A/N This fic came to me in a dream and it's very impromptu, so I apologize for any mistakes. I really haven't proofread it at all yet. Honestly, I just had to get it out there while it's still fresh in my mind. Besides, I can't sleep and I'm procrastinating big time from packing (dang I hate moving!). Contains Season 3 finale spoilers and possibly spoilers for any episode prior to it.

Summary: Both Winchesters have returned from the dead, but Sam's not the one who came back wrong. Dean is broken, perhaps beyond repair and Sam is faced with a choice that echoes their father's final words to Dean. Save him or kill him, nothing else matters.

Nothing Else Matters

By Deana W.

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Prologue

"Sammy? Tell me about mom, I don't remember her."

Sam blinked hard, trying to hold back his tears, not wanting to upset his brother. They were in an old motel on the outskirts of town—it was easier that way, it made for a quick getaway. Sam sat on his bed leaning against the headboard. Dean was leaning weakly against his chest, his head rested on Sam's shoulder. Sam had one arm protectively around his injured brother, and the other was at his side, slightly behind him, completely and purposely hidden from Dean's line of vision.

Dean was slightly drowsy from the painkillers Sam had given him. It was the last of the painkillers, and unfortunately there wasn't enough to knock him out, which wasn't good at all since it seemed to be the only thing capable of putting Dean to sleep. His brother was exhausted, but the moment sleep took hold, the nightmares would come, resulting in sleepless nights for both of them. It would be so much easier if Dean would just go to sleep, but Sam couldn't be so lucky.

"I don't remember her either, but you and dad told me lots of stories about her," Sam offered.

"Like what?" Dean asked faintly, he tilted his head up so he could make eye contact with his brother. Sam smiled tightly, trying to hide his own pain, hardly able to look into Dean's haunted green eyes as they blinked at him, wide and innocent, full of fear and trust. "Tell me Sammy."

Sam thought a moment; "Well uh…" he lifted his eyes to the ceiling, trying to think, hoping that concentrating on something else would ease his anxiety and hide it from Dean. He heard Dean whimper and Sam focused his attention back on his brother, "Hey are you OK?"

He couldn't stand to see his brother hurt, and while the injuries Dean had sustained from the beating he had taken the night before weren't too bad, Dean had a low tolerance for pain ever since he came back. It was ironic, because Sam imagined that compared to the torture Dean endured in Hell, a few cuts and bruises should be nothing. He wished Dean would wear that mask that used to drive Sam crazy, the mask Dean wore when he was hurt and insisted he was fine. Even if it was a lie, Dean saying he was fine would be music to Sam's ears.

"Dean?" he pressed gently when Dean didn't respond.

Dean nodded vaguely, then he shook his head, "My shoulder hurts, everything hurts and… I'm scared Sammy."

"Don't be afraid," Sam soothed, "I'm here."

He relaxed in Sam's loving hold, and nuzzled his cheek against Sam's shoulder. "I know," he murmured with a sigh, then he grimaced, "but I still hurt."

Sam swallowed compulsively, concentrating on keeping his voice steady, "You'll feel better soon," he whispered, "I promise."

He tried not to think of a time when Dean would flinch at Sam's touch like he did right after he came back. Perhaps it was good progress that Dean welcomed the closeness, but he wished it were more like the time when Dean would protest against it. Sam longed to hear Dean's smart mouth, to hear him insist that he's fine and tell Sam that he should stop mother-henning him and use colorful words to say it. If he did that, if he displayed some cockiness and sass, then he would be the Dean he knew and loved, not the empty shell of a man leaning against him, helpless, broken and scared.

"You OK Sammy?" Dean asked, sensing his brother's distress.

Sam flinched slightly, ashamed that Dean noticed, "I'm fine big brother, just a little sad because you're hurt." He spoke gently, and softly, as though speaking to a child and not his big brother. His brother, the man who had raised him, taught him everything he knew about hunting, who protected him, died for him and literally went to Hell and back for him. But his once strong and seemingly invincible brother really was now akin to that of a small child. It seemed wrong speaking to Dean as though he were five, there was a time when Dean would probably punch Sam in the face if he dared speak to him like that. But Sam needed to—sometimes it was the only tone that could keep his mentally unstable brother calm.

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be sorry Dean, it's OK," he soothed. "You'll feel better soon. Promise," Sam repeated, subconsciously tightening his grip on the knife in his free hand to keep his hand from shaking. Ruby's knife, in the hand Dean couldn't see. His other hand gently and comfortingly ran down the length of Dean's arm, it helped Dean relax.

Dean smiled up at him, "I know. I trust you. And I know you'll protect me from the monsters."

Sam suddenly laughed frantically. If he didn't, he'd probably burst into tears. "You're right Dean, I won't let the monsters get you."

"And I won't let them get you either because," he paused and closed his eyes, scrunching them in pain, "because that's what we do. We look out for each other, right?"

"Yeah Dean," Sam agreed softly, swallowing a lump in his throat, "We look out for each other."

"Because we're brothers," he added as though that fact was new to him, as though he had forgotten it once and was proud to have finally remembered.

"That's right, brothers," Sam choked back a sob, wondering if somehow Dean knew what he was about to do. He released his grip on Ruby's knife, letting it fall behind him on the mattress and pulled his empty shell of a brother into a gentle embrace, an act that once upon a time Dean would never allow. Now he returned the hug, accepting the comfort, and he looked at Sam with complete trust in his haunted, innocent and broken eyes.

When Sam released his hold on Dean, his hand once again rested slightly behind him and he gently ran his thumb along the mother-of-pearl hilt of Ruby's knife.

Blinking back tears, Sam tried with minimal success to keep his tone light and casual as he said, "Hey, why don't I tell you some stories about mom now, OK?"

Dean nodded and settled against Sam's chest as Sam began to repeat the stories Dean once told him about their mother, all the while gripping Ruby's knife until his palms were sweaty and his knuckles were white.

It would be over soon, he just needed to wait for Bobby's signal. Then it would be over, quick and painless. One swift, deep slice to the throat. Hopefully Dean wouldn't even see it coming. Hopefully he would die without knowing of Sam's betrayal.

TBC

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A/N The basis for this story is very loosely inspired by the last scene of "Of Mice and Men" and an episode of "Dark Angel" (gosh, I haven't seen that show in a very long time!) Neither those nor "Supernatural" belong to me. I just write this for fun.

Also I should probably mention that even though it takes place after "No Rest for the Wicked" it's not related in any way to my other "No Rest" fic, "Shadow of Death". I have it plotted in my head and I doubt it will be very long. And since I know some people like to be warned, I'm still not sure if this will be a deathfic or not, I have ideas for it to go both ways, but I'm very torn on whether I want to go there or not. As always, please review. It makes me very happy.