Disclaimer: I own nothing, save myself and what appears in my own head. Sam and Dean, unfortunately, came from someone else's head. And I'm super jealous.

Whatever-ness: Well, my first attempt at Supernatural fanfiction. I do hope you enjoy the... evilness that is my writing. This takes place after 'Sin City'. There will be mucho angst and all-around evilness in the future, but do know this is not a deathfic. I loves them too much to ever kill them.

As always, reviews love. You know this.
Enjoy!
Rachael

Supernatural
Affection

It should really stop surprising him how much they fought nowadays. Their life had become an endless cycle - they fought, they made up, they bickered, they hunted, they fought... over and over again.

This was not how Sam wanted to spend his last year with Dean. It wasn't going to be how he spent his last year with Dean. At least, that's what he told himself. Dean just kept getting in the way.

First, Dean was trying his hardest to prevent Sam saving him. That was a blow - a big one. How on earth Dean though Sam was just going to lay down and take this was beyond him... Dean should know better. Hell, he'd been through this before with dad! He should have known better than to do something like this...

And yet Dean was just acting like typical Dean. This was important - more important than anything had ever been to Sam before. Sure, Dean wasn't the talking type... But dammit, he could shove aside that facade for this. Samneeded to talk about this. He needed options, answers... but Dean wasn't letting him get any. It was almost as if Dean wanted to go to hell in a year.

But no way could Dean ever want that.

And then the truth had come out. If Dean was saved, Sam would die. Well, he'd been the one to die in the first place, maybe things would be better if they went back to the right order. Though Sam had been shocked at first, he'd learned to live with that fact. Maybe... maybe there was a way for them both to get through this. But if there wasn't, he knew he'd have no problem with his end of the outcome as long as Dean lived.

So long as Dean lived. He could die happy.

Dean hurried into his Impala after muttering an angered 'be right back' to Sam. He started up the engine and sat for awhile listening to his baby purr. Salt and burn. That's what this mission had been. Simple, easy. How on earth they had managed to fight about it was beyond him. Looking back, he wasn't even sure what they had even said to one another. All he knew was that Sam had managed to drag his deal back in... again... and that had been it. He needed to get out, get away. He needed to go buy more supplies. He needed fresh air. Most of all, he needed Sam to leave him the hell alone.

"What's done is done." He growled to himself, putting the car in gear and pulling out, leaving their dingy motel of the week behind. It was raining, the little droplets spattering the windshield - how they managed to find their way down to the ground through the dense forest of evergreens surrounding the town he had no idea. It had rained pretty much every hour of every day they had been there, and it was pissing him off. Washington was a messed-up, wet, cold state, and he couldn't wait to be gone. Back to what he did best - kill demons. It was going to be a hell of a lot easier now the Colt was working once more.

He glanced at the glovebox, where the gun was currently residing. Sam had done that symbol shit to it to insure it's safety, and he almost winced at the scorch marks he had been forced to allow to scar his baby's interior. He almost winced, because the part of him - the more Sam-like, rational part he usually kept well hidden - told him keeping the gun in the glovebox was going to be a lot easier than the trunk. In their line of work, easy-access was essential.

As Dean drove the Impala through the rain, which was quickly gaining in momentum and turning into a regular monsoon, he reflected back on their hunt. What had brought them here wasn't word of a specter, though thats what they had found. This place - this godforsaken, tiny excuse for a town - was showing all the signs of demonic intervention. Strange deaths, suicides, and downright creepiness were on an exponential rise. To their disappointment they discovered that a particularly nasty ghoul was behind most of it. One salt and burn later, ghoulie was sent packing. It was good they had done it, but Dean was still eager to get a move on to the more important quarry.

He found the general store, cursing himself for not bringing an umbrella. He parked as close as possible and made a mad dash for it, though he was still soaked by the time he entered the tiny shop. He glanced around, seeing no other shoppers. Besides him and the decrepit old man behind the counter, the place was deserted. He sighed, fingering through his pockets for his wallet and running through the list of things they needed in his mind. Firstly and most importantly, they needed more first-aid supplies. But before he'd taken two steps, the old guy called out to him.

"Ey you 'eard the news?"

Dean turned about. "Huh?" It was amazing to him that this man was still upright, he looked like a walking corpse. He'd seen walking corpses that looked better, in fact.

"So much rain it's flooded out d' bridge there, eh?"

Dean's eyes got big. No way, no, he refused to believe it. "How bad is it?"

The old man chuckled, showing a mesh of yellow teeth. "They shut it down, didn' they? No one's get'in 'cross for awhile, now." The man nodded slowly. "Yeh, yer not from 'round here, are yeh?"

Dean shook his head. "No, we... I got a motel."

"Good, looks like you'll be stuck 'ere fer awhile, now."

Dean cursed. Well if it wasn't that Winchester luck once again smiling down on them. Now they were stuck here, no was he was gonna risk his baby on that bridge. But this place... this of all places... is where they get stuck. No bar, no hospital, one school, one motel, one general store, hick-infested... fucking evergreen land. There weren't even any hot chicks.

Without bothering for any of the supplies he had come for, Dean left. He stood on the outside of the glass door for a moment, preparing himself for another mad dash through the infernal rain.

And then everything stopped.

Sam was pacing now. He had been so frustrated and angry that when Dean left he had made no move to stop him - to even find out where he was going. But it had been awhile now, and the rain was only getting worse. That Impala was a nice car, but there was no way around it - on wet pavement, it downright sucked. He was just about to flip out his cell phone when the door opened and Dean trudged in looking wet and miserable. Sam couldn't help but smirk, though he stopped at the look Dean gave him.

"Hey man, you decided to go out into waterfall weather, not me." Sam's weak attempt at humor fell flat. Deans face... there was something wrong. The look of anger of... hate in his eyes... it scared him.

God, do you hate me that much? Before he could say anything something whipped out of Dean's pocket. Sam had an instant to see that it was. The Colt's unforgiving barrel was staring him down. Sam raised his hands, but was unable to form words. Being held at gunpoint was terrifying. Being held at gunpoint by his own brother was indescribable.

"Dean...?" Sam heard his own voice, but wasn't aware of making an conscious effort to speak. He looked up at his brother's face and gasped. His eyes were black. In a flash his fear melted into anger. "You! Leave hi-!"

He was shocked into silence, his arms dropping limply at his sides as the echoes of the gunshot lingered in the air. Sam looked down at himself and saw his blood seeping all over his shirt from a neat hole in his upper chest. He choked, looked up at Dean even as he fell to his knees. His brother - who was not his brother - stared back, his face cool, cold... uncaring. It was the last thing he saw as the world went away.