There was no one there, but Eileen hadn't survived this long by ignoring her instincts. She knew she was being watched. Their eyes lingered like a lover's touch on her back. Eileen had hoped that she would be able to disappear into the forgotten areas of rural Ireland, but she had been wrong. Even among the hills abandoned by all but the wind, the breath of the Men of Letters was hot on her neck. It didn't matter that she'd changed names, cut and dyed her hair, or bought a new phone with a new credit card. They hadn't found her, because they'd never lost her. She was marked as theirs; a woman with a bruise on her neck from a jealous kiss.

She should have never left the Bunker.

But she never could have stayed.

~There's Something About Mary~

Dean snuck a look at his brother. Sam was still staring out the side window intently, like the miles of ragged highway trees were the most interesting thing in the world. The driver returned his gaze to the road, noting from the milemarker that they had less than a half hour before they reached the morgue where Eileen's body was waiting for them. Dean felt his brother's grief more keenly than his own. Eileen had been a good hunter and a good friend. Most importantly, however, she'd been good for his brother. Dean had happily watched the little Irishwoman slowly peel away his brother's innumerous protective layers to let Sammy think about loving again. Her efforts showed up in little ways, ways that only someone that knew the kid as well as Dean did would be able to see. Like how Sammy sang in the shower, despite the fact that he hadn't done so since before Stanford. Or how he wore the expensive type of cologne that didn't smell like a teenager trying too hard, and not just on special occasions. Or how Sam's search history was full of Youtube videos teaching sign language and articles on deaf culture. Or how he smiled more, often for no particular reason at all, but almost always after glancing at a text heralded by a unique vibration pattern. They were big, goofy, unselfconscious smiles that lit up the whole room and reminded Dean of better days. Anyone who could make his brother smile like that was good in his book.

That smile was gone now, replaced with a shuttered look of devastation and resignation that reminded Dean eerily of when Jess died. He hoped this loss wouldn't hit his brother as hard as that mess, but he probably hoped in vain. Eileen had represented hope to Sam, a hope of realizing a dream he'd held tight for his whole life.

Normal.

Dean was more than happy with a different woman every night. In fact, he sort of preferred it. Kept things interesting without any of the drama or the worry. But Sam… Sam wanted more. He wanted a real house with big windows in Suburbia with a white picket fence around it and two-point-five kids and a dog or three running around inside it. He wanted a law degree and a nine-to-five desk job and a wife that would make him salads and run her fingers through his too-long hair and fuss with his collar. He wanted to get old and complain about his arthritic hip and have a boring retirement on a golf course in Florida. He wanted a real home, not just an antique car and a military Bunker and a crappy hotel room. One with a real family, not just a bunch of broken people patched together with alcohol and monster gore.

Sam claimed that he was committed to the Life, that he even enjoyed it. Dean knew in his bones that his brother would never just walk away. Not from him. Not after everything. Not when he'd come back, every single time, despite all of the chances he'd had to leave for good. Regardless, Normal was still Sam's dream, even if he would never get to realize it, even if he would never actively pursue it, even if he refused to allow himself to even think about it. That was ok, because Dean thought about it for him, planned and pursued it for him, because a Normal life for Sam was Dean's dream too. He'd indulged in more than one brown study about a couple of little rugrats with Sammy's dopey grin and Eileen's softly curling hair calling him "Uncle" and giggling at his scars and making him play 'tea party'. Not that he'd ever admit it, mind. The odds of that becoming reality had been just this side of impossible, even before. Now… Sammy would never find such a perfect woman again, and even if he did he wouldn't be willing to consider even thinking about dating her. Not with his stunningly terrible record. It really was a minor miracle that Eileen had gotten so far past his defenses.

"You don't ever think about something? Not marriage or whatever. But… Something? You know, with a hunter? Somebody who understands the life?"

Dean had just brushed off the comment at the time, but he'd seen Sam's words for what they were: a fragile hope of an even more fragile dream. They'd met Eileen not long after, and Dean watched as that dream started to take on more details, more specifics. Becoming more real. Not just 'a hunter': Eileen. Not just 'something': late night video chats and hot chocolate at 2 am after mutual nightmares. Not 'whatever': tearful hugs after a hunt gone wrong and hesitantly signed forgiveness. Sam had allowed himself to have 'something' with Eileen, to permit himself to think about Normal, even if it was their twisted version of it. The price, of course, was the pain of losing that dream once again.

Sam wearily tuned the radio to the local rock station and twisted the volume to loud. Dean had put it on a soft country station in silent consideration for his brother's tastes when they'd first gotten into the car. Little gestures like that were all Sammy could take right now, as he well knew. Firm shoulder grips, restaurants that served more than one type of rabbit food, quiet country music, slightly nicer motels with consistent hot water and good shower pressure, that sort of thing. Nothing overt would be accepted in this fragile stage of grief. The anger and the tears and the chick flick moments would come later, as would the single-minded purpose and coldly stubborn revenge. Right now there was just the raw shock, the bleeding wounds. The treatment was the same as for physical injuries: get to a safe place, clean out the gunk, douse with alcohol, wrap it tight, and wait for the pain to fade. The Bunker was several hours in their rearview window, Sam wasn't going to talk anytime soon, and they couldn't get blind drunk on a case this important. So Dean would have to be content with just keeping his brother moving and functional until he could apply some real first aid.

Sam shifted slightly, pulling himself into an even smaller, more miserable ball. Ever since they'd heard of Eileen's death, his brother's motions had been reminiscent of a puppy who'd been kicked twice too many times. Dean would have to remember to thank Jody later for calling in person. At least Sam had heard from a friend and not via the evening news. He'd also have to remember to clean out Eileen's room in the Batcave so his brother wouldn't have to confront those memories or think about those fragile dreams. Dean wished he could do more-Sam deserved so much more- but his silence and support were all he could offer right now.

A/N:

I wrote most of this during NaNoWriMo 2017, but have just now gotten around to publishing it. I'll be posting one chapter (~1000 words) every few days or so as I work through final edits. The first few chapters are meant to compliment the show, not to stand on their own. What episodes they should be paired with are noted. Later chapters deviate significantly from cannon and consequently have significantly more plot structure. This is a Sam/Eileen fic, but I'll write nothing past PG-13. All Dean-Cas interactions are Gen: you can get your Destiel kicks elsewhere :P

Assume spoilers for all aired episodes, because I'm lazy and don't want to take the time to sort out what tidbits came from where :P Stuff that you recognize doesn't belong to me. Mostly this fic is self-indulgent analysis and even more indulgent fix-it, but I figured someone else might want to come along for the ride. Many thanks to Star-Eye for finding the time to beta despite all of her other commitments.

Point out my mistakes and I will fix them :) Comments are love and encourage sequels!

~Always Keep Fighting; You Are Not Alone~