Summary:  Stanford AU. For decades, scientists have been saying it's a matter of when, not if, the San Andreas Fault will falter again. When it does, CA will lie in ruins, millions of lives will be lost, and chaos will prevail. In 2004, those predictions came true.
A/N:  Here goes another multi-chapter story! I haven’t done one since November, but this has been stewing in my mind for a while and finally felt ready to be written. FYI: This story is a gift for my fellow SFTCOL(AR)S member, Maygin. (I know you didn’t ask for it sweetie, but I promised to return the favor, so here is the beginning of the story as promised! I hope you and everyone who reads enjoys.)
Disclaimer:  I own nothing you recognize.

“Hello?”

When the gritty croak comes through the phone, Dean nearly dropped it in shock. He was supposed to leave a message, wasn’t he? Sam was supposed to be dead, luck wasn’t ever with the Winchesters, sixteen people, sixteen bodies, it wasn’t possible, couldn’t be –

“Sammy?” he choked out finally, the word both foreign and familiar on his tongue. There wasn’t an answer right away, and Dean nearly keeled over in desperation. “Sammy? Is that you?”

“Hello?”

“It is you!” Dean fell to his knees, his breaths heaving, his mind hardly comprehending his good fortune. “Sammy, you scared me, man, you have no idea how I – ” Dean cut off, memories of what he had been about to do, now already a shameful accusation in his mind. Here he’d been all ready to off himself, and... Dean couldn’t even contemplate how stupid he’d been. A stubborn ass to the end, just like his brother and father, a Winchester through and through. So maybe it wasn’t a surprise at all.

“Sammy, listen dude, where are you? Are you okay? Are you still in Palo Alto? Because you’ll never guess where I am right – ”

“Are you still there? I... I can’t hear you.”

Dean frowned. “Can you hear me now, Sam? Where are you? Sam?”

“It’s broken.”

Dean licked his lips. He didn’t like the sound of Sam’s voice so much anymore. It sounded slurred and exhausted, like Sam was drunk. He also came to realize that in between Sam’s words, he could hear ragged breaths, as though Sam had just finished running a long distance. It scared him beyond belief that he didn’t know if Sam could hear him at all. Did he even know it was Dean on the other end?

“Sam, it’s Dean, man, your brother. I’m in Palo Alto, I’m trying to find you.”

There was a continued silence, and Dean nearly burst in his impatience. “Sam, answer me, goddamn it! Please.”

Dean knew Sam was still there, he could hear his breathing. After a few seconds, a whisper came out.

“Listen, whoever you are. I need help. Something...”

Sam trailed off, and Dean tentatively asked, “Sammy?”

“...happened. Something bad. I need help. Please.”

Hearing his brother echoing Dean’s own begs made him go slightly over the edge, and Dean quickly switched right into big-brother mode.

“Okay Sam, I can help you, but I need to know where you’re at. Come on, buddy, where are you, what – ”

Right then a tremor hit, and Dean felt himself being involuntarily jostled back and forth like a puppet on strings. If he hadn’t already been on his knees, he’d have fallen flat on his butt.

Though the noise level was tremendous, it was also tolerable, and Dean pressed his phone harder against his ear. He was pretty sure he could hear a scuffling sound on the other side. “Sam, can you feel that? Are you there, Sammy?”

A scream was the only answer Dean received, and he nearly dropped his phone all over again. “SAM!”

It was hardly a whisper, and completely mumbled, but even through the deafening sound of the aftershock Dean heard Sam’s words.

“Please. Help me. Please, Dean, help me!”

Dean drew in a heavy breath. “I’m coming Sammy, just hang on kiddo. Hang on, you hear me?”

With one last large tremor the aftershock ended, and as silence surrounded Dean on his end, he simultaneously heard a large shifting on the other. It sounded like rocks or boulders, but Dean couldn’t be sure. “Sammy, answer me, man.”

Sam’s only response was a sudden keening, one that Dean instantly connected to the shifting noise he had just heard. Sam was screaming out pain, Dean was sure. He knew those distinct sounds over the years. But those times, it had been in person, and Dean had been right there to help Sam, to save him. Now, Dean had no idea where Sam was, and the situation felt ten times worse.

Dean tried to calm Sam over the screams, just as he had done dozens of times before. “Sam, calm down, it’s going to be okay, take deep breaths, I’m going to find you Sam, I promise you, I’ll find you.”

Sam’s cries slowly died down to whimpers, but Dean didn’t know if that meant the pain was receding, or Sam was passing out. The thought of Sam dropping into unconsciousness right now – being alone and unable to defend himself – was Dean’s worst fear, and not even knowing for sure if it was coming true was the most terrible torture he’d ever endured.

“Sammy, please say something,” Dean cried, tears beginning to bead in the corners of his eyes. “Please, man, tell me where you are.”

“Dean.”

It was quiet, but pleading and desperate. It cleaved Dean’s soul in half to hear, and not only because of Sam’s apparently plight, but also because it sickened him to realize it was exactly what he’d been wanting to hear this past year. Hadn’t he wished for this, every night since Sam had left? For Sam to beg and plead for Dean to come to his little brother’s rescue? For Dean to be needed again, in the way he’d always thought he had been, until the day Sam had walked away and didn’t look back? Well, if Sam had ever needed Dean before, he needed him more now. Dean had finally gotten his wish.

The irony of it all turned Dean’s stomach to ice, and he nearly retched. But there was no time to feel sorry for himself, not when Sam might be hurt somewhere. Not when Sammy might be dying.

“Sam, I’m here, little brother, you’re going to be okay, I’m going to take care of you,” Dean was rambling. He didn’t care. “That’s my job, right? Looking out for you, my pain-in-the-ass little brother? Sam? Sammy?”

The connection broke.

There was no time left to waste, no time to worry. There was only time for action, and Dean could do that. When it came to Sam, he was action-packed.

After all, Sam was alive, Dean knew it for sure now, and that thought alone allowed more hope then Dean had let himself have in over a day. Sure, he’d promised himself he’d find Sam, that his little brother would be okay. But underneath that, a deep pit of uncertainty had lingered, one that Dean had outright ignored, hell maybe he hadn’t even known it was there until he heard Sam’s voice. Just hearing Sam had made that pit disappear. Dean had never thought emptiness could weigh so much, until he lost it.

Dean dialed Bobby as he stood up from his place on the ground. The gruff man surprisingly picked up after the first ring.

“Dean, what the hell have you been doing, boy? I’ve been trying to get a hold of you for hours! Keep your goddamn phone on from now on, you hear?”

Dean licked his lips. He knew that tone. “What’d you learn, Bobby?”

Bobby sighed and took a deep breath, a nonverbal reprimand if Dean had ever heard one, but it was quickly followed by an answer. “I talked to Jim, like I told you. That man has contacts like nobody else. He called me back about three hours ago, said a friend of his had done a grid search for Sam’s cell signal. Dean, they got a location on it.”

Dean could hardly believe it. Twenty years of bad luck, and suddenly everything (almost) seemed to be going in favor of the Winchesters. “Where is it, Bobby?”

“It’s still in Palo Alto, but I also talked to Caleb and found out the signal’s not coming from Sam’s place.”

Dean squinted, glancing back at the pile of debris and thinking of what it had felt like to see the pair of sixteens painted beneath his feet. “Yeah, I know, I... I’ve been there already. Where’s the signal?”

“The juncture of Hanover Street and College Avenue. Near smack dab in the middle of the two, actually. Not far from a school, Escondido Elementary.”

“Thanks, Bobby,” Dean said, and he’d never been more sincere. “Call Pastor Jim, tell him thanks for me, will you? I’d give him a call myself, but...”

“Sure thing, Dean. I’ll tell him you and Sam will call when you get the chance.”

Dean smiled. The simple addition of Sam to that sentence meant more to him then he cared to admit, but he was pretty sure Bobby knew all the same. “You tell him that,” Dean said in lieu of a goodbye, and promptly cut the call. He couldn’t afford to get all mushy now – he’d save that for when he had an audience who would appreciate it, hell, probably tease him endlessly about it. Dean didn’t think he’d mind even if Sam did, as long as it meant Sam was alive to tell him so.

Dean started running, taking out the map as he went. He hoped he was going in the right direction. Looking at the map, he realized he was. In fact, Hanover and College Avenue were only a couple blocks away, probably less then a mile, and still on Stanford property. As he ran on, Dean wondered what Sam had been doing all the way over there at three in the morning. And in the middle of the road, too. Perhaps he’d just been leaving from a party?

Dean shook his head. “No way, Sammy, you’re too much a prude for that sort of thing,” Dean said aloud, chuckling. “Just wait, buddy. I’m coming.”

It was little to no time later that Dean stumbled to a stop, leaning forward to catch his breath. On one corner he saw an old street sign toppled over. It was green, but across it in giant white letters it read HANOVER. On a little green sign directly below that one, were the words COLLEGE AVE.

Dean had found it, he was here. But where was Sammy?

Bobby had said it was practically in the middle of the juncture. Dean ran as close to the middle as he could get, and as he walked there, he came to realize that entirety of the Hanover Street road was split down the middle. It parted away from itself, but Dean could see how the road had once blended, the jagged edges of the concrete like two puzzle pieces that could fit together if someone tried them.

Dean tried to look down in the crevice, but it was filled with debris from what had once been the surrounding buildings. With lurched with the sudden realization. Sam’s cell was located somewhere here, and Sam was with it. But if he wasn’t above, on the street, then he had to be below.

“Damn,” Dean whispered, looking around for any holes in the parted road. Sam being buried underground presented a lot more problems then Dean had anticipated. For one, Sam could be five feet below or fifty, there was really no way of knowing. Dean expected it wasn’t too deep, or else the signal probably couldn’t have been picked up. But still, who knew how tight of a space Sam was in? What if he was running out of air? And he had screamed so desperately; Dean knew he had to be seriously injured.

Dean looked around for others. Perhaps there was a rescue crew nearby who could help him out with digging? But there was nobody; the street was silent and empty except for Dean. And Dean knew the rescue crews were probably more concerned with saving as many people as possible. They wouldn’t stop their other operations just to go after one person, especially someone they weren’t sure was still alive. No, Dean was on his own in this.

The top layer of debris that covered the crevice was brick; Dean could move that easily enough. As best as he could, Dean guessed the middle point of the juncture, and then promptly set to work. As he pulled more and more bricks out, the tiny pile slowly growing besides him, he would call out to Sam every few minutes. When he’d get no answer, he’d keep digging, trying not to think about what that might mean.

After about an hour, he hit something more solid. It was larger debris, probably pieces of concrete from the road. Dean was getting closer, he could tell. With strength he didn’t know he had, Dean started lifting the rocks out of the hole he was creating. The work was back-breaking; he guessed most of the boulders were a hundred or more pounds. But he didn’t stop for anything, not even for a drink of water. Who knew how dehydrated Sam might be when Dean found him, after all? He’d sounded pretty dry on the phone.

Slowly but surely, Dean was making a dent. With every section of debris he cleared, he reminded himself that he was that much closer to Sam. It had been nearly thirty-six hours since the earthquake when Dean started digging; it was going on forty-two now. Still Dean kept going.

It got to the point where Dean could no longer lift the boulders – he had to start bodily clearing them to the side instead, trying to clear a path downwards. Though the work was only getting harder, and Dean was only getting more tired, his heart felt consistently lighter. Because larger debris meant he was getting closer to the bottom, and closer to the bottom meant he was getting closer to Sam.

Finally, just going on the forty-third hour, Dean removed a rock, but instead of more debris underneath he saw an opening.

“Sam!” Dean called, leaning over on his hands and knees and looking inside the hole. But only darkness answered him, and Dean muttered a curse as he pulled himself out of the eight-foot dent he’d made, grabbing for his duffel.

He returned with his flashlight, and pushed it down into the gap, trying his best to fit his head in alongside his scrunched shoulder.

“Sammy? You down here?”

As he moved the beam along the walls, he realized he’d not just found an opening – he’d found a giant, gaping, shaft. He could hear running water, and Dean realized he’d found the sewer. As Dean took a long breath, the smell reached him as well.

“Shit, that stinks,” he murmured, but didn’t pull his head out for air. “SAM!”

By Dean’s best guess, the area appeared to be a tunnel of some sort, perhaps ten feet wide and fifty feet long. Each end of the tunnel was caved in so that the water was steadily rising from gaping hole in the wall about twenty feet down from where Dean was. The water was a murky brown color, probably due to more then the sewage. Dean figured that the sewer system had suffered quite a few breaks and leakages, and it wouldn’t be far off to guess that lots of dirt and debris had further contaminated the water.

“Sam? It’s Dean, dude. Answer me!” Dean moved the flashlight beam around the water. Finally, near the edge of the pile of debris he’d been digging through, he saw what he was looking for.

Dean’s beam had landed on a hand, floating in the water. Frantically, Dean moved the beam up the arm, until he could focus on the face.

“Sam!”

Dean had done it. Dean had found Sam. He’d kept his promise.

“Thank God,” Dean said. “Sam, man, look at me!”

Dean’s excitement was short-lived, however, as he took in Sam’s state. He appeared to be unconscious, his face pale and expressionless. Sam’s torso was above water, but at his stomach he disappeared underneath the sewage water. His arms were outstretched, and Dean noted his left one was at an odd angle. On his forehead Dean could see a large bruise and open cut. The water was lapping up against his floating body, pushing him towards one wall of the tunnel. His mouth and nose weren’t underwater, but Dean still couldn’t tell if he was breathing. Sam looked dead.

“SAM!”

It took all of Dean’s resolve to tear himself away from the sight of Sam and pull his head and arm out of the gap into the tunnel. As quick as he could, he scrambled out of the hole he’d dug and grabbed the entire duffel. Taking only enough time to pull his cell phone out of his pocket and deposit on the ground above, Dean dove feet-first into the gap. As fast as he could, he shimmied through, pulling the duffel after him. Then, turning the flashlight back on as he slung the bag around his shoulders, Dean began to climb down the pile of debris that had filled in the hole where he assumed Sam had originally fallen through.

Within seconds he plopped down into the dirty water, and immediately swam over to Sam’s side.

“Hey Sammy,” he said, his voice choking up. It’d been so long, too long since he’d seen his brother. He still couldn’t believe he’d done it. But this wasn’t just about finding Sam – this was about saving him.

As gentle as he could, Dean pulled Sam’s torso up so that his head rested on Dean’s shoulder. Gently, he pressed two fingers to Sam’s neck. The yell that escaped him when he felt Sam’s heartbeat underneath his fingertips was more girly then any sound he’d ever made, but that meant nothing to him as he pulled Sam close into an embrace.

“You did it, Sam,” he whispered into his brother’s matted hair. “You hung on until I found you.”

Sam didn’t answer, but the small puffs against Dean’s neck were answer enough.

After a couple moments, Dean pulled out of the embrace. Careful to still keep Sam’s head above water, Dean began to assess Sam’s condition as best he could.

The cut above Sam’s eye was red around the edges and definitely infected, but Dean figured it could be worse, considering the filth surrounding them. That could wait a bit. His left arm was also clearly dislocated, but Dean waited on that too. It was Sam’s breathing that really worried him; it was shallow and far more ragged then it had been even over the phone. Carefully, Dean lifted Sam’s shirt to his armpits.

“Shit,” Dean muttered. Sam had extensive bruising all along his ribs, and Dean didn’t doubt that a couple of them were cracked, maybe even broken. Lifting Sam up further to examine his spine and back, Dean was further infuriated to find a large gash across Sam’s lower back. The infection there looked much worse then on the cut, probably because it had been submerged in the sewage.

After checking Sam’s abdomen, Dean moved on to his brother’s legs. Still supporting Sam, Dean leaned forward and checked Sam’s legs from his thighs to his knees. He couldn’t see them due to the murky water, but they felt all right. It was when he tried to reach Sam’s calves that he realized exactly why only half of Sam’s body was floating above the water. From his knees down, Sam’s legs were trapped underneath some of the rubble.

“Damn it,” Dean despaired, pulling back to stand again. He looked over to the gaping hole in the side of the tunnel where the water was still pouring in. Who knew how long it would be before Sam would be fully submerged? How would Dean get him out before that happened?

Hefting Sam further onto his shoulder, Dean absentmindedly stroked Sam’s hair as he considered his options. He could try to move some of the debris himself, but what if something shifted wrong and the whole thing toppled on them? However, it was that or leave to get help, but Dean couldn’t do that either – he didn’t even know where somebody who could help him with this could be found, and looking again at the rising water, Dean didn’t think he had enough time to anyways.

Dean mentally cursed, coming to a decision. He had to try to move the rock – it was Sam’s only chance. Regretfully, Dean placed Sam back on the surface of the water, careful to make sure he was still floating. As Dean let the water hold him up, he realized that instead of Sam’s stomach the water level now rested at Sam’s chest, just a few inches below his armpits.

“It’s rising too fast,” Dean mumbled. Panicking, he dove under the water, and locking his arms around Sam’s legs, began to pull. He gave it three good tries, but still they wouldn’t budge. Finally he came back up for air, heaving. After taking a couple seconds to catch his breath, Dean went under again, this time trying to pull at the large rocks encasing Sam’s shins and feet.

They wouldn’t move. Nothing would pull free, and Dean came up to the air with a curse. “Fuck!” he screamed to the tunnel, hearing it echo back and forth across the tunnel’s cement walls.

After four more attempts and zero gained leverage, Dean was getting beyond panicked. The water was now up to Sam’s neck where he floated; Dean guessed in less then ten minutes both his nose and mouth would be submerged and Dean would have to hold him so he could breathe. But that also meant that Dean wouldn’t be able to move from his side, and if Dean couldn’t even move to pull rocks away there would be little he could do to get Sam out of here at all, and they’d both die. Because Dean wouldn’t leave without Sam; it just wasn’t an option.

Licking his lips, Dean did one more look around the tunnel. Nothing jumped out at him until his eyes came to rest on his duffel. He smacked himself on the forehead; he hadn’t even looked inside of it since he’d come down here. And it was then that the idea formed.

Dean swam over to where it was perched on the side of the rubble, and quickly unzipped it, rummaging for anything that could help. His hands skimmed over the gun, the knives, the clothes, but when they came to wrap around a solid rectangular device Dean grinned.

“Sammy, I got it!” he cried to his brother as he pulled out the dynamite. Searching desperately for the matches, he pulled away from the duffel, and holding both objects high over his head so they wouldn’t get wet he scrambled back over to Sam. Carefully placing both the matches and dynamite high up on the dry part of the debris, Dean began to dig a small hole directly into the giant pile. When he reached about three feet in, he tenderly placed the dynamite as far into the little shaft as he could.

He had no idea really if this would work. There was probably a just as good, if not better, chance that the whole pile would come toppling down on them both, crushing them to death, but Dean figured that was no worse then drowning anyways. When it came down to it, he had no choice – this was the only shot left to them.

Just then another thought occurred to Dean, and he swam back over to the duffel. He searched through it until he found what he was looking for – the oxygen tank from his HazMat outfit. Then, he went back over to Sam, and carefully placed the mask around his brother’s face, opening the valve so the oxygen could circulate.

There was now only one thing left to do.

Dean pulled out a match, but before doing anything more he turned to look back at Sam. He took a moment to once more, perhaps one last time, take in the features he knew so well.

“Cross your fingers, little brother,” Dean said, and lit the match.

Then, quoting a line he knew Sam would appreciate if he heard it, he said, “You’ve got to ask yourself a question: Do I feel lucky?”

Quickly, Dean dug his hand into the hole, just lighting the dynamite as the fire licked at his fingertips. Then, he pulled his arm out and wrapped both around Sam, one hand grasping at Sam’s mask so that it would stay on and he wouldn’t suffocate.

Dean took one last moment to stare at the dynamite and make sure it was ignited.

“Hell yes, I feel lucky,” he whispered, smiling.

With that, Dean took a deep gasp, and plunged himself and Sam under the water, the best protection he could offer them from the explosion.

Feeling Sam pressed against him as he entered the sudden silence, Dean held his breath and waited to see if they would live or die.

John Winchester had always been careful with dynamite, and had taught his boys to do the same. He kept it with his other hunting equipment as a precaution, but rarely if ever used it. His explanation for this was that not only was dynamite dangerous, but there were few situations where there were no better alternatives. Besides, explosions meant a lot of noise, and hunters are exactly the kind of guys who want attention.

As a result, Dean had also used hardly ever used dynamite in his short solo career, though he found it came in handy more often then his dad had ever let on. Once he’d used it on a rawhead in Buffalo; he’d thought he was hunting a werewolf and had been caught by surprise. Another time, he’d used it as a diversion to get away from some Utah backwoods cops. In that case, he’d taken his dad’s warning and turned it on its head, using the dynamite to throw the cops off his trail instead of drawing them nearer.

Dynamite had saved his life quite a few times over the years, but right now he wasn’t counting on it to save him. He was counting on it to save Sammy.

When the explosion finally happened, Dean felt a giant push fall over his whole body, like the feeling of a truck passing you by as you walk along a highway. Though he could feel the explosion, however, it was oddly juxtaposed with the utter silence around him. It took him a moment to gather his bearings, but once he felt the first couple pieces of debris toppling into the water he got it together pretty quickly.

Still underwater, Dean wrapped his arms as firmly as he could around Sam’s torso, and then with all his might began to pull. Though still underwater, he almost took a breath and shouted in triumph when Sam’s right foot was suddenly released from it’s prison. Realizing he needed a breath, Dean quickly jumped up for air, but as he took a gasp he realized the explosion had caused a larger commotion then he’d intended. The whole place was shaking, and rocks and pieces of bricks from the walls were starting to fall from the tunnel walls and ceiling.

His mouth falling open, Dean was horrified to realize that the whole place looked like it was about to cave in. He had to get Sam out now.

Dean didn’t think he’d be able to pull Sam’s left leg harder then he had already before, but the sense of panic overcoming him now gave him an extra strength he didn’t think he’d ever had before. Grimacing, Dean grabbed Sam’s leg and yanked as hard as he could. Sam might have a broken foot, but Dean was willing to risk just about anything now. Tightening his jaw, feeling his face scrunch up in determination, Dean gave one last extra pull on Sam’s leg, and felt it come free of the debris.

With a yelp, Dean let go of Sam’s thigh and moved to feel his feet. He had no idea if they were broken or cut or anything, but they were still both there and right now that was good enough for Dean. For a moment Dean closed his eyes, trying to calm down and take in the fact that he’d freed his brother. Sam was no longer trapped; Dean could finally get him out of here.

Dean was pulled out of his brief revelation when he felt a large piece of concrete slam into his stomach. With a jolt, Dean remembered that the tunnel was still shaking, and that even with Sam free, Dean still had to get him out of here before he could count his blessings.

Turning to Sam’s head, Dean saw that he was still out for the count. Quickly, Dean pulled off Sam’s oxygen mask, then grabbed for the duffel and stuffed it inside. Slinging the bag over his shoulder, Dean once again wrapped his arms around Sam’s body.

“Come on, Sammy, help me out here,” he yelled as he began to lift Sam over his shoulder into a fireman’s carry. Still Sam didn’t stir, and looking up Dean realized he wasn’t sure if he could carry Sam all the way to the top where the hole in the ceiling was, before the whole place came down on top of them. But when it came to his brother, Dean only had two choices: save Sammy, or die trying.

His mind set, Dean gathered all his remaining strength and started the backbreaking climb over the mountain of debris. It was maybe only ten feet, but to Dean it felt like trying to reach the top of Mount Everest as he fought for every inch. The wounds on his hands reopened as he clawed his way up, his arm and leg muscles quivering with both his and Sam’s weight. He grunted and panted, practically hyperventilating with the exhausting work, but every time he considered stopping to breathe he would feel the tremors beyond his body, and knew he couldn’t afford to rest until he had Sam above ground.

About a foot from the whole, Dean hurt a large cracking sound behind him. Instinctively he glanced around, and saw that the small entrance from which the sewage water had been gushing forth was now a gaping crack in the wall. The water was rising a foot a second as Dean scrambled to reach the top. With his last bit of strength, Dean pulled Sam off his shoulder and began to lift him through the whole head-first.

“Ahhh...” Dean moaned as he lifted Sam’s arms and finally Sam’s entire torso through the opening. The water was already at Dean’s feet and rising quickly as he bent Sam’s legs to push them through as well.

Just as Dean was getting a hold on the edges of the opening, the entire pile of debris Sam had been buried under began to collapse. Dean was able to barely hang on as the solid rocks beneath him fell, and he was left dangling from the ceiling, the churning water now at his waste and threatening to pull him under with each inch it gained.

“Sam!” Dean cried in his desperation. “Sammy!”

As Dean glanced up at the opening, he could barely see Sam laying next to it over the edge. He couldn’t tell Dean breathed hard and closed his eyes. If he was going to die, he wanted that image of Sam to be his last; to know that he’d saved his brother. Even if it meant his own death, Dean knew he’d never want it any other way.

Just as Dean was about to lose his hold, a giant hand snaked down through the hole and grabbed onto the collar of his shirt. The leverage was just enough for Dean to get a better grip on the edge, and just as the tunnel fully collapsed beneath him, Dean used his last bout of adrenaline and pulled himself out.

Dean fell out of the hole, and immediately started coughing, his whole body shaking with shock and relief. It was morning now, and the sun was barely starting to come up on the horizon. Dean’s eyes pinched open and he stared at it for a second before turning to Sam, to both hug him and thank him for finally waking up and helping his awesome big brother.

However, when he turned to Sam, he realized the big guy was still out cold.

“But then who...?” Dean asked, looking around, and jumped when he felt a hand land on his shoulder.

“Easy there, buddy,” a familiar voice said, and Dean turned and looked.

“Rick?” he asked in disbelief.

Rick smiled. “How you feeling, Dean?”

Dean frowned; something about his voice sounded different and Dean’s hunter instincts flared up. Yet, the man had just saved his life, hadn’t he?

“I’m fine,” he finally said, then slowly stood up, stretching his tired muscles. “What are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be in San Jose?”

Rick shrugged. “Yeah, well, I got relocated. It happens.”

Dean raised an eyebrow at him; he could tell the guy was lying but he didn’t know why. Right now, though, Dean had more important matters. Bending down, he turned to give Sam a closer look.

The kid appeared even worse in the daylight, his face pale and his limbs devoid of movement. His left arm was grossly swollen, the cut on his head was bleeding again, and Dean didn’t even want to think about if the other injuries were any worse. Either way, he had to get Sam some medical attention as soon as possible.

With strength he didn’t know he still possessed, Dean lifted Sam into his arms, Sam’s head cradled once more on his left shoulder with that arm cradled around his back, and his other arm holding up Sam’s legs at his knees.

“Thanks, Rick,” Dean said to the other man. He wanted to ask for his help, but he just couldn’t bring himself to trust the guy. “I’m going to get my brother some help now.”

Dean was about ten feet down the road when he heard a soft sigh directly behind him.

“I don’t think that’s a possibility, Dean.”

Dean’s eyes widened, not in surprise at Rick’s close proximity, but in his shock at a different realization. Slowly, Dean lifted Sam to the ground, brushing his bangs from his forehead before turning to face Rick.

“How do you know my name?” Dean asked, his voice venomous. He’d told Rick his name was Eric, and though the guy had suspected otherwise, Dean had never confirmed it.

Rick smiled grotesquely, and all the blood drained from Dean face when he saw Rick’s eyes turn black.

“I know a lot of things about you, Dean Winchester,” the demon casually stated. “Actually, I know a lot about your entire family. Stubborn Johnny, beautiful mother Mary, and especially” – the demon’s eyes glanced hungrily at Sam – “strong, special Sammy.”

Dean’s words were poison. “You stay away from my brother, you son of a bitch.” Then, without giving the demon a chance to answer, Dean began spewing forth Latin as he ripped open his duffel, searching for the holy water.

Just as his hands clasped around the small vial, Dean felt the duffel thrown from him as he was flung through the air to land on the ground twenty feet away. His breath knocked out of him, Dean sat on the ground for a couple moments trying to gather his bearings. He was just getting back to his feet and starting up the Latin again as he felt a hand close around his neck, stealing his breath once more.

He opened his eyes to see the demon’s black eyes inches from his own. “Oh Dean,” the demon whispered, “don’t you realize you can’t win? You’d be dead already were you not so much more amusing alive. Watching you go through hell to find your brother has made for some great entertainment.”

The grip on his neck loosened just enough for Dean to speak, and realizing his predicament Dean decided the best thing to do was to keep the demon talking until he could figure a way out of this mess. “How did you find me again?” he rasped out.

Rick chuckled. “I wasn’t looking for you. Hunter or not, you’re just a pathetic human. No, no; I was looking for your brother.”

Dean’s eyes widened, and that only made Rick laugh more.

“You don’t know anything about your little brother, do you, Dean? He’s like a beacon for my kind, has been his whole life. He’d have been possessed or even dead ages ago, were it not for... other plans.”

Dean had no idea what the demon was talking about; it didn’t make any sense. Sam, a supernatural beacon? Well, the kid did have a knack for attracting trouble, but...

“What are you talking about?” Dean demanded. He wasn’t actually taking this demon seriously; he just needed some more time. Demons lied all the time, and that was all this one was doing too.

Rick grinned, staring hard into Dean’s eyes. “Ever wonder what happened the night your mother died, Dean? Ever wonder why she died, her tender flesh broiling as she screamed like the whore she was?”

Dean’s hands flailed as he tried to get at the demon, wanting to tear its eyes out. “Fuck you!”

Rick shrugged. “Maybe another time. For now, I have more important business. You see, those other plans I mentioned? They were a little, let’s say, upset when the earthquake happened. Now things have changed. He wants your brother sooner. And guess who is here to collect precious Sammy?”

Dean didn’t have time to ask who he was before he was once again flung, this time into a pile of debris. Dean cried out as he landed hard on a piece of wire, feeling it cut hard into his shoulder. He heard footsteps coming closer, and grappled for his knife attached at his ankle. Just as his fingers closed around the handle, however, a kick connected with his stomach and he was back on the ground, the knife now in the hands of the demon.

“Before I do take Sammy, however,” the demon said over his moans, continuing his monologue as though nothing had happened, “there’s just a bit of damage control I need to do. Namely, killing you.”

The meaning of the words registered in Dean’s mind, and he was looked up to see the demon’s arm raised, knife in hand. Before Dean could react, the knife was at his throat, pressing into his jugular.

The demon smiled. “Aren’t you going to ask, why?” he teased, pressing hard enough to draw blood. When Dean did nothing but spit in his face, the demon laughed humorlessly.

“I would tell you to ask your father, but you won’t see him again until you meet in Hell. Then again, that shouldn’t be too much longer, anyways. Goodbye, Dean.”

Just as the demon raised his arm for the killing slash, he abruptly screamed out in pain and stumbled to the side. Dean opened his eyes to see a familiar face looking down in disgust at the demon, a half-empty vial of holy water in his hand.

“Take that, you demonic asshole,” Sam said, his weak voice laced with hatred. Dean only had a moment to look at him in wonder, before Sam’s eyes slowly turned to him, pleading. “Dean...”

As his baby brother’s eyes rolled up in his head, Dean saw Sam was about to collapse and stepped over the demon as he caught him in his arms. Letting Sam rest on the ground, Dean grabbed the vial of holy water and flung it at the demon just as he was about to tackle Dean.

Three memorized paragraphs of Latin and the rest of the holy water later, a thick black smoke burst out of Rick’s mouth and the exorcism was complete.

Dean didn’t stop to make sure the real Rick was okay before he stumbled down next to his brother.

“Sam?” Dean’s grin deepened as Sam tiredly opened his eyes in response. “Hey there, buddy.”

Sam sluggishly swallowed before his voice came out, barely a whisper. “Dean,” he began, his pupils wide with disbelief, “you’re here.”

Dean smirked, ignoring the tears that threatened to fall. “Yeah, well, I figured your big ass might need some saving. Jesus, Sam, what were you thinking, letting a little earthquake get you down?”

Sam chuckled weakly. “Jerk.”

Dean laughed; how many times had he wondered if he’d ever hear that endearment from Sam again? And now he had, and he would again, and despite everything Dean had never felt so good. “Bitch.”

With that, Sam’s eyes began to close. “Woah, wait, Sam,” Dean said, putting his palm on Sam’s cheek, “You gotta stay awake, dude.”

Sam’s eyes rolled. “I can’t, Dean... I’m so tired. Just lemme rest...”

“No. Sam, no!”

But Sam was out again, and Dean felt his head fall on Sam’s chest in frustration.

“You need help there, man?”

Dean lifted his face to look up at Rick, who was staring down at Sam in concern.

“Aren’t you going to ask me what the hell just happened?” Dean said noncommittally, checking his brother’s pulse. It was faster then he’d have liked. Sam needed some help, soon.

“Yeah, well. I figure we can get Gigantor here some help first,” Rick said, then handed Dean his cell, which Dean stared at for a couple seconds before lazily pocketing it. “Come on, I’ll carry him. You look like you can hardly stand as it is.”

Dean didn’t remember much of the walk to Vaden Health Center. It was barely three blocks anyways, but Rick hadn’t been kidding; Dean was exhausted and nearly as likely to pass out as his brother. His sense of duty to his brother was all that kept him on his feet as they stumbled through the wreckage of the streets. Just as they could start to hear voices, Dean’s exhaustion won out and he fainted.

When he woke up, he found himself lying on a blue cot, an IV hooked up to his arm that was steadily dripping a clear solution into him.

“What’s going on?” he slurred, glancing around at the tent he was inside. His movements picked up when he remembered Sam. Dean was just about to tear out his IV when he felt a small hand on his shoulder. He turned his head and came face-to-face with Amelia.

“Hey stranger,” Amelia said, taking his IV arm in her hands. “Don’t pull that out; you’re dehydrated and in great need of fluids, you know.”

Dean breathed hard. “Where’s Sam?”

“You really do have a one-track mind, don’t you?” Amelia teased as she coaxed Dean to lie back down again. When Dean complied, she continued, “Your brother is at the far end of the tent, Dean. He’s being taken care of as we speak. I popped his shoulder back in myself.”

“Is he going to be okay?” Dean asked, his voice taking on a pleading tone he didn’t realize he still possessed.

Amelia sighed, her smile weakening. “I think he has a good chance. He’s pretty beat up, all right; besides the shoulder, he has many bruises and cuts, three cracked ribs, those two nasty gashes on his head and back, a good concussion, not to mention he’s slightly malnourished and more dehydrated then you, which is saying a lot.”

Upon seeing Dean’s face fall in worry, Amelia quickly added, “However, unless those infections in his cuts give him a tough time, I think he’s on his way to a full recovery.” Amelia sat down on the edge of the cot, her eyes bright. “Just what happened, Dean? Where did you find him?”

Dean looked away, than closed his eyes. “The sewer,” he finally said, but stopped there. The memories of how close Sam, and then Dean himself, had been to death were still too raw, and he didn’t want to continue. And Dean didn’t even want to touch what the demon had said to him. It was all just too much right now.

Sensing his sadness and shock, Amelia didn’t ask him to explain further, only said, “Well, that explains the smell on both of you, anyways. I had trouble finding nurses who were willing to help me with either of you until we gave you boys both baths.”

Dean’s eyes snapped open, and he glanced down, just now realizing he was no longer wearing his jeans and shirt, but a hospital gown. “You gave us baths?”

“Just sponge ones,” Amelia said, her eyes lit with amusement. At Dean’s horrified face, she said, “Oh jeez, boy, it’s not like you have anything I haven’t seen before. Now get some rest.”

With that, Amelia stood and walked away, but not before turning to give Dean one last wink.

“Woah,” was all Dean managed, before he decided to heed her advice and let sleep overtake him.

As soon as Dean was declared fit enough to get up off the cot, he immediately went and found Sam, and stayed there.

The infections were being fought off easily enough now that Sam had antibiotics, and his shoulder and ribs were healing well. Dean couldn’t help but stay worried, however, as time continued to pass and still Sam didn’t wake up. Amelia had to keep reassuring him that Sam’s body just needed to heal, and it wasn’t the concussion or something worse that was causing Sam’s prolonged unconsciousness.

Dean had been at Sam’s side for going on fifteen hours when a memory of a promise came back to him. Thinking of the beautiful blonde he’d met only two days ago, he fumbled around in his duffel until he came to his filthy jeans. He plucked around the pocket, eventually pulling out a small note.

His bandaged hands aching, Dean carefully unfolded it, and could hardly believe his eyes when he read the faded pen markings.

Sam Winchester
Number 17, 197 Grove Corner Apts.
Palo Alto, CA

Call me at 502-112-1983 if you find anything. Thanks, Dean.

- Jess Moore

Dean spent a couple minutes just staring at the paper in his hand, trying to grasp his mind around the fact. Of all the chances, and he’d run into Sam’s girlfriend? Not only that, but he’d had Sam’s address in his pocket this whole time?

Dean didn’t know what to think about all that, except that irony really sucked. Oh, and another thing.

“She’s way out of your league, man,” Dean chuckled, still looking at the paper in awe.

“Who?”

Dean’s eyes snapped to Sam, whose own were looking at him questioningly. Dean grinned and leaned forward.

“Hey, Sleeping Beauty,” he said. “So you finally decided to grace us with your presence.”

Sam licked his lips before answering. “What happened? Last thing I remember, some guys was attacking you.” After a beat, Sam continued, “A demon?”

Dean nodded. “Yeah, you know how disasters like this are practically breeding grounds for the supernatural,” he answered carefully. He still wasn’t sure if he wanted his brother to know what the demon had said; Dean had to talk to his dad first about it. “But you came around and helped me kick his ass, you remember that?”

Sam nodded, before turning great big eyes on Dean. “How’d you get me out of there, Dean?”

Dean smirked. “Using my big brother superpowers, of course.”

Sam chuckled. “You know what’s kinda funny? I was just about to call you, you know. When the earthquake hit.”

“What for, Sam?” Dean asked, and though his voice held no malice Sam still winced a bit.

“Just... wanted to say I was sorry, I guess. For how it all went down,” Sam said, looking away from Dean.

Dean groaned inwardly, taking a moment to gather himself for what he was about to do. It wasn’t unprecedented, after all, just hadn’t happened for a while. Taking Sam’s hand into his own bandaged ones, Dean said, “Listen Sam, this wasn’t your fault. None of it was, okay? I was the one who told you not to call me, not the other way around. So if anyone is sorry, it’s going to be me.”

Sam’s eyes looked up at Dean, studying him, and for a moment Dean was worried Sam wouldn’t accept his apology. But then Sam broke out into a grin. “What have done with my brother?” he said, raising an eyebrow mockingly. When Dean smiled and threw his hand down in his own mock disgust, Sam added, “Seriously dude, when’d you turn into a girl? I can’t believe I missed the hunt where that transformation occurred.”

“Shut up, bitch,” Dean said, but he was still smiling. He could hardly believe that three days ago he’d been in New Mexico, and not sure if he’d ever see his brother again. Now, he didn’t know how he’d ever survived without having his brother around. Sam was Dean’s to take care of, Dean’s to protect, and no earthquake or demon or even Dean himself, was going to take that away from him. Speaking of which... “Listen, man, I gotta make a couple calls, okay? You get some rest, you hear?”

“Okay, Dad,” Sam answered, but his eyelids were already drooping. Dean sat next to Sam until his breaths evened out, before hurrying out of the tent, his cell phone in his hand. He took a moment to check his messages, and saw he only had two. The first was from Bobby.

“Dean. Just wanted to see how you and Sam were doing. Hope everything is going all right. Haven’t been able to get a hold of your daddy, you heard from him yet? Call as soon as you get this.”

After another beep, the second one began. The connection was full of static, and Dean could just barely hear the low, rumbling voice beneath it.

“Dean...something big is starting to happen...I need to try and figure out what’s going on. It may... Be very careful, Dean. We’re all in danger.”

The message ended, and Dean numbly clicked his phone shut.

We’re all in danger.

Even in the California heat, Dean’s blood chilled.

Amelia had just finished administering some more medication when Dean entered the tent. Sam was already getting groggy, but he wasn’t stupid. Dean’s blank face said it all; he was hiding something. Considering all the chaos that had happened in the last couple days, though, Sam really didn’t think it would be fair to jump on his brother about it right now. Not to mention the fact that Dean saved his life and all.

“Hey,” Sam said, grinning, as Dean sat back down. “Who’d you call?”

Dean looked away from Sam briefly, smirking. “You get some of the good stuff, little brother?” he asked when he looked back up again.

“What d’ya mean, Dean?” Sam asked. How did Dean know that?

“You’re slurring like a drunk sailor, man,” Dean teased. Sam thought about saying something back, but nothing good came to him. Besides, Dean was laughing and his eyes were bright and he didn’t look blank at all anymore, and Sam didn’t want that to go away.

“You look happy, Dean,” Sam said, smiling goofily.

Dean gave him a perplexed look, one eyebrow raised, as though wondering whether he should be concerned or amused, before mumbling something.

“Wha’?” Sam asked, rubbing his eyes.

Dean glanced up at him, the tips of his ears gone red, before leaning over and ruffling Sam’s hair playfully. “Nothing, dude. Hey, what about that little lady of yours?”

Sam’s eyes popped open and wide. “Jess!” Sam tried to smack himself on the forehead, but totally missed and hit his cheek instead. He didn’t notice, though. “Oh man, Dean! My cell, I lost it. An’ I dunno what her number is – it’s jus’ always been in there.” Sam felt like crying. “What’m I gonna do?”

“Don’t worry, little brother. I took care of it for you,” Dean said, pulling a note out of his pocket, before grabbing Sam’s hand and carefully placing the piece of paper in his palm, curving Sam’s fingers around it. “Here, you can call her when you feel better, okay?”

Sam fumbled, but managed to open the note, barely noticing his name and address as he took in Jess’ cell number. Sam looked back at Dean, his gaze full of admiration. “Wow, Dean, you’re the bestest big brother a guy could have, really the bestest of the best. You have no idea dude how best y’are, I love – ”

“Stop right there, Sammy,” Dean said sternly, though his eyes were full of mischief and maybe, Sam thought, pride. “No chick flick moments, remember?”

Sam tried to remember, but he really couldn’t, and everything was spinning now. “Oh. Yeah.”

Slowly Sam registered Dean’s hands pushing him back against his pillow, and as he closed his eyes he even thought he felt one on his forehead. Sam chuckled weakly. “Dean, you forgot!” he reminded him, swiping weakly at Dean’s hand.

Dean laughed, and Sam was pretty sure he said something in response, but Sam was too out of it by now to catch it. The last thing that registered in Sam’s mind was that Dean still hadn’t moved his hand, before everything faded out and he drifted away.

Sam woke up just as they were transferring him off the helicopter. Dean stayed at his side only long enough to tell him what the plan was, before tossing his cell to Sam and abruptly walking away. Sam chuckled; Dean hated flying, and by the green tint to his cheeks Sam was pretty sure he knew why Dean had rushed off.

Sam memorized the number in one look before punching it in. There was only one ring on the other end before a beautiful, melodic voice said, “Hello?”

Everything in Sam melted at that moment. “Jess?”

“Sam! Oh my God, are you okay? What happened? Where are you?”

Sam sighed deeply, tears coming to his eyes, sending a small prayer of thanks that Dean had somehow met Jess. Dean had shrugged it off as mere coincidence when he’d explained what happened, but Sam could hardly believe that. Something good had planned it, he was sure of that. Thinking of Jess, he’d never been more sure of anything.

“I’m fine. I’m in Bakersfield with my brother; he found me down in Palo Alto. We’re on our way to Needles, to pick up his car. Where are you?”

There was a pause on the other end, and Sam could tell that Jess knew he had left quite a bit out. Apparently, though, she was too relieved to inquire further for now, as she only said, “I’m in Needles right now, still trying to get in. God, Sam, it’s so good to hear your voice. I thought... well, I didn’t know what to think.”

Sam could hear the tears in her voice, and smiled. “It’s okay, babe. I’m all right. More then anything, I’m just thankful you weren’t here when it happened.”

Jess let out a sob. “I’d rather have been there with you, then here without you.”

“What would I do without you?” Sam asked, trying to be playful, but even he could hear the truth in it.

Jess laughed. “Crash and burn.”

It was nearly one o’clock in the morning when they pulled into the Sleep-Easy Motel in Needles.

Dean turned off the car right in front of room eight, looking away from Sam and into the shadows. Sam could feel the tension.

“Listen, man, you know how much I want to help you find Dad, but I can’t right now,” Sam tried one last time to explain. “Jess, who knows what she’s been through in the last couple days. She needs me right now, you know?”

Dean nodded. “I understand, Sam. Even with what’s happened, you still have your own life with Jess, and I get that, I do. I just... be careful, all right? You heard what Dad said.”

“We’re all in danger,” Sam echoed softly, turning away to stare at the door to Jess’ room. He thought about the families and friends and all the people who had lost someone in this tragedy. He hated that it felt like he was leaving Dean behind again. But it wasn’t the same as last time - Sam wasn’t going to let it be. “What do you think Dad was talking about?”

Dean shrugged. “I don’t know. That’s why I have to find him.”

Sam took a deep breath, nodding. Silence fell between the two brothers again, but it was more comfortable. Winchesters didn’t do goodbyes well, they never had, but this... this was nice.

Sam hardly heard Dean’s whisper. “Hey, man, can I give you a call? When I get to Buffalo?”

Sam could tell this was Dean’s way of asking for forgiveness. Even over a year later, he still felt bad about telling Sam not to call. The situation now was so similar to that one, but also different in the best of ways.

He turned to Dean, grinning. “You better call me. I don’t want to have to return the favor and go get your ass out of trouble any time soon.”

“As if you could, you scrawny geek,” Dean scoffed. “Besides, I’m, like, invincible.”

“Really? So you just had it all covered when that demon was about to split you in half, huh?”

“I’d have figured something out.”

Sam laughed, shoving Dean in the shoulder. “Well, I think you’re full of shit.”

“Oh yeah?”

Sam had no time to duck before he was smacked across the head. “Ouch!”

“That’s right, bitch. You better be glad I didn’t throw you outta the car altogether.”

“Jerk!” Sam answered, but he was laughing. Looking back at the door to number eight, he couldn’t help but feel a little sad. It felt so good to just hang with his brother. But Jess was waiting for him.

Dean must have noticed where his gaze was, because he leaned over Sam and opened the passenger side door. “Go see your girl, hot stuff.”

“Dean,” Sam began, “I’m sorry, I really do want to go, but I just – ”

Dean merely leaned over and flicked the tip of Sam’s nose. “Jesus, Sammy, what are you, a broken record? I get it. Now get out of here, before I make good on my threat to throw you out.”

Sam stepped out of the car, closing the door and leaning over to look in the window. “See ya, Dean. Don’t forget to call, all right?”

“Yeah, yeah. ‘Bye, Sammy.”

Sam watched as the Impala pulled out of the lot, its tires squealing a final goodbye as Dean drove away. Sam watched until the car was out of sight, before turning to the motel room door.

He knocked, and when he got no answer, tried the handle. To his surprise, the door was unlocked. “Jess?” he asked, pushing the old door open.

The motel room looked just like a thousand others Sam had frequented in his life, except for one difference: a bag of new clothes sat on one the beds, along with a plate of what looked like chocolate chip cookies. Sam smiled appreciatively, loving Jess all the more, before taking note of the running shower through the open bathroom door.

Sighing, Sam walked past the bed with the bag and cookies, and slumped over on the other double, leaning back and closing his eyes. He had wanted to go with Dean, yeah, but sitting in this room, knowing Jess was here too, he could feel he’d made the right decision.

Something dripped on his face just then, and Sam winced before saying smirking slightly. It was probably just Jess, hair still wet from her shower, leaning over to surprise him. He waited for the inevitable kiss, but when it didn’t come slowly opened his eyes.

He didn’t recognize what he saw. He didn’t believe it. Jess was above him, but instead of being inches away, she was on the ceiling, and how was that?

“Jess!”

Sam scrambled, barely taking in the silent scream on Jess’s face before a huge wave of flames erupted from behind her body, cascading across the ceiling and down all the walls.

The horror of the image was incomprehensible. “Jess!” Sam screamed, trying to stand up, pull her down from there, oh god from the ceiling – “JESS!”

Suddenly there were arms wrapping around him, pulling him away, and Sam thought he heard Dean’s voice yell in his ear but he had no time to think about that, because Jess, his Jess, his beautiful girlfriend was on fire, oh fuck she was burning, and Sam needed to save her, he needed Jess, oh god he needed Jess.

Sam was still screaming his denial when Dean finally pulled him all the way out of the room and to safety. His legs gave out and he cried, the air feeling cold now compared to the deadly heat that had encompassed the room. It did nothing to quench the burning in Sam’s heart.

“Sam?”

Sam heard Dean, but he said nothing back. He could feel Dean’s worried look, though. But he couldn’t bring himself to answer. God, Jess. She was gone. She was dead. Burned alive, pinned to the ceiling, her beautiful body and life desecrated.

Sam closed his eyes, trying to fight the image away. But it wouldn’t leave – it was just as burned in his mind as his love for Jess had been. Maybe stronger, even. Was this how Dad had felt, watching his house and the love of his life become nothing but ash and dust?

Because Sam had never known hurt like this could exist. He’d never known vengeance like this could exist, either.

Without looking at Dean, Sam swiveled and starting a determined walk back to the Impala. Ignoring the tears in his eyes and the steps of his brother following him, he opened the trunk and started looking through the weapons, mentally cataloguing what they were missing.

As Dean sauntered up to stand next to him, a question on his face, Sam only said, “We’re low on lighter fluid.”

“Sam –”

Sam shook his head, and Dean’s jaw clenched. “No. Don’t.”

Dean slowly blinked, looked away and nodded. Sam felt his chin tremble, but fought it down and away, as deep as he could. He didn’t have time to grieve. He had to find his dad. He had to get answers. He had to avenge Jess’s death. He had to end this massacre in his soul. He had to... he had nothing.

“Sammy?”

Okay, maybe that wasn’t entirely true. “What?”

“Let’s get out of here.”

“Okay.” Stanford was gone. Jess was gone. This was all he had left, and damned if he was going to lose anything else. “We’ve got work to do.”