Dean drove, not quite knowing in what direction at first since there wasn't much in the way of landmarks left and a lot of the street signs were damaged beyond recognition. Hell, he wasn't even sure where he was much less the direction he needed to go to get to his destination. His brother had done all the driving while Dean had been passed out in the passenger seat before, and he hadn't thought to ask where the fuck they were before he'd left.

So, he started driving west and he'd just keep going west until he found something that would point him in a clearer direction. It was all he could really do.

The truck had four wheel drive, which was good because more than once Dean had to pull off the road entirely to bypass the remains of cars blocking his way. It didn't have a tape player or anything though so Dean's only companion was the utter silence save for the rumbling of the truck's engine. If it had been his impala, maybe it could have been comforting, but it wasn't. It was wrong. Everything was wrong.

That's what happens when the world ends…

Without any kind of distractions his thoughts, not really surprisingly, were almost constantly on his brother. The brother he'd left behind.

Dean realized he'd never been as alone as he was right now. When Sam had left them and gone to Stanford, he'd had dad. When Dad had gone missing, Dean had went to look for Sam at Stanford. The few times he and Sam weren't together, at least there were other people around, even if they were strangers. People driving in cars, people walking around shopping centers, people sleeping in motel rooms next to theirs. Now there was nothing.

So often Dean felt himself gripping the steering wheel so tight his knuckles were nearly white, breaking out in a cold sweat at the sheer… panic… he felt at being so alone. Sam… how could he have just fucking left Sam? His brother. They were family. They had to stick together. Now more than ever. So many times Dean had nearly turned the truck around, nearly gone back for the younger man, beg Sam's forgiveness even if he didn't deserve it… but then he remembered the hurt look that would appear on his brother's face whenever Dean did anything.

Dean was fucked up. Fucked up in so many ways. He knew that. He'd even told Sam that. Right now Dean was just a burden to the younger man that his brother didn't need. It wasn't Sam's job to take care of him. Dean might have left in anger, but he wasn't angry now. He was just resigned. He was only hurting Sam. Everything he said, everything he did, just by being next to him… His brother would be better off without him.

Sam might not believe there was anyone left out there, but Dean did. Sam would find them and his brother would be better off.

Finally Dean came across a highway sign that wasn't completely burned when he crossed what used to be the state line between Massachusetts and New York. Well, at least he was going in the right direction. Unfortunately it would take him a few days at least to get to South Dakota, especially since even traveling on the highway it was practically like traveling off road. He'd need gas pretty soon to boot.

So reluctantly Dean pulled the truck off of the highway onto a smaller street in hopes to come across a gas station, and maybe someplace he could stock up on what he'd need to get him to South Dakota. After driving another half hour or so, just as the sun was beginning to set, he hit the jackpot. One of those big ass 24 hour Wal-Mart's and most of it was still standing.

Dean pulled the truck right up to the front door, not like there was anyone around to bitch about his choice of parking spaces, and got out. He had to break the glass to the sliding door because there was no power and it was pitch black inside. After some scrounging near the front of the store using the limited and fading light coming in through the glass doors he managed to find a flashlight and batteries for it.

The first thing Dean did was grab a bag and load it with a few more flashlights of varying strengths and all the batteries he could possibly find, knowing the things were going to be as priceless as gold. After taking the bag out to the truck and throwing it in the back, he returned inside to see if there was anything else useful he could find.

He changed out of his ripped and dirty clothes right in the store, not like there was anyone to see, and put on some new clean jeans and a t-shirt. He grabbed a duffle from the shelves and loaded up things like underwear, socks, more jeans and shirts, some flannels, a heavy winter jacket and a couple lighter jackets. He changed his ruined boots for a new pair and threw several more pairs into the duffel before he dragged that out and threw it in the trunk as well.

Next he went to the food section with another duffel, grabbing and loading it up with bottled water and Gatorade. He opened up several Twinkies and ate them right there, washing them down with a Gatorade. Then loaded the bag up with more food that wouldn't spoil for several weeks at least, then loaded that bag into the truck along with the others.

Dean went to the sports and outdoor section and picked up some 'essentials' like a camping stove, a gas lantern, lighters, he replaced his Swiss Army Knife, grabbed a tent large enough to hold two people, and a couple of sleeping bags as well. By the time he got all that out to the truck he was more than winded and there wasn't much room left, but there were still a few more essentials.

He went back to the outdoors section, specifically the gun section, and grabbed a couple of different rifles, shotguns, and handguns and stocked up on ammunition for all of them. He grabbed a holster for a handgun and a large hunting knife and strapped it on right there, wanting them handy if he needed them. Not like he had to worry about concealing weapons anymore.

Finally he broke into the pharmacy section of the store and stocked up on whatever antibiotics, painkillers, and other medical supplies that wouldn't expire for a few years at least. Better have too much than not enough. Better safe than sorry.

After tying down a tarp over the precious supplies to protect them Dean realized he hadn't gotten just enough for a few days. He hadn't even gotten enough for just himself. He'd gotten enough for several weeks… and for two. He'd thrown in a pair of boots that were Sam's size. He'd gotten several items of clothing that would be much too big for him. He'd even gotten some 'snacks' that he didn't even like, but Sam did.

Dean might have laughed if he didn't feel like crying.

When he got back in the truck he found a gas station that wasn't completely ruined and managed to siphon enough gas to fill the truck's tank as well as fill a few gas containers in case he couldn't find more any time soon. As prepared as he'd ever be, Dean got back on the highway but he wasn't heading west anymore. He was heading east.

The next day, Sam decided he was losing his mind. He kept seeing Dean everywhere. He kept hearing Dean's voice calling his name, almost so real that he got woken up by it when he finally managed to doze off for a few minutes. It was like Dean yelled his name into Sam's ear and Sam would bolt upright, looking for his brother.

By afternoon, he was going crazy with worry for Dean, and he was starting to wonder if he should head to South Dakota and look for Dean... Sam didn't think he could do this alone, and he knew he didn't have it in him to not ever see Dean again. As much as they had been fighting lately, Sam still loved Dean like no one else and even if the reverse wasn't true anymore, Sam couldn't stay away...

In the evening, he spent several hours lying in Dean's bed, just breathing in his brother's fading scent. He knew he was depressed. He had experienced it once before when he had left for Stanford. Everything in him had screamed for his brother. He had wanted to come back home so badly that he had nearly called Dean a million times before he managed to get a hold of himself and focus on studying. Of course, he had never told anyone this, but the first few tests he had written over there, he had failed. Nothing seemed worth it if he didn't have his brother with him.

He was back there again right now, only without the distractions. He knew he should get out of bed, find something to accomplish... he knew he should try and find Dean, but he kept thinking about how even in a world where there was no one else, Dean left him. What was the point of seeking someone like that out? Dean would probably take one look at him and run.

Sam closed his eyes, knowing that wasn't true, and that even if Dean didn't love him anymore then he didn't hate him... right? Afterall, Lucifer had tortured Dean in Sam's body... he had used Sam's hands, Sam's voice, Sam's memories to worsen the sting of the blade, and so it wouldn't be a surprise if Dean really did hate him. It's not really a surprise Dean left, actually. Not a surprise at all.

He's probably never coming back.

And he probably didn't want Sam to seek him out either.

Sam shook his head, reaching up to pull at his hair. He wasn't going to give in to those thoughts, or he would end up killing himself. No. He wasn't going to do that because he was stronger than that. He could survive anything that got thrown at him, even the goddamn apocalypse. He'll just have to make the best of the situation, even if he had to do it alone.

It was after sundown when Sam threw his blanket aside and got out of bed, heading out of the room into the cool night. He went around to the back again, to the dark, abandoned pool. He saw a small rock lying at his feet in the moonlight and he picked up, throwing it towards the edge of the destroyed forest as hard as he could. The rock made a loud thump that was magnified even more in the silence of the world.

Sam sighed as he stared into the darkness of what would have once been a lush forest.

Then he heard a rustle.

Sam's eyes widened as he listened harder. There it was again. Another soft rustle.

Sam took several steps forward, excitement making his heart beat faster... he was as quiet as he could be, but then he saw a pair of shining eyes set in the shadows.

"Hello?!" Sam called out, his heart pounding now. At the sound of his echoing voice, the shadow moved fast, the rustling accompanying it until Sam saw it running away. It was that particular way of running that helped identify the creature to Sam.

"Oh my god!" Sam exclaimed, because Dean was right. There were other creatures alive. That? What Sam just saw? Had been a fucking deer.

He had to get to Dean and apologize, because he had been wrong and if a deer could survive on ground zero, means there have to be other survivors! And it makes sense that Sam and Dean haven't run into them yet because any normal human would run for cover and stay there once the danger had passed. He bet there were people scattered all over the place, thinking they were the last ones...

Fuck... he shouldn't have discounted Dean's observation even if logic had said otherwise.

He had to tell Dean about the deer. At least it was something that would give Dean some semblance of happiness.

It took a hell of a lot longer getting back to the motel where he’d left Sam than it had taken driving away, much to Dean’s dismay. It was already starting to get dark when he started driving east, and Dean had never really taken into account just how black the night could get when there wasn’t anything like street lights to show the way. The headlights of the truck barely seemed to cut through the inky darkness and the roads that had been difficult to navigate at best in the daytime had become truly treacherous at night. Finally Dean had to admit defeat and pull the truck over to the side of the road.

Though Dean really didn’t want to sleep any more than he had before, he forced himself to get as comfortable as he could in the cramped cab and close his eyes. He’d managed a few hours of sleep, even though he’d woken up to his own screams more times than he cared to count. He wondered how much that had to do with the fact that he knew Sam wasn’t there, keeping the demons at bay, figuratively speaking. Sure, he’d had nightmares when Sam had been there, but now they seemed so much worse.

By the time the sky started turning a lighter dark blue color Dean was more than ready to start driving again but he forced himself to wait till the sun rose a little over the horizon so he wouldn’t drive off a cliff or something in the dark. He’d already done that once, and he’d like to avoid repeating the experience thanks very much.

Dean spent the entire next day behind the wheel, trying to get back to Sam. Unfortunately as he drove, getting closer and closer to his destination, he began to worry about ever actually finding the motel again.

Just as he’d been worried about not knowing where he was heading when he was driving away, now he really didn’t know where he was going. Everything looked the same. Destruction and death. Obliterated road signs offering him no help gauging his distance from the ruined motel that wouldn’t stick out in any way from any other half destroyed structure he passed.

Twice already Dean had stopped, thinking that it might be the motel where he’d left Sam, but a quick search of the premises proved him wrong and he was back on the road again. He knew he was close. He could feel it. But rather than feeling comforted by that knowledge all Dean felt was fear. It was getting dark again quickly. What if he made a wrong turn? What if he went completely past the broken down motel? What if he never found his brother again?

More and more Dean cursed himself and his idiotic decision to leave Sam behind for more than one reason. Dean wasn’t sure if he’d ever forgive himself, and he wasn’t sure if his brother would ever forgive him either… if he ever found Sam again that was.

The sun had set now but Dean was determined to get back to Sam tonight. He almost missed the outline of the dark structure against the black sky, but it looked familiar enough from the road that Dean pulled off the highway and as he got closer his heart started to speed up. Was this it? Was he back?

By the time Dean pulled into the parking lot he was almost sure of it.

“Sam!” Dean called loudly into the darkness when he got out of the truck.

Sam's first instinct was to get into the SUV and head towards South Dakota, night or not. He even got into the car and headed towards the road, headlights on bright, but in a span of five minutes he had felt three bodies get crushed under his wheels, and he had grazed the car's side against a streetpole when he tried to avoid going over a fourth body.

He realized that he really couldn't drive all the way across the state in the middle of the night, not with the roads as treacherous as they were. He sighed, his heart screaming to go to Dean, but his mind was scared. Dean had left him. Sam felt the now familiar guilt and sadness return. Dean had left because he pretty much couldn't stand Sam anymore. Not when Sam talked, and not when he didn't. Sam had started to feel like his every existence offended Dean...

And now Sam was going to force his presence on Dean again, when Dean had sought to escape from it? Was he really that damn selfish?

Sam pulled back into the parking lot and got out of the car, leaning against the side of the vehicle as he pondered his actions. What was he supposed to do? Should he go after Dean? Or not? What if he didn't go after Dean, and Dean took it as confirmation that Sam didn't love him anymore? But what if he did go, and only saw annoyance in Dean's eyes? Could Sam handle that?

Better yet, could Sam handle not going for Dean at all? After all, in this world, he literally had nothing else other than his brother. While in another life, if Dean had left him, Sam would have either continued hunting or gotten a job. He could have taken his mind off of how much he missed his brother. But in this world, if he didn't have Dean to live for, then he had nothing.

Sam sighed and headed back into the motel room, pressing the light switch and realizing that the electricity was gone. Somehow... somehow that made the whole thing even more real. The world was shrouded in darkness, and Sam was alone.

The pitch black of the room got to Sam in only a few minutes. He couldn't handle the way the darkness seemed almost solid, making it difficult for him to breathe and it made him feel trapped. So he left and went out to the back, willing the sun to come up so he could get on the road and head to Dean. Even if Dean rejected him, Sam only wanted to see him one more time before he decided on what he wanted to do with his own life.

It was late and Sam was sitting at the pool again, imagining cool water lapping at his feet when he heard the sound of a car coming towards him. The stillness of the night made it easy to distinguish when the car slowed down and when it entered the parking lot of the motel on the other side. Sam got up slowly, knowing that it was Dean, and wondering why he was back. After all, Dean had left him, and so it was Sam's responsibility to try and fix things between them, not the other way round.

Then Sam heard Dean's call, and he went back around to the front, the whole thing feeling like Déjà vu. Just yesterday he had headed this exact way after Dean had walked away from him. Then that very day, only a few hours later, Dean had left him again.

Seriously, Sam was starting to have difficulty blaming anyone but himself. Was he so damn difficult that Dean couldn't stand him even when he was the only person around for miles? Was Sam so unlikeable that Dean would rather choose solitude than be with him?

Sam swallowed heavily when he saw Dean's shadow moving about the parking lot. Just that glimpse of his brother was like coming home. Sam stopped, waiting at the edge of the parking lot. He wanted to rush forward and hug his brother, but he didn't know if he'll be welcome to do that.

"You're back?" Sam's voice was quiet, and even with the distance between them Sam had no doubt that Dean heard him. It was quiet enough that he was sure Dean could even hear Sam's heart beating if he listened for it. Sam had meant to say it as a statement, an observation, but it came out sounding like a question instead. Are you really back? Or are you leaving again? But there was a lot of 'Please don't go again' thrown in there as well.

Dean was sure this was the place. He was positive. But as nothing but silence greeted his call, a thought he hadn’t considered before filtered into his mind that nearly sent his heart racing with panic. What if Sam wasn’t here anymore? What if Sam had left after Dean had, relieved that he no longer had his burden of a big brother to look after anymore? What reason did his brother have to stay in this dump, after all? What reason did Sam have to even look for him, much less wait for him? How the hell would he ever find Sam in this fucking wasteland?

The idea made him feel like he was choking, like he couldn’t breathe even though there was plenty of oxygen left around… one of the few things that were left in the world. Dean felt light headed and weak. His legs might have simply given out beneath him without much warning if he hadn’t heard a soft sound in the darkness. Maybe only his imagination, but he clung to the believe that he had heard the sound of a footstep against gravel that wasn’t his own.

It was so quiet for a few seconds all he could hear was his own heart beating loud and fast against his ribs. Then he heard the soft words and felt like he could breathe again. The words sounded like a question… but what question? Was he back? Or why was he back? He didn’t know what Sam was asking him. Dean didn’t want to fuck this up again…

“I’m sorry, Sammy.” Dean finally managed and he hoped his brother believed he was sincere, because he was. He had a fucking lot to be sorry for. A hell of a lot to make up for, and Dean would try if his brother would give him the chance to.

He took a step towards his brother’s voice in the darkness.

Sam hadn't expected Dean to apologize, because what did he have to apologize for? Sam was wrong, and he had been wrong when he had disregarded Dean's observation about the flies. He had also been coming on too strong to Dean in his attempt to see a sliver of his old brother. Doing so, he was only widening the rift between them.

He knew he was wrong, but he just didn't know what he had to do to do it right.

Sam took brisk steps towards Dean, hearing the sincerity in his words and feeling his own heart ache with need. In just one day of not having his brother around, he already missed him so damn much. He pulled Dean into his arms, wrapping his big brother up as best as he could with himself.

"I'm sorry too, Dean," Sam whispered fiercely, lips pressed against the shell of Dean's ear. He was sure his breath was probably not too comfortable on Dean's ear, but he couldn't get himself to move. Not yet. "I push too hard... I'm sorry," Sam whispered again, squeezing Dean tightly for a brief moment before pulling away just enough that they were facing each other.

"You were right," Sam explained, not whispering anymore but still quiet. "I saw a deer behind the motel a few hours ago. A deer, Dean!" Sam laughed softly, amazed by his own words.

Dean heard the sound of Sam’s footsteps on the gravel more than he saw his brother move in the darkness, but he wasn’t all that surprised when a second later he felt the younger man’s arms wrap around him. Or maybe he was surprised, a little. Surprised that Sam would forgive him so easily for leaving him behind. Or maybe surprised that this time he didn’t flinch away at all from his brother’s touch when he had so many times before.

His own arms came up to wrap around the younger man tightly, and swallowed hard against the emotion that welled up in his throat. Simply not sure if he could deal with it right now on top of everything else. He wasn’t going to break down again. Sam didn’t need that right now.

He nodded a little to Sam’s words whispered in his ear. Knowing this probably wouldn’t be the last time they ended up apologizing to each other, but hopefully it would be the last time for a while at least.

When Sam started to pull away Dean had to admit it was sooner than he’d expected and he wasn’t all that sure he wanted his brother to go. But Sam’s words confused him. He was right? About what? Dean couldn’t think of a damned thing he’d been right about…

A deer?

“Seriously?” Dean asked before he could help himself. He wouldn’t put it past Sam to make something like that up just to make him feel better or something… but if it was true he couldn’t help being blown away by the news. When Dean had raided the Wal-Mart for supplies he couldn’t help doubting his earlier assumptions that there had to be people alive. Because even though the place was trashed and there were bodies everywhere it was pretty well stocked. If there were any humans in the area the place should have been picked clean, right? But maybe…

“That’s… wow…” He wasn’t sure what else to say, but thinking of his shopping trip he finally released Sam and turned back to his borrowed truck. At least the moon had started to come out from behind some clouds so he could see better.

“I got some supplies. Some clothes and stuff for you.” Dean said as he started untying the protective tarp over the back. He found one of t he flashlights he’d stashed there right away and turned it on, handing it to Sam.

Sam's eyes widened as Dean took the protective tarp off the back of the truck, telling him about how he went 'shopping' and got him clothes and stuff. So Dean's little run had been to get supplies? Why could they do that together? But it felt nice to know that even though Dean had run from him, he hadn't stopped thinking about him.

At the very least, it was something to hold on to.

He took the flashlight Dean handed him, looking at it for a moment. "I've had a while to think about this, and I think what may have happened is that most of the population was wiped out. Like maybe ninety percent of it. The rest... they have to be pretty damn terrified, right? Maybe they're even injured..." Sam said, thinking out loud as looked at Dean for the first time since he had been back. He made sure to keep the beam of light directed away from Dean's face, but he could see his brother's features anyway. "I doubt they woke up disoriented but without a scratch right in the middle of the blast zone," Sam joked flatly.

"Point is... there must be other people... we'll just have to look hard for them, specially if they've gone into hiding," Sam said softly. He looked at the supplies Dean had gotten, and he thought about how fucked up they were that Sam had collected all that food for Dean that Dean hadn't even touched, and then Dean had left him to go get even more supplies for Sam when all Sam wanted was for Dean to just stay with him.

"So... what now?" Sam asked, because Dean was the one who owned the road. He knew where to go and how to get them there. He always had. Sam was the one who worked out the logistics of surviving once they got there. Not to mention, he was very afraid that one wrong word and Dean was going to leave him again. So his one question was actually a lot of questions, but it was up to Dean to decide which one to answer.

As Dean dug through the back of the truck, trying to find the duffel he’d packed with clothes that would fit Sam, his brother began babbling on about his theories of what might have happened. Dean couldn’t help but sigh softly.

His brother had been watching way too many god damned stereotypical apocalypse, end of the world, movies. Where the hell was Sam getting his ‘numbers’ from after all? Ninety percent? His brother had no way of knowing that. Just like they had no way of knowing there were really any people left either.

Sam had seen just as much of the devastation as Dean had. His brother had no more proof that anyone else had survived than Dean had. The only other living things they’d seen were a handful of flies and, if he believed Sam, a deer. What did that mean? Nothing really. It was just as likely whatever Lucifer and Michael had thrown at each other trying to kill each other had only affected humans and left animals untouched.

Sure, Dean thought, he hoped, there were people left alive other than themselves, but he didn’t know. They just didn’t know anything. The not knowing must be even worse for Sam because his brother was just one of those people who always had to know what was going on. Even when he was a kid he never stopped asking questions, needing to know everything about any little thing. It had delighted his brother’s teachers and frustrated their father, especially when Sam started asking questions about what their dad really did.

He knew his brother was always in ‘research mode’ but unfortunately it didn’t’ really do them any good right now. All they had were questions with no answers and jumping to conclusions was just as bad as knowing jack shit.

Finally Dean found the bag he was looking for and pulled it out, handing it over to his brother. He also found the bag he’d thrown a lot of the supplies like matches, candles, the camping stove and shit. Dean figured since he hadn’t seen any lights anywhere for miles as he’d been driving back the power must be out here too. Dean hefted the bag of supplies and tied the tarp back down tightly to protect the rest.

“I told you, I want to go to South Dakota.” Dean answered his brother’s question. Even though he had returned, that hadn’t changed. He needed to know. Even if all they found was a body... he needed to know for sure if Bobby was dead.

“There’s no point leaving now, the roads are almost impossible to drive. We can leave in the morning.” Dean continued, then started to head past his brother back into the motel room. He didn’t know if that was the answer that Sam wanted, or what, but it was the only one he could give at this point.

Once upon a time, Sam had been able to read Dean. Not as well as Dean had been able to read Sam, of course, but still. Dean hadn't been this much of an enigma, and he certainly had never questioned Dean's feelings towards him. Now though, he constantly felt as though Dean hated him, and sure he could understand why, but that didn't make him feel all that better.

Not that his feelings mattered. He had pretty much brought it on himself. Sure, he had his excuses. He really had believed Lucifer when he said he won't harm Dean. He had said yes only to benefit Dean, and nothing more. The rest of the world could go to hell. And like everything else in his life, this had backfired on him as well. Not only did he end up hurting Dean, it happened by his own hands. So of course Dean hates him. He has every right to. That didn't mean that Sam didn't feel like throwing himself off a cliff all the time.

Dean had already left him twice, and even now after returning, it seemed like he wanted to be anywhere but here.

Sam wondered how long they could keep at it before they went their separate ways.

He nodded in reply to Dean's answers, feeling a little like he had been talking to a wall earlier. Anyway, as long as Dean was here, Sam could deal. So he grabbed the duffel Dean gave him and held it tight, following Dean to the motel room.

He didn't say much, because he really had nothing to say. If he did, he was sure he'd either have Dean just stare at him blankly like Sam was spouting nonsense, or he would twist his words to mean something else and take it on himself and turn Sam into a monster. But if he said nothing, Dean would assume he was moping, but at least that was better than Dean looking at him like an idiot or a monster. Sam will take moping over that.

He lit a candle and put it on the table, letting the dull orange illuminate the room, casting shadows everywhere.

"Get some rest," Sam said softly. "I'm out by the pool. It's cooler outside," Sam said by way of explanation. Normally, he would has asked Dean to accompany him, but right now Sam figured that it would be equivalent to asking Dean to hang himself, so he didn't bother. "I'll be back in a little bit," he added before heading to the door. He was calm right now, and he was relaxed. He wondered if he was giving up, or if he was starting to get used to failing all the damn time.

Outside… outside where there was nothing but death with the stench of rotting flesh everywhere. That’s where Sam would rather be than in the room with him? Dean merely sighed heavily, dropping the duffel he’d carried into the motel room onto ‘his’ bed. Not like he really planned on using it.

“Whatever.” He told his brother as he unzipped the duffel and started taking things out and laying them out on the bed.

He’d just kind of haphazardly thrown things in the bags on his little shopping trip and had hardly bothered to organize any of it. They needed to know exactly how much they had of everything, from batteries and candles, to ammo, and food. Might as well do that now and start loading everything into the SUV. The SUV was in better shape than the truck and probably would be better if they had to go off road at any point, plus they wouldn’t have to worry about the stuff if it rained.

Dean knew he’d upset Sam again somehow, he wasn’t stupid, though he wasn’t exactly sure how this time. Because he hadn’t gotten all excited about his post apocalyptic theories? Sam was the one who’d told him not to get so worked up over a bunch of flies, so why should Dean get all worked up over Sam’s supposed deer sighting?

Ok, so maybe he was being a bit unfair, but it wasn’t just that, it was Sam’s jumping to conclusions. Less than a day ago Sam was sure they were the only two left and had completely discounted his idea that there even might be people alive. Now all of a sudden Sam had fucking numbers to back his theories up? It was just idiotic and Sam had to know it was idiotic, but he was just saying what he thought his fucked up suicidal brother wanted to hear.

Fine. He was fucked up. Really fucked up. But he wasn’t a child. He didn’t need to be coddled. As he heard the door to the motel room shut he realized that Sam hadn’t even bothered to change. Dean sighed again and kept working. At least having something to do helped keep his mind off of just how much everything was fucked up.

Sam sat down near the pool again, noticing now that his jeans were torn over his knees. He fingered a hole, thinking about how once in college he had torn his jeans on purpose to look 'cool'. It was so fucked up now, that there wouldn't ever be anything 'cool' again. No one would ever start another weird fad or trend. No one would ever make a new album, or a new movie. There wouldn't ever be new songs, or new books, or anything.

There were no more people...

Sam sighed. He knew that. Of course he knew that. But somehow, the fact never stopped surprising him.

His mind refused to wrap around it, though. There had to be more people, even if they found only one or two. But there had to be more survivors. He tried to think... find a way to somehow contact those survivors, but for some reason his mind was blank. He couldn't think. He had always had ideas before, always something to ponder, but right now he was blank, and he found it relaxing.

At this very moment, there was no guilt in his heart, no pain, no sadness, no loss. He was just existing, and it felt good. When thoughts of Dean came floating in, he'd remember how close they had been. He remembered Dean calling him a bitch, and Sam responding with jerk. He remembered Dean's laugh, his hugs, his gentle hands as they took care of him. He remembered Dean as a twelve year old, taking care of him when he was himself a child too. Sam thought of the day Dean broke into his apartment, asking for beer but having come for Sam.

The memories made Sam smile, and they made him glad that Dean was still here, even if he wasn't the same. Sure, that thought itself was saddening, but if given the choice of having Dean like this and not having Dean at all, Sam would always pick Dean.

So why was he complaining now?

Sam stood up, shaking his head. He had to stop moping. He had to stop letting Dean's silences get to him. He had to stop acting like a victim and start helping Dean. He took a deep, stench filled breath, and then decided that sure, it sounded easy, but it was going to be damn hard. He'll try his best though.

So he headed back to the room, deciding that he'll try his level best to not give Dean another reason to run away. Or he would have... if he didn't suddenly have his vision narrow on the way there, and pass out just around the corner to the room. His last thought was hoping he'd wake up before Dean found him, because this was going to annoy his brother.

Dean the contents of another duffle open and strewn over the surface of the bed and a notepad beside him with a list of items and scrawled numbers he was using to keep track of it all. Food. Clothes. Batteries. Candles. Whatever else he’d gotten. All reduced to numbers. How much they had. How much they could use. How long would it last if they didn’t restock. Somehow it was easier to think of it all in numbers.

When he was done with this duffel he repacked everything more carefully than he’d thrown the contents into the bags at Walmart and brought it out to the SUV, four more bags already stacked inside the back. He had several more bags left under the tarp in the back of the truck and he was tired, but certainly not tired enough to attempt to sleep yet. He probably wouldn’t be that tired for another few days yet.

Five bags. Fifteen minutes to a half hour thoroughly going through and taking inventory of everything. Two hours. And still Sam hadn’t come back.

Dean grabbed another heavy bag out from the back of the truck and headed back into the motel room. Maybe he shouldn’t have come back after all. Sam had seemed so relieved to see him at first, but then his brother couldn’t seem to get away from him fast enough. Did he deserve anything less? Not really, no.

This bag contained the weapons and ammo he’d stolen from the store. Briefly Dean wondered if it was still considered stealing if there was no one left around who gave a damn. Dean went through this bag even more carefully than the others. Counting each bullet in the boxes, just to make sure the numbers on the boxes were correct.

Even as much as he’d gotten it still felt pathetically inadequate to the arsenal they’d had in the trunk of the Impala. The rosaries, the holy water, the silver bullets, the colt, the sawed off shotgun he’d made when he was twelve, dad’s journal… all gone. They could get weapons and tools to replace what they’d lost, hell they might even find a somewhat functioning wreck of an Impala he could fix up, but it would never be the same.

It took him another hour to go through the bag of weapons but still Sam hadn’t returned. At one time maybe Dean would have gone looking for the younger man… but not now. Dean remembered all too well what happened the last time he’d done that.

I wish you hadn’t seen this, Dean…

A shudder passed through him even though there was no draft in the motel room.

Consciousness came slowly to him, and it came in breaks and pieces. At one point, he was awake, eyes fluttering but unable to open, his brain screaming at his arms and legs to move, but they wouldn't. It was barely a few minutes, but it felt like an eternity until Sam managed to force a twitch out of his finger, and like a spell breaking he was able to move again. He rolled over to his stomach, getting his hands under him to try and sit up, but his muscles were shaking and his head was light. The small movement made the world spin around him, and he was left feeling nauseated. He wrapped his arms around his stomach that was starting to cramp a little as he sat there with his knees folded under him.

It was lucky Dean hadn't seen. Sam didn't want him to. He didn't want to cause any more trouble for his brother.

He reached out a shaky hand to place against the nearest wall, giving himself support as he stood up on weak legs. He really hoped this was a one time thing, because if he was getting sick or if he had contracted some illness, it would be disastrous. Not only was it impossible to get them medical help if anything outside of dehydration or general every day sicknesses happened, but with the loss of just one of them, the other will be left entirely alone.

"Focus," Sam whispered fiercely to himself. "You're not sick. You feel perfectly fine. There's no pain, and no weakness. It's all just in your head. Shake it off." Relief returned to his body as he forced the weakness to the back of his mind. His hands and legs still tingled uncomfortably, but some sleep would take care of that. Now all he had to do was walk into that room, back straight and stride sure, and go to bed. There's no reason Dean has to find out about his little meeting with the pavement.

Breathing deeply, Sam started walking with sure steps towards the motel room, ignoring the way the world started to spin just so slightly, but one hand on the wall made sure he was constantly oriented. In a single, fluid movement, Sam opened the motel room door and stepped in, keeping his eyes low in case they gave away his dizziness. He was surprised by Dean still awake, working on bags and inventory... and he felt like an ass. He should have been helping, instead he had been outside, moping.

Sometimes, Sam couldn't even stand himself, how would he expect Dean to?

"Wow..." Sam said softly, deciding to show his appreciation for the amount of work Dean had done. "Now I feel like an ass," Sam said, throwing Dean a small, lopsided grin as he reached for some water, thinking that water will probably make him feel better, but his weakness was already leaving and Sam was glad for it. "Need any help?"

Dean didn’t look up when he heard the motel room door open. He didn’t even stop what he was doing until Sam spoke. There wasn’t any reason for Sam to feel like anything. Sam had pretty much done all the work up until now, it was time for Dean to start pulling his own weight. Taking inventory of all the crap he’d stolen from Walmart wasn’t exactly back breaking work.

Even if carrying the bags in from the truck and out to the SUV was beginning to wear him out, it was only because he was still recovering from everything and he needed to push himself to get back up to his normal endurance level. Sam would probably say the opposite. That he should take it easy. But neither of them could really afford to take it easy anymore.

At least Sam had come back. His brother hadn’t run off like Dean had earlier. Dean didn’t even realize just how tense he’d been until he started to relax again once his brother was back in the room. So he was back to that again? Feeling panicky whenever his brother was out of his sight? Dean wondered how long it would be this time before he started looking at his brother and only seeing Lucifer…

Dean cut off that line of thinking sharply. That wasn’t Sam’s fault. It wasn’t his brother’s fault he was so fucked up. But he’d always been fucked up in one way or another, so this was really just another level of fucked-up-ness. He’d always been able to hide it from his brother before, now wasn’t much different, was it? He just had to work harder at it. Push it down deeper. Maybe far enough even Dean would believe he wasn’t completely shattered.

Taking another look at his brother even the dim candle light couldn’t hide just how much like crap Sam looked. Yeah… like Dean probably looked any better. When his brother offered to help him he almost refused because Sam really didn’t look that good. In fact, he looked a little unsteady… or maybe it was just Dean’s own tiredness that made Sam appear so. But Sam might take his refusal that he didn’t want Sam around or something and his brother might leave again… They had to break the cycle somehow, this was as good a place as any to start.

“Sure.” Dean said, pushing some of the papers he was working on over towards Sam.

Sam would have done a double take if his brain hadn't been quite so slow. He was expecting Dean to say no, that he didn't need any help. He was expecting Dean to sound annoyed with him, to push him away again. Instead he got none of that. Dean didn't even seem to be angry at him anymore...

Dean's single word filtered into Sam's mind slower than it should have, and his widening eyes were the only indication that he was surprised. Sam nodded, reaching for the papers, feeling thrown out of his element. It was surprising how happy he suddenly felt, like his emotions weren't much in his control, but being happy wasn't bad. In fact, Sam would much rather feel absolutely insane with happiness than the crippling suicidal thoughts he'd been having lately.

The emotional rollercoaster had to stop. It was probably his blood sugar levels or something. He missed the internet. He could have easily figured out what his symptoms meant if he just had access. But hopefully it was a one off thing. If it made a repeat appearance, he'll see if he could figure out what it was.

He looked down at the papers Dean had given to him, focusing on them by the candlelight. Every now and then he looked up at Dean, eyes glancing at his brother's face before he returned to perusing the papers and looking over the inventory Dean had done. Dean still looked tired, and his skin was pale in the flickering orange glow of the candle. He wanted to ask Dean to rest, but it'll no doubt annoy his brother, so Sam bit his cheek and tried to keep quiet.

But Dean really should rest.

After a little while, Sam abandoned the inventory and grabbed two cans of chili, opening them and sticking a plastic fork in it, putting it meaningfully in front of Dean. And then he slid a bottle of orange juice towards Dean's fingers, letting it just sit there pressed against Dean's skin. Sam dug into his can, suddenly unbelievably hungry as his stomach rumbled, groaning out its displeasure. It was peaceful in the room, and Sam didn't want to break the quiet by saying something wrong. He just hoped his brother will eat, because he couldn't see Dean weak and lifeless again. Sam's terror had been unimaginable when Dean wouldn't wake up. He was sure that Dean had died, and Sam couldn't handle it for that one brief moment before he noticed that Dean was breathing. He'd come really close to feeling his sanity slip in that fraction of a second, and he knew that if something did happen to Dean, then Sam wouldn't survive long.

He had to take care of his brother, because Sam's life was attached to Dean's now.

They worked in silence but it wasn’t uncomfortable. Ok, it wasn’t very uncomfortable at least. Dean just wasn’t used to all the silence in the world. Before even if he and Sam weren’t talking there would be other sounds. Like the television or the clicking of keys as his brother surfed the net, or the sound of traffic and people beyond the walls of the room. But now there was none of that and the silence was a little unnerving. Dean found himself wanting to talk to Sam, about anything, just to break up the silence in the world but he was reluctant to say anything that might cause another argument between them. So instead he endured the silence in… well… silence.

After a while Sam stood up again, guess he was done being helpful, and Dean sighed softly without looking up. He listened to the sounds of his brother moving around the room almost gratefully however, hearing the cupboards and the can opener, so it wasn’t much of a surprise when the younger man finally set down a can of chili near him.

Dean debated for a few moments whether to eat or not. He wasn’t feeling particularly hungry right now, or maybe he was but he couldn’t tell anymore. But there was really no reason not to eat, and if he refused the food that would probably only upset Sam again. So Dean finally put down the papers he was working with and picked up the can, taking a bite out of the cold chili. It was kind of gross but he’d had worse. It was edible and that was what was important. Might as well start getting used to cold food, since things like microwaves was a luxury they no longer had. The camping stove he got should probably be saved for emergencies only, no telling how long it would last.

“Thanks.” He finally said between scraping out forkfuls of the chili, taking a drink from the orange juice even if he made a face afterwards. He wasn’t particularly fond of orange juice but he knew he could use the vitamins and shit.

When Dean ate the chili without comment, and even drank the orange juice, Sam was surprised. He had expected at least one 'I'm not hungry' or even just silence with no attempt towards the food. Instead, not only did Dean eat, but he thanked him as well.

Sam's food stuck in his throat, his heart swelling from the small amount of acceptance he had received. He smiled at Dean, swallowing down the bite and taking grabbing a bottle of juice as well, taking long gulps of the liquid. The sugar in the juice helped chase away the last remnants of weakness, and Sam smiled again. It had been nothing more than a drop in his blood sugar, he was sure. Just some food and he'll be right as rain in no time.

Well, physically anyway.

When Sam was done with the food, he scrapped out the last of the beans and threw the can into a plastic bag doubling as a garbage can. It was silly to worry about littering now, but old habits died hard.

"You want to pack the truck you took, or the SUV?" Sam asked. The truck was sturdier, with four wheel drive and it'll be able to take them places, road or not. On the other hand, the SUV had room, and comfort, and he didn't know what was more important right now. Whichever Dean chose, Sam would help him pack it before getting some sleep. Hopefully.

Dean continued to work on taking inventory from the bag while he finished off his can of chili and juice. When he was done with both he set the empty can aside and wiped off his mouth with the back of his hand. Then he started packing everything back into the bag, neatly, so they’d be able to find everything quickly without having to rummage through it.

“I’ve been loading everything into the SUV.” Dean answered in response to Sam’s question, giving a slight shrug as he hefted the now full duffel bag. “I figured it would be easier to keep stuff from getting wet if it rains.”

Dean thought briefly if it even could rain anymore. Did the world even function the same way it did before the Apocalypse? What if it rained down fire and brimstone from now on instead of water? Or what if the water was really acid that would eat away at everything and it wouldn’t make a damned bit of difference if the stuff was under a tarp or inside the SUV.

He looked over at Sam, noticing not for the first time how exhausted his brother looked, but he wasn’t sure if he should say anything. Dean certainly hadn’t been taking any of his brother’s advice when Sam told him to rest, so why should Sam listen to him?

“There’s only a couple of bags left in the truck, but we can go through those next time we stop if you want.” Dean offered.

Sam grabbed Dean's empty can when Dean was done with it, throwing it into the garbage bag as Dean spoke. Yeah, SUV made more sense to him too. In a truck, even with the four wheel drive, they were sure to get tired quickly and eventually one of them will end up in the back when they wanted to sleep. He'd rather not have to worry about either of them being exposed to the elements in this world.

He nodded as Dean continued, smiling at him. He couldn't help it. Dean wasn't angry at him right now, or annoyed, nor did he look like he was barely tolerating him. Right now, Dean looked like he was accepting Sam's presence, and that made Sam happy.

So Sam did something he didn't used to think about earlier, and hadn't had the nerve to do since they woke up in this hellhole. He reached over, clapping his hand on Dean's shoulder. "I'll take care of it. Get some rest, yeah?" He said before his hand slipped to the spot between Dean's shoulderblades to rub briefly before pulling away. Dean's bones were hard under the thin t-shirt, and Sam had to pull away quickly to keep himself from worrying. Dean was losing weight, looking gaunt and tired and sick, and Sam knew he had to take better care of his brother.

"I'll go get them in right now, and go through them. I'm not sleepy so..." Sam explained, heading towards the door.

When his brother suddenly clapped him on the shoulder, Dean did his best not to flinch. He thought he covered it up pretty well with a fake cough. But it still kind of pissed him off. Not because Sam had touched him but because of his reaction to it. How he’d stiffened under his brother’s hand when it slid down his back, gone a second later, but it was like he could still feel the imprint of the younger man’s fingers there.

Dean sighed softly. He could pretend all he wanted, but it was going to take a long time before he ever felt comfortable with Sam touching him. Maybe he never would… That thought alone made him feel about an inch tall and sick to his stomach.

Then Sam was telling him he would finish taking the inventory, and that he wasn’t tired… bullshit. The boy was practically dead on his feet. Without thinking too much, maybe just refusing to think about it, Dean turned and grabbed his brother’s wrist, stopping the younger man.

“Sam, you’re dead on your feet and you know it. It’s not that important. Just throw the crap into the SUV and we’ll deal with it later, ok?” Dean told the younger man, but he handed over the bag he was going to take out to the SUV himself. But if it would make his brother feel better, or useful, or some shit like that, then Sam could do it. Though that wouldn’t stop Dean from keeping an eye on his brother to make sure the boy didn’t pass out on his feet.

Not only was Dean not looking at Sam like a freak, but he had actually reached out and touched him... willingly. Dean could have just told Sam to stop, but he actually reached out and grabbed Sam's wrist. Sam felt warmth seep into him at the gesture. Fine, he was being a little emotional, but after nearly five days of Dean keeping Sam at arm's length, and then even before then... all that time that Lucifer had been in Sam's body, they hadn't exactly been even close to affectionate to each other for what felt like years.

And Sam missed it. He had always been the more touchy-feely of the two of them, and Dean had always fulfilled that need when they were growing up. All the affection Sam hadn't gotten from their father, Dean had more than made up for it.

So Sam was feeling a little bit deprived now, and he was soaking up the attention like a sponge.

Dean told Sam that he was dead on his feet, and Sam shook his head. No he wasn't. He felt fine. Just perfect, in fact.

"I'm fine, Dean," Sam said, and noting the disbelieving look on Dean's face. "No, I really am. I get like this sometimes. I get really exhausted, and then I have lots of energy afterwards. So right now I feel perfect. Really. I'll head to bed as soon as I get tired, I promise."

Sam mourned the loss of Dean's touch, but he took the bag from Dean anyway and started heading out the door to work on the rest of the inventory. He wished Dean wouldn't worry about him... not when Dean was going through so many more problems.

Dean sighed, knowing when Sam got stubborn like this there was really no point in arguing. It was worse than beating your head against a brick wall and even less productive. So he merely nodded at Sam’s insistence that he was ‘fine’ and trust that Sam would rest like he promised once he got tired.

He watched his brother leave the room with the bag over his shoulder and if it didn’t smell like death outside he could almost believe that things were normal. Sam packing up the car while Dean did one last look through the room to make sure all the salt was cleared away and they hadn’t forgotten anything.

Dean turned to look at ‘his’ bed like it was a monster ready to attack him. Not really that far from the truth. Still he approached it slowly and sat down on the edge, taking longer than he should to untie his boots and kicking them off and not really caring that he was stalling.

Dean looked at the pillow at the head of the bed. He would probably feel a lot better if he hid a gun or knife underneath it like he used to, but the truth was he didn’t really trust himself with a loaded weapon so close to him while he slept. It would be all too easy to wake up from a nightmare in panic, grab a gun, and shoot the first thing that moved in the room. Sam…

He laid down slowly in the bed. Not bothering to undress or even get under the covers. He didn’t really want to get too comfortable. It would make it harder to wake up.

Dean waited until Sam returned to the room.

“If I start to dream wake me up. But don’t touch me.” He said softly but he knew Sam would hear him. Dean hoped Sam didn’t take it the wrong way, like he was afraid of Sam to touch him. Truth was, he was more afraid what he might do to his brother if he woke up in a blind panic like before. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

Sam carried the bags out to the SUV, fitting them in the bag as well as leaving space for the thin mattress that was rolled up there. He grabbed the rest of the bags from the truck and brought them back inside the room. Sam felt strange... for once, his mind was at peace with the menial tasks he was doing, but his body... he felt wired, jittery, anxious. He could feel a small tremor running through his veins, making his hands shake and his body shiver just so slightly.

He shook his head and put the bags down in the room, noting that Dean was in bed. Sam smiled. At least some things were getting better. Dean had sought rest on his own. That was... that was definitely progress.

Dean's words made Sam pause for a second, fear and hurt slashing through his chest in the brief second it took for Dean to clarify. Dean didn't want Sam touching him because he was afraid he'll hurt Sam, not because he didn't want Sam touching him. Sam breathed a sigh of relief, and willed his wildly beating heart to calm down. He had used to be such a calm person, collected and smart, able to think on his feet... and now he felt so wild and out of control...

Sam nodded as he stepped further inside, grabbing another bottle of juice. "Yeah, I will," Sam said, promise in his tone before he downed the entire bottle's contents in one go. Sugar burst on his tongue and woke up his mind, and he felt the tremors subside a little. It was probably nothing, just tiredness, or even just some residual weakness from when Lucifer had taken residence in his body, or something.

"Go to sleep, Dean, I'll keep an eye on things," Sam said, sitting down on the rickety table and grabbing the bags, resuming his inventory. He lasted another hour and a half or so before he dragged himself to bed and fell into it, eyes closing at half mast and he was dreaming even before his head hit the pillow. He was in such deep sleep that even if a million marching bands had shown up and started playing right above his head, he wouldn't have woken up. His dreams had a fevered quality, rushing from memory to memory, from one fear to another. He saw his Mom, and he saw Dean, and he saw Dean dead, and then he saw Dad dead, he saw Dean in the Impala as it went over the cliff, Dean paralyzed in the hospital, Lucifer in Sam's body, Dean's blood on his hands... Dean's blood everywhere...

And then he saw the small smile Dean had given him earlier. In his dream, Sam reached out, cupping his Dean's face in his hands. He wanted to protect that smile forever. He wanted to take it, and put it away someplace safe. Make it his. His thumbs traced the line of that smile, eyes glued to Dean's. This was his smile... Dean's smile for him. He wanted to keep it always. Never lose it again. "Mine," Sam said, leaning forward and touching his lips to Dean's, feeling that smile against his own, and when he pulled back, Dean's smile was his.

Sleep… it was the last thing he wanted to do, but he knew he had to. Dean could tell he was running on fumes already and even if he only got a couple of hours that would be enough to keep him going. To get him and Sam to South Dakota at least and after that… who knows? Dean knew realistically that it was foolish to hope that Bobby had survived the fucking apocalypse of all things but if anyone could it was Bobby. If all they found when they got there was another rotting corpse… at least they could give the older man a proper burial. Bobby deserved that.

Dean closed his eyes, for a while listening to the sounds Sam made moving around the room before sheer exhaustion finally dragged him down into sleep. As he figured his dreams were far from pleasant.

Dreams of watching his brother die, stabbed in the back and there was nothing Dean could do to stop it. The taste of sulfur on his tongue as he kissed the demon bitch he’d sold his soul to bring his brother back and then the smell of sulfur on his face right before being ripped apart by a rabid hell hound when his deal came due. The tortures of hell he’d endured for thirty years before he’d finally given in, took Alistair’s deal, and then inflicted all that pain on other damned souls like him. All of that mingled in with the same tortures he’d endured while he was still alive at Lucifer’s hand… his brother’s hand… trying to force him to say ‘yes’ and once more Dean wasn’t strong enough…

His fault… all his fault… the world had ended because of him… how the hell did you redeem yourself from that? Simple, there was none. He’d brought hell to earth and there was nothing but hell waiting for him once this was all finally over.

Dean woke up gasping for breath, shaking, and a cold sweat covering his whole body making his clothes stick to his skin uncomfortable as hell. His heart was beating wildly in his chest, so hard it almost hurt. His fingers curled in the twisted sheets beneath him, his knuckles bone white before he slowly forced himself to let go of them.

He ran a shaking hand over his face, feeling the stubble on his cheeks and chin and not really giving a damn. He couldn’t tell if the wetness on his face was from tears or more sweat and he didn’t really care about that either.

It was just before dawn. Of course there weren’t any clocks left to tell him this but he could see the gray light of pre dawn filtering through the closed drapes of their room. Time to get up then. There was no fucking way he was going back to sleep. Dean glanced over at the bed next to his and saw that his brother was still out cold. Might as well let the younger man sleep a little while longer if he could, Dean could take the time to finish packing up the SUV.

So he did. Pulling his boots back on he got up to finish where Sam left off.

Sam woke up slowly to the sounds of Dean working. He sat up, rubbing his eyes off the sleep that still clung to him. That had to be the deepest he had slept yet, and all because last night, that weight he had been carrying around with him had eased just the tiniest bit.

He felt a little ashamed that he needed Dean this much... that he was this clingy but he couldn't help himself. He had no one else now, and it had always hurt when Dean had pushed him way even when they were kids and Dean went through his rebellious phase. Dean was everything to him and being rejected by him shook Sam's entire world.

Sam dragged himself out of bed, seeing the bright light outside meaning he had possibly slept as late as afternoon. Sighing, he stood up and headed to the bathroom to take care of some necessities.

If possible, it seemed to be even hotter today, and Sam was sweating the moment he stepped out of the motel room. In the room, it was stuffy and humid, but out here it seemed like the earth was being baked. Squinting a little in the bright sunlight, Sam sought out Dean's figure and went to him next to the SUV.

"How much more needs to be done?" Sam asked, unsure of Dean's mood today. Yesterday was the first day he had felt some sort of connection with his brother, a minute one but it was there nonetheless. He was afraid that Dean would go back to treating him like he was an abomination... which he was.

Dean had a torn towel tied around the lower half of his face and nose to try to cut the smell of the decaying bodies all around him but it didn’t help much. Actually it didn’t help at all but it helped to pretend. He was pretending a lot lately, what was one more lie he told himself?

When he heard the sound of the motel room opening Dean’s hand automatically started to move to the gun he’d tucked into the back of his jeans before he forced himself to stop. It was just Sam. Just his brother. Still his heart took a long time to slow down to a more normal rhythm.

Dean shut the back of the SUV and dusted off his hands on his jeans, hoping that Sam hadn’t noticed.

“Nothing. Everything’s set. I was just gonna come wake you up, dude.” Dean replied, tugging off the towel since it wasn’t helping anyway, and instead using it to wipe some of the sweat off his face. It was hotter than hell here and he’d be glad to hit the road and get away from the baking corpses.

Looking around Dean wondered if they should even bother trying to do anything about them. Maybe pile them into one of the rooms of the motel and set it ablaze. Not the most decent burial but better than nothing. But then again, why bother? It wasn’t like they’d be coming back and they couldn’t bury the entire world.

Dean sighed and tossed away the towel.

“Ready to go?” He asked his brother, not really waiting for Sam’s reply before he started for the driver’s seat of the SUV.

Sam raised a hand up to shade his eyes from the burning sunlight. It felt like the apocalypse had peeled off a layer in the atmosphere, if the intensity of the sun was anything to go by... or maybe the battle between angel and devil had been so massive that it had rocked Earth closer to the sun?

It sounded preposterous, but then again they were possibly the only two people left in the world. Sam figured they were allowed, at this point, to make up stories about how the Earth was flat and the sun was God or something.

He watched Dean wipe the sweat off his face with something akin to worship. This wasn't healthy... seeing Dean like this, looking just the tiniest bit relaxed even if it was only because now he had a goal in mind, was fucking with Sam's head. It was making him dream, and making him obsess about his brother which... was nothing new, but still. This was a different obsession, something that was close to worrying too much but not quite. It made Sam's heart hammer in his chest when he saw the same mannerisms he had grown up with...

Or when Dean called him 'dude' and his eyes didn't even flicker with distrust. Not right now anyway. Sam had seen too much to start counting his chickens before they were hatched, but the hope blooming in his chest was difficult to tamper down.

"Yeah, for sure," Sam said, trying not to sound too cheerful while being surrounded by corpses boiling in the sun, turning into pits of maggots and bacteria releasing toxic gas into the air and slimy remains seeping into the earth. Sam headed to the SUV, getting in the passenger side. "Should've woken me earlier, I could have helped," Sam said, closing the door behind him and trying to breathe in the stifling heat of the SUV. It was feeling more like a sauna than a car. Once there, he opened his side of the window and settled down a bit, shifting around to fit his too long legs into the limited space in front of him. He suddenly missed the Impala like one would miss a limb. It had been home... so perfect for both of them that it almost felt like it had been built for them. Now he was banging his knees against the dash everytime he moved. He guessed he'll have bruised knees before long.

Settling down nevertheless, Sam gave Dean a quick smile, eager to mend the rift between them before letting Dean drive them wherever.

Dean got behind the wheel of the SUV and waited for Sam to strap himself in before he started the engine. With their luck Dean wouldn't have been surprised if the damned thing stuttered and died, but it didn't. It had gotten them this far and seemed willing to take them a bit further and Dean was grateful for that.

He refused to consider what the hell they were going to do if the car broke down, or if they couldn't find gas, or if their food ran out. This world wasn't like the one they had known before where they could call a tow truck, or pull off the road at any of a hundred gas stations, or call for some take out in their shitty motel room. Dean wondered if the same thoughts, the same fears, were going through Sam's head. If they were his brother wasn't given any indication of it.

The older man merely shrugged at his brother's comment, that Dean should have woken him up. It didn't really matter. It wasn't like the work had been back breaking, and it had helped to clear his mind a little. Besides it was probably the first decent sleep Sam had gotten since they'd woken up in this mess. If they'd gotten a little later start than planned, who really gave a shit? What the hell did time mean now anyway?

Dean tried not to make a face when Sam opened the window, letting in the stench Dean just wanted to get away from. Maybe once they started driving it wouldn't be so bad. Course anywhere there were, had been, a significant number of people it would be just as bad. Kind of made him wish Lucifer and Michael had done a better job torching everything. It wasn't like there was much left anyway and it would have taken care of the smell.

He didn't return Sam's smile and he carefully navigated the SUV out of the ruined Motel parking lot and onto the road. It was just as slow going and treacherous as it had been the first time Dean had left this place but at least he had experience now on his side. He took the SUV off road when he could since really it was often easier doing that than navigating around the broken down husks of cars.

Eventually much to his relief they reached a more rural area, or at least what must have been rural at one point. There wasn't much left of anything anymore sure, but at least there were fewer cars on the road and the smell was mostly gone. It allowed them to travel a little bit faster, but it would still take a few days to reach where they were going.

Sitting next to Dean shotgun again was strange. And yet familiar. Sam missed the Impala more than ever right this moment, and it felt wrong that Dean was driving a frickin' SUV. Sam actually missed the 80s rock tapes too. Right now it was too silent, not even the sounds of people or traffic to fill the void. And then there was the silence between them.

Dean hadn't said one word to Sam since the last few he had spoken before getting in the car. Now the silence was so heavy Sam could hardly breathe. His smile had not been returned and Sam wasn't surprised, just a little disappointed. He thought that their relationship was mending... a little, anyway, but apparently it hadn't been. Dean still didn't want Sam around, not really. Sam had no delusions about Dean wanting Sam anywhere nearby, and why would he? It had been Sam's hands that had tortured him and Sam's words that had broken his brother down. But Sam also knew that Dean needed Sam around. Not want. Need. Because other than Sam, they didn't think there was anyone else around.

Sam sighed, slouching in the passenger seat a little before he turned to look at Dean... and he looked, and looked and looked. Maybe the staring thing would snap Dean into saying something to Sam.

"I wanna try summoning a demon," Sam said suddenly. "Just to see if I can." Do demons exist still? Angels? Where was Cas? Could they call Cas? Would he answer? Was he dead? Was there a heaven and hell still or not?

He could feel the weight of Sam’s stare like a laser boring into his skull. Once upon a time he might have demanded what the hell was his brother’s problem within five minutes of the intense, creepy worthy, staring. Now he simply ignored it. Something he was fining surprisingly easy to do recently. Ignoring the rift between them. Ignoring how fucked up the world around them was. Ignoring Sam when the younger man was staring at him like a god damned stalker. He was getting a lot of practice at it.

The first words out of Sam’s mouth after hours of staring at him pretty much ruined the calm demeanor Dean had been trying to hold onto for so long however. In fact, he nearly ran them off the road into a ditch in his surprise and once he regained control of the car he gave his brother a glare that could have incinerated lesser men.

“Are you out of your god damned mind!” Dean practically yelled at the younger man. Maybe if he shouted loud enough it would wake Sam up to just how stupid that idea really was. “Don’t we have enough fucking problems right now!”

It was easier to be angry. Easier to yell than admit to the fact that his knuckles had turned bone white he was gripping the steering wheel so tightly. Easier than admitting how he actually felt the blood drain from his face till he was practically white as a sheet with fear. Just the idea of facing another demon… the risk of Sam getting possessed again…

Sam wasn't surprised when Dean yelled. In fact, he would have been surprised if he hadn't. What did surprise him was the spark of pleasure ripple through him at the sight of Dean's anger. That emotion... so raw and so sudden had suddenly shown Sam the brother he used to have before everything went to hell, literally.

It was after a few milliseconds that Sam noticed the white knuckled grip Dean had on the steering wheel and realized that the anger was a cover for fear, and the illusion broke. Sam's brother disappeared again, and Sam's disappointment hit him like a sledgehammer.

"Maybe," Sam said calmly in response to Dean's first question. "I'll be careful." Sam didn't know what was wrong with him. Why was he baiting Dean like this? Why was he trying to keep Dean emotionally unstable? Pissed off? Angered?

Because Sam couldn't stand the cold indifference anymore. And call him childish, immature, whatever, but right now Sam had all of Dean's attention and he was going to keep it.

"I just want to know if there's a hell or a heaven still. Maybe we could call Cas, but something tells me he's not alive anymore. Or if he is, then he isn't going to answer. But hey, you can try. He was always in love with you so if he's going to answer, it'll be to your call." And Sam was again surprised to note the hint of jealousy he was feeling at the mention of that angel. He actually didn't want Cas to answer Dean's call, because if he did, then Dean will have someone else and then why would he keep Sam around? Sam would be kicked out of the car and left to find his own way while Dean and Cas drove off hand in hand.

Sam shook his head.

Where the fuck was this coming from?! What was wrong with him? "We'll use a devil's trap. Summon a minor demon. Maybe do a crossroads thing. It's simple enough. If a red eyed demon shows..." Then what, Sam? As unstable as you are... as unstable as Dean is... could the temptation of a deal prove to be too much for your fragile minds and the cycle would begin again?

Or maybe, if Sam could get to it first and wish something that helped Dean, then however many years he got out of it would still be a good deal.

Sam bit down on a chuckle. If Dean could hear his thoughts, Sam's brains would be splattered all over the interior of the car by now.

Sam’s words were calm. Rational even. Far more rational than the idea of calling up a fucking demon and asking it to ‘behave’ really was. Couldn’t Sam see that? Apparently not, and hearing his brother talking about it so fucking calmly did anything but set Dean at ease. In fact, Dean was getting really close to completely freaking out. No joke.

“You want to know if there’s a heaven or hell…” Dean repeated. Did his brother even realize how idiotic he sounded right now? Apparently not. When Sam went on to mention Castiel though, that just drove the dagger home.

Cas had been a friend. A good friend. Almost family. The angel had protected them and rebelled against heaven for them. He had always answered Dean’s prayers whenever he needed him… except when he’d woken up in the hospital when the walls were covered in blood. When Lucifer had been riding around in Sam’s body all those weeks and Dean hadn’t realized it. Then of course the weeks after that when Lucifer had tortured him…

As much as Dean didn’t want to believe that Cas was dead, he almost hoped the angel was. Because if he wasn’t dead then that meant Cas had let it all happen. Surely Cas would have seen, long before Dean had, what Sam really was. Surely the angel would have at least tried to rescue him before he’d said yes. Before he’d broken and turned the world to ash…

Dean closed his eyes for a moment and when he opened them again they were shockingly blank. Almost dead. As was his voice when he finally spoke.

“You want to know if there's a heaven or hell so badly, Sam? How about we find out? Right now. Don’t even need a demon for that.” Dean said softly, almost conversationally, as he slammed on the gas pedal. Watching the speedometer needle slowly climbing up. Past sixty miles per hour. Then pass seventy. Far faster than was possibly safe given how much debris littered the roads.

Of everything Sam had expected, he hadn't expected this. He figured Dean would yell at him, or even hit him... hell, leave him by the side of the road. But this? This wasn't something Sam was prepared for.

"Dean! Slow down!" Sam called out, reaching out to rest a hand against Dean's chest, noting that his brother didn't have his seatbelt on... and neither did Sam. But pulling the seatbelt on will take too much time and right now Sam was more concerned with keeping his brother back in his seat in case the car had to be stopped abruptly... maybe with the aid of a charred tree or the wall of a building.

"Stop, Dean!" Sam called again, eyes wide with fear as he watched the scenery rush by. "Dean! Slow down or you're going to get us killed!" Maybe that's what Dean wanted... maybe he'd had enough of Sam and decided to end them both and save them the misery... "Dean... please, man..." Sam said softly, tearing his eyes away from the road blurring in front of them to Dean, committing his profile to memory because who knew, they might be about to die in a few moments.

Dean smiled, but there was absolutely nothing warm in that smile. It was cold as ice and his eyes were more than a little bit wild. Sam’s pleas having the exact opposite effect. Rather than slowing down, Dean pushed the SUV even harder. The speedometer pushing past eighty now and still going.

He wondered if he could get it up to a hundred. Dean was fully aware that the SUV wasn’t built anything like the impala, it wasn’t meant to be maneuvered at that kind of speed and probably wouldn’t be able to keep control of the vehicle at that point. Nor did he care at the moment.

When he felt Sam’s hand on his chest, Dean pushed his brother away. Shoving Sam back to his side of the car. The effort caused his other hand to slip on the steering wheel just a fraction. Sending them into the guard rail with the screech of metal on metal as his reward before he got the car back under control.

Rather than showing fear that he’d nearly just crashed them however Dean laughed.

“What’s the matter, Sam? I thought you wanted to know if there was a heaven and hell? Don’t worry, if we crash I’m driving so I’ll go to hell. You’ll go to heaven since you’re just the passenger. Then we can compare notes.” Dean explained, practically conversationally, even as he noticed a pile up of cars quickly approaching.

Normally this was when he’d take the SUV off road to go around the debris but at this speed if he tried that it would probably send them into a roll, killing both of them.

Sam refused to let Dean's words get to him. Not now when he could see the pile of cars approaching. Sam could see his death in those cars, and he knew that he had too little time left to be pissed off at Dean.

"I love you," Sam said to Dean, voice calm and collected even as his heart jumped in his chest. Declarations of love weren't something the Winchesters did, but Sam supposed life or death situations were exempted from that rule. Then Sam turned to look at the pile of cars, watching them approach way too quickly. He swallowed heavily, bracing himself for the impact even when he knew that at this speed, no amount of bracing will actually help.

Sam’s words hit him like a slap. Dean had just threatened to kill them both and that’s all Sam had to say to him? Maybe his brother was just trying to shock him to his senses. Whatever the reason it worked. This time his brother’s words got through.

Dean slammed on the brakes. The tires screamed in protest. At the speed he was going, stopping that fast was almost as bad as slamming into a tree. He had the steering wheel for his chest to slam into, stopping his momentum a little bit. Sam didn’t. Dean reached out and grabbed his brother, trying to stop Sam from slamming into the dashboard or through the windshield.

He felt the SUV begin to fishtail and Dean pulled the steering wheel to the left, purposefully sending them into the guardrail this time in a shower of sparks and screaming metal. Trying to use it to both slow down the car and keep them from spinning out of control. Hoping desperately that the SUV wouldn’t simply flip over it.

Amazingly it worked. The SUV finally came to a stop within a few feet of the wrecked cars. Dean took one deep breath through his bruised ribs, then another. Almost unable to believe that they were actually still alive. Then he slumped over the steering wheel and began to sob.

It was amazing how time seemed to slow down when things happened in a split second. Sam watched as Dean slammed on the brakes, the fear in Dean's eyes before momentum took over and they were flying. Sam saw Dean's hand reach out for him even as Dean slammed into the steering wheel. Dean's grip on Sam was weak, and Sam slammed hard against the dashboard, feeling no pain in that moment as a split second later, the car was fishtailing and Sam wasn't prepared for the change in direction. Sam's head cracked against the passenger side window, still feeling no pain as the car screeched along the guardrail and came to a stop.

Sam sat there for a few moments, wheezing out a breath as he looked at the pile of cars in front of them through red tinted vision. Sam's hands shook as he slowly turned to Dean, reaching out to touch his shoulder lightly. Sam felt something drip down the side of his face and he wiped it away, noting that it was blood.

"Dean...?" Sam called when he saw that Dean was crying. "Don't cry..." He shuffled closer to Dean, wrapping an arm around Dean's shoulder to pull him close and into a hug where he held Dean as tightly as he could, pressing Dean's face into his shoulder so that Sam could try and calm him down. "Shh... it's alright. We're alright..."

Sam realized that Dean had a breakdown. The manic smile, the calm words, the threats of murder-suicide... that wasn't like his brother at all. And then the crying... Sam hoped that this was a way for Dean to heal and that he hadn't just gotten more damaged.

Sam turned his head, gently kissing Dean's temple. "I love you, okay Dean?" He said softly, one hand running up and down Dean's back. "Love you so much..." Sam didn't know if he was helping or not, but he couldn't stop saying it right now... not when they had come this close to dying. Worse even if only one of them had survived.

Dean was crying so hard that he could barely breath through the choking sobs that shook his whole body. He didn’t think he’d cried this hard even when he was four years old, the day he realized his mother was dead and she was never coming back.

What the fuck was wrong with him? He’d nearly killed them both. He’d nearly killed his brother.

Instead of screaming at him, hitting him, demanding to know what the fuck was wrong with him, Sam was suddenly holding him. Dean wasn’t sure if it made things better or worse. Sam was holding him like he was something fragile. Something precious. His words gentle, his touch comforting, and Dean could only cry harder against the younger man’s shoulder if that was possible.

“I’m sorry… sorry…” Dean finally managed to choke out between his sobs. He wasn’t even sure what he was apologizing for. For almost getting them killed? For treating Sam the way he’d been treating his brother? For ending the fucking world? Maybe none of those things. Maybe all of them.

I’m not ok, Sam.

He’d told his brother that. Sam knew it. Dean knew it. But even he hadn’t realized just how ‘not ok’ he was. Taking himself out was one thing, but trying to take Sam out with him?

Dean could smell blood. He knew what it meant. That Sam was hurt. But he couldn’t even let go of the younger man for long enough to check on Sam to make sure his brother was all right. All he could do was cling to his brother, sobbing, broken, until there were absolutely no tears left in him. It was probably a miracle he hadn’t started crying blood. Still even when the tears stopped and his uncontrollable sobs were reduced to hitching breaths catching in his throat, he still didn’t let go of Sam.

Sam held Dean as long as Dean wanted him to. He kept kissing Dean's forehead, his temple, his hair... anything he could get at to try and get through to Dean how much he loved the older man. They didn't do this... kisses. But they didn't do attempts at murder-suicide and then a breakdown either, so Sam supposed he was allowed to break from character.

"Shh..." Sam shushed softly as Dean's crying stopped, leaving only hiccuping breaths that shook his brother's entire body. Sam ran his hand up and down Dean's back, trying to comfort while his other ran lightly through Dean's hair. Sam ignored his own injuries, and right now that wasn't difficult. Having an armful of Dean... Sam had been begging for this comfort ever since he had walked into that hospital and found Dean broken. This... this is what Sam had made that deal for. He hadn't been able to reconcile the fact that he'd never be able to able to hold Dean like this again... or have Dean hold him.

Everything had gone so damn wrong... and in the end his deal only hurt Dean more. But right now, if Dean wasn't pushing him away then Sam was going to stay this way for as long as he could.

Sam gently pulled away just enough that he could see his brother's face. He reached up, using the hem of his t-shirt to wipe off Dean's tears as carefully and gently as he could. Once done, Sam gave Dean a small smile, leaning forward to kiss his forehead again. "There... see? You're alright," Sam said quietly, kissing Dean's nose then. "I'll take care of you, Dean," Sam added, kissing Dean's nose again. "Just let me... let me take care of you." Then, before he could really think about it, Sam leaned down and kissed Dean's lips quickly. It was chaste and brief, the way family shared kisses, but it was still something they'd never done.

Then Sam brought Dean against himself again, wrapping his arms around his big brother and pretty much cradling him. He'll make good on his promises too. He'll take care of Dean... if Dean would let him.

Sam kept kissing him. He knew he should tell Sam to stop, but he didn’t. The younger man kept touching him, along his back, through his hair, practically petting him. He knew he should shrug his brother off, tell him to stop treating him like a fucking girl, but he didn’t do that either. Sam kept whispering to him that it was all right, he was all right, and everything was going to be all right. He knew he should tell Sam to knock it off, this whole thing was beyond chick-flicky, but instead he remained where he was, just listening to his brother, and almost believing him.

Shame and guilt for almost getting them both killed hadn’t kicked in yet. Embarrassment for breaking down and crying like a fucking child hadn’t kicked in yet either. He knew eventually it would, and it would be bad, but right now he felt… almost ok. Alright, maybe not anywhere near ok, but something felt different. Something felt better between him and Sam.

This was just beyond fucked up. How could things possibly be better when he’d just tried to murder his brother? Was he out of his fucking mind? Ok, stupid question. But there was definitely a warm spot in his chest that just wouldn’t dissipate. Even as embarrassment started to creep in along the edges as Sam wiped at his drying tears.

Sam was kissing him again, and Dean knew he really should pull away now, to make sure his brother was all right if nothing else, but he froze when the younger man’s lips touched his own. His breath hitching in his throat and that warm spot flaring hotter for a brief moment before Sam pulled back a little and shifted his hold on him.

He wasn’t sure how long they stayed like that before Dean’s aching ribs, worry for Sam, and growing embarrassment finally forced him to pull out of his brother’s embrace. He winced a little as he sat up and hoped he hadn’t cracked a rib or two against the steering wheel when he’d slammed into it. Dean scrubbed his face with his hand, trying to erase the signs of his tears like he hadn’t been sobbing against his brother’s chest, and turned to look at his brother.

Sam had quite a bit of blood dripping down the side of his face and that worried Dean.

“Are you ok?”

Sam noticed the wince as Dean pulled away and his brow furrowed in worry. Had Dean hurt his ribs? Were they just bruised or broken? How bad was the damage? Sam felt worry slither into him again as he imagined Dean dropping dead a few hours later because he had internal bleeding or something.

When Dean asked him how he was feeling, Sam looked at him in confusion for a moment before he realized that he had congealing blood on his face that pulled and itched. He reached up, feeling for the damage and found it instantly. It was the right side of his head, just above his ear where he had hit his head against the window. The skin was inflamed under his fingertips, hot to the touch and very painful. Thick blood oozed out when Sam aggravated by accident but Sam didn't think the damage was too bad. He figured if it had been, he would either be comatose or dead by now.

"I'm fine," Sam said, looking down at his bloody fingers. "A little in pain, but I'll live."

Head wounds always bled a lot anyway...

"Think you can take a look at it? Just to see if I need stitches," Sam asked. Now that he was aware of the injury, the wound burned and throbbed in time with his heartbeats, oozing out more blood with every beat. He turned to look at Dean, worried still. "How're you doing?" He asked, quieter.

Fine… there was that word again. What utter bullshit. Neither of them were fine but both of them were going to pretend to be. It was either that or fall to pieces and Dean had already done that once already. Look where that had got them. Yeah, pretending was easier.

When Sam asked him to check the wound Dean nodded and reached out to catch Sam’s chin with his fingers. Turning his brother’s head gently so he could get a better look at the side of his face, trying not to hurt him further in the process. He wouldn’t be surprised if the younger man’s neck was also sore as hell from being tossed around like that. Carefully he parted Sam’s hair with his other hand and leaned forward to get a better look. It was a gash alright but didn’t look like it needed stitches. Applying some pressure on it for a while wouldn’t hurt though.

Releasing Sam, Dean popped open the glove compartment and thankfully found what he was looking for. A stack of fast food napkins everyone seemed to shove in their glove box for emergencies. Grabbing a few he handed them over to Sam.

“Put some pressure on it until it stops bleeding.” He told his brother, and then felt at a loss once more as to what to do now. Dean almost offered to let Sam drive, because really after that stunt who would trust him behind the wheel? But Sam couldn’t exactly hold napkins to his head and drive at the same time, so that left Dean.

“I’m fine.” He finally answered his brother’s question after a long moment of silence. Turning back to the steering wheel and putting the SUV in reverse. Easing them back away from the pile of wrecked cars he’d almost crashed them into. Thankfully the SUV was pretty damned durable and was still drivable after the punishment Dean had put it through. He drove around the wreckage and back onto the road continuing on as though nothing had happened.

Dean was so damn far from being fine but sure, Sam was willing to let it go. Clearly, Dean didn't want to talk about it, so Sam was going to give him that. Pressing the napkins against his wound, Sam forced himself to look out the windshield as Dean began driving again. He wasn't sure Dean should be driving right now specially after what had just happened.

Sam watched Dean closely, looking for any sign of weakness or another breakdown. Dean was putting up a strong front, and Sam wished he wouldn't. Sam wished Dean would just tell him what he was thinking... what he wanted, what he was feeling... Sam was willing to be there for all of it. He was willing to be there for Dean if only Dean just gave him the slightest inclination that he wanted Sam there. As horrible as it sounded, Dean's breakdown had given Sam hope. Maybe one day, his brother would be able to look at Sam without seeing a monster again.

A few moments of silence passed where Sam either watched the landscape fly by or he watched his brother pretend everything is fine.

"I won't," Sam said finally, voice soft. It struck him a moment later that his words might require further elaboration and so he continued. "Summon a demon, I mean." Sam cleared his throat. "I won't. I promise."

His brother was staring at him again and once more Dean pretended not to notice. He couldn’t really blame Sam, after all. The younger man probably wanted to make sure that he wouldn’t try to drive them into a tree or off a cliff or something. He could still barely believe he’d done what he’d done. He’d known exactly what he was doing. He just hadn’t cared. He hadn’t cared that he was going to kill his own brother and the thought of what he’d almost done made him sick.

What if it happened again? That one thought kept repeating over and over in his mind. What if something his brother said or did set him off again without warning? What if next time he tried to smother his brother with a pillow in his sleep? What if he dug out one of their recently acquired shotguns and blew a hole in Sam? What if he slit his brother’s throat or tried to strangle him with his bare hands?

He was terrified. Utterly terrified that he was that far gone. That he was that fucked in the head he would even consider hurting his brother. Was that what Lucifer had done to him? Shattered that one simple truth, the one that had defined him for most of his life? Take care of Sammy…

If he couldn’t even trust himself to do that how could he trust himself at all?

When Sam finally spoke Dean was confused enough to wonder if his brother had been talking for a while and he’d missed most of it. But then his brother clarified and Dean understood it was actually a continuation of their last conversation. The one before Dean had tried to kill them both.

A part of him wanted to apologize again, to beg his brother’s forgiveness for the rest of his life, but he choked on the words and it was probably a good thing. Since if he started again he wasn’t sure if he’d be able to stop and he simply couldn’t break down again. He wouldn’t.

So instead he merely nodded. Sure that Sam saw it since his brother hasn’t stopped staring at him all this time.

Once Dean nodded, Sam decided that it was as good of a response as he was going to get out of his brother. So Sam settled down a little more, removing the napkins from his wound and seeing that the napkin wasn't quite as bloody as he had expected it to be. Good thing too... even though Sam trusted Dean - even now after Dean had pretty much almost tried a murder-suicide routine - he wasn't sure he wanted Dean to stitch him up if the wound hadn't been a shallow one.

A little while later, by the time the intensity of the sun beating down on them started reducing, Sam started feeling drowsy, his eyes closing up as tiredness caught up to him. The fear and anxiety from earlier had left him jittery and now that he was calming down, it left him feeling hollow.

"Wake me up if you want me to drive," Sam said quietly, not wanting to break the silence before he closed his eyes, resting his head against the window in order to rest a little.