Where to begin, now that we're at the end.

This is the final chapter of Decisions In Blood, and I seriously need to thank everyone who spent the time to review. When I posted the first chapter, I had absolutely no intension of continuing this story, and now, thanks to the reviews and encouragement, it has grown into 8 chapters which I have truly loved writing.

So thank you!

As always - big hug to melja for her consistent support through this story!

FYI - I'll be holding my usual comments from the end of this chapter- so I'll say now, hope to hear from you, but if not, hope you at least enjoy the long overdue closure!

As probably anticipated, this chapter tags to Cross Road Blues.

I can't explain how cool it was to have this episode sync to what I had already decided would be the final chapter. I did a little research on legendary bluesman Robert Johnson and found a very eerie description of a vision another bluesman, Henry Goodman, had about Johnson's encounter at the crossroad.

Anyway, it was down right creepy and talked about how the deal went down at midnight under the bright light of the full moon. As I was walking home tonight, I looked into the sky and found an intensely full moon staring back at me, so I guess it's the right night to finally post this! Not to mention, seems like it may be going up oddly close to midnight :)

And yeah, I listened to a shit load of blues while writing this - listen long enough, and it really does tug at your soul…

Decisions In Blood

CH 8

Dean watched as Diana put a bullet through her partner's heart. It was the second shot fired in the past minute, and he exhaled in relief that both he and his brother were now safe.

Dean looked to Sam, then watched as his sibling walked to Diana and knelt beside her.

"You alright?" Dean heard Sam ask.

"Yea, I guess," Diana's voice came in response, numbly. Dean shifted awkwardly in his cuffs, knelt, and prepared to stand. As he moved, he heard Diana. "Sam?" She questioned. Dean knew immediately something was wrong, her tone carried an odd concern. He looked up to find Sam scanning the area, seemingly confused. He was checking for something, searching. Dean wasn't sure for what, but he trusted his brother's instincts, and so cautiously glanced the area for anything out of the ordinary. To Dean's dismay, the only thing out of the ordinary, was Sam's behavior.

Sam walked warily towards him and stopped.

"Sam?" Dean questioned in much the same tone as Diana. Sam looked down at him, and pretty much through him, as if he weren't even there. "Sammy?" Dean tried again. Sam didn't respond, he only turned and walked away, walked slowly into the woods.

Dean quickly exchanged a worried glance with Diana. He had no idea what was going on, he only knew he needed to follow his brother. He started to move after him, but was abruptly cut short by the chains which bound his wrists and ankles. Dean turned to Diana.

"Get these off me," he demanded. She hesitated, and he remembered the overall situation. "I have to go after him. Please, help me," he requested, his desperation apparent.

"Alright," Diana replied. She had seen enough to trust them, and was genuinely concerned about Sam. She moved to Pete's body, pulled the keys from his clothes, and rushed to un-cuff Dean.

"What's wrong with him?" She asked as she worked through the locks.

"I don't know," Dean admitted. "I just know he's in trouble." As the final lock unlatched, Dean stood and rushed in the direction his brother had headed, Diana remained close behind, keeping him in her sights, trusting, yet still slightly wary of his actions.

Dean pushed into the woods, ran several feet, then stopped.

"Shit." He eyed the area quick and panicked; he had no idea which direction his brother had headed. Diana ran up just behind him.

"Sam!" She shouted.

They stood in silence.

"He couldn't have gotten that far," Diana pointed out.

"Yeah well, he's got long legs," Dean tried to make light of the situation. It was a crap attempt, he was worried as hell. "Maybe if we--", both Dean and Diana turned sharply as Sam's horrified cry tore through the woods. "Shit!"

Dean took off into a sprint. He was quick. He dodged through the trees and brush, holding a steady path until he broke into a small, well lit clearing, then stopped cold. Sam was several feet in front of him and stood with his back against a large tree. His eyes were just wrong: hollow, yet saturated in a deep anguish Dean could feel where he stood. Dean latched into it and froze, mind and body, he felt himself paralyze as he watched his younger brother raise a hand to his throat and begin to forcibly squeeze his own air passage shut.

Dean wanted to move, he wanted to scream; all he could manage was to stop breathing right along with him.

Diana burst into the clearing and stopped short as well, just next to Dean. She gasped slightly as she took in what Sam was doing.

"Oh my god," she whispered, then registered that Dean was doing nothing. "Dean!" She cried. Dean broke out of his head and began to breath. Snapping back into authority, he ran to his brother and grasped at his hand.

"Sam stop! Stop it!" He shouted as he tried and failed to pull Sam's hand from his throat.

He was losing him. Dean filled with fear as he slid his hands onto Sam's face, looked him in the eyes, and practically whispered his panicked plea.

"Damn it Sammy… let me help you."

…let me help you…

As the familiar words brushed against him, Sam shivered. His hand loosened from his throat, went slack, and dropped to his side. Dean caught his brother by the shoulders as he began to slide down the tree. The moment Dean grasped him, Sam jolted awake, harshly threw himself back against the rough bark of the tree, and took in his altered surroundings.

Dean observed as his brother seemed to see him for the first time since he had entered the clearing. Sam was clearly relieved, and he smiled slightly as he couldn't help but place his hand to Dean's chest. Dean glanced down, surprised by the affectionate contact, then looked up to find Sam had snapped briskly back into the overall moment. A clear expression of discomfort and embarrassment scorched Sam's face as he realized he had caused some sort of bizarre and unexplainable scene in front of not only his brother, but also Diana. The hand he had to Dean's chest quickly retracted, tensed, then again reached out. With a stagger, it landed against Dean in a stern pat of the chest.

Sam shot a deliberate look into his brother's eyes. Dean knew that look, he had invented it. It was the same look he gave Sam when something had gotten the better of him, but he was too proud to ask for help. Now his look was being turned on him, and he didn't like it, not at all, but he had to respect it. Like it or not, Dean knew the other part of that look meant, 'I need space to deal'. If Sam was giving him this look, it was in part because he wasn't ready to talk about whatever had happened, and Dean knew damn well that if one of them wasn't ready to talk, nothing good could come from a forced attempt.

Sam pushed past him and walked out of the clearing as Dean stayed silent. He stared vacantly, gradually drifting into his head.

"Dean?"

Dean jolted slightly at the sound of his name and turned to face Diana, he had completely forgotten she was there. This was going to be uncomfortable.

"Dean, what just happened here?" She interrogated. Dean remained firmly silent.

You ask as if I have answers, he thought.

"Is Sam alright?" Diana continued.

Does he seem alright? He only glanced at her.

"You alright?" She persisted into the silence.

Ha… He let the ridiculous thought sift through him without so much as blinking.

"Fine… I'll ask Sam." She began to walk away.

"Don't--" Dean started, then cut short; he couldn't let that happen. Diana turned back to him and waited… patiently. Dean sighed and fidgeted uncomfortably. "I… I don't know how to help him," he admitted abruptly. Diana waited for more, none came.

"He's a good kid," she said pointedly. "I'm still trying to figure out what you are," she glanced him over, "but I'm pretty sure a bad brother is not on the list." Dean looked away. "You care about him, you'll find a way to help him." She said it with such certainty, Dean almost believed her… almost. He remained painfully silent. Diana look in a small breath, she liked Sam. "Anything I can do?" She offered.

"Space," Dean responded after a moment. "Just give him space."

"Space?" Diana questioned. She sized him up again. "Is that what he needs… or what you need?" Dean felt the burn. He fired it out his eyes at her, contained the rest, and walked briskly out of the clearing.

Diana folded her arms and whispered to herself, "Sure, Hilts escaped… briefly… but it was the solitary confinement that drove his partner to crack and get himself killed." She glanced to the tree, then to the exit of the clearing, shook her head, and left.

Sam stood in the hallway of Evan Hudson's home arguing with his brother. Dean's plan made sense, sort of, but that didn't mean Sam was about to let him do it.

"You think maybe Dad made one of these deals, huh?" Sam cut to his point. "Hell, I've been thinking it, I'm sure you've been thinking it too!"

"It fits doesn't it?" Dean agreed calmly. "I'm alive, Dad's dead, yellow eyed demon was involved. What if he did? What if he struck a deal? My life for his soul."

Sam swallowed a dry knot of nothing down his throat. He had put it out there, Dad, the demon, the trade, but Dean had batted the words back at him in a way which Sam could only stare at them, stare at the space that lingered between them as if it held the harshly realistic words he had no idea what to do with.

What if he did?

My life for his soul.

…I did this to help you…

"I think I hear it! It's outside!"

Sam turned at the last set of words, they hadn't come from his haunted memory, they'd come from Evan.

"Just keep him alive, okay?" Dean ordered as he turned and stepped down the hall.

"Dean--" Sam cast the name out weakly, like a hook which didn't come close to catching its target.

"Go!" Dean deflected, then exited from Sam's sight.

Sam fell into his thoughts:

What the hell are you doing?

…I did this to help you…

Don't let him leave.

…I'd love to hear how you're gonna fix this…

Sam flinched with the severity of waking from death.

"DEAN!"

Sam found himself moving, then standing just outside the house, his brother in front of him.

"What, Sam?" Dean questioned, his patience beyond short. "What is it?"

"Don't do this, Dean." Sam sounded desperate. "Don't go… please."

"Sam, this is settled," Dean said without hesitation. He then punctuated his point by turning back in the direction of his car. Sam rushed in front of him and blocked his path.

"I'll go!" The words came from his mouth before they had even entered his mind. "I'll go to the crossroad; you stay with Evan."

"Sammy-"

"Dean." Sam pushed the bag of black powder to his brother's chest. "Dean, please."

Dean took a moment to empathize, and if it were an option, he might have let his brother go. It wasn't an option.

"Sammy, I get it. I do. But…" Dean pushed the bag back at his brother. "I can't let you handle this." Sam's eyes flared with anger.

"Dean! I'm totally capab--"

"Normally, yeah," Dean cut him off smoothly, "but man, look- I don't know what the hell is going on with you lately." Sam shifted his eyes away uncomfortably as his stance flexed into that of a resistant teenager. "You're not…" Dean reluctantly released the word. "…stable."

Sam turned on him and grabbed the bullshit by the horns.
"I'm not stable?" Sam questioned incredulously. "Screw you Dean!" He threw the bag of powder at his brother, who dodged and watched as it smacked into the steps of the house. "Give me the keys!" Sam shouted fiercely.

"Fuck you," Dean growled as he pushed past him. Sam snatched Dean by the collar, pulled him into a vicious hold, and glowered down at him. Dean had rarely seen Sam this irate. He was surprised, but not impressed.

"What ya gonna do, Sammy? Punch me cause I'm right?" He challenged. "You can't get in the middle of trapping this demon and black out, or pass out, or whatever the hell has been happening to you and you know it!" Sam shook with fury, but his gaze held steady. Dean brought his confrontational tone down a notch. "This isn't about you or me, or what we can handle. This is about Evan. You wanna chance his life on this… his soul?"

Sam's aggressive stance slowly withdrew. Dean was right, and he only knew a fraction of it. He still thought Sam was just passing out, he had no idea the guilt, the voices, and whatever the hell else was afflicting him had escalated into full blown delusional visions. Sam released his brother, turned away, and nodded in reluctant defeat.

"I gotta go," Dean said quietly, and without another word, he got into the Impalla, and was gone.

A car ride and a shit load of buried emotions later, Dean grabbed the small metal box and stepped out of the Impala. He walked to the center of the crossroad, eyed the area with apprehension, and drew his breath in gradually, as if sucking a mellow buzz out of thick, smoke filled air. Dean let himself think about the deals which had been made here, the trouble that had been started, the evil which had been bought and spread. Then he thought back to bluesman Robert Johnson.

Blues. The devil had appeared and offered blues beyond any sound which had yet to be heard, yet to be felt. Robert Johnson had stood at his crossroad and made a decision to sign his soul away in the blood he eventually choked on.

Dean needed to keep his head about him. He wasn't here to bind any deals of his own, he wasn't here to settle his throbbing curiosity about his father's death, he was here to trap and end evil, to disperse it in the hope of saving Evan Hudson from the same relentless fate which he had propelled his own father into. Dean looked at the dusty earth beneath his feet, and knelt to bury the beginnings of what was his only plan. If he had his way, he was going to save somebody who had made the same misguided mistake his father had decided upon.

Dean patted the dirt into place as he cursed internally. He was going to save a stranger's soul, and knew damn well that no part of that process could involve saving his father's soul, or even his own.

The Impala pulled down the damp night road. Sam sat glancing about his lap, unsure of where to settle his eyes as he pushed himself into the query which taunted his thinking. He glimpsed at the driver's seat, at his brother.

"Hey, Dean?"

"Yeah?"

"When you were trapping that demon, you weren't…" Sam hesitated. "I mean, it was all a trick right? You never considered actually… making… that deal… right?"

Dean knew what his job had been at the crossroad, and he had done it. He had kept his thoughts in check, and saved only who he had gone to save. But keeping thoughts in check, and keeping them from entering his head… two different fucking things… entirely.

Dean reached forward and turned his music on loud. It wasn't singing blues, it was screaming rage, rage Dean condensed into dormant storage.

Sam fidgeted uncomfortably; he had gotten his answer.

He sat for a moment feeling shoved aside, yet again strung off at a distance. He'd had it with Dean's ongoing shit. He didn't think, he didn't hesitate, he grabbed the wheel, and turned it abruptly towards the passenger seat, causing the car to jerk violently off the road. Dean slammed his foot to the break and brought the car to an official stop somewhere deep beyond the shoulder.

"What the fuck, Sam?!" Dean freaked. "Are you insane?!"

"Are you?" Sam countered.

"What?"

"You did, didn't you?!"

"Did what?"

"Considered it! Considered trading yourself!"

"Sam, I'm not talking about this," Dean spat with disgust.

"There's a fucking surprise!" Sam busted out of the car and walked a good twenty feet to the edge of the woods. Dean leaned forward into the passenger seat and shouted out the open door at his brother.

"Damn it, Sammy! Get back in the god damn car!" He gave it a second, knowing damn well his brother wasn't going to listen any more than he had. "Shit!" Dean threw himself back into his seat and let himself fume.

Sam remained on the edge of the woods. It was a dark night, but as the clouds drifted aside, they cleared the sky for the presentation of a full, and hauntingly bright moon. Its light cut downward and carved out the area in shadows and silhouettes, creating a two dimensional facade in the slightly fogy air. Sam let his eyes adjust as he straightened his stance and made it clear that his silhouette was going nowhere.

"Sam get back in the fucking car or I'm leaving your ass here! I mean it!" Sam absorbed his brother's threat.

"You're not goin' anywhere," Sam whispered. He turned so his left side was facing the Impalla, brought one hand to his throat, and dropped to his knees. He paused a moment, then fell forward as he slammed his other hand to the ground. Sam braced himself up, palm to the cold dirt, as he began to shake dramatically.

The simple image hit Dean hard.

"Sammy?" He hesitated at first, but as Sam buckled and collapsed fully to the ground, Dean bolted out of the car. He didn't even bother to shut the engine off, he just ran through the shadowed dirt and skidded to his knees at his brother's side. "Sam!" He reached down, grasped Sam by the shoulders, and began to turn him over. Before he could complete the motion he found himself being shoved onto his back and pinned into the dirt. Sam had broke out of his façade; he was fully conscious. He straddled his older brother's chest and kept him to the ground. "What the-?" Dean choked out his words from beneath the weight of his sibling.

"You're not getting away this time Dean, we're gonna talk about this!"

"You fucking faked passing out to get me over here?!"

"I did what I had to!"

"Get the fuck off me!" Dean pulled his legs off the ground and brought them rapidly around Sam's chest. He jolted Sam to left and as they went off balance, he rolled with the momentum and landed himself instead into the dominate position. With a rounded knee to the gut and a furious fist to the chest, Dean shoved his kid brother in place. "And stay off!" He shouted, then pushed off of Sam and stood. "Fuck Sam! You scared the shit out of me!" He complained.

"I doubt that," Sam commented with an attitude as he got to his feet.

"Excuse me?"

"Ya know Dean, I've been trying real hard to understand what it is you're going through."

"Yeah well, that makes two of us," Dean quipped.

"Can you stop?" Sam asked earnestly. "Can you stop with the sarcasm, with the crap, and god damn talk to me? Be real with me?"

"Real? You want real?"

"I want you to talk to me!" Sam yelled. "To be honest!"

"Okay," Dean gave in. "I'll be honest. I'm worried about you!"

"We're talking about you, Dean!"

"We're talking about what's bothering me, and right now that's you!" Sam rolled his eyes and started to turn away; Dean grabbed him harshly by the shoulders and shouted with unreserved emotion. "Listen to me, damn it! You're all that I have!"

Sam's eyes went wide with shock, then dropped to focus on his brother's hands and the way they were dug firmly into his arms. It was harsh, but it was seriously meaningful physical contact, and Sam's legs shook weakly as he craved for more. Dean followed Sam's eye line to his hands and let go faster than he had grabbed hold. He took a half step back, as his hands tensed awkwardly.

"Sammy…" Dean tried to look his brother in the eyes. "I don't know what's happening to you… the way you've been passing out, short of breath, freaked, and I know you're keeping stuff from me." Sam's stomach sunk with nausea, his skin pricked with rattled nerves, and he lied through his teeth.

"I'm fine Dean," he muttered quietly. "I'm just… you don't need to worry about it." Dean eyed his brother.

"I can't do that, Sammy."

"What?" Sam questioned nervously.

"I can't not worry about it… not worry about you." Sam shifted uncomfortably, as he realized his brother was being genuine. "Sam look, I don't know when I'm doing right, and when I'm doing wrong with you anymore. I just know… I know you're not okay." Sam looked away; Dean forced himself to keep going. "You've been… your trying to be strong with everything… for me. I see that, and I appreciate it… trying to take the brunt of it all cause you think I'm hurting--"

"You are hurting!" Sam interjected angrily. "Dean, whatever Dad did, it's done! He's gone… and I'm sorry, believe me, but there's nothing you can do about it!"

"Sam, I'm not talking about what Dad did! I'm talking about what you did!" A sudden silence cut between them, as Dean absorbed what he'd just let slip. It was too late to confront his father, but his brother was standing directly in front of him. "Sammy…" He said with a shake to his voice, "I know what you did."

"I… did what, man?" Sam resisted awkwardly. "What are you talking about?"

"Sammy…" Dean stepped forward, reached out, and took his brother's left wrist into his hand. He looked him in the eyes, then brushed his thumb up over Sam's scars. "I remember."

Sam's head went light with denial; he could feel himself about to go down, to literally fall to the ground. He wasn't about to let that happen, he wasn't about to give Dean the satisfaction of thinking he knew something. He's lying, Sam told himself. He couldn't possibly... Sam ripped his hand away from his brother, and turned to anger.

"No!" Sam shook his head fiercely.

"Sammy…"

"No! You don't what you're talking about! You--"

"The hospital!" Dean persisted. "The bathroom… what you did!"

"I didn't-"

"You cut yourself Sam! I was there! Maybe not physically, but I was still there! I saw it all!"

Sam shook his head as his eyes went slightly vacant. His lower lip began to shake, and the rest of his body slowly followed suit.

"You…" Sam tried to steady himself, "you're lying… you…" Sam stopped talking and drifted in thought.

Dean watched his brother as the situation closed in on him from all sides. That look, that same damn look, the one Dean had seen in Sam's eyes that day at the hospital. The anguish it contained, the anguish which Dean had no control over stopping.

"Sammy," Dean whispered as he stepped towards him.

"How long?" Sam asked putting a hand up to halt his brother's movement.

"What?" Dean questioned.

"How long have you known? This whole time? You've know this whole--"

"No… no," Dean replied abruptly. "Only since that morning after we were with Gordon. At the car… when I tried to re-bandage your arm."

"That…" Sam stumbled in thought. "That was still weeks ago."

Suddenly Dean couldn't help but feel pretty much like an uncaring jerk. He had know for weeks, and he hadn't done a thing, not a damn thing.

"I'm sorry, Sam… I just… I couldn't talk about what I couldn't make sense of… why Dad… why you?"

"Because we couldn't lose you, damn it!" Sam shouted in frustration. "You said it yourself, Dean… to Evan. Evan sacrificed himself because of the pain he would have felt at losing the person who meant everything to him! Dad and I made the same decision! We did what we did because we were selfish... because we couldn't just stand by and do nothing, not when we thought we could save you!"

Dean's gaze seemed to twist as he shook his head in disagreement.

"Maybe…" he concluded, "and I can almost understand… but…"

"What?" Sam interrupted, wanting his brother to simply empathize.

"Sammy… the pills," Dean stated plainly, "in the motel bathroom, the night I was at the bar." Sam's eyes almost seemed to buckle, to fold. He had always known there was a chance Dean would someday recall what he'd done with the knife. But the pills, he never thought he'd get called on his weakness that night. Sam slowly stepped away, no real place to run.

"And when I punched you," Dean kept the hits coming, as a harsh nausea invaded Sam's system. "That same night… you wanted me to hit you. You knew what kind of anger I had… and you…" Dean hesitated and took in his brother's vulnerable form, the kid was shaking, skittish as an abused child. Dean's lip quivered and he found himself asking words he never thought he'd have to say. "Sammy, tell me you didn't want me to hurt you... please."

Sam looked up, his eyes holding back thick tears, his mouth slightly open, breathing heavily, mind trapped in a confused and frail connection to reality.

"I… I'm so sorry." Sam finally managed.

Dean tightened his expression and looked away, continuing to listen to his brother's staggered apology.

"Dean I… I'm sorry, but… I did… I did all of it." Sam looked at his brother; but Dean still wouldn't meet his eyes. "I know you can never forgive me. I know you can't understand. The pills, and the punch, and everything that followed, I was weak, and I just couldn't deal with it all…" Alone, Sam added to himself. "But that first time, the cutting, at the hospital. You have to understand… I made that decision because I truly believed I could save you Dean… and whether you like it or not… I'd make the same damn decision again."

Sam paused briefly as he tried to compose himself enough to keep talking. "I'm just… I'm sorry if that decision hurts you… I'm sorry…" Sam choked back his tears as he pushed out his words, "I'm just so fucking sorry." Sam hesitated, waiting for his brother to respond, to say any damn thing at all.

Nothing came but silence.

"Dean… say something man… please."

Dean threw him a short glance; he said nothing.

Sam folded his arms, then brought a fisted hand to his mouth. Painfully unsure of where they stood, honestly believing Dean was through with him, Sam worked desperately to hold in what he was feeling. He turned and walked away, moved to the trunk of the Impala, leaned against it, and as his emotions finally got the better of him, he slid to the ground, and broke into deep sobs.

Dean stood his ground, paralyzed by his inability to act in any direction.

Sam needed help, and he had no idea how to provide it. The only thing Dean really knew how to do was protect his brother, and he had lost faith in his ability to come through fully in that respect long ago.

Dean looked up into the cool burn of the full moon and thought of the crossroad.

A crossroad wasn't always a physical spot where the moon shined down, and the devil showed up. A crossroad was what you faced anytime your mind set into a junction with a decision.

There was no music creeping up from the devils mind of this particular crossroad, but there was blues, blues sung out in the sound of deeply mournful sobs, pain sung from his brother's soul, lonely, tortured, and only distantly heard.

Step toward regret and you bind your soul to the depths of hell…

Step where you've been, and you remain the poignant path of a free, yet stagnant soul…

Step to arm's length, and watch distanced as those around you drift and darken, their soul slowly replicating in your pained example…

But step where you fear: toward suffering, toward failure, toward anguish of those you love- and hold your legs steady, cause one way or another, it's bound to bring you to your knees.

Dean stood, feet set in his own prints, hands caught in the still and unmoved night air, thoughts withdrawn, strung down and jacked into his soul, ready to bury or embrace it with a single step, with a single decision.

Sam sat in the dirt, his back pressed against the trunk of the Impalla, knees pulled to him, head dropped down, shaking… uncontrolled… alone.

What he was feeling, it was too much. He couldn't think anymore, he couldn't react anymore, he couldn't fight anymore. It just hurt. It plain old fucking hurt.

He was alone; he would stay alone.

He won't leave me, Sam calculated. Dean would never leave me, but… he's already gone. He's gone and he doesn't even see it. He did die that day, right along side Dad, and you're… you've lost him… you've fucking lost him.

Sam let the sobs rack through his body as he clutched at his scalp and turned to his pain for salvation. If Dean was lost, he was going to be lost right along with him. Sam called upon the voices and visions to come, to consume, to resurrect him into a reality where he could build his own walls, where he could no longer be tempted to try and reach his brother, where his brother could no longer reach him.

Sam fisted his hand and beat it into his head. He hit slow, deliberate, and hard into the soft spot of his temple. Over and over he drew his fist out and swung… swung until something suddenly grasped his wrist mid motion.

It slid up into his fist, and pushed it open. Sam's hand went limp as it was clasped lightly and lowered to his side.

He didn't know what to make of it, but a gentle hand slowly brushed into his hair, pushed his bangs away from the spot he had been brutally beating, and settled softly. It felt warm, it felt caring, and it calmed him, but he still didn't know what the hell to make of it. He knew it was Dean, it had to be Dean, but he was so damn scared to open his eyes, so scared to open his eyes and have it go away.

The hand brushed up through his hair and onto the back of his head, then slid down onto his neck and settled. He remained still, calm, unable to move in the silence. Then the silence broke.

"Sammy?"

Sam opened his eyes, he could see his brother's legs kneeling in the dirt beside him; he couldn't look up.

"Sam." It came again slightly closer. His lower lip quivering, he lifted his head and found the strength to look at his brother. The face was shadowed, but he could see Dean's eyes, he could see he wasn't alone.

Without another word, Dean pulled him, silent and shaking. Sam slid off the back of the car and practically fell forward onto his brother. Knees to the ground, face to Dean's chest, Sam's breath hitched hard as he felt his older brother's arms actually come around him. One across his back, the other remaining tenderly on his neck, Dean pulled Sam in so tight he practically pressed the tears out of him. Sam sobbed silently, small whimpers releasing in his breath as he absorbed the fact that this was in fact happening. Son of a bitch, Sam thought. Son of a bitch. He dropped his eyes shut and pressed them into the warmth of his brother's chest.

Dean held the embrace; he could hardly remember moving into it. He hadn't thought, he had just stepped, moved forward until he had locked his arms into where they were meant to be. Everything settled, and Dean held his brother, warm and breathing against his chest. This was his blood, his family, but he couldn't let the bond feel good, no matter how hard it tempted.

Dean felt the pain radiate off of his little brother. It wafted up and penetrated him with a soothing ease, drifted in, curled up his throat, and pushed at him from behind his eyes. Fuck. Dean endured it with a shudder: the pain, the horrific pain he still had no idea how to vanquish. I just wanna fix him, Dean confessed, save him… and I can't.

Dean tightened his grip out of frustration, pulled in his thoughts with a breath of cool, fog filled night air, and shut his eyes. He was done, he couldn't hide anymore, he opened his eyes and spoke the truth.

"Sammy," he whispered. "I swore to protect you. I swore to Dad… I swore to myself. But everything… this demon… I just… I don't know what's gonna happen. Not to me… not to you. And I'm so damn scared… but I can't promise I can save you. Too much is out of my control. I hate it… I fight it… but it just is.

So all I can offer is this... I can be your brother.
If you need to talk to me, you can talk to me. If you need… if you need me to hold you… I will hold you. And I'm so sorry… but these are the only things that are in my control. These are the only things I can promise."

Sam remained still for a moment, then pulled his tear tracked face from Dean's chest and looked up at him, bewildered by his brother's persistent ability to short change himself.

"Dean… Jesus, don't you get it?" Sam spoke with amazement. "These are the only things I need."

Dean's eyes widened as Sam's words both threw, and comforted him. He could save his brother, and his brother could save him, at least in this moment.

Sam pushed his face back against Dean's chest, reached his arms around his older brother, and pulled him close; Dean dropped his chin gently to the top of Sam's head, shut his eyes, and strengthened his embrace.

A surreal calm bonded the brothers.

They could have their solace, they could have their peace, because they had
each other.