Dean felt good. It was summertime in the nation, and their latest hunt had actually landed them beachside in South Carolina. Bobby had lined them up a cozy beachfront cottage, and it was here that Sam was able to finally heal from the events of more than a year ago. They'd been in residence for a solid two months, and there was still no end in sight. Dad had relented and left Dean in charge of both boys while he traveled the area in search of worthy endeavors, which in John Winchesterspeak meant monsters.

But for the time being, Sam and Dean were left out of the fray and allowed to actually relax for a change. They'd spent the entire summer ogling girls on the beach, throwing impromptu private parties at the cottage for the ones deemed worthy, and otherwise just being boys. There had been beer and pizza and clam bakes and surfing. And secretly, Sam wished it would never end. Just having this time together with his big brother to heal and bond and do whatever it was that brothers did was the best form of therapy. Even Dean tried not to think too far ahead at the winter and worse that awaited them once Dad decided they'd rested enough.

But for today, Dean felt good. It was a rainy, unseasonably chilly day that left the beach deserted except for two Winchesters and a football. And it was the normal, everyday pleasures of life like this that had eliminated the nightmares for both boys. They both slept through the night now, waking rested and happy in the mornings.

Sam's physical injuries had healed as well, and he was back to 100 percent both physically and emotionally, and Dean was determined he would stay that way.

It was truly a summer to remember for the two brothers. And as they ran along the beach in the wind and the light rain, laughing and slipping and falling and tackling one another, they were unaware of the eyes that watched them from an old beater parked up on the cliff. The man who watched the Winchesters used a high-powered telescope on a tripod, and he made meticulous notes recording the times when the boys left and when they returned and when they entertained guests. He knew what time they arose in the mornings and what time they went to sleep at night. He knew the older boy - Dean - was always up first. He'd come out onto the deck in sweats and bare feet and glance around like he was canvassing the area. Then he'd stretch and pad back inside to make coffee. The younger brother, whose name he didn't know, was fond of reading and messing around on a laptop that he carried out to the the patio table nearly every day. The first time the man had caught a glimpse of the younger boy through the telescope, he was struck by how familiar he looked, but he couldn't place why. And then one day, the boy had turned and looked directly at him without seeing him and suddenly the man knew.

He was a dead ringer for Mark. No pun intended.

The coincidence wasn't lost on the man, and it set his mind drifting off on different tangents of how this boy who looked so much like his dead son had ended up the brother of the boy who'd killed his oldest.

The man had been watching and waiting for weeks. His initial plan had been to take the oldest boy when he was alone, but those times were shaping up to be rare. It was like the brothers had only just found each other or something and were determined to spend nearly every moment together. But the more he watched and observed the bond between the two, a new plan began forming - one that included the younger boy too. After all, it was apparent to anyone watching that the younger one was the older one's weakness. And anyone who knew anything about breaking someone down knew exploiting weaknesses was a must.

And the man wanted his revenge - the sweeter the better. It wasn't really that he was interested in avenging the death of his son, but more that he felt he'd grown soft during his time at Rikers, and this new … assignment ... that he'd set himself was a perfect reentry back into his former life.

He couldn't stop himself from actually rubbing his hands together in glee. The anticipation was the best part of the hunt, after all.

The man repositioned the telescope so it was at a more comfortable height for watching the antics taking place on the beach. He leaned back against his early model minivan and put his eye to the lens once again.

He zoomed it in just in time to see the younger boy tackle his brother around the waist and drag him into the surf. They struggled over the ball for a moment, and then they both turned toward the telescope, million-watt smiles glowing. The man, who was used to reading lips by now, spoke along with the boys.

"Bitch."

"Jerk."

It was a thing with them - so cohesive and brotherly and familiar that it almost made his heart ache. He couldn't wait for the moment when he'd find a way to use it against them.

Oh the possibilities were endless.

-THE END-

Author's Note: Thank you to everyone for following, favoriting, and commenting on this story. The reviews make it all worthwhile :)