This story, aside from topic, has no connection to my stories "40 Years" and "By the Side of The Road". This is just another take I had on what happened after Dean's revelation.

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Sam had been thinking long and hard on something for the last twenty miles before we got to our next motel. Not that we were really talking or anything. I'd done enough talking for the both of us earlier this afternoon. Sam hadn't said much afterward either, but he said enough.

First he said, "You're not talking about hell, so I'm not pushing." Which for Sammy is about the greatest self-restraint I've ever seen him put himself through. But I started talking. It was so heavy, the weight of it all was so damn heavy, and even at the risk of pushing Sam away from me forever I wanted to tell him just so I didn't have that between us anymore. Just so I could finally have it out in the open and let Sam think whatever he was going to think about me.

We were sitting on a short little dead end 'this used to be the real road 'til the interstate came through' cut off. We'd managed to survive our own personal Armageddon thanks to my brainiac little brother. Anna got her grace back. All parties good and bad had been sent off to God-and-whoever-knew-where. And I finally felt like I could take a deep breath again.

So I celebrated by handing my soul up on a spit to Sam. Sammy. I didn't mean to call him that during my little revelation. But I needed to. I needed to be talking to Sammy, my little brother Sammy who loves me and adores me and would never ever hate me, no matter what.

He tried. He tried to tell me that I held out longer than anybody else would have. But I wasn't buying it. I spared him the graphic details but I wanted him to know, to understand what I did those last ten years I was in hell. I mean, I suppose I stopped being Sammy's hero a long time ago, and maybe I even lost being the big brother after what he survived while I was gone. But I wanted him to know that whatever regard he might still have for me, I didn't deserve it. I wanted to be sure he knew that.

And I guess he got the idea, because he didn't say anything else. I was – well, I was a mess. I mean, the last time I cried cried in front of Sammy I think I was feeding him his bottle. And he put his tiny baby hand on my face and looked up at me with that look that he still gets, like he's trying to see right inside me. Then Dad was there and held us in his lap on the motel bed, him holding me holding Sammy.

That was the last time I cried cried in front of anybody.

Now here I was, out in broad daylight no less, crying. I couldn't stop it and I guess I didn't even try. Sam was still behind me and I wouldn't have minded much if he took a walk down the road to make a phone call or something.

No, I would have minded. I didn't want to be alone. He didn't have to say anything. And God I hoped he didn't say anything or touch me or even clear his throat. Any little thing was going to make me jump out of my skin. I just wanted to know that he was there. Waiting. I didn't – he hadn't – things haven't been exactly easy between us since I came back. I left my little brother Sammy alone and sobbing in a bloody kitchen – so Bobby told me – and I came back to find a full grown man in his place. That was kind of hard to assimilate in just a couple of month's time. Like that growth spurt that all of a sudden had me looking up at my little brother, I needed to get used to how I fit in Sam's world.

What I just told him I didn't expect was going to make that easier for either of us.

Finally, as I was getting back under some control, Sam shifted behind me. I begged him inside my head, don't touch me, don't say it wasn't my fault, don't you take the blame for it, and please God do not touch me.

But Sam was only shaking his head, I could see that much out of the corner of my eye, and he had his jaw set in that way that should scare anyone or anything that's ever crossed him in that mood.

"I will kill him." He said, and I didn't have to ask who he meant. In spite of how torn up I was feeling inside right at that moment, all I could think was Sam's the only person in the world I can tell that I've become a monster and his first thought is to defend me. Protect me. Take down whichever and however many evil sons of bitches he needs to to get the job done. God I love my brother.

After he said that though, neither of us said anything. He waited, waiting for me to make the first move. Waiting for me to decide what I needed and when I needed it. I know he would've waited there all day.

"So we should go." I said when I knew I could talk without crying again.

"Okay." And Sam walked around in front of me. I was still praying 'don't touch me, don't look at me, don't say anything, let's just get out of here,' but all he did was take my beer out of my hand and set both bottles down at the side of the road. I got in and he got in and we turned around and got on the interstate again.

We didn't talk, Sam had something serious he was working over in his mind. Even after forty years, I can tell what gear his brain is in, and his was in low gear – a tough pull that needed extra power. I didn't mind, it was just as well, I wasn't up for any conversation. Just let me get to a room and a bed and relative unconsciousness, that's all I was asking for right now.

"I'll get the room." He said when I pulled us into a motel. I didn't argue. I didn't want to move. Sam probably wanted to get away from me. I haven't felt so worthless since I can't even remember when.

He came back, we went into the room, dumping our stuff on the beds and sitting down next to the duffels. All without saying anything. I tried to take a deep breath but I don't remember air being so heavy. And we sat there and I wondered if we were going to sit there forever, neither one of us saying anything. Sam was still working on whatever he was working on in his head.

Finally I was going to offer we go out to get some dinner, but just as I was about to say it – Sam laughed. He wasn't looking at me, so I guessed he wasn't laughing at me. Then he did look up at me and I could see he was embarrassed that I heard him.

"What?" I had to ask.

"Nothing. Um – nothing." He stood up and started looking through his bag, his back turned to me. "You want me to go get something to eat?"

"What were you laughing at?" I had to ask because it most certainly wasn't nothing.

"I just – it was just -." Sam turned around, gesturing like he knew maybe I wasn't going to like it. "I was thinking about – when you – went to hell…"

"Really? Well do tell; I'd love to hear something funny about that." If I wasn't mad, I was about as close as I could get. Sam must've seen it. He sat down again, staring at his hands in his lap.

"I was just thinking – I was trying to figure out – for every minute I spent up here, how long you were – down there."

"And?"

"Um – well – I – um – figured out that one minute up here works out to be roughly two hours -."

"Down there." I supplied when it seemed like he couldn't. "Yeah, I got it. So?"

"Well – when the clock chimed midnight, when you should've died, we ran to the kitchen and barricaded ourselves in there."

"Yeahhh…" The mood I was in, if I had to drag this out of Sam, I would. Literally.

"I just was thinking – so it was maybe five after midnight when you – when you – died." He said it because I wasn't going to. "So five minutes was ten hours. You were ten hours late to hell." He smiled like he knew he shouldn't but he wanted to anyway.

"My big brother, Dean Winchester – the only man to ever keep hell waiting."

I had to smile then too. Both at the idea that I was late to hell – maybe that's why they were so pissed – and the fact that Sam could find something positive about me in that horror.

God, I love my brother.

The End