Summary:  The night before Dean is getting released from the hospital, Sam realizes there is only way he can protect his brother.
Spoilers:  Tag for "Devil's Trap" (slight AU).
A/N:  This is a Devil’s Trap Tag of sorts. It is also my pathetic attempt to become a part of the SFTCOL(AR)S. So please read and review.
Special thanks to Faye Dartmouth for taking the time to beta this and offer her suggestions. It is a better story for having known her.
Disclaimer:  All things "Supernatural" belong to Kripke.

"Shit," Dean Winchester grinned as he looked across at his younger brother from his propped up position in a hospital bed, "Man, I can’t believe I’m finally getting sprung in the morning. About friggin' assed time too. I am so overdone with all this sissy, being mothered crap."

"Dean," Sam Winchester’s voice was soft and held a trace of sadness that the older man couldn’t place. "You almost died, dude. I think that warrants a bit of mothering, don’t you?"

"Yeah, well so did you," Dean cut back, his eyes looking away and his smile fading.

"Touché," the younger man sighed and leaned back in the visitor’s chair, carefully stretching his long legs out in front of him.

Dean didn’t miss his brother’s wince either.

"Your knee still bothering you?" he demanded, watching Sam carefully. He did not believe for one moment that his brother was doing as well as he proclaimed.

Although not as internally messed up as Dean had been, Sam had suffered his own grievous injuries from the car accident. His most serious, a severe concussion, had left him incoherent for almost a week afterwards, and a badly busted knee, still in a brace, kept Sam limping; not helped that the stubborn young man refused to use the cane the hospital staff had suggested.

The younger man’s face was also still heavily bruised although the accident had been almost a month ago now.

Their father had left again, giving them some cockamamie story about drawing the demon away while the brothers recovered but neither young man was convinced.

Deep down Dean was sure John just couldn’t bear to face him after almost killing him in that accursed cabin. Although at the time his father had been possessed. However that was semantics; bottom line, it was still John’s face, his hands and his voice that had done this. All of this. It wasn’t something either would easily forget.

Dean had been treated to his very own special version of the hell Sam had gone through only months earlier when a shapeshifter wearing Dean’s skin had almost killed the younger hunter. He swallowed hard at the memory. That had been close.

"No," Sam denied. He was lying and they both knew it but before Dean could press, a stern faced nurse came into the room and told the younger Winchester he had to leave.

“Visiting hours are over,” the woman said as she fussed over Dean. The older hunter rolled his eyes but tolerated it, having learned early that it was just easier to give in to these hospital type people.

Sam glanced down at his watch. “Wow,” he mumbled before running fingers absently through his dark hard. “So soon?”

“It is ten o’clock,” she said stiffly not even giving him a glance. Dean frowned at her but she ignored him too.

“Bitch”, he mouthed to Sam and his brother graced with a ghost of a smile and something tugged hard at Dean. His brother just seemed so… so sad.

The younger man stood up carefully and grabbed his coat from the end of Dean’s bed. This was the part that the older man hated the most about all this. Even more than that stupid catheter, and that was really saying something.

It bothered him that at the end of each day Sam had to leave him and return to an empty motel room. He worried about Sam being by himself and it was more than concern that something might physically attack his brother; it was more that he worried about Sam’s frame of mind and of not being there to help if the younger man had another nightmare or vision.

It had been over three weeks now and Dean noticed a declining mood in his brother, sharply punctuated during the last couple of days. Sam was increasingly distracted, often times staring out the small hospital room window for long periods of time and then offering vague excuses and apologies afterwards. He just seemed so… melancholy and it worried Dean. His brother might be broody at times – and with damn good reason – but melancholy? It made something inside the older hunter ache; something more than those damn stitches.

Today had been the worse though. Sam was tense, jumpy and he wrung his hands anxiously in his lap for most of the day, twisting at the end of his shirt agitatedly. When asked, he insisted that he was just wound up at the thought that Dean was getting discharged tomorrow.

Dean didn’t buy it – he knew something was upsetting the kid but wasn’t ready to face a blowout over it in the hospital. But as soon as he got out of here and they’d had a bit of down time, he was determined to find out what was bugging his brother - regardless of anything, including Sam himself.

He was pretty sure that part of it was that Sam had been alone each night, squirreled away in some cheap motel, pining away the hours until he could go back to the hospital to sit with Dean. At least that much would be resolved in a few hours.

“One more night, Sammy,” he reminded his brother, noting how Sam tensed slightly before he gave a brief nod. “And call when you get there," he added gruffly, making the same request he had every night since Sam had been discharged.

And as with each night, the younger brother nodded and gave him a thin smile. "Yes, Uncle Dean."

"Not likely," Dean scoffed, feigning chagrin. "Unless you’ve got some very well hidden secrets."

"None like that," Sam responded cryptically and was already moving out of the room before the older man was allowed his comeback.

"Sleep safe, Sammy," he whispered to the closing door. Frowning, Dean pursed his lips, his brow creased in worry. This was going to be a long night.

"Damn demon," he murmured again and then closed his eyes, hoping his brother would be all right for one more night.

Sam hunched his shoulders and pushed his hands into his coat pockets as he left the warmth of the hospital for the cool night. It was windy and the cold chaffed his cheeks as he limped towards the motel two blocks away.

He couldn’t afford a taxi and didn’t mind the walk usually. But tonight his heart was heavier than usual and he chided himself on not being able to keep his increasing distress from his perceptive older brother. Not that it surprised him; Dean had practically raised him, and the older man knew Sam better than Sam did at times.

But other times –

Well Sam wasn’t so sure anyone knew him.

Hell, sometimes Sam even surprised himself. And other times he just scared the crap out of himself. And tonight was one of those times.

Dean was getting out tomorrow and as much as Sam was excited about that, another part of him was terrified. Right now Dean was safe in the hospital but once he got out… Sam shivered and couldn’t finish the thought.

Unlocking the motel room door, Sam pushed it open and then went into the dark room.

Fumbling for a moment to turn on the light, he tossed his jacket onto the first empty bed and then sighed heavily, running a hand through his dark brown hair. For a few minutes he just stood in the room letting its emptiness pull at him. There was just something so unnerving about its silence. It seemed to mock him, a blatant reminder of just how alone he was.

It was a simple room. Small. Two beds. Queens, as per usual. It was a waste of money but Sam could not stay in a room with only one bed. That would have been too much.

Other than that, it was bare. Horrid green bedspreads matched equally horrid heavy drapes. A small faded picture of a running horse hung crookedly on the wall between the two beds and Sam never had the heart to straighten it. It really didn’t matter.

Nothing about this mattered. Nothing at all.

Finally the weary hunter sat down on the edge of the second bed and leaned forward, letting his head rest in his hands as he closed his eyes and tried to keep the fear he was feeling from manifesting itself.

‘I have plans for you and all the other children like you’ the demon’s words haunted the young man, amplified tonight by the knowledge that within a few hours Dean would be here. Usually Dean's presence was a comfort, but not anymore. Not with what he knew now

The demon was not done with him yet; it had certainly made that clear enough and its quest had already cost Sam his mother and his lover. He was terrified that it would cost him his brother next.

‘Why?’ he had asked the demon.

Why had it killed Mary and Jessica?

‘Because they got in the way,’ such a simple set of words and yet they destroyed the thin veil of denial Dean had cocooned Sam with, brutally confirming beyond a shadow of a doubt what Sam himself had been suspecting.

Sam had caused their deaths; they had died because of him.

Oh God.

Graceful, long fingers shook as they tangled in his hair and he sniffled.

"I don’t want anyone else to die," he whispered to the empty room. "I’m not worth it."

If Dean was here he would have smacked Sam for ever thinking such a thing, but Dean wasn’t here.

The motel room got just a little bit lonelier… The emptiness was suffocating him now. His body trembled with need. A need to be comforted.

But no one was here.

Sam was alone.

The young man didn’t know what to do. He didn’t want Dean to die--that much e was sure of--yet he wasn’t sure how he could stop it. The demon had already shown him how ineffectual his meager powers were and it was a bitter defeat. Sam was weak and Dean was made to suffer for it.

Exhaling a shaky breath, the young man stood up and moved towards the bathroom, his mind a playground of guilt and worry as the weight that had been laid across his young shoulders threatened to crush him to the ground.

What could he do? He couldn’t stop the demon but he couldn’t let Dean die either. He couldn’t let anyone else die. Not for him. Not just for Sam.

Maybe…

A morbid thought entwined its fingers around his injured soul, stabbing coldness into him with its absurdity. Leaning over the sink, Sam splashed cold water on his pale face and then stared at the mirror, shocked by the tortured stranger that stared back at him.

Who was this?

This was not Jessica’s lover.

This was not the child his mother had died for.

This was an exhausted, world weary, emotionally destroyed young man.

A young man who wanted to ease his burden by easing the burden of those he loved: his father and his brother. And yes, Sam did love his father. Even when he was the angriest at John Winchester, he still loved him and understood more than his father would ever know about what drove the man and why he had made the choices he did.

Sam did not agree with many of them but he understood and he loved.

And Dean…

Dean was Sam’s everything. He was the one who was always there; the one whom the young man knew, even when things seemed darkest between them, that his brother was only a word away. At any time, all he had to do was pick up the phone and say one word. ‘Dean.’ And the older man would have been there.

Next to those two men, Sam felt inconsequential. Small. And yet he, the youngest, had been the accelerant that started the fire. The demon wanted him.

The demon would destroy anyone who stood between it and Sam. It had already done so, twice now, and the young hunter knew it would need to do it one more time. It would have to kill Dean to get to Sam and Sam knew it. Dean knew it. Hell, the demon knew it.

The morbid thought grasped tightly and squeezed. Sam inhaled sharply and embraced it. There was no choice as far as he was concerned. If he was a prize worth killing for, than Sam would just destroy the prize.

Pushing away from the sink, the determined young man moved towards his bag, fumbling past underwear, socks, knives and bandages until he found what he was looking for. He wanted one more sleep. A final, peaceful sleep.

There would be no blood or gore to imprint itself into Dean’s memory as the last image he would ever have of his brother. No, Sam would try to spare him as much as possible.

The bitter irony of that thought was lost on him.

Pulling out the bottle of prescription painkillers that he had been given when he left the hospital, Sam uncapped it and then sighed. He hadn’t used any, refusing to allow himself any comfort when he had caused so much pain to the people he loved, so the bottle was full.

Leaning over, he opened the small motel room bar and pulled out a miniature of whiskey, noting wryly that it was Dean’s favorite. He barely took the time to pop the small lid before using it to swallowing the pills down.

Within moments, he felt giddy.

Slowly he pressed himself back on the bed and wondered if he should leave Dean a note. It certainly seemed the decent thing to do.

Struggling as his body started to succumb quickly to the overdose, Sam pushed himself off the bed and weaved towards the small table where he knew there was a writing tablet and a pen.

He almost made it.

But as the floor rushed up to meet him, Sam felt a flicker of remorse. He really would have liked to have left that note.

‘I love you big brother,’ was his dying thought.

“What difference does one more night make?” Dean argued with his doctor. He had tried to sleep after his brother left, but a horrible sense of foreboding, punctuated when Sam didn’t call, had him pounding on his call button and demanding an escape. “I’ll be just as fine in the morning as I am now!”

“Mr. Presley,” the doctor sounded tired but Dean didn’t care.

“You know what,” he stated cutting the man off, “Just give me a damn AMA form to sign because I am leaving!”

The doctor watched as the determined young man floundered in the bed, hissing in pain as he tried to get up. Rolling his eyes, the physician moved to assist his difficult patient. “Fine,” he said in resignation. “But if you don’t take it easy and take care of yourself, you’ll end up right back in here.”

“Yeah, yeah. Fine. I got it,” Dean dismissed his concerns, his anxiousness to see his brother palpable. “Just get me my walking papers!”

Hurry… hurry… his every big brother instinct was screaming.

“More like hobbling papers,” the doctor grumbled under his breath as he left to get the papers in order. His brother was much more pleasant to deal with, he thought as he left the room.

Dean was out of breath and already hurting by the time he got dressed, resorting to having to ask a sympathetic nurse to help with his shoes before grabbing his jacket and stiffly walking out of the room. His chest tightened with emotion as he carried the jacket – Sam had taken it to a dry cleaner for him…

“I’m on my way, little brother,” he whispered. “Just hang on.”

Moving gingerly, Dean left the hospital and caught a cab. As he settled into the back seat, hissing when the seatbelt constricted against his chest, he wished Bobby lived closer so he could have given the young hunter a ride.

He knew his father’s friend would have come if he had called but a pressing urgency screamed at Dean that time was something he couldn’t spare.

So he used his last twenty dollar bill instead.

Pulling up outside the small motel that he knew Sam was staying in, Dean paid the driver and hurriedly got out, groaning as he moved too quickly and pain flared through his chest. After he made sure Sam was okay, and then chewed him out for making him worry, Dean was going to drug himself silly with painkillers and go to bed. Sammy could play nurse for a while.

Dean took small comfort in seeing the light on his brother’s room.

“Okay, kiddo,” he whispered as he raised his hand to knock. “You got home.”

He knocked and waited.

No answer.

The hunter frowned. Maybe Sam was in the bathroom…

He knocked again. This time more loudly.

Still no answer.

“Damnit, Sammy,” his worry increased. He waited a heartbeat then pounded on the door.

“SAM!”

But his brother still did not answer. It was quiet. Too quiet. Something was wrong.

Get in… get in… his instincts screamed.

Wasting no more time, Dean grabbed a credit card from his wallet. He jimmied the door and pushed it open.

“Sammy?” he called out tentatively, “Yo bro, you decent?”

Still no sound.

His heart pounded into the back of his throat as he stepped inside and then stopped.

There.

Lying on the floor – not moving – too still – was Sam.

Dean felt all the blood drain from his face as for one moment he was completely frozen, all feeling gone from his body as his mind refused to believe what his eyes was seeing. “

No,” he whispered shaking his head. “No…”

Yes.

And then he was moving.

"Sammy!" Dean gasped, ignoring his own pain as he dropped heavily to his knees next to the still figure. Oh God no… Oh God no! Desperately he pressed his shaking fingers against his brother’s throat. He was too cold. Sam was too cold…

Oh thank you God!

There was a pulse but it was slow and lethargic, mocking more than living.

Dean didn’t have time. Sam didn’t have time.

As he pushed himself back to his feet, the older hunter scanned the room, quickly taking in the empty pill bottle and the miniature. It didn’t take much to put together what had happened.

"God dammnit, Sammy," Dean hissed as he grabbed the phone and dialed 911, all the while keeping a sharp eye on his brother, praying for some sort of movement from him and cursing the last two red lights the cab had stopped for.

As the operator finally came on line, Dean quickly told her where he was and about the overdose, hanging up as soon as she told him an ambulance had been dispatched.

Moving back to Sam, Dean gently brushed his hand through his brother’s dark, silky hair. "Come on, kiddo," he said, his voice breaking, "don’t you dare do this to me. You asshole! Don’t you dare leave me! Do you hear me Sammy? Don’t you dare! " Dean brushed roughly at his wet cheeks. "You stupid bastard!" He lowered his voice; his words trembled past his lips. "Please, little brother. I need you…"

Beneath his gentle touch, Sam slipped further away.

Four hours later, Dean was still sitting by himself in the waiting room. The irony was not lost on him that mere hours ago he had fled this very place. And now he was back, but this time because of Sammy.

“What the hell was going through your freaky little head,” he asked as he sat alone waiting to hear some news. He knew Sam was alive but so far he hadn’t been able to see him.

It had been close that was all he knew. He had almost lost his brother and if he hadn’t signed himself out and gone back to the motel when he did, Sam would have died.

Shaken at the thought, Dean leaned back in the seat and closed his eyes, willing his weary body to relax. He’d do Sam no good if he got himself re-admitted as well.

Everything was so badly messed up… even his car. He couldn’t help but snort about that. Bobby said the Impala could be fixed but until he saw his beloved baby himself…

Dean opened his eyes and blinked hard, trying to focus on the clock hung high on the wall. The car could be fixed; he only hoped his brother could be fixed as well.

He had a pretty good idea what might have drove Sam to this stupidness, and it was the very reason he had been so afraid for his brother each night. In hindsight, Dean now wished he had made Sam stay with Bobby until he got released. But he hadn’t.

In truth, while Dean was worried about Sam being alone, he wanted his brother to be with him even more. And if Sam had been staying with Bobby, it would have seriously cut down on how much time he could have stayed with Dean as the older man lived a healthy distance from the hospital.

So Dean hadn’t pressed the issue at all, only too relieved when Sam said he’d be okay staying in the motel room by himself – after all it was only for a few hours each night.

Oh yeah, the hunter thought bitterly, only a few hours each night for the demon to torture Sam; time for the nightmares to drive the self-damning stick of guilt straight through his brother’s soul. And Dean could have stopped it.

He should have stopped it. He should have insisted Sam stay with Bobby…

Bobby would have been there to help keep the darkness away. He would protect Sam with the truth; reminding the anguishing hunter that it was not his fault and that he did not do this to his family.

But no. Dean wanted Sam close by. So he said nothing and left his brother alone in the dark instead.

Glancing back up at the time again, he snorted in disgust. And I call Sam, selfish?

An hour later, a round faced nurse told him he could see his brother.

Sam didn’t hear Dean come into the room. He had his eyes closed and jumped when he felt someone’s hand on his forehead.

Opening his eyes, he gave a wan smile when he saw Dean standing over him. The older man withdrew his hand and shook his head.

“You were fine, huh?” Dean said dryly as he sat down carefully in the visitor’s chair.

“Sorry,” Sam mumbled as he looked down at his hands.

“Sorry?” Dean leaned back in the chair and his eyes narrowed. “That the best you can do?”

His younger brother shrugged. He didn’t know what Dean wanted him to say; definitely not the truth. Dean never wanted the truth.

For a few long minutes neither spoke. Sam fidgeted under the intensity of his brother’s gaze. His own mind was still sluggish from the overdose and he really just wanted to sleep. He blinked and sighed. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. He wasn’t ever supposed to wake up…

His heart was heavy and his soul weary. “I just want to sleep,” he said, his words mostly a whisper and dragging from the weight of the responsibility that had been placed on his young shoulders. He had tried to fix things…

Some prize he was.

“Sam,” Dean wasn’t letting this go and inwardly Sam deflated. He didn’t want to do this. “What the hell were you thinking?”

“I was going to leave a note,” he offered, his befuddled mind hoping that would somehow stay the questions but he was wrong.

“A note?” Dean sounded incredulous. “A freaking note? That’s supposed to make this all better?’

The younger man just shrugged his shoulders. He wasn’t sure about anything anymore.

“Oh wonderful. A note,” now the older man was being sarcastic. “And just exactly were you planning on saying in this note?”

Sam risked a glance at Dean. I love you. I am doing this to protect you. Please don’t hate me. Sam. “I don’t know,” his words were soft.

Dean let out a frustrated snort. “Cut the crap Sam and talk to me. What the hell is this all about?”

“Why now?” Sam snapped, his temper rising that his brother – the king of ‘no chic flics’ – was now demanding that Sam talk to him. “You never want to talk about anything. Suck it up and move on. Ain’t that the Winchester way?”

“Whatever.” Dean huffed angrily, and then leaned in over the bedrail towards Sam. “Why now? I’ll tell you why, because you tried to kill yourself, that’s why. You go and pull that kind of crap and yeah, guess what, I’m going to want to talk about it.”

Sam was taken aback by his brother’s vehemence. This was a side of Dean he had never seen before. But than again, he had never tried to kill himself before, either. “I said I was sorry,” he couldn’t keep the sulkiness out of his tone and then jumped when Dean slammed his hand against the bed railing.

“Screw you!”

Furious, the older man got up and stalked around the room. Sam knew he was trying to calm down.

Squeezing his cold hands together, he tried to keep them from shaking as he watched his brother pace, and then when he saw Dean stop with his face twisted in a grimace, the younger man remembered that Dean was supposed to still be in the hospital himself. How the hell did he manage to forget that? Oh yeah, he had tried to overdose himself.

“Dean,” Sam’s voice was tired but concerned. “Please sit down. You’re going to hurt yourself.”

Dean whirled on his feet, his eyes wide with disbelief. “Oh, so now you care about me.”

“That’s not fair,” Sam said quietly, feeing a sharp stab of guilt at the accusation in his brother’s voice. He had tried to leave Dean… again. Only this time forever.

The older man rubbed his face tiredly, sighed heavily and then gingerly sat down in the chair. “You’re right it’s not fair but it’s true.” The anguish on his face captured Sam and he was unable to look away. “Sam, please talk to me. Please tell me what’s going on… Please.”

Dean never begged and the plea cut Sam right to the quick. Already emotionally overloaded, he didn’t have anything left to resist with. Ducking his head, he just said simply, “I just don’t know what else to do.”

“Do about what, Sammy?” the older man pressed gently, reaching through the railing to grasp one of Sam’s shaking hands and squeezing.

Sam blinked hard. He didn’t want to crumble in front of Dean. He licked his lips and tried to explain but it was so difficult. Talking was just not something they did well. “I,” he took a deep breath and laid his soul bare, trusting his brother to tread lightly, no longer having the strength to hold it inside. “I don’t want to lose you too. I can’t, Dean – I just can’t and I’m so afraid it’s going to happen - ” his voice shook.. oh God this was so hard.

"It’s not," Dean refuted forcefully as he gripped the hand he was holding tightly. “You’re not going to lose me. Ever.”

"How can you say that?" Sam demanded, a note of panic tingeing his voice as his eyes searched his brother’s face, desperately seeking for something concrete to grasp a hold of. "How can you be so sure? Look what happened in the cabin, Dean. It had us. It had all of us and we weren’t strong enough – I wasn’t strong enough – to stop it. It sliced you open without even laying a finger on you! And I couldn’t stop it!"

“It isn’t your job to stop it,” Dean interjected but his brother just shook his head.

“Of course it is!” he argued pulling away from his brother, “You heard the demon, Dean. It has plans for me! It challenged me to stop it and I couldn’t! I couldn’t… I - ”

"Sammy," Dean interrupted his brother’s increasingly upset and self condemning tirade. "Stop. Please."

The younger man took a deep breath, blinked sharply and turned away. He was dangerously close to totally losing it.

"Sam, look at me."

Oh God. Dean wasn’t going to make this any easier on him. With great reluctance, the younger man turned towards his brother again.

"This," he indicated his covered chest, "is not your fault and I won’t stand for you blaming yourself over it." He sat back heavily in the chair and stared at Sam for a long time and then asked quietly. "Do you honestly think that if you had died in that crummy little motel room, you would have saved me?"

Sam swallowed hard and then slowly nodded, not trusting his voice anymore. He had and he still did.

"Oh kid," Dean exhaled heavily. He leaned forward and snorted softly. "All that would have done is insure the next time I met that sonnovabitch, I’d be alone…” Sam looked at his brother oddly – he hadn’t thought about that.

Dean continued. “Do you really think I would have just given up looking for it because you had killed yourself?” He snorted softly, “I’m sorry, Sammy, but that’s not how it works." He dropped his voice to a mere whisper and Sam shivered at the tone. "I would have become Dad. I would have continued to hunt, but not for Mom anymore… only for you."

"Dean," Sam felt himself slipping over his emotional edge and into the gaping void of a total breakdown; his shoulders shook and his voice trembled. "I’m sorry. I’m so… so sorry."

Wrapping his arms tightly around himself, Sam was stomach sick and terrified at what he had almost done. He hadn’t even thought about how Dean would feel if Sam had died, or about the path of revenge his death would have put the older man on. Doubling over, he felt the tears burn his face but he didn’t care; he just kept apologizing over and over again, his words a psychotic mantra. "I’m sorry. I’m sorry…"

And then he felt the weight shift on the bed as Dean moved, a moment before his brother’s arms went around him, warm and strengthening; a protective cocoon – a hand reaching over the edge to pull him back. "It’s okay, Sammy. It’s okay," the older man’s voice was murmuring gently in his ear and he turned towards it. “I’m here kiddo… I’m right here…”

Pressing himself against his brother’s strong frame, Sam fisted his hands in Dean’s shirt and held on as he let out all the pain, grief and fear he’d kept inside since the night Jessica died.

Dean seemed to understand how much Sam needed this because, instead of trying to brush him off or pull away, he just held on to his younger brother, his unwavering strength, faith and love tethering Sam as a storm of emotions broke around him. And even when an exhausted Sam finally pulled away and leaned back in the bed, Dean didn’t move.

He continued to sit there, vigilant, until his brother had drifted into sleep; his own discomfort and pain pushed aside momentarily by his own need to do this. He needed to be here and do this for Sammy, as much and maybe even more than Sam needed him to.

And only when he was sure that Sam was resting comfortably, perhaps his first real sleep in weeks, did Dean move back to the chair and gingerly stretch out his cramping muscles and rub at his aching chest. He was still shaken by his brother’s emotional meltdown but heartened as well…

It was like flushing an infection out of a wound; a painful, messy, but necessary procedure to facilitate healing. And Dean was sure that in the end, although his brother would always carry the scars, he would heal. In fact Dean knew he would heal because he would accept no less for his Sammy, just as his brother would accept no less for him…

"You’re not going to win," the hunter whispered into the stillness. "You can’t have him. I won’t let you."

Dean felt the air around him prickle and even though he knew it had to have been his mind, he could have sworn he heard a hissing answer.

‘We will see, hunter… we will see…’

The End