Disclaimer: Is it really necessary to rub it on? No, I do not owe them.

Rated: T

A/N: Hello everybody! It's been a long time since the last time I posted in this crazy site that we all love, and I said to myself: "let's bug these wonderful people again!" First of all, I want to thank all of you who have contacted me and expressed your encouragement for me to keep writing. You know who you are, and you've been a very important part of this story.

Then of course, thanks so much to Emrys, my dear beta. Anything that sounds remotely natural in English might be her doing!

I hope you all like the story. Happy reading!

Four Years and One Week

-1-

The moment I saw the glow of the fire in the rearview mirror something snapped inside me. I barely remember turning the car round, running up the stairs to Sam's apartment, or kicking the door open. It all happened in a blur of fire, smoke, and suffocating heat. But I remember beating myself up over not being able to orient inside the turmoil. I was a damn good hunter, and given that it wasn't the first time I had been in the apartment, I should have been able to find my way in my sleep. Instead, I was wasting precious seconds groping around like a helpless blind man.

"JESS! NO!"

Sam's scream got through my conscience like a shot of adrenaline, and every fiber of my body flared up. My heart started pounding so hard against my ribcage that I thought it would make a hole in my chest and burst out right there and then. My senses sharpened at once, and I was almost sent on overload due to the sudden clarity of stimuli.

I half rushed half stumbled to my brother's bedroom. When I grabbed the knob of the door, I felt a blistering ache in my palm. Clenching my teeth, I made a conscious effort to ignore the pain and turned the knob open.

"Sam!"

The fire roared as the open door fed it with new oxygen, and I barely had time to duck and avoid the invigorated flames. I spotted Sam sprawled on his bed; he was staring wide-eyed at the ceiling and was oblivious to the chunks of burning wallpaper that flew around him like butterflies on fire. Flames were already catching ferociously on the covers he was lying on. But Sam…He was barely breathing at all, his eyes locked on the ceiling and not making any attempt to save himself.

I'm not sure whether it was the vicious gust of scorching air or the haunted look that was on my little brother's face that knocked the wind out of my lungs. I followed his gaze almost involuntary, already knowing in my heart what I would find: Jessica pinned to the ceiling, with her midsection slashed and her lips half-opened in an eerie attempt at crying out.

I had listened to my Dad's description too often while I was growing up to be foolish now. But somehow, my brain didn't register the scene. It just refused to process it. Instead, I moved on default mode: I had to take my brother outside. It was the only truth. No matter what. No matter how.

I grabbed Sam and roughly pulled him out of the bed. His fingers curled around my arms in a deadly grip and a small whimper left his lips. I doubt he even realized I was the one who was holding him. I was merely the thing that was pulling him away from Jess. I was what he had to fight in order to get back to her.

"No! No, Jess…Jess!" he screamed.

And he fought me, with all he had. Despite my jokes about him being out of shape, he was damn strong. I winced as he dug his nails in my shoulder as he struggled to get over the wall I had become. But the wrestling wasn't the worst. The worst part was hearing Sam crying out his girlfriend's name. Begging for her… And God, it hurt so fucking much, because Sam never begged and now that he was sobbing his plea I was forced to deny him. I couldn't save Jess, and I wouldn't let him die with her…I couldn't let him.

I steeled myself against his pain, against him, and focused on breathing through the smoke while, with little to no remorse, I shoved him towards the exit. I was starting to weaken from exhaustion and lack of oxygen, and Sam's resistance was wearing me down faster than the high temperatures. At one point, he almost managed to free himself from my grip. I stumbled backwards a couple of steps and my knees wobbled, but I mustered whatever strength I had left and remained on my feet in time to clasp Sam's arm in extremis just as he threw himself towards the bedroom.

"Sam, please," I wheezed.

Please, look at me. Please, don't fight me. Please, don't die

My voice was swallowed by the ill-fated roar of the fire as it engulfed what was left of the bedroom. The ceiling had already collapsed —probably just over the bed where Sam had been only minutes before— and the living room would be next if we didn't hurry.

"Sam!" I urged him.

I tried to walk backwards and, with his back against my chest, attempted to pull him with me towards the door.

"Jess…" I thought I heard him whisper one last time.

I was so focused on getting us out that I didn't notice that Sam had stopped fighting me. So when we finally got to the stairs, I pushed him too hard to keep him moving and almost got the both of us rolling down the steps. In the last second, I reached out for the handrail with my burned hand. Swallowing a yelp of pain, I still managed to keep us both from falling.

The throb of my hand was excruciating; I was starting to see white. But as we stumbled our way to safety, forcing gulping mouthfuls of fresh air into our lungs, I kept clinging onto Sam for dear life. But by doing so I was forcing him to follow a pace he —suffering from a sudden fit of coughing— couldn't keep up with anymore.

"Stop," he said weakly in between desperate gasps for breath.

Even though it was the first sign that he acknowledged my presence at all, I didn't look at him. The truth was I didn't want to meet his gaze, because I was afraid to see the naked plea in his eyes while knowing that I would still have to turn it down. For now, the only thing that mattered was moving us away for the fire. As far away as possible.

"Stop!" Sam repeated, more forcefully.

I had every intention of ignoring him, but when his legs gave way, I lost my balance and Sam fell to his knees and dragged me to the ground with him. I automatically reached out for him, cupped the side of his neck, and made a quick scan of him for injuries. He was panting and shaking badly, and his face was a mixture of soot and sweat. But at first view he looked unharmed.

As soon as I made sure that he was all right, the adrenaline began to wear off and my head swam from the realization that my brother could have died in the fire. That was when I started shaking too. I could feel the long, icy fingers of shock crawling up my body, but I knew I couldn't let it settle in yet. I closed my eyes and took a couple of gulps of air to stop the world from spinning, while I clung onto Sam's shoulders to coax him to calm down. Only, I couldn't find the words that needed to be said. The lump in my throat simply wouldn't cooperate. And I wanted to hug him so badly. I had to have him in my arms and feel his heart against my chest. I needed to make sure he was alive and breathing and then hold him forever and never let go.

But I couldn't. No, Dean Winchester just couldn't hug his brother, and I'd be damned if it didn't suck to be me in that moment. Sam needed somebody else, somebody able to provide fucking emotional support and, once again, I was letting my little brother down.

"Dean," he croaked.

Faintly realizing that the sensation of shock I had been trying to put off had actually caught up with me, Sam's voice made me snap out of my thoughts.

"Hey," was the most I could force past my lips.

He was shivering. No wonder, considering that he was only wearing a T-shirt and was slumped on the ground in the middle of a cold night after being pulled out of an inferno.

"Here," I muttered.

Sam glanced at my hands as I took off my jacket and placed it over his shoulders. Then he looked up at me, and our eyes met at last. I don't think it would have hurt more if someone had ripped my heart out of my chest. His eyes were bright with tears and latched onto me so intently, full of a raw, pained need for something. Anything.

And what made my heart shatter was to see that he was clutching at the idea that I was the only person who could give it to him. He trusted me, even after having seen his girlfriend ripped open in the ceiling, after having seen the apartment collapse in a burst of flame. If there was someone who could still make it right, it would be me, the self-proclaimed hero who boasted that everything would be fine as long as he was around.

A damn fraud.

"Sammy…"

I didn't hear the sirens or acknowledge the crowd that was slowly gathering around the lawn. I don't think Sam was aware of anything either. We were just looking into each other's eyes, my hands on his shoulders, his hands gripping my arms. And then the most ominous image I have ever seen took place right in front of my eyes.

My Sammy blinked back the tears and I witnessed, almost in slow motion, how his expression went blank and his eyes dulled into a defeated look. The emotion he was displaying just a second before was gone, replaced by…guarded emptiness.

Because I didn't know how to fix Jessica's death, because I had failed him, now he was looking at me the same way Dad had taught us to look at strangers when we didn't want them to get to us. It was a look that Sam had never pulled on me until then. A look that said 'It's been four years and you can't save me anymore.'

Before I realized it, my brother shut himself away from me and I did nothing to stop him. And I had never been more terrified, because what if he was right?

What if I couldn't save him?

What can you say or do to help the most important person in your life when you have stopped knowing him and his life has come apart?

oooooooooooooOooooooooooooo

I know I know…quite an introductory chapter…but you know me, I've got a slow way to get things started. The following chapters are planned to be longer ;-) Any comment whatsoever? I'll be more than glad to read them!

Love xx