Thanks must go to Tiffany for beta'ing my story. Her help and objectivity is vital and appreciated.

Today's your lucky day

Dean thrashed at the Impala. It was the last and best vestige of his life before it had been almost taken away, and before their dad's death. But it had become a horrific, crumpled representation of the life he now led. Their father was really gone. There was no escaping or denying that they had placed his body on a funeral pyre and watched it burn. It was what their father had wanted. And his death had left Dean the heir to a secret he had never asked for or wanted.

It was a legacy his father had left him, clearly knowing that he could be entrusted with it and also knowing he would need to have the information for the battle ahead. Instead of empowering him, though, it was slowly crippling, him and he didn't know why or how to stop it. It was an ever present "pit in his stomach," reminding him of the burden he had to carry, uncertain of what to do with the knowledge he had been given or what it would do to him.

He continued to pound away at the trunk of the car. He knew he couldn't destroy it or the memories that came with it, but he was unable to stop the rush of emotions and adrenaline coursing through him. They kept him hurling the tire iron over and over again on the already damaged hull. If the Impala could talk, it would have been pleading with him to stop. With the hardest blows came small cries, little shrieks of fury and frustration, spelling out with every strike to the steel, "Why" wham "did" wham "you" wham "do" wham "this" wham "to me" wham dad?" wham.

Finally when trembling muscles could no longer lift the iron up to strike again, Dean dropped it, heaving heavy breaths from the strain. He leaned on the car, trying to regain his composure with each intake of air into his burning lungs.

Yet with each breath he took, a chilling desolation overtook him. Their father had left him to carry on the fight alone. He had to handle this inexorably altered life without his father to guide him, weaponless against the searing truth he had whispered in his ear the morning of his death. It was a life with a brother he still loved, but didn't understand anymore. How could he when he didn't know himself anymore?

Sam was transforming. Their father's death, and the guilt that went with a relationship that had always been in battle and barely in truce, was making Sam into the man he felt his father would have wanted him to be. A life that he had fought against while their dad was alive, Sam, now, felt driven to fulfill after his death. It had seemingly given Sam new purpose. He was thriving in the decision to finally embrace what he had reviled for most of his life.

Dean was disintegrating. All those years spent being the good and responsible son, the perfect Winchester soldier who had followed orders without question and who had given everything he had to life on the hunt, seemed all a waste to him now. The zeal and purpose that hunting had given him was gone. It was as if their father's life had driven his desire to hunt, to save people, and to kill every evil son of a bitch. Now that he was gone, Dean had no direction, no one to expect things of him, no one to give him orders, no one to protect, not even Sam. It didn't go unnoticed by him, Sam's sudden desire to hunt, and as much as Dean tried to resist it, the uncertainty left him questioning, "Where does that leave me? Sam doesn't need my protection anymore."

Dean took in a deep breath, his chin and lip trembling. He remembered those whispered words and shuddered ever so slightly.

Without warning, his thoughts jumbled, his body quaking from the strain of exertion, Dean doubled over in pain, his right arm clenching against his side, his eyes wide with shock and surprise. He felt as if he had been hit by a battering ram straight in his stomach. It had come with such ferocity he had to lean on the car for balance, but the searing pain kept driving him down to his knees, his breath coming out in short gasps. What was more frightening to him was the sense of déjà vu, that he had been hit with this pain before, but the where and when were too distant to capture.

"What the -? What is it?" He gasped.

The words, too, he had said them before, but why couldn't he remember when? He had a foreboding feeling that he had said them, not as himself, but as some ghostly replica of himself. How was that possible? Yet, he knew it to be true. Then suddenly, flashes started assailing his mind and vision. It was like lightening crackling from inside his eyes. He saw a woman, short, black hair, pretty, but with yellow eyes, the demon's eyes. She stared at him and said, "Today's your lucky day, kid," grabbed his forehead and it all flashed past as quickly as it had come.

The pain finally started to ease and all Dean could do was concentrate on his breathing to keep from passing out. All the while, the only thoughts in his head where "Why?", "What's happening to me?", and "Dad, why did you do this to me?"

A few hours later, Sam emerged again to check on his big brother. The sun was creeping lower on the horizon and Dean hadn't come back to Bobby's. He hated feeling like he was badgering Dean. He knew deep down that Dean needed to be left alone, that he was right, he had never been a "caring and sharing" kind of guy, but he thought that the loss of their father would somehow be different. Dean had always internalized everything especially when he blamed himself for anything that went wrong.

Sam went over to the Impala and as predicted, he saw a light under the car. When he strolled over, he spotted it. Even in the diminishing light of the day, he could see the huge dent in the trunk and the significant hole where there hadn't been one before. It didn't require his high-priced college education to figure out what had happened. Still, the idea that Dean had caused such damage to his beloved Impala, the one their father had entrusted to him, seemed inconceivable. It would be like hurting a loved one.

Dean had heard the footfalls coming towards him and cringed. He knew who it was and what he wanted. He was ready to tell him again to leave him alone.

"Sam! I told you –"

"Dean, I know what happened," Sam said simply.

Dean stiffened, wondering what he had meant and praying he hadn't mean what he had thought. He wheeled out from under the car and stood up. He just looked at him at first to see if he could read what was on his face, but between the dim light and his eyes starting to water, he couldn't read a thing.

"Know what?" Dean asked simply, not willing to give Sam any leads until he knew for sure what Sam was going to tell him.

"You don't think I know why you are so angry?"

"Oh yeh, and why is that, oh Amazing Kreskin?"

"Who?"

"Never mind," Dean said dismissively.

"I know what Dad did," Sam said.

"What?"

Sam was killing him by degrees with these small revelations that still didn't tell him what he needed to know.

"And I know you blame yourself," Sam said.

"Sam, I don't know what you're talking about," Dean said, his frustration apparent in the strain in his voice.

"Don't," Sam continued.

"Don't what?"

"Don't blame yourself."

"For what?" Dean asked, his anger rising.

"Look, do you need me to say it? Dad made a deal with the demon…" Sam said, his voice trembling. "I accused him of caring more about hunting and killing the demon because he was planning to…I thought he cared more about revenge than he did about you, but I was wrong."

Dean cocked his head and listened. Why did the conversation Sam was telling him about sound familiar? It shouldn't, he had been in a coma, hadn't he?

"He summoned it to trade the Colt and his…" Sam trailed off. "You were dying, man. You told me on the ouija board that you thought a reaper was after you…I couldn't find anything to help you and then Dad…"

Dean wanted to reach out and hold him, but he couldn't. He felt physically incapable. He had suspected the very same thing. There was no way to explain all the coincidences; the missing Colt, his speech to him about how proud he was of him, the secret that he had whispered to him that still sent a chill down his spine, and then his death. Why hadn't he seen it and stopped him? He could never tell Sam that a part of him blamed himself for not stopping him. The anger began to rise up in him again.

"So you know," Dean snapped at Sam. "Who are you to tell me not to blame myself? He's dead because of me! Just like Marshall Hall is dead because of me!"

"Dean, don't do this –"

"Why not do this? You started it, let's finish it!" Dean practically barked at Sam, his anger blooming wildly and becoming uncontrollable.

Dean walked towards Sam and was almost face to face with him.

"It wasn't his choice to make, but because he was the controlling, had-to-have-it-his-way, this-is-for-the-best son of a bitch that he was, he made the choice for me! He didn't give a rat's ass about what his death would do to me, that dying the way he did wouldn't weigh on me, that I wouldn't get over it, just like that. How could he not know me? Was being a good soldier, an obedient son, all I was to him?" Dean uttered through clenched teeth. "He had no right to leave us that way. How am I supposed to live with the fact that our father thought his life was worthless, that we were better off without him! Tell me, how can I look at myself in the mirror and not see that it should have been me who died! "

"Dean, no –"

"SHUT UP, SAM!" Dean yelled unable to keep his emotions locked.

"Dad saved you. He traded his life, the Colt to save you and –"

"I SAID SHUT UP!!" Dean started to stalk away, but Sam caught his arm, risking bodily harm.

"Dean, please don't do this. He thought you were worth dying for, why can't you?" Sam asked.

Dean was breathing hard, struggling to dam his anger and loss. Though Dean was relieved that Sam didn't know what he had thought, it didn't comfort him to know that Sam had made the connection too.

"Because I'm not worth it," Dean said with a cold certainty that scared Sam.

"Don't say that," Sam insisted softly.

"Yeh, well, it's true," Dean said sourly.

"Dean, Dad knew…" Sam softened.

"Knew what?" Dean spat back, his anger still bubbling at the surface. He was having trouble letting things go these days. They hung on painfully.

"Much as I loved the man, he and I both knew that if it ever came to choosing between you or him…he knew I needed you more."

Dean blinked at Sam's admission. Sam's eyes began to pool and he took a breath.

"Maybe he thought he was expendable because of the fight we had, because I almost started another one after you woke up…because he knew I was desperate to get you back…Dean, I'm sorry…"

"For what? What are you saying?"

"Maybe it's my fault he's dead," Sam finally said what was harboring in his heart since that day.

Dean looked at him and shock filled his face.

"It's not," Dean said and started to walk away, his voice not softening to give Sam an opportunity to continue talking. It was all he could do, all he could give for now.

Dean then felt it again. Another punch to the stomach and all the resistance he tried to exert to keep it hidden from Sam was futile.

"No…no…not again…not now," Dean grunted as he was driven to his knees again, his eyes squeezed closed.

He felt Sam reach for him and he didn't know what felt worse, the pain, or seeing Sam's worried expression.

"Dean? What is it?" Sam asked, fear in his voice as he bent down to hold Dean.

"I…don't…know…" Dean said honestly.

More images flashed into his mind, causing needle shots of pain inside his head and behind his eyes.

"Thanks for not giving up on me, Sammy."

Dean remembered Sam sitting on the side of his hospital bed, searching through their dad's journal about reapers. He felt the feelings of pride and appreciation for his little brother's dogged dedication to finding a way to save him…still, he couldn't shake the feeling that it was a memory he shouldn't be having, that he hadn't been himself then. He knew it was real though, not a figment of his imagination.

The pain intensified and more and more memories rushed in. He was only peripherally aware of Sam calling out to him through the haze of pain and images. He tried to mouth something intelligible, but he could only grunt and growl with frustration.

"It's your time to go, Dean and you're living on borrowed time already."

The woman with the short, black hair was talking to him. This time her eyes weren't the yellow eyes of the demon.

Sam looked on, feeling as scared as he had ever been. Dean was in terrible pain and there was nothing he could do. He tried to talk to him to get through to him, but it was like he was far away, unreachable, even more than he had been the past week. Sam was losing him and he didn't understand why. He yelled out to Bobby, hoping he'd know what to do.

"I'm serious. My family's in danger. See we're kind of in the middle of this…war and they need me."

"The fight's over."

"No, it isn't."

"It is for you."

Dean started to curl up into a ball from the pain. He had experienced his share of pain, but this was overpowering. It felt familiar though, like he had felt it before…then sudden realization hit him. It felt like when the demon had ripped into him at the cabin. His body had remembered it as if it had been a personalized signature left behind in his most sensitive pain centers.

Bobby came over after hearing Sam's cries and stood in front of the men, at first it seemed like he was assessing the situation, but when Sam looked up, he saw chilling, yellow eyes staring back at him.

"No…" Sam said in hushed shock.

"Hey, Sammy boy, long time no see," The demon taunted in Bobby's voice.

"You're the cause of this, aren't you?" Sam asked, even though it was plain and obvious.

"Well, I must say that college education really paid off. Hard to fool you." The demon smiled.

"What are doing to Dean?"

"Just finishing what was left unfinished."

"What do you mean?"

Dean looked up and registered that Bobby had been possessed by the demon. His worst nightmare was happening. Sam was facing the demon and here he was completely powerless to stop it. Still, his love and protectiveness towards his brother would not let him just surrender without putting up some kind of fight.

"Leave…him…alone…or I'll kill you." Dean bit out as forcibly as the pain would let him.

"Tough words for a dying man," The demon said. "You do know that you were never supposed to survive, right? Your father decided to play God and make a deal, trade his life for yours, but he didn't bank on the consequences."

"You mean trusting you to keep the deal," Sam spat out angrily.

Dean grunted with more pain and more flashes kept hitting him. He didn't understand what they meant, but he knew that it was important that he did remember them.

"My brother, he could die without me."

"Maybe he will, maybe he won't. Nothing you can do about it."

Dean heard the demon talking to Sam and he did everything he could to switch his concentration.

"You see, Sammy, you didn't know this, but a reaper gave your brother a choice, to become one of the very angry spirits you hunt or to surrender to the inevitable. Do you know what he chose, Sam?"

Sam just stayed silent.

"He was going to chose to die, then your daddy interfered, saved his life, but he had no right to do that. Dean had made his choice so now I've come to collect."

"No, he made a deal –" Sam protested.

The demon laughed, "You've got to be kidding, right? You think I care about making a deal? I did what I had to, to get the Colt, then I sweetened the pot. You see, your father didn't offer his life. I made it a condition of the deal and he agreed."

Dean stiffened as one last image sliced into his head.

"There's no such thing as an honorable death. My corpse is gonna rot in the ground and my family is gonna die."

Dean screamed as he remembered the moment that the demon was telling Sam about, yes, the thought of letting go had crossed his mind, but he hadn't told the reaper that. He had been pulled back into his body before he could. Until that moment, he had wanted to live, for his family, for Sam.

"You tricked him!" Sam cried out in anger and despair.

"Hey, it's what we demons do. You see Sam, Dean was supposed to die and your father was supposed to live because that was the only way that I would have a chance to get you."

"What?" Sam asked, confused.

"Your daddy and you, you're alike, driven by the same vengeance, the death of mommy and Jess. Dean's death would have just added to the body count and played into the already growing hatred you both already had. You see, we feed on that stuff. It's the best kind of high. Now, Dean, he's a different animal entirely. He kept the both of you safe from me. Didn't know that, did you? His misguided belief in the both of you, in your family, protected you. When I killed your beloved Jess, it almost drove you over, you almost became Max, but no, your brother swooped in and was there for you, kept you from falling into the darkness. He's got quite the hero complex. The way you treat him, I don't know why he even bothers."

Sam just blinked his eyes and looked at Dean's pain riddled face. He felt an enormous sense of guilt. He had taken him for granted all his life and Dean had never complained or asked for anything more than his company.

"But now, it doesn't matter, your mother's gone, your father's gone, Jess is gone, and now, I'll get your brother too. You'll be all alone and then I'll have you just as I had planned all along."

Dean listened through his agony and had to help Sam. It all made sense now. All his self-pity had been a waste and he had almost driven Sam away with his self-destructive behavior. He had almost played into the demon's plans. Their father hadn't planned on surrendering his life, but was forced to. He knew that Sam needed Dean more because he had protected him all his life. His grateful words to him, before he faced the demon, were meant to tell Dean that he was the best thing for Sam. The secreted words that he had spoken to him now made sense. Dean began to smile. His father had planned for this moment, had placed his faith, trust and confidence in Dean to carry it through and he would be damned if he would let him down, let Sam down.

"Sam, don't…listen…to…him…" Dean said, struggling through his words.

Sam looked over at Dean.

"Sam, I…never…wanted to die…I remember…it…all…now…the…reaper…told me…I would become…an angry spirit…didn't…want to end…up that way…but I didn't…want to give in…wouldn't have…unless I didn't…have a choice…or…if I…couldn't help you…and Dad in the war…that would…have…been…worse…than…death…only then…Sam…I never…gave…the…reaper…my answer…was pulled back…before…I…could…it's…lying…to you…wanted…to…live…for you…and dad…"

Dean looked over at the demon-possessed Bobby. He then started to mumble some words. The pain was overwhelming him, he felt himself losing consciousness, but he tapped every reserve of strength he had to fight it off. He had to protect Sam first. The rest wouldn't matter as long as he could drive the demon out of Bobby and keep Sam safe. He breathed heavily through each word, every stab causing him to stutter, but he refused to surrender.

Sam watched and held on to Dean.

"Dean, I'm here for you."

Bobby's face contorted first in confusion then in pain. Dean kept reciting the words that his father had left for him. The pain spiked and he ended up yelling the last words without realizing it, trying to keep control. Bobby grabbed his head.

"You think you've won, but this is just a set back," The demon yelled. "I will have Sam, and I will have you too, Dean. I may not be able to corrupt you, but there are worse things than becoming one with me!"

Finally, the familiar black mist exited Bobby's mouth and he collapsed. Dean also fell unconscious, breathing, but as still as death.

Sam sat by Dean's bed in one of Bobby's bedrooms. Two days had gone by and Dean had not shown any sign of waking up. Sam's eyes were red from crying. Just when he thought he couldn't cry any more, he'd remember what Dean had done to save him and he would start crying all over again. Bobby came into the room and put a tentative hand on Sam's shoulder.

"Bobby, I'm scared."

"Sam, give him time. He's been through a lot, his body was put through hell," Bobby comforted as best as he could. "I'm sorry I was the cause of this."

"You weren't, Bobby. I know that, Dean knows that," Sam looked over at Dean's face. "It was the demon. Don't blame yourself. We don't."

Bobby nodded, relieved by Sam's forgiveness, feeling the sincerity behind it salving his guilt. John's boys were amazing young men. They had made their daddy proud, Bobby thought to himself. They had made him proud as fellow hunters.

"You need to get some rest too, Sam. You're no good to your brother if you let yourself get sick."

"I know, but I can't sleep until I know Dean's okay. I need him to be okay."

"He will be, Sam. I feel that much. Your brother is one tough son of a bitch to kill."

Sam smiled and Bobby felt himself give in to one too.

"You have to promise me you'll eat something, I'm no gourmet cook, but I'll rustle up something if you promise to try to eat it."

Sam nodded and Bobby left the room. Sam looked at the rise and fall of Dean's steady breathing and held onto the hope that Bobby was right. Dean just needed time to heal. It was just too much like several months ago when Dean was in a coma and close to dying. Who was Sam kidding? He was dying. He had come so close to losing Dean so many times over the last year. He knew that Dean never thought another life was worth his, but for Sam, there was no life more important than his brother's.

"Dean, I need you back, man. I don't know if I can go through this again. I hate to admit it, but the demon was right. You've kept me together all my life and if anything ever happened to you, I don't know what would happen to me. This isn't over and I don't know if I can do this alone."

Dean heard Sam talking to him even in his unconscious state, and wanted to reach out to him, but he was tired, as tired as he had ever been. In his mind, he saw a shadow emerge from the darkness and at first, he thought that maybe the demon had possessed him, but then the figure coalesced and he saw this father.

"Dad?"

"Yeh, Dean, it's me," John smiled proudly at his son.

"Are you really here or am I dead?" Dean joked.

John had to smile. His eldest son was the strongest man he had ever known in his life, stronger than any hunter he had come across. Dean had taken to all of the training he had put him through with a natural ease and talent. His best skills were the ability to improvise, to think on his feet, and make critical decisions when there was no room for error. He also possessed a sense of humanity that most hunters lost, John included. It was usually a necessary casualty to the more important killer instinct. Dean had often taken the time to provide comfort and hope when there was no guarantee there was any to be found. John had always been clinical about the hunts so Dean had not learned that compassion from him. John had surmised that like all of his other talents and abilities, compassion came naturally to him.

When he had seen Dean's descent into darkness, that valued humanity of his slipping away, overtaken by anger and resentment, John knew he had to intervene to help him remember the man he was. It was John's fault that he was crumbling and he couldn't stand by and watch his son die from the inside out.

"It's really me, son."

"Dad, what –?" Dean asked.

"Dean, I'm so proud of what you did for Sammy."

"What? Not this again, are you sure this is you?" Dean softly joked.

"Dean, I'm sorry I put you through this, but I had to. I hope you know that."

Dean looked at his father in his dream and smiled.

"Yeh, I know."

"You have to wake up now and be with Sam. He needs you. You need him."

"But I need you, Dad."

"No, you don't, not anymore. Sam and I, we needed you all those years and you never failed us, son. The one truth that the demon said was that you kept this family alive. You did, Dean. Believe that if you believe nothing else. Sam still needs you to keep him alive. He needs what only you can give him. Yourself. Who you are keeps Sam who he is."

"I don't know –"

"Dean, those memories you were having, I gave those to you, to remind you that even when you were dying, you fought to live. When Sam told me he had 'felt' you, I knew you were fighting to come back to us, but I also knew how badly hurt you were. Sam kept hoping, but I knew how serious it was. I knew what I had to do. I'd do it again."

"But, Dad, I don't know if I have it in me anymore."

"You do have it in you, son. You have more strength than 10 hunters combined, but most of all, you care and not just for Sam. You care that good wins over evil. You fight as hard to save people as you do in killing evil. I didn't teach you that. It's what makes you the best protector for Sam. You would never let anything happen to him. Your love for him runs deeper than any evil's hatred. I've always known that about you and I'm sorry I never told you how much we depended on you for that. How much I depended on you for that. You and Sam will finish what I couldn't, but you have to do it together. You have to keep fighting. Go back to Sam. He needs you."

Dean listened to his father's words. For his dad to tell him that he was doing a good job, that he had turned out to be someone his father was proud of, it meant everything and it gave him renewed strength.

"Dad, I…" Dean stuttered, "I want you to know that I love you."

"I know. I've always known. You never let me forget it and it meant everything, Dean. You and Sam kept me going after your mom passed. Never forget how proud I am of the both of you, how much I love you both."

Dean watched his father fade back into the darkness.

"Bye, Dad."

Sam heard a moan come from Dean and he turned towards him.

"Dean? Can you hear me?"

"Yeh, yeh…" He said tiredly, his voice barely a rasp as he tried to sit up.

"Don't try to move, just relax," Sam gently insisted and Dean complied reluctantly.

Dean then rubbed his forehead and eyes, trying to clear his haziness.

"Man, I'm so glad you're back," Sam said.

"You and me both…" Dean said and paused for a second. "Sam?"

"Yeh?"

"I'm sorry."

"For what?"

"For everything that's happened since Dad's death. I just wasn't dealing too well," Dean cleared his throat. "I'm not all together sure I'm done dealing with things, but you gotta know, I need you there, Sam."

"I know, Dean. I need you too. We're all that's left now."

Dean grimaced at the reality and nodded.

"Sam…" Dean started. "You still have a choice. You don't need to take over where Dad left off. He'd hate that you chose this life because of his death. I'd hate that. It's okay to walk away."

Sam looked at Dean and couldn't help a small, weak smile rise on his face, even if it was short lived.

"I know and I'm not," he said. "Thanks for saying it, but it isn't Dad's death that's making me want to hunt, not completely anyway. I need to find out who I am, Dean. I have to know what kind of freak I am…If I'm evil or not…"

Dean's eyes went wide with concern and he forced himself to a sitting position.

"Sam, listen to me, you are NOT evil. You will NEVER BE evil. It's not in you and I won't let anything get to you, not the demon, not anything! You can count on that," Dean asserted as strongly as his weakened body would let him.

Sam smiled again, only this one stayed. He had missed Dean's conviction that as long as he was around, everything would be all right. Selfishly, he depended on those assurances when he couldn't find them in himself. It was nice to see the old Dean glimmer through. Even when Dean was unsure of himself, he let Sam know that he was sure of him.

"I know, Dean. Thanks."

Dean crinkled his face and sniffed the air.

"What's that smell?" He asked.

"I think that's Bobby cooking up something."

"Oh geesh, that man can't cook. He can screw up warming beans," Dean said in feigned anguish. "We're doing take out, you hear me? How can you expect this fined-tuned machine to live on burned beans?"

Sam smiled widely and sighed deeply. He never thought hearing Dean complaining would be music to his ears.