Warnings: Dark. Curse words. Overall just a freaking weird story.

Disclaimer: I don't own the Winchesters, I own the weird poem though, because I wrote it a really long time ago.

A/N: I'm honestly not insane. I swear. I'm actually pretty normal. My writing is just... really weird sometimes. This came out of nowhere a really long time ago and I've written it and rewritten it dozens of times and I'm sure that as soon as I post this I will work on a another version, but it's killing me just sitting on my desktop. So I'll post it in and in a few months I'll probably post it again. Just so you know, this very much a step out of my comfort zone to post this, what with all the black holes in the non-existant storyline and all... so please be kind.

A/N2: Very AU, and lookit! There's some more Evil!Sam for ya.

Chapter Six: Where the Sun Won't Set

Stand up straight, cowboy.

You've got horses to ride and women to woo.

Stand up straight, cowboy.

You've got a job to do.

Dean never feared fire the way Sam did.

He was terrified of heights. Had a slight aversion to small spaces and never liked the dark.

After a bad hunt in Minnesota he spent a year terrified of water.

But even after the way his childhood went up in flames, he was never afraid to burn.

The sun never sets on tomorrow and yesterday is always at your back.
"I don't want to be burned, Dean." Sammy—before he had rebelled against the nickname—had admitted one night, as they watched John burn a body to dispel a particularly vengeful spirit.

A vengeful spirit that had thrown John into a wall, locked Sam in the boiler room, and pushed Dean down a flight of stairs.

"You're not going to burn, Sammy." Dean assured him, reaching out and catching the small boy's hand in his own.

"I don't wanna be cremated, either." The little boy was pouting now, fighting with his tears, hugging Dean's arm to his chest.

"Why not Sam? You don't wanna come back as a ghost, do you? Then hunters will have'ta hunt you." Dean reasoned.

Sam shook his head, a big fat tear rolling down the side of his nose. "I don't want life to end in flames." He admitted and wiped his face on his brother's sleeve.

Dean hadn't had a response to that one. So he promised he'd throw Sam's body into a vat of acid or something, or maybe a volcano, instead—because that'd probably get the job done.

Sam had burst into tears then, cried for nearly forty minutes straight.

Dean had tried to explain to his father, as he rubbed at the fresh hand mark on his face, that he was just trying to help.

Yesterdays are over so fast, and tomorrow comes like that.
It happened too fast for either of them to comprehend it.

One minute, Dean was bleeding to death in his brother's arms and the Demon was standing over them.

Even through Sam's hushed whispers of, "you're okay," Dean could hear the Demon offering Sam a deal. Dean's life in exchange for Sam's allegiance to the demon and defiance of everything from this world.

This world meaning Dean.

And the next minute Dean was breathing in the life that had been denied from him, and Sam was…

Well… all Dean found were the flames.

Today we may admit to sorrow, but tomorrow we begin to fight back.
It was a long shot, Dean knew. But it wasn't like he really had any other choice.

So he worked as hard as he could to piss of the yellow-eyed demon in any possible way he could.

And when that night came, he knew Sam would be there.

No matter how prepared he had told himself he was… when he walked out of the bathroom and into the hotel room to find Sam waiting for him, he was surprised. To say the least.

He heard a snort from the far corner of the room and he turned, one hand ruffling his wet hair, the other grasping the towel around his waist. "And to think, Ava almost came with me. She'd be enjoying herself."

Dean let out a startled yelp, "the hell!" and retreated back to the bathroom, nearly losing his grip on the towel. He'd been caught naked—in every sense of the word—and he didn't even have a weapon within reach.

"Sam!" He bellowed, his face pressed against the bathroom door he had open a grand total of three centimeters, four max. "Look, if we're going to have one of those final showdowns, battles of epic proportion shindigs… can I get some pants on first?"

Sam smiled, let out a small chuckle because that was just so Dean. He shifted back on the bed, where he'd been sitting with his legs crossed, so he was now on his back, propped on his elbows. "Dean." Sam nearly cooed, shaking his head at his brother's unfailing naivety. "I'm not here to fight you."

Dean opened the door an inch or two; just far enough to see the slight smile of hope spread across his brother's face. When Sam mirrored the action, Dean's grin shrank noticeably.

"I'm here to kill you."

Dean slammed the door and locked it. He turned around to get his boxers, because he knew that door wasn't going to hold Sam back for long and he wasn't going fight with no pants on. No way.

But when he turned, there was a surprise waiting for him. A Sam Winchester. "Hey, Dean." Sam greeted. .

"Sonofa…" Dean hissed and jumped back, colliding with the door.

Sam just continued to smile. "You're quite jumpy."

"Eat me." Dean growled and pushed Sam back, reaching around him to grab his boxers. He unwrapped his towel, making sure it still covered his front, held the fabric between his teeth as a makeshift curtain as he pulled on his underwear quickly.

Sam laughed and shook his head. "No." He looked his brother over, still chuckling. "You're only skin and bones now, and that's no good. Too crunchy." It was joke, but Dean wasn't laughing. "Oh come on, brother." Sam hit Dean's shoulder, and Dean barely even flinched. "That was a good one."

"You never were good at jokes." Dean deadpanned.

"You got the sense of humor, I got the brains."

"Don't forget the looks, I got those too."

Sam was more or less on him now, their chests touching, pinning Dean against the door. "You know what happens now, don't you?" Dean refused to answer him. Sam pressed his lips to his brother's ear and whispered throatily. "I kill you. And you know what else? Your death will signal your failure. There'll be no one left to save me."

"No one could save you." Dean whispered back. "Not unless you wanted to be saved, and you didn't want salvation, Sam."

"You don't have any clue as to what I want." Sam hissed, his hands drifting closer and closer to his brother's throat.

Dean laughed, low in his chest, rumbling and bitter. Sad in a way a man of his age shouldn't be able to comprehend. "That's where you're wrong, Sam." Dean whispered. "And I wish I didn't know… but I do. And if you were still you, I know what you'd want me to do." Dean leaned forward and pressed his forehead to Sam's. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." He whispered, shaking his head.

"For what?" Sam asked softly, his brother's uncharacteristic softness peaking his curiosity.

Dean didn't answer, instead he stepped back, pressed against the locked door and took out his lighter. "It started with fire, maybe it can end the same way."

The second before Dean dropped the flame, Sam smelled the gasoline.

Something happened after that.

Stand up straight, cowboy.

You've got a job to do.

The firemen managed to pull Dean free. Considering where he'd been in relation to the heart of the flames, it was a miracle there was any Dean left to salvage.

He'd sustained third degree burns to nearly forty percent of his body, his legs and torso mostly.

He hadn't even asked about another body. He knew very well there'd be nothing to find.

It was his third week in the burn unit when he got a visitor.

His heart skipped a beat or six when Sam walked through the door, smiling that smile and looking every bit like his Sammy.

"Sam… you're…"

"It's really me, Dean." He assured him. "I don't know how it happened but about a week ago I woke up in a hospital in fucking Nowheresville. Nurses told me I'd been in a coma for nearly a month. It took me a while to find you…"

"Do you remember…?"

"All of it." Sam interrupted. He was still standing in the doorway, afraid to get too close.

Dean smiled, blinking away tears. "Damn Sammy… its good to see you, man." He waved him over. "Come here; let me take a look at you."

"You set me on fire." Sam whispered, walking to his brother's side.

Dean laughed gently. "Yeah, I did."

"Didn't anyone ever tell you that when you fight fire with fire, you'll only get burned?" Sam reached out and gently grabbed Dean's hand, squeezing softly.

"Found that out the hard way."

"What I don't understand is how… how'd you even know that'd work?"

"I did some research… and took a huge leap of faith." Dean smiled.

"You winged it, didn't you?"

"Sorta."

"You're a bastard."

"Saved your ass."

"I love you, Dean."

"Oh God. If I knew you were gunna dive right into the chick flick moments I mighta let you stay a demon a bit longer."

Stand up straight, cowboy.
"How can you not be afraid of fire?" Sam asked, staring at his brother as the fire roared on in front of them. "After everything…?"

Dean looked at him and smirked, the light from the fire reflecting in his eyes.

Ride where the sun won't set on you.
"Some would ask how I'm not afraid of you."

End.

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And this website keeps deleting things, so forgive me for any format errors.