When I checked my email this morning, I nearly squealed in joy because I had reviews! Yay! LOL. Okay, I'm done. If I could, I sent replies to all those who had an email, but there were a couple that didn't. So I just wanted to start off with another thanks to all who read and reviewed. You guys made me blush and go "aw shucks," I'm so glad you all are enjoying the story and I really hope I don't let you down.

Thank you again to:

Joralie- LOL. Thank you loads! Here's the update.

Taivan

princesspeanut

Kale- Thanks much! I wondered that too. How could he not have heard it? Or did he just ignore it? With everything that they've been through, no matter how hurt and angry Sam may be, I just can't see him turning away from his brother. So I was like, "You know what, lemme see if I can fix it." So here we go. Thanks for the review. Here's Chapter 2.

Mariethorne

Woodsbaile

DesertEagle: Thank you! I don't think Sam will lose Dean, in fact I'm pretty sure he won't. It just won't be the same without our boys, and the one thing that I love about them and the one thing that I will never never NEVER forget is their relationship. It's gonna be rough but we'll see where this goes. Who knows? This may be the one story where it won't end in a happy ending but an ambiguous "I'll leave it up to you to decide." ;-) :-D Thank you for reviewing and reading! Here's the next update.

Julie: Thank you for reading and reviewing! Here you are.

Too Little, Too Late

Chapter 2: Too Late?

Dean watched his brother walk away in strides that were rushed and just a little stiff.

"I miss him, man. And I feel guilty as hell. And I'm not all right. Not at all. But neither are you. That much I know."

All he could do was stare with narrowed eyes and lowered brows as his little brother confessed those words so brokenly. He didn't say anything. He didn't move save for clenching his jaw. He only blinked at those last words. What could he say? What could he do?

"You know, when you were a kid, I'd come home from a hunt, and after what I'd seen, I'd be…I'd be wrecked. And you—you'd come up to me and you, you'd put your hand on my shoulder and you'd look me in the eye and you'd... You'd say, 'It's okay, Dad.'"

He remembered the sound of his father's voice. It was his father's voice, he knew that for certain, but the tone, the emotion in that voice—was that really his father?

He had been so sad. And heartbroken. Dean remembered the sight of tears flooding his dad's eyes as he whispered a broken apology. All he knew his father as was a pillar of strength. Nothing could bring that pillar down.

But here it was. Crumbling before eyes that didn't want to see.

He should've known then.

He was hearing everything he'd ever wanted to hear.

"You shouldn't have had to say that to me, I should have been saying that to you. You know, I put…I put too much on your shoulders, I made you grow up too fast. You took care of Sammy, you took care of me. You did that, and you didn't complain, not once. I just want you to know that I am so proud of you."

He should've known it was something more.

He should've known his father was saying goodbye.

Maybe he had. Maybe he had but he just didn't want to believe. He remembered his words…the light, humorous 'This really you talking?' that had just a bare vulnerability and fear right under the soft spoken words.

And then he saw his brother. He remembered the sound of his brother's desperate shout for help, so damn far away and yet too damn close. Echoing and hollow, he begged the highest Power, and maybe even the lowest, to just let it be a dream.

But when Sam burst into his room, when Dean saw the wetness and devastation in eye identical to his own, Dean knew that it was real.

And everything crashed down on him.

"And I feel guilty as hell. And I'm not all right. Not at all."

Damn it, Sammy. Damn you, Dad.

The fury rose up in a roaring tidal wave of red. There was a heavy something in his hand, he was swinging and there was that sharp tinkling of fragile glass being smashed.

That sole blow wasn't enough. He needed something more. He turned away from the blue car and its shattered window to stare down at the trunk.

This was his father's.

This was his one legacy from his father. This was what he had been left with. Fury and emptiness and terrible sorrow.

And Sam…

His eyes involuntarily flitted up to the area his brother had just vacated, and Sam's grieving face filled his vision. His own face twisted and his lips contorted into a snarl and he had slammed the crow bar into the metal in another hit before he even realized he had lifted it again.

John lay his hand on Dean's shoulder. "I want you to watch out for Sammy, okay."

Dean stared dumbstruck at the tears that continued to fall.

CLANG.

Damn you.

"Yeah Dad. You know I will." He whispered and his father's face wavered a bit. "You're scaring me."He couldn't help it. His voice broke.

CLANG.

Damn you!

"Don't be scared, Dean."

Then he leaned down and whispered just a few words—words that left Dean stunned and speechless.

He should've known.

CLANG.

Goddamn you!

His breath exploded from his lungs with every hit, every crash was joined with a coarse whimper. The bar swung and smashed against the trunk fourteen more times before falling to the ground with a clatter.

He gazed down at the gaping hole he'd created. There was the violence that he fought so hard to contain. There was the grief he was killing himself to temper.

And the fury.

"I just think it's really interesting, this sudden obedience you have to Dad. It's like, oh, what would Dad want me to do? Sam, you spent your entire life slugging it out with that man. I mean, hell, you, you picked a fight with him the last time you ever saw him. And now that he's dead, now you want to make it right? Well, I'm sorry Sam, but you can't, it's too little, too late."

God, Sammy. He thought.

"Why are you saying this to me?"

He remembered the effect his words had had on Sam. How deep they had cut. How confused those words had sounded. And for those few seconds, he hadn't cared.

"Because I want you to be honest with yourself about this. I'm dealing with Dad's death! Are you?"

He remembered the look on his little brother's face. Shocked and wounded. Then incredibly cold.

"I'm going to call Ellen."

Those words had been said stonily and through clenched teeth. Then without another word, Sam turned and walked away.

God, Sammy. I'm sorry. I'm sorry.

His thoughts jumbled over each other in the time it took him to slump over the trunk. Rapid-fire and unforgiving.

He turned around, still stuck in memories to face where Sam had stood.

One sentence drowned out all the others.

"I miss him, man. And I feel guilty as hell. And I'm not all right. Not at all. But neither are you. That much I know." Then Sam paused, tears nearly overflowing and seemed to wait. When all he did was stare, a look came into those green eyes, there was a slight nod and Sam bit his lips. "I'll let you get back to work."

And he walked away.

No. Sammy.

What would he do if he never came back? An incredible sadness overcame Dean and he could feel tears just rising to the surface. He couldn't lose Sammy.

"And now that he's dead, now you want to make it right? Well, I'm sorry Sam, but you can't, it's too little, too late."

He had been so angry. At himself, at his father. But not Sammy.

He had to fix this. It couldn't be too late. Not for them.

He wouldn't let it be.