I feel like the brotherly moment when Dean offers to shoot Maddy in "Heart" is kinda underrated. So, here's my take on how things might have gone after Sam had finished the task. Stay safe out there!

Just wait here

Dean was tempted to call out to Sam again. To cross the room, hold him back. He shouldn't have to do this. This wasn't the way it was supposed to be – Sam enduring all the pain while Dean just waited there.

But he also knew that his brother was right. That he would never forgive himself if he didn't do this. That it'd probably be even harder to let Dean do it. Still. The big brother inside Dean screamed at him in rage, scolding him for giving the gun out of hand. How could he let his younger brother face such pain?

As if he hadn't seen the tears. As if he hadn't seen his hands shake, his lips tremble, every fibre of his body fight against the inevitable. As if he hadn't seen how much this hurt Sam. And Madison, too. She was a sweet girl. She shouldn't die.

The lone tear that fell from his eye was a silent tribute to her. Her and all the other people they couldn't save.

When Sam returned to the kitchen – Madison's kitchen, a stranger's kitchen – Dean didn't quite know what to expect. What was asked from him now. There was a good chance that Sam wouldn't want to talk about it. Or to talk at all. That all he needed was to drive somewhere, listen to some music, have a drink. That was the way he had adapted from Dean – bottle it up, let it boil inside you until it cools down. Worked effectively but was painful on long notice.

And Sam also had the other side. The Sammy side. That side had lots of words and lots of tears and pieces of a broken world left at their feet for Dean to pick up and put back together. There, Sam needed him, really needed him, needed a supporting hand, a reassuring word, a talk.

When they had been kids, that had been Sam's main coping mechanism. He was softer than Dean and John, his heart not quite yet hardened by the loss of a mother, and therefore holding in the pain hurt more than letting it out. But it wasn't long until he had learned that a Winchester didn't cry, that a Winchester didn't give in to the pain, that a Winchester used the pain to become stronger, faster, better. Dad had shown him, so had – although a little more reluctant – Dean, and that was the way Sam was expected to manage. So he did and throughout the years it had become less and less painful. By now, the quiet grief had overtaken the loud grief almost always.

Today didn't seem to be the exception. Sam had wiped the tears aways and only the way he clenched his jaws betrayed that he was fighting fresh ones. If he didn't know him so well, Dean wouldn't notice. Wordlessly, Sam handed him the gun. "We should call 911", he said hoarsely and cleared his throat before he went on: "Tell them we heard a gunshot. She should…" His voice almost broke, but he managed to regain composure. "She deserves a proper burial."

Dean only nodded and opened the door for both of them. "I'll handle it", he promised, hand lingering on Sam's shoulder for the shortest moment before he made sure nobody was watching as they left the building. He tossed Sam the keys. "Go wait in the car. I'll finish up here." Sam didn't protest.

When Dean met him at the Impala, Sam was in the driver's seat, meddling with the gears. Dean knocked at his window, then opened the door. "Nuh-uh, my friend. Not gonna happen." His voice didn't allow complaints. "Scoot over. I'm driving." Sam shot him the quickest death-glare but slipped over into the passenger's seat without putting up a fight.

The familiar rumble of the engine as the car jumped to life was enough to soothe Dean's tensed nerves. The night had taken its toll on the both of them, no doubt, and it wasn't over yet. Dean made sure to keep an eye on Sam while he manoeuvred out of the parking space onto the street. But feeling his car, listening to the sounds, so familiar – they were almost part of his own body – gave him a strange feeling of peace.

There were times when Dean enjoyed driving in silence, hearing nothing but the engine and the sound of the wheels against the pavement. But there were also times where the silence seemed to drain the air of every oxygen until he suffocated in it. Today was such a day. Still, he made sure to put a respectable distance between them and Madison's home before he dared to take his eyes off the road to look at Sam: "Music?"

Sam's eyes were glued to the windshield, or to a point behind it, really, without actually seeing anything. It seemed to take a moment until he realized Dean had spoken to him, but then he responded with a sharp nod. So, Dean turned on the radio.

They played some crappy pieces Dean didn't know the titles of, but that wasn't the worst part about listening to the radio. It were the interruptions, the talking, the jokes that were so not funny that it was almost embarrassing. Yet, for peace's sake, he kept his mouth shut.

And to his own surprise it wasn't long until Sam reached for the button and shut the radio off himself. "Bullshit", he whispered. Dean's mouth twisted into a tired smirk. "Wanna put on a record?", he asked, half teasingly, half serious. After a moment, Sam shrugged and picked a random cassette tape.

Dean began to think that his brother – just like him – didn't really care what they were listening to as long as it wasn't this pressing silence.

Sam had grabbed a Queen cassette. It was an older one, Dean faintly remembered that he had picked it up in a record store about six years ago because he had like the cover. The songs were okay, not really fitting the vibe, but the drums allowed him to turn the volume up and make it seem like that made things better.

Somewhere during the second song, Dean had suggested to find a motel or a bar at least – neither of them had eaten or slept properly since they had found out Madison was a werewolf – but Sam had shaken his head almost immediately. "Just… not yet, okay?", he had asked quietly, and Dean hadn't pressed matters further. So now, they were just driving aimlessly, passing through villages, watching the morning become day. Things seemed to settle.

That was until Save me started playing. In hindsight, Dean thought he had probably noticed it sooner than Sam, who was still too absorbed in the world in his head to really take notice of the music.

Dean did. And in his head, Freddie Mercury's voice became Maddy's as she looked at his brother with pleading, tear-filled eyes, closing his fingers around the gun: "You have to save me, Sam!"

Dean wanted to turn the tape off, but his hands felt somewhat glued to the wheel. The music pulled him into a trance, forbade him to turn it off. The bittersweetness of the songs hit him somewhere deep inside and all he knew was that they had to finish the song.

Then he noticed the tears. Nothing of Sam's posture gave away that he had started crying again. He had turned towards the window slightly, shoulder's slumped, at the first glance he might as well be sleeping. But there were tears and there were small tremors running through him, and there were his hands which clutched each other for dear life.

Dean's heart twisted painfully at the sight; it was harder to keep his eyes on the road when he wanted to watch his little brother so badly.

"Keep driving", Sam's voice was thick, and he obviously tried to conceal the tears, which didn't work at all. Dean hadn't even noticed that he had slowed down, ready to pull over. His gaze lingered on Sam for two more seconds, worried, considering. Then he sighed. And kept driving.

It didn't rain. Somewhere in his subconsciousness Dean found that strange. It was supposed to rain in these moments. That would be fitting the thick atmosphere in the car that they threatened to choke on. The sky ought to be ink black, water making the street glossy and slippery.

Instead, the sun broke through the fluffy clouds. Dean had to flip the blind so he could see properly. What an irony.

He was checking on Sam from the corner of his eye minutely by now. He hadn't dared to speak up yet, knowing that if the shoe were on the other foot, he surely wouldn't want Sam to press him to talk. As long as it were only silent tears, Dean thought, he would let it go. Pretend he didn't notice; pretend he was listening to the tape. Let Sam have his moment.

But it didn't remain silent tears. When Dean looked over once again he saw how Sam's nails dug into his palms. Not yet hard enough to cause bleeding, but definitely hard enough to leave marks. It hurt so much because Dean knew the technique, the mechanism – he knew it all. Pinching himself, punching against something, biting his lip. Everything, anything to keep the pain in his chest in check. Rather a bruise on his skin than the horrible cuts inside.

He recognized the lips, firmly pressed together, the feet, anxiously tapping, the arms, protectively covering the stomach. The tremors were becoming more forceful. Sam didn't have long. His break was almost over.

Dean didn't hesitate for long. They were on a pretty absent road, not really leading anywhere, barely occupied. He didn't flip the blinker before pulling over to one side of the road. Sam didn't say anything this time, but Dean sensed that he wanted to. That he wanted to tell him to go on, that he didn't want to talk about it. But he couldn't, because if he talked he'd lose the fight against the inevitable tears.

Dean turned the car off but kept the record playing. He didn't get out, not yet. Only opened his door to let in some fresh air and give Sam a silent sign. If he needed to, he'd be around the car in a heartbeat.

Sam endured standing still for about half a minute. Then he pulled his feet up onto the seat, ignoring that he was still wearing shoes, and hugged his knees to his chest. Curled himself around them as far as it was possible. He didn't bury his head in his knees. He just sat there, tears silently shaking him, and looked into nothingness with empty eyes.

Eventually, a thought occurred to Dean, and he shot his brother another glance. "Want me to leave you alone for a moment?"

Sam shook his head too quickly. Too urgently. His eyes pleaded too much. He looked to scared. Dean wasn't sure for how long he could still take it. He feared to touch his brother; was afraid that one wrong movement might be too much. So he just hurried to nod. "Okay", he said, reassuringly. "Alright. I'm staying." He couldn't help slipping into the voice he had used years ago, whenever he had soothed Sam – the little Sam – after a nightmare or had tried to lift his spirits about switching schools again.

Sam didn't seem to notice. Or if he did, he didn't seem to care. But the silence seemed to have reached its peak and Sam wasn't able to hold it any longer.

"I shouldn't have done it." Dean closed his eyes. There it was. Coping way one had morphed into coping way two without either of them noticing, and now he had to find the right words. That was usually Sam's job. And although he liked to make fun of his sappiness, Dean actually admired how Sam always seemed to know what to say. "Yes, you should", he replied quietly. "You shouldn't have had to. All this shouldn't have happened. But you did the right thing, and you know it."

Sam didn't answer. Dean knew that he was having trouble to believe him – although he was right indeed. Eventually, Sam let out a deep sigh. His eyes were closed. His head rested against the headrest of the seat. "I'm so tired, Dean." It was clear that he didn't mean physically. "I'm so tired of all this."

It was as though someone had forced him to swallow acid. His insides seemed to be aflame. Dean felt tears of sympathy pulsate in his chest, behind his eyes. He knew how Sam felt and he knew that nothing he could say would ever be enough. No words in the world would fix this or help to ease the pain. It would stay and stab Sam from the inside until finally, one day, it didn't feel like he was dying anymore.

Finally, Dean pushed his door open and stepped out of the car. Walked around it, slowly. Gave Sam the time to open his door himself, or to compose himself if he wanted to. Then he opened the passenger's door and stepped aside. It was a wordless invitation and when Sam didn't move, he nudged him in the side. "C'mon, Sammy", he said quietly. "Get out of the car for a moment."

It seemed to take forever for Sam to untangle his legs and arms and get to his feet. He brought up one shaky hand to wipe his face. The look he gave Dean seemed to take the life from his soul and he had to force himself to not look away. "Oh, Sam."

Suddenly there were no more words. There were just Dean's open arms and Sam's tense body and Dean's careful hands on Sam's shoulders and Sam's face against Dean's jacket. There was the soft rustle of the wind through the trees and the quiet chirping of birds somewhere in the woods. The sunrays that were oddly comforting. And the familiar smell of dried sweat and the motel they had stayed in and each other's bodywashes. And there were no words needed.

Sam cried. He cried like he probably had needed to for weeks, months, and had never dared to. It weren't only the tears for Madison, but for his father and for Jess and his fear and the tension and overall stress that bubbled to the surface. Somewhere inside him he felt like it should embarrass him, but the embarrassment didn't come. Who was there to judge? Who was there to even see except for his brother, who held him and who shed tears of his own and who would – despite his constant mocking – give everyone a piece of his mind who dared to give Sam shit for this?

The time passed. Neither of them knew how much, only that it felt longer than it probably had been, until they pulled away. Sam wiped his eyes. Dean squeezed his shoulder lightly before running a hand over his own face. Then he moved to sit on the hood of the car.

"Wish I had brought beer", he remarked in a weak attempt to lift the tension. Sam snorted. "Don't drink and drive, Dean", he replied, nasally, but with a certain mocking tone that made Dean's heart lighter. His Sammy was still somewhere in there, the geeky know-it-all who complained about everything Dean did, just out of spite. He was still there.

"Get that stick out of your ass, Sammy! As if you've never driven a little wasted." Sam raised his brows as he slumped onto the hood next to Dean. "What, in your car? You'd skin me alive." Dean managed a weak chuckle. "You got a point."

They were silent for a moment, then Sam breathed a soft laugh. "Remember how you gave me my first driving lesson in this thing? You pressed me for weeks to finally do it and then you were more nervous than me." Dean shoved him lightly. "That's not true! I had faith in you."

Sam even laughed a little. "I don't think you were worried about me rather than the car. Remember how I almost hit that stop sign?" Dean closed his eyes and made a face somewhere between a smile and a wince as the memory came back to him. "Well, that was scary though", he said. "And you were a shit driver."

Sam's offended look almost made him laugh out loud. "Oh, come on, don't look at me like that! You really sucked! You always slammed the brakes like that!" He mimicked the harsh movement and Sam crossed his arms on his chest, insulted. "Well, I should've had a better teacher", he mumbled.

Dean scoffed. "Bitch." Sam smirked. "Jerk."

They were silent again. Then, Dean sighed deeply and pulled the keys from his pocket. "Heads up." He pushed himself off the hood as he threw the keys. Sam did the same and caught them easily in one hand. They switched sides, shoulders brushing against each other as they passed by one another.

Back in the car, they exchanged one look. Thank you said Sam's eyes. Any time was Dean's wordless reply. Sam started the car. Dean made a move to change the tape. Back in black started playing and Sam groaned. "Dean, for the love of god, can we please listen to something a little less… grandpa?" When Dean just laughed, he looked at him angrily. "What about driver picks the music, passenger shuts his piehole?"

Dean leaned his head back and crossed his arms. "Well, another rule trumps that." Sam huffed. "And which?"

Dean smirked. "Older one decides, younger one endures." Sam muttered something rather unflattering and turned the volume down. Dean promptly turned it back up. "I think there's a motel down the next road", he said. Sam still shot him pissed glances. "You're really annoying sometimes, you know that?"

Dean smiled. "Ah, Sammy", he said wisely, "ain't that what a big brother is for?"