You guys have no idea how close I came to not finishing this, or at least splitting it into two chapters because it was getting r-e-a-l-l-y long. But I did promise you the conclusion this Sunday, and I managed to deliver. I hope you enjoy. Some stuff surprised even me!

Thank you for those who've read and followed the story :) More notes and information on future projects at the end.

Chapter 9

Sam and Dean stood staring at each other. It was really Dean this time, Sam knew this just as he had known a little while ago that the first figure that had confronted him had not been Dean. Still, he did not like the way Dean was looking at him.

"That wasn't you," Sam said, half-expecting Dean to give him the usual "duh!" because of course it couldn't have been him since he was standing there and had no bullet wound in his chest. "I knew it wasn't you!"

"Well, that's good to know," Dean quipped.

He paused, then shifted from foot to foot.

"Kind of…" he began hesitantly. "You kind of went a bit overboard with the whole thing, though. I'd hate to think how you'd react if I really pissed you off."

Sam frowned in confusion.

"What are you talking about? I knew it wasn't you, it was obviously a threat, I thought you were hurt bad and it was keeping me from getting you help. I shot it. What else could I have done?"

Dean looked at him pointedly, and Sam was beginning to have the nagging, unnerving feeling that he was missing something.

"I don't know," Dean drawled. "Emptying your clip in something that was wearing my face was a little unnerving to see."

Sam froze.

"What do you mean…? I didn't. I only shot you…it…once."

Dean's eyes narrowed.

"Then why don't you have a look at your gun, Sam?"

With trembling fingers, Sam inspected the gun. All the bullets were gone. But he did not remember firing them.

"I swear I remember firing only once," he whispered.

He looked up to meet Dean's steely gaze.

"It's Holda, isn't it?" he asked hoarsely. "She's in my head."

Dean took a step forward and placed a hand on Sam's shoulder.

"Sam," he said gravely. "I think she was in your head from the minute we got here. That's why you didn't tell me you could hear the hooves. That's why you went into the forest."

Sam shook his head in denial. He did not want to accept that none of the decisions he had made in the past two days had been his.

"No, you're wrong," he said. "And anyway…Holda said she looked into your mind, too."

Dean looked away.

"I heard the hooves, yeah. But I came here to get you out."

Sam tensed, because that was not what Holda had said.

"You want to know what else she told me? She said you were planning to kill me."

Dean's eyes widened, but Sam could not help noticing how quickly he tried to cover up his surprise.

"Sam, she was lying."

"They can't lie, Dean," Sam insisted.

Dean was starting to look irritated.

"Then she was twisting things. Sam…"

Sam took a step forward resisting the urge to grab Dean and shake him hard.

"Twisting what, Dean? Were you thinking "I'm gonna kill him if he uses all the hot water again" and she thought you really meant it?"

"Now see, then I would mean it," Dean quipped.

Sam shook his head. He was suddenly assaulted by a wave of dizziness, and he swayed.

"Sam?" Dean asked concerned, his hand hovering above Sam's elbow.

Flashes of light danced behind Sam's eyes.

"Dean," he gasped.

He grabbed Dean's arm, trying to center himself. Then, the world went away from him.

Sam fell on his knees clutching his head. He could not even hear Dean calling for him beyond the roaring in his ears.

xxXXxxxx

Sam woke up on the forest floor. He was shaking so hard, he could barely see straight. There was a strange taste in his mouth, like blood, only worse. His head was pounding.

He finally managed to push himself up on his elbows. The world smelled of death, he realized. It was then that he noticed the bodies. There was the motel manager and Bobby – what was Bobby doing there, anyway? – and Alma Larson.

"Dean?" he called out, terrified that whatever had happened had taken Dean as well. "Dean, where are you?"

A hand on his shoulder had him jumping out of his skin.

"It's me, Sam."

Sam settled back with a sigh.

"Dean, what the hell happened? Was it Holda?"

Dean's silence set his teeth on edge.

"Dean, what happened?" he insisted. "I don't remember a thing. One minute I was with you, and the next…Was Holda here?"

"You could say that," Dean answered tightly. "It was Holda. But it was also you."

Sam froze.

'What?" he asked breathlessly. "She made me…?"

He heard Dean moving behind him. He did not turn to look, though, caught in a loop of terror that erased every other thought in his mind.

"I don't know if she made you do this, Sam. I think something else in you responded."

Sam gasped.

"Dean, how can you say that? It's Bobby…"

"And it damn nearly was me as well," Dean interrupted. "I think you're turning, Sam. Into the same thing that's getting the rest of the special kids. Maybe Holda's the one who's given you the push, but I think it was always there."

Sam remembered Dean had said something similar in the vision Holda had given him. But this was different. Dean had sounded cold then. He didn't now. He sounded like Dean always sounded when he talked to Sam. with that underlying affection hidden beneath the hard tone. But Sam could also discern a hint of regret.

"What are you talking about, Dean?' he whispered.

He felt Dean touch his shoulder briefly. It felt too much like both an apology and an attempt at comfort, and Sam had no idea what was happening.

"It has to be this way, Sam," Dean said sadly. "I see it now."

Sam made to turn around when he felt the gun at his head.

"Dean," he said shakily.

"Don't worry, Sammy," Dean said, and he sounded like he had when they were kids. "I'll make sure it doesn't hurt."

Sam heard the bang but he did not get to feel the bullet as it hit him.

xxXXXxxx

Sam came to with a start. He felt hands on him and stiffened.

"No," he gasped.

"Sammy, take it easy."

But Sam kept shaking his head, despite the pounding and the nausea.

"No," he repeated. "No."

For once, Dean's voice could offer him no comfort. Not after what he had seen. Not after he had been given a clear view of what he could do – what he would do.

Sam grabbed at Dean's arms, trying to look his brother in the eye. Dean had that pinched, concerned look that he reserved only for Sam, and only when Sam was in danger, and Dean was trying to hide the fact that he had no idea how to fix it.

"Dean," Sam finally said, taking a deep breath. "Dean, you'll have to kill me."

Dean stiffened. His eyes became unreadable.

"What the hell?"

Sam clutched Dean's arms harder, shaking him slightly.

"Dean, understand, this is when things are gonna go bad. I saw it. I…I killed a lot of people Dean, including Bobby. Do you want that to happen?"

Dean shook his head, trying to dislodge Sam's hold on him.

"All I want is for you to stop being delirious for one damn minute, so we can have a normal adult conversation."

He winced when Sam's fingers tightened around his arms.

"Dude, ease up or I'll knock you into the next state. I'm not even kidding."

'Dean," Sam said, ignoring everything else and focusing only on making Dean understand. "I saw it. You shot me anyway. After Bobby and the rest, you admitted yourself this was the only way."

Dean snorted.

"See, that's how I know Holda is causing you to short-circuit, because no way in hell would I ever say that's the only way."

"You said you can make it painless," Sam added. "That I won't feel everything."

If possible, Dean's face darkened even more.

"Oh no, Sam, you keep talking like that, I'm gonna make it very painful."

Sam was too distressed at the moment to notice something that would not give him peace afterwards. That during their conversation, Dean had not seemed at all surprised. Angry, terrified, offended, all of the above, but not surprised. It was as if the idea that he might have to put Sam down was not new to him.

xxxXXxxxx

Bobby led Alfred and Alma away from the sound of hooves. The procession was getting closer, though. There was no outrunning the Wild Hunt, and there was no hiding from it. But that did not mean Bobby did not have any means to fight back.

"Get behind me," he told the other two.

He pulled out his gun.

"I thought you said guns wouldn't work," Alma protested.

"This one does," Bobby said grimly.

He fired and the horses disappeared. The forest was silent.

"Iron rounds," Bobby said. "Creatures like those, they don't like iron."

"Did you kill them?" Alfred asked.

Bobby shook his head.

"No, I spooked them. They'll be quiet for a bit. Lick their wounds. But if Holda's spurring them on…"

"They'll be back," Alfred said.

"I'm guessing so, yeah," Bobby agreed. "Holda probably knows we have the only weapon that can take her down permanently. That's her way of making sure we don't get anywhere near her."

Alma let out an impatient huff.

"I'm guessing we're not talking evil cult in the woods anymore," she said ruefully.

"Well, that depends on your perspective," Alfred said. "I mean, the leader really is a goddess, apparently, so maybe that spin isn't that far-fetched."

Alma shook her head.

"I should have stayed in my damned office," she muttered. 'So, where to now?"

Bobby thought about it. They could keep going forward – or they could take a risk.

"We retrace our steps," he said.

"You mean go back to the place where we last saw the people who wanted to trample us down?" Alma asked pointedly. "Is there a reason, or do you simply get suicidal after midnight?"

Bobby scowled.

"There's a reason. Those bozos were chasing us away from something. It means there's something back there they don't want us to get to."

"Holda herself, presumably," Alfred said.

Bobby nodded, but he was thinking of a better prize – at least for him.

"Or Sam and Dean," he said.

"You think they've found each other?" Alfred asked.

Bobby smiled grimly.

"I sure hope they did. It would make knocking their heads together much easier."

xxxXXXxxxx

Dean was not having a good night and that was an understatement. Things had started to go sideways ever since he had entered the forest – and maybe he really should have waited for Bobby, although he would rather face ten ghosts at the same time than admit to that particular tidbit out loud. Then the Wild Hunt had found him, and then he had woken up in time to see Sam emptying a clip into someone that looked an awful lot like Dean. Granted that Sam had claimed he knew it was not Dean, and Dean could understand that since the two of them had ways of recognizing each other – but an entire clip was really overkill, Sam could have stopped at just one bullet. Then there was the issue that Sam remembered firing only one bullet, which told Dean that Holda was definitely Sam's copilot at that moment, unless she was not driving the bus all on her own.

Then came the vision, and Sam's conviction that he was going to kill just about everyone in sight, and that Dean would end up killing him in return. And that was the last thing Dean had wanted to hear from Sam.

The words had sounded too close to the ones running in Dean's mind, the ones Dad had told him, and the ones Dean had been doing his best to ignore and deny ever since John's death. They weren't things he had planned on making Sam aware of, and the fact that Sam had gotten so close to finding them out worried him. How long could Dean keep lying and pretending that the idea of killing his brother wasn't as outlandish as he was trying to make out?

"Listen to me, Sam," he said, and he was glad that his voice sounded calm, since he was freaking out like nobody's business inside his head. "We can get past this. Bobby's at the motel already…"

It was the wrong thing to say. Sam took a step back and Dean winced. Sam had mentioned killing Bobby in his vision. He probably now thought that Bobby being there was proof that the vision had chances of coming true.

"Dean, you have to take care of this before it's too late," Sam said.

Dean shook his head.

"Bobby has a weapon that can take out Holda. Once we take her out, we're good."

Sam looked at him with so much sadness and regret, Dean had no idea if he wanted to punch him in the face or hug him tight.

"It's not gonna fix things," Sam said. "You know it. Ok, you save me from Holda. But you can't save me from the rest."

And if you can't save him…

"Shut up," Dean said harshly and he did not know if he was talking to the memory in his head, or to Sam, unknowingly echoing the same words. "Just…don't, Sam. Alright?"

He took a step forward, glad that Sam remained where he was.

"Now, I want you to listen to me very carefully," Dean said. "This isn't you. This is Holda messing with your head. I'm guessing she's been doing that for a while. Because that's what she does, Sam. She hones in on people and drags them to her hunt. And they either stay there – or she makes them do crazy stuff."

"And why do you think she's honed in on me?" Sam asked pointedly. "Could it be that I'm easy pickings? Being already doomed to darkness and all?"

Dean snorted.

"Dude, before you claim responsibility for global warming or something equally absurd that fuels your guilt complex, let me tell you that she didn't single you out. She targeted me too. That's what she's doing. She's targeting pairs or families. One follows her, the other stays back but can hear her as well. Then she lets the two loose to see which one will kill the other."

Sam was still looking skeptical, but Dean's arguments were probably getting through to the analytical part of his mind.

"That wasn't in Dad's research," he said. "In the research I found, I mean."

Dean nodded quickly.

"Yeah, but I think Dad knew. And I think that's why he steered clear of it. Sam, Holda is targeting families, troubled families, more often than not. Now you know from the time with the shtriga that this was a line Dad would not cross. Maybe he gave the Hunt to someone else and they failed, maybe he decided it was safer to just turn away for good. Either way, this is what Holda does, so you thinking that I'm gonna kill you, is actually Holda messing with your head. She wants one of us to take out the other."

Sam actually took a step towards Dean. Dean inwardly cheered. Apparently, he still had it in him.

Then Sam stopped and tensed.

"Dean," he whispered. "She's here."

Dean did not have time to ask how he knew that, before Sam fell to the ground gasping. He rushed towards him when he, too, suddenly felt his breath become constricted. He slammed a hand against his chest and clutched at his throat, but he still could not get enough air in.

He was on the ground now, wheezing, seeing Sam lying pale and still through the fog forming in the corner of his eyes.

"I told him," a voice said from behind, and she did not sound menacing, in fact, she sounded soft and gently. "You kill who I tell you to kill, and you breathe only when I tell you to breathe."

Holda, Dean thought desperately, trying to find against the command to just let go, knowing that it did not come from him. Holda had found them.

XxXXXxxx

Dean struggled to sit up. Beside him, Sam lay completely still. Dean could not even tell if he was breathing. Holda was standing a few paces away from them. Dean recoiled at the sight. He remembered Evan's description of her and noticed she was just as repulsive in real life. Her eyes, though, was what drew Dean's attention to her. He could see himself there, but not as a reflection. He saw his past: the fire in his house, the fire at Sam's house, the car accident, dad dying. And he probably could see his future, as well, or, at least, the future he dreaded: Sam turning evil. Him killing Sam.

Dean shut his eyes tight and clenched his fists.

"Get the hell out of my head."

"Why?" Holda asked. "It looks like such a fun place to be. I admit, I like toys that are damaged. These are the ones most vulnerable to me. but you two, Dean Winchester, oh, you are more rewarding than anything I have dealt with so far.

Dean reached out and grabbed Sam's shoulder. Sam didn't move, but Dean could feel him breathing. Still alive, then.

"Lady, I suggest you look for your entertainment elsewhere," he snapped. "We're not here to be used by you."

Holda snorted. She took several steps until she was kneeling beside him. She reached out and stroked the side of Dean's face. Dean recoiled.

"Ok, see now that's creepy," he quipped.

Still, he thought, at least her attention was focused on him and not on Sam. Dean did not know what he would have done if she had put a hand on Sam like that in front of him. He would have probably tried to tear her apart with his bare hands. He would have failed, of course, but it was the thought that counted.

"Why do you fight what you know has to be done?" she whispered.

Sam was stirring beneath his hand, starting to come back to consciousness. Dean could not take his eyes off Holda, though.

"What are you talking about?" he asked.

There was something in her eyes. An understanding, a type of knowledge that drew Dean to her. She had answers, he realized. She knew about them – knew about Sam. It was more than seeing something in Dean's mind, more than discerning the orders dad had given Dean, the ones Dean could not stop obsessing about. No, she had her own answers.

"What do you know about Sam?"

A part of him was warning him that he was walking right into her trap, that he was not supposed to pay attention to her, that the safest thing for him was to put a bullet between her eyes, even though he knew that would accomplish nothing. But it would still mean he was in control.

Another part, the one who craved answers, the one that had driven him to almost make a deal for John's life only days ago, that part was telling him that maybe he should keep talking. Maybe he should allow Holda in his head. If she had answers, why not make use of them? No one else seemed willing to give Dean anything.

"Tell me," he urged.

Holda stroked the side of his face again. She looked regretful.

"I see so much pain in your past, Dean Winchester. And in your future. And all your pain has one cause."

She glanced at Sam.

"Oh, don't start with me, Lady," Dean snapped.

"Shouldn't I?" Holda asked. "Would you like me to tell you what I saw in his mind? Anger. Resentment. Towards your family, and towards you. He thinks you never treat him as he should be treated. I can't lie, Dean."

Dean staggered to his feet. He needed to get Holda away from Sam.

"You can't lie, but you can twist things. Sammy's angry with me, yeah. He's angry at Dad. Well, he has every right to be and he doesn't even know the half of it yet."

His mouth clamped shut when he saw Sam rising to his elbows. He did not want to say something Sam would try to pry out of him later.

"You ok there, Sammy?" he asked tersely, keeping Holda in his sights.

Sam groaned. Dean nodded.

"I'll be with you in a second. Just until I clear some things out."

He pointed his gun at Holda, who was looking faintly amused.

"You think that's going to work on me? Ask Sam what I did when he tried it."

Dean glanced at Sam who shook his head.

"Don't shoot her, Dean. It's no use."

Holda's smirk was like ice.

"Yes, I think you should shoot him instead."

Dean nearly scoffed. Then his eyes widened as he found himself turning around and pointing the gun at Sam.

"Dean?" Sam asked uncertainly.

Dean was staring at Sam in growing horror.

"Sam, I don't know…I can't stop, Sam."

He felt Holda's hand on his shoulder. The touch was gentle, attractive even. Dean shuddered, trying to fight her off, but feeling at the same time how she made her way inside his mind, insidious and unstoppable.

"You move when I tell you to move," Holda whispered. "And you kill who I tell you to kill."

Dean shook his head frantically. Sam stood there in front of him, rooted to the spot. He wanted to yell at him, to urge him to get the hell out of there while he still could. Instead, he found himself saying other words, words he had never wanted to say, especially not in connection to Sam.

"I kill who you want me to kill, Holda."

Sam shook his head, denial and anguish and a hint of forgiveness in his features. Dean tried to fight with Holda's control, even as he pulled the trigger.

xxxXXXxxx

Sam had stood frozen when Dean had turned the gun on him. He had not even seen the change in Dean, the moment Holda had taken over his brother's mind. To him, everything had taken on a surreal quality, so much so that a part of him had a hard time processing what was happening. Dean had a gun to him, not because Sam had gone off the deep end and needed to be dealt with, but because something was forcing him to shoot Sam.

Dean is never going to forgive himself, Sam thought. It was the only thing that pierced through his shock. That when this was over, and Holda relinquished control on his brother, Dean would be crushed. Sam wanted to tell Dean that it was alright, that he remembered the asylum and understood more than Dean thought he would ever understand, that he forgave Dean completely. It was one of the things he wanted to tell Dean when Dean finally pulled the trigger.

There was a moment when Sam was sure he saw something in Dean's eyes: a hint of protest, of rebellion, a refusal to be Holda's pawn and do the unthinkable. He thought Dean's hand moved slightly before shooting. Yet he still took the shot.

Several things happened at once. Something slammed into Sam pushing him to the ground while a searing pain tore at his shoulder. It felt now as if it had caught fire.

For a while, Sam could hardly breathe through the pain. He fought with the fog that was tempting him away from the conscious world, because Dean was still in trouble, Dean needed help. He had no idea who had slammed into him, effectively saving his life, but now they were hindering him from getting up and getting to Dean, and he could not have that.

"Stay down," a voice hissed in his ear.

Alfred, he thought, and he wondered what the motel manager would be doing in the forest, when he realized he was not alone. Bobby was currently trying to get to Holda, while sheriff Alma Larson had a hold on Dean. Around them, Sam could sense shadowy figures watching them. Holda's Wild Hunt.

xxxXXXxxx

There were many things Bobby Singer never wanted to see (he definitely did not want to have contact with any of the uglies he was forced to deal with on his job, and the less was said about some of the deaths he had witnessed the better). Still, he decided that night that number one on the list of things he definitely did not want to see ever again was Dean pointing a gun at his brother (and shooting it, too, which was more than Bobby wanted to process. If Bobby had a therapist, they would have gotten rich out of that image alone).

He had spurred Alfred and Alma on, driven by a sense of urgency he could not quite explain. Hunter instincts being what they were, and since Bobby was also familiar enough with the Winchester to know that, when they got into trouble, they did it with style and never did things halfway, so it was only logical that something really bad would happen to the two idjits and they would be in need of urgent rescuing.

Still, he had never expected to see Dean pulling the trigger on Sam. Not even in his wildest nightmares had he conjured up such an image. It went against the very laws of the universe. Dean protected Sam, everyone knew that. He would have died and killed for him in a heartbeat. The idea that he would be made to kill Sam tilted Bobby's words off-balance.

Bobby had rushed into the clearing together with the others, just in time as the circle of Holda's followers closed in on them, cutting off any attempt at escape. Alma had tackled Dean, while Alfred had got Sam down, but not before Dean had gotten in a shot. At least, Bobby had heard a shot. He was not sure if Dean had actually hit anything.

As for Bobby, he held his weapon high and made straight to Holda.

"Why don't you pick on someone your own size?" he challenged.

Holda's attention snapped away from the brothers. Her eyes widened briefly when she saw the branch. Bobby smirked.

"Know what this is, don't you?"

The brief look of doubt vanished from Holda's features. She raised her hand and fastened it around the branch just as Bobby swung at her. Bobby felt her unnatural strength, the force she had in her that was not human. She dragged him several steps then threw him aside with such a force that he fell against a tree. He lay there, dazed. The branch was a few paces away from him.

Bobby staggered to his knees and made to grab the branch again. Holda's minions in the Wild Hunt surrounded him them, reaching out to him with ghostly fingers. Bobby pulled his gun, even though he knew he would not manage to scare them away for long this time.

Their mission looked like a failure. Bobby's heart pounded. This could not be the end. This could not be how he died. And, worse, it could not be how Sam and Dean ended, either. He could not accept that.

One of Holda's followers reached out and wrapped his hands around Bobby's throat. Bobby struggled, but his opponent was strong. He also did not look alive anymore. Holda had probably ensnared him long ago. Dimly, he heard Alma shout as they were dragging her away from Dean. The world was greying around the edges. He had failed, he thought. He had failed the two boys that he considered his sons. And nothing that happened to him now could be worse than that.

xxxXXXxxx

Dean's head was swimming. It took every effort he had to break free of Holda's influence. Even so, it was hard for him to keep a firm grip on reality. He had shot Sam. He remembered that. He had shot Sammy, and the notion was enough to make him want to empty his stomach on the forest floor.

He did not have that luxury, though. They had to get themselves out of that mess. Alma had been briefly there, but two of Holda's hunters had dragged her off him, before Dean could suggest that she cuffed him to keep him from hurting Sam again. Bobby was in trouble. Holda had her eyes on the branch Bobby had brought, presumably the weapon that would take her down. Dean knew he had to stop her.

"Hey!" he shouted.

Holda's attention turned to him, and he shot at her. Holda staggered briefly, but remained upright. Dean shot again.

"Seems you can't expand your energy on all of us at once, can you?" he said through clenched teeth.

Holda glanced at Bobby and Alma, both struggling with their opponents.

"There won't be so many of you much longer, will there? Now, why don't you be a good boy and point that gun somewhere else?"

Dean felt it again, the overwhelming need to point the gun at Sam, to kill Sam there and then and be rid of the constant source of his worries once and for all. For a moment, his gun pointed at Sam, then he suddenly wrenched his hand and pointed it at himself.

"You think I'd let you control me even for one bit?" he snarled.

Holda's eyes widened.

"Dean!"

Sam's voice pierced through the darkness, and suddenly Dean was on the ground, with Sam lying on top of him. his hand was closed around Dean's, as he was trying to force his brother to get rid of the gun.

"Sam," he gasped. 'Get away from me."

Sam's grip on his hand was unrelenting and painful. It dawned to Dean that every time he and Sam had practiced sparring, Sam had been holding back. A lot.

"Just fight her," Sam urged. "You can't give up on me like this."

Like you wanted to do when you were begging me to shoot you? Dean nearly asked, but he did not have the energy to snap at Sam right then. He could feel Holda above them and was afraid she would take Sam under her control too and the two of them would end up killing each other.

Then Holda screamed, a shrill sharp scream, not of triumph, but of pain. Dean felt Sam tense and he looked up, in time to see Alfred sticking the tree branch in her.

"I bet you didn't even count me as a threat, did you?" he said.

Holda screamed again, and she did not sound human at all, she sounded like the howling of the wind over some restless sea. The ground seemed to shake beneath them. Then Holda collapsed, and all that remained in her place was a withered husk that looked more like the bark of a tree than something that had been remotely human.

Dean felt as if a chord had snapped inside him. There was nothing in his mind now except for the horror of what he had done. Above him, Sam went limp. Dean could feel the blood pouring from his shoulder.

xxxXXXxxx

After Holda's death, the world had gone crazy and confusing for a while. The hunting dogs and the horses turned to ash. The men holding Alma and Bobby let them go and collapsed. One was unconscious. The other had turned into a skeleton. The entire clearing was littered with bodies, some only confused and unconscious, others dead. Apparently, those that join Holda's procession did not really have eternal life. Not if the Wild Hunt stopped.

Alma had snapped into her role as sheriff, trying to calm down the people who were alive. Many of them acted as if they had no memory of what had happened to them and had just woken up in a forest full of bodies. Alfred dropped the branch and turned to help her. Bobby gathered his bearings and made for Sam and Dean.

Dean had just managed to move from under Sam trying to jostle his brother as little as possible. Sam was unconscious, and although Bobby did not think the gunshot wound was too bad, he was losing a lot of blood. Coupled with the exhaustion and hunger Sam probably felt after the time spent running with Holda's pack, Bobby suspected he would be down for a while.

In the meantime, Dean looked distressed. He was trying to keep pressure on Sam's shoulder, but he was clearly bothered much more than usual by his brother's blood on his hands. Both literally and figuratively, Bobby thought then told himself to get a grip. He knew this wasn't Dean's fault. Besides, Dean was probably blaming himself for the both of them anyway.

Bobby crouched behind Dean and placed a hand on his shoulder.

"Dean, we need to patch him up and he'll be fine."

Dean's head snapped up.

"No thanks to me."

There it was, the self-loathing Bobby had known was coming.

"Not now, Dean," he said soberly. "Focus on Sam now. Then you can kick yourself as hard as you want."

Except that Sam would be awake and feeling better by then, and he would prevent Dean from kicking himself. That was something Sam was much better at than Bobby.

xxxXXXxxx

Courtesy of Alma's influence, Sam could be taken to the hospital without too many questions. Alma made the calls and asked for a lot of rescue vehicles near the woods as, according to her, there had been a takedown of a harmful cult conducting deadly rituals in the forest. The bodies were, of course, part of the rituals, and Dean did not wish to be in Alma's place when she had to explain to families why their loved ones who had been missing for years had been discovered dead at a supposed ritual site.

Sam actually woke up when the paramedics were carting him into the ambulance. He had immediately started to protest that he was fine, nothing had happened, just an accident, and he did not need to go to the hospital, thank you very much, especially not in an ambulance. Before the poor paramedic could explain to Sam that the policy when someone was bleeding to death was, indeed, to give them a priority ride to the emergency room, Dean overrode her.

"Sam," he said firmly. "You're going. Trust me, you don't want to mess with me right now."

Sam must have seen how close to breaking point Dean was, and decided, for once, not to argue.

Fortunately, the stay at the hospital was short. Sam was patched up, given a transfusion, then sent home – in this case the motel – where he slept for about ten hours while Dean was prowling the room restlessly. Bobby had been in at some point to bring food and tell Dean not to be an idjit, but Dean had barely heard him. He could not get the moment when he had shot Sam out of his mind. Perhaps, he thought, perhaps John Winchester had worried about the wrong son.

xxXXxxx

Bobby had tried to talk to Dean and then to Sam when he woke up. Dean was as unapproachable as ever and flat out told Bobby to deal with Sam if he wanted to have a heart to heart and braid each other's hair. Sam, surprisingly, did not want a heart to heart. He answered Bobby's questions tightly, assured the man he was fine (which Bobby knew was a bunch of horsecrap), and then added that maybe he should talk to Dean, since he was the one unable to let go of the guilt. Since Bobby had absolutely no desire to run around in circles between the two, he decided to do what he always did: when the Winchester brothers had issues with each other, they were the only ones who could fix them. Getting between them and playing therapist was a giant mistake, as Bobby had found out the hard way.

He therefore said he was heading back to Sioux Falls in his truck, and that Sam and Dean were more than welcome to come visit, after they had gotten their crap together. In front of the parking lot, he ran into Alfred.

"Leaving so soon?" Alfred asked.

Bobby shrugged.

"Yeah, well. No offense to your town…"

Alfred snorted.

"Oh, I'm sure what happened is bound to leave a few bad reviews on tourist websites. Business is not going to go well for a while, the press is all over this."

"What are they saying?' Bobby asked concerned.

"Alma is sticking to the cult story and the fact that half the survivors are talking about following a woman looking like a rotting corpse who told them she could control everything about them, even when they breathed, is doing wonders to support the theory."

Bobby supposed that any therapist in town was going to experience a boom in business in the following months.

"What about you?' Bobby asked. "How are you doing? After…you know."

It was rare that a civilian took matters into their own hands like that, but it had happened a few times before in Bobby's career. The reactions always varied from hysterical to jubilant to completely depressed.

"How am I supposed to be doing?" Alfred asked. "I don't know, I'd have hoped things would change. That something more would happen if I killed Holda."

Bobby knew very well what Alfred had hoped. Plenty of hunters had hoped the same when they had set out after the thing that had taken something from them. the Winchesters included, and look how that had turned out.

"You were hoping for closure," he stated bluntly.

Alfred shrugged.

"Seems ridiculous, I know."

Bobby shook his head.

"No, it seems human. Look, if you want something to make you feel better, at least you've eliminated the threat. Your family is safe."

A small smile appeared on Alfred's tired features.

"Yes, they are. And I think we can finally let go of this place."

Bobby raised his eyebrows.

"You're leaving?"

Alfred nodded.

"My wife's relatives are from Europe. I spoke to them this morning. They'll help me buy a small guesthouse there. I'm taking my kids and putting this place behind us."

Bobby wished the people he knew could have such a healthy mindset. But then, if they did, who would help civilians like Alfred's family?

xxxXXXxxx

Sam and Dean drove away that evening. They would stop once they were out of the area – Dean had been firm on that. Sam needed rest, and Dean was going to make sure he had some, and whatever else Sam wanted was irrelevant. Sam agreed only because he could see how much Dean was torturing himself over this.

Sam understood – more than he wanted to understand, and he was surprised Dean couldn't remember.

"Look," he said. "I think you should remember that I shot you first."

Dean glared at him.

"What is this, kindergarten? Are we going to argue about who started it?"

"No, because then you would have to point out that I started it."

Dean shook his head irritated. He pulled over at the nearest exit and turned to Sam.

"Sammy, there is no excuse for what I did."

Sam huffed.

"Sure there is. Holda was in your head. Dean, she'd been in mine, I know how hard it was to keep her away."

Dean frowned.

"But you did keep her away," he pointed out. "I didn't,"

Sam did not know how to tell Dean that he was afraid that him resisting Holda was not good news, that it only meant that something more powerful had him in his clutches. Dean would refuse to see it, anyway.

He reached out and grabbed Dean's shoulder, shaking him slightly. He was rarely the one to do the comforting in their relationship, although he always tried, and Dean always got defensive. The role was new and unfamiliar to him and he was not sure he could handle it as well as Dean seemed to do with him. Still, he was the only one left to keep Dean afloat now that Dad was gone, and he was going to do his best.

"Dean, you did try to keep her away," he said. "I saw you. Trust me, if you were completely under her spell, you wouldn't have aimed for the shoulder."

Dean grimaced.

"Alfred pulled you down. And Alma tackled me. That's why you got the shoulder."

Sam shook his head, his eyes trying to hold Dean's gaze.

"No," he denied. "I saw you before. You moved your hand. You tried to fight. Dean, you always try to fight for me." He paused and took a deep breath: "You're the only one who ever did that."

Dean's eyes widened.

"What are you saying?" he asked hoarsely.

It was now or never, Sam thought. Dean was either going to accept his thoughts, or he was going to get pissed and they would be back to not talking to each other, like after Dean's almost crossroads deal for dad.

"I'm saying that I don't know if I would have made it out alive if it was Dad there instead of you."

Dean flinched. However, he did not look like he was about to deck Sam just yet.

'Sam…" Dean began then stopped himself abruptly. "It's not as easy as you think, letting this go."

Sam nodded sympathetically, patting Dean's shoulder. He did not know for how long Dean was going to accept the closeness, but he was going to take advantage of every second of it.

"I know. I've been there, remember? Forgiving myself after the asylum is still something I am working on."

"I've forgiven you," Dean said automatically.

Sam smiled.

"And I've forgiven you."

Dean shook his head turning away.

"You're such a sap," he muttered.

He was getting ready to drive away again.

"Hey, Dean," Sam said. "Holda said some things about you. She said you did think about killing me."

He saw Dean stiffen briefly. However, when he spoke, his voice was calm and careless.

"Stop overanalyzing this, Sam. I was pissed at you, she misunderstood. That's all."

Sam did not look convinced, but he knew that when Dean got closed off like this, he refused to give anything more.

"Right," he agreed. "That's all."

He leaned his head against the window and closed his eyes, still tired out and in pain from the night before. He could feel Dean looking at him, but he did not open his eyes again. Sam knew Dean was hiding something from him, something that had happened while Dean had been alone with their dad in the hospital room. He would just have to find some other way to get Dean to unburden himself – some other way to let him know that, whatever task John had passed on to him, Dean did not have to face it alone.

The end…phew, I never thought I'd make it so far, this took a while to find an ending that worked well, especially within the frame of mind the boys were during season 2. I initially wanted to have Bobby take Holda out, but Alfred asserted his dominance, so he got to take her out instead, having the civilian save the three hunters (plus sheriff). I do love my twists and turns, although some of you did guess it was going to be like this.

Now, about the next story. I know I have a sequel to the SPN/Sentinel crossover series, and that is coming, I promise. However, I got some unexpected inspiration for another fic, and it struck me that I never wrote anything taking place in season 3, and there is so, SO much potential for angst in that season for both Sam and Dean that I really cannot help myself. So the next fic (hopefully coming out next Sunday, as usual) will be set in early season 3 and I can't wait to play in that particular sandbox!

Thank you for reading! Drop by again anytime!