A/N: Oops. It's been pointed out to me (ta Phoebe!) that I somehow forgot to mention that this is for Swellison – sorry hun! I'm blaming it squarely on the vodka…
It didn't seem fair that it looked exactly the same.
He sat there, fingers white around the wheel, just staring at the cabin where it hunkered down in the small clearing and all the time, he kept thinking he could hear the faint, slurred mumble from the backseat that had kept his brother's eyes locked in a pattern between the road, the mirror and his own profile.
He kept thinking that if he just looked over, he'd see his brother, worried and worn out in the seat beside him.
Shaking his head slowly, Sam eased out of the car, half-glad the doors of the stolen station wagon didn't creak, a quick pang of loneliness cutting deep as he hitched it closed behind him. One hand drifted down to his pocket, to his phone, silent after that one quick call.
"Hey Sam."
"Dean? Where the hell are you?"
" I'm fine, Sam. Okay?"
"You sure? Is the car okay? ''Cause last time I looked, it doesn't take four hours to drive to the diner on the other side of town."
"Seriously. I'm fine."
"Four. Hours. Dean."
" I just… well, you remember that waitress in Memphis?"
"The blonde?"
" Yeah."
"The one who looked like Honey Ryder and couldn't take her eyes off you long enough to pour the coffee?"
" Yeah, that's right, little brother."
"Yeah, she was just your type. IQ lower than her neck line."
"Ha. Funny guy."
"So do I need to catch the bus to Memphis tomorrow?"
" No, I'll be back this evening, alright? Carla's… frisky. Go… I don't know. Go rob a library or something, 'kay? Alrighty."
It had sounded wrong, still did in his head, some strange lilt to his brother's voice that had jarred against his nerves as he'd tried to forget the worry. By the time he'd given in and run a trace on Dean's phone, he couldn't sit still, paced restlessly from one side of the grey motel room to the other, the moon rising sickly orange against the Mississippi sky as he waited.
When the cursor had blinked up on the screen, his knees buckled, dropped him to his ass on the floor and he never even felt it, too busy staring blind at the tiny symbol flashing cheerfully at him.
Missouri.
Carter County.
'We couldn't've found a more out of the way place to hole up.'
With the echo of his brother's voice murmuring in his ear, he knew right then it was a trap. It still didn't stop him throwing their bags into the backseat of the Ford station wagon next to the Impala's empty space in the parking lot and start driving.
He hadn't stopped for more than gas and to load every gun they had at the end of the road, but now, the sight of the cabin, unchanged since he'd glanced back at it from the driver's seat over Dean's bloodied shoulders, now it kept derailing him.
He shook himself loose again, hands moving on automatic to slide his Taurus against the small of his back, to tug a shotgun into his arms and sling the duffle, bulging with more weapons, over his shoulder. Everything was loaded with consecrated iron.
There was only one thing that would know to bring them here.
Sam ducked into the trees, slipped through them until his back brushed the mould from the cabin walls. It powdered at his feet as he slid to the window by the door, decay ripe and sharp in his nose as he ducked low, craned his neck to ease one eye up against the filthy glass. The moon, sliding in and out of the clouds, turned it to a mirror, just for a moment and he saw his own fear reflected back at him, the grief that only dulled at the edges and never truly faded, buried deep but flaring at odd moments, enough to take his breath away.
The shadow thickened over the woods again in the same moment that he heard a muted cry from the other side of the wall, saw a slight, undeniably feminine figure hunched over another, sprawled on the floor and he didn't need to see the bloodstain to know it was there, right there underneath his brother again, soaked indelibly into memory and wood.
He flattened a hand against the wall beside the glass, pressed hard and leant into it for a moment. Splinters scratched at his palm as he licked dry lips, mouthed ancient Latin to himself, shifted the fingers of his other hand around the stock of his shotgun. He pulled in one more breath, held it as he counted down his heartbeats, watched his brother shudder under her touch through the grime on the glass.
When the whisper in his head reached nothing, he shoved away from the wall, threw his shoulder into the door and it splintered apart under him. He stumbled through the wreckage, kept his feet more by luck than skill but lifted the shotgun, aimed and fired before he even had time to see the way Dean whimpered and shrank back away from the demon crouched over him, her hands digging into the thin skin at his temples, turning it white. She twisted at the thunder of his entrance and he stifled the bizarre urge to growl, 'Here's Sammy!' at the dark haired, black eyed girl who shrieked and tumbled away from his brother.
Sam surged forward instead, already yelling the Latin, throat tight and threatening to close completely as he put himself between Dean and the girl, reloading as he moved.
The demon gathered herself, knelt on the scarred, stained floor and glared at him, wincing and shivering as the exorcism caught hold.
She didn't start laughing until he cried the last phrase and his stomach shrank sharply, suddenly, his mouth drying.
In the silence after the echoes faded, they watched each other, hunter and hunted, victim and vengeance, none of them moving. The moonlight spilling through the windows darkened once as clouds claimed it, then shone through brighter than ever and he almost gasped as he saw black blood running from the girl's nose, quickly joined by twin streams from her ears, her black eyes rolling up white. He stared, horrified, as the blood dripped from her chin, turning to smoke before it hit the floor, twisting around her like cats' tails.
Behind him, Dean whispered a groan, shoved weakly at the back of his knees. The contact felt like a jolt of electric, snapping Sam out of the stunned daze and he dropped to his knees, twisted to look at his brother and keep one eye on the slowly coalescing demon on the other side of the room.
"Dean? Dean, hey, hey I'm here."
Dean stirred, glassy eyes flickering dully around the cabin as if he was searching for something. Sam ran a quick, gentle hand over the lacework of scratches on his brother's face and hands, winced at the sight of the swollen fracture below his left knee.
"Damnit, Dean. What the hell happened?"
For a moment, Dean's wandering gaze locked onto his, pain and confusion dulling it.
"Sammy?"
"Yeah. Yeah man. It's okay, she's…" he cut himself off, didn't know what the demon was right now but the urge to run was building steadily under his skin, in every breath he took and every beat of his heart. "We gotta go, Dean. Okay? C'mon."
"Where's Sammy?"
Sam froze, one hand cupped around his brother's shoulder, the other white around the stock.
"What?" he breathed, hardly recognising his own voice.
"Where's my brother?"
Dean glared at him now, gaze still darting away and Sam thought vaguely that his brother had to be concussed or shocky or something, anything to explain the utter lack of anything resembling recognition in that cold stare. But for all his brother's whispers were low, rough and shaky, they were clear and coherent.
"Dean, I'm righ –"
"Oh my gosh, Sam, is it really you?"
His blood ran cold all over again and he spun on his haunches, saw the last drops of blood join the rope of inky smoke that coiled around the girl, all wide white eyes and fear.
"Meg?"
The source less voice laughed brightly and Sam tried to smile at the girl as she whined, the smoke curling around her throat. From the way her eyes strained impossibly wider, he figured it wasn't much of a smile. He lifted the shotgun instead, aimed carefully above her head and let his finger brush the trigger, searching for anything corporeal to shoot.
"Leave her alone."
By some miracle, his voice didn't shake as much as his stomach did.
"But I'm having fun, Sam. You remember fun, right? You, me and California? We were going to have so much fun."
"Let. Her. Go."
He put half a pound of pressure on the trigger; felt the weight of the spring strain at his finger. The smoke crept tighter and he could see the girl start to choke, knew he'd already lost and shifted his aim, but before he could pull the trigger the smoky noose around her neck snapped taut - a sharp, quiet crack that sounded like thunder against the silence.
"No!"
He yelled it too late, saw the demon swirl up into the ceiling, the body dropping limply to the floor through the burning in his eyes. Behind him, Dean jerked, scrabbled at the floor, murmured his name again and Sam swallowed hard against the lump in his throat. The smoke writhed against the wood, gathered together, reaching long tendrils down to the floor.
"What the…"
He frowned, frantically searching his memory for anything like this, reaching back with one hand to still his brother's sluggish motion. There was nothing, not in any of the books in Bobby Singers' library, not in the Journal that was all they had of their father. Nothing. Anywhere.
"Sammy, where's Sammy…"
The low groan made his mind up.
Sam spun to face his brother, shifting the duffle across his back as he gathered the hunter up, pulled one cold arm over his shoulders and slung his hand, weighted with the warm shotgun clutched in it, around his waist. He tucked Dean's head in against his shoulder and edged forward a step, his brother's feet trailing behind, whispering apologies when Dean cried out, the sound muffled against his skin.
"Sorry, man, I'm sorry. We gotta go. Okay? We gotta book. I'm sorry."
He kept one eye on the smoke that twisted in the ceiling, whispering and stretching out for him as he dragged Dean to the door. The tendrils thickened as they neared him, split and shaped themselves into hands that caught at his jacket, tugging him back like a hundred tiny mouths, the ice of their touch as they brushed against his skin crawling along his nerves like acid. He winced, pulled away from them and staggered on, sights set on the ruins of the door, the air stirring around him, whispering in his ear.
He shut it out, listened to his brother's hitching breaths, a murmured "Sammy?" making his heart twist and ache. By the time he stepped over shattered wood, he could hear the smoke as it coiled together, the whispers turned to soft laughter and a shadow licking at his heels. He glanced back once, felt the blood drain from his face as he saw a shape growing out of the shifting dark, lifting its arms, a smile glittering at him from the black. He didn't even think as he turned and aimed with the shotgun at his brother's side, pulled the trigger on both barrels, soaked up the recoil and let it send him stumbling back into the night.
The shot roared, tore through the figure, bursting into magnesium flares as it touched the smoke but it worked, the cloud shredding away with a wail.
Sam grinned, set his teeth and kept going, heading for the station wagon tucked in under the trees. Halfway there he could see the ground glinting in the scattered moonlight.
"No. Dammit, no."
He hurried on a few more steps, his brother's head lolling against his shoulder, breath pluming white in front of them. It couldn't hide the shattered windows or the gaping, pancake tyres and he swore again, more viciously, Dean stirring at the fluid growl.
"Sammy?"
"Yeah, man," he answered without thinking, got rewarded with a clumsy fist shoved against his collarbone.
"Where's my brother? If you hurt him, I swear to god…"
The threat dissolved into a groan and Dean curled against him, wrapped his arms around his middle again. Sam pulled back a little, shot the top of his brother's head a worried glare, wondered what she'd done to him. Wondered…
"Dean?"
Dean shifted, cocked his head a little, trying to see him, trying to see the threat.
"Hey, Dean it's okay." Hating himself, Sam licked his lips and went on. "I'll help you find Sammy, okay? We just need to get you somewhere safe first."
The older man looked at him, wary but slowly trusting.
"Did… did my Dad send you?"
oh god
He recognised the hesitant trust now, recognised the way Dean said his nickname. He just hadn't heard it in so long, hadn't even realised how much it had changed in the years in between. Fumbling to shake off the numb shock, Sam nodded.
"Yeah. Yeah, Dean, your Dad told me to come down here and look after you guys. Okay?"
"'kay."
Dean relaxed against him, sagging into his arms, the shift in weight making Sam stagger. He rolled with it, ducked further into the trees, branches scratching his face and hands as he tried to shelter his brother from them. Slowly, he worked them deeper into the forest, nervous anticipation making his skin crawl and his shoulders twitch for something to put them against, something solid to put his back to.
When he saw the rock face through the trees, he almost laughed with relief.
"Almost there, Dean. Just a little further, okay?"
Blindly trusting, Dean nodded against his shoulder, gasped and shook and Sam hurried, wove them between the branches until they broke into a small clearing, lit with patchy silver as the clouds wound slowly across the moon. He didn't realise how much his back had been screaming until he eased his brother down against the low bluff and straightened with a hiss.
"Need to lay off the pies, dude," he murmured, stretching gingerly and already reaching for the duffle, rummaging for the pack of charcoal he'd stuffed inside, back in Massachusetts. Shadows trailed across the rock under his hand as he worked, quickly laying down wards that curled black against the pale, lichen spotted surface. All the time, he could feel eyes on him; Dean curled up on the floor, watching him dully. When he was done, Sam crouched beside his brother, dug in the bag again. Handed his brother his Colt and watched the way Dean hesitated before taking it, the way his hands seemed unfamiliar on the weapon.
"Dean," he said softly, grimaced when the older man started and moaned in pain. "Dean, you wanna tell me what happened?"
Hi brother looked at him, trust dialling back into something more wary now that he wasn't blinded with pain.
"I thought I heard something out on the ranch."
Sam frowned. Ranch? A faint memory stirred, tickled the back of his mind but it slipped away before he could catch it.
"Something like people? Or a spirit?"
Dean dropped his gaze, fiddled restlessly with the gun.
"I… it sounded… itsoundedlikeaChupacabra."
It took him a moment to decipher the rush of words but when he did, Sam jerked back, caught himself with one hand spread in the loamy soil. The distant memory returned, anger and fear running roughshod through his big brother's stare, the smell of sun-scorched sand and blasted wood.
"The ranch down in… Utah?"
Dean nodded roughly, jaw clenched tight.
"I went out to look for it but there was nothing there. They must've faked it up somehow."
He remembered it, remembered Dean scowling at him, making him swear to stay put and not move, not for anything. He remembered promising, scared by the look on his brother's face and the strange noises outside.
"When I got back Sammy was…he was gone. They must've taken him. I gotta find him, 'fore Dad gets back!"
"Whoa, hey easy man. Take it easy."
Sam reached out, pressed his brother back into the rock wall as Dean tried to roll to his knees and just paled impossibly further. In the moonlight, the dark staining on his lips and jaw looked black. He cried out again, twisted his face into the ground, knuckles white where his fists pressed into his stomach.
"Jesus, Dean. What did she give you?"
All he could do was hold on to his brother's shoulder, wait until Dean finally shuddered into unconsciousness and whisper to him, "They never got to me, Dean. They didn't."
Out-cold, Dean still clutched at his stomach, pain lining his face. It aged him, added years of worry and hurt and loneliness to his features, but he still looked young, still looked like the resolute, terrified twelve year old Sam remembered from that ranch.
"You stay here, Sammy. Okay? You stay right here and don't move 'til I get back. Promise me."
The howl rises up outside again, harsh and shrieking and he nods.
"I mean it, Sammy."
"I swear, Dean. I'll stay here."
"I'll lock the doors but these are just people, Sammy, so the wards won't work. If anyone comes to the door, just stay out of sight and don't make a sound."
"Why are they making those noises if they're just people?"
He can't help but get a little lost in the curiosity. In the months since Christmas, Dean's told him stories he's heard a thousand times but they're scarier now that he knows they're real.
Dean fidgets, looks unsure.
"I don't know if it's the people making the noises Sammy. It might be something else and if it is, I need to stop it."
"The Chewie… Chewpakappa?"
"Chupacabra. Yeah."
"Are they real too?"
"Dad says they're not but… there's a lot of stories out there about them. I gotta make sure Sammy, okay? But Dad said this cult is clever and they might figure out we're here so we gotta be real careful."
Sam scrunches up, more scared than ever, squeezing himself back into the corner and silently vowing that even Dean isn't going to be able to move him from this spot ever again.
"Hey, hey it's okay Sammy. Just keep quiet and they'll never know you're here. Alright? Chances are it's not a Chewie or the Cult. It's probably just a coyote."
He nods fractionally, wraps his arms around Dean when his brother gives him a one-armed hug.
"Don't go, Dean."
"I gotta, Sammy. I'll be back in an hour though, okay?"
"One hour."
"Yeah."
Dean disentangles himself and struts to the door, grabs the shotgun leaning against the jamb. Sam waits until he's almost over the threshold.
"Dean."
His brother stops, looks back over his shoulder, not quite far enough for him to see more than Dean's profile and realise that he didn't really know his brother at all because all of a sudden, Dean looks an awful lot like Dad when he gets back from his trips in the fall.
"Be careful."
His brother smiles, and then he just looks like Dean again.
"You too, Sammy."
Sam dropped his head, suddenly feeling every one of the five hours and change it had taken him to drive here. He shifted, put his back to the wall next to his brother, laid the shotgun across his lap, left one hand resting on Dean's shoulder and tried to think.
He got back in time, I know he did. They were just breaking down the door when he started shooting, and then Dad came, he followed them to the ranch. They never took me.
"They never took me, Dean," he said aloud, low and soft, hoping his brother could hear him and recognise him on some level. Dean stirred at his voice, rolled away a little and Sam saw hurt and loss flicker across his face before confusion swamped it. The older man frowned, lifted one hand from his abdomen to rub at his head and his voice, when he spoke, was shaky and rough and Dean.
"Sam?"
His Dean. Full of old pain and bravado and trust and Sam leaned over, ducked his head to catch his brother's gaze.
"Dean? You there?"
Quick as it came, it was gone and there's just a wall between them he couldn't ever climb.
"Where's Sammy?"
He realised that Dean at twelve looked more like their Dad than Dean at twenty-seven does and the thought saddened him.
I'm right here.
"I don't know yet, kiddo."
Dean scowled and Sam had to fight down a snicker. As a child he'd never noticed the way his brother pouted, but as an adult, he knows it's an unbearably endearing trait and that thought tipped him over the edge, weariness and the waning adrenaline rush dragging him into giggles that bloomed into chuckles.
"It's Dean."
He nodded, tried in vain to stifle the laughter.
"Sorry. I'm sorry, Dean, I know."
Dean huffed, slithered awkwardly around to prop himself half up against the rock and sat there, arms crossed over his chest, one knee drawn up to them, glaring fiercely at the trees. Sam just clutched the shotgun and hiccupped as the laughter faded away, left him breathless and drained but still smiling.
And still feeling lost.
"Dean."
His brother looked sideways at him, not quite taking his gaze off the trees.
"Do you know where your Dad is?"
Hell if it isn't weird, talking to his brother like he's a stranger when there's never been anyone he knows better. He ignored the pang of grief at the question, could almost be glad that, just for now, Dean didn't have to live with it. Dean shrugged a little, wincing like it hurt but Sam noticed he wasn't clutching at his abdomen quite as hard now, let himself hope that maybe whatever Meg did to him had almost run its course.
"He went after them, up in Salt Lake. They must've given him the slip."
Sam blinked at the matter-of-fact way his brother said it. One of his overriding memories of his childhood was the reverence Dean held for their Father, he didn't remember a single time that his brother even implied John could make a mistake until he was fifteen. But Dean was still staring out at the trees, as if discussing his Dad's failings with a complete stranger was just another day.
Only, he could see the effort it was taking his brother to stay still in the way the gun, still locked in his grip, trembled.
Hesitantly, not sure how to read the man beside him, Sam reached out again, laid one hand on his brother's shoulder.
"We'll find him, Dean."
When Dean swallowed and leant into him, seeking reassurance in a way he hadn't in all the time since he came for Sam at school, it suddenly didn't feel strange to talk about himself like he isn't there at all. He smiled weakly, hoped Dean would remember letting Sam hold him up if – when – they find a way to fix this.
And of course, that was the moment that the wind picked up and swirled dust and litter from the floor into their eyes, pelting them with scraps of leaf and skeletal bits of branch. Sam threw an arm across his eyes, squinted into the wind that brought tears to his eyes, fury burning behind them when Dean cried out and huddled back against the rock, scrunching himself down against it. The younger man rolled to his feet, leant into the tempest and forced his way through it to stand before his brother, offering him as much shelter as he could.
"How sweet."
Sam stared, dumbstruck as she slipped out of the dark between the trees, just another shadow until the moonlight caught the mottling of skin across her face, glittered from her eyes.
"Whaddaya think, Sam?"
She threw her arms out and twirled, laughing.
"Like the new trick? Couldn't've done it without you."
Black sparks trailed from her fingers as she lifted one hand, curled it into a fist, spread it wide and brought it down flat against the air. The wind stilled instantly, a few dregs of litter tumbling limply to the ground. Sam lifted the shotgun to his shoulder, pulled smoothly back on the trigger and felt the recoil kick back into his shoulder but nothing else happened. The demon grinned at him.
"I've been a busy girl, Sam, since you Winchesters sent me downstairs last time. Met a witch down there, she showed me all kinds of interesting things."
The shadow in her skin writhed, thickened, remoulded itself and paled until he was staring into a mirror, silver bright in his eyes, on his cold smile. Behind him Dean gasped, leant against his legs and Meg cocked his head, looking down at the hunter.
"I wondered what your brother would do when he saw you standing in the middle of the road Sam. Turns out he'd rather roll that precious car of his right off a cliff than hit you."
"You bitch."
She laughed again, stepped to the edge of the line of sigils and leaned forward a little.
"Looks like my little game went a bit wrong though, didn't it? Poor Dean. I don't think he ever realised what you remembered, Sam. Too bad his own recollection was just so boring. I had to spice things up a bit."
She flicked her fingers, his double dissolving into familiar short, blond hair and an elfin face. Sam leaned back into his brother's shoulder as Dean sagged against the back of his legs, one hand curling into his jeans as he groaned thickly. Sam's breath caught as he heard words in it, a fractured denial, felt the older man shake his head.
"Didn't get him… I caught him… it didn't get him…"
"Fight it, Dean. You fight it," he murmured, just loud enough for their ears but Meg grinned, tilted her head back to the sky and breathed out a thin cloud of vapour. It didn't dissipate, just tumbled down to the ground and slithered over the wards, rustling leaves as it crept towards the brothers. Sam edged forwards, brought up by the hand still locked in the hem of his jeans and swung around to see his brother staring up at him, eyes wide and young.
"No."
"Dean –"
There was something else in that gaze, dim recognition filtering up through the confusion, determination he'd known all his life.
"Dean, don't."
Dean, his Dean again, smiled and tugged hard at Sam's jeans, sending him stumbling off balance, away from the reaching tendrils of the vapour that wavered uncertainly for a moment, then dove straight for his brother, streaming into his nose and mouth as Dean choked on them.
"No!"
He threw himself forward, swung the barrel of the shotgun through the vapour but it just went straight through to thud hard against the ground and the vapour kept pouring into his brother, even as he grabbed Dean's biceps and dragged him up, pinning him to the rock face with one shoulder, turning to the edge of the clearing and levelling the shotgun at the demon, not caring that it had been about as much use as a feather last time. It felt like fighting instead of running, it felt like Dean and when his brother was choking at his back, clutching hands switching their grip to shove him away, panic ripe in the small noises he was making, Sam would take what he could get. Biting his lip, he stepped away from Dean; let him crumple to the ground, feeling his heart seize up as the older man sobbed.
"Just a top up," Meg hissed at him from the edge of the wards. He snarled, dropped the shotgun in favour of the Taurus against his back, strode forward and pulled the trigger until it clicked emptily. She stood there and waited for him, untouched by the iron rounds.
"Let him go."
He tried to ignore the memory of a dark haired girl, stare wild and terrified, just another face he couldn't save. The demon sighed in exaggerated exasperation.
"Really, Sam. That's getting a little old, don't you think?"
He pulled a knife from his boot, blessed silver throwing moonlight in their eyes.
"Let. Him. GO."
"No."
She leant forward as she said it and he lashed out, the blade whistling through her cheek, trailing smoke behind it. She staggered, winced as one boot crossed the line of the wards and drew back and Sam stared at the wisp that curled up from her leg, real white smoke instead of the oily black cloud that she was made of.
He shot a look back at his brother; felt his heart lock solid again as he saw Dean curled up on the floor, good leg drawn into his chest, his head tucked down against it. He thought he could hear his name, choked out in the sobs that shook his brother's body, heard his own breathing rasp in his ears as he sucked in air, spun back and threw himself at the demon, long arms reaching for her. His fingers sunk into skin that felt real, dug deep as he twisted again, wrenched her across the line of the wards he'd drawn in the dirt and she screamed, flailed at him, clawed at his arms as he let her fall and scrabbled on the ground, snatching up the first stick he found. She writhed as he scrawled hasty sigils, chanting breathlessly, looping them around her, caging her. He'd almost completed the circle, just a few inches left of the last line when her cries suddenly cut off and he had just enough time to look up and see her smiling at him, black smoke staining her breath like blood.
Then he was flying, rolling roughshod across the clearing, his own yelp loud in his ears. The tree that stopped him felt like it was made of granite, dull fire blooming across his back and left side, slamming the air out of his lungs, turning the world to a muted roar. Blinking back the cloud of stars that blocked his vision, he gasped for breath, couldn't find any, shook his head desperately, regretted it when the fire flared down his neck, curled into his shoulders. He groaned breathlessly, squeezed his eyes shut and fisted a handful of loam until he managed to suck in a thin dreg of wet-tasting air, the world crashing back in on him with it.
Through watering eyes, he saw the demon pushing herself up, stepping daintily over the original line of the wards that twisted through his aborted circle, smiling as she turned to him. He sucked in more air, pushed against the floor but couldn't lift himself an inch, just lay there helpless as she neared the edge of the circle.
And hit something that flared white.
He blinked again, followed her snarl as she looked at her feet, at his brother, stick clutched in his fist, the completed circle glowing with dim fire in the dirt. Sam smiled slowly, rolled painfully to his knees and staggered towards the trapped demon, already flipping through the memorised rites of banishment that might work. He stopped just behind his brother, the toe of one boot just barely touching the older man's back where Dean huddled on the ground, seemingly out cold again. Sam smirked at the demon, began to murmur the chant, dug in his pockets for the bags of herbs he'd stashed there, just hours earlier, hoping against hope he wouldn't need them for anything but one of the few snatches of wisdom that hadn't come from his family ringing in his head.
Be prepared, Sam. Carry what you might need for the worse case scenario on you; you might lose a bag. You're not likely to lose your pants.
Somehow, it seemed fitting that it was Pastor Jim's advice that would help him send the demon that had killed the preacher back to hell. He fumbled the sage out of its baggie, never taking his eyes off hers as she fumed, just as helpless now as she'd had both brothers. Sam lit it, breathed in the pungent smoke and wafted it out into the circle as he whispered the last words. As soon as the pale wisps touched her, she began to shred away, baleful stare never leaving his until there was nothing left, just a small vacuum that imploded with a rush of air and a pop when he scuffed a boot through the circle.
It was all a little anticlimactic.
He sighed out a laugh, sagged gracelessly to his knees, the jolt as he hit the floor jarring up his back. His hand felt like lead as he lifted it, heavy and numb, skating it over his brother's shoulder. Dean flinched, rolled away with a low cry and Sam's breath hitched as he snatched his hand back.
"Dean?"
His brother just groaned, inarticulate, face pressed into the loam.
"Dean, come on. It's me."
Suddenly, he was desperate to hear just one bit of his brother's sarcasm, to see Dean look at him like he was wondering how to keep him safe again. The wide, bloodshot eyes that fixed him were just scared, shattering apart as he watched.
"Sammy. They… god. Oh god, Sammy."
Dean sounded so desolate, so lost that Sam couldn't breathe, couldn't remember how to make himself reach out the hand that had fallen limply back to his knees.
"Dean," he whispered, watched as his brother crumpled, broke before his eyes, pale cheeks streaked with tears that cut through the grime and dried blood on his face, left pale tracks behind them as they fell, silver in the dark. Dean curled over, hunched awkwardly on one knee, one hand braced against the ground, his head buried in the opposite arm, shoulders heaving as he wept.
Sam reached out at last, blindly grabbing his brother's shoulder and pulling Dean against him, taking the weight of his brother's grief like the weight of the world, rocking them both slowly in the middle of the clearing and feeling utterly alone as the clouds swept in and turned the night dark.
A/N2: Just one more chapter, jam packed with schmoop for your viewing pleasure! Go on, hit that little button…