Comfort Inn – Philadelphia, PA

Dean's inability to keep his mouth shut at the last motel had been a blessing in disguise. They had gone from trying to get a room in one of the dingiest motels on the east coast to a large, chain hotel. It was sterile, roomy and totally not their style.

Sam could tell that Dean was uncomfortable here. Maybe it was just a little too clean and family friendly for his brother, but that was the point. It wasn't the sort of lodging that the FBI would expect them to hold up at. While Dean didn't like the hotel itself, Sam had sold his brother with the parking garage that had security patrols.

It was almost like the big city environment was making Dean uneasier than the demons were or maybe his brother was just deflecting. Either way Dean had muttered something about not wanting to leave his sweetheart unprotected against the whims of the city. Of course Dean hadn't used those words exactly, but Sam hadn't exactly been listening. He had much bigger concerns than that car.

Right now the Impala was in the parking garage safely tucked out of street view. That left Sam locked in a room having a stare off with his increasingly pissed off big brother. He had to admit that he wasn't helping anything with his questioning, but talking to Dean right now was something he couldn't get enough of. Under any other circumstance it would have been flat out hilarious.

"Favorite color," Sam continued.

While the look Dean sent him promised endless torments, his brother answered all the same. It was the strangest thing but Dean looked like he was physically struggling to keep his own jaw clamped shut. His attempt failed miserably. Despite Sam's earlier hopes, there was no way this was just some off side effect of a concussion.

"Black," Dean finally blurted out. "I think...I don't know. What kind of stupid ass question is that anyway? Only you and girls have favorite colors."

"I don't get it."

"You got a problem with black? My car is black."

Sam couldn't help but smirk at Dean's childish defense of the color, but his brother obviously didn't share his amusement. Better then not to mention the fact that black wasn't even technically a color.

"Sorry. It's not the color, Dean. It's this. You. A group of demons attacked you so that you'd have to tell me your favorite color and that you think my hair looks like a dirty mop?"

"It does," Dean confirmed though he at least had the decency to look half guilty about it. "So when's Bobby getting here?" his brother asked in yet another desperate attempt to change the subject.

"In the morning."

"This so can't wait until morning."

"Uh...so far I don't think it's lethal."

"If I have to be completely honest until morning somebody's gonna kill me and as long as you've got me locked up in here, it's gonna be you. Then won't you feel guilty?"

Sam raised his brows at Dean's ridiculous insistence. "You can't seriously lie that much."

"Yes I do!" his brother adamantly insisted before clamping his hand over his mouth and growling in frustration. "Damn it! Sammy, you've gotta knock me out."

"What?"

"Just knock me out."

Dean was suddenly standing directly in front of him motioning towards his discolored face like he seriously expected Sam to punch him. As worried as he already was about that lump on Dean's head, he would take out anyone that looked like they were going to take a swing at his brother. He sure wasn't going to do it himself.

"You do seriously have brain damage, don't you?"

"I think so. Just do it."

"Not happening, Dean," he said as he turned away to put some distance between him and his insane brother. "You're lucky your skull is even in one piece. I'm not going to hit you in the head. Again. Just go to sleep. I'll work on this."

"No way."

Without further explanation his brother moved on to dig through the bag at the side of his bed. A moment later, Dean's hand emerged with an already half empty bottle of Jack Daniel's. That was about the last thing in the world that his brother needed.

"Why not?" Sam finally asked.

He walked back over to Dean and snatched the bottle from his brother's hand, ignoring the snarl of protest. Not paying any real attention, he set it aside on the dresser before looking back to Dean for an explanation.

"Because I talk in my sleep. You know I do," he insisted at Sam's skeptical look.

It was true. Sam wasn't denying that Dean sometimes rambled on in his sleep. He always had, but it wasn't like it was ever a clear monologue. It was always just enough for him to be able to tell what kind of nightmare Dean was having or if Sam needed to put a pillow over his own head so he didn't have to listen to Dean getting lucky in his sleep.

With effort he could sometimes piece things together, but there was no way Dean would divulge any detailed, deep dark secrets in his drowsy mutterings. Unfortunately there was also no way he was going to convince Dean of that. It was going to be a long night.

With a shake of his head, Sam sat down at the room's desk and started to set up his laptop. The first thing he needed to figure out was whether what had happened to Dean was unique to his brother or if it was a part of the other five attacks. He really didn't care what Dean did while he researched as long as it didn't involve leaving this room or getting wasted.

"Then stay awake. Just don't talk if you're so worried about me killing you."

"I'm not worried. I might be the idiot brother, but I don't pull my punches like a girl and I don't have those freaky huge feet to trip over. I can totally kick your ass with my eyes closed...well, with my eyes open anyway."

As Dean contradicted himself, his words seemed to catch up with him again. He gave a semi-apologetic shrug and Sam just rolled his eyes. Maybe Dean was right to be worried about making it until morning.

"What'd I tell you? I can't not talk. That's what's so damn annoying! I mean, I know I'm annoying as hell anyway..." Dean took a gulp from the whiskey that had somehow made it back into his hand. "You ask something and I gotta answer."

As soon as the words had left Dean's mouth he seemed to realize that he shouldn't have said them. His brother quickly looked away as if he hadn't said anything at all and took another long drink.

Leaving his laptop to start up, Sam stood up and turned his chair so that it was pointed towards Dean. He settled back down and looked at his brother who was eyeing him suspiciously.

"What're you doing?"

"I have a real question."

"Awesome. I'm gonna go sleep in the car."

With the bottle tucked under his arm, Dean stood from the bed, grabbed his jacket and was half way to the door by the time Sam could speak again.

"Dean. Stop. Just one question."

Hesitantly, his brother halted just short of unlatching the chain on the door and glanced back at him. "I don't peak when you're in the shower."

Sam sneered back at him. "And that's so...not it." Despite Dean's attempt at distracting him, his expression instantly turned serious again. "Please, Dean."

At his earnest tone, Dean fully turned back around to face him. "Don't, Sam. The crap in here," he said with a tap to his temple, "this is my personal crap. No offense, dude, but I don't want to Vulcan mind meld with you."

"I have to know."

"No problem. I'll answer any question you got as soon as you fix me."

When Sam's insisted look remained steady, Dean shifted uncomfortably. If his brother was this worried about something he might ask it was frighteningly obvious that Dean didn't tell him much of anything about what he was actually thinking. That wasn't exactly a total shock.

He knew his brother kept most everything to himself, but he had never stopped to fully consider what all that stuff Dean was so desperately pushing down was. They'd been at each other's side for basically their entire lives.

There wasn't anything that Dean could ask him that he wouldn't honestly answer. He had nothing to hide from his brother and that fact just made him wonder all the more about what Dean was so afraid of saying. The truth was that Sam was still freaked out about what Dean had said at the diner.

Since he'd been a kid he'd grown up with this picture in his head of his obscenely certain, self-loving big brother. He couldn't begin to wrap his head around the thought that Dean wasn't unshakably confident in himself. That underneath everything his tough talking brother really didn't feel like he was good enough. It didn't even seem possible.

"It's not fair. Whatever it is, if I'd wanted you to know I would've told you."

"I know. I'm sorry, man, but you owe me this one."

As true as that was, Sam still silently sought permission. The last thing he wanted to do was to violate Dean, but he needed to understand. All the same, he knew he wasn't playing fair with the pleading look he was sending towards Dean and soon enough his brother gave in.

"Alright, fine. But this better be worth it because you're going to be paying for this for a long damn time. Well, not that long I guess, but I can make this year hell for you. Not that I would..." Dean grumbled in irritation at his own words. "You sure you can't just shoot me instead?"

Sam made no verbal reply, but shook his head and kept watching his brother with worried eyes. Finally Dean threw down his jacket and plopped down on the bed across from him. Despite Dean's attempt to disguise it, Sam hadn't missed the wave of pain that flashed over his brother's tired features in response to the abrupt action.

"Right...okay." When he was settled, Dean made a surrendering motion with his arms as he looked back at him. "Hit me."

"Why'd you do it?"

"Steal your underwear? Last time we went to..."

"I don't even want to know," Sam quickly cut him off, "and not what I'm asking."

Maybe Dean could only tell the truth but he was still his brother and therefore a serious smart ass. He knew that Dean didn't really think he was wasting his only question on missing underwear that he really didn't want back, but when he saw Dean raise his brow questioningly he realized that Dean really didn't know what he was asking. Was Sam the only one that cared that his brother was going to hell?

"I've done a lot of crap, Sammy. Most of it bad. I'm going to need a hint here."

"Why did you make the deal?"

At that Dean visually deflated. His brother's eyes begged Sam not to go there, but he had to know. Not for himself, but to figure out how to talk Dean into fighting it. If he was going to save Dean he had to understand what his brother had been thinking. It had been Dean that had adamantly insisted that dead things should stay dead.

"To bring you back."

"Yeah, nice try. I mean...how could you think it was okay? Dean, you're going to hell because of me."

His brother tried to blank out his features yet the tension remained visible in every muscle of Dean's body from the pressed hard-line of his lips to his fisted grip on the bed's blanket. Sam didn't want to put anything else on Dean's shoulders now, but this was likely his only chance to try to make sense of this from Dean's point of view.

"Not because of you. If I'd just done my damn job then none of this would've happened. But I screwed up so, yeah, I'm going to hell and that's okay. Given that it's a done deal and all there's not exactly a lot to say."

Sam straightened rigidly in his chair as he stared dumbfounded at Dean. The words were one thing, but it was Dean's tone that had Sam floored. His brother said it like it was self-evident.

A demon had hijacked him, set a group of other demon kids on him and somehow that was Dean's fault? Despite what he heard in Dean's voice and saw in his eyes, he couldn't begin to believe that Dean really accepted that he should go to hell for not having been able to stop the impossible.

"God, Dean. How can you say that? It's not even close to okay."

"Damn better than the alternative. It's my soul. My choice."

"That's not what you said when it was Dad."

The confident posturing left Dean and his brother cast his eyes down. "It was different with Dad. I wasn't worth dying over. He should've let me go."

"Weren't worth dying for?" Sam couldn't keep the appalled tone from his voice. "I know it never really seemed like it, Dean, but you were his son. Dad owed you everything."

Including his life. It would be suicide to suggest that much to Dean, but Dad had never given Dean a choice about whether or not he should have to give up his life for this fight. Maybe it wasn't wrong that in the end Dad had given his life to try to give Dean his back.

Sam felt cold even thinking it. He had never agreed with Dad, but for better or worse the man had been their father and Sam had never wanted anything to happen to him. If only for Dean's sake, he wished Dad was still here, but he wasn't. It was a fact that he knew left an all too raw wound on his brother's heart.

As testament to that a fierce warning look flashed across Dean's eyes. "Dad didn't owe me crap." Nearly as quickly as Dean had looked up at him, his eyes returned to the comforter he was sitting on.

Dean held strong to this distorted view of the way things had been. His brother claimed to remember a cohesive family and good times that had just never been there. In Dean's world so much as questioning Dad was some kind of monumental sin.

In Sam's world, just because you tried to do right, didn't mean that what you did was right. The road to hell was paved with good intentions. They were both guilty of that as much as Dad had been, but Sam blamed Dad for the fact that Dean held on to guilt for things he had never even done.

His brother sat silently, now staring at some distant point, his jaw clenching as he swallowed hard. Sam didn't know what he could say that Dean would hear, but Dean beat him to speaking anyway.

"Besides, sons don't kill their dads."

Given the thoughts that had been playing in Sam's head, he at first thought that Dean was accusing him of something. His eyes narrowed, but he quickly realized that Dean wasn't looking at him. He wasn't talking about him either. Sam's brow creased.

"Dean, you didn't kill Dad. You get that, right?"

His brother shook his head and something on his face changed by the time he looked back up. "I needed him."

The naked desperation in Dean's eyes at the simple phrase threw Sam for another loop. Honestly Sam had never understood Dean's reliance on the man. Logistically Dad had been the one who had needed Dean, not the other way around. Emotionally he could only assume that Dad had mostly checked out the night Mom had died. He didn't blame him for that.

It wasn't humanly possible for anyone, even with the best of intentions, to be that obsessed with vengeance and still be emotionally available. He knew that from personal experience because he'd been there himself and even as a kid Sam had understood that Dad had only been human.

Dad had tried, but he'd been far from perfect. As basic as that concept seemed, Sam suspected that Dean had never accepted it. Maybe in Dean's mind Dad had never really given him affection because there was something wrong with him without realizing that it had just been Dad that had been too broken to give.

There were times Sam had wanted Dad there more than anything, but that had rarely happened. Dean was the one that had always been there and Dean was the one that he needed to continue to be here.

"And you don't think I need you?"

"No. Not like I need you. Look, Sam, I don't want to be here if you're not. You got your answer. Can we just drop this?"

Sam was too caught up in trying to figure this out to even consider Dean's request. "Who says I want to be here without you?"

"Oh come on!" Dean replied in apparent disbelief. "I know I'm no genius, but how stupid do you really think I am?"

His brother shoved himself off the bed and paced as far as he could get. He rubbed his hand agitatedly over his hair before abruptly turning back around. After a moment Dean's eyes rose to meet his. Sam was at a loss for words because he had no idea what Dean was implying and suddenly Dean looked equally confused.

"Seriously? You left me and Dad and you were fine. You were happy. You never needed Dad and once you were old enough to take care of yourself you didn't need me anymore either."

There wasn't a hint of malice in the words, but the empty tone they were spoken with made them excruciating to hear. He knew what it sounded like Dean was saying, but he refused to believe it. Sam could take care of himself. He had been able to for nearly a decade, but that didn't mean that Dean was now useless.

It should never have been Dean's responsibility to watch out for him. It wasn't a one-way street. They were supposed to watch out for each other, but reality hit home hard when he really considered it. Sam's brows knitted as he looked away.

Growing up, when he'd gotten scared it hadn't been Dad that Sam had ran to. Not since Dad had given him his own gun and told him to deal with it himself. He had never had to deal with it himself, he'd always had Dean to do it for him, but no one had been there to do it for Dean.

Whenever Dad had been messed up, it had always been Dean that had put him back together. Dean had taken care of everything from making sure they ate to always being the one that had convinced him and Dad that everything would be okay. His brother had been the one to keep them together as a family.

Now Dad was gone and Dean seemed to be saying that if he wasn't caring for his little brother than he might as well be dead. That assumption was so screwed up that Sam didn't even know where to start in correcting it. He just plain didn't know how his brother could think that or how he could have been so blind to have not seen it before.

"You're freaky ass smart. You can do damn near anything you want and people, they like you," Dean continued. "You can make friends...start a new family. I know it sucks losing your brother, but you're stronger than me. You'll get over it."

Sam realized that Dean had mistaken his shocked silence for agreeing with him. Dean looked back at him and Sam was startled by how vulnerable his brother came off without the masked layers of bravado. He wanted to apologize for making Dean feel like this, but he knew it was there all the time. Dean just usually kept it buried in himself.

"You're a complete moron."

"Not exactly a newsflash there, Sammy. What's you're point?"

With a shake of his head Sam stared at Dean in complete disbelief. It was painful to think that Dean actually believed that, let alone believed all the other things he was saying. As much as he wanted to think that maybe it wasn't the truth, he knew all too well that it was. He just wanted to fix it.

"No. Dean, you're not stupid. I mean...you think you have this all figured out. You think you've got me figured out and you don't have a clue."

"Okay, sure. Whatever." Dean moved back to his bed and laid down on his side facing away from Sam. "I'm tired of getting freakin' mind raped here. I'm gonna pretend to be asleep until Bobby gets here."

Sam tensed his jaw as he watched the unsteady rise and fall of his brother's shoulders. "I'm sorry, Dean."

The room lapsed into silence for long enough that Sam started to get up to turn the chair back towards his laptop, but as he moved Dean answered.

"Doesn't matter."

He wasn't going to accept that defeat in his brother's tone. "Yeah, it does." Sam wasn't sorry for having asked the question, it was everything else. "I'm sorry that I haven't made it clearer that you're all I got, Dean. I've always depended on you for everything and I can't think about the world without you in it."

Dean's tensed shoulders shrug. His brother lay strangely still for a long moment, no doubt collecting himself, before rolling over to face Sam. Dean propped his head up with his elbow and quirked a brow at him.

"Could you be any sappier? I mean really, dude. I'm selfish enough to wish that was true even though I'm leaving you alone, but you know I gotta say it's lame or it'll show what a sap I am. Please tell me you're not gonna pull out an engagement ring."

His brother was trying so hard to pull off his usual feeling masking jokes. To Sam it came off as a funky garble of comments Dean could hide behind and painful truth, but Dean didn't seem to notice so Sam just latched onto what his brother had wanted him to hear.

"I knew I forgot something," Sam replied with a ghost of a smile.

The expression on Dean's face was still doubtful. "You can't need me here that bad. Admit it, I totally cramp your style."

"Sorry, Dean," Sam replied with a shrug of his own. "I still need you. You're just going to have to stick around. Sappy or not, it's the truth."

"Yeah, well, I've had it up to here with the truth. I taught you everything I know, Sammy. You'll be okay. I just wanna have a big long party and forget about it." Slowly Dean rolled so that he was sitting back up and finally looked Sam dead in the eyes. "And I don't want you to stop it."

"You know I'm not just going to let you go."

"Yes you are. I'm ready to go and you don't got a choice. It's better this way."

"Better than what?"

"Better than you dead and me a total jerk-off failure."

"Dean, whether or not I'm alive you're about as far from being a failure as anyone could get and you're not worthless without me. You're the strongest person I've ever met."

"Don't I wish…you obviously need to get out more, Sam. You've been listening to me too long."

"There's no one else around worth listening to." Dean sputtered disbelievingly at that like he thought it was a joke. It wasn't. "Seriously, Dean. I don't give a crap about what anyone but you says."

Again Dean gave a mostly humorless chuckle. "Dude, that was when you were three and you thought Dad and I were the only two people on the planet besides you."

Sam shook his head to make it clear that wasn't what he was talking about. Dean seemed genuinely perplexed at his assertion, but he wasn't saying any of this just to make Dean feel better. What Sam was saying was every bit as true as what his brother was.

"Man, you are either lying out your ass or setting yourself up for some serious disappointment," Dean continued doubtfully. "Nothing I say is worth hearing."

Sam found himself wanting to tell Dean to stop insulting his brother. He wasn't listening to anymore of this. "Stop, Dean. Just stop. This is ridiculous. You never should've had to do half of what you've done, but you did it and you never complained. Man, I never even knew..."

"Stop looking at me with that damn pity in your eyes!" Dean demanded. His brother slammed his fist down on the mattress in such a sudden surge of energy that Sam nearly jumped. "Don't you ever feel sorry for me. I've always done what I've had to so that I could take care of this family. Take care of you. That's what I needed to do and I don't regret anything I've ever..."

The determined strength in Dean's voice cracked. His brother dropped his head to his chest and after a few deep breaths, rubbed his hand over his eyes. Slowly he lifted his head but kept his eyes adverted. When he spoke his voice had softened considerably and almost sounded uncertain.

"I just wish I could've done it better, you know? But, hey, there's still time, right? I ain't dead yet."

Dean tried to force a smile. Sam knew his brother was doing it for him so he let Dean think that it was a comfort. It would have been if it was real, but the sorrow in his brother's eyes was suffocating. Sam struggled to force the corner of his own lips up and nodded in agreement.

"If I got anything to say about it, you're not going anywhere."

It took all the restraint he had not to address anything else. He wanted to shake Dean to make him see that no one else on the planet would have given as much as he had. To tell his brother that it wasn't pity that he held when he looked at him. It was concern for the brother he admired more than anyone. But Dean was right on the edge of breaking and even though it shouldn't, Sam knew that humiliated his brother to no end.

Dean thought he had to keep it all together and that meant never letting anyone, even his own brother, see him break down. No doubt he had Dad to thank for that because god forbid that Dean should have an outlet rather than having to keep everything locked inside. No wonder his brother thought he was so alone.

Just because Sam wanted to deal with this out in the open, didn't mean that he was going to force Dean to. He'd gotten the answer he needed and would just have to work on Dean in more subtle ways.

"Super," Dean replied after he managed to throw his defenses back up. "So can we drop this freaky kumbayacrap and kick some demon ass?"

"Yeah. Sure, Dean."

Sam let out a heavy sigh as he turned back to his laptop so that Dean wouldn't see the sadness in his own eyes. He didn't really have any clue how he was going to fix any of this. He just knew that he had to. It was the least he owed Dean.

"Uh...so, anyway," Sam said as he opened the web browser, "I'm going to dig up more information on the deaths to see if anything matches what happened to you tonight."

"It would help to know whether or not we're even dealing with the same sons of bitches and if I'm going to wake up some demon's sacrifice."

"You're not," Sam assured him.

"Guess it's good that one of us is suddenly an optimist. So what can I do?"

"Sleep." Dean opened his mouth to protest, but Sam cut him off. "Dean, you're beyond exhausted. You need to rest. I promise I won't listen."

Sam pulled his headphones out of his bag and plugged them into the laptop's jack to prove it. Reluctantly Dean started to undress, but Sam could see his brother's still troubled eyes in the mirror over the dresser. Sam took a moment to work up a sideways grin and shot a look over his shoulder to Dean.

"I really don't want to hear you mumbling about how much you like Bobby anyway."

"Shut up, bitch," Dean chuckled as he pulled off one of his cheap dress shoes and pitched it at him. Sam blocked it and tossed it back to his now smirking brother. "Bobby is damn fine...in a way that's totally not."

Dean made a face at his own words before shaking it off. It was somehow different listening to Dean knowing what his brother was masking under the surface. Dean's annoying posturing suddenly wasn't so annoying.

"But I guarantee whatever he's hiding under that hat looks ten times better than what's stuck on your head and I spoke that so you know it's freakin' gospel."

"You're a total jerk, Dean. Go to sleep," Sam snorted in reply.

As soon as he turned away from Dean the feigned smile fell from his lips. Joking around was the last thing he felt like doing, but there was no way he was going to let his brother go to sleep miserable. He just wanted to make Dean forget all of this. Forget everything.

It couldn't have been more than a couple of minutes later and he realized he hadn't heard Dean moving around for a while. Sam glanced towards the mirror but he couldn't see Dean from that angle anymore. He pulled the headphones that weren't even playing music out of his ears and glanced to his side to see what his brother was doing.

Dean had taken off his other shoe but hadn't even finished unbuttoning his dress shirt. Instead his brother had just collapsed on top of the covers. Sam furrowed his brow as he silently studied Dean. The relaxed position looked comfortable enough and he could hear his brother's breathing, deep and steady.

The rhythm sounded completely normal for Dean. There had only been two years of their lives that they hadn't shared a room together. If it was one thing Sam knew it was what his brother sounded like when he was sleeping and whether or not everything was all right. Maybe he shouldn't be surprised that Dean was so tired. His brother had every right to be after tonight.

Quietly Sam walked over to pickup the stuff that Dean had left strewn around the bed he had passed out on. With a light kick he nudged Dean's shoes out of the way so that his brother wouldn't trip on them. He scooped up the whiskey bottle lying next to Dean and returned it to the bag. When everything that should be in the bag was, he carefully lifted up the leather jacket Dean had thrown on the bed and draped it out of the way on top of the olive duffel.

Sam stopped just before turning off the bedside lamp when he saw Dean's face. There was no longer any trace of the earlier tension and hurt that had clouded his brother's features. If there was any way he could permanently take away that pain he would, but it wasn't something that was going to happen over night. They were just going to have to take this one step at a time.