I'm so glad that everyone's still loving this story (I'm REALLY loving all the reviews). Once again, I'd like to thank everyone who's taken the time to type up a review, I know how hard it can be.

Now for the bad news: only three more chapters left after this one :(

Pain seared across Sam's chest and stomach. Burning, ripping, shredding, cutting, killing pain. He could see his own reaction mirrored on his brother's face. Or, was it the other way around? Because, while Dean was bleeding profusely as those merciless invisible claws tore away at him, Sam had yet to lose a drop of blood. Dean was projecting, and Sammy was picking up on it.

Even as the brothers' screams blended together, the demon fell back to the floor, this time clutching at its stomach. Inhuman shrieks joined the Winchesters' chorus as the demon felt the full force of its own attack turned against it. It writhed on the floor, yet somehow found the focus to continue its attack.

Sam could feel the new sting of his brother's fresh cuts, could feel how deep they went, how close they were coming to damaging internal organs.

And then it was back, that loss and regret and rejection and abandonment and despair. It washed over him all at once, strong enough to overpower the intense pain for just a moment, a second in time when he finally understood. Everything his brother did, he did so he wouldn't feel like this all the time, hurting without wounds, bleeding without blood, screaming without being heard. It was enough to drive a man mad.

A man, or, apparently, a demon.

The pain in his middle tapered off, leaving only that overwhelming sense of loss. Sam looked down at the demon, at the host body trembling on the blood red carpet, at the blood pouring from the possessed man's eyes and nose and ears as he clawed at his heart, breaking the skin and sending fresh blood seeping through his shirt and onto the floor.

The host was fighting, not the demon, but Dean. And he didn't stand a chance, even as the demon struggled to regain control, the man continued to claw, to scrape, to rip and tear and shed at his own skin. He moved from his aching heart to his face, pulling at the skin. Flesh ripped from bone and new screams echoed through the room, both the demon's and Dean's.

Suddenly, Sam's face was on fire, too. The pain increased as the possessed man continued to rip at his skin, clawing at his eyes, trying to escape his life, which had recently become a prison full of sorrow and pain. No wonder he wanted to leave. No wonder he was willing to die to escape it all.

More than anything, though, the man wanted to hold on. One of those rare individuals willing to sacrifice himself for the greater good, he wasn't going down unless he could take the demon with him. Yellow eyes sparked to life, only to be replaced by bloody holes as its host fought to hold on to it.

The body fell limp and both brothers suddenly tumbled from their walls. Sam felt a fresh wave of pain hit him as Dean's body connected with the floor. There was no black smoke from the dead man, no demon flying from the room only to return later making deadly deals. It was gone. Actually gone. Forever.

Dean, his mind hissed as he clambered to his knees and a single tear slipped from his eye and stained his jeans. Slowly, he climbed over the gored remains of the demon's final host and to his brother's side. The feelings of loss and sadness and pain increased as he approached his brother, so much so that he had to stop a couple of times in his journey across the room. It shouldn't have been so hard, shouldn't have been so strong. He knew he was loved, so why didn't he feel it, dammit.

"Dean," he said softly, sniffling and running an arm over his eyes to clear his vision, "Dean, come on."

180 degrees. It was a complete flip, so sudden that he actually fell back on his ass. The sense of warmth and belonging and comfort and safety that flooded over him, totally canceling out anything he'd been feeling before, was overwhelming.

And he understood.

Why spend the rest of your life in pain and misery if you could feel like this instead? Why would you ever leave a house where you were surrounded by this ecstasy? Why on earth wouldn't you wonder why your only remaining family didn't give off these vibes whenever you were around?

And he felt guilty. So, so guilty.

o0o0o0o0o

"I want us to be together again," Dean began, taking a cautious step toward his brother, "I want us to be a family again." He felt the bottom drop out of his stomach, felt his gut twist nervously around, his heart pounding, palms sweaty. He needed Sam to understand, needed the younger man to say something, anything, that would make all the fear and abandonment go away. He needed an answer, not this blank stare.

"Dean, we are a family. I'd do anything for you." He felt himself relax, felt the tension easing away. It was almost exactly what he wanted to hear. The only thing missing was the 'I was only joking about going back to school and leaving you all alone again.' He waited with bated breath. "But things will never be the way they were before."

Another small step forward, his own equivalent of the puppy-dog stare. "We could be." He hated the way his voice sounded, so small and weak and pathetic. He was supposed to be the strong one, but this was just too much. First his mother's death, then his father's quest, his brother's stubborn trip to Stanford, dad's disappearance, and Sam's repeated threats to walk off into the setting sun. He couldn't take much more, not if he wanted to keep what was left of his sanity.

Sammy just stared back at him, disgust written across his face. "I don't want us to be."

And that was it. Dean's world fell apart. Everything he'd wanted, everything he'd wished for, and it was gone. Just like that. Lost in some crummy apartment in a dreary Chicago neighborhood. His brother didn't want to be a family anymore, wanted normal and safe and loved. Dean didn't really care about normal, but the last two sounded nice.

He hung his head, avoiding eye contact, wishing for the thousandth time in his life that he was a mind-reader, that he could know what was going on inside Sam's freaky, messed-up head.

And he wanted him to stay, wanted to make him stay. Make him want to stay. Because if Sammy wanted something, he was bound to get it, come hell or high water.

No, it wasn't the first time in his life that Dean wished he could make his brother feel something, and it certainly wouldn't be the last.