Disclaimer: Not mine, peeps. You should have the picture by now.

Warning: Just unabashed angst and completely PG rated brotherly affection. Oh, and completely NOT PG rated swearing.

Author's Note: Well, I've made it to the end, peoples, all without my computer exploding… Um, anywho, thanks for reading! And to those awesome people who decided they'd be really really really nice and review, I love you! This last chapter is for you all!

Chapter 15: Closure

It was later that night, or early the next morning that a ringing intruded on Dean's much wanted sleep. He groaned, fumbling about blindly for his cell, trying to wake up enough to hold a coherent conversation.

"Huh?" Dean greeted, rubbing his eyes, not awake enough yet to answer with the customary 'Hello'. The person on the other end seemed to understand though.

"Dean Connors?" the voice asked, and Dean had to think for a moment before he remembered he was Dean Connors.

"Uh," the hunter confirmed, stifling a yawn. Who was calling him at this God-forsaken hour of the morning?

"Hi, uh, sorry I woke you." Was it that obvious? Dean shook his head clear of sleep-induced fog. "But it's Blake McMillan. You know, James Holden's brother-in-law."

"Yeah, I know who you are," Dean answered, still wondering why. "What did you want?"

He knew it was blunt but it was anywhere between midnight and three in the morning, and he hadn't slept in a few days. Blake didn't seem to mind.

"Ah, is Sam there?" The man sounded nervous, but Dean was sure it was just his overactive imagination.

Actually opening his eyes now, Dean began answering before he had even looked across at the other bed. "Uh, yeah, hang on, I'll just have to… oh my God, that little shit."

Sam wasn't there. Jumping up, and tangling himself in the sheets, Dean cursed his way across the room, actually forgetting there was a phone at his ear. "Sam, where the fuck are you?" he called out into the room. He couldn't hear water running in the bathroom, but his keys were still lying where he had chucked them on the table.

"Dean, it's okay, I actually wanted to talk to you."

Blake's voice made him jump, right into the table. It shifted a small slip of paper free from the tangle of bigger sheets, and Dean squinted in the dark to read it.

Dean, gone out for a walk.

That was it. Dean growled scrunching the note up into a little ball. "I'm going to kill him," he threatened, sitting down on his bed to find some clothes.

"Dean?"

Again the hunter jumped, still not completely awake. "Yeah, I'm here Blake. Sorry, what did you want?" Ah, there were his pants.

"I wanted to talk to you about Sam."

Dean's hands paused at taking his shirt off. "What about Sam?" he asked cautiously.

"Has he talked to you at all? About anything?"

The hunter sighed. "No, he won't. I tried, when we got back to the motel, but he just wanted to sleep." Little fucker, that was his excuse every time.

"You should. Something's not right with him."

"What do you mean?" Dean questioned suspiciously, lacing up his boots.

"I mean, I know something happened to him. Something before he was taken by those vampires. Dean, your brother needs help. Like psychological help. He's having problems coping with something that's happened recently."

"Oh yeah?" Dean retorted defensively. "And what the fuck do you know about it?"

"No details," Blake assured hastily. "But… on the first night Sam was there, he fought. He actually took over my spot – he chose to fight. And… he was amazing."

Dean snorted. "Yeah, well, dude, he's a hunter. He knows how to do these things."

He could actually imagine Blake shaking his head. "No, he was… he was almost homicidal, Dean. He almost killed the man he fought. He beat the crap out of him. And afterwards he couldn't remember doing any of it. He said that he blanked out, and woke just as he was about to kill the guy."

Dean went still, his own breathing suddenly loud in his ears. Blake hadn't finished speaking, but the hunter kind of zoned out for a moment. When he came back, the cop was still talking.

"… and he was talking about this darkness inside of him. Sam was really angry, and then what happened tonight, with Zane, I don't think they exactly managed to beat it out of him. I think they just made it worse, gave him more of a reason to accept it-."

Dean cut him off there. "Look, Blake thanks. I'll speak to Sam. Thanks for calling." And he hung up. A second later he was out the door. He even knew where he was headed, some knowledge in the back of his mind telling him exactly where he would find his brother.

The house was a burnt crisp, the whole second story blackened. Dean slowed to a walk as it came into view, and memories almost twenty-three years old flashed before his mind. He pushed it aside, thinking not about the past now, but about the future. And about his brother's definite lack of one if they didn't sort through these issues soon.

Dean approached Sam from behind, not creeping, but still moving in that silent Winchester way that helped his family excel in hunting.

"Hey Dean," his little brother greeted softly from where he sat in the grass watching the house. To his credit, Dean didn't jump – okay, so his heart gave more than a twitter – and continued on his way into a sitting position beside Sam.

He didn't speak for a moment, thinking about the right words to say, the right way to bring up the topic. He knew the ever-chatty Sam wasn't about to help him. He was wrong.

"Three people lived there," Sam said suddenly. He didn't tear his gaze from the house. "A woman named Yvonne Harris owned it. She lived there with her daughter, the one she adopted fifteen years ago. Her name's Amelia, and she's nineteen. Barely nineteen. Just over two years ago she fell in love with some dirtbag from the wrong side of the tracks who got her pregnant and then ditched her when he found out he was going to be a daddy. And then there was Amelia's son. His name's Drew, Dean. He was six-months-old the night Dad… He's named after Amelia's older brother, the one who died when she was four, because he saved her from abusive foster parents. Didn't save himself. Saved her instead. And I nearly killed them all. I nearly destroyed their lives."

Dean stared at Sam. "How the hell do you know all that?" he asked, sure he wasn't going to like the answer.

"The demon knew it. He shared it with me just before he tried to kill Amelia."

Okay, so he had been wrong again. It wasn't a matter of simple dislike; he hated that answer. He sighed. "Sam, what's going on?"

Thankfully this time Sam didn't try to make him back off. The younger man just shook his head. "I don't know, Dean," Sam answered, and his big brother could hear the fear and pain in his voice. "I feel like I'm losing myself."

Sam sighed, closing his eyes for a moment. "Tonight… I didn't even know what I was doing. I tortured that vampire, Dean. I tortured him. And I don't even know why. I have no clue why I wanted to hurt him so badly."

"What did he do to you?" Dean asked gently, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees.

Sam gave a small laugh. "Nothing," he admitted. "I mean… not nothing. He hit me, and shocked me, and they bit me… but it's not like I've never put up with that before. I've dealt with far worse, but this time… I just wanted to make him suffer."

"Were you angry?" Dean asked.

"Furious," Sam whispered vehemently. "I was so furious, at being dragged out there just so they could watch me die. But… I don't know, Dean. I don't know what's happening to me, and it scares the hell out of me."

Sam's voice was starting to break and Dean let his eyes drop from him. "Sam, what happened? With the demon, I mean?"

The younger hunter flinched, closing his own eyes. Dean imagined thousands of images racing over those closed lids, each terrifying his brother more and more. But he began speaking, softly but quickly, as if the moment he stopped he wouldn't be able to continue.

"It possessed me, and I didn't even know it until the next day. It tried to kill you, and I stopped it, and it punished me every time. It turned my mind against me, burning it from the inside out. It made me kill some woman who's name I don't even know, and who's name I don't ever want to know, but I know her face is going to be there forever, just waiting to appear. It almost made me kill the girl in that house, almost made me destroy her like it destroyed Mum, like it destroyed Jess, and for a moment I was going to let it happen because all I could see was Mum and Jess.

And then Drew cried out, and I saw her, I saw Amelia… I stopped it, just… it almost got her, and then it took back control and it ripped my mind apart. It was like being raped, Dean. It knew everything about who I was, what I was, it knew things I didn't even know. And then it took it, and it tried to kill you again, and it made me kill Dad… and it told me…"

Dean paused then, thinking, hoping against hope that it hadn't told Sam what John had told him…

"It told me there was a darkness in me, that I couldn't stop it…. It told me I was evil."

He finally stopped there, his whole confession confusing and erratic and it tugged on Dean's heart until he found himself nearly crying at the all too real image of his broken brother.

"Sam, you're not evil," he told his brother firmly, his voice so full of emotion that Sam finally opened his eyes. Dean wasn't shocked at all to see him crying silently. "You're in no way evil. If you were evil, the demon wouldn't have needed to punish you. It wouldn't have needed to fight tooth and nail to kill me, or to kill Dad. And you wouldn't be sitting here breaking down over it."

Sam shook his head. "I know I'm not evil," he confessed. "But there is a darkness there, Dean. There is, and you can't deny it. In the nest, fighting that convict… I was so angry, and there was no reason behind it. No reason at all. And I almost killed him."

It was Dean's turn to shake his head. "That's not darkness, Sammy. That's humanity. You had just been possessed, you had just watched Dad die… it's enough to send anyone over the edge."

Sam closed his eyes tight at his words. Then, so soft Dean could barely hear, he whispered, "I miss him so much, Dean."

The younger man gave a small sob. "I spent my whole life angry at him, angry for making us hunters, for making us soldiers. I never got to tell him the truth. Never! And I never will. Because I didn't pay enough attention, because I decided to go off to school, because I decided to abandon my family for my own selfish reasons. Dad's dead because of me."

"No, he isn't!" Dean cried, moving to face Sam. "Dad is dead because the demon wanted him to be dead. None of it is your fault. Hear me Sam. Dad knew everything you ever wanted to tell him. He did! It's not your fault he's gone, Sammy. He didn't blame you, I don't blame you… Sam…"

Dean sighed, wondering how to put his words. "Sammy, Dad loved us. And he knew we loved him. Just because you went to college doesn't mean he wouldn't have died anyway. Life sucks Sam, it's one of the things we deal with as hunters. You deserved the chance at being normal, and Dad thought so too. He just didn't want you to be alone. Sam…"

Before he could continue, his little brother gave another sob. "Dean, stop. Please… I… I can still remember it, you know? How it felt as the demon ripped him apart from the inside. I can still feel the power, and the evil… and… it was like it was consuming me while the demon killed Dad."

Dean jumped on his words. "See, consumed. Sam, I don't care what powers or abilities you have. As much as it would be awesome, you're not going to be much of a threat to a centuries-old demon. And when it killed Dad, you'd already been fighting it for a week. You were exhausted, and hurt… and that bastard had ripped you apart already. It wanted Dad dead and there was no way in hell you were going to be able to stop it."

He sighed, feeling his throat slightly constrict. "Sam, you can't keep on doing this. Dad wouldn't want you to. I don't want you to. I get it okay, I do. Maybe I can't really understand it, but I get it. I get you're angry, and hurt, and afraid. But you can't let it eat away at you. You can't. You'll die. And that's not happening. I'm not losing you too, Sam. I won't."

Sam looked up at the house again, a sad smile spreading over his face at his brother's stubbornness. Dean let himself smile as well. "So, am I making sense, little brother?"

Sam nodded, taking a deep shuddering breath. "Yeah…" Then his face hardened. "But I can't just shut off the guilt, Dean. I can still feel it… all of it…" He shuddered again, this time from some unseen horror. "It's like it's still in there, reading everything, knowing everything. It's this huge weight in my head that won't leave, a constant reminder of everything that bastard made my body do…" He began crying once more, still doing it silently. "It's like the demon's still in there and I can't get rid of it. And I'm so tired, Dean. I'm so tired of fighting it."

Dean's heart broke again with Sam's voice and he leaned in, gathering his brother in a hug and squeezing hard. Finally Sam let everything go, unable to hold back in the safety of his brother's arms, where nothing could touch him.

"It's okay, Sammy," Dean whispered. "It's gone, and it's not coming back. I swear to you, I won't let it in there again. You don't have to fight it alone. You don't have to."

Neither brother was sure how long they stayed like that, on the moist grass, just hugging, Dean trying to piece together his broken baby brother. He still couldn't imagine what Sam must have gone through, nor how he had managed to survive this long with that surely heavy feeling of a demon in his head. But he'd be damned before he let Sam give in to that darkness the demon had spoken of, that darkness that was simply a chaotic whirlwind of human emotion created by a dark cocktail of fear, guilt, depression and being corrupted.

What felt like hours later, Sam gave Dean a little embarrassed push and pulled away, his face red. "Sorry, Dean…" he started. Dean stopped him with a gentle smile.

"No need, Sammy. I'm here for you, you know that." It wasn't a question, nor did he need any answer. It was a statement of knowledge. He knew that Sam knew that he would be there for his little brother any time and any way he needed it.

Sitting back in his spot beside Sam, he glanced sideways at the younger man. Sam seemed better now; he had stopped crying, and there seemed to be a freedom to his posture, as if a huge weight had been lifted from his shoulders… or from his mind. Dean gave a dramatic sigh.

"You know, Sammy-boy. You just used up your quota of chick-flick moments for like three lifetimes."

Sam gave a choking laugh, and Dean was pleased to hear it. And together, they sat smiling, watching the house and waiting for the sun to dawn on a new, frightening, exciting day.

Okay, so writing this last chapter was like walking an incredibly thin line between patheticSam and what I wanted it to be. I don't like making Sam seem weak, because he's just as strong as his brother, but he'd been through a very traumatic experience, and I knew he needed to let it out. And we all know Sam (in no bad way AT ALL) would in all likelihood cry from that. Hell, Dean cried when he suspected that John had died for him, and he's a hundred times more self-contained than his bro. Did I do okay?

Oh, and that hug was especially for ghostbehindyou, who's been wanting one since Good Samaritan.

Anywho, hope you enjoyed. And there will be another story, if you want! Bye!