A/N: Following a discussion over at the SFTCOLARS I've decided to put some of my thoughts about last episodes into words. I am very reluctant to post this since I am very aware it can be read entirely the way I don't want it to be read. Without giving anything away let me just say I didn't write this to blame either boy or say only one of them is right and the other completely wrong. I wrote this to show what I'd like to see on screen, my version of character-development that could actually lead to the brothers finding each other again.

Thanks a lot to Ghost for her beta-reading of this, I hope your "payment" is still alive and kicking! And thanks to AnickaMarie for helping me with the quote which, sadly, didn't quite make it into the scene. Keep an eye on him for me! ;)

Please let me know what you think.

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Separate Ways

By Mikiya

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There's a light in his eyes I have never seen before.

He's standing there, leaning against the Impala's passenger door, arms crossed loosely in front of his chest as I have seen him do countless times before but still it's different. He's different. If I had to pick one word to describe him I'd say he looks strong.

At peace.

He is watching some kids as they run across the street chasing each other, but he turns when he senses me. He's always been able to feel me even before I'm in his line of sight; I could never sneak up on him. The smile he gives me as soon as he looks at me is genuine, dimples and all, dancing up into his eyes only a second later.

"Hey."

I hadn't realized I had stopped walking when I saw him and it takes a moment before I finally get myself together enough to give him a hopefully neutral answering-grin. I'm actually proud my voice doesn't sound as surprised as I feel when I echo his greeting.

"Hey."

He watches me intently for a moment, taking in my kind of rumpled clothing and the paper bag that holds my breakfast before he shifts slightly and indicates the Impala with a tilt of his head. "Still in one piece, huh?"

I know he isn't talking about the car but I follow his choice of topic and give a small nod, putting on my trademark smirk. "'Course she is – been keeping my eyes on her. Can't let a girl like her just rot away…"

He nods in return, giving me another long look. It seems like he is searching for something in my eyes and I feel myself trying to shut him out. I don't want him to see how his presence is affecting me.

'Cause it is, always has. I don't know what to think at the moment and I sure as hell don't want him to notice how relieved I am to see him standing there in one piece. We've been in touch through Bobby but I've never got more than "he's alive", "he's doing fine" or "yeah, he was still breathing last time I saw him". And, to be honest, I've never wanted to know more.

He takes the cue and backs off a little but the smile doesn't leave his lips. As if he is completely comfortable at the moment which ironically makes me anything but. I'm not really sure what to do but he's talking again, looking straight into my eyes.

"We need to talk."

Funny how my heart suddenly starts to speed at that, I feel myself tense at his words. I just hope he doesn't see that. How often have I heard those words from him, how often did they start a fight, were followed by more words meant to hurt or get the other to realize something. I brace myself though I'm not exactly sure for what and try as I might I can't keep that irritation out of my voice. "About what?"

He's still watching me carefully and I expect him to drop his gaze at my somewhat snappish question. He doesn't, even as he squares his shoulders slightly and straightens a little his eyes never leave mine and his voice sounds determined.

"About us."

I frown at that, there hasn't been exactly an "us" for quite some time now. And yeah, I've missed that— him, but… too much has happened and he of all people should know that. My hand clenches on the paper bag and I can't stop myself from crossing my arms in front of my chest, mirroring his posture without really meaning to. It's a defensive move and we both know that, it usually has him roll his eyes in annoyance while I search for words I can throw at him to make him shut up.

But the words don't come as easily as they should. Truth be told, I don't want him to shut up right now. And thank God—er, whomever, he can tell that. He gives a small nod that tells me he understands my doubts but he's going to talk anyway.

"Remember what I said when… before I left?" Although he stumbles over the words for a moment he doesn't stop, he still watches me and I nod because how could I forget?

"I was right, you know? I wasn't up for the job… I was scared… and confused…" He stops for a moment and his eyes grow distant, no doubt remembering that afternoon when I let him walk away. I don't really get what he is trying to say, or maybe I do and I don't want to, you know, really get it, so I just keep quiet and watch him.

He hasn't changed much, his hair is a bit longer and he's still wearing at least three layers of shirts beneath his jacket. As far as I can tell there are no new scars and he doesn't look as tired and worn out as the last time I saw him. I guess that's a good sign but I still don't really know what to make of his sudden appearance.

He blinks. "I was dangerous, I really was. I know that now. Not because of what was—is in me." He trails off for a moment and fidgets with the sleeve of his jacket; I can feel it is not easy for him to say this. "I did a lot of things I'm not proud of." He gives one of his soft chuckles. "And I'm not even talking about what I did at the convent, you know?"

He stops again and that determined expression he is wearing crumbles a little. His eyes stray to the Impala's hood for just a second, but then he's looking over at me again, still smiling wistfully. "What I did to you—to us… You had every right not to trust me. And—and it was the right decision to leave, you know? I wouldn't have been able to deal with it… get over it had I stayed here, on the field with you worrying over me. It was the right choice to leave."

I've been asking myself that ever since he drove away riding shotgun in someone else's car. Should I have let him leave? Was it the right choice? Was I really doing what was best for him—for us? I've never found an answer, well, not one that would let me rest in peace. Right now, though, I feel at peace. Huh.

He clears his throat. "Anyway, that's not why I'm here."

"And why are you here, Sam?" I don't mean to sound so resentful but the words are out of my mouth before I can stop them.

He must have been expecting them. He doesn't back down, doesn't burry his hands in his pockets nor study the ground at his feet like he used to. He keeps looking at me, not once shying away, not even when there's a brief flash of something—pain? that makes me ache in sympathy.

"I'm here because I know you need me. And I know I need you—I need this…" His hand brushes across the Impala's side. "Us."

"Sam…" I don't know what to say. I want this, what he said, I want us to be together again, I want him at my side, god how much I want this.

But…

There are so many buts I don't even know where to begin.

"I'm not asking you to just accept everything I just said, I know I can't just show up like this and expect you to just fall in line…" He's getting nervous, I can tell, one of his hands starts playing with the hem of his shirt but his demeanour doesn't change. "I learned some stuff about things and… I messed up, Dean, probably more than I can ever make right again… But I want to try… with you… I know I could do some of this alone, but, the truth is I don't want to."

I know those words; back at Stanford when I came to get him away from Jessica I used the same ones. And he knows that I remember, he gives me half a grin and then finally rests his hand on the Impala.

"Look, Dean, I know things will never be the way they were before and I don't want them to be. I can't be like I was then, too much has changed. I have changed. And I finally know who I am and, uhm, I wanna be that person, I want to make my own decisions."

I want to tell him that the last time he did that, made his own decisions, he brought on the end of the world but I know that's not what he is talking about. Like always he's saying so much—too much, and he leaves me reeling a bit. Still I know this is important to him and so I'm listening.

"Okay, who are you, Sam?"

Maybe I'm supposed to know that, maybe I should be able to find the answer because of everything he just told me. Maybe I should have known all along.

Or maybe I just need him to say it.

I look at him, really look at him and there's this light again, in his eyes, the same one I've seen before. I don't know what it is but it doesn't fade, gets even stronger when he finally answers.

"I'm a hunter." He tilts his head to the side the way he always does when he wants to stress a point, then continues, "I think, to some degree, I'm still a psychic, I mean the visions have not returned or anything but I can still… sense stuff."

I think about that for a moment and nod slightly, I doubt he'll ever get rid of that psychic stuff and he's always been a sensitive wu—person—

"I'm your brother."

That catches me off guard. I mean, I know that and he knows that I know, that I still believe in that… right? I blink, try to cover my surprise with a grin though it might come of kind of shaky.

And jeez am I happy to hear those words.

And, again, I just can't stop myself.

"I know what you are."

He freezes, a flicker of uncertainty creeping into his eyes. "And what is that?"

"After everything that has changed you're still a pain in the ass."

Doubt changes to relief and his eyes sparkle just the way they used to.

"Guess I'm gonna have to stick around being a pain in the ass then… if you let me."

I stare at him, can't take my eyes off him as I think about it. About him, me, everything that has happened. Everything that went wrong, everything that has changed, everything I would change in a heartbeat if I ever got the chance to. What he said only moments before. It doesn't undo anything that's happened, it doesn't make it less hard to deal with.

But maybe it is enough for a new start.

I walk over to the Impala, feeling his eyes watch my every move. I don't look at him as I open my door or slide in.

But I'm fighting as hard as I can to keep that big grin off my face as I reach over to open the passenger's door.

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