AN: There is no lifeguard on duty, so swim in the schmoop at your own risk.

There's a bit more language in this chapter than the rest of the story. Emotions ran high, and the boys pulled out a couple big boy words.

This took a ton of reworking, so please let me know if there are any errors. I've been told not to badmouth my writing, so I'll just say it didn't come easily. But honestly, I always struggle with endings.

This was supposed to be the end except for a short epilogue, but there are two epilogues now, thanks to plot bunnies my fine readers blithely released. They are mostly written, so you might just get 'em all today.

* * *

Dean parked his baby at a little roadside park too small and out of the way to attract any attention. He climbed out and sat on the hood, though the position made him feel like Sam should be there stealing sips of his beer.

Sam and Bobby were back at the house, geeking out together, looking up some Scandinavian spirit for "a damn fool hunter with big balls and no brains" who was "too young to realize he was gonna get himself killed," in Bobby's colorful verbiage. Dean announced he was going to take a drive to make sure Baby's timing was good. Neither man had really looked up at the announcement, waving absently to let him know they'd heard him.

It was so good to see them at ease with each other again. That still left just one item on the look out for Sammy checklist.

Dean pulled Letty's letter out of his pocket. He'd been thinking it since Kay had handed it to Sam.

He couldn't seem to stop trying to guess at the letter's contents. If it said something bad about Dean, Sam would've been pissed, not shell shocked. If it had bad news they needed to know, he'd have shared it with Dean right away. Conclusion: it said something about Sam, something personal.

Dean considered how Sam had gone from the vengeful, furious hunter beating on a god with a tire iron (a beautiful, badass moment Dean would revisit many times) to looking like a scared kid as he offered Dean the letter. The dichotomy was so very Sam.

And the letter was definitely about Sam and intensely personal.

Offering it to Dean was a sign of trust, and maybe even an apology for everything Sam had done while soulless. It wasn't necessary, but Sam didn't see it that way. And Dean appreciated it anyway.

Okay, just read the damn letter already, jackass, Dean castigated himself. It was just words. Words written by a goddess. Words that had thrown Sammy for such a loop that he'd forgotten how to get back to their motel two blocks away.

Impatient with himself, Dean finally focused on the letter on his knee.

So, Kay and Letty didn't resent the Winchesters or even regret meeting them. That was nice and offered at least a little relief.

Of course, the next paragraph was like getting gut-punched by Eshu again. Sure, Sam was the king of guilt. But to feel guilty because of the ibeji thing? Dean hoped Letty was wrong about that, but he doubted it. He kept reading and came to Letty's question for Sam -- did he think Dean considered him a burden.

"Hell, no," Dean whispered. "You better know better, little brother."

Dean can't imagine a life without you in it...You are his purpose, his reason, his anchor. And I promise you that he believes it is his greatest privilege, the best part about everything he is, to be your big brother...you are kind so he can be hard. You smooth his roughest edges.

Dean had to stop and wipe his eyes. And again. "Dammit! That's twice, Letty!" Dean yelled at the air. He put the letter in his pocket, hopped down and stalked back and forth for a few minutes. As agitated as he felt, he was also grateful to Letty for writing what Dean could never say. He tended to just assume that Sam, genius that he was, got it. But Letty, apparently the patron saint of the Winchesters, seemed to have felt that Sam needed the reminder or reassurance.

"Dammit," said Dean again. How could such a smart guy have things so backwards? He knew the answer, because he knew who'd been responsible for Sam's emotional health growing up, and who Sam had modeled himself on, right down to his damn insecurities.

People usually figured that Sam and Dean were very different even though they lived and worked together and even walked in sync. And in terms of temperament and hobbies, they'd be right. But just because Dean kicked the front door in while Sam picked the lock on the back door didn't mean they didn't end up the same place.

"That is not how you were supposed to be like me," Dean growled softly. He found himself hoping that Letty's words had reassured Sam. He knew he had to do more than hope. Tears and a pending chick flick moment? Yeah, Letty was just as annoying as Sam was.

With some reluctance, Dean leaned against Baby and looked at the last part of the letter. This part was easier, thankfully. It made sense to Dean that they'd playes the biggest role in creating their own bond. All of Michael's pontificating about free will being a lie had never sat well with Dean, and not just because he didn't want it to be true.

No, all of the destiny shit and million years plan had felt artificial. External. This, ibeji or whatever it was that made them Sam-and-Dean was intrinsic. Essential. Not neccesarily unbreakable, but not able to be broken without breaking them irreversibly. Maybe that was why they were still standing and "destiny" had been averted.

Dean spared a smile for the way Letty had signed off. Unwittingly, his eyes jumped back up to the most damning part of the letter.

You feel unworthy of the regard and protection of Dean...being an ibeji is a blessing for you but a trap for him, forcing him to always put himself second, and chaining him unfairly to you, the lesser man.

Unworthy...trap...lesser man. Not what Dean wanted to hear. Not acceptable.

Dean folded the letter and put it away. He'd read it, now he'd fix what it had shone a light on so glaringly.

"Sammy," crooned Dean, climbing into the car and starting to scheme. "You got some 'splaining to do."

WINCHESTER * WINCHESTER

Day four at the Singer homestead and Bobby was still claiming that he had no cases for them and that he needed their help to research all things Purgatory. Bobby was either doing penance or feeling overprotective after sending them after the Ibejis. He'd listened with rapt attention to the whole story, and Dean would bet he'd understood some of the undercurrents. He'd appreciated the spunky Ibejis, sighed sadly when he heard about their sacrifice, and laughed out loud hearing how Eshu had ended up.

But, yeah, he was feeling guilty. Still, it was nice to stick around and not hunt while their bruises healed.

One thing Dean hadn't been able to work on was Sam. The guy was sneaky, underhanded, and determined to avoid the talk Dean was angling for. That was some Freaky Friday opposite world shit, right there.

But Dean had a plan, and he wasn't above using an outside agent to set it up.

"Hey, Bobby. You're looking to move everything out of the far shed so you can work on the roof this spring, right?"

Bobby gave him an odd look. "Yeah, but no rush. Why the hell are you whispering?"

Dean glanced around even though he knew Sam was in the house taking a shower. "When we're eating supper, could you ask us to get everything moved tomorrow?"

Bobby was still looking at Dean as if his head was sprouting flowers. "Sure, Dean. 'M I actually gonna get all that shit moved if I go along with this?"

"Yeah, promise. But, uh, don't tell Sam it was my idea, okay?"

Bobby's voice was bone dry. "Of course not."

That had been yesterday, so Sam and Dean were now moving boxes and crates and all kinds of shit from one shed to another, because the other Mr. Guilty Conscience still couldn't say no to Bobby.

Time for Phase 2.

"Hey, Sam, grab that end of this crate." The crate in question was double wide and full of ball bearings and bolts -- definitely a 2-person lift. They each grabbed one end and took two steps, with Dean rotating so his back was toward the door.

Then Dean raised his end higher...and let go. Sam compensated automatically and staggered a little, but didn't drop it. Ha. Knew super arms were up to it.

Sam grunted in effort. "Dean...what the...hell, man? Take...your side...before I drop it."

Dean folded his arms and leaned comfortably against the door jamb. "In a minute."

Sam looked around a tad desperately, but Dean had chosen his spot well. It was a narrow space and a long crate. Sam couldn't turn easily back to the shelves behind him and Dean was blocking the door in front of him. If he tried to set it on the floor, he'd certainly overbalance. "Not funny...Dean. If I drop this...your toes...probably get...broken too."

Dean shrugged and grinned, though he wasn't going to let it get to the point that Sam dropped it. "I just want go talk. About Letty's letter."

The amount of exasperation on Sam's face was a beautiful thing. "Seriously? Can't really...focus while holding..."

"We're not talking about it now," Dean clarified. Sam leaned back against the shelves in self defense, now truly trapped until Dean helped him. "We're negotiating about talking about it."

"I can't --"

"Then you better negotiate fast." The veins in Sam's arms were standing out now, and he was clenching his teeth. Though the latter might just be irritation. Hard to tell. He really ought to know that Dean wouldn't let him get hurt, not really, but if Sam was going to be stupid, Dean was going to use it. "You agree we'll talk about it today, and you won't dodge or lie to me or leave in the middle. Then I'll help you with that."

Steam might be coming out of Sam's ears, but through his teeth, he ground out, "How long?"

Dean did a mental fist pump that Sam was going to play ball. "As long as it takes."

Sam shifted the load slightly as Dean watched, eagle eyed. "Breaks?"

"One reasonable bathroom break and one beer run." This was far more fun than it should be. As Sam considered, Dean thought it was only fair that he should benefit from Sam's new physique. It was a blow to his ego to have his little brother outgrow him so drastically. Dean thought back to a few weeks earlier, the only other time he'd appreciated those new muscles.

It was a step up from normal dive bar Dean preferred, but that wasn't stopping assholes one, two, and three from taking exception to Dean trouncing them in poker. "Hey, you guys invited me," said Dean, standing and holding up his hands in a non-threatening manner. It wasn't his fault they totally sucked -- he'd won the money fair and square. Heck, he would have preferred pool. But they were big guys angry about losing badly and well buoyed by liquid courage.

"You good, Dean?" Sam asked casually from the old wood table where he was folded over his laptop. If Dean said he was fine, Sam would take him at his word.

"Your boyfriend's worried about you," sneered asshole one, standing. His looked like the human equivalent of a rottweiler -- thick with muscle and an aggressive stare.

All the nearby patrons cleared out as his buddy, taller but not as broad, stood and went eye to eye with Dean.

"Oh him? He's my little brother. You know how they get. You want in on this Sammy?"

Sam knew the code. Dean was hoping that together they could intimidate their way out of this one. It was only three guys after all.

Sam played his part to perfection. He slowly unfolded to his full height and casually pulled off his top shirt, revealing those biceps bulging out of the t-shirt sleeves. He laid the shirt on the table and straightened again, putting his shoulders back.

Dean had pulled off his own top shirt, since he was no slouch either, and he knew his shoulders looked broader in just a tshirt. When the assholes finally looked back at him, Dean smiled the dangerous smile he'd copied from Dad years before.

"I'd like you guys to meet my little brother, Sam."

Asshole three, smaller than his friends, tugged on the first guy's arm. "I, uh, we were just leaving, right guys? No harm done."

It had been a beautiful thing.

Dean turned the memory off and paid closer attention to his brother. C'mon, Sammy. Give in.

Sam was turning red. "Fine."

Smiling, Dean took the other side of the load, but he didn't move. "Promise."

There was murder in Sam's eyes. "I promise. When we're done with this, we'll talk. Ass."

Dean smiled even wider and started walking. When they had the crate in place in the other building, Dean dusted off his hands. "We're done. How about that talk?

Sam sputtered. "Done? There's all kinds of stuff left in there!"

"Bobby isn't gonna touch the roof for at least two months. He said we only needed to take out stuff until I felt like we should be done. I feel like we're done."

"You...we...I..."

Sam, Dean thought, might possibly have a stroke. Dean was fairly certain he was actually growling. "Er, Sammy? Why don't you do that beer run now?"

Sam punched Dean's arm as he went past, and Dean wasn't even mad.

By the time Dean got into the house, Sam was in Bobby's chair instead of on the couch, a clear sign that he was putting distance between them, physical and emotional. Not surprisingly, he'd only gotten a beer for himself. Dean went to get his own and, after a moment of consideration, grabbed the rest of the 6-pack, a pair of glasses, and a nearly full bottle of whiskey.

It had been fun winding Sam up, but Dean was absolutely serious about talking through this. Dean grimaced. The things he did for Sam.

Sam was glaring at Dean over the top of a beer bottle that was already half empty. Before saying a word, Dean waggled the bottle at Sam in question. Still looking pissy, Sam finally sighed and nodded.

"So..." Dean sat on the couch and leaned forward to set the glasses on the coffee table and pour a couple fingers in each. "What did you call the letter at first? Philosophical bull? Why'd it bug you much then?"

"I was upset by a lot of things that day," said Sam coolly, taking a decent sip of his whiskey.

Dean pointed with the hand holding his glass. "Don't give me that, Sammy. You promised. Honesty, remember."

"In law, a promise made under duress isn't binding," answered Sam, being a brat. He emptied his glass, something that still seemed strange to Dean, but at least he waved off more. Dean didn't mind a little conversation lubrication, but he wanted a lucid discussion.

"Winchester rules," Dean argued. One of Dad's favorite phrases had been a promise is a promise, no ifs, ands, or buts. Dean was trying not to get annoyed. Sam was pushing his buttons which probably wasn't surprising given what Dean had done to get Sam to this point.

Sam sighed and grumbled and sighed again. He ran a hand through his hair and looked away. Dean forced himself to stay still, to wait him out. "Dean, do you really want to do this? You really want to talk? Let's just spar or watch a movie or something."

Oh, Sam was good. Because Dean didn't want to talk. But he looked at the little line between Sam's eyebrows. It was the line that denoted pain -- not physical, but emotional pain. That line and what it meant wasn't something Dean was willing to ignore.

So instead of complying, Dean pointed to the couch next to him. "Sit here," he directed imperiously. "So I can say this without having to look at your stupid face."

He'd expected Sam to look mutinous and complain. Instead Sam studied him for a moment, almost sadly. Then he huffed a laugh. "Do I have a choice?"

"Nope."

Sam came, and brought his glass, so Dean gave him more whiskey. Here goes nothing. Try to crack that exterior and --

"Letty was right about everything," blurted Sam. Okay. Maybe this wouldn't be so hard after all. "I do feel like you're trapped, stuck with me. All I do is fuck up and you're the one left to clean up the destruction I leave behind everywhere I go. The only decent thing to do would be to leave you before I take you down with me or-or get you sent to Hell again, but I'm just so damn glad you're here with me and I don't have the courage to go on without you." He tossed back the whiskey and gave a laugh that ended on a near sob. "How's that for honesty, Dean?"

Dean was stunned. Sam had a gift for throwing the rules of engagement out the window, but Dean was nothing if not adaptable. He scooted closer so they were knee to knee and shoulder to shoulder. He spared a second to miss the days that he could have pulled a little Sammy onto his lap and wiped his tears. Stupid adulthood had stolen that from them, that and Sam going all Robert Wadlow on him.

Of course, adulthood had more than compensated Dean by providing him with a best friend, an equal. Sam had turned into a damn fine man, and Dean was proud of the role he'd played in raising that man.

"You know," he said, "Letty might have been batty, but she was right about other stuff too. I didn't get stuck with you. I got lucky. I'm not saying this ever again, but you're the best man I know. Nobody could've done better with the hand you were dealt and everything lined up against you. Nobody. Not even Dad."

Sam sniffed and cleared his throat. "You could've."

Oh, Sam. It was Dean's turn to toss back his whiskey, but he capped the bottle instead of pouring more.

"You're a pain in my ass, but you're the best man I know," continued Sam, his voice getting stronger. There he went disregarding the rules of engagement again. This conversation was supposed to be about Sam, make him feel better. "Anything good I've ever accomplished was just me trying to be like you and make you proud."

Even out of the corner of his eye, Dean saw the moment Sam's own words caught up with him. Heh. Resurgence of the word vomit. Dean knew how this went. So Dean was ready when Sam suddenly made as if to stand up and walk away. Dean caught him by the shoulder, tugged him back down, and left the hand on the back of his neck.

"Hold up there, Usain. I've got one more thing to say. The day you were born was the best day of my life, and the day you woke up after getting your soul back was the second best. You've run, I'll find you. You get dead, I'll bring you back. So get used to it." Dean hoped it wasn't too obvious how much he'd been affected by Sam's words. Hopefully Sam was too busy wiping his face to notice. Hell, Dean was near tears himself and that would have pissed him off if he hadn't known just how much Sam needed this from him.

Dean dropped his hand reluctantly. He was done with all the emoting and crap, but was oddly reluctant to let his brother -- the real thing, all compassionate and shit -- go out of his sight. Too bad Sam wouldn't consent to wearing one of those backpack leash things.

"Wanna go to the carwash bays in Sioux Falls and wash Baby with our shirts off? See if we can make another lady walk into the side of a building?" asked Dean, not sure why he was so desperate to keep Sam there.

Though he'd turned lobster red when that had happened, Sam smiled just a little at the reminder. "Nah," he answered, and Dean resigned himself to Sam walking out.

But Sam only walked to Bobby's desk and turned back with something in his hand. "I found this in the bargain bin at the thrift store. I almost threw it out after that extortion crap you pulled, but I guess you can still have it, you big jerk."

Dean caught the tossed VHS tape and stared at it. "What is it -- holy shit, you found Porky's Revenge! Sit down! We are watching this right now."

"I don't know," Sam pretended to think it over. "If you put it on now, you'll miss Rachael Ray." He sat on the couch again and only laughed when Dean hit his arm.

"Shut up and watch, bitch. Or I'll leave you on the side of the road some day."

"No, you won't."

No, he wouldn't.

* * *

AN: Asking for "splaining," Dean quotes an oft-repeated line of Ricky Ricardo on I Love Lucy.

Freaky Friday is a movie in which two very different people switch bodies.

Robert Wadlow is in the Guinness Book of World Records as the tallest person ever recorded. For whatever reason, that's one of the random facts I retain instead of helpful things like where I parked.

Usain refers to Usain Bolt, who holds a number of sprinting world records.

Timelady66: I know I wrote a response to your last comment, and I'm not sure how I lost it. :-( I'm sorry. I know I said something about trying not to get sucked into a plot bunny of a Sam and Dean who ride Harleys and get money through fighting instead of hustling pool. And how much I appreciate your kindness. I always intended for Sam to give the letter to Dean. :-) I love that you see Bobby reading Plato (and Nietzsche) just like I do. I'm very curious what you think about this Sam and Dean interaction...I'm not sure if it's OOC but I just got caught up in the lovely schmoop.

BruisedBloodyBroken: Thank you so much for asking! I'm feeling a lot better, particularly since it's warmed up. As you mentioned on a different story, we power through and learn to appreciate the good days.

Lena: You only loved the checking for internal bleeding because it meant shirtless boys! LOL I'm just hassling you. I grew up on a farm but never did donuts in a field, just in the parking lot of church or Meijer. (Do you have Meijer or is that just a Michigan thing?) Hey, I finally found that song, and I love it!

sfaulkenberry: Okay, that's it. You collect those bunnies right now. And don't you roll your eyes at me! *g* I am really glad you like this story. What you said about Soulless Sam I agree with 1000%. Sexy and scary. And of course you recognized Bobby's words coming back to him, I think from the episode Lucifer Rising. I did feel sorry for Bobby having to play nice with Sam after the soulless version tried to kill him because that would certainly be traumatic.

bagelcat1: I love your comments so much and appreciate you so much for taking the time to write them all out. Not long-winded. Perfect! I learn a lot from you about effective writing. I especially like the analogy of kintsugi. I have a kintsugi bowl as a reminder that our scars are just signs of how strong we are. And how awesome are you for talking about Bobby still seeing the child inside the man Sam's become? (Answer: very.)

Jenjoremy: Yeah, that was a weird analogy, I fully admit it. The beginning of the chapter was probably my favorite part too.

Shazza: You know I love Bobby!

Kathy: Like you haven't given me a ton of plot bunnies! In fact, I just saw all the bunnies you had after Distraction. Consider me plugging my ears and singing lalala! LOL

scootersmom: Thank you!

muffinroo: I personally loved the warming the hands over the burning corpse moment, and Aaron's reaction. And as for what you said about Sam being second favorite, I do love Dean, but I feel like Sam isn't anybody's favorite. Bobby, Charlie, even Jack, and that bothers me sometimes. But hey, that's what fanfic is for, right?