Summary: Suffering from a bullet wound, carrying the guilt of a hunt gone wrong while worrying about his brother's sanity and safety and with only two months to live, Dean's situation is rather hopeless. The demons on their trail do not help matters one bit.

Spoilers: Set immediately after Jus in Bello so anything prior to that episode is fair game.

Disclaimer: Supernatural and all the characters you recognize are not mine. However I do own the DVD's, but I don't think that counts.

A/N: I wasn't planning on starting another chapter fic until I finished my other one, but I couldn't resist. I guess I just wanted to get this up before the new episode aired. Anyway, I hope you enjoy! And don't let the title fool you, this is in no way humorous story, don't know why but I just thought I'd mention it. And so, without further ado, here it is my latest story. Enjoy.

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Gallows Humor

Dean sat on the foot of his bed and closed his eyes, absorbing the information he'd learned from the news and from Ruby. He screwed up, and everyone died. All those people he tried so hard to save… gone. Dead, because he wasn't willing to sacrifice one life, the life of a sweet girl who as it turned out, died anyway. His plan worked though. It worked. But he still failed.

Opening his eyes he saw Sam was watching him, his face was unreadable. Of course, it was hard to read Sam lately. His eyes betrayed anger and concern, both emotions directed at Dean. Wordlessly Dean met his gaze and in his expression conveyed that Dean was sorry. Sorry for screwing up, for coming up with a plan that ultimately failed, sorry for putting Sam through so much pressure because of the deal. Maybe it was better when Dean was resigned to his fate, maybe it would've made it easier for Sam to let him go. But then he had to open his mouth and confess that he didn't want to die after all. It only seemed to add to Sam's stress. On the other hand, wasn't that what Sam wanted? For him to admit he's scared?

To say that Dean was confused would be an understatement. Sam was different, and he did not like what he saw. Whether Sam had come back wrong… well the jury was still out on that one. Maybe he wasn't 100 percent Sammy, more like 99.9 percent, because he was still his Sam, just different. Although wasn't that to be expected? Sam had died. While he may not remember being dead, or dying, a trauma like that had to be lurking somewhere in his subconscious.

Although Dean hadn't died—except for last Tuesday, but that didn't count, he remembered absolutely none of that—his dances with death had changed him. And knowing that both times his life had come at the cost of another… well who wouldn't be affected by that knowledge? And while no one had died in Sam's place yet, knowing what was to come would indeed stain his outlook on life.

Of course Sam had changed over the past week. He seemed to have hardened considerably, ever since last Tuesday. But Dean had to admit, if he had to watch helplessly as Sam died over and over, he'd be a little crazy as well. Well, crazier, since Dean could admit that losing Sam once had already successfully made Dean a few fries short of a Happy Meal. Perhaps that was why, as irritating as it was, Dean didn't protest the fact that ever since last Tuesday, Sam's been keeping a watchful eye on him, as though he'd drop dead any moment.

Although ever since last Tuesday, Sam's priorities have been out of whack. Dean still couldn't believe that his Sammy seemed to have seriously considered sacrificing Nancy. Sam was supposed to be the voice of reason and morality, the one who came up with the plans that kept them from crossing the line. But thinking about it, Dean realized Sam has been teetering on that line ever since he came back, but it had always happened in the moment, like when Dean was trapped with Casey and that priest, or when he began spewing blood. At the station, it was different. Sam was too quick to accept option A, as wrong as it was without even considering that there might be an option B.

"How's the shoulder?" Sam asked dully.

"Fine Sam," Dean lied. Truth was, it hurt like hell. Nancy did a great job patching him up at the station, but the battle that followed only made the wound worse. It had been easy to ignore it as they prepared for battle, and during the battle itself, but when the adrenaline subsided, Dean had been harshly reminded of how much it hurt. Dean redressed it after he showered, it was a little sloppy in the back, but he had still been too angry with Sam, despite their supposed victory, to ask for his help.

Now he was just confused and hurt over learning about Nancy and Hendrickson's deaths and at the absurd thought that maybe Sam and Ruby were right. The fleeting thought brought bile to his throat. He gagged and swallowed, trying to keep control of himself, trying to fight the pain-induced nausea left magnified by his guilt. No. No matter what the outcome, sacrificing an innocent would've been wrong. He was not going to leave this world a cold-blooded killer, no matter how noble the intentions might have been.

"Dean?" Sam jumped to his feet and put his hand on Dean's good shoulder, worried about his sudden distress.

"I'm fine," Dean repeated wearily, tasting the bile in his mouth and swallowing hard. He waved Sam off and muttered, "I think I need a drink."

"This early in the day?"

"I don't care."

Sam nodded in surrender, "OK. Where should we go?"

"Alone Sam," Dean met Sam's eyes and glared. Damn, he was so angry, and hurt and felt betrayed, and his mind was reeling from confusion, as he had no idea where to direct those emotions. Should he be angry with Sam? With himself? Was he betrayed by Sam? Ruby? Both? Or was he the betrayer?

"Are you sure that's a good idea?" Sam asked, "After what happened?"

"We sent the demons to Hell Sam, I'll be fine," Dean replied.

"There's at least one more out there," Sam pointed out.

"Yeah, that's right, your new big bad who sees you as their competition! Why didn't you tell me Sam?" Dean sounded more betrayed than angry.

Sam sighed, "I didn't think it was relevant."

Dean snorted, his anger surfacing, "Don't think it's relevant? A new demon that's out to get you? Sam, you sound more and more like Dad, keeping secrets like that. I have every right to know."

"I'm not the only one who had been keeping secrets," Sam muttered, "You didn't tell me about what Dad said to you before he died until months later, and the only reason you told me about the deal you made was because I figured it out."

"I guess keeping secrets is just a Winchester thing," Dean grumbled bitterly, "Besides, I was only trying to protect you."

Sam raised his voice, "Don't you think maybe I was trying to protect you?"

"I'm not the one who needs to be protected Sam, I'm not the one with an army of demons who either want to kill you or make you their fearless leader!" Dean snapped.

"Well I'm not the one with an expiry date coming up in a few months!" Sam retorted.

"And that's your excuse for keeping this from me?" Dean hissed, "Like it or not Sam, my fate is sealed and as much as I'd like to think that there's a way out for me, we have to be realistic. My time is running short and we need to work together to make sure I didn't acquire a one-way ticket to Hell in vain. That wasn't protecting me, keeping that a secret only makes it harder to prepare for this war. It was a stupid move and you know it!"

"Well sorry if there's been more pressing matters on my mind, like saving your ass! You're talking as though you think you're expendable."

"Maybe I am. I don't like it, so don't get me wrong, but the demons are after you. Not me, you. I'm just…cannon fodder."

"Cannon fodder? Don't talk like that!" Sam snapped.

"Well it's true. Something happens to you? We lose. Something happens to me, no big deal."

"No big deal? Then why did that demon shoot you last night? Huh? He could've easily put a bullet through my shoulder, but he didn't," Sam argued, "He went after you. Besides, it's a big deal to me Dean," Sam's voice dropped, "I don't want to lose you. I won't be able to handle it."

"Sure you will," Dean sighed, not wanting to hear it. "It will be hard at first, but you'll be fine."

"No," Sam said, cutting him off with conviction, "I won't. I think the demons know that."

Dean faced his brother and studied him. Sam stared back with complete earnestness and fear on his face. Dean was taken aback at how certain Sam was about that statement and there was something there in Sam's eyes that worried him, a look that had been absent up until last week. Wearily Dean replied, "Sam, is there anything else you've been keeping from me? Because if there is, I'd like to know."

"No," Sam said quickly.

He was lying, of that Dean was certain. Dean sat there a minute, watching him, waiting for Sam to cave and tell the truth, but it didn't happen. It pissed him off and every second that passed only fueled the fire.

"Are you OK Dean?" Sam asked finally.

"No," Dean snapped, "I'm not OK! After what happened, how can I possibly be OK? We failed Sam, we failed big time."

"I mean you don't look so good," Sam said softly, "maybe I should look at your shoulder."

"It's fine Sam," Dean huffed, grabbing his jacket with his good arm. As much as the hole in his shoulder hurt like hell, it was a pain that he welcomed. It distracted him from the pain and anger and confusion of the previous night's events—shit, the past ten months if he was completely honest with himself—that chipped away at his soul. Physical pain he could deal with, the other kind, not so much. "I'll see you in an hour." He stormed out of the room, ignoring Sam who was calling after him, asking him to be careful.

Dean reached the Impala and unlocked the door with shaky hands and climbed in. He sat there for a moment, digging his palms in his eyes in an attempt to still the physical hurt and wild emotions threatening to manifest. He had to keep it together. He had to be strong. His time was drawing frighteningly short, and there was so much to do. Damn, he needed that drink!

With determination he thrust the key in the ignition, or at least he tried. The trembling in his hands meant he had to make a few attempts before the key actually made it. He relaxed slightly at the sound of the familiar rumble of the Impala, and closed his eyes. Even if the world was going to pot, even if everything else in his life was coming apart at the seams, he always took solace in the one thing in his life that remained constant, the one thing that would never let him down. There were some days when the Impala acted as his armor, protecting him when the walls he built around himself had been breeched, and goodness knows, those walls were on the verge of crumbling at that moment. But as he sat there, Dean realized that at that moment not even the Impala, his sanctuary, could protect him and ease his anxiety.

He sat there for a minute or so, trying to collect himself but when he glanced at the hotel room and saw Sam watching him he scowled and drove off. Where he was going he had no idea, but there had to be somewhere in that town that served alcohol at eleven o'clock in the morning.

He pulled into a 'Denny's' and ordered himself a piece of toast and a beer. He knew he shouldn't be having any alcohol the way his stomach seemed to be churning, but he was in pain, in more ways than one. He wasn't an alcoholic, he was a casual drinker at most, but since he was having a difficult time trusting the only person he normally could count on, he needed that drink. Maybe it could dull his senses enough to cope.

Dean was so deep in thought, he hardly noticed when the waitress, Amanda, a cute, perky, petite, blonde gave him his toast and beer and then attempted to flirt with him. She was exactly the kind of girl Dean went for when seeking a one-night stand, but Nancy, meeting Nancy, saving Nancy and then losing Nancy was too fresh in his memory, and pressed too hard on his conscience.

Nancy was not his usual type, but in the short time he knew her, she made a huge impression. Not just because the thought that a pretty girl like her was a virgin baffled him, but because of her sweetness, her innocence. He'd never forget the kindness she had shown him when she thought he was a dangerous felon. Even though she was scared of him and Sam at the time, she still had shown him mercy by giving him the towel for his wound. She certainly didn't have to, and on some level, he was still a little guilty for the actions Sam took to get her rosary.

It was hard to believe that she and Hendrickson were really gone. He bonded with them in ways that to Dean were rare. With Hendrickson, once he saw first hand that Dean and Sam were telling the truth about their life and what they hunted, Dean saw a version of himself in the FBI agent. In many ways their lives were the same, they fought, and fought to make the world a safer place, but there was little reward. Dean could honestly say it was an honor fighting alongside his old adversary. He had hoped to do it again sometime. It would've been nice to have an ally in Hendrickson's position, but most importantly, Hendrickson had in a short time become his friend, and friends were hard to come by in their line of work.

And then there was Nancy. Never had a woman touched him in a way she did which was ironic because their short-lived relationship was purely platonic. Dean didn't think he could have an honest, loving relationship with a woman that didn't involve a lot of alcohol and an understanding that he'd be out the door and out of her life when the sun came up. His lot in life didn't allow anything more, and he longed for it so badly. Sure there was Jo, but she was different. Thought Jo might disagree, to Dean she was in a way like a cousin that he saw once in a while, but nothing more. And she lacked the tenderness that Nancy possessed. Nancy and Jo both patched up the same shoulder, hit in almost the same spot. Whereas Jo was rough, Nancy was amazingly gentle. She had a healer's touch and he thought she should've been a doctor or a nurse instead of a secretary at a police station. It wasn't that he had fallen in love with her, because that wasn't really the case. She was just special. If ever there was a woman he wanted to really, honestly know, it was she. She represented all that was good in the world, and protecting her meant everything to him.

When they fled the police station, no longer fugitives, no longer Winchesters, the drive to the next town was victorious. Yes, Dean was mad at Sam for keeping the demon Lilith a secret from him, and for briefly considering Ruby's plan before Dean presented an alternate plan, but knowing that they had succeeded in saving all those possessed people without hurting Nancy made it easy to push aside his anger. Sure, Sam's subtle change in behavior was beginning to scare him, but that was something he thought he could deal with because everything had turned out all right until Ruby burst in that morning and had them turn on the news.

Dean sighed heavily and bit the inside of his lip. So many innocent lives had been lost, and Dean just couldn't shake the guilt. He should've done more to ensure that they would be safe after he and Sam left, but hindsight was twenty-twenty, and Dean had no reason to think they'd still be in danger at the time. But still…he should've done more.

A wave of pain originating from his gunshot wound coursed through him suddenly. It caused the nausea that had been taunting him all morning to suddenly intensify and he swallowed compulsively in an attempt to keep from vomiting right there on the table. The throbbing in his shoulder sent mild tremors down his arm and he had to grab his wrist to keep his arm steady. Dean blinked a few times as spots began to cloud his vision. He was in worse shape than he thought.

"Hey, are you OK?" Amanda the waitress asked, "You're like, really pale."

"'M f-fine," Dean replied, with a gasp as he shut his eyes tight, took a few deep breaths and willed the spasm to cease.

"Are you sure because you look like you need a doctor or something," she insisted.

Dean tried his best to smile at her but the pain in his expression was too evident, "Just some water, please, that would be great." Amanda seemed unsure, but she nodded and left.

Breathing methodically, Dean rose to his feet and felt the room spin and he became aware of warm moisture on his back that hadn't been there before. When he felt steady and sure enough, he headed to the men's room to wash his face, wishing he had the brains to take some painkillers. The stuff he had taken hours before had worn off long ago, and with all that was going on, he opted to let it hurt in a weak attempt to distract him from the emotional turmoil he didn't want to deal with. But now the pain was striking with a vengeance and it was almost to the point of being unbearable.

By the time he reached the restroom, he was sweating profusely and felt shaky and chilled. He caught his reflection in the mirror and groaned at the sight before him. He was sheet white, and the florescent lighting only enhanced the ghastliness of his pallor. Splashing his face with water didn't help like he had hoped and he had a sudden need to sit down, but settled for crouching low as he leaned against the wall and gripped the sink for support.

Trembling he tried to get back up on his feet, but trying made him slide back down the wall until he was sitting on the floor. The reflection from one of the mirrors revealed a streak of red that followed his movement down the wall and Dean realized that the exit wound on his back had re-opened.

Great, he thought bitterly, now on top of everything else, I'm about to pass out in the middle of a friggin' 'Denny's' bathroom! What else can go wrong?

As he struggled to stay conscious, the smell of sulfur reached his nostrils and before the significance of that scent could fully process, he heard a loud crash followed by a series of screams.

Dean chuckled humorlessly and thought, I just had to ask.

TBC

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A/N Thank you for taking the time to read, now please, click on that button and leave a review. It would make me so very happy, and it feeds the muse.