A/N: set vaguely in the early 2nd half of Season 6.

I went out to Bobby's garage to work on the Impala, change her oil, replace her belts, keep her happy. I'd only lifted the hood when Sam came out to the garage too, carrying two bottles of beer.

Sam can take care of the car when he has to, but while I'm alive and conscious, he never has to. So he parked himself on the table, plunked down my bottle of beer, and watched me work on her.

"Nothing on TV?" I asked him, sitting next to him on the table. The truth was, since we got Sam back, I liked having him in my line of sight as much as possible, and he seemed to prefer it too.

"If I have to hear one more thing about Charlie Sheen, I think my head is going to explode."

"Ha, you and me both."

We drank our beers, sitting next to each other on the table, admiring the car.

Okay, I was admiring the car. Sam was staring at it, but he's not generally a car admirer. He had to be thinking about something.

"Hey, Dean?"

"Yeah?"

"So - what happened after I said 'yes'?"

"I nearly lost my freaking mind, that's what happened." I told him. Snapped at him.

"I'm sorry."

"Yeah, well – just don't ever do it again."

That wasn't as funny as I wanted it to be.

"So – what happened?" He asked again when I didn't keep going.

I'd been editing the story ever since Sam got his soul back, because I knew that he'd be asking me sooner rather than later. This was 'pre-wall' info so I didn't worry about it unleashing hell, but I also knew that I needed to downplay the instant and world-wide devastation that had cropped up, and up-play his courage and sacrifice.

"Blow by blow, or just the general picture?" I asked him. He sighed and pouted like he knew I was stalling.

"Tell me everything, Dean."

And just like that, the whole story that I'd been editing and rehearsing and polishing in my head came to a shrieking, crashing halt.

"I lost you." Was the first and only thing to come out of my mouth and God help me, my voice shook saying it. "You said 'yes' and you disappeared and I had no idea where to look for you. You were gone and in trouble and I couldn't find you. I couldn't help you or protect you."

He wanted to say he was sorry, again. I could tell. He tried a few times but then we only just both drank some more of our beers.

"So – how did you find me?" He asked after he gave me enough time to pull it together again. After he gave himself enough time.

"Chuck. I called Chuck and he knew where it was all going down."

"Where I was going down." Sam said. He meant to be funny, I knew, but I wasn't laughing. "I'm glad you came." He said then. "I mean – I was angry when I saw you there, and I'm sorry you got nearly killed because of me, but – I'm glad you came. I'm glad I got to see you one more time before – before. If you hadn't been there, I never would've been able to take control."

"How did you take control?" I asked. I had to ask. It'd been bothering me all this time, what finally gave Sammy the edge.

"You." He said it like he was surprised I didn't know. "You being there was what did it."

"Me? How?"

"It was the damnedest thing…" Sam said and grinned for a second. That's what I'd said to him when he asked why I hadn't said 'yes' to Michael in the Green Room. "That stupid little green soldier stuck in the ashtray in the backdoor of the car."

Well, crediting me with helping him take control confused me, but the jump from me to an ancient little plastic toy confused me even more.

"What about it?"

"It – it -" He stared down at his hand as he rubbed it roughly back and forth over the edge of the table. "It was still there. After everything – everything I did, even after you threw out –"

He stopped there to pull in a deep breath. I knew what he didn't finish saying: after I threw out the amulet. I might as well have thrown Sam out with it for how much it had to have hurt him.

"When I saw that soldier still in there – I mean, I always knew it was in there, every time I ever went to sleep in the back seat, I saw it. But – when I saw it again, that day, I realized – no matter how bad I screwed everything up, never mind that I was never the brother you deserved to have –"

"Sam –"

" – you left that soldier there. I accidentally jammed it in there all those years ago and you left it there. You put it back when you rebuilt the car and you left it there all this time and I know you, you know every square inch of that car. You didn't forget that the soldier was there. You saw it every single time you opened that door. Or even thought about that door. So – when I saw it again that day –"

He trailed off on that.

"So –you took control because of my baby?" I asked, thinking, 'that's my girl'.

"No –I took control because of you. I saw the soldier and – and then – all I could see was you. You and me. I didn't see Dad, I didn't see Jess, I didn't see any of the stupid, horrific mistakes I've made all these years. I saw us, being brothers. I saw you – I saw you –"

He clearly had more to say on that score, that he saw me doing something, and he stammered on it a few more times until finally,

"I saw you. Being you. Spitting in the devil's eye. Who else would waltz into Armageddon Ground Zero and announce to Satan that you were going to have a word with your brother, and he was just going to have to stand down while you did? Nobody but my Big Brother. If you could be that strong, so could I."

Then he gave me that smile, the one he's had since he was four years old, that one that says he thinks he's got the best big brother in the whole world.

The one that makes me feel like the best big brother in the whole world.

I haven't felt that way in years.

"C'mon," I said. I finished my beer and Sam finished his. "Help me work on the car."

"Sure."

We set down our beers and got to work. We were done a couple of hours later and while I packed up the tools and cleaned up any stray dirt on my baby, Sam went into the house to get himself cleaned up and get dinner started.

The last thing I did before I followed him in was to make sure that battered little ancient green plastic soldier was just as safe and solid in his little ashtray home as he'd ever been.

And would always be.

The End.