Chapter 3

Dean opens his trailer and sits down, head in hands. He can't stop thinking about what Sammy said, about his confession, the fact that his baby brother wanted to die. It was bitterly ironic, Dean thinks, that he had been leading a 'normal' life – no hunting, no supernatural occurrences and his brother had been forced to leave the only life he had ever wanted and was still on the hunt. He could feel tears sting at his lashes and he gritted his teeth. He needed to help Sam, he needed to be with Sam, he needed to stop Sam from suffering, but how? He thought when the demon brought it that their life would be so fucking simple. How wrong he was, how wrong could anyone be?

He stood up finally and went over to the cupboard. He pulled out each of his novelty cookie jars and tipped the money out onto the kitchen work top. He counted the rolls methodically. Ten rolls in each jar, $200 in each roll, five jars. He had $10,000 dollars. He smiled wryly, it was the most money he had ever had in his life, hell it was the most money he had ever seen in his life. He picked up each roll and thrust it into his duffel bag. He knew now what he had to do.

He thought he should say goodbye to Jim, but he knew he couldn't, so instead he just left a note on the outside of his trailer. He thought he might feel something more than a tug of regret, but he didn't. The place had been his home, the carnival folk something akin to family, but he had his real family now and that was the most important thing to him.

He caught a bus out of town, deciding what to do first. He left what luggage he had at the bus station and decided that the used car lot should be his first stop. He knew he might have some problems finding just what he wanted, but hell; he had plenty of money and plenty of time. He grinned, his stomach clenching with sudden excitement, an excitement he hadn't felt for a long, long time. He had a purpose again, something to work on again. His thoughts kept moving back to Sammy, to that pale face and those dead eyes. He had vowed to protect his brother and it was a vow he was determined to keep.

He looked at the car with some satisfaction and handed over the money without question. Ok, so it wasn't his baby, but it was damn close and just to run his hands over the dark metal gave him intense pleasure. He didn't know how Sam had gotten into town, but he sure knew how he was getting out. He got into the driving seat and breathed in. The familiar scent of leather, polish and oil filled his nostrils and he laughed out loud. All he needed now was some dark paint and a little flair and this car would be his for a lifetime.

He shopped carefully, never one to be rash with money. He had spent most of his childhood and all of his adult years relying on stolen credit cards or money he had won hustling pool and he wasn't overtly sentimental over possessions. Most of the things he had owned in life were related to hunting in some way. Guns, knives, bottles of holy water. Fuck even the clothes he had worn had been brought for purely practical reasons. He had never owned a book or had a favourite toy, never had anything he couldn't live without. Even his car, his beloved Impala, had been tended because she aided in the hunt. He guessed the way that he felt was both the blessing and curse of a transient existence. He remembered, faintly, that his mom had collected Gund bears, shelves of the furry creatures, small ones, large ones. His dad had always brought one on special occasions. Birthdays, anniversaries, Valentines Day. The last one he had given her was a tiny blue one, to celebrate Sammy's birth. Dean felt his chest tighten. He hadn't thought about those bears for years, why did he have to remember them now. He pulled the car to a halt outside yet another shopping mall. There was still a lot he needed and he didn't have quite so much time now, anxious to get back to his brother.

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Sam was much as he left him. Still in the bed, still attached to the IV and monitor. The nurses assured him that his brother was fine and that they were keeping him in overnight to monitor him. She understood Dean's concern and, yes, he could stay the night, but he would have to do it in the hospital diner which stayed open 24 hours a day. He wanted to see Sam first and turned on as much charm as he could muster. Eventually she caved in and soon he was back at his brother's side, where he belonged.

"How are you feeling?" Even to his own ears it sounded lame and Sam gave a weak smile

"Rested"

"No, how are you really feeling?"

Sam looked at him and Dean could see the pain in his eyes

"Confused" he forced a grin "When I came here it was really just to see you before...before.." his voice stilled for a moment, seeing Dean's expression "Now, being here with you, well, I feel different"

"Different?"

"You give me a reason to live Dean" Sam's voice was soft, his emotions genuine "You always did, I guess I just didn't appreciate it"

"You get out of here tomorrow" Dean kept his voice careful, neutral "Plans?"

"Don't really have any. I hadn't thought beyond, well you know" Sam shrugged

"Ok" Dean leant forward and took his brother's hand "Sam – I'm coming back tomorrow to get you. Now is there anything you need. I guess you didn't walk into town and you must have some stuff somewhere, let me know where it is and what you need of it – understand?"

"Car's a bit of a wreck – brought it on my student hardship loan" Sam grinned "I've got some weapons, a few clothes – parked just outside of town in one of those roadside stopping places – guess I don't have anything much" his eyes flickered "I've missed you Dean"

"I've missed you too Sam" the hand in his squeezed harder and Dean saw that Sam's emotions were painfully close to the surface now "Just hang in a few hours more there Sammy, it'll be worth it, I promise"

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It was a long night. Dean dozed, drank coffee and dozed again, his head resting uncomfortably on the hospital diner's hard and unforgiving table. Finally, dawn broke and he got up to watch the sunrise. He felt as if he were having some sort of epiphany as he watched the sky light up and saw the first rays of sun pushing back the dark clouds. This could very well be the first day of the rest of his life and he was determined that it was going to be a good one.

Sam looked pale, but better. He was dressed and sitting on the end of the bed, waiting for Dean. When he saw his brother's face light up, Dean had to bite back his own emotions. They had a lot of catching up to do. Four years was a long time, too long and Dean wanted to know everything that had happened to his brother. He put his hand on Sam's shoulder and pulled him to his feet.

"Good morning Sunshine" was all he said.

Sam walked out into the hospital parking lot and froze. There, like some sort of metal ghost, was a black Impala. It stood, a magnificent creature, sunlight glinting on its tinted windows, just waiting, waiting for someone to drive it, to hit the road and get out of town.

"Dean?"

His brother grinned, a familiar shit-eating grin, and steered Sam round to the trunk. He opened it up with a flourish and Sam found himself looking at a veritable arsenal of weapons. That wasn't all; there were two duffle bags, bottles of water, several books, bags of M & M's and a laptop. Sitting on top of all these things was a tiny blue Gund bear, almost waving at him, it's black eyes smiling welcoming him home. Sam shook his head for a moment, closing his eyes and then opening them again, staring hard at the car and the contents of the trunk, wondering if he were dreaming or having a vision.

"Dean?" he turned to his brother, eyes brimming with tears "What?" But even as the question left his lips he knew, he knew what the answer was. He swallowed hard and then gave in, tears pouring unchecked down his face; he threw himself into his brother's arms and clung on for dear life, holding the only really solid thing that he had ever had in his life.

Dean's arms came up and he held his brother tightly. He could feel Sam's tears wetting his tee-shirt, his brother's body trembling, his hands clutching so hard that Dean swore he would have bruises in the morning. Then he felt his own walls crumble and he dropped his head down onto his brother's shoulder, breathing in the scent that was uniquely his. His own tears, when they came, didn't surprise him as much as he thought they would and he certainly wasn't ashamed of them. And there they stood, two brothers, clinging together over the trunk of a spray painted 69 Impala, their future mapped out before them in a way it had never been before.

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