A/N: Thank you so much for your great response to the fiction, your reviews really mean the world to me and I'm gonna reply to each one asap. You guys are the best. And because I didn't have the heart to disappoint you I decided to change the ending that's why it took me couple of days to post this when I said I'd post the chapter right away. So, I hope you enjoy the second and last part of the fiction :)

Warning: T for language and unbeata'd.

Part 2

And I've got nothing to say
I can't believe I didn't fall right down on my face
I was confused
Looking everywhere only to find
That it's not the way I had imagined it all in my mind

...

Dean took the stairs two at a time, feeling not only the weight of his bags trying to drag him down, but also the gravity of the situation. Maybe he was a coward, but he couldn't stay in this place any second longer. So he blanked his mind, focused only on putting one foot in front of the other until he was standing next to his car inside the ancient garage.

Knowing full well that no one would be coming after him—no one would try to take him back—Dean allowed himself a moment of weakness and sagged against the driver's seat door and tried to take deep, slow breaths.

Adrenaline seeped out of him, ripping off the mask of false bravado along with it since he was finally alone, without anyone watching his every move, and he found that it was getting harder to draw air into his emotionally-swollen lungs. A thick lump of unwelcome tears blocked his airway and his whole body started shaking much like it did a while ago back in the confines of the damned kitchen.

Digging his keys out of the jacket was proven to be an almost impossible task with his terribly shaking hands but he finally managed to do it. He just wanted to get inside of the safety of the Impala and lay his head against the leather seat until he could get his bearings back again.

Trying in vain to insert the key into the lock, Dean leaned more heavily against the door of the car, the only thing that never left him, the only thing that still supported and carried him through it all, accepted him without a second thought and provided him with warmth and a safe shelter his whole life.

You think you're my savior, my brother, the hero.

You swoop in and even when you mess up you think what you're doing is worth it, 'cause you convinced yourself that you do more good than bad.

But you're not.

Dean closed his eyes, trying to shut out his brother's face, his words. Hadn't he needed both his hand to brace himself against the impala to keep from falling he would have covered his ears with them to muffle Sam's words as it taunted him.

I'm poison, Sam. People get close to me, they get killed … or worse.

He knew, God he knew he was a fucking bad news, he knew he ruined everything and everyone that dared to get close to him, he knew he broke everything he touched, starting with Sam.

He knew he was the one responsible for all the crap Sam has been going through since the night Dean decided to drag him back to the hunting life to search for their Dad almost nine years ago. Knew that whatever mess they were in now, it was his own making, and that he drove them both to this and apart from each other.

He just wanted to believe …

He wanted to believe so bad that he was useful to someone, that he was doing more good than bad. Instead he was drowning; the only thing he could do for the past several years was making a mistake after another, somehow managing to break his own record each time. He didn't really blame Sam for wanting to run away from him, for not wanting him as a brother anymore. It was due time anyway.

He was startled when a heavy hand suddenly dropped over his shoulder and almost lost his balance when he turned around to face whoever—or whatever—sneaked up on him while he was too busy feeling sorry for himself.

Get a fucking grip, Dean. He berated himself and when his blurry vision cleared enough he could see that it was Sam, who was looking back at him with a mask of concern and worry that made Dean sick to his stomach.

What the hell did Sam want from him, now?!

"What do you want?" Dean growled his thought out loud, angry at himself for not feeling Sam walk in on him, not knowing what Sam had witnessed, how long he had been standing there and watching him. And what was with Sam and watching, anyway?

Taking a step back and away from his brother's reach, Dean repeated himself when he didn't get an answer.

"What do you want, Sam?"

Sam, who had followed Dean to the garage after he snapped out of the haze the situation forced upon him and has been standing for the last five minutes in there, watching his big brother literally breaking in front of him, took a step forward, hating the way Dean backed away from him until his back hit the solid support of the car.

"Dean, are we seriously doing this?" Sam finally spoke and hurried to continue when Dean's eyes hardened and he was about to protest. "Can we just … I dunno, go back inside and talk about this, please?"

With a bitter smile, Dean started shaking his head before Sam was even finished. "Oh, I think we've done all the talking we're ever gonna need. So, don't take this personally, but I think I'm gonna have to pass."

"Dean, I don't want you to leave. This isn't what I want; this isn't what I was trying to make you understand." Sam tried, feeling more desperate by the second. "You know I didn't mean it the way you heard it."

"Oh, I know?" Dean snickered. "How the hell should I know anything anymore, Sam, huh? You tell me you don't want to be brothers; you say you're cool with me dying and, what? If you think for one second that I'd just stick around to be your fucking whipping boy, then you oughta go screw yourself."

But it was for show, all the anger, all the resentment he tried to push into his words, it was all for show. Because no matter how hard he tried, he could never resent Sam or leave his side unless he was hundred percent sure that he was the reason his brother hurt. And Sam was right, he was right all along. But Dean was still trying to convince himself that leaving was the right thing to do and it hurt.

It hurt like Hell.

And it left him bitter and angry at his own weakness.

"Are you kidding me? Dean, you're my fucking brother, man. Of course I'm not cool with you dying." Sam felt his chest tremble as he let loose of another shout of denial of his own. The more they kept going, the more certain he wasn't going to be able to stop Dean from leaving. And what made it even worse was that he knew for a fact if he let Dean go now, he might not be able to get him back ever again.

And that terrified the shit out of him.

"Wow, you really blow hot and cold, you know that?! What are you, Sam? Four?" Dean's eyes narrowed in disbelief. "You don't want me to leave, but you really don't want me around, either. Make your own fucking mind, man." Dean said tiredly, the fight already draining out of him. He was sick of being used like a frigging puppet and being tossed away when he wasn't needed anymore. He just wanted it all to be over.

A nagging voice in the back of his head told him that he should just leave, that this—whatever Sam was trying to do now, wasn't worth it. Wasn't going to change a damn thing. That this way, it would be better for both of them and each could go on their own chosen way; he could be free of Sam's nagging and disappointment as much as Sam would be free of his whole existence. He could throw himself into the open arms of the night, slash and hack at every creature that dared to step in his way. To embrace the darkness and blend in it.

Dean shook his head at the foreign thoughts the teased his mind, and immediately regretted doing so as the world spun crazily around him and he could no longer tell up from down. After a long moment of dizziness, he was finally aware that his right arm was burning and the keys he was still fisting fell to the ground as he shook his hand in defense against the sudden fire.

He thought he was losing his mind when he looked at the source of the pain and didn't see fire engulfing his forearm but a soft, red glow under his shirt sleeve instead. And then he remembered.

He remembered Cain and The Mark that he blindly decided to bear in the sake of fighting evil and killing Abaddon, in the sake of doing something good again, feeling useful again.

He had almost forgotten how his blood felt like it was set on fire when Cain gave him the mark. It burned every now and then but he tried to pretend that it was just a symbol; drawn on his arm with a bloody paint instead of the burnt flesh and clotted blood it was.

"Ahh!" The burn intensified and Dean clutched his arm to his chest, doubling over and trying to catch his breath. He was vaguely aware of Sam calling his name in panic and his own groans of pain but the only thing he could do was try to breathe, which wasn't working all that well, either.

He felt his knees hit the ground, hard, and it seemed like all the sleepless nights and the whole "very little food and too much alcohol" thing decided to finally bite him in the ass and join the world-of-hurt party, designed especially for Dean Winchester.

Not feeling the support of the impala behind his back anymore, Dean, in his very fragile mental state, knew that there was nothing left to catch him if he fell and thought that maybe this was for the best. If he could just die here and now it would be better for everyone, for him … and for Sam. He felt himself tipping forward as the edge of the welcomed unconsciousness advanced at him, and with his support system ripped out from under him, he had nowhere to go but down.

….

So what am I?
What do I have but negativity?
'Cause I can't justify the way, everyone is looking at me
Nothing to lose
Nothing to gain, hollow and alone
And the fault is my own, and the fault is my own

….

Sam's heartbeat quickened at his brother's unexpected cry of pain but it was when Dean's knees suddenly buckled that his heart sank to the floor along with his brother and then everything was happening too fast.

"Dean!" He found himself at Dean's side before even realizing moving and crouched to his knees beside him, barely managing to catch the older man's falling body before he could break his nose against the unforgiving surface of the cement floor.

Sam flinched at the heat he felt radiating from Dean's body when he grabbed him by the shoulders to lay him flat on the ground. His brother's face was pale like a white sheet and sweat matted his hair to his forehead and gathered on his upper lip, his body was slake in Sam's arm, not resisting Sam's maneuvering or refusing his help. And if Sam wasn't already panicking, he definitely was now.

Amid his haste to rouse his still unresponsive brother, Sam took Dean's wrist between his long fingers, trying to find a heartbeat, when the red lines peaking from under Dean's jacket sleeve stopped him.

Surprised, and not a little pissed off at Dean for hiding an injury from him, Sam pulled the jacket sleeve up not too gently to check for the wound that was now seeping blood, and regretted his action immediately when Dean cried out again at the rough manhandling but didn't wake up.

"Shit, sorry, sorry." Sam whispered sympathetically, realizing that lately he didn't bother to check on Dean to see if he was injured or needed help with stitches after the hunts, was too angry and filled with hurt to focus his energy on anything else—including Dean.

So he shouldn't have really been all that surprised that Dean wouldn't bother to announce the state of his own wellbeing when Sam was giving him the impression that he didn't care in the first place. Hell, he even pretended not to see the glaring telling of Dean's dejection for almost the whole past month. He pretended not to see the bloodshot eyes the spoke of countless sleepless nights, or notice the early morning drinking—the all the time drinking. He couldn't even remember the last time he saw Dean actually eating at all, and he was fairly certain that the half donut that he saw him eating the other day and the small bowl of pudding that knocked Dean out were the only things he had gotten into his system in days, maybe weeks.

He was trying not to let guilt win and focus on helping his brother, but when Dean's jacket sleeve was out of the way and he found himself face to face with the glaring mark of Cain that he had only saw once when his brother told him about it a couple of weeks ago—which wasn't glowing bright red, nor Dean's veins were, back then—guilt threatened to knock him out right there and then.

He had completely forgotten about this thing, Dean only mentioned it a few times and each time he filed the reminder to do his research for later. But later never really came. He was distracted being too pissed off to actually remember.

God, Dean! I'm so sorry. He thought miserably, closing his eyes against the pile that threatened to choke him only for a second, before he turned his attention back to the limp body that lay in his arms.

Taking advantage for Dean's temporary lack of resistance—and feeling like an asshole for it—Sam took a moment to inspect the symbol that he realized was practically carved into his brother's flesh and was surprised to find it too hot to touch.

Sam almost jumped out of his skin when Dean's left hand clamped around his forearm all of a sudden in a death grip that was only shy away from breaking bones and his eyes were wide open, yet glassy, seemingly only half conscious.

"Stop!" Dean breathed, and even though pain laced his tone and etched his features, he still managed to sound threatening. "Stop!"

Momentarily frozen by the older man's reaction, Sam loosened his fingers from around his forearm and waited until Dean did the same so he could take his arm back. Dean didn't seem to be completely aware yet, though, and if anything, his fingers seemed to only tighten even more around Sam's skin like it was the only thing keeping him from falling.

"Guhh!" Dean groaned through clenched teeth, unconsciously pressing his forehead hard into Sam's shoulder as tears of exertion leaked out from his squeezed shut eyes.

At loss of what to do, Sam forgot about his due-sever-bruising arm, which Dean still clutched for dear life, and wrapped his other arm securely around his brother's shaking body, trying to help Dean ride out the unexplainable pain spell the only way he knew.

And the fact that Dean went with it and practically leaned into Sam while he didn't even bear the thought of Sam touching him a while ago was enough proof that he was still pretty out of it, and it almost broke Sam's heart.

God, he had missed his brother so much he didn't even realize it until he had to actually hold him to ease the pain. And it was his fault. He was the one who intentionally drove him away.

He thought that he could do it on his own, that he didn't need the care and the pure love Dean always offered without asking for anything in return. But this right here and now; having to hold his brother who was holding back just as tightly, having to keep him as close as possible, made him grasp the fact that he needed his brother, needed the safety net that was Dean, as much as Dean needed him.

Hell, he maybe even needed it more than Dean. What was there left for Dean to have except an ungrateful and ignorant little brother, anyway? Sam closed his eyes against the tears the thought brought up, fearing that after Dean woke up he would shove Sam away from him and try to escape the place as fast as possible. And Sam wouldn't really have the heart to blame him.

As if on cue, he felt Dean's body stop shaking and finally relax in his arm before it stiffened once again, indicating that Dean apparently became aware of where he was and who was holding him.

….

Dean was grateful that the merciless fire finally started to abate, returning to the dull burn he constantly felt in his arm and he, thankfully, could bear without having to scream his lungs out. His muscles relaxed and he felt himself sinking almost contently against the solid frame that seemed to be the only thing keeping him from falling. Though, he couldn't help but feel a little disappointed by the fact that he was still alive and not blissfully gone.

At the dark thought, everything came rushing back to him, shocking his already overtaxed system, and he finally recognized the solid frame as his brother and his body involuntarily tensed.

What the hell happened?

He started shoving weakly at Sam's chest, noticing only then the tight grip he had around Sam's arm. Again, what the hell happened?

Sam felt Dean starting to push at him, push him away, and irrationally tightened his arms around him instead. He wasn't ready to let Dean go yet. God, he wasn't ready. He would never be ready.

Dean felt Sam's arm tighten around him and couldn't help the flash of panic at the humiliation of the situation that flickered inside his chest. He was pathetic, dammit!

He raised his head from where it was resting against his brother's shoulder and was barely able to look Sam in the eye.

"Sam, let go of me." He said slowly, a muscle jumping along his jaw line, not understanding what exactly Sam was trying to do, but not caring to know as much as he cared about trying to gain a part of his long-since-lost dignity back. "Let. Go. Of. Me."

Sam just shook his head silently causing a lone tear to slip out of the corner of his eye and slide along his flushed cheek.

He wanted to ask Sam what had happened, wanted to punch him in the face for the shit he was pulling on him and beg him to stop crying. He wanted to know what they were doing sitting on the cold floor in the middle of the garage and yell at Sam to let him go and tell him why he was holding him like he was going to escape. But nothing came out, because he was going to escape. He was trying to. And wasn't that what Sam wanted in the first place?

Abruptly, Dean could feel the whiskey he had been consuming earlier burning its way back up in his throat like acid and somehow he found the strength to forcefully push Sam away from him before he could cover them both with his puke.

Sam thrust out his hands and pressed it flat against the ground and managed to save himself from the nosedive Dean's surprisingly strong push almost caused, and stared at him as he scrambled to his hands and knees and started throwing up violently.

Scrunching his nose in disgust and sympathy for his brother, Sam waited until Dean was done puking what could be a week-worth of alcohol before he dared to move closer to him.

Wiping the back of his shaking hand across his mouth, Dean caught a movement out of the corner of his eyes and struggled up drunkenly to rubber feet and almost fell back down hadn't he thrown his weight in the right angle towards the support of the car.

Sam was already on his feet and moving towards him, his hand reaching out as to support his wavering body but Dean stopped him before he got too close.

"Don't fucking touch me!" Dean thundered at him, surprising them both by the venom dripping from his words. But he quickly regained his composure, glared at Sam and stood his ground.

He was sick of this and someone had to put a frigging stop to it.

Using Sam's momentary shock, Dean bent down to grab his keys, almost passed out at the spot but he made it through by sheer force of will. Do not fucking tempt a desperate man. He thought angrily.

He pulled his jacket sleeve down, which he knew must have been Sam's doing, remembering the white, hot pain that literally brought him to his knees, and thought briefly that he needed to figure out how to deal with the not-glowing-anymore thing on his arm as soon as possible. He succeeded to unlock the door this time and thanked the universe for small favors as he quickly got inside the car and shut the door with a loud creak. But his victory was short-lived as a second later Sam had the passenger's seat door open and was already getting inside, too, effectively snatching the keys from Dean's hand before he was able to insert them into the ignition.

"What the fuck, Sam?!" Dean bellowed out, his patience was leaking pretty fast at this point.

"If you're leaving, then I'm coming with you." Sam said as a matter of fact and turned in his seat to be able to directly look at him.

Taking a deep breath to calm his fraying nerves, Dean closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger. He was really tired to Sam's shit. "Sam, I swear to God, if you don't get out of the car and give me back my keys right the hell now, I'm gonna fucking dick ya!" He said slowly, meaning every word.

When he was met with silence, Dean glanced at Sam who was wearing his I-am-gonna-stay-here-forever-until-you-hear-me-out-if-I-have-to expression.

"Fine!" Dean huffed, starting to open his door, fully intending to round the car, pull Sam out and beat the shit out of him if he had to.

Reading his brother's intention, Sam reached out instinctively and grabbed a fistful of Dean's jacked to stop him from getting out, his hold only tightening when Dean gave him a long, dark look, daring him to keep his hand on him. And Sam, fully aware of his brother's threat and desire to fight, willingly chose to keep his hold and glared back at him. Make me.

He considered it a victory when Dean sighed heavily, his shoulders sagging a little bit, apparently too tired to fight at this point despite his warning.

"Say what you got." He bit out, exhaustion seeping into his tone. "And make it quick."

Seizing the opportunity Dean finally granted him, Sam had to remind himself to actually speak up this time if he wanted to keep his brother by his side.

"Dean, look, I'm really sorry for what I said back inside." Sam began and his heart clenched a little bit at the bitter smile that crept its way along Dean's lips, who was staring at the windshield in front of him, obviously unwilling to look at Sam. "You know this isn't what I meant. And I'm sorry I didn't make myself clearer when I said it. I should have known how you'd hear it, but… for a moment there; I didn't care—couldn't care."

Dean didn't say anything, didn't even move a muscle, and Sam's heart was already bounding so hard he could actually taste the fear and regret that coated the back of his mouth.

"I just, I was… so angry. Like Hell." Sam went on. "Kevin was dead and… I can't not see it every freaking time I look at my own hands, man!"

But Dean was already interrupting him, "I told you, Kevin's on me!"

"It is on both of us, Dean." He said sadly, finding that grief was finally taking over anger. "It's on both of us and with the whole Gadreel thing, I needed time to process; I needed time to understand what was happening and what I have done to be able to deal with it. And you were the only one around for me to lash out at, man."

Sam didn't know if Dean was still listening or not, but either ways, it was maybe his only chance to try to fix it—to fix them—and he might as well use it for all its worth.

"I know that you might not believe me at this point—after everything that happened—but, Dean … I'm never going to be okay with you dying. I'm never going to just stay there and just… watch!" Sam kept going sincerely, not wanting to hope too much when he noticed the hesitate glance Dean threw his way out of the corner of his eyes. "Dean, you put everyone first and you don't even care if you don't make it out alive. You'd kill yourself before you lift a finger to defend yourself against someone you love when you are being used as their frigging punching bag—including me. If the situation were reversed, you wouldn't have been able to live with yourself. You'd be the one stopping me from saving you if it meant that someone else could get hurt. You'd rather die for the greater good instead of denying someone else's right to live. Hell, you sold your fucking soul so I could live and spent the whole fucking year, the only year you had left, blowing every goddamn chance that could save you because you knew it'd mean that I'd have to die then." Sam reminded him accusingly, finding it a little hard to breathe through the dark, detailed memories of Dean's trip to Hell.

It was only when Dean finally looked at him, really looked at him, that Sam felt like he could draw air into his lunges again.

"All those years, Dean, you did that. You always favored others lives over yours. You were so pissed and hurt whenever someone died so they could save you. Dad, Cas, Bobby, Ellen, Jo. Me." Dean's eyes saddened, the memories and Sam's words probably weighting on him as much as they were on Sam.

And he was surprised to find that it was easier for the words to come out while looking at Dean's eyes where a lifetime of sacrifice and suffering lived.

"You practically raised me, man." Sam choked out, overwhelmed by their history, by the grieve he saw in Dean's eyes, by how far they have gone. "You taught me everything I know; you protected me your whole life, were more of a father to me more than Dad ever was—"

"Sam—" Dean protested, finally getting into the conversation.

"No, Dean. Whether you like it or not; it's the truth. You may not want to accept it, but it is how it's always been like." Sam sniffed. "And finally, finally, after all the crap I put you through practically your whole life, how many times I let you down, I had the chance to do something good. To make the world a better place, a safer one, where you could finally have something other than pain and blood, to have the family you've always wanted—"

"Sam, you are my family!" Dean turned in his seat, facing his brother completely and Sam could sob with relief.

God, Dean.

"And I was blind enough to push away the only family I've got. I'm still pissed and hurt, I might still need time to get over everything but that doesn't mean that you're not my brother. That I wouldn't do anything for you like you would for me." Sam said one more time, wanting to make sure that his brother got him this time, that he knew what he actually meant for him. "So, please, Dean. Don't do this. We can fix it, we always do." He finished and the only thing he could do was wait for Dean's answer.

He didn't know what else he could say. He was so tired and emotionally drained and all he wanted was to hold Dean and never let go.

Dean for his part, to say he was speechless would be the understatement of the year. And right then, he could only see his six year old brother who used to beg him for help to fix something he had broken before Dad came back home. He closed his eyes against the onslaught of the memories and looked away, trying to decide what was the right thing to do.

For a second, he wished his dad were there to tell him what to do, to tell him what the best way he could protect Sam was: leaving or staying. He wished he could hear Bobby calling him an" idjit" one more time, telling him how family wasn't supposed to make him feel good but feel miserable while smacking him lightly on the back of his head.

Dragging a rough hand over his tired face, Dean heaved a sigh. He knew what he had to do; he had always known what he had to do. He had to watch out for his brother, no matter what happened. But before he made his decision, he had to open up to Sam, too. After his brother's long and honest speech, he owed him that much.

Taking a deep breath, Dean looked back at Sam who was holding himself very still much like he did while he stood watching Dean packing God knows how long ago.

"Look, Sam. I really appreciate everything you said, but you have to know that it isn't really your fault." Dean started, looking at Sam hesitantly.

"I'm a screw up, man." Dean smiled sadly, shrugging lightly when Sam started shaking his head at him. "I am. And I told you before and I'm telling you again; I'm a frigging poison, and with this thing on my arm, too?" He added, pointing at the mark hidden under his sleeve. "Who knows what the hell's gonna happen next. I don't wanna drag you down this road with me again. So, I'm telling you; it's okay if you don't want me around anymore. I get it. I do. And I wouldn't really blame you."

"Dean, didn't you just hear what I said?" Sam interrupted him, fully aware of where his brother's speech was heading to. "And I don't care about the mark, that's even more reason to stick together and we're gonna figure that one out, too. I need you, Dean. I need my brother."

Dean just looked at him for a long moment as if trying to detect the truth in Sam's eyes and Sam made sure he showed nothing but love and determination.

"You really mean that?" Dean finally asked.

"Yes." Sam didn't miss a beat, putting all his confidence in this one word which knew was the clincher to everything.

"Okay," Dean whispered, swallowing the overwhelming emotions and Sam felt the tears that he had been holding for a long time now finally spilling free.

"Aw, Sammy. C'mon!" No matter how old they got, Dean's heart would always clinch at the sight of his little brother crying. He was shocked when his words seemed to only manage to make Sam cry harder.

Sammy.

He hadn't realized how much he had missed hearing that coming out of Dean's mouth until now. And it occurred to him that Dean hadn't called him by the nickname in a while now. And if possible, it made him cry even harder.

With his big brother's instinct taking over, Dean dropped a gentle hand on Sam's neck and squeezed a little bit, hoping it wasn't too early for Sam to accept this type of interaction. He put everything he couldn't say into that touch, trying to make sure that Sam understood that he would be always there for him.

"I'm okay, I'm okay." Sam said through tears. Grateful for the hand Dean wrapped around his neck. He was never going to get over how his brother was able to change tactics and letting the big brother in him take over as if flipping a switch when Sam was concerned, even when Dean was practically having a breakdown all night.

"It's just… it's been a long time since you called me that."

Dean frowned in confusion. "Called you what?" And after a moment, his face relaxed in realization. "Oh,"

Sam gave a tiny shrug, felt his brother withdraw his hand only to pat him on the chest.

"Sammy, you gotta stop doing this." Dean said seriously and Sam actually looked back at him frighteningly. What have he done? "This is by far the biggest chick flick of all time, I'm afraid we're gonna have to check you for new grown boobs."

Sam laughed, actually laughed, and used his sleeve to wipe his face. "Shut up."

They stayed for a long moment inside the safety of the Impala—their real home no matter wherever they stayed—as a semi comfort kept their company, both feeling safe and content for having each other back for the time being.

It was Sam who finally spoke up. "So."

Dean looked back at him. "So?"

"This place stinks, dude." Sam scrunched up his nose for effect, referring to Dean's puke that had been there for a good while. "What do you say we go back inside?"

A flash of green crossed Dean's feature at the reminder of the smell and for a second he looked like he was going to throw up again but after a couple of swallows he uttered a husky, "Yeah. Let's get outta here."

Sam's hand reached to the door's handle in time with his brother. "But you're gonna hafta clean that up first." He stopped to say before opening his door.

"And you woulda thought we'd never actually find a way to put that mop on your head to good use." Dean smirked, not missing a beat, and Sam felt relief was over him for finally seeing a glimpse of his brother's long-since-lost spirit back again.

"You're such a jerk." He smiled as he got out of the car.

"Bitch."

Dean smiled back at him and it was all the reassurance Sam needed that they were going to be okay. They might still have a long road to pave and bridges to build ahead of them, but they were going to figure it out.

Just like they always did.

- The End -

Song: Somewhere I belong by Linkin Park.

aaand, that's it :) Too cliché? I hope it wasn't too sappy for you and you guys liked it and I'm really looking forward to hear your thoughts. :)

Alex, as I mentioned, this chapter - specially the ending - is dedicated to you, honey! *hearts*

Have a great day and see you in another fiction.

Aya S.