Summary:  As his head hit the pavement, he coughed and felt a trickle of blood escape his mouth. That's when he remembered Dean.
Disclaimer:  I own only the 1st Season DVD.

Dean felt the drool on his lip before he was aware of anything else. Slowly raising his head, he looked to see that he was still in Sam’s room. The room was considerably darker than it had been when Dr. Stenehjem had left Dean in it, and Dean knew he had slept for quite a while.

John and the doctor had both promised him as much time as he needed, and he bet that was the only reason he had slept undisturbed.

Next to him, Sam too was out. Only he slept a sleep that he could not be awakened from.

Dean looked down at his pale face, and then heard, from somewhere within him,

Remember, Dean.

The dream had felt so real. Both dreams had. Dean knew, beyond a doubt that Sam – the real Sam – had been trying to contact him both times.

But how was that possible? Dean stole a glance at the brain activity monitor. The lines remained. There were no jumps, no waves, nothing. Sam was still technically alive, but whatever made Sam Sam was gone.

Sam’s dead. Dean felt sick at the thought. Not only sick, but empty, like there was a dry well inside of him that would never be filled again.

In a moment of panic, Dean put his hand on Sam’s head, caressing one of Sam’s eyebrows gently. Closing his eyes, he left his hand on Sam’s forehead. Wishing that somehow he could feel Sam beneath him, know for sure that Sam was actually there, and not just from what was probably a combination of shock and wishful thinking.

Because if he knew for a fact that Sam was gone, it would make the inevitable that much easier. Dean hadn’t forgotten his conversation with his Dad – he knew what Dr. Stenehjem thought was best, and his father – his father -

“We gotta let Sammy go, Dean. To keep him here, alive because of machines – you know he wouldn’t want that. Dr. Stenehjem said it’d be a quick injection. A – a lethal dose. Sam would feel no pain.”

“Just let me see him, Dad? Please, I need to see him.”

“I know you do, son.”

Dean grabbed Sam’s hand again, trembling.

This is the last time I’ll see my brother alive.

The sobs were coming up again, and Dean swallowed hard to contain them.

Remember, Dean. Remember.

“Remember what, Sammy?” Dean whispered aloud, half to himself and half to his brother’s... body. He could feel himself getting suddenly angry, and he didn’t know why.

“Remember what? You want me to help you, but you won’t tell me how! You claim you’re not dead, but you are, Sammy. Do you hear me? You’re dead and it’s my fault! Goddamn it, Sammy! I hate you. God... I hate you...”

During his outburst Dean had risen to his feet, leaning over Sam, his hands on Sam’s face, his eyelashes nearly touching Sam’s own. Warm tears had escaped his eyes, dropping to Sam’s cheeks and rolling into the grooves of his eyelids.

Both brothers were crying now.

The sight – Sammy crying - brought Dean back to himself with a startled gasp. He stood up straight, wiping his eyes. He was already feeling guilty. Even though he knew Sam wasn’t there, Dean couldn’t escape the feeling that Sammy had somehow heard him.

“God Sammy, I'm sorry. I didn’t mean that,” he whimpered. This time it was a conscious decision to stoop over to Sam, and Dean wiped away his own tears from Sam’s cheeks. “I don’t hate you, little brother. I never could. But, you have to understand.”

Dean pushed back the fringe of bangs from Sam’s cool forehead.

“I want to make sure you’re gone before we do this, but all I feel, everywhere, is you. Even as a spirit, you still won’t stop bothering me, will you?” Dean chuckled slightly, though he found nothing humorous in this. “Sammy, please, you gotta help me out here. I’m not as smart as you think – I don’t remember. Sammy, you gotta find another way. You’re the geekboy, remember? Please, Sammy. Let me know this is okay.”

Dean’s heart was battling with his head. His head kept telling him the truth as he could see it – that Sammy was gone, Sammy was dead, and the best thing for everyone – especially Sammy - would be to let him go. But his heart was telling a different story – one he could only feel – that Sammy was just as much here and well as he had been before, and that Dean could save him.

Dean remembered Sam’s smile, before he had jumped out the window. Sam believed that Dean would save him, knew it was possible. And Sam was never wrong about these things. Sam had always believed in Dean, and Dean had always found a way to keep Sam safe. How could things be any different now?

They're not. They never could be. I won't let them be.

Dean forgot everything else, forgot what was logical and reasonable (and when had he ever listened to those parts anyway?) and focused on the one, most important thing - Saving Sammy.

“Fuck my head,” Dean said to himself. And to Sam, “Never worked as well as yours before. Why would it now?”

For a moment, Dean could have sworn he saw Sam's lips twitch. Dean's eyes widened, and he couldn't help the small smile that cracked through the foreboding frown.

Hey, Sammy. I miss you.

Dean sat down again. It was time to think.

“Remember, Dean. Remember,” Dean whispered aloud. He’d been saying those words over and over again for over ten minutes, but... nothing was coming.

Memories don’t come just ‘cause someone tells you to remember them, Sammy, Dean thought, irritated. Something has to remind you of them.

Dean thought back to his first dream. They’d been in their bedroom in the apartment. Dean tried to remember all he could, but they’d only lived there for about two months and there really wasn’t much. The room was so small that they couldn’t fit a desk in there, so Sam did his homework out on the kitchen table. Dean didn’t do his homework at all.

No, there were no memories there that Dean could think were relevant. Just long nights when he sometimes had trouble sleeping. A few hazy memories of tapping Sam on the side of his head every time he woke Dean with his snoring.

Not the bedroom. Dean confirmed. Moving on...

Dean’s second dream seemed more likely anyway. By then, Dean knew Sam – not his ghost, but Sam, all Sammy - had realized that Dean wouldn’t remember unless Sam helped him remember.

So, the second dream must have been designed to help me remember, Dean reasoned. That must have been why I was nine again, and Sam five. But why back at FortDouglas? What happened there besides... besides me messing up? Besides Sam almost getting - Dean gulped - getting killed?

Dean didn’t know if Sam remembered what had happened that night so long ago, but Dean sure did, even though he didn’t want to.

Damn it Sam. Why couldn't you just tell me what's going on?

He did his best not to remember any time spent there, and now Sam wanted him to dredge it all up again when he had spent over nine years trying to forget it?

Remember for Sammy, Dean. He needs you to remember, so you will goddamn remember. Think.

Dean recalled how in his dream Sam had only told him the numbers verbally, he had shown them to him in the notebook.

But why numbers on a paper? Coordinates, maybe?

No, there were too many numbers. Think harder, Dean. Why else would Sam show you numbers? An address? No. Phone number? No.

Remember, Dean. Remember.

A code? N-

Dean’s eyes widened.

Without mercy, it hit him.

Fort Douglas, WI – Fall 1988

“Dean, I’m bored...” five-year-old Sam cried. “I’m tired of being stuck here.”

Dean sighed impatiently, having heard this ten times already this morning.

And it was only 8 o’clock.

“I know Sammy, but Dad said we had to stay here until the he gets back, and that could be a while. What about watching cartoons?”

“I’m sick of cartoons,” Sam wailed, turning to face Dean, his puppy-dog eyes out in full force.

Despite Sam's best attempts, Dean felt more inclined to yell at him then to give in. Sam wasn't the only one bored, after all. But Dean knew it was no use to be harsh with Sam. The best thing would be to find something for him to do - again - before they both got really angry at each other.

Dean knew he had to engage in one of his favorite activities – fooling Sammy. Making him believe that something dumb and boring was in fact really neat and interesting.

And Dean was a master at it.

Just a month ago, he'd even managed to convince Sammy that three incredibly boring things – libraries, books, and research – were "really awesome" and "totally cool" and "being like big hunters, Sammy. The real heroes, like Dad."

As a result, Dean now had his own personal book-getter when Dad made him look stuff up. Much better than leaving Sam at a little kid table with games and puzzles.

It had been Dean’s best idea, ever.

So in FortDouglas, it was no time before Dean had another moment of genius.

“Here, Sam, wanna see something cool?” Dean asked casually.

Sam looked up at him, mildly interested, but still - as usual - skeptical.

"What is it?", he finally asked, one eyebrow arched slightly.

And Dean was officially in

“Well, maybe I shouldn’t tell you. You’re too small to know something this important,” Dean said.

Sam took the bait, just like Dean knew he would.

“What is it, Dean? Please tell me! I’m not too little,” Sam pleaded, his puppy dog eyes coming back out, this time with the added appearance of the bitten bottom lip. That one got Dad, everytime.

“Wellll...” Dean pretended to ponder it. Sam turned his puppy eyes onto HIGH, and after a couple of moments Dean shrugged. “Why not?”

“Yay-a-yay-a-yay-a-“

While Sam was jumping up down, celebrating his 'victory', Dean walked over to the dining table, where a bunch of crayons and paper lay from where Sammy had colored there all day yesterday. He sat down, and quickly drew out something, then showed it to Sam, who was looking over his shoulder expectantly.

“This,” he said proudly, “is a code. If you follow this code, you can write me messages that only I’ll be able to understand. That way, nobody else will know what we’re saying to each other.”

Sam stared at the code in awe. “Even Daddy?” he said, looking expectantly at Dean.

“Yeah,” Dean said, “Even Dad.”

“Wow!” Sam cried, grabbing the paper from Dean. “Thanks Dean,” he added. The hero-worship in his eyes could hardly be contained beneath his mop of curls, and Dean grinned smugly.

“Sure thing, kiddo.”

Sam gave Dean a quick hug before sitting down, his entire focus on Dean’s code.

In reality, he knew his Dad would be able to crack the code in no time. It was simply assigning a number to each letter of the alphabet. A 1, B 2, C 3, and so on. But Sammy didn’t realize how easy it was. In fact, he thought it was the most clever thing he’d ever seen.

Barely ten minutes later, Sammy handed Dean his first message – one of many that were to be given to him that day.

9

12 15 22 5

4 5 1 14

I LOVE DEAN

Dean had remembered all this in less than a second. “Oh god, how could I forget?” he asked himself guiltily.

Their secret code had been Sam’s favorite thing for weeks afterward. Dean had received enough of secret messages to fill a shoebox before Sam had finally grown bored of the activity. For a couple years after, ‘til Sam realized how easily the code could be broken, Dean had occasionally found letters on his bed or in his shoes – papers filled with numbers that were messages meant only for him.

Dean had no time to lose. Sam’s message now was the most important one he had ever been given.

19 – S. 5 – E. 5 – E.

See.

10 – J. 5 – E. 18 – R. 11 – K.

Jerk.

19 – S. 5 – E. 5 – E.

See.

See Jerk See. See Jerk, See. See, Jerk See. See, Jerk. See.

See Jerk See. Sam’s message. The hell?

Whatever Dean had expected, it wasn’t that. Well, not entirely. The ‘Jerk’ part, while a slam, was more than that too. Sam and Dean had a system on hunts – if one was worried about the other, the other had only to call his brother one of a plethora of their favorite names for each other to let him know he was all right.

By telling Dean ‘Jerk’, Sam was really saying, I’m okay Dean. I’m not hurt - well, I'm not dying - and I’m all right. It was a sign of relief and thanks and love all rolled into one. For most brothers, this was not so.

But the Winchesters were not most brothers. Thank god.

But the ‘See’? Dean had no idea on that. Sam wanted him to see something? See what? What was there to see besides the fact that Sam was lying here, brain-dead?

Obviously there’s something you’re missing, Dean. Time to think again.

Dean closed his eyes, a whispered litany in his head. See. See. See.

Every time Dean thought the word again, he saw Sam.

See.

Sammy, barely a month old, cocooned in his mother’s arms. Dean prodding his funny-looking nose to see if it was real.

See.

Five-month-old Sammy looking up from Dean’s arms as Dean held him and grinned widely into the camera.

See.

Four-year-old Sammy pulling on Dean’s fingers. “Please Dean, I wanna go to the park!”

See.

Sam, a serious nine-year-old, on his very first hunt, eyes wide and alert. Dean’s arm on his shoulder.

See.

Sam, gangly and hardly thirteen, arguing incessantly with Dean over the finer points of hunting a werewolf.

See.

Sam, in his dream, giving Dean the sly grin of confidence before jumping out the window. You can save me Dean. I know you can. I believe in you, big brother.

SEE.

Dean opened his eyes.

And turned to the brain-activity monitor.

Lines. There were only lines. Dean fought back a scream of despair.

And then, everything whitened out before Dean’s eyes. And when things came back to focus, it was different.

Instead of lines, the screen showed waves. Not just that, but tons of brain activity. So much that the entire monitor was filled with jumps all over the place.

Dean stared stupidly. How...?

Without warning, Dean’s vision clouded over again.

When it cleared, the lines were back. It was as though the jumps and waves – Sammy okay and alive – had never been.

See Jerk See.

It was an illusion. A hallucination. Something messing with everyone’s minds. Dean had never felt so sure of anything as he did of this.

It had fooled the doctor. The nurses. Dean and Sam’s own father.

Dean himself.

Something wanted Sam dead. Wanted Dean and John to let Sam die.

No, Dean thought. Not just let Sam die. To kill Sam. And not something natural.

Something supernatural.

But once again, something evil had underestimated the Winchesters. Because Dean had believed enough in Sam, enough in himself, to see it.

Dean had believed. Dean had broken the barrier. Dean had seen.

Dean stood up, heart beating fast, pupils blown. For a moment, he allowed himself to stare down at Sam with something akin to wonder.

His little brother had somehow found a way to invade Dean’s dreams, to control them, to get to Dean even when he himself was veiled by an evil entity.

Sam must have escaped the – thing’s – hold, Dean reasoned, letting his hand drift once again over his brother’s forehead. But the storm, the thunder, the wind. The window shattering. The thing came back for Sam, to stop him.

Dean shuddered.

To take him away from me.

His jaw tightened resolutely.

Not this time, Sammy. Not now. Not ever.

Dean forced himself to break contact with Sam, and turned to walk to the room’s entrance, the forgotten wheelchair abandoned.

As he opened the door, Dean took one last look at the brain-activity monitor. And though there were only lines, all Dean saw were dozens of beautiful, wonderful, miraculous jumps. Dean smiled, his eyes watering.

“Bitch,” he answered elatedly, and left.

It didn’t take Dean long to find his father. John was sitting down the hall from Sam’s room in a waiting area. Across from him was a plastic table, papers strewn all across it. Dr. Stenehjem sat on the other side of the table.

“Mr. Winchester, I know this is hard, perhaps the hardest thing you’ll ever have to do,” the doctor was saying quietly. “But it’s really for the best. This-“ Dean saw him motion to a paper on the far right “- is the last consent form. Once you sign this, you give us full and complete permission to stop Sam’s heart, and let him fall away in peace.”

Just as John took a deep breath and leaned over to sign, Dean jumped in. “Dad?”

“Dean,” John said, and stood up, the paper momentarily forgotten. He walked slowly to his son, looking down at him worriedly. “How... how are you? And where’s your wheelchair? You shouldn’t be walking yet.”

“Dad, there’s something a lot more important I have to talk to you about,” Dean said, carefully avoiding the curious eyes of Dr. Stenehjem from the table.

“What is it?” John asked, putting both his hands on his son’s shoulders.

“Could... could we talk in private?”

“Of course, Dean.”

One hand still on Dean’s shoulders, John led him down the hall and took a corner. Soon they came to a second waiting area, this one empty of family and doctors alike.

“What is it, son?”

“Dad, Sammy’s not gone yet,” Dean said, his tone as serious as he could make it, given his utter elation at saying such a thing. Less than ten minutes ago he’d have hardly believed it possible, yet here he was.

John, however, looked less certain. “Dean-” he began, but Dean cut him off.

“Dad, you have to listen to me. Sam’s been contacting me, in my dreams. He’s had to use a code to tell me what’s going on, but I finally figured it out. And Dad, the brain monitor, the lines it’s showing – it’s an illusion. Something is trying to make us think Sammy’s gone. I don’t know why, but it is.”

Whatever John saw in Dean’s face, Dean didn’t know. But if was one thing John was certain of, it was that Dean loved his brother beyond anything. Loved Sam enough to protect him from anything.

Before, Dean had known the right thing to do – that they had to let Sammy go, so he wouldn’t suffer, even at the cost of Dean and John’s utter emptiness at such a loss. Now, though, Dean believed there was a chance Sammy was still there, that they could get Sammy back.

Maybe his son was confused. Maybe the hit to his head had caused hallucinations. Maybe the shock was becoming too much. Maybe Dean’s guilt was causing him to lose control. Maybe Dean was finally losing his previously strong and resolute grip on the last edges of sanity concerning Sammy’s wound and brain damage.

With surprise, John realized none of these worries mattered.

Because when it came to Sammy, John trusted his eldest son more than anyone.

Looking into his son’s clear eyes now, John knew he’d never believed in Dean more.

“Dad, please, you gotta believe me. We can’t – Sammy’s not dead, Dad. He’s still there, and he knows we can save him,” Dean pleaded, taking John’s silence for disbelief.

John moved his hand from Dean’s shoulder to the back of his neck, cuffing it gently. “I know, Dean. I believe you.”

Dean grinned.

“Tell me everything,” John said, then looking over his shoulder added, “and quickly.”

“It has to be a demon,” John said with finality, after Dean had recounted his story. “Invading people’s dreams, creating massive illusions, wanting to steal souls. Only a demon is powerful enough to control all that.”

“Steal people’s souls?” Dean asked, alarmed.

“What do you think it wants with Sammy, Dean?” John asked him pointedly. “Why else would it want us to think he’s dead? Want us to let him die?”

“I...” Dean hadn’t thought of it like that yet, and it made him shiver to think of what had almost happened.

“What I don’t understand,” John went on, “is why it let Sam enter your dreams. Why take such a risk?”

“I don’t think it wanted him there, Dad,” Dean said honestly. “The storm coming, and the windows shattering. It was trying to force him to leave. That’s why he jumped out the window – he was trying to get out before..."

Dean hadn't made the connection until this moment.

"Before it would come after me too.”

“But Dean, it had to have let him enter your dream,” John answered. “Sammy couldn’t have done that by himself.”

“Maybe Sammy’s spirit can,” Dean offered. He had wondered earlier about this too, and it was the only plausible answer he came up with.

“But Sammy’s spirit is still in his body, you said so yourself,” John retorted. After a couple moments, he said, “Well, it doesn’t matter now. Right now the important thing is getting Sammy out of here as fast as possible. Come on.”

Father and son walked side by side out the waiting area and around the corner. Just as they passed by the first waiting area, however, something caught Dean’s eye.

“Dad...” he said, coming to a stop.

“What is it?” John asked, slightly irritated.

But Dean just walked into the waiting area, coming to a stop at the table. There sat the consent papers in a neat pile. At the top was the one marked Final Consent, and as Dean picked it up he saw that at the bottom –

No.

“No,” John said, grabbing the paper from Dean’s hands. “I didn’t... I know I didn’t...”

In small, slanting scrawl, on the very bottom of the page, identical to Dean's father's handwriting, was

John Matthew Winchester.

Before the paper hit the floor, both Winchesters were racing frantically down the hall, the scream barreling from their souls to their lips echoing the one-word prayer endlessly looping in their minds and hearts.

Sammy. Sammy. Sammy.

“Sammy!”

Sam woke to darkness. He’d been right – the demon hadn’t brought him back to the white place.

Time to end this, young one.

Without warning, Sam felt a force slam into him like none other. It was as though millions of tiny needles were forcing their way through his skin. It was agony that he’d only felt once before – the last time the demon had attacked him.

This time, however, there was nothing to end it. Whether out of necessity or for it's own pleasure, the demon didn't stop the attack.

Before Sam’s awareness receded, he heard the last call of the demon, mocking him with it’s tenderness.

You are mine, boy. Now you are mine.

“Sammy!”

Despite his head injury, Dean’s panic had given way to a spurt of adrenaline that had him lengths ahead of John by the time they got to the door of Sam’s hospital room.

“Dean - son!”

Dean thrust the door open, hardly listening to his father’s call.

“WAIT!” he cried, then paused to take in the room.

Before him stood two nurses, both flanking Sam’s bed.

But they were not who Dean was focused on.

Dr. Stenehjem stood on Sam’s right side, one hand on Sam’s forearm, the other on his forehead.

Dean watched in horror as the doctor looked up, face grim, blue eyes bright.

“It’s really for the best, Dean,” he said. “Your brother will die peacefully, and you and your father can move on.”

“How could you do this?” Dean’s head snapped up to look at his father. John stood next to him, and while they were nearly the same height, his father seemed to tower over everyone and everything at that moment.

“I didn’t sign the damn paper, you son of a bitch! You can’t let my son die without my consent!”

“Oh, I can’t?” Dr. Stenehjem said. “I think the grief has taken hold of you, Mr. Winchester. You see, you did sign the paper. In fact, you signed numerous papers to allow this.”

“Not all of them, you piece of shit,” John said, seething. “I didn’t sign the final one, no matter what you say. And I won’t allow this to happen. We’re getting Sam out of here. I understand you are against it, but that is my decision as his father. Sam is leaving here. Now.”

“Your decision is of no matter,” Dr. Stenehjem said, settling his gaze once again on Sam. “It’s already taking hold as we speak.”

No. No. Nonononono-

“What?” John said, his voice hardly above a whisper.

“You see, Mr. Winchester,” Dr. Stenehjem answered, still staring fondly at Sam, “I’ve already entered the injection. In a matter of minutes, Sam’s heart will stop with or without the help of these machines. Sam Winchester will be at peace.”

“Dad,” Dean whimpered. No. We can’t be too late. We’re not too late.

Sammy.

John was across the room in less than a second. Without warning he grabbed Dr. Stenehjem by his lab coat and thrust him away from Sammy and toward the wall.

“You son of a bitch, if you’re not lying I will kill you here and now,” John said, his voice strong. But Dean could see in his eyes there was grief beyond measure.

There was a moment of silence in which the doctor and father stared at each other, and Dean stole a glance at the nurses. To his surprise, instead of looking shocked, both continued to stare down at Sam, their faces morose. In fact, it looked as though neither of them had moved once in all the commotion.

They wouldn’t just stand there. They would have tried to stop Dad, or they would have run to get security, right? Dean thought, perplexed.

Then it hit him.

They’re not real.

Dean looked back up at the doctor, his eyes wide with new understanding. Before, he had just thought of Dr. Stenehjem as a well-meaning man, a kind-hearted altruist who, if a little twisted, just wanted the best for his patients. He had seemed so understanding of their pain, and his prodding to let Sam go had seemed balanced in its pushing. But looking at him now, his eyes bright not with tears but with triumph, Dean saw something entirely different.

Something evil.

Dean walked up to stand beside his father. John gave him a weary look, but Dean was confident. He looked up at the doctor.

“Christo,” he muttered.

Dr. Stenehjem shivered and recoiled instantly. Dean felt the room itself shudder, and turned to look at the nurses. Just as he had expected, they flickered in and out like ghosts, than faded altogether.

Just as Dean turned his head back, he felt a sudden pull in his navel. A great invisible force pushed both him and his father across the room, where they landed next to each other against the opposite wall from the demon.

Dean grunted from the force, trying desperately to move his body, but nothing would give. He turned his head to the side and saw that his father was in a similar position.

Both father and son watched as Dr. Stenehjem – the demon – stood from where he had fallen on the floor once John had released him. He looked downward as he casually wiped his lab coat off. What Dean saw when the doctor lifted his head nearly made him sick.

One of the doctor’s eyes was the same dark blue as before, but the other one had mutated to a glowing, vibrant red. It reminded Dean of the blood that had covered Sammy only the day before, and Dean had to close his eyes to keep the bile from rising too far in his throat.

“So, your brother did contact you, then?” the demon said nonchalantly. “He was a great find, I must say. So strong and young. Able to slip past even my barriers in his desperation to reach you.”

The demon walked forward until he stood once again by Sammy, and then to Dean’s horror put his hand once again on Sam’s forehead, caressing his temple. The action spoke of devotion and tendernes. But it wasn't meant to be tender - it was meant to get to Dean. And it worked.

“You stay away from him, you son of a bitch!” he cried. “You touch him again, I will kill you.”

“Ah, is that so?” The demon said, his mouth morphing into a grotesque smile. “And how will you do that, young Dean? You are just as trapped as your brother is. You and your father both.”

Dean stole a glance at his dad. John was staring at the demon with the glare he used only on evil, on the things he hunted – those loathsome creatures that deserved only hatred and no mercy. Dean himself had perfected that look as well, and felt it in his features as he too stared the demon down.

The demon only laughed. “After all I’ve heard of the great Winchesters, and this is all you can muster? Mere glares? Those alone will not send me back to Hell, as I’m sure you are aware.”

When he was met with only furious silence, the demon continued.

“You are probably wondering why it is that I want Samuel, are you not?”

“There is no reason for what you do,” John said. “You are evil. There is no reason.”

“Ah, perhaps,” the demon answered, his red eye glowing even deeper. “But in this case, there is more. You see, I have been here for years in this hospital, working as a doctor. I have saved many more lives than I have taken in that time - only the worst of humans, you can be assured. But sometimes-“ The demon turned back to Sam “-sometimes, a great prize will come along, and I cannot help but take what is so easily given."

The doctor paused to look at Sam again, and then - to Dean's horror - bent down and kissed his forehead.

"And in this case," the demon said, lifting his head, "I think I have found the greatest trophy of all. Because Sam here has the strongest soul I have ever captured. And once I had a taste, well... it was not hard to manipulate you all."

The red eye grew in intensity, and the demon's smile became maniacal in his crazed state. Dean opened his mouth, ready to say something he would never regret.

At that moment, though, Dean's focus shifted as a screeching was heard from Sam’s monitors. He watched in despair as Sam’s heart began beating at a faster and faster rate, and suddenly all kinds of machines were going off. Dean looked to the door in anticipation, but nobody came to help.

"No..." Dean begged. Somebody, please... anybody.

“Only us in here can hear the sounds, Dean,” the demon said, seeing Dean’s hopeful gaze to the door. “I’m afraid nobody will be coming any time soon.”

And to John, “There is no hope, John. Your son is about to die, and I will have his soul. You have lost.”

Dean looked frantically at Sam. His pale features were so still. He looked as though he was already dead.

No. God no. Not Sammy.

John stole a glance at Dean, winked - You know what to do, son - then turning to the demon, merely smiled.

“Christo,” he said loud and clear.

The demon shuddered, the room flickered, and John and Dean were released.

But the demon quickly recovered.

“No!” the demon looked up, and began to bring his hand down in a slashing motion, but it was too late. John had already crossed the room, a vial in his hand, and with no mercy opened it and poured it on the doctor.

The demon began to scream as the holy water took effect, his skin literally sizzling as though he had been burned with acid.

As the demon fell to the floor in agony, John pulled a sack of salt from his other pocket, and hurriedly created a circle around the demon, trapping him.

“Vos prima Christi victima, grex immolatorum tener, aram sub ipsam simplices palma et coronis luditis,” John began chanting, his voice unfaltering.

“No! You cannot stop me! I will not let you,” the demon cried, his hands over his head as he writhed in agony. “You are nothing but weak humans, I will kill you, you and your sons!”

John didn’t even pause. He continued to chant, completely from memory. All the while, the demon threw curses and threats, but there was nothing it could do – the salt kept it imprisoned - the Latin exorcism prayer, bound.

Finally, John came to the end. “Iesu, tibi sit gloria, qui natus es de Virgine, cum Patre et almo Spiritu, in sempiterna saecula. Amen.”

With a final wail, the demon appeared to implode. There was a giant force of light, and everything seemed to whiten out before the hunter’s eyes.

John felt the force push him to the ground, and then only stillness and silence.

Once again, the demon recoiled to the ‘Christo’. This time, however, Dean felt himself fall to the ground, released by the demon’s hold.

Funny how the damn things never think to shut us up. You think he’d have learned from the first time, the demonic idiot.

Without hesitation, Dean ran to Sam’s bed, and began disconnecting all the IVs.

There’s not enough poison in him yet. He’s going to be okay if I stop the IV. Sammy’s going to be okay. We can’t be too late. We can’t be.

Once Dean had disconnected all the wiring, he jumped onto the bed and gathered Sam in his arms. Though the horrid wailing of the machines was gone, Dean felt no better.

“Sammy,” he whispered, cradling his brother. But Sam didn’t stir. Panicking, Dean put his fingers up to Sam’s neck.

One second. Two seconds. Three seconds.

“Oh God, no Sammy!” Dean cried. Time seemed to stop as Dean leaned over his brother, putting his ear up to Sam’s mouth.

Nothing. Sam wasn’t breathing.

No. Sammy. No. Please Sammy. Don’t die, Sammy.

If Dean could have, he would suck he poison into himself if it would save Sammy. However, that was not possible.

Dean felt a sob escape him, but let none more pass as he pulled his brother to the floor. Quickly he began CPR.

Deep down, though, Dean knew the truth. Sam had been injected. Poisoned. CPR would do nothing against that.

But Dean had to try. If there was one thing John had never taught him, it was how to give up on his brother.

Never Sammy. I won’t let you die. I won’t give up.

There was a sudden explosion, a release, and Dean passed out.

Sam awakened to find himself in the last place he expected. He was back in the hospital. Above him stood a doctor, who at that moment leaned over and kissed Sam's forehead tenderly. Sam stared up at him confused, but the doctor only smiled down at him knowingly.

Something was wrong. Sam could feel it.

But wait, was that –

“DEAN!”

Sam was certain he had just heard his brother’s voice.

And he was right. For there, across the room, was Dean. Dean and their father.

“Dean! Dad!” Sam cried again, trying to sit up. Once again, however, he felt himself locked in place. He couldn’t move, no matter how hard he tried.

“No! Dean! Please!” Sam called, but nothing happened. He realized that he was still underneath the veil.

The demon had brought him back here merely to torture him. To let him get close to his family again, but not close enough to let them know he was here.

Sam was still alone. He nearly sobbed in despair.

Suddenly, a high pitch assailed his thoughts. Sam turned his head to the monitor beside his bed, and saw that he had flatlined.

What? But I’m right here!

Sam looked at his brother again, and this time saw that Dean was up against the wall, as was his father. Which meant the demon was in the doctor.

Despite the situation, Sam only felt triumph.

Dean figured it out. He knows I’m still here, then. Doesn’t he?

Sam turned to look at his brother again, and what he saw made his heart break.

Dean was looking at him with something akin to hopelessness. His eyes were empty. In all their lives, Sam had never seen Dean look as he did right then.

Sam closed his eyes, trying desperately to shut out the image.

Oh god, Dean thinks I’m dead.

Before Sam had time to process that thought fully, many things happened. Sam felt the gentle but hated touch of the demon suddenly disappear, and in a matter of seconds be replaced by something much more familiar.

Sam opened his eyes again to see Dean above him, frantically pulling numerous IVs out, disconnecting every machine from Sam’s body.

Sam didn’t know if that was a good thing or not, but he did know that he trusted Dean.

Dean will see. I’ll make him see.

Sam could only watch as Dean pulled him into his arms, holding Sam like he had when Sam had been small and afraid of the monsters in his dreams.

Sam couldn’t remember ever having felt so protected and loved as he did there, in Dean’s strong arms.

Suddenly, though, the contact ended as, with a whimper, Dean carried Sam off the bed and onto the floor.

“Dean? What’re you-“ Sam began, then stopped as he felt Dean’s mouth connect with his own briefly. Breath that he didn’t need was forced into Sam’s lungs, and Sam watched as Dean pulled back and began pounding on Sam’s chest, his face determined. But Sam could see the raw pain beneath it.

Oh god. He can’t see.

Sam tried again to desperately move, to let his brother know he was all right, but still he was unable to.

“God Dean, I’m so sorry,” he whispered, staring at Dean’s horrified features. Sam could see he was hardly holding it together.

Suddenly, Sam watched as Dean seemed to fade from his view, and everything whitened out.

The demon’s taking me back. No. Please, God, no.

“Dean!” Sam cried one last time, and then everything turned to white and silence.

When Dean opened his eyes again, he was lying on the floor, staring up at the ceiling, his left hand laced around someone’s wrist.

Sammy!

Dean jumped up, and turned to his brother.

Oh god, please be okay. Please, don’t be dead.

At first, all Dean saw was Sam’s body. His eyes were closed, his face pale, his body still.

Dean let out a whimper again, his eyes watering with unshed tears and a lifetime of regret. Sammy was dead. The demon had killed him. Dean had failed.

Then, something miraculous happened. Before Dean’s eyes, a shimmering effect seemed to morph itself around Sam’s body. It sparkled all around him, than slowly began to fade away.

It was as though a blanket had been pulled back from Sam, a covering that had concealed him beneath.

It was another illusion. Another hallucination. Which means that –

“Dean?” Sam whispered.

“Oh god, Sammy,” Dean cried, and without any worry of who would see gathered Sam up into his arms, holding him tightly.

He’s not dead. Thank god, it wasn’t real. Sam’s alive. He’s okay.

“Dean,” Dean heard a voice utter into his chest, and promptly let his brother go, but only just enough so that Sam could breathe again.

Sam pulled back, and looked at his brother, a smile playing on his lips.

“You remembered!” he said elatedly.

“Yeah well,” Dean smiled, though his voice broke, “I kinda liked having you around.”

Sam grinned. He heard what Dean really meant.

“Yeah, I kinda like being around, too,” he answered, than snuggled further into Dean’s arms.

Normally he would have been embarrassed, but right then he only felt content. Right then, he needed Dean around him, taking care of him. He just needed it.

Maybe, in some ways, he always would.

“Sammy? Dean? You boys all right?” John said, coming around to stand by the boys the moment he awoke to hear their voices.

Both their voices. Thank god.

“Yeah Dad, how about you?” Dean asked. Then, “Where’s the good doctor?”

“I’m fine. It seems, however, that Dr. Stenehjem has gone back to where he came from,” John said.

Indeed, there was no sign of the doctor anywhere. It seemed that the doctor had been the demon’s form, and not a person possessed. Or, at least, John hoped that was the case.

Just then, the door slammed open as a nurse ran in.

“What’s going on in here?” one asked, while another came to shut off the machines. It seemed that once the veil had been lifted off Sam, it had lifted off the entire room.

In their elation, none of the Winchesters had even noticed. But the nurse’s station had, and fearing the worst, had come to check on Sam.

The scene before the nurse had to be a classic one. All the Winchesters on the floor, the elder one's arms wrapped around the youngest. The machines all disconnected.

“Why, you’re awake!” the nurse cried. But her surprise quickly turned to anger.

“Mr. Winchester, your son needs to be examined and put back in bed right now. The last time I saw him, he couldn’t even breathe on his own. I must ask that you leave while we take care of him. Now.”

John nodded, and lifted himself off the floor. He stared hard at Sam, but Sam seemed all right, if a little pale. However, he still did have that knife wound – the demon hadn’t created that.

“Come on, Dean,” John said. “Let’s let the nurses take care of Sam.”

Dean sighed, then began to stand, Sam in his arms.

Sam didn’t protest. He was exhausted. He felt himself being lowered on the bed, but his eyes were already drooping.

John came around to one side, and together he and Dean pushed the covers back up around Sam.

John leaned over, and kissed Sam’s forehead. It was nothing like the demon's kiss had been. “Glad you’re back, son,” Sam heard him say.

Just before Sam dropped off, he felt another familiar hand on his cheek, and a whisper near his temple.

“I love you, little brother.”

“Love you too, Dean,” Sam whispered, a feeling of safety and comfort coming over him.

Sam slept.

“Dean... Dean, wake up...”

The voice was far away, but Dean could feel himself being pulled closer to it.

“Dean?”

There was a slight shake to his shoulder, and Dean had arrived.

“Dad? Wha’s going on?” Dean rubbed his eyes. He couldn’t remember falling asleep, but his eyelids were sticky so he knew it must have been a while ago.

Slowly, Dean opened his eyes. His focus landed on his father, who was standing by his hospital bed.

John smiled. “Have a good nap?”

Dean yawned, letting his arm stretch and slight smirk answer for him. “How’s Sammy doing?”

“Still sleeping as far as I know. It’s been about six hours though, so he should be waking up soon.”

Dean nodded. After leaving Sam’s room, John had suggested that Dean get some more rest – it had only been thirty-six hours since he’d been a human punching bag, after all. Since he hadn’t been able to sit with Sam right then anyway, Dean had agreed. He’d been exhausted too, but if Dean had been able to stay with Sam, the choice would have been no contest. “So, his wound isn’t...” Dean let the question hang.

“The nurses said there’s no infection, and it looks like it’s healing very well.” John chuckled. “Honestly, I think they were all a little mesmerized by his ‘miraculous’ and ‘unexpected’ recovery – too busy to deal with a petty knife injury.”

Dean offered a laugh, though his stomach twisted in guilt. “What about the good doctor?”

“They’re trying to reach him – in fact, they’ve been trying to find him since we left Sam,” John answered. “Though I’d say his disappearance is the real miracle when it comes to your brother.”

Dean felt a fire of rage take residence where the stone of guilt had been. “He deserved worse than anything we could have done to him,” Dean seethed.

John nodded, his eyes burning holes into the wall. Pointedly, he turned back to Dean. “Listen, I woke you up to let you know that I’m signing you and your brother out AMA later tonight. So far, the other doctors are waiting ‘til they locate Dr. Stenehjem before doing tests on Sam, but I have a feeling they won’t be able to hold their curiosity much longer. And frankly, I don’t want them to test Sam at all. We really don’t know what the damn demon did to him, if it left... marks. I’m afraid they may find something in their medical scans we won’t be able to explain away.”

Dean nodded, than smirked. “Don’t worry, Dad – Sam may be a geekboy and all, but I, for one, know that his brain is actually smaller than most. Not that we want them finding that out either – they’ll make him a lab rat. Trying to figure out how the brain of a monkey ended up in a human is definitely a career maker.”

John laughed appreciatively, glad to see the Dean he knew was back out in force. He hadn’t realized how much he missed his second-in-command’s dominating presence until he’d had to fight to get it back. John didn’t know what he’d have done without it. Because really, they’d almost lost Sam. And there was no Dean without Sam. John swallowed back the lump in his throat. “Yeah, your brother is one of a kind. The grades he gets... he’s so much like your mother.”

Dean raised an eyebrow. “Yeah?”

John’s gaze was back to the wall, but his features were soft. “Your mother loved school. Wouldn’t even marry me until she had graduated from college. She said living with me would distract her too much. We were engaged for three years before we tied the knot.”

Dean’s eyes watered. His father rarely spoke about life before the fire, and even more rare did he speak about their mother. Dean would tear up every time he did, though. For some reason Dean didn’t understand, his dad talking about his mom made him lose his control. Or maybe it just let him grieve. After all, no amount of his dad’s memories could replace the fact that Dean barely had any recollection of his mother, or that Sam had none at all.

“Dean? You listenin’, son?”

Dean let his thoughts drift back to the present, and his eyes focused back on his father. “What’d you say, Dad?”

“I said, there’s something else we need to discuss.”

Dean hesitated, noting the seriousness in his father’s voice. “What is it?”

John sat down in the chair by Dean’s bed, and took a deep breath, as though bracing himself for a plunge into dark waters.

“Dean, did I ever tell you the first thing I did the day you were born?”

Whatever Dean had expected, it wasn’t that. “No,” he answered simply.

“The day you were born, I walked into a bank and began a savings account. It was your college fund. Your mother insisted that we start saving early. She was so proud of your accomplishments, even when you were only a baby. She said she could tell you would be the smartest kid in your class one day. Every month, we’d take what money we were able to save and set it aside for that faraway day when you’d need it, so you could be whatever it is you wanted to be. So you’d have opportunities. Do you understand?”

Dean was struck dumb. His dad had never spoken so openly about before, and Dean didn’t know how his father wanted him to react. “I don’t know.”

John nodded. “Dean, for years you’ve wanted to quit school, and I’ve always been adamant that you weren’t allowed to. It hasn’t been easy on me to do that, son. You’ve always followed my every order, and for me to deny you the one thing you’ve asked for, hell, begged for... well, it hasn’t always been easy. Dean, you don’t know how much I want you to be able to hunt full-time. You’re a hunter, through and through. Sometimes, I watch you train or on a job, and it’s like that’s what you were born to be – a hunter. And those are the times when all I want is for you to be done with school, so you can finally do what you were made to do.”

John paused, staring hard at his wedding ring. “I’ve always kept you in school for your mother. It’s what she would have wanted. But maybe I was wrong to do that. Maybe I should have let you quit two years ago when you became old enough to have a choice. Lord knows I can’t change the past though, no matter how much I wish I could. So tell me, son, do you still want to quit? Join me full-time?”

Dean understood it, then. His dad was at a fork in the road. Dean’s desperate and foolish attempt to get out of school and Sam’s near-deadly encounter with the demon had forced their father to question the beliefs he had unwaveringly held for almost thirteen years. The belief that his sons could still have a future outside of hunting. Forcing Dean to stay in school had been John’s only admission to keep Mary’s presence alive. But now, John was unsure that he should have tried to do so at all, when all his other actions and principles seemed to be the exact opposite. For the first time, John was questioning everything. And, also for the first time, he was looking to Dean for the answer.

This scared Dean more than he would ever admit. If there was one thing Dean couldn’t handle, it was seeing his father so unsure of himself. Dean would do anything to fix that, if he could.

Dean cleared his throat. “So, what happened to the money?”

John stared. “What money?”

“The savings. Whatever you and Mom had in the fund. What happened to it?”

“Oh.” John said nonchalantly, “Spent it on ammo.”

Dean smirked, nodding to show his approval. “I bet that ammo saved some lives, too.”

“I’d bet it did too, son,” John said, though it was obvious he didn’t know where Dean was going with this.

Dean continued. “If there’s one thing I know, Dad, it’s that I’m a hunter. I was born to be a hunter. There’s no doubt in my mind that hunting is what I’ll always do and what I’ll always want to do. Sure, it doesn’t come with insurance or a health plan or paid vacations, but I’m meant for this gig.”

John stared hard. Dean sighed. “Dad, you’ve raised Sam and me the best you know how. Yeah, it’s hasn’t always been the easiest, and yeah, I want to quit school, but I don’t regret going these last couple years either. For one, it’s been easier to keep an eye on Sammy. And two, as much as I hate school, I trust your judgment. If you thought I needed to go, then I knew there was a good reason behind it. But now, you’re asking me if I want to quit. And I want to.”

John closed his eyes and rubbed his temples. When he opened them, Dean could tell his will had been set. “You’re right, Dean. You are meant to be a hunter. I think it’s time we got you out of school and hunting full-time. Maybe even Sam, too. It’s time he learned to fully accept the family business, and learn his place in it.”

“No, Dad.”

John’s eyes instantly went hard, though Dean could see the confusion behind them.

His father opened his mouth to reply, but Dean continued. “There’s something else, and it’s the most important thing of all. It means I can’t quit school. Dad, it’s Sam.

“Sam loves school, and if there’s one thing he doesn’t understand, it’s why I want to quit. But despite that, he still looks up to me. Sometimes, I think, maybe a little too much. The truth is, if I quit, I know Sam wouldn’t be far behind. Because despite it all, if I lost all interest in the one thing Sam loves, Sam would learn to hate it too.”

Dean took a deep breath, then, “So I’m staying in school ‘til I graduate. It’s only seven months left, anyway.”

John, however, had just found his footing again and was reluctant to lose it so soon. “Dean, I really think you should reconsider what’s best for Sam. I caught him looking up colleges a couple weeks ago. I – we can’t stand for that. Sam has a place, and it’s with this family. He needs to know that after high school, he has to hunt full-time as well. Maybe getting him out early would help him realize that sooner rather than later.”

When it came to his brother, Dean was stubborn too. “Dad, you can’t force Sam to quit school early. School, books, learning – it’s what makes Sam, Sam, y’know? If he doesn’t finish, if he’s forced to exit the tunnel before he even sees the light at the end, he’d always regret it, and he’d come to hate both of us for it too. So I’m going to stay in school. I need to. For Sam’s sake. So Sam will too.”

John sighed, and Dean recognized it from years ago, when Sam pulled his puppy-dog face for an icecream cone or extra quarters. It was the sigh of giving in.

“Are you sure, Dean? That this is what you want? That this is what’s the best thing, for everyone in this family?”

“Yes Sir, I’m sure.” Dean had never been so sure of anything else.

John nodded. “Remember, this was your choice. I just hope you won’t come to regret it.”

The first thing Sam felt upon coming to awareness was a tingling sensation. He felt himself clench his fists, than opened his eyes in surprise, because he had clenched his own fists. The demon wasn’t in control anymore. It was really gone.

“Sammy?”

Sam blinked, trying to focus.

“Geekboy? Bitch? You awake?”

Sam gaze locked on his brother, and he smiled. “Hey, jerk.”

Dean was sitting in a chair next to his bed again, only this time wearing his regular jeans and t-shirt instead of the hospital garb.

“Dad signed you out?”

Dean nodded. “Yeah, the nurses begged him to let them keep me, said they’d pay him even. But I’m afraid my good looks and dashing sense of humor aren’t for sale.”

Sam chuckled, than winced because ouch, that hurt. “Yeah, I bet. They were probably trying to pay him to get you to leave.”

“Ouch, Sammy, that hurt,” Dean said, pretending to be offended.

“Not as much as your joke made my wound ache,” Sam shot back, than winced even worse when he saw Dean pale instead of laugh.

“Listen, Sam...” Dean began, but Sam cut him off.

“Dean, I know what you’re thinking. And you’re wrong. This wasn’t your fault,” Sam reassured.

“Yeah right. How was any of this not my fault?” Dean shot back, getting angry. This isn’t how this is supposed to go.

“Well, yeah, you were kind of an idiot back there, but you didn’t know what was going to happen. You can’t know the future, Dean. There was no way we could have prepared for Greg to do something like that. I mean, you said it yourself, the guy takes girls out for coffee,” Sam said, trying to keep the conversation light for Dean’s sake.

But Dean was having none of it.

“You could have died, Sam,” Dean admitted, his voice quiet, but anger causing the volume and tension to raise steadily. “And then you wouldn’t have been here to tell me none of this is my fault, anyway. God, it wasn’t even just the knife wound. A demon almost stole your soul too, or did you forget that tiny detail?”

By the end of his short rant, Dean was nearly shouting. Even though his anger wasn’t directed straight at Sam, but at himself, Sam felt the blow of guilt all the same.

“Dean, you can’t beat yourself up about this. Yeah, you messed up, okay? And how many times do you think I’ve messed up on a hunt, or any other time? Remember when I was eight, and I almost got hit by that SUV but you pushed me out of the way? It was you who almost died that time, Dean.”

Dean was silent. Sam pressed on, but crossed his fingers, knowing he was pressing his luck as well. “And you know why you pushed me out of the way? It’s the same reason I went after Greg. Because even if you messed up, you’re still my brother and I would do anything for you. And I know you’d do the same thing for me. You already have, many times over. In all honesty, I think I owe you some protective brother moments.”

Dean chuckled half-heartedly. “You don’t owe me anything, Sammy.”

Sam didn’t break. “Yeah well, you know, even if I had known what was going to happen, I’d still have done it anyways.”

“Don’t say that, Sammy,” Dean said, unexpected anger in his voice. “Don’t even think that.”

“Why not? It’s the truth. Goddamnit, Dean, what makes you think you’re the only brother who’s allowed to go all self-sacrificial once in a while?”

“It’s my job, Sammy,” Dean replied with finality. “Not yours.”

“Yeah well, if that’s what you really think, than you’re just a selfish bastard,” Sam answered. “How do you think it makes me feel, knowing that you don’t want me to try to help you, even when you mess up? What if you died, and I could have prevented it? Dean, that would kill both of us.” Sam watched as Dean’s eyes filled, though none broke over the threshold of his eyelids.

“Sam, I just need you to be safe, all right? I’m the big brother, and you’re my responsibility. What I did... God, I wasn’t even thinking about that. Watching out for you is my job, and I let my own selfishness get in the way, and you got gutted by some slimeball human because of it. You’re right, I am a selfish bastard, but what is so wrong about wanting to protect you?”

“Nothing, Dean,” Sam said steadily. “You just got to understand that it goes both ways. Okay?”

Dean didn’t answer. The look in Sam’s eyes, the confidence of his words, floored him. Dean had never heard Sam sound so sure. Sam sounded like the older brother right then. Dean didn’t know when the tables had turned, but he knew then he had could accept it. He was never any good at denying Sam, but when Sam sounded like Dean himself?Big brothers were always right, and right now it was Sam’s turn to be the big brother.

“Okay Sam,” Dean acquiesced with a sigh. “Okay.”

Sam smiled. “Good. For a sec there I was afraid I’d have to beat it into you, and right now I really don’t feel like leaving this comfy bed.”

Dean took the bait, seeing the peace offering for what it was.

“Ha, you think you could kick my ass?” he remarked disbelievingly. “I’ll show you, Samantha.”

Quicker than Sam could have thought possible, Dean stood up and yanked Sam’s covers back.

Sam winced at the cold. “Hey! What was that for?”

“Oh yeah, I forgot to mention it, didn’t I?” Dean smirked. “Dad signed you out AMA too. Time to go, little brother.”

“Oh, man,” Sam lamented, easing himself out of the bed. “And I was just starting to get a chance to appreciate it, too.”

“Yeah well, don’t get used to it,” Dean said, handing Sam some clothes. “Dad said once you’re healed you’re in for a buttload of extra training. He wants a full explanation on how you let that dumb jock get the drop on you.”

“On me?” Sam said, pulling a shirt over his head. “He got the drop on you, jerk. You’re just lucky I was there to save your ass.”

Yeah Sammy, I guess I was.

For once, Dean didn’t shudder at the thought.

Seven Months Later

It was raining the day Dean graduated. A light sprinkle had begun the night before, and by the time 10 AM had rolled around a large storm had gathered, harsh wind rolling dark clouds across the sky, torrents of rain leaving mud and puddles in its wake.

“Yeah well, at least we won’t have to deal with any mosquitoes out on the football field,” Dean had told Sam on their way to the school.

“Dean, it’s too early for the mosquitoes to be out anyway,” Sam said, fumbling with their old family camera. It had broken months ago, but Sam had convinced Dean to fix it in time for the day of the ceremony.

“Did Dad call?”

“Yeah, he called from the road. Said he finished the hunt last night and should be back in time for the ceremony.”

“Good,” Sam agreed, his gaze affixed to the camera. The next few minutes were spent in silence, Sam focused on the camera and Dean on the road.

“Damn,” Sam finally muttered as he practically chucked the camera back into his lap, the furrow between his eyebrows increasing.

Dean glanced at him, curious.

Sam shrugged. “I didn’t ask you to fix the flash, ‘cause it was going to be outside. Now I can’t get a good shot of you onstage.”

Dean smirked. “Dude, you’re such a girl.”

“Jerk,” Sam said, but without any heat. He couldn’t help the smile that was creeping up onto his face.

“What’s got you into such a good mood?” Dean asked as they parked in the school lot.

Sam said nothing, just smiled wider and shook his head before getting out of the car.

Dean didn’t know why he’d bothered to ask. Sam had been smiling nonstop for days. Even on Friday, when Dean had finally told Sam he looked like he was about to barf out lollipops and candycanes, Sam had laughed appreciatively – and that was definitely not the Sam Dean knew. If anything, Sam had been more broody since... the accident.

Dean’s jaw clenched as he climbed out of the car, but seeing Sam standing by the trunk, his sweatshirt hoodie pulled tight around his head, the camera tucked under an armpit, made Dean force a small grin.

“Hey, why don’t you run ahead and grab a seat?” Dean offered, walking around Sam to open the trunk. “I have to get my gown and cap and change before the ceremony anyways.”

“You sure you want me to go?” Sam said, staring hard at Dean, his grin faltering. Dean could tell he wasn’t worried about himself, but instead worried about Dean worrying. Over the last couple months, Dean had stuck to Sam like glue. Neither had said anything about it, though both were very aware of the constant presence of the other.

Sam didn’t seem to mind much, though. And for that Dean was glad – he was pretty sure it wouldn’t be long before Sam’s growing resentment for Dad spread to him as well.

Dean nodded. “Nah, I figure you can take care of yourself,” he answered, pulling the back hood up. He grabbed a small vial and tossed it to Sam, who though surprised caught it without a problem.

“Holy water?”

“That’s for when you find out you actually can’t, and I eat my words.”

Sam’s eyes narrowed just as Dean’s smirk widened.

“Ass.”

“Bitch.”

“Wuss.”

“Geekboy.”

“Rawhead.”

“Zombie.”

“Fairy spawn!”

Dean shook his head. “Dude... fairy spawn?”

Sam looked down, trying to hide his embarrassment with his mop of bangs. “First thing that came to mind...” Dean heard him mumble.

Dean clapped him on the back. “Dude, just get your skinny ass into that school before you’re completely soaked.” Seeing Sam’s smirk grow again – Dude, you care, you really really care – Dean added, “‘Cause there’s no way you’re getting back into this car after this dumb thing is over with, if you’re all wet.”

Sam raised his head, his expression adamant. “It’s not just some dumb thing, Dean! You’re graduating.”

Dean’s features softened. “I know, kiddo,” he said sincerely. Then, realizing the impending chick-flick moment on the horizon, added-

“I’m just glad the camera is broken, so you can’t blackmail me later.”

Sam laughed. “Dude, you have to wear a dress.”

“It’s a gown, not a dress, Samantha,” Dean quipped, grabbing said apparel from the trunk. “Now, get out of here, will you?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Sam called, already running towards the school.

Nonetheless, Dean watched him all the way until he disappeared inside behind the main doors.

Dean turned back to the trunk, and was just about to close it when –

“Well, if it isn’t Dean Winchester.”

Dean closed his eyes, taking a moment to school his features, before he turned around.

“Hey Greg,” he said casually, slamming the trunk without looking by leaning his elbows against it. “What’s going on, man?”

Dean hadn’t seen Greg since the day Sam had been stabbed. Two days after the accident, Greg had turned himself in to the police. He’d been expelled from the school permanently almost immediately, and at a court hearing a month later he’d been sentenced to time at the State Juvenile Center. He’d also been told to stay away from the Winchesters. Apparently, though, he’d forgotten that minor detail.

Dean wasn’t one to let history repeat itself, however.

“Oh, nothing,” Greg answered just as nonchalantly, though he appeared anything but. “Just came to see the show, y’know. See all my friends graduate without me.”

“Yeah, too bad you can’t join in the festivities,” Dean said coolly. “How long were you at the Juvenile prison? Three months?”

“Four, you ass,” Greg said angrily as his hands clenched into fists, unable to hide his fury any longer.

Dean didn’t feel too threatened though. Greg wouldn’t ever catch him unaware again, he was sure of that.

After what had almost happened to Sam, nobody would.

“Oh yeah, four. Sorry, you know how it goes, you just forget this stuff after a while, don’t you?”

Greg bristled. “You son of a bitch. Maybe you’ve forgotten, but I sure as hell haven’t. And now, seeing as this is my last chance, I think it’s time to settle the score.”

Greg stepped toward Dean, his right fist raised. Dean saw it coming though, and ducked out of the way just as Greg’s arm came flying at him.

“Dude, you’re so slow,” Dean said, walking around Greg in a slow circle, casually dropping his graduation clothing on the back hood. He knew what was coming.

Greg just let out an angry yell, and lunged at Dean, aiming for his chest. Dean easily blocked the maneuver, and when he had Greg’s hands locked, Dean kicked his feet out at Greg’s ankles, tripping him.

Greg went down hard on the muddy pavement, and Dean heard a groan escape.

“You done yet?” Dean asked, looking down at the jock, trying his best to let go of his instinct to kick the dumbass in his solar plexus.

Greg looked up at him, but made no move to get up, just wiped his bleeding lip with the back of a hand. Slowly his eyes averted to the ground, and he nodded in defeat.

“Good,” was all Dean said. It took all of his willpower not to punch Greg anyways. Seeing the young man again made his blood boil. “Get out of here, Greg. Before I really show you what I can do.”

Dean turned away from the football player, who still lay on the ground. And who, evidently, just didn’t know when to quit.

“Your brother, how’s he doing?”

Dean abruptly stopped, his whole body still.

Though Dean knew that Sam was okay, at the moment all he could see was Sam unconscious, bleeding out on the pavement, lying on a hospital floor dead.

Over the months the constant ache of failure that had assailed Dean initially had faded, but Dean felt it coming back in full force now that he again faced the kid who had stabbed his little brother, who had set in motion events that had changed all the Winchesters, for good or ill.

However, Guilty Dean was often the same person as Angry Dean, and this was no exception.

“Leave my brother out of this,” Dean whispered, his voice deadly. Slowly he turned to face Greg, who by now was standing again, a smug smirk of triumph painted on his bleeding lips.

“Heh. Not so tough when it comes to your precious baby brother, are you? Yeah, he didn’t bleed out or nothing. But he almost died, anyways. Too bad you couldn’t protect him from the likes of me. Not that that’s surprising. I heard he’s a pussy anyways, can’t go ten feet without needing his ass saved by his big bro-“

Smack.

“My brother-“

Slam.

“-is worth more-“

Whack.

“-then a goddamn fuck like you-“

Thump.

“-will ever be.”

Dean cracked his knuckles as the red faded from his vision. Greg was back on the ground, moaning. Dean was pretty sure he heard a ‘help’ escape too.

“Now go drink a latte, asshole, and leave me and my brother the fuck alone.”

And with that, Dean turned away from the pitiful teen and headed towards the gym, grabbing the now soaked gown and cap from where’d he unceremoniously dropped them on the pavement in his fury.

If he whispered, “That’s for you, kiddo,” as he straightened his back in triumph, he never told a soul about it.

A/N:   The resident evil of this story is based off a real demon in Russian folklore named Polevic. Polevic is often seen in farmer's fields, wearing a gown of white. It is said that he has two eyes of different colors, and amuses himself by strangling those unfortunate souls that cross his path whom he deems lazy. He goes by many names, but 'Polevic' happens to be the one my grandmother used in her bedtime stories to me when I was wee.

Wow, I can't believe I've finally reached the end! Thank you so much to everyone who has followed this story, and a special thank you to all who have reviewed. Your comments encouraged me to keep going, and I appreciated every single one of them. Thank you.