Disclaimer – I own nothing related to SPN.

Tag to "Mystery Spot", though no spoilers, per say. Also, the italics is taken from "Malleus Maleficarum"

A/N –In the interim between finishing exams and waiting for my summer courses to begin, I've got some time on my hands and decided to re-treat this idea and write it properly. I posted this before and I guess it was confusing so I've revamped and made it less vague. I'm hoping for reviews and that people enjoy it.

Dead Man's Will

Dean had waited until the dead of night, when it was darkest before dawn and the moon hung low in the sky, and the air carried only silence. He'd always been patient and waiting wasn't exactly a new thing. The day had been long and tension filled, undisguised angst, anxiety had perforated the waking hours. Sleep came unbidden to his brother and fought hard for dominance. It had been a valiant but useless struggle – days past had exhausted and weighed heavily on the youngest Winchester.

Slipping across the room cloaked in night, Dean gripped the cool brass knob and eased the door open. A creak saw him freeze and cast a dubious glance to Sam's unconscious form.

He waited.

A breath.

Then another.

Nothing - still sleeping.

Exhaling silently, he manoeuvred out the door between heartbeats and tugged it gently shut. Now out of the room, the desire to creep ebbed away and he stood erect. His feet were too loud on the gravel and every breathe felt like a yell, daring to disturb the dreaming hours.

Finally, he reached his destination.

The neon sign buzzed loudly, announcing hot coffee with only four lit letters. The hunter winced as the bell jingled above the door, though there was nobody to disturb here. He slid into the booth across from a waiting party and a sleepy waitress up-turned a cup and saucer before filling it with coffee and taking his to-go order.

"You did what I asked." His voice was low, a soft timbre in the over-bright room.

"Yeah, well, we had a deal. I still don't understand it though."

"It isn't for you to understand. You got what you wanted – your life and freedom. I came to say, this," Dean gestured between himself and the other, "Is even now. Done. Equal trade, just what we said." The waitress returned and set his packages down before disappearing again.

"Yeah, yeah. Come on though, you have to tell me."

A gulp of coffee was swallowed and a deep sigh heard.

Her eyes, Dean recalled as he thought of the moment that led to this meeting, had stared through him that night in the motel parking lot. Clear amber-green orbs belying the black-eyed demon wrapped in pretty blonde packaging.

-I need your help.-

-Help with what?-

-With Sam. The way you stuck that demon tonight, it was pretty tough.

Sam's almost there, but not quite, you need to help me get him ready, for life without you;

to fight this war on his own.-

"It was what needed to be done, so that what has to be done will be done. I wanted - needed…to prepare." He grinned self-deprecatingly. "Consider it putting my affairs in order – the Winchester way."

"You prepared him, alright, Bucko. It was fun at first, I'll admit. But after we brokered our little agreement, he went dark. You had to know that he wouldn't live without you well. Of course, that was the whole point, wasn't it, Deano? I get, really I do. You've got style." Dean winced, not exactly a compliment to be proud of coming from a guy who liked to torment people for the sake of irony, of all things.

His companion continued, undeterred by silence. "But why this way? You could have trained harder, better. Or disappeared. Why that way?"

"It was the only way."

Dean stood then, tossing some bills on the table and collecting the Styrofoam containers filled with hotcakes and sticky syrup, bacon and eggs along with two coffee to-go cups.

Dean turned to leave, then paused.

"Thanks."

He slunk back to the motel, head high and heart heavy.

It was the only way – he'd done the right thing.

Dawn filtered through the curtains as the fluttered in the breeze of the opening door. The no-longer-sleeping 6 foot 4 form sat up suddenly, tensed, before his muscles softened and he knuckled sleep from his eyes.

"Dean?"

"Hey Sammy."

He set the containers on the so-called table and opened them up, pancakes staring up at him. As he opened the plastic utensil packets, Dean thought of the man, demi-god, whatever he was, back in the diner undoubtedly dousing his own breakfast in strawberry syrup.

"I got breakfast."

Please let me know if the identity of the person meeting Dean was clear.

Thanks for reading!