A/N: Okay guys, sorry, thought this would wrap up the case, and then I realized we needed a peak into Sam's mind first, so let's get that out of the way. Last shot chapter, then some action. This chapter and the one before it mark a turning point in this story, because now Sam 2.0 doesn't have to hold himself back so much. Dean now understands where Sam is coming from, even if he doesn't know why yet, and it's going to force them into a slightly more adult relationship, a bit more like we see later on in the show, with Dean having to try and accept Sam as his equal.

Naturally, Dean is going to have trouble with this at times, and by the end of this story, Dean will have to face several hard choices.

So will Sam.

Enjoy, and remember, reviews are love.

In other news, Confessions of a Boy King updated yesterday, and I love love love the update, it's based off of a prompt I received from DomBird, originally earmarked to be a How To Fix A Winchester chapter, but it fit so well in my confessions project that they graciously allowed me to use it there. And if you are reading Tuesday's Child, I added a tag, as a separate one shot, called A Space Shaped Like Home, yesterday, prompted by another reader wanting to know what had happened to a character who had a cameo at the end of chapter four of Tuesday's Child.

All the others will probably see updates tomorrow, at some point.

As Always,

EverReader

Disclaimer: Not Mine

Prisoner Of War- Chapter Twenty-Seven

"Life On Fire"

Sam walked along the highway aimlessly, furiously, not even trying to hitch a ride. John would be livid if he knew what Sam was doing, but Sam didn't really care at this point.

Because now Dean knew.

Oh, he didn't know everything, of course. Hell, he didn't even know anything, really. He still didn't know about their mother and the demon's blood and their father and his journal and about their secret little brother, and, oh, yeah, that Sam was EVIL, but now he knew...enough.

He knew about how Sam felt, had seen the darkness in Sam tonight. Sam had been trying so hard to lock it all down, hide it away, behind school, behind the job, behind the hunt, but now Dean knew...

Knew how Sam felt, how much he hated everything and everyone, knew how much he despaired about it all.

Sam had been striving for independence his whole life and he'd practically had an emotional breakdown in Dean's lap tonight.

Maybe Dean didn't know the truth about just what Sam was, but now he sure as hell had a better idea of who Sam was, and it made him feel naked, exposed, like every last 'fine' he'd laid as a barrier between himself and the darkness had been ripped away like a bandage and now all the truth of Sam was bleeding out on the pavement.

Sam had said things tonight he'd barely let himself even think, but God, Dean had made him so angry.

What did Dean want? Sam wasn't fighting with John, wasn't complaining about hunting or training or moving or school. John said hunt, Sam hunted, Dean said time to go, Sam freaking went.

Why wasn't it enough?

What hurt the worst, though, was the insidious thought that, for John, it seemed like maybe it was enough.

John seemed happy with Sam 2.0, seemed content with a Sam who didn't argue, didn't complain, didn't think or feel or hesitate.

As far as Sam pushed himself, John seemed to be okay with it. John seem to like the Sam who didn't care what happened to himself, seemed satisfied with the robotic shell Sam knew he had become.

John acted like Sam's new outlook was the best thing that could be hoped for, and since he was the only other person who knew the truth, Sam couldn't help but wonder it perhaps it was.

If this new outlook on life was wrong, shouldn't Sam's own father be upset, be worried?

But the thing was, he wasn't.

John was satisfied with his newest soldier.

It was Dean who was worried, Dean who was upset.

But Sam could remember a thousand times when that pained, 'oh-please-not-again' expression would cross his brother's face, whenever Sam would go head to head with John.

Wasn't that why Dean had left Sam alone to go help Caleb in South Carolina? It wasn't so John and Sam could 'bond', it was so John could lay down the law and adjust Sam's attitude, whether or not Sam had wanted to be adjusted.

It had just worked better than anyone expected, though only Sam knew the reason why.

If he closed his eyes, he would be back there in an instant, that awful, soul shattering night he'd learned the truth about himself, about the monster that lived in his skin, hid in his veins, lurked behind his eyes.

He'd been so close, that night, to just ending it, had loaded the gun, had been only a heartbeat from pulling the trigger.

Only two things stopped him.

The knowledge that if he committed suicide, he would certainly go to hell, and it would be a one-way ticket, where as if he stayed, perhaps he could earn some form of redemption. It had seemed like a slim hope at the time, and now it seemed even slimmer, but it was all he had.

The second thing was Dean, and his certainty that John would never willingly breathe a word of the truth to Dean.

Dean would simply think that Sam had quit on him, had given up on him, on their brotherhood. He'd think Sam had chosen the cowards way out, and then no one would be left to watch Dean's back.

That, more than anything, had helped Sam hold on by the skin of his teeth as he spent the next few days walking and eating and sleeping and not feeling any of it, a living zombie, as he tried to piece his shattered life, his shattered identity into some semblance of old Sam, someone able to walk and talk and be the best brother he could to Dean.

He'd spent hours and hours jogging and sparring and training robotically, all the while battling those words in his head, beating back his own personal demons, because he had known that Dean could never learn the truth, or he'd be forced to end Sam himself, like the monster Sam was.

He'd decided then and there to throw himself totally and completely into the hunt, into the family business, clinging to the desperate hope that some part of him was salvageable, could, in fact, be good, if he just worked hard enough, fought long enough.

Maybe if he saved ten people, maybe if he killed one hundred monsters, he didn't know, could only hope that someone out there somewhere was keeping score and that perhaps there was a chance for him to earn redemption.

He had known it would be hard, if not impossible. How did one seek forgiveness for being an abomination, how did you learn to be human when it turned out you had actually been a monster your entire life?

In one fell swoop, he'd given up every dream he'd ever had, of college and kids and family and safety. He'd given up on friends and love and the right to tomorrow. He'd accepted that for something like him, only the present was a certainty, and that he had to do his best to beat down the evil inside of him.

From the tone of his father's journal, the loathing and fear and bitterness, he'd assumed John would be the one most threatened by Sam's new attitude, would be the one to push back, to challenge the idea that Sam could be a useful hunter, could somehow manage to save people.

He'd never expected Dean to fight him, not on this. His whole life, Dean had practically begged him to stop fighting their lifestyle, but when he had, Dean had seemed almost threatened by it.

"AHHHHHHHHHHH" He screamed out into the night, fury still coursing through him, and a bitter sadness. He'd hoped, deep down, that when he'd done his best to become the model hunter John had always wanted, it would create a connection between him and Dean, a bridge across the echoing chasm that now lived between Sam and Dean, at least in Sam's own mind.

He knew he could never be comfortable in his role of protected and loved little brother, knew that the murder of their mother, knew that being the reason Dean was a homeless wanderer would always be between them as brothers, an elephant in the room that Sam could never ignore, even when Dean was oblivious.

He'd thought perhaps, as a hunter, he could somehow find a measure of comfort in a relationship with Dean, that as his partner on the job, his equal in the hunt, Sam could feel like Dean's brother again, or at least as close as he'd ever be able to again.

As Dean's partner, as the person who had his back and helped him, perhaps Sam could also somehow earn the right to be in Dean's life also.

Redemption.

But Dean didn't seem to want a Sam who was willing to do whatever it took to get the job done, at least, he didn't seem to want it from Sam. Sam just didn't know what to do anymore.

He'd done everything, everything that had been asked of him.

And yet, somehow, he was still wrong.

'Be good, or be good at it." The voice whispered in his mind again as he gasped in deep breaths of the cool night air.

He couldn't do it.

He couldn't let go of his only chance at redemption just because Dean decided he missed the old Sam.

Sam knew he was right, that every damn thing he'd said had been right. Hunters died, and it was brutal and messy and far too young. Every hunter knew it, Dean had to know it, on some level, and yet, he persisted with this crazy belief that somehow it would never happen to them.

But Sam knew if he had any chance at earning redemption, he couldn't be afraid to die for the cause. He couldn't let fear slow his steps, make him hesitate, make him doubt.

He remembered the words from a book he'd read, several years ago, called "Dune".

Fear is the mind killer.

Sam knew he had to let go of the fear the same way he had let go off his hopes and dreams and future.

Sam's life was on fire, and if he were very lucky, he'd be able to save the one thing that mattered most.

His Soul.

Sam had had let go of his life before, of who he'd been before, it was simply a matter of survival. Sam couldn't be that little boy who was angry over missing a math test, not when he now knew it was only a matter of time before something happened, and Sam turned dark-side.

Sam was fighting for salvation, and that meant that he had had to let go of...pretty much everything else he had been before.

Now Dean would have to, also.

Because Sam could never be that person again, could never un-know what he now knew, could never forget.

Sam had to be both more and less than he was before, and Dean would have to let him, or else...

Dean would have to let him go.

Because Sam couldn't handle feeling guilty over not being what Dean wanted, couldn't handle anymore guilt, couldn't do everything that had ever been asked of him and still feel like a disappointment.

Headlights shone in the darkness from behind him, and as the eighteen wheeler slowed, an older man in a trucker's hat leaned out.

"Where you headed, kid?" He called.

Sam swallowed. "South." He replied.

Wasn't that the truth?