Trigger Warnings: Blood, gore and death. I swear not all of the epilogue is depressing though.

Nine Years Later

It's January and the university holidays have just ended. He's in the last year of his bachelor's degree of engineering, which is working him like a bitch but it still feels fucking awesome to see a project come together. Part of him can't wait to get out there and start working on a real job, while another part wants to stay in college forever.

Even then, he's only a week into the next semester and he's starting to feel mildly burnt out. But that's okay, because he's come home for the weekend for his birthday. In fact, his mum has specially requested it this year.

Dean sits on the couch and looks around the living room. Somehow, a smattering of dust has accumulated on the mantelpiece in the five days he hasn't been there. Dean gets up, grabs a cloth, and starts cleaning.

Old habits die hard.

But it's different now. He's not doing this because he thinks the Winchesters will kick him out or because he knows he'll be hurt if he doesn't. He's doing this for himself, because he wants to.

Mum walks in just as he's finishing up, the large grin on her face faltering by a fraction as she spots what he's doing. She's still not got to grips with the fact Dean is solely cleaning for himself and not to please her. Dean knows she worries he's never going to be able to escape his past.

And maybe he won't. Because he still has nightmares, still dreams of nights locked in a dank cupboard, still thinks about what might have happened if he'd not been able to protect Sammy. But they're more infrequent now. He buries it all under work from college and thoughts about how to hustle a game of pool in order to have to borrow less money from his parents. But once again that's not because they tell him to, it's because he wants to. And that makes all the difference in the world.

The door swings open and the rest of his family come in.

"Stick out your hand," mum says, moving her arm out from behind her.

Dean gives her a puzzled look then does as he's told. She drops the keys to the Impala into them.

"Uhh, you just dropped your keys," Dean says, reaching out to hand them back.

Dad shakes his head with a soft smile. "Happy birthday, son."

Dean frowns down at the (common as fuck and yet precious all the same) metal in his palm. This can't be true. He didn't just get given the Impala. "You guys serious?"

"Uh huh," Mum says, while Sam slips out of the door. "It's yours now, Dean. But you'll take your old lady out for a ride sometimes, won't you?" she adds with a wink.

He can already imagine the purr of the engine, the hum of the seats, the solid feel of the steering. "'Course," he barely manages to choke out. This is even better than the time they told him he was allowed to drive it.

Sam comes back in again and says, "Guess who else is here?"

The door swings open once more and Dean looks up to see Priya standing in the doorway.

"Happy birthday, Freckles," she says softly.

Dean jumps off the couch, strides over to her, and wraps her in his arms before anyone has a chance to speak. He buries his face in her hair, taking in the smell of sweat and shampoo and trains. She must have come up from London just for him. He knows she has a project to hand in the next week so she'll probably be getting the train back the next day. They haven't met in over three months now, and while they message each other regularly and Dean knows exactly when each of her assignments are due in and which professors bother her and which ones don't and what she had for lunch and what she's planning to make for dinner (it's scary how often their conversations end up revolving around food), it's just not the same as seeing each other face to face.

"God, I've missed you," Dean whispers into her hair before gently letting go.

He can see Mum and Dad and Sam smiling over her shoulder. They all look so happy, he wants to take a picture and get it framed to put on his bedside table at college.

Dean's pretty sure no birthday can ever live up to this one.

The lights changed to green and Dean shifted his foot on the pedals, slowly creeping the car forward, his thumb still tapping out the tune of 'Fire of Unknown Origin' on the wheel. He briefly wondered if Sam would have left some pie out from him, seen as they'd all have eaten by the time he got home.

Damn road works, keeping him away from his pie.

Then again, shop bought pie was never going to be as good as Dad's homemade ones, but ever since arthritis had slowly crippled his fingers he hadn't been much good at baking. Instead, whenever Sam and Dean came over to visit, they'd buy him whatever kind of pie he felt like and they'd share it over the evening meal.

It's meant to be apple pie today. Made by the baker in that small shop around the corner from the supermarket, the one that always goes a little crazy with the sugar, the way you like it.

…Stupid fucking road works.

Dean growled in frustration as his stomach rumbled and he hit his fists against the steering wheel, before quickly rubbing the spot and apologising. "Sorry, baby. It's just these stupid fucking queues."

'Remember what we said about swearing?'

He could hear Priya's doubtful voice in his head, reflecting his own uncertainty about what they were going to try to do.

Priya lays a hand on her stomach again, the wedding ring catching the light as she does so. Dean had ended up proposing near Christmas a couple of years ago, merely days before she was about to propose herself. It was cold and his knees were getting wet in the snow. They were in the field by the school, the same one where they'd first admitted to loving each other. He was terrified she'd say no, that she'd have realised how she could do so much better than him. But then she'd knelt down next to him and whispered that trivial, insignificant, three letter word that meant everything to him. And suddenly, he'd felt nothing but warmth.

They'd been married a year when Priya announced she was pregnant. She's three months in now and everything's going well, but they seem to have hit upon a little problem.

And that's that both of them have no fucking control over their mouths.

"The books all say that you should avoid bad language in front of children until they're at an age when they can appreciate when bad language can and can't be used," she says tentatively. Dean can understand her hesitation. Priya can practically out-swear his mum if she's having a bad day. "But we're gonna give this a go, right?"

Dean nods then asks, "Does this mean we don't get to sing along to 'Hair of the Dog' then?"

Bookworm grins and shrugs. "Every rule's got to have a loophole I guess."

Two months later and Dean was still finding the whole 'no bad language' rule a pain in the ass. When Sam had heard about it, he'd simply grinned and said, "Dad'll love it."

Watching Sam grow up made Dean a little sad sometimes. He was no longer the twelve year Dean had met in the Pypers' garden, he was now a grown man with a girlfriend and a law degree. But some things never changed.

Dean takes a moment to smile at the label on the door that reads 'Sam Winchester and Jessica Moore'. The midget got round to asking the girl out finally for his high school prom and they'd been together ever since. A part of Dean has always been thankful to Sam's friend, Brady, for finally managing to convince the kid to ask her to prom. Otherwise Dean would probably still be stuck with a mopey Sam who was convinced he was the world's worst victim of unrequited love.

He enters the door without knocking, grinning inwardly in anticipation of Sam's look of surprise and the dimpled smile that will surely follow when he sees who the unexpected visitor is. Dean's driven for six hours straight to get to Sam's college in time to give him his birthday present.

There's no look of surprise, no grins and exclamations of "Dean! How did you get here?"

There are only tear-stung eyes and frantic scrambling to shut the laptop.

Dean doesn't know what to make of that. "You looking at porn again, Sammy? You know what I said about that…" Sam rolls his eyes and Dean forces a strained grin, "Send me links to any good stuff you find," he finishes with a wink.

"You're disgusting," Sam says, not looking at him. Dean can't ignore the crack in his voice and the bags under his eyes any longer.

"What's up? You look like someone's spoilt the end of Marley and Me for you." Dean goes over, the peanut butter and banana sandwich with the candles on top he'd been holding behind his back forgotten. "What was onscreen?"

"Nothing. It doesn't matter," Sam's voice is resigned, which convinces Dean it matters all the more.

"Don't make me open it for myself, kid," Dean growls in a mock serious tone that manages to elicit a small smile from his brother.

"You'd not be able to get past the password, Dean. You're no Ash."

"Sure I can. It's gotta be 'I-heart-Jessica-Moore', what else could it be?"

Sam just huffs a little and opens the laptop up again. He quickly types in a password (which Dean is sure contained the word 'Batman') and his college online portal comes up. "It's really nothing. Just this one professor…" Sam trails off and his eyes dart around the room, avoiding the laptop completely.

Dean leans over, his shoulder reminding him painfully of the candle-laden sandwich he's holding behind his back, and reads the assignment reports onscreen. They're all by the same professor, a Dr Rumarik.

'Sam Winchester's work is far below a satisfactory standard, his referencing is shoddy and he displays little to no understanding of the subject.'

'Sam Winchester does not put any effort into his classes and seems to have an issue with authority.'

'Sam Winchester is not suited to this law course. It is possible he is not suited to academic life in general. He is not willing to try in his assignments and is disruptive in lectures.'

Dean looks up at his brother. The kid's nose is flaring and his throat is bobbing as he attempts to swallow down a sob. His general demeanour makes Dean want to hurt this Dr Rumarik son of a bitch pretty fucking badly.

"I-I swear I try in his classes. I try in all my classes. But this guy, he's had it in for me from the day one because I asked him a question he couldn't answer. I mean, that's just stupid, isn't it? To just hate someone because they asked a question?"

Dean doesn't reply. He doesn't have to. They both know the answer and Dean has a question of his own. "Why didn't you tell me about this?"

There's no reply. Sam just shrugs and continues to stare into space.

"Sam, I don't care if you got a full ride to college and brilliant exam results, you're a freaking idiot sometimes," Sam flinches a little at Dean's borderline yelling and Dean tones it down a little. "You should have told me this was happening. It's my job to look out for you."

"It's not, Dean. I'm twenty-one now, I don't need you to watch out for me," Sam speaks in a clipped voice, staring straight ahead. "It's because I knew you'd freak out that I didn't tell you."

If Dean said those words didn't hurt him, it'd be a lie.

"Just trying to help," he tries to say it as nonchalantly as possible. He kinda misses the Sammy that would have loved the word 'nonchalantly'.

They sit in silence for a few minutes until Dean shifts his arm to a more comfortable position.

"What have you got there?" asks Sam, noticing Dean's hidden hand for the first time.

Dean shrugs and stares down at the wooden floorboards, tracing the tessellations. "Just a little present, but it's okay if you don't like it."

He brings out the slightly squashed sandwich, complete with the '2' and '1' shaped candles he's jammed on the top, from behind his back. It's not done with the flourish he'd been planning while driving, but then again, none of this has gone how he'd planned it while driving. The present now looks stupid and tacky. What was he thinking? Sam didn't care about peanut butter and banana sandwiches anymore. Sam didn't need Dean anymore.

Dean's about to turn around and leave, he plans to go to his car and turn on the music really loud until he can't feel anything anymore. Maybe something will finally go to plan today.

As always, it doesn't.

There's a sound of chair legs scraping against wood and Dean turns around to see Sam standing up, his lips quivering, his slanted eyes filled with awe and love and guilt in equal measure. Before Dean knows it, he's wrapped in Sam's arms, his breath being squeezed out of him.

"Sorry, Dean," Sam whispers, "I don't mean it. I-I just say crap sometimes an-and just 'cause I feel like shit right now doesn't make it okay for me to take it out on you," his voice breaks as he speaks and a hitched sob escapes. "I don't know what to do about this professor," he mumbles into Dean's shoulder.

"Can't. Breathe." Dean chokes. Sam loosens his grip and Dean looks (up, unfortunately. The kid's a giant now, much to Dean's eternal dismay) at Sam. It doesn't matter how old or tall or qualified Sam gets, he's always gonna be a snot-nosed little brother in Dean's eyes. "You just tell me where I can find this professor, I'll go have a word with him."

"No, no, I don't want you to do anything like that," Sam says hurriedly. They both know if this guy starts badmouthing Sam too much in front of Dean he'll go ape-shit on his ass, like he does with the odd ghost or demon he still hunts at weekends.

"Well what are you meant to do if you've got a problem with your professor?" Dean asks. He genuinely doesn't know. He never had a problem with his professors at college. They were a relaxed bunch and Dean got the work done quickly and efficiently every time so they never had reason to complain.

"I can go to the head of the department or to my pastoral care tutor," Sam replies, biting his lip. "But I dunno if I want to. What if I'm just making a big deal out of this?"

"Those aren't fair comments, Sam," he waves a hand at the laptop screen, "That's a guy being a douchebag. I know you and I believe you when you say you try in his lessons. What do your other professors say?"

"They say I'm on track for a first and my work's exceptional," Sam mumbles sheepishly.

Dean grins at that and murmurs "that's m'boy" before adding, "So it's just this guy. And if you have copies of the assignments you submitted on your laptop, you can maybe ask for them to be remarked."

Sam nods. "Yeah, okay, I'll do that." He stands a little straighter and meets Dean's gaze properly for the first time. "Thanks for the sandwich, Dean, and I didn't mean what I said earlier."

Dean rolls his eyes and takes a step back. "God, you're such a girl sometimes."

"And you're as emotionally stunted as ever," Sam quips back.

The car cruised down the empty suburban streets, following the winding roads until it was slowly crawling up the hill to the house. It was nice to be back in Moreton again, the familiar roads were always accompanied by a heavy feeling of nostalgia. Even though both brothers were living away from home now, Sam at college and Dean further south with Priya, they'd agreed that they'd go visit their parents together whenever they could. As Sam's course had finished and both Dean and Priya had managed to get some leave from work, they'd decided to spend a week around Halloween with their parents.

Dean parked the car and killed the engine, wondering if Priya would still be up or if she'd have called it a night. The lights were all off, so they were probably all in bed by now.

Driven by the thought of soon having a baby in the house, and as he was going up to near the car manufacturing plant anyway, Dean had agreed to help sort out a couple of design queries from the manufacturers for a healthy bonus at the end of the month. Besides, he'd really wanted to see the engine design he'd spent the last four months working on come together in the factory. Little did he know they were would be such a huge jam on the motorway which would result in him getting home at one in the morning.

Trying to be as quiet as possible, he opened the front door, hung up the keys, and made his way upstairs. There was his parents' door to the far right, Sam and Jess were behind the door next to that, and finally on the left was Dean and Priya's room.

Dean slid inside and whispered a tentative, "Priya?"

There was no reply. Dean padded over to the bed, hoping to find her prone, lightly snoring (not that she'd ever admit it. Then again, Dean didn't mind. He knew he still screamed in his sleep from the occasional nightmare and yet Priya had never complained, instead she simply asked him if he wanted to talk about it and checked when the next appointment with the therapist was) body on her side of the bed, the small baby bump rising and falling slowly as she slept.

Dean remembers clearly the moment Priya tells him she's pregnant. She comes into the bedroom, holding the strip out in front of her, a huge grin splitting her face.

Dean stares at the blue lines, his thoughts an incoherent mess. He wants to kiss Priya, he wants to call up his parents, he wants to call up Sammy, he wants to call up Rex Hall and tell him to suck it, he wants to curl up and die because this baby's gonna be doomed if he's the father.

After all, how can he be sure he won't become his father?

But then Priya comes nearer, takes his hand, and places it over the point her stomach meets her hips.

"We're gonna be parents," she whispers.

And at that moment, Dean can see it all. He's going to teach this kid how to ride a bike, how to fix up cars, how to make burgers, how to stand up for themselves. This kid is going to fight with him from time to time and be a stubborn little shit (it's Dean and Priya's kid after all) but the kid's also going to care about him and love him because that's just what kids do.

And no matter what happens, Dean's gonna love this kid back.

At that moment, Dean Winchester knows he will never be his father.

But there was nobody on the bed. Dean cocked his head, ready to turn round and check that she wasn't in the bathroom.

That was when the nightmare started.

A cold, wet dripping sound had Dean spinning his head back round. The pale blue bedsheet now had two dark red stains. Dean followed the drops to their source, looking up onto the ceiling.

There she was, her expression contorted into a grotesque parody of her usual smiling face, her stomach slashed open, the wound clearly deep enough to have killed the baby inside. Before Dean could move, before he could even think, an unearthly scream poured out of Priya's mouth. Flames flared out from above her, rippling across the ceiling, consuming everything in its wake.

"Priya!" Dean roared, barely able to hear himself over the deafening crackle of the fire. He scrambled up to try and reach her, but the flames licked at his arms and sent him sprawling back. Trying to move quickly, he crawled to the door, hoping to find a fire extinguisher, a magic bucket of sand, anything really that could be used to put the fire out.

He flung open the door and stumbled onto the landing, the acrid smoke starting to choke him. Blinking through the tears, he opened the door to his parents' room.

Michael and Jane Winchester lay on the bed with their throats slit. Crimson rivers flowed from their necks, across the sheets, and onto the carpet. Their eyes stared off into the distance, their lips parted in simultaneous silent screams.

No. No no no. This wasn't happening. This was some fucked up nightmare that definitely wasn't happening.

Dean willed himself to wake up, to escape this at any cost. He looked around the room, looking for a sign that this was merely a dream, only to catch sight of a dark shadow with two floating spots of amber by the curtains. He took a step towards it, reaching into his belt for the silver knife, when he heard a terrified scream followed by the same haunting screech Priya had uttered in her last moments.

He ran out into the landing once again and flung open Sam's door.

"Sammy!" he yelled, looking up to see Jessica, sweet, innocent, Poirot-loving Jessica, pinned to the ceiling, fire curling up around her nightdress, slowing engulfing her.

"Sam!" he shouted once again as he hauled him off the bed and started dragging him towards the door.

"Dean, it's there, he's still there," Sam cried back, and Dean turned round to see the creature once again, its amber eyes flickering in the light from the flames.

Dean wanted nothing more than to dive into the fire and stab the fucker over and over again until he could get back even an ounce of what he'd lost that night. But if he let go of Sam, his brother would join him in doing the same. And no matter how mad Dean was, he couldn't let Sam die too.

"We're gonna get him, Sammy, I swear we're gonna get him," Dean said over and over again as he huddled his brother into his arms and dragged him down the stairs and out of the house.

Within minutes the fire brigade arrived, the neighbours having called the emergency services. Sam and Dean watched their attempts to put out the raging fire with apathy, answered their questions about gas leaks and overloaded plug sockets with apathy, listened to their explanations of how little had been recovered from the house with apathy. Everything that had been worth a damn had been lost.

Sam's girlfriend, his would-be fiancée, had been lost.

Dean's wife and child had been lost.

Their parents had been lost.

The boys leaned against the hood of the Impala, both consumed by grief and hate and rage.

You and Priya spent so long discussing baby names.

You and Mum had been planning a baby shower.

Hell, you weren't at home to protect her because you were out trying to earn more money for the baby.

She died because you weren't there when she needed you to be. They all did.

Finally, Sam broke the silence. "You saw it then?"

"Yeah, I did."

Sam merely nodded, went around to the trunk of the car, opened it, and loaded a few of the shotguns. He shut the trunk with a thud.

"We've got work to do."

Author Note: Once again, I'd love it if you could give me some feedback about the story, along with answers to the following questions:

1. Which ending did you pick and why?

2. How did you find this story?

3. Are there any extra scenes you'd really like to see?

Also, there is the companion piece, Five Times Priya Said No to Dean, and the One Time She Said Yes, which I'd also love your thoughts on.

Replies to guest reviews posted after August 2014:

Sara.B: Thanks for taking the time to leave your thoughts, I really appreciate it. It occurred to me later that the second question is ambiguous. Though I'd meant it in the first sense, I'm glad to hear you liked the story in general.

I've just finished another SPN fanfic that's actually set in the US and I swear every other line required me to search or ask someone about how things are done in America. I seem to have picked the wrong fandom, maybe I'd be better off writing Doctor Who fanfics or maybe Sherlock ones (though I'd miss the angst).

If you're fond of Priya, you may enjoy the companion piece, Five times Priya said no to Dean, and the one time she said yes.

Haha, I can see why you opted for the epilogue. I just wanted to keep the option of a happy ending out there because it felt a little grim to have a sad ending when the boys had already been through so much.

Feel free to drop any suggestions you may have! (Though I ought to add that I'm starting college and so I might not get all that much time to do any more writing.)