Dead Man's Keeper

Author: Cheryl W.

Disclaimer: I do not own any characters or any rights to Person of Interest or Supernatural, nor am I making any profit from this story.

SNPOISNPOISNPOISN

Chapter 10

SNPOISNPOISNPOISN

Having successfully stitched up, not only his brother's back but Dean's temple wound too, Sam left the room to wash up. Dean, who had stubbornly insisted on sitting up against the headboard for the stitches to his head, now warily watched Reese as the other man took a seat in the room. Dean looked as if he felt an interrogation was about to start.

"Your brother doesn't seem like a bad guy. Makes me wonder why you left him behind and were avoiding his calls," Reese unmasked his curiosity, though he didn't think it would get him anywhere.

"Irreconcilable differences," Dean coolly offered.

SNPOISNPOISNPOISN

To say Finch was curious about Sam Winchester would have been an understatement. The man hardly looked the serial killer type and yet Finch had seen him shoot and kill a man right in front of him. Granted, the man was about to kill his brother, Dean and probably Harold right after that heinous act, but the fact still stood that Sam had taken a life, and hadn't shown one drop of remorse for it.

"Mr. Winchester, I was hoping we could talk," he called out as the man seemed intent on heading back to his brother. There was a momentary indecision in Winchester's demeanor as his eyes strayed to the bedroom but then he came and claimed a seat in the living room across from Finch.

Now that he had his audience in front of him, Harold felt a bit self-conscious, a bit intimidated. Cleared his throat to begin probing the man for information but, to his surprise, Sam leaned forward, leveled an intense gaze on him and fired off the first question, like he was the interrogator.

"What did that man say to Dean in the motel room?"

"Only what the other man had," Finch found himself answering, not sure if it was out of fear or in reaction to the fear he had witnessed earlier in the younger man's eyes when he saw his brother, bloody and on the ground.

"Right. So they all told the same story. Any of them give any details?" Sam quested.

"Only that they believed your brother had killed their two friends and they wanted retribution," Finch provided, was starting to understand that interrogator wasn't a new role for Winchester.

"They were friends of Harvey's?" Sam incredulously asked.

"Harvey? No, it was Walt and Roy…" Harold corrected, broke off as he suddenly knew by the surprised then deadly expression that transformed Sam's features that he had been played, had just given Sam information he had not had. That his brother and Mr. Reese had not told him, for reasons of their own.

With a vicious curse, Sam surged out of the chair, stalked for the bedroom. Harold took up pursuit, wasn't sure what he had inadvertently set into motion. But before Sam barreled into the bedroom, the tall brunette stumbled to a stop, was cut to the quick by his brother's quiet declaration from inside the room.

SNPOISNPOISNPOISN

Reese didn't know exactly how he had done it, but somehow he had gotten Dean to open up.

"Sam and I, we're about through, on our last hurrah," Dean sorrowfully admitted with a painful smile. "We've worn out, probably torched whatever brotherhood we once had. If the fat lady isn't singing yet, she's in her dressing room, warming up."

SNPOISNPOISNPOISN

Finch was nearly knocked over as Sam swiftly spun around and almost stumbled into him in his haste to get away, to not overhear anything else. He didn't need to speculate how painful Dean's words had been to Sam, could see it written in the younger man's anguished eyes. It was why he followed Sam out of the apartment and down onto the street.

SNPOISNPOISNPOISN

"And you thought you would give the curtain call yourself, leave on your own," Reese conjectured.

"Sam has a girl…even a friggin' dog, wants to be with them more than he's ever wanted to be with me," Dean smirked, tried to make a joke out of it, out of his pain.

And John knew the choice Dean had made, why he had made it. He had made the same one with Jessica, had let her go so she could have a better life. But things hadn't turned out that way, not for her. And John couldn't help wonder if the same kind of fate awaited Sam if Dean let him go, walked away for good, accepted the lie John had told himself: 'In the end, we are all alone.'

Holding Dean's gaze, John remarked, "I don't know about that. I think if he really wanted to be with them, he wouldn't have come hunting for you, wouldn't be here with you right now."

"Wow, that was beautiful. You should write for Hallmark," Dean sallied back, as if Reese's words hadn't affected him, hadn't given him the slightest ray of hope.

Undiscouraged by Winchester's sarcasm, Reese solemnly imparted, "I've learned the hard way that, when you push away someone that you love for their own good, sometimes it's the worst thing you can do to them." Then he left the room, hoped Dean took his words to heart, didn't have to live with the painful regrets and failures that he did.

SNPOISNPOISNPOISN

Cursing his limp and Sam's long legs, Finch called out "Sam. Wait!" He was surprised that the other man halted on the sidewalk. But Sam didn't turn to face him, kept his back to him, made Finch circle him to see his face. "What you heard was probably taken entirely out of context."

But Sam swallowed hard, shook his head, seemed too emotional to offer up a verbal denial.

"Trust me, Mr. Reese and I are experts at misinterpreting snippets of conversations, of situations. We've learned that you need to see the whole picture before you can make a well informed conclusion."

Sam did find the ability to speak then, but his voice was hoarse, spoke of unshed tears, "No, Dean meant what he said."

"Well, then that makes absolutely no sense to me," Finch declared, a bit miffed that Sam was being so unreasonable, that both Winchesters were.

It caused Sam to give a weak chuckle. "Dean and I don't make sense, that's the whole point." Then Sam started walking but he didn't go far, claimed a seat on the bench in the small park. Harold joined him, watched the man's profile as Sam studied the people walking the paths in the growing darkness. "I lost Dean…thought I lost him a year and half ago and I just…." Sam shook his head, like he didn't know how to describe how it felt to endure the total annihilation of your world and yet still be forced to stay living in it.

But Harold recognized the despair, the lost timbre in Sam's tone, had witnessed it in John Reese, had felt it himself, when he lost Nathan, let Amber go. "You didn't know who you were without him," a statement not a question.

Sam's eyes snapped to Harold's, narrowed, seemed on the verge of accusing him of reading his mind before he huskily admitted, "Yeah." Then Sam looked away again. Bending over, he leaned his elbows against his knees and clasped his hands together, the embodiment of dejection. "Dean thinks I quit on him…and I guess I did, I just….ran. I wasn't his brother anymore, wasn't anybody's anything. Was just me. Alone. And that wasn't much, you know. Never was without Dean."

And Harold did know, better than he wanted to, understood losing his identity, though he had changed it so many times before. But knowing he couldn't be himself anymore, didn't know how to be that person, was a painful revelation. Was a lonely way to survive. Until he had found Reese, let someone into his sphere, even if it was only to be a working relationship, was never supposed to morph into friendship, because letting himself have the luxury of a friend…that had cost him everything before. He had not wanted to travel that disastrous path again, but Reese…John ..snuck his way in like the well-trained covert agent he was.

Looking to Sam, Harold wondered if the young man had the same reservations about letting his brother back into his heart…only to risk it being shattered all over again. "But now Dean's back and as much as you crave his presence…you fear it too." Sam's body stiffened and he shifted upright, still didn't face him but his jaw jumped in tension. "You fear losing him all over again, being condemned to that lost state of not being anybody's anything again. I understand that trepidation, Sam. I lost my best friend and I wasn't looking to have anyone fill that hole, ever. I tried to keep people at a distance but Mr. Reese is very persistent."

At that statement, Sam's lips turned up into a small smile and the younger man looked to Finch. "Yeah, I can see that about him. So calling him "Mr. Reese", that help to keep him at arms length?" Sam asked, the twinkle in his eyes telling Finch that he already knew that answer.

"Not so much," Finch confessed with a light chuckle, found Sam smiling back and nodding his head. "It's hard to stay uncaring when someone you work with side by side, day after day is put in almost constant danger …nearly dies."

Sam snorted. "Yeah, tell me about it," and he ran a weary hand down his face. "I keep telling myself that I should walk away, leave before…I lose him again but …" Sam pressed his lips together. Harold knew Sam was suppressing everything he felt, hoping to smother it or, at the very least, control it but the younger man's next words still cracked, "I can't." Sam shook his head like he felt that was a failure on his part. "And when he left me a couple days ago…I knew that I couldn't let him go either."

"Maybe you're not supposed to," Harold quietly said.

Sam cleared his throat, stood up. "You heard Dean, he thinks we're through…wants us to be."

Finch came to his feet, stood in Sam's path. "What I heard was a man who was trying to brace himself for the hurt to come, who thought there was no other solution but to let you go, no hope of a happy ending."

"Happy ending?" Sam lightly scoffed, as if he didn't believe that was possible.

Finch had the grace to blush at being caught out being an idealist. "Relatively speaking. I guess you have to decide what that prefect 'happy ending' is for you. A life without your brother…or with him. And then fight to achieve it."

Finch's cellphone trilled at that moment and Finch knew he was in for a lecture when he saw it was Mr. Reese. "We're on our way back, Mr. Reese," he started with.

His partner and friend replied with reprimand in place, "The question is why you left in the first place, Harold."

Meeting Sam's eyes, Finch replied to Reese, "We needed to get some air."

"Well, get back here. Your computer search turned up some associates for the men trying to kill Dean."

SNPOISNPOISNPOISN

Harold was encouraged by the fact that Sam made a beeline for the bedroom that housed his brother. Felt a pang of shame that he wished he had the room bugged so he could hear their conversation. 'I'm really taking this voyeur habit too far."

Checking his inquisitiveness, he veered off to join Reese in the living room, felt a tad out of place looking over John's shoulder to see the computer screen. But something demanded his attention more than the computer screen, namely his friend. Sensing a rigidity in his friend's demeanor, he noted that John's eyes were critically following Sam's trek toward the bedroom as if the tall brunette was a threat that was approaching his charge.

"They are brothers, Mr. Reese, not adversaries," Finch reassured, trying to quiet his friend's misgivings even as his own raged on at the prospect of the upcoming confrontation between Sam and Dean.

"So were Cain and Able," Reese dryly compared, didn't quite know why he was suddenly perceiving Sam as a threat to Dean. 'Maybe because Sam seems to be the only one that Dean's let in. And that means he can hurt Dean the most.' Turning almost accusing eyes on Finch he asked, "And why does Sam seem more upset after 'getting some air' with you?"

Finch sighed and claimed a seat in the closest chair. "It was a matter of unfortunate timing. Sam heard Dean's declaration that their brotherhood was drawing to a close." He registered the displeasure that happenstance caused Reese. "He immediately bolted out the door and I followed him, tried to calm him down."

"Doesn't seem to have worked all that well," Reese decreed, hearing raised voices coming from his bedroom.

"Well I believe I unwittingly provided information to him that his brother would have wished I hadn't, namely the reason those men were trying to kill him."

"Oh great," Reese muttered, rising to his feet and heading for the battlefield.

Dean, who was now out of bed and facing off with his taller sibling, volleyed back to whatever Sam had said "…because it didn't involve you, Sam!"

But Sam stepped closer to his brother, hissed, "Yes it did! You didn't kill Walt and Roy, Dean. I did!"

To Finch's shock, Dean merely gave a quiet, "Yeah, I figured that out" to his brother's shocking confession.

Apparently Sam wasn't prepared for that simple declaration that lacked condemnation from his brother either, shifted on his feet, seemingly oblivious to the presence of Reese and Finch. "They couldn't get away with …" but then Sam cut himself off, gave a look over his shoulder at his growing audience.

"We can talk about this later, Sam," Dean commanded, clearly not wanting his brother to speak in front of the two men he barely knew.

"No, we talk about it now. You won't listen later," Sam firmly stated.

"I won't listen?" Dean scoffed but Sam was pressing forward, his focus centered wholly on his brother.

"Walt and Roy, them coming after me, I get. I do. But when they shot you…they crossed a line, Dean," Sam said darkly. "And then all the stuff that happened because of them attacking us…we nearly stopped being brothers," and his voice cracked on that word, on that treasured thing he had nearly lost. But when Sam spoke again, there was only deadly resolve in his tone, "I couldn't let them get away with that, couldn't give them the chance to go after you again. So you can call me a monster, whatever, but I wouldn't undo what I did," Sam defiantly declared.

"If you hadn't taken them down, I eventually would have, Sam." Dean forgave and gave his blessing to his brother's actions, all in that one statement

"But the point is, you didn't kill them, Dean," Sam lowly emphasized before he charged, his voice rising as he spoke, "So why didn't you tell the hunters they had the wrong guy?"

"What? Rat out my own brother?! Yeah, that would have been classy," Dean scoffed, went to stalk by Sam but his brother grabbed him by the shoulders, jerked him to face him.

"It would have stopped them from, oh I don't know… trying to kill you!" Sam growled.

"I wasn't going to put you in danger! So they thought it was me, good."

"Good?!" Sam repeated in frustrated fury. "Dean, they shot you?!"

In a surprising turn, Dean smirked, flippantly corrected, "Technically they shot me for stealing Krissy from them. So it totally doesn't count in your argument."

It disarmed some of Sam's anger, had him affectionately yet exasperatedly drawling out his brother's name. "Deeaan."

Reese chose that moment to interrupt. "How about we try and make sure no one else gets shot for any reason." When he had both brothers' attention, he outlined, "We have identified five more associates of the men who tried to kill Dean. If you can help me find them, I can end this. Once and for all."

SNPOISNPOISN

"This is not our best plan," Finch said through the earwig Reese wore as he sat back in the library, hands poised over his computer keypad.

"Technically, it's not our plan, it's the Winchesters," Reese nitpicked.

"Are we going to make it a practice now to have our clients devise plans to save themselves? Plans that involve putting the very person we've almost died to save in the line of fire as bait?!"

"Finch, you were there. Sam and I both objected to that part of this, but Dean wouldn't back down. He said he was the one they would be looking for, so if he ended up where they expected him to be, we would have them in our sights."

"Yes, but that also leaves Dean in their sights," Finch worriedly reminded Reese.

"Now who's sounding fond of our serial killer," Reese teasingly taunted.

Finch rolled his eyes, knew this was coming. "Fine, he's not what he seems." But then he solemnly told his partner, "John, he was going to give himself up to save me in that abandoned motel. He provoked those men, egged them on to kill him so I would have a chance at surviving. I just…don't want to let him down."

"We won't, Harold," John vowed. "Sam and I won't let anything happen to him."

"Or yourselves. As these group of men have proven, they are efficient killers."

"Maybe you're forgetting, but I'm no novice at killing either, Finch," Reese coolly reminded before disconnecting the call. He could never forget what he was, even if Finch sometimes did.

SNPOISNPOISNPOI

Though Reese had presented a confident front to Finch, he couldn't quiet the misgivings he harbored for their risky plan. As he climbed into the passenger seat of the black 1967 Impala, he assessed Dean as he manned the steering wheel. "You don't have to do this. We can come up with another way to track them down."

"Yeah, but my plan will work," Dean cockily bragged, pulling the car into the New York city traffic.

"Glad to see your ego is still fully functional," Reese dryly quipped.

"Always," Dean assured with a smile but it faded when he noted Reese's too serious expression. "You and Sam worry too much. They'll walk right into our trap."

"Or we'll walk right into theirs," John solemnly verbalized the second, less than ideal, outcome to their present scheme.

Trading looks between the road and his passenger, Dean shrugged as if that prospect didn't bother him overly much. "It wouldn't be the first plan of mine that went south, trust me."

"I find it's better to not start with plans that might fail," Reese drawled, left unsaid just how many of his well-conceived plans 'went south.'

"Bite me," Dean shot but back his lips were curling up into a smile, an expression which Reese soon mirrored.

SNPOISNPOISNPOISN

Having left the city in the rearview mirror, Dean turned the Impala down a rutted dirt driveway that was flanked by overgrown woods and tall grass that hadn't seen a mower in years. He pulled the car to a stop as a boarded up house came into view five hundred yards ahead.

Exiting the car, Reese came around to Dean's open window, was already starting to blend in to the darkness with his uncharacteristic black sweater and pants. "If you're right, they know about this place or they've trailed us here, either way, they'll be coming soon. I'll let them get past me and head for the house. They'll probably leave a guy in the bush here. I'll take him out and anyone else stationed outside and work my way to the house."

Dean nodded before he recounted his part, "And I'll park around back, greet anyone coming up the front stairs with a bullet."

"We'll pin them in the middle," Reese steely vowed and then he melted away into the woods, heard the growl of the Impala engine as Dean drove toward the house. Crouching through the underbrush, John felt his gut clench, didn't like that Dean was going to be out of his radius, that, if the younger man's plan backfired, he might be hopelessly out of range to aid him. And that was wholly unacceptable to him, and not only because he would be breaking a vow to Krissy, Sam and now Finch if he let anything happen to Dean.

SNPOISNPOISNPOISN

The house looked ripe for a haunting, Dean thought as he pulled the Impala around to the backyard. And some part of him wished he was working that type of job, that there weren't shades of gray on what they were about to do. But like Sam had said, the men had crossed the line, would come after Sam if they knew he had been the one to end Walt and Roy. And Dean wasn't going to let them have the chance to learn that fact or act on it, would end it here and now. Would keep Sam safe because that was his job, would always be his job, whether Sam liked it or not.

Climbing out of the car and heading for the back stairs, he nearly jumped when a voice spoke directly in his ear, via the ear mic.

"Dean, someone's hiding in the grass, your four o'clock," Finch tersely provided as the mini camera picked up the movement.

And Dean could feel the bull's-eye on his back, was going to play it nonchalant until his spidey senses had him ducking just in time to miss a bullet to the back of the head, a bullet that thunked into the boarded up back door of the house instead.

Exposed and out in the open, Dean bolted up the stairs, plowed into the boarded up door with his shoulder and tumbled through the doorway. He impacted with the floor as bullets streaked by over his head. Using his foot, he kicked the door shut and crawled to the relative safety of the wall. But he was still on all fours when a gun barrel came to rest against the back of his head and mud covered brown boots came into his limited view.

"Aww, did you actually think you were going to arrive early and set us up?" the disembodied voice taunted.

SNPOISNPOISNPOISN

TBC

SNPOISNPOISNPOISN

Thanks for those who gave encouraging reviews on the last chapter!

Have a great day!

Cheryl W.