Disclaimer: I do not own "Supernatural"

Author's Note: Thank you for all the enthusiastic reviews! They made my day:)

The next chapter will the be the last. Oh, and wondered about the title and in case anyone out there is wondering to, I'll share my answer... it's significant in the end. :)

Thank you again and I hope you enjoy!


There was no way, just no way, that his brother could make that shot, Sam thought almost smugly as he studied the angle; watching as Dean studied it as well.

The game had progressed quickly, almost efficiently, and quietly. In fact, to those who had been watching the previous boisterous game this one seemed almost eerily quiet. There was an intensity in the players that did not welcome suggestions or opinions in the way the others had. Instead of drawing the audience in—they shut them out.

No words were spoken. Why bother when an arched eyebrow from Dean clearly conveyed little rusty there, huh or you call that a shot; when he couldn't help look at Dean without conveying where the hell did you learn that or how do you do that. Words weren't necessary.

The game had been winding down when a bartender had swung by to inform them they'd be closing in fifteen minutes.

It was Dean's shot. If he made it—he won. If he didn't—Sam won.

He wouldn't make it though. The angle was impossible.

Dean was good, but not that good.

No way.

He couldn't make that shot, Sam was sure of it, was almost giddy with that knowledge. He would take the keys to the Impala, which unequivocally would have Dean attached to them, and drive home. Dean could bitch all he wanted to, but there wasn't much he could do from the passenger's seat.

It would work. He would win and Dean would be coming home with him.

Because really, there was just, no way.

And then Dean looked up at him—as if he'd heard Sam's thoughts—meeting his gaze, and he smirked… before pulling back and aiming for the shot.

And Sam's heart sank, the realization hitting him hard— yes, his brother could make that shot; yes, his brother was that good.

Dean made the shot.

For a moment after—no one moved. The world took on that surreal quality again as Sam watched Dean straighten slowly, set the cue stick down carefully— without a word.

Sam stared; unsure of what was going to happen now. Unsure of he wanted to happen now.

Dean's gaze lifted slowly and Sam saw him draw in a deep breath, saw him struggle to pull up a smile. A smile that didn't reach his eyes— Sam had yet to see a smile or a smirk reach his brother's eyes.

"Good game," Dean murmured.

Sam nodded, swallowing hard, his mouth suddenly dry, "You choose…" he reminded him in a hoarse whisper.

Dean nodded slowly, the smile flickering on his face, "Yeah… I choose…" he murmured, his gaze dropping as he carefully picked up his jacket.

Sam's heart pounded, his eyes widening and his body tensing as Dean shrugged into the jacket—getting ready to leave…

NO!

His mind cried, but he couldn't move. He couldn't say anything… he could only watch.

Watch as his brother lifted hazel eyes to him. Watch as his brother carefully constructed a smirk that was so intentionally aloof it washed Sam in sadness. Watch as Dean studied him, as if drinking him in, as if imprinting his form to memory for life.

"I choose… huh?" his older brother repeated softly.

He met Sam's gaze for a long moment, before shrugging, "… have a good life, Sammy."

The words were soft and warm and they came from his brother; from Dean. The one who'd taught him to box and how to unhook a girl's bra with one hand. The one who'd made him grilled cheese and told him bedtime stories. The one who'd played tag with him and let him win at basketball. The one who was currently giving Sam's friends a curt nod and leaving the bar…

Leaving…

Sam eyes fastened on that retreating leather jacket even as his friends crowded in around him.

"What was that, Sam?"

"Do you know him from somewhere or something?"

"What just happened here?"

"Are you okay?"

"Sam?"

Dimly Sam heard their questions, registered their attitudes, understood their confusion— but really every ounce of his being was now focused on the spot where Dean was no longer standing.

Dean had left.

Dean had been fucking here and left. What the fuck was Dean doing here anyway!

It wasn't a burst of rage. It didn't wash over him like the last time. It didn't surprise him either. Instead it was a steady, building of cold determination—this was not happening.

Dean was not leaving.

This was not ending here.

"Where the hell are you going!"

"Sam?"

He heard them shout his name as he crossed the length of the bar with long strides and headed for the street.

He ignored them.

He knew they were right behind him—seconds behind him really, but he just didn't care.

Dean was already on the opposite side of the sidewalk when Sam exited the bar and the sight of him calmly walking towards the corner set Sam's teeth on edge.

His fists clenched and he stalked into the street, "So that's it!" he yelled, "You're just gonna leave?"

Dean continued his pace, "That's the plan…" he tossed over his shoulder and this time Sam saw red.

"GODDAMMIT Dean!" he roared, stalking into the middle of the street, "FUCK YOU!"

That made Dean pause; Sam continued, "Where the FUCK do you get off!"

His brother turned, rather slowly. His expression set in stone, "What?" he asked, his voice deceptively soft.

"Sam what's going on?" It was Doug. Once again Sam ignored him.

"You heard me." He hissed at his brother, "What the hell do you think you're doing?"

Dean's eyes narrowed warningly, "You don't want to do this, Sam." He said steadily, his gaze flickering behind Sam to where the other men were standing.

Sam didn't care.

"Like hell I don't." he growled, stalking across the street, "Where the hell do you think you're going!"

Dean's eyes flashed, enough was enough—Sam needed to tone it down. "A job, Sam, you remember those don't you?" he snarled.

Sam practically snarled back, "You can't do this!" He yelled.

Dean made a frustrated hand movement, "Do WHAT? I haven't DONE anything!"

"You're LEAVING!" Sam roared.

That took the wind out Dean's sails. He stared at his little brother a moment, frowning at him, "Well, yeah." He finally muttered.

Sam's breath was coming in small in gasps, his hands were clenched, and his throat burned—Dean's clueless-ness was not helping. "You CAN'T," he replied, "You just CAN'T!"

Dean stared at him, saying nothing; just watching him as the moment stretched. They were standing on the same sidewalk now; the street behind, Sam's friends on the opposite sidewalk.

Sam's breathing was getting more erratic as he struggled to maintain control of a rising swell of emotions he couldn't even begin hoping to understand.

With each breath he felt his grip on that control slipping, he was practically hyperventilating and he didn't know why.

All he knew was that the Impala was probably around the corner and Dean wanted to get in it and drive away. All he knew was that he hadn't seen his brother in four years and that the prospect of not seeing him for another four was terrifying. All he knew was the overwhelming feeling that if Dean got in that car and drove away it would be longer than four years—

"You can't go," he repeated, his voice suddenly hoarse, "You just can't…"

Dean sighed softly, softening at his Sam's vulnerability, "You'll be okay, Sammy," he said almost gently— because he knew what was happening here.

Sam was overwhelmed, emotional, not thinking… he was lost in his feelings and at the moment all he wanted was for Dean to stay.

Dean could see that. But the moment would pass and Sam would start thinking again— he would realize that this was not what he wanted, that this caused him problems he didn't need… that this wasn't worth the trouble…

"I have to go." Dean stated, interrupting his own thoughts, "But you'll be okay." He murmured.

He couldn't stop the sad smile that touched his lips, though, because dammit this hurt. "You were before," he finished quietly, studying his brother for one moment more before turning away again.

Quickly, before he lost his nerve, before he made himself forget, before he let Sammy convince him that it was true, that he really wanted him here— before he stayed…

He'd take only a few steps when Sam spoke again, his voice reminiscent of the young dark-haired boy with big brown eyes that Dean's memory held with such warm affection.

"Do-over." Sam said quietly.

Dean froze; assaulted by the echo those words ignited— a lifetime of Sammy's high-pitched voice squealing for a do-over; the roll of dice, the free-throw, the race—all at one point or another subject to a do-over; and the older brother who'd fondly indulged them all.

He turned slowly, Sam was closer now, his dark eyes glimmering with unshed tears and damn; Dean couldn't take Sam's tears.

"Bar's closed." Dean replied, surprised at how thick his voice sounded.

"Tomorrow." Sam stated quickly, taking a step closer to Dean.

Dean shook his head, "No." He whispered, swallowing the lump in his throat.

He was the older brother—he knew what was best. It was best for them not to do this. It would be harder on Sam—later, if they did this.

Later when the younger man realized this wasn't what he wanted.

Sam took another step towards his brother, "Dean—"

"You don't want this Sam."

"How would you know—"

"I know what you want." Dean interrupted, "Normal." He said in a pained whispered.

Sam's eyes narrowed suddenly, his gaze somehow darker, "I want my brother." He said steadily.

Dean studied him for a moment; then tilted his head a little to the side, "But not what comes with him." He said carefully, sadly-- resignedly.

It was the truth.

They both knew it.

But Sam couldn't let it end there.

It didn't matter at right now. Right now all that mattered was that Dean didn't leave—they could figure the rest out later, right now… Dean just couldn't leave. "Do-over," he repeated.

Dean shook his head slowly, the sad smile back on his face, "Sorry kiddo, not this time." He murmured.

It might have been the sad smile or the gentle voice or the warm eyes or maybe a combination of all three—Sam would never know. All he knew was that suddenly he felt himself unravel.

The force of hysteria that rose up in him was nearly staggering. Panic unfurled from his stomach outwards; extending itself towards his toes and heart, reaching out towards his arms and hands…

Dean was leaving.

He was really going to leave.

The tears spilled. "Please... don't…" He whispered, not caring in the least that he sounded suspiciously like the four year old he'd been, who just hadn't wanted to grasp the concept that Dean had to go to school.

Dean took a step back, "Sam, don't," he pleaded, his own voice tinged with a hint of panic. Dammit, he hated it when Sam cried, "Just don't."

"I need you to stay."

"Why?"

"Because… I…" his stopped suddenly—why? The answer was so simple, so basic it was almost ridiculous; he shrugged a little, "I just… miss you."

Dean blinked—what the hell was he supposed to say to that?

"Please," Sam repeated.

Dean swallowed hard, reaching up a hand and running it through his short hair.

Shit.

How was it possible for a twenty-two year old to look so damned much like six year old! Shouldn't Sam have outgrown the damn puppy-dog eyes by now!

"Sam I just—" his voice trailed off, he didn't know what to say here… what to do.

Sam had missed him—and that… that mattered to him; more than he would ever admit.

Sam had missed him.

Sam stepped towards Dean again. "Stay," he said, his voice firmer now that he'd sensed Dean's hesitation. He drew in a shaky breath, "You have to, really…" he added after a moment of silence.

Dean's eyes focused on his pointedly, but he said nothing.

"I'm asking for a do-over." Sam reminded him, "You have to do it… it's what big brother's do."

The breath left Dean in a rush, the words hitting him hard, another echo from the recesses of their childhood—one he couldn't brush away.

Because it was the one thing he just couldn't ignore, no matter what.

It was the reason he was in the goddamned mess to begin with—he could never shake being Sam's big brother, it was part of him. A part he couldn't run from.

He'd never done it.

He couldn't now.

Hell, maybe he'd never be able to.

"Aw, HELL Sammy," he roared, frustrated, angry—terrified.

Sam was maneuvering him into staying, but Dean knew, he knew that Sam would regret this. He knew it because he knew Sam.

He knew that Sam's self revolved around an ideal of normal, one that he seemed to be successfully accomplishing, and that Dean did not fit into it.

One he didn't want to fit into.

Hunting was a part of him as much as being Sam's big brother was… giving one up for the other wasn't something he looked forward to doing—ever. Sam had taken the choice away from him before…

And as much as he loved his little brother, Dean wasn't sure he even wanted that choice back.

Regardless though, Sam was looking at him with those big doe eyes and he knew—he was about to cave. He didn't have to do it gracefully.

A small smile was tugging at Sam's lips, "Is that a yes?" he asked softly, eagerly.

"Are you gonna whine about it for eternity if it isn't?" Dean growled.

The grin that bloomed on Sam's face was so warm and sincere, so happy that Dean decided—for now, it was okay to pretend. It was okay to act as if those choices were never going to have to made.

"Yes, it's a yes," he grumbled; then eyed Sam warily, "You aren't going to hug me are you? 'Cause I've had just about all the chick-flick moment I can stomach…"

Sam's grin widened, he did want to hug Dean, but it would be much more fun to wait till the older man wasn't expecting it.

"Let's get goin…" he said instead.

Dean arched an eyebrow, "Dude I never said I'd go anywhere with you. Oh, and your friend over there's waving his arms and turnin purple—you might want to do somethin 'bout that…"

Sam whirled around, he'd completely forgotten about the guys. They were still standing on the sidewalk outside the bar and Jake was on the phone.

"Shit." He muttered, motioning them over, "I completely forgot."

"Yeah. Sucks, huh. So I'll see ya tomorrow…" Dean murmured.

Sam stopped motioning the guys over and spun around again, an incredulous look on his face, "What?"

Dean sighed, "… all that education impair your hearing or somethin?" he asked.

"You're comin home with me."

Dean's eyebrow's shot to his hairline, "Dude, I'm not stray!"

"Sam?" Mike's voice interrupted Sam just as he was about to respond. Sam scowled at Dean before shifting to his friends.

"Everything okay here?" Doug asked, his voice very careful.

Sam had the grace to look a sheepish as he realized that his friends were rightfully freaked out.

"Yeah, yeah; everything's fine." He glanced quickly at Dean, "This is… I mean Dean… he's… my brother."

All three stared at him for a long moment.

"Your brother?" Doug asked, his gaze shooting quickly to Dean before going back to Sam.

Sam nodded, "My brother."

The silence stretched for several seconds.

"Like brother-brother…?" Jake asked finally, also looking from Sam to Dean and back again.

Sam frowned, "Yeah…"

"No, I mean like seriouslybrother-brother… like not fraternity or something… like brother…"

Sam's frown turned into a scowl, "Yeah. Like brother-brother… what the hell?" He asked, looking at them all sharply. It wasn't that hard to understand was it?

"It's just…" Mike stuttered, then blinked, "Really?"

Sam rolled his eyes, "Yes. Really." He grit out.

"I got all the good-looking genes," Dean offered, when the silence stretched again, "Obviously."

"Listen guys… I'll catch ya later, 'kay…" Sam stated, when the three men seemed unable to do anything but stare.

"You sure—"

"That he's my brother?" Sam asked, laughter entering his voice, "Yeah, Mike I'm sure… I'll see ya guy later… come on, Dean. Let's go."

"Dude. You wanted a re-match. I said yes. I'll meet you here tomorrow."

"No. You're coming with me."

"Sam—"

"I'm going to get in the car Dean."

"Sam!"

Sam started walking in the direction Dean had been heading in; its not like it would be hard to spot the Impala.

He heard Dean say something to guys and lengthened his stride so he could get to the car first. He could pick the lock—no problem.

By the time Dean got to where he'd parked the Impala Sam was sliding into the passenger's seat.

Dean was scowling when he bent next to the window, "Sam. Get. Out. Of. My. Car. Now."

Sam smiled, "No. And we should go. It's gonna take us 20 minutes to get home."

"Sam—"

"How far's the motel your staying at? Have you even found a motel yet? Did I mention that I have a friend whose brother is a police officer around here? How beers have you had tonight Dean? Three? Four?"

Dean stared at him a moment. Then straightened. A moment later he was sliding into the passenger seat.

Without a word he started up the car and began pulling out of the parking spot.

For a moment Sam thought he might have gone too far, after all… just because when Dean grinned at him it felt like nothing had changed, didn't mean that it was true—things had changed.

"I'd completely forgotten what a pain in the ass you are."

Or maybe not…

He grinned, "I'll be happy to remind you." Sam replied.

Dean rolled his eyes, but didn't reply.

"So," Sam began after a few minutes.

"HERE it comes." Dean grumbled, gunning the engine a little.

"What?"

"If you were about to say anything that could ever be featured on a Lifetime movie—don't."

"Dean—"

"Dude. Be a man. You already cried like a chick tonight. What? They put estrogen in the food at Stanford?"

Sam studied Dean's profile for a moment—he could let this turn into teasing he supposed, except that… he hadn't seen Dean in four years.

"I graduated." He said instead, his voice softer than he'd meant it to come out.

Dean shot him quick look, then swallowed hard, nodding, "Yeah." He stated, "Congratulations… on the wedding too… I mean that." He added after a moment, shooting Sam another look.

Sam nodded, feeling something ease inside him. It took him a moment to recognize it as relief… he was relieved that Dean knew. He'd wanted his brother to know.

The ringing of a cell phone distracted them both.

Dean shrugged, "It's not me. Mine's on vibrate."

Sam fished his out of his pocket and stared at it.

"Well?" Dean asked, when Sam just continued to stare at it and the phone continued to ring.

"It's Jess." Sam stated.

"Jess…?"

"My fiancée."

"uh, okay."

The silence stretched. The phone continued to ring.

"You planning to pick it up anytime soon."

"I'm thinking about it."

The phone continued to ring.

"Sam!" Dean snapped.

"What?" Sam shrugged, "I'm thinking…"

"Doesn't that thing go to voicemail?"

"She hangs up on the third ring and hits redial…"

"Huh. Persistent."

Sam sighed wearily, "Yeah." He stated, as he pressed receive and brought the phone to his ear.

"Hi."

"Uh… yeah. Yeah. Jake called you, huh? That was… unnecessary of him."

"No."

"No."

"Yes."

"No, no. We're fine. Everything fine."

"Uh, back at Mike's I guess…"

"No, no… we're on our way now."

"You're on your way. I'm just dropping you off." Dean interrupted as Sam listened.

"Oh yeah... He's thrilled… can't wait to meet you."

"Sam." Dean grit out, his hands clenching on the wheel.

Sam shot him a grin, "He can hardly contain his excitement," Sam added, his grin widening as he nodded at whatever Jess was saying.

"Chocolate chip is fine. Dean loves chocolate chip."

"Dammit. Sam."

Sam covered the mouthpiece and frowned at Dean, his dark eyes twinkling, "Watch the language around the lady—oh and loosen the grip on that wheel, you're liable to break it in half…" He murmured, before turning his attention back to the phone.

"Huh? Oh… hold on?" He glanced at Dean again, blinking innocently at him, "Coffee, hot chocolate, or mocha?" he asked.

"What?" Dean snapped.

"Jess is making us snacks. Do you want coffee, hot chocolate or mocha?"

"I am not having a fuckin snack with you, Sam. I'm dropping you off at your doorstep 'cause you fuckin threatened me, but I'm not a going up."

Sam frowned at him a moment, then shrugged, "He'll take coffee, Jess." He stated into the mouthpiece, "Make it decaf, though. Oh, and sweet… he likes it sweet."

"SAM."

"Yeah. yeah. Another uh… five minutes I guess."

"I'm telling you. He's thrilled about meeting you." Sam's eyes moved to Dean's profile, "I mean you are marrying his only brother, his baby brother in fact; who he hasn't seen in a very long time."

Sam chuckled, "Okay, a little, maybe… yeah…" he laughed again, "Okay, I'll tell'm babe. Yeah, me too."

When he'd put the phone away Dean sent him a scorching glance.

Sam met it with a neutral gaze, "Jess said to tell you she's getting the sofa bed ready." He stated, almost happily.

Dean released a ragged sigh, "Sam…"

"Stay with me, Dean." Sam interrupted, his tone suddenly serious. "We have to talk."

"No, we don't—"

"What are you doing here?"

Dean blinked at Sam's abrupt changed in topic, "What?" he asked.

"What are you doing here? A job?"

The older man shot him a look, then shrugged, "Yeah… I guess." He said noncommittally; then brought the Impala to an abrupt halt, "Oh, look no time to chat—you're here."

Sam slid forward on the seat then glared at his brother. "Come. On."

Dean rolled his eyes, "Sam." He said aggravated.

"Dean." Sam repeated in the same tone.

Then he added, "Look, I want you to meet Jess. I'm going to keep bugging you until you do. We may not have been around each for the last four years, but I'm sure if you think back to the eighteen before that you'll remember that I can be pretty tenacious—"

"—pain in the ass, ya mean," Dean muttered, darkly.

"—and eventually you will give in," Sam continued, because he felt confident enough to add that, "It's what always happened... so can't we just skip to the end and go upstairs… 'cause Jess made chocolate chip cookies today and she's re-heating them."

Dean shifted in his seat and pinned his brother with a steady hazel gaze, "I'm not going to change who I am, Sam. Not even for you."

Sam blinked, surprised. The teasing glint leaving his eyes, "I haven't asked you to."

"No. But… if we do this— you will… eventually." Dean said, his voice almost gentle again, like he was afraid of hurting Sam, "Think about it for a minute, Sam."

Sam shook his head. "I have thought about it. I want this… I want you to meet Jess and to be my best-man…" he shrugged, "I want to know where you are… this isn't… right, Dean, the way things have been. The way we've been doing this…" he trailed off.

His gaze distant for a moment, "I meant it when I said I missed you… don't you… I mean, haven't you…" he swallowed hard, suddenly unable to form the words.

Dean could only stare at him.

"I have." He whispered into the silence that filled the car. Two words that were as inadequate as a hundred would be to convey the depth of emotion they expressed.

A long moment passed before Dean cleared his throat, and shot Sam a small smirk, "Fine. I'll camp out here for the night… save myself some cash…"

Sam's eyes instantly brightened. It took a few minutes to find parking, but soon they were both inside the building and trudging up the steps towards Sam's apartment.

"Hey, Dean." Sam stated, when he reached the door; keys posed to unlock it.

Dean arched an eyebrow, "Yeah?"

"Don't hit on my fiancée, 'kay."


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