Title: Giving Up

Rating: T for language.

Summary: Six months after the Deal and Dean wants to quit. Sam obviously has a different opinion about that.

Type: Angst, Brotherly Conversation, Oneshot.

Disclaimer: Oh, how I wish… no, don't even get me started. I don't own them.

A/N: Many thanks to my superb beta, Dooski!

Giving Up

It took Dean four months to give up. Now, two months later, he still didn't know how to tell Sam.

Dean didn't want to talk about it, discuss it at all, but he also couldn't take it anymore. He couldn't follow Sam around while his brother fooled himself into believing there was a way out of the Deal. At first it had been natural to let Sammy believe Dean could be saved, if only to spare his younger brother from the pain that acceptance would cause. But it wasn't fair anymore, and he knew that. He just had no idea what to do about it.

"So, I've been researching the Crossroad Demon, and I found this website that has…."

Dean nearly groaned in frustration, but he reined in the response at the last second. God, it didn't help that Sam was always doing that. He was always going on about information he'd found, theories he'd created to help Dean. Couldn't he ever just leave it alone?

"And I know what we did with Evan Hudson won't work again, but we did manage to get him out of that, so—,"

"Not now, Sam," Dean said, as lightly as he could manage. He saw his brother shoot him a disgruntled look from the corner of his eye.

"Not now?" Sam asked incredulously. "Dean, you realize you've got half a year left, right? We can't afford to not do this now."

Deep breath, stay calm. "Look, Sam, I just don't think this'll help," Dean responded, still working to keep his voice casual. If he acted like it was on the surface and didn't really matter, somehow it seemed easier. "The Crossroad demon will be prepared for something like that, and she said—,"

He broke off abruptly, his mouth snapping shut. He hadn't told Sam about that part. The part where if he tried to get himself out of this, Sam would drop dead. He knew she hadn't been lying, and he would much rather take Hell than have Sam leave him again.

"What, Dean?" Sam said, and there was a definite note of irritation in his tone. "Look, if there's one way out of it, there has to be another. Everything has loopholes! And why are you acting so unconcerned about this anyway? This is your life we're talking about, and I won't let you—,"

Dean slammed on the breaks of the Impala, causing the entire car to skid wildly while it struggled to gain traction on the road. After a few dangerous swerves, it stuttered to a shaky halt on the asphalt, the tires smoking slightly and the smell of burnt rubber floating through the car.

"What the hell!"

Dean looked over at Sam, whose tall, lanky form had been thrown forward so that he looked like a bug squashed on the dashboard, limbs sticking out at strange angles. Dean would have laughed were his thoughts not so heavy.

"I'm not doing it anymore."

Sam glanced at him, anger still burning in his eyes. "Doing what? Trying to get us killed? You realize that you just stopped in the middle of the road for no reason? What if there had been someone behind—,"

"I'm not gonna keep looking for a way out of this," He said bluntly. "There isn't one, and we both know it."

The effect of his words was immediate. Sam's entire body stiffened, his jaw clenched and his eyes shifted away from Dean's face. Silence reigned inside of the car, and Dean could almost see Sam's inner struggle. He was fighting between hope and despair; between reality and what he wanted the situation to be.

"Dean, don't be stupid," He said at last, his voice falsely casual. "I've already told you I'll protect you from this."

Dean gave him a crooked smile, knowing that it wouldn't lighten the moment or the weight of his words but having to try, anyway. "That's my job, not yours. Don't worry about me, Sammy. Let it go."

Sam flinched, but his eyes snapped back to Dean's. They were wide and angry. "Are you serious?" He asked, his voice incredulous. "Do you seriously believe that because you were born four years before me, I should just let you die? Just accept the fact that you traded your life for mine?"

Dean's eyes darkened. "Yes, Sam, that's exactly what I'm saying. It was my job, my responsibility. I made my choice." He swallowed hard, hating himself but knowing it was necessary. "I'm gonna die in six months, and I'm gonna go straight to Hell."

He had been prepared for the reaction, but that didn't make it any less difficult to witness. As expected, all color drained from Sam's face and he stared at Dean with large, haunted eyes. The words seemed to hit him like a physical blow, and Dean could almost see the bruises blooming beneath his undamaged skin.

"No," He said, and Dean heard the desperation behind the word even as his brother tried to bury it under defiance. "No, Dean, you can't give up like this. You can't. There's a way, I know there's—,"

"There isn't," Dean interrupted, his voice harsh to cover the pain Sam's reaction caused in him. "Sam, listen to me, there isn't. You gotta accept it; you gotta let it go."

Sam's hands clenched into fists, and Dean could see the struggle still playing on Sam's face: Hope or despair. Too bad Dean had never been one to rely on hope or faith. That was why this was so much harder for Sam, because the very thing that had always escaped Dean came so easily to his brother.

"I won't," Sam said, his voice still rough. "I can't. I can't let you die for me, Dean, no matter how you try to justify it."

"I've said it once, and I'll say it again," Dean growled, his voice low, "It was my choice. You didn't let me do anything; I made the deal because you deserve to live."

"I deserve it more than you, you mean?" Sam asked, his voice finally rising as anger replaced the fear. "God, that's one of the stupidest things you've ever said, and that's really saying something, Dean."

Dean bit back a retort and kept silent, suddenly wishing he hadn't stopped the car. Now he had nothing to pretend to concentrate on. He kept his eyes glued to the road all the same and glanced in the rearview mirror, making sure no cars were coming up behind the stationary Impala.

"Dean!" Sam shouted after the short silence, sounding exasperated and angry and confused, "Tell me why! Tell me why you think I deserve it more than you. Tell me why doing anything to save me is okay, but it's wrong for me to do the same for you. And don't feed me the big brother line of bullshit!"

Dean nearly flinched at the words. Sam was doing the same thing he had always done when he was angry and couldn't understand; he minimized the beliefs that confused him. He had seen Sam use the tactic when he'd fought with Dad and hadn't been able to comprehend Dad's need to destroy the demon, and he could see Sam employing the same technique now.

Dean stayed silent a moment more, deciding against mentioning once again that it was his responsibility. Sam wouldn't listen because he hadn't been put in Dean's situation, shouldering the welfare of a younger brother since he was four years old.

"You can move on," He said finally, slowly, hoping the reason would be enough.

Apparently it wasn't.

"What are you talking about?" Sam demanded, so angry that he was barely listening. "You think I can just pick up and walk away after this is all over? You think I can just move on, forget that you sacrificed—,"

"Yes, Sam!" Dean bellowed, his anger and desperation for Sam to understand finally getting the better of him. "I know you can! You've done it before."

Sam opened his mouth, but whatever argument he'd been about to let loose halted on his tongue as the meaning behind Dean's statement sank in. Another short, tense silence filled the car.

"Dean," Sam began hesitantly, a look of utter shock dancing across his face. "Dean, I—that wasn't the same—,"

"It was," Dean said, his voice low and jagged once more. "You made your own way in college, you found yourself a great girl; you built a life. And you did it without us."

"But you weren't dead!" Sam argued, regret and guilt etched on his face. "I never, ever wanted either of you gone, I just wanted out of hunting so badly. I'd always planned on coming back and fixing things, if not with dad than at least with you. Dean, I didn't move on without you!"

Dean clenched his eyes shut and gripped the steering wheel tightly. He didn't believe it, and he didn't think Sam had expected him to. "It doesn't matter. You still lived on your own, without me. You can do it again."

I wouldn't have been able to. The unspoken words hung in the air, but he knew Sam heard them anyway. Dean glanced away, hoping Sam would understand and end the conversation there.

Dean couldn't live without his family, without his brother. The death of both his parents had been hard enough, but losing Sam would have destroyed him. He wouldn't have had the courage to keep going if he'd let Sam stay dead. But Sam had a strength that Dean had never possessed; he could rebuild his life after Dean was gone.

"You think you need me more than I need you," Sam stated slowly, his voice quiet again. He stared at Dean, looking for conformation. Dean met his eyes but didn't respond, and he knew Sam found his answer in the silence.

"That's not true, Dean," Sam said sincerely, and Dean immediately began studying the worn steering wheel underneath his fingers. It was better than looking at Sam. Anywhere but at Sam. "It's not. You're my brother."

Dean still kept quiet, hating the way old resentments were bubbling in the pit of his stomach. Resentment for the way Sam had just left them for years without a word, resentment for the fact that he could leave. Because as much as Dean had hated Sam for it, a part of him had hated himself more for not having the strength to walk away.

"I was so naïve then, Dean," Sam said, as if reading Dean's thoughts, "I thought that if I could just get away—away from you and Dad and all of it—I could have a normal life."

Dean nearly cringed at the reminder, but his voice was carefully level as he said, "And you did get away, which means you can—,"

"But I was wrong, Dean." Sam interrupted, adopting that earnest tone he only ever used in emotional conversations. God, how Dean hated those. When had this turned into one? "Hunting, evil— it all found me again eventually. I should have realized it would, but I didn't, and I let people die. People I could have saved." People like Jess. Dean ached for his brother, but before he could offer any words of denial or comfort, Sam continued, "You were the strong one; you were the one who put us first no matter what. I should have been more like you."

Dean laughed, but it was a hollow sound. He chose to latch onto that last sentence instead of thinking about the rest of Sam's speech. "Trust me, pal, you really don't mean that."

Sam frowned, obviously disliking Dean's reaction. "Why not? Do you really think that little of yourself?"

Something about the phrase brought back memories of his conversation with Bobby. Have you got that low of an opinion of yourself? Are you that screwed in the head?

Well, hell, maybe he was. But that didn't change the fact that when he got right down to it, most of the tragedies that had occurred throughout their lives had been his fault.

"Dean?"

Dean looked back at him, noting the concerned frown and confused expression. "I screwed up," He said bluntly, "When dad told me to look out for you, I messed up; there were so many close calls—,"

"You were a kid, Dean!" Sam nearly shouted, a bizarre sort of defensiveness in his tone. "Dad had no right to put that kind of pressure on you."

"Fine, what about when I let dad die for me?" Dean spat, his voice just as loud, "What about when I let you die? I wasn't a kid then, Sam."

Finally, it seemed he had shocked Sam into complete silence. His brother stared at him, his mouth dropped open and his face slack. Under less serious circumstances, it would have been hilarious.

"You're… how can you think that any of that was your fault?" He asked, his voice hushed. "Dad made a choice—the wrong one, so don't bother saying you did the same thing. You hated that Dad died for you, and you know it." Sam paused, realizing he had gotten off-topic, and then shook his head slightly. "But Dean, my… my death"—both brother grimaced at the word—"wasn't your fault. The Demon and Jake… there's no way you could have stopped that."

Dean struggled to keep his face straight as so many emotions raged inside of him. "I was supposed to—I was right there. I watched you die, Sammy; if I had just moved faster, figured it out sooner—,"

"Do you remember how many times I've said that about people we've lost during a hunt? And you always say the same thing, Dean, that there was nothing else we could have done."

"This isn't the same!" Dean shouted, unable to contain himself. "This was you, lying on the ground with your back sliced open. God, Sam I could feel the blood, and I couldn't stop it, and you were just staring at me like I should have done something—Dammit!"

He slammed his hands into the steering wheel once, and then again and again. He saw the alarm flash in Sam's eyes and knew that his brother was remembering the only other time Dean had ever hit his car – when he'd taken a crowbar to the hood and completely destroyed it. Sam didn't say anything for a long time, and a look of brief resignation sparked over his face. Then his mouth thinned into a determined line.

"What about everyone we could save?" He said abruptly, and there was worry under the hard note in his voice. "You can't just leave them, Dean. That's why we've always fought before; that's why we keep doing this even though we lose so much. You can't give up. You can't let them die."

Dean shut his eyes briefly as the words washed over him. They hit him hard, just like Sam had known they would. But what he had never told his brother was that the second Sam had died, Dean had quit.

He hadn't cared that the Yellow-Eyed Demon would cause Hell on earth, or that thousands, maybe millions, of people would die. He had sacrificed Sam for this hunt, this seemingly endless quest to destroy evil. And to him, there was nothing more he could give. Nothing. The world had taken all it could from Dean Winchester. The burden had been lifted; it was no longer his job.

Things were different now; having Sammy back made things different. Dean still cared, and he still wanted to help people. But he couldn't force himself to live for them, not if it meant having Sam taken from him again. He'd rather die.

"There are other people who'll help them," Dean said slowly. He didn't like the words, felt selfish saying them, but he couldn't deny them anymore, either. "We've been in contact with dozens of hunters; everyone Ellen knows. There are still people out there who will fight for them."

"Dean, that's—God, that's stupid." Sam spat, but Dean had a feeling the anger was more toward the fact that Dean hadn't caved under his argument than anything else. "You can't just—you have to stay and help fight. You have to at least try!"

Dean shot him a fierce glance, but a sudden honking pulled them out of their conversation. A car swerved around the Impala, its driver laying on the horn as he passed. There was a pause after the slightly sobering interruption, and neither of them did anything but breathe.

"It's done, Sam," Dean said eventually, a note of finality in his tone. "I'm done, and that won't change."

There was a sudden look of blind panic on Sam's face as he realized he couldn't convince Dean otherwise. Sam had used almost every possible angle; he'd attacked Dean from his weakest points and still hadn't moved him. The wildness of Sam's eyes in that moment was difficult to witness.

Then Sam's expression changed, and Dean stared at him, slightly confused at the abrupt transition. It had happened so quickly, Dean wasn't quite sure he'd really witnessed it. But there was no mistaking the now calculating glint in Sam's eyes.

"If you give up now, it's guaranteed that you'll die," Sam said slowly, and Dean nodded warily, aware that Sam was building up to something. "And you think I can just bury your body and move on. Go back to Stanford or whatever and never look back."

"Well, I'd hope you weren't quite that casual about it, but yeah," Dean said in a determinedly relaxed voice.

"But I'm telling you right now, I won't," Sam said, and his eyes fixed on Dean with sudden intensity. Dean saw a flicker of purpose in Sam's gaze, and he vaguely realized where this was going. "I'll keep hunting demons on my own, without any backup. I don't know what exactly I'll be facing—I'm sure some nasty things crawled out the day we killed the Yellow-Eyed Demon."

"Sam," Dean said, his voice a low warning, but Sam talked over him.

"My whole family will be dead by then; hell, Dean," He continued, his gaze still fixed on Dean's face, "I may even make a few deals of my own."

Dean shut his eyes and grit his teeth together, gripping the steering wheel so tightly that his knuckles turned white. He could still feel Sam's eyes on him. "Sam, I swear to God—,"

"Even if I don't summon a Crossroad Demon, who knows what kind of trouble I could get into without anyone watching my back?" Sam added, and Dean couldn't tell whether his statement was more threatening or promising.

"Son of a bitch," Dean cursed, more to himself than his brother.

Sam ignored the statement but met low Dean's tone. "So go ahead and give up, Dean; maybe I'll give up with you."

Sam knew exactly what he was doing, Dean was sure of it. Being the smartass college-boy that he was, Sam had realized that Dean couldn't be stirred to save his own life, but saving Sam was an entirely different matter. And he'd succeeded; the doubts were already growing in Dean's mind. Had most of it been talk, or would Sam really not make it on his own, without Dean to watch over him? He'd been so sure before, but now…

"Manipulative bastard."

This wasn't like him. This wasn't like the preppy college-boy Dean knew. It made Dean think of all the things the Yellow-Eyed Demon had said—that bringing someone back from the dead could change them, make them different. Darker.

Dean looked hard at his brother, as if determined to make sure he was there and real and him. Sam stayed silent, but Dean saw the flicker of remorse that stretched over Sam's face. It was so twisted and wrong and ridiculous, but that remorse was the one thing that eased his lungs back into breathing. Then Sam straightened up and met Dean's eyes determinedly.

Dean yanked the car into drive and slammed on the gas, and the car jolted forward. His practiced hands kept her steady, but he could see Sam's tight grip on the seat from the corner of his eye.

"Fine," Dean said, pushing the car faster, as if to somehow outrun the conversation. But he wouldn't escape it, and he realized that. "Fine."

- Fin

A/N: Reviews are lovely; it would be great if you left some!