THE DEAL

Sam sat quietly. Not because he wanted to be quiet. But because he couldn't, he didn't... what could he say? What could he possibly say that could make any sense whatsoever of…this? His head was spinning with the shock of realisation. Dean only had a year left to live. He had sold his life, no, worse than that: he had sold his soul this time, for Sam's. They only had one more year together.

Less now. Only three hundred and sixty something days. Only three hundred and sixty something nights. Until he died a terrible, violent death and went to Hell for eternity. Sam felt a tear break through and begin to slide down his face. How was he going to survive without his brother?

No. How could he possibly survive without the man that he so deeply loved beside his side? How was he going to even begin to face life after?

"How could you make a deal like that, Dean?"

Bobby had lost count of the amount of times Sam had asked that question. Hell, he had lost count of the number of times he had asked that question. What had the idgit been thinking?

Then he sighed. Because he knew what Dean had been thinking. But he wished, he so wished he hadn't.

"There's got to be some way of breaking it."

"It's done, Sam." Dean was getting irritated.

"Then we'll undo it!"

"Then they take you instead. And I'm telling you now: ain't no way! No way, Sammy! You let it go, you hear?" He was standing now, almost shouting at Sam who was biting his lip, trying to stop the rest of the tears from showing.

Then as suddenly as Dean's temper had arisen, it was gone again and he was kneeling on the floor in front of Sam and catching his face in his hands. "Listen to me, Sam. It's okay. It's okay. We killed the demon. We saved dad: we both saw him escape Hell. And he gave me two more years of life than I should have had, Sam. It was my time to go in that crash, you know that's the truth. I'll have had two more years than I should have done. That's a bonus, Sam. So, it's okay."

"It's not okay, Dean." Now the tears were coming. "How am I going to live without you?"

His big brother smiled and leant forward to hug him. "You'll be fine, Sam. You managed to before for years. You're gonna go back to College. That lien works both ways: claim the rest of your scholarship. Go and become a hotshot lawyer. Live your normal life. Find your white picket fence. Nothing to keep you on the road with me now….unless you want to. But…"

"But?"

"Will you do something for me Sam? Or you, Bobby? If it's not too much to ask."

"Anything, son. You know that, anything."

Dean paused. He didn't want to upset them anymore, but this was something he'd always dreamed of….

"Once….once they've come for me. Once it's over. Will you find my chip and cut it out? It's somewhere under my spinal cord, I'm not sure where. That's the idea, I suppose. But, I'd like to know that I'm… free. Even if it's only in death. Would you cut it out before you burn my remains?"

"Dean!" And his little brother was going, dissolving into distraught tears. And Dean could only hold him as he cried. And he was watching Bobby rub at his eyes with his hands. And he knew he'd let them down yet again, but he didn't know what else he could have done.

There was nothing else he could have done.

His life for Sammy's.

Simplest deal ever.

Then Sam was pulling away from him, out of his arms, and his expression was becoming cold and….eerily like their dad's had been for most of their lives when he had been driven by his obsession for revenge. What could Sam possibly be getting obsessed by?

"We're going to break this deal."

"I told you, Sam…"

"I don't care what you told me, Dean. And I don't care what you say. We're going to break this deal." He got up from the sofa and stared down at him. "I'm going to break this deal. I'm not losing you."

And with that he was striding across the room, pulling down book after book to look for any information that might be of use. And Bobby was sighing, signalling to Dean to give his brother some time, and crossing to sit at the table to take the musty smelling tomes from Sam. Dean watched them both for a moment then left the room, heading out for the yard and the fresh air of nearly perhaps being free.

Behind him, Bobby and Sam stopped their pretence of searching through the pages and stared at each other. "What am I going to do, Bobby?" Sam whispered to the old man. "What am I going to do?"

But for once Bobby had no answer.

Dean wandered outside for a while, then headed for the only place he'd ever felt was home. He sat in the driving seat of his Baby and all but drank in the smell of her interior: leather, gun oil, whisky, the iron tang of stale blood, the whiff of stale sweat, aromas reaped from many women and the occasional man, the slightest hint of old hamburgers: home.

With a sigh he delved into his inner pocket and pulled out his wallet. He could have cried when Sam had returned it to him: he was so grateful that his brother had thought to pick it up when he had left that last motel room in such a hurry.

Now he opened it and delved with his finger into the lining of the leather that he had split purposely the moment he had purchased it. He had never told anyone of this; never shown anyone the photo that he was now pulling out. He had been about to show Sam when the abduction had happened: now he knew it was too late.

If he told Sam now, his brother would be back desperately trying to hack the National Archives: his disappointment that Ash hadn't managed to before he had been killed had been written all over his face when told the news of the events at the Roadhouse. Although Dean knew that Ash had never been looking: the threat of having extreme violence done to him by the elder Winchester if he did, had been enough to make him decide not to bother.

Now though he pulled out the photo and stared at it. It was so old and so creased and he had had to leave it to dry out more than once. But the figures were still clear if somewhat faded in places. He could even remember the day he had been given it….

He had been watching the outside world through the blinds of the windows. Mary was packing the house up, ready for the imminent move to Lawrence, and he was supposed to be out of sight because of the awkward questions that might ensue if the Winchester's suddenly had a son.

Dean had recognised her immediately as he saw her approach the house: she had been one of the other buyers at the auction, the lady that was part of the more senior couple. She seemed nervous and hesitant, as if unsure that she should be there. Carefully he had slipped past Mary while she was preoccupied in wrapping the glassware and gone to the front door. He knew he wasn't allowed to go outside, but he carefully opened it and stayed inside the screen door. Waiting.

Hoping.

She saw him. Smiled and finally got her courage up to walk up to the porch. Carefully she knelt on the outside of the gauze, close enough to whisper to the child inside.

"I see you're moving on. So are we. It's easier, stops most of the questions. They're going to be alright. We'll make sure they're safe, treat them well. They miss you though so I thought you might like this." The photo was slid beneath the screen door. "I'll make sure they never forget you. I promise. Perhaps one day, fate will let you be together again one day. God bless you, boy, and may angels always watch over you."

And with that she had gone. Dean had never seen her again, although he had looked all his life. He had checked every record of every inhabitant of that small town but to no avail. And he'd watched for her face, as well as for the ones in the picture, in every crowd, in every town, in every place he went. He knew he probably always would until the day he died. But that was all he could do now. It was too late. It was all too late.

He smoothed out the photo as best he could and stared at the faces of the three people in it. Three children, all smiling shyly at the camera. The one to the right he didn't know: he presumed she was an elder child of the family.

But the other two hurt at his memory, caused tears to fill his eyes. He had hoped to find them. Prayed so many times that one day he could. But even if he did now, then how could he tell them who he was? How could he introduce himself one minute, knowing he was going to be dead the next?

Dean's tears finally began to fall as he stared at the photo. Tears for himself and how terrified he really was, even though he would always try his best to hide it. Tears that he had let Sam down as usual. Tears for the two children in the photo that he had missed every single day of his life and now would never meet again.

His baby brother, Billy.

His twin sister, Devon.

He was never going to be able to find them.

THE END?