"There has to be something wrong with me, Sammy."
Dean's eyes shone bright, even in the gloom of the forest. "How can killing make me feel so alive?"
Sam stared at his brother. Adrenaline did that to you. It pumped you up and made you feel powerful.
:
"You're not a killer, Dean. It's the adrenaline. You know that as well as I do."
"You think? Do you remember what I said when we were younger and dumber? That we keep each other human?"
"Dean…" Sam began, but Dean didn't allow him to finish.
"Don't try to deny it. If I didn't have you, I shiver to think what I'd become. Sure, what we kill are monsters, but ninety percent of them look as human as you or I. It would be a short step to the real thing!"
With a grimace, Dean pushed past his brother, setting out toward the Impala.
:
Sam hesitated for a moment, wondering at their lives.
Everything they'd shared; pain, pleasure, even death and resurrection had united them in a bond that defied rationalization.
Like an invisible entity, it surrounded them, intensifying their relationship to the point that, although the premise of their lives as hunters was to save people, at the end of the day, no life took precedence over that of their brother.
Sam would kill for Dean, and he for Sam. No exceptions. Each had sworn it to the other.
"There's nothing I wouldn't do for you, Dean," Sam had declared.
"You and I, come whatever," Dean had vowed.
Sam caught up with his brother and together they strode back to the car.
Two brothers, one soul.