Epilogue

"This should be fun."

"It'll only take a second, Dean."

Dean shot him a look, but Sam was saved from further arguments when the door in front of them opened. He almost grimaced at the wave of emotions that seemed to flit over Margaret's face; suspicion and anger flashed immediately into her eyes when she caught sight of them, but both slowly melted away into a mixture of confusion and uncertainty. Sam cleared his throat.

"Yes?" She asked, and her voice sounded a little strange. She was on the edge, he knew; she couldn't decide whether or not she trusted them, but she didn't exactly hate them either. The latter made things a little easier.

"We just wanted to tell you…" He hesitated at Dean's glance, but continued after a moment, "We just wanted to let you know that we took care of everything."

"Took care of—," The confusion drifted away from her voice and her mouth dropped open in surprise. "You took care of—you mean the person who—?"

"Killed your husband, yes," Sam replied simply. Dean nodded once, briefly, to show his approval.

Margaret looked nervous now. "You didn't—I mean…."

Sam understood the fearful hesitance in her voice and hurriedly shook his head. "No, we didn't kill anyone." Nothing human, anyway.

She stayed quiet for a little while, and Sam could imagine what she was thinking. There were holes in their story, large, gaping ones, and she was probably wondering whether or not she wanted them filled. He hoped for her sake that she didn't; sometimes staying in the dark was better than finding out the truth.

She was looking at them now, studying them carefully. Her eyes roved over Sam, and he struggled not to squirm as they lingered on the bandaged cut on his temple and the angry-looking welts on his neck. Then she switched her gaze to Dean, who stood his ground and met her eyes squarely.

"Who are—?" She broke off abruptly, her mouth snapping shut. She shook her head, and Sam knew that her desire to leave this entire ordeal behind her had won out over her curiosity. He relaxed, feeling relieved.

"You're sure it's over?" She asked instead, and her voice was weary, tired.

Sam smiled genuinely. "It's over."

She nodded absently and stayed quiet for a second, clearly lost in her thoughts. Then she looked up again. "Thank you," It was quiet, tentative, but that didn't make it any less significant. "I'm not sure what you did, but I… just, thank you. Both of you." She added with a look at Dean.

Sam saw his brother's face soften just a little and fought the urge to smile. "You're welcome," he replied easily.

"What now?" She asked, staring at them both.

"Now, we leave," Dean spoke up for the first time, and his voice wasn't as curt as Sam had expected.

She paused for a second at that. Then she spoke, and her voice was certain. "I won't see you two again, will I?"

Sam shook his head. "No."

She stepped back into the house and gripped the doorknob, her expression kind and a little sad. "Goodbye, then."

"Goodbye, Margaret."

Once she'd closed the door on them, permanently this time, Sam and Dean turned around and walked to the car.

"Think she'll be alright?" Sam asked as Dean drove away from the neat, manicured house.

"She seemed strong," Dean said after a moment, which wasn't really an answer.

"Still, losing someone like that…." He expelled a long breath and shook his head, glancing down at his hands.

"She'll move on," Dean said shortly, hands tapping on the wheel. "She has to."

Sam raised his eyebrows. "Like you had to?"

Dean didn't look at him, but Sam saw the muscles in jaw clench. His brother stayed quiet, and Sam matched his silence, knowing that if he spoke now, Dean would pull him off-topic and they'd never discuss it again.

"We've already talked about this," Dean replied through his tightly gritted teeth. "Don't start, Sam."

Sam felt boiling anger sizzle through his veins, and he struggled to shove it down. He wasn't all that successful, but his voice was mostly calm when he said, "I've made a decision, Dean."

Dean cast him a glance, eyebrows furrowed and eyes hard. "Oh, yeah? And what's that?" He asked, voice mocking, almost rough.

Again Sam shoved at the anger struggling under the surface. "I'm not quitting. I won't."

Dean had every appearance of fighting a losing battle with his own temper. And then, all at once it exploded from him like a volcano. "Do you even get what I told you, Sam? You'll die! No, it's not happening."

"You can't just expect me to just let it go!" Sam was shouting without realizing it, his anger and frustration at his brother for being so blind and stupid and sacrificial spilling over the edge. "This is you, burning in Hell forever!"

"And there's no way I'm letting you get yourself killed because you—,"

"And why is that so different, Dean!" Sam demanded, and he saw the abrupt surprise on Dean's face. "Why is that so different from what you did? You sold your soul for me, and you won't let me try to save you because I might die for you just like you're going to die for me. Do you even get how twisted and screwed up and wrong that is?"

"I know!" Dean exploded, and Sam briefly regretted the fact that this had turned into a shouting match. "I know it doesn't make sense, alright! I can't explain it, so don't ask me to." He breathed deeply, and when he spoke again his voice was quieter. "I just…. I couldn't let you die then, and I can't now."

"Did you ever think of how I would feel about this?" Sam asked, lowering his voice in response to Dean's less confrontational tone. Dean stayed silent, but Sam knew his answer anyway. "You didn't. But I'm telling you, I can't let this go anymore than you can."

It was sick, the way it seemed to boil down to one or the other. If Sam lived, Dean would die, and vise versa. They had somehow been put on opposite sides; brothers competing to see who would sacrifice himself for the other. Because Sam would die for Dean, if that's what it took. He'd thought about it constantly since Dean had revealed that particular secret, and Sam had come to one conclusion. He would work to find a way out of it, a way that they could both defy the odds and stay alive. But if he didn't… if he didn't, then he was willing to die.

And that made him just as selfish—or selfless—as Dean.

"I'm older," Dean grunted finally, and Sam hated how that longstanding reason—in terms of arguments, privileges, everything—could be used for something like this.

Sam had it on the tip of his tongue. He had reasons, rationalizations, and a hundred different ways that Dean was being stupid about this whole thing. But as he stared at his brother, whose face was pinched and drawn and whose eyes were shadowed, he gave in. He'd come to this conclusion before, and he knew that it still held true: Dean couldn't be convinced otherwise.

But as Sam he stared at his brother's bleak profile, he knew that he wouldn't stop trying to find a way. He couldn't. He would just have to get a little… sneakier, was all.

"Okay, Dean," He said after a moment, slouching back into his seat. He leaned his head back and closed his eyes. "I'll let it go."

- Fin

A/N: And, that's it! I apologize for not getting it up sooner; life got a little hectic and I didn't get the chance to type it out. Hope you enjoyed this story! Thanks to everyone who stuck with it!