A/N: Honestly I'm crying myself.
After over 55k words, I'm exhausted with how emotional and personal this was to create and express, and it think that's why it took so long for me to complete this, especially this last chapter, because before; I just wasn't ready to accept.
Thankyou for all those who have read and supported, for those who have stayed patient, and for those who can relate.
My journey is beyond evident in this, and I hope that this piece can help others relate and feel the nitty-gritty truth, heartache and desires that not only have I felt, but I'm sure a number of you have too. And if your blessed enough to not experience something as tragic as the topics covered in this, I hope this can open up this world for a better understanding for those who may have had to fight through aspects of this.

(Or I just hope I just wrote a really fucking good angsty Supernatural fanfic, whatever. Let me know in the review section! xx)

Goodbye for now,

Lexii xo

PS: I'm sure there's mistakes, but I'll come back and edit later, I just wanted you all to enjoy now rather than later. x

Acceptance

-x-

NOW

For a few brief seconds the lights in the house flicker faintly, caressing the shadows to disappear into the flash of darkness as each light-bulb shutters on and off, fighting to maintain their usual intensity.

The middle aged man with the slightly squinted brown eyes feel his muscles tighten in tension and his heart rate increase as the darkness captivates and surrounds him over and over again; and the next thing he knows his body has unconsciously moved from the old, antique dining chair and is now halfway up the carpeted stairs.

He didn't need the goosebumps on his skin to tell him that something wasn't right.

Deep down he knew.

His right hand grips the wintry iron rod with a harsh force, and although he almost doesn't remember how it got there, he finds a whisper in his mind quietly praising him for his sharp reflexes which had never ceased or wavered after all these years. He takes another moment of pride as he realises that his leather cladded feet are already carrying to the last polished white door on the left; his body following another instinctive behaviour which had developed those few years ago at precisely 4:23 am.

He pauses as he roughly shoves the iron rod in between his arm and the side of his torso, right hand gripping the chrome doorhandle whist the other snakes its way into his left pocket, instinctively tracing the item buried deep in the smooth material of his designer dress paints. He sighs gently as his heart races, quietly thanking the simple touch for being able to slightly ease his condescending mind and the pull of tension which attacks his muscles.

"Daddy?!" a small voice exclaims as the elder man pushes open the white polished door, revealing the sky blue and titanium themed bedroom littered with children's drawings and children's toys. "Did all your talking put the bad man away?!" The small child asks excitedly as he sits up on his singular bed, pushing the race-car printed bed sheets into a bundled heap besides him

The pounding in his ears cease and relief thrashes through his veins as he hears his child's voice interrupt his clouded and alter mind, signifying that his child was in no clear physical danger.

But even still, deep down in his bones and in the pit of his stomach, he knew something wasn't quite right. As the goosebumps in his skin rise one more on his skin, he knows they're not alone; he knew there was something else present, whether it was in this room, or in his house or on his property; he knew.

Pulling the rod swiftly out form his side, he holds it away from him as a weapon, grip tight and taut as his knuckles turn white with such a force that is brought forth by the silent unsettling panic that is pulsating through him. He ignores as his child's gaze bears into him and how his wide smile falters into a curious frown as he watches his father saunters around the bedroom with darkened eyes, using the rays of the moonlight to guide his way through the mess of toys that are discarded haphazardly on the navy blue carpeted floor.

The elder man remains silent and vigilant as his eyes instinctively flash to the most inconspicuous sections of the room, mentally crossing off each and every supernatural preventive measure he had implemented to protect his son. His gaze flickers to the floor, where a giant devil's laid hidden beneath the carpeted material, to the walls where countless sigils were expertly concealed within the various posters which scattered the walls, and finally to the cracks of the window sill and door seals where he had concreted rock salt along the edges to stop anything from entering his son's room.

"Daddy?" the small child asks once more, his voice lowered and cautious as he slowly slides himself off the bed and begins to slowly trudge towards his father. He gently clutches onto the hem of his father's designer dress pants with his small hands and tugs on the material gently coaxing his father to direct his attention back to him.

The elder man's hollow and alert eyes flicker from the window sill onto his son, and they immediately ignite alive as he stares into the calming shade his son shared with his wife, and almost immediately the tension in his body subsides and is replaced with a comforting relief.

He leans the iron rod against the open white door before his taut and pursed lips spread into a wide and welcoming smile as the panic he felt only moments ago is promptly forgotten.

"Hey Ace!" He greets, picking up the small child that barely reaches his knees.

"What's that thing for?" the child mumbles, ignoring his father's greeting as he points to the discarded iron rod resting behind his father.

The elder man stalls in reply as his mind tries to come up with some kind of liable excuse that wouldn't expose his son to the horrifying truth of the supernatural. He had succeeded all these years and he wasn't ready for that blindfold to become undone and take away his child's childhood and innocence like it had taken away his.

"It's to protect you." He shrugs uncaringly, hoping that his disinterest would cause his son to feel the same way.

"From what? Why?" the child asks almost automatically, and he can't help but mentally sigh in distain at the reminder that this was his son.

He breathes a breath out through his nose and jolts the young child upwards to readjust his position to sit more comfortably against the top of his hip.

"From… the bad things out there," he says slowly, internally cringing at the unsteadiness of his voice and his brilliant choice of words.

"What bad things Daddy?"

He sighs deeply at the expected question and slowly places his son back down onto the carpeted floor. Crouching down so they're now at eye level, he licks his suddenly dry lips, his mind silently filtering and preparing the words he was about to say.

"There's bad things out there Ace," he begins, staring directly into his young son's eyes that are alive with an intense curiosity. "Bad men, bad women, bad…things." He licks his lips once more as he sees the slight flash of fear dart across his son's young face, and instinctively he places a reassuring grip on his son's shoulder. "But you listen to me okay Ace? You don't have to worry about these things oaky? Because with me here, nothing bad will ever happen to you. I would never allow it." He squeezes his son's shoulder once more and allows a soft and comforting smile to grace his features. "I will always be here to protect you from anything okay? Always."

With curious eyes and a soft smile, the small child nods understandingly as he is ushered into his father's chest, returning the embrace his father initiated, not at all caring about the fact that his small arms still couldn't quite reach all the away around his father's back.

"So," his child begins to ask when he pulls away from his father's embrace, eyes fuelled with a heavy determinism and seriousness, Sam almost thinks that he's twenty years older. "Do I need to carry around one of those sticks then?"

The elder man laughs at the absurdity of his son's question. "What? No!" he exclaims with a laugh, playfully shaking the shoulders of his young son. "Don't be silly!"

"But how else am I meant to protect me and the baby?!" the smile child almost screams as tears of distress and frustration begin to brim on the edges of his big, wide eyes.

"Hey, hey, hey! Woah!" the elder man coos, taken slightly aback by his child's sudden outburst. "You don't need to worry about that okay? That's my job okay." He sooths gently, pulling the small child into another comforting embrace.

"No!" the small child exclaims, forcefully squirming his way out of his father's hold. "I'm a big brother! It's my job too!" he cries out, belting away the few stray tears filled of betterment and anger which slide down his smooth cheeks with one of his clenched fists.

"Who said it was your job?" he says as he stifles a laugh, knowing fully well that if he were to allow that laugh to pass through his lips, it would just make the situation a hundred times worse.

"The man in my dreams!" the child states indefinitely, emphasising his words by stomping his bare foot on the carpeted ground and by crossing his arms firmly across his chest.

He pauses, eyebrows cocked. "The man in your dreams…?" he repeats, confusion lacing his words.

"Yes!" the child exclaims as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. "He's been in a lot of my dreams, comes at least once a month and he always tells me that even though he's not here anymore, he's going to make me be the best big brother ever! Even more than him!"

He can feel his chest slightly cave in at his son's words, the trapdoor beneath his heart opening with a painfully sharp snap that sends it freefalling down to the navy carpeted floor. He stares at his son with wide eyes, a glassy haze coating them as the goosebumps attack his flesh like a tsunami wave; cold and merciless.
He sucks in a shaky breath as the air around him seems to grow unbearably cold and thick around him, freezing the air inside of his lungs. He swallows and blinks hard as his mind tried to comprehend his son's words and find some form of liable reasoning behind them. Surely it was just a fraction of his son's overactive imagination. Surely the pressure of being a big brother had become too much and his unconscious had formed this 'man' in his dreams as a way to cope and deal with this new responsibility.

Surely that was it.

Surely it couldn't be.

It just, couldn't be…him.

"Who told you that Ace?" he hesitantly asks, as a new found fear and a sense of a painful and unbelievable hope replaces his blood; the icy fear solidifying it whilst the warmth of the unbelievable hope tries to break it down, creating an immense battle into his veins.

And it feels like they're about to explode.

"Who told you that Ace?" he repeats softer, but just as unsteady as he gently grabs his son's shoulders and stares intensely into his son's eyes; his eyes begging for an answer he wasn't sure he wanted.

He pauses at his father's unexpected and uncharacteristic behaviour, the anger he had just felt seconds ago washing away into a sea of curiosity and worry. "I don't know Daddy." He whispers almost silently, the fear of being dismissed by his father for not providing the right answer evident in his small voice.

"Did –did you see what he looked like? The man?" he coaxes, becoming more and more desperate for some form of confirmative answer to ease the sickening mixture that has spread its way through his body.

"I never saw him properly," the small child replies quietly as he shakes his head in gently apprehension. "he was just like the sun, a big ball of light up in the sky of my dream who could talk to me." He looks up at his father, and even though he was only four, he could see the disappointment shadowing his father's face.

"But!" he continues excitedly, hoping his upbeat voice and behaviour would somehow spread onto his father and shun that shadow of worry and uncertainty from his father's demeanour. "He was super cool Dad! He went on and on about how excited he was that I was there and how boring it was where he lived!"

"Did –did he tell you where he lived?" the glassy haze over his eyes grows thicker, filling with a thin layer of unshed and welling tears as he falls to his knees, suddenly finding it difficult to balance his body on his toes.

The small child shakes his head softly at his father's words. "He just said he didn't live on Earth anymore. But he was super nice to me Dad! Oh, you should have seen how happy he was when I told him about the baby! I always knew when he was happy because his light would always become brighter, but when it told him about the baby it almost got so bright I couldn't see!"

His son giggles at that, and just the sound alone begins to melt the solidifying fear and desperation that lays heavy in his chest. His eyes begin to unconsciously water at the look of pure joy written heavily across his son's face at the memory of his dreams return to him as clear as day, and he finds it to be a miracle at the fact that despite the build up of tears in his eyes, none have managed to fall.

Deep down in the pit of his stomach, Sam knows that this wasn't a dream. He can feel it, he can sense it.

But he was still too scared to admit it to himself that he knew who that bright ball of light truly was.

"Did the voice sound like Grandpa?" he asks as his mind swirls in his skull, to find a way to convince himself that this was all merely a coincidence, that there was no possibility that it was really him.

"Nah." The small child replies almost instantly, scrunching his face up in a small level of confusion and annoyance. "Grandpa's old and stuff. The man in my dreams was someone a lot younger." He concludes, shrugging his shoulders.

He swallows deeply at the expected answer. There was no logical explanation as to why it would be his father, who the last time he checked was still very much alive, but he needed something else to ease his conflicted mind and not encourage the painful hope that dwells around his heart.

"Did he say anything else to you? Anything important?"

Did he say he was still here? That he was still looking out for me? That he never left my side? That all those random drops in temperature over the years was actually because of him?

"Yeah. He told me I have to start helping out with the baby, that it's a big responsibility to be a big brother, but that it's still my responsibility. He said I have to teach it things too! Like how to read or throw a football," the small child lowers his voice into a small whisper "even if it's a girl."

A part of him wants to laugh at his child's words, to laugh at the perplexing level of complete and utter bullshit his child had surely mustered up. But as the laugh gets caught in his throat he knows that every single word his child has muttered is anything but bullshit. He can't explain it, he can't assemble some kind of liable excuse or explanation backed up with scientific evidence or supernatural lore, he salted and burnt his body for Christ's sake. But as much as it hurts to admit, he knew his brother. As proven at his time at Sanford and his father's confession years later that his elder had discretely visited him on more than one occasion, he knew Dean couldn't stand by and not check up on his little brother.

He always cared too much about him.

With a sad smile his mind comes to one comforting conclusion; despite being dead for all these years, Dean had briefly managed to find a way back into Sam's life.

"Daddy!" the chill all but screams, instantly shaking the elder man from the overwhelming thoughts that are running savage in his mind. "Are you listening to me?"

"Sorry Ace, I was just thinking." He sputters dazedly. "What were you saying?"

The child lets out an exaggerated sigh of frustration and points sternly to the discarded wintry rod that is still resting lazily against the bedroom door. "Can I have that stick to protect the baby?" he demands sternly with a strict determinism blazing in his eyes. As fast as the fire had appeared it fades away and the small child drops his eyes to the carpeted floor, and he can feel his heart warm sadly as his child almost silently whispers; "I need to be a good enough brother."

His eyes begin to water once more at his child's fierce dedication and determinism, as a fatherly pride warms his chest, extinguishing the dreaded unknowing and the icy fear that had captivated his body only moments ago. His lips part in a small, warm smile, and he knew that finally, it was time.

"I have something better for you." He says softly, squeezing his son's shoulders with a comforting grasp.

The small child head flies up from the ground, his eyes bright and wide with curiosity as an overwhelming and an eager smile spreads widely across his small face. "What is it Daddy?!" he asks excitedly, jumping up and down on the spot in excitement.

He laughs lightly at his child's enthusiasm and shakes his head gently at his child's antics and unpredictable emotions which he had shared in the brief seven minutes they had just spent together. "Go sit on the bed and I'll show you." He smiles, nudging his head towards the singular bed placed directly behind them.

Within a second his son has bounded up upon his bed, the springs squeaking shrilly with each excited movement. He laughs once more at his child's eagerness and hoists himself off his knees and back onto his feet.

"I've been waiting to give you this." He announces softly as he sits down on the edge of the bed, smiling briefly as his son's eyes spark alight even more. "I've just been waiting for the right time."

His hand snakes its way into the designer material of his left pant pocket, and slowly he pulls out the thin black thread that is tied to the glistening gold humanoid amulet.

His child stops his enthusiastic bouncing as his eyes finally catch sight of the dangling amulet, and almost instantly they grow wide in awe.

"You want to give me your necklace Daddy?" he whispers in bewilderment, slowly crawling over to his father.

"Yeah Ace."

He looks up at his father, big eyes casing his father's face to determine whether he was being serious or not. "But that's your special necklace Daddy, you don't let anyone touch it."

"Yeah, it's very special to me, but it was never mine to begin with." He shrugs gently, lowering the charm into his child's small and outstretched hands.

"Whose was it then?" the child asks as he gently inspects the item in his hands as if it were made of glass, predetermining each movement to avoid damaging it in any way, shape or form.

His brown eyes soften and a small, sad smile spreads briefly across his lips as the countless memories he had forced himself to ignore over all these years begin to flood his mind. He scoops up his child and places him in his lap, bringing his arms around his son to toy with the amulet held in his child's hands.

"You remember me telling you about Uncle Dean?"

"Your brother that died?"

The child's innocent question still somehow manages to cause his heart cave in a little more, and although it doesn't hurt nearly as much as it did before, he still manages to feel the alternating sharp and dull aching pain to flow through his chest. He looks down at his son and immediately knows that despite all these years, he still sometimes struggles to verbally respond to it and confirm the existence and memory of the worst day of his life.

So instead, he swallows hard and forced his head to gently rise and fall in a sad, confirming nod.

"What about him?" the child persists, curiosity flaming through his eyes as they continue to stare at the small gold charm held in both of their hands.

"Well," he sighs, gently taking the amulet from his son's hands. "Believe it or not, Uncle Bobby gave this to me when I was a little bit older than you. I was going to give it to Grandpa as a Christmas present, but on Christmas morning, I decided to give it to Dean instead; and it was the right choice."

He smiles faintly at the memory of Dean's attempts to provide Sam with a somewhat meaningful Christmas. His mind reminds him of the lies Dean had said to protect the relationship between his father and his eight-year-old self and the girly presents he had mistakenly stolen for Sam just so he would have something to open Christmas morning. He remembers the crappy newspaper he had used to wrap and conceal the amulet which he had decided to give Dean last minute, a means of thanks for his failed, yet appreciated effort. But what he remembers the most was the brief flash of happiness and appreciation that his brother had tried to withhold on his face, but was present as day in his eyes the moment they fell onto the golden amulet.

Yes.

It was the right choice.

"Why was it so right?" his child asks awestruck.

"Because, this necklace is especially for big brothers," he states softly, pulling the thread gently over his son's head. "Just like Dean, and just like you."

Small hands grasp the gold charm that hangs almost in the middle of his stomach, the thread obviously too long for his little body.

"Why is it so special?" he asks, fingers lingering.

"For two reasons." He states softly, pointing to the humanoid being with the horns and tribal adornment which is still held in his son's small hands. "You see that guy? One of the reasons he's so special is because this little guy protects you from all the bad people and things in the world, and helps you be the big and strong brother you can be to help protect your little brother or sister."

His child's eyes have grown even wider and his eyebrows have shot up to the middle of his forehead in astonishment. "Wow. That's. So. Cool." He states, over pronouncing each word, causing his father to release a small, humorous laugh. "What's the other reason?"

"Well," Sam begins as a shadow of a smile becomes present on his face as his son finally redirects his attention from the amulet to his father. "It's special to me because it was Dean's. This amulet was like something that showed our bond. It was special for the both of us; special for Dean because I gave it to him, special for me because he loved it. I think it was a symbol fro both of us, like for how strong our brotherhood was and how much we meant to each other. We didn't always have to say it, we just knew. I honestly thought he had stopped wearing it when I moved away from college, he would do that sometimes, take it off when he was mad at me. But even though I didn't notice it the last time I saw him, it turns out he never actually stopped wearing it."

His child's eyebrow furrows at his father's rambling words in confusion. "What do you mean Daddy?"

He swallows, as his lips turn upwards into a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes and his mind goes back to that final few hours the two Winchester brothers had spent together.

"Me and your Uncle Dean went for a little road trip just before…" he chokes on the word. "died. But it wasn't until a year or two later when I found that crammed down the side of the passenger's seat. I knew that on that road trip he put it there for me to find, for me to have, for it to protect me until I passed it on to someone I loved just as much as I loved Dean, or even more."

He had cried in that car parked garage for two hours straight after finding it.

For two hours he had sat in that passenger's seat, the same seat Dean had taken his final breath in, and held onto that amulet as if it were the last remaining piece of Dean he'd ever manage to find again.

"That's why tonight, I'm giving it to you." He smiles down at his child as unshed tears glisten in his haunted eyes.

"You said that it helps big brothers protect their little brother or sister," his child says, gratefully interrupting the array of haunted memories flashing through his mind, all circulating around the various dark days he had experienced after Dean's death. "Is that what Uncle Dean did for you? Protect you?"

He didn't expect that question, but he doesn't even hesitate to reply. "He was the best at it. He protected me in more ways than one. He taught me and helped me with everything growing up, and honestly if it wasn't for him, I don't know where I'd be. He saved me from the bullies, saved me from the fights I used to have with your Grandpa, from all the bad things out there. But he also taught me everything I know, from reading to writing to sports and girls. He taught me so much which eventually helped me protect myself and grow as a person. Dean taught me to be the man I am today."

"And what a wonderful teacher he was." A new voice interrupts from the open door. Both males smile at the figure leaning lazily against the white polished door, a knowing and teasing smile spread wide across her still beautiful face. The elder man scoops up their son with one arm and strides over to the door, and equally wide and genuine smile all presented on all three faces of the family. Bending down, he places the small child on the ground and plants a gently kiss on the growing belly of the blonde haired woman, who, even after all these years; was still totally out of his league.

-x-

"I'm afraid your time is up," A low, raspy voice breathes out into the bitter night air. "It's time to go."

Swallowing hard, he stays unmoving for a few brief moments, not allowing the reality of the words which had been briefly spoken to him just moment before to hit him; not just yet.

The seconds dwindle on as the air around them becomes thick and heavy, and with a shaky breath and tight throat, he finally pulls away his watering eyes away from the scene which had just unfolded before him. As he turns, his gaze falls to his lingering hand which rests gently on the base of his neck; where the shadow of the amulet which had once hung there all those years ago, still as heavy and distinct as ever.

"Many are not happy with what I have granted you." The angel sighs, his cold blue eyes curiously analysing the somewhat dejected, yet radiating emotions of pride and longing presented on the face before him.

"I know Cas," Dean sighs, glancing over his shoulder just once more, yearning to once again see his younger brother, who was not so little anymore, just one more time. His hand falls from his neck as disappointment momentarily shuns his chest when he catches sight on the now empty little blue room.
"Thanks Cas," he breathes out, as a genuine and warm, yet painful smile forms on his lips. "You have no idea how much this meant to me." He adds in an almost silent whisper, just loud enough for the angel before him to hear.

"In all the years I have known you Dean, I've very rarely seen you smile with this much emotion. So I sense this means a lot to you?" the angel concords, tilting his head ever-so-slightly as he studies the rare diverse emotions presented on Dean's face and aura.

"More than anything." The deceased hunter confirms with a court nod before he trudges past the awaiting angel towards the wooden borderline surrounding his younger brother's house. He internally fights with himself to ignore the burning temptation to turn back and run into that house, just to see his little brother and his family just one last time, and it is a battle he is struggling to win.

"Are you ready to go now Dean?" the angel asks, raising his hand and hovering it mid-air above Dean's leather cladded jacket, preparing for their departure.

When he hears the snap of the twig, he doesn't even need to turn around to know who it was.

"Who are you? What are you doing here?!" he shouts firmly, his shiny dress shoes digging into the dirt covered ground as he steadies his stance. He levels the silver gun to rest on the man draped in the tan trench coat then to the leather cladded man with his back still turned away from him and back again, breath heavy and thick in the moonlit night.

Sam's eyes darkened in a warning glare as the man in the trench coat goes to step forward, his finger now resting much heavier on the trigger than before, his body reacting almost instantaneously as it runs on pure adrenaline and instinct. It's only when a leather cladded arm shoots out and stops the man in the trench coat from moving forward that he stops himself from pulling the trigger.

"Turn around!" Sam demands loudly, nudging the gun towards the leather cladded man as his mind struggles to comprehend and process what he's seeing before him. His darkened eyes glitter with caution and that same sense of unbelievable hope he felt only moments ago in his son's bedroom. Even after all these years, even from behind, he can still identify every single outline and physical detail of his elder brother, from the frayed edges of the overworn leather jacket to the same trimmed and styled haircut he had worn for as long as Sam could remember. But it couldn't actually be him, could it?

There was no movement.

"I said turn around!" He calls once more, desperation leaking through his attempted steady and demanding voice.

The figure turns around and Sam swallows hard, felling as though he's been physically slapped. The gun wavers in his hand and sways gently as a hellish tremor rushed through his body, and it takes all he has to stop it from falling to the ground. His mind struggles to process what he is seeing before him, struggles to make sense and believe that what he is seeing is actually true.

He fights through the struggling of his chest as it rises and falls, whether it's because he's out of breath from sprinting all the way from his home or from the shock of disbelief, he's not entirely sure. What he is sure of though, is that he won't let his hopes get up once more, not again. He's fighting the hope and joy that is spiralling in his chest and churning around his heart, just in case it was one of the other times, one of those times he's passed a stranger on the street and thought it was him; but of course it wasn't.

Because Dean's dead.

"What are you?" he growls, steadiness reaching his hand once more as he aims the gun on the leather cladded figure once more. "Shapeshifter? Demon?"

His eyes darting around the forest of trees until they land on Sam, as if he's afraid to look at him but doesn't quite want to look anywhere else.

"WHAT ARE YOU?!" He demands, voice bouncing off the countless number of trees that surround them.

"Sammy."

That's the thing that breaks him. Breaks the negative spell of denial that has cast itself on his brain. He can't fake the twinge of annoyance that presents itself the moment his elder brother says his despised nickname; he can't fake how somehow that nickname only sounds right when he, and only he says it.

"Dean?" he says in a silent whisper, yet despite how quiet it is, you can still hear the disbelief and hope as clear as day, that simple name quivering in the fall air, lingering like a heavy blanket which had fallen on all of them, freezing time in its moment.

"Hey Sammy," he breathes with a genuine happiness, tears brimming in his eyes as a wide and genuine smile snakes its way upon his face; a face free from the heavy rings and tortured eyes that still managed to haunt Sam up to this very day.

"Hey," he replies, his own tears forming in his yes as he stares at the elder brother he remembers, the elder brother he had lost long before his untimely death.

He hasn't even registered just how fast Dean has moved until he finds himself stumbling backwards from the force of the green eyed man's embrace; but this time there was no bony shoulder blade for his chin to graze against, no ribs protruding through at least three layers of clothing pressed against him. No, there was nothing but the whole and strong body of his brother; brother who he used to be.

Happy. Healthy. Alive.

It was just the brother he remembered, before.

He drops the gun to the ground and returns his brother's embrace, savouring this moment and silently praying that this wasn't just another dream. They stand there in silence, welcoming the silence and the physical feel of each other, proving that in that moment, they were both really there.

"God, you've gotten old." Dean teases as he pulls away from his younger brother. "Are those…" he lets out a fake gasp "grey hairs?"

At first he just blinks at Dean, mind swirling in his skull as his mouth runs dry, before a choked laugh escapes brutally through his lips. Dean follow suit, both gratefully taking the opportunity to wipe away the few stray tears which have managed to fall from their eyes.

"I've missed you." Sam says quietly once the laughter subsides, adverting his eyes to the leaf ridden ground, shoving his hands deep into the pockets of his tailored suit.

Dean's smile falters for a brief moment at his little brother's words as the harsh reality slaps him in the face. "Straight into the chick flick moments huh?" he teases lightly, forcing his voice to become light and upbeat as he nudges his little brother playfully. Sam looks up and offers his brother a weak smile that doesn't quite reach his eyes, and with one glance Dean knows that the guilt is still eating up his little brother even after all these years.

His smile falters when Sam looks away and a wave of pain hits his chest, extinguishing the happiness that has lightened up his chest. "No, me too Sammy. Me too." He breathes out gently, mimicking the same smile that doesn't quite reach his eyes.

Those words crush Sam like a boulder, and that damned sad apologetic smile Dean flashes him crushes him even more. His mind is reeling with everything he should say, with everything he wants to say, but none of the words make it from his mind to his mouth. He's lost count on the amount of times he's imagined them reuniting, but now that he's actually here, he doesn't know what to do, what to say. The guilt and the apologies are swirling rapidly in his mind and his stomach is twisted in tension, but right now all he knows is that he wants to embrace this moment, embrace the moment he thought would be impossible to achieve.

The silence lingers for a few seconds as the two brothers stand facing each other, each staring at each other as if they were trying to convince themselves that this was truly happening, that they were both physically there together.

The sound of a twig snapping breaks the boys from their silent thought and the silence they're not sure they wanted to be broken. Dean turns around and offers the man in the trench coat an upright outstretched hand and a brief pleading look, ushering the man for just a few more moments. Sam cocks an eyebrow at the trench coat figure but doesn't say anything, just silent thanks him for stepping back into the shadows and allowing them more time.

"Kept those promises of mine?" Dean asks as he turns away from the stranger in the trench coat, completely breaking the fragile silence Sam half-heartedly wishes was still here.

"Of course." Sam states softly, looking up at his elder brother. "I finally married Jess, we already have a son with another baby on the way." He shrugs, his smile growing as he notices the pride radiating off his elder brother's face. "But, you already knew that, didn't you?" he accuses, face taut in a knowing smirk.

"I have no idea what you're on about Sammy." Dean denies flatly, crossing his arms swiftly across his chest.

"Hijacking my kid's dream? Really Dean?"

"Hey! That was one time!" Dean announces flustered, throwing his arms up in exaggeration.

Sam shoots him a look, and Dean knows he's been busted.

"Okay, maybe two or three, or twelve more times."

Sam can't help but laugh at his elder brother's response, but he's not mad. No, he could never be mad at Dean. At himself, yes.

"By the looks of that suit, I'm guessing you're either a really fucking good lawyer or in some type of mafia; either way I'm not really that mad."

"Ha ha, very funny Dean." Sam laughs sarcastically, rolling his eyes.

"What?! I'm just saying, that house over there definitely cost an arm or a leg, I just wanted to know whether the arm or leg was yours or someone who messed with the wrong people." He winks, and at that moment Sam realises just how much he missed seeing that infamous cocky smirk and trademark humour of his elder brother.

"It hasn't been that long, but my reputation has managed to bypass guys that have been practicing law for decades." He smiles, suddenly feeling as if he's ten again, bragging about his latest school test, seeking the approval and admiration of his elder brother.

"That's my Sammy, I knew you could do it." Dean laughs lightly as he reaches forwards and gives his younger brother some reassuring pats on his shoulder. In a flash his smile deteriorates and he finds his hand gripping his younger brother's shoulder in a slight warning panic. "You…" he begins, licking his lips hastily as his eyes bore into those of his younger brother. "You didn't kill Dad; did you?"

Sam takes a sharp intake of air and casts his eyes to the ground, smile disappearing in an instant. "Came close to it." He admits solemnly, mind flashing back in scattered images of red from the night he first saw his father those few months after Dean's death. "But he's still kicking, surprisingly. Last I heard he was chasing some ghost somewhere in Colorado."

Dean sighs a brittle sigh of relief with a twinge of what Sam can only describe as resentment. "Typical." He mutters as he pulls his hand away from his brother's shoulder.

Sam looks at his brother with a cocked eyebrow, realisation dawning over him that even after all these years; Dean still didn't know.

"Do you still not know what he tried to do for you?" he asks softly, watching as his elder brother looks up at him with drawn eyebrows.

"What?"

"Dad." Sam prodded "What he tried to do for you when he left you at that hospital?"

"What are you talking about Sammy?" his face hard and cold.

Sam sighs, mimicking that damned almost apologetic smile that still occasionally managed to haunt his dreams. "He tried to sell his soul for you Dean. He left the Impala there for you and that message because he assumed you would be walking out of that chemo appointment cancer-free." He watches as his brother swallows deeply, a hurt realisation shadowing his face as the gears in his head start to turn. "He tried everything to sell his soul for you, even offered for the demon to take him right there and then instead of waiting those ten years. But they wouldn't bite. By the time he got back, you were gone."

Dean stumbles a few steps backwards as if the words coming from Sam's mouth were bullets, face pulled taut in a painful grimace. "Oh," is all he can muster to say, but Sam knows the guilt is beginning to gnaw at his brother's insides.

"But hey!" he begins loudly, taking a note from his young son in hopes that his positive and upbeat persona would somehow rub onto his elder brother. "At least he's not as much of a dick anymore!"

It managed to bring a small smile to dwindle on his elder brother's lips, but Sam knew it didn't quite make the strong impact like he was hoping.

He allows the silence to captivate them, allows Dean to process the words he's just said. The slightly chilly autumn breeze hits his face and hands as he digs his hands deep into the pockets of his dress pants, just waiting for the moment where Dean feels comfortable enough to talk once more.

It takes a moment or two before it seems like his elder brother has managed to push down the conflicting emotions to the back of his mind, and once that infamous cocky grin embraces his face, Sam knows he's going to be alright.

"So," Dean begins, eyes sparkling in a childish delight. "Needing to chug Viagra yet, old man?"

Sam snorts at his elder brother's childish words, yet silently savours and embraces the example of his brother's the lame ass jokes he's missed for so long. "There's plenty more years to come before that happens." He informs laughing along with his brother, and for the first time in a long time both of their happiness manages to reach both their eyes.

"Also, your precious Baby is still running like a dream." Sam informs, gently laughing at the obvious relief that has presented itself on his elder brother's face.

His elder brother looks up at him with a soft smile. "I knew you'd take care of her."

I just wish I could have taken care of you…

"Stop it Sam." Dean growls in warning.

He looks up with wide eyes, mouth open and agape. The air around them has seem to grow thicker and colder, silently suffocating Sam to the core.

Did he really just say that aloud?

God no, please.

He can't have Dean mad at him, not now, not this time. No.

He feels the cold sweat attack his body and the hot heavy tears that begin to well in his eyes. He doesn't know why, but he's just seconds away from breaking down. All the emotions and memories he felt on Dean's last few hours, and all the emotions he's just experienced in these short few minutes; it's overwhelming. It's too much.

He's dreamed of this moment ever since that fateful morning, practising over and over again about all the things he would say to Dean if he ever got the chance again, the list growing longer and longer as each year flew by; it's just he wasn't expecting it to ever happen.

But here he was, and suddenly it's a flashback to that night, that night where he first saw what Dean had wasted away too. The shock and joy of seeing his brother again has wasted away, and now his mouth is dry and is mind is swirling rapidly in his skull, lifeless and immobile yet erratically alive. He doesn't want to be like this, not now, not with him. He wants to laugh, to kick back with another beer and catch up on everything that has happened to them in the past decade.

He wants to grab his shoulders and shake the living hell out of his brother for not coming sooner for; leaving him in the first place.

"Daddy?"

His young son's voice breaks his crashing thoughts, and dear God, he can't even express how grateful he is for his son in that exact moment of time. Instinctively he looks down at his child and forces a small smile to pull on his lips. "Hey Ace."

"Ace? Well that's original." Dean laughs lightly, his smile and eyes wide in awe as he stares at the small child clutching onto the material of his little brother's fancy designer pants.

"It's just a nickname." Sam laughs, feeling his heart swell at the look of genuine happiness and pride radiating off his elder brother who hasn't looked at anything else than the small four-year-old child at his feet.

"Daddy?" the child repeats, toying with the glistening gold amulet that still rests in the middle of his abdomen as his bright and curious eyes dance back and forth from the three men before finally stalling on his father. "Who's that?" he asks, ignoring the man in the trench coat standing in the shadows as he points a small and thin finger at the leather cladded man.

"Well," Sam begins, not needing to force the smile on his lips to stay put as he scoops the small child up into his arms. "That," he says as he uses his own finger to point to his elder brother, his smile widening impossibly more as he notes the sudden look of bewilderment, excitement and fear flash upon his brother's face. "is Uncle Dean."

The child grips the humanoid figure tighter as his eyebrows furrow slightly at his father's words. His face however, immediately softens when he finally takes a closer look at his father's face and notices the few stray tear tracks that have tainted his skin. "Why are you crying Daddy?" he asks with raw concern lacing his voice as he reaches out a small hand and gently wipes away the track marks on his father's skin.

He laughs gently at his child's loving concern. "I'm just happy to finally see him again." He responds softly, pretending to ignore the thin layer of tears glistening in his elder brother's eyes.

His son's concerned demeanour then transforms into one of reluctance and fear, and he hastily grips onto his father's shoulder tightly. "I thought you said he died?" The child asks, voice taut and thin as he directs his attention to the leather cladded man standing across from them. He leans forward so his lips are at his father's ear and with wide and fearful eyes and a shaky whisper he says, "Doesn't that mean he's a ghost?!"

Sam stalls in reply, one for the fear of introducing his son into the supernatural world, not once but twice in the past half hour; and two, because, he honestly didn't fucking know.

"Nah little man." Dean interrupts as a cool and collected smile dwindled loosely on his lips. "I'm an angel. They're much cooler, trust me." He says with a wink, earning a small giggle from the small child held in his brother's arms.

"That's sooo cool!" the child exclaims, face full of awe and wonder. "What's he then?" he asks, pointing his small and thin finger at the man in the trench coat still standing hidden in the shadows.

"Oh? Him? That there is Cas." Dean says coolly, pointing a thumb over his shoulder towards the standing figure. "He's my buddy from up top."

"Is he an angel too?!"

Dean laughs lightly at his nephew's excitement, his chest warming with pride and joy as his mind acknowledges that small six letter word. "Yeah! But he's like one of the Boss Angels. Totally cooler than the rest though."

"Wow! Did you hear that Daddy?! How cool is that?!" the child all but screams as he bounces up and down in his father's arms as a new found excitement surges through him. "Wait." He suddenly stops, eyebrows pulling together as a new look of suspicion washes over his face in realisation. "You're the man in my dreams!"

Both the Winchester men laugh at the small child's awareness, and Dean grasps his heart, feigning shock. "Oh! I've been caught out!" he laughs once more lightly and looks back up to his younger brother. "This one's pretty smart, sure he's your kid?" he smirks and Sam can't help but laugh at one of his brother's sarcastic jokes that he's missed for so long.

"Dean." The blue eyes angel breathes out as he steps out form the shadows, his forgotten presence bringing forth a thick and unsettling tension into the air, and once Dean's smile fades, Sam's does too. "Your deal expired well over ten minutes ago. It's time Dean."

"Time for what?" Sam asks almost immediately, a new desperation and fear igniting in his chest as his mind processes what the angel's words could have meant, and he prayed deep down that they weren't implying what he thought.

Dean sighs at his little brother's broken words and draws his eyes to rest on the leaf and dirt ridden ground, the vice in his heart tightening

"I was only meant to have fifteen minutes Sammy. Fifteen minutes to come back and go wherever I wanted to go, see whoever I wanted to see. It took me almost a whole damn decade to convince the big guy up top to let me come back, but saving dozens of innocent souls does earn you brownie points up there." He cracks a small weak smile at the laugh line, hoping that maybe, just maybe his might smile again too.

"Me?" he asks instead, face void of any emotion, but eyes betraying him and revealing the flooding of emotions that is washing through him.

He gives a stronger smirk at that one, breathing a silent laugh through his nostrils. "Well it was either you or some strip joint Sammy, so don't be too flattered. They're called angels up there for a reason."

He wants to smile at his elder brother's words. He wants to laugh at the irony of his own question, knowing fully well that if the roles had been reversed and it was he who died, he would have gone to Dean within a heartbeat. But the reality of losing him again, the reality of experiencing that torturous agony of the guilt and grief that he knew still lingered deep within him at full force, makes him sick.

"Don't." Sam asks, or more like pleads. "Please don't. Not again. Don't leave me, not again. You have no idea how hard it was for me when you left the way you did. I wish you never left me in the first place. But you're here again. I can see you, I can touch you. Isn't that enough?"

And like he had been that early morning where he crammed in his brother's beloved muscle car as he clutched his brother's lifeless body; he was being selfish. He knew it too. All three men and the child knew it, and he was sure that if Jess was standing there with them, she would know it too.

But he couldn't just let him go, not again. His mind was adamant that he could find some kind of solution this time, some kind of supernatural loophole to bring his elder brother back into the land of the living. He never should have stopped searching. He never should have stopped fighting.

He just didn't want to lose him again, not again.

Even over ten years on, he still wasn't ready to say goodbye.

"Sammy," Dean says softly, with that same damned sad and apologetic smile that still occasionally manages to creep into Sam's nightmares. "I didn't come to you in person, because I didn't want you to be there again when I had to go. I was there the first time, after it happened. I was sitting in the backseat of the car and seeing you like that?" he looks up at his elder brother, his eyes glistening with unshed tears. "Seeing you there holding me like that, hearing all the begs and cries coming out of your mouth as you tried to convince me to come back to you? Fuck, that broke me Sam."

He grips his son closer to his body as a few more stray tears fall freely onto the skin of his cheek. Licking his lips lightly he looks at his elder brother and swallows hard, suddenly finding it difficult to form the thread of words in his mind. "You… You were there?"

Dean allows his head to softly rise and fall in response to his little brother's question, the memories of the few moments after his death still as clear as day in his mind. "I almost stayed for you Sammy. I wanted to stay for you. I saw everything, I heard it all."

-x-

When he had first opened his eyes, it took him a moment to realise that he's now sitting in the backseat of his beloved muscle car.

His face had twisted with a slight grimace of uncomfortable disgust, the physically feeling of sitting in the backseat of his car feels just as wrong, if not worse, than him sitting in the passenger's side rather than in the driver's seat, where he knew he always belonged.

He looked up, and a shadow of a smile had graced his face as he had noted his younger brother was behind the wheel, driving the stretch of road with tight fists and a rigid body. But that small smile had promptly faded away as his eyes had drifted to the passenger's side, revealing the only slightly concealed figure of his own lifeless body which was hunched against the passenger's door, eyes closed and chest unmoving.

"Oh fuck." He had breathed out with a shaky breath, the erratic sound of his heart and the thumping of his mind becoming known as it pounded its way into his ears, masking the sweet purr of his engine into a faint and dull rhythm pushed far into the background.

He had known that 'this was it' for him, but the breath still got caught in his throat at the realisation that this, was indeed fucking it.

He had been able to recognise the faint tune of Kanas' Carry On My Wayward Son as it had hummed in the background, but all he was able to focus on was the ominous expression of relaxation and peace that was presented on the fraction of his face he could see. As much as he wanted too, he couldn't force his eyes away from the disturbing image of his own frail and fragile corpse that laid limply in front of him, utterly and grotesquely fascinated and agitated at the sight.

It was Sam's stifled laugh that shook his reeling mind into becoming alert and had knocked him back into the land of the present.

"Did I ever tell you that whenever you forced Dad to play this song, or when you hijacked the radio and played it; even when I was a little kid, I always considered this to kinda be like our theme song." He had laughed momentarily at that, and it's like music to Dean's ears, the genuine happiness causing his heart to clench at the reminder that the moment of Sam's realisation was coming.

The silence drew thick and Dean held his breath, and in the back of his mind he couldn't help but let out a humourless laugh as his mind questioned whether he actually needed to ever fucking breathe again.

He had remained silent, watching intently as Sam's knuckles turned white and his body turned even more rigid than before, and although Dean couldn't exactly see his entire face, he knew that there was nothing but pure fear ricocheting through his younger brother's body.

"Dean?" he had asked, and Dean felt himself break. The broken whisper had caused tears to well in his eyes as he had tried to mentally prepare himself to hold it together once Sam had finally realised.

He had watched his younger brother with side and fearful eyes as he saw the inner war battling within Sam, the fight to force himself to glance over or not. The fight to confirm whether the fear he had been feeling was real.

"Dean?" he had said raising his voice. "Wake up!"

Oh God, Dean wished he could.

The warning flare of the oncoming truck and the sudden jerk of the Impala had almost sent Dean flying towards the other side of the backseat, but even in death his sharp reflexes had never ceased and he had managed to grab the backseat door handle brace just in time.

He wanted to swear, he wanted to go off at his brother; 'You've had this car to yourself for five fucking minutes and you almost crash her', but the words had laid dry on his lips as the surge of anger he had felt is promptly replaced with a sorrowing pain when he had looked back over to his younger brother.

He could practically feel the shudder of terror illuminating off his younger brother at the realisation that his own body had flung its way to rest lifelessly against his younger brother's shoulder.

He had watched silently as a few stray tears fell freely from his eyes, watching as his younger brother had scrambled mindlessly, trying to coax the life back into his frail and battered corpse.

He swore he could feel the pressure of his younger brother's fingers as they pushed against his corpse's unmoving jaguar and then desperately all over the pale skin of his corpse. All Dean had wanted to do was reach out, to touch him and tell him that everything was going to be okay, but he wasn't stupid, he had known it wasn't possible.

So he had sat there, ignoring every programmed instinct to comfort Sammy, to protect him and help him through whatever difficult situation he was going through like he had hundreds of times before. He watched as Sam rocked his lifeless body back and forth, listened at Sam's begs and pleads for him to come back to him, to wake up, to not be gone. Silent tears had fallen freely as he watched the anguish and grieving pain of his younger brother, pain he could not take away or help ease; and god did he hate himself.

"I always hate this part." A soft voice had breathed out, jolting Dean out of suffocating black hole he had seemed to be free falling in. He tears his watering eyes away from his sobbing brother who his clutching is own lifeless corpse as if it were the only thing keeping him alive.

His eyes had met with light brown ones, and the corner of his mouth had fallen into a taut frown as his face had hardened, mimicking the same emotionless mask he used to force himself to wear whenever he was in hunter mode, or protective mode.

"Who are you?" he had demanded; his voice had still not been nearly as gruff or forceful as he had wished.

"You can just call me Tessa." She had smiled softly, almost apologetically as he tucked a loose strand of her short dark brown, almost black hair.

"Okay. Let me rephrase." He had breathed out bitterly, trying so hard to mentally push out the echoes of his brother's tortured pleas and cries out of his mind. "What are you?"

She smiles softly again, and in that moment Dean finally understood why Sam had always seemed to flinch whenever Dean had offered his own soft and almost apologetic smile.

Because it never meant that what was coming was good.

"I'm your reaper Dean." She had said softly. "I'm here to get you to come with me."

It had dawned on him at that moment, the reality of his whole situation. There had always been rumours in the supernatural lore as to what would happen once someone finally croaked, but he still didn't expect this.

But in all honesty, he hadn't known what to expect.

A sigh had escaped his lips as an eyebrow rose. "Go with you where exactly? Upstairs or down? Where to?" he had asked grimly.

She had shaken her head softly, and gave him that damn smile again. "I can't tell you that Dean."

"Of course you fucking can't." He had muttered under his breath. He licked his lips and glanced back over to his younger brother who is still cradling his dead and lifeless body.

"I'm not ready Dean…I need you here…God. Please wake up…"

"I wouldn't listen to that if I was you." Tessa said softly as she looked up at him with a knowing look. "It just makes it harder."

He had let out a breath of annoyance as he glanced back to his younger brother, his chest thick and heavy as he had noted the flowing stream of tears falling from his younger brother's eyes.

"Dean, you've got to hold on. You can't go man, not now. We were just starting to be brothers again."

Fuck. Those last eight words had destroyed him. He felt the tears welling in his eyes again as Sammy's broken and pleading cries echo through his mind and it took him all he had to not allow the tears to fall like an open faucet. He had ignored the burning gaze of the Reaper sitting besides him and continued to watch his brother's desperate attempts at bringing back his elder brother from the dead.

But even after a while, that had gotten to hard to watch.

He had been right there. Only an arm away. But there had been nothing he could fucking do. He couldn't fight off the damn thing that had killed him, and he couldn't crawl back from the dead to ease the painful suffering of the one he honestly cared for the most.

His body had shook with silent sobs as the reality of how helpless he was in his position became known, tears of frustration and tears for sympathy burned his corneas and his body had ached from the tension and tightness of his muscles.

Why could he still fucking feel even though he was dead?

"You're not used to death." Tessa had said, as if she had been reading his mind. "It'll take some time, not long. If you come with me, you'll be surrounded with those that can help you adjust. Like even maybe your mother."

His eyes had flashed to her in warning at her words, an instinct reaction that occurred when someone other than his family mentioned her. He now added that that reaction would occur when they used her as a method of bribery.

He sighed as his eyes flicker to the crack of the passenger's seat, the glistening gold amulet barely visible beneath the fabric. He cursed momentarily for shoving it too far down, before a new idea incorporated his mind.

He had lost count on the number of ghost they had hunted done which had been attached to an object.

He turns to her again with a conflicting and almost pleading look, the conflict in his mind to stay or go encouraging a whirlwind of contradictory emotions he thought his body was about to go into overdrive.

"What if I don't want to go?" he had asked, the high level of conflict presented in his soft tone.

Tessa sighed and ran her fingers through her shoulder length hair, not even phased but Dean's uncertain question. "I can't force you to come with me Dean. But I can tell you that whether you come with me or not, you won't be able to go back into your body, you won't be able to continue living. I know what you're thinking, I know you're sitting there thinking, you're thinking that maybe you can make it easier for him, save him from the pain you've inflicted on him from dying. But its never going to be same. I know you're feeling guilty about putting him through this, but it was your time Dean. You were ready to die."

"How do you know that?" he had snapped harshly. "I didn't exactly have a choice in that did I?"

"Oh but Dean, you did." She said softly as she twisted her body to face him. "The diagnosis? Maybe. You were scared –"

"I was not scared." he snapped once more, hostility and desperation lacing his voice.

"Dean, it was okay to be scared. Things were happening to you that you couldn't control, you slowly lost your ability to control and maintain your body, it's perfectly acceptable to be scared in a situation like that. That's why you refused to go to the doctor sooner, isn't it?"

Dean bit his lip and his eyebrows creased as he fought the need to deny her claims, to object and create some form of excuse, some form of liable explanation as to why he held off as long as he did.

But he didn't.

Because both of them knew that if he were to deny it, it would be nothing but complete and absolute bullshit.

"I've been waiting for you for a long time Dean." She continued, shaking her head slightly as she stifles a light laugh. "But fuck, did you keep fighting. Even when you didn't have anything you kept fighting for something, and I guess it wasn't until last night, you finally found what you were fighting for; you were fighting not for something, but for someone. You were fighting for Sam. And once you won that fight, you let go. You were finally ready. You lived in pain for so long, you lived as your body continued to deteriorate, you lived until you could barely walk, until you could barely eat, until you could barely think. Don't tell me after all that, after getting your perfect ending, you want to stay and not experience the peace you finally deserve."

He licked his lips at her words, the truth of them physically hitting him like a train. He glanced back to his brother, his face knotting in confliction and confusion. "What will happen to me if I stay?"

Tessa offered that stupid sad smile once more and let out a small breath of air at his question. "Like so many souls I've seen before, time will be never-ending and the years will pass and eventually you'll become insane and violent. You'll never be able to have the same relationships you had once before, the amount of energy you need to successfully materialise will be a lengthy and exhausting process and by that time, who knows where your love ones are. You'll become just what your family hunts Dean."

His eyes flickered to his brother who is still screaming broken pleads of grief, and just the sight managed to crack his heart. "What will happen to him if I go? How…how do they manage?" he had asked in a broken whisper, cocking his head slightly towards his grieving younger brother.

She had sighed once again and allowed her thin fingers to run through her straightened hair. "I'm not going to bullshit you Dean. They struggle. He'll struggle. It's a long and rocky road ahead for him, and there's no saying how long that road will go on for. It might take weeks, months, or even years to finally accept, to finally move on and not feel as horrible as he does right now. It will feel like it's impossible for him to finally get to that point of acceptance, at every thought of you it will feel like he's forgotten how to breathe, how to live. But it gets easier. Slowly but surely it will. That pain they hang onto? That crippling grief? Time. It will heal it."

"You're not really helping your case there Tessa." Dean snorted as he swallowed hard, his gaze permanently placed upon his younger brother whose shoulder still buckle with heavy sobs and voice has begun to become coarse with each pleading venture that escapes his lips.

She had laughed at that, that sound a sweet saviour in that moment of pure tragic grief and pain that has filled each and every crevice in that Impala like a sick, thickening gas. She turned to him then, that laugh a distant memory as that toxic gas begins to fills his lungs, almost as if it were foreshadowing the toxicity of her words.

"I know you don't want to leave him Dean." She had said, the sad and almost apologetic smile now not presented on her face, but now in her eyes. "But staying? Having you around? That will never help either of you heal and find your peace; not properly anyway. You've spent the last twenty something years worrying about others, going out of your way to save others. As a child you held this responsibility that was too heavy for your shoulders, and even after death, after all those months of suffering and deteriorating you're willing to jump straight back into it, not because that's what you want, but because that's all you know."

"Well, you've sure done your homework haven't you?" he had laughed a humourless laugh, twisting and turning the fabric of his shirt around his fingers as her words burrowed its way deep into his skin.

"And Sam?" She had continued, voice laced with consideration with a dash of sympathy. "Having you around? He'll never be able to fully accept what's happened, he'll never be able to properly grieve, to move on, to live his own life. He'll have that damned crazy hope that will make him cling onto you because he'll be too scared that he'll lose you again. I've seen it more times than I'd care to admit, a significant other leaving their lives and their future behind to stay with the person they've already lost once. I know you're not one to put your own needs first Dean. But I also know that you deciding to stay not for you, but for him will do more bad than good. It's time Dean." She had said in an almost silent whisper, reaching her outstretched hand towards him.

He had closed his eyes at her last sentence and breathed in deeply, his conflicting mind running rabid in his mind as he had tried to make a decision that was so hard to even consider. Opening his eyes, he had looked at the Reaper sitting next to him and her outstretched hand and looked back over to his brother who had pulled Dean into a tight embrace, the shakes of his body ricocheting into his own limp and lifeless body held in his younger brother's hands.

He forced his mind to flush out the sounds of his little brother's broken and pleading cries as they attacked his mind like soldiers in a war, fighting against his contemplating thoughts which screamed at him to take her hand, to accept that this was it; that it was finally time for him to find peace.

"Okay, where to?"

His reaper smiles but doesn't answer, because even Dean knows that she doesn't know. He flickers his eyes back up to his little brother once last time, his heart jolting as he watched Sam's fingers dig into the leather material of his jacket, clinging onto his body as if his life depended on it.

Before he takes his hand in hers; before he feels himself being pulled from this dimension at lighting speed, he had heard his brother take in a deep breath, and all Dean could think before his soul left his Earth for good was –

Is he seriously fucking smelling me? What the fuck. Fucking pervert.

-x-

"She was right Sammy." Dean says softly as he finishes telling about the final moments he had spent together with his little brother. "It was the right thing to do. I didn't want to leave you, but honestly, looking at you now? I'm kind of glad I did. I mean look at you man," He extends his arms out in front of him and gestures up and down his younger brother's body. "Beautiful wife that is still totally out of your league, amazing kid, job you love, the best house anyone could ever live with? You hit the fucking jackpot man. Look how much you've grown, look how much you've achieved on your own. You've become the best possible version of yourself, and fuck Sammy, I can't even say how proud of you I am."

"But it doesn't mean you should have died for all of this to happen." Sam says bluntly, voice low and without mercy.

"No you're right." Dean says softly. "But imagine if I didn't? Imagine what could have been if I never got sick? If you decided to come back into the family business? Knowing the Winchester luck, we'd be lucky if any of us would still be alive. You and I would be travelling around the country hunting monster after monster, living in shitty hotel rooms after shitty hotel rooms. We'd have monsters chasing after us, or we'd become the monsters ourselves. I mean, knowing us we'd majorly fuck up and somehow open the gates to hell or something, start the fucking apocalypse."

They laugh at that, the absurdity of Dean's words diminishing the conflicting emotions that boil rapidly in the pit of Sam's stomach. He knew Dean was right, he knew that although his death had been an unfair and undeserved punishment for his elder brother, he knew that somehow everything had worked out for the better, for both of them.

Dean had never seemed to peaceful as he did in that very moment standing before him. The remnants of his diagnosis and the pain that Sam was able to not only physically see, but also emotionally see on Dean was a distant memory, replaced with a newer and improved version of his brother that didn't carry the weight of the world on his shoulders like they had since he was merely four years old.

"Sammy, it's time."

Those words, those damned words. He can feel the physical pain attack his chest at those words and the memories they hold, that damned meaning that he had to be ready for what was going to happen. He sure as hell wasn't ready the first time, he's just hoping that maybe, just maybe, deep down, a small part of him was.

He slowly places his child down to the ground, a part of him almost forgotten he was even present regardless of him holding him tightly to the side of his body. He takes a silent note to pray that his son wouldn't question his elder brother's description of their life in an alternate world, he couldn't take any more shit this night.

They meet in the middle and pull each other into a tight embrace, the soft touch somehow easing the crying pleas of his mind to fall to his knees and beg his brother not to go once more.
They stay together like that for what feels like hours, and once they pull away he wishes he could hold on longer and saviour this stupid chick flick moment, but he knew that wasn't a possibility. He had stumbled across a gift that not many people do, and deep down he was eternally grateful that he had been lucky enough to see his brother one last time.

Small faded footprints echo his mind, but he can't register what's happening around him. All he can do is stare at the space where his brother is standing alongside the angel in the trench coat who is hovering his hand just above Dean's leather cladded shoulder. It is only when his son's small hand snakes into his own that the world begins to move again, and his brother's soft and gentle voice carries itself through the faint breeze of the night air.

"Sammy? Sammy?"

He nods in response, not entirely sure how many times his brother has said that damned nickname that will only ever sound right coming from the lips of his elder brother.

"Yeah?" he responds in a shaky whisper as unshed tears begin to well in his eyes. He swallows hard, dreading the moment when the angel's hovering hand will finally come in contact and touch his elder brother's shoulder.

Dean allows his traditional cocky grin to rise on his face as he stares back at his little brother, tears of his own glistening in his somewhat peaceful eyes. "You have always been there for me Sammy. Always." He says before a blinding white light explodes, leaving behind nothing in its place when it finally deteriorates into nothingness.

He lets out a shaky breath as he stands frozen on the spot, his feet suddenly rooted to the ground beneath him. A salty tear makes it way to the corner of his mouth and dissolves into his mouth and he lets out a choked sob as more and more tears fall from his watering eyes.

"Daddy?" his small child asks in a whisper, clutching onto the palm of his father just a little bit harder. "Are you okay?"

He breathes out deeply as tears continue to escape through his watering eyes one by one. "Yeah Ace," he says, squeezing his child's hand back gently, returning that reassuring grip his son had initiated. "I was ready that time."

-x-