Tag to 5.20. Spoilers.

Proceed with Caution

Sam made it all the way back to the car before he collapsed. He didn't just fall though, it was a more gradual sinking to his knees; the dampness through the denim barely registering, his skin burning like it was on fire.

Brady had been his friend.

He had loved him as a brother.

And it had been a demon all along.

"No," he gasped out, his body shaking as he leaned forward, his forehead pressing against the cold pavement. Not always.

Not when Sam had first met him.

He should have known. Oh God, he was a hunter, he should have known. His father had tried to warn him, to tell him that it wasn't safe… and Sam had naively thought John had meant it wasn't safe for him. But it wasn't Sam in danger in the normal world, but rather the normal world in danger of Sam.

"Stupid, stupid, stupid," he hissed, tears burning his cheeks.

And Brady had paid the price.

And Jessica.

Sweet, sweet, Jess. Her only crime was loving him. Him.

The relief he thought he'd feel finally confronting her killer and avenging her death pooled as sickness deep in the pit of his stomach and he swallowed hard to keep it down. There was no victory here. Only more blood and pain.

His life was wrapped in betrayal, starting from his mother's womb. His offer of friendship, a bitter poison packaged in glitter and gold, to be sacrificed on an alter of pain. His love destroyed –

A gentle hand on his shoulder startled Sam and he snorted in bitter derision, not having heard his brother's approach, his senses muted by sheer agony.

Something warm settled across his back. His brother's jacket. It smelled of sweat and leather. Dean.

He wanted to ask Dean why he bothered but only said "He was my friend," instead.

The fingers griping his shoulder squeezed tightly then tried to gently tug him back up but Sam groaned softly in protest and ground his head harder against the pavement.

"Sammy," the edges of his brother's voice were rough with compassion and cut like a knife. Sam didn't deserve anyone's kindness.

"You remember when Bobby was possessed?" Sam felt his brother lean in to hear his muffled words. "He was right."

"Sam?" The hand shifted slightly as Dean crouched down next to him. "What are you talking about?"

"He said… 'after all this, lose my number-"

"Bro," Dean tried to cut him off but Sam just shook his head again, ignoring the little stabs of pain as the skin scraped.

"No, Dean, listen, please… he was right. Don't you see it? Forget the Croatoan virus, man, just befriend me. Guaranteed to fuck your life up and get you killed."

Dean hauled on his arm with more force. "Enough, Mr. Happy. Let's go."

Bonelessly, Sam felt himself being levered to his feet, too wrecked to do more than feebly protest. His body was shaking too hard, his stomach rolling too much to be of any help but if Dean minded, he didn't say.

The Impala door was wrenched open and Sam pushed inside. A calloused hand on the top of his head forced him to duck.

"Even your baby…" Sam continued. He shivered and pulled his brother's jacket up around his neck, vaguely realizing Dean must have gotten the leather out of the trunk at some time, because it hadn't been the one Dean was wearing.

"My baby?" Dean crouched in the open doorway but Sam couldn't look at him. He held more tightly to the comforting warmth and closed his eyes.

"The knife, Dean," Sam explained slowly, each word weighed down, "when I went after Crowley." He made a vague swishing noise with one of his hands. "Just like a hot knife through butter… oh wait…"

He knew without looking that Dean was frowning, then recognition huffed out with the words, "you mean the car?" and his brother actually smacked him across the back of his head.

That made Sam look at him. Glare actually.

"That's for being an idiot," Dean pre-empted his question. "I don't give a rats ass about the upholstery when it's a demon warming the seats."

Sam continued to just look at him then dropped his eyes, an image of Ruby flashing quickly through his mind. "Sorry," he mumbled apologizing for everything. Again.

"Sam…" Dean sighed out the word in a mixture of exasperation and empathy.

"Dean," Sudden exhaustion pressed against him and Sam needed to get away from here. Closure had come at one hell of a price. "Can we just… go?"

His brother continued to watch him for another long moment, then stood, the bones in his knees creaking. "Okay," was all he said then closed the door and moved around the front of the car.

"He was my friend," Sam heard himself repeat once Dean had pulled away from the alley and they'd been driving for about ten minutes in silence. Brady's blood had dried brown on his hands and Sam stared down at it in macabre fascination. He wondered how long his friend survived before the possession had killed him, knowing from too much experience just how hard demons loved to rides their suits. He hoped his Brady was gone before Jessica's death. That would be something at least.

"I know," Dean's voice was quiet.

Sam rolled his head towards his brother and stared at his profile as he drove. "He was like a brother to me," the muscle in Dean's jaw tightened. He gave a clipped nod but didn't say anything.

Sam thought about his real brother.

How Dean had trusted him to do the right thing with Brady when Sam hadn't trusted himself. And of how, when the time came, Dean stood quietly behind him. Not saying anything, just a solid, tacit wall of support, there if Sam needed him – like now – but not interfering, allowing him this one small piece of closure in his train wreck of a life. And he amended. "But he was never you… Thank you, Dean. For everything." It was lame but Sam wanted to say it now before things became even more fucked up.

Dean actually flinched and shook his head. "Sam," he sighed, checked over his shoulder, then pulled the car to the side of the road. Once they were stopped, he turned in his seat and looked at Sam. "We're brothers, Sam, no thanks needed. Just – remember that, okay?"

Sam's eyes burned again but this time it wasn't from the pain of losing. Sometimes he almost forgot he was still loved, for both the good and the bad.

"Okay," he managed to choke out, proud of actually getting the word out.

His brother was still watching him. "Do you feel any better?" Dean finally asked.

That was a loaded question and Sam gave it some actual thought. The satisfaction he should feel for finally catching Jessica's killer was overshadowed by the betrayal of the Brady-demon. But, it was a small victory and sometimes wars were won one battle at a time. It didn't dampen the looming dread of Lucifer but it did settle something deep inside Sam.

Slowly, the turmoil in his stomach settled as the warmth of Dean's jacket over his shoulders permeated his own layers and Sam found himself nodding, almost reluctantly. "Yeah," he finally decided. "I do."

"Good," something in his brother's face relaxed and Dean looked pleased. "Now let's get this show on the road, we have a disease to catch."

Sam's face pinched and he groaned. "That was bad, Dean. Real bad."

Dean flashed him a quick shit-eating grin. "Oh I don't know, Sammy, I think I could do worse."

Sinking back against the seat as his brother deftly maneuvered the large car back into traffic, Sam got the feeling that this was going to be a very long drive…

And – to be honest – right now? Sam wouldn't have had it any other way.

The End