Sanctuary

by Cheryl W

When Dean’s near misses with death start adding up, Sam is brutally reminded that there is no such thing as just having a bad day when you are a Winchester. No Slash.

11. Chapter 11: Water under the Bridge

Sanctuary

By: Cheryl W.

Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural, Dean or Sam, nor am I making any profit from this story.

Author's Notes: I apologize for the delay in posting this chapter and for its wordiness. Hope you'll forgive me both transgressions!

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Chapter 11: Water under the Bridge (aka the end)

Crouching down by the Impala's passenger door, Sam felt regret tear through him as he noted how deeply Dean slept. Waking him up seemed cruel, even if it was to prod him into a motel room, a nice motel room this time, one with windows, and a regard for fire regulations. Rapping his knuckles on the passenger window, Sam was surprised and concerned when Dean didn't react, at all.

Grabbing onto the passenger door handle with a shaking hand, Sam flung the door open, its familiar creak loud in the fall night. "Dean!" His hands fell onto his brother's shoulder, ready to shake him awake, cursing himself for not waking Dean sooner, for not thinking of the slight concussion he had earlier diagnosed in Dean.

His brother's frantic call and the desperate hands that gripped onto his shoulder jarred Dean reluctantly back to consciousness. Blinking, Dean found the car's internal lights an unwelcome greeting on his still dilated eyes. Turning away from the glare, Dean was met with the sight of his brother's shadowed face. "Sam?" he groggily acknowledged, his eyes barely remaining open. "You sure it's been two tomorrows already? Feels like you're cheating me some time here?"

'Leave it to Dean to wake up being a smart aleck even when he's sporting a concussion,'' Sam thought fondly, his panic washing away as quickly as it had surged over him. Quietly he teasingly refuted "You forget, you're the cheat, Dean. Not me. I'm just initiating a change of location. Come on, a nice soft bed's waiting for you," he coaxed, withdrawing from the interior of the car. Wrapping his hand around Dean's elbow, he gave it a small tug.

With a long suffering sigh, his eyes still squinting, Dean responded to Sam's tug and began maneuvering himself from the car. When Sam wrapped his arm around his waist and drew Dean's arm over his shoulders, Dean meekly submitted to his brother's ministrations. Protesting Sam's assistance, or taking stock of his surroundings, or making some poor attempt at concealing the fact that he was beyond wasted after the day's events was out of the question. Finding that he couldn't even conjure up the desire for such tactics, let alone the energy to do them, he was just pleasantly surprised that he could put one foot in front of the other.

Supporting most of Dean's weight, Sam steadfastly headed for their motel room, somewhat unnerved at Dean's easy capitulation to his help, stumbling steps, and eerie silence. Halting at the room door, Sam withdrew the access card from his pocket and swiped it in the door lock. Green was again a welcome color.

As they crossed the threshold, Sam was intent on making a bee line for the beds. Dean's hand wrapping around the door to the bathroom halted their progress. Fearing that Dean's actions were frontrunners to his brother's collapse, Sam tightened his hold on Dean, his eyes flying to Dean's with worry.

"Nature's screaming," Dean mumbled to Sam's questioning look, slipping his arm off of Sam's shoulder. For a moment, Dean didn't think Sam was going to let go of him, the grip of his brother's fingers on his bruised ribs intensifying instead of weakening. "Sam.." he gently said, uncertain what words he would say after that. As it turned out, none were needed as Sam disengaged himself from Dean and took a step backwards. Dean was caught off guard by the disconcerted look in his brother's eyes but before he could react, Sam walked over to the table. Sparing his brother a worried look, Dean stood still a moment before he tiredly shuffled the few steps to the bathroom and shut the door.

Dropping the room card and the Impala keys onto the table's wood surface, Sam ran a hand across the back of his neck. 'It's past dusk, Sam! Get yourself pulled together. Dean's fine, you can let him out of your sight. He's not going anywhere.' Hanging his head, he took in a deep breath but it trembled out of his lungs. 'Too close. I came too close to losing Dean!' And no matter what Dean had said, Sam couldn't shake the soul destroying thought that Dean had been ready to die, couldn't blot out the memory of the resigned look in Dean's eyes as he ordered Sam from the motel room.

Sam nearly jumped as his cell phone rang. Hastily digging his phone from his coat pocket, he found a text message illuminated across the screen. It consisted of only four numbers: 411. Instantly Sam knew it was from John Winchester, demanding to know what the heck was going on with his sons, this time. 'We request an unscheduled meeting and he starts texting us. A son suffering a heart attack, dying? He couldn't be bothered with even replying. Oh, yeah, Dean, just Dad and I on the road, that would have been fun. You would have gotten one text message from Dad leading you to the sight of the double murder, Dad's and mine,' Sam sourly envisioned, ready to put his phone back in his pocket when he noticed he had another message waiting.

Bracing himself for another cryptic, yet demanding text from his father, Sam was surprised to hear Dean's voice emerge from the cell phone's speakers. "Sam, it's Dean. I know you're ….well, pissed that I split on you but this is the way things need to play out today. I called Dad, told him we would hook up with him at Caleb's at midnight tonight. So I'll meet you there. Goodbye, Sam." With his pulse jumping in his clenched jaw, Sam exited the message with a viciously keystroke and a growled profanity.

When Dean emerged from the bathroom and nearly ran into a stone faced Sam, he felt like he had walked right into an ambush. "Sam.." he started, already knowing that he needed to arm himself with knowledge to win whatever battle Sam was initiating.

Sam hissed, "You lying bastard!" stepping forward, his full lanky frame tingling with anger, towering threateningly over Dean. "You had no intention of going to Caleb's, did you! You lied to me, Dean! What if that had been the last thing you said to me! A lie!"

"You're right," Dean remorsefully apologized, only to have that quick boyish smile of his make an appearance a moment later, a smile that telegraphed to Sam, loud and clear, that his apology didn't hold water. Dean's next words confirmed it. "I should have said it with a Hallmark card. I'll do that next time," Dean wisecracked, his face serious before that quick smile flashed again. Slipping by a stunned Sam, Dean crawled across the nearest bed's length and sank down onto the mattress, face buried in the pillow, uncaring that he was on top of the covers and not under them.

Being a spectator to his brother's collapse, Sam let his compassion overrode his anger, for the time being. Sighing, he crossed the room and sat Indian style on the other bed, resolved to his next responsibility. With a few keystrokes on his phone's keypad, his call was initiated. He waited half in dread and half in anticipation for his father's voice either live or recorded to slip back into his life.

Curious at hearing Sam's sigh of reluctance, Dean turned his head to watch Sam, his eyes asking the question his mouth was too tired to utter. When Sam's eyes met his, he received an eye roll in reply.

When his father's voice message had kicked in, Sam hadn't been able to resist sending the eye roll to Dean. 'Dad not answering his phone, what a shocker!' Then the beep came and Sam found his voice automatically dropping into its obedient son tone. "Dad, it's Sam. There's no need for us to meet up. Ah, ok, bye." Then Sam quickly disconnected the call as if any beat of silence during his message would communicate something to his father that he didn't want to convey, like fear or relief or need.

Disagreeing with the vagueness of Sam's message, Dean mumbled a protest, his heavy eyes on his brother. "Sam, you didn't tell him …"

Carelessly tossing his phone on the night stand, Sam gruffly stated, "He knows my number. He can call me back." Watching Dean's eyes fall shut, Sam knew he had to move though his body was screaming at him to mirror Dean's prone position. Coming to stand at the end of Dean's bed, Sam lightly slapped Dean's ankle and ordered, "Roll over, Dean."

It took Dean a moment to reopen his burning eyes, to process his brother's words. "What? Why?" he crankily griped, sounding more like he was six instead of twenty six.

"Shoes, Dean. You still have your shoes on and I need to look at your head," Sam gently explained, again feeling like the older brother in the relationship. But unlike earlier in the day, now that feeling wasn't choking him with fear, instead it was making him smile tenderly.

"You can see my head right where it is," Dean grumbled, his words, muffled by the pillow still cushioning his head, were barely understandable.

"Dean…" Sam drawled, his tone between a warning and a plea, unknowingly falling back into his little brother mode.

It was the tone Dean couldn't ignore. His big brother heart wouldn't let him ignore. With a sound that was a cross between a moan and a growl, Dean rolled onto his back, his eyes shooting a glare to Sam. A glare Sam was oblivious to as his freakishly long fingers made quick work of the shoelaces on Dean's boots.

Having freed Dean's feet from the boots, Sam came to stand beside Dean's head. His brother's eyes were closed, making his pale face more heartbreaking to Sam. Gingerly, Sam touched Dean's forehead beside the newest gash. When Dean recoiled from his touch, Sam jerked his hand back. It took Dean's opaque eyes a few blinks before Sam saw recognition spark in their depths. "Sorry. Sorry, man. I didn't think you were asleep," Sam hurriedly apologized, his hands in Dean's line of sight, reassuring the injured man that he would not startle him again with his touch.

"Mmmmhhh," came from Dean before he groggily insisted, "I'm fine, Sam. Head's fine, shoes are fine." Starting to roll to his side, Dean let out a long groan mid motion and fell back into his previous position.

With concern, Sam gripped his brother's shoulder and leaned over him, eyes boring into Dean's. "What is it, Dean! Your ribs hurt? You have some internal pain?"

A smirk tipped up Dean's lips. Seeing the concern in his brother's eyes dip dangerously toward anger, Dean hesitantly modified his response to, "I'm fine, Sammy. It's the vest. " Dropping his hand to his chest, he lightly tapped it, indicating the unseen bullet proof vest. "I'm still wearing the stupid Kevlar vest. It's heavy and starting to rub my first layer of skin off."

"That stupid vest saved your life," Sam chided quietly, afraid that speaking the words louder would unleash the emotions that the vest evoked in him. As Dean's brow creased in inquiry, signaling to Sam that his stoic mask was nearly useless under the scrutiny of his brother's observant eyes, Sam gruffly ordered, "Alright, sit up," hoping to forestall Dean's probing questions.

Slipping his hand in Dean's, Sam slowly pulled Dean upright, wincing as his brother's face paled in pain and his arm pressed harder against his ribs. Once Dean was sitting up, balanced on the side of the bed, Sam, with Dean's quiet assistance, carefully managed to slip the t-shirt over Dean's head to reveal the Kevlar vest. With gentle motions, Sam pulled apart the Velcro seams on both sides of the vest and then slipped the armored garment over Dean's head. Convinced that if he saw the bullets still lodged in the back of the durable fabric, if he saw how far the bullets had penetrated the vest's layer, if he knew, with clinical proof, how close each bullet had come to tearing into his brother's flesh, that his emotional floodgate would be swept away, Sam didn't inspect the vest but tossed it over the bed to land on the floor.

Without turning around to witness the vest arch through the air to land with a thud on the floor, Dean fixed his eyes on Sam, striving to determine why 'Mr. the-floor-is-not-a-drawer' was breaking his own rules. When Sam's eyes skittered away from his probing look, Dean mockingly reprimanded, "Hey, take care of that vest, it saved my life you know."

"Jerk," Sam shot back, finding himself smiling amid his anguish, scorning himself for encouraging his brother's shenanigans.

"Prick," Dean returned in kind, smug smile to counter's Sam's smile. Too quickly, Dean viewed the transformation of Sam's smile into a concerned scowl, his eyes leaving his green gaze. "What?" Dean asked, following Sam's troubled gaze to his own torso. Tilting his head back up, he quipped, "Black and blue is the new tan, haven't you heard?" dismissing the bruises marring his left and right sides.

"Yeah, real stylish…if you're the crash test dummy," Sam sullenly countered, angry all over again at the abuse his brother had endured, abuse that he had ineffectually protected Dean against. "And our first aid kit's …gone," finding that he couldn't even whisper out the word "ash", the humor of their near escape suddenly eluding him.

Sensing Sam's anger was more about fear than fury, Dean tilted his head up to Sam, waited until his brother's eyes met his before he spoke. "So we get another one. We didn't lose anything we can't replace, Sam," his tone comforting and certain, the meaning of his words delving to the depths of what drove Sam's fear.

And there it was, everything Sam needed to hear, all delivered in Dean's cryptic, sparse, and straight into your heart gifted way with words. Through all the danger and fear and verbal battles, they had not lost each other, not today and not two years ago when Sam had broken off contact between them. Their connection was still there, changed yes, but still fierce, still essential to their individual survival, still the thing they each valued most in the world.

A teasing glint entered Sam's eyes, "You're just saying that because you got the Impala back."

"Darn, straight," Dean agreed, his slick grin washing over his pale features, earning a smirk and a shaking head from Sam.

When Dean yawned widely, Sam stood up and offered as he started to head for the door, "I'll get you some ice to put on…" but Dean's hand shot out and seized his wrist.

Dean's eyes were dulled with pain but intense as they settled on Sam's face. "Sam, I'm climbing under the covers and falling asleep the instant my head hits the pillow, end of story. I'm not going to freeze my butt off clutching some towel full of ice all night. Trust me when I say, nothing is going to keep me awake tonight."

"You should…" Sam began to insist but Dean interjected with a tired voice and a weakened version of his cocky smile.

"Yeah, but I won't and you can't make me. Now help me up," Dean ordered, releasing his hold on Sam's wrist to slip his hand in Sam's and started to come to his feet before his brother could protest.

Doing as his brother asked, Sam pulled up on the hand in his grasp and wrapped his other hand around Dean's other elbow. Uncertain of his brother's next action, Sam didn't relinquish either of his holds on Dean.

Realizing that he couldn't move a muscle until Sam released him, Dean quietly said, "Dude, you're totally in my personal space." He almost laughed when Sam recoiled back until his legs hit the other bed, almost as if Sam hadn't been aware of how close he had been standing to Dean. Knowing from past experience that sleeping in his boxer shorts beat sleeping in jeans, hands down, Dean undid his jeans to reveal his boxer shorts. Having let the jeans drop to the floor, he stepped from them, gave them a small kick to the side before turning around to the bed, yanking back the covers and crawled into the bed as stiffly and slowly as a ninety year old man…who had gotten the tar beaten out of him in some nursing home rumble.

When Dean had turned around, Sam felt his gut clench. He fought to smother the gasp that nearly burst from him as he viewed Dean's back for the first time. Though bruises marred his brother's back instead of bullet holes, to Sam the multicolor patches of abused flesh was still a brutal testament to the merciless assault made against his brother. Dean's slow painful movements on top of that knowledge was almost more than Sam could endure, causing him to look away, his eyes shimmering even as he ached to do something to ease his brother's pain.

His breath cut off by the sharp pain in his ribs, Dean lay on his back on the bed, unmoving, his eyes closed, his jaw clenched, unable to make the effort to pull the covers over him just yet. His eyes jerked open as the covers fluttered over him, his gaze locking with Sam's as his brother gently settled the sheet and blanket over him. The simple act of Sam tucking him in put a lump in Dean's throat.

His hand still resting lightly on Dean's chest, Sam contritely forewarned, "You have a slight concussion Dean. I have to wake you up a few times to see…"

"Do and die, Sammy," Dean warned around a yawn, before he closed his eyes, fully missing the smirk his threat brought to Sam's lips.

Lifting his hand from his brother's chest, Sam couldn't resist pulling the blanket higher to cover his brother's bare shoulder. Lightly brushing Dean's spiked hair with his fingers, Sam quietly bade, "Good night Dean," to his sleeping brother.

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Unfamiliar voices jolted Sam awake, causing him to blink away the sleep. It took him a moment to determine that the voices weren't inside the room but were coming from outside. Rubbing at his eyes, he finally brought the room, and more specifically the figure in the other bed into sharp focus.

Seeing Dean's pale, cut face, it brutally hit home the truth. Yesterday hadn't been a dream or a vision he had had time to defuse. It had been real, every perilous, heartbreaking, terrifying moment.

Releasing a long breath, Sam pushed the rise of fear away. Dean was here, alive, fine. Hurt, he amended feeling moisture gather in his eyes as he studied his unmoving brother.

Even if proof of yesterday's danger was not evident in Dean's face, his position on the bed spoke volumes, all on pain. He lay on his side, arms wrapped around his ribs, head bent low, legs up, in some fetal position to stave off the pain. Pain that an awake, self proclaimed 'invincible' Dean Winchester never showed, never confessed to, seemingly never felt. But in sleep, his body was betraying his deception.

Seeing Dean's unshielded pain, it hurt Sam in places he thought were well guarded from assault. With bittersweet clarity, he realized that Dean had a deeper hold on him than anyone else ever had. It didn't disturb him as much as it scared him. Dean was…reckless, always balancing on a high wire, fearless and selfless. Keeping Dean with him, safe, was a momentous task, no, not task, honor. And yesterday Sam had come to know how hard and how vitally imperative the honor bestowed on him was.

But even under the crushing weight of bearing his brother's life in his hands, a small smile crept onto Sam's face, because it was worth it, all of it. A sparkle flickered to life in his eyes as he recalled waking Dean throughout the night. The first time, Dean had been too groggy to do more than correctly answer his question, "Dean. September 21st." The second time, Sam had seized his opportunity for his checkup when Dean had jolted awake from some dream. However, when his voice had broken the silence of the dark room, his questions of inquisition unchanged, Dean's head had whipped up, his eyes barely making out his brother's figure in the other bed before unleashing the reply that vanquished the lingering flutter of worry in Sam's heart. "I'm Captain freakin' James T. Kirk, Stardate you-ask-me-that-one-more-time-and-I'll-kick-your-butt Sam!'."

Sam had to swallow down a burst of laughter as he remembered Dean returning the favor a few hours later, the plastic cup Dean had sailed at him nailing him on the forehead. "What's your name? What's the date?" Dean had called across the space between the beds. Exasperated, Sam had growled, "Dean!" Before he could say more, Dean had drawled, "No, that's my name. Maybe you should drive yourself to the hospital, Sammy, get that head seen to." "You're a jerk," Sam had growled back fighting back laughter before he fell into a deep dreamless sleep.

No, out of all the things Sam had done, all the people he had saved, saving Dean topped it all, every time. Crawling from the bed, Sam stood looking down at Dean a moment before he made his way into the bathroom. As he showered, he made his plans for the day. Namely, slipping out to buy them some clothing to replace what they had lost in the fire, and grabbing some food for them, hopefully all before Dean resurrected and concocted some crazy plan for the day. Sam smiled at the thought of how Dean considered a day of recuperation went. 'We are going by my playbook today, Dean,' he vowed, the smile still in place but resolve burning in his eyes as he looked at himself in the bathroom mirror.

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Dean opened his eyes to an unfamiliar room. It wasn't an abnormal occurrence but the disorientation usually didn't last long. But this room, with its sliding glass door, thick drapes with sunlight beaming through the sliver of space where they didn't quite overlap, this room he didn't remember. The burning room, that one he remembered, vividly. 'New room, new motel,' came to him and remembered Sam helping him into the room, Sam mad at his voice message, Sam helping him off with his boots and the bullet proof vest, and Sam waking him up a few times to monitor his concussion. He nearly jumped when his brother spoke from the bottom of his bed.

"How are you feeling?" Sam softly asked, the subtle changes in his brother's breathing having alerted him to Dean's return to consciousness. When Dean jerked at the sound of his voice and his eyes flew to him in some fight or flight mode, Sam cursed his own stupidity. "Sorry, didn't mean to startle you?" he quickly apologized, crossing to stand at Dean's side, thinking that his brother's face had picked up some color during the night, hoping it was not just wishful thinking on his part.

Looking up at Sam's remorseful face, Dean pulled on a small smile. "Just be glad my knife's not under my pillow like it normally is." Before he could think better of it, Dean started his normal routine of stretching. "Agh.." he moaned, his stretch stopped almost instantly as his whole body screamed in protest, his arms bracing his ribs again.

Bending down to be eye level with Dean, Sam, fearing that Dean would cut him off, let his words rush from his lips. "I know you are in pain and your muscles are probably pretty stiff but I have an idea of what might help." He was braced for Dean's denials, his gruff rebukes, Dean's capitulation was like a sucker punch.

"I'm willing to try just about anything," Dean groaned, stiffly pushing himself to sit on the side of the bed, finding Sam's hands supporting his every pained move. Achieving his goal, Dean felt the room sway a moment before it clicked into place. Then Sam was picking up his hand and dropping pills into his palm and handing him a glass of water. Without protest, he downed the pills in one swallow but thirstily drained the glass of its liquid content. Then Sam pulled the empty glass from his hand and replaced it with an article of clothing.

Dean's eyes shot to Sam's in surprise, "Swimming trunks?"

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Though Dean had said he was 'willing to try just about anything', it took Sam a considerable amount of arguing, and coaxing to get Dean to agree to his idea. So it was a miracle of sorts when the Winchesters found themselves walking down the hallway toward the indoor heated pool and Jacuzzi. Sporting the swimming trunks and a tshirt that he had bought for himself, Sam shot a sly glance to Dean who walked stiffly at his side, who was also wearing new swimming trunks and a new white t-shirt, a shirt Sam knew Dean wouldn't remove, adamant about concealing his badly bruised torso.

"It's gonna be wall to wall screaming kids," Dean ill temperedly grumbled, frustrated that every breath he drew hurt, that every step he took was an effort, that Sam's tendency to latch onto his arm was not so much a nuisance but a comfort.

Deciding to handle this gripe like he had the last ten, Sam made silence his reply as he swung open the door to the pool, a totally deserted pool and Jacuzzi. Unable to help himself, he sent a gloating smile to Dean.

"If you can't be good, be lucky," Dean mumbled, causing Sam to laugh as they made their way to two reclining beach chairs. Silently, they tossed their towels on a chair and kicked off their shoes. As Sam withdrew the room access card from his pocket and dropped it on top of the towels, Dean made his way toward the pool.

"Dean, don't get your bullet wound wet," Sam sternly instructed, starting to follow his brother's lead.

"Yeah, yeah," was Dean's aggravated reply, right before he leapt off the side of the pool and sank under the water at the 8 foot end of the pool. By the time Dean's head broke the surface, Sam was on his third round of curses as he stood on the side of the pool, hands waving through the air with his words, words that were muffled to Dean's now water logged ears.

"Dean if your bullet wound gets infected…" Sam's voice rose, his worry barely edging out his anger at Dean's recklessness.

"This water therapy is just the trick, Sammy. I think I'm nearly cured already," Dean boasted, offering Sam a big brash smile showcasing his straight white teeth. With a set jaw, Sam turned on his heel and headed for the Jacuzzi. "Sam, where ya going. I hear this germ infested pool water will cure whatever ails you!" Dean called out to his brother's retreating back.

Whatever hand gesture Sam was going to offer to Dean was halted mid motion as the pool door flung open and a sea of young boys ran into the room, five of them cannonballing into the pool without missing a step, drenching Dean. Water running down his face, in his ears, in his eyes, Dean swiped his vision clear enough to shoot Sam a scathing look but his brother's response was to break out into laughter, his finger pointing at Dean. Revenge was so sweet, especially when it couldn't be linked directly to you.

The sound of yelling boys, water splashing and the rough voice of a man calling out rules to his Boy Scout troop echoed through the room, decimating the calmness that existing only a moment ago. Sam stood among the mayhem a moment, coming to hate Dean for being right. Shooting a questioning look to Dean, he expected a signal from Dean to vacate the premises. Instead Dean smirked and waved Sam toward the Jacuzzi as he himself moved to the deeper end. Stripping off his t-shirt, Sam stepped down in the bubbling water of the still vacant Jacuzzi. Relaxing back against the Jacuzzi wall, he contently watched the activities in the pool.

However, when a football was introduced into the pool games, Sam tensed, watching as three of the boys took up a position near Dean to receive the ball. As the ball sailed toward that end of the pool for the first time, instigating the boys to dive wildly to complete the pass, Sam felt fear tighten his insides as he envisioned one of the boys slamming into Dean or a mis-thrown ball making contact with Dean's already battered body. Sam began to stand up, intent on making his way to Dean and insisting that Dean get out of the pool. Dean saved him the trouble by moving toward the shallow, nearly vacant end of the pool.

Reclaiming his seat in the Jacuzzi, Sam couldn't tear his attention from Dean, a Dean who luckily was oblivious to his brother's protective gaze. A smile turned up Sam's lips as a boy smaller than the most of the other scouts made his way to Dean's side and initiated a conversation with the older man. Even from his vantage point, Sam could see the way Dean's face softened as he interacted with the boy. Sam, Dean and the boy were all startled when the football splashed down only an inch away from Dean's bruised ribs.

It took Dean's hand on the football to set Sam's heart into his throat as he realized the damage his brother could inflict on himself if he decided to perform his award winning football throw with an arm sporting a bullet wound, cracked ribs and bruises upon bruises. Instantly, Sam was on his feet, ready to yell Dean's name menacingly across the room in that hated "parent" tone. The yell never left Sam. The sight of Dean handing the ball to the boy at his side made the threat unnecessary. Still standing, Sam watched his brother place the football properly in the boy's small hands, step behind the boy and put his hand on the boy's thin arm and guide the thin arm into the proper football motion two times before he released his hold. On his own, the boy sent the ball flying, a perfect pass to the other end of the pool. It was enough to earn the small boy an invitation into the older boy's football game.

Smiling at the boy's success, Dean crossed to the pool steps and slowly climbed free of the water. With motions remarkable less stiff and sore than they were before his pool time, Dean walked to the Jacuzzi. His brother's goofy smile greeted him. "Yeah, so," he challenged to the teasing look in Sam's eyes as he put his foot on the first step of the Jacuzzi.

"Dean you can't with your ribs…" Sam objected, sitting up in alarm.

Disregarding his brother's disapproval, Dean continued his descent into the Jacuzzi. He slowly sank down into the hot water to claim a seat, grimacing both at the heat and the water's none too gentle pressure. When a jet of water hit his severely bruised back like a punch, a yelp of pain sneaked through his clenched jaw. Before he could shake off the pain enough to move, a strong familiar hand yanked him to the left, safely out of the line of the jets of water.

Safely positioned away from the strongest currents of the water, Dean leaned back against the wall. It took a moment more before Sam's hand dropped from his arm. Sneaking an assessing look to Sam from under lowered lashes, Dean geared himself for a lecture that Sam's expression warned would be a long, heated one. When four boys chose that moment to pile into the Jacuzzi, Dean realized he had never been so glad to see Boy Scouts in his life. He sent a smug grin to Sam.

Reading Dean's relief at the interruption, Sam couldn't help toss out a taunt. "Hiding behind children, Dean?" The said children oblivious to everything but the water battle they were now waging.

Whatever smart comeback Dean was primed to make turned into a grunt of pain as one of the Boy Scout's elbows made direct contact with his ribs. And that was it for Sam. Without thought his hand wrapped around the boy's arm, pulling him away from his brother. "Time's up, kid. Hit the pool," he ordered, his voice low, just a breath away from menacing as he used his hold on the boy to propel him toward the Jacuzzi's stairs.

The boy wisely made his escape, his friends hot on his heels.

Watching the boys streak across the wet cement and seek the safer realm of the pool, Dean turned incredulous eyes on his brother. "Gee Sam, you trying to make the kids cry."

Sam's comeback was immediate, his eyes meeting Dean's steadily, "My job's to make sure you don't cry," and he pulled a small smile onto his lips, taking the edge off his words, off his vow.

Dean smirked and shook his head. Sometimes Sam surprised the heck out of him. As Sam levered himself out of the Jacuzzi to sit on the cement that rimmed the Jacuzzi, leaving his legs dangling in the water, Dean saw the bruises on his brother's side, thigh and knee. "What happened! How'd you get those bruises! Are they all from that tree limb?" Dean demanded, sitting up, his eyes intent, feeling sick all over again at the thought that Sam had gotten hurt protecting him.

As if he had forgotten about the bruises, Sam looked down, inspected the progress of the bruising before he looked up to Dean's worried expression. "I'm fine, Dean," he proclaimed calmly, taking a page out of his older brother's book.

An incredulously look settled on Dean's pale, bruised face, "Fine! Sam, you have bruises down your whole left side!" Deducing that the tree limb could not be the culprit for his brother's injuries, Dean felt dread build up in his chest. "What happened while I was gone, Sam?" he demanded, his voice thick, his eyes holding a combination of compassion and resolve.

"Besides me going out of my head with worry for you, you mean?" Sam leveled the accusation at Dean, his emotions balancing on the narrow ledge between anger and anguish. Before Dean could make a reply, Sam bitterly recounted, "Well, let's see, I got ditched by my brother at the park and I ran the whole way back to our motel, but he was gone, no explanation, no note, no goodbye." As Dean's jaw clenched, Sam pressed forward with his story, "And then I started to aimlessly search every street, every sidewalk, every alleyway for you," unconsciously he had changed tenses to first person as his emotions became more interwoven with his tale.

Sam's words convicted Dean, but not as deeply as the catch in that familiar voice, or the eyes that confessed hurts that would never be verbalized. Looking away from those eyes, Dean clenched his jaw tighter. Couldn't Sam see he had walked away because it was the best thing he could do, was the only way he knew how to keep Sam safe! Hadn't the fiery exploding motel room gotten the message through to Sam that being with him was like having a death wish!

When Sam fell silent, Dean faced his brother with a raised eyebrow. In his no-nonsense big brother tone, he demanded, "Tell me how you got the bruises, Sam." Dean didn't know what he expected Sam to say but it was not what his brother confessed.

"Then," Sam gave a quick, tremulously smile, his eyes conveying his trepidation in saying the rest. Taking in a breath, Sam confessed, "then I got an answer to my prayers. Sort of." And his mouth twisted up in a quirky sad smile, it brightened at his brother's evident surprised confusion. "I saw the Impala on the other side of the street and I just…ran for it…"his eyes bravely met Dean's, "across three lanes of traffic, right in front of a moving car."

Stunned, scared, relieved, Dean could only sit there in silence as he processed what Sam had done, why he had done it, how badly things could have turned out. On the heels of those thoughts came the self recriminations for letting Sam out there alone, making him so desperate, so reckless that he forgot about taking care of himself, of staying alive. 'Another great plan you had there, Winchester. Hurt Sam to save Sam, yup, worked like a charm, …if your idea of saving him was immortalizing him in some car's front grill!' But what came out of Dean's mouth was not an apology. "Sam, what were you thinking!" he sharply berated.

"You! I was thinking about you!" Sam said huskily, exposing the sentiments that were bleeding through his destabilized barriers. "About getting back to your side! About making sure you didn't die! I was thinking about you! You, Dean! Nothing else but you!" his breath ragged, heaving. Sam wished Dean would blink or break eye contact or show some sign that he understood Sam's desperation, that he knew how lost Sam was without him, that Dean would, just for a second, let his barriers drop enough to let his brother in.

Silence fell between them, louder than the playful shouts of the boys in the pool.

His emotions towards his brother teetering between love and exasperation, Dean shook his head. When would Sam get it through his thick head that he wasn't worth his love and would never ever be worth Sam getting hurt.

Interpreting Dean's silence as a precursory for a complete emotional shut out, Sam boldly insisted, his voice soft, ineffectually masking his hurt. "You shouldn't have left, Dean. We stick together! It's us against everything and everybody else. We stay together!"

Unknowingly Sam's words gave answer to Dean's musing, proving irrefutably that Sam would never see him as he was, scarred, broken, ruined, ruined in ways that couldn't be glued back together even into a mocking guise of "normal." Gripped by frustration and fear, Dean scoffed bitterly, needing his brother to see the truth. "Together! Staying with me was going to get you killed! And it almost happened, back in that motel room. Did you want that? Did you want to die with me, Sam!"

"Yes!" burst from Sam instantaneously, fervently, his eyes lancing into Dean's. "Yes, damn it, yes!" Sam's voice cracked on the words but his eyes were unwaveringly resolved. "I survived Mom's death and Jess's because you were there for me! But I won't survive your death, Dean." Quietly, ominously he confessed again, "I won't."

"Come on, Sam," Dean roughly protested. His disbelief in Sam's declaration was expressed by his actions, the rolling of his head away from Sam, the fascination he had in the pool football game instead of facing his brother.

Desperate, Sam gripped Dean's arm, shook it, achieving his brother's exasperated green eyes back upon him. "No, you come on!" he snapped. "We're brothers, Dean! We're family! We're part of each other! We complete each other! And today gave me a real taste of what it would be like if you died…. " Sam's voice shattered on the last word, causing him to break off, his teeth biting into his lower lip, his eyes shimmering. His mind's eye brutally replayed the previous day's 'mishaps', Dean falling over the railing, nearly being bludgeoned by a paint can, dodging out of the way of the truck, trapped under the two cars, lying on the sidewalk so very still, two bullet holes in the back of his jacket. Sam's breath caught in his throat and it was a moment before he could draw in enough air to continue. "Dean if you're gone …I…I can't take that, man. I …can't."

It was like Sam was taking an axe to Dean's carefully shored up defenses. Dean had plenty of fears about his ability to protect Sam but he had never once feared Sam couldn't survive without him, wouldn't try to survive without him. Like a broadsword to the chest, Dean remembered Sam's response to his 'I drew the short straw, that's it, end of story' statement in the hospital after his electrocution; 'We still have options.' Not you, but we, not Dean but Sam and Dean. A package deal, not sold separately. Together or not at all, that was how it was going to be, the only way Sam would allow it to be.

Sam could see it in his brother's face, the dawning realization of how earnest his little brother's declaration was. Perceiving a weakening in Dean's barriers, Sam made his demands clear. "We can pretend all we want that we're strong, strong enough to handle anything but we're not. I'm not. I'm asking you to stop the 'pick someone else' attitude and 'for the greater good' sacrifices, because Dean, I can't deal with losing you, man." He let those words sink in, watched Dean's eyes register the direct hit his words were making. "So start taking care of yourself, think of different ways to save people other than offering up your life for theirs. Because when you risk your life, you risk mine too."

Dean swallowed, hard. There were no denials to be said, Sam's eyes cemented what his words shouted. They were in this together, today, tomorrow, and by the resolve in Sam's eyes, maybe even forever. Together, just like they had been yesterday, come hell or high water, fiery chili or fiery motel rooms, the Winchester boys were a packaged deal. "Yeah, alright. I can do that," Dean finally conceded, his voice uncharacteristically hoarse.

"Promise?" Sam goaded, his relief and elation bounding out of his smile like a tidal wave, watching Dean's own lips smirk back.

Faced with Sam's pleased expression, Dean could only mockingly grumble out his vow, "Yeah, I promise." Surprised by the happiness and peace that washed over him, Dean barely felt the weight of his oath settle on his shoulders.

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When they had returned to their room, Sam graciously allowed Dean first dibs on the bathroom. But as Dean went to pass Sam on his trek to the bathroom, Sam's hand fell onto his shoulder, causing Dean to look up warily, wondering what conditions came with his brother's generosity.

"The water pressure's pretty strong so you might want to take a bath," Sam suggested even as he braced himself for his brother's indignation at his suggestion. Dean didn't disappoint him.

"A bath!" Dean repeated, his annoyance and displeasure displayed in his tone and his scowl. "I don't take baths Sammy!" he announced, resuming his way to the bathroom,

"Right, you just ooohhh and ahhh over massage shower heads," Sam taunted before the bathroom door was promptly slammed in his face.

Unable to help himself, Sam stood at the bathroom door. Hearing the shower turn on, Sam clenched his jaw in aggravation. 'Stubborn idiot!" When a grunt of pain came through the door followed by a string of curses, Sam reached for the door. But his hand stayed its motion as a new sound emerged; the sound of the bathtub being filled. A smile erased the frown on Sam's face.

"Shut up Sam!" came the bellow from within the bathroom, prompting laughter to sputter from Sam before he contently walked away, leaving his brother to his nice hot bath.

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Surprise registered with Sam as Dean, fully dressed and seemingly prepared to leave the room, emerged from the bathroom. "Where do you think you are going?" Sam demanded, an edge of challenge in his voice.

"Need a new phone cause someone stepped on mine," Dean supplied with a look of accusation, crossing over to retrieve his wallet from the nightstand.

"Your welcome," Sam smugly retorted, pleased to see that his brother's motions were more fluent than they were when he first woke up.

Shooting Sam a withering look, Dean sank down on the bed and leaned over to put on his shoes. Though Sam's water therapy had eased his tight muscles, it had done nothing to diminish the throbbing in his arm or ribs, two body parts that were necessary participates in the mundane practice of putting on one's shoes.

'He's better but not cured,' Sam concluded, grimacing as Dean winced in pain. Instantly, Sam crouched down at Dean's feet. "Here, let me do that." Pulling the boot from Dean's grasp, he lightly slapped away his brother's hands as they tried to reclaim the boot.

"Dude, I got it," Dean huffed, his eyes clashing with his little brother's.

Knowing that a different tactic was called for, Sam softened his tone. "Look Dean, it's no big deal. Turn around is fair play, right? Well, how many times as kids did you put on my shoes?"

Some of the frustration seeped from the set of Dean's shoulders and a devious glimmer entered his eyes. "A billion times except this is what I had to put up with when I put on your shoes…" and he began to swing his feet back and forth, and then side to side, making the prospect of getting said foot in said shoe a very trying one.

"Guess I should do to you what you always did to me. Tickle you," Sam happily threatened, his hand reaching up, heading for Dean's side, ready to begin the punishment.

Instantly Dean slapped Sam's approaching hand away, "No…No… Sam don't you dare! My ribs…" he stammered, grasping Sam's wrist, trying to divert his brother's tickling fingers.

Laughing, Sam dropped his hand. "Oh, now it's 'my ribs, my ribs'. Only a minute ago it was 'I'm fine, my ribs are fine.'"

"Shut up," Dean mumbled back, his brow creased in a pout worthy of a toddler.

"Good comeback," Sam smirked, pleasantly surprised to be permitted to put on Dean's shoes for him without further protests or more unruly feet.

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Dean's pursuit of a cell phone merchant led them into a shopping mall, complete with mothers blissfully on furlough from their motherly duties, retirees trying to fill up their endless day and working class stiffs who had somehow eluded work for the day. A mall was not Dean Winchester's normal habitat, their offerings too expense and their security cameras too frequent to risk whipping out a fraudulent credit card and possibly getting his gorgeous mug on a post office wall. It didn't mean he didn't enjoy the window shopping. But those heavenly Victoria Secret sales clerks almost had him parting with some of his hard earned cash.

During his brother's flirtation, Sam shook his head and walked out of the overly perfumed lingerie store. Crossing the walkway, he slipped into a shoe store, admiringly picking up a boot on display. Holding back the whistle at the price, he gingerly placed the boot back on the display tray. When he turned back to gauge how long Dean's antics would continue, he was surprised to see that his brother was not where he had left him. In fact, as Sam hurriedly walked back into the lingerie store, his eyes never landed on his brother's form.

Knowing his panic was just a residual reaction from the previous day's events, Sam took a deep calming breath before he began his search for Dean in earnest. His steps hurried, his eyes flickering from one store to another, Sam stalked down the wing of the mall, growing more desperate by the minute to catch a glimpse of his brother's brown hair, leather coat, ripped jeans. Desperation alone made him spare a glance into the Hallmark store.

He stumbled to a stop. There his brother was, standing inside a Hallmark card shop, reading greeting cards. 'What the ….!' went through Sam's mind before it clicked in his brain. 'I should have said it with a Hallmark card. I'll do that next time," that had been Dean'scomeback to his anger at the crummy goodbye message Dean had left on his voice mail.

Gaining his brother's side, Sam was about to ream Dean out for his disappearing act but Dean spoke first, his eyes still on the cards on the shelves.

"I'm seeing a real untapped market. The closest thing I can find is a 'Condolences on the loss of your dog," Dean proclaimed, holding up a card for Sam's inspection. The card pictured a dog leaping in the air catching a Frisbee, the sketches of a park in the background. Opening the card, Dean began to read aloud in his best "stage" voice, "I know it's like losing a member of your family, that you feel like that void will never be filled again. But…"

Sam smacked Dean lightly on the back of the head, not hard enough to jar his brother's already abused head but certainly with enough of a sting to get his point across. "Idiot!" Sam growled, ripping the card from Dean's hand and shoving it back on the shelf. Then, latching onto Dean's jacket, Sam propelled his brother from the store.

"Maybe I could earn some bucks writing cards," Dean suggested, his grin at Sam a telling sign that he was enjoying teasing his sibling.

"Yeah, you've got a real talent for sentimentality," Sam said sourly, beginning to walk down the mall, his brother pacing him on his right side. "Let me see, there was the famous, 'I picked the short straw. That's it, end of story.' Or maybe something more soft, 'I'm gonna die and you can't stop it.' Or maybe something more emotional like, 'This is the way things need to play out today'."

Unmindful of Sam's throbbing jaw that indicated he couldn't push Sam much further without reaping some serious consequences, Dean continued to quip, "You're right, they are all too mushy. Maybe I should go with more of the Arnold Schwarzenegger thing," and he mimicked and modified the famous "Terminator" line, "I won't be back."

"Go get your phone, Dean," Sam gruffly ordered, coming to a halt as the cell phone stand came into sight.

"You gotta admit, it's short and to the point," Dean persisted, giving Sam a flash of one of his widest smiles.

Shoving Dean toward the cell phone stand, Sam ordered, "Go," before he began to walk toward the bench he spied down the mall wing, fuming at big brothers who thought they were just so funny. When they weren't funny. At all.

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Sinking down onto the bench, watching Dean unleash his charm on the pretty blonde woman at the cell phone stand, Sam sighed. His stomach a hard ball of nerves, he knew he had put it off as long as he could. It was time to take whatever steps were necessary to ensure Dean was safe next September 21st.

With trepidation, he dialed the number of the prison in New Mexico where Anna Corvante was spending her jail sentence. To Sam, research was always the first step toward a solution.

"Fielding Prison, what do you need?" came the gruff female greeting.

Confidently, Sam began lying through his teeth. "Yes, my name's Mark Ford and I'm a writer for Criminology Today. I was interested in discussing one of your inmates, a Anna Corvante with your resident psychologist."

The rough voice interrupted his smooth spiel, "She's dead."

Sam's pulse quickened, dread and hope mingling in his heart. "When?" he croaked out, clearing his throat before he clarified his question, "When did she die?"

"Yesterday."

Dread overshadowed hope but Sam forced a question from his closing throat, "What time yesterday?"

A long suffering sigh filled the phone line before Sam heard the shuffling of papers. It seemed an eternity before the gruff voice spoke again. "Ah…ok, here it is. 5:18 pm."

Sam couldn't breath, didn't want to process the words. 'She died before dusk…and it didn't break the curse. The fire, it happened at ten minutes before 7pm, an hour and a half after Anna Covante died.' Sam didn't even remember ending the call. All he knew was the curse wasn't broken and that the one person, the only person who had had the power to lift the curse was dead. 'And so is Dean, maybe not next year or even the next but sooner or late even Dean will fail to beat the odds. I could have broken the curse, I could have made sure Dean was safe but I didn't, I failed him. I failed him and he's going to go through hell every September 21st until the curse kills him! And it's all my fault!'

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It was almost humorous to Dean, having his new phone ring as soon as his existing phone number was reassigned to it. Smiling, Dean boasted to the sales clerk, "I'm a popular guy," before he walked away, answering the call with a "Yeah."

He was not prepared to hear an official sounding voice inquire, "Is this Dean Winchester?"

Dean hesitated because, for all intents and purposes, Dean Winchester had died in St. Louis. "Yeah, this is Dean Winchester," he firmly replied, wondering if anyone had ever been arrested for impersonating himself.

"Hello, this is Melanie from the warden's office at Fielding's Prison. I believe you are next of kin to Anna Corvante."

It was a shock to hear that name a day after her curse had done everything in its power to make the news of his death go from bogus to bona fide. "Yes, she's my aunt, once removed on my father's side," he smoothly replied. "Is Aunt Anna doing OK?" wondering why he had the honor of this call.

"I'm sorry to inform you that Mrs. Corvante passed away. We tried to contact you immediately but we were unable to get through to this phone number," the woman contritely informed, as if she wanted to break the news to him gently.

"Ah…I had some phone issues. When did my aunt die?" he asked evenly, his heart thudding wildly in his chest, his life hinging on the answer.

"Yesterday in the early evening," came the reply.

Dean felt like the words were a nail in his coffin, two maybe. 'Early evening!' repeated in his head, again and again. It was vague enough to allow the pendulum to swing either way. "What time exactly? Details are important in our family," he said, feeling sick.

"5:18," Melanie imparted like it were just any number, less meaningful than most in her opinion, never knowing that to the man she spoke to, the number meant the difference between peril and peace, life and death.

Coldness settled on Dean. The crone's death had not broken the curse. 'I might as well make up my headstone already. Date of death: September 21st! Year? To be determined!'

The woman from the prison continued, seemingly with the misconception that she could offer him some comfort. "I know it seems very sudden but Mrs. Corvante was very ill. The doctors were amazed that she hung on as long as she did, seemingly by willpower alone. Then yesterday, well, she was in a lot of pain but refused any medication."

Numbly he asked, "She say anything, there at the end?" 'Did the old biddy gloat at the end? Knowing that she wouldn't have to wait too long until I would be joining her in the here after?'

Melanie uncertainly provided, "I don't know. The nurses and doctors, they never said she was asking for someone. I really am sorry."

'Yeah, sorry. But on the bright side, when this curse does me in, Sam can just dump my body in the coffin with the skin walker Dean, no need to spring for a new head stone.' Aloud he was winding up his acting, "Yeah, that Aunt Anna, what a pistol she was."

Silence fell as the conversation ran through Dean's head. Anna had hung on waiting for yesterday, hadn't wanted any medication to screw up her connection with the curse, wanted to feel him die. It didn't make sense. Her actions seemed desperate, a last grab for revenge but if the curse was suppose to continue even after her death….why did she hang around yesterday until 5:18.

"Sir, about the arrangements…" the woman pressed.

Gruffly, Dean replied, "Thanks for letting me know about my aunt. I'll have my lawyer contact you about the burial procedures." And his finger was reaching for the disconnect button, when it struck him. "Wait. Wait!" he called into the mouth piece.

"Yes," came the schoolmarm tone.

"New Mexico right? That's where you're at?" Dean asked, trying not to sound as unsteady as he felt.

"Yes, our prison is located right along the.." she began as if it was a vacation spot Dean would be rushing to see.

Rudely, he cut off her travel agent sales. "What time zone are you in?"

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When Dean approached Sam, the younger man sat on the bench, head down, so still that Dean wondered if he had dropped off to sleep. Kicking Sam's foot, Dean was unprepared to see the shattered look on his brother's upturned face. As soon as Sam's eyes alighted on his, they flickered away, to the floor, to the Gap store, to the BonTon entrance. Fear wrapped its snarled hand around Dean's heart. "What's wrong, Sam? You look like you're either gonna hurl or cry?" trying to make light of the emotions pinging off of them both.

Shaking his head, not in denial but in despair, Sam clamped his teeth deeper into his lip. Coming off the bench, he shoved his hands into his pockets, unconsciously hunched his shoulders and purposely didn't look at Dean. 'What's wrong? What's wrong!' shrieked through him, condemning him, breaking him. 'She's dead Dean and the curse…it's still there! And I..I don't know what to do now, I don't know how to protect you! This is going to happen all over again next year and the next year and it will keep happening until you are dead!' A soft clearing of his throat escaped him, indicating that a sob was not far behind.

The sound pierced Dean to his very core, scaring him, hurting him. Latching onto Sam's arm, Dean spun Sam around far enough to face him, "Tell me what's wrong Sam?" he demanded, his frantic concern unmasked.

Sam could not look at Dean, would shatter at the love he knew would be in the green eyes, love for him, love he didn't deserve. 'I failed you Dean!' He hated himself for not tracking down Anna Corvante yesterday and forcing her to undo the curse. Knowing, in the pit of his stomach, that he couldn't protect Dean forever, had in fact, done a lousy job of protecting him yesterday! It was inevitable on some future September 21st that he would lose Dean, forever.

Feeling the anguish roll off of Sam, Dean dragged Sam down a small side wing of the mall that was nearly empty of patrons before bringing them both to a halt. When Sam still wouldn't meet his eyes, Dean put his hand under Sam's chin and gently raised his brother's head so their eyes met. But Sam eyes flickered to a spot behind Dean, purposefully avoiding his brother's green gaze. "Sam," Dean breathed with worry, his one hand tightly gripping his brother's shoulder. "Talk to me!" turning Sam's chin again, now to the right.

Sam's eyes skimmed across Dean's worried face and rested unfocused on whatever lay over his brother's other shoulder. 'I screwed up and you're going to pay the ultimate price, Dean. I had the means to stop the curse, she would have released the curse on you, I would have made her release it. But I didn't. Instead I choose the weak path, I hovered by your side and unknowingly doomed you to your fate!'

Blinking back moisture in his eyes, Sam unconsciously sharpened his focus and it registered with him what he was looking at, a travel agency. What was in their display window made his breath catch. Side stepping Dean, Sam rushed to the travel agency's store front, his hand reaching out to touch the glass, to trace what lay under his fingers. A smile slowly grew on his face as his fingers traveled across the map of the United States, making the journey from the state they were in toward New Mexico, lovingly tracing the two time zone lines that lay between them and the now deceased Anna Corvante.

Dean came to Sam's side, worriedly studying the shifting expression on his brother's profile. "What? Now you want to travel more than we already do?" Seeing Sam's smile increase, Dean felt panicked enough to growl out, "I'm not flying again, Sam. I mean it." Turning to Dean, Sam, sporting a joyous smile, looked suspiciously like he wanted to pull his brother into a hug, right there in public, in a mall!

'Time zones!' Sam's ecstatic relief broke free in the form of a snorted chuckle. New Mexico was two time zones away from the state they were in! When Anna Corvante gave up her hold on this world it was 7:18pm where Dean was…fourteen minutes after dusk. She died fourteen minutes after the curse released its hold on his brother!

"Dean.." Sam began, gripping Dean's jacket lapels in his excitement but then unexpectedly, he found he didn't want to tell Dean the good news, felt the words die in his throat. His rational side attributed his hesitancy to the possibility that the curse was not broken, that the woman's death, like he had believed after the prison phone call, had not been the demise of the curse. And giving Dean false hope, making him think he was safe, encouraging him to let down his guard next year, it would be like signing his brother's death warrant. That was enough of a reason to stay silent….except it wasn't the one that drove Sam's reluctance.

Selfishness, that was at the heart of Sam's decision. With clarity, Sam knew that in a year's time the hunt for what killed Jess could be over, that he could be back to pretending to be just another 'normal' guy in the world, that he might no longer be at Dean's side. And, if he were honest with himself, that thought did not comfort him or make him happy, not like he thought it would. Instead it saddened him, hurt him, scared him, making him recognize his overwhelming need for Dean to be part of his future, wherever that led, for him to be part of Dean's future, even if led to him hunting at his brother's side.

In a sick twist of fate, it was the curse, the threat of the curse that could provide Sam with the means of ensuring the future he wanted. If Dean believed the curse still loomed over his head, Sam would have the leverage to force Dean to allow him to spend at least every September 21st with him, to hover at his side, to laugh with him, to protect him if the need arose. It was selfish and cold and wrong but Sam found he couldn't, no wouldn't, sever the binding tie the curse allowed him to have with Dean. Because, out of all the uncertainties in his life, Sam needed one sure thing; that next year he would be with his brother.

"What, Sammy?" Dean asked, gripping Sam's shoulders, searching his brother's face for answers, worried at Sam's abrupt silence.

"Nothing, I'm fine," Sam managed his voice thick, still emotionally reeling at his decision to conceal from Dean that fact that he was free of the curse, that he didn't need his little brother's services of protection next year. "Let's get out of here," Sam lowly said, slipping from his brother's hold and heading for the door, his conscience screaming at him to tell Dean about the broken curse.

Trying to conceal his surprise at his brother's fluctuating emotions, Dean teased, "I thought this was your natural habitat, Sammy. Doing the mall, being a normal college guy, buying overpriced t-shirts from these retail blood suckers," he baited, waving his hand at the high end clothing stores they walked by on their way toward the exit.

"Dean, I wasn't ever aiming for that kinda normal," Sam returned with a small smile, the guilt he felt at his decision waning under the joy of being with his brother. "See, I don't know if you know this or not, but my fashion sense was scarred at a young age because I spent my childhood getting my older brother's hand-me-downs. And let me tell you, they were scary things," he sallied, unable to suppress his laughter at Dean's scowl.

"Hey, that was Dad's fault! He wasn't interested in style or taste or what I wanted. All he cared about was cheap. Do you know how many fights I got into because of the way he made me dress! I mean, I looked like…" Dean stopped, looked at Sam, tilting his head, assessing his brother' outfit, before a grin sprang onto his face. "I looked like you, dude! And it royally sucked."

"Oh…if we weren't in a public place…." Sam threatened amid his laughter.

"You would start crying?" Dean supplied, earning a glare from Sam as they exited the mall.

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Finding the swimming pool once again overrun by Boy Scouts, the Winchester brothers retreated to the deserted Jacuzzi. Silently they watched the antics of the younger boys, not so much annoyed by their fellow swimmers as amused.

Unable to squelch the disquiet that hummed through his soul any longer, Sam, his tone as impassive as he could make it, pursued, "So…when you were shot before…."

Dean's surprise did not lessen the speed of his response. His eyes lancing into Sam's pleading eyes, the other occupants of the room forgotten, Dean lethally warned, "Don't, Sam."

Heedless of the warning bells in his head that knew Dean and this particular look of his only too well, Sam doggedly persisted, "Come on, Dean. You can't let something like that slip and then shut me out."

"Yeah. Yeah, I can," Dean shot back, his jaw clenched, his eyes set in granite, promising retribution if Sam didn't back off.

Knowing a brick wall when he ran into one, Sam dejectedly pulled his gaze from Dean, his unfocused eyes on the Boy Scouts. But the unease in his chest wouldn't dislodge, not when so much lay unresolved between the person he was supposed to be the closest to, know the most about. Biting his lip a moment, Sam faced Dean across the expansion of the Jacuzzi again. "So we can't talk about our four years apart. That the rule?" his voice quiet, trying to assess where the line was that Dean would not allow him to cross.

Dean's answering smirk was a mockery, void of the elements that always caused Sam to fight off returning the facial gesture. And when Dean spoke, it made everything worse.

"Sounds like a good idea to me," Dean lightly said, knowing that his refusal wasn't what his brother sought.

Hastily, Sam offered, "I'll tell you anything you want to know about my years at college," desperate to broker a deal. Dean's raised eyebrows of surprise and the cold anger in his look put a blush on Sam's cheeks. 'Good one, Sam. You kicked Dean out of your life and now you want to tell him all about that time! Like he wants to hear about it!'

"I don't want to know anything," was Dean's steely reply, his eyes unflinchingly on Sam, sincere and dark.

Faltering under Dean's displeasure, Sam dropped his eyes, chastising himself for the self pitying hurt that skewed him. 'You pushed Dean out of your life, not the other way around. You wanted a life separate from Dean, well you got it, you had it. And with that wish you were out of Dean's life, you never knew when he was hurt, didn't even get a call when he was shot! ' Regret tore through Sam's heart. He couldn't undo what he had done, he knew that. But he had to find a way to mend the tears in his bond with Dean, had to believe it was within his power to restore the connection with his brother. Because if he couldn't, Sam knew something in him would break irreparably.

Gathering what courage he retained, Sam quietly prodded, his eyes meeting Dean's heated gaze, "Aren't you ever going to tell me about those years, Dean?" Even knowing that his words were treading on that fractured bridge that spanned between him and Dean, Sam persisted, wanting to know how unsteady the structure was, where he could step next, where the most reinforcements were required.

"You weren't there Sam!" Dean accused bitterly, his anger fueled by Sam's projection of being the hurt party in their separation. "Heck, Dad wasn't there that much! It was just me and…" Dean halted the rest of his words, clenched his jaw, hating that he was balancing on the edge of his control. 'Sam always does this to me, makes me feel, want, regret.' Suddenly Dean envisioned Sam being with him during those years apart, facing the dangers he had, suffering the wounds he had, being dragged through the emotional wringer like he had been. 'And I'm pissed he wasn't there! I should be thanking God Sam wasn't there, was safely at Stanford! That he wasn't at my side, foolishly risking his life to protect me …like he did yesterday.' That thought stole his breath away, cemented what he had just come to understand. 'If I had to do those years over again…I wouldn't want Sam with me. Son of a…' he broke off his curse, shaking his head in disbelief and wonder. Maybe fate wasn't such a prick after all.

Captivated by the varying emotions that seeped through his brother's barriers, Sam felt worry latch onto him as he watched Dean shake his head in disbelief. "Dean?" he called out anxiously, sliding closer to Dean. When Dean's look met his, Sam was treated to one of his brother's authentic smirks, accompanied by a snort of laughter and another shake of Dean's head.

"Tell you what, Sammy. I'll play you for it," Dean lightheartedly proposed, feeling like some of the weight that he had lugging around had lifted.

Thrown off kilter by his brother's sudden change, Sam stammered, "Play me for what?"

Enjoying his brother's confusion, Dean scoffed, "A million dollars. What do you think, jerk?" A pause held before he sighed. "I'll tell you what you want to know."

Sam sat up straight, intent, his eyes searching Dean's for some catch, some wall that would erect between them if he said the wrong thing. When Dean simply sat there, his smirk still present, his eyes lighting up in challenge, Sam ventured, "You're really going to tell me how you got shot, the whole thing, the unedited version."

"Only if you win, Sammy. Only if you win," Dean clarified, his cocky smile broadcasting what he thought the odds were on that happening.

"Win what?" Sam said, cocking his head to the side, trying to figure out what had changed his brother's mind and in the same moment, too darn grateful to care.

"Whatever we're playing? Poker? Straight pool? Arm wrestling? Doesn't matter, I can beat you in it all," Dean sallied back, leaning back against the Jacuzzi, confidence oozing off of him.

"Yeah, but if I win…" Sam qualified, needing to know the rules, to make sure Dean didn't try to squirm out of the deal.

"You won't, but if by some small chance you did win, I'll give you all the gory details about when I got shot." When Sam's face clouded over and he opened his mouth to protest, Dean clarified with a long suffering tone, "Yeah, Sam the first time." Dean shook his head, eyebrows cocked. "You know, you're sick, right? I mean, most brothers want to swap tales about scoring dates, kicking the crap outta some guy that was asking for it or winning football games. Not my little brother."

"That's because my big brother is out there daring every evil thing to take his head off," Sam retorted, a reprimand in his tone, contracting with the concern pouring out of his eyes as they fixed on his brother.

"I don't dare…" Dean heatedly objected but fell silent as Sam's eyes tracked something behind him. Turning his head to the side, Dean found a freckled faced red haired boy crouched besides his shoulder, his small expectant face focused on him.

"Hey mister, can you teach me how to throw the football? You know, like you did Matt?" the boy softly asked, his small finger pointing over to the pool where Matt, the boy Dean had interacted with earlier in the day, stood.

Dean capitulated to the boy's request without hesitation. "Sure thing, kid," he agreed, climbing from the Jacuzzi. He gave Sam a dazzling smile that boasted, 'I'm the man' before he began to make his way over to the other boy, the freckled boy skipping along at his side with excitement.

Smiling and shaking his head at his brother, Sam watched Dean come to stand beside the two boys, looking like a looming giant in their presence. As if the same feeling had struck Dean, the elder Winchester knelt down beside the red haired boy. A grimace of pain flickered on Dean's face at the action but it didn't diminish the warm gaze he leveled at the small boy. Then Dean gently positioned the freckled boy's small hands on the football, guiding the boy's arm into the motions that would lead to a perfect football pass.

Sam was mesmerized by the scene. Vividly he remembered Dean, a kid Dean, teaching him how to throw a football, leveling that compassionate, patience, encouraging gaze at him, telling him that he could do it, that Dean knew he could do it. Suddenly Sam chided himself, 'Heck, Sam why don't you head to the baby pool where you belong,' because right then he felt like he was just a breath away from bawling his head off.

"Heads up!" Dean's voice suddenly called out. Having barely raised his head in time, Sam still caught the football easily, a testament to his big brother's teachings. Ordered to join his brother's little group by the jerk of Dean's head, Sam smiled and got out of the Jacuzzi. Contently he made his way to his brother's side, sparing a glance at the two small boys that were lifetime members of Dean's personal fan club. The boys had already abandoned their NFL dreams for the simplicity of a good water battle in the pool.

Sitting on the edge of the pool, his feet dangling in the water, Dean looked up at Sam, pleased to see a smile brightening his brother's features. His eyes tracked Sam as he crouched down beside him and handed the ball to Matt.

Now back in possession of the football, the boys called out in chorus to Dean, "Play with us!"

"Sam will play with you," Dean replied and without any warning, he gave Sam a shove.

Unprepared for his brother's actions, Sam toppled head first into the pool. When his head broke the surface of the water, Sam was sputtering and laughing. Pointing menacingly at Dean, he threatened, "If you didn't look abused to within an inch of your life, I would drown you in this pool!"

"Oh, really, little brother," Dean challenged, cocky smile in place as he hopped into the water and began advancing towards Sam.

Raising his hands in a sign of non aggression, Sam backed up with each step Dean took towards him, "Dean, we are not rough housing with you hurt?"

"Rough housing!" Dean sputtered, his forward offensive delayed by his mirth. "Who are you, Ward Cleaver? The Beaver's dad!"

Then Dean was advancing again towards Sam, a gleam in his eye. He was unprepared for the wall of water that impacted his face, delivered courtesy, not Sam, but Matt. Turning to the boy, water dripping into his eyes, Dean playfully growled, a smile on his lips, "Oh, you're in for it now, kiddo," eliciting a giggle from the boy. Taking huge steps towards the two boys, Dean did his best impression of Godzilla in the water, causing both boys to laugh and go screaming away from him. Joining in his brother's game, Sam stepped forward and cut off the boys' escape, more giggles erupted as the Winchesters closed in on their prey.

Across the small boys' heads, the Winchester's eyes met and Dean felt his heart constrict. His brother was wearing the biggest smile he had ever seen on the adult Sam's face, and his laughter was easy and full of life. Sam's happiness was evident for all to see but it was what was in his little brother's eyes that gripped Dean's heart. Dean knew that look, had sorely missed its presence, had feared that Sam would never level that look at him again. The look that said Sam was glad they were brothers and nothing in the world would change that.

Matt's attempt to slip by Sam broke their silent link. Catching Matt around the waist, Sam swung him in the air, eliciting a squeal of laughter from the boy. For Dean, the scene triggered memories of playing with a young Sam in countless pools and water holes growing up. Pulling back from the 'rough housing', Dean regained his position on the rim of the pool, his attention drawn to the swimming relays of older Boy Scouts.

When Sam looked up and found that Dean had slipped quietly away, he felt disappointment hum through him. "Alright guys, you're on your own," he said to the two boys before he headed for his brother. Discerning a change in Dean's mood, Sam claimed a seat beside his brother but said nothing, his head turned to study Dean as the older man watched the relays. "So what's going on in that freaky head of yours?" Sam gently asked, coining his brother's phrase.

Turning his look upon Sam, Dean said sincerely, his voice low with emotion, "Thanks, Sam. For yesterday. You kept me alive, man."

Feeling as if the last statement held a deeper meaning, Sam swallowed hard, his eyes not as dry as they were a moment ago. "That's what brothers do, right? You've protected me all those years, it's about time I paid back some of what I owed you."

"Sam, you don't owe me…" Dean began to refute, only to have Sam's insistent voice overshadow his.

"Yeah, yeah I do." Sam looked away, wanting to say more, needing to say more. Facing Dean again he haltingly revealed, "I…I finally understand what it feels like to accept the full responsibility of protecting someone else's life, to have that person's life put into your hands, a life that you value more than your own."

"Sam.." Dean wanted to preempt his brother's confession, to tell him that it was OK, that they didn't require any words between them.

But Sam didn't take the escape Dean offered. "I…I've never felt that weight before. I thought I had, thought I knew that feeling but yesterday…" Sam broke off, shook his head to gather his emotions, to quell the trembling in his voice. Breathing out deeply, gathering strength from his brother's warm gaze, Sam marshaled the willpower to continue. "When you had your heart attack, your life was not so much in my hands as the faith healer's, but yesterday, yesterday it was just me standing between you and …" his breath hitched and he felt Dean's hand comfortingly squeeze his shoulder.

Leaning closer to Sam, Dean declared huskily, his eyes meeting Sam's. "And you did it, Sam. You saved me, risked your life doing it, you dumb idiot, but you did it."

"I'll do it again, Dean. As often as I have to," Sam vowed, fervently. "I'll do it again next year," Sam said before he remembered that his oath was unnecessary, that his protection was unnecessary, that Dean would deem his presence unnecessary if he knew the truth. As if he expected that the truth might spill from him unintentionally, Sam clenched his jaw tightly shut.

Dean felt shame tighten his chest, his brother's words convicting him. He couldn't do it, he couldn't let Sam worry needlessly about next year. Letting his hand slide from Sam's shoulder, fearing that his brother wouldn't want his touch when he knew the truth, Dean leaned away from Sam and took in a deep breath. "I'm gonna be alright next year, Sam," his words quiet, hued with gentle conviction.

Feeling the surface of panic as Dean's bravado threatened to foil all that his deception had aimed to achieve, Sam shot back forcefully, "Yeah, you are because I'm going to be right there with you, protecting your reckless butt."

Dean shook his head sadly, Sam's concern for him and his 'reckless butt' heaping more coals on his head. The words did not come easily, his fear at what came next eating at him, dodging his breath, making his confession stilted. "No, Sam, I mean…the curse..it's over. The crone's dead, died yesterday after dusk," he said, steeling himself for whatever punishment Sam would level at him.

Sam's breath caught in his throat, his eyes widened, he swallowed audible. 'Dean knows! He knows he doesn't need me next year, that there's no reason why we have to spend September 21st together….no reason except that it's what I want…what I need..' "Dean.." he began, ready to place doubt on the curse's expulsion, to argue that next year they should still be wary, to be on their guard, to be together. The look in Dean's eyes dried out his mouth, making speech an effort. Fear, it wasn't something Sam saw often in his brother's usually cocksure expression but it was there now, in close quarters with his brother's resignation. Sam didn't understand what prompted the emotions in Dean, only knew that the same emotions had gathered in his own gut. Dropping his head, Sam rubbed his hands down his thighs before he looked up again, his brother's eyes even darker when he met them again. "I know," Sam quietly confessed, had to clear his throat to continue, "I called the prison today…they told me."

Confusion washed over Dean. "You knew. Why didn't you say something?"

Sam looked away, his jaw clenched, his eyes tense. Misinterpreting Sam's reaction, Dean reassured, "Sam, there's a time difference, when she died.."

Facing Dean again, Sam finished, "it was past dusk here. I know."

Silence fell and even their locked gazes could not convey the ravaging emotions that vibrated between them. It was Sam who ventured forward on their fractured bridge of brotherhood. "You said you didn't want me to pick up and leave after the hunt was over…well, I don't want us to lose what we have between us either, not again Dean. And I thought," Sam bit his lip, his eyes darting away only to settle back on his brother, conviction and desperation in their depths, "I thought if you believed the curse was still hanging over you…you would…we would…"

"What?" Dean gently pressed, hating to see apprehension darken Sam's eyes, to hear the tremble in his brother's voice.

His brother's one word, the unwavering support that blazed in Dean's eyes gave Sam the courage to boldly profess, "I just wanted a sure thing, Dean. Alright!"

"What sure thing!" Dean said in quiet confusion, wanting to understand, needing to understand.

His shimmering eyes fixed intently on his brother, Sam softly stated, "That next year on September 21st we'd be together, no matter what."

Blindsided by Sam's confession, Dean's brow creased. "You really want that? For us to spend the day together next year, curse or no curse?" Dean asked, his tone tremulous, soft.

"Yeah, I do," Sam answered unswervingly, watching surprise glitter in his brother's eyes.

Dean felt the shock of his brother's words, of Sam's desire, reverberate down to his core. 'Sam wants what I want. He didn't tell me about Anna's death for the same reason I didn't tell him. Neither one of us wanted to spend the next September 21st apart.'

When Dean remained silent, his stunned look offering Sam no solace, Sam quietly posed in his most heartbreakingly vulnerable tone, "Don't you want us to be together, Dean?"

"Yeah, but I didn't think…what if…the hunt might be over, Sam," Dean stammered, his own emotions scattered, his walls crumbling under the siege only his brother could have waged.

"Which is exactly why I wanted some leverage, some way I could make you let me spend the day with you, whether you were on a hunt or not," Sam emphatically explained.

His eyes locked with Sam's, Dean felt a lump form in his throat and his eyes suspiciously got blurry. "Sam…" he choked out.

"Hey no water works in front of the Boy Scouts, Dean!" Sam scoffed shakily, his own eyes in the same sorry watery state as Dean's. "I have a reputation to protect, you know."

"Your reputation!" Dean scoffed back, playfully shoving Sam's face to the side, eliciting laughter from Sam. "It's my reputation on the line here. Those kids look up to me.."

"Sure they do.." Sam agreed but the unholy light in his eyes told Dean that wasn't necessarily a good thing. "They have to look up to you…you're taller than they are."

"Oh, you are quite the commodian, Geek Boy!" Dean growled, secretly enjoying the sight of Sam's smile and the sound of his brother's startled chuckle. Making the effort to climb to his feet, Dean warned, "Sammmm" as his brother immediately climbed to his own feet, his hand wrapping supportively around Dean's elbow. When he was on steady feet, Dean ripped his elbow from Sam's hold but it was not a frustrated look that he leveled at Sam.

Sam's stomach churned as Dean's eyes sparkled with the joy of a new found idea. The flash of Dean's cocky smile brought Sam's apprehension up another ten notches. "No, whatever you're thinking, it's no, Dean!" he refuted whatever reckless scheme was bouncing through his brother's head. Dean made no comment save throwing an ever wider smile to Sam as he began walking toward the chairs, causing his brother to trip along at his heels in worry. "I mean it, Dean. Whatever crazy…"

"I say we start now," Dean calmly stated, out of the blue, his eyes striving to be serious as they met Sam's.

Hesitantly, Sam asked, "Start what Dean?"

"The competition. Your quest for answers," Dean answered, his tone mockingly accepting.

"What? Here?" Sam exclaimed looking around the room as if for the first time. "There's no poker table, no pool table, Dean."

"There's a swimming pool, Sammy. We'll do that cannonball competition like we always did, see who can create the bigger splash." Turning around to again face the pool which lay a few paces away, Dean shot his brother the exact look he had when they were kids. The cocky 'you're never gonna beat me, Sammy,' look that always irked Sam's pride and spurred the younger boy to take up whatever gauntlet his brother had issued.

Slipping in front of Dean, Sam placed his hands on Dean's chest, obstructing his brother's path to the pool. "No way!" Sam forbad, sparks flying from his eyes as they collided with the stubborn mischief in Dean's eyes. "I mean it, Dean. No!" he threatened darkly, the dire consequences for defiance unspoken but profoundly implied.

"I'm up for a little rough housing," Dean boasted, oblivious or untroubled by his brother's promised retribution. Pushing Sam's hands away from his chest, he stepped forward, forcing Sam to step backwards to keep in front of him.

"I mean it Dean, with your ribs and," Sam purposely dropped his voice to utter the next two words, "bullet wound …"

"Don't be such an old lady, Sam! Why don't you live a little," Dean taunted, standing toe to toe with his brother.

"I live a lot!" Sam insisted, his voice rising.

Dean snorted, "Four years of college and that's your defining statement, 'I live a lot!'"

"Shut up!" Sam volleyed back, falling back into his little brother role without his notice.

"More college speak, oh please stop talking over my head, Sammy! You make me feel so..inferior," Dean sarcastically whined.

"That's it. If you get in that pool, I'm going to hold your head underwater, I mean it Dean," Sam threatened, his eyes wavering between humor and worry.

It was that spark of worry in his brother's eyes that made Dean relent, made his big brother heart cater to his brother's wishes. "Fine," he drawled, raising his hands in surrender. "You got me too terrified to defy you, Sammy," he sallied, patting Sam on the chest before he turned around, making his way back toward the chairs that held their belongings.

As he did Sam's bidding, Dean realized it wasn't so bad, being protected by his kid brother. In fact, it was humbling to know what Sam was willing to risk to keep him safe. In Dean's life, having a sanctuary had always been a pipe dream, only existing for the normal people of the world, fools too naïve to know it was all a myth, a trick of smoke and mirrors. But as Dean remembered yesterday's events, how tenaciously his brother had protected him, how tenderly he had cared for his hurts, how resolutely he had stood at his side amid a burning room, Dean discovered that his very own sanctuary was right there, in the person of his six foot four inch, brown haired little brother.

Having trailed Dean back to the chairs, Sam stood beside his brother, surprised at the warm look Dean bestowed on him. Joy flared in Sam as he sensed that his connection to his brother was now forged together stronger than ever. But a moment later confusion set in when he was bestowed with one of Dean's cocky smirks.

"Dean, I said no!" Sam growled, struck with his brother's intentions, his hand grasping for his brother, his fingers raking air only. Even as he took a few running steps in pursuit, Sam already knew he was too late. All he could do was watch Dean leap from the rim of the pool, curl himself into a ball midair and drop into the water.

Dean's cannonball sent water splashing over Sam, Dean's two fan club members and half the occupants of the pool. When Dean's head broke the water's surface, it was to find Sam standing on the rim of the pool, his dark look searing into Dean's smiling eyes. "Losing sucks doesn't it, Sammy," Dean taunted but found himself backing up in alarm when Sam, with a dangerous glint in his eyes, dove into the pool. "Crap!" Dean exclaimed, turning around, readying to swim for his life. A hand wrapped around his ankle, foiling his escape and yanking him under the water. When a moment later his ankle was freed, Dean swam quickly to the surface, greeted by Sam's looming presence. Before Dean could thrash away, Sam's freakishly long fingered hand came to rest ominously on his head.

"I'm going to drown you and dad will never find out.." Sam threatened, the light in his eyes doing nothing to lessen the danger Dean felt.

"Hey, hey what about the no rough housing rule? Hurt guy here!" Dean sputtered, pool water seeping into his mouth, recognizing that he was a breath away from getting dunked.

"Stupid guy you mean," Sam countered, his lips however, were unable to keep the smile at bay a moment longer. Abandoning his fierce façade, Sam gave the top of Dean's head a duck rub, sent a splash of water into Dean's face and sprang away from his older brother like he was a rattlesnake.

"Oh, you're a dead man," Dean vowed, laughing as he pointed a menacing finger at his brother before he began swimming towards a retreating Sam. Suddenly knowing in his heart that, though Sam had grown up, had been out on his own for awhile, he was still his little brother. And that assured his victory because, little brothers always lost out to big brothers, that was just the way things were meant to be. "You're toast, little brother," Dean promised threateningly, his hand nearly grasping Sam's flailing foot.

Unknowingly, their brotherly antics captured the rapt attention of the pack of Boy Scouts. It made some boys miss their own brothers and sparked in others a yearning to have a brother. Because watching the two Winchesters in action, it was obvious. There was nothing in the world like having a brother.

THE END!

SNSNSNSNSNSNSNSN

Well, there it is! Finished with a bow on it. Thanks for letting me torture the boys (and you), for enduring the chick flick moments, and allowing me to ramble on seemingly without end when things could have been said in ten words or less.

I've gotten the most reviews with this story and it both overwhelmed and touched me. Thank you all for your irreplaceable support! Like I've said before, it's your wonderful reviews that prodded me to continue the story, and to strive to top my own writing expectations. Be assured, your kindness made an impact in my life!

And thank you to all those who read the story in silence! You and I are not so different, trust me! Writing a story is easier than reviewing for me! Guess it's because when I review, it's about my emotions, not my fictional character's.

I've really enjoyed the time we've spent in each others company. Hope to read great Supernatural stories from you all! But one thing I know. As I watch those gorgeous Winchester boys take on evil, you all are right there with me, probably jumping at the same things I do. Ah, what I put myself through for the love of a good man like Dean.

Have a great day! You deserve it!

Cheryl W.

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