Here ya go! :) Sorry I was gone for a few days; family stuff. Anyway, hope ya'll are still out there! I can't wait to hear from you! Thanks again! :)

Disclaimer: Forgot one before, so....yeah most of Dean and Bobby's dialougue and such from that part is, of course, from "All Hell Breaks Loose Part 2" and some of the stuff from the last chapter was from Part 1, and oh yeah the stuff at the very beginning of the story in the first chapter is from "The Monster at the End of This Book" and then there's the fact that the characters aren't mins, bla bla bla. Just having fun in here. LOL

Chapter 4

Sam's eyes snapped open, and his head jerked to the left to see Dean standing stock still in the doorway to the other room, staring down at him as if seeing a ghost—which, apparently, he was…thank god.

"Dean?" he whispered. "You…you can see me? You can hear me?"

Dean's heard jerked down just a little, it what must have been meant as a nod. "W-wh…"

Sam clambered to his feet, scrubbing at his eyes. "I-it's okay. It's okay. It's me…really."

"But you—you're…" He glanced back through the door to where Sam's body lay. "But spirits always manifest in the clothes they died in," he protested weakly. "You're not real. I'm just—I'm losing it." He paced away from the door, clamping his hands to the sides of his head. "God, I'm finally losing it."

"No, Dean. No, you're not crazy. I am a spirit, a ghost, whatever, but that's just…just because it was the only way to get here."

Dean turned to look at him again, but he was backing up slowly. "Get here from where?" He was backing toward his bag on the table—the one with the guns.

"Dean, take it easy! Let me explain."

"Explain what?" he asked shakily. "What's there to explain? You're dead."

Sam heaved a sigh. "I know. I am now, but…you did something. I'm from…" I'm from the future. Oh yeah, brilliant way to put it. He refused to go there. "This was almost two years ago for me," he said instead.

Dean stared at him. "What?"

"Think about it. I'm not wearing the same clothes. Look at my hair; it's a little different too. How else could you explain that?"

"Like I said: I'm losing it." He glanced through the nearby open door again. "No surprise there," he muttered miserably.

Sam took a step forward, and Dean took another step back. He sighed. "You're not losing it," he repeated.

"Uh huh." Dean grabbed an untouched water bottle from the table and threw it at him. It went right through his chest. "See? You're not there."

He crossed the room before his brother could react, and swiped an immaterial hand through Dean's head. "Not physically, no." Then he purposefully bumped the table, and caught the sawed-off rifle that fell from it—careful to only touch the end, far enough from where the rock-salt shells rested inside, just in case. "But I can still do that." He tossed the gun to his brother, who had jumped away.

Dean caught the gun and stared at it. "Holy—" He looked up again, wide-eyed.

"Could a figment of your imagination do that?"

"You're real…"

Sam nodded once. "Yeah."

He blinked a few times and looked away for a long moment. Sam waited patiently, and when Dean looked up once more his eyes were damp. "Sammy…"

"Yeah," he swallowed.

Dean looked like he would drop the rifle, but he made it back to the table and set it down, staring up at his brother. When he was close enough, Sam reached out tentatively…and rested a hand on his brother's shoulder.

Dean reacted to the unexpected touch immediately, quickly pulling Sam into a fierce embrace that he barely managed to keep himself solid enough to hold.

"Sammy! Oh god, Sam…" Dean choked.

Sam heard himself sob, and for a moment the physical contact was strong and solid and warm—before he lost it.

Dean tripped through him and came out behind, and they both spun in surprise to stare at each other. Uncomfortable silence fell at first.

"Sorry," Sam winced. "I'm still working on…that whole thing. For a while I wasn't even sure I'd ever get you to see me…"

"R-right," Dean stammered. "Right." He glanced toward the door again; the one that led to the bedroom where Sam's body lay. "So…how are you here, anyway? I don't understand how you can—if you're…not that Sam…"

"I can't explain that…"

"Why then? Why are you here?"

Sam grimaced again and dropped his head uneasily. He felt his throat clogging again and saw his vision blurring with unshed tears. A moment ago he'd held his brother again. Now…

Now he had to give him up.

"Sam?" a desperate voice questioned. "Why?"

He lifted his head with difficulty, swallowing hard more than once before he could force the words from his throat. There was no delaying this.

"Dean…you have to let me go."

"What? What are you talking about? I thought you said you were, you know, from the future or something. God, that sounds stupid…"

"It's the truth; that's why you have to trust me."

Dean looked at him strangely. "But if you're from the future, then—"

"Dean, that's the problem. I…I can't have a future—not on Earth," he sighed quietly.

"Why the hell not!" Dean shook his head furiously. "Sam, if either of us deserves a damn future, it's you. I…listen, I-I have an idea, I think. You're gonna be fine—"

Sam glared, felt the old anger flare up. "Yeah, because you're going to make a deal with a crossroads demon. You'll to sell your soul."

Dean stopped, scowled. "How did you…?"

"Future, Dean," he answered, stabbing a finger into his own chest. "I was there, remember? I'm the one who had to watch you die!"

Now Dean only looked confused. "But…the deals are all ten years."

Sam shook his head now. "Not yours. We've caused too much trouble already, even by this time, here. She probably didn't want to give you anything. You only got a year in my future."

Dean seemed a little taken aback by that, but after a moment his expression hardened. "Well…it's my soul. That's better than nothing. If it brings you back, why shouldn't I do it?"

Sam stared at him incredulously. "Why? Why? You go to hell!"

"What if I don't care! Hell, dad's already there; at least I'll have company."

"You'll care once you're there. You'll care once you figure out you are alone down there."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"I can't tell you." He wanted to. He wanted to tell Dean that Dad was safe—or would be. But would that be giving away too much?

Dean snorted. "Oh really? You know, maybe I am just going crazy. A figment of my imagination wouldn't know any more than I do, and you sure don't seem to know a hell of a lot!"

"Well excuse me for sounding like the geek here, but there is a time-space continuum to consider."

"Oh my god I can not believe you just went there right now…" Dean spun away, running a hand through his hair.

Sam let out a breath. "Dean…" He trailed off at the sound of a vehicle outside. "Bobby's back."

"Thanks; I'm not deaf."

"I'll be back."

"What?"

Then Dean was looking around, searching for the brother that had been standing in front of him seconds before.

Sam was still there, right where he'd been, really. He'd only made himself invisible again. He headed for the back of the room when he saw Bobby making his way toward the house.

Bobby swung in the door a moment later, carrying a bucket of chicken. "Dean?" he stopped suddenly and blinked, obviously not expecting to see Dean in the front room. "Oh. Hey." He held up the chicken. "I brought you this back."

"No thanks; I'm fine," Dean answered, still looking a little bewildered.

"You should eat something," Bobby said, setting the bucket on the table.

"I said I'm fine," Dean insisted evasively. He stepped back into the other room for a moment, and stared sullenly for a moment at Sam's body before picking up the beer he'd left by his chair. Both Sam and Bobby watched him take a deep swig as he paced back into the front room, and Sam grimaced involuntarily when Bobby spoke next.

"Dean…I hate to bring this up. I really do. But don't you think maybe it's time…we bury Sam?" He didn't look any happier about it than Dean did when he looked up at the older man.

"No," Dean practically growled. He sat down at the table slowly, and glanced around again. Sam knew what—who—he was looking for, but he wasn't going to find it. It was risky enough revealing himself to one person from the past…trying to change things like this. He couldn't let Bobby see him as well.

Though that hurt, too.

Bobby shrugged miserably. "Well we could…maybe…"

"What?" Dean asked. "Torch his corpse?" He looked around one more time. "Not yet." Still, he finally seemed convinced that Sam wasn't going to appear, and slumped forward over the edge of the table.

Bobby sighed and rested his hands on the rough surface between them, looking into Dean's hard eyes. "I want you to come with me."

"I'm not goin' anywhere."

"Dean, please—"

Dean winced a little. "Would you cut me some slack?"

"I just don't think you should be alone, that's all."

Sam flinched, realizing it was all too obvious that Bobby was afraid Dean might…off himself. In the end…that was really what he'd done.

That was why he was here to stop it.

Bobby straightened. "I gotta admit I could use your help."

Dean huffed.

"Something big is goin' down—end of the world big."

"Well then let it end!" Dean shouted back. Sam cringed and choked back a sob. Oh god, who was he kidding? How could he do this? How could he leave Dean alone?

"You don't mean that," Bobby said, stunned.

Dean stood up so quickly the chair he'd been in was knocked on it's back. "You don't think so? Huh? You don't think I've given enough? You don't think I've paid enough?" he asked, nodding to the open door. His eyes wandered for a moment, as if wondering if Sam could hear him.

Sam heard him, and had to clamp a hand over his mouth and back against the wall to keep from losing it. Somehow he was sure that if he did, he would become visible again whether he wanted to or not. Somehow he knew emotion had something to do with it. He bent over his knees, his chest aching for holding back the sobs.

"I'm done with it," Dean said finally. "All of it. If you know what's good for ya you'll turn around and get the hell outta here."

Bobby stared at his brother for a moment, eyes wet. When he didn't move Dean shoved him once. "Go!" Bobby stumbled back but never took his eyes from Dean. Sam had looked up when he heard the shout, and as he blinked back tears and wrapped his arms tightly around himself, he watched them stare at each other until Dean looked away.

"M sorry…I'm sorry. Please just go…"

Dean turned away and leaned on the back of one of the chairs. It took a moment, but Bobby finally turned for the door.

"You know where I'll be," he muttered.

Sam felt himself switching again, felt his emotions dragging him into the visible realm—knew it because he wanted to fix this. He barely held onto the invisibility until Bobby was out the door and driving away, and then suddenly he knew he could be seen. He didn't need Dean to turn around and confirm it this time. He knew.

He stayed where he was, against the back wall, still half bent over but successful in holding back the tears. "Dean, what the hell was that?" he croaked.

Dean only looked up from where he leaned on the chair long enough to register that Sam was there, and he didn't seem surprised to see him this time. "It was the truth."

"It can't be. You can't just give up…"

"If you're dead, why the hell should the world matter to me?"

"Dean—"

"No, Sam; hear me out." He shoved the chair away and faced him, hands balled into fists. "Ever since the fire I have had one job, Sam. One. I'm supposed to take care of you. I screwed that up, and you want me to just be okay with that? You want me to just let you go?" he spat.

Sam swallowed. "You have to."

"Why? Why do I have to?"

"The deal, it…it screwed a lot of things up—things that happened because of it."

"I don't guess you can tell me any more about that either, huh?"

"No. God, trust me when I tell you that you don't want me to explain. Please. Please understand…"

Dean's eyes filled again, and for a moment Sam thought he might listen. Then he shook his head slowly. "No, Sammy. This is my mess. I have to fix it."

"Dean…?"

"I'm sorry." Before he could react, Dean had the gun again.

"Wait—!" Sam heard the sound of the shot as he pushed off from the wall, felt the searing pain as the rock salt tore through him.

Then there was nothing.