Okay, so I wouldn't normally post such a short chapter, but A. this fight was so major that writing anything immediately after felt weird. Both I and the boys needed a little space after that, and B. This update will make my forth update since about 11 am this morning, and I think my brain is mush. I actually wrote through a tornado warning. So, next chapter will finish the scarecrow case, I just didn't realize just how intense this little fight was going to get.

By the way, did you notice what I said a moment ago? FOUR UPDATES – IN ONE DAY!

(And the crowd goes wild...)

So, reviews are love.

As Always,

EverReader

Disclaimer: Not my sandbox. My sandbox got blown to Oz by that stupid storm an hour ago.

Prisoner Of War- Chapter Twenty Six

"Broke-Down Fairy Tale"

Dean did surprisingly well, all things considered.

The boys made it all the way back to the motel before he lost it.

"What the fuck was that about, Sam!" Dean yelled as he slammed into their room, tossing his bad onto the bed closest to the door.

It pretty much went down hill from there.

"What was what about?" Sam asked calmly, as if the boys were simply discussing the baseball score and not kamikaze one on one prize fights with freaky scarecrow gods.

"That little stunt of yours back the the freaking orchard, that's what!" Dean yelled.

Sam pulled back slightly, raising his brows at Dean's tone. "Well, the creepy-ass moving scarecrow is a pagan harvest god by the name of Cowan." He said, making a mild bitch face at his brother.

Dean stepped up into his brother's space threateningly. "Don't you...just. Don't. You know exactly what I am talking about. You ran the wrong goddam way, Sam. Did you suddenly lose all sense of direction? Hit your head when I wasn't looking?"

Sam sighed, folding his long limbs down into a chair. "I was covering you and the others." He replied.

Dean slammed his hand against the wall. "From across the damn orchard? Try again Sammy."

Sam rubbed the bridge of his nose, acting as if Dean were an overtired child having a temper tantrum.

"You needed more time than one shot was going to get you. I went the other way in attempt to give Cowan a second target, and it worked. He followed me, and you were able to get the couple out of the orchard." Sam reasoned aloud.

"BUT I ALMOST DIDN"T GET YOU OUT!" Dean yelled at the top of his lungs, furious with how damned reasonable Sam was acting about this, because nothing about this damn situation was reasonable in his opinion.

"You said it yourself, Dean. Saving people, hunting things. That's what we do. You had the girl, I was the bait." Sam said, standing and going over to his bag and taking out a bottle of tylenol.

Dean grabbed the bottle out of his hands, tossing it across the room to bounce against the far wall. "You don't act as bait. That's never been the plan, will never be the plan. When we need bait, I'm the damn bait, Sam." He said angrily.

"Peter. Constance. I've been the bait before. It made sense when you were stronger and faster, but this time, you grabbed the girl, so I was bait. It was logical." Sam said thinly, and Dean could tell he was finally starting to rattle his brother and his oh-so clear cut logic.

"No. It does not make sense to run away from back up like some stupid actress in a grade b horror flick!" Dean retorted.

"What exactly did you want me to do, Dean. Watch it rip into one of you? We had a problem, I came up with a plan, and it worked." Sam said tightly, shifting to face his brother straight on.

"IT DID NOT WORK, I BARELY SAVED YOUR ASS! YOU COULD HAVE BEEN KILLED!" Dean screamed.

"SO WHAT!" Sam screamed back suddenly, chest heaving as high spots of color began to blaze on his cheeks.

Dean reared back in shock, he'd have been less surprised if Sam had actually hit him. "What the hell did you say?" Dean whispered.

"I said, So. WHAT!." Sam wasn't yelling now, instead his voice got quieter, practically hissing in his anger as he advanced towards his brother, each word sharper than a knife blade.

"You know, Dean, I just don't get it. My whole life it's been, train harder, train faster, move here, move there." Sam's words were still low, still furious, such a stark contrast to how loud and strident John and Dean got in their anger.

"Find the monster, kill the monster. Isn't that what we do, Dean? Save people, hunt things? I hated it, I hated every damn moment, I used to day dream about running away to absolutely fucking anywhere, anywhere that wasn't blood and darkness and death, because you know what, Dean? That's all a hunter's life is. Look at Dad, look at Bobby, look at all the other, older hunters. Oh, wait, there aren't any. That's because a hunter's life is short and brutal and ends bloody. It's always been that way, Dean. People aren't meant to be raised like this. Dad started hunting in his thirties, and he'll be lucky if he sees sixty. So that's what, twenty five years? You started hunting when you were fourteen or so, so maybe you'll luck out and see forty. Me? I was freaking twelve, Dean. And before that, it was moving and lore and silver freaking bullets for bedtime stories. How many hunts to I get before I get unlucky? Before some monster rips out my heart, or my spleen or drinks my damn brain?"

Dean shook his head, horrified by his brothers words. "How can you say that, Sam. We're helping people."

"That's right, Dean. We kill the monsters until the monsters kill us. What kind of broke-down fairy tale are you living in? Did you think it was a coincidence that there are no retired hunters? We die, Dean. Earlier than most, and it's always bloody. We don't get happy endings. Did you just think, what, that bad things happen to every hunter but the Winchesters? Were we just going to magically stroll through life killing the monsters but never dying ourselves? This is our life, Dean. Every moment, every day. Hunt or be hunted. Kill or be killed. Our job was to save that couple, so I made sure you could do that. You got me out too, which is fine, but I'm not stupid enough to think I'm always going to make it out just because you really, really want me to, Dean. WE HUNT MONSTERS. The things everyone else runs away from, we run towards. So yeah, so what if it had killed me. What would I be missing, the next hunt?"

Dean was so angry he was seeing red. "It's not like that Sam, we stick together, we hunt together, we keep each other safe-"

Sam cut him off. "And eventually, one of us is going to die anyway. Because that's how it works. Hunters die, and the best thing I can hope for is dying with a damn gun in my hand."

Dean's hands were shaking he was so upset, and he wished desperately for a drink. "What the hell happened to you, Sammy? It's like you're not even the same person."

Sam tilted his head back, laughing so hard tears started to roll down his cheeks. "What happened, Dean? Life. Life happened. Our life. How many times did I beg to get to stay in one school? To join scouts or play sports or to have any other little piece of what other kids got to have? But you and Dad said no, because the hunt was always more important. And now, here I am, with nothing more important in my life than the goddamn hunt and you're still not happy. What the hell do you want from me, Dean? You didn't want my crying and my moaning, didn't want to hear my complaints, didn't want me to fight with Dad. Well, you got your wish. I'm a hunter. I was born a hunter, I'll die a hunter, whether it's tomorrow or a year from now. No one get's lucky for ever. I've done the math Dean. Roll the dice a hundred times, two hundred times, three hundred times. Eventually, the monster's gonna be the one who rolls lucky sevens, and then I'll be dead... That's. How. It. Works."

Dean punched the wall again, this time so hard plaster dust sprayed up. "You used to care about things, Sam. School, your books-"

Again, Sam interrupted, eyes blazing. "What's the point, Dean. Good grades? You and Dad gonna drop me off at college in a couple years? You and Dad sit around the table one night and make a plan you just didn't mention to me?" Sam asked.

Dean opened his mouth, but had nothing to say back, so he was forced to close it again silently.

"Yeah, didn't think so. Pipe Dream, Sammy. I'm not going to get to go to college, I don't get to have friends, I won't get married or have kids. I'll hunt monsters until I die, and then I'll just be a pile of ash." Sam said, the look in his eyes distant.

"I worked so hard to make you and Dad happy, but I'm beginning to think I can't." Sam finished lowly, moving to his back pack and grabbing it up.

"Where the hell are you going?" Dean asked, feeling shell-shocked.

Sam glanced up again, his preternatural calm back in place. "The University. We still don't know how to kill this thing."

"It's four in the morning." Dean said through numb lips, though honestly, a part of him wished Sam would leave for a little while, as he desperately needed to be alone.

"Mid terms. Library's open early this week." Sam replied, shrugging his backpack back on.

"You're not taking the damn car." Dean called out.

"I'll hitch a ride." Sam retorted as he headed out.

"No way in hell, Sam. You know how dangerous that is?" Dean called out as Sam kept walking towards the highway.

"Of course I do, Dean. It's just not the most dangerous thing I'll do today, is it?" Sam called back, an angry smirk on his face.

"FINE! Go, then. See if I stop you!" Dean called out.

Sam raised a brow. "You won't, Dean. Because I'm right, and you're furious over it. I'll call you when I know how to kill that thing."

Dean slammed the door shut and flung himself onto the closest bed.

In his mind, Sam's words echoed over and over again.

"What kind of broke-down fairy tale are you living in, Dean? Everything ends bloody..."