Thanks for reading and for all the encouraging reviews, they really make writing such a long story so worthwhile when I get frustrated. Hope everyone enjoys the chapter. Bambers;)

Chapter Fifty-Four

"All I'm sayin' is lemme call in a few favors, Dean," Bobby argued, warily eying Dean as he stalked a back and forth path in the small expanse of their shared motel room. "If there's as many of them as you say, we'd be damn fools to take 'em on by ourselves."

"I've already told you, I'm not putting anyone else's life in danger." Dean allowed the older hunter believe he wouldn't confront Dominic on his own as all-the-while he made plans to the contrary. Although he loathed lying to his longtime friend, he hated the idea of Bobby dying because of him a helluva lot more, and would do whatever was necessary to keep him safe. Yet, for all his assurances that he wouldn't do anything foolish, Bobby wasn't that naïve or maybe he just knew Dean too well.

He was waiting for Dean to make his move. His posture was rigid and on guard as if he were readying himself for battle, however it wasn't Dominic he planned on fighting, but Dean if he attempted to leave the motel on his own.

"It's getting dark an' it's a long drive, so we should probably get going," Dean said, conveniently leaving out any specific information pertaining to the exact location of Dominic's two compounds.

"If you're thinkin' about losin' me on the way, don't even try it, Dean," Bobby warned as he grabbed hold of his duffel of weapons, and stood to leave. "Cause you're my family, boy, an' I don't intend on losing you."

The double meaning behind Bobby's words were not lost on Dean, and guilt clenched hard in the pit of his stomach. "I don't plan on losing you along the way," Dean muttered, taking solace in the partial truth of his lie.

Dean led the way out the door, and headed to the Impala as Bobby made his way to his truck. It only took a matter of moments for the older hunter to cross the lot, notice that all his tires were flattened, and another moment for him to swing back around to face Dean. In that short amount of time, Dean had managed to slip behind the wheel of his vehicle, turn the key in the ignition, and threw the car into drive. As Bobby darted toward the car, Dean hit the gas pedal, mouthed the word's 'sorry, Bobby', and peeled out of the parking lot.

Within a few seconds, his cell phone thrummed out Back in Black, and if he'd thought letting it go to his voicemail would give Bobby the hint that he wasn't coming back, he was sorely mistaken. For the next half hour the phone rang incessantly, the constant back to back calls grating on his already taut nerves. After what must have been the fortieth call, he yanked the phone out his pocket and jabbed the button.

"Dean, what the hell do you think you're doing?" Bobby hollered into the phoned before Dean even had a chance to speak. "You go there by yourself, you're gonna get yourself killed."

Shoulders drooping, Dean sighed in resignation. "I know your not gonna understand this, Bobby, but Sam's gone . . . he was - this was never about him." A alone tear shimmered and slipped down his cheek unchecked as he recalled how Sam had recoiled from his touch after he'd rescued him from the bomb Dominic had planted on him. "An' I know he's gone . . . I can feel it with every breath I take. An' I'm so sorry," Dean's voice trailed off as he thought of the look of fear on his little brother's face when he'd first visited him at the hospital. The desperate, broken look in his hazel eyes left jagged scars in Dean's battered soul that would never heal no matter how much time past. "But that sonuvabitch took away the only chance I had to make things right again between me an' Sammy."

"Dean, you don't kn - "

"Don't tell me I don't know, Bobby," Dean gritted out, angrily swiping the back of his hand across his cheek, drying his mutinous tears. "He killed my father . . . my b-baby," his voice hitched, recalling how Dominic taunted him with the fact that he'd killed Shannon knowing she was pregnant with Dean's child. "There's gonna be nothing left of Sam to save - an' I won't bury my brother . . . I won't."

"Don't throw away your life this way, Dean," Bobby uttered, his tone as close to pleading as Dean had ever heard before. "Sam . . . he'd want you to - "

"He'd want me out of his life . . . he cut me out - started a new life, forgetting everything an' everyone that mattered," Dean somehow managed to say, and swallowed hard against the thick, painful lump in his throat. Hands tightening around the steering wheel, he turned onto the road leading to the first of the two compounds. "An' yet I somehow still managed to drag him back in." Through blurred vision, he maneuvered his car in between the cover of trees and hit the brakes. "So I figure what the hell . . . last Winchester left standing deserves to go out with guns blazing, an' if I take out a few of those sons of bitches along the way, I've done my father proud, an' that's nothing to be ashamed of." Without waiting for Bobby to respond, Dean snapped his phone shut, and ripped out the battery.

Propping his forearms against the steering wheel, Dean leaned forward and peered through the trees, searching for any sign of Dominic's men. He knew where they would be stationed, and also could estimate how many he would have to kill before he reached Dominic. The odds stack against him were impossible, and realizing this, his hopes of seeing the look in Dominic's eyes as a bullet struck him dead center in the heart, dwindled to nothingness.

In his mind he could hear the unbearable sound of children crying, their terrified wailing growing ever louder as blood spilled to the ground around them as they scurried for the protection of the trees. At one time he had protected them, had thought of them as family, but how could he spare them now? If they had the chance to grow up, they would be filthy murderers just like Markus.

What about Raine? What if she's in there with them? His mind rebelled against the thought of her dying by his hand. Although he understood she wouldn't be the same girl he had married, she had still been his wife, and no matter how he looked at it, he couldn't justify killing her. She'd been kind to him, had taken gentle care of all his injuries caused by Dominic and his men. If anyone deserved to live, it was her, and he'd be damned if he'd watch her die again.

Dean quietly pushed open his door, cringing as the hinges creaked, but at the same time took comfort in the noise. It was the sound of home - his home. In the end, it was the one thing they could never take and keep from him. His hand lovingly trailed along the edge of the roof as he plodded to the back of the vehicle. In every way his Baby was a true Winchester - battle ready - battle scarred.

No one's ever gonna take you from me again . . . I'd burn in Hell first. Popping the trunk, Dean shifted through all his gear, pulling out every gun he owned, along with all of the ammo. He laid them carefully on the ground away from the car. Then he turned back and rummaged around in the trunk until he found a can of lighter fluid. With hands trembling, he slowly circled the Impala, liberally dousing her inside and out with the noxious liquid.

"This is for you, Sammy." Fishing through his pocket, he yanked out a zippo lighter, struck it, and threw it into the car through the open driver's side door.

Dean shielded his eyes as bright flames rapidly spread through the inside of his car, engulfing it completely within a matter of moments. Intense heat scorched his face, but his feet remained rooted to their spot as he stood mesmerized by the sight of his Impala going up in flames . . . and somehow it seemed fitting. Everything in his life began with a fire, and so it would end with one as well.

He couldn't bring himself to feel sad or remorseful - his heart was too empty . . . his soul too tired of fighting the good fight. The things that he had wanted for himself, the things that every person had the God given right have, never stood a chance against the war he had been drafted into, but how could he regret the life he never had when others lived because he merely existed as a drifter in the shadows?

"It was one helluva a ride, wasn't it little brother?" he mused aloud, a sad smile briefly flitting across his features as he recalled Sam being at his side as they drove through backwoods America, following their father to their next big hunt.

"Dean," a familiar feminine voice called out from directly behind him, startling him as she gently touched him on the shoulder.

"H-he's dead, isn't he?" he asked without turning to face his mother. "No, you don't have to answer that, I already know."

"You do have a choice, Dean," his mother shifted her position to stand in front of him. Trailing her fingertips along his cheekbone, she placed them beneath his chin and lifted his head so he was looking her in the eyes. "If you think things should end this way then I can't stop you, but I'm begging you to give Sam a chance. I know he's lost his way, but he loves you so much, an' needs the time you're going to be denying him if you choose this path."

"He'll never forgive me," Dean muttered, lowering his eyes so he wouldn't have to see the disappointment etched into every line and detail of her face. "Everything he suffered through was because of me, so how can I look at him when I know what I'll see in his eyes?"

"Dean, you didn't do anything wrong." She smiled as she drew him into her protective embrace. "You were as much a victim as Sam was - your only crime being that you cared too much, and wanted to protect Shannon." Resting his head on her shoulder, Dean fisted his fingers through her hair, and pulled her closer to him. "At some point, you have to let someone in through that fortress of walls you've built to hide all the pain burning you up inside, so why not try trusting in Sam?"

"No one cares what a soldier thinks, Mom, they just want you battle-ready and willing to give your life for the cause."

"That may be true, but every soldier needs to come home at some point, and if he's battle weary then he damn well deserves someone there to give him comfort." She pulled back away from him and looked him in the eyes again. "It doesn't make you weak, it makes you human, and there's nothing wrong with that."

"I guess it's easy to say that when you're dead and no one's looking to you to be their hero - your every failure reflecting in their eyes - so I can't even consider letting my guard down for a moment because look at what happens when I do." Dean broke free of her hold on him and swung to gesture toward Dominic's encampment hidden amongst the tree. "And if Sam can't forgive me, then maybe it's better it all ends right now cause I'm too damn tired to fight anymore."

"If you really thought that, you would've already made your choice, and I won't still be standing here."

"Huh, really cause I thought burning the only home I've ever known was pretty much my decision."

Mary shifted to stare at the burning carcass of Dean's once beloved Impala, and slowly shook her head. "I know you loved your car, but it's only another possession, and can't be compared to the feelings you have for your brother - an' you know in your heart that if there's even the slightest chance that you can mend what's happened between the two of you, you'll grip onto it like it's a life raft and you'll pull Sam aboard and keep him safe until the storm subsides."

Ducking his head, Dean glanced up at her through veiled lashes. The soft, warm glow of firelight played across her delicate features, flickering brilliantly in her bluish-gray eyes, and within their endless depths he found a spark of hope.

"You really think I can fix things between me and Sam?"

"Even when you were little, Dean, you were always a fighter." A sad smile graced her features as she lightly ruffled her fingers through his hair. "I'd put you to bed, an' you'd just keep getting back up until I'd give in, make some popcorn and watch a movie with you. Of course even back then you insisted that Sam needed to be up with us because he might get scared if he was in his crib alone - I can't tell you how many times John ended up carrying you to bed when you fell asleep after the opening credits."

"I don't remember that," Dean breathed in a hushed whisper, searching his mind for any clear memories of his mother before the fire, but couldn't recall any.

"Wizard of Oz," She chuckled, "You loved the Wicked Witch, thought she was the coolest, but you hated the winged monkeys." Her laughter grew louder as Dean blushed profusely. "I always had to cover your eyes whenever they came on screen while you covered Sammy's eyes."

"I covered Sam's eyes because of winged monkeys?" Dean now chuckled as well, thinking of all the real creatures they had dealt with, and couldn't imagine a time when he would be frightened by monkeys with wings.

"You said he'd get nightmares, an' it was your job as big brother to protect him."

The laughter died on his lips as he considered all his mother had said to him, but no matter how hard he tried, everything always circled back to the harsh, unrelenting truth that it wasn't winged monkeys Sam was afraid of but him. "Things will never be the same between us again."

"Maybe not, but you'll never know for certain unless you're willing to give him a chance to prove you wrong."

"And you really think he will?" Dean glanced up hopefully at her.

"Sam's a lot stronger than you think - stubborn and determined, just like your father. Give him a reason to fight for you, and I truly believe the two of you can overcome any obstacle in your path," Mary gently coaxed, and as she stared off into the woods behind Dean a worried frown creased her brow. Her tone turned more urgent as she added, "Please say you'll try, Dean . . . I really need to hear you say it."

Dean fell silent once more, fear warring with the desire to believe he had a chance to make things right, but before he had the chance to respond, the sound of gunfire cracked through the night. His body abruptly jerked forward as stark, burning pain shot through his entire back. For a moment all he could do was stare dumbfounded at his mother. Then he glanced down at the crimson stain on his flannel shirt, growing ever wider by the second, and horrible understanding dawned on him.

"M-Mom," he stammered, blood spilling from his mouth as he clutched his chest, and fell forward into her arms.

"Say it, Dean," Mary commanded, tears shimmering in her eyes. "Tell me you wanna live . . . tell me you want to be the fighter I know you are - I can't help you unless you do."