CHAPTER TWO

Bobby got an up close and personal view of what Dean meant once Dean was up and around a few days later.

Sam had begun to retreat out to the yard, and poke about under a few hoods. Inevitably, he would return in a bad mood, frustrated at the world.

After the third or fourth day of this, Dean watched Sam slam into the house and retreat to their bedroom, slamming the door with so much force it made Dean wince. He sat there, frowning uncertainly for a moment, then got up from the table and made his way – not to the bedroom, but outside.

Bobby followed, and found Dean walked over to one of the cars Sam had been poking at. He studied it for a long few moments, then nodded. "I got it." He pulled off the red plaid shirt and set it aside, bending over the engine and working the kind of magic only Dean Winchester could work on a car.

Bobby smiled proudly to see it happen.

Sam came bombing out onto the porch then. "Bobby? Have you seen Sam? I was -" He froze, staring as Dean slowly straightened from the engine and turned to look at him.

Sam went ash-pale. His jaw lowered and he staggered back like he'd been punched. Both hands went to his forehead and he groaned in agony.

"Sam!" Bobby yelled at the same time Dean bellowed, "Dean!" and ran toward him.

Together, they got Sam sitting on the porch, and his hands away from his face. His eyes were huge and fixed on a point in the distance, and his hands were clenching with pain.

Dean pressed his forehead to Sam's temple and talked to him, low and soft, into his ear. Bobby could hear him whisper, "C'mon, that's it. You're okay. I promise you, you're okay. Snap out of it, okay? Just-Just-Just snap out of it. Come back to me. Please." He carded his hand through the dark brown spikes and whispered, "I miss you. G-d, I miss you."

Bobby watched the hazel eyes slowly blink. Slowly lighten with life. He sent up his own silent prayer as Dean kept up the litany.

Slowly, one of the large hands came up. Took hold of Dean's wrist. The head turned until forehead touched forehead. "You back with me?" Dean asked.

"Y-Yeah," Sam said, slowly pulling away. "What the hell was that?"

"Hurt like a vision headache, huh?" Dean asked, a note of hope in his voice and shining in his eyes.

"Yeah, you'd know all about those, huh, Sammy?" Sam asked with a smile, curling a hand around the back of his neck for a moment before standing shakily up. "Shit, I need a drink..."

He wove his way inside and Dean's fists pounded against his thighs. "Dammit!" he roared through his clenched teeth.

And Bobby agreed whole-heartedly.

It was the hardest thing he'd had to do in years to stand back and watch the Impala drive away a week later.

With Sam at the wheel and Dean leaning out the shotgun side – in a grey army-issue jacket, with his long hair blowing into his horrified, saddened eyes as he waved an affectionate good-bye.

SPN WTH SPN WTH SPN

Dean was coming out of the shower two weeks later when it hit him and caused him to stumble.

It was the 30th of April.

Dean only had a day and a night before his deal was due.

He wrapped a towel around his waist and used another on his dripping shaggy hair as he tried to calm his whirling thoughts. What was he going to do? What about Sammy, how was he going to make it-

He stopped and sighed. Of course Sammy would make it. Sammy thought he was Dean, after all. And Dean was a survivor.

Wasn't that why Sam had created the Dean persona in the first place? To survive something he saw as unsurvivable?

As a way to survive living without Dean...

Dean froze. He stared at his own eyes in the mirror as it hit him.

Sammy was the way he was... because he couldn't live without Dean any more than Dean could live without him.

"...oh, we are so screwed," he breathed, shaking his head slowly and watching the dripping bangs rearrange themselves into a semblance of order.

"Hey, Sammy, you say somethin'?" Sam called.

Dean padded out of the bathroom, clutching the towel about his hips. "It's April 30."

Sam looked up at him, his face going frighteningly blank. "Yeah," he said in a soft voice. "Yeah – I know."

"What...what are we..."

"Well, first, you're gonna dry off..."

Dean glared at him and grabbed his clothes to the accompaniment of Sam's laughter.

SPN WTH SPN WTH SPN

"Don't you ever take anything seriously?" Dean asked, glaring out the windshield as Sam drove them down the road. "I mean, I—you're not gonna live out the week and you're actin' like it—"

"Look, Sammy," Sam interrupted. "I know it looks bad, but I have no regrets. At all. You're alive – that's all I care about. My little brother's alive and safe and here." One leather-clad shoulder rose in a shrug. "I've done my job. You're safe."

Dean looked at him, eyes huge in horror and shock. Everything Sam had just said had been his own thoughts over the last year of waiting for hell.

Except one. Now, Dean had a huge regret.

Sam wasn't okay. And Dean was going to have to leave him here like this.

How was his confused little brother going to react when the hellhounds took himself instead of the person Sam thought they were going to take?

Dean leaned to the side and braced his elbow on the door, rubbing a suddenly aching head.

"Having a vision over there, Merlin?" Sam asked, a note of concern in his voice.

"Nah," Dean sighed back in return. "Tension and lack of caffeine."

Sam laughed. "One coffee run, comin' right up..."

SPN WTH SPN WTH SPN

The Impala pulled up at the crossroads and shut off. Sam's jaw worked for a moment as he glared out of the windshield, his hands white-knuckled around the wheel. Then he snarled out, "I can't believe I let you come."

"I don't recall you letting me do anything," Dean said as he got out of the car. "I recall you trying to drug me so I'd stay behind."

"I can't believe you didn't fall for that!" Sam growled as he got out as well. "How in the hell did you not fall for that?"

Because I know what I would have done. And that was it. Dean looked around. "She's late."

"We're early," Sam countered. "You in that big of a hurry to get rid of me?"

"No, I'm not. It just surprised me." Dean managed a shaky smile.

"No more surprised than I am," a sultry voice said and Dean and Sam turned to find a demon there. She was red-haired and wore the seemingly requisite black cocktail dress. "I'm surprised you brought your brother, Dean. I had thought this was between us."

They shivered as a howl through the night. Then Sam poke up. "I'm here, isn't that what you wanted?"

"No...I want your brother."

"The deal was with me!" Sam roared. "For his life!"

"The deal was with Dean," the demon shot back. "And you're Sam."

He groaned, staggering back.

"Stop it!" Dean roared. "Stop it, already! You're hurtin' him!" He grabbed Sam's arms and pulled him back to lean across the Impala. "Hey...hey, you okay?"

"My head," Sam groaned.

"I'm sorry, man," Dean said, sliding his hand through Sam's hair. "So sorry. If I had a choice..."

"No...she's takin' me..."

"Awww, this is so touching...but we're wasting time." She snapped her fingers. "Midnight, boys. Bring him."

There was a horrible growl and bark and they both sensed invisible dogs surge forward.

Then there came several pained whimpers and both brothers stared in surprise as the clawed footsteps retreated amid whimpers and whines.

The demon looked as surprised as they were. "What...What happened?" she gasped. "What did you do?"

"They didn't do anything," a cultured British voice said and a well-dressed older man appeared in the middle of the crossroads, facing the demon, his hands in his pockets. "You, however, have made a hell of a mess of it."

She hissed, her eyes clicking red. "Crowley."

Crowley turned around and scrutinised the stunned Winchester brothers. "My, my. Who would have thought that one case of insanity would bring this about?"

He turned back to the demon. "The deal you made with Dean Winchester was quite specific. And quite binding."

She nodded, confused.

"In return for his not trying to get out of the deal at all for the term of one year, you would let Sam Winchester live and take Dean Winchester's soul to Hell."

"Yes. That was the deal."

"And it has been kept – by all parties." Crowley tilted his head toward the brothers. "Dean Winchester did not try anything to get out of his deal. At all."

"And the year is up!" the demon snarled. "So why are my hellhounds acting like this?"

"Because the deal was that you can not harm Sam Winchester should Dean Winchester uphold his end. He has." Crowley gestured at them. "So you can not harm Sam Winchester."

"I know that..."

"But, see, what you're missing?" Crowley turned back to her, still pointing at the brothers. "Is that, due to a bout of supernaturally-induced insanity that neither of them asked for or expected - they are both Sam Winchester. One has the body. One has the spirit."

Her eyes went huge. "...and I am forbidden to harm Sam Winchester." Her fists clenched. "Dammit!"

"Good-bye, precious," Crowley sneered. "We shall discuss this below."

With a shriek born from Hell itself, the demon and hellhounds vanished.

Crowley turned to the Winchesters, who were staring dumbly at him. "Well, what are you still standing here for? You're free. Take off. Unless..." His eyebrow rose. "You wish to make a deal?"

Dean's mouth opened, ready to bargain for Sam's sanity, but Sam grabbed his arm. "Oh, no! No more deals! Not now, not ever!" He all but shoved Dean into the car and they drove off quickly, leaving Crowley standing, smirking, in a cloud of dust.

Crowley heaved a long sigh and then looked up. "Well?" he demanded. "Are you satisfied, now? Can I be about my business?"

Two figures shimmered into view. One of them would have immediately been recognised by the Winchesters as the Trickster. The other was taller and had dark curly hair. His hands were jammed into the pockets of an old trenchcoat.

The Trickster smiled at Crowley. "Nice to see you're a demon of your word."

"Yes, well, bad for business if I'm not," he snarled. "Am I free to go?"

"You are," the dark-haired one said and Crowley vanished. Then the dark-haired one turned to look at the Trickster. "When will you restore Sam Winchester's sanity?"

"That's up to him," the Trickster said. "I didn't take it away – he did that all on his own."