Short story set some time after 4.14 and all the emotions and doubts that that epi dredged up for the boys. The sentences in itallics are Deans thoughts...I dunno it just doesn't look like itallics to me.

# I own nothing, only an odd desire to write about these characters on occasion, so please don't sue me. Instead, humour my sick sense of storytelling. And anyway, I am skint.

All Things Considered

Dean's head snapped up. Left eye swollen, but the right one could still see him.

"What is it with you people? One little slap and you're unconscious. Getting a little pathetic there, Dean." Oh, this demon was good. Dean licked his lips, enough water to form a spit ball, which he forced out as far as he could. The demon looked down at the gob on his well pressed trousers. No reaction.

"So, just to remind you...we were talking about your brother. You know the one. Tall. Charismatic. The go- getter. Not the one that's tied in a chair, begging for his life."

"Who's begging?" The demon bent down towards him, inches from his face.

"Oh, you will be."

Dean turned his head. "Man, that's halitosis with a hell-yeah! You do know there's a cure for that." No reaction.

Dean sighed. His head hurt. His arms ached, and there had to have been a few kicks to his abdomen to match the amount of pain he was feeling there. Blood dripped relentlessly onto his left thigh from a head wound unless he lifted his head and then it ran down his face, and all his good lines were being wasted on this new, badass demon built like a tank and newly qualified from the WWF school of fighting.

"Now," the demon continued. "Let me get this straight. You spent nearly all of your life...raising this...this thing you call family. Watching out for him, nurturing him, teaching him all you know. All your Daddy knew. Teaching him the finer points of loyalty, trust and of course, the value of sticking together. " The demon suppressed a smirk. "And you do all that, for years and years, sacrificing everything, and everyone, just to see him succeed in life...and yet, here you are - up to your arm pits in blood and shit and no sign of the cavalry." The demon spread his arms in mock amazement and watched Deans expression. No reaction.

"Tell me, Dean. Who is this Sam Winchester everyone keeps warning me about, 'cos right now? I aint impressed."

Dean considered the question for a beat. A sudden dizziness and nausea washing over him.

He is my friend.

"He's the guy that's gonna make you spew your life force onto the floor."

"Oh, yeah?"

He looks out for me.

"He's the man who is getting closer, every minute, every second."

The demon snorted, a sick smile under dead eyes.

He is and has been, my saviour on countless occasions.

"Oooh. Big words from a little man," the demon snarked, a putrid breath falling on Deans face again. "And tell me, boy. Do you ever doubt your brother? I mean doubt his abilities

to save your pathetic little backside once more?"

Dean managed to maintain eye contact.

Yes. I doubt him. And no, he doesn't deserve it.

Dean swallowed hard. His vision swimming now. Still had to play the game though.

"I never doubt the fact that he's the one that's gonna send your ass back to hell in a hand basket, and deep down...deep down in that rotted, disgusting, festering soul of yours, I think you have no idea what you're dealing with."

Dean almost slurred the last words of his monologue. The pain in his head was nearly blinding him now. If Sam could turn up and just do his hand fu-fighting any time now - well...well, despite it going against every grain in his body, Dean felt, on this occasion, right now, that it actually wouldn't be a bad thing. All things considered.

"Hmm. So, I should be quaking in my Italian leather shoes, huh?" Dean could see the smug face still smiling at him...but he knew he was losing it again. The noise in his ears told him so. And the darkness closing in around him told him that too. He could feel the demon grasping onto his hair, pulling his head back up towards his face again. "I mean, who is he, this great white hope of the human world? Who is the great Sam Winchester, huh?"

And then, the demon coughed. His face suddenly changed. His grip loosened. He brought his hand up to his mouth. He looked into it, as if expecting something to be there. But there was nothing. He wretched, his mouth gaping open in an obscene gesture of theatre of the worst kind.

He stumbled back, clutching at his throat, the black smoke belching out from his mouth and nose. His eyes sinking into a skull shaped hole of terror and despair. And as he turned, to seek out his attacker, there was Sam, standing tall and strong, determined and true.

"That's my brother." Dean whispered, before he closed his eyes and let his head fall.