Well, last chapter! I hope you guys enjoy it. Thank you for reading and reviewing so far. I hope we'll read each other again soon!

Megan, my angel of the flow...Gracias :)

Unleashed Fury

XI

"It's done." Alec announced softly.

Dean released a shaky breath, closing his eyes as the ground wavered under him. Needing to hear Sam's voice, Dean's first impulse was to call his brother and make sure he was really okay, but he couldn't find his cell.

Great.

If he couldn't check in, he would have no guarantee that the Furies had met their end of the deal, but trusting their word was the only thing he could do. He feared that if he hesitated, Alec and the others would find a way to attack Sam again. Besides, Dean was a man of honor, and he wasn't going to be the one to back down. His determination didn't keep him from thinking of Bobby for a guilty second as he turned the key in the lock. His old friend had tried to make him promise that he wouldn't do anything stupid, and he had been obviously referring to something exactly like this. Somehow, Dean kept letting Bobby down in that department, especially when Sam was involved.

Hopefully, at some point Bobby would understand.

The door let out a metallic shriek when Dean pushed it closed behind him. He held his gun loosely at his side, although he knew that the weapon wasn't going to save him. At least it was something familiar to hang onto. Maybe he could even manage to take one of the Furies down with him, so that nobody else would suffer under their spell.

But first things first: he had gone in there for a reason and one reason alone. "It's done", Alec had said. And Dean had to believe him.

He looked up at the three people trapped in the bunker, took in their disheveled appearances and their stone-cold expressions. Alec was protectively positioned in front of the girls, Trisha stood a couple of feet behind him with a defiant expression, as she subtly owned the space at Alec's back. A hungry looking Megan lurked inside her radius. All of them had seen Dean's gun, but none of them acknowledged it.

"So," Dean drawled, "who's going to do it?"

Dean would never know if they had discussed it beforehand, or whether the freaks communicated telepathically. But Trisha stepped forwards without sharing a single look with her siblings, and her action seemed as natural as a river flowing. Dean gulped as the first flicker of fear lit inside his gut. His resolve though, remained steely and sending a last thought to Sam, Dean focused on Trisha's emerald eyes.

"Bring it on, sister." Dean growled. "You've wanted this all along."

Trisha ghosted a feral smile as she latched her gaze onto Dean's. The hunter didn't know what to expect and was surprised by a sudden head rush. It felt as if the air in the room had become solid and was pushing his skull inwards.

"Oh, Jesus." Trisha gasped.

Shock, horror and some kind of pleasure mixed in her tone and Dean smiled, almost chuckled at it. The vast darkness inside him had stunned a monster like her, and it was a bittersweet sensation realizing how right he had been about the extent of his crimes. But Trisha recognized her kind, and after the first moment of surprise, Dean felt a nauseating pull towards her. Skin crawling, Dean locked his knees and resisted Trisha instinctively.

The pain was so sharp and sudden that Dean almost folded to the ground. Dean bit back a yelp as his hands shot to his temples, unprepared for the white hot sensation that pierced his brain. His ears filled with static, as if too many voices were trying to drill their way into him at the same time. Dean tried reflexively to block them, but the vicious pounding of his head doubled in intensity and this time Dean couldn't repress a moan.

"Don't fight it, remember?" Alec told him gently.

Dean moaned again, his breath becoming shallower as the pressure outside and inside his head turned the world white. Despite the fact that Dean knew better, Alec's voice was like a lifeline, a friend lending a hand through an attack, and Dean followed it through the noise. Little by little, the clamor cleared and a dozen voices broke down into whispers.

Why me?

Murderer.

You were supposed to save me…

Please!

You have to pay for this.

I wasn't a monster…

You are.

Dean's knees faltered and he stumbled back, jarring his shoulder against the wall. The gun shook in his hand and Dean unconsciously tightened his grasp on it. He recognized each one of the voices, even the ones he had believed long forgotten. Marshall dying in in his place; Layla, soon after that. Meg, just an innocent girl. John, handing himself over for him.

Lillian, all over him, screaming as she died over and over again in front of Dean's eyes.

How could you?

"Oh, God." Dean gasped, suffocating in regret. "God, I'm sorry."

The Furies surrounded him predatorily, but Dean barely registered. He glimpsed Trisha and Megan holding each other in a languid embrace, while Alec kept his eyes locked on Dean in morbid fascination. The three of them flowed into each other dizzyingly, like a dance.

Do it.

Dean jumped when he felt a couple of tiny hands wrapping around his and gazed down, only to find Lillian's young's eyes peering up at him.

"Sir?" She whimpered and her eyes filled up with tears. "It hurts…"

Horrified, Dean realized that her middle was bleeding, and quickly knelt to try and stop the hemorrhage, but Lillian vanished in his hands.

"Lillian…" Dean called out.

She reappeared a few feet away from Dean, but her expression was different. Her gaze was distant, face aghast, as a familiar light washed over her.

"Lillian, no!" Dean cried.

The girl flicked him a terrified look before a screeching sound mingled with her scream. Dean closed his eyes, trying to block the haunting flashback, but had to open them again when his head throbbed mercilessly. Lillian was at his feet, in a tangled mess of broken bones and bleeding wounds.

"No." Dean whispered, his hands helplessly hovering over the fragile body as Lillian looked at him with blood-shot, accusatory eyes.

"Why, Sir?"

"I'm sorry…Lillian." Dean whimpered.

Lillian raised a trembling hand and closed her fingers around Dean's. He shivered at her cold skin, feeling the weight of the gun pressing into his palm. With Lillian filling up every bit of his conscience, Dean's grip on the gun was his only firm connection left with reality. Outside of it, there was only guilt. Dazed, Dean straightened up and staggered back, or maybe forward. He couldn't be sure. He couldn't care less.

End it.

Dean's stomach rolled as he felt himself falling into a bottomless pit. All the souls he had ripped waited for him there, hungry for revenge.

Deliver us!

Dean had trapped them in there, it was his fault. And now every single cell in Dean's body screamed for release. He was reckless, stupid and absolutely unworthy of so many sacrifices. His life was the only fair price to honor them and let them rest in peace. There was too much blood on his hands, everywhere. He was drowning in it. And it kind of felt nice. Just like everybody said, drowning was like falling asleep, becoming wrapped in silence.

And suddenly it all shifted again. Dean's brain expanded, as if he had crashed against the bottom of a cliff and his brains had spilled on the ground. Oxygen left him in a rush and the abrupt commotion buzzed inside his head and crawled inside his veins, constraining and pulling at every nerve. Something was going on in the panic room, the girls were screaming and Alec sounded furious, but Dean couldn't make out the words that were tossed back and forth. He recognized Bobby's voice though, as booming and authoritative as his father's. Confused, he distantly saw John's friend throwing something onto the floor, and the rotten stench of death enveloped Dean. He glimpsed a yellowish skull, with dusty locks of hair precariously attached to it and tangle of bones with tattered clothes hanging from them.

"You're done here." Bobby growled.

The Furies' shock passed onto Dean and the latter felt their pain as his soul was ripped away. A choked sound left his lips as he tried to raise the gun, only to find that he was pinned with his chest to the wall. Dean tensed and buckled, his senses rebelling against being trapped.

"Dean."

Opening his eyes, Dean struggled to focus his blurry gaze, but nausea crept to his throat with a vengeance and his legs all but disappeared under him. An arm sneaked around his waist and held on, steadying him.

Sammy?

"Let it go."

Sam's voice was calm and soft next to Dean's ear. His little brother was the one pinning him to the wall, his huge frame flush against Dean's back. Dean tried to say something but his mind was jumbled and nothing coherent came out.

"Dean?" His little brother called out in an unthreatening tone, "Let it go."

Sam punctuated his words with a soft squeeze of Dean's hand. The younger kept Dean's arm bent and immobilized at his back, in a firm but painless hold.

It was the hand that still held the gun.

"C'mon," the younger encouraged.

Dean felt his eyes blur, but for different reason altogether. As his head grew clearer, the hole in his stomach became heavier, and a sensation of void like he had never experienced crushed him from the inside out. The worst part was that although Dean knew what Sam was asking from him, his fingers wouldn't respond. Dean didn't want to relinquish the hard found way to put an end to his nightmares and the screaming inside his head. No more pain, ever again, and God... how much he craved that.

"Dean?" Sam insisted, unrelentingly, despite his big brother's attempts to forget his own name.

Sam's warm hand wrapped tighter around Dean's, and the elder realized that he was unconsciously struggling against Sam's hold. As Dean finally regained his orientation, other sounds started to filter through his ears. Someone was sobbing in the room and Dean's lungs clenched in response. But it wasn't Layla, it wasn't Lillian. It wasn't him.

"Get your brother out of here, Sam." Bobby ordered.

Sam nodded against the back of Dean's neck, a gesture directed at Bobby, although his focus remained entirely on Dean.

"Please." Sam whispered. "Give it to me."

Sam's hand was practically inside Dean's by then and the younger could probably have wrenched the gun from him if he had wanted to. However, Sam seemed to want Dean to let him take it. He didn't realize what he was asking from Dean.

And how unfair was it that Dean couldn't deny his brother anything?

"Sammy…" Dean pleaded miserably, even as he allowed his fingers to loosen up.

Sam's chest pressed even harder against Dean's back as his lungs expanded in a deep breath. Gently, the younger man removed the gun from Dean's limp fingers and it vanished from Dean's sight. The sense of loss was devastating for Dean, and his legs buckled.

"You're okay." Sam soothed him, his voice next to Dean's ear as his arms tightened around his waist and took more weigh. "I got you."

His brother's embrace unraveled something inside Dean and he came apart so fast his sight blurred. He distantly felt Sam pulling him away from the wall and dragging him somewhere. The last glimpse Dean dazedly took in of the panic room revealed Bobby's broad back and Alec, Trisha and Megan huddled together in one corner, their expressions catatonic as they stared at a corpse on the floor. The putrid smell short-circuited in Dean's stomach and he gagged, his muscles jumping in an involuntary spasm.

"Hang on." Sam shushed.

Sam pushed him upstairs, relentless in his haste to take Dean as far away as the panic room as possible, and Dean stumbled drunkenly in his brother's hold. The older balked at Sam's gentleness and arms around his back, Why did Sam insisted on holding him together when all Dean wanted was to fall apart? Dean's chest seized and he felt like he couldn't breathe. If only Sam would let go of him, Dean could suffocate in peace.

Where is my gun?

Abruptly, the stone floor changed to wood under Dean's clumsy feet. Light hurt his eyes as soon as they crossed the basement doorstep and Dean whimpered as his head gave a particularly merciless throb. Pushing Sam away on impulse, he fell on his hands and knees with a throaty grunt.

"Dean?" Sam said from somewhere over him, his tone concerned and warm.

Dean crawled over the black hole that threatened to swallow him whole, with no real sense of direction but a vague, masochistic need to get away from the only person that could make thinks okay. He advanced until a kitchen cabinet stopped his progress, and he slumped against it and pressed his knees to his chest, knowing that this was it, he was done. At the very lease it was warmer than the basement and it felt good. Maybe if he let the warmth seep into his bones the chills would subside.

Unconsciously he wrapped his arms tighter around himself. The last few minutes still swirled inside his mind and it was hard to make sense of what part was him and what part was beyond his control. Dean needed to order his thoughts for a second, take a real breath and break himself out of the crazy loop. But it was cold and Dean couldn't think; and if he couldn't think, he couldn't revert to his counting drill. That left him more alone than ever, as he fumbled for any shadow of control he could grasp.

Dean wasn't alone, though. Sam was still there. It was Sam that gently wrapped a small blanket around Dean's back and then backed off, respecting his big brother's self-created bubble. The anchoring weight over his shoulders made Dean snap out of his trance a little, and his hands clutched at the fabric automatically as he peered up at Sam. From Dean's position, his little brother seemed even more of a giant, and the sight brought a lump to Dean's throat.

"Sam?" Dean asked in an anxious whisper, swallowing convulsively to keep tears from overflowing.

Sam shot him a fleeting glance, but didn't try to hold Dean's gaze. The younger was at the sink, filling up a glass. While he was half giving Dean his back and Dean couldn't see Sam's eyes under all that hair, Sam looked fine. It was the edge Dean needed to slow his heartbeat down. He still needed to look into Sam's eyes to fully convince himself, maybe even talk to him if he could manage to find his voice. The truth was that Dean's throat felt raspy as if he had been screaming, but he couldn't remember if he had. The most he could wish was that Sam hadn't heard him.

The one thing he wanted was for his brother to tell him that it was okay.

Sam crouched before him and handed him the glass of water, waiting patiently until Dean understood that he was supposed to take it.

"Drink slowly." Sam ordered flatly.

Dean pursed his lips, weirdly chastised at Sam's tone. Sam was mad, Dean got it. He wasn't about to deny that Sam had a reason to be pissed at him. But Dean couldn't deal with Sam's anger right now, because his own emotions were too close to the surface and the slightest breeze would make him blow over. So he didn't deal. He simply sipped his water, relishing its coolness as it flowed down his parched throat and settled nicely in his stomach. If only had it had been whiskey, life would have started to make sense again.

Sam sat down against the cabinets next to his brother and pulled his knees half-way to his chest at a ninety degree angle from Dean's huddled frame. As he sipped his own glass of water, Sam radiated tension and Dean could read the storm hidden behind his silence, but Sam's mere presence was soothing in a way Dean wouldn't dream to define. Though his little brother was angry, Sam kept close to him, their knees brushing, and the concern that shone across Sam's elusive expression was as unmistakable as his firm tenderness when dragging Dean out of the panic room.

"Sammy." Dean muttered again, almost involuntarily. Like an invocation.

The younger slid his gaze to him, hazel pupils moist and hard at the same time. Slowly, Sam set his glass on the floor, without releasing his eyes from Dean's. The older hunter felt like a bug under a callous, unforgiving microscope.

"Tell me you didn't go in there and exchanged yourself for me." Sam demanded flatly.

The bluntness of the request wasn't as unexpected as it was disarming. Dean exhaled a tired sigh and looked down. Even if lying had been an option, he didn't have the strength or the will to antagonize Sam.

"You're such an idiot." Sam hissed with a shake of his head.

Dean remained silent. Adrenaline had left his battered body and soul and all that was left of him was a mess of wrecked walls that wouldn't hold against a confrontation with his righteously pissed little brother.

He really needed a drink.

"What were you thinking, going up against them alone?" Sam pushed.

Sam was starting to sound slightly less bitchy, but more intense, as if understanding the puzzle that was Dean's mind really mattered to him. The older let out a light chuckle at the thought, but the laugh ballooned inside his throat and he had to bit his lip, so that his chin wouldn't tremble.

"You did the same thing at Alec's house." He countered mutedly.

Dean wasn't trying to get defensive, rather state a fact. But his words got through to Sam like an arrow pointed to his heart. The younger's eyes widened and misted, as his jaw set in a tight, snappy line. If he had replied right away, Sam would have probably chewed Dean a new one, but he didn't. Instead, Sam studied his brother for a long moment and when he finally spoke, his tone was quiet and only the slightest trace of annoyance laced his words.

"So is this the game we're going to play? Is it my turn now?" Sam asked.

"No!" Dean growled at knee-jerk speed, pinning his sibling with a hard glare.

As final and big-brotherly he had wanted to sound, even Dean himself could hear the tremble of fearful anguish in his reaction as the memory of Sam writhing in pain overcame him. It had been the sole idea of losing Sam that had taken them to the place they were now. It would always take them to the same point.

It would never get better.

Sam regarded him with an arched eyebrow, reading into Dean even better than the Furies had. Only, Sam's intrusion was gentle, not vicious.

"I thought we had agreed that we were done with deals." Sam whispered sadly.

The crazy flutter inside Dean's gut solidified into a ragged-edged rock that tore at the frail grip he was keeping on his composure. Sam was speaking in the same wretched tone that had mingled with the rest of voices inside Dean's mind in the panic room. Sam's gaze, young and demanding. His Sammy, staring at him accusingly, as he screamed You left me alone. Dean's breath caught and he glued his eyes to his knees, unconsciously trying to isolate himself as Sam gaze burned holes at the vicinity of his forehead.

"Boys?"

Bobby's voice outside the kitchen made Dean cringe and he wrapped the blanket tighter around himself. Sam's head snapped up and he got to his feet, causing Dean's heart to stutter. Cold seized Dean again as soon as Sam left his side. Looking up to track his little brother's moves was an automatic reaction, like withdrawing a hand from the fire when you got burnt. Or maybe not; maybe he didn't want to keep Sam in sight so much as see him leave once and for all. Sam should get away from a life that meant death and only death and away from a brother who kept hurting him over and over again. If Dean had learned something through the years, it was that withdrawing your hand didn't fix a damn thing, so you may as well leave it in the flames and watch it blister, peel and disintegrate until pain itself burnt away with it.

Sometimes Dean felt like he was already a ghost, burnt to ashes like the ones they hunted and chased by the phantom of the wounds that he had inflicted in his lifetime.

But Sammy didn't leave. He stayed at the doorstep and spoke in hushed tones with Bobby. Dean couldn't see the older hunter from his position nor catch the words that he and his brother exchanged. He swallowed hard, expecting them to fly from the kitchen any second. Did they know? All the things he had done? There was a reason why the Furies' attack had been so brutal on him. How could they even look at him in the eye after everything?

As if Sam sensed his thoughts, the youngest Winchester turned to Dean and gazed directly into his eyes. Something shifted in Sam's expression, and a troubled frown installed itself on his forehead, but when Dean tried to focus on him, Sam's image blurred.

No… don't cry, c'mon. Don't you cry!

The elder swallowed the burning sobs that collected in his throat and wiped at his eyes almost angrily, humiliated that Sam and Bobby were seeing him in such an unstable condition. A minute later, a soft click announced that Sam had closed the door and when Dean looked up, he found that it was only the two of them again.

Sammy…

This time Sam sat down beside him and Dean couldn't help but lean a couple of inches towards his little brother until the warmth of Sam's side filtered into his own skin and Dean's soul stopped shivering. Neither said anything for a long while, the silence companionable and healing. It was as if time had slowed down, and Dean's pulse calmed to match the gentle tick of seconds passing.

"Who was the body you brought into the panic room?" Dean asked when he thought he could trust his voice again.

Sam shifted a little. "Eric, the man who raped Angela." He replied, his tone uncomfortable.

Dean glanced at Sam with a hint of surprise. "How did you figure that out?"

The younger ducked his head shyly. "I just…" Sam frowned and gave a light shrug. "They couldn't be stopped and wouldn't stop until they found him. So I thought I'd bring him to them. If their mission was over, maybe they would just leave us alone."

"But if he had been dead all this time, why were they still after him?" Dean questioned.

"They were human. Just kids who didn't know what they were looking for." Sam said softly. "I guess I thought that…maybe they just didn't know he was dead."

Dean considered his brother and found that it made an odd kind of sense. Probably, if he had been up to par, he would have thought of that sooner.

"Good thinking, Sammy." He congratulated him, without hiding his pride.

Sam smiled his thanks wearily, as if it were nothing. As if the boy hadn't just saved Dean's life. Dean nodded his own gratitude to his brother, and clapped Sam's knee. His Sasquatch anchor let his own hand fall absently over Dean's wrist. And though it probably seemed corny, Dean couldn't bring himself to let go, and Sam seemed content to let his big brother cling while they both took a long overdue moment to themselves.

If it hadn't been for Sam's worried squeeze of his arm, Dean wouldn't have realized he had begun to cry.

He sensed Sam shifting and felt one of his brother's huge hands on his bicep, while the other brushed feather-light across his back.

"Dean..." Sam started in a sympathetic voice.

"Sam, no." Dean growled. Because, damn, it was stupid to cry when everything was over. "Just... don't."

Sam didn't. He just placed his hand on Dean's neck and allowed his gesture to convey all that Dean didn't want to hear. The It's okay. The You can cry. The I'm here. Dean could deny the words, but he couldn't refute Sam's steadying presence by his side, the soothing, almost distracted motions of Sam's thumb over his hairline or the grounding hand Sam kept on his arm. Sam was with him in all the ways that mattered. All the ways he could be.

And that broke Dean so completely that his following words tasted of awe and horror in the back of his throat.

"Sammy, I wanted to die." Dean whispered.

He couldn't even look at Sam as he said it, so full of shame he thought he would drown on it. His little brother froze, the soothing motions coming to a halt, and Dean closed his eyes and held his uneven breath for a second that felt longer than life.

"It was the Furies, man." Sam affirmed.

Sam squeezed Dean's neck reassuringly, as he spoke. Possessively, even, in a way that rang as true as Dean's fear, but with a contradictory force.

"No, it wasn't." Dean shook his head, frustrated that Sam didn't, or wouldn't, get it. "I wanted to kill myself when they were already down. Even when the voices were gone I wanted... I needed... the only thing I could think of was ending it all." Dean blubbered brokenly. "God, what the fuck is wrong with me?"

Sam tightened his grip on Dean and remained silent as his big brother teetered on the edge of an emotional breakdown. Dean was getting overwhelmed, and needed to escape so badly that his whole body tingled.

Escape where, Dean?

He was trapped, the room was shrinking and he was starting to wheeze. In tune, Sam backed away slightly to give him room to breathe.

"Nothing's wrong with you, man." Sam replied firmly, chasing Dean's gaze with his own.

Did Sam realize how hilarious that sounded? Dean was a step away from having a damn meltdown, for God's sake, and Sam was telling him there was nothing wrong with him?

"It was still them, Dean." Sam insisted. "Their spell doesn't work like a switch. Rather it... fades." Sam tried to explain. "It takes a while, okay? But you are going to be alright."

Dean nodded dubiously―about ready to believe anything that would make him feel better― and concentrated on reining in his nerves, by focusing on Sam's tired features and his bright eyes. It marveled and humbled Dean that his little brother had been able to resist so much pain for two days and still find the strength to devise a plan and save his ass. In the meantime, what had Dean done? He had downright panicked, that was all.

"You alright?" He asked Sam, his voice raspy.

The younger's lips hinted a smile and he averted his eyes. "Yeah...I'm…better." Sam grimaced and reformulated candidly. "I'm getting there." Dean narrowed his eyes on Sam, just as the younger searched Dean's gaze again and added. "You saved my life."

Dean let out an amused snort.

Yeah, right.

"I mean it, dude. I was... Dad was there and I..." Sam paused and took a steadying breath before continuing. "I was pointing a gun at my head when the voices stopped." He admitted. "If it hadn't been for you... I would have…"

"God, Sam..." Dean muttered, the image of his little brother pointing a weapon at himself breaking icily through his tenuous reserves.

Sam quickly shook his head and amended: "It's okay. I am okay. It's over now."

Sam's words were supposed to be encouraging, his tone earnest and the reassurance clear in his voice. But, unexpectedly, it was those words that undid Dean, burying themselves in the elder's heart like daggers. The pressure inside Dean's chest bubbled up, his stomach constricting as a lifetime of memories bled out of him too fast for Dean to be able to keep the tears from rolling free. He tried to swallow them down but it was suffocating, and his breath shattered around the sob caught inside his throat.

"But it's not. It's not o-over." Dean cried in a thready voice. "It's never going to be over."

It was the truth. It was what he had been trying to shield his little brother from by tearing himself apart and letting Sam go all those months ago. And it was all he could say before falling apart before Sam's eyes. The younger's expression fell, his pain reflecting Dean's own in a flashing recognition that proved that they were brothers. And that Dean had failed.

It was the last thing Dean saw clearly before burying his head in his arms, as sorrow flooded his senses and he choked on the bundle of phantom wounds and old scars he had become. Dean felt naked, laid bare and thin inside a tempest that wouldn't abate. The pain was always familiar, hovering on the sidelines of a life of constant danger. Always pain. Sammy's pain.

Sometimes it was too much. Sometimes, Dean just couldn't do it.

Hunting things. The family business

It would have been way easier if he had hated the life; if Dean could curse and rebel against how inescapable and unfair it was. If Dean could blame his father or dream of normal and safe and monsters are not real, then he might want to be free of all of it. After all, her mother was avenged, John rested in peace and Sammy was alive.

There has to be something you want for yourself, Dean

Dean sucked in a hiccupping breath as he struggled for oxygen, but it wasn't coming. And as his whole sense of right and wrong, of hope and duty rebelled against him, it felt as if he had never escaped the panic room. Maybe he had imagined Sam and everything else. Maybe he was already dead and this was the Hell Dean had thought he had dodged.

"Shhh."

Sam's soft, comforting whisper washed over the cracking pieces of Dean's awareness in gentle waves. The older sibling could barely focus beyond the hitching sobs that were making his chest burn, but survival had him clutching at the sound of Sam's quiet presence; like the rest of the times Dean had broken down on him and there had been nothing to say or do other than to wait it out. Sam rested a warm hand on Dean's knee and the other over Dean's bowed head. Little by little, so as to make sure that he was accepted into Dean's space, Sam gently rested his chin on the top of his brother's head and stilled, his embrace loose and undemanding. It was almost a negotiation, in which Sam's steady presence coaxed Dean's despair-bunched muscles to let him take some of the tension, and Dean resisted, because it was all he knew how to do.

Suck it up. Move on. And don't cry. Don't you ever cry.

Dean let out an undefined sound, dark and broken like a laugh gone wrong and Sam's hold tightened subtly in reaction. Sam probably thought that unless he wrapped himself around his older brother securely enough, Dean would spill like sand through his fingers. And that was exactly how Dean felt.

Please, don't let go

Sometimes life was too much. Sometimes it wasn't nearly enough. But Sam's heart fluttered warmly against Dean's ear, the door was closed and, God, just this once, he could let his guard down. He needed a break, Dean told himself, a safe place to catch his breath, and he would be okay. Because saving people was the life he had chosen and he wasn't backing away. Even though the profound need to give up was overwhelming, Dean couldn't stand the idea of trading a single life he could potentially save for all the peace of eternity. It wasn't selflessness, masochism, or any of that crap. It was simply what made Dean happy, despite how hard it got at times. With the life he led, it was a miracle he only toyed with the idea of throwing in the towel once in a while.

It kind of meant Dean was strong. Or that was what Sam would say. Even if right now, Dean felt like the weakest person on Earth.

"Sammy, I… I didn't m-mean to…" Dean hiccupped. "I don't… I don't really w-want…"

Sam nodded against the top of his brother's head. "I know."

Sam's tone was calm, but Dean had always known when Sammy was crying,

"I'm sorry." Dean croaked, letting his hands fall from his protective position over his head and leaning his forehead against Sam's collarbone.

Sam shook his head and pulled away from his brother, leveling Dean a sober gaze. "No, don't apologize." He demanded sternly. "Not for that. Not to me. Ever, okay?"

Dean swallowed hard, thrown by the intensity of Sam's request and dizzy with the need to accept his brother's forgiveness. His brain still throbbed against his temples and his thoughts were syrupy from too little sleep and too much grief. Dean found himself nodding out of pure exhaustion as he leaned back against the cabinet. Sam sat next to him, stupidly glued to his brother's side, pulled his long legs to his chest and let his head fall on his arms.

"Man… I need a drink." Sam mumbled.

And just like that, Dean cracked up. Maybe laughing was an unnatural thing to do after everything, but all things considered, hilarity felt like the most natural why the fuck not? emotionto abandon himself to. It was worth it when Sam's lips curved into a tired smile and laughing together spent the lingering moisture behind their eyelids.

"We're fucked up, huh?" Dean muttered.

"Beyond repair." Sam answered without losing a beat.

It was a worrying truth, but Dean simply huffed a last, companionable laugh.

"Yeah." Dean closed his eyes and relaxed against the wooden surface at his back.

Having Sam close felt good, the warmth of his nearness soothing beyond any promise of rest. As Dean's pulse calmed down, the sharp clutches of despair that had taunted him before receded into that private place behind his heart only his soul mate kept safe.

"You know, you and I..." Sam mused aloud. "We'll see this to the end."

Dean swiveled his head towards his brother, aware that despite the distant quality of Sam's voice, he was talking to him.

"I don't know how, I don't know when, but I know we will." Sam said fervently. Then, he smiled and met his brother's eyes, his voice dropping as if he was sharing a secret. "And it'll be a good end."

Dean's chest grew tight again and he had to bit on his lip to swallow around the lump locked inside his throat. He didn't ask Sam how he could be so sure of it, but he heard clearly what Sam hadn't said. What he really meant.

We go together.

Dean wanted to protest, his whole essence rebelling at the idea, because, no matter what, he was Sam's older brother and he'd always try to go first. However, at that moment together sounded right. Together was the only good end Dean could imagine and, selfish as it was, both siblings had had a taste of what would feel like losing the other, and none of them seemed willing to go down that road again.

"Okay." Dean caved, patting Sam's chest in a sideways smack. "Okay."

Dean Winchester woke up slowly. He felt hung over and it took him a while to drag himself back to the land of light and sound. He was at Bobby's, bundled inside a sleeping bag on his friend's floor. The morning was bright and warm, sunrays spilling lazily through the dusty windows, and Dean indulged himself and lingered in his cocoon a few minutes longer. He wasn't really sleeping, but he wasn't ready to cut the ties with the first real night of rest he had had in ages. Eventually though, burying his sluggish thoughts under the pillow begun to lose its appeal against taking a long, hot, cleansing shower.

Stretching his limbs lazily, the older Winchester sat up, his senses dulled as if he was moving underwater. He startled when something bumped against his arm and a sleepy groan came from his right side. As Dean turned bleary eyes in that direction, he couldn't fight the smile that tugged the corner of his lips up. Sam was curled impossibly small on the old couch, right next to Dean's sleeping bag. His arm dangled limply off the edge of the cushion. Apparently, Sam had been resting his hand on Dean's shoulder in his slumber.

Dean sighed, the thought of cheapening Sam's unconscious need of contact with some joke never crossing his mind. Given the state they had been in the previous night, it was a miracle they hadn't ended up mashed together in the couch or the sleeping bag, like the times they had felt most vulnerable during their childhood.

And, oh man... Didn't Sam look young and vulnerable right now.

"D'n...?" Sam mumbled, barely opening his eyes.

"It's okay." Dean replied softly, taking Sam's arm and gently placing it on top of the blanket. "Go back to sleep."

Sam's brow furrowed a little, but he settled again after a few seconds. Dean waited a minute to make sure that his brother was out, and then staggered to the bathroom. Sam wouldn't sleep much longer, now that he knew on some level of conscienceness that Dean wasn't next to him anymore, but the promise of enjoying a few minutes of tiled-isolated bliss was a strong pull to Dean's heart.

And it felt absolutely fantastic.

Dean wouldn't say he had emerged a new man or anything that cliché, but the truth was that his head felt clearer than it had been in weeks and he was almost relaxed. Hearing Sam and Bobby talk companionably in the kitchen lifted another weight off his shoulders. The absence of the crushing pressure Dean had grown accustomed to bearing had him almost floating as he walked towards the echo of the chattering and the smell of coffee.

"Look at that, Julia Child! New apron? Who would have said you would grow beard, Jules." Dean saluted Bobby, as he stepped into the kitchen scratching idly at the damp hair of the back of his head.

The glare the gruff hunter shot him rivaled the heat of the stove Bobby was planted at. Sam raised his head the second Dean appeared within sight and smiled around a caffeinated gulp as Dean brushed his shoulder good-morning when he passed behind the younger sibling.

"Good morning to you too, sleeping beauty." Bobby grumbled. "Don't push it, or there will be no coffee for you."

As a threat, it would have been more effective if Bobby hadn't been already pushing a mug towards him as he spoke. Dean wrapped his hand around the steaming cup and nodded his thanks at Bobby.

"Aaalright, I'll leave you to it and go take a shower." Sam announced, standing up.

"There's shampoo in the cabinet." Bobby told him. "In case your sister here used it all up."

"Hey!" Dean protested.

"He does that, doesn't he? Annoying as hell." Sam answered with a smirk.

Dean threw a crumb at Sam. "Get out of here, you stink." He shot back.

Sam disappeared with an amused snort and Bobby shook his head, although the older hunter couldn't hide his smile under the grumpy pose. The regained ease between the two most important people in Dean's life was something he hadn't dared to dream of. That alone, he thought, was worth all the heartache of the last few days.

"So," Dean started, his tone grave behind the casualness. "Where are they?"

Bobby's hands froze for a split second over the frying pan, but he didn't turn or give any indication that he needed Dean to clarify who he meant.

"Why?" Bobby questioned. Just as casual, but biting in its own way. "You wanna go pay them another visit behind our backs?"

Okay, message understood. Dean grimaced and, in what he hoped was a placating gesture, approached Bobby and contritely deposited the panic room key on the counter.

"I'm sorry."

"The fuck you are." Bobby countered as he reached for the key.

Dean flinched imperceptibly when Bobby spared him a glance that felt like daggers on his chest. Not that Bobby wasn't right: Sam had told Dean that he had been about to blow his head in Bobby's old truck and stopping that was something Dean would never regret. The only thing he was sorry for was the behind their backs part.

"I'm sorry I betrayed your trust." Dean said honestly.

Bobby's glare wavered, but he still held Dean's determined stare until the younger man averted his eyes. Then Bobby huffed a snort and shook his head as if Dean was a stupid runt who didn't get anything at all.

Only, in that part he was wrong. Dean understood it alright and Bobby's long-suffering sigh made him want to smile. The only reason that he didn't was because he respected Bobby's concern, something rare for his small family, precious even. And anyhow, their lastest close-call was still too recent to make fun of.

"I let them go." Bobby explained, going back to his cooking. "Their powers seem to be gone, I don't know if they're gone for good or just dormant, and I couldn't keep them locked down there."

"What?" Dean exclaimed, his eyebrows arching towards his hairline. "What if someone invokes them again?"

"I don't know, Dean." Bobby gritted out. "And I don't think we can know for sure. They're just kids. I'll keep an eye on them."

The look Bobby gave Dean was too tired to be defiant, but Dean knew what he meant. Alec, Trisha and Megan were human, screwed up kids on a power high, and they couldn't hurt them. Bobby's chivalry surely made him a better person than Dean was, because if John's older son had thought for a second that killing them would have saved Sam, he would have finished all three of them.

And that was the other thing Bobby was asking from him: for Dean to let it go.

Dean swallowed around unfamiliar taste of that concept. He wasn't the type to hold grudges, except when something or someone had hurt Sam. Truth to be told, he had thought about confronting the Furies that morning, face to face at last, and tell them what he thought of them. Maybe go back to Angela's and drop Eric's body on her doorstep, before trashing and burning her damn library of old codex. He had even imagined arguing with his brother about it, the pinched look and squared jaw expression Sam would wear while he tried to dissuade Dean, reasonably at first, then with shrinking patience, until he gave up. Then Dean would manage to keep him from going with him, and bear with his fuming, broody little brother for a few hours, apologize when they got tired of the silence and get on with their lives.

It was scary how long and accurate his mental conversations with Sam could be.

Now Bobby had taken from him the chance to lash out at the prisoners downstairs. Dean still could track them, of course, and he doubted that that bitch Angela had gone anywhere. However, the effort seemed pointless. The young hunter sighed quietly and rolled his shoulders to loosen them up as he looked outside the kitchen window. Damn, is was a beautiful morning. The breeze was cool and whispered through the trees; the cars in the yard glistened, under the radiant sun, its light washing over the world and chasing the shadows away. The serenity of the whole scene was almost surreal. Dean smiled to himself, thinking that the only piece missing was for birds to start chirping.

Everything was beckoning at him to start again and leave the previous months behind. It wasn't a corny, New Age feeling of being reborn from a catharsis. But he had realized that it was true one can only sink and wallow in self-pity up to a point. The point where you had to choose, once and for all, whether you wished to drown or kick your way to the surface.

He had been there, gun in hand.

Do you want to live? Or do you want to die?

If you wanted to die, you pulled the trigger. If you wanted to live, then you moved the fuck on and stopped second guessing yourself. The way Dean saw it, it was a decision you could make only once and never back down from it.

"Eat." Bobby's plain command broke into his musings.

Dean blinked at the scrambled eggs and bacon that Bobby had practically placed under his nose, and snorted at his old friend's antics. Despite not feeling particularly hungry, he docilely took the plate to the rickety table and sat down, shooting a distracted glance towards the kitchen door.

"Did Sam eat anything?" Dean asked.

Bobby's incredulous chuckle made Dean return his attention to John's friend.

"I swear you two are the most irritating couple of mother hens I know." Bobby grumbled. And in response to Dean's surprised expression, he added. "Yes, he did. And he made promise that you'd eat too."

"He doesn't get to boss me around" Dean said in a self-important tone.

"Well, he's bigger than you." Bobby observed with a shrug.

Dean's smile softened, trembling a little as he looked down, "Yeah, that he is." He whispered fondly.

Both hunters fell silent for a few minutes, as Dean picked at his breakfast and Bobby busied himself around the kitchen. The eggs tasted good and Dean could feel his stomach opening tentatively bite after bite.

"Hey," Bobby commented off-handedly. "I've seen you guys have a bump on the fender. I asked Sam if you'd want it fixed before you left. He told me to ask you."

Dean chewed slowly the last bit of breakfast he had put into his mouth, unsure if he should swallow after his gut somersaulted. The kitchen's warm air constricted his lungs, and he shivered as sweat raised goose bumps in the back of his neck. Unaware of his inner turmoil, Bobby looked at him, expectantly. If Dean didn't say something soon, Bobby would begin to wonder at his self-conscious silence.

And suddenly, there it was. A sound unexpected and significant as only true signs were supposed to be. A frigging bird chirped. For real.

"Sure." Dean shook his head, forced himself to swallow the last bite and chased it with a gulp of coffee. "That sounds good."

The Impala rumbled obediently under Dean's deft hands, before shutting down with a gentle purr. He and Sam had stopped by the hospital before leaving town to check on Phoebe, and they had been informed that she was being released that day. A couple of hours later, she appeared through the front doors with her husband right next to her. She seemed hesitant at first, as if the daylight dazed her, but her husband put his arms around her slender waist and encouraged her forward. They shared a look, said something to each other. The siblings couldn't hear them from afar, but whatever it was seemed to give her confidence and she relaxed, the tired lines of her face fading.

When a maroon minivan pulled in the curb, Phoebe's smile was dazzling. An older couple got out of the front doors and let the back seat door open. Phoebe's young daughter jumped out and run to her mother's waiting arms with a delighted squeal.

Dean smiled. Yeah, that was the best part of the job, no doubt about it. It was in moments like that when the darkness dulled into a manageable echo. Glancing at Sam, he found him smiling too.

Big girl…

His brother loved Hallmark reunions, but this time Dean didn't mind admitting that he was a sucker for happy endings too. Especially when he had done something to make them happen.

Dean's hands found the Impala's ignition before the family started towards their car, in an automatic gesture signaling Sam that it was time to shot a last, longing glance through the window. It was always tricky to find the balance between the elated sensation of pride at seeing people you had saved get their lives back and the feeling of envy for what they had, and Dean had learned to master the time frame. That way, he could leave with a good feeling that would carry on for weeks.

With a sigh of satisfaction, Sam shot a last glance to the rear view mirror and settled. They had said their good-byes to Bobby and packed their stuff in the motel. The open road was all there was in front of them now, and Dean let himself relax behind the wheel to try and enjoy it. It still felt weird to be driving, although it had been therapeutic to fix the fender of the Impala with Bobby by his side and Sam… well, Sam at a safe distance from his baby, sipping beer with a huge grin on his face.

"You know, you don't have to drive all the time." Sam commented in a nonchalant tone.

"What do you mean?" Dean asked distractedly, without tearing his eyes from the road.

"Nothing." Sam shrugged, his lips twitching. "Just… I can drive too if you don't feel like doing it all the time."

"I'm fine." The elder assured.

"I know." Sam nodded. "I'm just saying you don't have to rush it."

Dean appreciated the concern, he really did, and because of that he decided against telling Sam that yes, he had to. Dean needed to find the strength to get over the kind of fears that could destroy him, just as he had to get up from bed every morning. It was how he dealt, how he lived. Sam knew it too, and that was why he tried so hard not to push, but to make sure that Dean knew he was there for him.

The older Winchester tossed him a warm glance and insinuated a smile. "You just want to keep picking the music." He said, with mock aggravation.

Sam huffed a laugh and rolled his eyes. "Whatever. Just let me drive when you get tired." He half-concluded, half-challenged Dean.

"Dude," Dean said smugly "It takes only a day to get to Philly. I've done worse than that."

Sam's jaw muscles twitched and he looked away, thoughts closing off so fast it was like a curtain had fallen between them. Dean frowned at Sam's grim expression and kept his attention divided between his little brother and the road. He knew it was better to wait Sam out when he was struggling to say something, although it honestly escaped him what was going on inside Sam's head.

"I didn't mean on the way to Philadelphia." Sam eventually explained, his voice low. "I meant… after that."

Dean's frown deepened as he tried to understand Sam's point.

"Because…" Sam continued. "You're leaving." He fixed Dean a solemn gaze. "Aren't you?"

Dean opened his mouth to answer, but then closed it with an audible click. Sam's words had thrown him, because Dean hadn't said a word about leaving, had he? During the last few days it had been the hunt and Sam's wellbeing that had occupied his mind completely. Then the peace of getting himself together and the euphoria of a job well done had taken the driver's seat of his thoughts. Dean didn't usually plan things very long-term ahead ―it was totally useless in his line of work― so he had only pictured himself as far as driving back to Sam's apartment, hanging out for a couple of days…

Looking for a new hunt.

The older hunter swallowed uncomfortably when his subconscious betrayed him and proved that his little brother knew him well, too well. Just as Dean could imagine complete conversations with Sam without actually having them, Sam read Dean's vibes before they crystallized into thoughts. His little brother had seen it in him, the itch to get back in the saddle. It had been too long and Dean missed the fight, saving people, hunting things… The family business was a curse, but also a powerful addiction.

Dean missed begin useful.

His eyes were guilty as they flickered over Sam's. "Sammy…"

The younger looked sad, but resigned. He gave a series of quick nods, his lips pursed and his Adam's apple working silently.

"It's alright." Sam reassured him. "I'm glad…you know… that you're okay." He produced a small smile. "You should have seen you these last few days, man, you were in your element. Focused, confident."

Dean chortled awkwardly. Unreliable and terrified was a closer definition to his sensations during his comeback, but he understood what Sam was saying. He did feel kind of revived. He was ready to fly. Yet, the kicked-puppy look Sam was struggling hard not to let show was killing him all the same.

"Sam, I…" Dean started, then shook his head, at a loss for words.

What could Dean say? Sorry? That they both knew his stint at normal life wouldn't last forever? That they would keep in touch? It had been hard and lonely beyond belief the first time they had split after breaking Dean's deal. Now, after spending a month back with his brother and having worked shoulder to shoulder with him once more, it was going to tear Dean apart.

"I just…I'm sorry." Sam mumbled, his eyes glued to his lap. "I didn't realize. I didn't mean to hold you back."

Dean's eyebrows shot up and he did a double-take, totally floored by his little brother's words.

"What?" He asked stupidly.

Sam seemed ready to leave things like that, but Dean was having none of that. This was clearly important.

"Dude, don't be stupid. You didn't hold me back." Dean claimed.

"Yeah, sure I didn't." Sam huffed caustically.

Dean couldn't believe his ears. Shooting a quick look at the mirrors, he considered pulling over to beat some sense into his little brother's thick skull, but the interstate was busy and Sam looked embarrassed enough to bolt from the car the second they stopped.

"Sammy, if it hadn't been for you, I'd be dead or totally insane by now, and you know it." Dean affirmed in unexpected honestly. Maybe it had been a good idea to keep driving, since this way he had an excuse not to face Sam's soulful eyes as he spoke. "I needed to get my head together; I needed to lay low"

I needed you.

"Just as you need to get back on the road now?" Sam asked gently.

Dean faltered. "Maybe. I don't know." He admitted.

Sam's lips pulled another smile and he nodded soberly. "I understand."

"You do?" Dean shook his head and let out a self-derisive snort. "Because, most of times I don't get it myself."

The younger man chuckled on the passenger's side, and the crystalline sound of Sam's laugh made Dean feel slightly less self-conscious about his piece of confession.

"Yes, I do." Sam repeated. Then took a deep breath before adding, "That's why I'm going with you."

And just like that, traffic or no traffic, they were stopped by the shoulder of the road, engine not even silent yet as Dean turned to Sam with set jaw determination.

"No, you're not." Dean said in a cold tone, his pulse galloping fast.

Sam turned to face him as well, calm and collected, as if he the little fucker had been bracing himself for the discussion that had caught Dean by surprise.

"Dean, I want to hunt." Sam said gravelly.

The nervous flutter inside Dean's stomach didn't help soften his retort.

"No, you don't" Dean growled.

Sam arched an amused eyebrow at him, but the gesture only incensed Dean, because he didn't find anything remotely funny about the situation. Sam had almost died on him only two days ago and had been suffering horribly before that. The way his little brother had come undone in his arms still made Dean's skin burn and his screams of agony throbbed around the pit of his stomach. Make it stop, Sam had begged him. And Dean had done and would keep doing exactly that even if it was the last thing he did, as the sole idea of putting his sibling even remotely close to danger was, at the moment, more than Dean could stand.

"It's not safe, Sam." Dean pushed fervently.

"It is as safe for me as it is for you." Sam argued.

"No, that's not…" Dean paused, swallowing his trepidation down. "Listen, I know I freaked you out the other day, but I'm fine, alright?"

"It's not about you. Well, not only." Sam denied.

"Then, what it is now? Dad?" Dean demanded.

"Dad?" Sam gave Dean a puzzled look. "What does this have to do with-"

"You said you saw him while you were under the furies' spell" Dean reminded him. Sam flinched and a pang of guilt seized Dean as his little brother's eyes shadowed, but Dean pushed his regret away. "And, Sam, the only thing 'Dad' could possibly try to make you feel guilty for is you quitting, leaving our backs unprotected and that kind of crap."

The awkward manner Sam averted his eyes told Dean that he had hit the nail on the head.

"Well, it's not like that, okay?" Dean assured Sam. "Mom and Jessica's killer is dead. And you don't have to drop everything because you think you need to take care of me. I don't…" He closed his eyes briefly. "I can't let you do it."

Sam's eyes wandered around the interior of the car, landing anywhere but on Dean, his face a parade of battling emotions, from frustration to remembrance, defiance and love. The latter was probably the only reason why Sam managed not to snap at Dean's attempt to decide what was best for him. In that department, Dean wasn't much better than John sometimes.

"Dean." Sam sighed, still contained. "This 'everything' you say I shouldn't drop… it's not my life. Not really. Never has been." He shook his head wearily. "I know what you're trying to do, and I appreciated it, but I don't belong there. I can't. After all I've done, the thought of people dying while I…what? Revise class notes? I can't do that." Sam glanced at Dean shyly. "Now, this feels good. That woman going back to her family was worth it, you know?"

Dean was too stunned to respond. Sam was basically telling him that he wasn't happy at college. But he had never really been happy on the road either, had he? When Sam's hazel eyes pinned him in quiet expectation, Dean realized that he didn't know what Sam wanted from him anymore. And that was his biggest failure, because Dean would give his little brother anything, if he only knew what it was he needed.

"So you want to atone, is that it?" Dean asked carefully.

He didn't need the memory of what the furies had done to them to understand the need to make up for the bloodshed and the lives lost, but that was a kind of guilt-fueled resignation he had never wanted to see in Sam's eyes. If Sam wanted in, it had to be for the right reasons, not because he felt he had to.

"There hasn't been a single moment in Philly when I didn't feel I should be somewhere else." Sam said bluntly.

Dean frowned at Sam's admission and felt a spike of guilt flaring inside him.

"Sammy, you love your...school stuff, come on!" He defended. Because in no way was Dean going to let Sam believe he had pushed him away and into something he didn't think Sam would enjoy, out of spite.

"I do love it." Sam admitted and Dean released the breath he had been holding.

At least he hadn't screwed it up that bad.

"But it's hard to take seriously...I don't know, legal procedures for a mortgage transfer in Pennsylvania when I know that people are dying out there, Dean"

"No, that's not fair." Dean refused.

Even if he recognized the argument. Even if Dean himself had been crushed under its finality before the grave of his dead father in his fantasy world, he wouldn't let Sam follow the same path.

"People die all the time, in ways as gruesome as they get. Are you telling me that anyone who isn't a soldier, or a doctor or a...freaking lifeguard isn't entitled to have a life without feeling guilty about it? Dean challenged.

"Except, I am a soldier, Dean." Sam gritted out.

"You didn't choose to be one…" The older retorted.

"Not the point."

"...And even if you had, soldiers can take leaves. You should have the right to walk away" Dean remarked.

"You're not listening to me." Sam said, frustration rising in his voice. "I can't do that."

"Bullshit, you're doing just fine." Dean reacted to Sam's irritation with a defensive tone of his own. "You're acing your tests and you've got friends backing you up. Josh..."

"That's exactly what this is about!" Sam exclaimed, cutting Dean off. "It's about Josh and protecting all the people like Josh. With what we know..."

"Oh, please." Dean huffed. "Cut the Spiderman crap."

"But it's true!" Sam cried. "Lots of times it sucks, it really does. But then, other times it just... everything clicks right into place, you know. And it feels...It feels so damn awesome."

Dean's pulse accelerated and his stomach rolled, slightly drunk with cautious hope. He heard Sam. Dean simply didn't dare to believe him. The way Sam talked, the look in his eyes… Was it possible that they were on the same page at last about what being a hunter was really about?

"Please, Dean." Sam asked in overflowing earnest. "You promised that if it didn't work, we'd find another way. And it's not working. Not for me."

Not alone.

Dean swallowed hard and looked away, his hand itching to grab de door handle and exit the car to breathe and think for a second, without Sam's open emotions and his own responding and in the way. But he couldn't run from his own words.

He was back at the same old crossroads. He wanted to take Sam back so badly, and yet he was scared that his brother would change his mind and break his heart all over again. However, no matter how much his heart ached for the reassurance, Dean couldn't demand an iron-clad commitment from Sam. "If you're in, you gotta be for good" was as bad as "If you walk out of that door, don't you ever come back" and that wasn't them. Maybe their relationship along the years hadn't been perfect. Sometimes it had been tense, rough and fragile as cracking glass. But the only thing they could do was to keep trying and find their own way.

When he looked at Sam again, the younger man was staring at his hands, worrying his bottom lip with an anxious expression. The need to make Sam happy no matter what kicked in, overriding Dean's own walls of self-preservation. That was the part Dean did for Sam.

"You're still finishing the semester, you hear?" Dean allowed in a husky voice.

Saying yes and seeing Sam smile was all for himself. Maybe they would get it right this time.

THE END