I Wish I Was Your Brother
A/N: Anyone who's read my fics "The Ivy League" and "Security Blanket" knows that Season 8 has my muse doing the happy dance. Naturally I've been hoping to be able to incorporate some of what's been happening in the Season into this series.
Then, about a week ago I wrote a drabble called "Only Child" which was Kevin's perspective on how the trials were impacting both him and Sam. The big issue in that story was that Sam had Dean to support him and Kevin envied Sam because he was on his own. Almost immediately, I knew this was something to be explored in a longer piece and this series was the perfect backdrop for it.
As with all my Season 8 stories, I really enjoyed writing this fic. If you enjoy reading it even half as much then it will be worth it.
A/N: Much love to my awesome beta Ericka Jane who came through once again.
A/N: This is for Jedi Sapphire, my partner in crime for Season 8. Here's hoping we get to Season 80!
A/N: This is set at around 8:19 but I take liberties with canon and it's definitely before Kevin found out about his Mom.
- TWENTY ONE -
Men of Honor
I was flat on my face, running on empty and ready to give up on the whole horrific ordeal of translating hell-gate-closing-tablets; but my partners were Sam and Dean Winchester. I found out the hard way that when it came to saving people's lives, the Winchesters never gave up on anything, especially each other.
When I decided to drop out, my timing couldn't have been worse. Unbeknownst to me, the whole nightmare had put Sam's life at risk. That meant that no matter how much I was suffering, if I wanted out, I'd have to go through Dean.
For several weeks that seemed too daunting to even contemplate, but when I reached the limit of my tolerance, I called him and requested an urgent meeting. I had never been totally comfortable with the whole prophet scenario but things were now out of control. I hadn't had a decent night's sleep in weeks, my appetite was non-existent, and every muscle and joint in my body was aching.
Then if it wasn't bad enough that I was deteriorating physically, my mind was giving out on me as well. Anxiety had me shaky and paranoid, stress had me ready to tear my hair out, and then with Crowley randomly turning up in my thoughts, I was ready to put a gun to my head.
On several occasions I had picked up the phone to call Sam and Dean to tell them I was quitting, but I kept wimping out at the last minute. This time though, I was determined to see things through.
It was several days after my phone call to Dean that he turned up at the rat hole I was living in.
"What took you so long?" I asked when he finally appeared.
"Sammy's sick and I couldn't leave him."
At that point, I figured Dean was just feeding me a line. Sam Winchester was a big hulk of man who was more than capable of taking care of himself. Obviously something else kept Dean away but whatever it was, it wasn't my business.
"And speaking of sick," Dean looked me up and down then shook his head. "You don't look so good yourself. Have you been eating?"
"Not much," I supplied, hoping to pave the way.
"Sleeping?"
"Very little," I added.
When Dean gave me a worried look I decided to use the opening.
"Actually that's what I wanted to talk to you about. I've had a rough few weeks, Dean, and I'm not sure I can keep going."
"Keep going with what?"
Dean's stern look almost had me on the back-foot. I'd met people with strong personalities before but when it came to hunting Dean was like a battering ram. With all of us neck-deep in these damn trials I knew he would be less than receptive to aborting the mission now.
However, I couldn't keep going just because I was afraid of a faceoff with Dean. My mental and physical health was deteriorating every day because I was living in constant fear and pain. Knowing I would crash and burn if I didn't get myself out of this situation, I summoned my courage and faced him.
"I can't keep going with the translations," I said softly with none of the resolve in my heart reflecting in my voice.
"So you need a break?" Dean asked.
No! I wanted to scream. I need for it to be over!
When the words didn't come out, Dean assumed he was correct.
"I see where you're coming from," he admitted. "You've been at it non-stop since this whole thing started; you should probably take some time off."
Once again, the scream rose in my throat but choked itself down.
"OK," Dean went on when I failed to speak up again. "Grab a bag and throw a few things in it. I'm taking you outta here for a day or two. But we can't spear much more than that."
"Where are we going?" I asked, too damn compliant for my own good.
"Back to our place." Dean clapped his hands together. "You're probably gonna end up climbing the walls if you don't get a change of scenery. Come on, make it quick," he snapped when I hesitated. "I gotta get back to Sam."
To my shame, I had obeyed meekly and went with Dean. I consoled myself by reasoning that going back to his place would give me a better opportunity to have the dreaded conversation with him. Maybe getting out of my translation prison would bring a good night's sleep and ease some of this unending tension. And with a little peace and rest under my belt, I just might have the courage to actually look Dean Winchester is the face and tell him he and Sam were going to have to find a way to close the gates of hell without me.
When I got to the Winchester's place, I was immediately distracted. I'd heard Dean refer to it a few times as "The Batcave" and when I stepped inside I knew why. The place was stunning. The interior and furnishings screamed class and high taste, the library went on for miles and all of the common rooms looked like they'd been hand crafted for a king. At the same time, in the midst of the luxury, it was clearly a bunker; the weapons, gadgets and other equipment betrayed that it was built for business before pleasure.
The brothers had given me a brief rundown on the place once when they had come to check up on me. They'd told me about the Men of Letters and the family legacy they had stumbled on. Now that I was here, I realized it was impossible to be within these walls and not feel the weight of their history.
"Close your mouth," Dean said as I looked around gaping. "Pick a room and get comfortable. The last one on the left belongs to me but I'm bunking with Sammy until he gets better, he's in the master suite."
Even when Dean told me that, it didn't occur to me that something might be seriously wrong with Sam. It should have set off an alarm bell because, in what now seemed like another life, my Mom used to stay in my room with me whenever I was really sick. She always said she wanted to be close by if I needed anything. But although I thought it was weird that Dean was sleeping in his brother's room, I figured it certainly wasn't my business. In fact I thought it might be a good thing that Sam was out of commission because at least then he couldn't join forces with Dean to hound me into finishing the translation.
So when we got back to the house and Dean said I shouldn't disturb Sam because he needed his rest, I willingly complied. As soon as I chose a room, I stretched out on the bed and crashed. However, sleeping for the entire day meant that I found myself awake just after midnight. When I couldn't go back to sleep I decided to have a look around the bunker.
All was quiet when I stepped out of my room so I figured Sam and Dean were sleeping. Moving quietly I scoped out a few of the bedrooms then I went to the library where I made a big discovery. Hidden behind a huge, life-sized portrait of a fierce looking old man was a door that led to what I can only describe as a control room. At a wide console there were several TV screens which seemed to show the house from every internal and external angle. Fascinated by all the knobs and buttons and switches, I sat in one of the chairs behind the table and began fiddling around. It was a surveillance system on steroids, specially designed to give whoever was in this room complete visibility of the house.
I turned a knob and the view on the main screen changed from the library to one of the empty bedrooms. I kept turning, watching as each room in the house came temporarily into view. When I saw the room I had slept in with the empty bed strewn with crumpled sheets, an uneasy feeling came over me. Someone could easily have been watching me while I was in there. Playing a bit with some of the controls I found a dial that allowed me to zoom in on my bed. I marveled at the capabilities of the system. The Men of Letters meant business.
Another turn of the knob and a huge, well outfitted bedroom came into view. I realized it was the master suite when I caught sight of Dean and Sam. I meant to keep changing channels but something about their positioning caught my attention. Sam was in a king sized bed propped up against the headboard with layers of blankets practically up to his chin. Dean was sitting on the bed facing him, holding up a cup so Sam could sip from a straw. Curious as to why the hell Dean was feeding his brother, I zoomed in.
I actually gasped out loud when I saw Sam. Whatever he was sick with it, it definitely wasn't the flu. His skin was pallid, his face looked hollow and there were shadows under his eyes. I realized that I could also hear what was going on in the rooms when Sam started coughing and the sound came at me through speakers built into the console. The cough was also cause for concern. The wracking congestion sounded as if Sam was operating with a fraction of his lung capacity.
Fascinated, I watch as Dean brought a hand to Sam's chest and rubbed gently trying to quell the coughing.
"I'm OK, Dean," Sam wheezed, when the hacking finally subsided.
If I didn't know better I'd swear Dean was with someone else. That soft, weak voice couldn't possibly be coming from Sam Winchester. What the hell had happened to him?
"You're not OK, Sam," Dean insisted, somehow managing to sound gentle although he was clearly ticked off. "Don't pretend for my sake."
"I'm not pretending," Sam tried to argue, but in my view, his trembling voice betrayed any argument he could try to make.
"Yes you are," Dean stood firm. "So try telling me the truth."
"The truth is, I'm worried about you," Sam confessed.
My breath all but stopped in my throat. Sam was the one who looked like he was a step away from a coma and he was worried about Dean.
"You're putting too much pressure on yourself over all this," he continued.
"Don't worry about me, Sammy," Dean raised the cup and angled the straw so Sam could sip again. "You need to focus on getting better."
When Sam was finished drinking, Dean used a hand towel to dab his face. I blinked twice to wake myself up from what had to be a dream. Dean Winchester, the most lethal hunter I knew, was playing nursemaid and looking damn near proficient at it. It seemed the man, who could behead a demon with one swing of a blade, had a serious soft spot when it came to his little brother.
"I'm getting there, Dean," Sam insisted but his trembling voice was a dead giveaway. "Can we focus on you for a second please?"
Now I was left wondering if Sam's illness was causing delirium. Dean was right; a man in Sam's condition should be more concerned about himself.
"I'm good, Sammy," Dean reassured. "Trust me."
"No you're not, Dean; you're beating up on yourself. And don't try to deny it; I know when you get like that. Whatever it is that you're kicking yourself for, just let it go."
"I can't, Sammy," now Dean's voice was sounding shaky as well. "I was a damn fool to ever let you do these trials. It's my fault that this happened to you."
The surge in my heart almost knocked the wind out of me. The trials had done this to Sam! It took several deep breaths for me to steady myself and refocus on the Winchesters' conversation.
"Dean, I was the one who said I wanted to do it."
"And I should have done what I always do; ignore you and do it my way."
"It wouldn't have worked this time. There was no way I was going to let you do these trials."
"You wouldn't have been able to stop me."
"I would have." Sam said. And even with the weakness in his voice I knew he meant it. "I would never have let you go through with it because I was too scared of what you'd do."
"I've been at this hunting game a little longer than you, Sammy; I think I can handle myself."
"No," Sam was clearly getting upset. "You would have sacrificed yourself and I'm not prepared to lose you."
Dean breathed out hard. "What makes you think this is better, Sam? You think I'm prepared to lose you?"
Stalemate, I thought to myself as the brothers glared at each other.
Sam blinked first. He pulled up his covers and turned away from Dean.
Frustrated, Dean ran a hand through his hair and bowed his head.
"Look, Sammy," he said after a few moments. "I'm sorry."
He placed a tentative hand on his little brother's shoulder and the contact was all Sam needed. He rolled back over to look up at Dean and damn if Sam didn't look like a scared little boy.
"I don't wanna fight with you," he whispered.
"We're not fighting," Dean said softly; and I couldn't get over how gentle he sounded. "We're arguing. We've been doing that since you learned to talk and had an answer for everything."
Sam snickered. "That's only because I was always trying to impress my big brother."
"That's exactly what I mean," Dean grinned and smoothed back Sam's hair. "You always have a comeback."
Still stunned by the discovery that Dean Winchester was a coddler, I watched the display of affection with a mixture of wonder and disbelief.
"I keep telling you to let me cut this mop," he said, affectionately, fighting a losing battle to tuck the shaggy strands behind his little brother's ears.
"It's fine," Sam insisted softly, obviously comforted by the TLC.
"Whatever, Fabio," Dean shrugged but the teasing brush off would have been more convincing if he hadn't let his hand linger on Sam's cheek. "Anyway, you need to get your rest."
"Are you leaving?" Sam asked and if I couldn't see that it was him in that bed I would have sworn it was a ten year old.
"No," Dean reassured. Obviously he was moved by how much his brother seemed to need him because that emotional little quiver was back in his voice.
"Good," was all Sam managed to say before a fresh round of coughing cut him off.
This time the hacking was so deep that he pitched forward holding his chest. Dean immediately moved closer and reached out trying to sooth him. But the gesture was useless as the desperate guttural coughing only seemed to get worse. Then the wheezing and the heaving started filling the control room with a desperate, awful sound.
When I couldn't stand it any longer I flicked the power switch on the console, and got the hell back to my own room. I locked myself in and began pacing in panic and confusion.
Now I was more resolved than ever to get myself out of this mess. Whatever was happening with the trials was literally eating away at Sam, just like it had started to affect me. And if I continued, I could well end up like him. The signs were there with the aches and pains and the paranoia much-less the fact that I didn't even have a passing interest in food. How long would it be before I got really sick?
The worse thing was I'd be all by myself. I didn't have a big brother to care for me; I would have to suffer alone the way I had been since I was locked away with that damn tablet.
That was another thing that was killing me. We were all in this crap but at least Sam and Dean had each other; I was on my own. When I had doubts there was no one to reassure me that I was doing the right thing. Or when I felt scared, there was no one to tell me that it was going to be OK.
And how exactly did I come to be involved in this whole damn fiasco anyway? Sam and Dean were the special ones with the unique legacy. They were the descendants of the Men of Letters and part of the most exclusive group of hunters. I didn't share their history or their bond and I certainly wasn't part of their elite team of two. As far as I was concerned the Winchesters were the ones who needed to sort this wreck out. I was getting out of this nightmare while I still had time.
My sleep was restless and fitful that night but I woke up from it even more resolved to submit my resignation. As soon as I got dressed I went straight out to the study to wait for Dean. When he emerged from Sam's room he looked tired and disheveled; obviously it had been a rough night but that wasn't my concern.
"We need to talk," I said rising to meet him.
"Not now," he stepped past me and headed to the kitchen.
I followed him, determined to stay my course.
"By the way," Dean addressed me without even so much as glancing over his shoulder. "You're still looking rough. The cupboard over there has every med known to man, take whatever you need, you gotta be in tip top shape for what's to come."
Here I was getting sicker and sicker and all that merited was a terse order to dose up with medicine. I guess Dean Winchester's nurturing side was reserved exclusively for his little brother.
"This is why we need to talk," I tried to make my voice more insistent.
It didn't work.
"I said, not now."
"This can't wait," I pushed.
"It has to," Dean ignored me and began pulling fruits and vegetables out of the fridge. "I gotta fix something for Sammy."
I watched in silence as he took one of those bullet juicers down from a cupboard and began slicing up ingredients.
"What's that for?" I asked, apprehensively.
"He's not doing so well with solids so I've been giving him juice."
"Why didn't you tell me how sick he was, Dean?" I had to ask.
"I don't discuss my brother with anyone."
"Why didn't you tell me it's the trials that are making him sick?"
"Because it's none of your damn business."
"Oh that's right; I'm not a superior brand of hunter like you and Sam. I'm not a Winchester so you two don't have to tell me anything. I'm just the nerd who you've locked in a damn hell hole to do your dirty work."
The words flicked the switch on Dean's legendary temper sparking a lethal flame in his eyes as he turned on me.
"Don't you dare speak to me about dirty work, you self-righteous moron. My little brother is fighting for his life because of these trials so if anyone should be complaining about his role in all of this, it's him."
"Sam isn't the only one who's suffering here, Dean. I've been getting sicker and sicker and it's scaring me."
"Man up, you damn wimp," Dean yelled slamming a measuring cup down on the counter. "A few sleepless nights and a little flu is nothing compared to what's happening to my brother."
"And I'm sure Sam didn't start out like that. He's probably just gotten worse over time. Dean, I'm scared if I don't pull out now I'm only going to go downhill from here."
"Well I'm convinced that somewhere in all these translations we'll find what we need to make Sam better, so you can't stop until we get to the end."
"And if we don't find it, then what?"
"We'll find it. So you just focus on deciphering what that last trial is and stop thinking you can just cut and run."
"I have to," I shrilled. "Or I'll end up like Sam! "
The truth hung in the air between us like an overbearing stench. But now that it was finally out, there was no turning back.
"You selfish bastard. Think about someone other than yourself for one moment."
"No, you think about someone other than your brother. Sam isn't the only one at risk here; I'm getting worse every day."
The fury that was blazing across Dean's face had me ready to run for what was left of my pathetic life.
"When you can't keep food down and you're in so much pain that it makes you cry, then you might have a point; but until that time you better keep working on that translation."
"I SAID NO!" I screamed, finally allowing my pent up frustration to overflow. "Sam has you to take care of him; I have to take care of myself. And that means not waiting until I end up like him."
In one swift move Dean had me backed up against the kitchen wall. He pinned me by the throat to deliver a chilling warning.
"If you try to walk out and leave my brother like this I will hunt you down like a dog and by the time I'm finished with you, you'll be begging to do the translations."
I realized I was looking into the eyes of a man who desperate enough to kill me and I couldn't stand the sight. Squeezing my eyes shut, I began praying for my life.
"Dean!"
The cry came from Sam's room and the distressed tone clearly signaled it was an SOS. In less than a second, Dean forgot that he was threatening to kill me and took off towards the sound.
Without thinking I ran after him but once he turned into the room, he slammed the door behind him. Winchester territory had been marked out and strangers couldn't cross the line.
But technology was on my side so I rushed to the control room to see what was going on. When the master suite came up on the console's main screen, I could see Sam was in distress. He was gasping hard like he couldn't get enough air into his lungs while Dean sat facing him making a deliberate effort to keep calm.
"Just breathe Sammy," Dean coaxed, gently rubbing his brother's shoulders. "Just take it easy."
When Sam's panicked gasps accelerated, Dean never lost his cool. "All you have to do is listen to your big brother kiddo," he coached softly. "Just breathe in and out,"
"Can't," Sam wheezed, looking desperately into his brother's eyes.
"You know I'm not buying that," Dean said easily, pushing Sam's hair back from his face. "How many times have you said that before and I always prove you wrong. Just breathe."
Sam followed the instructions and gradually his breathing started to even out. Exhausted and no doubt relieved, he dropped his head against his brother's chest.
"It's OK," Dean whispered, easily pulling him into a hug. "I got you."
I studied Dean's face as he held on to his brother. He was clearly relieved but his features were also clouded with fear. The calm demeanor he was exhibiting only a few moments earlier had been for Sam's benefit; Dean was seriously worried about his brother's condition.
The extended length of time Sam stayed resting against Dean told me that neither of them felt weird or awkward about hugging like that.
God help me, but I envied Sam. We were both feeling the physical and psychological effects of this ordeal but he had Dean to get him through it. There wasn't a person alive who didn't want someone to hug them when they felt like crap. And even in the midst of this living hell, Sam still had that. The whole situation sucked, anyway you looked at it, but I still thought Sam was a lucky man.
"Better?" Dean asked when Sam finally eased back from him.
"Yeah," Sam nodded. "Thanks."
"If you really want to pay me back, eat some breakfast."
"I'm really not hungry, Dean," Sam protested leaning back against his mountain of pillows.
"Well this is a liquid breakfast, so no hunger's required."
Sam started to object but his brother cut him off.
"If you won't do it for yourself at least do it for me."
"Touché."
Taking the response for compliance, Dean disappeared from the view of the camera and returned a few minutes later with a large glass of thick red liquid. When Sam downed it, Dean offered water as a chaser.
With breakfast out of the way, Dean began fluffing the pillows and pulling up the sheets around his brother.
"Back to sleep," he ordered. "Those asthma attacks, or whatever the hell they are, always leave you exhausted."
"You need to rest too," Sam pleaded. "I know you don't sleep much when you stay with me and it's starting to show on you."
"Well, I'm not letting you stay alone so if that's where you're going with this you can quit while you're ahead."
"I don't want you to go but at least lie down beside me and take a nap."
"I will, as soon as I'm sure that you're resting OK."
"Dean..."
"That's the deal Sammy, take it or leave it."
"OK," Sam conceded pouting slightly.
"Don't even try that," Dean said, smoothing down the sheets. "The whole brat routine doesn't work on me when you're sick."
"That's because if I even get the sniffles you shift into this mode."
"What mode?"
"Part caregiver, part dictator."
Dean appeared to consider then agree. "It gets the job done."
In spite of himself, Sam snickered. "Ever since I was six months old," he conceded.
"So let's not mess with a good thing," Dean patted his shoulder. "Sleep time."
Sam turned on his side and looked over at this brother. "You realize you've been taking care of me all my life?"
"Yeah," Dean tried to sound casual. "Who else was gonna do it?"
"It's not just that you did it Dean; it's how. I always felt ... cared for."
"Good," Dean said dismissively, seemingly ready to put an end to this line of discussion.
Sam, however, was not going to be put off.
"I always felt loved."
I swallowed hard. The conversation was getting intense but yet it was still so compelling. The Winchesters, two of the meanest, baddest men I knew, both had a major weakness; each other.
It seems I wasn't the only one who felt uncomfortable because Dean was looking anywhere but at his brother.
"Come on Sammy, you don't have to say that."
"Yes I do," Sam insisted; and his voice may have been shaking but I could hear his conviction. "I don't know that I've ever said thank you for all the times you took care of me when I was sick, or hurt, or when I just needed someone to be there for me. So I'm saying it now. Thank you, Dean."
"I don't wanna hear it," Dean hissed, angrily.
The sudden change of tone caught both me and Sam off guard.
"Why not?" Sam asked, his voice cracking. "Dean, when I look back over my life, the only thing that's been constant is you. You were always there for me and I never would have come this far without you."
"Knock it off!" Dean shouted. "Just shut up with all the damn crap."
Sam's eyes widened with shock and then clouded with hurt making him seem hopelessly defenseless.
"Sorry," he mumbled practically recoiling from his brother.
To my absolute shock it was Dean who broke. He breathed out hard and covered his face with his hands.
"No, Sammy," he whispered after taking a few seconds to compose himself. "I'm the one who's sorry. I just can't..."
"Dean," Sam reached out to cover his brother's hand with his. "Tell me what's wrong."
For several moments, Dean's only response was deep struggling breaths.
"When you talk like that Sammy it sounds like goodbye," Dean's voice was so low I had to strain to catch the words. "It's like you're trying to tell me this now in case you're not around anymore."
"Dean," Sam warned gently.
"I don't want to hear it," Dean cut him off. "Not now. You can thank me when we're both so old all we want is Ben Gay for our knees and batteries for our hearing aids."
"Even if we weren't hunters we have no guarantee that we'll get there Dean, so I need you to know this now."
"OK, maybe we won't make it to the old folk's home but I'm sure as hell not going to lose you to these damn trials. And if that little nerd Kevin thinks he can punk out on us then he's got another thing coming."
"Kevin? What's up with him?"
"The damn jerk is acting like a baby and saying he wants out."
"Out of what?"
"Of the translations," Dean said as if the very thought was unthinkable.
"What?" Sam sat up suddenly. "If he quits now we have no hope of finishing the trials."
"Don't worry your overgrown head about that, little brother. He's going to finish the translation even if I have to tie him up and put a gun to his head to get him to do it."
Sam's heavy sigh was heart-wrenching to hear.
"He wants to quit?" he said, incredulously.
"I said don't worry about it."
Sam sat silently, apparently considering the scenario.
"Can you really blame him, Dean?" he said softly. "I'm sure it's got to be hard for him. He's supposed to be at college either wracking his brain to get A's or boozing up at frat parties. Instead he's mixed up in a tug-of-war between heaven and hell."
"Well cry me a river. None of that is anything compared to what you're going through. And if he tries to wimp out so help me god, I'm gonna torture him 'til he does the translation and then I'm gonna kill him."
"Dean, if he doesn't want to do it you can't force him. It's his choice."
"He doesn't get a choice, Sammy, we didn't and neither does he."
"That's where you're wrong," Sam said reasonably. "We did get a choice Dean; and we chose to do the right thing."
Sam's words slammed me like a blow to my stomach.
"I know what you're saying, Sammy, I do; but when I see you looking so weak and sick I wish we had never gotten involved with any of this."
"Who else would do this, Dean? Who else knows what we know? Who else has the responsibility of this legacy?"
"To hell with the damn legacy," Dean hissed. "All that means is that we're the ones who always have to put it all on the line. We're talking about closing the gates of hell and we're the only ones who have any skin in the game. What the hell did Kevin really risk in all this; an Ivy League education? You're risking your life; and I'm ... I'm risking my brother."
If I hadn't been seated my knees would have folded under me. What had I really given up; an education that I could always go back to? How had I really suffered; some aches and pains or sleepless nights from anxiety? How did that really compare to the agony Sam was enduring or the anguish Dean was experiencing at having to stand by and watch?
Sam held Dean by his shoulders so he could look him in the eye. "We're Winchesters, Dean. And we will always put it all on the line because that's who we are."
My knees didn't give way but the rest of me did. I slumped forward onto the console table and bawled like the immature brat the Winchesters now knew I was.
I cried for Sam who had been through hell but was still willing to see this whole fiasco through to the end. I cried for Dean who would have gladly changed places with his brother knowing full well that meant he would have to be the one in pain. And I cried for myself. Tears of shame and embarrassment that the one chance I had to do something meaningful with my life, I'd been too selfish to think about anyone but myself.
Almost an hour later Dean emerged from Sam's room. When he did, he found me sitting at the dining table. My bag was packed and I was dressed and ready to leave.
"I called Garth," I said before he could speak. "I asked him to come and get me. I figured you wouldn't want to leave Sam."
"I don't," Dean admitted.
"It's time I get back to work so we can finish this thing once and for all."
The stunned relief on Dean's face almost made my decision worth it, but the real satisfaction would come when we figured out how to help Sam.
"And just for the record," I pre-empted Dean once again. "This has nothing to do with you threatening to kill me. You and Sam deserve better than a wingman who quits in the last ten seconds of the game."
Dean closed his eyes and breathed out hard.
"Thank you," he whispered, sounding like a drowning man who had been thrown a lifeline.
"Don't mention it," I said, trying to sound light. "I may not be a Man of Letters but I can still be a man."
"And a damn good one," Dean said slapping my shoulder.
By the time Garth arrived, I was more than ready to go but when I walked out to his car I had to I stop and look at the Batcave one more time. I could hardly think of a more fitting home for the Winchesters and I certainly didn't know any men who were more worthy of the legacy those two had inherited.
As I looked at the unassuming building that was a bastion of history, tradition and nobility, a deep sense of longing came over me. For one, brief, wistful moment I wished that I could have been part of the Winchester's inner circle. I wondered what it would be like, if even for a second I could be the third man on their team. What would it be like if I wasn't a sidekick, but an equal and it was Sam, Dean and Kevin?
Almost immediately, I dismissed that notion. There was no use yearning. It would never be Sam, Dean and anyone. It would always be just Sam and Dean.
THE END
There's much more to come, so hang on for the ride.