A/N: Wow, ages since the last update: sorry guys, my muse took an extended vacation as I've been searching for a job and going back to school. I'll have the updates back up on schedule: I've got quite a few fics for you. Thanks for your patience!
Sam barely waited long enough for Samuel to take over before he was out the door and running for the neighbor's house. The front door was hanging slightly open, the lights dim inside. Sam didn't even hesitate, simply pushed it open and headed left for where he'd seen the neighbors. People that obviously meant something to Dean. He thought Dean had said their names, but Sam hadn't really paid attention.
No, he'd only been paying attention to Dean. Dean and Lisa and Ben. They'd been his main concern over the past year. Sure, the supernatural beings of the world were breaking every single rule in their own special, no two snowflakes alike way, but Sam had been drawn back again and again to a small town with an even smaller suburb. To a small house where the windows were open and inside was a small, happy family of three.
Dean could say what he wanted about being forced upon them. Sam knew the truth.
And really, it was for the better.
The two neighbors were dead, just as Sam had predicted. But it was Dean who caught his attention immediately. "Dean!" he yelled even as he ran to where Dean was laid out on the floor. He was still trembling, still shaking, but his eyes were beginning to glaze over. Beneath his skin Sam could see the dark power coursing through Dean's veins.
Samuel needed to save Sam one of those miserable sons of bitches, because he swore to god he'd-
"Lis'," Dean whispered fearfully, eyes seeing something Sam couldn't. "Lis', B'..."
God. Whatever hell they'd dumped him in, it was one that he needed to get him out of, and now. The syringes both tumbled from Sam's pocket, and they were depressed, quickly but gently, into Dean's neck. It took all of ten seconds for the antidote to take hold and for Dean's eyes to roll back into his head. The trembling ceased and Dean flopped gracelessly onto the floor.
Sam reached to take Dean's wrist in his hand. His pulse was fast, but even as Sam waited, Dean's heartbeat slowly began to subside. Give him an hour and Dean would be awake, especially with the double dose that Sam had given him. Samuel would probably call it overkill.
Nothing was overkill when it meant keeping Dean safe.
Keeping his two fingers pressed tenderly against Dean's pulse point, Sam glanced around the room. Only a few feet away he spotted the broken syringe, showcasing how the previous battle had obviously been lost. The two neighbors both had empty stares that were forever locked on the ceilings above them. They hadn't had a chance.
Sam winced. So much for Dean's perfect, happy ending. No matter what happened next, Dean was going to be dragged back into this world. The world Sam had worked his ass off to keep him out of for the past year.
He'd checked up on him every few months, much as he thought Dean had checked up on him at Stanford. Bobby dutifully reported in when Dean called every month. Dean had still been with Lisa, Dean had stopped drinking, Dean had gotten a job. Found a new truck. Taken Ben to a car show. Normal things.
And Sam was happy for Dean's happiness. Because Dean deserved this, deserved to have the picket fence life more than anyone else that he knew. He'd wished and hoped for years that Dean would take the road out when he could, and he finally had. Sam had had to die for that to happen, but all things considered, it wasn't too bad a trade off.
He just wished he'd never gotten Dean wrapped back up into all of this shit again.
With a small sigh he settled back onto the floor, watching over his brother. The year off from hunting, angels and demons had been good to him. Dean looked fuller, looked less worn down then when Sam had seen him before. Before before before. Before Lucifer had taken up residence in Sam's head for eternity, before Sam had tumbled with Lucifer screaming in his skull, before-
The flinch couldn't be stopped. Neither could the hand to his head. He breathed in and out, his fingers still wrapped around Dean's pulse. It was a nice, steady beat. It grounded him long enough to bring himself back. Nice, modern dining room. Solid wood floors. A mess of broken lamps, toppled furniture, blood and corpses, but hey, you can't have everything.
Plus, it was all much, much better than what Lucifer had shoved him into. Anything beat the Cage.
And great question, bro. Right. Did he want to talk about it. "Jesus, Dean, you forget about the chick-flick rule already?" Sam joked quietly. Dean didn't answer. He'd probably watched quite a few chick-flicks with Lisa. Maybe he'd talked with her about what had happened, how it had all gone wrong. How his little brother had started the end of the world, but had managed to atone in the end.
Atonement. Definitely something Sam was still doing. The world was going to hell in a handbasket in a completely new way, and Sam knew it probably had to do with tossing Michael down with Lucifer. They'd dislodged a lot of things that year, but unbalancing the world like that? Yeah, it was bound to be bad. He just hadn't expected it to be this bad. He'd fix it, though. He could handle it.
It was his fault, anyways. Dean getting out was one of the only good things he'd done.
Left Sam in the game, but that was okay. After the Cage, it was where Sam belonged. He didn't really...fit in, anymore. He didn't mind. It was easier for everyone, this way. For Sam, for all the normal people of the world who didn't know how bad things could really be. For those who didn't know what real pain, real fear was. Dealing with people and their high strung emotions wasn't really his forte now. He hadn't even considered dealing with the neighbors. They'd been dead and gone. Meant Sam didn't have to listen to them scream (god he hated the screams). He'd freaked when Dean had taken off, though, because Dean getting hurt wasn't on his list of okays. Not in the slightest.
Dean had cared, though. Dean had needed to get over there to save them, to help them. He'd cared. They'd mattered to Dean, and that was good enough for Sam. He was glad Dean cared about them.
The only people Sam really cared about anymore were all in relation to Dean. Lisa, Ben. Bobby and Samuel too, obviously, but he'd pushed them to the outer limits of his inner circle. It was safer that way. Safer for himself.
The sky was beginning to lighten through the windows. Sam didn't know how long he'd been there, but it was long enough that his knees were starting to protest. God, getting old sucked. What was he now, twenty-eight? He didn't even know anymore. He knew why Dean hadn't wanted to celebrate his birthday after getting out of the pit. Had nothing to do with celebrating being alive. Dean had done that with every deep, sulfur-less breath he took in the morning. No, it had to do with not being sure of how old he was. What the years below counted for in the long run.
The Cage had worked differently than Hell. Much differently.
He didn't realize his fingers had tightened around Dean's wrist until Dean jerked away slightly. "Ow," Dean mumbled, and that brought Sam back.
"How you feeling?" Sam asked, instantly there to help Dean to sitting. "Dean?"
"Like I got pokers shoved into my brain," Dean muttered, but his eyes weren't glazed anymore, and he was holding his own. He caught sight of the man laid out on the floor and blanched, then shut his eyes tightly. Without a sound Sam moved to crouch in front of his brother, effectively blocking his view.
When Dean hesitantly opened his eyes again, Sam was waiting for him. "Here," Sam said, popping his cell phone open. One button connected him to the right number, and he held it out for Dean to take. Dean frowned, mouthing, 'who?' but still waited for the phone to connect.
When it did, his eyes lit up. "Lisa! Are you okay?"
Sam sat back on his haunches, smiling as he watched his brother. Dean's relief was palpable, and he seemed even happier that neither Lisa nor Ben were on home turf, but rather many safe miles away at Bobby's. Sam hadn't seen what Dean had, but he'd figured that whatever it had been, it had played out on a very familiar setting. Like the tidy house Dean had started to call home.
There was a small ache in Sam's chest, but he disregarded it after a moment. No, his home was the open road. And he was content with that, truly. He had his Charger, and god that car could pick up and go. He loved the rumble beneath him, loved the power in the engine. He didn't feel cramped like he had in the Impala. It was his car, a car fit for a six foot four hunter on the go.
And yet...there were days. Where the Impala, for all its lack of space, was missed. Where sometimes Sam would look over in the passenger side and ache for the lack of a certain smart-ass, loyal brother. Where he'd think about how the Charger's trunk lacked the carved initials of two brothers who'd grown up in a four door home with wheels.
Watching Dean on the phone with Ben now, if the conversation was anything to tell by, Sam knew he'd made the right choice. Not telling Dean had been the right choice. If Sam could've, he'd have let Dean live out his life without ever knowing that Sam Winchester's soul had graced the earth again. It was safer for Sam's frame of mind.
But it was safer for Dean, too. Because the Cage, once it dug into you, it didn't let go. What little remnants of Sammy Winchester there were, they were few and far between, and Sam was trying to bundle the scraps together enough to keep safe. Those scraps held precious memories of righteous anger and an innocence of the world that still sometimes took his breath away, if he thought about it. If he let himself.
No. This Sam, who he was now...it'd be safer for Dean if Sam wasn't in the picture. If Sam wasn't a part of his life. This Sam didn't tolerate humans well, couldn't handle their emotions, their fear, their pain. It resonated a little too closely. Hit a little too close to the belt. Made him remember the fear he desperately tried to keep beneath his skin.
Sam was a hermit now, hiding in the dark. And Dean was the one who got to walk in the crowd with a big smile, the sun on his face.
"Hey, Sasquatch."
Sam looked up and caught the phone out of instinct. "They're okay?" he asked.
"Yeah," Dean said, pushing himself to his feet with barely a wobble. One year out, and still a pro in the all the ways that mattered. That was Dean Winchester. "Ben's bored, or well, was bored. Then Bobby showed him some of his books, the safe ones, and got him caught up in learning Sumerian or something. Ben likes languages."
"Obviously didn't get that from you," Sam teased.
Dean's eyes got a little moist, even though he grinned back. God, Sam was really going to have to get his brother a dainty handkerchief if this kept going. Though, considering all the minefields Dean had been shoved through in the past twenty-four hours, Sam was going to let it go. "Still a pain in the ass, I see," Dean said after a minute.
"Now that I got from you," Sam said without hesitation. Dean shoved him good-naturedly and Sam let out a laugh. It felt good. God it felt good to have Dean there, to joke with him, to be with him.
But it wouldn't last.
"Golf, Dean?" he asked, surreptitiously leading Dean away from the corpses and out the door. Dean's prints would be all over the door, but he could claim good neighbor, say he wanted to check on whomever they were since Dean's own house had been trashed. Sam kept forgetting that Dean would actually be held responsible. Couldn't leave town and let someone else deal with it. "Not the first sport I would've imagined for you."
"Yeah, well, it has its uses," Dean said, rolling his eyes. "Nice, solid, swingable weapon."
Sam grinned. He'd figured as much. "I know. I used them. One's bent now, I think."
"Meh, there's like another half dozen in the set. That's what I really got them for. Though a few guys at work were gonna try and teach me how to use them for real."
Work. Dean had 'guys at work'. It was such an odd phrase to come from his mouth, and Sam was delighted to hear it. Once upon a time, Sam had had 'friends in classes'. Now it was Dean's turn, and just like Sam had hoped, his brother had taken to it like a duck to water. He deserved this. He deserved a life without the hunt, without a little brother who wasn't exactly the little brother Dean had last seen.
It didn't change the small urge inside of Sam to ask his brother to pack his bags, to definitely for sure come with him, to haul the Impala out from where she was hiding so Dean could drive and Sam could play passenger. To help him as they hunted. Dean's ability to handle people now would be even more invaluable, because Sam just...couldn't do it. Not now. Maybe not ever again. It was still too much. If he let himself care about the victims, about the people surrounding him all the time, then everything Sam had worked so hard to keep locked up tight would all come crashing down, and he'd just managed to find an equilibrium in the past few months. He let Samuel and the others deal with the interviews, with the people. Sam kept to the hunt. It was safer that way.
With Dean, though, maybe Sam could try and handle people again without feeling himself tumble back into the Cage. Samuel had never asked, hadn't pushed, hadn't brought it up in the year they'd hunted together. Dean had asked the first day Sam had come back. Instantly offering an ear to listen, a way to be there for Sam. Dean had always kept him human.
But even though Sam missed his brother something fierce, even as the tiny pieces of Sammy begged for his big brother to come back, if Dean stayed with Lisa and Ben, then by god Sam would make sure it stayed that way. He was going to keep Dean's dream safe in every way he could.
And if that meant walking out of Dean's life for good, then Sam would do it. He hoped he wouldn't have to, but Sam would wind up neck-deep in something again, and if Dean thought he needed to come bail Sam out, it would happen. Sam just couldn't let it.
Dean stepped inside his own house, wincing at the damage. "Gonna have to clean this up before Lisa comes home," he muttered to himself, eyes cataloging everything. Home. Dean had a home, a real one, one that wasn't infested with monsters or broken little brothers.
Sam would do his best to keep it that way.
END