A/N: HOORAY. This is my first fic to break the 100 mark. I'm so excited.

Another A/N: So, basically this is a spin off Devil's Trap and then the story will continue into "Season Two" or the way I think it should go. hehe

Yet another A/N: So, I'm leaving on Wednesday for Vancouver and I won't be back until Monday… when I shall sleep all day. So, at the earliest I will post again tomorrow (but that's HIGHLY doubtful because I will be SUPER busy) and if that doesn't happen the earliest will be Monday.

Disclaimer: Song is by Relient K, and this show belongs to the geniuses at the WB. The story is mine.

Warnings: Nopey Dopey.

Read and Review. Let's get to 125 reviews. Gracias.

Chapter Ten: Let It All Out

And you said I know that this will hurt

But if I don't … then things will just get worse

If the burden seems too much to bear

Remember

The end will justify the pain it took to get us there

And you promise me

That you believe

In time I will defeat this

Cause somewhere in me

There is strength

Sam woke when something, or rather; someone grabbed his hand and squeezed it gently. A thumb running over his split and sore knuckles. It was then he remembered he'd punch a wall not more than two days ago.

"Hey Sam." His voice was deeper somehow, and raspy. "You get into a fight with cement?" Sam lifted his head. He could see it in his brother's eyes that it pained Dean to talk.

Probably pained him to breathe too.

Dean had large white bandages wrapped around his torso and he'd lost a lot of blood, too much in Sam's opinion, but Rowan had insisted he wasn't in any immediate danger unless those cuts got infected. But he to be feeling better now that he was resting safely in the soft bed with some fluids in him.

Sam let out a huge sigh of relief and let his hand come to rest on top of the one that held his own.

"Jesus Dean, it's so good to see you again." He whispered, his words catching momentarily in his throat.

Dean couldn't quite manage his signature cocky smirk and that alighted a flame of panic somewhere inside the younger brother.

"Miss my pretty face, didja Sam?" Dean's voice scratched. Sam chuckled, though it was more of a broken sob, and nodded.

"Yeah. That and your car. Dad's truck just doesn't attract the ladies the way the Impala does." He explained, lovingly, and absently, running his hand through his brother's hair.

The panic welled when Dean didn't knock his hand away. In fact, he barely even flinched, just gave a weak smile.

"Where's the colt, Sam?" Dean asked, trying in vain to sit up. Sam let go of his brother's hand.

"Safe. Dean, what's wrong?" Sam asked, trying to force his brother to lay back down against the soft pillows. "Relax man, you're going to tear something." The volume of his voice rose, worry creeping into his tones.

Dean did relax, slightly, at least enough so he was no longer fighting against his brother, but his breathing noticeable increased and his eyes were darting about nervously.

"He's coming, Sam. You've got to get the colt…"

"I've got it, Ace. Relax." John Winchester's presence—or perhaps the colt's—seemed to put Dean at ease.

Sam exchanged a glance with his father.

A nod.

So then Sam wasn't paranoid, well, in all honesty maybe he was, but John felt it as well.

Something was… off.

Dean was different. Really different.

But in a way neither Sam nor John could ever explain. He just seemed to be lacking in everything Dean.

John raised the gun, aiming it at the heart of his bed-ridden first born. Though his grip faltered slightly under the questioning, pain filled gaze of his loyal son, it steadied quickly.

"Dad… what are you doing?" Dean asked, raising to his elbows. He looked to Sam for help.

"You're not my brother." Sam whispered, standing and stepping away from the bed slowly, never turning. He couldn't have his back to him… "You're not Dean."

"Sam… what are you…" He paused, smiling in bitter shock. He turned to his father. "Dad, come on, it's me!"

John simply shook his head, "you haven't called him Sammy once." He rationalized. "Dean always calls his brother Sammy, especially when he's hurt." John cocked the pistol and Sam's body flinched at the noise.

"Dean wouldn't have grabbed my hand. It would have been too much… he wouldn't have." Sam reasoned.

They had to be sure.

They were sure.

Right?

Well, judging by the way John Winchester was holding that gun, I'd say he was pretty damned sure.

"I was happy to see you!" Dean cried. "Jesus Christ, Sammy! For the past two days I was sure I was going to die alone in that house. Seeing you two again seemed so damn impossible." He let his voice trail off and he hung his head. "But if you're so sure, go ahead, shoot me. At least it won't be at that house, at the hands of that demon."

There was an emphasis on the that which made Sam's heart lurch and miss a beat or two.

John aimed.

Sam closed his eyes.

But no shot rang out.

So Sam opened his eyes and looked questioningly to his father, who slowly let the gun fall back to his side, his face drawn with shame.

Like, shame on me for not killing my son. (Its okay Daddy, they'll forgive you.)

Dean, with his chin still pressed to his chest, smiled. "Thought so." He whispered and raised his head.

His hazel eyes now burned a fiery yellow.

And before John could pull the trigger and kill his son and the demon inside him, he and his youngest were pinned to the wall by invisible forces. The gun clattered away harmlessly.

"You!" John snarled when Dean got to his feet with an agility no man in his condition should have possessed. "Where is Dean?" John demanded. The demon threw his head—Dean's head—back and laughed.

Sam swallowed, thinking about how much worse this was than the shapeshifter incident. Because Dean was in there somewhere. And whatever they did to this demon, they did to Dean.

"Oh he's in here. Trapped in his own meat suit. He says "hi" by the way." He smirked. Dean's smirk with a demonic twist. Sam fought to wipe it off his brother's face. "He's been calling you sappy morons for the past half an hour."

"I don't understand…" John whispered. "We tested you…"

"Did you really think holy water and Latin would affect a demon of my power." He shook his head disappointedly, clicking his tongue. He walked over to John, standing right in front of him and leaned against the wall, one hand on the wall on either side of the hunter's head. "Come on John, I thought you were smarter than that." He taunted.

"Hey." Sam called, a smirk present on his face. "Tell Dean that we'll have him out in no time, will ya?" Sam requested. The demon grinned, twisting Dean's face into a nearly unattractive—because we all know Dean can never be unattractive, even with those yellow eyes—snarl.

Sam wanted to close his eyes, because he couldn't stand for Dean to be the one doing this. He couldn't watch his brother kill them.

"He'd fading fast, Johnny-Boy." The demon looked back at John. "He's dying." He whispered in John's ear, his lips nearly brushing against the old—well not old, but older—man's scraggily cheek.

"He'll outlive you."

"I'll admit," the demon pulled away and began to pace around the room, "he is a strong one. He's a fighter, your son." Pride? Was that pride in the demon's voice? He looked at John, fiery hatred burning in his eyes. "He worships you, do you know that? He'd kiss the ground you walk on to get your approval. He's nearly killed himself fighting for it." John clenched his teeth. "You've rarely done wrong in his eyes. I can count the time you let him down on one hand and not even use all five fingers." He sighed. "Ooh, this one is a biggie… Nebraska."

The demon smiled at Sam's sharp intake of breath.

"He was dying, John. You didn't even bother to pick up the phone. Did you even care when you got the message, because I know you got it Johnny!" Dean's voice was shrill, taunting, on the edge of hysteria. "What were you waiting for, huh? For Sammy to call and tell you that I died?"

The room was silent.

The demon seemed startled that Dean had somehow channeled himself into the discussion, and John smiled for he'd seen a flash when the yellow had returned to the familiar—and oh so beautiful—hazel he was familiar with.

"You're right, Dean. I should have called." John whispered. "But you should have heard the determination in your brother's voice. I knew he'd save you. And besides… do you really think Joshua would have known about Reverend LeGrange if I hadn't told him first?" John asked with a smile.

Sam couldn't help the smile that came to his face. He'd called Joshua third, but he'd apologized and politely told him he'd had no information. But then, a day later he called back with the information about Roy and his faith healing. Sam could only imagine that Joshua had called their father and John had mentioned the service.

Even absent, John Winchester took care of his boys.

"Shut up!" The demon hissed, his hands falling against the wall on either side of John's head once again. Their faces were centimeters apart, their noses almost touching.

Dean's forehead was beaded with sweat and he was panting.

"I thought he was wasting away." John whispered, his voice full of malice.

Dean's mouth twitched, the way it did when he was fighting to control his anger.

"Seems to me that he's kicking your sorry ass." John taunted. Dean grit his teeth and walked over to Sam.

"Little Sammy." He mumbled, looking him over in a way that made Sam's stomach lurch. "I bet you have a million questions for me."

"No. Just one."

"Shoot." He said with a silly grin that looked so utterly Dean it made Sam's eyes sting with tears.

"Why?" And the millions of fillers that went with that were answered with one simple sentence.

"Because I have plans for you…" He cupped Sam's chin in his hand. "Jessica and Mommy got in my way. They could protect you from me. Never underestimate the strength of a woman." He pouted when he saw the tears in Sam's eyes. "Oh, Sammy, please don't cry. It kills him to see you cry." He whispered. "You know, you don't need him, not really, and he knows that."

"I do too need him…" Sam whispered, saying it for Dean.

"But not like he needs you." The demon whispered. "You and your father, as pathetic as it is, are the only things that keep him alive. Do you know how many times your brother has held a gun to his head? Or hoped that he'd just die on one of your god forsaken hunts? But with you and Johnny-Boy still alive… he's got something to live for. He lives to keep you two alive." He shrugged. "Too bad he's dying to kill you."

Dean groaned inwardly and hunched forward, holding his sides. Sam fell from the wall as Dean fell to his knees.

"Sam! The gun!" John yelled. Sam ran and grabbed the colt.

"Sammy!" Dean gasped, panting, blood decorating his lips. "I can't… I can't hold him off…" he panted, falling forward so his forehead rested on the hardwood floor, his arms wrapped around his aching sides. He felt like he was going to rip in two, like his body wasn't big enough for the both of them.

And one cowboy was gunna have to ride off into the sunset and leave the town behind.

John too fell from the wall. He rushed over to Sam. "Give me the gun, son." John whispered while Sam watched in horror as his brother suffered. "Give me the gun." He tried to peel the gun from his youngest son's fingers, but Sam had it in a vise grip.

"Dad!" Dean cried out in anguish. "You've got to… to end this… while we've got him…" Dean rolled over onto his back, his chest heaving. "You've got to shoot me…" He whispered. John took the gun.

Sam shook his head. "No, Dad!" He yelled when he saw John raise the gun. "Dad! He's your son!" Sam tried to push his father's arm down.

"Sam! We've got to end this tonight…"

"Hurry!" Dean yelled, his eyes closed in effort.

"Dad!" Sam cried and fought his father for the gun, adrenaline giving him more power than he knew he possessed. But John hit his knee, effectively incapacitating his son, and shoved Sam to the ground.

John Winchester stalled. For the first time he hesitated to kill. He'd searched twenty one years for this demon and now he had him, but he hesitated.

Dean's back arched and his head flew back. A black cloud erupted from his mouth and Sam and John covered their faces, John stepping away and Sam curled in on himself.

The demon disappeared through the floorboards and left Dean a quivering body on the floor.

"Dean!" Sam dropped to his knees at his brother's side. There was no response as Dean's head lolled to the side, eyes closing slowly. He felt for a pulse.

One second and nothing.

Two seconds. Nothing.

Three seconds and it was there. Weak and getting weaker, but there all the same. Sam let out a shuttering breath and gathered his brother into his arms.

"Dad, we've got to get him to a hospital…" He looked up at his father who was staring at the ground in shock. "Dad! Hurry!"

"We could have had him…" He whispered. Sam got up and grabbed his father's shirt, slamming him against the wall.

"God damn it, Dad! Forget about the demon! Dean is going to die if you don't help me get him to a hospital! Is killing this demon really more important than his life?"

- - -

"Hang on, the hospital is only ten minutes away." Sam whispered, casting a glance back in the rear view mirror.

Dean was conscious now, thanks to Rowan's smelling salts. But damn, he looked like hell. He was drenched in sweat, shivering, and he looked deathly pale in the moonlight.

"I can't believe you, Sam. We could have ended it." John whispered.

"Yeah, and ended Dean too!" Sam yelled.

"He wanted to! Jesus Christ Sam, you still don't understand do you? Killing this thing is more important than anything else!"

Another glance at his bloodied brother.

"No, Sir. Not everything."

Not you and Dean.

It's not worth dying over.

"And look, we have two more bullets and we can find it again. It's gunna keep coming…"

The Impala was blind sided by a semi.

The driver's eyes were glowing a vibrant gold, a small smirk spread across his face as he held the steering wheel, smiling at his handy work.

- - -