"Sammy?"

"D-Dean?"

Dean's eyes closed. He swallowed hard. This was Sam's voice. Sam's. Not some demon hopped up on … on … whatever. "Sammy. What's wrong?"

"Dean …"

Dean heard a gasp. "Talk to me, Sam. What's going on?"

"No-nothing. Just … I wanted … I wanted to h-hear your voice is all."

Dean was silent, his heart broken. This was the next name on his list. He was talking to his next hit, and it was Sammy. He ran a hand over his eyes, pinched the bridge of his nose. "Yeah, Sam. I'm here."

Then Sam surprised him. "You are, aren't you? Here? In Tucson?"

Silence. Then Dean replied quietly.

"Yeah."

"Y-you came for me, right? To hunt me? You still think I'm a vampire, right? Like you said."

Dean frowned. Yes, he'd thought it. There was no way in hell he'd have ever told Sam. "What are you talking about?"

Sam was quiet. "I still have the phone message, Dean. I … I listen to it everyday."

Dean racked his brain. "What phone message?"

"The one where you called me a bloodsucking freak and say if you ever see me again …"

Dean's jaw dropped. "Sam… what?"

"It's okay. I just … I just. I dunno. I guess I just wanted to know if you still felt that way. Will you trace this call?" Sam sucked in a breath like he was in agony, and Dean's Samdar, ingrained since his brother's birth, went off whooping.

"You're hurt. I can tell. Tell me where you are."

Silence.

"Sam. Where are you? I'll come get you."

Silence, then a small voice. "Are you here to kill me, Dean?"

Dean hesitated, choking. Then, "Sammy … I ..."

Sam smiled, Dean could almost hear it. It was a sad smile that spoke of a thousand betrayals. "It's okay, Dean. I understand. Some days … some days, I want to kill me too."

"Don't, Sam."

"I don't want it to be you."

"What?"

"That kills me. I think I probably need to die, Dean. But I don't want you to have to live with that for the rest of your life."

"Sammy, stop …"

"I'll tell you where I am. And then you can decide if you want to come yourself or send someone, okay? I … I want to see you again, Dean. You don't know how much I want those days back. I just … I hope it's not you, okay?"

"Sam, I'm not gonna …"

"I'm on the top level of the parking deck at the Southwest General Hospital. I'm in a gray Hyundai Elantra."

"Are you ... are you okay?"

That silent smile again. Dean could feel it through the connection.

"I haven't been okay in a while, Dean. I think you know that." Sam's voice said sadly. "I just … I need it to end. Tonight. I can't go on like this anymore. Dean … I've done things …"

"I know." Dean cut him off quickly, not wanting details. "I know, Sammy. And it's gonna be okay. Ain't nobody out there perfect, right? We'll figure it out, right? Just like we always do."

Sam sobbed then. "You said it."

Dean's voice was wrecked, "What?"

Sam was laughing and crying at the same time, "The thing. You said it."

Dean paused, lost. "Sammy … hey, whatever you're smoking there, save some for big brother, okay?" he snorted.

"I'm sorry, Dean. For everything. For Ruby. For the demon blood. For hitting you and leaving you behind in that ugly hotel - all of it. I'm so so sorry. I need you to know that. And …"

Dean pinched the bridge of his nose again. "I know you are."

"And, I just want … you were right, Dean. Everything you said. You were right. You were trying to do the right thing, and I wouldn't listen. I get it now. I do."

"Water under the bridge, Sam. We start over. Slate's wiped."

Sam snorted, "Good talk, Dean."

"What? I mean it."

"I gotta go. I … Dean."

"Sam?"

"I love you, man. I … goodbye, Dean."

"Sam! Wait!"

"Shit!" Dean tossed the phone onto the bed and scrambled to find his jeans and socks. He glanced at the clock. It was 4 am again.

"Okay, that's weird." He said, shrugging into his clothes and reaching for his keys. His eyes fell on the weapons bag, and he froze, the old man's voice in his ear.

"He … they said … he … they said he drank her blood …"

Dean sank down on the edge of the bed that would forever be Sam's.

"He killed my granddaughter. These two. They tossed her in a trunk and drove … there were gallon jugs …"

Dean's eyes closed and a single tear escaped to travel down the line of his nose.

"He had a father and a brother. Had a college transcript. Had a fuckin' LIFE. And he gave it all up … for that … creature."

Dean reached into the bag and withdrew the machete. He stood and strapped the holster to his right leg. He dug out the demon blade and handled it gently.

"You're the only one who can help me. Asked everywhere. Everywhere. Got the same answer. Got you."

Dean stood. He slipped the flask of holy water into his jacket pocket and swiped at his face.

"I'm sorry, Dad." He whispered, as he slipped out the door and pulled it shut behind him.