The average life span of a Hunter was fifty-two.

Sam got a phone call six months after his brother's fiftieth birthday. It was Dean himself. He sounded tired, but not particularly bad.

"Hey. I've had a little accident."

"You okay?"

"Oh yeah. But I'm gonna be laid up for a while, and I could use some company."

"I'll be right there."

"There" was a small town outside of Topeka. Dean always joked that you could take the boy out of Kansas, but you couldn't take Kansas out of the boy. "There's no place like home, Sammy." It had still surprised Sam when his brother had "retired" back to Kansas. It surprised Sam that Dean had retired at all, despite all that they'd been through and the fact he had threatened to do it many times before. It surprised Sam even more that he himself didn't. He still carried on "the job" their father had begun years before. Dean, following Ellen Harvelle's lead, had opened his own bar which was a well known stop for Hunters on the move. He still kept in the loop, and on rare occasions, lent a hand where needed.

It had been Sam more than anyone else, who had made the Winchester name legend among Hunters. He had an uncanny ability not only to find demons and exorcise them, but he could kill them – not just send them back to hell, but destroy them utterly. He and Dean had stopped an army of them all by themselves. Sam had plucked his brother from the clutches of a trio of hell hounds and at the risk of his own soul, freed Dean's from an ill-made bargain. Both of them still had the scars from that one.

Sam pulled up to the hospital and found a place to park near the visitors entrance. With a sigh he reflected back.

Dean's still sporting the claw marks. Almost bled to death on me before it was all over. Bitch nearly killed us both.

He remembered the agonizing pain as the healing began to unravel. The wound in his back burst open, sending blood pouring down his spine. With every minute that ticked by the damage had sunk deeper into his body, following the path it had taken before, and he knew he had to act fast before it reached the fatal mark. He'd taken a risk that night tapping into the incredible powers he had at his disposal to destroy the crossroads demon. It could have gone all wrong.

But miraculously, it hadn't.

Sam got out of the Jeep.

Nerve damage in my back got me this damn limp. Leg still gives out on me from time to time, but it's healing. Against all odds, it's healing. I'll probably be as good as new in a few more years.

It was a somewhat frightening portent. Damage that bad should not be healing, and this time it had nothing to do with anyone selling their soul to a demon.

Sam's SUV looked incongruously large and bulky among the smaller, more fuel efficient cars parked around it. He had to chuckle. The Jeep wasn't that old. If he'd been driving the Impala it would have really turned heads. He wondered if Dean still had the old gal stashed in his garage. He'd have to remember to ask.

Pushing through the doors, he approached the nearest nurses station and asked for his brother's room number. Dean was using their mother's maiden name these days. The statute of limitations still didn't run out on a murder charge, despite efforts to change that fact, and as far as Sam knew Henricksen hadn't retired. Sam still ran into him from time to time but anymore it was easy to make the man look the other way. Every time Sam sent him off on a snipe hunt he remembered poor Andy Gallagher.

"These are not the droids you're looking for..."

Of us all, only me and Andy stayed true to ourselves, and I only pulled it off with a little help. Dude deserves a medal.

The room was easy to find and was made easier by the sound of the television blaring all the way down the hallway. All the other rooms had their doors shut, but not Dean's. His door was wide open and Sam saw why. It faced the nurses station. From his bed, Dean could watch the nurses come and go, and probably not entirely due to his womanizing ways. He was probably as bored as sin. Dean had never taken to being laid up very well.

Laid up he was too, lying abed among a startling array of what looked like metal scaffolding protruding from his midsection and all down his right thigh. They'd done their best to cover him around the devices, but Sam got a glimpse of how horribly bruised and swollen he was, and realized he had to be in excruciating pain.

"Holy crap, Dean. What the hell did you do?"

Dean reached up to where the television remote lay on his chest and turned the set off. He looked tired, he sounded tired, but he managed a smile as Sam came in the room. "Glad you could make it. Have a seat."

"Seriously, man. What happened?"

"Fell."

Sam pulled up a chair beside the bed and sat down. He frowned. "Fell," he repeated.

"Yeah."

"From?"

His brother appeared a little sheepish.

"Dean?" Sam prompted.

"Motorcycle."

"You idiot." Shaking his head, Sam sat back in his chair.

Dean's never ending relationship issues had resulted, just recently, in his second divorce. He'd been with Alicia for over five years. They had a four-year old daughter, but even Marlee hadn't repaired a rift that had been developing almost since the day of the honeymoon. Alicia was difficult for him to handle. He'd tried, he'd tried his best, but he hadn't given her nearly enough of what she apparently needed. When she'd suddenly packed up her things and gone, taking their daughter with her, Dean had been devastated.

He'd immediately spiraled into the stereotypical mid-life crisis and bought a motorcycle. Sam discovered, reading his brother's chart, that Dean hadn't actually fallen off the motorcycle. The motorcycle had fallen on him when he'd taken a curve too tightly. The result was a shattered pelvis and a femur snapped into almost a half a dozen pieces. He'd be lucky if he could ever walk again.

We'll have matching limps.

"Have you heard from Alicia?" Sam asked, putting the chart aside.

"Yeah, she stopped by to bitch at me about child support."

"When you're obviously not able to work. Nice."

"Never knew she was such a bitch when I married her," Dean sighed miserably. "The next time I even breathe the 'M' word Sam, please shoot me."

Sam chuckled. "Sure," he said. He noted an ugly stretch of road-rash down Dean's arm. "Are you okay? You need anything?"

"I'm fine. Thanks Sammy."

The weary tone gave Sam pause. He took a moment to look, really look, at his brother. Unlike Sam, whose hair had gone virtually white not long after he turned forty, Dean's hair was still only salt and pepper gray like their father's had been. The smile lines around his eyes and mouth had deepened, but other than that he looked good, much younger than fifty. It was genetic, Sam supposed. John had always looked much younger than his actual age, often being mistaken for their older brother instead of their father. Even Sam, despite his hair, had maintained his baby-face. He'd considered dying his hair at one point, but Jo had talked him out of it.

"Your look is half your reputation, Sam. Everyone knows who you are the minute you walk into a room. Trust me, you don't want to lose that respect."

"Jo, my reputation would follow me no matter what I looked like."

Many in the Hunter community knew the truth now, but tended to overlook it since Sam took pains to make sure they knew which side he had chosen. The yellow-eyed demon had given his changelings demon-like abilities, corrupting their very humanity with his blood much like a vampire or a werewolf might do. They could go where demons couldn't go, and fight with powers no pure human could imagine. It didn't come without a price.

When Jake murdered him, Sam had gone straight to hell, something no one besides the demon had known would happen. Dean certainly hadn't considered it, but of course Dean had no way of knowing either. If he had, he might not have bargained for Sam's life back, for what he'd pulled back out of the pit was more demon than human, and far more powerful than either.

Sam could destroy demons. He could also control them, make them do his will just as easily as he could a human. There were only three other creatures in existence who wielded the same ability, and only one besides Sam was currently able to walk among men. During his brief stint in hell Sam had met the darkest of them, though he didn't remember it precisely. His exact memories of that time were obliterated when he'd come back. He only remembered in the occasional nightmare.

Get thee behind me Satan...

He'd been able to resist the temptations his power brought him. He had chosen to fight on the side of the light, and only recently had he discovered just what gave him that particular ability. If the yellow-eyed demon were still around he would be laughing in its face.

He remembered the conversation that had sent him hunting for that answer. They'd met during a Hunt, oddly enough. Michael had been pursuing a particularly nasty little demon with a habit of possessing priests. Needless to say he was not happy to find Sam after the same thing. Sam had been shocked when Michael introduced himself without much of a preamble. Right after that he'd started giving Sam some hell.

And Sam did see the irony in that.

"The infamous Sam Winchester. Aren't you supposed to be on the other side?"

"I picked my side. I chalk it up to nurture kicking nature's ass."

"Oh, it had a little help from nature too my boy. You never did find out how your mother knew that up-start demon, did you?"

"You gonna clue me in?"

"No, I'll let you figure it out for yourself, but I will tip you off to this. You're under scrutiny from both sides, Sam. Nobody knows what to do with you, but I've been told that you better stay on the straight and narrow, because if you turn off that path, you will regret it."

"Is that a threat?"

"Oh, absolutely. You screw around with the dark stuff, and I'll personally rip your guts out and send you back to the pit."

"You're probably the only one who could."

"Damn straight."

Sam had always insisted that if evil existed, so must there must be some sort of good in the world to balance it. Learning he'd been right had been a real eye-opener.

"So, what's been going on with you?" Dean asked suddenly, shaking Sam out of his thoughts and back into the real world. "Same old stuff?"

"Killed a rawhead the other day."

"God, I hate those things."

"I remembered to step away from the puddle," Sam said, gently teasing about another close call they'd had during Dean's Hunting career. "Before I tasered it."

"Shut up." Dean laughed, but stopped abruptly with a hiss of pain. "Dammit."

"They giving you something for that?"

"Oh yeah, but they're stingy, the bitches."

Sam waited a moment, gathering his thoughts, before confessing, "I was going to come see you anyway, Dean."

"Were you? Figured you were too busy to get me onto the schedule."

"Don't," Sam said, hurt by the accusation. "You know I've tried, and look – you called and I came, right? I'm looking out for you."

"I'm supposed to be looking out for you, Sammy, you know that." Dean said softly, and then took a little jab at him. "Anyway, you suck at looking after me. If you were looking after me I wouldn't be lying here imitating a damn pin cushion."

"As if I didn't try to talk you out of the motorcycle."

"Yeah, yeah." Dean frowned at him. "You got something on your mind?"

Sam hesitated. He wanted to tell his brother what he'd recently discovered, yet was not sure how to go about it. He wasn't sure how Dean would take it and he especially didn't want to upset him while he was injured. Anything regarding their mother tended to get him riled up and this...

Dean knew what the demon had done to Sam that night. Sam had been forced to confess it a long time ago. He did not know of Mary's role in it, that she'd recognized the demon when she'd walked into the nursery. It wouldn't have gone over well. Sam had left that part out of the story.

"I was just thinking about Mom lately," Sam smiled a little. "About what she told you when she tucked you in at night."

"That angels were watching over me," Dean murmured softly. "Yeah," a quick flicker of a smile crossed his lips. "I always said it to Marlee too."

"What if," Sam continued. "I were to tell you it's true, that there are such things as guardian angels?"

Dean looked at him carefully. That was the thing with Dean. He might not be a Rhodes scholar, but he was a keen observer. He couldn't find anything in Sam's expression this time, however. Sam wasn't giving anything away.

"Twenty years ago I would have said it was crap," he said finally. "But now, Sammy, after all we've seen, all we've been through...somehow I don't doubt it. You've seen them?"

"Yes and no." Shifting his weight in his chair, Sam shrugged. "I've heard things, a lot of things. They're kind of a unique creature."

Dean chuckled. "Takes one to know one."

"Yeah," Sam muttered. He shook his head and laughed wryly. "Yeah, I guess." He thought of their father, the Marine, slogging through the jungles of Vietnam never knowing there was someone watching over him, protecting him - someone falling in love with him. "Sometimes they get a little too close, get too emotionally involved with their charges," he added. "As a result they lose their power and become earthbound."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

Ever wonder why you were always so hung up on taking care of us – me and Dad? You were always setting aside yourself for the job, risking your life to save other people. I've seen how easily you bond with children, and how rabidly protective you are of just about anyone who comes into your life even if it's just for a short time. Even the separation anxiety – you need someone to care for, can't stand the idea of being set adrift alone. Ever wonder where all that came from, Dean?

Sam smiled. "Just thought you'd want to know Mom was telling the truth."

If it weren't for her I wouldn't have been able to do what I've done. The demon never knew her true nature, never realized I wasn't entirely human even before it changed me. She'd known exactly what it was, and what it would do to me. How horrible for her to know she might have once been able to stop it, before she relinquished all that she was for Dad.

"Thanks." There was a pause, and Dean let out a "huff" of breath. "God, Sammy. I wish you'd tried harder to talk me out of that damn bike, if you know what I mean."

"Uh-huh. I swore I'd never mess with you like that, even for a good cause." Sam frowned. "Hurts?"

There were tears in Dean's eyes, not brought on by grief, but physical pain. "Hurts is an understatement." His expression turned pleading. "You wanna Obi-Wan one of those harpies out there into giving me a little more painkiller?"

"I don't think I'll need to, but if they won't do it, I'll see about given them a nudge." Rising, Sam started toward the door. "I should go too, you'll need your rest."

"More morphine will knock me on my ass anyway," Dean agreed. "Sammy, wait though."

Sam paused at the door. "What?"

"I...man, I didn't want to tell you this but..."

"But what? Tell me what?"

Dean chewed his lip a moment. "It's Alicia. I was wondering if you couldn't maybe swing by her apartment – don't let her know you're there – and check on Marlee for me. I...I suspect that a lot of the problems we've had recently are because Alicia is using again."

Sam turned back around and went to the side of the bed. "What?"

"Yeah. I was going to sue her for custody. I don't want Marlee around that crap, but now I'm going to have to wait until I get out of here to do it." Dean shrugged slightly, his unhappy look shifting into one slightly more sheepish. "I figure if Dad did okay by himself, I shouldn't have too much trouble, you know? I just need to know my kid is safe."

Of course you do. You're her father, but more than that, it's in your nature, Dean. You just don't know it.

"She's a lucky kid," Sam said quietly. "To have you as a dad. I should know too, you always took good care of me."

You were my guardian angel.

"Whatever." Rolling his eyes, Dean made a shooing gesture with one hand. "Take your sappy stuff and get out of here, Sam."

Laughing, Sam did as he was told. "All right. I'll come back and check on you later."

"And bring me a burger or something," Dean groused as Sam went out the door. "The food here is gonna kill me."

Sam stopped at the nurses station before he left the hospital, sending one of the nurses in to check on Dean and make sure he was comfortable. He watched carefully as she did increase the frequency of Dean's morphine drip. His ability to influence her wouldn't be necessary. That was good.

On the way out he made a few phone calls, cashing in on some favors owed to him from some old college buddies. If Alicia was using drugs again like she had been when Dean first met her, before she supposedly cleaned up, Sam didn't want her in charge of Marlee either. He got the ball rolling with an attorney in Topeka, and if Alicia didn't give up custody willingly...

I'll make sure she realizes that it would be in her best interest to let Dean have their daughter.

Dean had text messaged him Alicia's address. It was a small apartment complex on the edge of town, and not necessarily in the best of neighborhoods either. Sam cruised through and stopped at the curb in front of a playground near Alicia's building. There were kids everywhere, but it wasn't hard to pick out Marlee. She was as fair as Mary Winchester had been, with a head of thick blond waves pulled up into a pair of lopsided ponytails. Aside from a small scrape on one knee, she looked clean and healthy.

And what kid goes around without scraped knees? Especially a little athlete like that one.

He smiled as he watched his niece, at the tender age of four, climb to the top of the jungle gym and pronounce herself king of the world.

Yeah, that's Dean's kid all right.

He watched for a while longer before moving on to Dean's small house on the opposite side of town. It was just a little slab-built cape cod with a detached garage. Before going inside Sam took a peek through the garage windows. Sure enough, behind the lawn mower and beneath a layer of dust, was a long, black silhouette he knew all too well.

Sleep beckoned him. He hadn't had any rest for a long while. A quick shower and he was sprawled out in his brother's bed, catching up on some long neglected sleep. He'd found he didn't need as much as he used to, could go for days without, but sometimes it did catch up with him. He always slept hoping he wouldn't dream. Dreams often became nightmares, nightmares dredging up memories best kept buried. This time he dreamed, but it wasn't exactly a nightmare.

He was in the car, with Dean, driving the back roads of middle America together, just like old times. This time, however, Dean stopped the car along the side of the road and looked over at Sam with a slightly sad expression. He was young again, with not a touch a gray in his hair, and a cocky tilt to his brow.

A gentle breeze blew through the open windows. To either side of them were wheat fields, and the long grasses whispered together as the wind riffled through them.

"You have to get out now, Sammy."

"What? Why?"

"You can't go with me. I'm sorry."

"Dean..."

"I'm sorry, Sam. I'm so, so sorry."

"For what?

"Take care of yourself, Sammy. Okay?"

Abruptly Sam found himself standing on the side of the road. He heard the Impala's engine roar back into life, and watched it begin to pull away from him.

"Dean!"

The car increased its speed. Sam gave chase, running after it, but giving up after only a few yards. He struggled for breath. He was aging again, his hair fading to white, his old injury flaring up to send pain running up and down his spine. A few more limping strides and he stumbled to a complete stop.

"No..."

He could only watch as the Impala shot down the highway without him, watching until she slipped around a far curve. He heard the bleat of her horn and a burst of music from her radio, and then she was gone completely, taking his brother with her.

It was only a dream. He woke knowing it was a dream, but also knowing the sick feeling twisting up his gut was real. The sun had gone down, leaving him in darkness. It didn't matter. He was used to darkness and by nature able to see quite well in it – one gift he'd found exceptionally handy.

It didn't take him long to get back to the hospital.

Nor to confirm his worst fear.

"It was a pulmonary embolism. Not an uncommon complication with injuries such as your brother's. I'm sorry. There was no way of predicting..."

Sam leaned against the door jamb, staring at the empty bed.

"I was just here this morning. He was fine!"

"It could have happened at any time. The blood clot breaks loose, moves into the lung, cuts off oxygen to the heart..."

"Spare me the clinical details, doctor. Not what I need right now."

"If it means anything, he didn't suffer. He was most likely asleep when it happened."

He felt the presence. Didn't need to turn around. Didn't want to turn around and let his grief be seen by a creature who was so far removed from humanity grief meant very little.

Sam greeted him gruffly. "Michael."

"Sam." There was a pause, and Sam was surprised to hear sincerity in the tone. "I am truly sorry."

"Yeah? Good for you." Biting the bullet, Sam did turn. "Why are you here? Isn't this a little out of your area of expertise?"

The archangel shrugged. "I've played messenger before."

"Is that so?" Sam couldn't keep the pain out of his voice. "So what's the message?"

"He's pissed because you didn't make it back in time with that burger."

Sam smiled slightly in spite of himself. "Is that all?"

"No," Michael replied quietly. "He wants you to remember that angels are watching over you."

Grief washed over him. "One in particular?" Sam asked softly.

"One in particular." After a pause the angel added, "I think, in the end, he knew what you were trying to tell him – about Mary."

Nodding, Sam turned his head away, letting the tears run freely. He stood staring at the empty room for some time before he trusted his voice again. Still, it wavered when he spoke. "I'm never going to see him again am I?"

"Probably not."

Sam's voice caught on sob. He stuck at the door jamb with one fist. "Damn you, Dean. Why did you have to bring me back?"

"He saved you from eternal damnation, and ultimately allowed both of you to reclaim what your mother had lost." Michael's voice softened. "He made you immortal, Sam."

"Yeah and a lot of good that does me!" Sam raged. "I don't even know what I am anymore, and if I should die, what then? Hell is not an option, I know what's waiting for me there, and I'm damn sure Heaven doesn't want me either."

The angel was again, surprisingly sympathetic. "Keep up what you're doing and you might rack up enough brownie points to get in upstairs some day."

"Really, Michael? Last I noticed they don't let any sort of demons in at all."

"You're a...an unusual case. Exceptions could be made. Sam if..."

"Don't." Sam said gruffly. "I gave up on hope a long time ago." Gathering himself together, he wiped his face on one sleeve. "It's just..." After a moment he couldn't hold it back, and again the tears began to fall. His voice was broken, trembling, and his chest ached. "Please, Michael, tell him..." Sam couldn't finish.

It's not your fault, Dean. I'm sorry and...I miss you. Already, I miss you. Who's gonna take care of me now, huh?

He didn't have to finish. When he looked up, Michael was already gone, taking Sam's message with him.

---

Sam pulled up to the courthouse in a long, black, rolling piece of history. Onlookers used to the tiny little fiberglass blobs that were modern vehicles raised their eyebrows as Sam smoothly guided the Impala into a tidy parallel park. As he got out he heard a woman whisper something about air pollution. He ignored her.

He entered the building and strode down the marble clad hallway, the sound of his boots echoing eerily off of the walls. There were a few spirits kicking around in the old building, he could sense them, but they seemed to be doing no harm. They weren't his objective anyway.

His objective was sitting outside the court room on a bench, holding a dog-eared (much loved) rag doll and kicking her feet back and forth. The social worker who had been caring for her had put her in a pink dress with white tights and combed her hair back into a single, severe looking ponytail bound with a pink ribbon. Sam had never seen her in anything but shorts or jeans, and t-shirts much too large for her small frame. He almost didn't recognize her.

She glanced over at him as he sat down on the other end of the bench, but she didn't say anything.

"I like the shoes," he said finally, nodding at the shiny white patent leather.

"They pinch," she replied, obviously disgruntled. "I hate them."

"The dress is pretty."

"It sucks ass."

Sam choked back a laugh. "That's not very nice."

"Neither is the damn dress," the child shot back, giving him a glare. "You wanna wear it?"

Quickly, Sam turned his head so she wouldn't see him chuckle. It probably wouldn't be a good idea to encourage bad language in a four-year-old. When he looked back she was still glaring at him.

"You must be Marlee," he said.

"I'm not s'posed to talk to strangers."

"I'm not a stranger."

"Oh, yes you are."

"I'm your Uncle Sammy."

Marlee looked at him, a bit more gently this time, and edged a little closer. She studied him very carefully and apparently concluded he was telling her the truth. "Ms. Miller said I'm gonna go live with you 'cause Mommy got 'rested for taking the bad medicine."

"That's true." Sam said.

The child's voice softened to a whisper. "And 'cause Daddy went to heaven."

It took Sam a minute before he could answer. "That's also true," he said roughly.

Hugging her doll a little tighter, Marlee inched sideways a bit more until she was right up against Sam's side. She turned her gaze up at him and he knew she could not have missed seeing the tears in his eyes. He thought maybe she would cry too, but she didn't. Instead, after a long moment of silence, she reached out a small hand to his and gave him gentle little pat.

"It's okay, Sammy," she said quietly. "Don't worry. I'll take good care of you."

---

The golden moments in the stream of life rush past us and we see nothing but sand; the angels come to visit us, and we only know them when they are gone.

George Eliot (1819 - 1880)