The silence of the motel was practically a blessing after the constant fighting and squabbling that had overcame the barn where they had made their base.

Maybe it was boredom but Rowena had practically made it her mission to drive Charlie up the walls. She was almost begging to be shot.

And by God Sam was tempted.

So he had to get out of there. The atmosphere was stifling and they weren't able to get any work done. It had almost felt like he couldn't breathe there and if he hadn't known any better and hadn't chained Rowena himself he would've sworn that the witch had performed some sort of spell to create the more and more tension between all of them.

Heaving a great sigh Sam leaned back in his chair and rubbed at his eyes, they were heavy with exhaustion and it took more work to keep them open than it did to just let them close for a few moments. Every time they started to slowly droop down he would jerk himself awake and shake his head, trying to refocus on what he was doing.

Between all of these late nights going behind Deans back, getting materials for Rowena; he had sworn that she had been screwing with him when she said she had needed chicken feet, a rats liver, and exactly forty nine daisies if she hadn't done the locating spell right in front of him, and combined with all those sleepless nights where Deans screams would jolt him awake he was more than a bit surprised that he hadn't collapsed out of pure tiredness than anything else.

All those nights that Dean would have nightmares, screaming himself hoarse as it filled the bunker Sam would be right there in the hallway. He would spend those countless hours just outside of Dean's room, curled up and pressed against the door. Every time he would submit himself to this punishment, torturing himself by listening to the screams. He didn't have the courage yet to confront or even talk to Dean about the nightmares, not yet daring; but always wanting more than anything to go into the room with his brother, wrap his arms around him and offer him some sort of comfort, however little it might be.

In the end he was always too afraid to enter Dean's room. Too afraid of letting Dean know that he had caught his brother in such a moment of weakness. Too afraid of being rejected and hating himself for not having the courage to go inside despite it all.

His phone vibrated again, drawing his attention momentarily from the brightness of his laptop screen to the smaller brightness of his cell phone.

Cas was calling him, again. Shaking his head he pressed a button on the side of the phone to stop the call.

"Not now Cas." Sam mumbled under his breath. "Not now."

He let his phone slip back into his pocket and reached out to snag the coffee cup at his side.

Tipping the remains of the coffee, now a cold almost tasteless sludge, into his mouth he grimaced slightly at the taste and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand before lightly throwing the cup into the small trash can beside the desk and he focused on his laptop once more.

Search after search. Rune after rune into every system he could think of. Try and try again.

No match found.

No search found with these words.

Please refine your search and try again.

Sam sighed as he clicked out of the latest 'Did you mean' window and blearily wished he had the bunkers library to help him. Or at the very least he wished Bobby was still here. He had a feeling that the older hunter would've been able to help.

Or at the very least smack the both of them for being 'idjits' and maybe smack Dean hard enough to throw the Mark off of him.

The thought made him smile slightly but it quickly fell as he thought more about Bobby and how he has no idea what happened to him after breaking Metatron out from heaven. He had tried to ask Cas about what might've happened but the angel didn't answer, he wouldn't even look Sam in the eye.

That was enough of an answer and it turned his stomach. He tried not to think about it for the time being, trying to focus on one thing at a time.

Sam ran his tongue over his teeth, dimly wishing for more coffee but not willing to face the downpour outside for it as he raised both hands to the computer once more and tried to think what else to type into the search engine.

His phone vibrated once more. Habit and instinct got him to bring it out of his pocket and he reflexively glanced at the caller id before freezing and feeling his stomach sink down.

Dean was calling him.

Sam bit down on his bottom lip as he tried to gather all the courage he had, his thumb hovering over the green touchscreen button.

Letting out a deep breath Sam slid his thumb over the screen and brought the phone to his ear.

"Hey Dean." he said softly in greeting.

"What the hell are you thinking?" Dean almost snarled at him in lieu of a greeting.

Sam closed his eyes, so Cas or Charlie or even both had called Dean in the hopes that he could get him to come back or at least check to make sure that he was alive. "Trying to save you." he shot back.

"Not like this." Dean practically growled. "Now with this book and not by bringing Charlie into this. How the hell can you do that Sam? After everything we've seen with this book and after everything she's been through with it how can you bring her back into this?"

"She's doing this for the same reason I am Dean." Sam told him, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "She loves you and she's willing to do whatever it takes to get that Mark off of you, just like I am."

"Not like this." Dean said firm as stone and just as unmoving. "Not with this book and especially not something that have the literal damn Frankenstein's after it!" his anger was practically radiating through the phone. "Now tell me where the hell you are."

"Not until I figure out how to save you." Sam said just as firmly before he ended the call and let his phone fall to his desk before burying his face in his hands.

He had hated this, going behind Deans back like this, but now that it was out in the open it didn't make it a single bit better.

Sam shook his head, letting his hair fly slightly before straightening up in his seat and focusing on his notes.

He could live with Dean being angry with him, so long as he was angry with the Mark off of his arm.

And the sooner, the better.

Rubbing his eyes once more he picked up his pen and dragged the notes to him, eyes flickering from his papers to his laptop periodically.

The only sounds that filled the room was the scratches of his pen against paper, his fingers against his mouse and keyboard, and the vibrations of his phone against the desk as Cas, Charlie, and Dean continued to call.

He ignored each call, after a while he just turned the vibration off completely and occasionally the glow from the calls would divert his eyes to the phone for a moment before going back to the computer.

Heaving another sigh Sam got out of his chair and stretched, forcing his muscles to wake up and move. He rubbed his right shoulder, ever since it had gotten banged up because of that demon months ago when he and Cas had searched for Dean it always ached with the bad weather.

Standing up and stretching out his legs Sam couldn't help but give a small smirk. He was used to being thrown around like a rag doll. Against walls and to the ground, into almost everything, anything, anyone, and anything else in between. And he was complaining about a small sprain because of a demon. God he sounded old.

Stepping into the small bathroom he went to the sink and turned it on, for once thankful that a motel had a bad heating system. Warm water always made him more tired than anything. He placed his hands under the spray and enjoyed the cool feeling for a moment before cupping his hands together and letting the water gather before bowing down and washing his face. After doing that a few times he got another handful of water once more and ran it through his hair, closing his eyes to enjoy the cool sensation. The water droplets trailed down his face slowly as he reached out and took a thin towel from the rack on the side. Turning the faucet off he patted his hands and face dry, running the towel through his hair as well. Straightening up he glanced almost reflexively at the mirror and froze.

He didn't just sound old. He looked old. His lips parted slightly as he took his reflection in. He had lines at the corner of his eyes which he had thought had been from the sleepless nights and stress but with a start he realized he had seen them way before the whole mess with Dean being a demon and the whole Mark business.

He ran his fingers through his now slightly damp hair and grimaced, he could see more than one, more than a few even, gray hairs littered around the strands.

He was old, Sam realized. He was only thirty two, nearing thirty three rather quickly a part of his mind told him, and he was old. At least for someone being in the hunting community their entire life, thirty two was considered old.

Sam slowly and almost mechanically placed the towel back on the rack, his eyes flickering back to the mirror as he did.

The job ages you, how many times had he heard that and from how many people?

And how many of those people were now dead?

Sam walked back to the other room in a bit of a daze, his fingers absentmindly tugging on his hair as he thought. His mind racing as he suddenly and slowly realized a few things.

Namely his body. How hard it has become for it to heal faster, at least when Cas wasn't there to heal them. How his body ached at the end of the day and how long it took to shake off the tiredness and sluggishness out of his body. He thought about how his entire body was starting to get slower to react now in comparison to how it used to be. He remembered getting banged up and beaten, broken and twisted and still managing to get up and ready to go to a new hunt or outrun the police or simply keep running until he just had to go to sleep.

Now it took weeks for a simple shoulder wound to heal.

Sam continued to run his fingers through his hair; the thin graying strands that were starting to spread, down to his face; to where the beginning of wrinkles he didn't even realize were there until that moment, and down to his chest where his heart was slowly beating.

God he really was getting old.

He's only thirty two.

Sam glanced down and brought his hands up to look at them. Calloused and worn, bending slightly inwards towards the palm. The scar on his palm remained from his time with the Lucifer hallucination, healed but still jagged and slightly risen from the other skin. Sometimes it would even get caught on the handle of a gun of knife, occasionally tearing if he would move it off too fast. Those moments he would always be reminded of Lucifer's hallucinations and trying his best to avoid them, his head would almost automatically swirl around to catch the fading hallucination almost on instinct and to settle the sudden pit in his stomach as his palm burst with pain. His hands were wrinkled slightly as well, reminding him for a moment of Bobby's hands.

He is getting old and the job was getting to him.

He brought his hands down back to his sides and slowly walked over to the desk once more, gingerly, slowly and carefully, sat back down in his chair.

If this was how he felt how did Dean feel, he couldn't help but wonder. His brother was four years older than him, four years was a hell of a lot for the supernatural hunting community, and didn't he feel the weight of those years?

He knew Dean wasn't as fast as he used to be either, he tended to groan and complain about bruises and aches, more so than he had done before back when he was trying to be annoying or gather some sort of sympathy to get his way. He would see him rubbing his right knee sometimes and Sam would know that a storm, thunder; not demons, would hit them soon, there were lines at the corner of Deans eyes that had deepened and became more visible with every expression; not just when his eyes crinkled when he smiled, and although he would never say it to Deans face his brother was getting slightly pudgy around his stomach.

Neither of them were those young bright eyed hunters in their twenties anymore that were ready to throw themselves into the supernatural and come out swinging.

They were in their thirties, just how big a difference a mere ten years would make, and while just as willing to face the worlds evil together they were just as possible not to come out of it not because the monster was too powerful but because they weren't as fast as they used to be.

He picked up his pen and placed it in between his fingers as if he was going to start writing again but couldn't even begin to use it once more. His mind was too heavy with everything he was slowly realizing to even think of picking up his research for a few more minutes.

For a moment he remembered the talk he had had with Charlie, it already felt like years ago not days ago. Telling her how he had gotten back into the hunting after Jessica had died.

It almost felt like a dream, as if everything that had happened was a blur, still as painful but at the same time so very distant, as if it had happened more than just ten years ago. It almost felt like a hundred years ago if not more.

Maybe his time in the cage had damaged his perception of time more than he originally thought.

He had told Charlie that sentence; one more job, one more job. It had become something like a mantra for these ten long almost infinitely longer years.

One more job.

How much had they sacrificed for this job? How many friends and family had sacrificed themselves for this job? How much did they have to give up and still more was demanded forcing them to get up, dust themselves off, and move on to the next one?

For a moment he felt as if he was on the edge of the hole to Lucifer's cage once more, ready to jump in and condemn himself to save the world.

Only to be taken out and placed back into the real world and back on the hunting road.

One more job.

He thought to his older and aching body, he thought about the gray hair and the wrinkles. And as with all his thoughts they ultimately went to his brother.

His brother with his slower reflexes, his slightly pudgy tummy, the wrinkles in the corner of his eyes, and the Mark on his arm that persisted and tried to drown his brother in it again and again, tugging harder as Dean resisted, that had already succeeded in drowning his brother once and wouldn't stop until it took him away from Sam once more.

One more Job. Just trapped in an endless cycle of jobs and hunting and sacrifice.

Sam let out a small breath. Endless, unless someone broke it.

He could...he could break it, stop the hunting and stop the danger. Focus on the research aspect, providing alibis and a support system. Like Bobby had done, pretend to be the higher ups when people would call to confirm a hunters story and give the necessary information to end the hunt and save the innocent.

There were also more and more young hunters popping out with each year, or maybe it was just him being old again, and some of them were just unprepared for what was really out there.

They, he and Dean, could help them. Give them support, teach and train them hell; maybe even give them a safe place to call if not home then at least a safe house.

The bunker was more than big enough for all those needs. It was one of the safest places in the world, more than enough to be able to house hunters and provide them a setting where they could let their guards down and focus on themselves without having to worry about the wards or looking over their shoulder or sleeping with a knife or gun under their pillows. A safe place for hunters to learn, train, and heal, help them form some sort of connection and comradeship.

And not just hunters either, they could restart the Men of Letters, however they might have to make it People of Letters or some other gender neutral name to bring it up to the times. There had to be people interested in being a part of and helping with the supernatural without wanting to hunt.

And he and Dean could help guide and build a new system, a better system.

Dean would be tough to convince of course, he would never truly admit he was getting on the years, adamant that he was as young as ever, and would most likely try to cling to hunting as much as he could. Sam knew that when Dean was younger he had wanted to go out in the blaze of glory of the hunt but he hoped that his brother had moved on from that.

He could bring up the idea, let Dean think about the concept for a few days before mentioning it again. Maybe start to push at it a bit more after bringing it up twice.

Or maybe Dean wouldn't even need the prodding, maybe he was just as tired as Sam felt. Maybe they could finally retire the active hunting, sit back, and let the next generation have its chance to save and make their mark on the world.

After they get the Mark of Cain off of Dean's arm.

Sam's eyes cleared, he sat up straighter in his seat, and gripped his pen a bit tighter as he pulled his notes to him once more, intent on finishing it.

He is thirty two, almost thirty three years old.

And this is his last job.

He wasn't sure how long he worked for this time, invigorated by a new fire and desire. He wanted more than to just save his brother now, he was looking farther than that. He wanted him and Dean to work together to a better future.

His phone continued to light up, a multitude of calls and texts from all three of them. He ignored each and every one of them, he had to focus on this and only this.

Suddenly an almost bone chilling voice was heard in the air and just a few feet away from his door.

"I know you're in there boy!" yelled out the Stynes voice. Sam jumped as a crack appeared on his door from the other man's attempt to kick it down. He jumped out of his seat and automatically pushed his desk in front of the door before grabbing his phone and laptop. He ran into the bathroom, closing and locking the door behind him. Taking the laptop in hand he smashed it against the sink, he hadn't had gotten far with his notes and translations but he wasn't going to take a chance; he had pictures of the book on his laptop and he wanted to keep as much information away from them as possible, while his other hand dialed Charlies number.

"Sam where are you?" Charlie immediately demanded, picking up before the first ring even ended.

"No time, I need to know." Sam said in a rush. "Were you able to crack the code?"

"Yes, I did."

Relief. Pure, simple, unadulterated relief coursed through him that couldn't be broken, even from the sound of splintering wood from the other room as the Styne was doing his best and succeeding to break down the door. Despite what would happen in the next few minutes, regardless of whatever happened in the next few minutes, he was content in the fact that the translation was going to be done and Dean was going to be saved; one way or another.

"Sam what was that?" Charlie asked, panic starting to cloud her voice.

"Blackbird motel. The Stynes found me." Sam said, flinching slightly as the wood continued to crack. "Thank you Charlie, for everything. Save Dean, please."

He ended the call just as Charlie started to say something and called Dean just as he heard the door break down. He glanced around the room for a moment, his mind going at the interior of his motel room. Just the front where the Styne was and a small window he had no hope of even trying to fit through in the bathroom. He had nowhere to go.

"Sammy where are you?" Dean's worried voice filled him completely and despite everything he couldn't help but smile.

"Blackbird motel. The Stynes found me." Sam repeated.

He heard Dean's sharp intake of air. "Give them what they want Sammy, just give it to him. It's not worth it."

A hopeless laugh escaped his lips. "Don't have it Dean, don't have anything." he glanced at the remains of his laptop on the ground as he could hear the desk being pushed away outside. "Charlie cracked the code, she can save you."

"Forget that!" Dean snapped at him. He could hear the impala's engine roaring and felt a pang in his heart for the first home he had known. "Just hold him off alright? Or get out if you can. I'm coming Sammy, just hold him off!"

"I love you big brother." Sam said, unable to keep his voice from wavering. "And I'm so sorry Dean, for everything."

"Sammy!" was the last thing he heard from the phone before he ended the call, letting the phone slip through his fingers and clatter to the floor just as the bathroom door shook in its frame.

He straightened up and drew his knife, he didn't even have his gun with him, he had taken it out and placed it on the bed; just a simple knife, just as the door was forced out of its hinges and opened. The Styne walked in, his figure filling the doorway completely, not even a small possibility of getting past his side or anywhere or anyway around him.

"I don't have it." Sam told him, bringing his knife and hand up, curling it into a fist. "And I'm ready to fight to the end if I have to."

Thunder cracked through the air, illuminating the Styne as he grinned, all teeth and malice and for a moment Sam saw the monster Mary Shelly had tried to warn the world about. "Wouldn't have it any other way."

Unnoticed by the both of them Death stood in the corner, both hands on top of his cane, watching the scene unfold in front of him with a blank expression on his face.

Dean cursed to himself as his tires and brakes squealed over the wet ground. Without bothering to turn the engine off, gun already in hand he jumped out of the car and took off running, rain splattering his face as he blinked away the drops. He was dimly aware of another set of headlights illuminating the area as well as Castiels and Charlies voices merged as they called out "Dean!" to him. He ignored them, his attention solely on the broken in door of the motel room just a few feet away.

"Sam!" practically exploded from his mouth as he ran into the room, stale and metallic air practically choking him. A corner of his mind noted Cas and Charlie following him in but his attention was only on the bloody footprints leading from the bathroom.

His legs felt as if they were filled with lead but he still forced himself to move towards the bathroom, noting the door had been ripped out and thrown to the side.

The metallic air was heaviest in the bathroom and he felt as if he couldn't even hope to breathe there. Blood liberally covered every surface of the room, from the tiles on the wall to the sink and mirror, splatters of it was everywhere as if the source of the blood had put up a hell of a fight and had been trashed around the room, it was on the floor and a knife that had been snapped in two and pieces of a laptop were practically covered completely.

He could barely hear Charlies scream or Cas's words as his eyes locked on the bathtub. Limbs askew, clothes torn, they were blood stained to such a degree he could barely make out what they used to be or what color they had been before the red and completely wound covered, looking as if they had been thrown into the tub lazily, carelessly and with not a single sense of interest or care was

"Sammy?"

I don't own Supernatural.