Disclaimer: See Chapter One

A/N: Here is the last chapter of my weak attempt at writing a Christmas fic. Not sure if it panned out or not, you can be the judge. Thanks for reading and reviewing. Again, my Christmas gift this year was finding this fandom. It has been a wonderful experience and I am so happy to be here. And, MAZ, I look forward to the next one. Even though you encouraged me to fire you.

Chapter Six: Saints and the Sinners

Dean remembered that little garden back in Illinois. Sam had liked the rhubarb; Dean had liked the tiny watermelons he had attempted to grow. Never did amount into anything, really. They turned out pink, too small to ripen to where they tasted like a watermelon. Or even tasted good, for that matter. Sam tried a few bites and made faces, deciding to stick to the rhubarb.

But the rhubarb wasn't hard to grow; they were hardy as weeds and grew wild.

They were still headed south, the compass' arrow fixed as Dean guided their way. His upper torso smarted and stung, but he pretended not to notice. He ignored the warmth oozing down his chest, although he calculated it had probably been going on for thirty minutes now. As far as he was concerned, he could handle a little blood trickling down his body as long as they could reach the damn trail, which they hadn't come across yet. And by Dean's watch, they'd probably been walking close to two hours.

"Are we…"

"Don't say it," Dean clipped. "We're headed south."

There was a curt sigh behind him and Dean ignored it; watched the compass instead. It was actually frustrating the hell out of him as well, but he didn't want to stop. He had a focus, a mission and that was getting the hell out of this Kingdom of all Kingdoms. He'd rather concentrate on that than on the dried blood on his brother's face anyway. Rather work on what he could do now to get them both to safety than to dwell on what he had done. What he couldn't control.

"Just seems we've been walking this way a long time, that's all."

Sometimes Sam could still be a pain in the ass little brother. Dean stopped and turned abruptly. Sam almost smacked into him. "What're you saying, Sam? You want to lead?"

Sam's eyes narrowed at his brother. "I'm just saying…"

"Didn't you think we walked a long ways in when we got here? Or maybe you don't remember that since you were knocked out!" Dean pointed at his own head. He steadied himself in front of the taller man.

Sam only stared back. Concerned pinched brows looking to him. Dry blood everywhere.

Dean looked away first. "What's with you?" his voice came out too muted, too tired.

"What? Me? You're the one who got stabbed."

Dean felt his blood quicken in his veins, felt his cheek twitch. Even without a powerful force to guide him, his anger was quick. He rotated his shoulders. Gave himself a minute to put his thoughts into words and not just explode. "Back there when I was… I had a knife to your neck, Sam. You didn't even fight me."

I'm just trying to take this curse and make something good out of it.

But his brother only stared back. Blinked a couple of times, took in air and let it out.

It only irritated Dean more. It was worse than talking to a wall. It was like talking to a goddamn teenager. "Jesus Christ, Sam!" Dean's arms slapped his sides. "What's with you? You wanna talk… you don't wanna talk. You want to hunt… you don't want to hunt." Dean pushed at the younger man. "I had a knife to your jugular! I cut through your skin!" Dean swallowed, his face red from the heat of his words, shaking from the silence that answered him.

"Maybe I deserved it."

Dean took a step back. His eyebrows raised. "Deserved it?"

Sam shrugged. He took a step around his brother and started walking through the thicket of branches, looking for the trail.

Dean reached out and grabbed his jacket, tugging him to a stop. "No. No. Tell me what you mean."

Sam jerked free and turned again.

"Sam!" Dean grabbed his arm and spun his brother around. "Stop it!"

Sam forcefully wiggled away from his brother's hold and pushed him back. "Stop treating me like a four-year-old!"

"Stop acting like one!" Dean breathed into the cool night, his breath releasing into small light clouds. Reminded him of Sonny. He looked away for a moment and nodded his head. "Whatever this is that you're beating yourself up for, Sam, I just want you to know…"

"Don't, Dean."

"That you don't deserve that. You don't deserve death."

"I didn't say I deserved death."

Dean's eyes brushed back. "Then what? You just… deserve me to kick the shit out of you?"

A shrug. Quiet.

This Sam was always so quiet.

"Yeah, okay," Dean pulled back. "I get to what? Go a round with you? You're just gonna let me unleash, right? I get to bring you down and knock some goddamn sense into you and then what? We're all good?" He waited. No response. Of course. "Or is this like a lifetime thing? I get to just take a shot whenever I feel like it because you deserve it?"

Sam's turn to look away.

Dean's arms spread from his body. He felt his shirt sticky and wet, trying to cling to his muscles. "You gotta help me out here, dude."

Sam glared back. Angry now, his finger pointing into the air. "You don't get it!"

"No, I don't!" Dean yelled and watched as Sam took a step back. Stepped back away from his brother. He took a deep breath. There was nothing to knock over, nothing to hit. Except Sam and he probably would have taken the shot if that wasn't what his brother was wanting him to do.

I've got demon blood in me, Dean! And I can't ever rip it out or scrub it clean!

Apparently four months of being alone was hard to get out of your system, too. "Explain it to me."

Sam opened his mouth to speak, opened his mouth to tell his brother everything that he had been scared to. Tell him more than he had a few weeks ago. Getting the right words, though, admitting the actual fear… well, he'd rather hunt monsters in the dark.

Dean watched Sam struggling with himself. There was more to the confession than met the eye. A romp in the sack with a demon and trying to trade places in hell for his brother's freedom may have been what Sam did. Broadening his horizons and opening his mind to the supernatural may have been the game Sam played. But what happened to Sam, what changed Sam, he was still keeping that locked tight.

"I can't make you tell me," Dean rubbed his forehead. "But, Sam, this is killing you and I…"

There was rustle off to the left and Dean stopped. He looked up to his brother, Sam's face reflecting that he had heard it, too. It hadn't been his imagination.

"What do you think Sonny was trying to warn us about?" Sam asked, his eyes sliding over to the undisturbed leaves.

"I'm gonna find out." Dean walked over to the leaves and started kicking at them with his boots. He'd hit whatever it was eventually.

"I think it's over here now," Sam was saying, his brother heading over to where he had last heard the commotion.

The air suddenly shifted directions, picking up a cool breeze that hissed in the night. "Choose."

Sam stilled. He looked over to his brother. Dean was glaring back. "What?"

"I didn't say anything."

Dean followed around, keeping low to the ground. He could feel his wound grow cold and then hot again, making him shudder. If this was a snake, he swore he would just reach out with his hands and strangle the damn thing without a second thought.

"Choose."

Dean spun on his heels. "Are you hearing that?"

Sam was circling the area, chasing after the sound. He didn't look up. It was coming from below. "Yeah." He put his hands on his hips. "Choose what?" he asked into the graying night.

"The heart." The slithering started again. It seemed to come from all directions.

Sam's eyes narrowed, he crouched back down, searching. Never could see anything rumpled or disturbed, though. It was odd and wrong. There had to be something there. Sounds just don't occur out of nothing. He walked into more of the foliage, chasing an invisible animal when his boots suddenly hit something familiar.

"Holy shit," he called over his shoulder.

Dean halted, looking in the direction his brother had crawled into. The edges blurred and smeared together. He blinked twice and realized his forehead was wet. Just great. Exactly what he didn't need. Sweat. He wiped at it quickly and hollered steady and level, "What is it?"

"I found the trail!"

Dean stood up, looking through the foggy shadows of the Christmas night, past the leaves that covered Sam. There was his brother crouched down near the earth, the deep rich soil at his feet. And a fourteen-inch head of a snake hovering right behind him.

***

Christmas Eve 1992

Okay, so he started early. It really shouldn't have surprised anyone. Girls had been knocking on his door since he was ten. Scoring phone numbers and going on "parental supervised" dates by the time he was eleven wasn't uncommon for him. Maybe he even had a reputation for sneaking into movie theaters and sitting in the back with girls a few years older. So at the age of thirteen, when he's sitting next to his girlfriend of two-weeks, it's only natural that he tried to make it to second base.

Christmas Eve and the Eagles were on the radio. No way he wasn't going to make it to third.

Well, I'm standing on the corner in Winslow, Arizona/And such a fine sight to see

Of course, the knee to his stomach and her braces catching his bottom lip told him what she thought about that. Dean rolled himself off the floor.

It's a girl, my lord, in a flatbed ford/Slowing down to take a look at me

Her name was Marita Magrane, but she went by Ritzi. A person of thirteen would think with a name like that, she'd be more willing to put out.

Come on, baby, don't say maybe/I gotta know if your sweet love is gonna save me.

Dean flashed her his winning, boyish smile. He assured her with the utmost honor that she could trust him.

We may lose and we may win, but we will never be here again/So open up I'm climbing in/So Take it easy

She showed him. Out the door he went. She'd keep the personalized brass bracelet he'd given her – even though her name was spelled incorrectly. He'd noticed she taken her time in pointing that one out. So he left with her still rambling and headed down the street two blocks to the hole in the wall they were renting.

Dean wasn't going to lose any sleep over her, though. He had been watching Jeannie – couldn't remember her last name – from his fifth period study hall for the past month. She'd grown a whole cup size and he hadn't missed that she'd been watching him, too.

He took the stairs easily, opened the screen door and let it slam behind him.

Silence.

"Sam?"

The clock ticked above his head and Dean turned around to check the time. 6:20. Dad had told them to be home by 6:00 and that he'd be home an hour later. He was picking up KFC, a few stocking stuffers. It was supposed to be a decent Christmas this year.

Sam should have made it home first, though. He'd only been playing outside in the street with the other neighborhood kids.

Then Dean remembered the husky teenagers on the corner, messing with the younger ones. Teasing them, pushing a few around. They hadn't bothered Sam, but Dean had been there. Until Ritzi showed up and then…

Dean walked across the street and two houses down to knock on the door. It was the Windham's – they had two kids, Jerry and Kerry. The rhyming of the names was intentional. Poor kids. Their parents were Larry and Mary. Another Mary. Every small town had at least one.

Mary Windham opened the door and looked down at the young man. "Yes?"

"I'm looking for Sam."

She shook her head. Hadn't seen him, of course, but she yelled for Jerry who had plowed his way to the door. They were already opening up Christmas presents and the wrapping paper and boxes were tripping him up.

"That gang pushed him that way." Jerry pointed back up the street. "Had their mopeds out and were chasing him."

That did it. A gang of fourteen-year-olds and their mopeds. They were so going down. Dean shot off the Windham's porch and jogged down the street. He passed one kid – Marley's – house, knew he was in the gang and pounded on the door.

No answer.

With a dozen or more swear words, the kid was off the steps and heading back down the street. It was a cul-de-sac, coming to a dead end. All that was out there were trees and the drainpipe. Dean started to turn away when he noticed the tire tracks in the mud. Too big for bicycles, too small for cars.

"Goddamn. Mopeds." Dean tramped through the mud and slid down the steep hill on the other side to the narrow steel opening of the drainpipe.

Except on this particular Christmas Eve, it wasn't opened. It was clogged. Or, rather blocked, by cement cinders, bricks and rocks of all sizes.

"Sam?" Dean called to the handmade wall. His fingers started digging in, removing the obstacles one by one, some of them falling to his feet, smashing his toes, and ripping the skin off his fingers.

Inside, though, he found his brother bound by ropes, body curled within itself, rats from the sewer crawling on him.

"Sam?" he tried again.

Sam ignored him, though. No, not ignoring, Dean knew. Shock possibly. Humiliation definitely. Dean winced in sympathy. "Sammy…" He reached into the pipe and tried to grab at his brother. Couldn't… quite… reach. "I'm comin' in." Dean crawled through the entry. He grabbed hold of his brother's jacket only to have Sam jerk away. "Sam…"

"Go away." His tied hands swatted towards his brother.

Dean easily thwarted them.

"No, Sam, I'm here for you."

"Don't look."

Dean sighed and put both hands on his brother, fisting handfuls of his jacket. "I've already seen you, dipshit. Now," he started yanking Sam back the other way, "let's go."

They fell out of the drainpipe together, back onto the rocks and cinderblocks that had blocked Sam's exit. Dean pulled his pocketknife out and started cutting his brother loose, disregarding Sam's sniffles and whimpers. He cut the ropes at the ankles and sat back, looking at the scratched face. Claws from tiny creatures Sam couldn't fight.

He'd massacre them all.

"Dad's gonna kill me," Sam looked down, his head hanging low.

"I'm the one he's going to kill, Sam. I was s'pose to be watching you."

Sam's head shook back and forth. "He'll be embarrassed."

Dean squinted. "What? Dad?" He kicked at his brother. "Hey." Kicked him again. "Hey!"

Sam glanced up. "Dad's never embarrassed of us. We're his." Disappointed, yes. Angry, you bet. But embarrassed? No way.

Dean stood up, pulling Sam up without offering, just getting him to his feet in one awkward motion.

"Dad's picking up Christmas," Dean announced to his brother. "So be surprised."

Picking up Christmas. Like it was found at the store next to the milk and butter. Sam thought about that. Maybe it was.

"You okay?" Dean's hand landed on the back of his neck, guiding him away from the tunnel.

Sam nodded. "Couldn't breathe in there. Felt like it was crushing me." Which was strange to both of them because nothing had been crushing him. But Dean thought maybe it was something more that felt crushing to his brother. Something he couldn't explain.

"Sorry," Sam was saying and Dean scoffed back.

"Shut-up. Tomorrow I'm finding those dicks and kicking their ass. Tonight, you and I we're gonna let all the air out of their tires."

They reached the cement again. Back to the street. Now for the crooked walk home. The Impala was parked in the driveway. Dad was already there. Sam let out a long sigh.

"What's wrong?" Dean nudged him, even though he already knew.

Sam shook his head. "It's just... It's Christmas Eve. It was supposed to be… it's just… not what I wanted."

Dean smiled down at him. "Not what you wanted?" He flicked his fingers into the air. "You. Me. Dad. We got everything we need."

***

Early Christmas Day 2008

Dean felt the world tip to the side for a moment, fearful everything was going to slide off the map, his mind dizzying at the sight. "Sam!" he sprinted across the dead plants.

Sam was turning around, watching as his crazy brother tramped towards him through the garden. What the hell?

The snake floated back down to the ground and slithered without a sound under the younger hunter, it's body wrapping loosely around his boots. It slinked itself away from the man and as his body turned in his brother's direction, the snake tightened it's muscles, binding his ankles and bringing the hunter falling to the earth.

"Chosen."

Dean skidded on the dirt, his knees digging into the soil. "Sam!"

Sam was sitting up, his hands closing around the large scales of the snake. "I can't get it off." He tried to shift his legs, but the coils were constricting and moving up. Already to his calves.

Dean's eyes followed the snake's large body as it disappeared into the bushes ahead, it's body still retreating down, wrapping around his brother. "I'll follow it," Dean stood up, starting to walk along the body of the reptile. "And when I get to the head," he removed his Colt and brought it in front of him, "I'll shoot it."

Sam nodded. "Okay. I'll try to…" he pushed with his hands, "get loose."

Dean walked away, scanning the ground as he went farther into the garden. The bushes ahead obscured his vision and as he rounded the other side, he found no signs of the snake. He retraced his steps. No snake. He ran his hand through his hair, calming the jitters building inside.

The things I saw. There aren't words.

Had to get his brother loose. He hiked back towards Sam again, his eyes catching the movements of scales and followed it a second time. He made it back around the bushes and looked down. No snake. He listened. It was rustling to the left of him and he turned in the direction.

There's no forgetting. There's no making it better.

People made evil look easy. It was just a bedtime story, though. In reality, the guilt. The obsession. It could me maddening.

"Dean!"

He looked up. "Yeah?"

"Hurry!"

Dean looked back down. Nothing. No body. No head. Goddamn. Dean trekked back to the trail, trying to find the body of the great snake. Nothing there anymore either. He looked back at Sam.

Damn thing had him wrapped to his chest.

You wouldn't understand and I could never make you understand.

"Sam?" He retreated back to his brother, who wasn't able to sit up anymore. He had fallen to his back, managing to keep his right arm free and as Dean knelt down next to him, Sam grabbed onto Dean's jacket. His hand clutching onto wetness.

"You're bleeding."

Dean shook his head. "No."

"And… sweating." He gulped in air.

"Shut-up about that right now. We gotta get you loose."

"I think," his breaths were coming out more shallow. "this is… the serpent."

Dean grabbed a hold of his brother's hand and squeezed it. "It's a snake, Sam."

Sam frowned at his brother. "A serpent is… a snake, Dean." His voice was sharp and Dean tilted his head in response. "I think this is… the serpent. Like in… the bible."

Dean made a face and watched as the coils continued down his brother's body. "Okay." He let go of Sam's hand and crawled above his head. "Hold on, Sam, I'm gonna," he positioned himself over the scales, his eyes watching the muscles bind and release, "I'm gonna try something."

Sam tried to look above him, but only saw the sky changing from black to a gray-blue. "What? What're you gonna do?"

Dean pulled the Colt out and pressed it against the moving body. "I'm going to shoot it."

"Is it the head?"

"No."

"Don't shoot it."

Dean looked over at the moppy hair. "I can't find the fucking head, Sam. If I don't shoot it…"

"Don't shoot it, Dean." There was a few strangled breaths and Sam tried to look over, tried to find his brother. "It chose me. Just… go away."

His eyes burned at Sam's words. Not sure if it was anger or disappointment. Annoyance or aggravation. Pick and choose. "For Christ's sake, Sam," Dean started, pushing the barrel of the Colt against the slithering beast, "I'm not going to leave you." He pulled the trigger and for one brief second the muscles stopped, the gliding paused. Dean's mouth turned up.

Then it moved again, dragging the minimal blood loss with it. And it squeezed.

Sam let out a gasp as the coils constricted around his middle, around his chest and now around his neck.

Dean didn't flinch, didn't hesitate. He took out his Bowie knife and raised it above his head.

"Dean... don't..."

He swung down, his air releasing vigorously, breathing for both of them. The blade hit the scales, barely sliced into the snake's body, the knife bouncing back with such force, it hit Dean's shoulder.

Dean edged back to his brother's side and started pulling on the twists and curls of the snake. Had to get his brother loose. I tried everything, that's the truth! He'd get his fingers to fit just right under the bunches of scales… I tried opening the Devil's gate… just when he started to pull back… Hell, I tried to bargain… the snake would compress firmly… You were rotting in Hell for months… making it almost impossible… for months… for the hunter to pry them back out again.

So I'm sorry it wasn't me, all right.

He avoided Sam's face. Refused to look up at the agony he knew was there.

"Dean…"

Dean ignored him, tracking the coils back up for the third time. This time he kept his hand on the body, feeling the way the serpent moved, feeling the motion towards his brother. He turned and looped around the dead leaves, through foliage until he returned back to his brother, his hand still stalking the body. Then, just like an illusion, it disappeared into the dark soil. Dean blinked. How long was this thing? Did it just go on and on into the ground?

"Sam, I'm not sure I can find the head." Dean glanced over to his brother. It was starting to wrap around Sam's face now. Only a matter of minutes. Dean rubbed at his chin, considering his knife again. He could start to serrate his way through it.

That's when he noticed them. Yellow-gold eyes glimmered through the leaves. Slanted and steady, cold as death.

"I found it," he said under his breath, hoping Sam would hear him.

Of course, that was part of the problem. The heartless creature had rested it's head next to Sam's. An inch closer and it would be perched on the top of the younger man's forehead.

A long slinky tongue protruded out, divided in the center, rolling towards the older man. It sputtered and fizzed as it whispered, "Dark heart."

Dean scrambled to his brother, watching the watchful eyes, being sure his Colt was firm in his grip, but being sure the snake was staring at him, not at the gun.

"I didn't choose," Dean spoke callously to the threat.

It's mouth opened as Dean neared, fangs twice the size of a Vampire's glistening in the gray light, jagged and oozing with venom.

Dean took advantage of the invitation and pointed the gun into the waiting mouth. The pop at this close of range was going to ring his brother's ears.

"Sorry 'bout this, Sammy," he whispered. Then part of him seemed to exit his body for a brief second. He hadn't chosen. Sam had.

He pulled the trigger. The bullet pounded into the reptile's mouth swift and on target. The crack echoed in the garden, the serpent's jaw snapped shut and it's body coiled back, a hiss and an odd yap following it.

Dean sat up taller on his knees and crowded over the maimed head. The flailing body gaped back and the bloody head punched towards Dean, it's mouth open wide. It clacked together, it's jaw already damaged, as it tried to inflict it's poison on the man. Flesh was normally easy for it to tear and it could smell fresh blood, but it's aim was off, it's top and bottom jowls not matching up any longer. Dean took advantage of the injury and brought the barrel up, pressed it over the serpent's head, pulling the trigger again.

Blood spilled from the snake in tiny veins and blooms, the red running into the soil underneath it, absorbing the life it held back into the ground. The body went slack and Dean's hands were all over it, pulling and yanking, untwining and bending until the majority of it was off Sam's body.

"You okay?" Dean was saying as he tugged.

Sam's arms pushed at the weighted dead mass that slopped over him.

Dean thought he heard an "Uh, huh" escape his brother's lips, but he wasn't sure. His chest was raising and his throat was swallowing air so he'd take that as a "yes" and chock up the hunt as another success and leave it at that.

Sam was pushing himself up to his elbows, his feet kicking in Dean's hands as he tried to get the last of the snake off his body. It was like an intestine being uncoiled from such a tight hold, untangling and unraveling, never seeming to end. Dean crawled back up to his brother when the last of it was released and put his hand under Sam's arm.

Sam rolled the other way. Away from Dean. "Don't." He turned again onto his back. "I got it."

"Just, let me help." Dean's hand went on him again.

Sam pulled his arm in as he pushed himself up. "I don't… I got it." His voice was hard. He went up to his knees and then fell back against his weight, his rear slamming the ground.

Dean stared at him, already on his knees, just looking across at the rage he struggled to conceal. "Sam, you're freaking me out."

Sam sat up more, his face battered, his soul bruised, his lungs struggling to keep airflow. "I don't want to… freak you out."

They were each starting to hate that word. No matter what the context.

Dean looked on from a close distance. "What's wrong with you?"

Sam huffed. His hand pointed, gesturing towards the heap of muscle and scales to Dean's right. "A serpent just tried to eat me, Dean."

Dean's eyebrows raised. "Well, yeah. I mean, besides that." He laughed a little. The absurdity of it all.

Even against the background of the gray, the light starting to filter in, the night still holding on to the black, Dean could see Sam's face was ashen. He could see his lips were blue. His brother's shoulders sank forward, looking for something to fall onto, looking for something to take his heart while he continued to fight himself.

But not asking for help. Sam wouldn't go that far.

Dean reached an arm out. No, Sam was pushing himself up and away, heading to the trail, back on the road. "Is this south?" He stumbled onto the dirt path, like a drunken frat boy. Dean looked on, his brows drawn together with worry.

"Sam, let's just rest…"

"You need to rest?" he turned on his heels, voice harsh.

Dean stood up, walked the short distance. He nodded to his brother. "Yeah. Yeah, I do."

Sam turned away, staring down the path. "I think it's that way."

Dean didn't look. Just stared at him. "What're you… what're you runnin' from, Sam?"

Good and Evil wasn't enough? A serpent wasn't just cause? His own knife stabbing into his brother's chest? The dirt under their feet – which, by the way, was exactly like the one he'd covered Dean's dead body up with – Fuck it.

Sam Winchester started to run.

It started innocent enough. Hell, Dean had put it out there. What was he running from? He wasn't technically running from anything and then it sounded so good. It sounded so right that even though his lungs were marred and his breaths were shallow, his feet moving felt like they could carry him far away to other mystical places. Some place where he didn't wear his heart on his sleeve. Where people couldn't see his pain. Or his love.

The pounding of the feet behind him was closing in though and when his face hit the dirt, he wasn't all that surprised. He still tried to struggle through the temporary holds, through the restraints, but his body was spent and his mind was mush and the goddamn rich soil felt really soft against his cheek.

"Jesus…" Dean was muttering from above, "…long legs…" His brother had him held down, Sam's hands pulled behind his back, Dean pressing his body against his. There wasn't anywhere to go but into the ground.

Sounded okay.

Neither brother said anything. Just breathed. Long, coarse, uneven breaths that lingered in the air too long. Sam scuffled twice – and only twice – his brother tightening his hold both times.

"Dean," Sam tried, "Dean, I can't… breathe."

Dean didn't budge. "If you're talking, you can breathe."

Sam closed his eyes, his lashes gathering dirt with them. His air was still coming uneven and too fast. He knew Dean felt it, too, but he didn't say anything. Sam knew all the tricks to slow it down. He'd been taking care of himself for months without his brother and he could do it now. He pursed his lips together and mimicked Dean's breathing from above him.

Dean waited him out. He felt the slowing of the inhalations. Knew Sam was pulling himself together. Knew his lungs were filling and releasing without the fear of hyperventilation or hypoxia.

Sam took a couple of cleansing breaths before speaking. When he started, his words were angry, "Get the… get off me."

No way Dean was moving. He pulled back harder as Sam bucked below him.

He was fucking trapped. It was always a bitch pulling teeth. Sam felt his cheek dig further into the ground. "I had to… bury you." He cursed himself as his voice broke and shook, words thick and stuck.

Dean nodded. Okay, this was something. Something other than the quiet. "That's all right, Sam."

"You were," his eyes slid towards the ground, closing, remembering, "so bloody."

"I know I was. I'm sorry about that."

"Had to clean you up." He opened his eyes again, thankful that he couldn't see Dean's because he didn't know if he'd be able to continue.

His older brother remembered being the one who had to do the cleaning up. It had ripped him apart as well. Ripped him so deep his heart caved and his soul bled. Dean released his hold and leaned in to his brother, comforting, not restraining, his forehead resting on Sam's right shoulder blade. "You did good. Better than me."

"There was so much dirt."

It was spoken so softly, Dean didn't know if he'd heard him correctly. Still, he nodded.

"Had… to… bury you," he repeated, this time breaking and, God, Dean needed him to break. As bad as it was, he'd take broken over volatile. Broken he could fix. Or at least die trying.

Dean's hands grasped at Sam's sides. He felt his brother's chest catch and he waited while Sam fought to keep it in. Prayed that he wouldn't. Felt his own eyes sting when Sam let the monsters go.

"You did everything you should have…"

"Broke… my promise."

"No, Sam."

"Used… psychic…"

"You did what you had to do."

"Could have… done… more."

"You were strong. So strong."

"You… went to… Hell."

Dean closed his eyes with that one. He had went to Hell to bring his brother back to him. He carried the pain and the hurt. The remembrance. It was Sam that carried the guilt.

"Couldn't... save you."

And there it was.

"Come on," Dean's hands came forward and pulled on his brother. He helped Sam sit up, knees drawn up to his chest, hands and face a filthy mess from tears and dirt and fear. He leaned his back against his brother's, their arms smashed against one another.

"You okay?"

Suck ass question. Sam rolled his eyes. What a jerk. "No."

There was a pause and Sam sniffed a few times. He stared at his hands, traced his long fingers. Dean knew that his brother was seeing something he wasn't.

Sam cleared his throat, his voice more controlled. "I'm different now."

Dean let out a small chuckle. "Yeah?" As if he hadn't noticed. "Me, too."

"You said, you said you'd want to hunt me."

Dean looked into the changing garden. Night to day. Dark to light. Sleep to awake. It had been here since the beginning of time. Changing. Staying the same. Living. No one ever tended the garden. But it went on anyway. Flowers just depended on other flowers. Trees on the plants. They only needed each other to survive.

He tugged lightly on Sam's sleeve, bringing his brother's eyes to his. He swallowed hard, feeling the dryness of his own throat. He had to choose his words carefully, not wanting them to come back and bite him later. "I was scared."

Sam's head bobbed in response and Dean let out a breath. Tough words for big men. "I was scared, too."

Dean's eyes narrowed. "I wasn't, you know... scared of you, Sam. Just scared for you."

The younger man's shoulders shrugged up and down. "I'm scared of me."

Dean bumped into Sam, forcing his eyes up again. "Then we'll keep on working on that, okay? Nothing we can't figure out."

Sam looked away from his brother, looking down the trail, the sky casting morning light down the path. There, only a few feet ahead was the opening. The arch. The angel. Homemade arrows pointing towards them. He had been running south. He knew Dean was fevered, knew he needed to rest himself. He took another breath, releasing it in a heavy sigh.

"What?"

"I don't know. It's just… the whole dying thing. I mean, I never…" Sam eyes slid away. "I've had to let everyone in my life go."

"Yeah." Dean nodded. Understood.

"But you… it was harder some how."

"I was all you had left."

Sam didn't respond to that with words. He felt the rush of acknowledgement, though. Knew his chin was quivering and didn't care. The wonderful familiarity of family and knowing that someone in his life could understand what his pain was like. The oddity of mourning the death of a loved one and getting that person back again. For more than just one day. For every day.

Sometimes there are just no words.

"Sometimes I can't wrap my head around it," Dean broke into his thoughts. "I was dead. I was in hell. And now I'm back. Whole and new." He shook his head. "Sometimes I think when I go to sleep at night, I'll open my eyes and it will have been just a dream and I'm back there again. Everything's gone." He paused. "You're gone."

Sam took a few seconds to let that sink in. His brother being away had been so lonely for him that it burned, but for Dean, his time had been spent with plenty of company. Torturous and tormented and Sam would never be able to wrap his head around that. Around how a person can go through unmentionables and come back to earth functioning. Even if at times it was a masquerade. Dean was a wonder to him.

"You choose yourself for that snake to take, Sam?" Dean's expression was firm. He needed an honest answer.

A tear ran down his cheek, his chin bouncing to keep his emotion in check. "She said that I had…"

"Who? What?" Don't stop now.

He took a shaky breath. "Cher said… I had the heart of darkness."

"Screw her. She said the same thing to me. We were just Monopoly pieces to her."

"I couldn't lose you again."

Well, that was honest. Dean blinked his own tears away, looking over at his broken brother. Sam would rather die than be alone again. Dean nodded to him, suddenly not able to find the words himself. He understood, though. He was willing to trade Anna for Sam and that wasn't any different. He wouldn't sell his soul, wouldn't be a martyr, but if he could still save Sam, he was willing to sacrifice most things.

He put his arm around his brother's shoulder.

"Sometimes I think," Sam had stopped crying, the tears leaving muddy streaks down his face, "I'm the curse and you're the reward."

The second you become more trouble than you're worth. One word. One. And I will turn you to dust.

Dean stared at him. He started to contradict his brother's words, but deep inside he had wondered if it had been Sam, would angels have swooped in and pulled him from damnation.

I'm the one who gripped you tight and raised you from perdition.

Sam quieted as the world slowed and he swore he could hear it. The soft lub-dub. It sounded new, but it strummed liked it always had. Honest and pure. Sam tucked his right arm in close to his body, Dean's arm tightening his hold and through his jacket, Dean felt it. The solid lub-dub. Pumping the blood of a fighter. Of a hunter. Of something Sam refused to give into.

And Dean loved him for that.

"No, Sam. Too much good comes from you. You've rewarded so many people, saved so many lives. You're a hero."

"Don't say that."

"You are. You're hero to all the people you've helped. All the people you've saved." He squeezed Sam's shoulder. "Including me."

Sam strangled out a chuckle, mixed with a lingering sob and looked down. "Christmas sucks."

Dean laughed back. "Yeah, well, don't expect much this year."

"What? No skin mags?" He watched brother, his eyes twinkled through the shine. He couldn't have admired him more.

There was a small smile returned and then it turned into a grin. "Just me."

Sam narrowed his eyes.

"Hey, you said, it – I'm the reward."

It was true, though. He truly was. "I miss Dad."

Dean patted his brother's back. "Me, too."

"I always miss him at Christmas."

"I kinda miss him all the time," Dean admitted.

"Doesn't really ever get easier."

"Nope. It's always tough in the gray."

"Black and white's easier."

"Yeah, but you need all the facts, right? Can't always trust the cover. Got to get to know the book a little."

Sam smiled. "Unless it's a vengeful spirit."

"Or a pissed-off demon."

"Pagan God."

Dean suddenly noticed the proximity of their location to the front of the path. He stood up, offering his hand down to Sam. "Freaky-ass wendigo."

"Killer truck."

Dean grinned, his eyes sparkling. "Clowns."

Sam shuddered. "So not funny."

Dean started back down the dirt path. "Come on, I'll buy you breakfast."

Sam followed, he nudged his brother. "Cat in a locker."

That got a small chuckle. "Yeah, but that was scary."

Sam could still see the fine sheen of sweat clinging to his brother's brow. "First, I think you need to see a doctor."

"It's Christmas, Sam. Unless we go to the ER, the only doctor we're gonna find around here is in church."

"You lead the way, bro." Sam's hand rested on Dean's back and he found himself staring at that for a few seconds. Hadn't done that. He'd hugged his brother so tight when they first saw each other, not believing it could possibly be him. Now, with his return to being Dean, to being his brother Sam hadn't touched him. Not really.

Dean didn't seem to notice. Or maybe he just didn't mind.

They walked under the arch side by side. Forgot about even looking up. Didn't matter what the eyes that looked down said anyways. They knew what they believed and they believed what they knew. They both possessed good and evil. Just like all people. They weren't any different. Their hearts, along with the darkness, held great light.

As the Impala came into their view, they reentered the rest of the world. Joined the saints and the sinners. They had lived long enough with the supernatural to know that flesh and blood was stronger than anything they had encountered. Always would be. That they knew and that was enough to believe.

Playlist: Take it Easy performed by the Eagles

A/N: That's the end. Thanks for taking the time to read and if you left a review, I'll respond. I promise. And I've never dedicated a fic to anyone, but this was for my mom – Marita Magrane - who taught me more about black and white and the gray in between than I ever gave her credit for.