A/N: Hey everyone. Sorry, this update is shorter than I'd like, but any update beats no update, right? I've been battling the mother of all headaches today, and I spent the last two hours at the office in sunglasses. The medicine finally kicked in, but I'm a little sleepy, hence the short chapter.

Anyway, Dean was pretty insistent that he get a say in the matter, so here's his point of view, with a little bit of actual plot on the end.

Sorry, the fight's just taking longer to rebound from than I expected, but with an argument like that, perhaps that's for the best. I promise, this story will get back to longer chapters, I'm just a little off my game this week.

Reviews are love, and you guys are really amazing, this has over two hundred now, and I am over the moon about it.

The poem Sam and the Librarian quote is by Robert Frost, and it's kinda haunting, if you ask me. It's called "Stopping By Woods On a Snowy Evening". I'm not into poetry, but the last verse is really something, one of those things that stick in your head, you know? It seemed pretty canon to me that a librarian might randomly quote poetry, and if anyone would recognize that poem, it was Sam.

As Always,

EverReader

Prisoner of War – Chapter Twenty Eight

"Promises To Keep"

Sam almost went through with it. When that trucker had hung out the door, asking him where he was headed, he'd almost replied with the words "Anywhere. Anywhere but here."

For one moment, in his mind, he let it all go. The waiting and the hiding and the darkness and the fear.

For one moment, in his own mind, anyway, Sam Winchester was free.

But the bonds of brotherhood, of family and blood are strong, and between the Winchester's they were stronger than most.

So an hour later, when the trucker pulled up outside the east end of the University of Indiana campus, Sam thanked him politely, and went to wait on the library steps for the building to open in forty-five minutes or so.

He was exhausted, he hadn't slept since...well, before Merit, he guessed, but though he was exhausted, he wasn't tired.

His mind was far more awake than his body, racing through a thousand things a mimute, the look on Dean's face, the freeing and frightening way it had felt to say those words, the worry and the fear and the what-happens-now?

Would Dean pretend the fight had never happened?

That was standard Winchester code of conduct, after all.

But recently Dean had become much more touchy-feely, asking about Sam's health, his needs, his emotions.

The more Sam had needed distance between them in order to keep functioning, the more Dean had to draw him in tighter again.

What was Dean thinking about all of this? If he was honest with himself, a part of him had expected Dean to already be here when Sam arrived, but the library steps had been empty, the Impala no where to be seen.

Perhaps Dean had actually taken Sam's words to heart. Perhaps he was done with Sam and all the trouble he caused. Perhaps he was tired of wasting all his time and energy on a losing bet.

Sam hadn't actually expected Dean to let him leave, to let him hitch hike.

Perhaps Dean was simply admitting that Sam was grown now. Perhaps, when this case was done, Dean would expect Sam to start earning his keep, buying his own clothes and food.

A sick feeling twisted in Sam's stomach at the idea that Dean might have finally given up on him, but he knew it was for the best.

Sam was poison, he was toxic. The further away Dean stayed, phsychically and emotionally, the safer Dean was.

It was time Sam stopped depending on him, on John, on anyone.

"My goodness, you're here early, young man!" The surprised librarian greeted him as he came up the steps, keys to the building in hand.

Sam stood, stretching out his stiff muscles. "I promised my partner I'd finish some research." He said.

The librarian nodded, smiling to himself. "Ah, yes, promises to keep..."

"And miles to go before I sleep..." Sam finished the last line of the poem in response as the librarian let him in.

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Dean paced the room angrily, throwing himself on his bed.

A moment later he would be up again, pacing yet more as Sam's words screamed through his mind.

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

What the hell was Sam thinking, saying those kinds of things?

"Everything ends bloody, and hunters sooner than most!"

It was like the kid was asking for something bad to happen, like he was tempting fate.

"What do you want from me, Dean?"

Did Sam hate their life so much he actually hoped he'd die? Sure, the gig sucked some times, but they'd be bored senseless with the apple-pie life.

"I'm not going to get to go to college, I won't get married or have kids..."

Sure, sometimes Dean felt a little wistful about things that could never be, but he always understood how important their job was. They protected all the people who didn't know how dark the world could really be. And once you knew the kinds of things they did, you couldn't exactly UN-know them.

"How many hunts do I get before I get unlucky?"

It was like Sam didn't even trust Dean anymore, couldn't count on him to keep him safe.

"People aren't meant to be raised like this!"

Sure, their upbringing had been unconventional, but it had prepared them for the monsters...

"Hunt or be hunted, kill or be killed."

Yeah, okay, sure. It could definitely feel like that, out on a hunt, adrenaline pumping because you didn't know where the monster was.

"We don't get happy endings."

Sam didn't get it, didn't see. That's why they had to stick together. No, Dean wasn't delusional. He understood it was possible for them to get hurt, or get killed, but people died every day, in car wrecks, from cancer, from heart attacks.

Sometimes they were killed by monsters. After all, hunters existed to protect the innocent, because being innocent wasn't enough to protect someone from the monsters.

Sam could have had a perfectly normal, boring life, and still ended up hurt by a monster, it happened all the time.

Look at Lucas, and all of Constance's victims. Look at the couple in the orchard tonight.

Look at their mom.

Innocence wasn't protection, but information, knowledge, training, all those things were.

What John had done, he'd done to make them strong, and if Sam could just accept that, he'd see that it had worked. Sam acted like Dean didn't trust him.

Of course Dean trusted Sam. Outside of John, Sam was the person in the world Dean trusted the most to have his back.

Sam had proven time and again that he would come for Sam, at the old farmhouse, when Hope had almost killed him, even tonight at the orchard, when he'd covered for Dean.

Dean wasn't upset that Sam had protected him (well, okay, maybe a little, but he was the big brother, dammit) as much as he was upset that Sam seemed to forget that Dean was always going to come for him too.

What the fuck had happened to rip this glaring hole between them, between their brother hood? Sam was practically a stranger, the kid Dean had raised seemingly...gone.

Surely this couldn't all just be about South Carolina and Sam's need for independence and self reliance. Not unless something had gone seriously wrong while Dean was away and no one had ever told him.

Was that it?

Had something happened to wreck havoc on Sam's faith? John hadn't spoke a word about taking any hunts, and neither had Sam, but training alone didn't account for the sudden, total disconnect in the brother Dean left and the one he returned to, the one with a chip on his shoulder and a devil-may-care-becuase-I-sure-as-hell-don't attitude.

And Dean was sick of it. He was tired of worrying about Sam being hurt or sick or hungry or tired and not telling him. There was a difference between complaining and letting your partner (BIG BROTHER) know that you needed something. Taking care of Sam was part of Dean's job, probably the biggest part, and he was damn good at it, when Sam let him.

He was tired of watching Sam willingly walk into the line of fire instead of using that frightening intellect he knew the kid possessed.

Dean stood up, dressing quickly.

Sam had told him how he felt, and now Dean was going to find his sorry ass and return the favor, because, dammit, he was Dean Winchester, and nothing was going to stop him from taking care of his family. Yeah, maybe hunters did die young, and bloody, but not John. Not Sam.

Because Dean wasn't going to let them. Sam could label it wishful thinking or whatever the hell else he wanted to. Dean would just keep on doing what he did best, which was take care of his sorry ass.

Sam was smart, eventually he'd catch on to the fact that they were brothers, and whatever the hell was going on in Sam's head right now, Dean would still be there when he got through it, most likely with a smirk and an "I told you so."

Sam and John were all Dean had left, and whatever had spooked his kid, Dean was in it for the long haul. Eventually he'd beat it into the kid's skull that they were in this together, and Dean would keep him safe.

That was what he did.

That was how this story ended.

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Sam sunk into the piles of research, quickly losing time, thankfully doing so, in fact.

The Latin and the lore were soothing.

Sam knew how this worked, understood the rules to this game.

Words were words, they didn't judge, didn't feel disappointed or misled.

Words were the same whether you were a hunter or a monster, and at times research felt like the only part of Sam's life that hadn't changed, hadn't shattered like the fun house mirror the whole rest of his existence had been.

The words and the books and the pages and the notes just didn't care, and when Sam was alone, like he was now, Sam didn't have to care either.

"You looked like you could use this." The librarian was back, a steaming cup of coffee in his hands. He held it out to Sam, and Sam accepted gratefully. "Oh, thanks, I mean, you didn't have too..."

The older man smiled. "It's quite alright. You were the early bird this morning, you even beat the coffee cart. And I'll admit, you look like you could use it."

Sam grimaced ruefully. "My...friend and I got into a fight last night, and I knew I wasn't going to sleep for a while."

The man nodded. "An excellent reason to go to the library, though, I must admit, I can think of few reasons that aren't excellent. And, who knows, perhaps your friend will show up sooner or later."

Sam smiled ruefully. "I wouldn't count on it. It was a pretty heated argument."

The man nodded. "Well, you do what you have to do. I've got to get back to the circulation desk. Just come get me if you need any other help."

"Thanks." Sam said, blowing on his coffee to try and cool it. "I will."

The man left, and Sam sat the cup down to finish cooling, pulling over the next book. It was actually the book he'd been about to start the night before, and Sam pulled out his small pad of paper, realizing he might need to translate some of the Latin.

A few minutes later, he made a note, then another, starting to get excited. Without thinking, he reached down an picked up the cup, taking a large drink.

He made a last note, underlining the word for good measure.

The tree. They had to find the tree and burn it. That was the only way.

Sam blinked, realizing he must be more tired than he had realized, because instead of helping, the coffee seemed to be making him...more tired.

Eyes widening sluggishly, he looked around, hearing the librarian's footsteps returning.

Knowing he had only a few seconds left, he tore of his page of notes, trying to think of somewhere Dean would see it, when he came.

If he came.

With clumsy fingers, he folded the note into the shape of an airplane, tossing it across the room just as the librarian's voice could be heard. He was speaking to another man, but their words were blurry and distant...

"Took you long enough. I can't exactly lift him myself...: