For the second time in Dean's life, he was in a burning house.

Not for the second time he was holding his brother.

And not for the second nor the third nor perhaps even the hundredth time, they were faced with death.

Sam's head lolled against Dean's shoulder as he tried desperately to maneuver through flaming curtains and furniture of all sorts, from exquisite couches to 50% off Walmart bookshelves. "No, no. Com'n Sammy, stay with me," Dean hissed, propping his half conscious brother up against him.

"Dean..M' head hurts," Sammy groaned.

Dean felt worry flood his stomach. "It's okay. I know, I know Sammy. Just...stay awake for a little while longer."

Take your brother outside as fast as you can! Go Dean, go!

Panic built up inside of Dean. They shouldn't have taken this case, should have let the local hunters deal with it. It was Dean's fault really, cabin fever from staying cooped up in the bunker with no news on Cas and Lucifer or Amara. When he had heard about the poltergeist, he had insisted on going. It had been a trap. Lucifer's demons had set it, trying to kill the brothers. Dean shook his head, trying to clear it out as smoke muddled his brain.

They reached a window and Dean glanced down. Damnit. Three story drop onto concrete- they'd never make it, Sam especially. Dean gasped as a flame licked his leg, catching the jeans on fire and he shook it out, wincing.

Sam blinked, struggling to push himself away from Dean as if he was weighing his brother down-which he was- but Dean grabbed him and pulled his arm over his shoulder, refusing to let Sam even stand on his own. "Dean," he croaked, smoke burning his lungs. "Dean go!"

Dean stared at him for a second. "No way in Hell, Sammy. Both of us or neither of us are walking out of this." He began to move again, sweat running from his face and neck.

"I'm too slow Dean, I'll just be a burden. Go now while you still can!" Sam had to half shout over the roar of fire.

Dean struggled on even faster. "You are slow and it would help if you would move your feet more! I am not leaving here without you."

Sam hurried along, every movement sending sparks of pain into his leg and up into his hip. "My leg is broken. I have a concussion! Dean! I won't be able to go further and no one is gonna call 911! We are in the middle of the woods for fucks sake!"

Dean swore and snapped, "I will carry you out of here if I have to! Move!" The floor began to fall away behind them, finally giving under the heat of fire.

Mom. Burning on the ceiling, screams staining the night red as fire.

Mom

Mom I can't leave him. But I can't go on with him.

Mom help.

Dean's eyes watered like mad, burning and itching, but he kept moving, refusing to leave his brother. Sam would not die in a fire, not like Mom.

I carried you, out of that house, out of earshot of those screams.

I cried and fought everyone who tried to take you away from me.

I was only four and I wouldn't let them take you.

And this fire won't take you either.

They struggled on for a few minutes until Sam completely passed out, slumping limply against his brother. "Hey Sammy," Dean whispered, stopping. "No. No. Wake up Sammy, please. We need to get out of here." He felt a half sob lodge in his throat. This was his fault and looking at Sam, his cut and bleeding face and leg twisted at a strange angle, the bags and shadows under his eyes, he felt hopeless like there was no way to fix Sam.

I always tried to protect you. Keep you safe. It's like I had on job, and I screwed it up. I blew it, and for that, I'm sorry. How am I supposed to live with that? What am I supposed to do? Sammy?

Dean let out a choked breath. The image of his baby brother, so small and still on that mattress, chest unmoving, and of Sam lying on the floor of that old cabin, bullet in his gut and that dead, still, cold expression on his face, sent a wave of strength through Dean. Suddenly he knew what to do. "I'm sorry Sammy," he whispered, leaning against Sam, touching his forehead to his own. Dean yanked Sam up against his again and began to drag him towards the stairs. "Shit," he muttered.

The entire stairwell was ablaze. Flames licking up walls, at the old photographs and paintings, gobbling up the wall paper like a starving man would gobble down bread. There was no possible way they could get down there. Dean gnawed his lower lip. He had to find a way, he knew he did, but the smoke made his eyes so heavy, his thoughts streamed into his brain but he couldn't comprehend them. Sam, his brain hissed at him. Cas.

Dean sunk to the floor as the images of the blue eyed angel flooded his vision. His rare smiles reserved solely for the Winchesters, his wild black hair, like bird feathers. And his eyes, blue, blue eyes. Dean could drown in that deep blue ocean. But the last time he had seen them, they had not belonged to the Angel, but to a different one. Lucifer. If Dean died, lay down and let the smoke over take him and Sam, who could help Cas? And Dean would be responsible for his own and Sam's deaths and condemning Cas to who knows how long stuck with Lucifer.

No. He couldn't do that.

Laying Sam down gently and checking his breathing, Dean raced across the house to the abandoned guns and grabbed one. It was filled with rock salt and Dean cursed, leaving it in search of something else. Fire licked at his heels as he jumped the barrier separating him from the kitchen. He twisted the tap but no water came out-the place was so old the plumbing had dried long cursed as he dug through the knife drawer. He selected a large one and prayed to whatever the hell was out there that the house was fragile enough that this would work. Then he bolted back to his brother who was stirring as Dean approached.

"Right," Dean whispered, plunging the knife into the walls and ripping through the mostly termite eaten wood, tearing out wires and insolation foam. "Come on."

When there was a hole big enough, and it only took moments, Dean grabbed Sam and pulled his brother through with him, dropping to the floor below. From there he half carried Sam through the burning house to the front door. But before he could reach it, the floor have a mighty Creak and gave way completely into the basement level.

It all happened in a moment. Dean felt the floor start to give out and shoved his brother through the door, not caring about the scrapes he would obtain falling onto the grassy dirt. As long as Sam was out, Dean knew he would die as peacefully as he could in his situation. And then Dean was falling. That was pretty much it, wood covered most his vision and he was breathing in fire and smoke. But Sam was out and Sam would save Cas, gank Amara, ice the devil, and maybe he would stop hunting and go back to Amelia or find someone else to start a family with. His heart ached imagining Sam bouncing a brown haired child on his knee or kissing the forehead of a blurry faced woman with a stomach swelled in pregnancy. And Cas...

Well Cas would return to Heaven, live for a millennia or more. Maybe even visit Dean if he got a ticket upstairs, but after everything the hunter had done...he doubted he deserved it.

Distantly, Dean though he heard someone shouting but it must have been his imagination, he thought, allowing the light to fade from his vision and the world turn into the never ending pit of darkness that he presumed was death.