped Sam's shoulder, gentler than he usually would given he didn't know the extremities of Sam's injuries.

"What can I say? I guess I like having you around. Someone needs to help clean my guns," Dean offered. He then set his humor aside and took a long, inspecting look at his brother who seemed to flinch in observation.

"You look a lot worse than I feel," Sam quickly noted, and Dean shot him a hardened expression of scrutiny.

"Let's not even talk about feelings, Dr. Phil. If you ever let me think a cave…caved in on you, I swear I'll…" but Dean didn't finish his remark, and Sam waited for the wittiness he'd come to expect from his brother, waited for the silly show of concern through idle threats he'd recognized were signature for Dean. And Sam only waited a few moments before his brother's expression softened, he closed his eyes a moment and slowly opened them, taking one more longing look at Sam.

Then he closed his eyes again, and the earth shifted for Sam as Dean stumbled backward before completely falling unconscious.

"Dean!" Sam dropped; trying to catch his brother a bit too late, then lifted his head up and tried bringing him awake. "Dean, hey!" He shook him lightly, but Dean was completely gone now in a faraway sleep; his body broken as it dared to take in elongated, needed breaths. Exhaustion had caught up with him once more, and this time Dean couldn't fight it, didn't need to—because Sam was safe.

-:-

I remember…

"Dean! Wake up!"

Instantly, I open my eyes. It's my father, and he's yelling, he's commanding, and so I obey.

"What? What's wrong?"

Something is wrong. I can tell in his voice, I can feel it…

Because the bed next to mine is empty, and the rest of the motel is quiet.

"Your brother is gone, Dean. Where is he?" He implores, he orders, but I can't respond because I don't have an answer.

"Sammy's gone?" I can't help the question, and I shouldn't have asked.

"What do you…" his voice was stern, but now he's talking lower, and I hear the sadness. "I asked you to watch him, and you're taking a nap?"

His stare is of sheer disappointment, and it stings in my eyes before I can stop the swell of tears. I can't cry—won't cry—especially in front of my Dad.

"I was just so tired, I…I'm sorry, I'll find him!" I scramble to get out of bed, throwing the covers away and scampering to find my other shoe. I feel a hand on my shoulder and I spin around to see him standing, staring, and I hear the order before he speaks it.

"We'll find him together."

I nod, force my shoe on so quickly that it fits awkwardly for the first few feet I jog towards the door.

I know it is windy and cold outside, but I don't think to grab my jacket. My Dad does for me.

And when he opens the door heatedly, worriedly, and the entire world is set before my eyes I see exactly what my little brother has stumbled into.

There are monsters out here, demons, and ghosts…enemies.

There's pain and injury and death.

All things I keep him from, I save him from, I protect him from…

But I can't do that now, because I don't know where he is…

And I become the one who needs protecting from my own worst fear, who needs to be saved from my greatest pain of losing Sam. Dad is the only one to keep me from those things, and right now I walk closer to him than I usually do because I can't lose sight of him either.

I reach out for my Dad's hand but I stop myself. We don't hold hands because we need easy access to our weapons at all times.

We walk fast, almost running, almost not moving at all because we don't know if we're headed in the right direction.

Suddenly, I remember a park we drove past a few blocks from the motel. I remember how Sammy's eyes lit up eagerly at the thought of going. And I remember how his eyes lost some of their shine when I said I couldn't take him today because I was tired, even though I promised we'd go tomorrow. I wonder how I can be so selfish, now…

"This way," I motion down the street to where the park is, and now we run. The wind feels like it's blowing against us, trying to keep us away. It only makes me run faster.

Across the street—How did he cross the street without me?—I see him climbing up a slide. It's a tall slide, probably the tallest he'd ever seen, and it was too tall for a five year-old Sam to go on by himself.

"Sammy!" I yell, and the wind must carry my voice away from him because he doesn't hear, doesn't listen, and he climbs all the way to the top.

I am halfway in the middle of the road when I feel the tug on my jacket and suddenly I'm jerked backwards, buried somewhere in my Dad's arms. Immediately after, a car speeds by, narrowly missing the tip of my shoe. The car horn blares, and I watch as Sam begins to lose his balance as he stands on the top of the slide, the loud noise startling him. He turns his body enough to see us standing on the other side of the street.

"Dean! Daddy!" he yells excitedly, unknowingly.

And a heavy gust of wind arrives just in time to catch the unbalanced Sammy, and he topples over the edge of the slide to the cold ground.

I pull from my Dad, dodge another car, and I'm cradling him in my arms before I realize I even took a step forward. Sammy is crying, but he looks up at me with a kind of smile anyways. "You came to play with me," he sniffles happily, and I hold him closer.

Dad gets there and I think he wonders a moment if he should take Sam into his own arms away from me. He wonders, but he doesn't act. Instead, he kneels down and holds us both. Sam stops his crying quickly, seemingly unfazed by the fall itself. He must see the look of concern, of disappointment in our father, and so he pouts now.

"I'm sorry, Daddy," he says, and then hides his face in my shirt. Dad ruffles Sammy's windblown hair and looks at me.

"I know. I'm sure it won't happen again," he tells me, not Sammy, and I understand.

A few minutes later, the scare concedes to fits of laughter as I watch Dad push Sammy on the swing. I stand nearby and see how happy, how carefree Sammy looks, and how Dad seems to mimic those expressions around Sammy. It hurts to think he can't just stay that way, but I understand why. Or, at least, I understand that Dad has a reason why, one I might understand later…

As Sam is swinging high, giggling all the way, Dad walks over to me for a moment. He kneels down so we're eye to eye, and I am afraid to look at him, afraid to hear what he has to say. Still, I listen as he speaks, and I keep steady eye contact.

"Dean, do you know what could have happened today?" he asks, and my eyes threaten to water up but I swallow the knot in my throat as the different scenarios played through my mind. I only nod. "I know things are tough for us, especially for you…but I need to know I can count on you. I need to know you'll protect Sam, watch him when I'm not around. Can I count on you?"

"Yes, sir," I reply right away. A light smile crosses his face.

"Good. From now on, I can trust you'll keep Sam in your proximity at all times."

"What's prox…proximity?" I ask him, and as I do his expression turns appreciative and reflective.

"Proximity is closeness. Keeping him with you, near you," he explains. "Watch him for me when…I can't. Can you promise me that?" And again, his smile flutters away and that familiar sadness returns in his eyes.

"Yes, sir," I tell him. "I promise."

He smiles briefly, sincerely, and then pats me on the back. "Thank you, son."

"Daddy! I'm going too fast," Sammy's voice cuts in. "I think I'm gonna throw up!"

And Dad rushes over, carefully slowing the swing down and letting Sam step onto the ground. He runs for me and throws his little arms around my waist.

"Are you ready to go back to the motel now?" I ask, doing my best to hug his shorter form. He peeks his head up and looks at me curiously.

"I wanta go wherever you do. So we can be in the same prox-minity," he says. I have to laugh.

"Proximity," I correct him, but he doesn't seem to care and shrugs his shoulders.

"As long as we're together," Sammy squeezes me tighter. I look up to see Dad smiling at us, and I think he's almost afraid to step near. He always maintained a sort of distance, though nearby. He seemed to have his own idea of proximity. Maybe one day I'll understand that, too.

I return my attention to Sam.

"I'll never let anything keep us apart, Sammy," I promise him, and I promise myself.

I'll never let anything keep us apart…

But I let you get taken by those homicidal hicks…

I promised…We'd stay together, I'd keep you safe…

But I let you get snatched by that damn thing tonight…

I'm sorry, Sammy.

"Dean."

I'm sorry I failed you.

I'm sorry I failed Dad.

"Can you hear me?"

I failed…

"Dean…Wake up, Dean."

-:-

Sam watched as Dean's eyes opened. A sense of relief finally arrived for him and his silent heartache relaxed at the sight of bright eyes staring up at him.

Dean took a moment to focus his eyesight before catching a look from his worried brother, and he tried to shake away the memories that floated into his subconscious that seemed to properly haunt him all the while.

"Good to see you again," Sam said cheerfully. "I was beginning to forget what color your eyes were," he added for the light tone he was accustomed to receiving from Dean. "Besides, what color would you say your eyes are?"

"As long as I still have a face, I don't care," Dean smiled weakly. "How long have I been out?"

"Almost two days."

"And what…"

"Well," Sam already sensed the oncoming rain of questions his brother would have, so he was prepared to answer in a single statement. "You passed out. I did my best to heave your prone body out of the woods when luckily Officer Hudak showed up. She noticed the Impala—which is fine, mind you—still in the parking lot and so she set out after us. She gave us a lift to the station. I drove you home, cleaned you up, and have been waiting for you to wake up."

"Oh," Dean remarked. "Is that all?"

"Seriously, how are you feeling?"

"Kind of like someone turned me inside out and then back again," Dean explained with a stiff pain heavy in his voice as he attempted to sit up in the motel bed. His movement caught rigidly as his chest ached again. He slumped back down on the bed and put his hands to his chest.

"Yeah, you have some pretty nasty bruises on your chest. That thing left red scratch-like marks all over you," Sam told him, and Dean nodded quickly.

"I saw those marks on your face, too. You're lookin' better," Dean mentioned, taking his attention away from himself. Sam grinned but Dean went on before he could say anything. "Still look like crap, though."

Sam was able to laugh, a small, quiet laugh, and Dean did what he could to appease the joy of hearing his brother laugh and chuckled with what energy he could.

They were quiet for a moment, another long moment where words seemed to escape easier than they'd arrive on the tip of their tongues.

It had been too long of a week for them both, too long of being apart and now that they were finally together again, it seemed to be so long that they didn't know how to start again.

"So, you were right," Dean finally said, and Sam raised his head to really look at his brother.

"About what?"

"The Phantom Attackers…I blew it off, but if I only would have just listened…well, then you…and…" he seemed to struggle with his words, and Sam saw the distant grief shining in his eyes as he searched for what to say to make things okay.

Sam hesitantly moved his hand up on the edge of the bed, carefully plotting the next move. As Dean hurriedly looked away, it was cue for Sam to move his hand over his brother's. "It's okay," he said softly. "Quit thinking what you're thinking."

"Easier said than done," Dean sighed, pretending not to take notice of Sam's hand gently over his, pretending that he didn't appreciate the comfort…just pretending.

"I get it. You were worried about me…"

"More than that. I wasn't sure what…I mean, first those crazy people get you…and for three days all I can think about is what they've done to you and how I couldn't do a damn thing about it. And then, I get you back, and some moron of a phantom takes you again, and…it's like, I'm useless."

"Useless? I saw the condition you left those guys in. If that's you being useless…"

"Whatever. I don't want to talk about it anymore…"

Sam thought maybe a slight change of subject would help for the moment.

"So, you want to talk about your recent communication with the Dead?" Sam asked. The question was serious but his tone was masked with a glorified teasing quality he'd picked up from his brother. Dean shot him a half smile, and then it faded as he recalled the events from a few nights ago, the last night he remembered and the night he'll never forget.

"Thank you, Dean. Thank you for saving Kathy. Thank you for letting me go home,"

"Riley…The cave, those things—what happened?" A moment of clarity struck him as he realized he still had no idea how the events unfolded that night. Sam's expression sobered.

"When I was pulled back into the cave, I saw him…Riley? He told me not to worry, that he was going to help us—help everyone. Not having much of an option, I believed him. He told me to shut my eyes, and something happened, Dean. I'm not sure what…but there was this light that seemed to come from him, this blinding light, and the darkness, those phantoms, they were gone. And suddenly, he's telling me to run, and the light cleared the darkness and I saw further down the cave- it split. He told me where to go and I followed, and the next thing I know I'm outside the cave right before it crashes down on me. It happened so fast…"

Dean seemed to take everything his brother told him into consideration, contemplating the scenario for what it was and what it meant. Riley did something to those things; saved Sam, and him…

"So he must have, kind of, sacrificed himself…his spirit? Used his energy to, I don't know, kill the things?"

"Maybe. I had an interesting conversation with Officer Hudak. Apparently Riley had a fiancé who was taken before Riley disappeared," Sam explained, and Dean knew where he was heading but let him continue, enthralled by the reality of the tale. "I bet the phantom took her, and he set out after her. Maybe dealing with these things was his unfinished business, why he was stuck around…waiting to do something about it?"

"Waiting to go home," Dean chose the moment to fill in the missing piece. Sam expressed abrupt interest in Dean's random knowingness of the situation, and waited for him to continue.

"I had an interesting conversation with Officer Hudak's brother. Something tells me that helping us was his ticket out of this world. I think he felt the need to do something, to help someone…like he failed before but this time…well, he didn't. He chose to help us because we helped his sister, Kathleen. So, he saved us…He saved you, where I failed."

Dean bit his lip to keep from visibly pouting, a strong headache emerging quickly above his eyes. Sam squeezed Dean's hand.

"You didn't fail, Dean. If anyone failed, it was me. I'm the one stupid enough to get caught off guard by that family of freaks in the first place. If I was more careful—"

"Oh, no," Dean moved his free hand to point accusingly at Sam. "You don't get to brood for this one. It's my turn, okay?"

Sam removed his hand and stood up hastily, placing his arms crossed behind his neck as he began to pace at the bedside.

"Dean, I realize you have a firm belief that your humor is appropriate for every situation, but…for once, can we make believe that maybe life isn't some huge joke? Don't you ever wonder about what could have happened if things went wrong?"

Their father's words rang back harshly again to Dean.

"Dean, do you know what could have happened today?"

Of course Dean thought about the could have's and the what if's, but he just didn't like to.

"Well, duh, Sam…all the time. And the worst part of it is things only go right because we get lucky. Real lucky. And lately, I seem to be pressing our luck…" Dean drifted off, and Sam sat back down on the bed next to him.

"What do you mean?"

"I'm a screw-up, Sam! You can't count on me. I can't count on myself. I keep relying on our luck to get us by and I shouldn't, but I don't have anything else to rely on."

"You have me," Sam countered, his voice attached strongly to the words. "You'll always have me to rely on."

Dean didn't know what to say, but he knew he could believe the words if not respond to them. And Sam continued anyway without a reply.

"You might think I can't count on you, but every time I need your help, you're there. Every time I ask, you answer. Every time I pull away, you chase. You're my big brother, Dean. You always find a way. Who are you if not someone I'll always be able to count on?"

Dean seemed to ponder the question.

"Just another extremely good lucking guy, too pretty for modeling?" Dean took special care in throwing in his reliable humor that always deterred him from a chick-flick moment, even if the moment was called for. Sam let up on his heartfelt speech and settled for a smile.

"Besides, Dean, we're Winchester's. We make our own luck," Sam added before standing up again. His own thoughts lurked in the silence between his brother and him, but he pushed them away. He remembered what the phantom had showed him.

Dean faltered back, his hands suddenly clutching his stomach, and Sam felt the scream edging its way out his throat before he even saw the blood dripping over his brother's hands.

Could Dean be right? Had they just been getting lucky all this time? Could the evil they've been chasing catch up to them so easily, and could Dean be the one to suffer for their run of luck?

Sam didn't want to think of it now.

"Hey, Sam?" Dean pulled Sam away from his dire thoughts. "I'm, uh, sorry I didn't get to you sooner…"

"I would have waited," Sam confirmed, doing his best impression of his older brother's trademark smirk. Dean appreciated the comment.

"What were you going to say before?" Dean suddenly remembered, right before Sam was snatched away for the second time—the last time—Sam was about to tell him something.

"What?"

"Before that phantom freak grabbed you…you were going to tell me something. What was it?"

Sam seemed to be discontented by the thought, unable to recall those details. He shrugged his shoulders.

"I, um…I don't remember."

"Sure, whatever," Dean sighed in defeat. "How are you holding up, anyway?"

"Better. It hurts to walk, and my back is really sore and I have my fair share of cuts and bruises but…I'm better," Sam answered, and Dean heard his five year-old brother. "As long as we're together,"

Dean smiled fully, managing to sit up a little straighter and rest his back against the headboard of the bed.

"Good, because I think someone needs to give me a sponge bath or something. You know, haven't showered in two days…Any takers, Sammy?" Dean teased, and Sam scrunched his face with lightened disapproval.

"Don't press your luck," he exclaimed, reaching out his hand to Dean. "I will help you up though, and I'll walk you to the shower."

"I was kidding. I don't need anything from you," Dean told him, not so much lying as holding in the words that would sound foreign from his mouth. I already have everything I need when you're here.

Sam grinned. "All right. Hurry and shower," Sam helped pull Dean out of bed, who grimaced in the shocking pain of movement. The pain dulled to a low throb and he perked his head up. "When you're done, I know what we can do to take some time off."

Catching Dean's attention, he tilted his head. "Oh? What's that?"

"I was thinking we could play a friendly game of Hide and Seek," Sam kept his voice serious but his eyes shone playfully.

"Real cute, Sammy. That's a good one," Dean chided, stumbling a bit on his way to the bathroom. Sam was ready to catch him, to hold him and help him stand if need be, but he kept a close distance between as to not coddle his older brother.

"I thought so," Sam said, handing Dean a towel. "So, are you sure you don't need anything else?"

Dean stared carefully around the room. Sam was there with him, not like the previous nights he worriedly sat awake wondering where he was. No, Sammy, I don't need anything else.

"I'm good," Dean said. Sam nodded with a ghost of a smile, turning to take a seat on one of the beds and opening up his laptop. As Dean placed his hand on the door, Sam turned up to him.

"Oh, I remember what I was going to say," Sam spoke quietly.

"What's that?"

"Even if you disagree, I do think you're the best brother. I know I'm a pain to look after but…" Dean observed a grin widening on his face as Sam found the words. "Thanks for being here for me…"

"Well, I do agree….you are a pain to look after," Dean laughed to himself, in spite of himself. Sam shook his head, grinning.

"Just…go shower. You're starting to really smell."

Dean nodded approvingly, and Sam turned his attention back to the laptop. Dean watched, and before closing the door he was overtaken by his memory once again.

"I wanta go wherever you do. So we can be in the same prox-minity," he says. I have to laugh.

"Proximity," I correct him, but he doesn't seem to care and shrugs his shoulders.

"As long as we're together," Sammy squeezes me tighter.

"I'll never let anything keep us apart, Sammy."

Dean slowly shut the door, keeping an eye on Sam before he disappeared on the other side. He then whispered to himself a renewal of a promise, a vow that would never die so long as he lived.

"I'll never let anything keep us apart, Sammy. Never."

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The End

Although I had fun writing this and I'm sad it has ended, I'm also relieved. So many other story ideas have been begging to be written, but I'm trying to avoid multiple projects at once. So, one down…too many more to go.

Thank you, thank you, THANK YOU to all the readers and reviewers. I hope the ending is satisfactory. You inspire me daily to write more and write better. All your feedback keeps me going. Thank you…

Silver Kitten