Summary: Sam had just shot a human being, a human being he had fallen in love with...Now, Dean doesn't know how to help him.

My own ending of episode Heart

WARNING: Deals with homocide and if you haven't seen the episode, reading this will spoil it for you!

Reviews Welcome & More Coming Soon


Sam had shed no more tears as Dean and he disposed of the body. The younger Winchester's robotic stature and emotionless face did not change as the place was swiped of their finger prints, the gun positioned so it looked as if Madison had killed herself. The story would add up; Madison, having seen her co-worker dead in his office and having been stalked by a unknown stranger, had caused the woman to lose it and commit suicide. Only Dean and Sam would know the true story.

Having finished up, Sam stole one last glance at Madison, Dean patiently waiting in the doorway. Truth be told, Dean still felt cold inside, like winter had made a permanent stand in his heart. His face was sympathetic as he watched his younger brother who he was suppose to protect from all of this say his goodbyes silently. He had failed, which made Dean visibly cringe. What a good job I had done. Sam had not only witnessed his planned-to-be wife die in that horrible fire, but now he had to shoot his new found love. Knowing Sam, the fact will haunt him just as much as Jessica had. Dean had not said anything, but he still wakes up to harsh breathes and gasps in the bed next to him. Something like that never leaves you, Dean still remembering the heat of the flame from the nursery as he carried Sam out of the house.

The older Winchester was forced out of his thoughts as Sam brushed past him, soundlessly leaving the only good thing in his life. Gazing over his shoulder briefly, Dean let out a breath, giving the room a once over before closing the door. "You were good for him…." He whispered, voice cracking slightly. Shaking his head at how events played out, the twenty-six year old followed his brother's tracks, finding him already in the car. The emotionless mask that plastered Sam's face made Dean's body stiffen. Straightening from his crouched position, he walked around the hood of the car and slid into the driver's seat. The leather and thrum of the engine was welcoming, breaking the tense silence that threatened to suffocate Dean.

Stealing quick looks at his brother as he drove, the older sibling tried to find the nearest hotel available. Sam had still not spoken, his eyes glazing over, becoming haunted. A shiver ran down Dean's spine, fear gripping him like a rope, forming a noose around his neck. The poor kid looked like he might break, his body going to shatter into millions of little pieces. Dean knew that Sam's heart had to be broken, bleeding beneath an illusion of calmness. The knowledge only increased his need to tuck him away, blocking the youth from all things harmful and painful. The job, the hunt, everything was on hold. Nothing mattered, other than the weakened man beside him.

Seeing the Hotel Eight sign, the Impala curved into the driveway, parking between two other vehicles. Turning the key and putting up the emergency break, Dean glanced at Sam, informing him of his plan to grab a room. The younger brother did nothing; barely even alive it appeared. The rise and fall of his chest was the only thing that betrayed the mirage.


"We have a room available with two kings?" The receptionist asked in a high pitched tone. It made Dean flinch, forcing a smile at the pink-tailed girl. Pink gum flashed as she chewed loudly, a bubble forming every couple of seconds before popping. Secretary-like glasses enlarged her constantly blinking glacier-colored retinas, completing her not-so-fashionable appearance.

"Sure, how much?" Dean replied, receiving a snort of disgust at his hurried tone.

"You plan to stay one night or two?" The high pitched voice squeaked, the red eyebrows furrowing in an annoyance on the receptionists face.

Rolling his eyes, Dean ran a hand through his hair. This chick was pressing his nerves, his eyes still on his brother's form in the car outside the glass window of the main office. "One night, alright. How much for one night?" Heat entered the words, teeth clenched and jaw tense in frustration. The same symptoms of on coming anger were presented in the girl's behavior. At least the feelings mutual. Dean thought to himself.

Crossing her arms, the pink-tailed secretary placed the room key on the counter a little harshly, almost glaring at the man in front of her. "Well for someone as polite and wonderfully kind as you-twenty-eight bucks." The fake smile captured her lips as she added an extra dollar to the normal price.

The trick went right over Dean's head, his mind somewhere else other than the geeky looking chick behind the counter. Looking over his shoulder, he dug out his wallet and mumbled to himself as he counted out two tens and eight ones. "Here." He said roughly, already having grabbed the key. Before the girl could reply to his attitude, the Winchester was already jogging over to the car.


Hotel Eight was definitely not the best shabby hotel the two brothers have been to out of all the numerous others that had sheltered them through Sam and Dean's lives. The expired wall paper was drawn on, nicked, ripped and washed out- the once nicely printed leaves hardly visible on the almost white background. A small television sat on a even smaller dresser with loose and missing handles facing the two kings. The beds at least seem to be holding, no springs poking out as Dean placed his bag on one. Moldy aromas filled the room, the twenty-six year old's nose wrinkling. "Nice place, huh." He said out loud to Sam, still hoping to get him to talk. When Dean heard nothing he turned, watching the younger youth walk towards the bathroom. "Hey!"

The abrupt call got Sam's attention, causing him to rotate his head to the left, the other half of his face hidden from view.

"You okay man?" Dean inquired in a softer tone, taking a step towards his brother. The ghastly color of the younger sibling's skin made his eyes too dull.

Sam dipped his head, looking away and continuing his path. As he opened the door to the bathroom, he added, "I'm fine."

Of course, Dean didn't believe the over-used phrase for a second, a wrinkle forming on his forehead as his brows came together. No, his little brother was far from 'okay'. At that moment, as the Winchester plopped down onto the edge of one of the beds, he looked up at the ceiling. "You know what, sometimes Dad, I just wished…I just wished-" Stopping suddenly, Dean let his head drop in his hand, squeezing his scalp out of frustration. You had not brought us up like some damn soldiers. The in-fragment sounded so cold to Dean in his head, knowing that his father had tried to protect them by giving the skills needed to shield themselves. In a crisis, a person should never base his instincts on his emotions. Especially, when they are up against a Black Dog or Succubus. One mistake could cost the boy's their lives. But with shutting down our emotions Dad, you never let us learn how to deal with them. And now, Sammy's paying for it. Lifting his gaze, Dean's eyes locked with the chipped wood of the bathroom door. Steam misted from the crack at the bottom, running water heard loud and clear. Needing to get some of his anxiety out, Dean whipped around and snatched his bag, digging through and pulling out a sawed off shot gun. The weapon gleamed, the Winchester's always taking good care of their tools.

The sound of a gun shot made Dean flinch, a single tear falling from his eye….

The memory was still vivid in his head, the echo of the gun shot filling his ears. It only took a couple of seconds for the youth to grab some gun-soap and a cloth. He yearned for a distraction, something to calm the pumping of his heart in his chest. Tense muscles and stiff joints slowly relaxed under the rub down of the weapon, everything else in the room becoming part of another world.


The man in the mirror was not the same man Sam felt inside. A reflection of a emotionless mask stared back at him, silently mocking him. Gripping the sink with white knuckles, he squeezed his eyes shut, willing the head ache to stop and the video to end. The sweet voice in his ear and invisible brush of lips on flesh were all too real. Shivers racked Sam's body, the steam and warmth of the water having been blocked from his heart by a wall. He had shot Madison despite his love; shouldn't the heavens cut him a break? No, because Winchester's aren't suppose to dwell on such an emotion, but instead, suck it up and move on - no, because Winchester's have to take all the hits and still stay intact - no, Winchester's are invincible.