This was written as a sappy companion piece to Point of No Return. Hope you enjoy! :)

Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural, nor any canon characters therein, and I am making no profit from this piece of fiction.

There Is A Light That Never Goes Out

It had been windy that day, Sam remembered. Great, charging gusts that had barged in from the churning grey waters of the North Atlantic, battering against the rickety clapboard cabin that had clung to the Maine coastline; their home for the past few noisy nights.

Indoors the walls had rattled uproariously, making the six year old Sammy feel as if the entire world had been going to crash down upon him. It had been a draughty place, the smell dank and musty; couch and bed alike belching out huge clouds of dust every time he'd leapt up onto their surface. It had been dull and it had been miserable for a child who'd had an unbridled energy and enthusiasm for exploring the world around him.

The young Sammy hadn't understood why they were there, the three of them, in this cold, colourless place. Dean had been grumpily blocking any and all questioning, and Sam had resorted to sulking in the bedroom while his big brother sat dutifully at the kitchen table cleaning one of their father's weapons.

Sammy hadn't understood why a travelling salesman needed a gun, but he'd been terribly impressed. John Winchester had to have been the coolest salesman ever. And Sammy had begun to wonder if his father had really been a secret agent instead.

My Dad, he'd often thought, a superhero!

Their father had been absent for the previous night and most of the preceding day, but Sammy hadn't minded. Not when his father had probably been out saving the world. Besides, Dean had been with him, and Dean always looked after him. Even if he was a grouchy jerk.

On that day, the windiest day Sam had ever seen at such a young age, he'd watched – little nose pressed tight to the window – as tree branches waved manically and seagulls were buffeted chaotically. It had seemed like the most fascinating sight he had ever laid eyes on.

He had been desperate to get outside and feel the air rushing past him him, to feel like he could take flight and soar high above the earth. But Dean had said that Dad had said that they weren't to go outside. And so Sammy had been stuck in the bedroom, bouncing a small rubber ball against a far wall and catching it again disinterestedly with a lazy flick of the wrist.

He'd been at it for a while - the passage of time seeming a very vague and irrelevant thing to the young child he'd been then - when all of a sudden Dean had grandly thrown open the bedroom door, a triumphant smile emblazoned across his face.

"Hey, Sammy!" He'd called with a carefree laugh. "Look what I got!"

Sam's eyes had lit up upon catching sight of the brightly coloured object his big brother had been clutching delightedly to his chest. It was a kite.

Dean had always known exactly what he'd wanted!

He hadn't stopped to wonder how his brother had managed to come by it. Dean could do anything, after all.

"Awesome!" Sam had squealed excitedly, already imagining the sleek, neon craft ducking and weaving in the air – long tail swaying gracefully in its wake.

"C'mon, dude! Let's go try it out!" Dean had looked pleased with himself, not in a purely self-congratulatory way – Sam remembered – but with a sense of quiet contentment that he had been able to produce such joy in his little brother.

They had gone outside, Dean first making sure that Sam had been warmly wrapped up in his cushioned jacket, with a thick scarf hugging his neck cosily.

Sammy had watched as his big brother had demonstrated how to let the air catch the kite, had stared in wonder as he kept the string steady in his hand, thinking that Dean was almost superhuman. That he had to be the luckiest little brother in the world.

He'd been a little unsteady when Dean had passed the reel into his chubby fingers, but the feel of the kite eagerly tugging at his grasp and the sense of control he'd felt had been intoxicating. Transfixed, he'd watched as the bright-green, silky object had bobbed and danced above him. He'd laughed rapturously, catching a strange look on his brother's face that he hadn't then understood.

It had taken years for Sam to place it, years to understand it. But after all they'd been through together, he didn't know how he hadn't guessed it earlier.

Love.

It was when he'd been looking at Dean that he'd lost his grip on the reel, screaming out in denial as the wind whipped it cruelly away from him. Tears had burned hotly at his eyes as he'd watched the kite soar into the distance, and he'd let out a hoarse cry as it became irrevocably snagged in the spindly branches of a barren tree.

He'd felt himself start to weep, distressed that his happiness had been cut short so prematurely. That was when Dean had appeared in front of him, features softened, arms gripping his shoulders tightly.

"Sammy, it's okay! Don't cry. It's okay, I'm gonna go get it."

And Sam's tears had stopped abruptly. Because if anyone could get the kite back, Dean could.

Trotting along behind Dean's long stride, he'd clutched his arms around his middle; the cold finally seeping through to his bones.

Sam had stood well back, studying Dean's sure movements as he'd gripped the gnarled trunk, somehow managing to find footholds on the scratchy bark. Like a cat he'd darted up, jacket rippling out behind him as the wind tore at him. But Dean had held on strong, and Sammy thought his brother must have been invincible.

Having reached the top, Dean had carefully disentangled the kite from the skeletal branches, easing it gently from their claw-like grip. He'd sent Sam a cocky wave before slithering down from the tree's bough, landing agilely on the grass.

All memory of tears, and weeping and bawling had evaporated from the young Sammy's mind as he'd run to his big brother, replaced by laughter he could remember ringing within him from root to tip.

"Here you go, Sammy! Why don't we try again, huh?" Dean had bent down in preparation for receiving his little brother's flailing hug, but he'd nevertheless staggered backwards slightly as Sam's body had crashed into his.

"Thanks Dean! You're awesome!" Sam had proclaimed ecstatically, gazing up in awe at the big brother he'd idolised.

His father hadn't been the superhero after all.

o0o0o

Sam had been twelve when he'd wanted to go to the Iowa State Fair. The school he and Dean had been attending in Webster City had organised a field trip to spend the day there, and the younger Winchester had been desperate to go ever since he'd been told about it at assembly that morning.

He'd never been to a fair before, let alone a state fair. And everyone had been talking about it: the shows, the animals, the contests. Excitement had turned their school into a hornets' nest, a buzzing hive of chatter and enthusiastic activity planning. Sam had only been at the school for two weeks, and the collective anticipation had drawn him effectively into the crowd, including him, making people forget that he was an outsider.

Almost as soon as he'd allowed his excitement to build, he'd known with a bitter disappointment that he wouldn't have been allowed to go. His father had recently wrapped up his hunt of a werewolf – with intermittent help from Dean – and it had seemed only a matter of time before the order to gather up their belongings and move on would be delivered.

Sam could remember lying listlessly on the double bed he and Dean had been forced to share – a twin room having been all that was available when they'd arrived, not to mention the cheapest option – listening to the muffled droning of the conversation that had been occurring between his father and brother outside by the Impala.

He remembered not having given a damn what they'd been talking about, too heartsick at the thought of leaving to have been able to drum up the energy to pay much attention. The ceiling had been a mottled, grey colour with absolutely nothing to justify the almost hypnotic way he'd been staring up at it. Yet it had seemed infinitely more interesting than the rest of the mouldy room.

All he'd been able to think about had been how unfair his life was; being carted around by his father and brother like a piece of baggage they didn't want, but couldn't afford to leave behind. He'd had no interest in the supernatural, no desire to help out with any of the family hunts.

He'd just wanted normal. Just wanted a chance to keep the friends he'd started to make at school, to let the rare familiarity of a place sink into his skin. But he'd felt that he'd never be allowed that.

Dean had been sympathetic when Sam had told him. He could still picture the expression of resigned remorse that had strained his big brother's features. Of course, then it had seemed trite and inadequate. Dean had used to be able to do anything, had always been on his side. But this time, he'd just sighed and told Sam he was sorry, but he didn't think going to the state fair would be possible.

He'd reminded Sam that the hunt they'd come to Webster City to complete had been brought to a close. That they'd likely be leaving the following morning; two whole days before the planned field trip.

Sam had been so disappointed that he'd just stared blankly back, refusing to accept the apology, and had ignored everyone and everything since.

The nylon bed cover had been scratchy beneath his gangly frame, and he'd shifted uncomfortably, sighing as he'd fought to settle back down.

A roared "I said no!" from John Winchester had made Sam prick up his ears in interest. Dean never got chewed out by their father. The youngest Winchester had thought that that ought to be worth hearing, so he'd slunk to the window, pushing aside the voile curtain and casting a sneaky eye over the scene beyond.

"Dad, come on!" Dean had been gesticulating vehemently, feet set wide apart as he punctuated his point. "It's only for a coupla days! Look, if it's the money, I'll pay for it!"

John Winchester had huffed out a derisive laugh. "What, you'll pay for the extra nights in the motel too, huh?" He'd mocked, taking a slow, ominous step towards his defiant son.

But Dean hadn't backed down. "If I have to."

Sam could clearly remember having had no clue as to the nature of their discussion as he'd observed the stand off. He'd thought perhaps that there had been some girl that Dean had been sweet on, someone his brother might have wanted to spend a few more days with. He'd never dreamed...

"And how are you going to pay for that, Dean?" Their father had raised his eyebrows sceptically.

"I got a good haul last night. A few suckers who practically gave away their money." For a brief moment, his big brother had looked amused.

"And you're willing to give yours away so that your brother can go on a field trip?" John had banged his fist down onto the Impala's roof, ignoring his eldest son's reflexive wince. Dean wouldn't have dared to chastise his father for abusing his precious car. "And what about the poltergeist over in Oregon, huh? You want to let more people get killed?"

Sam had watched guiltily as Dean had visibly shrunk under their father's harsh glower, but then he'd straightened, rolling his shoulders defensively. "You can go on ahead. Sammy and I can stay a few more days and then join you."

Then he'd done something Sam had never seen him do before. He'd flat out begged.

"C'mon, Dad. Please. The kid deserves a little fun. It hasn't exactly been a good year. He's been to five different schools already," Dean had flung an arm out in the direction of the motel. "He hasn't even been to a fair before, Dad. Isn't this life hard enough on 'im?"

John had remained inscrutably silent, folding his arms as he'd steadily contemplated his eldest.

Sam had held his breath. Waiting.

"Fine. I'll go on ahead. You follow on. But you leave right after." Their father had gruffly raised a finger. "Soon as he gets back, you hit the road."

Sam could tell that his brother had wanted to smile, but he'd kept his mask in place.

"Okay. Thanks, Dad."

Dean. His big brother. And Sam had thought he couldn't count on him any more...

When Sam had realised that Dean was on his way back into the motel room, he'd immediately scrambled from his position at the window, clambering back up onto the bed to project the picture of ignorant innocence...or of surly indifference. He'd known his brother would believe the latter presentation more.

"Hey, Sammy!" Dean had burst in, eyes gleaming, a satisfied grin tugging at his lips. He'd stopped dead at Sam's grunted "What?"

But it hadn't taken him long to recover. "Dad wants to go on ahead to the next gig – poltergeist in Oregon. Says he doesn't need us up there for a coupla days. So, I guess that means we're stayin' a little longer. You and me."

"So I'll get to go to the state fair?" Sam had known it anyway, but he'd found he wanted to give his brother the pleasure of informing him. Dean had always enjoyed that.

"Guess so," Dean had tried nonchalance, failing miserably. It had been the flash of white teeth that had covered almost the entire bottom half of his face that had given him away.

"Thanks, Dean! You're the best!" Sam had leapt from the bed and into his brother's arms. He hadn't hugged his brother since he'd turned twelve – that was for girls anyway. And embarrassing.

But it had been Dean.

"I didn't do anythin' Sammy," The response had come from somewhere up above him, rumbling out from Dean's wide chest and down through Sam's small frame, warming him with love and admiration for his big brother.

His big brother, who after all, had still been his hero.

o0o0o

Sam could remember the nerves most clearly; butterflies the size of baseballs crashing around in his stomach and sending rippling shockwaves down through his body. But then there had been the excitement, tingling magically in amongst the rumble of tension to create a heady euphoria that had made it hard to think straight. He'd really managed it! Countless schools, countless classrooms, countless teachers...so many lonely hours spent studying while his family had hunted the things that went bump in the night...

But he'd managed to persuade his father to let him stay in one place for a whole month while he'd sat his exams – with a lot of help from Dean. His brother, who had picked up the slack left by Sam's extra-curricular – or non-hunting – activities, and who had travelled back and forth between John and his little brother on an almost daily basis. Keeping the peace.

Nights he'd spent backing their father up on hunts, days he'd spent testing Sam on his studies. The younger Winchester hadn't known how he'd done it, but he'd always been there.

Except for this time.

Sam had sighed, adjusting his graduation robe where it itched at his neck. He couldn't really have blamed Dean. His big brother had done his best, attempting to persuade the Winchester patriarch to return for the ceremony and trying to ensure that he could make it too.

But John Winchester had felt he'd been lenient enough over his youngest son's desire to stay in one place to sit the exams, he hadn't seemed to understand why Sam had needed to go through the pomp and pageantry of a graduation ceremony. Hadn't it been enough that he'd passed with flying colours? Dean had never seemed to require this apparent rite of passage. Dean had been happy enough with a simple pass.

Besides, there had been a whole family of rawheads devouring people over in Arkansas. They were all needed there, and if Sam wasn't going to bother to accompany them, then Dean was needed more than ever. Bottom line? If Sammy wanted to stay to graduate, he was doing it himself.

It was something Sam had felt he was going to have to get used to, especially if his plan to take off to Stanford was going to come to fruition.

Sam had supposed he'd been lucky that John Winchester hadn't just grabbed him by the collar and dragged him kicking and screaming from the small town of Dalhart, Texas all the way to Camden, Arkansas. He'd suspected Dean's involvement in the stay of execution, but his big brother never admitted to such things. It was one of his brother's many irritating flaws: he couldn't ever thank Dean for things his brother wouldn't concede responsibility for.

Nevertheless, despite his speculation about Dean's intervention, Sam had still been sorely disappointed when his big brother hadn't even put up a fight about staying to attend the ceremony. Their father had ordered him to jump, and Dean had asked how high, when, and what distance? And was there anything else his father needed him to do while he was at it?

Sam had at least hoped for some kind of protest, but all he'd gotten was an apology...as devastating an offer of remorse as it had been. And though the youngest Winchester had known how much he'd owed Dean for the fact that he'd even been able to stay for his own graduation, he'd still been unbearably upset with the person he'd looked up to all his life.

He'd still felt let down, how ever unreasonable that might have sounded.

"Louise Travis!" The principal had called out, and a voluptuous girl had risen from the row in front with a great billowing of cloak and ostentatious whipping of luxurious blonde hair. And Sam had yet again wished that his brother had been there, for he'd certainly have enjoyed that part of the show.

But Dean had been an eleven hour drive away.

Sam had fidgeted nervously, adjusting and readjusting his gown, biting his lip until he'd almost drawn blood. He'd glanced around, eyes surveying the faces of his fellow graduands, people he neither knew nor cared for. But they'd all had families here, friends who'd come purely to see them celebrate their achievement.

Only in the Winchester family had academic achievement seemed like a bad thing.

Sam Winchester had had no one. Not one person who had been there to support him, to make him feel that all his hard work had been worth something.

But he'd forced a smile onto his face when it had been his turn to stand, his name being called out by the bloated, ruddy faced principal; a man whose supercilious attitude had almost ensured that he'd be hated on sight, but who had ultimately been very accommodating to Sam's needs.

Standing up before the blurred crowd of people, Sam had tried not to examine them too closely. A reminder of how alone he was had been something he hadn't wanted to let intrude into the joyful triumph of having not only excelled in his studies, but of having experienced a normal rite of passage. They had been few and far between over the years.

He'd tried not to think about his mother, about how their lives might have been different if she hadn't been murdered so brutally. But the what-if images had bombarded him regardless: the three of them - his family - dressed in their best clothes, wearing their best smiles, rising from their chairs to applaud him proudly.

Sam just hadn't been able to stop himself from looking, however. And as he'd made his way to the podium, his eyes had scanned the hazy gaggle of faces that washed up below like a swelling tide. Bland, blankly indifferent people looked back at him. None of them had known who he was.

But then...there was-

Someone had been standing at the back of the crowd, hands clapping so fast they were almost one giant, fuzzy blur. Someone who had been wearing a dark leather jacket. Someone whose beaming smile had been so brimming with pride it had been like staring straight into the fiery depths of the sun.

Dean.

Dean had been there. He'd made it.

And Sam had smiled so hard he'd nearly split his face in half, molten joy blooming within him in a great explosive mushroom cloud. Looking back, Sam didn't think he'd taken his eyes from the figure of his big brother for longer than a second, fearing irrationally that Dean might fade into non-existance if he did. But his big brother hadn't wavered.

His big brother.

Even when Sam had thought Dean didn't care enough, that the hunt had been more important to him...his big brother had come through for him – as he always did.

"Nice dress, geekboy!" Dean had smirked when Sam had sought him out afterwards, before ducking his head and looking up at his little brother from between thick lashes. "Congratulations, bro."

"You made it!" Sam had exclaimed, feeling as if he'd had to engage in a manual override of Herculean proportions over the automatic urge to throw his arms around Dean and hug the life out of his big brother.

Dean had seemed to sense the possibility of an embrace, neatly stepping out of Sam's considerable reach but looking no less affectionate. "Yeah. We wrapped up earlier than we thought. Fried those suckers good, man!"

Sam had wanted to ask about their father, but the sight of Dean had been such a balm on his soul that ruining the moment would have been agonising. His big brother had looked so happy. Tired, but happy.

And Sam had been just too friggin' happy himself.

"Thanks Dean." It had been the very least he could have said, but the most his brother would have accepted.

"Don't mention it." Dean's smile had been soft, sincere. But Sam had been able to enjoy it for all of a second before it disappeared behind a cleared throat. "So...What d'ya say we head out to celebrate?"

Sam had paused, confusion creasing a line in his forehead. "But don't we have to-?"

"Dad's helpin' out Pastor Jim for a coupla days. We can meet up with 'im in Missouri."

Dean, his big brother.

"Well then...what are we waiting for?"

o0o0o

When Dean had called him back that morning...completely unexpectedly...Sam could remember not having known what to think, to hope, to feel.

The last time they'd spoken, his big brother had uttered words that had seemed sharper and more painful than anything he had ever endured before. He could so clearly remember the way his breath had rushed from his body, the way his heart had kicked out in his chest, the way his stomach had plummeted to his feet. Dean had always been the person he could rely upon. Sam had forever believed that no matter what had passed between them, his big brother would always have time for him. Would always look out for him.

Especially when it had turned out that Lucifer apparently had dibs on his little brother's body. The revelation had taken the ground from underneath the younger Winchester, leaving him falling, flailing helplessly into the chilling darkness of fear. He'd needed Dean. His brother had always known what to say. But Sam hadn't been prepared for Dean's response that time.

"We're not stronger when we're together...We're better off apart."

A few words, and Sam's world had fallen apart more violently and devastatingly than any apocalypse could ever have hoped to accomplish. It had been about more than the declaration that their separation was to be permanent – an outcome that still gave Sam the shivers when he even thought about it. It had been the final nail in the coffin of their relationship. The sign that Dean had finally given up on them, on their brotherhood.

On Sam.

When Dean had hung up, the younger Winchester had pulled his car over onto the shoulder, gravel spraying wildly out from underneath in his haste. And he had cried his eyes out, falling into an abyss of despair deeper and more cavernous than he could ever have imagined.

He'd known what he'd done. Had known it as soon as he'd finally recognised the maniacal zeal in Ruby's eyes, and the extent of her betrayal. But somehow, he hadn't realised that his mistake might cost him the one precious thing left to him in the world. Not when Dean had miraculously appeared at the convent, not when he'd fisted Sam's shirt protectively in his hand and tried to pull him to safety.

Dean. His big brother.

Despite the fact that Sam had tried to kill him, had hurled bitter and hate-filled words at him through the demon-blood mist that had descended before his eyes...Despite all that, Dean had been there. Even after what he'd said on the voicemail message. And Sam had thought they'd survive, that Dean would accept his apology like he always had.

But then his big brother had practically sobbed out his feelings of betrayal, and Sam had truly realised that the world he'd had beyond what was being threatened by Lucifer's rising, had been crumbling before his very eyes.

Dean had said that he didn't know if he could trust his little brother any more.

Sam knew now that he might have prevented their separation if he hadn't allowed his anger and resentment to get the better of him. Dean's lack of belief in him, his brother's constant vigilance and the snide blood-related comments that the older man hadn't been able to suppress...they had all chipped away at Sam's self-control.

He'd thought then that staying away from the hunt, from Dean, had been the safest option for all. But he wished now, with hindsight's unforgiving perspicacity, that he'd never left. Breaking his big brother's faith in him seemed to have been a talent he'd been steadily honing since birth.

So when Dean had called that morning, just a few hours after officially ending their partnership, Sam had wondered if he'd been dreaming once more. He hadn't expected to hear from his brother again, and certainly not so soon. And certainly not to request a meeting.

Sam had gone cautiously – a brief, irrational flicker of fear making him wonder if Dean had finally decided to keep that promise to kill him now that a permanent relocation to the dark side seemed imminent. He'd flinched embarrassingly when Dean had drawn the knife, tensing uncertainly as his big brother had flipped it around, offering him the handle.

"Look man, I'm sorry. I don't know, whatever I need to be, but I was wrong." Dean had said, genuine remorse shimmering in his eyes and Sam had felt something warm uncurling from hibernation within him.

"We keep each other human." That had been the one Sam had held close, all those months later, when everything had started to fall apart once more; when Dean had started to lose all hope.

Sam had made sure he'd remembered the feeling he'd had when his big brother had taken him back, etching it indelibly onto his heart. The gratitude not only that he'd have the chance to right the wrong he'd set upon the world, but that Dean was giving him the chance to be his brother again.

Of course, frustration had gotten in the way of that again during the Hilton fiasco. Somehow he'd managed to make it seem like he hadn't wanted a big brother any more, that everything that made Dean Dean, had been what had driven him to Ruby and ultimately, the end of the world.

Nice going.

Now, as he'd sat hunched in Bobby's panic room - silently watching over his handcuffed, unconscious brother – he'd marvelled at how they had both allowed things to deteriorate so completely. Marvelled at the need to keep Dean prisoner in order to stop him from charging off to sacrifice himself to Michael.

But Dean had lost faith not only in his own ability to save the world, but he'd lost faith in the ability of their brotherhood to survive what Heaven and Hell were throwing at them. He'd lost faith in Sam's ability to resist Lucifer's seduction.

And Sam had marvelled, because it had taken the sight of his beaten and bruised brother hanging off Cas' shoulder, it had taken the time spent cleaning and tending to the wounds the angel had given Dean, and it had taken the realisation of the requirement to cuff his brother to the bed before he'd understood what he'd needed to do.

So when Sam had freed his brother from the cuffs, and had told him their plan to rescue Adam, he'd known exactly how to respond when Dean had incredulously asked him why.

"Because...you're still my big brother."

He'd thrown everything into that one statement of fact: all their years together as brothers, all that Sam felt he had to thank him for, all that he'd admired in his hero big brother.

And when the younger Winchester had thought all was lost, when he'd heartbreakingly watched his brother give his consent to Zacariah, he'd started to believe that being Sam's big brother hadn't been enough to make Dean reconsider. That Sam's love hadn't been enough to restore his faith.

And then Dean had winked, and Sam had recognised that his big brother was the person he'd always been.

His hero.

Thanks for reading! Any comments welcome! :)