Hi folks!

Thanks for being this patient ;) I had a couple of rough days, so... sorry! But here we go with the last chapter.
And I tell you... one day there's probably a comeback here... well, go and see/read for yourself!

And thanks for all the feedback!! You guys rock!

The first time Sam came around was three hours later. He blinked confused, only remembering blurred images, words and emotions. His head hurt like a mother, trying to reach up he winced as his ribs and wrists were jostled with the movement. He flinched as suddenly a face appeared in his view, blinking rapidly to focus on the intruder… Dean.

His brother looked like dead and warmed up again, and somehow Sam couldn't suppress a mad chuckle, earning an raised eyebrow. "Going into hysterics again Sammy?" Dean asked, his eyes betraying the lightness of his voice. There was a dark gleam in his brothers green orbs. "Wht happnd?" Sam asked instead, turning serious. "They wanted to kill me…" he added. He watched Dean's reaction, and sure enough he could read his brother's thoughts. "Dean…" Sam's voice sounded already sleepy again. "I don't know yet." Dean said, while he pinched the bridge of his nose. "Go back to sleep." Dean told him, his gaze wandering off to the floor. Sam felt his eyes close and forced them open again, watching his brother, knowing that he hadn't said the truth. But he simply was too tired to fight right now. His gaze stopped at the small dark-red patch on Dean's shoulder, for a moment wondering whose blood it was, then he had drifted off to sleep again.

...

Dean was dead-tired. He had checked his brother over, already knowing that Sam had suffered at least a concussion. The cut on his forehead, was cleaned and held by butterfly-strips, as well as all the other little cuts that had been inflicted. He had ground his teeth in rage as he saw all the bruises on his brothers torso, luckily no ribs were broken. But still, Sam would have the hell of a time for the next couple of days.

He watched Sam sleeping for a while, still feeling that churning in his stomach, his anger not stilled completely.

This should have never happened. He should have known about the men. He was the one responsible for Sammy his whole life, and his Dad didn't mention one word about the people searching for his brother? Trying to kill him? Thinking of him as a demonic-child?

He saw Sam's eyelids flutter, Relief, excitement and dread suddenly replaced the anger and he stood, bending over his brother. He swallowed hard, as Sam flinched but relaxed a little as he almost immediately started to chuckle. Shaking his head slightly he asked: "Going into hysterics again Sammy?" hoping against hope that he wouldn't have to answer the question about what happened. But Sam wouldn't be Sam if he didn't ask. "Wht happnd?" He felt his mind rush to come up with an answer that would avoid the topic, for now at least. He didn't want to talk or think about what had happened, what COULD have happened. "They wanted to kill me…" he could hear Sam's slightly slurred voice breaking his line of thought. "Dean…" hearing the weariness, Dean pinched the bridge of his nose, his eyes suddenly very interested in his boots. "I don't know yet." He answered, knowing that Sam wouldn't be satisfied. "Go back to sleep." He felt Sam's eyes on him, feeling uncomfortable at the scrunity. As he dared to look up again Sam was fast asleep again.

Late afternoon…

He jerked, sitting up startled. He must have fallen asleep! Turning bleary eyes he saw the bed beside him empty. His breathing-rate started to increase. Sammy! He stopped his upward movement, as it caused the world to spin. Sitting down heavily he didn't hear the door to the bathroom open, only as someone sat on the bed opposite of him he glanced up.

"Hey…" Sam's voice was soft, his face pale, only the cuts, bruises and the skinned patches where the duct-tape had been were standing out in a harsh and colorful contrast. "How are you?" Dean asked already knowing the answer. He wasn't able to suppress a yawn. "I've been worse." Sam answered, touching his cut cautiously. "Sorry…" Dean said, shrugging his shoulder. "What for?" Sam wanted to know. "I… " he motioned to the bed he sat on. "I… I must have fallen asleep." Dean said helpless. Sam laughed quietly. "Dude, you look like one of the things we're hunting! Did you take time to look in the mirror?" Dean's face grew dark. "Had been too busy to help my little freak-brother to…" he stopped there, already sorry. "Yeah… about that… " Sam said, his eyes holding no grudge but gratitude. "I know it must have been a rough night. I… I… somehow it was weird." Sam stumbled over his own words. "I think I remember… no, I know I was in a church. It was a strange kind of déjà vu. Like this already happened… Dean?" Dean sat frozen, staring at his brother in disbelieve. He just couldn't remember, could he? He had been what? Three years old?

"Dean!" he snapped out of it, returning his brothers gaze. "It already happened once." He said. Sam stared at him. "Come again?" Sam used his phrase. "It happened. Twenty years ago. Dad never told me much about it, only that some nutcases broke into our house and took you. I never knew more…"

"How did you find me?" Sam asked, demanding. "They never bothered to tell me…" Dean mumbled. "What is that supposed to mean?" "Damn, Sam. Would you just stop pestering me?" he was tired now and didn't need Sam bitching about this. It wasn't his fault was it?

"You don't believe I stop asking now, do you?" Sam retorted, his voice into full-conflict-tone.

"Yeah, whatever!" Dean replied, grabbing the TV's remote-control, making clear that HE would stop talking now. "How did you… Dean?" Sam saw Dean staring at the newscast, showing the smoldering remains of a church and his own mouth dropped open.

"Did you…??" the question died on his lips as he saw Dean's eyes growing even bigger and listened to the reporter's last words… "… three were killed. The police is on the case already investigating the arson…" "Dean?" Dean tore his eyes away from the TV.

"I… there were four." He stuttered. "I… I had to shot at two… before they…" he stopped then exhaling deeply.
"Sam, I swear! I didn't know! I tried so hard to stop them… but I was only eight! Dad… he told me that everything had been taken care of, that no one could ever get you again… and… and…" Dean stopped looking down at his hands. "If I just had known… they never told me. Last night, one intruder was one of them! I swear! I would never forget eyes like this…"

Sam stared at Dean, feeling the pain of betrayal wavering over to him and his anger dissipated, his eyes softened. "What had happened if you had known? You think you could have stopped them?" he asked. Dean's head snapped upwards, looking at him fiercely. "Dad and Bobby! They lied to me. How am I supposed to keep you safe, when they lie about things like that…" And there it was. Sam would have snorted, if it wasn't one of the rare times Dean shared his feelings with him. "Dean. I'm not a small kid anymore." He tried to reason. He could see his brother calm down a little, his gaze falling to the floor again. "No you're not. But you are my brother!" Sam didn't say a word, just kept on looking at Dean's slumped shoulders. "You know… you are mine too." He eventually said. Dean looked up at his words, eyebrows raised in question. Sam motioned at him. "Let me have a look at that, okay?" Dean followed his outstretched arm, looking at his shoulder and then back at Sam, suddenly a small grin on his face. "Chick-flick much, huh?" he said, his voice weary. Sam returned the grin. "Whatever dude…"

SPNSPN

He sat in a bar, sipping at his beer. He had underestimated the Winchester's. Again. His knuckle turned white as he hold onto the bottle tightly in his rage. He could still feel the bullet-wound to his chest. They would pay for this. Next time he would make sure that the older one wouldn't interfere, stopping the ritual. His prey had been gone after he had woken. The priest he had seduced lay dead, killed by three bullets, the other two henchmen knocked unconscious nearby. He had stood, enraged by his failure and had killed the two unconscious men in his hate. Then he had lit the church, not holy anymore anyways… looking back a last time, he felt at least a small satisfaction as he saw the burning building. He would let them know that this wasn't over yet.

He would succeed with Pastor Elkins legacy. The Pastor had been more than his mentor. He had been his father, his birthgiver. The Pastor had called upon him to be able to see. Maybe the man's intention have been good ones to stop evil, Benjamin contemplated, but he had never known, that he had born a more vicious evil amongst his own.

He sneered, his eyes glowing in a red, angry fire. He had still a chance to kill the young one, claiming his blood and inheritance to become the Traitor, the Leader of the Army of Unholy. Getting up, he left a couple of Dollar-bills on the table and turned to leave.

He had work to do…

FINISHED... FOR NOW