Disclaimer and Warning:See previous chapters (I'm too tired to post them again tonight).

A/N: Because I love my reviewers (you guys are awesome!), I'm going to be a good little author and post a second time today (a habit I seem to be picking up). Hopefully there will be no more huge gaps (what was it? Like five months?) in this story!

Oh, and major angst ahead (yay).

Chapter Five: Finishing the Job

When they got back to the motel, Sam collapsed on his bed, exhaustion evident. He closed his eyes, only to open them when he heard his older brother clear his throat. Dean was standing over him and it was clear to Sam that he meant to have a good chat, whether the younger Winchester wanted to or not. Sam sighed and sat up. Dean was usually not one for serious conversations. If he wanted to talk...well, Sam was not going to like it, of that much he was sure.

Dean sat down on his own bed, still staring at Sam. Sam waited patiently for what seemed like forever but was probably only a few minutes. Still, Dean just stared. Sam stared back at him, feeling unease grow. So, maybe one of Dean's talks was a little unsettling, but this silence was down right scary. Dean never shut up.

"Well, you going to say something?" Sam asked, more nervous than annoyed.

"You should have finished it," Dean said so quietly that Sam almost didn't hear it.

"Finish it? Dean we don't even know how!" Sam nearly shouted, incredulous, "And it was going to kill you!"

"And now it's out there, free to kill more innocent people! How is that better, Sam?" Dean stood up as he yelled this, eyes flashing with anger, fists clenched.

Sam stood as well, towering over his older brother, "And you expected me to just let it kill you? To sacrifice you to finish the hunt?"

"If that's what it takes," Dean said, standing his ground.

"Well, I'm sorry, Dean, but I can't do that. You said it yourself enough times, family comes first."

Dean opened his mouth to retaliate...but closed it quickly as he saw the wet tracks streaking down his baby brother's face. Sam was crying. "Sammy..." was all he could manage.

"Dean, I'm not going to lose you over some hunt. I...I can't, Dean! I don't think I-" Sam was visibly shaking now as the tears continued to fall. Dean sighed, finally giving into the urge to comfort his little brother. Much as he hated these chick-flick moments, he was willing to go through them every once in a while. For Sammy.

Dean wrapped his arms around his younger brother, making him sit down on one of the beds so they could be the same height and it wouldn't be so awkward. Rubbing slow circles on Sammy's back, Dean whispered softly into his ear. It didn't matter what he was saying; it was his tone, one that was specially reserved for helping little Sammy calm down after a particularly bad nightmare. Or helping an adult Sam when he was upset.

Dean sighed quietly. The truth was, he'd been more than willing to sacrifice his life to kill this thing, but hadn't even thought of the effect his death would have on Sammy. So soon after losing their dad...when Sam had already lost their mom and Jesse...he, for the first time, wondered if Sammy could handle anymore. He'd always been ready to die in the line of duty, protecting either Sam or some Mary-Sue, but he'd never thought that by giving up his life he might actually destroy the one thing that had ever truly been worth protecting.

Still, to kill the demon...

He'd been feeling so guilty about their Dad dying to save him. If he could get the revenge John Winchester had dedicated his whole life to getting, maybe he wouldn't feel so lousy about it. Maybe he wouldn't feel like his father died for nothing. After all that Sam had said, the next words out of Dean's mouth were probably best left unspoken. They probably were, but Dean couldn't help himself. He just didn't know how to shut up.

"It was the demon though, Sam..."

The younger Winchester looked up at him, visibly calmer, "No, it wasn't."

"You saw it, Sammy. Shape of a man, can't see the details, kills people with fire...who does that sound like to you?"

"Dean, first of all, a lot of things could be in the shape of a man," Sam said, "And the reason you couldn't see it was because it made a point of staying the shadows. Second, none of those people were pinned to the ceiling or walls or anything. As most of the things about this case, it doesn't fit the demon's usual pattern. Third, its powers don't work on me. From the last run in we had with it, where it pinned me to a wall...well, I'd say that the demon's powers do affect me. Fourth, it talked to me. And, well...it wasn't the demon's voice."

"What do you mean 'it wasn't the demon's voice'?"

"I mean what I said," Sam told him, "It used my own voice to disguise itself. I heard myself talking inside my head...but it wasn't me."

"Who's to say the demon couldn't send your own voice back at you?"

"Yeah, but I don't think that it would. Its voice is, um...effective..." Sam didn't know how (nor wanted to) describe to Dean just how the demon had sounded when it had last talked to him inside his head.

Dean shuddered, remembering the night at the graveyard when the demon had spoken to them.

"And," Sam continued, "Fifth, this thing was scared off by the rock salt bullets. I don't think the demon would be. And it jumped out the window. The demon can just disappear in a puff of smoke- literally -if it wants to."

"Okay," Dean conceded, "Anything you left out by any chance?"

"No, I think that's all of it," Sam said, deciding to keep the key he'd found to himself for the time being.

"Good," Dean said, stretching, "'Cause I'm beat." And, with that, he flopped down on his bed and nothing more was said that night.

A/N: Naughty Sam! Keeping secrets! This can only mean trouble...

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