It's a long cursed road but there is happiness to be found here.

And I built a home

For you

For me

Until it disappeared

From me

From you

But now, it's time to leave and turn to dust.

(.:.)

It was dark – he fucking hated the night.

Forests too – forests were creepy as fuck in the dark. Midges were annoying little assholes – as if he didn't have enough things after his blood already, why not add a few winged sons of bitches into the mix.

"Why are we even here Dean?"

"Because we help people Sam – it's the fucking job!"

He couldn't remember arguing like this with him – not since the day he'd left. Sure he'd had him by the collar of his shirt a few times since they'd been forced back together, he'd had Sam pinned his fair share of times too since Jess has burned but this – this was a new level of fall out. Sam had been like a powder keg all day, almost taken Roy's head off if he hadn't calmed him down. Yeah Roy was a douche (he really was) but he didn't need what Sam would have brought down on his sorry ass of he hadn't gotten in the way. Dean knew – knew Sam was in one of those moods where any excuse to fight was cause enough for him. Kid was chomping at the bit for an altercation, would take every chance he got. But Hayley didn't need that – Roy deserved it but he didn't need it either. Better he take the hit than those sorry sons of bitches who wouldn't know what'd hit them because, as Dean knew better than anyone, when Sam hit oh boy did he hit hard.

"No – that's your job. Always has been. I signed up too look for dad and as much as these people-"

"Now you listen to me," he bit back through gritted teeth, hands pooling in his brother's shirt. "We don't get to choose what we sign up to. This isn't a fucking lifestyle choice Sam. When dad says go left-"

"We go left – oh don't worry man I know."

There was that marker – that damned sign that Sam had grown up so much. He looked so much like John it was uncanny and Dean had been on the receiving end of that enough times that he'd really begun to take notice. That clenched jaw? That assertive stance – the look-down-your-nose sarcasm? That was all John. But it wasn't the Sam he remembered. Sure the anger was there, that sweet, sweet, frightening anger that had the hairs on his arms standing to attention but this – this wasn't Sam. There was pain in those eyes, an age to the look in them that exceeded the number of years they'd seen. Dean knew that look too – had seen it enough every damned day when he'd brushed his teeth in either the motel or rear-view mirror. Sam hadn't left wearing that look, must have been something he'd picked up along the way.

"You're damned right we go left."

Sam sneered making Dean's breath catch in his throat. What the fuck had happened to that boy with the stars in his eyes?

"Daddy's little soldier," he murmured, low and guttural, lips mere centimetres away from his face. Dean shivered as his brother's breath wafted warm and dangerous over his cheeks, brow knit tight against the feel of it on his forehead. "I'm not you Dean – don't know if you've noticed that. I don't come running when dad blows that little whistle of his, don't jump when he says jump."

"Well Sam – if you had perhaps things'd be a little different now," he bit back, shoving Sam roughly in the chest. "How difficult was it really – leaving us? How difficult was it to rebel huh? Because you made it look damn easy."

There was a Wendigo at large, possibly circling them, walking the line, lured in by their raised voices or the smell of Roy's fucking macaroni bubbling on the camping stove. He noticed then how quiet it was, the chatter of Hayley and the others having died into nothingness, even the flicker and crack of the campfire hushing beneath the weight of their tension. It didn't cross his mind for long, monster forgotten, hunt forgotten, missing Tommy an afterthought as Sam shoved him back, Dean's body coming into hard contact with the trunk of a tree, wind knocked out of his lungs not long enough after as Sam drove his body full force into his, forearm pressing against his neck, forehead against forehead as they gasped for breath.

"You think that was easy for me?" he spat, baring that little bit more weight down against his brother, Dean squirming a little in his grasp. "You think that was fucking eas-"

"Sure made it look that way," he breathed, hands constricting tightly around his brother's arm for leverage, fingernails digging into hard bicep.

Sam battered him once against the bark, elder of the two wincing as his head cracked off the rough surface. Perhaps Roy should have taken the heat after all.

"You stood there Dean – just stood there and-"

"What did you want me to do Sam?" He could hear himself shouting, this voice coming from his body that he didn't know he had – that didn't sound like him. "What did you really expect me to do. Dad was-"

"Don't you fucking dare say he was right…"

It was then that Dean faltered, the moment he saw the anger dissipate from his brother's face like blood, flush of his cheeks standing in stark contrast to the pallor of his skin. Oh he was still pissed, he could feel it thrumming in Sam's veins, but there was a fear in his eyes that made his heart stop. It dawned on him them that his brother was scared, frightened of what Dean would say next – what he had on his mind unfinished. Despite Sam's growth, despite the distance between them, the younger of them still hung on to whatever it was Dean had to say. He had the power of words behind him and, although physically outmatched, he seemed to be holding the whole deck of cards precariously in the palm of his hand.

"He was right."

The grip Sam had on his shoulder tightened as the pressure eased off Dean's neck, hunter now able to stand on tiptoes with the tree as support instead of being hung in mid-air by his gargantuan younger sibling. Sam's gaze was elsewhere, hazed, dazed, unfocused on any one single point as though lost in thought. Dean didn't look at him as he felt the soles of his shoes connect with the soft earth underfoot, pine needles shifting beneath his boots. Sam's hand was a dead weight, heavy in a way it shouldn't have been, but dead all the same.

"He was right," he continued, unfazed by Sam's lack of response. "I was the oldest. I am the oldest Sam – I should never have-"

"You took the rap for me," he heard him murmur, hand moving from his shoulder to lie flat against the dark bark, palm flat and taking his weight. "I never asked you for that."

"You didn't have to."

"I instigated it."

"I should have never-"

"One more word and I'll rip your tongue out Dean I swear to God."

"You – we don't get a choice in this Sam," he murmured, somewhat surprised and a little taken back by how exhausted he sounded at the age of only twenty six. "I never had a choice. But you – you got out. You left. You got Stanford and you got Jess and-"

"Dean-"

There were tears in his brother's eyes but he ploughed on anyway, irrespective of the sensitive subject he knew was still in the process of tearing Sam's insides to shreds.

"You moved on from us – outgrew us… me. I was so proud of you. Fuck I mean I – you were always such a smart kid," he laughed humourlessly, head coming to rest against Sam's clenched fist. "You could have had a life and-"

"You never called."

"I couldn't fucking call," he spat out, gaze turning, falling on blind eyes. "Don't you understand that? He skinned be twice for trying – had to wait until the old man was in a coma before diallin' your digits… look where that fucking got me."

"What did you expect?"

"Patience," he murmured, attentions shifting to the space beside his brother's head, not quite able to look him in the eye.

"I didn't know-"

"I waited for you Sam."

"You don't think I did my fair share?" There it was again – that beautiful anger. "You don't think I waited every day by that phone until I had to give up – had to move on? You didn't make it fucking easy Dean!"

"Yeah? Well life was just peachy my end too Sam. If you'd stuck around you would have known that."

"You never asked me to stay," he murmured quietly, Dean shivering as his brother's soft breaths ghosted over him.

Dean's expression remained stoic, eyes hard, body unresponsive, he could feel Sam's eyes heavy on him, burning into the side of his head but his gaze remained loyal to the undergrowth, loyal to the dark and shadowy things that flittered on the outskirts of their camp, those that lingered just outside the line of light.

"I never asked you not to. That Sam – that decision was yoursand boy did you make it."

(.:.)

Out on the road where we planted our seeds

Metal as worn and old as me

'nitials carved under the seat

The only home we cared to see

From the cracks in the road we travelled on

We paved our way to see the world

(.:.)

It was dark, sunbeams forcing their way through the cracks in the roof the only source of light. He treaded carefully – oh so carefully, boots kicking up dust and debris with every step, breaths coming thick and fast – in through the nose, out through the mouth. Place stank of shit; rotting hay, machine oil and rusting metal all a heady mixture that threatened to turn your stomach in on itself.

They had no idea what they were dealing with –he had no idea. God damn did he hate hunting blind. With so little to go on it was any wonder they'd gotten Sam… whatever they were. Either way, be it Wendigo, vampire, shifter…. They'd all end up with a bullet in the skull or a knife between their ribs for touching his little brother. Shit like that didn't sit too well with him – sons of bitches they tended to go after obviously hadn't cottoned onto that yet.

The door made far too much noise when he opened it, a flurry of hay at his feet kicking up a storm in protest. He heard shuffles, breathing – decided to take his time. As he'd stated before, going in blind was a pain in the ass. Surveying the room, passing through the light – whatever they were dealing with had little to no taste when it came to furnishing the place. Unkempt barns – those were nothing new. Chains hanging from the ceiling, old machinery lying here there and everywhere. What was this, some shitty set up to some 'cabin in the woods' horror flick? He ducked around a corner, noted the newer handiwork of whatever it was they were after, his heart doing a cross between a leap and a full on flat-line.

"Sam?"

That smile – oh God that smile almost killed him.

"Are you hurt?" he growled, hands working their way across the bars of his brother's cage cell.

"No," he sighed, shrugging.

Dean slammed his fists against the metal, body shivering a little as the vibrations passed their way through his bones, rattling his teeth.

"Damn it's good to see you."

He meant it – more than Sam would ever really know. The panic – it had almost made him sick. He'd remembered in the past the times Sam hadn't been there when he'd gotten home, the times Sam had run away or got lost on a hunt when they were just going too fast for him. The times his heart jumped into his mouth and his stomach fell out of his ass. Times he wanted to be sick and just fall to his knees at the same time. He'd shouted his throat raw in the middle of that highway – the middle of that parking lot until the locals had begun to crowd. The attention had forced him into some sort of hiding, but he knew that if he'd been allowed to he would have gone on shouting for his brother a lot longer – more than likely until he'd lost his voice completely. All it had taken was their dad's journal left alone – Sam and their dad didn't get on but he damn well knew Sam wasn't reckless enough to leave it unaccompanied. That's all it had taken…

They just looked at each other, both of them breathing heavily, Sam still having that puppy-dog smile pasted on his face as though his brother was an angel sent to drag him from the cage – as though Dean was the sweetest damned thing walking the earth and breathing his air. Dean was aware he probably didn't look much different, but relief flooded through his veins cold and crisp and warm at the exact same time leaving him almost breathless with the feel of it. That feeling? That feeling was the defeat of panic – that was what winning felt like.

"How did you get out of those cuffs?"

Shit. He'd forgotten about her. He turned, ripping himself out of the bubble they'd created unknowingly, blinking as if re-seeing their situation for the first time. He sighed, shifting a little uncomfortably, a child with his hand caught in the cookie jar. He hated dealing with cops – no matter how nice and logical this one seemed to be. Then again she had cuffed him to her car…

"Uh – I know a trick or two."

That seemed to answer that. Dean turned back to the task at hand, his brother's eyes on him as he swept the twisted lines of metal, fingertips running lightly over the bars as his mind ticked over how exactly they were going to pull this particular escape off. Each bar hummed melodically as he brushed it, small frown lines appearing between his eyes as he concentrated, something he'd picked up far too recently from his little brother.

"Alright – ooooh," he murmured, eyeing the padlock. "These locks look like they're gonna' be a bitch."

"Well there's some kind of automatic control – over there," Sam offered, one arm worming its way through one of the holes to point, Dean's eyes following in that general direction until he spotted a small metal box attached to one of the pillars of the barn.

"Have you seen 'em?" He could feel the strain in voice, elected to ignore the way the idea of them ruffled his feathers. He would deal with them later.

"Yeah – dude – they're just people," Sam added, a little incredulously. Dean felt as though he'd missed out on something big-time.

"And they jumped you?" It was his turn to be a little disbelieving. If and when they got out of there – he'd rip the piss out of Sam for that a whole lot later. Sam shook his head a little, soft hair falling over his eyes. Dean stifled a smirk. "Must be getting a little rusty there kiddo." Yeah – he wasn't going to live that one down any time soon.

"What do they want?" He shouted over his shoulder, eyes roaming the contents of the metal box, unsure whether he had time to scope it out first before digging his hand in there.

"I dunno'… they let Jenkins go but that was some sort of trap."

Dean flicked the lid, decided that his best bet was to push as many buttons as possible and hope to hell that something would work out for them for once.

"It doesn't make any sense to me," Sam muttered, as if to himself.

"Yeah well – that's the point. You know with our usual playmates there's rules, there's patterns. But people – they're just crazy." He flipped the lid shut when bashing buttons failed to elicit a response from the mechanism, rolling his eyes a little at their shit lack of luck. His eyes roamed the pipework, the lines, the wires – literally anything that could give him an answer to the rubix cube of a shit storm they were currently stuck in.

"See anything else while you were out there?"

"Ahhh – think there was about a dozen junked cars out back, plates from all over so I'm thinkin' that when they take someone they take their car too."

"Did you see a black Mustang – out there? About 10 years old?"

Damn – he kept forgetting she was there.

Dean quirked an eyebrow, "Yeah actually… I did." It dawned on him then – the whole puzzle pieces fitting together deal, the look on her face testament to the look on his when he'd realised he'd lost his brother. "Your brother's?" She nodded, though not to affirm his deductions, more as a way of acceptance of the fact that her brother, the person she and Dean had had in common in all this mess, probably wasn't ever coming back. "I'm sorry," he murmured, voice raw.

"Let's get you guys out of here then we'll take care of those bastards," he added, jumping back to the task at hand. Dean whirled around once, full on scoping out the place before turning his attentions back to his brother. "This thing takes a key – key?"

"I er – I dunno'."

"Right – well I better go find it."

"Hey," Dean froze when a hand encircled his wrist, skin rough and warm against his. Sam's face was enough to make his heart do that pansy-ass fluttering thing, enough to make him stop in his tracks. The word 'What' ghosted over his lips, a mere murmur before Sam tugged him closer, Dean's hands coming to rest against the bars of his brother's cage as Sam came up to join him, lips meeting his in the most chaste of kisses. But it was enough, enough to tip Dean over the edge, enough to throw the hunter back a good few years when he'd last felt the warmth of his brother's touch in that way. One of Sam's giant paws came to rest against his chest, his other still cuffing him to his body as they parted slightly, breaths warm and damp against each other's cheeks, a soft blush turning Dean's skin petal pink. Dean raised an eyebrow as Sam dropped his head, small, coy smile playing across his lips.

"What was that for Princess?" He murmured, revelling momentarily in the glow of the moment.

"Just – just be careful… okay?"

Dean freed a hand and ran it through his brother's soft hair, mussed it like he'd used to when Sam had been no taller than his shoulder, noting how he had to reach to repeat the motion now when, back then, all Sam had to do was curl up in the crook of his arm and Dean could go all night.

"Come on Sammy," he smirked, thumb outlining the smoothness of his brother' jaw, "careful's my middle name – you should know that."

Sam scoffed but seemed to accept that, hands releasing his brother and falling lightly to his sides. He ran a hand through his own hair, fingertips following in the footsteps of his brother's as he backed to the other side of the cage, eyes slightly glazed though, when Dean looked back before slipping through the door, there was a smile in his brother's eyes that he hadn't seen in too long a time, the type to touch the hazel and set it alight, the glow of a man who'd reconciled, who'd found something he'd lost.

"I thought you said you were cousins…"

Dean's eyes flicked first from Kathleen and then back to his brother, the whole look of 'hand caught in the cookie jar' returning to both of them, Dean batting down a chuckle as his hand fell on the cold metal of the door handle. Sam shook his head and Dean worried his lower lip, both boys grinning in a way they hadn't done since they were kids.

"Yeah – somethin' like that."

(.:.)

"Sam!"

There'd been searching for so long – so, so long.

To lose him again… why was he so easy to lose? Why couldn't he just remain in one damn fucking place? It was nothing short of stupid. The kid was a magnet to trouble – fucking followed him wherever he went, the result being Dean dealing with the messes and the devastation he'd leave in his wake. So yeah – Sam was a pain in the ass for getting lost.

It looked like so many places they'd been before – all their hunts had begun to merge into one mass shit pile of dilapidated barns and houses, parking lots and empty fields of mud and nothing. Everywhere looked the same- everywhere fucking smelt the same. The stars above their head held no warmth of memory – no sanctity in the way their light cut through the cold, millions of eyes watching the proceedings but taking a backseat to the action, offering little to no help – content enough to watch everything unfold. Dean'd come to despise the bastard things – hated the night. It concealed and covered and protected all the things out to get them both killed, had swallowed them both up more times than he'd cared to count and it seemed more than happy to spit them out in bloody and torn pieces on the other end. It was just another night – him and Bobby searching for his little brother's wayward ass in a scene that lay as though painted from every memory he had, dark, drizzly and dank – all the makings of a great story somewhere down the line (though he highly doubted they'd ever really live long enough to tell tales).

"I dunno' boy – we've looked everywhere."

"He's here somewhere Bobby – come on I know it. We just need to-"

They rounded the last corner, eyes taking a moment to become accustomed to the glare of the moon. The beam of the flashlight roved over the ground, illuminating everything in its path, caressing splintered wood and broken brick with its silken touch, pouring itself across the surface of puddles and potholes like molten lead. Their boots crunched in the slick gravel, surface shifting under their boots, rainwater running in freezing rivulets down his face and neck, droplets seeking refuge beneath the collars of his shirts and jacket, intent on making him as damp and as uncomfortable as possible. But he wasn't mistaken, as much as his eyes and body and mind wanted to tell him otherwise, as much as they fought amongst one another to try and confuse.

"Sam?"

His voice – oddly questioning. They'd searched for so long to try and find him, a small voice at the back of his head telling him to give up – to accept the fact that Sam was gone for good this time – that he was looking for a body and not the living, breathing soul he'd come to love again. But he'd been stoic in his resolve, the very proof of that standing before his eyes. His breath fogged in front of his face, both men pausing as if in disbelief of their own senses. For the boy with the brown eyes stood sodden in the rain, face pained, arm clutched to his chest and hand clasped around it as though letting go would risk losing it entirely, eyes alight with torchlight. Dean's heart dropped into his stomach at the look of reprieve, the relaxation of every single muscle as he caught his little brother' gaze and held it, content to just stare. Because there was no better feeling than that; Sam was there – he was alive and he was breathing and he was right there.

"Dean."

The way he said his name – the relief that weighed on his words. Because Sam smiled – Sam smiled like a lost man found, like a man who'd resigned himself to idea that he was as good as gone in the eyes of his brother and the world, in the eyes of the stars and the night that stretched and yawned lazily above his head. He stepped towards him, one foot in front of the other, wobbling in his gait as though unsure of his own capabilities. All Dean saw was a sodden two year old with the light of life and laughter in his eyes, rubber soles of his sneakers squeaking slightly as they scraped against the lino tiles of the kitchen, his own arms outstretched to catch the inevitable fall. Because Sam's first steps had been towards Dean – he'd never forget that.

But it was too late to stop the fall – he was too far away to catch. The panic paralyzed each and every cell inside of his body to a point where it almost hurt to breathe, where moving and thinking and functioning now lay in the realms of instinct and not conscious thought. There was no fast-forward or rewind – no way of changing the outcome. It was going to happen and there was nothing he could do about it – words too slow, the 'Sam look out' he'd nearly screamed tearing his throat on exhale. It had all been too slow. He'd needed more time – he'd always needed more fucking time.

He was still smiling when it hit, when the blade buried itself in his back and took him down. He'd still had that look of light in his eyes, the look he'd worn when Dean had turned up to pull him out of that God damn cage not long enough ago, the look he'd worn when Sam'd unfurled himself in his lap after the onslaught of gunfire had ceased all those years ago in the Impala – when he'd looked up and kissed the tip of his brother's nose and whispered his 'thank you', the look he'd worn when at around a year old he'd stumbled into his brother' arms because he'd walked there – he'd fucking walked to him. Dean felt his blood turn to ice, every muscle and vein and sinew in him constricting to a point he found himself struggling to breathe. Because Sam went down – Sam went down and he was too damn far away to catch him.

He screamed – he screamed his protest as though that in itself would stop the inevitable. Dean and Bobby charged forwards, boots splashing through the mud and the shit and the puddles of water in a bid to close the gap between them, the shadow that had floored his sibling turning tail and running into the God damned darkness, engulfed by it, consumed by it as though that was all they fucking needed. There was no help to be found above their heads – that had been plain to see for a long, long time. The world around them acted as if to hinder their activities – as if their damned jobs weren't difficult enough already without the night itself playing against them and taking away the very thing Dean needed to end for tearing the light from his kid's eyes.

Sam fell to his knees, Dean following suit not long after, little brother's head turned towards the Heaven's as they rained down over his blind eyes, the water that pooled beneath his lashes a mix of freshwater and salt. The footsteps of others speedily dissipated into the distance as Bobby too was engulfed by it, lost to sight and mind. Nothing else was important – nothing else would ever be as important as this. Sam fell into him, Dean fisting his hands into his baby brother's shirt to hold him still, hold him up as Sam faded in and out, eyes focusing on little and seeing even less. Dean searched his face, a sign – anything to kid him that this wasn't heading down a one way route he'd hoped never to have to bear witness to. This wasn't how this was supposed to go –

He could barely even hear himself repeating his brother's name as his constant attempts to stabilise Sam continued to fail, as his body became increasingly heavy in his arms, as the boy wavered on his knees. His head lolled a little to the side, mop of chestnut hair concealing some of the blood the escaped the corners of his lips, staining them red in a way Dean had seen far too many times before. But there was a finality to this moment that had him scrabbling on the edge of sanity, clinging to it like a lifeline. He couldn't lose him – this wasn't the plan.

"Sam – come on. Let me take a look at you."

He tugged him into him, Sam's chin resting against his shoulder, one hand carding through his brother' hair as Dean surveyed the damage, palm coming away dripping scarlet. His stomach turned and turned again, chest tight and straining against the rising fear that was still in the unrelenting process of trying to claw its way out of his already raw throat.

"Hey – look. Look," he murmured, cupping Sam's chin in his hand, "it's not even that bad alright? Sammy? Sam!"

He wasn't looking at him – something that scared him more than anything. The kid wasn't there – wasn't present on their plain of existence, seemed to be floating in and out of their reality like a breeze of wind in the process of dying down. Sam seemed to be able to look anywhere but into the searching gaze of his brother's eyes but he wasn't taking no for an answer. It wouldn't end like that.

"Hey! Listen to me – we're gonna' patch you up okay? You'll be good as new. Huh? I'm gonna take care of you – I'm gonna' take care of you. I gotcha' – that's my job right? Watch out for my pain in the ass little brother?"

All the while he touched him, touched his face, fingertips caressing his brother's fevered temples, smoothing the creases of his eyes, outlining the soft curve of his jaw just so that Sam'd be able to feel that he was there.

"Sam?"

The boy with the light of the Heaven's in his eyes closed them at the mention of his name, his lover's hands still on his face and in his hair, the way Dean had used to hold him in the early hours of morning, gently caressing, a permanent presence. The stoic resolve that had held him together all but cleaved itself in two at the lack of response, his brother's name falling from his lips over and over again like a prayer and a curse, bittersweet on his tongue, Dean giving up each breath as an offering to his brother until he found himself dizzy with lack of oxygen. He found himself shaking his head despite it all – almost as if straight up refusal would change the outcome. It wasn't happening like this – it shouldn't have ever happened like this.

"No – no, no, no, no, no, no. No!"

It was then he hugged him – placed a kiss upon chilled lips still warm from the life of a last breath. It was at that point that Dean found himself handing in his resignation having searched his brother's face for any sign of a future, any sign of a breath or the flutter of eyelids that'd mark another sunrise – another morning curled up around one another in the hazy light of dawn. The emergence of such acceptance manifested itself in a way that can only be compared to having your chest wrenched apart, what little air had been trapped in his chest whistling from between pursed lips as he held to him a body he'd had that hand in raising, as he clutched to him the child he'd lived and loved alongside, the kid he'd loved and lost more times than any man should ever have to live through.

Sam was still but he was warm, a heavy weight in his arms that Dean could kid himself somewhere down the line was due to sleep and not another more painful finality. They knelt together for an hour or more in the darkness, the thrum of the rain against his shoulders and neck numbing the skin to the extent of pain. Water seeped through his jeans and dampened his skin though he failed to feel it, tears having long run dry. There was nothing – he felt nothing.

It took Dean Winchester twenty or something years before he finally truly understood the meaning of the terms 'Poetic Justice' and 'Irony', knelt as he was beneath the stars as if in prayer to yet another absent and unforgiving Father, another son lost and forgotten beneath his merciless gaze. Sam had gone cold but he felt colder, the light of dawn hovering in the haze, light breaking over the backs of the buildings in the distance though it brought no warmth or solace to those that still lay wallowing in what the night had left behind. It didn't take him long either to realise where this would all eventually lead – what would have to be done to rectify such a colossal wrong. Because as had been said earlier – this wasn't the way things were supposed to go. Sam was better, more beautiful, more precious and more pure than he could ever dream of being, from the slivers of silver in the hazel of his eyes to the warmth of a kiss shared with the only person in the world that could ever really love him as much as he deserved – this wasn't how it was ever supposed to end for him. Sam was his responsibility now – still half civilian half solider but with a choice in the matter.

Dean shifted, legs numb, joints and bones crackling and screaming in protest as he shifted their weights, the breaths he allowed to ghost over his brother's forehead warming the skin where he pushed back the hair where it lay sodden and stuck. He closed his eyes against the coming morning, lips pursed and pressed lightly to Sam's brow, stray tear somehow plucking up the courage to break cover and make itself known. No – Sam had a choice, the world they patrolled the line of allowed for that. As far as Dean was concerned if the body was willing, which it more than was, the soul would soon follow suit. Sam was humanity – and if Dean had to lose his to reinstate Sam's then so be it.

Will continue in Part 3 Season 2 – All Hell Breaks Loose Part Two