Pain. That's the first thought than ran through Sam's head. He gasped, breathing hard after what felt like drowning. He opened his eyes slowly, blinking fast but the light was too bright, making his head flash with pain he didn't think possible. He opened his mouth, wanting to scream but no sound came, his breath stolen away by the sheer intensity of agony. His entire body was stiff, aching, pins and needles all over as though every muscle was waking at the same time. He tried to roll over, trying to get some movement back in his muscles once the pain reduced enough for him to risk moving. He shifted, managing to roll onto his stomach, fingers clutching at the sandy ground in an effort to push his upper body up.

Finally managing to look around, he wished he hadn't. Everything was destroyed. Trees turned black, hanging onto stumps by what looked like charred splinters, houses burned down and destroyed, giant chunks of hills missing... and on top of that, soft gray ash covered everything. Sam got to his shaking feet slowly, feeling almost coltish. He looked down, checking himself over for injuries, but he was whole, even if extremely dirty and wearing tattered clothes.

"What the fuck...?" Sam whispered to himself, voice hoarse. He staggered forward a few steps, getting his balance back. He walked a few meters, looking around for anyone else, any other person, but there was no one. "What happened here?" He asked himself, putting a hand on a piece of demolished wall to take some of the weight off his feet. He kept looking around, feeling like something was missing, like he was forgetting something... or someone...

With a start he thought of Dean, and the panic that coursed through him nearly brought him to his knees. "DEAN!" he called out, looking around frantically. He had a sudden flash of memory, of seeing Dean's face up close, twisted in a snarl as they fought each other, yelling and hissing and wanting blood.

And just like that, Sam remembered. Michael, Lucifer, the apocalypse.

He closed his eyes, just breathing, remembering all the things he had done, the way he had attacked Dean, watched as his body was used to hurt his brother. He remembered the way he had thrown Dean's body away from him, using the demonic powers to hurl him far through the air. He remembered the sound of bones breaking, of the squelch of organs puncturing, and then the crackling sound of them repairing themselves, of Dean standing up again.

To kill him.

"Fuck," Sam said, pushing away from the wall. He had to find Dean. He had to make sure he was alright.

Some of the worst crimes imaginable were committed with the best intentions. He wasn’t sure where he’d heard those words before, or why exactly they came to him now, but for some reason they repeated over and over in his head. He was amazed actually he could manage anything even remotely resembling a coherent thought considering the way his head felt like it was getting ready to crack open from the inside and spill his brains out all over the ground.

The very idea made him shudder. Like maybe that had actually happened to him before, but of course that was stupid because if it had there was no way he could be alive now. Was he alive now? He wasn’t even sure.

At one time he would have said of course he was alive because if he were dead he wouldn’t be hurting so damned much everywhere, but now he knew better. The pain that a mortal body could endure was nothing next to the agony a soul could suffer in hell. He knew that very well now and the idea that maybe he was dead and back in hell made him tremble even harder but he forced himself to calm down. Surely if he were back in hell he’d know it, even as much pain as his body felt in right now, it wasn’t the same tortures he remembered on the rack.

So… he was alive then… feeling like he was suffering from the worst hangover of his life and that maybe a dump truck had run over him then backed up for good measure while he’d been passed out in the middle of the street… but he was alive. Something told him he shouldn’t be, though.

“DEAN!”

He heard his name shouted, but at the same time it sounded muffled, like he was hearing it through a hundred feet of water or something. Still the desperation he heard in that voice he knew so well, that he would recognize anywhere, pushed him closer towards consciousness. Even as something in the back of his mind told him he shouldn’t be hearing that voice either, just like Dean knew he shouldn’t be alive. Or if he was hearing that voice he should be… afraid of it…

“Sam…” Dean tried to call his brother’s name, to let the younger man know where he was, but his voice caught like jagged glass in his dry throat and he coughed hard.

Sam staggered through the destroyed streets, the asphalt itself cracked and raised in places in a way that suggested massive earthquakes. He stopped for a moment, remembering watching from a hillside as the town below him rumbled and shook, the screams of people rising from it.

He remembered the power coursing through his veins as he made the earth itself tremble and destroy things from the very base.

"DEAN!" He called again, his voice hoarse and raspy but somehow managing to carry. He was thirsty, so thirsty he felt like he could die of it. He staggered a few more steps, tripping over a pothole and falling hard to his knees. He cried out at the feel of his tender knees slamming hard against the unforgiving asphalt. He pushed up to standing again, checking and noting that no, he hadn't injured himself. His knees just looked very, very black from a combination of dust and dirt. Underneath that, they only looked a little red.

Sam took a few more steps, managing to walk across what used to be an intersection when he heard it... coughing. It was weak and it came from down the road. He walked faster, seeing the destruction around him in a sort of awe. He remembered causing all this. He remembered facing down Michael... he remembered using people as weapons, using their cars and houses as bombs and traps for Michael. He remembered setting things on fire, and laughing as he heard the people burn.

In the corner of his eye, he saw what looked like a charred hand among the rubble. Sam's stomach turned to violently it brought him to his knees, convulsing hard as he tried to throw up, but his body didn't even have bile to spare.

"God... what have I done?" He mumbled to himself before resuming his trek to the first sound of life he had heard yet. He wished with all his heart that it was Dean, that Dean was okay and that Sam wasn't left all alone in this world.

Behind a burned husk of a car, he saw Dean, lying on the ground, looking weak and half conscious.

"Dean!" Sam said, jogging lightly and fighting to keep his balance. He dropped down next to Dean, gently grasping his shoulders to roll him onto his back so he could see. "Dean, man, you okay?" He asked, checking him over for injuries, patting his chest and stomach gently, looking for any signs of pain from Dean or any swelling. Dean was alive and breathing though, his heart beating strongly in his chest under Sam's fingertips and Sam didn't care if the world did burn, as long as Dean was with him.

He heard his name again. Closer now. Clearer. Dean shook his head as he tried to clear his thoughts, tried to make some sense of what was going on. He shifted, trying to get his arms under him so he could push himself up but he barely made it a few inches off the ground before his arms simply gave out beneath him and he collapsed back to the pavement with a groan.

Dean tried to open his eyes, tried to get his bearing, hoping perhaps being able to see where he was might remind him what the hell had happened. But his vision was as blurry as his thoughts. The landscape swimming in and out of focus in a way that just made his stomach turn violently. It made him want to just lay back down on the ground and close his eyes again, maybe pass out again, and when he woke up maybe he wouldn’t feel more dead than alive.

But he couldn’t. He’d heard Sam. He knew he’d heard him. He’d heard the desperation in his brother’s voice when the younger man had called his name, and he couldn’t simply ignore it. So as hard as it was Dean clung to consciousness and tried to push himself up again. Only to feel hands on his shoulders a moment later helping him to turn around onto his back.

Ok. That didn’t feel any better than lying on his front had. Dean coughed again hard and though he knew he’d probably regret it, he tried to open his eyes again.

“Sammy?” Dean managed to croak, though he knew it was his brother. He knew it even though the younger man’s dirty worried face wouldn’t focus completely. He knew it even though he didn’t feel like he knew anything else at the moment…

And then suddenly it all came rushing back.

The words… the words in his head… he knew where he’d heard them now. It had been the first thing Michael had whispered to him in his own mind as the angel took over his body. When Dean had been forced to say ‘yes’ because… because Sam had said ‘yes’…

Adrenaline pumped through his veins like liquid fire and Dean sat up abruptly. Ignoring the way every muscle in his body protested the movement as he shoved himself back away from the younger man’s touch like it burned.

“Get the fuck away from me!” Dean shouted hoarsely as his fingers scrambled through the rubble on the ground, finally finding a long twisted scrap of metal that had once been part of a street sign. It was about as useful a weapon as using a toothpick against a lion, but it was all he had.

Sam had been so relieved upon seeing that Dean was alive and breathing that he almost hadn't registered the panic in Dean's eyes. When Dean started struggling, shoving away from Sam's touch, Sam thought it was because he had hit an injury and Sam only fought to keep a grip on Dean, trying to get him to not move.

He kept trying to hold Dean down until Dean shouted at him to get away from him, his voice hoarse and rough.

"Dean!" Sam said, eyes wide with hurt as Dean grabbed a long scrap of charred metal, holding it up like a weapon between Sam and him. Sam was frozen, sitting there with his hands held out, palms up. "Dean, it's me..." Sam said softly. Maybe Dean didn't remember who he was? How much damage would holding an angel inside you do? Lucifer had messed with his head too, sure, but he felt pretty functional. What if... what if Dean didn't know who he was? What if his memories had been wiped off?

"It's me. Sam. Sammy. Remember? Dean... you gotta remember me," Sam said, desperation in his voice, expression open and worried. He reached forward again, slowly, to try and get the scrap of metal away from Dean. He didn't want to get stabbed or beaten down with it, and mostly he was worried about either one of them getting cut by it and he doubted there was tetanus shots readily available. "Please..." He whispered.

Dean backed away further from the other man but he kept stumbling over debris and he couldn’t get to his feet no matter how much he struggled to, his legs simply refused to hold him, even with the rush of adrenaline through his veins. His fingers tightened around the scrap of metal that was his only weapon, holding it out in front of him in warning however he was fully prepared to use it if the younger man got any closer to him. There was nothing but distrust, anger, and pain in his eyes as he gazed at… his brother… that wasn’t his brother anymore.

He didn’t know what the bastard was playing at, but he wasn’t going to be fooled.

“I know damned well who you are!” Dean snarled, backing away a little more from the other man and swung his weapon at the hand that tried to reach for him. He knew damned well that if the other man really wanted to kill him there was absolutely nothing he could do, but that didn’t mean he was just going to roll over dead for him.

Michael… where was Michael? What did this mean? Did he lose?

The earnestness and hurt in the other man’s eyes, the pleading in his expression and voice, only angered Dean more. He would have rather the mother fucker just killed him than play with him like this. Pretending to be… him… and Dean had fallen for it… until Lucifer had tried to kill him of course… he’d been dying when he’d had no other choice but to say ‘yes’ to Michael.

“You’re not my brother!” Dean shouted hoarsely, his lungs protesting harshly and he almost doubled over coughing.

Dean's words made Sam take a step back, holding his hands up in a surrender position. He looked at Dean, trying to keep his muscles relaxed and not look threatening. Dean's coughing fit made Sam worry, but he didn't know how to get close enough to take a look at him.

"I am your brother," Sam said softly. He thought of all the horrible things he had said to Dean as Lucifer. How much he had hurt Dean before Dean had been forced to say 'yes'. The way he had taunted him, attacked him, said hurtful things. No... no, Sam hadn't said those things. Lucifer had, using Sam's voice and Sam's face and Sam's body.

Lucifer had lied to Sam. He had manipulated him into saying 'yes' and the first thing he had done was broken the promise he had made to Sam.

Sam shook his head, pushing past the guilt. He had to make Dean see that he was not possessed anymore. There will be time for guilt later.

"I'm not possessed anymore, Dean," Sam said, voice still gentle. He looked around, looking for any way to prove to Dean that he was himself right now, not Lucifer, but in the rubble and destruction, it was unlikely he'll be able to find anything as such. He wasn't thinking too well, he realized. Maybe shock. Maybe exhaustion. Maybe he was just brain damaged. How would he know Lucifer hadn't done something irreparable to him before leaving him?

"I'm Sam. I'm not possessed and neither are you," Sam said, trying to make Dean see what was going on. "If I was still ... him, don't you think I would have killed you already?" Sam took a small step forward. "I'm me. I'm not... I won't hurt you, I promise. Please believe me, Dean." Sam took another step closer, eyes on the scrap of metal. Sure, Dean looked weak right now, but if he swung that thing hard enough, it could do a lot of damage, specially since Sam was pretty sure his reflexes were shit right now.

When the other man actually took a step back away from him rather than coming closer, eyeing the scrap of metal in his hand warily, Dean admitted that confused him a little. His little ‘weapon’ was certainly no threat to the devil. It wasn’t even silver for god sake, not like that would have mattered. He and Sam had found out pretty damned well there was nothing that could kill Lucifer. Nothing… why do you think the angels had simply locked him away before all those millennia ago instead of simply killing him? Not even Michael had been able to kill him. What the fuck chance did they have? So, yeah, Sam backing away from him even only a little threw him a bit. Of course it might just be a trick. The bastard was good at that too. As Dean had found out…

The fall was going to kill him. He remembered that was the last thing he’d remembered thinking when he went over the cliff in the Impala. The demons had tracked them down, their orders to bring Sam to their master. Alive, of course. Him? Either way but probably bonus points for dead. Sam had managed to get out of the car before it went over, he wasn’t so lucky.

When he woke up, he was in a hospital, and he had been really damned surprised to be waking up at all. Sam was there, looking haggard and like he was going to burst into tears at any second as the doctor described the extent of his injuries. Telling him what bones he’d shattered, arms, legs, and vertebrae among a few, he’d lost track after a while. What organs had been punctured and weren’t working anymore. Cracked skull… broken ribs… the list went on and on.

He’d been in a coma for three months and the fact that he was even awake now was a fucking miracle she’d said. But he’d probably be paralyzed from the neck down for the rest of his life… for however long that may be… he was still dependent on a lot of machines to just keep breathing. Sam hadn’t let them pull the plug… he wished his brother had…

The next time Dean had woken up he was still in the hospital bed but things were… different… The casts and braces were gone. The tubes running in and out of his body had been pulled out. He had been able to move. Sit up even. There hadn’t been a scratch on him, and that had been infinitely worse than when he’d woken up with his body literally shattered. Knowing what it probably meant…

Sam…

He’d had to hold onto the wall as he got out of the bed, his body still weak and shaky even though it was whole as far as he could tell. Dean almost wished he hadn’t gotten out of the bed. The silence of the hospital had been deafening and he found out why as soon as he stepped out of his room into the hall. Bodies… pieces of bodies… everywhere. So much blood everywhere it coated the floors, walls, and ceilings.

Dean had found Sam, or rather, Sam had found him a week later. At first Dean had been just as wary of the young man as he was now, but Sam had insisted he hadn’t made any kind of deal to save his life. That he had returned to the hospital where Dean had been staying to find the exact same carnage Dean had witnessed. He didn’t know how or why Dean had been spared and healed, maybe the angels had done it he said, they needed Dean after all, needed him to say ‘yes’. Maybe they’d killed everyone in a warning to Dean to quit screwing around… and Sam had been so damned convincing, especially when the young man had burst into tears and hugged him in relief, Dean had believed him.

Then things had started happening. He lost contact with Cas… he hadn’t heard from the angel for weeks… They kept ‘stumbling’ over more and more dead angels. Dean started noticing increasing reports of disease, death, and destruction in places they’d been. Sam kept insisting they keep moving, never staying in one spot too long, like he was searching for something… Sam went missing more and more sometimes showing up days later and giving him no explanation to where he’d been. It smacked of the whole Ruby incident only a hell of a lot worse since Sam wasn’t even trying to explain himself.

Of course Dean finally followed Sam one night. It wasn’t easy, but at the same time it seemed almost too easy. Like Sam knew he was there and making it difficult but wasn’t really trying to lose him. Like it was a game… When Dean had finally found his brother… somehow he hadn’t been surprised to find him covered in blood. The blood of an angel tied to a rack, though the only way Dean could tell it was an angel by the shadowy outline of its wings weakly fluttering. It was barely recognizable as human at that point. Then Sam had turned to him, like he knew he’d been there all along, maybe he had.

I wish you hadn’t seen this, Dean. He’d said with far too much amusement in his voice even though his face was sincere. Right before the demons had grabbed him.

The next few weeks… it had reminded Dean of hell far more than he’d ever wanted to remember. Lucifer had tortured him to within an inch of his life, healed him, then tortured him again, and again, and again. One time Dean had actually asked why the bastard didn’t just kill him, but the devil had only smiled in response. It took him another week or so before Dean finally figured it out. Why Lucifer had bothered pretending to be Sam at all, what they’d been searching for, and what the devil wanted from him now. Michael. He’d been looking for Michael. The apocalypse, killing off humanity, wasn’t enough for him. He wanted a rematch.

It wasn’t long after that, Dean had finally screamed yes…

So what did the bastard want now? He’d already gotten what he wanted, hadn’t he? He had beaten Michael. He had gotten his revenge. He had destroyed the world. He had Sam… What more did he want?

When the other man took a step towards him Dean sagged in defeat, falling back to the debris covered ground, and letting the piece of metal drop from his hand. He couldn’t do this anymore. He just couldn’t. Dean closed his eyes. He didn’t want to see Sam’s face anymore. He’d seen his brother’s face too much already while Lucifer had been torturing him. He didn’t want to see his brother killing him too.

“Just get it over with… please…” Dean begged, even though he knew it probably wouldn’t make a difference. He’d begged plenty of times for the devil to just kill him before and he hadn’t, why would he show him that mercy now? But maybe at least he would drop the pretense.

Sam saw the defeat in Dean's eyes, saw the way he sagged and dropped the piece of metal. Sam thought maybe... maybe Dean believed him, maybe he believed Sam that he wasn't possessed anymore.

Dean's next words shattered that illusion.

Sam knew he had done horrible, horrible things while Lucifer rode his body. Lucifer had found immense amusement in letting Sam see everything his hands did, letting him watch as Dean screamed and begged. Lucifer let him see how he flayed Dean's skin from his body, let him feel how the blood ran down his fingers, let Sam learn the texture of his brother's flesh, the sensation of pressing fingers against his organs...

No amount of screaming and yelling had discouraged Lucifer, if anything, it had seemed to cheer him on. Begging for madness hadn't worked either, and now Sam remembered everything, and he felt like he was dirty all over.

He had said yes to save Dean. And in the end, his body had been used to torture his brother. Sam had never regretted uttering one word as much as that one.

"It's me... Sam..." Sam whispered, his voice catching. He stayed where he was, refusing to come any closer. He won't. Not until Dean said he could.

Lucifer had known exactly when to approach Sam again. He had waited until that one day Sam had been in the park behind the hospital, head in his hands and thinking of his brother paralyzed for life. Neck down. He couldn't do anything for himself anymore. Hell, he couldn't even go to the bathroom and take care of basic needs.

Trapped in his own body.

It's not that Sam minded taking care of Dean... no, he would take care of Dean forever if necessary. Dean had raised him. Dean had cleaned his throwup a hundred times when he was young. He had put bedside vigils for when he was sick. He had changed his diapers, for god's sakes! Sam could take care of Dean for the rest of his life and it still wouldn't come close to paying him back. But... but this... being the way Dean was right now... it would kill Dean. But before that, it would drive him mad.

"It's a sad thing, how God works, right?" Lucifer had said, appearing beside him on the bench. "I'm not the bad guy here, Sam. In fact, I can fix Dean, make him okay again. Your God did this to him, when I'll save him. Who's the good guy and who's the bad guy?"

In the end, Lucifer's speech was unneeded. Sam had asked him to promise him that he won't back out on his word. He made Lucifer promise that Dean will be healed and safe. And once that promise had been made, Sam had said yes.

Lucifer had kept none of his promises except one. Sure, Dean had his body back, but it was only so Lucifer could inflict the maximum amount of pain. What fun was a paraplegic anyway? Lucifer liked them twitching.

"I'm sorry..." Sam had yelled again and again, trapped in his head as he watched the cruelties take place by his hands. "I'm so sorry, Dean," he had whispered once he started losing hope.

"I'm sorry," Sam said this time, to a shivering, weak, defeated Dean, because this time Dean could hear him. "I'm so sorry..." Sam wrapped his arms around his chest, not wanting to appear as broad as he was. "He said he would keep you safe..." Sam whispered, "he lied to me. I'm sorry."

Dean waited… and waited… and waited for something to happen. For anything to happen. He waited for him to drop the charade. He waited for the Devil to show his true colors. He waited for Lucifer to kill him, to torture him, anything… But for a long time there was only silence broken by his own ragged breathing.

His chest hurt something fierce and he kept feeling the need to cough. He wondered if he had simply inhaled too much ash or smoke or something… Or if his lungs were still scarred from when his chest had been literally clawed open from when Lucifer had given him to a pair of hellhounds to use as a chew toy. When the bastard had healed him even as the demonic beasts tore him back open while he and the demons laughed around him…

When the other man finally spoke, breaking the almost deafening silence, Dean wished he could say he didn’t hear it. But even though the whisper was soft there was simply nothing to drown it out. Nothing but his own breaths that had now caught in his throat.

Sorry…? That was certainly one thing the devil had never said to him. Not even the times when he had played with his head, pretending to be Sam again. Making Dean believe that his brother had gotten free somehow, was himself again… only to laugh and begin torturing him again. He’d never apologized… not once…

It had to be a trick… it had to be… It couldn’t… he couldn’t believe again and… he just couldn’t go through that again. But… what if it was Sam? A part of him had hoped… had prayed as Lucifer had tortured him, that Sam was dead, had been burned away when the devil took his body. Because if he hadn’t been it meant that Sam was there… had to watch everything the devil had done to him…

Dean almost didn’t want it to be his brother… but what if it was Sam? Even when the devil had pretended to be his brother, he’d never sounded so… broken…

Slowly Dean dared to open his eyes. He was still standing there. He hadn’t come any closer to him. His arms wrapped around himself tightly, as though they were all that was keeping him together right now. Hunched in on himself the way Sam had sometimes did when he was a self conscious teenager, trying to make himself seem smaller when he’d begun to tower over all the other kids in his class.

“Sammy?”

Sam saw how Dean opened his eyes, looking at Sam slowly and assessing him. Sam stayed away, hoping that Dean believed him, that he believed it was Sam and not Lucifer. Sam didn't know how to prove it to him, how to make sure he was alright without touching him if Dean didn't believe him.

So when Dean whispered his name, Sam nearly deflated with relief.

"Yes, Dean... it's me..." Sam said, taking a step forward but then aborting the movement. "It's me... I'm not... I'm not him and I... I just... can I...?" He gestured forward, insinuating his need to come closer. He wanted to make sure Dean was okay, wanted to get him someplace safe, maybe a hospital or something and have that cough checked out... he didn't even know if Dean was injured. What if he was secretly bleeding out while they argued about whether or not Sam was possessed?

Dean really wanted to believe that it was really his brother… and only his brother… standing in front of him right now. But when Sam took a step towards him he couldn’t help flinching.

He simply couldn’t help it. After months of expecting nothing but pain whenever the younger man came close to him it had become… almost an instinct. But Sam’s movement stopped even before he really started and didn’t come any closer. Instead asking him if he could…

Lucifer had certainly never asked permission to torture him… but still the idea of actually giving that permission made Dean break out in a cold sweat.

“Sam…” Dean whispered his brother’s name again. Maybe hoping that if he said his brother’s name enough that would make it true, make himself believe it… It was only Sam, his brother, his baby brother. Sam would never hurt him. Sam only wanted to make sure he was all right. Just like he would want to make sure that his brother was ok…

If he was wrong, if he was being a sucker yet again… if it wasn’t Sam… then there wasn’t much he could do about it, was there?

Dean finally gave the barest nod.

Sam smiled a little, just a pleased twitch of his lips when Dean gave him the permission to come closer. He made sure not to give in to the urge to run to Dean's side, because that will, no doubt, scare his brother. He kept his movements slow, making sure that he didn't make any sort of quick movements, and got to his knees in front of Dean. He reached out, gently touched Dean's ribs with his fingers, probing the area lightly.

"Tell me when it hurts?" Sam asked, words soft and apologetic as he ran his fingers down Dean's chest, feeling for any breaks. He'd only know if anything was cracked if Dean hissed in pain so he watched Dean's face closely. After that, he reached up, running his fingers through Dean's hair to check for any bumps or clots of blood, in case Dean had a head injury of some kind.

Once Sam was done, he let his hands drop to Dean's shoulders, letting them rest there. "How're you feeling?" He asked, looking into Dean's eyes in an attempt to figure out what Dean was thinking.

Dean watched warily as the other man approached him, feeling his heart rate pick up in spite of himself, even as slowly and carefully as the younger man moved. Obviously afraid that he might freak out if he moved too quickly… and much to his shame Dean knew he would as well. But what could he really do? He couldn’t just jump up and run away even if he wanted to. He hadn’t even been able to get to his feet before so running was definitely not an option.

When Sam’s hands touched him, Dean flinched noticeably. He wondered if he would ever be able to not flinch in response to Sam’s touch ever again. He wondered any time Sam reached for him if he would expect violence and pain from the younger man’s hands and hurtful mocking words from his lips. He wondered if he would ever forget the feeling of Sam’s fingers coated with his blood as the younger man cut his flesh and muscle clean down to bone, the sound of Sam laughing as he screamed…

But Sam’s hands on him now were gentle. Careful. Checking for injury rather than trying to cause it. Dean’s chest hurt and his ribs felt sore but nothing felt broken. His lungs ached with every breath he took and he was still fighting the urge to cough every few minutes, but Dean was almost certain that had to do more with him inhaling too much of something, like smoke, than any internal injury. The air was thick with ash and both he and Sam were covered in it, as well as dirt and grime, so that wasn’t much of a surprise.

Dean stayed still as Sam finished his examination of his chest and moved to his head instead. He winced a little when the younger man touched a particularly sensitive spot on the back of his head, but other than a wicked headache his head felt pretty much alright as well. His brains certainly weren’t leaking out through a crack in his skull or anything. What little pain he did feel was pretty insignificant.

How was he feeling?

Lost. Confused. Disorientated. Terrified. Bruised. Sore… but whole. Remarkably whole. Considering… But the longer he stared into Sam’s worried eyes, windows to the soul they say… hopeful…

“Sammy…” Dean found himself whispering his brother’s name again rather than answering Sam’s question. Slowly reaching up to first touch the younger man’s face, leaving a smear of dirt and ash on his already dirty face, but Sam didn’t seem to mind. Then Dean found himself wrapping his arms around his brother tightly and just… holding on. Hugging Sam so tight it was probably a little painful if the younger man was just as sore as he was but he couldn’t seem to help it. Dean felt really close to simply breaking down and crying right now as he held onto his brother but he knew if he did that he’d probably never stop.

Sam could see the emotions in Dean's eyes flicker, almost too fast for him to catch. There was hope in there, but it was followed by fear. There was confusion, but a small amount of understanding. But over all, Dean just looked... cautious.

Sam was prepared to move away, sure that he won't be able to convince Dean that he wasn't possessed... at least not yet. No so soon. But then Dean was reaching for him, his warm fingers touching his cheek, smearing the grime and dirt on his face and Sam couldn't help but let out a soft sigh, taking comfort from his big brother. So much had happened since the last time he was close to Dean like this... he had done so many things, so many terrible things... he had seen too much, felt too much, heard too much, hurt too much...

And he had just missed Dean too much.

Sam wanted nothing more to reach out and hold Dean close, hold him tight and never let him go again, but he resisted the urge, only going as far as to press closer to the soft touch of Dean's fingers to his face. "Yeah..." he whispered in response to Dean saying his name, and then Sam was being pulled forward, being held tight against a familiar broad chest. Sam hesitated for a brief microsecond while his brain caught up with him, telling him that Dean was hugging him and that Sam couldn't hurt him by hugging him back... that Dean wanted to hug him so Sam could hug him too.

Then Sam was wrapping his arms around Dean's back, holding him as tightly as he could without hurting Dean. Sam pressed his face into the curve of Dean's neck, that familiar scent of gun-oil and leather and Dean surrounding him and making him feel safe. "I'm so sorry," Sam whispered into Dean's skin, not caring that he could taste ashes in his mouth from where he was gasping open mouthed. "I... he lied to me... he lied to me..." Sam pulled back a little, looking into Dean's green eyes and remembering the way they had dulled more and more everytime Lucifer had sliced his skin while wearing Sam's body. He remembered it all and he couldn't even begin to make amends. How did someone make amends for skinning a man alive?

Sam gripped Dean's arms lightly, just a circle of his fingers holding onto him. He swallowed heavily, trying to make his voice work. His nose stung, sinuses complaining where the ash was wreaking havoc. He could feel phlegm in his throat, could feel the ash sticking to his lungs where he breathed it in.

They had to get out of here. They had to get to someplace with cleaner air, someplace where they could clean up and drop dead asleep and then deal with everything else afterwards.

"Can you walk?" Sam asked, his voice raspy. "We should get outta here, man, your lungs will thank you." Sam had noticed Dean's cough, and he hoped it was just because of the ash. He hoped that they wouldn't have to go to a hospital, because he didn't think they had any fake insurance cards left...

Sam glanced around them, seeing the fire burning a building in the distance, and the rusted skeletons of cars left behind, the silence of it all broken only by the sound of a wall collapsing on itself or the cracking of fire as it erupted somewhere new.

He wondered how far they would have to go to find a hospital... and he wondered how they were going to get there with Dean so weak, and Sam not at his best.

Sam hugged him back. Sam… His brother…

Did he really believe that? Dean wasn’t sure. He wasn’t sure about anything anymore. He couldn’t help but remember the last time Sam had hugged him… it hadn’t been Sam. It had been Lucifer and Dean had been fooled. He thought he would always know Sam. Always recognize Sam. He’d been a fool and he couldn’t help but wonder if he was being a fool all over again.

If it wasn’t Sam, if he’d been fooled again, it would destroy him. Utterly destroy him. Not the torture. Not the humiliation. Not the pain. The knowledge that he’d truly lost Sam, that all that was left of his brother was a lie, is what would destroy him.

The younger man’s soft whisper in his ear made a different emotion swell inside of him he didn’t expect. Anger. Rage. So much he began to shake with it, and it wasn’t directed at Lucifer. It was directed at Sam.

Of course the fucking devil had lied! What the fuck had Sam really expected?! Oh, he wasn’t stupid. He knew exactly why Sam had done it. Why Sam had said yes… and that just made him even angrier. Yeah, he had wished he was dead laying in that damned bed paralyzed from the neck down, but after everything Lucifer had done to him, after all the people who’d died…

Hadn’t Sam learned his lesson? After setting Lucifer free in the first place, drinking demon blood, getting all cozy with that demon bitch Ruby, turning himself into a monster to take revenge after what she’d done to him… hadn’t Sam learned his fucking lesson? Yeah… like Dean himself was blameless. After all, hadn’t he sold his soul in the first place to bring Sam back to life? Hadn’t he been the one to break the first seal? He was just as much to blame… If it had been Sam laying in that damned bed with a broken neck, not even able to breathe for himself… worse than death… what would he have done?

No… he couldn’t think about that right now. He just… couldn’t… not after everything. It would drive him mad. Dean wasn’t sure if he was completely sane anymore but he couldn’t let himself lose it completely. He had to hold himself together the best he could… for Sam.

So when the younger man finally released him and pulled back, asking him if he could walk, Dean merely nodded even though he wasn’t sure he could. That didn’t really matter though, because whether or not he could, he had to. He managed to push himself up again on shaking arms, but he knew he would need help getting to his feet, never mind staying there.

Dean struggled to stand up and Sam was helping him in a jiffy. His own arms and legs trembled from the strain of helping Dean up, when Sam could barely stand on his own, but he didn't complain. He'll never complain about having to help Dean, in fact he'd welcome every chance he got. So he gritted his teeth and steadied his feet and helped Dean stand, wrapping an arm around Dean's back to keep him pressed against his side and grabbing Dean's other hand to wrap his arm around Sam's shoulders.

Sam could feel Dean's body shaking through the strain and Sam helped lend his strength as much as he could. In a moment of madness, he thought 'he ain't heavy, he's my brother' in his head and felt like laughing, but the truth was there was no reason to laugh right now other than the fact that Sam had his brother back.

Now the only thing he was terrified of was what the fuck had happened to Lucifer, and if this was just some elaborate plan of his to give them some reprieve and remember how it felt to touch each other and talk to each other as brothers, maybe even give them enough time to rebuild trust, and then take over Sam again?

Even Lucifer couldn't be that cruel, could he?

Sam pursed his lips together tight, fear clenching around his heart and making him feel cold. If that's what the Devil sought to do, then Sam had no idea what he was supposed to do. He couldn't leave Dean, not with the way he was so weak... but he couldn't just... if he stayed with Dean, he could end up repeating everything that had happened before Dean said yes and Michael nearly burned Sam's eyes out when he possessed Dean.

Sam tightened his arm around Dean and helped them move down the street. He had no idea where they were going, or what they were going to do when they got there, but he was pretty sure they were looking for shelter. Someplace they could lay low and lick their wounds in peace.

"It's really quiet," Sam said softly, not meaning to say it out loud but that fact was creeping him out. There were no sounds, none, other than the sound of things burning or caving in. Everything was destroyed. Charred carcasses of trees stood on what used to be the pavement but was now a pile of pieces of cement. There were bodies scattered along the sides, looking nothing like humans with their faces burned off and their limbs melting...

They also came across a few clearly demonic bodies, ones that had horns curling up from their foreheads and multiple rows of jagged teeth sticking from under melted skin. In the last few hours of the battle, the demons had poured from hell without need for hosts, and that's when things had really gotten bad. Up until then, there had been hope that things would be fine, but once hell opened up...

Sam wondered how many survivors there were... if there were any. He wondered about the other far off continents. Was Europe down too? Africa? Did the demons destroy Asia as well? How about Australia? Did their actions here lead to Australia's end as well?

More than the guilt of having ended the world, he was just utterly terrified of the absolute silence. He was glad he had Dean with him, otherwise he could see himself running down the street, begging for someone to step out, anyone to say something, let him know he wasn't alone.

It couldn't be though. There had to be more survivors. Hell, Sam and Dean survived, and they were, very literally, in the middle of the entire apocalypse. There had to be people, probably a very small amount, huddled in dark spaces hiding from everything. No wonder they didn't hear anything. They just had to look longer.

When Sam helped pull him to his feet he let the younger man pull his arm around his shoulders because he really didn’t have any other choice. Because even with his brother’s help Dean barely managed to stay on his feet. His legs feeling like jello and threatening to buckle beneath him with every step he took.

He could tell that Sam was just as unsteady as he was. He knew he should let go of Sam, let the younger man conserve his strength rather than forcing his brother to support them both, but he knew if he did then he simply wouldn’t make it. Dean was sure it was sheer will at that point more than anything that kept them both standing, and if he or his brother went down he knew they probably wouldn’t be able to get back up again.

So they continued on like good little soldiers. Pushing their way through the remains of the battlefield. Ash and smoke thick in the air. Choking. The smell of burned flesh and melted metal mingling together in his nostrils. It was probably very telling of what a fucked up state he was really in that the smell didn’t really bother him.

Dean managed a sound somewhere between a snort and a cough at Sam’s soft observation.

“That’s what happens when everyone is dead.” Dean muttered, but there was no accusation in his voice. Just a statement of fact. After all, he was just as much to blame for the dead charred pieces of bodies they stepped over. Dean wasn’t stupid. He knew Michael had killed indescrimently, human and demon alike, in his battle against Lucifer. He knew the angel hadn’t cared who got caught in the crossfire, men, women, or children. The only real blessing was that Michael hadn’t made him watch most of it, instead letting him retreat into a dark corner of his mind curled up like the wounded animal he was. He hadn’t made him watch as he killed hundreds, thousands… millions? He hadn’t made him watch him try to kill his own brother…

Where the hell were they anyway? Did it even matter? Still, Dean found himself glancing at the blackened remains of any signs they passed. If only for something else to concentrate on other than the corpses littering the streets. Unfortunately they didn’t really give him any clues, most being the generic street names like First and Main street.

A few more blocks and they finally had their first bit of luck. Most of the cars in the street were just twisted heaps of black metal, but down one side street it looked like a collapsed wall had shielded some of the cars.

“Sam.” Dean said nodding towards the half buried automobiles. If they could get one of them out and running it would be a hell of a lot easier than walking.

Sam looked up at the sound of Dean's voice, following the direction Dean was nodding in to see the pile of cars covered by a collapsed wall. From under the gaps, Sam could see that the cars had survived enough that some of them even had their paint still on them. Sam nodded, figuring out what Dean was getting at.

"Stay here," Sam said, helping Dean into sitting on a pile of broken down concrete. "I'll remove some of the wall blocking the cars, and then we'll see if they work," Sam said, knowing that right now he was in a better shape than Dean was, and that if there was any chance of them moving the pieces of the wall, then it was going to have to be Sam.

From the outside, Sam removed the smaller pieces first, and realized that this used to be a parking garage of sorts. The wall had collapsed, sure, but the roof was still above the cars, and that a lot of them in the center were practically untouched. He was sure starting the cars won't be a problem, what he had to do was remove the rubble enough that they'll be able to drive out of the garage.

With new energy, Sam started pushing aside pieces of concrete and brick, coming to a stop when he went head to head with a giant piece of concrete, fallen sideways on the entrance with a crushed car under it.

On his best days, Sam wouldn't have been able to move that sort of weight. So he went back.

He knew the cars had to be working, and he also knew that Dean had probably inhaled too much smoke. So he had an idea. He went back to Dean, helping him stand up again and feeling his own legs strain at the weight. He was losing strength fast, but he had to keep going for a little while longer.

"The air inside the garage isn't as smoke-heavy," Sam informed as they hobbled towards the garage. "We'll get one of the cars working, and switch on the fan. The filtered air should help," Sam explained, letting go of Dean's shoulders to slip into the crack between the collapsed section of the wall and the still standing part. Once inside, he reached out a hand, helping Dean inside.

The air inside was markedly cooler, and it stank less than outside. Sam took a deep breath, feeling some of the strength return to his body. Once he had Dean safe in a car with the air conditioning going, he'll find another way to get the car out. There had to be a garage door, and he was sure that breaking through it will be a lot easier than going through a wall.

Dean gave a slight nod when Sam helped him sit down on a pile of rubble. He certainly wasn’t going anywhere, and he knew he’d only be a hindrance to whatever Sam was going to try to do. He could barely walk for Christ’s sake he certainly wasn’t up to digging through tons of burnt metal and concrete. In fact, it was all he could really do to make sure he stayed sitting upright and didn’t list to the side immediately once Sam released his hold on him.

Though when the younger man began walking away from him towards the half toppled structure, Dean’s heart began beating harder and faster in his chest every step that Sam took away from him. It was stupid. He could see Sam, and he knew his brother wasn’t going to leave him… but without the younger man there, touching him, he seemed less real somehow. Like maybe Sam wasn’t really there at all, just a figment of his imagination. Either Sam would disappear like a puff of smoke into the already smoke filled air around them or his brother would turn around… and it wouldn’t be his brother anymore… it would be him.

As he watched Sam start to dig through the collapsed wall, trying to get to the cars they’d seen on the other side of it, Dean’s fingers dug painfully into the rough stone beneath his hands. Fear, bordering on panic, making it harder and harder for him to think clearly. What if the rubble shifted while Sam was digging and collapsed on top of him? What if he became trapped underneath it? How was Dean going to dig him out? What if it crushed him? Killed him…

Dean was half a second away from calling to the younger man, even if he was doubtful about his voice carrying that far, and telling Sam to just forget it. They’d keep walking, it wasn’t worth the risk. But then Sam stopped digging on his own and started back towards him, easing the constricting feeling in Dean’s chest and his heart began to slow to a slightly less frantic pace.

He let Sam help haul him back to his feet and he gave another slight nod at his brother’s plan. At least if anything happened, they would be together. Better than being left alone…

Though Dean felt that familiar panic returning when Sam released him to squeeze through the wall, but thankfully the extra adrenaline gave him the strength he needed to follow, even though that strength was fading quickly. Sam was right though. Inside the garage, the collapsed walls blocking much of the wind that was blowing the smoke filled air around outside, he found he could breathe a little easier. Even though the fresher air almost stung with the first few breaths he took.

Sam took a moment to just breathe, letting the cleaner air chase out the dust from his lungs. Already he felt marginally stronger, but he knew that for them to get back to full form, they'll need rest, food, and a hot shower, and not necessarily in that order. Sam could feel the tremble of fatigue in Dean's body through where he was holding onto him. They needed to get someplace where Dean could rest and recuperate.

A big SUV caught his attention, and Sam spied all the 'Exit' signs leading the way out of there. He helped Dean sit down on the hood of a car next to the parked SUV, and then Sam got to breaking into it. He didn't want to break the glass, wanting to keep it as whole as possible so that when they drove out, it would protect them against the smoke and the heat of the fires.

He needed a long thin wire, something to jiggle loose the door lock.

He looked around, jogging lightly to find anything in the rubble that could help him break into the car, but he couldn't. Annoyed, he started trying to door handles of all the cars, hoping one of them would be unlocked.

They weren't. Damn people and their paranoid tendencies.

He jogged back to Dean, getting to his knees in front of him. "Hey, there are four floors to this parking garage," he started, seeing the number 4A written on the pillar next to them. He knew the wreckage of the building on top had been residential, so the parking had to be underground. "I'm gonna go down to the lower floors, see if there's any car unlocked..."

Sam licked his lips, tasting sweat and dirt and ash. Going down was dangerous. Who knew how steady the building was? But it seemed to be holding up alright, and if the basement was to collapse, then it wouldn't matter what floor they were on.

"I won't be long, alright?" Sam said softly, patting Dean's knee before getting to his feet.

Dean let Sam pick out whatever car they were going to steal and be driving out of here. It didn’t really matter, hell, it probably wasn’t even considered stealing anymore since most of the cars owners were probably dead. He didn’t even make a face at the big ass SUV his brother chose. It was probably the most practical after all, who knew what condition the streets were in on the way out of here, it would probably be like driving off road most of the time. Hopefully the SUV had a full tank of gas though because who the hell knew where they’d find a gas station in all this rubble to fill it up if they needed to.

Still as he watched Sam looking around for something to jimmy the door lock open Dean couldn’t help feeling the pang in his chest from missing his baby. It was stupid, he knew that. Especially considering everything else that had happened. But it had been Dad’s, everything that was left of the man had been in that car, it had been more of a home to him and Sam than any of the places they’d stayed growing up, and now it was gone. Just like everything else. Completely totaled when it had went off that cliff... with him inside of it. He wasn’t sure if it was better or worse that it had been destroyed before Michael and Lucifer could lay waste to everything else...

Dean sighed and rubbed his eyes trying in vain to push away his melancholy thoughts and rid himself of the utter weariness he felt. They had bigger things to worry about right now, after all. He watched Sam trying the doors of the cars and was ready to tell the younger man to just forget it and bust open the back window or something, they could tape it up later if they needed to, when Sam came back over to him.

The lower floors? Was Sam nuts! Dean felt that same panic surge inside of him he’d felt when his brother had only walked away from him outside, only amplified with the thought of Sam actually being out of his sight. Without thinking he grabbed the younger man’s arm tightly, shaking his head, before Sam could even get fully to his feet.

“No.” He whispered and hated the panic he could hear in his own voice, even as his brain frantically searched for a legitimate reason to keep Sam here without admitting his fear. “Just... break off one of the car antennas. You should be able to get the door open with that.”

Sam noticed the fear and panic in Dean's voice. One little word, one syllable, and Sam could hear a world of worry in it. Sam was just about to tell Dean it was fine, that he'll be alright down there when Dean came up with a solution he hadn't thought of.

"The antennas..." Sam said, thinking hard. Yeah, that would work. In fact, he wondered how he hadn't thought of it to begin with. Sam put a hand on Dean's where it was holding his arm tight. "Yeah, okay," Sam said, mostly talking to himself now. A little bit away from them was a sports car, with a long thin antenna sticking out from the hood. Sam spied that it had a small tip, and decided that it was worth a try. He gently pried Dean's hand off his arm, squeezing his fingers as he let go to reassure him, before he walked to the car.

Sam grabbed the antenna, looking at how it was the retractable kind. With a vicious tug, the antenna came off, broken in half towards the bottom, and Sam came back with the piece of wire in his hands like it was the holy grail. Without another word, Sam stuck it in the space between the glass of the car window and the door. He jimmied the wire, feeling for that switch that would pop the lock. With a grin, he felt it and he pressed down, feeling the system give, and the lock popped up.

"Yes!" Sam said, throwing Dean a wide a grin before he opened the door.

First thing he did was open all the door locks and examine the car inside out. It had blankets in the back, pillows and duffels with children's clothes. There were some toys in there too, and a toolbox tucked in the corner. Sam realized that they may have hit the lottery with this car. He then got into the driver's seat, ripping open the lower compartment under the steering wheel and pulling the wires out. His hands were shaking, which is the only reason it took him several tries to get the car to start. He watched anxiously at the fuel gauge, hoping that their luck won't run out now.

The pointer went from being settled snugly next to 'E' to climbing quickly and fast to a little under 'F'. Sam got out of the car, going to Dean.

"Let's go," he said with a grin, helping Dean up and together they hobbled towards the car. Sam helped Dean into the passenger seat, telling him to buckle his seatbelt, because yeah, it was gonna be a rough ride.

A few seconds later, Sam was strapped in and the car was heading towards the garage door on the other side of the building. Sam thanked whatever god was looking out for them when he saw that the door was half busted, bent and twisted in one corner. Sam was sure just one nudge of the massive bumper and the thing would crash. As expected, other than leaving some spectacular scratches on the windscreen and the hood, the garage door didn't offer much resistance at all.

Once out, Sam eased the car onto the mess of a road, his speed slow because he couldn't go all that fast with the asphalt lying in pieces around them. Giant gaping holes were randomly strewn about, and Sam knew that the sight of each of them had been a spot where Michael and Lucifer had butted heads.

Sam swallowed heavily, looking at the destruction around them. A building next to them was on fire, a loud booming noise followed by the still intact windows of a floor blowing out, the glass raining down on them. Sam gritted his teeth, swerving to avoid a pile of wreckage as the building groaned behind them.

A voice in Sam's head yelled 'Timber!' as he saw the building tilted forward, the walls on the lower floors caving in and Sam sped up, wanting to be as far from it as he could. He couldn't stop looking at it through his rearview though, and he thought he caught sight of a body fall out of a window before the building crashed over it with a sound that made Sam's stomach drop and his heart jump. The dust cloud kicked up behind them and Sam turned the corner onto another street, managing to avoid getting engulfed in it.

On the new street 'Oakland drive' Sam noted out of habit, he sped up a little, swerving left and right to avoid the obstacles in their path. Bodies littered the road, belonging to both human and demons. Blood soaked into the sidewalks, turning the ground red in some places, black in others. At one point, he saw s burned up body handing from the remains of streetlights that were cycling rapidly from green to yellow to red and back again.

They passed shells of things that had used to be cars, and more than ones he saw people still sitting in the seats, burned and bloodied and dead, still with their hands on the steering wheels and their arms holding smaller bodies to their chest.

Sam carefully kept his mind empty, but the way his blood was running icy cold with regret and then boiling hot with regret was difficult to ignore, and the only outlet Sam allowed himself was the strength with which he gripped the steering wheel as he led them - hopefully - away from the mess and towards civilization.

He hadn’t been able to let go of Sam. The younger man had to practically pry his fingers off of his arm to make Dean let him go. That, right there... as though he needed any more proof... as to just how fucked up in the head he really was right now. Him, Dean Winchester, clinging to the man who’d tortured him to within an inch of his life then brought him back just so he could do it all over again. Over and over...

Ok, fine, it was Sam, not Lucifer, maybe, but he honestly wasn’t sure if that would have mattered to him right now. If he’d woken up in the middle of that ruined street and he’d been alone... Dean didn’t know what he would have done. Maybe nothing at all. Just stayed laying there, not moving, until he suffocated on the smoke filled air or died of starvation or dehydration... or maybe he would have moved, just far enough to reach the nearest sharp object and slit his own throat...

The most frightening part of all this maybe was the fact that those options didn’t really seem all that bad, even now. Wouldn’t take much. His stomach was hollow and empty, his throat so dry he felt like he’d been drinking sand. He wondered when was the last time he ate anything? Lucifer certainly hadn’t been too caring of his physical needs and angels didn’t need to eat. Cas had told him that once...

Dean felt his gut clench thinking about the angel who was more than likely dead now. Castiel had come to visit him once, when he’d been laying in that bed in the hospital unable to move. There had been tears in the angel’s eyes because he’d not been able to heal him. Cas had promised to try to find a way to help him. It was the last time he’d seen the angel... his friend. Had Lucifer killed him too? Dean almost wanted to ask... Sam would probably know, after all... but he couldn’t. Dean didn’t think he ever could ask Sam what he remembered from when Lucifer was riding him and lose whatever scrap of sanity he was clinging to.

So instead Dean simply sat there quietly. Concentrating on trying to get his heart rate down to a more natural rhythm as he watched the younger man’s efforts trying to get the SUV open. It didn’t take long but Dean found he couldn’t return his brother’s triumphant smile. He didn’t really care that Sam had managed to get the car open, he only cared that the younger man hadn’t had to leave his sight while he did it. How fucked up was that?

When Sam came over to him he managed to get back to his feet but moving was definitely getting harder and harder, hell, just staying upright when he’d been sitting had been hard. So it was probably a good thing they only had to shuffle a few feet to get him into the SUV, though actually climbing inside had been its own special hell.

His hands fumbled when trying to buckle his seat belt just because they were shaking so much with exhaustion. He could barely keep his eyes open despite the bumpy ride. He really didn’t want to sleep right now, for a variety of reasons. But despite how he fought against the pull of sleep, his eyes dropped closed within minutes of them clearing the half collapsed garage.

His own special hell waiting for him once dreams took hold, and just like before, no one was there to listen to him beg for mercy.

Sam drove as long as he could. By the time the sun was setting in the sky, Sam's muscles felt like they were seconds away from giving out, and his hands trembled every time he tried to hold them still. He kept his grip tight on the steering wheel though, avoiding paying attention to his own exhaustion because Dean slept next to him, albeit fitfully. At least Dean was getting some rest, and so it was up to Sam to get them out of the city and someplace remotely safe and maybe even with clearer air.

Both came in the form of him taking the remains of a highway and hightailing it out of the city. He avoided the broken down husks of cars here, but the further he got from the city, the lesser the damage got. Sure, he still hadn't seen one living soul yet, but the air was getting marginally clearer without the smoke and fire of the city clogging it, and the highways got emptier and emptier of debris the further away they got. What truly terrified Sam was the fact that he knew where they were now, just outside the western border of Massachusetts, as noted by the highway signs, but that was about all Sam could recognize about it. Where there had been rolling hills and green trees, there were dunes of ash and charred tree stumps. Everything was scorched as though a wave of heat had gone over it, so intense that it instantly incinerated everything, not even giving it time to smoke.

Sam's mind helpfully reminded him of the conditions needed to make charcoal, and he swallowed heavily. It looked like everything was charcoal now.

When the sun had finally set, and Sam decided that if he didn't stop the car now he was going to have them go headlong into a ditch soon, he pulled over. He didn't even know why he did, it wasn't like it was to avoid any traffic, but he supposed he wasn't ready yet to assume the world was empty.

He turned to look at Dean, his face pressed against the glass and his eyes moving fast behind his eyelids. Dean was dreaming, and Sam was sure it wasn't anything good. Hell, he doubted they'd be able to dream anything good for a very long time.

"Dean..." Sam's voice came out cracked and dry, reminding him that he hadn't had anything to drink in god knows how long, but he ignored it and put a hand on Dean's shoulder, shaking him lightly. "Wake up, man. Move to the backseat or something, otherwise your neck's gonna hurt like a bitch later," Sam said, remembering the blankets in the back and the pillows and he knew he could get Dean somewhat comfortable for the night before they started looking for other survivors tomorrow... as well as food and water, although he had no idea where he could find any from what he had seen of the world so far.

There wasn’t much more painful than having your skin slowly peeled off your body down to the muscle. The shock of it alone was enough to kill most people. In hell, you didn’t have much choice. You couldn’t die from the pain, no matter how the demons ripped and tore into your ‘flesh’ because you were already dead. You couldn’t pass out. You couldn’t mercifully bleed to death. You could only endure.

It was amazing what the human body could learn to endure while it was still living.

It had been a favorite game of Lucifer. To see how much of hell’s torments he could endure while he was still alive. Ripping flesh, breaking bone, shredding, cutting, burning… then healing it all before he could lose enough blood to make him pass out or die. Somehow the bastard always made the healing just as painful as causing the wounds themselves.

One strip of skin.

Two strips of skin.

The bastard would keep count. Congratulating him when he got up to taking six strips of skin from his back without him passing out. Such a good boy, Dean… Such a good boy…

Sometimes he’d screamed for Sam. Begging his brother not to do this. To stop him, stop Lucifer, somehow. Make him stop…

Lucifer had only laughed… petting his hair in an almost loving manner.

Don’t you understand? Sammy is dead, Dean. Sam is dead…

***

Dean woke with a startled cry from the light shaking. Jerking away from the touch so fast he ended up cracking his head against the glass he’d been leaning against. His eyes snapping open but all he could see was darkness all around him. He didn’t remember where he was, or who was with him. He tried to move, to get away from the touch that had woken him. Expecting pain. But he was hampered by the seat belt he was wearing, trapping him in place, and that was when he really began to panic.

Dean jerked away from Sam, a startled cry escaping him that made Sam's chest feel tighter and his throat constrict. When Dean jerked away from Sam's touch so fast that he hit his head on the glass, Sam was torn between reaching out and making sure Dean was okay, and backing off and give Dean some space.

So Sam shifted back a little, speaking softly and quietly, trying not to scare Dean any further, but then Dean started panicking. Sam knew the signs, knew how unusual and difficult it was to get Dean to panic, but he also knew it when he saw it. He immediately switched on the car light, the little bulbs above the seats throwing a dim orange light in the car and making things look even more surreal than they had without it.

He noticed that Dean was struggling against the seat belt, and so Sam reached forward and unsnapped the clasp, watching the belt slide back.

"Hey..." Sam whispered, trying not to startle Dean again. "Dean... it's me, Sam," he assured, holding his hands up, palms out, in a surrendering gesture. "It's just me."

Sam was patient, as patient as he could be in a situation like this, but the truth was that he was exhausted as fuck, and Dean was freaking out, and they were both parched and starving and fairly dead on their feet. Sam's every muscle was tingling with the need to rest, his back aching spectacularly, and his shoulders were cramping horribly from the way he had been tensing them through the entire drive, constantly on edge and expecting an attack.

"Dean," Sam said again, trying to get his attention without freaking him out. "I need you here with me, bro. Can you do that?" He asked, rubbing his face with a hand, trying to stave off his exhaustion. He didn't know what he would do if Dean opened the door and bolted. Well, okay, Sam knew what he would do. He'd run like hell after his brother, but truthfully, he didn't want to. He wanted to sleep for days.

At first the sudden light only startled him, blinding him, and Dean froze like a deer in headlights. His eyes wide as saucers as his mind tried to catch up, understand what was happening, and why he wasn’t where he was supposed to be.

The warehouse. Chained down to a bloody table. Broken, and screaming in agony…

Lucifer…

The paralysis did not last long however. Dean blinked rapidly, realizing that he was still restrained and he began struggling again. When Sam finally came into focus that was when he really lost it. He struggled even harder at the restraints holding him in place when the other man reached for him… and then suddenly he was free.

Well, not free. He was still trapped in a very small confined space with… him… but he wasn’t tied down anymore at least. Dean backed against the door as far as he could, his hand fumbling behind him for the latch, when his panicked mind finally registered that the other man was talking. Softly. Soothing. Like Lucifer often did while he was slicing him up, but…

He was saying his name over and over… Sam…? As the fear practically strangling him began to loosen its hold memories of recent events began to filter in past the panic and he remembered. Waking up in the middle of the rubble filled street. Michael… gone. Lucifer gone too… Sam…

“I’m here.” Dean finally forced out in a rough whisper as he tried to force himself to relax, breathe, and not break down in the process.

Sam saw it when Dean's eyes cleared a little, finally remembering where he was and who he was with. It hurt Sam to see Dean like this. It hurt him to see what he had done to his brother by saying 'yes'. And Lucifer had made sure Sam was awake through the whole thing. Sam remembered everything. He remembered watching and screaming in his mind as he watched his hands do that to his brother. He remembered crying and begging and shouting as he watched himself strip the skin from Dean... his brother who he would die for, the brother he would do anything for... And he remembered eventually growing quiet as the torture continued. Sam's screams may have quietened eventually, but Dean had never stopped screaming.

And now he could see the same terror in Dean's eyes even as he tried to calm himself down.

"I'm here," he said in a rough whisper and Sam nodded, swallowing heavily. Guilt lay thick and unmoving in his gut, taking up too much space and making it hard to breathe.

"Okay," Sam breathed, "Good."

He cleared his throat, switching the light off in the car. He sat there for a moment, suddenly at a loss for words. What was he supposed to say? How could he even begin to start making amends? How could he apologize to Dean when the word 'Sorry' was so damn useless and meaningless in the face of Dean's pain?

He couldn't. But he could try.

"I need you to move to the back," Sam said, opting to be the stronger one for once. Dean had shouldered the burden of caring for Sam his entire life, it was about time Sam gave some of that back. "I found some blankets back there, and I can set them up for you. You can't sleep the way you were earlier, your neck would have cramped and then you would have bitched at me all morning, and it's not like we don't have bigger problems than you neck cra-" Sam took a deep breath, realizing that he had stopped breathing while he rattled off inane thoughts. He rubbed a hand over his face, realizing that he was talking too much. "Sorry... sorry... I'll just..." Sam shook his head and opened the car door, slipping out and heading to the back of the car where he already had the trunk popped.

He used the task of making a bed for Dean to keep his thoughts from going crazy again. He very carefully didn't pay attention to the absolute silence and stillness around them. The moon was bright and high in the sky, giving enough light to work by. He set the pillows on one end, with one blanket spread on the floor and the other at the foot of the makeshift bed in the surprisingly large back of the SUV.

The least he could do was make Dean comfortable, because he was sure Dean would have another nightmare.

Dean gave a small nod when Sam acknowledged his ‘return’. No different than if he were acknowledging Dean returning to their motel room with an armful of fast food or something and it was just so… Dean wasn’t sure if there was even a word for it. Wrong. That was about as close as he could come. It was so very wrong, but what else could they say to each other right now in this situation? There were no fucking words for a situation like this and to be honest anything else might just send them both careening off the edge of sanity they were already teetering on.

So Dean merely sat there silently, staring out at the dark ruined road in front of them though he flinched a little when Sam flicked off the light in the car. Even as pathetic an excuse of a light as it was, it had still kept the shadows mostly at bay and now they seemed to be pressing in making him feel even more claustrophobic than he had been before.

He had never been afraid of the dark before, not even as a kid when he had learned that all the monsters under the bed were real… now he was afraid. He was afraid of the darkness around them, of what might be out there in that darkness. He was also afraid of what might not be out there. Of the… silence… that seemed to be everywhere. He was afraid of the man sitting beside him he had once trusted with his life, had died for, gone to hell for, come back for… and now…

Dean took a few deep breaths, trying to calm his heart that was still racing too fast. He noted kind of absently that at least he seemed to be breathing a little easier now. Small favors…

He glanced over at Sam almost cautiously when the young man started speaking again. Telling him to get in the back… sleep… that was about the last thing he wanted right now to return to the nightmares he’d just managed to escape from. But before he could say anything Sam got out of the car and Dean’s heart seized in his chest before he realized that Sam was just moving to the back of the SUV.

Dean fumbled for the door for a second, his hand shaking, though he wasn’t sure if it was from exhaustion or lingering fear, but he managed to get it open and get out. The darkness was definitely worse out here. In the car he might have felt claustrophobic but out here he felt way too damned exposed. Instead of moving to the back where Sam was though, Dean moved over to the driver’s side of the SUV.

“I’ve been sleeping. You should sleep. I’ll keep driving.” Dean said, going for casualness.

Sam had just finished setting up the bed when Dean moved to the driver's side, all casual like he hadn't just been trapped in a nightmare starring Sam as the big baddie. The thought settled heavy in his chest, and he wondered if he'll ever be able to let go of the guilt. But now was not the time to dwell on it, because Dean was in pain and Sam's troubles weren't even close to Dean's. Dean had been tortured for months and all Sam had done was watch. Sam had no right to be any kind of traumatized so he better get his head on straight and move the fuck on.

Dean needed him for once, and Sam was going to do it right.

"No," Sam said in response to Dean's offer, tone firm and strong. "No," he said again, going to the driver's side of the car and grabbing Dean's arm. "You're going to sleep because you need the rest. There's nowhere to go, and as far as I can tell, nothing to run from either. So sleep, because wherever we're going, we're not going to get there in the next few hours."

Sam stared down at Dean, looking at his gaunt face and haunted eyes in the light of the moon. "Please," he whispered. Sam was tired, sure, but he wasn't tired enough to be able to sleep while Dean drove them around. And Dean was hardly stable enough. Sam couldn't be asleep while Dean drove through the darkness of their new lonely world.

Silently, Sam prayed to whatever God existed still that there were survivors, because he didn't know how he could handle an entirely dead world.

'There have to be other people,' Sam's logical half provided helpfully. 'It's statistically improbable that every living human being was wiped off the face of the planet. Nothing short of a nuclear war can do that, and even that would leave survivors.'

Sam's other half scoffed. Yeah, this had not been a nuclear war. It had been much worse.

Dean froze when he heard Sam’s simple reply. Just one word. No. Yet the tone of the younger man’s voice made a cold wave pass through him and he might have even forgotten to breathe for a minute or two. Then the other man grabbed his arm without warning and Dean couldn’t have hid the flinch if he tried. Turning wide eyes, quickly filling with panic, to his brother who had just reminded him way too much of… him…

Sam’s order… giving him no choice… no matter that Dean was terrified of going back to sleep now. Yeah… like he wasn’t terrified when he was awake too… now… but at least when he was awake he knew he could fight… or at least try to fight… He may be just as helpless now as he’d been in his dreams, but at least he could choose whether to face the demons in his dreams or the demons in the waking world.

Rest... Did Sam really think he could ever close his eyes again and actually rest? Now? That he could close his eyes for more than an hour or two and not see him? Wake up screaming… Dean wasn’t nearly exhausted enough, drugged enough, or drunk enough for that.

Sam had no fucking right to tell him what to do. No fucking right at all.

“Let go of me.” Dean finally managed in a harsh whisper, hating how his voice shook but he couldn’t help that either.

Sam noticed how wrong suddenly everything had gone the minute he actually saw Dean's eyes. His brother was panicked, and failing horribly at hiding it. Sam searched through their interaction just now, wondering what had triggered this response when he realized how he had sounded... he had pretty much ordered Dean when that was the last thing he should have done.

"Let go of me." Dean's voice was hoarse as he whispered and Sam let him go like he had been burned. Sam took several steps back, holding his hands up, palms out, to make sure Dean could see that he was unarmed.

"I'm not going to hurt you, Dean," Sam said, his own voice shaking as he tried to just be calm, but he was working on fumes now. He'd had no rest at all since he had woken up and he just wanted to find a corner to curl up in and close his eyes, but that was not something he could do while Dean was this unstable and needed Sam. He couldn't sleep now when a simple inflection of his voice could get Dean to act like this.

His hands were trembling where he was holding them up, now beyond the ability to be steady. He could feel the quiver in his stomach and the strange, niggling numbness that came over his extremities when he hit his limit. Sam knew he was close to hitting the edge of exhaustion and falling over, and he just hoped they would be someplace halfway safe when he did fall into that abyss, because if he gave out when they were in trouble... yeah, Sam didn't want to think about that.

"Please, Dean," Sam said, now begging, "Please... it's just me... Sammy... please," Sam said, letting his hands drop to his side as he watched Dean closely with tired eyes. "I'm sorry," Sam whispered.

Sam didn’t hesitate releasing him. In fact, the younger man let go of him and backed away so quickly that it was like Dean had burned him… or maybe shoved a knife into his gut. By the look on his brother’s face, Dean might as well have.

When Sam promised him with tears dancing behind his eyes that he wasn’t going to hurt him, Dean had to turn away. Closing his eyes and pressing his forehead against the cold glass of the SUV’s door as he tried to gather himself. Tried to keep himself from falling apart again, because honestly, he wasn’t sure he would be able to pull himself back together if he lost it. He couldn’t afford to lose it. Not now.

“I know.” Dean finally managed in a strained voice, emotion threatening to overwhelm him. Maybe because he wasn’t sure what he was referring to. The fact that he knew Sam wouldn’t hurt him. The fact that he knew it really was Sam and not Lucifer. The fact that he knew Sam was sorry…

Or maybe it was because he knew the words were a lie. He didn’t know that. He might tell himself he believed all of that but he didn’t. Not truly. If he really believed it then he wouldn’t be afraid of Sam. He wouldn’t flinch away from his brother’s touch. The sound of the younger man’s voice wouldn’t nearly cause him to panic.

Dean swallowed hard and lifted his head again, though when he turned to look at Sam he avoided the younger man’s eyes as he let go of the door handle, resigned.

“Alright. I’ll sleep.”

Sam let out a breath of relief, his shoulders sagging as he let Dean's soft words wash over him. Sleep... it sounded so good right now, and Sam needed the oblivion. He needed to forget, for a few moments even, the things he had done to his brother, the things he had done to others, the way the world was left, and how he was solely responsible for it all.

He needed a break from the guilt. He knew he deserved it, deserved the weight of the world resting on his shoulders and the responsibility of having ended it haunting him, but he knew that if he didn't step away from the burn in his gut, that he would break.

But not yet.

Sam knew himself, and knew all that he was capable of. He knew he could, and will, carry the guilt and shame for a long time, maybe even forever. He knew that eventually all guilt loses it's strength, but this one, of being singly responsible for the apocalypse... he could never see that guilt lightening. Even worse, he doubted he'll ever forget the feel of his brother's blood covering his fingers.

"Okay, good," Sam whispered, heading to the back of the SUV and looking in one more time to make sure the bed was good and comfortable. It was still hard, just a bunch of blankets layered over the hard floor, but it would have to do.

Or... god, he was being so stupid...

He should have set the bed on the back seat. It was more comfortable, and softer, and Dean would sleep deeper on it.

Fuck.

"Just give me a minute," Sam said, starting to gather the blankets and pillows. It'll only take a few minutes, but it might make a world of difference to Dean's sleep. And Sam knew that Dean needed all the rest he could get. In fact, Dean deserved all the best things in the world after all the shit Sam had put him through... Sam just hoped he'll be able to somehow redeem himself in Dean's eyes eventually.

Dean followed his brother slowly to the back of the SUV where Sam still seemed to be fussing around the blankets and shit. When the younger man started gathering them up again, obviously for some reason not satisfied with the ‘bed’ that he’d prepared, Dean reached out to grasp the young man’s wrist to stop him.

“Sam. No. It’s fine.” Dean told his brother firmly. Like he really gave a damned about things like blankets and pillows or how they were fluffed. He wouldn’t sleep any easier on a feather bed than he would on the cold rocky ground. Sam was only wasting his efforts and his time.

Releasing the younger man’s wrist after only a second, Dean didn’t wait for Sam’s reply before he climbed into the back of the SUV and laid down. He curled up on his side, facing away from his brother. As close to the side of the SUV as he could, leaving room for Sam… if he wanted it… and leaving plenty of space between them.

Maybe it would make him feel less vulnerable… somehow he doubted that though.

Sam saw the way Dean curled on his side, as far from him as possible and leaving enough space for two Sams, if needed. Sam looked at Dean's curled body, shame and guilt eating their way through him. He wanted to sleep next to Dean, to gather any and all comfort he could from his older brother, but he knew that he wouldn't be welcome. It would take a long time before Dean saw him as anything less than a threat, and Sam just hoped he had enough strength in him to hold out till then.

With a sigh, he said 'goodnight' and closed the door behind Dean, wanting Dean as safe as he could get him. Then he went to the front of the car, getting into the backseat and curling on his side with his legs pulled up, knees folded. He closed his eyes, trying to sleep but ironically, he was too tired to sleep. His body was vibrating under the still present adrenalin. He couldn't stop thinking about what if the world really was empty? What if they were the only ones left alive? What if the angel-demon war had the same repercussions as a nuclear war? Did they have to worry about radiation poisoning?

Oh god... what if... what if the rest of the world was as barren as they had seen so far? What about food? Water? Living? How will they manage that? What about health? Medicines? What if Dean got sick? Or hurt? What will Sam do? Who will he take him to? How will he make sure Dean was safe? Fed? Hydrated? How... how will he... what... what was he supposed to do?! How could he do anything? What if... what if... what if...?

Sam didn't even realize when his breathing got shallower. One minute he was just staring wide eyed at the seat in front of him through the darkness, and the next he was struggling to breathe and trying not to make any noise as his vision narrowed. His chest constricted and he slammed a hand on his chest, illogically thinking that he could somehow massage the tightness out. His heart rate skyrocketed, breathing not working now and he knew he was having a panic attack, the kind he hadn't had in years and his memory of it hadn't been pleasant.

But Dean had just lay down to sleep. He couldn't wake him up. He couldn't have a panic attack of all things when he was trying to be the stronger one for once. He couldn't... he couldn't even do a simple thing like go to sleep right! He was useless! He had ended the fucking world and he was still fucking alive! What kind of right did he have to live while the rest of the world had burned to a crisp?! And how could he take Dean along with him? Leave him all alone in the world with no one for company but Sam? The very man who's body had been used to t-torture... Dean...

Sam managed to get up and push open the car door, trying to be as silent as possible as he stumbled out of the car, taking a few steps away into the world that was spinning hard around him, empty, empty, empty.

Sam fell to his knees, closing his eyes and focusing on his breathing. He knew he just had to count his breaths, remember to breathe in before he breathes out. He just had to calm down and things will seem better. They had to. They just had to.

What if Dean left him?

At that, Sam bent over and threw up the meager amount of acid he had in his stomach.

When the back door of the SUV shut, Dean suddenly realized his error. The rear door of the SUV could not be opened from the inside, only the outside. While Dean could always climb over the back seat of the car to get out, that wasn’t really an option once Sam settled down onto it. There was no way Dean could leave and not wake Sam up in the process. He was effectively trapped… Dean wondered if that had been Sam’s intent all along.

Dean shifted around until his back was pressed against the plastic side of the SUV. Not that it would offer him much protection from any kind of attack. He was weak. Starved. Dehydrated. His lungs still hurt even though he could now breathe without coughing at least. He was exhausted beyond exhausted but he refused to let his eyes close. Staring out into the pitch black night.

The sound of his own breathing seemed so damned loud in the utter silence. Only broken by the sounds he and his brother made. Dean did his best to quiet his breathing, to remain utterly still, like a small animal trying to hide from a large predator. Afraid a single noise might give him away. It was a losing battle, of course. The only way he could remain completely silent in this utter stillness was to stop breathing entirely.

He couldn’t help but listen to the younger man’s breathing. There was nothing else to listen to. So of course he noticed instantly when Sam’s breathing changed. He knew what was happening. It had happened before a few times, but not for a long time. When Sam had been a kid and woken up from horrible nightmares he’d sometimes had panic attacks. Dean had always figured it was the result of long buried memories Sam had as a baby of what had happened in his nursery.

Dean had no idea really what had brought this attack on… though to be honest, what the hell hadn’t happened that could have brought this on? But where once Dean would not have hesitated reaching for his younger brother, gathering the boy in his arms and whispering to him soft and soothingly, petting his back and his hair until the panicked breathing stopped and Sam calmed in his arms… Dean remained still.

Unmoving. Silent.

When the SUV’s door finally opened and Sam stumbled out, Dean didn’t raise his head to look after his brother. He listened to the young man retching outside but he did not move to go comfort him, promise him everything would be all right… Dean had no comfort to offer anymore, not even for Sam, because nothing would be all right ever again.

Sam hadn't really expected Dean to come after him or to offer any words of comfort, but he hadn't expected Dean to ignore him entirely. As he wiped the excess saliva off his face, he sank down to the ground, feeling the ash stick to his hands as he settled back, resting against the car. He pulled his knees up, elbows resting on the knees as he looked out to the desolate area in front of him that had once been a forest. Now crooked stumps of charred trees stuck out of ash covered land.

Sam felt the loneliness around him, and felt it even more starkly in himself. Dean was inside the car, just a few feet away, and he hadn't said a word as Sam had a panic attack. Sam knew not to expect much, knew that Dean had been traumatized and tortured by his own hands, but something like this was so against what he knew of Dean that for a moment he went cold all over and nearly had a second panic attack. But he was already feeling foolish for the first one, and knew that having an attack was ridiculous. What had been the point of that, other than to make him feel even more bad that Dean wouldn't come to him even if he needed him? Not that Sam didn't deserve it but...

Jesus, Sam should just stop thinking and start doing. He got up, dusting off his jeans with little success before he poked his head into the car, like he hadn't just had an attack and he wasn't unstable himself. "I'm gonna go check out some of the other cars stranded on the road. They may have supplies," Sam said, softly in case Dean was asleep although he doubted it. He closed the door but didn't lock it. There didn't seem to be anything to protect from anymore.

He jogged lightly towards a nearby car, peeking in to see if there were bodies.

There were.

He reached opened the driver's door, ignoring the smell of burned flesh lingering in the car that was still whole. He didn't spend too much time thinking about the logistics of that, of how the bodies were burned to a crisp while the car remained whole. He figured, something had wanted every living thing dead, and so it happened.

He pulled on the latch that snapped the trunk open, and then immediately headed back out, unable to stand the smell. In the trunk, he found some plastic bags and a backpack with notebooks in it. Sam sighed, but grabbed the backpack anyway. Who knew if they'll need something to write on. He felt ridiculous, but there was no harm in it.

He repeated the actions with the few other cars on the road, and managed to find some pens, a map, a carton of beef jerky, a mostly empty bottle of coke, and in the last one Sam opened, he hit the jackpot.

A two liter bottle of water, and a bag of groceries. Most of the groceries were vegetables that were already wilting, but there was also potato chips, packets of cookies, instant Mac N'Cheese, some instant soup based noodles and a lot of beef jerky. Sam grinned and grabbed it all, taking the water bottle straight back to the SUV and popping the trunk open from the outside. He stashed the food in the corner and popped open the bottle of water.

"Water. Drink," Sam said, handing the bottle to Dean as he ripped open a beef jerky strip and handed it to Dean.

Sam’s retching outside didn’t last very long. When it was over he heard Sam moving around outside, then felt the car shifting slightly meaning the younger man was probably leaning against it. Sam’s breathing seemed to have evened out too, so the attack probably wasn’t that bad after all. That was good. Dean wasn’t sure what he would have done if it had continued for a long time. He knew as soon as Sam passed out his breathing would have evened out and he would be fine when he woke up... but getting his unconscious brother back into the SUV would have been all but impossible given his current condition. So, yeah, definitely good.

He’d expected Sam to return to the SUV and go to sleep now that it was over. Considering Sam had all but forced him to lie down and try to sleep despite the fact the did not want to. But when he heard the younger man moving to get up and stick his head in the open passenger door it was for Sam to tell him he was... leaving?

Dean felt that same stab of irrational fear at the thought of Sam leaving him as he had back in the garage, making him feel cold and numb at the same time. But this time the other man wasn’t close enough for him to grab and hold on to. In fact, before Dean could force his panic frozen muscles to move to even look up at Sam the younger man was already gone and Dean felt himself very close to having a panic attack of his own. His heart suddenly pounding so hard and fast in his chest it hurt and at the same time he could barely breathe.

Wasn’t that just fucking ironic?

Sam wouldn’t leave him alone. He couldn’t... he would be back. He had to... Dean didn’t know what he would do if Sam left him and didn’t come back. But it would probably involve opening up his throat with a sharp object...

Dean was so lost in his thoughts he didn’t even hear Sam return and when the back door of the SUV opened he tensed ready for a fight. Before he saw it was only his brother and relief washed through him so strongly it made him feel weak and sick to his stomach at the same time. His stomach rebelling at just the thought of putting anything into it right now, Dean shook his head slightly. Ignoring the bottle and jerky that Sam held out to him.

“Later.” He muttered wearily.

Sam knew how thirsty Dean was, and he knew how tired and how hungry... he had heard the rasp in Dean's voice, seen his chapped lips, heard the growling of Dean's stomach...

Dean refusing food and drink from Sam's hands first made Sam worry... and then it made him hurt. He looked down at the opened bottle of water, clear liquid sloshing on the inside. Dean needed it, but he wouldn't take it. Not from Sam. Sam swallowed heavily, putting the beef jerky down and pulling the bottle back.

"I-It's not poisoned," Sam said, his own voice cracking. He pulled the bottle to his lips, taking a small drink and feeling his parched body immediately demand more. One mouthful was not enough, but this was for Dean and Sam was only drinking it to show Dean that it was clean. "See?" He said, now feeling thirstier than before but recapping the bottle anyway. He put it in front of Dean before reaching for the beef jerky. "Jerky's fine too," Sam said, looking away because he couldn't look at Dean now. He didn't want to see the mistrust in his eyes. He broke off a bit of the jerky, putting it in his mouth and chewing slowly. His stomach growled loudly, demanding more but he didn't want to eat. He refused to unless Dean ate with him. There had been too many times over the years when Dean had sacrificed his own meal so that Sam could eat his fill. It was time to give back.

Dean could not trust Sam all he wanted, but Sam was going to take care of him. And maybe one day, Dean will be able to look at him and not see Lucifer looking back.

Not poisoned? He’d never said it was. Never even really thought it might be. Maybe he should have… but then again maybe not. Lucifer had never tried to poison him. Often the times Lucifer had bothered to feed him he had given Dean maggot ridden food to eat and putrid water to drink. But though sometimes the food was hardly edible it had never been poisoned. Lucifer had wanted him alive, after all, and the devil had much more creative means to torture him than mere poison.

Dean didn’t bother to correct Sam’s assumption however, despite the hurt that flashed over the young man’s face and the way his brother avoided his eyes. He figured it would be easier to let Sam think he just didn’t trust the food and water than to argue with the young man on the reasons why he didn’t want to eat or drink.

More than the fact that he was pretty sure than anything he tried to put into his stomach right now would just come right back up again, Dean honestly wasn’t sure he wanted to… do anything that might prolong his life. Starving to death or dying of dehydration, maybe not the most pleasant way to go, but the idea was so damned appealing right now. He was just… so fucking tired. Of pain… of living… so tired…

What the hell did he have to keep going for? The world around them was dead… everything dead… and he was still alive. What a sick fucking joke. So many times he’d wanted to die… begged to die… and he was still alive. Now Sam had brought him food and water… why couldn’t he have just left well enough alone?

He could tell Sam was hungry, hell, he could hear the younger man’s stomach growling from over here. But Sam hadn’t eaten any more than a bite or taken more than a sip from the water bottle. The younger man was still staring at him expectantly. Waiting for him to eat and drink. Taking nothing more for himself…

“Fine.” Dean finally muttered darkly. Pushing himself up and taking the water bottle, he opened it and swallowed several mouthfuls. The lukewarm liquid practically scorched down his dry throat and as expected when it hit his stomach it immediately tried to come back up again. Dean fought down the wave of nausea however and managed with great difficulty not to puke all over Sam. The effort left him panting and shaking a little though as he screwed the cap back on the water and pushed it toward the younger man.

“Happy now?” Dean asked, laying down again and waiting for the sickness to pass.

Everything Dean did was filled with so much anger that Sam found himself lost, wondering what to do next. He tried to tell himself that it wasn't him Dean was angry at, but instead at Lucifer, but it was easy to forget that Dean wasn't looking at Sam but instead at the devil himself. The hurt and rejection he felt was entirely too personal.

Dean took the bottle of water and drank it like he was being punished. He swallowed down the water, throat working viciously and then for a little while he looked sick and Sam expected the water to come back up. He opened his mouth, ready to point out that he shouldn't drink so fast, that he should take it slow and calm when Dean handed the bottle back to him before he spoke again.

Happy? Was he happy? Sam would have scoffed if he could but he just dropped his head, looking at the bottle as Dean lay down again.

"Yeah, sure," Sam whispered, leaving the bottle and food right there as he turned around, leaving Dean alone. He went back to the backseat, getting in and lying on the seat with his knees bent so that he could fit on it.

He tried to sleep then. He had done all he could for Dean today. Tomorrow was another day, and maybe things will look up. Maybe tomorrow, Dean's hatred of him will be minutely less, but less nonetheless. Maybe in several months time, Dean would stop hating him altogether. Maybe... maybe... maybe.

Sam knew - hoped - that things would get better. Not with the world, of course... it was already dead, but between him and Dean. Sam could end a hundred worlds, but all he cared about was if Dean hated him or not.

He sighed and closed his eyes, trying to rest, but he didn't sleep a second. At least, he got to close his eyes and remember the days when Dean had hugged him close and told him everything was fine when he had a nightmare as a child. And even the days when he was a fully grown man and Dean had cared enough about him to sell his soul for him. Sam had hurt for a long time that Dean would do something like that, but at the same time, his world view had changed. He had known, for sure, that there was someone out there that loved him that much.

He wondered if Dean would have made that deal still now. Now that he knew the horrors Sam was capable of. And Sam wondered if he regretted it. But he'll never ask Dean such a thing and so he'll never know.

Sam still had his eyes closed and his thoughts running wild when the sun rose again over an empty world.

The ‘hurt puppy’ look Sam was wearing was one that Dean knew all too well and it seemed that the younger man was getting a lot of practice perfecting it lately. Dean knew he should feel guilty, considering that he was the cause… but right now he was having a hard time feeling anything. Or maybe he just didn’t want to feel anything, since all he seemed able to feel was pain, hopelessness, and anger.

Sam seemed to finally get the message at least and didn’t insist he eat or drink anymore. An expression of defeat crossing the younger man’s face before Sam finally got up and out of the back of the SUV, shutting the trunk behind him.

For a moment Dean felt a flash of panic that Sam was leaving again, and maybe this time he wasn’t coming back, but his brother only moved to the back seat where he’d been to begin with. Sam got settled in, laying down across the back seat of the SUV and once more the world was silent save for both their breathing.

Dean still didn’t want to sleep but he couldn’t fight off his exhaustion forever. Eventually his eyes dropped closed against his will and something more like unconsciousness rushed up to greet him than actual rest. The last thought flickering through his head before the darkness around him became complete was the wish that he’d never have to open his eyes again.

Sam opened his eyes when he saw the pale light of sunrise through his eyelids, the light deformed and red. He sat up, looking out into the horizon and seeing the death that covered every inch of the world... or as much as he could see of it anyway. He licked his chapped lips, and felt the faint metallic taste of blood on them. Under his tongue, the skin cracked further and more blood seeped out.

He was dehydrated, and he could feel it in the way his eyes were too dry, every blink burning a little, and the way his throat seemed to stick everytime he swallowed. He thought about the bottle of water in the back, stale but clear, and he immediately thought of the way Dean had taken a few mouthfuls, like Sam was punishing him by giving him water and he just...

He couldn't. He won't die today just because he didn't drink. Right now, he felt like drinking would be another sin when his brother refused to even touch it.

Sam pushed open the car door gently, not wanting to wake Dean up. He closed it just as softly before getting into the driver's seat and turning the car on. He figured he may as well drive to the nearest town, and see if they could find someplace to bunk. Hopefully it would be a small town, because chances are they got away with the least amount of damaged. The big cities always attracted the most violence.

Maybe in a place where Dean could sleep on a mattress, or be surrounded by four walls and a roof, he would be... a bit more... relaxed? Even though Sam wasn't holding out too much hope for that.

Sam drove till the sun rose fully and the sky turned from a pale violet to a bright blue. He started seeing half charred road signs advertising 'Bridgewater' a couple of hundred miles away, and Sam sighed and just focused on getting them there.

He'll just have to do his best for Dean, and hope that it's enough.

It was winter and it was snowing. Rumsfeld was barking happily as Sammy chased the dog through Uncle Bobby's yard. Even though Sam was having a hard time keeping up with the animal since the snow covering the ground was over a foot thick and was up over Sammy's knees. That didn't seem to dissuade his brother in the least however. It was the first time the his younger brother, now four years old, had seen snow and Sammy was loving every minute of it.

Dad had left them here a week ago while he went on a long hunt. Since Uncle Bobby didn't go along with his dad Dean knew it couldn't be too dangerous of a monster, but it would probably be another few weeks at least before he came back for them. At least that's what Uncle Bobby had said. That was ok though. Dean and Sam always liked coming to Uncle Bobby's house. Sammy loved Rumsfeld too. His little brother always wanted a dog but of course they couldn't have one because they moved around so much.

Dean couldn't help but laugh aloud as he watched his brother trip and fall face first into the thick snow but he knew the younger boy wasn't hurt or anything. The snow, not to mention the thick layers of clothes the younger boy was wearing, provided more than enough cushion. As his brother was getting up, Dean ran over to tackle the younger boy and they both went down into the snow giggling as they proceeded to wrestle in it. Sammy squealing like a girl when Dean managed to stuff some snow down the back of his pants and the younger boy doing his best to retaliate. Rumsfeld barking happily and bouncing around them.

They were both bright eyed and red faced when they finally heard Bobby calling them to come inside, telling them he had hot cocoa ready to hurry them along. Dean helped the younger boy up, dusting the snow off of both of them, then let his little brother slip his gloved hand in his own, Sammy tugging him to hurry up, as they headed back towards the house.

When they got to the door however… instead of the warm fire going in the fireplace and Bobby waiting for them with steaming mugs of cocoa the house was dark. The furniture was broken and overturned. There was dark stains on the walls and floor that look suspiciously like blood. Bobby was nowhere to be seen…

Even though Dean tightened his hand on his little brother's somehow Sam managed to slip from his grip and ran inside the house excitedly. As though Sam had no idea anything was wrong. He called his brother's name but Sam ignored him, and despite the mind numbing fear he felt Dean ran after his little brother. His fear growing exponentially when he lost sight of the younger boy and Sam refused to answer his worried shouts to come back.

Dean ran upstairs, checking every room, every one as destroyed as the last, and when he finally came to the last room the room he and his brother shared whenever they came to stay with Uncle Bobby he finally found Sam. Only Sam wasn't four years old anymore, he was twenty six. He stood in the middle of the room surrounded by bodies. Their mother, their father, Bobby, Castiel… pieces of them anyway. Anyone Dean had ever loved or cared about in any way. So many bodies… Dean wasn't sure how they all fit in the room. Even the body of his four year old little brother, lying at the feet of the older Sam, blood still pouring out of his slit throat, his eyes fading to the glass doll like stare Dean knew all too well.

As Dean turned his gaze up to the older Sam, he was met with a smile that would have almost been comforting if not for the cruelty in his brother's eyes. No… not his brother's eyes…

"Welcome home, Dean. I've missed you."

While Dean slept, Sam had managed to drive into Bridewater by noon time, as his watch was telling him. It felt weird that his watch was still working, even when the world had died and although the logical part of him knew that the movement of the gears and the kinetic energy transfer from his movement to the coiling of the watch was almost an independent system on its own, unaffected by the outside world as long as the wrist that wore it continued moving. It was a Skeleton watch that Dean had given him when he was off to Stanford. He had pulled it out of his jacket pocket, shoving it in Sam's hands like it was no big deal, like Dean himself didn't like it so he opted to let his little brother have it, but it was a beautiful new watch with the inner workings of it exposed on the clock surface, the coils twisting and the gears shifting. Sam had loved it, and he hadn't ever asked Dean where he got the money to afford a genuine Sturhling... or even if he had stolen it.

In a way, he was glad Lucifer didn't throw it away for his own version of it. This way at least he had one thing that reminded him of the time Dean looked at him and saw a little brother and not a monster.

He pulled over into the parking lot of what looked like it used to be a diner attached to a motel. Most of it was still standing, and unfortunately the bodies were in there too. There was a small section of the motel that looked like it had caved in, but the rooms looked like they were still ready for a stay.

Sam opened the car door and stepped out, immediately assaulted by the smell. The bodies had attracted flies, and they were buzzing everywhere, settling down on everything and Sam gagged a little at the smell of dead flesh rotting away slowly. He never got used to the smell, but had learned to ignore it when they went grave digging, but right now the entire place reeked of it and Sam found it nearly impossible to breathe.

Then he had a thought...

The smell, the rot, the bodies... they were a breeding place for bacteria, and if he let them be, some disease or the other will get to Sam or, God forbid, Dean, and they had no medical services anymore.

Sam set his jaw. Sometime, he'll have to gather all the bodies and burn them. He'll throw in some salt just in case any of them decide to come back to haunt them. With the number of bodies, finding the right one to salt and burn would be like looking for a needle in a pile of needles and not knowing what the needle looked like.

Shaking his head, he got back in the car and drove around the back of the motel where the smell was more bearable. He got out then and went to the back, opening the trunk and seeing that Dean was in a nightmare. Sweat was beading on his forehead and his skin was pale.

Sam instinctively reached forward to comfort him, but then snapped his hands back before they even touched him. He clenched his jaw, torn, because he knew that if he touched Dean and Dean woke up, he'll look at Sam like he was Lucifer and possibly have another panic attack... but if he didn't wake him up... how long would Sam watch Dean struggle against his own mind?

Sighing, Sam steeled himself for the fear in Dean's eyes and put a gentle hand on Dean's shoulder.

"Dean," Sam said softly, his voice hoarse and cracking. "Dean, wake up. It's just a nightmare," he kept whispering gently.

The dream repeated over and over, but Dean no longer took joy in watching his little brother playing in the snow with Rumsfeld. Because he knew what was going to happen, what he would find inside Bobby’s house, he knew how the dream ended… But no matter what he did, he could not change the ending of the dream.

No matter how tightly he tried to hold onto Sam, even when he tried to grab his brother in the snow and run away with him the younger boy always managed to slip from his grip somehow. Running into Bobby’s house, laughing like nothing was wrong, always out of Dean’s reach, he could never stop him. Sammy acting like he never heard his brother screaming his name, pleading with him not to go in, not to go upstairs, please…

Over and over he failed to protect his brother. Failed to stop Sam from becoming… what he had become. He had once promised Sam that he would never let that happen. That he would never let Sam go ‘dark side’. But he had failed keeping that promise just like he had failed everything else. Because of him their father had sold his soul, died, went to hell. Because of him, because he had made the same kind of deal for Sam, he had gone to hell too, leaving Sam alone to become almost more demon than man. Because of him Sam had said ‘yes’ to Lucifer…

He couldn’t even save his brother in his dreams.

Dean knelt there in the snow, his tears freezing into icicles on his face, as he watched his little brother running away from him yet again. His throat feeling raw… from the cold and from screaming… he didn’t even have the strength to stand up much less run after his brother anymore, he didn’t have the will to watch it happen over and over again… he wasn’t that strong… was so damned cold.

He felt the weight of the hand on his shoulder and flinched a little from the touch but he was too tired to pull away. He felt the light shaking but the words he heard were muffled, like he was hearing them from under water and didn’t understand them. Dean wondered if maybe Sam had finally come back, had finally listened to him… or maybe Dad had finally come back from the hunt. Maybe Sammy would listen to Dad and not go inside the house, maybe Dad would save Sammy…

Dean moaned softly, his eyelashes fluttering weakly against his cheeks, but his eyes didn’t open.

When Dean didn't wake up, Sam shook him harder, trying to get him to respond, and he only got a soft moan for his efforts. Heart hammering in his chest, Sam thought back to everything he had learned when Dad had taught him First Aid.

Dean was breathing, his pulse was good, even if it was a little weak, and he was responsive in the sense that when Sam touched him, he pulled away from contact...

Sam grabbed the bottle of water, taking a small amount of the water out and then snapping his fingers, causing water to spray lightly on Dean's face.

"Come on, come on," Sam kept muttering, "please, Dean, wake up. Wake up..." But Dean didn't, and so Sam stopped wasting the precious little water they had.

The last option was Pain. Muttering a soft apology to Dean, Sam reached down to massage Dean's sternum with his fist, trying to be gentle but he knew how much that hurt. He bit his lip and pressed harder, pushing his knuckles into the sensitive sternum hoping that it would wake him up. He also knew that going this route was going to get him into a whole lot of shit. Dean was likely to think of Sam as Lucifer right now, specially when he was causing him pain, but what was Sam supposed to do?

"Please, Dean," Sam said, shaking him lightly. "Please wake up," he begged, feeling frustration build inside him and he knew that unless Dean woke up right the fuck now Sam was either going to burst into tears or start screaming. He was already tired, and his ability to think was severely compromised. And now Dean wouldn't wake up and Sam couldn't lose him like this. If they were alone in the world and Dean was the only person he had left, he'll kill himself before even attempting a life alone.

"Please..." Sam whispered, holding Dean's wrist in his free hand while with his other he stopped massaging his sternum and cupped Dean's jaw lightly. "Dean... please, wake up..."

Dean had been expecting to hear his father’s distinct gruff but caring tone reassuring him that everything would be all right. That he was safe. That Sammy was safe. That Dad would take care of everything, and wouldn’t let anything bad happen to them. He even expected, maybe, to feel his father’s warm strong arms wrap around him, holding him, making him feel even more safe… but instead of reassurance, safety, all he got was pain.

Really, he should know better by now.

For what it was worth, the dream cycle was shattered. The snow was gone. Bobby’s home was gone. Sam was gone. As horrible as it had been, Dean now wished he was back there, because where he was now was so much worse. He was back in hell…

He recognized it immediately of course. He had spent more years in hell than he had living on earth, oddly enough it was more a ‘home’ to him than any place he’d ever stayed when he’d been alive. He recognized the smell of burning flesh. His flesh. The pain of the hooks tearing into his flesh ripping him apart even as they held him suspended. The feeling of a disfigured, clawed, hand tearing into his chest, breaking open his ribcage, squeezing his heart until it burst…

Dean wanted to scream but there was too much blood in his throat and he could only moan pitifully. Another painful twist inside of his chest making him choke.

“Please stop… please…” He begged over, crying brokenly, and over but the only response he received was cruel laughter and more pain.