A/n: Maybe you guys heard of the huge airplane crash thing that happened here in Brazil. Well, if you didn't, then here we go: it was raining, and the plane was landing, so it sort of slipped and crashed into a building, and – to shorten the story – it exploded, killing over 190 people. And the TV people gave out the wrong flight number! Which they corrected later, of course, but phew! So we were all pretty shook up, and I imagined: what about Sam and Dean being here for a hunt when the accident happened? What about them being apart? What about… Ah, you'll see. Dedicated to all the victims and their families.

Never again

Dean was watching TV, back resting comfortably against a pillow on their hotel bed. (He'd found out, too late not to embarrass himself, that motels in Brazil were not exactly designed for sleeping – although they do include beds, they're for more of an activity you stay awake in. Which awarded him some really strange looks as he asked a man on the street where he could find a good motel for him and his brother to spend the night.) He was flipping through the channels, waiting for Sam to come join him – he'd flown a day earlier, because Sam had lost his plane ticket but the demon couldn't wait – when suddenly…

"Shit! Why didn't I learn some more Portuguese…?" He cursed, while the television showed one of the most shocking human things he'd ever seen. There was half a plane – the tail – showing in the middle of the raging flames in a building, firemen trying desperately to put it out, even the newswoman was about to cry… He didn't understand what she was saying, but the words he could make out from the text below her were more than enough to send a huge shiver down his spine.

"Avião" means "plane". That was the first Portuguese word he recognized.

"Vôo" means "Flight". Short and easy.

He reached for his mobile instantly, accessing his inbox to check the flight number Sam had informed him, the plane he was probably in right now.

Dean, I'm boarding now. Flight 1058. I'll call you when I get there. Sam

Worried hazel eyes glancing desperately from the TV to the mobile, hoping to have seen the wrong number, wishing Sam had mistyped.

Vôo 1058. Flight 1058. Shit. "Why didn't you just stay there like I told you, Sammy? I was coming back so soon, come on…" He muttered, hopelessly calling Sam's phone, wishing he'd pick up…

But he didn't. Dean's throat seemed to close up and he made no effort to blink back his tears, still trying to deny the undeniable. "Sammy…" He sobbed as a memory flashed through his mind.

Five-year-old Sam had just come to their current motel from school, with a purple frame around his tearful brown eyes. It was the first time Dean – who finished an hour earlier every day – had left his baby brother alone at school instead of waiting for him by the gate. And just today, he'd come with a bruised eye.

"Hey, buddy, what happened?" Nine-year-old Dean rushed to his side, kneeling on the floor so his eyes met Sam's. A wave of guilt washed over the eldest as he realized it had probably only happened because he wasn't there. "Who did this to you?"

"A-adam Oiseaux… H-he said bad t-things about Mommy… And I tried… I really tried to s-smack him, but h-he got me f-first, Dean, I'm sorry…" Sam was trying to fight back the tears that threatened to come out of his big puppy-dog eyes.

Dean cupped his little brother's face with both hands, wiping away a tear as he replied, firmly, but gently:

"No, Sammy, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have come home early, shouldn't have left you there… Hey, come here." He took the crying boy in his arms, feeling even guiltier. "Listen, Sammy, I'm not leaving you again, OK?"

"Promise?"

"I swear."

Dean clutched his knees to his chest, pressing his forehead against his knees and crying even harder at that memory. He'd broken the promise again. And Sammy was dead.

Dead. His baby brother, the one he'd sworn to protect and take care of since he was only six months old. Now he was dead. What was a demon – one he'd killed on his own – compared to that? He didn't have to come. Not at all…

The phone rang. Dean wiped off the tears to make sure he'd seen the name on the caller ID right.

"Sam?"

"Dean, where are you?"

Relief washed him over at the sound of his baby brother's voice. He didn't know how it was possible, but Sam was alive and well – well enough to talk.

"Dean?"

"Yeah, man…"

"Look, I'm just across the street from the airport, I got here about an hour ago but things are real chaotic now, there was an accident with a plane, and… Could you come pick me up?"

"Sure. Just give me five minutes." Dean's fingers shook as much as his voice when he answered. He wanted to see Sam as soon as humanly possible.

"Dude, you OK?"

"Now I am, Sammy, now I am. Just stay safe 'till I get there."

So he hung up the phone, even more relieved now. And with a final look at the TV, a look of understanding replaced the sorrow and regret in his red, puffy eyes as he made out the simple words:

Erro. Error. That's easy.

Vôo 3054.

3054, not 1058.

Which meant, as horrible as the accident was, it didn't matter, because Sammy was alive and safe. And that was all that mattered.

The Impala approached the street where Sam stood. He as just about to hop in when he saw his brother come out, and the next thing he knew was that he was holding him tight, without a word. Sam didn't see the tears that were threatening to fall again from Dean's closed eyes, but even if he did, it wouldn't have mattered.

The Winchester brothers were together again, both alive, both safe, hugging as they hadn't hugged since they were small children.

And never, never again would they be apart.