It was 4am when they left to rescue Sam.

How Sam had managed to get the Impala out of Bobby's yard without a sound worried Dean. And he was sure, damned sure, it was still in the yard when Sam took off. He'd checked, he made sure of it. But suddenly, no. It was gone.

So he rode with Bobby. The beat-up rusty car followed close behind the weather van. Dean winced and shifted in his seat. Felt like there was a spring going up his ass, and the dash looked ready to fall into his lap. The car shook like it would fly apart any minute, but it had speed. GOD he wanted his Impala. Hell, Bobby helped his dad with it, he was like the car's godfather or something. Why the hell didn't he pull one of the old classic from his pit and build it up? Then again, why go through the trouble when there were reliable snake skins lying about?

They hit a bump, and Dean groaned.

Bobby talked to Tyler through a small CB radio, offering a suggestion then listening to the man babble frantically about his 'damned-unusual' instrument readings as static chopped his sentences into fragments. Dean sat beside him diffidently, feeling half-drugged. His head throbbed. His ribs ached. The damn spring in the seat wasn't helping. Bobby had wrapped his wrist stiffly, swearing to the moon and back that once this was over, Dean was indeed going to get it check out, because the goose-egg on the top of his hand wasn't normal. It was fractured at the least, if not outright broken. Dean could remember what a broken wrist felt like, and this hurt much more. Probably one of those damned fractures that took ages to heal. He refused any painkillers other than aspirin, which was the next best thing to near useless. Bad enough he couldn't drive, he could hardly help as Bobby loaded the Winchester arsenal into the trunk alongside his own.

NATO would be so proud.

Bobby said little to him about the vis-a-vis with Sam. Dean didn't press. Bobby offered only one consolation, "We'll get him back," and dropped it. Dean wasn't sure if Bobby realized what he was saying, because for all Bobby knew, they just needed to perform an exorcism and free Sam from the demon's clutches. But Dean had a feeling this ran much, much deeper. This was freeing Sam from Sam's clutches.

Sam wasn't always the innocent kid. Dean could clearly remember his little brother running around barefoot, four years old, gleefully catching fireflies in the woods one evening while their dad worked on the car. He'd catch them in his hand, study them, let them go. He asked Dean what made them light up, and when Dean didn't answer, Sam caught one and pinched it tightly, wiping the phosphorous onto his fingertips and spreading his fingers out in the darkness. The look of wonder on his face was something that would stick with Dean for the rest of his life, that expression of accomplishment and amazement that he could ask a question, and find out the answer all on his own, no matter the consequences. But it was the first time he'd killed anything, and at that point Dean himself was just really beginning to see the lifestyle he would later embrace. What Dean saw that summer night from his little brother was not only a quest for knowledge, which filled his chubby face with delight, but the capability to kill in order to satisfy the need for an answer. There was no remorse in killing to satisfy his curiosity. Granted, it was only a bug.

But he'd seen it several times since then, that capacity to kill to obtain knowledge, or if knowledge wasn't forthcoming. It showed every time he confronted a demon. And once, it showed when he leered down at Dean.

He thought about the beating he had recently endured. It seemed Dean was a bug to be squashed for curiosity's sake. He wondered what Sam wanted to learn from it.

It was six am when they reached the area where Sam had attacked Dean and disappeared. The vehicles pulled to the side of the road. No Impala. Nevertheless, Dean silently led them to the spot where Sam had run off and left him holding his ribs, forcing his breath to exhale through blinding pain, calling after him desperately in a gravelly voice before falling unconscious. There was nothing to find, which didn't surprise the men.

They loaded up, and headed to Devils Tower.

Dean only had to ask once if Bobby was certain that Devils Tower was where they needed to go. The incredulous look he received in response made him blink and slowly melt into his seat.

He needed to learn how to do that. Bobby could probably send demons back to hell with a single glare. That could be their weapon, right there.

It was mid-morning when they arrived at the park, to blackened air. Storm clouds lay heavily overhead, threatening to drop a monsoon. Dean felt like he was trying to breathe soup.

Bobby's car skidded to a stop behind Tyler's van. Dean climbed out and followed Bobby to the van side door, which slid open and latched. Tyler sat back in his seat, studying his screen. "Useless," he muttered. "Too much atmospheric disturbance. Like rain fade."

"Ain't raining," Bobby said.

"I said it was like rain fade. Didn't say that's what it is."

Let them debate the fine art of forecasting. His legs were stiff, ass was numb, and the only way he was going to stay conscious was to move. "I'm gonna go take a look around," Dean said.

"I don't think that's a good idea," Bobby replied.

"Yeah, well I didn't ask you." Dean leveled a gaze at his older friend. "Sam's out there, and I'm gonna find him."

"Dean, wait." Bobby caught his arm. "We don't know that for sure."

"Where else would he be? Huh? Vancouver?"

"I just don't think you should go out there alone! You're in no condition to. . ."

"Look, you two set up your magical light-up piano and start playing. I'll be back in an hour." Dean reached through the open window of Bobby's car and pulled out his handgun. He checked the chamber, then flipped the safety and tucked it into the back of his pants.

"I'll come with you."

"No."

Bobby was ready to argue. Dean could see it, but instead the older man winced. "You think you'll need that with him?"

"You think I wanna take the risk running into his friends unarmed?"

"Get the holy water."

"That I don't need."

"Dean..."

"I don't need it, Bobby. I'll be back in an hour." Dean looked at him pointedly, then at Tyler. Receiving no further argument from the men, he wandered into the dim line of trees.

So striking out on his own wasn't the best idea. But there were two good reasons he was doing it. One, he could let the smart guys figure out what to do about the demon pow-wow. He couldn't concentrate on that anyway. Two. . .he didn't want Bobby to see what Dean himself knew he was going to see.

The sky darkened above him as he pressed on.

*******************

His hour had long passed.

The clouds swirled menacingly above him, and at times Dean could swear it was a face, leering down at him before shifting and reforming into classic eddies of atmospheric disturbance. He was ready to aim high, and screw where the bullet landed.

He could sense his brother nearby. He didn't know how, and now wasn't a good time to wonder about it. He felt haunted. Not knowing where Sammy was, yet knowing he was there. Somewhere. Watching.

A knot formed in his gut. Lightning flashed sharply overhead, thunder slammed hard against the mountain. The tops of the trees whipped in a gale, then stilled once again. And still, no rain, though the air was thick. But he could feel it, god, it was unlike anything he'd ever felt. Heavy static in his heart. The air practically crackled.

Leaves crunched underneath a footstep. Dean spun, whipping his flashlight around, illuminating a face, scaring him. His breath caught.

Sam.

He looked huge, frightening, and stood as though he had been there for a while. His wild eyes reflected the glare of Dean's light. Just staring at him. Not blinking.

Dean swallowed thickly. "Sammy. Thank god."

"Why are you here, Dean." It wasn't a question. It was a soft demand.

"I was looking for you," Dean replied frankly. "You need to come back with me, Sam. Right now."

Sam's mouth quirked slightly. "Why?"

Why? Son of a bitch, why. . ."Because we need to talk. You need to tell me what's going on so we can end this." Dean took a step towards him, and froze as Sam simply said, "Stop."

They stared at each other for several minutes. Dean's jaw was killing him. He forced himself to unclench it and kept his light trained on his brother.

Sam finally moved, casually circling him, closing in. "You know what, Dean? You're here, I'm here, so you're right. We should stop this." He fumbled with the back of his shirt, adjusting it. He pulled out his gun.

Dean's hands instantly rose to the defense. "Okay, whoa. Wait a minute, Sam."

"You said you'd do it, Dean. You welched once before, remember?"

"Said I'd do. . ." Dean shrugged the rest of the question.

"You know." Sam flicked his wrist, waving the butt-end of the gun at Dean.

What was the hell was he talking about? When did he ever – oh.

The memory rushed back. Sam staring at him in the hotel room, begging Dean to shoot that was different, that was – "You were possessed, Sam. That was Meg, not you. Everything was okay, remember?" I took care of you.

"And this time there isn't a demon to get rid of. It's all me. How does that make you feel, huh? How does it feel to know that this is what I am." He waved the gun at Dean. "Here. Shoot me."

So damned casual. "No."

Sam waggled the gun. "Come on."

Dean blinked at it. "Are you nuts?" he asked cautiously.

Sam laughed. He laughed loudly, then practically doubled over, gasping for breath and confusing Dean more. When Sam finally straightened, his cheeks were streaked with desperate tears. "You promised me," he choked out. "Don't deny it. You fucking promised me that if I ever turned evil, you'd kill me." His voice grew rough with anger. "Dammit, you promised me!"

No, no, no, this wasn't happening – "No! Sam, you were dead. Okay? I brought you back! I didn't save you just so I'd have to kill you!" His voice broke, and he swallowed hard and fought for control. "I saved you, Sam!"

"Saved me? You didn't save me!" Sam cried out. His arms flung to the side, the gun held loosely in his hand. "I don't even know what I am anymore, Dean! They say I'm one of them, and I know it, I can feel it in me! Part of me wants to just rip up this place and everyone in it! How is that a good thing? Huh?" He shook his head. "Why did you bring me back, Dean? Did you want this to happen to me?"

"What? No!" Dean's voice sounded lost to his ears.

"Yes, you did!" Sam was broken, shaking with fear. "You're an ass, Dean Winchester! An arrogant, selfish ass!"

"Sam, please. I didn't want this for you, I just — I couldn't live with you dead. That's all."

"You knew this would happen to me. You didn't care."

"No, I didn't, I swear to god I didn't." Dean took a step closer, his eye on the gun that Sam was swinging around with reckless abandon. "Sam. Listen to me. They're in your head, that's all. That's all it is, you can't pay attention to them. You listen to me instead."

"Because you're my protector," Sam sneered.

"That's right."

"I've got demon blood in me, Dean. I'm like them."

The verbal blow made Dean freeze. His back tensed, his shoulders started to tremble. This was worse than a fucking nightmare. Seeing the anguish, hearing Sam's confession voiced in such a despairing tone that was foreign to him, was worse than anything he could imagine. It was something he never wanted to hear again, and that look in Sam's eyes he never wanted to see again. "What are you talking about?" he challenged in a low voice, because Sam was sick, he was delirious, he was wrong. He was wrong.

"The Demon. He gave me his blood. In the nursery, when I was a baby. Before Mom – ."

"No. NO!" Dean gritted his teeth. "You're not – they're lying to you, Sam. You know that. I told you, you can't. . ."

"He showed me, Dean! When I was in Cold Oak. He showed me what happened that night, detail for detail. I remember the shadows, the mobile turning above me, the lightning reflecting on the wall. How there was something in my room, someone standing over me. The scariest shadow. I had dreams about it, Dean. For years."

"I remember," Dean said softly. "I used to wake you out of them."

Sam's voice lowered to a near whisper, yet it carried over the storm like a bullhorn."God. It explains everything. The visions. How I don't have them now that he's gone. The reason I was targeted so much. Hell, I bet it even explains Dad's hatred towards me."

Dean was losing ground, and fast. He faltered. "Hate? No, Sam, listen to me. Dad never – he loved you. You know that."

"He said you'd have to kill me, Dean. He knew." Sorrowful eyes searched for his. "All this time – he knew about all of this."

Dean just shook his head, refusing to acknowledge it. Dammit! Refusing to believe it.

"He knew. He knew the time was coming, that's why he hunted so hard."

"To save you." Dean took a desperate step toward him. "Sam, listen to me, if he knew about this then he was trying to save you from it! It wasn't just about Mom. He wanted to end it, all of it! See? Come on man, he loved you, he was protecting you."

"You mean just like you do." Sam smiled. "Like you're still trying to do." His face worked, torn between keeping the smile, and releasing it into a pained grimace.

"Damn straight. I'm your brother, Sam."

"No!" Sam's hands flew to his head. "Don't say that! They say that to me, don't you dare say that!"

"They what, Sam? They say what?" Dean backtracked Sam's sentence, and realized what his brother meant. His eyes flew open in fear, and he dove forward, dropping his light. It rolled to reflect off a tree. Dean caught hold of Sam's arms, ignoring the gun still held in his brother's hand. He shook him, hard. "Sam! You listen to me. You listening? They are nothing to you. You got that? Nothing! You don't owe them anything!"

"The blood."

"It means nothing, Sam!"

Sam shoved him away. "Okay, I know that. I know that! God. . ." his hands flew back to his head. "I'm still killing. I killed a guy on the road. I killed two demons too – they say I'm a killer, that I'm a betrayer, they say – I'm meant to. . .god, even right now I look at you and it's all I can do not to – Dean, just – here." He passed over the gun without looking up.

"Sam."

"I tried to kill Bobby. I tried to kill you, and I would have, only. . ." he suddenly looked up and thrust the gun into Dean's hands, closing Dean's fingers around it. "Do it, please! Before I hurt someone else, before I can't control this thing any more. Do it. You promised me."

"No!"

"You promised!" he yelled, and took a step back, pounding his chest with an angry fist. "You don't get it! I don't want to live like this! I can't! I'm begging you, Dean, please end this. End it!" He screamed out, fisting his hair. "They're in my head, Dean, god, just end it! Now!"

Tears were streaming down Dean's cheeks. He couldn't. The gun weighed a ton in his hands. He wasn't going to shoot his little brother like putting down a horse. "I saved you, Sam," he pleaded. "Don't make me do this, I can't do this. I can save you again." His words became a litany, voiced over Sam's cries.

"No!" Sam cut him off. His face was terrifying, almost unrecognizable in the constant flare of lightning. "You can't save me. Not like this." He gave an eerie smile, and a laugh. His eyes lit up with a sudden realization. He blinked a few times, then smiled. "I'll be damned," he said in awe. "You can't save me, and I can't save you. But there is a good ending to this, Dean. It's in your hands."

"What is?" Dean practically whispered in fear.

Sam continued to chuckle in a light, yet delirious way. "I can't believe it. They told me, and they were right. They were right."

"Sam!"

"You remember when Bobby said there was always a third option? Every time I killed, they told me why I needed to do it. I mean, you're right. I can't save you, Dean. You can't save me. But this way," Sam's eyes glinted sharply in the night, ". . .I can see you in Hell."

He didn't just, that wasn't – at that moment, Dean's brain shut down."Oh, god," he whispered, his grip tightening on the gun, still hovering at his side. "God, Sam, no. No."

"No?" Sam yelled, taking a threatening step forward, and Dean aimed the gun before he realized what he was doing. "Did you think no when you made that deal? Did you think that I would be happy, that I'd be able to just carry on?"

"Did you think I could?" Dean asked shakily. "I did it for you, Sam."

"Don't lie to me!" Sam smirked, and crossed his arms. His brother was transforming right in front of him, giving in to the thoughts in his head. No, Sam would never give in. "You know better," Sam continued. "You did it for you. And you call me selfish." He barked a laugh, shifting to stand sideways in a stance similar to a martial artist preparing to fight. Dean blinked rapidly and readjusted the grip on his gun. "So do it. Shoot me. I know you want to."

"Sam." Dean's voice was deep with anger and despair. "Listen to me. This isn't you. I know it, I know you. Okay? And this isn't it. Now maybe I was wrong to make that deal, and for that I'm sorry, I really am, but you got to believe me. You're Sam Winchester, you're my brother, and nothing is going to change that. You hear me? Sammy?" He choked on the name, but he pressed on, smiling around the crack of desperation in his voice. "We've seen some strange shit, you know? You and me. Together. We've battled just about everything under the sun and above hell. Now, I swore I would protect you, and I couldn't. You swore you would save me, and you can't. So maybe this is the way. You're right. Maybe we should just go to hell together." And he slowly lowered the gun, then turned it butt-ended and held it out. "Maybe that's what we deserve for being devoted to each other. Maybe we deserve to rot in hell, together."

Dean stretched out his arm further, waiting for Sam to take the gun from him. "I'd said before that I'm tired, Sam, and that hasn't changed. This just keeps getting harder. So maybe we should just pack it in, huh?" He thrust the gun toward Sam. "Take the damn gun, will you?" But Sam looked at him, his expression dark. "Oh, come on," Dean sighed. "You couldn't kill Dad, now you really can't kill me? You've said you wanted to, now I'm giving you the chance! Hell, you've shot me twice before, or don't you remember that?" He flinched as Sam snatched the gun away and aimed it.

Dean nodded slowly and took one step back, spreading his arms. "See? That's more like it. Twice, Sam. One time the gun wasn't loaded, but one time it was. Besides, I'm guessing that by now, you're better at this than I am." He chuckled mirthlessly, and rubbed the back of his neck.

"I don't know, Sam, maybe you're right. Maybe you are dark." Dean's face tightened. "But I'm dark, too." And in the blink of an eye he whipped out his own gun and shot Sam in the shoulder.

Sam yelled out, dropping his weapon, folding in around the wound. He doubled over, then raised an enraged face to meet the barrel of a handgun just inches from his eyes.

"I think I just proved something, Sammy." Dean kept his grip on the gun firm. "You're no more evil than the rest of us. I think of killing, too. I dream of death. I hate, I loathe, I wish for bad things to happen. I'm selfish. I'm needy. So what makes you so special, huh? What makes you so much more evil than that? I'll tell you." He bent forward and curled his fingers around the back of Sam's neck, the gun still pointed at him, but less threatening. "It's not because of you. It's because this evil was forced on you. You were abused. Your soul was fucking raped, Sam! That is the evil, not you. That someone wanted this to happen to you, that is the evil. It isn't you."

He waited for one beat. And in that beat, he saw Sam. His Sam.

Dean dropped his gun behind him and tilted Sam's face up to meet his, pulling him to a full standing position."God, it isn't you. Think about it. Think of Jess, think how much you loved her. Hell, think about me if you have to! You are not evil. You hear me?" His eyes bore into Sam's. "You are not evil." Come back to me.

Sam's face was wracked with pain, and it wasn't apparent if the pain was from the wound in his shoulder, or his heart.

Dean's eyes stayed on his brother's face the whole time. He kept one steadying hand on the back of Sam's neck. When Sam fell to his knees, he fell with him. He caught his brother's uninjured shoulder and squeezed hard. "You want to know the main reason you're not evil?" he asked softly, tilting his head down to look at Sam's face. He waited until Sam's watery eyes met his and said firmly, "Because I'm the big brother. And I say so."

Sam's face crumpled as he fought the emotions raging inside him. Dean let him, felt the tremors in his brother's body, and he held him tightly through every one. "I'm scared," Sam forced out in a whisper. "I don't know what's happening."

Dean squeezed his shoulder harder. "I'm right here, Sammy. I'm not going anywhere."

And his little brother's response, only one word, sliced right through him.

"Liar."

***********************

The voices in his head raged.

Sam felt Dean's arms around him as they knelt on the ground, strong and secure. Much more so than they had ever been, as though his pure grip could squeeze away the bad things.

Funny. He'd never thought of his brother as pure before. But it occurred to him that if ever there was a pure, authentic soul, it was Dean.

You betray us. Again.

No! Sam yelled within himself.

Then you belong to us. You will lead us.

Boy King.

Sam cried out and he plunged forward, and felt the grip holding him tighten, keeping him from hitting the ground. He looked up at his brother's face. The sky exploded in brilliant strips of lightning around Dean, freezing him in time, making him seem larger than life. Sam choked on a gasp, then collapsed against Dean's chest, sobbing in confusion.

It was a while before he could think. As he battled for control of his mind, Dean took the bandage from his damaged wrist and wrapped Sam's shoulder firmly. The thin, gauze-like material was stretched to the limit, offering minimal support against the bleeding, mainly acting as a buffer between the wound and grit. Sam's shirt was tugged back on quickly, but he barely noticed as coherency teased him in snatches.

Sam felt hazy, like he had been walking in a dream world, only he was aware of every vivid detail and smell. The brothers pushed onward toward the foot of the mountain as the dark sky ripped apart in anger above them. The pine straw made traction a near impossibility. Sam felt every jolt a fall gave him, but they couldn't stop. He had to tough it out, even though his vision swam before him. He gritted his teeth past the pain, past the voices that still urged him to attack. Attack, dammit! His brother was several yards ahead of him, looking over his shoulder and offering a hand when needed, backing off when told to. His soft commands pressed Sam on, forced him to continue, and even though his head told him to squeeze the life from the man in front of him, his heart remembered the quest to save him. Kill him. Save him. Save him by killing him? If Sam killed him, would he still go to hell? Dean's soul was sold either way. Good. No. Nononono. . . not good.

Sam growled loudly and gave his head a vicious shake, stopping to sit on the uneven ground Dean was at his side instantly, grabbing his arms, steadying him. "No. No, Sam. Come on man. We've gotta keep going."

"Nothing but voices. . ." Sam muttered, shoving Dean away. All words. All anyone had for him was words.

But his brother was like an annoying fly. "Look, you gotta stay focused. Just push it out of your head, okay? You're in control here. You got this." Dean's eyes burned into his with fierce determination. His jaw was set. It was an expression that Sam had always related to stone, right before it exploded under a mallet. Unbreakable, yet the concern made it fragile. When struck he would just break into hundreds of smaller hard bits, each one invincible in its own right. Each piece remembering where it came from.

Dean Winchester was a force of nature in himself. The realization pushed Sam to his feet, where he took his brother's offered hand until he felt steady.

Dean's phone sounded, the rock music muffled in his pocket. He pulled it out and flipped it open. "Yeah?" A pause, and Dean looked up. "Yeah, I think we're almost there, what do you see? Wait, wait, I can't hear you. Look, just stay there, we're coming." He slid the phone shut. "I think Bobby found them."

"The demons?" Sam asked, shakily.

"Something. Whatever it is, it ain't pretty." He pocketed the phone. "You ready for this?" The voice was soft.

"Are you?" Sam's voice was harder. It needed to be.

A smile lit Dean's face, and Sam blinked in astonishment. The smile grew into a full-on, dazzling, crazy grin, backlit by the storm. He held out his arms like a messiah welcoming his followers. "Dude. I'm always ready." Arms still out, palms up to the sky, Dean threw his head back and bellowed, "You got that, you sons of bitches? I'm always ready! Bring it on!"