But the fear, the fire and the guns remain. 1

Author's note: I hope you had a wonderful Christmas and that you have not yet abandoned whatever newyear's resolutions you may have. (I don't do new year's resolutions myself, I really believe they are meant to be abandoned, but maybe I'm just looking for an excuse to start smoking again...)

My second multichap. This one is short and finished and will, therefore, be updated regularly. This chapter is not beta'd because I want to see if you guys think it's worth it. That, and it's 2 am and I am bonetired and really wanted to post this.

This takes place after 3.05 'Bedtime Stories'.


He built a wall of steel and flame.

And men with guns, to keep it tame.

Then, standing back, he made it plain.

That the nightmare would never rise again.

But the fear and the fire and the guns remain.

(Josh Groban with Ladysmith Black Mambazo and Vusi Mahlasela – Weeping.)

Chapter 1.

Sam's eyes were focused on the man before him, averted his brother's as he spoke.

"I couldn't imagine anything worse."

He knew the look in Sam's eyes, though, without having to look at him. He turned away from him and stared at the road that stretched endlessly ahead as Sam sat next to him, long legs cramped up, his body too tall and lanky for the passengerseat.

"We have the colt now. We can summon the crossroadsdemon."

Those familiar brown eyes held that familiar pained look as he let out some of the anger Dean knew he was feeling.

"And if we don't mess with it, you die!"

He turned to focus on the road again but it had disappeared and in its place were trees and bushes, the Impala, his only home, right next to him, his little brother, his sole purpose, in front of him.

"Did you sell your soul for me, like dad did for you?"

With a scream that was, right then, on the verge of breaking into a sob, Dean sat up in bed. One arm halfway out into the open space, the other clenched tightly around his stomach. The greying old shirt that he had long ago deemed fit for sleepwear was moist with the sweat that also beaded on his forehead. He took a frustrated breath and threw his legs over the side of the bed. He made his way to the bathroom, trying to be as quiet as possible and leaned heavily on the sink with one arm as he splashed his face with water.

What the fuck was going on? This was the fourth night this week that he'd woken up midnightmare, Sam's face haunting him as he forced himself to calm down. Where did these dreams come from? He hadn't lied to Sam back in Nebraska. He was fine. he felt good. For the first time in a very long time, everything was fine. He had one year left and he fully intended to make the most of it. Kick a little ass, raise a little hell. So why the fuck was he having these nightmares?

He silently found his way back to his bed, still careful not to wake Sam. seeing his brother asleep was one the only good thing about this crappy night. His brother had been quite the insomniac ever since he'd joined him on the road and that hadn't exactly improved over the past years. Now, with Dean's deal so fresh and painful on his mind, he probably wasn't getting a wink of sleep at all. He was awake during the day and though whenever Dean had woken up, he had appeared to be asleep, Sam was starting to look worse and worse with each passing day. Dean straightened his covers and laid back down. He needed some sleep, dammit. How was he supposed to kick ass and raise hell on those demonbitches they'd let out if he was waking up from freaking nightmares every night?

He looked over at his little brother again. Sam lay with his face turned away from him, his chest rising and falling slowly with each breath. He really did seem to be asleep. But Sam was known for pretending to be asleep when he wasn't. He did it when he was mad at Dean and felt the need to ignore him, he did it when he was tired of Dean's endless babbling sometimes, he did it when he wasn't ready to share what was bothering him and, most of all, he did it whenever he was tired of hurt and didn't want Dean to worry.

"Sammy?"

There was no answer and Sam's breathing didn't change. Maybe he really was asleep. Dean certainly hoped so. He knew Sam was already on his last straw and the last thing he wanted was his brother to fall to the floor in the middle of the night for lack of sleep. Sam had had enough on his plate in the last couple of years. He didn't need any crap right now. Or, you know, any more than they already had.

Dean had to admit that things weren't going as smoothly as he had hoped when they had driven away from Wyoming and the damn door to hell. He'd sat in the passengerseat of the car that night as they drove towards Bobby's place, feeling better, more satisfied, than he'd done in years. The demon was dead, his father was out of hell, his brother was alive. Life was good. Short, but good. He'd thought Sam would need a bit of time to come to terms with the situation but he'd figured his little brother would learn to accept the situation. He didn't expect him to just give up on him and let him die, no problem, Sam was his brother after all and he had said he would save him, no matter what. But he hadn't actually believed that Sam would take that last part so literally. The kid wouldn't stop. Wouldn't give up. He was on that laptop every moment he could, on the phone with shit-knows-who the other time. He'd thought that Sam would eventually see that there was no solution and that accepting the way things were, was the best option.

Now, they were almost 3 months into the year and, if anything, Sam had gotten more determined. He wasn't accepting the situation, he wasn't coming to terms, he was slowly, but surely, getting obsessed.

Dean had seen up close and too personal what obsession could to a man, to his loved ones and he knew he needed to find a way to get his little brother to see that there was nothing he could do. Nothing he would have to do. That it was okay and that he was gonna be fine. Sam was stronger than him, always had been. He'd be fine.


Sam listened to his brother and knew that Dean was looking at him. He could feel it, always had. How many times had he listened to Dean pad in and out of bed and to and from his bed? How many times had he watched Dean look down at him through slidded eyes, wondering what the melancholic look in his big brother's eyes meant?

He heard Dean say his name and kept his body as still as possible, his breathing as even as he could. He didn't want his brother to know he was awake. He knew how Dean would react to that. He would get frustrated and sigh and try to reassure Sam and get him calm and make everything alright and then he'd promise that nothing bad would happen and that he was fine and that Sam should be fine and no matter what Sam would say in reaction, no matter how much he objected to Dean's every word, he wouldn't listen. He wouldn't listen because he really believed in what he'd tell Sam. He really believed that everything would be fine. But they weren't. Things were so far from fine that Sam couldn't even fully comprehend it. his brother was gonna die in 9 months. Ever since that talk in Nebraska, when Dean had told him that he didn't want to be saved, that he, in fact, would stop Sam himself, he'd taken up the habit of watching his brother sleep. He didn't know why exactly, but since he certainly wasn't able to get to sleep himself he watched his brother in- and exhale and let the hours pass. Hours in which Dean was still alive, was stil breathing. Hours that he would never get back. Hours filled with thoughts, feelings and memories of present and past, of doom and joy, all with only one thing in common: Dean.

He listened carefully and heard his brother sink back into sleep and slowly turned towards the other bed. He had been watching his brother from an uncomfortable seat on one of the chairs by the single window when the nightmare attacked. He watched his brother's brow furrow and his muscles tense. He had leaned forward on his seat and paid close attention to whatever his brother was going through. Having had his fair share of nightmares, he recognized one when he saw it and he knew that if his brother was gonna wake up from this, it wouldn't do any good to have him find Sam on one of the chairs instead of in his bed. He had gone back to bed but kept a watchful eye as Dean started to thrash and mumble and though he couldn't figure out what words escaped his brother's lips, he knew his name to probably be one of them.

He kept still even as his eyes were trained on his brother's face. The furrowed brow hadn't disappeared but at least he wasn't thrashing around anymore. He'd take what he could get.

The morning that followed had the youngest of the brothers behind the laptop as soon as the moon had abandoned position and the older in the shower around the same time. There was no sleeping in, not even at a time like this. Especially not at a time like this.

Sam bit back an angry groan as his internetconnection was once again severed and Dean looked up from his search in his duffelbag. He had just gotten out of the shower and his search for a clean shirt forced him to the conclusion that they needed to do laundry. Bad.

He was about to tell his brother that when that brother made a noise that sounded like irritation and looked up.

"What? You get that Bill Clinton thing again while trying to download your emo-crap music?"

Sam barely glanced at his brother as he tried to connect himself to the web again.

"Yes, Dean. That's exactly what happened. I'm downloading music at 7 in the morning."

Dean pulled up an eyebrow at the impatient tone. It was barely seven in the morning. He was starting already?

"Okaaayyy...Mr Brightside. Whatever. We need to do some laundry, man. Even my dirty clean shirts are starting to talk."

"Fine."

Dean stopped looking for a shirt and raised an eyebrow at sam, irritation clearly written on his face.

"You gonna be like this all day? I'm just asking, you know. Just wanna know what I'm looking forward to."

Sam knew he wasn't being fair. Yeah, he was mad and scared and upset but that didn't mean he had to act like an ass all day. He had decided not to confront his brother about his nightmares yet, so he needed to act as normal as possible. Whatever 'normal' meant these days. He sighed and tried something he hoped looked like a smile, at least from where Dean was standing.

"No. I'm...just tired. I'm fine. Let's go."


The resolution not to talk to Dean didn't last as long as he'd intended. It was a couple of nights after that last one and other than a stupid poltergeist out in the backwhere of neverland, Missouri, they hadn't done much. He had, however, been witness to a couple more exciting rounds of Dean's nightmares. Every night since that last one had him sitting in a chair by the window, watching Dean writhe and twist and grimace until he was about to wake up, which was when Sam would hurry back into his bed and pretend to be asleep as he listened to his brother go to the bathroom, splash his face with water and come paddling back to bed, only to lie awake. Every night Sam could feel Dean's gaze boring into his back and every night he thought about turning around and ask what the hell was going on, but he never did. He knew Dean would realize he'd been awake for them all and he'd pull back and he wouldn't sleep at all anymore and that was a risk he couldn' t take.

He understood his brother's fear of losing him, he did. He did understand why Dean had made that deal. He may not like it, he may not want it, but that didn't mean he didn't get it. He knew Dean's sense of selfworth wasn't as strong as his own, he knew Dean thought he had failed his family when Sam died, so he knew why he had gone to see that demon. However, when Dean had told him to listen to that good docter's advice,to let him go, it had taken all his strength, all his resolve, not to squarely punch his brother in the face. Not to lash out in irrefutable, inexplicable anger. Dean didn't have the right to ask that of him. He hadn't let Sam go either. How could he expect Sam to just stand back and watch him being dragged of to hell? How could his big brother expect him to simply accept this deal, to make peace with the fact that his big brother was dying, was gonna lose his soul? For him?

He hadn't thought it'd ever come to this. He'd never thought he'd ever be so content and at the same time so incredibly uncomfortable around his brother. Everytime he looked to the side and saw Sam sitting in the passengerseat of the Impala, legs cramped up, staring out of the window, caught up in dark texts or even darker thoughts, he felt the relief he'd felt upon seeing him alive again settle over him again, soothing the frayed edges of his nerves. Every night he woke up gasping, escaping a world of hurt and guilt, and looked at the bed next to his to see his little brother asleep, he felt the fear and guilt slowly ease back into the corners of his mind. Yet, at the same time, he had never been more reluctant to be around Sam, had never been so uncomfortable around him. With every comment Sam made about saving him, about losing him, he was getting more and more anxious. Both to be away from, and to be near him. He was almost, almost starting to feel guilty for what he'd done, for making that deal. He'd thought he was done. He didn't want to die, really, and he didn't want to leave his brother, but he was done and, truth was, part of him felt relieved. Relieved to be rid of the pressure, relieved to be able to rest. Okay, so the rest was up for debate, with him going to hell and all that, but he didn't have to do this anymore. He was done. Sam was alive, he was gonna live the life he wanted to live and he was gonna have kids and grow old and Dean would never have to live without him. Everything was as it should be. So why was this feeling, this feeling that was almost like guilt, creeping over him evertime Sam looked at him? Why was he waking up in the middle of the night with Sam's face front and centre in his mind and his voice ringing in his ears. With everything he'd tried and done for his family, to keep them safe, alive, together, making that deal was the easiest thing he'd ever done. Now, he had to face the fact that in keeping the promise to his dad, he'd broken the one to his brother.


The door to the motelroom swung open and hit the wall, only to bounce back and slam into Dean, who was carrying several bags of clean laundry and a bag of food. A string of curses escaped his lips and he dropped the bags on his bed to look back at the door, that Sam had just closed with an exasperated look on his face.

"It's hardly the door's fault, Dean. You're just graceless."

Althought the words lacked the complete playfullness their banter usually held, there was a smile behind them and Dean turned back to the bed to unpack with a smile of his own. Still half-pouting, he retorted, desperate to continue this thread of conversation, before he spoke to Sam about what he knew had to be adressed.

"Dude, what are you talking about? I'm made of grace and elegance."

He heard his younger brother snort.

"Yeah. You really are."

Glad to see his brother willing to play along, he shot back a final time.

"And don't you forget it. You should pay attention, Sammy. Observe and take notes. You could learn a thing or two. Somebody's gotta pass on the immortal Winchestergene and since I'm checking out early..."

He unpacked the final bag, by unceremoniously dumping the contents on the bed and grabbed a candybar. Looking towards his brother again, who was still busy folding his laundry and putting it back into his duffel, he realised Sam was no longer smiling. That last comment making him aware, once again, of what his future held. Or didn't hold.

Gathering courage for the talk he knew he had to have with his persistent little brother, he took a swig from the beer he had just grabbed and took a breath.

"You gonna go back to school?"

"What?"

"I was wondering, you know, whether or not you're gonna go back to school once I'm gone. I think you should."

"Dean."

"Yeah, you should..." Dean pondered, as if he hadn't even heard his brother's protest, "Maybe not Stanford, but..."

"Dean! What are you doing?"

"Sam. Look, I'm not anymore happy than you are about it, but we need to have this conversation. Clearly, you're not accepting the situation the way I'd hoped and I think that, you know, we need to have a few things straight before I sign off."

"Dean. I'm not having this conversation."

"Sam..."

"No. You wanna go "gently into that good night", fine, but I'm not helping you."

"Sammy, listen to me. We need to have this talk, okay? I need to have this talk. I need to know you'll be okay. That you'll go back to school and have kids and that you won't mess up my car."

"That's not funny."

"Oh, come on. It's a little funny."

"No, actually, it's not. And I'm not doing this. I said I'd save you, and that's what I'm gonna do. I'm not gonna sit here and discuss funeralarrangements. Not with you."

"Sammy."

He straightened, squared his shoulders and made his way over to where Sam was now sitting down, a dejected and sorrowful look on his face. Why did he have such a sensitive brother? The tears that were currently glazing Sam's eyes were always enough to make him want to cry. He stepped closer to the bed and pulled Sam's head against his stomach, one hand resting on his shoulder, the other at the back of his neck.

"Sam, you'll be okay."

He felt the younger shake his head. He smiled then, almost. A small, melancholy smile. How many times had he stood like this? When Sammy had begun to lose the babyfat and had started to hit puberty and they'd been too old and way too tough for real hugs.

"No, really. You're stronger than me, you know it. You always were. You'll be fine."

He felt Sam stiffen and give a dejected sigh, before pulling his head back slowly.

"If you really believe that, you don't know me as well as I thought you did."

Dean tightened his hold a bit and pulled one of his hands up to his little brothers head, letting it rest on top of Sam's hand, his hand almost fisted in the thick hair, but before he could say another word, Sam pulled back completely, dropping his hand onto the bed as he got up and moved towards the back of the room.

"Sam."

"No."

He watched Sam pull the motelroomdoor open and take a step outside but not the distance nor the wind could stop him hearing Sam's last words before he closed the door behind him.

"If I'm gonna have to do it alone, I might as well start now."


He sits on the bed and waits for his brother to return from wherever the hell he's run off to and he thinks that when he finally does, there's gonna be some asskicking and a lot of cursing and maybe a little plea at the end to just please, finally, just for a while let things rest a bit. For a split second, he'd thought about going after Sam but he'd pretty much immediately banned that thought because running after his little brother with no idea what to say was not the smartest thing to do when the reason that little brother took off is you. So he sits on the bed, resting against the headboard, staring at the television, which is muted because it's showing reruns of Ally Mcbeal and he really can't handle that on top of everything else.

When Sam finally does enter the room again, it's past dark and Dean's starving and he thinks about yelling at his brother about that but then he sees the bag that Sam's carrying and then suddenly a burger and fries make their way to his bed and he's both happy to see some food and angry because now he can't yell about being hungry, which means he really can't yell at all and now he's gonna come off as a pathetic ass, demanding to know where his little brother went, because not asking is not an option. Before any words make it out of his mind, though, Sam opens his.

"I went after it. The crossroadsdemon."

And it's not like Dean's surprised. He had already noticed the missing bullet and it wasn't hard to add the numbers. Asking Sam about it though, would have meant hearing him admit it and that would have meant getting scared and angry and terrified and furious again and he was tired of all that. Sam's not leaving him much of a choice, though.

So he sits up a bit more, throws his legs over the side, feet firmly touching the floor, ready to jump up and bounce.

"Why?"

"Why? You're really asking me that? Why?"

"Yeah, Sam. Why. Because I thought I was clear on the matter."

"Yeah, well..."

"Sam, what the hell were you thinking?

"I was thinking about a way to get my brother out of the stupidass deal he made, actually."

"Yeah? You know the rules, Sam. I explained them to you. What if you had died, huh? What if you had died?!"

"Then everything would have been as it should be, wouldn't it?"

Dean's on his feet before Sam full and well realises it and within mere seconds he feels his back slam into the wall behind him, his head hitting the cement with jarring impact.

His brother is only inches away from him, practically growling, seething with anger. Underneath it though, is the fear he's been hiding. When he talks, it's through clenched teeth and Sam knows then that he's seconds away from ending up with a broken nose. Or a broken brother. He knows exactly which one he preferres.

"I didn't make this deal just to lose you all over again, Sam. I made it so that you could live."

"Yeah, and I did it so that you could live."

Dean shakes his head then.

"You don't understand, Sam. We mess with this deal, you die! Did you not hear me the first time around?"

"Yes, Dean. I heard you. Problem is, you're not hearing me. I am not going to let you die. You want me to let you go? How can I do that, Dean? How can I just let you give up your soul for me?"

Sam's voice is again where it has been so many times lately, on the edge of breaking into nothingness and there is nothing Dean can say to make it go away. Not this time.

"It's a done deal, Sam. It's already done. You're gonna have to let me go, dude."

"My death was a done deal too, Dean. Why didn't you let me go?"

Dean knows he's running out of time. Not the days running away into the night, towards his faith of pain and fire, but the days he needs to make Sam see, to make him stop.

"Because I couldn't do it. I can't live without you, Sammy. It would have killed me just the same. At least this way one of us gets to live."

"And you think I can live without you? Is that it? You think I can watch you die, go back to school, live my life?"

There's an edge to Sam's voice now. One that reveals emotions beyond pain, anger and sadness. There is desperation there and Dean knows what that leads to, it's what drove him to those crossroads. What drove both of them there.

"I know you can."

"Dean, man. How can you..."

"You did it before." At Sam's disbelieving look, he hurries to add: "I don't mean it like that. I'm not making accusations. I'm just saying you can do it. Sure, it'll hurt, you'll go through a rough patch, but you'll be okay."

"A rough patch? Are you serious?"

"You know what I mean, Sam! You lived without me once, you'll do it again." A beat of silence, then: "You'll have to."

Sam only stares at him for a second longer, his gaze guarded and painfully open at the same time, before tearing his eyes away from his brother to look at the floor. He swallows heavily, blinks furiously and then directs his gaze towards Dean once more. This time, determination is the only emotion visible in his brown eyes.

"No, I won't."


The next few days found the brothers as tense and silent as they had ever been. Though neither of them was really angry with each other, neither of them could find the courage to start speaking, to crack that first bad joke. There was nothing funny left to say. They had used it all.

A little emotional crap never stopped them from doing their job, however and they had just finished a hunt of the simplest kind. The spirit of a woman that had fallen down the stairs and broken her neck on her weddingday had been haunting the house and terrorising the newlyweds that had just moved in. A simple salt 'n burn had done the trick and now the brothers were on their way back to the hotel, longing for a shower and a good night's sleep.

Dean looked terrible. Dark circles under his eyes stood out almost radiantly against pale skin and his eyes, such a bright green by origin, had turned almost black. He looked absolutely and completely worn out. Sam didn't now at that moment how his brother was keeping the car moving and he made a vow to himself that he was gonna get his brother cleaned up and taken care of the moment they got back to the motel. Maybe he could try to get him to take some sleeping pills, some muscle relaxers. Dean's nightmares hadn't stopped, had, in fact, gotten even worse and Sam didn't think that his brother was getting more than maybe 2 or 3 hours of sleep a night. This wasn't working. The rate they were going, neither of them would last a year.

Standing in the doorway of their motelroom, Sam stared at his brothers sleeping form, hoping against all odds that the heavy painkillers he'd slipped his brother would do their job and let him sleep through the night. He knew what he was doing was wrong in every single way. It went against every feeling of love and loyalty he had for his brother but he knew he had no choice. He told himself he wouldn't be gone long, maybe Dean wouldn't even notice and eventually, hopefully, he'd understand, and even if he didn't, if it worked, that wouldn't matter. Dean could stay mad at him forever, as long as he was alive to be mad at him.

Louisiana had never left his mind. The moment Tamara had mentioned that there was a woman there who might be able to help, he knew he was going. Not just that he had to go, but that he would be going. The only question had been when. And how. He'd tried to tell Dean about it but he hadn't budged. Had, instead, told Sam to drop it. To let it go.

"We're not going and that's that."

So, Sam was gonna have to go alone, then. He'd called Bobby to let him know where he was going and although the older man had grunted a protest that sounded like "Your brother ain't gonna be pleased, Sam." He hadn't done much to talk Sam out of it and Sam knew exactly why that was. Bobby wanted Dean out of his deal as much as Sam did, (although maybe not exactly as much as Sam did because nobody wanted his brother out of that deal as much as Sam did) and the younger hunter knew that Bobby understood his decision.

He gave his brother a long, hard look, and flinched when he saw Dean's brow furrow. He wasn't gonna be here for the nightmares tonight and he could only hope Dean wouldn't wake up to find Sam gone. He took a deep breath, hoisted his duffel over his shoulder and stepped outside. He didn't look back but as he walked over to the car that he was about to "borrow", he sent a quick prayer up to whatever power was listening. A prayer asking to let his brother sleep through the night, to make the nightmares stop, to let him return to his brother and, above all, to not let this be another letdown, to let him find the cure.


So, what's your favourite colour? What's your favourite food?

Tell me all about you...and then tell what you thought of the story so far while you're at it. Your opinion matters.