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Disclaimer: Nope. Don't own the copyrights to the Boys. But thank you Kripke for such fab characters and letting us play in your universe!!

Rating is for some bad-boy language.

My first Supernatural, my first submitted. Hope you enjoy!

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Six Months

Chapter 1

Dean Winchester slid the key into the hotel lock, twisted, and the door opened with a noisy creak. He grinned to himself, ready for the annoyed look he was sure his brother would give him. It was 9 am and he'd had very nice night with the bartender Dahlia, and that was after a very successful evening of pool hustling and an extremely profitable poker game. He'd taken in about 650 dollars all said and done. On the way to the hotel he'd stopped at the donut shop and gotten himself a bag of his favorite jelly-filled donuts and a large, super-sized coffee. He hadn't bothered to bring any back for Sam since Sam had promised he'd be up at dawn and ready.

Light filtered in from the curtain and poured through the door. Dean paused in the doorway, his eyes narrowing as his brow creased. Sam was sitting at the computer, his chin on his chest, snoring softly.

Dean swore under his breath. He was ready to be on the road, ready to get to the next hunt, a haunted theater in Nekkers, Indiana. He'd already showered at Dahlia's place and just needed to change over into some clean clothes. He'd expected Sam to be ready as well. Sam had told Dean he was going to turn in early and didn't want to join him at the bar. Instead, it was the same scene. Again. They'd been fighting about it on and off for the past three months.

Dean set the coffee and donuts on the table and nudged Sam's shoulder. Sam jerked awake, his eyes wild and wide as he struggled to get his feet under him.

"Dude, easy. It's just me."

"Wha…?" Sam mumbled as his surroundings seeped into his sleep-laden brain. "Dean. What-What time is it?"

"A little after 9 am. Checkout is at 10. Get your shower." He paused, sighing to himself. He could go get coffee and something from the gas station across the street. "Breakfast is there."

Sam stood and stretched, then ran a hand through his dark hair. "What time did you get in this morning?"

"What time did you fall asleep?"

Sam shrugged as he picked up the coffee. "I don't know. Maybe 4." He took a sip of the coffee and almost spit it back out. He liked his coffee with crème and preferably, 2 sugars. Dean hadn't gotten this for him. It was Dean's coffee. Black and strong enough to burn a hole in your stomach. Sam glared at him. "You just got in."

Dean shrugged. Ah, there was that annoyed look he'd hoped for. "One of us has to have enough fun for two. Shower. Now. We need to be on the road."

"Where?"

"Indiana, remember?"

Sam began to shake his head then stopped. "Theater?"

Dean nodded sharply as he peeled off his shirt, then sat down on the edge of the bed. He couldn't bring himself to look at Sam as he untied his boot's laces. Sam had lost weight, had dark circles under his eyes, and looked gaunt and unhealthy. Dean heard the bathroom door close and the shower turn on and ground his teeth. He finished changing clothes then went over to the computer and clicked it out of hibernate mode. After punching in the password, he scanned the website. Some site in French about demons. Dean could make out a little from his knowledge of Latin and it looked like it was pure sophomoric garbage. Sam was tilting at windmills and they both knew it. They weren't going to find an out. Besides, if he even tried to worm his way out, Sam would drop dead; the demon had promised him that. He never should have told Sam. He should have just lied to him, told him he found some faith healer, some shaman, something other than the bitter truth that he was following in Dad's footsteps, all the way to Hell. His brother was safe. His brother was alive. And so far at least, Sammy hadn't gone all darkside on him. Sam had gotten moodier, crankier, and Dean admitted reluctantly to himself, meaner.

Sam—master-of-hesitation, feel-good-crap-Sam—was disappearing. His only focus was on just getting the job done so he could get back to the computer, back to searching for an out for Dean. Sitting at the computer at all hours, he was searching for clues, researching old texts, old legends, even fairy tales. Meanwhile, Sam had grown distant and mute. Drives to hunts were becoming more and more silent, the rumble of the car periodically punctuated with keystrokes made by Sam rather than pleasant banter between brothers.

Dean shoved his dirty clothes into his backpack and then began packing up Sam's stuff. He left Sam's bag on the still made bed and walked out to the Impala, his duffel over his shoulder. The sky was clouding up, looking as dark as his mood. It was going to be a nasty drive. He hoped the ghost was a bastard. He wanted something to shoot at, something to pummel. He wanted his damned perks.

He was leaning against the car door, sipping god-awful coffee from the Exxon station and washing away the taste of packaged powdered donuts, when Sam came out of the room with his duffel, computer, and coffee. He'd already eaten one donut and was finishing off the second, a bubble of grape jelly at the corner of his mouth. Damn, they'd sure looked good. His dark hair was still wet and practically dripping.

"Got everything?" Dean asked him.

"Yeah."

"Key," Dean said.

After Sam laid his duffel into the backseat and set the computer on the passenger's seat, he dug into the pocket of his jeans and extracted the key. He tossed it to his brother. Dean caught it and headed to the office to check out. When Dean got back, Sam was already in the passenger's seat, computer open, reading files he'd downloaded the night previous. Dean reached in and flipped the computer closed.

"Give it a damned rest!"

Sam glared at his brother. "We've got six months, Dean."

"No. I've got six months. And I know what the damned date is."

"I swore to you, I'd get you out of this. I'll find a way," Sam said.

"What if you don't?"

"I will!" Sam said determinedly and re-opened the computer.

Dean threw his hands up and walked around to the driver's side and got in, slamming the door as he did. It would be another silent drive to another hunt. He ejected Motorhead from the tape player and slid in Black Sabbath's Heaven and Hell, cranked it up, and put the car in gear. The car burned rubber as it left the parking lot.

The car door Sam was sleeping against opened and Sam woke as he tumbled out of the car. Startled to instant awareness, he looked around, tense and ready to fight. It was night and they were parked in the driveway of an old two story house with its lights on. He looked up and saw Dean standing over him.

"Jerk," he muttered.

When Dean didn't respond with the expected "Bitch", he looked up but Dean was already grabbing Sam's duffel out of the back seat. Sam got to his feet and brushed his grit-covered hands on his jeans. "Where are we?"

"A friend of Dad's. Her name is Tabitha."

"Why?"

Dean shoved the duffel into Sam's chest. "Because you're staying here."

"What? Why?"

Dean looked up at his brother. "Because you're no good to me anymore."

"What do you mean?" Sam huffed.

Dean reached in and grabbed the computer, slid it into its case, and set it beside Sam. He struggled to try to put everything into words and gave up with a shrug. "You've lost your edge. I can't watch out for you and watch my back and whatever I'm hunting, too. You haven't slept more than a few hours a night in the past six months. You—" Dean choked back his anger. "You're better off here. Then my hunts won't be interrupting your damned obsession to break a deal that can't be broken. Tabitha has a spare room."

Dean gave his brother a last look, walked around to the driver's side, got in and started the car. Sam tossed his duffel on the ground and ripped open the door. "Dean, wait!"

Dean put the car in gear but kept his foot on the brake. "Shut the door, Sam."

"No! You need me."

"Sammy, you're not here anymore. You're off on your quest to try to break a deal with a demon."

"I'm going to find a way to save you," Sam said.

Dean's lips pressed together, sick to death of that phrase. He sighed in frustration. "Sam, I've been having dreams ever since the hospital. Just bits and pieces, but I think I've pretty much put them together. I remember when I almost died, when Dad….when I met the reaper. She told me I was on borrowed time. I was suppose to die from that electrocution. I'm alive because I stole someone else's life. Then I stole from life again, when Dad gave up everything for me." A smirk slid to Dean's lips. "But if you don't bother to live, what was the point of the deal I made? I can't watch you kill yourself because of me. I already saw you die once. That was enough. You're just a geek. You've got a chance at a normal life when I'm gone. I'm a freak. I've got nothing left, Sammy. Just you. And now you're gone, too."

"Dean…"

Dean goosed the accelerator enough that the Sam was knocked down and away. The black Impala rolled down the drive and the open door clicked close.

"Dean!" Sam screamed and scrambled to his feet. He watched as the tail lights disappeared down the road with a rumble.

Dean didn't slow down for forty miles. Sam had called him repeatedly on his cell phone and Dean finally shut it off, tired of listening to the ring. Dean had wanted to lob the phone out the window but restrained himself. There were too many important numbers in there. Maybe after Indiana he'd go see Cassie. What would he tell her? That he wanted to see her again? That was the truth. That in six months he'd face the fires and tortures of Hell? He'd sent many a pissed off evil to there. His resume was filled with them. And they'd probably all want a piece of him. They'd all want their turn. And they'd have eternity to gnaw their pleasure into his flesh and bone. He gripped the wheel tighter, afraid his hands would start shaking. When he had time to stop and think about what his non-future held, sometimes he couldn't keep it all under control and the reality would swell over him. His father had done it for him. Given his life to save Dean. But he hadn't had days and weeks and months to know of his approaching destiny. Dean had sold his soul to the evil bastards he hunted. Still hunted. He was going to burn for all eternity. Eternity. He was 28. What did he understand of eternity? He wondered how long it would take for him to go insane from the torment.

He felt dinner shift restlessly. "Crap," he muttered, cursing Sam for not being there, for not being the rock he needed, the distraction from these terrible thoughts. He pulled the car over and hastily opened the door, puking his guts out. He finally sat back up. He folded his arms across the Impala's hard steering wheel and laid his head on them. There weren't tears. It wasn't in him to cry over a choice he'd made. He knew what he'd done. He'd been so desperate that any price was worth it. He'd lost Mom. He'd lost Cassie. He'd lost Dad. To lose Sam was beyond bearable. Better he just take out his 9mm, stick it in his mouth and blow his fucking brains out. But not in the car. He gave a sad soft laugh. No, he wouldn't do it inside of her. Wouldn't ruin her that way. But he hadn't opted for the gun. He'd chosen the only route he knew could work. Had worked for his father.

He leaned back in the seat. Had he even looked heavenward? There was a God…wasn't there? His Name chased demons out. So why did God keep stealing those he loved away from him? Wasn't he doing God's work, in some really fucked up, twisted way? One of God's soldiers? But Sammy was one of theirs. One of the Demon's. Fed demon blood and all that crap. But Sammy was a good kid. Not a demon. Not evil. The hunts were making him dark; Dean saw it happening and tried to ignore it. Maybe that was part of why he'd wanted Sam safely at Tabitha's. Even if it meant he went the rest of the way alone.

Tabitha. He smiled a little to himself. She was a cool old lady. Dad said she'd hunted in her day. Was a kick-ass wiccan witch, too. Fact was, when she answered the door, she gasped and told Dean he was marked. Made him spill the story. He gave the down and dirty ten-cent version. Told her about Sam, too. How he was marked. Tabitha seemed concerned, but then smiled and told him to go get Sammy. She'd get the bed made up. Hell, maybe between Tabitha and Sam, they would come up with a way to break the deal.

Dean took a swig of water and rinsed out his foul tasting mouth. It was the first time he'd actually puked over it. He'd felt like it half a dozen times, but he'd never let it get to him. Not like tonight. Hell, maybe it had just been a bad mini-mart burger. He preferred that possibility to the alternative. He gave a slow grin to the night. Well, he had six more months to make a few more enemies that would want their turn. Best get to adding some more evil bastards to the list, he thought at he put the Impala back into gear. He slid a fresh tape into the player, something that would keep him awake and make him forget that he only had six months to eternity.