Disclaimer: See Ch. 1

This is the end that I wrote…kinda episode ending-ish…tell me if you want me to write a sequel…maybe something not so dark…. :)

Thanks to everyone who read and reviewed this!

"Better get him," Dean interrupts hoarsely, suddenly afraid of the conversation, suddenly unable to say the word 'dad,' suddenly fighting to stay tough. Still afraid to let them down. And Sam, knowing his brother's strength, understands he's coming to the end of it, and nods.

"Sure, Dean." Sam walks—stalks—back to the house, moving past his father, who is struggling to his feet, throwing the few items they'd taken out back into their bags.

"Gimme a hand, son," John orders, voice still bitter with regret for the lost chance, and Sam flinches at the word, and turns back, raising his fist to hit his father, hate and rage mingling until all he can see is Dean lying, so fucking still, while his father complains about lost chances...Lost chances? Try lost childhood! But as he pictures his brothers face he remembers the pain and the one request, the gun in his hand, and he lets his fist fall, but John sees the action. "Sam?"

"I'll take you to the hospital, and I'll pay for your medical, and then I want you to give Dean one of your fucking orders—something along the lines of "I have a plan, don't look for me" and vanish into the night. Send a message you're dead, and never come near him again." John's face is a tapestry of disbelief.

"Sam?"

"You made him what he is, and that is one thing I will always love you and hate you for, because he is the strongest, most loyal, self-sacrificing bastard that ever walked this earth. But between the two of us we've destroyed him, and you don't even care." Realizing his son is in earnest—

"Sam—"

"Your son is dying, damnit! He's dying, and you could care less! I don't have time for this—come or stay, but we're leaving now." A long silence, as Sam finishes packing and John looks for humility inside himself.

"Could you—will you help me to the car?" Suddenly ashamed of what his son sees in him. Sam turns, eyes burning.

"If it wasn't for Dean you could crawl," he growls, but puts his arm around John's shoulder and helps him to the car, grabbing the bags. His hand hovers over the Colt, contemplating what to do with it.

"I'll sit in the back," John tells him, and Sam freezes, wondering what else his father could say to hurt Dean, whether his very presence is a bad idea. He looks at the gun in his hand and then nods as he answers his own question. Sometimes you've gotta do the right thing and go against your gut…

"How're you doing, son?" John asks, and Dean flinches at the word.

"Fine, Sir." And John wonders f Dean has always called him sir. He pulls a t-shirt out of a bag.

"Let me put some pressure on—" he reaches towards Dean—who flinches and then scowls in anger at himself.

"Sorry sir, I didn't mean—"

"I don't want to go," John whispers in sudden realization. "I don't want to go," he repeats louder for Sam's benefit, who throws him a look in the rearview mirror but declines to comment. Dean misunderstands.

"You need to go to the hospital—you're hurt, dad." He doesn't flinch at his words because he is worried—worried about his father's health—the father who didn't call when Dean was dying, who didn't ask how he was feeling when he was two feet away, and dimly John wonders whether men really shouldn't cry, because somewhere along the line he screwed up bad and he's pretty sure it's too late to fix any of it.

"We need to get you to the hospital, Dean—I'm fine…. Does it…does it hurt?" Dean tries to hide his surprise at the question, but John sees it.

"I'll be fine," he replies, and John almost smiles at the offhand reply. Almost. When Sam is hurt you can see an echo of Sammy, and John frowns as he realizes you can't see young Dean, and then understands—with startling clarity—that there hasn't been a young Dean since his mother died and Sammy was thrust into his small arms.

"I've really fucked this up, haven't I?" John whispers, looking down at his oldest son.

"Yes," Sam responds immediately, but Dean, still oblivious to the subtext, shoots a look in the mirror to Sam and then looks back at John.

"This is my fault, I should've realized you were possessed and—"

"It's not," Sam and John cut him off immediately, and while he'll continue to believe his guilt he's in enough pain to let it go for now.

"We'll get another chance," he says instead, Mr. Fucking-Optimism Himself, and John manages a half-smile at the irony of the words—what he wants to hear, but what he no longer thinks he deserves, and from the front seat Sam starts to laugh bitterly, realizing that for once he and his father are thinking of Dean, and Dean is thinking of the demon. One fucking screwed up world.

"What he—what happened—"

"It's not your fault," Dean murmurs to his father, immediately forgiving, accepting. If Sam had been hurt would Dean have shot John? Has Dean always thought himself expendable?

"If it was me instead of you—" he asks Sam, and Sam nods.

"The same. If it was fucking Satan he'd probably—fuck, Dean, you've got to stop it."

"S-sorry," Dean barely manages to whisper, vaguely confused by the conversation but knowing he doesn't want Sam upset. John watches Dean slowly slip, and knows there one more thing he needs to say before Dean succumbs to unconsciousness.

"I didn't know."

"I know," Dean slurs, but this time John needs to know Dean understands.

"I swear, I never knew how you got that money, and if I did I'd never have let—"

"I know, dad." Dean manages a half-smile. "But Sammy needed it." And softer. "Sorry I wasn't the man you…" as he at last fades. And John cries as he holds his fiercely loyal, strong, beautiful, dying son. And Sam hears the echo of his brothers words, and winces as he realizes his brother is his fucking guardian angel, and that as long as he is near him Dean will put his life on the line to save him, and as soon as he leaves they'll both die inside. I am my brother's keeper…

"I love you, Dean," Sam whispers softly, knowing to his brother it is a forbidden phrase, and realizing at last that the squishy inside under Dean's brusque shell is far more vulnerable than any of them ever thought, understanding at last that somehow Dean has been made to feel unworthy of love, and no one has ever told him otherwise. The one-night stands, self-deprecating jokes, Dean's refusal to have anything close to a "chick flick" moment…Sam knew that neither of them had an easy childhood, but is only now realizing how damaged Dean truly is. "I'm sorry," he whispers as well, silently promising that once Dean is better, they'll have that chick flick moment, if Dean has to be tied—fuck, Dean tied as John—fuck, if Sam has to sit on him. Sam glances in the rearview mirror to assure himself they're both still alive, when lights flood the Impala.

The semi rolls—rather, barrels—through the stop sign into the side of their car, and somewhere in the back of Sam's panicked mind he recognizes they never had a chance. That thought—as well as any others currently inhabiting the minds of the Winchester boys—vanish as their car is forced sideways fifteen feet and the metal crushes in on them.

The demon—a minion of the demon—that is currently possessing the truck driver opens the truck door and moves to initiate Plan B, but before he gets close he is called off. With a frown of confusion and disappointment at the lost chance to torture and kill, he moves away. The three Winchester boys lay unmoving in the mangled Impala.

The demon moves from out of the shadows, worried about the condition of his boy—boys. He circles the car twice before moving closer, sure that there are no traps or spells to halt his approach. They are alive—Sam with few injuries, John fairly well, considering. Dean—Dean who he, admittedly, was most worried about, is alive as well—but barely, and only because as the truck connected John moved—for once, at last—to protect Dean. The demon reaches into the car and grabs Dean's cell phone, calling the police.

"There's three of us—car crash—some psycho's after us! He kidnapped me; shot my dad…we're on Route 63…God, hurry, I think he's dying!"

"Stay on the line!" They're on their way. He drops the cell into Dean's lap, finding some comfort in the fact that Dean's precious jacket and precious car are destroyed…poor Dean. He examines the car once more, and after putting out the fire before it starts he decides the car can be repaired. He helps it along a bit, and steps back, satisfied. It wouldn't' be the same without them chasing after him in Dean's Impala. He stares at it a moment longer before deciding what the hell—ignoring the irony of said statement—and completely repairing the car except for superficial damage. Can't have them waiting around for their car to be fixed when he has such big plans…He only wishes he could do the same for Dean. He examines the three for the Colt and then swears—loudly—when it's nowhere to be found. Fucking upstart kids with their fucking spell books and trunk locks…

Hearing sirens he vanishes back into the shadows. Another day, then…And with the memory of Dean, he smiles. Not a complete loss…

He flips open the phone in the lawyers body he is currently inhabiting—nice little perks that come with the job—and calls his second-in-command. Gotta keep up with the modern technology.

"Change of plans." He'd needed to get an emotional reaction from Sam in order to force his gift to the next stage. Past experience had led him to believe that betrayal was the only way to accomplish it—although it had also turned out badly, especially with that boy with the abusive parents…his face twists into a wry smile as he thinks of Dean….so he had begun the night with the intention of breaking Sam's fucking little bodyguard. The events of the night, however, would have him believing anything. Dean's impossible loyalty, Sam reacting through loyalty rather than betrayal, and Dean standing by his father after everything… "Change of plans," he repeats, a smile on his lips. "We'll let them regroup and heal. Watch them. Study them. And then…then for the next stage we'll take Dean."

"Dean?" The memory of the boy staring him down, fighting him inch for inch.

"Dean," he repeats. Time to use that courage for his own means. Time to twist that impossible loyalty. "We'll take Dean. Sam will follow."