-TWELVE-

Sam smiled as Dean scraped his knuckles—again—and cursed—again—as he leaned back from under the Impala's hood.

"Hey, Dean?"
"Shut up."

Sam laughed under his breath, shaking his head and taking another sip of his beer.

"You got something on your mind there, big brother?"
"Damn it, Sam, don't you know what 'shut up' means?"

Sam held his hands up, and Dean tossed his hand out.

"Give me a damn beer."

Sam did, and Dean popped the top with his silver ring he always wore, then drank down half the bottle. He turned away from Sam, one hand gripping the Impala, the other clutching the beer. Sam ran his tongue along his lips, standing up. His spine popped as he did, and he let out a quiet groan. He walked to the car, standing beside Dean, but turning around and leaning against the car. He looked out of the little garage, stared out over the parking lot of the bar, hearing Dean sigh.

"Dean?"

He turned his head, giving his little brother a "you don't really want to mess with me" look. Sam smiled. He'd never been able to leave Dean alone when he gave him that look. It was the little brother in him, the innate need to irritate the piss out of his big brother.

"You know we can talk, right?"
"If I wanted to talk, don't you think I'd be talking?"

Dean spoke slowly, like he was carefully choosing his words. Also, kind of like he was trying his hardest not to reach out and strangle Sam. Sam smiled again, hiding it behind a sip of his beer.

"You're just so moody today. Thought you might have started your period."

Sam ducked just in time, missing the punch Dean threw. He laughed as he moved away, and Dean turned around, letting out a long breath.

"You're a son of a bitch, Sam."
"Oh, whatever. Seriously, dude. What the hell's wrong with you?"

Dean sighed, finishing his beer and running his hand over his face.

"I don't know."
"Bullshit."

Dean looked down at the empty beer bottle in his hand, and honestly… He didn't even know what happened. But a second later, he was breathing hard, shoulders rising and falling with each breath, staring at the wall where tiny shards of glass still clung, before falling to join the pile of shattered glass on the ground. Dean looked back, where Sam was staring at the pile of glass, eyebrows raised, lips pursed as he slowly nodded his head.

"Feel better?"

Dean glanced from his brother to the pile of glass, then back to Sam.

"Strangely, yes."

Sam nodded again, setting his beer down as he walked out of the room. Dean, just purely out of spite, picked up the beer and finished it, setting it back on the bench as Sam walked back in the room with a broom and dustpan. He handed them to his brother, and Dean walked over to the shattered beer bottle, sweeping it up. Sam sat back on the bench, bringing his bottle to his lips, frowning when he noticed the bottle was empty.

"You bastard."

Dean laughed, dumping the dustpan into the trash. He walked back over to Sam, accepting the beer his brother handed him. He looked down at it for a while, popping the top with his ring, causing the bottle cap to hit Sam's arm. Sam laughed, shaking his head as he took a sip of his own beer. Dean sat beside Sam, on top of the little green cooler they kept stashed in the back of the Impala, letting out a sigh. After a length of silence, Sam sighed.

"You know… I know you hate to do it, but talking may turn out a little less destructive. But it's up to you. Keep that rage in. Always works out for you."

Dean reached over and slapped the back of Sam's head, mussing his shaggy hair.

"Easy, man!"
"You are, and have always been, a pain in my ass, Sammy."
"It's Sam."

Dean smiled behind his beer, then let out a sigh.

"I don't know what to do anymore, Sammy."
"What do you mean?"

Dean smiled as he looked down.

"Mel, Sam. I'm talking about Mel."

Sam nodded.

"I figured. You're in love with her, aren't you?"
"Whoa!"

Sam looked up, to see Dean shaking his head, moving his hands around.

"What the hell is the matter with you? I've known the girl for what, three months? I don't love her."

He took a sip of his beer.

"Well, I mean… I do love her. But not in a romantic way, you know? It's more of a … a friend … We live together. She works with me. Hell, she works for me. But I don't love her. I mean … I—I do … Shit."

Sam moved as Dean walked over, sitting down on the bench and handing Sam his beer before putting his head in his hands. Sam fought back his smile, reaching to pat Dean on the back.

"I know, man."

Sam drained his beer.

"I know."

That night at the bar, Dean stood back in the corner, just watching. Melinda was working the bar, and man, was she doing a good job. There were four guys on bar stools, talking to her, trying to make her smile or even better, laugh, soaking in her every word. She had a beautiful smile on her face, and these guys were putty in her hands. Dean knew for a fact that she knew that, and that made her pour it on even more. He tried to smile, tried to keep himself from walking over and personally showing each guy the close-up view of the gravel in the parking lot, and finally grabbed the first bottle of whiskey he came to, walking to the back and pouring himself a shot. He grit his teeth when he saw Melinda lean over the bar to whisper something in one of the guy's ear, tossing back another shot. He noticed Melinda glancing back at him, and one time, he gave her a smile that made a chill run down her spine.

When the last guy was going to walk out the door, he begged Melinda to go home with him. When she smiled and refused, he reached out to cop a feel, and Melinda had just smiled, moved to his ear and told him that if he touched her, she'd break every bone in his hand, then sic the guy in corner on him. He glanced behind her to Dean, who was tossing back another shot, the bottle of Johnnie Walker Blue half-empty in front of him. The guy swallowed, and Melinda smiled, pushing open the door, locking it behind him as he left. She leaned against it and let out a laugh.

"It's a good night."

Dean looked up, snorting before he tossed back another shot. Melinda bit her tongue, walking back behind the bar and wiping it down. She cleaned pretty much the entire bar, and when she was done, she looked back to the corner of the bar, where Dean was reaching up for another bottle.

"Whoa, now."

She walked over to him, laying a hand on his back and helping him sit back down.

"I don't know what's got you lighting this fuse tonight, but I think you've had enough."
"Don't tell me when I've had enough. I'm a big boy, Mel. Can take care of myself."

She blinked once, a smile crossing her face.

"Okay. Well, when the alcohol poisoning kicks in, don't come crying to me."
"Yeah, 'cause you'll probably be busy with one of your little toys, huh?"

She turned back to him, setting her rag on the counter.

"What are you talking about?"
"Don't play dumb with me, kid."

She looked him over, shaking her head.

"You're drunk."
"Yep. 'Cause of you."
"Me?"

She set a hand on her hip.

"Dean, what the hell is up with you?"
"You, Melinda."

He said her name slowly, and she looked over, towards the juke box. He watched her, could hear the little voice in the back of his head that said to shut the hell up, walk away before he did something he couldn't take back. And, the way he usually did, the way he was best at, Dean ignored that little voice.

"Guys walk up in here and you practically throw yourself at them. Hanging all over them, getting them whatever they want."
"I don't throw myself at them. If I flirt, I get a better tip. And I'm a waitress, Dean. It's my damn job to get them what they want."

Dean snorted again, and Melinda felt her face grow hot.

"I can see what you're doing. Why don't you just stop, before we both do something we'll regret later?"

She took her apron off, folding it up and laying it under the register, the way she always did. Swallowing the last of his last shot from this bottle, Dean spoke.

"Speaking of 'later.' You gonna call that last guy? I know he gave you his number. Saw him pawing at your ass."

Melinda stopped, standing up straight. She turned back to him, a smile on her face.

"You want to fight? Then come on. Let's fight. Yes, that last guy gave me his number, even asked me to go home with him, and when I told him no, he made a move to grab my ass. I seem to remember the last guy that tried to do that was picking gravel out of his teeth, thanks to you, so I tried to save that douchebag from the same fate."

She walked closer to Dean, snatching the shot glass out of his hand.

"You've had enough."

He let her take the glass, let her wash it out, dry it, and set it on the counter with the rest of the glasses. And in the Winchester way of fucking things up in epic ways, he spoke.

"I just figured the way you were practically riding his dick all night, you might want to get a taste of the real thing."

Melinda faltered at that, turning around and facing him, a soft smile on her face.

"Why don't you stop beating around the bush and say what it is you want to say?"

The tears that were suddenly in her eyes sobered him up some, and he suddenly couldn't remember what he was doing, why he was baiting her the way he had been.

"Mel—"
"No, Dean. Come on. You've been hinting at it all night. Say it, damn you."

He shook his head, and she smiled as a tear rolled down her cheek.

"Okay, then I will. Why don't I go and call the guy, since I'm such a whore?"
"Mel, I didn't say—"
"You didn't have to."

She walked to the other side of the bar, wiping the tears from her cheeks. Dean hung his head as he blew out his breath, getting to his feet and holding onto the bar.

"I'm –"
"Don't you dare say that you're sorry, you asshole. You're drunk and I told you to stop. You didn't, and now …"

She shook her head, a tear falling down her cheek.

"I thought you were different. You treated me like you were, but … You're just like the rest of them, aren't you?"
"Mel, please. Just listen—"
"I think I've listened to you enough tonight. I, uh … I need to go."
"Wait."

He was surprised when she did, and he walked closer to her.

"I'm so sorry."

She nodded, looking off to the side as a hard smile came on her face, her eyes filling with fresh tears as she looked back to him.

"Do you know how bad that hurts? To hear that from you?"
"Mel, please."
"You want to know the best part? We're not even together! I keep waiting for it, but… You're just another guy, aren't you? Although I have been sleeping with you for a good while now, so I can see why you'd think I was such a whore. Just giving it up to you like that."
"Mel, please. Don't …"
"Call me when you dry out, all right?"

She walked out of the bar, up to the apartment. Dean listened for a minute, hearing her sobs before he heard the apartment door open.

"No. Mel, don't go!"

He stumbled to the door of the bar, cursing as he pushed on it, hit it with his fists before he finally remembered to turn the lock. By then though, Mel was gone. He turned from the door and tripped, grabbing the back of a chair before sliding down the wall to sit on the floor. He drew his knees up, propping his elbows on them, pushing his hands through his hair.

Sam groaned as he woke up, shaking his head, because his face was in Jess' hair. She gently pushed at his arms, which were wrapped around her, holding her close to him.

"Is that the door?"

Jess yawned as she sat up, and Sam ran a hand over his face.

"It's two in the morning and someone's beating on our damn door. I'll kill."

Jess laughed, which turned into another yawn as she stood up, putting her bathrobe on. Sam turned to her.

"What are you doing?"
"What does it look like? I'm going to answer the door."
"Jess—"
"I am not helpless, nor am I going to lie in bed while you go face whatever's out there. I'm going with you, once you put some pants on."

Sam glanced down at his boxers, and Jess winked at him. He shook his head and pulled a pair of sweats on, not bothering with a shirt. He kept Jess behind him as he walked to the door, looking out through the peep hole as his hand closed around the baseball bat Jess handed him. But Sam straightened up quickly, setting the bat aside.

"What the hell?"

He opened the door, and Jess pushed him aside.

"Mel? What are you doing here?"

Melinda's face fell as tears filled her eyes again, and she choked back a sob. Jess was out the door, taking Melinda in her arms as Sam watched the cab drive away. Jess brought Melinda inside, gently stroking her hair, leading her to the couch. Jess sat down and Melinda crawled into her lap, crying. Sam stood off to the side, watching the sisters, and Jess just held Melinda until the worst of the sobs had subsided.

"What happened, honey?"

Melinda took in a shuddering breath, and the story came out. Sam was seeing red by the time she finished up, looking to Jess with wide, heartbreakingly sad blue eyes.

"I thought he was different, you know? He treated me differently, but …"

She sobbed, and Sam walked out of the room, to the bedroom. Jess had her eyes on him when he came back, now wearing a hoodie with his sweats. She sighed as he walked to the door.

"Sam."
"Jess, don't."

He opened the door, letting it shut behind him, and Melinda tightened her hold on Jess. Jess held her closer, kissing the top of her head.

"Well, you've certainly screwed things up good this time, haven't you?"

Dean lifted his head, letting his hands fall as the familiar voice sent a burning pain through his chest. He looked to the barstool, where the pretty, petite blonde sat, leaning back so her elbows were on the bar. She flashed him a smile, and he let out a long, shuddering breath.

"Jo."

She winked at him, and he straightened out his legs.

"Am I dead or dreaming?"

Jo laughed.

"Maybe a little of both? You're going to wish you were dead when your hangover kicks in. But you're not really dreaming."
"So what, you're a figment of my imagination?"
"Look at boozy, using such big words."

Dean snorted, but couldn't help the smile.

"Jo…"
"I am here to try and snap some sense into that thick skull of yours."

Dean sighed, running his hands over his face. When he opened his eyes again, Jo was sitting on the floor beside him. He jumped.

"Don't—don't do that."
"Hey, what's the point in being dead if I can't do freaky cool things like that?"

Dean swallowed, looking down at the ground, and Jo laid a hand on his arm.

"Let's get to it, shall we? Honey, you've got to stop."
"Jo, I—"
"No, I'm serious. My death was not your fault, Dean. You've got to stop blaming yourself."

He shook his head, while tears shimmered in his eyes. Jo kept talking, her voice gentle.

"You've got to stop punishing yourself. It's okay for you to be happy. Stop with the self-sabotage and let yourself love this girl the way I know you do."
"Like I loved you?"

Jo sighed, looking across the bar. A soft smile crossed her face.

"I like this place. Kind of reminds me of—"
"Don't say it, Jo. Please."

She closed her eyes, leaning over to rest her head on Dean's shoulder. He closed his eyes, lifting his head up, trying his best not to cry. His voice was rough and thick when he finally whispered.

"I miss you."

Jo opened her eyes, smiling a sad smile.

"I know you do."

Dean leaned and pressed a kiss to the top of her head.

"But I'm gone, Dean. And I'm not coming back."
"You're here now."
"You said it yourself; I'm a figment of your imagination. I'm here, talking to you, because you can't let me go."
"Jo—"
"No, I get it."

She stood up, holding out her hands and helping Dean to his feet.

"It's easy to block it out, especially when she's around. But Dean… You haven't faced it yet."
"Oh, you're kidding me right? Tell me that you're fucking kidding me."

Jo sighed.

"Dean—"
"I saw the car, Jo. I—I burned what was left of that fucking car. I had to … I had to identify your mother's body. I held you while they unplugged those damn machines, because you were brain dead. I was the one … I had to live through that hell, so don't you dare tell me that I haven't faced it."

She stood there as he paced the room.

"Baby, if you had faced it, I wouldn't be here right now."
"Joanna! Stop it."
"Then listen to me!"

She walked to him, taking his face in her hands.

"You are holding on to me with everything that you have, when what you really need to do is go and find that girl and apologize to her. You need to tell her about me, about us, about what happened."

He shook his head.

"I can't."
"You have to. Honey, you know her deep, dark secrets, but you won't tell her your own."

Tears filled his eyes again.

"It hurts, Jo."
"I know it does."

She wrapped her arms around him, and he buried his face in her neck.

"I know that it hurts, and it will continue to, until you let me go."
"Won't that hurt more?"

Jo smiled, raking her fingers through his short hair.

"Maybe for a little while. But once you let go, you'll be able to heal."
"Maybe I don't want to."

She pulled back, looking into his eyes.

"You mean maybe you don't deserve to."

She spoke quietly, and Dean lowered his eyes. Jo shook her head.

"You're breaking my heart, baby."
"Joey."

She let him envelope her again, and she sighed. A smile crossed her face when she saw the jukebox in the corner, and she blinked. Dean stopped, taking in a harsh breath as the beginning notes of Can't Fight This Feeling Anymore filled the bar. He sucked in a choking breath, and Jo's small hand gently rubbed circles on his back. He shook his head.

"I—I can't. Stop. Stop it now. Make it stop, Jo. I can't."

Jo shushed him, pulling him closer, gently moving against him.

"Dance with me."
"Jo, please."
"Dance with me, Dean."

He let out a sob as he wrapped his arms around her, holding her so tightly he was sure she couldn't breathe. Then again, she didn't need to. Dean shook his head, putting his face back in her neck, shaking his head, because she smelled the way she always did. Tears slid down his face, and Jo finally pushed back where she could look at him, keeping her hands on his arms. Dean shook his head.

"Please don't go."

She gave him a smile, reaching up and wiping the tears from his cheeks.

"You know I have to. I'm having a good time up in heaven. I had to leave it to come and kick your ass some."

Dean tried to smile.

"Are you an angel?"
"What do you think?"

Dean nodded his head.

"I think you're an angel."

Jo smiled. She lifted a hand to gently cup his cheek, and he leaned into the touch.

"Fix this, Dean. Don't let this girl go. You … You're going to need her soon."
"What?"

Jo looked down, and Dean shook his head.

"Jo, what … What are you talking about? What does that mean?"
"Fix it, Dean. Get her back."
"Wait, I don't understand. Jo."

He blinked, and she was gone. He glanced around, letting out a sigh and running his hands through his hair. The music had stopped the second Jo left. Dean looked to the door, letting out a sigh when he saw his massive little brother at the door, wearing something a step beyond his normal irritated bitchface. Dean walked to the door, letting out a sigh as he unlocked it.

"Sam, I—"

His sentence was cut off due to Sam's fist plowing into his face. Dean hit the floor, blinking his eyes wide and shaking his head. His ears were ringing. He looked up, to see Sam standing over him, massive shoulders heaving up and down with every breath he took. Dean could almost see the rage rolling off of him. He went to open his mouth, stopping when he was hit with a stabbing pain in his jaw.

"Goddamn it, Dean, don't you dare say a word."

Sam walked in and locked the door behind him, and Dean was surprised at the little piece of him that felt nervous. Sam could hurt him, was certainly in a mood to do so, and Dean was inclined to let him.

"Fuck. Stop looking at me like I'm going to beat the shit out of you. Even if you do deserve it, and more. Get up."

Dean took the hand Sam offered to him and sat on a stool. Sam went behind the bar and grabbed a towel, putting some ice in it and handing it to Dean.

"Put that on your face."
"I think you broke my jaw."
"Shut up; I did not. I should have, but I didn't."

Dean put the towel on his cheek, wincing at the lance of pain, the ache that settled. He looked up, meeting Sam's eyes. The rage had cooled just a little, but Sam still seemed furious. Dean sighed, wincing again.

"What the hell is wrong with you, Dean?"

Dean looked down at the bar, and Sam began to pace back and forth as he spoke.

"Of all the things you could go and say, that's what you went with? Seriously, man. Do you have brain damage? Something happen during those "lost years" you forgot to tell me about? Because the brother I knew, my Dean that I remember would never have even insinuated that about a girl. Yeah, he could be a jerk, a "love 'em and leave 'em" type of guy, but he never would have called a woman a whore, even if she was one. Even if she deserved it, and especially not to a woman he just today told me he's fucking in love with!"

Dean hung his head, thoughts of Jo and the things she'd said swirling in his brain.

"Sam, I …"
"What?"

Dean looked up, and the pain that was evident in his eyes made Sam stop.

"Dean, what?"

He shook his head, then let out a sigh. He dropped the towel to the bar, opening it up and watching the ice melt, speaking so softly Sam almost didn't hear him.

"She deserves someone better than me."

Sam let that hang in the air between them for a minute, then sighed.

"So now she has a chance to go find him, right?"

Dean nodded, and Sam bent over, putting his elbows on the bar and rubbing his fingers over his eyes.

"You are one stupid son of a bitch, you know that, Dean?"

Dean looked up, and Sam stood up, letting his arms fall to his sides.

"She loves you, you moron. And you have got to stop this self-loathing you've got going on. You are a good man. You are the greatest man I have ever known. I've looked up to you since I was four years old. All my life, all I've wanted to be was just like you."
"Sam—"
"No. You shut up and listen."

Dean sat up a little straighter on his barstool, and Sam laid his hands on the bar.

"You are the only thing I've ever been able to count on. Dad? Oh, please. The man flaked out on more things than I can remember. But you? You were always there. Even when you had better offers, I know, you chose me. You were the one at my kindergarten play. You were on the sidelines at my first soccer game. You taught me what to do to make sure that Sydney Carter kissed me on my first date."

Dean smiled at that, ignoring the ache in his cheek. Sam went on.

"And when I packed my stuff, when Dad and I were at each other's throats, I saw the look on your face when I dropped the bomb about the full ride to here. For half a second, I saw the look of awe, how proud you were of me, until Dad turned to try and blame you."

Dean swallowed, closing his eyes.

"And you were the one who drove me to the bus station. I know how bad you wanted me to stay, how much it broke your heart to let me go, but you drove me to the damn bus and made sure that I got on it, that I was okay. And you didn't talk to me for three fucking years because I asked you not to."

Tears were in his eyes again, and Dean wished he could punch himself in the face. Sam sighed.

"Dean, you were more of a father to me than Dad ever was. You never had a chance to be a kid, because you had to take care of me. You've carried so much weight all your life. You've carried Mom, and the guilt you feel over her death, even though I don't understand that. You've spent your entire life cleaning up Dad's messes the best you could, being his whipping boy when you didn't fucking deserve it. You carried me, literally and figuratively, for the past twenty-two years. Trust me when I say you deserve to be happy, even if you don't believe it."

Dean swiped his hand across his eyes, and Sam didn't acknowledge it.

"I know she makes you happy, man. Yeah, you screwed up tonight, but … She loves you, Dean. And I know that you love her. You just … You have to stop trying to sabotage yourself and let her in."

Dean looked up at him then, tear-filled green eyes boring into Sam.

"I don't know how to fix this, Sammy."

Sam smiled, reaching across the bar to lay a hand on Dean's shoulder.

"We'll figure something out. Just … Promise me you won't beat yourself up quite so much anymore?"

Dean sighed, and a tear slid down the rapidly blooming bruise on his cheek.

"I'll try."