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Chapter title is from song by NEEDTOBREATHE.

74

Brother – NEEDTOBREATHE

Hannah had merely pointed – in a vague, swirly, multi-dimensional sort of way – "That way" towards where they should go, to find Cas' misfit gang of Scoobies.

"She means west. Maybe—Arizona?" Cas supplied helpfully, because, yes, Arizona was a fairly new concept for Cas. Hell, the Grand Canyon was a fairly new concept for Cas, never mind the bits and bobs that littered the landscape, little things, like roads and towns. Dean got that, he did, but he still needed some kind of landmark, something kind of actual direction that he could drive.

Which turned out to be route 66. –ish. Cas and Sam went back and forth on it for a while—Cas: "Flat mountains?", Sam: "Mesas?", Cas: "Stoned trees.", Sam: "Petrified Forest?". Cas: "Town of Donkeys." Sam: "Oatman?"

How Sam knew this stuff was beyond him.

The town of Oatman really was full of donkeys. Dean sidestepped one, and it brayed at him loudly, as if it could sense the First Blade somewhere on him. He held up both hands, empty, just because, as Sam came up warily beside him.

"I don't think it likes you."

"It's an ass."

Sam winced. "You think it knows?"

"What? That I'm carrying around its great-great-great-great-grandpappy's jawbone?" He eyed the angry burro. "Maybe."

He could see Sam wanted to talk about it, the cloud hanging over his head. Despair, whatever the hell that meant, the madness pounding in the back of his mind, the endless drumbeat that was the voice of the Mark, whispering and whispering.

Do this. Do this do this do this and it will all be okay.

Dean shoved his hands roughly into his pockets, curling his fingers into fists, glancing down the street at Cas. Cas and Hannah, the things he had almost done, and he swallowed hard. He still didn't like it, that Cas was more or less possessed, but fact was, if Hannah hadn't been there to fix Cas up-

"Dean." Sam interrupted. "Cas is fine. He said yes, all on his own, and Hannah's got him all patched up. You had no choice. You had to nix the white smoke somehow, or it would have killed us all."

Sam's voice rolled over him, excuses piling upon excuses. It was always something, wasn't it, some kind of life or death right now, having to choose between the rock and the hard place. He always tried to do the right thing, and the scary thing of it was, it really didn't feel so different now. The lines blurred a little bit here and a little bit there, and then collateral damage was just the name of the game, and he just didn't know anymore.

Sam was studying him, a careful and weirdly gentle expression on Sam's face when Sam said, "You know you can't always protect everyone, right?" Then Sam tilted his head sideways, and studied him some more. It made him jumpy when Sam did that, because it usually meant Sam was about say something meaningful, which was always a conversation he wanted to avoid. And sure enough, Sam said: "You realize you won't always be able to protect me, right?"

He stared at Sam, all six foot four of Sam. His brain knew what his eyes told him: that Sam was one grown-ass man, a fully functional adult, plus a damned good hunter to boot. But his heart saw only an angrily squalling bundle with tiny hands and tinier feet, waving fussily in a rain of ash and smoke, the only piece of his world that hadn't burned to the ground one cold November night.

Sam went on. "I mean, I know looking out for me is what Dad stuck you with, but," Sam shook his head, "not like this, Dean. Not for what it's doing to you. You're going to have to trust me to look out for myself."

Yeah. Well. Historically speaking, looking out for himself was not something Sam was good at. Soulless Sam, yes. Sam-with-soul, not so much. Sam-with-soul had the unfortunate habit of wanting to fix things, usually with fixes that involved jumping out of the frying pan and into the fire, at times literally—see, exhibit one, actual Hellfire, Lucifer's Cage.

He grunted what he considered a compromise.

"I trust you can handle yourself, Sammy. It's the world I have a problem with."

Sam snorted. "Yeah. World kinda sucks right now." Sam looked up, past the still glaring donkey, down the street to where Zee was keeping an eye on Cas/ Hannah. "But things are different for you now, right?" Sam said keenly, his eyes on Zee. "I mean, once we track down the Book and close it, Cas will have his grace back, Ramiel will lose his power source, and the souls trapped in the zombies will be freed. We've gotten out of worse jams before."

It sounded easy, the way Sam put it, except Sam had skipped over one major thing. Him. But he couldn't blame Sam for only wanting to deal with one world ending problem at a time.

"Must be Thursday."

Sam huffed, because Thursday was better than Tuesdays, in Sam's book. And he could see Sam thinking just that, the full horrible weight of Sam's sincerity in Sam's eyes.

"I know what you're thinking, Dean. About St. Louis. About the Mark—and Cain and Abel. You think it's your destiny to repeat what Cain did. That I won't defend myself. Not against you." Sam paused, and somehow looked amused. "Well, stop. Because I can tell you, if I know one thing in this world, I know this. You won't hurt me, Dean. That's just not who you are."

Was that even true? Some days, it felt like he was just dragging Sam into worse and worse crap. He'd always figured there was just no unseeing the things that bumped ugly in the night, and no getting out of the life. But then, if all those times he had saved Sam, to live to fight another day, each day weighing heavier and heavier on Sam's shoulders until Sam finally somehow broke, had he really saved Sam?

Sam was still staring at him earnestly, a faint but meant-to-be reassuring smile plastered to Sam's face.

"We're going to rid of the Mark. There's another way—Suriel said as much—remember? There is a way out of this, a way to make you human again. We just have to find it."

He sighed, exasperated. "Even if there was a way, don't you think Cain would have found it by now?"

"Maybe. Maybe not. But you've got one thing Cain doesn't have."

"What?"

Sam straightened. "Me."