MY BROTHER

AND ME

By: Karen B.

SEASON FIVE SPOILER WARNING!

Summary: Short 'out of left field' snippet. AU. Set right after the episode 5-10. ---- "No!" A loud cry coming from the living room and something crashing against a wall, stopped the heated conversation. "Sam!" Dean bolted out of his chair.

Disclaimer: Kripke owns it all. Walt Disney, brilliant. James Dean, cool.

Rated: Angry/ sensible, Bobby. Messed up, Dean. Even more messed up, Sam. Because, the muse is out of control. Because, I'm a Supernatural-junkie who can't keep her head out of the clouds. Because, my clean-freak-self is done mopping the floor, washing the windows, doing the laundry and cleaning my fish tank. Because…I don't know…'pick something'. LoL … she shrugs.

Thank you, sincerely, for your time in reading!

Vaya Con Dios,

Karen

"Where's Sam?" Bobby asked, wheeling himself into the kitchen.

"On the couch." Dean reached for his coffee cup. "Sacked out."

"You should be sleeping , too, Dean."

"Can't." Dean picked up the coffee cup in front of him, his queasy stomach and pounding head keeping him from taking a sip, he starrd into the blackness.

The punches left and right -- just kept coming -- he was exhausted.

"Okay, boy, let's get this straight, right now!" Bobby wheeled closer. "Jo and Ellen made their own choices. They know you and Sam would have taken their places, if you could have. Search your soul, Dean. They know. Jo, knows. It wasn't anyone's fault." Bobby glared at him. "They did the only thing they could do."

"Consequences of the job," Dean snarled.

"What the hell is wrong with you, boy?"

"Everything!" Dean snapped, unable to escape the image of the blast. Of a mother willing to die for her baby -- of a first and last kiss. "Bobby." Dean stared at him over his coffee cup. "It was my life she saved. If it wasn't my fault…" he paused, a resigned breath escaping his lips"…I can't…" Dean's twisting gut interrupted the words that wanted to come out his mouth.

"Can't, what!" Bobby growled. "Do your job?"

Dean only shrugged.

"Well, butter my butt and call me a biscuit, a Winchester, giving up?" Bobby pounded a balled fist to the kitchen table. "Because you lost this battle? Because you're afraid to break a nail, princess? Lose again?" Dean looked away. "Disrespectful, jackass. Jo and Ellen deserve better. You keep fighting. Things are what they are, Dean. It's rough, but you don't give up!"

"Bobby…"Dean met Bobby's anger eyes. "You don't under…"

"To hell I don't, kid! We've all…"

"No!" A loud cry coming from the living room, and something crashing against a wall stopped the heated conversation.

"Sam!" Dean bolted out of his chair.

"Christ… on a hayride… what now?" Bobby fumbled to spin his chair around, the wheels clanking against the table's leg as he struggled to follow.

"You keep away from him!" Sam shouted. "Keep him out of this!"

Dean burst into the living room -- shocked to see Sam -- an angery bull on the rampage. "Stay away!" Sam threw a large vase, shattering the glass against a far wall. "No. No. No!" he yelled, speaking to someone only he could see. "How many times do I have to tell you! No!"

Sam had lost control, destroying anything in the room he could get his hands on.

"What the…?" Bobby wheeled beside Dean.

Dean did a double-take of his brother. Sam looked confused, disoriented. Eyes rolling rapidly. His movements --jittery. He continued to defend himself, violently, against an unseen attacker. Night terror? Or something more?

Dean quickly crossed the room. "Sam! Sammy! Wake up."

"You can't have me!" Sam cried out.

Before Dean could get a hold of Sam, a fist to his face rocked him to the floor. Sam was on top of him, grabbing the Colt from Dean's waistband before Dean could gather his wits.

"Sam! Stop!" Bobby ordered, from the doorway.

Dean scrambled back to his feet, standing in front of Sam, stunned to see the Colt's muzzle pressed hard against the kid's head.

"I told you…no!" Sam panted heavily. "I'll end this. I'll end this right now!"

"Sam! Sam, wake up. You're dreaming, man!" Dean breathed harshly, reaching for the Colt, freezing when Sam slowly pulled back on the hammer.

"Dean, go easy. " Bobby's words rested like a weighty hand on Dean's shoulder -- stopping him cold.

Sam's eyes were wild, haunting, seeing something Dean couldn't. Dean eyed the gun in Sam's hand, already hearing the fatal shot, feeling the warm splatter of his brother's blood spread across his face. Everything in Dean told him to react. Take Sam down. Hard and fast. Before a bullet discharged. Dean lifted a foot -- about to do just that.

"Dean." Bobby's calm voice came from behind again. "Fix the problem, don't make it worse."

"Right." Dean adjusted his weight. Backed off, fighting the burning need to seize Sam -- knock the snot out of him. "C'mon, little brother," Dean breathed, forcing the fire inside him to dwindle to the size of a matchstick. "What's the big deal, here?"

In the dim shadows of pre-dawn, Dean could see the tension on Sam's face. He gave a hurried glance over his shoulder to Bobby.

"Could be, Lucifer. Go, slow," Bobby whispered.

Dean gave a curt nod of agreement, turning back toward Sam.

"Dude, what have you gotten yourself into now?" Dean cringed at the slight twitch of the kid's finger on the trigger. Sam's eyes were dull, no hint of recognition, his face pasty and white as if someone had dumped a bag of flour over his head. "It's okay, Sammy," Dean cooed. "It's okay."

Dean swallowed hard. What was okay? Nothing was okay. Jo and Ellen were not the only victims. Sam had been robbed. He shouldn't be here. A gun pressed to his temple. He should be in college. The typical honor student. The well dressed yuppi. Neat, collared shirts tucked into belted khaki pants. Pigging out on Tofu, drinking banana smoothies, snuggling with his girl on a Saturday night in front of a pile of law books. That life was far behind his brother, now. A dream -- slit throated -- and slaughtered by evil. Dean's chest tightened, and he groaned inwardly. He had to do something to snap his brother back to reality. He had to do something desperate. He could rush Sam, but he'd never be quicker than his brother's trigger finger.

"This will work." Sam pushed the muzzle further against his head, sickly twisting the barrel into his whitened skin. "No one else will have to die," Sam sobbed, his eyes hard as concrete sidewalks. "This will end it all."

"No, Sam." Dean scanned the room searching, eyes going wide when his sights landed on his answer. "No, it won't." He slowly shuffled -- sidestep -- over to Bobby's desk. "Remember what we said? Search your soul." Dean looked at Bobby, quizzically. "We do this together, Sam, or not at all," he said in a firm, confident tone.

Bobby gave Dean the 'go ahead' nod. Desperate situations, called for desperate measures.

Dean picked up the Smith and Wesson, that was lying undisturbed on top of Bobby's desk.

"Remember, Sammy?" Dean turned back to his brother, pressing Bobby's gun to his own head. "Together. Whatever road we take…brother…we take it side-by-side."

"What?" Sam frowned, his mind scrambling to understand. "Dean?" Sam blinked, eyes going wide. Dean pulled back on the hammer, the clicking sound seeming to plunk Sam back into the real world. "What are you thinking?" Sam stiffened.

"Same as you, relativity," Dean offered coolly. "If we're both dead, Einstein… this ends…here and now." Dean took a step forward, only inches away from Sam -- unafraid -- ready -- willing. He could feel Sam's edgy need to pull the trigger. Could feel his own need, too. Maybe Sam was right. Maybe the only way to stop any of this wadding knee deep in blood -- was two, fast bullets to their heads. It would be so much easier that way.

Had Lucifer told Sam the truth? The angels? Could they really be brought back from death? Time and time again. Screw the devil on Sam's left shoulder -- and the angel on his right. Friggin' bitches could spend all of eternity piecing their vessels back together again.

"We go on three, agreed?" Dean's stance never wavered.

The room was silent, save for the tick-tock of a wall clock. Sam's gun-hand wavered. Eyes darting to Bobby then back to Dean. Struggling. His mind seeming to be set on stun.

"One." Dean pressed the gun harder to his head.

"Good, God," Bobby muttered, but didn't make a move.

"D…Dean, what the he…hell," Sam stuttered. "Not you. Not this way." Sam trembled, savagely. He was taking a beating. A beating of the mind -- far worse than any physical beating.

"It's the only way, Sam. You said so, yourself."

"Me, Dean, not you."

"If you really think this is the answer, Sam... I'm with you. Together."

"I'm the monster. The freak," Sam reasoned.

"Together," Dean repeated, looking Sam in the eyes. "Two," he counted, voice loud, yet dead calm.

Sam's breathing was labored, starring back at Dean -- obviously distraught. His pain clear, like a knife blade had caught him in the heart.

Dean felt the room spinning round and round, his head injury doing nothing to help the situation at hand, yet he stood his ground -- silent in his conviction

The second of silence, broken by the clatter of metal and wheels -- Bobby.

"Stay away!" Sam glanced past Dean.

Not tearing his eyes away from Sam, Dean held up a stern hand behind him. "I got this," he ordered Bobby. "Take it easy, Sam. Keep to the count. Okay?" Dean raised his brow in question. "Thre…"

"No," Sam's voice cracked. "No, Dean." Sam's hand quivered and his shoulders hunched. "No." He lowered the Colt -- a depleted solider -- battle weary and homesick. "Together," Sam breathed, dropping the gun to the floor. "But, not like this." His eyes filled with tears, and he sank to his knees as if his body was made of paper -- a burning photograph.

Dean nodded, his Adam's apple bobbing as he let Bobby's gun slip from his hand and drop down beside the Colt.

"You with me now?" Dean crouched down unto the balls of his feet. "Sam?"

Sam shook his head, his breathing picking up pace, perspiration dripping off the ends of his poker-straight bangs. Shaky hands reached for Dean, grasping at his shirt.

"Hey, buddy. Slow. Slow," Dean said, softly as they fell limp against each other. "Easy. You're going to hyperventilate. Just relax a bit. I'm here," Dean whispered right in Sam's ear. "Lucifer is not going to win this war."

Bobby cleared his throat, both boys looked up. "And who's going to stop that from happening?" Bobby demanded.

"My brother and me," Dean assured

"Together," Sam added, closing his eyes.

"Don't know who's the bigger igit," Bobby grumbled as he wheeled away.

The end.