Archive of Our Own

Sam sat in the diner alone. He didn’t lift his head at the constant jangle of the bell above the door opening and closing. He focused on putting his food into his mouth, one forkful at a time.

It had been a long time since Sam Winchester had checked to see who was entering his space.

No-one bothered him. Even the waitress who topped up his coffee didn’t ask him if he wanted a refill. She just did it quickly, and then scurried away.

“Sam?” The voice was familiar enough that Sam lifted his head. Castiel sat down opposite him.

“Get the fuck away from me.” Sam’s voice was rough, broken glass rasping across skin. It spoke of too much whiskey and too many late nights.

Castiel winced. “I’ve been looking for you.” He sounded sad rather than accusing. “You are a difficult man to find.”

“Seriously, fuck off.” Sam’s eyes were ice-cold. “There’s a reason I was hard to find. I didn’t want you to find me.” He didn’t attempt niceties with Castiel. The angels had lost the right to his manners a long time ago.

Castiel leaned forward, face earnest. “I think I’ve found him.” It was all he said. It was enough.

The brittle façade cracked, and Sam’s soul bled out on the black and white linoleum floor. Castiel could only look on in sorrow.

Dean.

“Where?” Sam asked once he managed to get himself under control. Being in control was the only thing that had kept him from flying apart.

“He’s in Port Sulphur, Louisiana.” Castiel frowned. “I’m not sure how long he’s been there.”

Sam's fingers drummed a quick arpeggio on the table. “Can you take me there?” Every cell in his body vibrated with impatience. One second’s delay was too long.

Castiel tilted his head to one side. “The Impala?”

Sam deflated. “He wouldn’t forgive me for not bringing her.” He tossed a few dollars on the table, added a tip without thinking, and pushed to his feet. “Let’s go.”

Castiel stood too, following him out of the diner to where the Impala was parked. Sam ignored him as he unlocked the door. He’d stopped being careful around angels about the same time his brother had turned into a demon.

Three years. Three goddamn fucking years. Three hundred and sixty years in Hell. Sam didn’t want to think about it, but the numbers ran in his head every time he thought about Dean.

“There are….” Castiel paused. “Complications.” He tucked his hands into the pockets of his ever-present trench coat.

Sam wanted to grab Castiel's ragged lapels and shake him. “Don’t start with the cryptic angel crap.” His hands clenched into fists, then slowly relaxed. “Tell me what's going on.” He had precisely zero patience with anything angelic and Castiel knew it.

Castiel sucked in a deep breath. “Crowley threw him out of Hell.” He watched Sam as though he were a wild animal about to go berserk. It wasn’t that much of a stretch.

Sam stared at him. “What?” He was sure he'd heard wrong.

Crowley had been so fucking proud of his new knight of Hell. He'd practically rubbed his dick all over Dean.

Crowley was still on Sam’s kill list. Sam had started building it the day after Dean had vanished and the angels had locked up Heaven once more. Crowley was number one, Metatron a close second. Castiel didn’t know it, but he’d been moved up several spots in the past couple of years. Castiel wasn’t someone Sam considered a friend anymore.

Sam had just held off on killing Crowley because of the deal he’d made. It was literally better the devil you know. At least Crowley had sort of liked Dean. No telling what the rest of Hell's denizens had felt about a hunter arriving in their midst, who had put several hundred of them there in the first place.

“Apparently, he became too popular with some of the demons.” Castiel spat the words out as though they made him ill. “Crowley decided he needed Dean away from Hell.”

Sam closed his eyes. “Popular?” He didn’t want to think about what that could possibly imply. It made him feel nauseous. He knew what that popularity could mean. He had first-hand experience after all.

Even if he didn’t remember everything, enough still slid through to give him nightmares forever.

“It seems that a faction of demons wanted to make Dean the King of Hell.” Castiel shrugged.

Sam slumped back against the door of the Impala, mind blown. That revelation was unexpected, to say the least.

He asked the question that had been battering at his brain since Castiel had shared his news. “How long has he been out of Hell?” He wasn’t sure he wanted the answer though. If his brother had been on earth somewhere without him, Sam thought he might actually kill something.

“Only a couple of months, I think.” Castiel watched Sam. “Crowley warded him against angels and demons. Nobody was ever supposed to know he was out.”

“Months,” Sam whispered, feeling ill. His brother had been back for months and he hadn’t known. “What the fuck, Cas?” He stared at the angel he’d once thought of as a friend.

Castiel shrugged. “I don’t know anything more,” he admitted.

Sam’s laugh was bitter. “Some things never fucking change.” He ignored Castiel’s wince.

“I tried to find you, Sam.” There was a hint of the old Castiel there, all angel of the Lord, in the tone of his voice. “You kept yourself too well-hidden.”

Sam felt the bitterness well up. “I didn’t want to be found,” he repeated once more. Not like he needed to spell it out.

“Well, then, do not be angry with me for not coming for you sooner.” Castiel met his furious gaze calmly.

Sam deflated a little with the truth of his words. “Yeah.” It was barely a whisper.

Dean.

“I should go back there,” Castiel told him. “I have been checking on Dean every few days to ensure that I don’t lose him again.”

“Once I get there, he won’t be yours to worry about ever again.” Sam held out a mobile phone. “Take my phone. I've got the number. I’ll get another. Stay in touch.”

Castiel didn’t even try to argue, he merely tapped his fingers against Sam’s forehead, showing him where to go with a mini map in his head. “You should hurry.”

“Why?” Sam frowned. “What’s wrong? What aren’t you telling me?”

Castiel’s shoulders were tense. “Three years in Hell changes a person, Sam. You need to be prepared for what you may find.”

“He’s not a person, remember?” Sam never forgot. “He’s a demon.”

Castiel bit his lip. “He’s…”

“What?” Sam demanded. “He’s what? Fucked up? Crazy? A murdering sociopath? What, Cas?”

“He needs you.” Castiel shook his head when Sam opened his mouth again. “No, I will say nothing more. Just hurry.”

The air pulsed with the sound of wings, and Castiel was gone. Sam gritted his teeth. Dean had always called the angels dicks.

Sam had another name for them - corpses with invisible wings.

Sam climbed into the Impala, turned the ignition on and pointed Dean’s baby towards Louisiana. He had a fair bit of mileage to cover.

Dean was waiting.

The states slid by him like a dream. Sam barely noticed the transition from Delaware to Virginia. North Carolina gave way to South in a blur.

Sam wasn’t sure how long he drove for. He stopped to eat, fill up with gas, and grab a couple of hours sleep. He didn’t bother checking into a motel. He was on a clock. And it had started ticking months ago.

He steamed through Georgia, pointing the Impala a little more south as he crossed into Alabama. He finally showered and crashed in a real bed when he hit Mississippi. He had one more day’s drive before he got to Port Sulphur.

Dean.

Sam couldn’t remember exactly when the dreams had started up. The first months after Dean had gone darkside, Sam didn’t dream. He didn’t sleep. He tried everything to figure out how to save his brother.

The demon cure they’d started with Crowley wouldn’t work, because Crowley made sure that Dean was nowhere Sam could get to him. No summoning spell had ever succeeded. Crowley had bound Dean to him, and to Hell, in chains that apparently no-one could break.

A few months later, the nightmares had begun seeping through. They had started up while Sam was nodding off, body completely wrecked and desperate for rest. Explosions of blood and screaming punching into his brain and jerking him awake, clawing at the air.

He’d held off asking for help for as long as he was able. The hunter community avoided him. The angels were silent. The demons kept away.

Jody Mills gave him a room with a bed when he showed up on her doorstep almost a year to the day he’d lost Dean. She’d taken one look at him and dragged him into her home. The wards she’d somehow managed to put around her house kept the nightmares away for the first time in months.

Sam slept and dreamed of Dean.

“You gonna leave me out there, Sammy?” Dean’s obsidian eyes watched him. “You promised you’d never give up on me.”

“I can’t find you,” Sam confessed, pulling his knees up to curl into a protective ball. “I’m trying, Dean.”

“Not hard enough.” Dean didn’t sound like he was judging Sam. “You’re not asking the right people, Sammy.”

Sam woke up from those dreams with tears on his cheeks and unable to catch his breath.

The dreams had stopped as suddenly as they’d started, and Sam wasn’t sure if should be happy about it or even more terrified.

When Lucifer visited him in his dreams two weeks later, Sam had realized that Dean had been reaching out to him. And he’d failed to reply. Nothing had hurt as much as feeling that he’d failed his brother one more time.

He woke up at sunrise the next morning, focused and ready to do whatever needed to be done to get Dean back.

He climbed into the Impala, stopped at a gas station to feed her and grabbed a couple of candy bars as extra fuel. The coffee was strong and bitter. Exactly what he needed.

Louisiana was hot. The humidity was already high in the hundreds, and pretty soon, Sam was driving with all four windows open.

He hit Plaquemines Parish about four in the afternoon. It was another half hour before he spotted the town limits sign of Port Sulphur. The zero of population:1,760 was crossed out crudely and a one had been written next to it. Sam felt his stomach twist. He wasn’t sure he could bear to be disappointed yet again.

Castiel appeared in the passenger seat beside him. “Hello, Sam.” He looked exhausted, dark circles beneath his eyes, and coat even more rumpled than usual.

“Is he still here?” Sam just wanted to get to Dean. He wasn’t going to make nice.

Castiel nodded. “He is.” He stared ahead, silent.

“Well,” Sam asked. “Where do I go?”

Castiel pointed towards a large grove of oak trees. “Follow that road.” Sam obeyed.

“Okay, I’m here. So talk to me, tell me what the fuck is wrong with Dean?” Sam was tired and angry and had been hopeless for so long that he’d forgotten how to hope.

Castiel sighed. “He’s still a demon.”

Sam nodded. “I wasn’t expecting him to be cured.” He’d prayed though. Lord how he’d prayed. But the Lord hadn’t listened to the Winchesters for a very long time.

“But I think perhaps Crowley has done something to him.” Castiel hesitated.

Sam felt rage well up in him. As if that asshole hadn’t fucked them over enough already. “What?” he demanded. “Don’t sugarcoat it. I need to know what I’m heading into.”

Castiel shook his head. “It’s like he’s Dean, but not quite Dean.” He frowned, staring down at his hands. “I’m not sure, but I think perhaps he spent some time in the Cage.”

Sam started shaking. He had to pull over eventually because he felt like every cell in his body was shuddering apart. He pushed the door open and vomited onto the road. It was as though bile and sulphur and sheer terror spewed out of his mouth.

“Sam! Stop it! Sam!” Castiel’s voice was urgent, and Sam thought that maybe he had been shouting at Sam for a while.

He wiped at his mouth with the back of his hand, nodding silent thanks when Castiel handed him a bottle of water. “Sorry,” he rasped, throat raw.

“No,” Castiel shook his head. “I’m sorry. I’ve been a bad friend.”

Sam looked up into Castiel’s face. It was always disconcerting to see eternity echoing back from those eyes. “You have,” he agreed.

Castiel went pale. Sam wondered if he’d ever sat down and thought about the sheer amount of shit he’d thrown at Sam and Dean over the years. He doubted it. Angels weren’t exactly known for their introspection.

“I…” Castiel stopped. “I cannot defend myself,” he admitted. “I abandoned you when you needed me most.”

“You betrayed us.” Sam wanted to slice into him with vicious intent. “We learned never to count on you.” He wanted to wound, to make Castiel bleed in every way.

“I am truly sorry,” Castiel met his gaze steadily. “Let me help you with this. Let me atone for my lack.”

Sam shook his head. “No.” It was blunt. “You found him and brought me here. I don’t need you for anything else.” He wouldn’t need Castiel. He’d been preparing for this for years.

Castiel nodded. “I understand. I promise that if you need me I will be here in a moment.”

Sam stared at him. “Thanks.” His voice was flat. He didn’t believe a word. Castiel's expression said that he knew what Sam thought.

“I swear, Sam.” Castiel's voice was shaky, and Sam looked intently at him.

“What shit has been going down in Heaven that you're so much more fucked up than usual?” Sam asked. He’d not been paying attention to the angels for a long time now.

Castiel shook his head. “I won't trouble you with my problems.” He stood up. “Dean lives in a motor home at the edge of town. You will know it by the Enochian symbols he's carved into the walls of the home.”

Sam swallowed hard. “He knows that much?”

Castiel nodded. “I am not sure what he remembers of his life before Hell, but it seems that he remembers how to defend himself against all manner of creatures.”

“Including angels,” Sam said. He pressed at the scar on his palm.

“Including angels,” Castiel agreed. He smiled and it was entirely without joy. “Call me if you need me, Sam. I promise this time I will answer.”

Sam shrugged. “I don't think I will, Cas. Not gonna lie.”

Castiel nodded. “Until we meet again.” He held out his hand. “As ever, it has been an honor and a privilege to be your friend.”

Sam didn't want to shake his hand. Didn't want to let Castiel believe that he was okay with angel crap in any way, shape or form. But he'd been raised right. He took Castiel's hand. “Thanks for finding him.” It was so hard to thank an angel for anything, but if Dean was within his reach, Sam would fucking thank Lucifer himself.

Castiel vanished with the usual flutter of unseen feathers.

Sam took another deep gulp of water and started the Impala up again, heading in the direction Castiel had indicated.

He’d come to terms with his remarkably unhealthy attachment to Dean several years ago. The hunt for Dean had only reinforced the fact that Sam without Dean was half of a whole. He was sick of being half the man he was meant to be. It was time to get his brother back.

Dean.

Sam stopped the Impala when he spotted the motor home. It was a large one, covered in scribbles that to the normal person would appear randomly crazy, but to him, and the rest of the supernatural population, meant “Keep off the Grass” in a language that no human should speak.

He sucked in a breath and got out of the car. The motor home was closed up, looking like nobody was home. Sam knew better. He'd seen the twitch of the blinds when he'd pulled up. The owner...Dean...was there.

He stepped slowly towards the home. Never creep up on a Winchester unless you wanted to get dead. “I know you're in there,” he called, cautious. “I've been looking for you.”

“Get the hell off my property.” The voice was gruff, angry, distinctly Dean. Sam had to sit down on the ground, fast. He dropped his head between his knees, and sucked in heaving breaths, trying to clear the light-headedness. A rush of love washed over him, making him giddy.

It was Dean. Three years, two months and seven days after he'd lost his brother, he'd found him again. He didn't have a clue what to do.

“Hey, you okay, man?” Suddenly Dean was right there, solid, real and crouched down next to him with eyes crinkled in concern.

Sam stared up at him. He looked different. “Your hair's longer,” he blurted. Joy threatened to overwhelm him. It was unmistakably Dean, right here, in front of him, alive.

Dean's face closed down, eyes flashing something dark and shiny. Sam wanted to vomit again. “I don't know who the hell you are, but if you're not gone in sixty seconds, I'm going to empty a round of buckshot into your ass.” He stepped back from Sam, shotgun held casually at his side.

“I'm Sam.” Sam got to his feet, elation and terror rushing through him in equal parts. “Sam Winchester, your brother.” Saying it out loud felt important. Saying it to Dean felt imperative.

Dean stared at him. “I don't have any family.” He looked Sam up and down. “I'd sure as shit remember if I had a gigantor brother.”

Sam wanted to laugh. He felt a sob punching through. “Oh my god, Dean. You've been gone for over three years.” His emotions were all over the place and they threatened to make a mess of everything. Sam struggled to get them under control.

The shotgun came up, cradled in Dean's arms. “Listen, dude. I don't know what kind of drugs you're on, but I've lived here all my life and never had a brother. Never needed one either.” He jerked his chin. “I don't know how you know my name or how you got here, but I don't really give a shit. Now get the fuck out of here.”

Sam shook his head. “No. I'm not letting you out of my sight again.” He wanted to reach out and touch him, but he reckoned it might get his hand shot off.

Dean's jaw clenched. “Don't make me kick your ass,” he warned.

Sam laughed; a sick sounding thing. “Maybe you could three years ago, big brother, but looking for you has made me a better fighter. Good luck trying to take me down.”

Dean stared at him. “Are you trying to be a dick or does this come naturally to you?”

“I learned from the best.” Sam changed the subject, wanting to keep Dean talking, keep looking at him. “What do you do around here?” He didn’t want Dean to read the desperate hope in his eyes though.

“Not that it's any of your business, but I'm a mechanic.” Dean's gaze slid past Sam to the Impala. “That your ride?” There was no mistaking the admiration in his face.

Sam shrugged. “She's not mine. I've just been taking care of her until you came back to get her.”

Dean frowned. “She's mine?”

Sam nodded, watched as Dean took an automatic step towards the car. “She could use a tune-up.”

Dean looked between Sam and the Impala for a minute, obviously torn. Sam held up his hands. “No pressure,” he said. “Your choice.”

Dean propped the shotgun next to the motorhome door and headed for his car. Sam had never thought of the Impala as anything other than Dean's.

“She looks in pretty good shape,” Dean said, walking around her.

“You showed me how to take care of her a long time ago,” Sam told him. “I'm not you, but I've tried.”

Dean propped his fists on his hips. “Do you have any idea how fucking weird this all sounds?”

Sam snorted. “You have absolutely no idea what weird is, Dean. No idea at all.” He kept his distance, despite desperately wanting to grab Dean and shake him into remembering him.

Dean popped the hood, stared down into the engine. “Seems to be well taken care of,” he noted. “She could use an oil-change maybe.”

Sam leaned against the driver's door. “Sounds good,” he agreed, keeping his voice carefully even.

Dean lifted his head, met Sam's gaze head-on. “You say you know me?” He dropped the hood, his one hand tracing the paintwork almost subconsciously.

Sam nodded. “You know me too.” He believed that Dean would remember him. That whatever Hell had done wouldn't be able to block out Dean's memories forever. He had a plan. He only hoped he got the chance to implement it.

“So tell me, do I have any distinguishing marks?” Dean cocked his hip, tipping his head to one side as he watched Sam. He was challenging Sam. Challenging him to prove his claim. Something hot twisted deep inside Sam.

“You have a tattoo on your chest, almost over your heart.” Sam prayed that it hadn't been removed. He'd finally had his own protection tattoo replaced when Dean had disappeared.

“What?” Dean's eyes went big, hand coming up to his chest. “How the fuck...?”

Sam unbuttoned his shirt and pulled the collar of his t-shirt away, revealing his tattoo. “Looks something like this?”

Dean sat on the hood of the Impala as though his legs were boneless. Sam walked over and sat down beside him. “This is all too fucking much, man.”

Sam nodded, dazed at the simple action of touching his shoulder to Dean’s. “I've no idea what happened to you, but somehow your memories have been changed. It seems like you've had it all erased.”

Dean turned his head to look at Sam. “I don't know you.” It wasn’t unkind.

Sam sighed, dug his hands into his pockets. “Yeah.” He would have only one shot at this. He had to pick his moment wisely.

“So, what do you do?” Dean asked.

Sam wasn't quite sure how to answer him. How much to tell him. “I'm a hunter,” he said eventually.

“Huh.” Dean's gaze was steady on his. “What sort of things do you hunt?”

Sam lifted a hand to rub at his eyes. “If we get into that, I'm going to freak you out even more,” he admitted. “Let's just say, I hunt bad guys.”

“Like a bounty hunter?” Dean asked.

Sam chuckled. “Sort of. Maybe.” His stomach rumbled. “And that's my cue,” he said. “I need to get something to eat.”

“There's only one diner in town,” Dean offered. “It's not fancy, but the food is good.”

Sam pushed himself off the car. “Can I buy you dinner?” He tried not to sound too eager.

Dean's eyes turned coy. “I'm not that kind of girl, Sammy.”

Sam felt the bottom of his world drop out.

Once Sam recovered from the shock of Dean calling him Sammy, he managed to stop his heart pounding. He ignored Dean’s questioning expression and threw the car keys at him. “May as well take her for a drive, man. She’s missed you.”

Dean caught them one-handed, looked at him for a moment. Then at the Impala. “You tryin’ to bribe me with your pretty wheels?” he asked.

Sam shook his head. “I told you, she’s yours. I’ve just been keeping my eye on her for you.” He walked around to the passenger side. “Besides, you know where we’re going.”

Dean shrugged and climbed into the driver’s seat. When Sam saw his fingers curl over the steering wheel, it felt like a punch to the heart.

He swallowed hard, kept silent. Dean without his memories appeared as uncomfortable with emotion as Dean with his memories had been.

“So, how come you think I’m your brother?” Dean slanted a look at him as they headed towards the sad little strip of road ambitiously named Civic Drive.

“I don’t think it, I know it, man.” Sam told him. “I’ve been looking for you for a long time, Dean. I know you better than I know myself.”

Dean smirked. “Sounds like the lyrics of a bad love song.”

“Adam Lambert is a fucking genius.” Sam defended his music choices, automatically slipping into arguing with Dean.

“Freddy Mercury was a fucking genius,” Dean countered. “Adam Lambert is a wannabe!”

Sam scowled at Dean. “You know, you’re still an asshole.” He didn’t know how much longer he’d be able to keep it together.

Dean grinned. “It’s a gift, Sammy, it’s a goddamn gift.”

The diner wasn’t much to look at. Sam eyed it skeptically as he got out of the car. “Has the Health Department been here recently?” he asked.

Dean shot him a half-hearted glare. “Don’t knock it till you’ve tried it, man.”

Sam followed him, trying not to be too creepy, but he couldn’t take his eyes off Dean. His hair was longer, a little greyer, the tiny wrinkles around his eyes were slightly deeper. Sam didn’t want to spend too much time thinking about what might have caused that. Dean was still physically the same. Still beautiful.

“Hey honey.” The waitress behind the counter looked up and waved at Dean. “I see you’ve brought a friend.”

“Sally, meet Sam.” Dean introduced them.

Sam stepped forward and shook her hand. “Ma’am.” He kept his face impassive. She looked about fifty, skin the color of caramel, smile wide.

“Well, aren’t you a polite sweetheart,” she smiled. “How do you know our resident bad boy?”

Dean threw himself into a booth, scowling at her. “I’m not bad,” he protested.

She rolled her eyes a little. “Right, just misunderstood, right?”

Dean waggled his eyebrows at her. “You said it, baby.”

Sally threw back her head and laughed. “You flirt so hard you must be desperate, pretty boy.”

Sam hid a smile as he slid into the booth opposite Dean. “This something that happens a lot?” he asked.

“She wants me,” Dean declared, loudly enough for Sally to hear. She chuckled, waving a hand at him as she poured two coffees.

“Sure.” Sam made sure to put plenty of sarcasm into the one word.

Sally put the cups down on the table in front of them. “Dean is an eternal optimist, sugar,” she confided to Sam. “It’s been months and he’s still trying.”

Dean’s glare was half-hearted at best. “I’ll wear you down,” he promised. Sam knew this Dean. He always got what he wanted.

“I’m too much woman for you, pretty boy,” Sally said, holding up a notepad. “Now, what can I get you boys?”

The Dean Sam remembered would have laughed off her good-natured chiding. This version of Dean wasn’t as easy-going, wasn’t as cool with rejection. Sam had about one second before he realized that Dean’s eyes had gone black and his mouth had twisted.

“I want the beef burger. Extra bloody.” His voice was a hiss, ice-cold and vicious. Sam couldn’t stop the shudder.

Sally blinked once. Then paled. “Sure thing, Dean.” Her voice was a little wobbly as she asked Sam, “And you, honey?”

“He’ll have the chicken salad,” Dean said. And just like that, the demon eyes were gone and Dean’s mouth dropped open.

“Thanks,” Sam tried to smile up at Sally, but he guessed his face was as pale as hers. “The chicken salad sounds great.”

She nodded once, walking away quickly. Sam saw her look back once at Dean, face frightened and confused. It was pretty much how Sam felt.

Dean leaned forward over the table. “Why the fuck did I do that?” he asked.

“Do what?” Sam wasn’t sure what Dean was asking about. He was freaking the hell out inside. He’d known that Dean was still a demon. Seeing it had made it scarily real.

“Order your food for you,” Dean explained, eyebrows raised. “You used to a guy ordering your food for you, Samantha?”

Sam felt his blood turn cold. “You called me Samantha,” he said.

“So?” Dean shrugged. “Doesn’t mean anything.”

Sam shook his head. “It means you remember me, Dean.” He lifted a hand. “You ordered my food, you always liked to piss me off by ordering my food.”

Sam ticked the next point off. “You ordered me a chicken salad. How did you know I wanted chicken salad?”

He held up a third finger. “You’ve called me both Sammy and Samantha already today. One is the name you always use to make me crazy. The other is what you’ve called me ever since you carried me out of a burning building at six months. You never stopped calling me Sammy, even when I begged you not to.”

Sam took a breath. He was hoping that something of Dean, his Dean, was bleeding through.

“Hold your horses, princess.” Dean held up a hand. “Any one of those could be a giant coincidence. I’m pretty much an asshole all the time.”

Sam held out his hand, palm-up. The scar still itched. He’d spent time over the past three years pressing it further into his flesh. “Look at this,” he demanded.

Dean kept his eyes on Sam’s. “Why?” Dean wasn’t smiling any more. Sam tried to convince himself he hadn’t seen that flash of obsidian.

“Because it’s important.” Sam kept his voice low but urgent. “Look!” he insisted, practically shoving his hand in Dean’s face.

Dean dropped his gaze to Sam’s hand. The scar was more raised than usual, red and angry. “Looks like it’s still healing,” Dean said, eyes fixed to Sam’s palm.

“That wound is more than four years old,” Sam said. He watched in silence as Dean reached out, traced the mark with one finger. “You told me that whenever I touched this scar…”

“You’d know that this was real.” Dean’s voice was barely a whisper. “That I was real. That you had to believe in me…” He stopped, raised his eyes to Sam’s. “What the actual fuck?”

“You’re my brother, Dean,” Sam said, turning his hand so that he could twist Dean’s fingers in his. “I lost you over three years ago. I’m not letting go again.”

Dean stared at him, eyes sliding back and forth between onyx and green. It was freaking Sam out, but he held on.

He held on.

“Here’s your dinner, fellas,” Sally put their plates in front of them, studiously ignoring their eyes. “Enjoy.” She scurried away without another word.

“We should eat.” Dean tried to pull his hand back. Sam tightened his fingers. “Uh, I need that hand to eat, Sammy.”

Sam held on.

“Dude?” Dean tugged again.

“You can’t keep pretending that this isn’t happening.” Sam wanted Dean to acknowledge him.

Dean huffed out a breath. “Okay, fine.” He finally yanked hard enough to get Sam to release him. “There’s a whole lot of wacky going on. I know things about you that I shouldn’t.” He tipped his head to one side. “Can I eat now?”

Sam gritted his teeth. Dean’s stubbornness was a quality he hadn’t missed. “Sure.” Sam picked up his fork, watching as Dean lifted his burger and bit into it. The sound he made was a cross between a moan and a sigh.

Dean looked at him again. “You going to eat your rabbit food, man?” he asked with half-masticated food visible in his mouth.

Sam grimaced. Yet another of the many obnoxious things about Dean he’d not missed. “That’s disgusting,” he told Dean.

Dean grinned around his food. “Please, you love it, bitch.”

Sam flinched. He wasn’t ready for this version of Dean to use that particular way of addressing him. Having Dean so close and yet so very far away was a physical ache. “Whatever.” He shrugged and forked some of the salad into his mouth.

Dean stopped chewing and stared at him. “You were supposed to say something back to me,” he said, burger forgotten in his hand, and dripping blood onto his plate. “You were supposed to say “jerk” back to me.” Dean was pale now, his freckles like dark bruises across his nose and cheeks.

“Dean…?” Sam could see the panic spreading across Dean’s face.

“I have no idea what the fuck is going on,” Dean told him, burger dropping wetly to the plate. “Why the hell are you here? I was doing fine on my own.”

“You and me,” Sam drew a breath, “we don’t do so great on our own.”

Dean glared down at his burger as though it had personally offended him. “This is such bullshit,” he muttered.

“Dude, you basically climbed into a car with a total stranger.” Sam watched Dean struggle with that. “You know there’s something true about what I’ve been saying.”

Dean shook his head. “There’s got to be some kind of explanation.” He looked back at Sam. “Why do I know that you are a first class hacker, that you like blondes and that you sleep with your clothes on?”

“I keep telling you, Dean. I’m your brother. You know me better than anyone else in the world, and I know you.” Sam prayed that three years in Hell hadn’t changed the most fundamental things about Dean.

“Like what?” Dean challenged.

“You like old school Rock, you think the lettuce on a burger is an acceptable vegetable.” Sam leaned further forward, salad forgotten. “You think you’re a ladies man, but you strike out way more than you get lucky.” Dean looked affronted, but Sam barreled on. “You think angels are dicks with wings and sleep on your stomach in a t-shirt and boxers with your gun under your pillow.”

Dean opened his mouth. Closed it again. “Well hell.” He pushed his plate away. “I’m suddenly not hungry anymore.”

Sam threw a couple of bills on the table. “We should get out of here. I think we need to get a drink before we carry on talking about this.” He wanted to get Dean alone now. He’d waited long enough.

Dean nodded, stood up and smiled over at Sally. “You have a good evening now, Sally. I’ll be coming in for my pie tomorrow, so best make sure it’s fresh.”

Sally’s smile was forced and tight. “Sure thing, Dean. I’ll make sure of it.”

“That was weird.” Dean watched her hurry away. “Wonder what bug crept up her ass?” he mused.

Sam stared at him. “You kinda creeped her out there a little bit, man.”

Dean frowned at him. “What? No way! I…” he stopped, looked back at her. “Seriously?” He looked back at Sam, who nodded, shrugging one shoulder. “Maybe I should go and apologize,” he said.

“Apologize tomorrow,” Sam suggested. “With flowers.”

Dean’s face was a picture. “Flowers? I’ve never given a woman flowers in my life!”

“You ever think there was a link between that and how unlucky you usually are?” Sam asked, keeping the tone light.

Dean flipped him off as he headed for the Impala. “Shut up,” he said, but there was no heat in his voice.

Dean slipped back into the driver’s seat without hesitating. Sam paused a moment. Then he climbed in, offering Dean a small smile when he raised a questioning eyebrow at him. “So, where to?” he asked.

“The only bar in town is pretty crap,” Dean said. “I’ve got some beers back at my place.”

Sam nodded. “That sounds good,” he said, striving for nonchalance. So many little things he’d missed over the time he’d been on his own. Drinking a beer with his brother felt huge.

The drive back to Dean’s place was silent. It wasn’t uncomfortable, just weighted with knowledge and not a little fear. Sam had to keep reminding himself that this wasn’t Dean. It wasn’t okay just to reach out and touch.

Dean pulled up in front of the motor home. He stared out of the front windshield at the trailer. “Those marks…” he turned his head to Sam. “Do you know what they are?”

Sam nodded slowly. “I do.” He pushed the door open and waited for Dean to join him. “Don’t you?” He wondered just how much truth Castiel had shared. It made him furious all over again.

Dean leaned back on the hood of the Impala. “Nope,” he shook his head. “Bought it like that.”

Sam frowned. “What? You didn’t do that?” It made him pause. Something didn’t add up. Why had Castiel thought Dean had done this? What would Dean as a demon have even known about these sigils?

Dean looked at him like he was nuts. “Are you kidding me? The resale price goes right back down the shithole when you do something like that.”

Sam turned back to look at the sigils that covered the walls of Dean’s home. “That is truly bizarre,” he murmured. Things were starting to make sense. He would have to make a few adjustments.

“What is?” Dean asked. “Tell me about what kind of crazy would do something like that?”

Sam walked up to the trailer, ran a hand over the largest of the archaic marks. “I don’t know if you’d believe me,” he admitted.

Dean came up behind him. “This has been a day of weird and weirder.” He bumped Sam’s shoulder. “Talk to me, Sammy.”

Sam tried to control the flinch, but Dean was watching too closely. “Don’t call me that, please?” Sam asked. “Not until you remember what it means.” It hurt too much. It meant too much. And now with what Sam suspected, it made him feel ill hearing Dean use his name like that.

“Okay.” Dean didn’t argue, just stuck his hands in his jacket pocket and looked back at the sigils. “So, what do these mean?”

Sam’s eyes roved over the intertwined sigils, each one running into the next in a never-ending loop. “I’ve not seen this exact set of sigils,” he admitted. “But from what I can tell, these are meant to hide you from…” he stopped.

“From?” Dean prompted, eyebrows raised. “I mean, I’m not hiding.”

“You were hidden,” Sam said, moisture behind his eyes. “From me.” Fuckers. They would pay, he thought. Every one of them would pay.

“What?” Dean turned his back on the trailer, faced Sam. “Why would someone hide me from you if I’m your brother? Who would do that? And more importantly, why would anyone hide me at all?” His eyes flashed between black and green once more, the demon within struggling to get out. Time was running out.

“God,” Sam wiped a hand over his face. “How to explain our very fucked-up lives without sounding like I should be in a mental institution…”

“How about starting at the beginning and going from there?” Dean suggested, heading for the trailer.

Sam followed him. “It may take a while,” he said as Dean opened the door.

“Ain’t got nothing but time, Sammy.” Dean stopped, glanced at him. “I can’t stop calling you that. It feels right.”

Sam squared his shoulders, accepted the beer that Dean pulled from the bar fridge. “Yeah.”

Dean sighed. “I’m not trying to be a dick, man. It’s just, you feel like you should be Sammy, not Sam.”

“It’s just hard,” Sam knocked his beer against Dean’s, “knowing that you haven’t got the history in your head.”

“I’ve got something,” Dean told him. “I mean, I feel like you’re familiar. Someone I can trust.” He shrugged. “I have no idea what the hell is going on. But when I saw you, something clicked.”

“It’s not enough though,” Sam stopped talking, trying to swallow over the huge knot that seemed to have lodged itself in his throat permanently. He clasped the beer tightly to keep his hands from reaching out to touch.

“It’s a nice evening,” Dean noted. “Let’s sit outside.”

Sam backed out of the trailer, following Dean around the side to where a shade-cloth ran the length of the dwelling. Beneath it were a couple of easy chairs and a small coffee table. “Pull up a pew,” Dean invited.

Sam dropped into the nearest chair. It was soft and comfortable. Dean did the same, kicking out the footrest by pulling a lever on the side. Sam copied him, leaned back with a little groan.

“You comfy there, princess?” There was a smile in Dean’s voice.

Sam didn’t bother looking at him, just flipped him off. “Drove close on two days straight to get here,” Sam said, closing his eyes. “My back feels like it belongs to a geriatric.”

“How did you know where I was?” Dean asked.

Sam opened his eyes again. “That is part of the very long, complicated, extremely crazy story I need to tell you,” he admitted.

“Okay,” Dean nodded, tipping his beer at Sam. “Hit me.”

Sam took a deep breath. “So, when I was a baby, and you were just four, Mom was killed.”

Dean’s eyes went wide. “What? Wait! What?” Then he stopped. “I don’t remember her.” He scrunched his forehead like he was trying to force his memory to work.

Sam took a long pull of beer. “I reckon whoever removed your memories of me made sure you didn’t remember anyone from your past life.” He had to be ready now. He looked at Dean. “What do you remember about your past?”

Dean shrugged. “Never really thought about it,” he admitted. “See, three months ago I woke up in a hospital and the doc told me that I’d been in an accident. Had retrograde amnesia.” He paused. “It’s sort of like looking through a window and the mist is rolling in, you know?”

“So you never wondered if you had people? Where you came from?” Sam asked. “I thought you said you’d lived here all your life?” He tried not to sound accusing.

Dean met his gaze calmly. “You were a stranger who was on my property. I take precautions. I didn’t know where you were from or why you were there.”

“Fair enough,” Sam agreed. “So what did you do about it? Did you try to find out who you were?”

“I asked at the hospital,” Dean said. “They said I was left on the side of a road. Apparently some Good Samaritan type called 911.”

Sam shook his head. “That makes no sense,” he said. “At the very least, your fingerprints should have been on file.” He stared at his own for a moment. “We’re both on the FBI’s shit list.”

Dean held out his hand, palm up. Sam saw that the tips of all of his fingers were smooth. “Well fuck.”

Dean nodded. “That’s about what the sheriff said.” He took another sip of beer.

“But your name,” Sam said. “Dean Winchester would have raised every sort of alarm bell if someone had put it into the system.” He just didn’t understand the completeness of Dean’s disappearance. Who could have orchestrated it?

“I’m just telling you what I know, man.” Dean motioned to Sam. “Come on, enough about my non-existent current life-story; carry on with your real-life backstory. Mom died. How?”

“So here’s where the wacky begins,” Sam said. “She was killed by a yellow-eyed demon. Our family were…are hunters. We hunt the things that go bump in the night. Mom got in the way of one of those things.” He looked over at Dean. This was the first step. The first part of his plan locking into place.

There was zero expression on Dean’s face, so Sam couldn’t tell how he was taking this. “Mom got killed by a demon?” His tone was as flat as his eyes.

Sam nodded. “Dad came in, gave me to you and told you to run. Mom was…”

“Burning on the ceiling.” Dean whispered. “Mom was burning on the ceiling, and Dad told me not to look back.”

“Yeah,” Sam breathed.

“We sat on the hood of the Impala and watched our house burn.” Dean’s voice was soft. “Dad tried to save her…”

“Dean?” Sam leaned forward. “You okay?”

Dean slowly swiveled his neck, looking at Sam. His eyes were completely black. “You shouldn’t have poked around, Sammy.” It was Dean’s voice, only not. Sam scrambled to his feet. The trap had worked. He hoped he had the strength to go through with the rest of it.

The demon took his time. “Remember your wall, Sam? Remember how Death told you not to scratch?” Sam nodded, numb with fear for Dean. “Well I’m telling you now. Don’t. Scratch.”

“Or what?” Sam demanded. “Dean would never be okay with living like this.”

“Oh Sam, Sammy, Sam. It’s the only way Dean can possibly be okay.” The demon smiled. It made Sam feel sick. “Do you remember your time in Hell?”

“No.” Sam lied. He remembered every moment, thanks to Castiel destroying the wall Death had erected.

The demon smiled wider, all teeth and malice. “Lies,” he sang. “I know you remember my gentle touch.” The black in his eyes oozed away to give way to crimson.

Sam’s legs collapsed under him. He dropped to the ground and puked. A warm hand touched his back. “I’ve really had such special times with you Winchester boys. You were so gentle, so broken, so desperate. And Dean. Ah Dean. He stopped calling for you after two hundred years.”

Gotcha.

“Lucifer,” Sam spat through vomit and saliva. His fingers dug into the ground, tearing his nails and bleeding into the soil. “Get the fuck out of my brother.”

“Now, why on earth would I ever do something so foolish?” Lucifer asked. “I’m super comfortable. Dean doesn’t care. His precious soul is screaming in its box deep inside. I’m doing him a favor.”

“I swear on everything that is holy, if you don’t get out of Dean, I’ll….” Sam retched again, bile and blood trickled out of his mouth.

“You’ll what?” Lucifer crooned. “Sweet, stupid Sammy. There is absolutely nothing you can do.”

“That’s where you’re wrong,” Sam pushed himself to his feet, every atom in his body screaming. He grabbed Dean’s wrist. “Hold on, Dean. I’m coming.” It was a promise he’d made over three years ago. It was time to make good on it.

Lucifer laughed and tugged at Sam’s hand. When he couldn’t get away, he pulled harder. Sam’s grip tightened.

Sam was done with waiting. He breathed the spell into life, called on his power, and watched as the tattoos hidden beneath his shirts slid down his arm, across his hand and over Dean’s, wrapping around his wrist.

And Sam let go.

Lucifer screamed. Sam stepped back, away, as the demon spun Dean’s body in circles. Faster and faster and faster. But Sam’s spell was faster than the devil himself. It clung to every molecule of Dean’s body.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Lucifer hissed. He’d stopped spinning, and was glaring at Sam, eyes shining scarlet.

“Did you think I’d been sitting around crying into my tea for the last three years?” Sam asked, taking a slow, careful walk around Lucifer. He knew this wasn’t Dean, but he still needed to take care. Dean would need his body.

Sam bent down to pick up his discarded beer. He took a swig, swirled it around in his mouth to wash out the taste of vomit. He spat the liquid out, took another sip.

“You don’t want to make the mistake of messing with me.” Lucifer’s voice hit Sam’s skin like shards of ice. “You don’t know what I’m capable of. What I can do to Dean’s soul.”

Sam shivered, but stayed focused. Lucifer didn’t know that this wasn’t all he could do. “Oh, I know exactly who and what you are - Lucifer, Satan, Devil, Morningstar.”

Lucifer took a step towards Sam. Or attempted to. The spell had finally taken hold.

Sam’s breath exploded out of him. He staggered to the chair, drained from casting. He lifted a hand to wipe at his eyes. Everything he’d spent the year working on was bound up in the next few minutes. Getting Dean back was his only mission.

“Whatcha gonna do, Sammy?” Lucifer asked. His fingers clenched into a fist. “You can’t exorcise me, remember? I’m no ordinary demon.”

“Oh, I know,” Sam agreed. “When Dean disappeared three years ago, I had a feeling it was more than just the Mark.”

Sam got to his feet, pulled off his flannel shirt. He stood there in his t-shirt, the last navy blue light of day soaking into his skin. “I figured I’d need something more than Dad’s journal to save Dean.” For the first time in what felt like forever, Sam had hope.

Lucifer’s lip curled. “Ah yes, precious Daddy Winchester. He made a good little bitch until you came along.”

Sam wasn’t going to let the bastard distract him. Not now when the finishing line was right in front of him. He flexed his fingers, letting the runes flow down from his shoulders in living ropes of black, red and silver. Lucifer’s eyes were fixed on the restless movement across Sam’s skin.

“You won’t be getting any more of your sick pleasure from the Winchesters,” Sam promised.

He walked over to Lucifer, pushed Dean’s shirt off his shoulders, taking care not to let his fingers touch skin.

Not yet.

“Your Dean won’t be happy with what you’re doing, Sam,” Lucifer warned.

“As long as he’s my Dean again, I don’t give a crap,” Sam told him. He used the air to force Lucifer to his knees and then onto his ass. The low level growl that the leader of the demons emitted was bone-chilling.

Sam sat down in front of Lucifer. “So here’s how this is going to go down.” He let Lucifer see his eyes, watched those rage-red eyeballs grow wider as a silver film slid down over Sam’s eyes. He’d seen that fear in other demons over the past several months. He reveled in it. Not as addictive as demon blood, but this magic fed something deep inside him. Something that had stayed ravenous for years.

Lucifer swallowed hard. “What the hell have you done, Sam Winchester?” he whispered.

As the magic built inside him, Sam looked at Lucifer, staring out at him through his brother’s eyes. “I’ve done whatever I had to so that I could save my brother,” he said.

And smiled.

“Do you want me to leave him?” Lucifer asked a slight tremor suddenly in his voice. “I can leave, give him back to you,” he offered.

Sam shook his head slowly. “Come now, we both know that isn’t true, don’t we, Luci?” He wouldn’t lie to himself. That little quiver made something inside Sam dance with joy.

He dropped his hands to the ground on either side of him, fingers digging into the soil once more, drawing up the power of the earth.

“What do you want from me?” Lucifer demanded. Sam could see the fine trembling of his body.

“I want you to die,” Sam said simply. He reached behind him, pulled the First Blade from its sheath against his back. Lucifer’s eyes went wider.

“How do you have that?” he asked.

Sam looked down at the blade. “I had to kill a whole lot of demons.” He sliced the scar in his hand open again. “We’ve become pretty good friends.” The blood dripped from his hand onto the soil. Sam felt the immediate connection to the power thrumming beneath the earth grow stronger.

“Blood magic?” Lucifer breathed. “You don’t know the damage you are doing…”

“You be quiet now, thank you.” Sam waved a hand, and Lucifer’s jaw clacked shut.

The First Blade murmured its greeting to Sam. ”Welcome, son of Abel.” Sam greeted the Blade in return. Discovering its sentience had been the first step towards finding the solution to saving Dean.

“What is your wish of me?” The Blade’s ‘voice’ in Sam’s head was a sort of sibilant hiss. It had freaked him out the first time he’d heard it, but now it was comforting. The Blade wanted Dean’s return almost as much as Sam did.

“The time is here,” Sam told the Blade. ”We have found the Mark, found our brother.” The First Blade had belonged to Abel as the Mark had belonged to Cain. All of the lore had been wrong. They were two sides of the same whole. Dean should never have wielded the Blade. Sam was always meant to be its owner.

“The Morningstar inhabits our brother,” the Blade noted. There had never been emotion in the Blade’s voice but for a moment, there was satisfaction oozing across their mental bond.

“It is why I called to the ground,” Sam agreed. He felt the same earth that had cried out when Cain had murdered his brother, calling to him now.

“We have the chance to break the curse.” The Blade sounded satisfied. “Our brother will be ours again.”

“Don’t…” The word was spoken through Lucifer’s gritted teeth. “Don’t trust it. The First Blade was always deceitful.”

“I said be quiet, Father of Lies.” Sam kept his tone mild. The runes wound down his arms, sipped of the blood and soil and magic, flaring bright.

“I’m not your normal demon,” Lucifer said. “I am the Master of Hell, the King of Kings, the…”

“Seriously, shut the fuck up,” Sam said, lifting the Blade to point it at him. “I’m about done with you.” He wasn’t angry, just annoyed. Lucifer had no power over him anymore.

“The time is now,” the Blade whispered in Sam’s head.

“Yeah,” Sam said, grabbing one of Lucifer’s hands. He twisted their fingers together, watching as the blood runes spread down over his hand and swept onto Lucifer’s. “Hold tight,” he smiled at Lucifer, utterly without humor. “This is going to hurt. A lot.”

The runes raced up Lucifer’s arm, beneath his shirt and popped up above the collar. Lucifer was sucking in breaths, chest heaving as though someone was choking him. The runes flowed back down then, moved to the other arm where the Mark lay dormant. The second they touched the Mark of Cain, the power within blazed into being.

“You must not let go,” the Blade reminded Sam as the pain turned white-hot. It felt like the Blade was digging through him to reach the Mark. Sam held on, ignoring Lucifer’s desperate please for escape.

He felt the Mark’s resistance, refusal immediate. The First Blade called to it. There was a moment that Sam sensed the Mark’s surprise and then acceptance, surrender, welcome.

“You have found me,” the Mark murmured. ”My brother, my beloved.”

Sam blinked. That was not what he’d been expecting.

“We are dark and light, day and night,” the Blade affirmed. “We are husband and wife, death and life.” And it made a bizarre kind of sense to Sam.

Lucifer’s hand jerked in his, and Sam tightened his fingers. “Time for you to disappear forever.” He lifted the Blade, touched it to the Mark and pressed in. Lucifer screamed as Sam cut through skin and bone, sliced up sinew and muscle. The Mark closed up around it as the Blade scythed through. Sam took his hand away, left the Blade in Lucifer’s arm.

“It is as it should be,” the Blade’s tone could only be called jubilant.

Sam felt its joy shudder through him. He was joined to Dean’s body by his blood connection to the Blade. He waited; saw the moment that the combined power of the Blade and the Mark hit Lucifer.

He flinched at the scream. Blood flowed in a river to the ground from the spot where the Blade and Mark were joined. He hoped Dean wouldn’t bleed too much. Sewing up his brother wasn’t exactly the first thing he wanted to do once he got him back.

And Lucifer still fought against the Mark and the Blade. Sam could physically see the war raging beneath Dean’s skin. He felt sick as he watched Lucifer fight his fate.

“As you betrayed the first humans, so you are betrayed by the weapons you bestowed on them,” the Blade said. Sam hadn’t heard this part of the story before.

“What?” he blurted. Still so many secrets he needed to learn. The Blade hadn’t shared everything with him, he thought bitterly.

“The Mark of Cain and the First Blade were the weapons given to the sons of Adam to kill each other,” the Blade told Sam. “When Abel refused to fight his brother, Cain used me to slaughter his kin.”

Sam flinched. “Is that why Cain believed that the Mark would kill Dean?” He wanted to kill Cain all over again. The tiny pieces he’d hacked Cain’s body into seemed insufficient now.

“Cain knew of our origins,” the Mark told Sam. “He chose to ignore them.”

“You can’t do this!” Lucifer howled, every muscle straining.

“Watch me,” Sam said, calling the earth once more. His body wasn’t used to channeling this much magic yet, but if it meant that Dean was free, then it would be worth it. He felt his bones juddering apart as the magic surged through him, pushing at Lucifer.

“Hold on,” the Blade told him. “His grip on our brother’s soul grows weaker.”

“I won’t let you have him,” Lucifer shouted, as the sky split open, lightning slashing down through the air, smashing into the ground beside Sam.

Sam didn’t let go. “You can’t stop me,” he growled. The natural electricity fed the magic so that it grew into a cascade of power. Sam could barely keep his body together. It felt like every molecule inside him was being ripped apart. This was going to hurt like fuck.

“Hold!” the Blade screamed. Sam could feel the power punching through him, into Lucifer.

“No!” Lucifer shrieked. “This cannot be!”

Sam smiled grimly through the agony. “Seems fitting that the weapons you made to destroy humankind are the ones to end your existence.”

“Hold!” the Mark’s taint spread through Sam then, joining his body to Dean’s.

That was all his magic needed. Like tendrils of ivy, the blood runes scooped up the power from the Mark and the Blade and wrapped it around Lucifer’s essence. The magic turned and turned and turned until Sam couldn’t feel the demon any more.

He could tell to the millisecond when Lucifer died. The magic and power wrapped around him exploded outwards, piercing through blood and bone and hitting the night air, the smell of ozone mingling with the stench of sulphur.

Sam fell back, released from the grasp of the spell. Every cell in his body ached as though he’d been in a war. Which, come to think of it, he had.

“Farewell, son of Abel,” the Blade’s voice was a whisper now.

“Wait!” Sam called. “Where are you going?” He lifted his head with difficulty, crawling to where Dean lay. He grabbed the arm where the Mark had been, saw that it was gone. However, a tattoo remained in the shape of the Mark with the Blade stabbing through it.

The Blade was finally silent, and Sam felt its loss keenly. It had been his only true companion for more than two years.

Dean groaned suddenly. Sam’s gaze snapped up to his face. He scooted up onto his knees, crouched over him.

Sam wasn’t sure what he expected when Dean opened his eyes, but pupils the color of blood wasn’t it. His heart sank. It should have worked, it had to have worked.

“What the fuck just happened?” Dean croaked. He smacked at Sam’s hand when he tried to help him sit up. “Fuck off, I’m not an invalid, man!”

Sam sank back on his haunches. “Hey Dean,” he said, watching the ruby color finally seep from Dean’s eyes. It made everything inside him heave a huge sigh of relief as that familiar green gaze turned to him. Muscles he didn’t know were frozen relaxed so that he wobbled a little.

Dean looked around, blinking at the trailer. “Okay, so you want to fill me in?” he asked, pushing himself up into a sitting position. “What the hell are we doing here, dude?”

Sam couldn’t speak. He opened his mouth to say something…anything, but not a sound came out. Instead, he leaned forward and put his arms around Dean, pulling him into a hug that he never wanted to end.

Dean’s hands came up, pressed Sam tightly back. “Okay, Sammy, I’m officially freaked out now.” Sam clung harder when Dean tried to move away.

He shoved his face into the crook of Dean’s neck, hot and wet with tears. “I’ve got you,” he breathed into Dean’s skin. “I’ve got you.”

“You’ve got me?” Dean quipped. “Who’s got you?”

The aftereffects of the spell hit Sam like a tsunami. He slumped into Dean’s embrace with a sob. “Gonna sleep now, ‘kay?” he told Dean as the world went away.

Sam woke up slowly. Every muscle ached. He thought that this is what it must feel like to go eight rounds with Mike Tyson. He cracked his eyes open, saw the beige ceiling above him and tried to remember where he was. “Where am I?” he asked.

“That’s just what I was about to ask you.” Dean’s voice made Sam start. He turned his head to see Dean sitting on a small stool next to the bed Sam was lying on.

“Dean?” Sam asked.

Dean patted himself down with exaggerated movements. “Wait, let me check. Yup, it’s me.”

“Jerk,” Sam tried.

Dean lifted his gaze to meet Sam’s. “Bitch,” he replied with a soft smile.

Sam literally lunged up and over, grabbing Dean and holding on. “What the fuck…?” Dean tolerated the hug for about thirty seconds this time, and then pushed Sam away. “Lucy, you got some ‘splaining to do.”

Sam couldn’t control the flinch at the shortened form of Lucifer’s name. It was going to take a long time for him to be okay with it. “You know who I am?” Sam held his breath.

Dean frowned. “Did you hit your head, Samantha?” he reached around behind Sam’s head to probe at his scalp.

Sam shook him off. “Seriously, man. You know me?”

Dean’s eyes rolled so hard it looked like it hurt. “You’re my punk-ass little brother, Samuel Winchester, and you’re pissing me off.” He sobered. “What’s going on?”

“What’s the last thing you remember?” Sam asked without answering him. Dean’s expression told Sam that he hadn’t missed that.

“I…” Dean paused. His gaze narrowed as he lifted his hand, ran his fingers through Sam’s hair. “When did this happen?”

Sam knew he’d spotted the multiple strands of silver that streaked his hair now. “The last couple years,” he replied.

Dean frowned again. “How come I didn’t see them?” He ruffled Sam’s hair. “I’d have noticed your crowning glory going grey.”

Sam grabbed Dean’s hand, held onto it. “You haven’t seen me in over three years, Dean.” He wondered how fast it would take for Dean to believe him.

“Bullshit!” Dean barked out a laugh. “Stop trying to be cute and tell me the truth, dude.”

Sam held up his other hand. “I swear it on Dad’s journal.”

Dean sat back, mouth losing the smile and going pale. “I don’t get it.”

“You’ve been a demon for three years and some change, Dean.” Sam wasn’t going to sugarcoat it. Dean hated being condescended to. Besides, Sam was so done with lying to his brother. “I’ve been searching for you for all that time.”

Dean’s mouth opened and then closed it again. “That doesn’t make any sense.” He looked like he was going to pass out.

“What’s the last thing you remember?” Sam asked again.

Dean shoved his fingers in his hair, stopped when he felt the length of his own hair. “Shit.” He tugged. It was longer than he’d ever worn it. It spoke volumes.

Sam waited. Dean usually worked things out for himself if left to his own devices.

“Three years, you said?” Sam nodded at Dean’s question. “My last clear memory is Cain coming to kill you.” Dean shook his head like he was shaking the memories loose.

Sam remembered Lucifer’s warning. “Maybe you shouldn’t push it,” he hedged.

Dean’s eyes were sharp on his. “Something you aren’t telling me, Sammy?”

“I…” Sam stopped. “Remember the wall that Death built when you restored my soul?”

Dean nodded. “The one that Cas ripped into shreds?”

Sam flinched. He still had to tell Dean what he’d done to Castiel. That was a conversation Sam wasn’t looking forward to. Dean had always let Castiel get away with shit. He hated telling Dean that his angel buddy had been partly responsible for him being taken over by Lucifer. “That one.”

“What about it?” Dean asked suspiciously.

“I think you might have one of those walls built into your memory,” Sam said.

“Why?” Dean demanded. “Three years?” He rubbed a hand over his face. “I remember that you were a basket case once that wall came down. But three fucking years in Hell. This is going to be bad, isn’t it?”

Sam had learned to lie to Dean when he was very young. He’d hidden things from Dean for most of his life. He had a moment of thinking that a lie might be the kindest thing right now, but he knew it would be a crappy idea. Dean needed to know where he’d been, what he’d been.

Sam grabbed Dean’s arm, pushed the sleeve up to reveal the tattoo. “You know what this is?” he asked.

Dean’s eyes went squirrely. “It’s a tattoo,” he said.

“Dean.” Sam let all his emotions weigh down that one word. Smart-assing his way through this wasn’t helpful.

Dean pulled away. “Fine, it’s a tattoo that I haven’t seen before, and it’s freaking me out.” He tugged his sleeve back down, puffed out a breath while Sam waited. “It looks like a tattoo of the First Blade and the Mark of Cain.”

“It’s a living tattoo,” Sam told him. Dean frowned in confusion. “It was the Mark and the Blade, but the magic I used to bring you back made some changes.”

“Magic?” Dean’s mouth went tight. “You’d better not have messed with demon blood again, dude.”

Sam held up a hand. “Swear to god, I haven’t.” Dean didn’t look reassured. “I studied earth and blood magic with some seriously weird people.” It wasn’t a much better explanation, but it was the truth. Part of it anyway.

“What?” Dean suddenly grabbed Sam’s hand and pushed his sleeve up. The runes were restless, moving across Sam’s skin like it was an ocean and they were the fish. “Seriously, what the fuck have you done this time, Sam?”

Sam met his gaze defiantly. “I fucking saved you, asshole.” He pulled his arm away from Dean, whispered a small incantation that would send the runes to sleep. “No fucking thanks necessary.”

He tried to climb off the bed, but Dean shoved him back, hard. “You just lie there until I’m sure you’re okay. Okay?” Dean poked a finger into his chest.

“Ow,” Sam muttered. It didn’t hurt but Sam smacked his finger away anyway.

Dean snorted. “Wuss.” They smiled at each other for a moment. Sam wanted to ask about a billion questions. Dean probably wanted the same thing.

“You going to tell me what sort of crap happened in the world over the past three years?” Dean raised an eyebrow.

Sam shrugged. “The internet is your friend, man.” It seemed as though, as per usual, Dean was going to pretend to be casual about the crazy that was their lives.

Dean flipped him off, scowling. “Don’t be a dick.” He shoved Sam over, clambering onto the bed beside him. He wrestled one of the pillows out from under Sam’s head and lay down. “Start talking,” he ordered.

Sam lay very still. This wasn’t how they did things. How they’d done things, even when Dean was Dean.

“Um…” he said. He knew how he felt. How he’d always felt about Dean. This thought, this was new.

Dean turned his head to the side, met Sam’s confused gaze. “I reckon some things are gonna change, Sammy. Being a demon for three years would change a dude, I’m guessing. Right now, I’m fucking tired, and there’s only one bed, and I just want to lie down. Okay?”

He sounded belligerent. Sam didn’t want to argue with him. It had been years since they’d shared a bed. Suddenly, Sam felt about five years old again.

“Okay,” Sam said, turning onto his side to face Dean, tucking his hands under the pillow. “What do you want to know?” He would have to filter some things carefully for a little bit. Just until he knew that Dean was all the way back.

“Did I kill anyone?” Dean asked. Of course that would be the thing that bugged Dean the most. For all his posturing, Dean had always been about saving people, hunting things.

“I don’t know,” Sam hated to admit it, but he wasn’t going to lie. “I literally laid eyes on you today for the first time in three years two months….” and eight days, his helpful brain supplied.

Dean seemed to fold in on himself. “I probably did,” he murmured. “Playing piggy-back to a demon isn’t exactly…”

“It wasn’t just any demon, Dean.” Sam had to get this out.

Dean’s eyes snapped to meet Sam’s. “What the hell does that mean?”

Sam tried to sit up, but Dean just dropped an arm over his chest and held him in place. “Talk,” he ordered.

Sam slumped back. “It was Lucifer.” He waited; let the silence fill the air until it was a physical thing.

“Lucifer?” Dean said eventually, voice entirely too even. Dean being this calm wasn’t a good thing.

“Yeah.” Sam reached out to put a hand on Dean’s arm. “I only found out about a year ago.” Crowley hadn’t given up the information easily. Or willingly.

Dean swallowed hard, staring up at the roof of the trailer. “So does Lucifer have a hard-on for the Winchesters or is he just a bag of dicks?” he asked.

Sam bit back a smile. At least Dean hadn’t lost his sense of humor. “I’m guessing it’s the former,” he admitted, sobering suddenly. “Dad…” he stopped. “Yeah.”

Dean turned on his side so that he was face to face with Sam. “You know that nothing that happened in the Cage was your fault, right?”

Sam blinked back the sting of tears. “Dean, you’re the one who endured the most…” The rest of what he was going to say was muffled by Dean’s hand.

“How about we agree not to talk about whatever crap happened to us down there?” Dean suggested.

Sam nodded, Dean’s hand still over his mouth. “For now,” he mumbled.

Dean sighed, pulled his hand back. “I don’t remember anything,” he confessed. “Whatever your mojo did to me must have thrown something in the way of memories of me as one of those bastards. Maybe that’s the best thing. Maybe I should just leave it and let sleeping demons lie.”

Sam raised an eyebrow. “Don’t try bullshitting me, man.” He tried to smile. “You and I both know that you won’t just leave it alone.”

Dean’s mouth curved in a small smirk. “Scratch, scratch, right, Sammy?”

Sam’s throat was closed. It felt surreal, just lying here next to Dean. He dug his fingers into Dean’s arm, holding tight. “I can’t believe you’re here,” he whispered.

Dean scooted closer until he could press his forehead to Sam’s. “Don’t be a girl now,” he teased.

Sam met Dean’s gaze. He was so near, so dear, and Sam wanted to sink into him so that they could never be separated again. “Dean,” he breathed. He moved his hand up to the back of Dean’s head, holding him in place.

“This is fucked up, man.” Dean’s voice was low, intimate. It wasn’t who they were. Who they’d been. No matter how Sam’s twisted heart had always clamored.

Sam shuddered. “We’ve always been fucked up,” he told Dean.

Dean’s hand covered Sam’s, fingers calloused against Sam’s. “This is like a step up from fucked up all the way over into ‘what the fuck’ territory.”

“I don’t care,” Sam said, moving nearer so that their bodies pressed lightly against each other. “I’ve had one thought for three years. Find Dean.” He shrugged. “It didn’t leave any place for anything else.” He slid his hand lower, to Dean’s neck. “Obsession comes with an entire roomful of crazy.”

Dean blinked, eyelashes long and dark against his skin. “What are you saying, Sam?” He was very serious.

“I’m saying that right now, what I want, above anything else, is to kiss you,” Sam said. He froze. That wasn’t what he’d meant to say.

He watched as spots of color crept high on Dean’s cheeks. The rapid beat of his pulse beneath Sam’s fingers told him that Dean wasn’t completely turned off at the idea. That was also new, very, very new.

“I’m not gay,” Dean said. It wasn’t an argument, just a statement of fact.

“Neither am I,” Sam told him. “I think I’ve just maybe become Dean-sexual.” His mouth quirked in a little grin. He’d had time to come to terms with how he felt about Dean. He just hoped that Dean wouldn’t punch him in the face and leave his ass in Bumfuck, Louisiana.

“That is about the lamest kind of pick-up line in the history of pick-up lines, dude.” Dean shook with laughter. “I can’t believe we’re related.”

And there it was. The gigantic fraternal elephant in the room.

“Maybe we should wait to talk about this,” Sam said, trying to move back. He was moving too fast. Dean was only just restored. It could wait until….

Dean’s arm shot out, grabbed onto Sam’s bicep. “Don’t pussy out, Sammy.” His voice was rough. Sam knew that tone. He’d heard it often enough in the bed next to him over years of shared rooms on the road. Dean was interested.

“You’ve just been told that you were inhabited by Lucifer for three years, Dean.” Sam wanted to give Dean some time. They both needed to talk more about whatever crap had gone down in those three years. “Maybe your brother wanting to kiss you isn’t exactly the smartest conversation topic in the world.”

Dean’s fingers tightened. “Let me put this in a way that is crystal clear, Samantha. The way I feel about you hasn’t changed.”

Sam froze, stopped trying to leave. His startled gaze met Dean’s. “I don’t….”

Dean’s mouth was warm and wet, his lips slightly chapped against Sam’s. The noise Sam made he would deny to his dying day.

Dean pulled back. A smile curved his lips. “Well, that was interesting,” he noted.

Sam thought that maybe there was a black hole somewhere because there was no air left in the trailer. “I…”

“Stop thinking so hard,” Dean told him. “It was just a little kiss. Maybe you can write it off as a brotherly welcome-back-from-being-Lucifer kiss.” He shrugged his shoulders, making the bed move a little.

“It wasn’t.” Sam was sure of that.

“How about this,” Dean turned onto his back again, not letting go of Sam. “How about we get some sleep? Worry about this shit in the morning when we’re both less spazzed out over whatever the hell happened tonight?”

Sam rolled onto his back too, allowing his hand to drift from the back of Dean’s neck to his chest. “Okay,” he agreed. He’d learned to roll with the punches while he’d been looking for Dean.

Dean’s eyes were sharp on his. “Okay?” He was pushing. “I don’t want you to be tossing and turning all night because of some existential gay crisis.”

“Fuck you,” Sam said pleasantly.

“Only if you ask nicely,” Dean shot back. And clamped his mouth closed. “Sorry,” he muttered, the tips of his ears a little red. “Maybe a little too soon.”

“Who says you get to top?” Sam asked, trying to keep his heart from punching out of his chest. It felt like everything was happening too fast. His head was spinning. He didn’t want to stop feeling like this.

“We are not going there,” Dean warned, voice scratchy with fatigue.

“Sorry,” Sam whispered.

Dean’s hand squeezed his bicep. “Not tonight at least,” he amended. Sam’s breath hitched, and Dean smirked at him. “I’m not saying no.” It was reassurance and promise in one.

“Dean…” Sam couldn’t get the words out.

“Go to sleep, Sam. It’s been a hell of a day.”

It took Sam a long time to fall asleep. Dean was here, beside him, real and alive. Sam was too afraid to close his eyes. He’d learned a hard lesson that mornings didn’t always bring clarity.

“Rise and shine, Princess!” Dean’s order was accompanied by the thwack of a pillow across Sam’s face.

He grunted a protest and burrowed under his own pillow. “Five more minutes,” he grumbled.

A sharp slap on his ass had him sitting up a moment later. Dean looked way too cheerful. “Up and at ‘em.”

Sam narrowed his eyes at Dean. “I’m trying to remember why I wanted you back again.”

“Please, I’m a precious flower,” Dean scoffed, shoving several t-shirts into a duffle bag. “C’mon Sammy, daylight’s a’wasting.”

Sam rubbed at the sleep crusting the corners of his eyes. “What time is it?” he asked.

Dean made a show of checking his wrist. There was no watch. “Two hairs past a freckle.”

Sam groaned. “That wasn’t even funny when I was a kid, man.”

“Shut the fuck up, it’s hilarious,” Dean countered, yanking at the sheets covering Sam. “Now take a shower, change out of those exceptionally manky clothes, and let’s blow this joint.”

Sam lifted an arm and smelled his armpit. Dean was right, he reeked. He scrambled off the bed, surprised that he’d slept through Dean waking up and getting ready. “I must have been tired,” he said, heading out of the trailer.

“Hey! Where are you going?” Dean stood at the doorway as Sam popped the trunk of the car.

“Clothes, toiletries?” Sam pulled a clean set of clothes out of the duffel stuffed into the trunk. He looked up at Dean. Something like panic showed on his face. “I was coming straight back,” he told Dean.

Dean nodded, ducked back into the trailer without a word. Sam sucked in a breath. Things were clearly not going to be smooth sailing.

He shouldered into the tiny bathroom, frowning at the shower. “Dude!” he called, “I can’t believe you actually showered in this thing!”

“I’m not a Sasquatch like you, Sammy!” Dean shouted back. Sam heard the smile in his voice and the knot in his stomach loosened a little.

“At least I’m not a dwarf like you,” he yelled.

“Dude!” The protest was audible. “They’re called ‘little people’, not dwarves. And fuck you!”

Sam chuckled as he soaped down. He felt the sweat and the fear washing away, circling down through the drain and into the ground. He closed his eyes, sent a brief thanks to the earth for giving him the strength and the power to accomplish the impossible.

“Come on, are you getting clean or are you enjoying a little ‘me’ time?” Dean sounded impatient. Sam shut the water off, quickly toweled himself down and dressed.

“Jeez, you’re so freaking pushy.” He swung the door open to see Dean sitting on the bed, holding out a cup of coffee.

He made a grabbing motion, and Dean swung it out of his way. “No, no!” He wagged a finger. “Say, “I’m sorry Dean for being such a prima donna”,” he ordered.

“Fuck you,” Sam said, lurching for the coffee again.

Dean quickly took a slug, downing half the cup in one gulp. He made a gagging noise. “Goddamn it, I forgot just how disgusting your idea of coffee tastes.” He thrust it at Sam. “Ugh.”

Sam cradled the cup to his chest, turning a little away from Dean. “Serves you right.”

Dean rolled his eyes. “I’m just waiting for you to call it ‘my precious’, and then I’ll know your balls have mummified.”

Sam snorted a laugh. He’d missed this so much. The back and forth, the banter, the sheer pleasure of being with the one person in the world who got him.

“Hey,” Dean’s voice was soft, as he put a hand on the small of Sam’s back. “We good?”

Sam tilted his head a little to meet Dean’s eyes. He smiled. “Better than,” he said. If Dean wasn’t going to talk about it, Sam wasn’t going to bring it up.

“Then let’s roll,” Dean said.

Sam scooped up his dirty clothes and followed Dean out of the trailer. He tossed them into the black bag in the trunk. At some point he was going to have to get to a Laundromat.

“You not going to lock it?” he asked Dean when a second duffle joined his in the trunk.

Dean shook his head, barely giving the trailer a glance. “Nah, I’m done with it.” Something dark flashed in his eyes. “I reckon we should maybe burn it.”

Sam waited, watched Dean consider his options. “Yeah, we should burn it.” Dean nodded, staring at the trailer now.

He dug into his pocket, produced a silver lighter. “You got any accelerant in there?” he nodded towards the trunk of the Impala.

“Please,” Sam scoffed, “As if I’d go anywhere without the basic tools of the trade.” He reached down to pull out a container of lighter fuel. “Will this do?”

They both looked back at the trailer again. The wards splashed all over it might make it a little harder to destroy. “I got some holy oil?” Sam offered.

Dean nodded. “That should do the trick,” he said. “Let’s get this done.”

Sam put a hand on his shoulder. “Dude, you realize that once the trailer is gone, all the hosts of Heaven and Hell will be able to find you?”

Dean stared at him. “What?”

“Cas said that you’d been shielded…” He didn’t get to finish his sentence.

“Cas?” Dean slammed a hand against Sam’s chest. “What the fuck, dude? We agreed that we were done with the angel crap.”

“You weren’t here.” Sam let the words sink between them, slicing into the anger. “You don’t know what happened when you disappeared.” He held up a hand when Dean opened his mouth again. “No. Cas is not our friend. But he found you, Dean. And honestly, I was prepared to get into bed with Zachariah if it meant I could get hold of you.”

Dean’s face was white. “You can’t say shit like that, Sammy. You promised me that you wouldn’t do anything stupid.”

“I didn’t,” Sam shrugged. “The day you disappeared, I started a kill list. Cas was on that list, third in line after Crowley and Metatron.”

“Sam…” Dean looked wounded.

“There is nothing in Heaven or Hell that I wouldn’t put in front of you?” Sam met his gaze calmly. “Words sound familiar?” He sighed. “I hid myself from everyone for a long time. It took Cas three months to find me once he’d located you. Plus I think he was a little worried you’d up and vanish again.”

Dean seemed to have forgotten the mission to destroy the trailer. “So what? You just said, ‘thanks feathered buddy, I believe everything you say and we’re bestest friends again’?” The snarl on Dean’s face took nothing away from the pain of betrayal in his eyes.

“”Listen, asshole, I spent the past three years hunting down every clue, every stupid-ass possibility to try and find you,” Sam poked Dean in the chest. “Listening to Cas was the least dangerous thing I’ve done.” It appeared they were going to have this out here and now.

“So you became Gandalf and then?” Dean’s chin thrust up. He was obviously spoiling for a fight.

Sam scrubbed a hand over his eyes. “I learned basic magic from Rowena. Crowley really pissed her off. The rest I taught myself.” And then some.

“Crowley’s mother!” Dean shouted so loudly that it startled some birds out of the nearby trees.

“The lesser of two evils,” Sam shrugged. “Plus the enemy of my enemy, yada yada.”

Dean stared at him. “It’s like I don’t even know you,” he said.

“I’d shut my mouth if I were you,” Sam warned. “There are several times that I can recall you making deals and stupid decisions when it came to saving me.”

“But…” Dean opened his mouth to protest.

“It fucking works both ways, Dean!” Sam was tired of this. He’d done what he’d had to. Nothing else mattered. He had Dean back, and he didn’t care what laws he’d broken to get it right.

“Is there going to be payback at some stage?” Dean asked, shoulders dropping a little. “There’s always payback.”

Sam shook his head. “No. Rowena is dead. Then Crowley booted you out of Hell. Apparently, you were getting too popular with the natives.” He scowled. “Seriously? You wanted to be King of Hell?”

Dean glared back at him. “Don’t give me shit for things I can’t remember, douchebag.” He slumped against the Impala’s door. “It just seems like we’ve spent half our lives dying, and the other half making deals to stop each other dying.”

Sam leaned against the car, shoulder brushing against Dean’s. “It’s what we do, Dean. It’s who we are.” He grunted a laugh. “Although, since I powered up, I’ve had literally no problem with anything. It’s like the monsters are scared of me.” It wasn’t funny. He knew why they stayed away. “I guess I am a freak, like Dad said.”

Dean cupped his hand around Sam’s neck, pulled his forehead down. “You’re my freak and the most important person in my world. Don’t you fucking forget that, okay? I can live with dying. I just can’t live with you dying.”

Sam rested against Dean for a moment. “You’re so romantic,” he whispered. He had actual butterflies in his stomach.

“Dick.” Dean grinned. “C’mon, let’s burn this sucker down and see who crawls out of the woodwork.” His eyes gleamed. “I’m about ready for a fight.”

Sam took a deep breath. “Okay,” he nodded, “let’s do this.”

Driving away with the trailer smoldering in the rearview mirror and his brother at the wheel, Sam closed his eyes, truly content for the first time in years. He leaned back against the seat, pushed it as far down as it could go and slept.

Lucifer smiled at him in his dreams, this time wearing Dean’s face. “You think you’ve won Sammy?” he hissed, skin peeling away on his face, brimstone steaming beneath the flesh. “Dean is mine, will always be mine. Don’t dare think he’ll ever be yours again.”

Sam stood on the hill overlooking the Cage. He knew that Lucifer’s bondage was eternal now. He’d made sure of that. “I don’t think you get it,” he said, looking at the Devil. “I gave you to Crowley. Your soul is his. You’re not in the Cage any more. You are the Cage, Lucifer.”

Lucifer’s eyes were wild. “That’s impossible!” he shrieked, spinning to look at the Cage which turned pale, like skin, stretched over the souls within.

“I think you’ll find it’s not only possible, it’s happened.” Sam’s smile was nasty. “I’m more powerful than you know. More powerful than anyone knows.” He dug his hands into his pockets, nails pressing into the scar. “Do you want to know why?” He wanted someone to understand what he’d become, what he’d given up to have his brother back.

“Why?” Lucifer whispered, strips of flesh dripping off his face, turning him back into the essence of evil he truly was.

“Because I made deals with both Heaven and Hell,” Sam told him. “And now, with what I have become, neither can destroy me without destroying the universe.” He leaned closer, looked Lucifer in the eyes; let him see eternity reaching back in the depths of his own. “What I have done, what I have taken, has made me one of the only beings that you all fear.”

Lucifer stepped back. “That is not possible,” he declared, looking less like Dean and more like an inferno shaped like a man. “There are only four Horsemen.”

Sam smiled again. “You didn’t read your Bible properly, did you?” He quoted, “Revelation 6 verse 2; ‘And I saw, and behold a white horse: and he that sat on him had a bow; and a crown was given unto him: and he went forth conquering, and to conquer.’ The Impala isn’t white but I do have my bow and crown.”

“No,” Lucifer breathed. “NO!”

“The blood of the Prince of Heaven, Abel, runs in my veins, as does the blood of the Knight of Hell, Cain.” Sam used his words as weapons. “What do you suppose would happen when Death and royal blood meet?”

“The white horse belongs to Michael,” Lucifer protested.

“And yet, Michael has been trapped these eons in the Cage with you.” Sam was pitiless. “The fifth rider was needed once War, Pestilence and Famine were destroyed.” He held his arms out “Look at me, Morningstar, and see my truth.”

It felt liberating to be this open, to let his power be visible to everyone. He let his gaze roam the Hellscape. Demons cowered in fear, souls ran screaming from him.

“Abomination,” Lucifer spat.

“What?” Sam’s gaze snapped back to him. “What did you call me?” He’d not tolerated it from Castiel. He sure as shit wasn’t going to let it pass with this asshole.

“You heard me,” Lucifer took several steps back, bits of his skin left behind like bloody footprints. “You are a sin against creation.” Terror bled into his eyes. Sam relished the fear.

“This is only a dream,” Sam reminded him. “Nothing you see is real.”

Lucifer flinched at his words being thrown back at him. “Your brother will never accept this, accept you.”

Sam laughed grimly. “He will, he always will.” Sam knew this to be true.

He woke up when Dean slammed on brakes, Dean’s arm across his chest as the Impala shuddered to a halt.

“What the fuck?” Sam glared at Dean, shoving his hair back from his eyes. Coming back from the Hell dream was always a tough wake-up. To be jolted out of it like this was unpleasant.

“We have a road block.” Dean’s voice was grim.

Sam automatically lifted his eyes to the road. Castiel stood there, angel sword hanging loosely in his hand.

“Dean, Sam.” Castiel’s voice made the hairs on the back of Sam’s neck rise. His wings were black shadows behind him and clouds drew low and dark above his head.

“Get the fuck out of my way, Cas,” Dean ordered. Sam could see none of the bond that had once existed between them. What Castiel had done, how he’d betrayed them in the end, had finally proven unforgivable.

“I’m afraid that I cannot, Dean.” Castiel appeared truly sorrowful. Sam didn’t buy his lies.

“What’s with the sword?” Sam asked, pushing his door open and climbing out, ignoring Dean’s protest.

“I think you know, Sam.” Castiel’s eyes turned to him. “If I’d known what you’d done to get Dean back…”

“You’d have what?” Sam laughed, a thick and ugly sound. “Stopped me?”

Dean lurched out of the car, moving quickly to Sam’s side. “What the hell is he talking about?” Dean demanded. “I thought you didn’t do anything stupid.”

“I didn’t.” Sam didn’t take his eyes off Castiel. “I did what I had to. There was nothing stupid about it.”

“Sam.” Castiel’s chiding tone set Sam’s teeth on edge.

“Do you remember the last time I saw you, Cas?” Sam asked. “Before you found me again?”

Castiel nodded.

“What I did to you then is nothing compared to what I can do to you now.” Sam kept his voice even.

Castiel shuddered, his wings fluttering around him like frightened doves.

“Sam, you need to stop this shit right now.” Dean’s urgent tone had Sam turn to look at him. “You’re scaring me a little, man.”

Sam shook his head. “Cas intends that we don’t leave here alive,” he told Dean. “Right, Cas?” He swung his gaze back to where Castiel stood, fingers opening and closing around his sword.

“I have no quarrel with Dean.” Castiel’s reply made Dean freeze up.

“Listen up, dickbag. For the sake of our past friendship, I’m going to ignore what you’re implying and tell you to fuck the hell off.” Dean’s jaw was clenched tight.

Sam put a hand on Dean’s shoulder. “I’ve got this,” he said.

Dean met his gaze. “I know, but I kinda don’t want someone to die just after we’ve … you know?” There was a plea in Dean’s eyes that Sam couldn’t ignore.

“I’m giving you this one chance, Cas.” He held up his hand; let the fire form in his palm. It spun and elongated until finally the bow he wrapped his fingers around was scarlet fire. “I only hurt you last year. If you persist with this, I will obliterate you.”

Sam knew what Dean was seeing now, the haze of a crown of fire around his head, the quiver of arrows a mere outline across his back.

“I have my orders.” Castiel sounded terrified and desperate. “I have to try.”

Sam took a deep breath. “Please, don’t make me do this.” He’d had enough of killing to last a lifetime. He just wanted to stop fighting and running. He was never cut out to be a hunter. Let alone a Horseman.

“Sam.” Dean’s voice was a beacon that Sam had always turned to. It was part of his genetic material, this urge to listen, to obey. “You need to stop. Now.”

And like a candle, his power shut down. Sam stared at Dean. “Well, that’s new,” he said. They’d have to talk about this too. So much to say, so few words. Winchesters had never been the best at talking shit out.

Dean put a hand at the small of Sam’s back. “Cas, tell Heaven that the Winchesters are done. Whatever plan or prophecy you assholes expect us to play a part in, is done. We’re not going to be anybody’s bitches anymore.”

Sam leaned against Dean, exhausted. He met Castiel’s gaze. “If you leave us alone, I’ll leave you alone.” His smile was tight. “I told Crowley the same thing the last time he tried to mess with me.”

“And he listened?” Dean asked.

Sam grimaced. “Eventually.” He stopped, suddenly thoughtful. “You know, Crowley booting you out of Hell makes a lot more sense now that I think about it.”

“Crowley is afraid,” Castiel agreed. “As are all of Heaven’s host.”

“You can tell them the same thing I told the self-elected King of Hell,” Sam said, pushing himself upright. “I am tired of dealing with your shit. Either sort it out, leaving us out of it, or I’ll sort it out for you.” He met Castiel’s gaze, allowed him to see that he meant every word. “And by now, Heaven and Hell both know I can back it up.”

Castiel paused, took a deep breath. “Very well. I will return to Heaven with your offer.” He looked at them both. “I am truly sorry that our friendship has come to this. I never meant for things to go so wrong.”

Dean glared at him. “Yeah, because handing me over to Crowley and Lucifer’s Cage in exchange for Hannah was not a massive fuck-up.” It was clear from Dean’s tone that Castiel’s betrayal stung deeply.

“If I could take it back,” Castiel began.

“No.” Sam held up a hand and Castiel flinched. “It’s time you left.” He wanted nothing more of Heaven’s minions.

Castiel nodded. “And if I wish to find you to give you Heaven’s decision?”

Sam watched Dean climb back into the Impala. “If I see you again, I will take it as a declaration of war.”

He didn’t watch Castiel go.

The silence in the Impala stretched for several miles. Sam could practically feel the emotional build-up Dean was trying to hold back.

“Talk,” he told Dean. “Get it out now and then we need to let it go.”

“I’m not a fucking Disney princess, Sam.” Dean shot him a glare.

Sam snorted a laugh. “I believe you, millions wouldn’t.”

“Shut up.” Dean poked him in the thigh with a finger. “So, tell me the truth. Who are you, Sam Winchester, or should that be what are you?”

Sam swallowed hard. “I haven’t lied,” he said, twisting his fingers together.

“Fair enough.” Dean nodded. “But you’ve not told me the entire truth, have you?”

“I haven’t told you everything,” Sam amended. He turned to look out of the window. “I didn’t really know exactly what had happened until your friend Death came to call.”

“He take you to Chicago?” Dean asked. “Best pizza I ever tasted.”

“Dude.” Sam leveled a look at him.

Dean held up a hand. “Sorry! Sorry! Carry on, Hans Christian Anderson.”

Sam couldn’t stop his laughter. “God, I’ve missed you, you complete asshole.”

Dean beamed. “Well, I am pretty special.” He waved his hand. “So, Death came a’callin’,” he prompted.

“It was just after Rowena died.” Sam pushed a hand through his hair.

“Died or was killed?” Dean asked, not looking at Sam.

“Does it matter?” Sam sighed. “Crowley killed her.”

“He killed his mother?” Dean sounded shocked. Sam wondered at the sheer humanity of him. Despite everything they’d seen, everything they’d done, Dean was still surprised that a son could kill his mother.

“Yeah,” Sam said. “He found out that she’d helped me and tortured her to give up my whereabouts.” He didn’t like to remember that time.

“Did she?” Dean glanced at him.

“She did,” Sam nodded. “She was my teacher, not my friend.” Although she had become more than a friend to him. She’d been almost maternal in some of her interactions with him.

“You liked her.” It wasn’t a question.

Sam shrugged. “She was an ancient witch who’d spent much of her life sucking the power out of others to stay alive.” He grinned. “She was hilarious.”

Dean’s hands clenched around the steering wheel. “You fuck her?” It sounded almost like jealousy.

Sam stared at him. “Are you insane?” He wanted to punch Dean for the question alone. “She was like a million years old. And a witch. And Crowley’s fucking mother!” He was shouting at the end.

Dean’s shoulders hunched up. “You’ve made a habit of making stupid romantic decisions in the past, is all I’m saying.”

“Oh, you did not just go there!” Sam was furious. “Do I need to remind you of the Amazon you slept with that resulted in a fucking baby?”

“Jeez,” Dean scowled, “No need to get your panties in a twist, Sammy. I was just saying…”

“Shut the fuck up or I will end you.” Sam glared at him.

Dean looked over at him. “You could do that now, couldn’t you?”

The air suddenly vanished from inside the car, and Sam sucked in a breath desperately. “I could never,” he vowed. “I’d sooner kill myself.”

Dean flexed his fingers on the wheel. “But you could,” he persisted.

“I could destroy the entire world,” Sam said, keeping his voice even. “But I wouldn’t.”

Dean nodded. “Okay.”

“Okay,” Sam agreed. He hated even the possibility that Dean was afraid of him.

“So what about our buddy, Death? How did that happen?” Dean went back to the original subject.

Sam wasn’t sure he wanted Dean to hear this part. It was going to make him flip. “I died.”

He was right. The Impala swerved dangerously across the road as Dean shouted at him. Sam lunged for the wheel; put her back on the tar. “Calm the fuck down, Dean. I’m here. It didn’t take.”

Dean pulled over. “It didn’t take?” he yelled. “It didn’t fucking take?” His face went red. “Are you trying to piss me off?”

“No.” Sam decided a short answer was safest. “I’m trying to tell you what happened and how I met Death.”

Dean closed his eyes, took several calming breaths. “Talk.” His tone brooked no argument.

“Crowley killed me when he killed Rowena,” Sam said. “Death came calling for my soul and made me an offer.”

“You sound like a bad mobster movie,” Dean told him. “What was the offer?”

“He said that the universe needed the Horsemen to be riding at all times. War, Pestilence and Famine were dead, thanks to us, and he had to have at least one other Horseman to keep the balance.” Sam watched Dean’s face.

“Why you?” It was a question Sam dreaded.

He rubbed his eyes. “I had nothing more to live for.” It was that simple. And that true.

“Sam.” Dean looked wrecked. “Goddammit you giant ass. You had everything to live for.”

“No, I didn’t.” Sam shook his head. “I didn’t have you.”

Dean closed his eyes. “You…I…”

“Dean, we both know that our relationship has always been dangerously unhealthy and interdependent.” Sam had to make him understand. “When you went darkside, I tried everything to get you back. And I mean everything.”

“You promised no more deals,” Dean said.

“I lied.” He held up a hand when it looked like Dean was going to start shouting again. “And let’s be real. You would have done the exact same fucking thing.”

Dean shut his mouth, glaring at him. “Whatever.” He didn’t refute it.

“So, having tried to make deals with every entity I could think of, I gave up.” Sam rolled his shoulders. “I’d learned magic that didn’t work, offered deals that no-one took, threatened angels who ignored me, made friends with a murderous knife, and I was still nowhere.”

“You took the deal,” Dean said.

“I took the deal.” Sam patted the Impala’s dashboard. “She got a supernatural fine-tuning as well. The steed of a Horseman has to be special.”

Dean looked affronted. “She’s my baby!”

Sam laughed. “She’ll always be yours, man. I may need to borrow her occasionally, is all.”

“Why?” Dean asked. “What sort of shit do you have to do?” He was skirting the real questions, the ones he clearly wanted to ask.

Sam let him. “When Death calls, I mount up and ride.” He stroked a thumb over the ring on his index finger. “It’s mostly about being seen,” he explained. “I’ve had to break up a couple of fights in Purgatory as well.” He met Dean’s gaze. “Benny says hi, by the way.”

Dean frowned, ignoring that for the moment. “But aren’t you supposed to create wars?”

“I’m not War,” Sam said. “I’m Peace.”

“What?” Dean looked even more confused. “There’s no Horseman called Peace.”

“That’s the name Death gave me,” Sam shrugged. “I’ve had a pretty good track record so far.”

Dean shook his head. “You know how fucked up crazy this sounds, right?”

Sam nodded. “Yup, about as crazy as you being a Knight of Hell for the past three years.”

“Touché,” Dean said. “So basically, you’re like the UN Peacekeepers in Horseman form?”

Trust Dean to break it down to the absurd. “You’re an idiot,” Sam said.

“Eh,” Dean shrugged. “Tell me more about the First Blade,” he asked. “We haven’t touched on that really.” He reached over to touch his tattoo.

“Crowley told me where to find Cain,” Sam said. He knew they had to get all this out of the way before they could move forward.

“Surprise, surprise,” Dean muttered. “Crowley betrayed his buddy.”

Sam shook his head. “No love lost between them at all,” he said. “Crowley was counting on either Cain killing me or me killing Cain. It was a win-win situation for him.”

Dean snorted. “I’m sure. Get rid of the persistent asshole trying to break his brother out of Hell or get rid of the psychopath with the knife that could kill him.”

“Exactly.” Sam shifted on the seat. “We should make a coffee stop sometime soon.”

“Okay,” Dean nodded. “What happened when you found Cain?”

Sam sighed. “I’d been studying with Rowena for about a year, had learned some serious magic, so I felt pretty confident.”

“Cocky,” Dean amended.

Sam laughed. “Yeah, that too. Cain let me in, told me that Lucifer wouldn’t allow him to die.” He shoved a hand through his hair. “By then, I suspected that Lucifer had something to do with your disappearance, so I thought if I killed Cain, then Lucifer would show up.”

“How the fuck did you kill him?” Dean asked as he took a left into a small gas station.

“With the First Blade,” Sam said.

Dean stopped the car, staring at him. “You got the jump on him?”

Shaking his head, Sam climbed out. “Nope, the Blade called to me.”

Dean leaned on the car, elbows on the roof as he frowned. “The Blade never said anything to me.” He stopped. “I mean, I felt the power but didn’t hear anything.”

Sam headed for the small store. “That’s because you, and Cain, were never meant to carry it.”

“Wait. What?” Dean hurried after him.

The bell chimed above the door as Sam pushed inside. He went to the large refrigeration units at the back, pulling out several bottles of water and a couple of cans of soda. “That’s why the Blade made you crazy,” he told Dean.

Dean paused in loading his arms full of candy bars. “Why?” A bag of Gummi Bears tumbled to the floor, but Dean was staring at Sam.

“The descendants of Cain were never meant to wield the Blade,” Sam said, grabbing a basket and tossing his goodies into it. He nudged Dean with it. Dean dropped his stash into the basket too, still looking at Sam. “The Blade was created by Adam for Abel. The Mark was formed on Cain when he killed Abel. They weren’t meant to be carried by the same person.”

“So how come Cain had it in the first place?” Dean asked, following Sam around the store and randomly adding more crap to the basket. Sam kept tossing things back. He wasn’t going to let Dean die from a junk food related heart attack the day after he got him back.

Sam stopped at the front counter, started unloading their haul. “Lucifer,” Sam said. The clerk’s startled expression made Sam stop saying anything more.

“You can’t just stop there,” Dean protested. Then noticed the clerk’s face. “Hey, we’re heading to an exorcism,” he said. Sam closed his eyes and took a breath, trying not to laugh. The clerk gave a nervous smile and rang up their purchases.

Sam handed his credit card over without a word. Dean peered over his shoulder. “How old’s that one?” he asked, looking at the card.

“I’ve had it about a year,” Sam said. Dean raised an eyebrow. “Haven’t had to get a new one. They leave me alone, remember?”

“Huh,” Dean said with a thoughtful nod. “That’s pretty useful.”

Sam grinned. Only Dean would consider Sam’s power as a Horseman as a useful tool for credit card fraud.

They gathered their booty, and Sam loaded it in the Impala while Dean filled her up. “Okay, so how did Lucifer get hold of the Blade?” Dean was back to the interrogation.

Sam rolled his shoulders, leaning against the car. “When Cain’s sacrifice was rejected, he stole the Blade from Abel, gave it to Cain. Cain took it and killed Abel with it.”

Sam tried to remember exactly what the First Blade had told him. “Apparently, the hilt was made from the Tree of Life so some part of the original creation juice was used.” He shrugged. “The Mark was created when Cain stabbed Abel, so some of the creation atoms got into the Mark and they sort of repel each other.”

“So how come they’re here?” Dean asked, holding up his arm.

Sam shook his head. “I have no idea,” he admitted. “The Blade said something about husband and wife and death and life. I’d have to ask someone much older than me.”

“Death would know,” Dean said with a scowl.

“Yeah, he’d know,” Sam agreed. Dean put the gas pump back in place with a thump. Sam ignored him.

He went back into the store to pay for the gas. The clerk didn’t meet his gaze. Sam stared at him. “You wearing a dead man?” Sam asked, keeping an eye on where Dean was.

The demon’s eyes flashed black. “Yes,” he said. “We have kept to our bargain.”

Sam’s smile was ice-cold. The demon flinched. “Good.” He tapped the side of his nose. “Let’s make sure it stays that way. Tell Crowley I say hello.”

He strolled out, whistling a little. Some days, it was actually pretty good to be Sam Winchester. He hadn’t felt like this for a long time.

Dean headed out as soon as Sam was back in the car. “What was that about?” he asked Sam.

“What?” Sam asked. Dean just looked at him. “The clerk was a demon,” Sam said. “I was just making sure he was sticking to the deal.”

Dean shook his head. “I don’t think anybody really understands what a scary mother-fucker you are,” he said.

Sam smirked. “Oh, I think a lot of folks understand that now.” He’d learned that a demonstration of power worked a million times better than words. And demons took a long time to have things sink in. Angels were a little smarter. He looked at his hands. “I had a lot of anger to work out.” He left it unsaid as to what he’d been so angry about.

Dean was silent for a while. Sam wondered what he was thinking about. He kept sneaking glances at him, unable to quite believe that Dean was back with him.

“You’re being creepy, dude,” Dean said without looking at him.

“Well, I could just keep touching you,” Sam offered. “You know, just until I can accept that it’s really you.”

“You just want to touch me,” Dean accused with a grin.

“That too,” Sam admitted.

The gaze Dean turned on him was a little heated. “Not yet, Sammy.” He took the sting away with a small smile. “We still have a few things to talk about before we get there.”

Sam nodded. “I know.”

“So now that you’re the Pink Power Ranger, what’s next?” Dean asked.

“What do you want to do?” Sam threw it back in Dean’s court. Dean had been without choice for the last while. Sam wanted to give it back to him. “A hunt? The bunker?”

Dean nodded. “I think the bunker first and then we’ll see which way the wind blows.” He drove back onto the road. “I really don’t want to hunt yet.” He glanced at Sam. “I’m not sure if I’ll ever want to hunt again.”

“Okay,” Sam said. “Then that’s what we’ll do.” He was looking forward to some downtime. Spending it with Dean was just the juicy cherry on a ridiculously awesome cake.

“Okay.” Dean pointed the Impala north. They were going home.

The bunker greeted them with flashing lights and warm gusts of steam. Dean freaked out a little.

“Oh.” Sam smacked his forehead. “I meant to tell you that the bunker got a power-up too.” He smiled apologetically at Dean. “Apparently, Horsemen need something a little more than normal to call home.”

Dean cautiously made his way down the stairs to the huge table in the center of the room. “Thanks for nothing, dipshit.” He turned in a slow circle, taking it all in. “Damn, it’s good to be home.”

Sam leaned against a pillar, arms folded. “The feeling is mutual I think.” He pushed away from the pillar. “I’ve left your room as is,” he said. “I gave up on finding you, but I never wanted to forget you.”

“Aw, Sammy, you make me blush,” Dean grinned. Sam showed his middle finger with a smile.

“Hungry?” Sam asked.

“Always.” Dean headed for his room, probably to make sure Sam hadn’t polluted it in some way. “Feed me, Seymour, feed me!”

Sam shook his head with a laugh. He kept waiting to wake up and realize this was all a dream.

“Hello, Sam.” The dry as dust voice startled him.

He saw Death sitting in one of the easy chairs in the library. “What are you doing here?” he asked. Maybe he was being rude, but he’d just got home. A little break from all the crazy wasn’t too much to ask, was it?

“Now, that’s impolite, Sam,” Death chided. He extended a bony finger to the chair opposite him. “Sit. Please.”

Sam wanted to mutiny, but he knew the oldest Horseman wasn’t the sort to mess around. He sat.

“Dean looks well,” Death noted. “As do you. It seems having your brother in your life does wonders for your health.”

Sam knew there was a reason for this visit. He just needed Death to get to it before Dean came back. “It feels great,” he said.

Death tilted his head to the side, just slightly. It made Sam think of a crow. The shade of a cowl draped him, sickle held lightly under his hand, cleverly disguised within the walking cane. “You understand that Dean’s life is now finite?” He watched Sam’s face closely, a tiny smirk curving the corners of his razor thin lips.

“I’m trying not to think about it,” Sam gritted. The pro of being a Horseman was that he was immortal. The con of being a Horseman was that he was immortal.

“I can fix that,” Death stated, examining his nails closely.

Sam narrowed his gaze. “You’re offering Dean a deal?”

“No, Sam, I’m offering you a deal for Dean.” Death propped his hands on the cane. “You have a choice to make. Accept my deal and have Dean with you forever. Refuse and endure eternity alone.”

“Well, that sounds like a lovely proposition.” Dean’s sarcastic drawl had Sam whipping around. He’d been so focused on Death that he hadn’t been aware of Dean’s return.

“Always delightful to see you, Dean.” Death smiled, and Sam was surprised to see that it appeared genuine. “You are truly my favorite mortal.”

Sam felt his eyes sting. It seemed there was someone else out there who saw just how special Dean truly was. The oldest being in the universe wasn’t a bad guy to have on their side.

“You won’t be pissed off if I don’t say the same?” Dean asked, but he had a curve to his mouth that belied the statement. “How’re you doing, Death?”

“I’ve been better, I’ve been worse,” Death replied. Sam felt like he’d stepped into an alternate universe when Dean and Death were best buds and getting ready to paint the town red.

“Sam said you saved his life,” Dean said. “Gotta thank you for that.”

Death inclined his head. “I can honestly say it was a pleasure. Sam’s tenure as the Horseman of Peace has already changed the landscape of the world.”

Dean sent an enquiring look Sam’s way. “Oh really?”

“Indeed.” Death waved Dean over. “I suppose, since you’re here, you might as well hear my offer to Sam.”

Dean perched on the arm of the chair that Sam was sitting in. “Don’t you mean your offer to me?”

Death shook his head. “I’m afraid this is a choice that only Sam can make.”

“If it concerns me, then surely I should…”

Death held up a hand. “Sam can certainly consult with you, Dean. But no. The deal is not for you.”

“So make it already.” Dean leaned against Sam, resting much of his weight against him.

“Ever impatient,” Death reproved. “Sam has many years of life yet, there is no need to rush his decision.” Sam could see the gleam in Death’s eyes. The crafty bastard was up to something.

“Come on,” Sam said. “Stop pausing for dramatic effect and let’s hear the deal.”

“Your brother is a terrible influence on you,” Death muttered. “Very well. I propose this: your brother is human. He will die long before you. If you wish him to join you in eternity then I can make it happen.”

Dean put a hand on Sam’s shoulder. “What’s the catch?”

Death ignored him, looking only at Sam. “Do you wish this?”

“Of course,” Sam said immediately, “but I know you. You never give something for nothing.” He and Dean had learned this lesson the hard way.

“So suspicious.” Death pointed his cane at Sam. “Good. No deal should ever be taken at face value. Remember that whenever you are brokering peace.”

“Seriously, what do you want from me?” Sam asked, heart racing. The chance to live forever, with Dean, was being dangled before him like a carrot and he was leaping for it like the proverbial donkey.

“I want you to help me create a new Horseman.” He nodded towards Dean. “Your brother would make an excellent War.”

Sam snorted a laugh. “War and Peace? Literal brothers?” He shook his head. “No. Dean has had enough war in his life. He deserves to enjoy the rest of it. Ow!”

He glared up at Dean who had just jabbed him with a hard finger.

“Douchebag, don’t make my choices for me.” Dean’s eyes glittered with anger. “I’m sick of people making decisions for me. Choices I have no control over.”

“Death said I had to make the call,” Sam protested.

“After discussing it with me, fucknut!” Dean stood up. “I’m not keen on being War though,” he admitted.

Death shrugged. “Who do you want to be?” He sounded slightly curious. Sam hated that his cards were so carefully held to his scrawny chest.

“Can’t I a pick a new name?” Dean asked. “Like Thunder or Krypton.”

Death’s expression was priceless. Sam dropped his face into his hands, shaking with laughter. “You are such a moron,” he wheezed.

Dean looked pretty proud of himself. “It’s a gift,” he agreed.

Death looked between them. “I’m terrified to think that the fate of the universe is in the hands of either of you.”

“Hey!” Sam protested. “You came to me remember, not the other way around.”

Death sighed. “Sadly, true. I had so few choices.” He looked at Sam. “So, now I pass the choice to you.”

“Can he be something new?” Sam asked. “A new Horseman?”

Death nodded. “It must be something that has existed before time.”

“Time!” Sam exclaimed. “Can he be that?” It was the perfect choice. Dean would be incredible at it.

Death’s mouth curled. “Oh, Sam Winchester, even now you confound and delight me.” He slanted his gaze to Dean. “Is that option acceptable?”

Sam stood up, walked to where Dean was standing, staring at them. “I know he says it’s my choice. But it’s all up to you, Dean.”

Dean’s eyes were a little wild. “Giving me power over time is a dumb as shit idea, Sammy.” Sam felt a clench of love deep inside him.

Sam shook his head. “Nobody would be more careful not to abuse that power.” He put his hands on Dean’s shoulders. “I trust you, Dean.”

Dean met his gaze. “You’re an idiot.” But his tone was affectionate. “Okay, let’s do this.”

“Uh…” Sam said.

“Uh…what?” Dean asked.

“What your articulate sibling is trying to share with you is that in order for us to transform you, you have to die.” Death looked entirely too happy with the thought.

“Uh…” Dean said. He looked at Sam. “Seriously? I just came back from three years as Lucifer’s meatsuit, and you want to kill me?”

Sam watched Dean ranting at Death for a while. It always surprised him how the most unlikely people found Dean fascinating. Death and Benny were only two in a very long line of friends Dean had made over the years.

“I’m not asking you,” Death repeated, mouth thin with irritation. “I can kill you with the click of a finger.”

“And I can kick your ass!” Dean yelled.

Death’s glare was icy. Sam thought maybe it was time he stepped in. “You’ll be dead for like, seconds, man,” he tried to reassure Dean.

Dean pulled his jacket off and threw it across the room. “How about not killing me at all?” He propped his fists on his hips. “Huh? How about just doing your mojo and making it so!” He waved one hand around in the air like a wand.

“What is that on your arm?” Death froze, eyes fixed on the Mark and Blade tattoo.

Dean looked down. “This?” He poked at it. “This is what Sam left me with after he got rid of Lucifer.”

“Well,” Death sat back in his chair. “That certainly changes things.”

Sam frowned. “Why?” he asked. “It’s just a tattoo now, no real power there anymore.”

Death gave a disappointed sigh. “No, that’s where you’re wrong. It isn’t just a tattoo, Sam.” Sam felt a little sick. He had no idea what was coming next but Death’s expression didn’t bode well.

“Then what is it?” Dean demanded.

“It appears that thanks to your new body art, you cannot be made into a Horseman,” Death said, pushing himself to his feet. “Well, that settles our business then. I shall take my leave.”

“Wait!” Sam put up a hand to stop him. “You can’t just say that and then leave.” He felt sick and terrified. “What do you mean?”

“I cannot promise something that has already been given,” Death said. “I have no leverage and, it appears, no bargain worth offering.”

“What?” Dean frowned. “What do you mean ‘already been given’.” The air-quotes that accompanied the question made Sam want to giggle entirely inappropriately.

Death closed his eyes. Sam wondered if he was praying for strength. It was an expression Sam had often seen when Dean was around. “Sam didn’t mention that the Mark of Cain and the First Blade had finally joined forces.” He sent Sam a reproving glance. “They haven’t been one since Lucifer first tore them apart.”

Sam was stunned. “Why didn’t you tell me that would happen?”

“Well, it could be that you didn’t bother asking,” Death said, arching an eyebrow. “You’re a Horseman, not an oracle.”

Sam tried to wrap his head around this new information. “So what you’re saying is that Dean is already immortal?”

“What?” Dean said again. “I’m what?”

“Give me the strength to soar with eagles when I’m surrounded by turkeys,” Death muttered, looking heavenward as though he’d get some answers there.

“Please,” Sam asked, “can you tell us what that tattoo means.” He pointed to it on Dean’s arm. “I assumed that their power was gone once that happened.”

Death shook his head. “Dormant, not gone,” he corrected. “The Mark and the Blade cannot be destroyed. The Lord’s own work is in their make-up.” He smiled without humor. “Dean is now made of the particles of the first creation.”

Dean sat down abruptly. “So, I’m God?”

Death looked appalled. “Dear lord, no!” He touched a finger to the tattoo. It flared up brightly and Dean flinched. “Sam, now you touch it,” Death ordered.

Sam put his hand out, touched the tattoo, and saw Dean scrunch his eyes closed in anticipation. Nothing happened. “I don’t understand,” Sam said, looking back at Death. “Why did the tattoo ignite when you touched it and not when I did?”

“Did it hurt?” Death asked Dean instead.

“No,” Dean shook his hand. “Just a flash of heat but it didn’t actually hurt.” Sam was relieved. He really hoped that whatever he’d done or changed in Dean wasn’t going to give him pain.

“What does that mean?” Sam persisted.

Death picked up his hat, placed it carefully on his head at just the perfect angle. “It means that the two of you will be together for eternity.” He shook his head. “I feel desperately sorry for the world of mankind.”

“But we were able to kill the other Horsemen,” Dean said. “That means Sam isn’t actually immortal, doesn’t it?” He’d clearly been thinking about Sam’s position.

Death gave Dean an approving nod. “Indeed,” he said. He tapped Dean’s arm and the tattoo flickered. “I however, chose not to bring them back.” He smiled. “Sam has proved himself already. It would be foolish of me to not keep him around.”

“Did you know?” Sam probed.

“Know what?” Death’s mouth curved a little.

“Know that I would find him?” Sam asked.

“I knew that if anyone could, you would,” Death replied. “You have both spent so much of your lives protecting the helpless, hunting the monsters, being hunted by the monsters, that I’m happy to give you some respite.”

Sam nodded. “The monsters don’t come near me anymore.” He looked at Dean. “I’m guessing they won’t bother him either?”

“Indeed.” Death tapped Dean’s cheek with his cane. “The earth is now your domain, boys. Don’t ruin it.” And he was gone.

They stood there for a minute or so, trying to take in everything that had just happened.

“So….” Dean said.

“So….” Sam said.

“Burgers?” Dean raised his eyebrows.

“That sounds perfect.” Sam knew they needed to talk about this more, figure out what they were going to do.

Just not right now.

Right now, he wanted to follow his brother to the kitchen and watch him whistle as he prepared their dinner.

Right now, he wanted to bask in the fact that Dean was here, whole, healthy, alive.

Right now, he wanted to press a kiss to the nape of Dean’s neck and mark him as his own.

“Do you want to handle the vegetable portion of the meal?” Dean’s voice broke into Sam’s thoughts. He flushed a little, hoping that Dean couldn’t actually read thoughts. They’d have to figure out what other ‘extras’, if any, Dean had been given, apart from immortality.

“Sure,” Sam agreed, heading to the fridge. “Green salad?”

“Hell no!” Dean exclaimed. “Some tomato & lettuce is about all the rabbit food we need on these puppies.” The patty made a satisfying slap into the pan.

Sam winced. “Please don’t refer to our burgers as puppies.”

Dean’s grin was lightning bright as he slapped the next one down. “Come on, Sammy, you know these will be ready in a heartbeat. Get your ass in gear.” He whipped the dishcloth at Sam.

Sam took out some burger buns, slathered them with mayo and ketchup and quickly chopped some onions. “Add these to the pan,” he told Dean, passing them over. Dean tossed them in, giving them a flip as they sizzled.

Sam took out a large tomato and a bag of lettuce. He made quick work of cutting the tomato into slices. The lettuce was already shredded so it was just a matter of waiting on Dean.

He leaned back against the kitchen counter. “So much for having a relaxing day at the bunker,” he said.

Dean looked back at him over his shoulder. “Never a dull moment,” he agreed. “I guess we should talk about what the hell I am now.”

“I don’t care what you are, man, I just care that you’re you again.” He needed Dean to believe that.

“Am I though?” Dean turned back to the pan. “Am I me?” He sounded uncertain. Sam wasn’t going to let that pass. He kicked out at Dean’s calf, making Dean’s leg collapse a little. “Ow! What the fuck, dude?” His eyes were wide and aggrieved.

“Stop being an idiot.” Sam crossed his arms over his chest. “I’ve lived with you most of my life. Trust me, you’re you.”

Dean made a show of rubbing his calf, but Sam spotted the small smile as he turned back to the burgers. “Eh, you’re just happy to have me to bitch at again.”

“I’m just happy.” Sam wasn’t able to joke about this. “Being with you makes me happy.” And it was utterly true. Dean drove him nuts, pissed him off, but Sam had wanted to die when he contemplated life without him.

“Stop emoting all over the place, Sammy,” Dean complained, bumping his shoulder against Sam’s. “You’re such a big baby.”

And Sam kissed his stupid smiling mouth, just to get him to shut up.

Dean froze for a heartbeat and Sam panicked. When he moved to pull back, Dean grabbed him.

“Sorry,” Sam gasped. “I know we said we were going to talk about it first.” He had an internal freak-out as Dean stared at him.

“Shut up.” Dean’s voice was low. “Just stop talking, okay?”

Sam met Dean’s gaze, swallowed hard. He waited for Dean to talk.

“You understand that the way we feel about each other isn’t normal, right?” Dean asked, his eyes very serious.

“Yeah,” Sam agreed. Dean had said “we”, which confirmed that Sam wasn’t alone in this and the kiss a couple of days ago wasn’t a fluke.

“So, that being said, maybe we need to set some boundaries.” Sam’s heart sank. Could be he’d read too much into things.

“Okay.” Whatever Dean wanted, Sam was ready to give. It didn’t matter how little or how much.

“Oh my god,” Dean laughed. “You look like someone just killed your kitten! Lighten up Sammy, we’re about to get everything we ever wanted.”

Sam opened his mouth to respond when Dean swore and spun back to the stove. “Dammit, the burgers!” He managed to salvage them, sliding them and the onions onto the prepared buns. Sam stood in silence, afraid to speak or move.

Dean glanced at him. “Come on, dude. Let’s eat, then we can have the emo boy talk you love so much.” He picked up the plates and led them out of the kitchen.

Sam took a deep breath and followed him through to the table. Dean sat at the head and put Sam’s plate down to his left. Sam sat down carefully, watched as Dean lay into his burger. It was a fascinatingly revolting thing to see. It was also disturbingly riveting.

Sam lifted his burger, took a bite. It was good, and Sam realized suddenly that he was starving. They ate in happy silence, demolishing their food in double time.

Dean finished first, leaned back and patted his belly. “That was a great burger,” he announced.

Sam swallowed his last bite, nodding. His entire childhood was filled with memories of Dean feeding him. It made his throat close up as the thought of not having this again made him shake.

“Sam.” Dean put a hand on his arm. “I’m not going anywhere. You’re stuck with me now.” He grinned. “For all eternity!”

“That sounds more like a threat than a promise,” Sam croaked, striving for levity.

“Look, we still have a lot of shit to figure out,” Dean said. He pushed his plate away from him, leaned on the table with both elbows. “I still need to know what being a Horseman means for you.”

Sam swallowed hard. “It means….”

Dean held up a hand. “Not right now.” He sighed. “Then there’s what crap I did while I was Lucifer’s bitch.”

Sam could answer that one easily enough. “You weren’t on earth until the last three months or so.” Dean looked at him in question. “Crowley made sure you were out of reach from the get-go,” he explained.

“So this time around, Crowley kept me in Hell as his bitch?” Dean’s eyes glittered. “I am so going to enjoy ending that asshole.”

Sam felt sick saying the next words, but he had to. “We can’t kill him, Dean.”

Dean’s disbelieving expression made the nausea churn in Sam’s stomach. “Why the hell not?” he demanded. “Don’t I deserve a little payback?”

“Absolutely,” Sam agreed. “But right now, Crowley is keeping to his side of our bargain. I can’t go back on it.”

“Bargain?” Dean spat, all the comfort of the past few minutes gone. “You made a bargain with the fucking King of Hell?”

“What part of ‘I was desperate’ did you not get, Dean?” Sam asked. “Besides, when I made the bargain with Crowley, it wasn’t about you.” Dean was still his big brother, but Sam wasn’t a kid any more.

Dean’s eyes narrowed. “Really?” His skepticism hurt Sam in a way few things could these days. “Nothing to do with me?”

Sam rubbed his eyes. “Remember I told you about my kill list?” Dean nodded. “The top two, Crowley and Metatron, I told them they had to agree to stop their stupid war or I would step in.” That had been one of the toughest things he’d ever done. Having those two dicks in the same room, within reach, after all they’d done had been almost too tempting to resist.

Dean stared at him. “You’d step in?” He repeated.

“Horseman, remember?” Sam pointed at his chest. “Apparently that was enough to get them to play nice.”

“You brokered peace between Heaven and Hell.” Dean sounded dumbfounded. “You. Sam Winchester?” He seemed to have forgotten about being pissed at Sam.

Sam sighed. This was going to get pretty tired pretty fast. “Dean. You need to stop thinking of me as your baby brother.” He needed Dean to understand this. “I’m not the same person you left behind three years ago. I spent that time becoming the scariest motherfucker I could possibly be so that I could save you. And when that didn’t work, I took on a job that gives me more power than any being on earth, in Heaven or in Hell.” He paused. “Well, except for Death,” he amended. “Death’s pretty much the baddest ass in the universe.”

“Whoa.” Dean shook his head. “I’m trying to get with the program here, Sammy, but it’s a little hard changing your worldview in a matter of days.” Sam wasn’t going to point out that Dean had missed years of Sam’s life. Not when it meant that Dean would remember why.

“I’m still Sam.” He leaned forward, opened his hands. “I’m still the person who puts you above everything.” He bit his lip. “Death gave me so much shit about my ‘agenda’.” That had been a fun conversation.

“Huh?” Dean frowned.

“He knew I’d taken on the job at my lowest point,” Sam explained. He stood up, started pacing. Moving helped when he felt too big for his skin. “He worried about me abusing the power of the Horseman. So, most of the time, my power is dormant. It doesn’t manifest until the situation calls for it.”

“Like banishing Lucifer?” Dean stood too, came over to him. “Can I see them?” he asked.

“Them?” The change of topic confused Sam.

“The tattoos.” Dean said. “I remember the tattoos were like living things.”

Sam nodded, shrugging off his shirt. “They’re not part of the Horseman shtick. I had them done while studying magic with Rowena. They activate when I touch the earth,” he said. “But now, my blood, the earth, the incantation, all work together to call up my power.”

Dean’s fingers were feather-lite as he followed the spirals and curves of Sam’s tattoos. “What do they mean?” he asked quietly.

“Death said they acted like a shield.” Sam’s heart was beating so loudly he was sure Dean could hear it. “They keep my power in check until I need it.”

“When you confronted Cas.” Dean still wasn’t looking at Sam. “I saw a crown, like a shadow on your head.”

Sam put his hand on Dean’s, pressed his palm to the tattoo at the bend of his elbow. “It’s what I am now, Dean. It’s not who I am though.” The skin beneath Dean’s palm went hot, and Sam could feel the power uncoiling.

“So who are you then?”

“Yours.” It was just that simple. Sam dropped his defenses and let Dean see right to the heart of him. “I’ve always been yours, Dean.”

Dean dipped his head, pressed a soft kiss to where the tattoos moved restlessly beneath Sam’s skin. “Okay,” he whispered, his mouth damp and hot.

“Dean,” Sam breathed his name like a benediction.

Dean lifted his gaze. “I think I’ve talked more in the past two days than in the past ten years.” His mouth quirked. “I’m tired of talking.”

“What…” Sam cleared his throat. Dean’s lips were still brushing the sensitive flesh of his arm. “What do you want to do then?”

“I want to lay you down on the nearest surface and wreck you.” Dean’s growl sent Sam shuddering. “I want to take you apart, piece by piece until I’m right at the heart of you, and then I want to put you back together in a way that tells everyone that you’re mine.”

Sam stood still, body shaking. The words punched through him like blistering arrows. “Okay.” He would let Dean do whatever he wanted. It had pretty much been his default since he was a baby.

Dean took a step closer, right up into Sam’s space. “So, can I kiss you, Sammy?” His breath puffed against Sam’s skin. His eyes were very intent on him. Being the recipient of Dean’s entire focus would once have made Sam jittery. Now it just made him want.

“You’d better do something,” Sam murmured. “I don’t know how much longer I can hold on.” It was as though the heat had ratcheted up to a thousand degrees.

Dean lifted a hand, plunged his fingers into Sam’s hair and tugged, forcing Sam to expose his throat. “All that power inside you,” Dean whispered, his lips sucking a mark against Sam’s neck. “All that power, and it belongs to me.”

Sam trembled. His entire being was centered on that one spot where Dean’s mouth and teeth were pressed. “I need…” Sam gasped.

“Me.” Dean’s voice was a rasp across Sam’s throat.

“Yes.” All the might in the universe was nothing when measured against how Dean made him feel. Sam had been a Horseman for a year, and the flood of magic that flew through his body when he donned the mantle was nothing to the way his body surrendered to Dean.

“Sam.” Dean’s eyes were open and fixed on him.

“Anything,” Sam swore. “I will give you anything, just don’t stop.” He felt like every atom in his body was breaking up into smaller and smaller pieces. And Dean held every single one of them in his hand.

Dean stepped back, waited as Sam fought for control. “Look at me,” he ordered.

Sam’s closed eyes were wet. He’d been handed everything he’d ever wanted on a platter, but he was too afraid to take it. “I can’t,” he whispered.

“Sammy,” Dean’s voice was a breeze across Sam’s skin. “Don’t you think we’ve waited long enough?”

Sam forced his eyes open. “We haven’t talked about this,” he hedged. “Before…” he swallowed hard because Dean’s eyes were glittering and his pupils were dilated. “Before you left, you never said anything about…” he waved a hand between them.

“And you were all up in this?” Dean raised an eyebrow, indicating himself from top to toe. “When do you think it would have been okay for me to ask you if you were interested in a non-platonic relationship?”

Sam snorted a laugh. “It would have been awkward,” he agreed. Dean moved in again, and Sam put a hand on his chest. “So what’s different now?” he asked, soft and careful. They couldn’t fuck this up. It was forever they were talking about. There was no room for misunderstandings.

“I was a demon, you’re a Horseman, I’m immortal…” Dean quipped. He stopped smiling when he saw Sam’s face. “I’m kidding,” he said. “Are you really going to make me say it?” He sounded about five years old, all petulance and pouting.

Sam nodded. “I think I need to hear it as much as you need to say it.” He held his breath.

Dean scrubbed a hand over his face. “Can’t you just accept it for what it is?” he begged. “I want to be with you.”

“Good start,” Sam said. “Not enough.”

Dean threw his hands up and stalked away. “God!” He spun back to face Sam. “Fine! I’ve loved you all my life. You’re the only person I want to see every single day. I want you to be the person I say goodnight to and the one I kiss good morning. Is that enough of a statement for you?”

Sam felt his mouth stretching with a beaming smile.

Dean was scowling at him. “I hate you,” he grumbled.

“No you don’t.” Sam was finally, completely sure. “You love me.”

“God, could you be more of a girl about this?” Dean looked about ready to explode.

So Sam kissed him.

Kissing Dean felt different now. It felt honest, real.

Dean made a noise at the back of his throat. It made Sam hard. He brought his hands up and held Dean’s face between them, moving him into a position that Sam felt was more comfortable. Dean was pliant, malleable for the first time that Sam could remember. His hands rested on Sam’s hips, fingers digging in just a little, just enough to let Sam know that Dean was as desperate as Sam was.

Sam opened his mouth; let the tip of his tongue touch the seam of Dean’s lips. He waited, prepared to move at whatever pace Dean was okay with.

Dean had other ideas. Once he was in, he was clearly all in. He pulled Sam closer, tilted his head even more and tongue-kissed Sam deeply.

Sam held on, Dean’s body a hot, hard line against his. He’d never thought he’d get this. “Dean,” he breathed his name into Dean’s mouth.

Dean caught Sam’s lower lip between his teeth. Sam actually whimpered. Dean pulled away. “I think we need to take this somewhere a little more…”

“Horizontal?” Sam suggested.

Dean snorted a laugh. ”You’re such a romantic sap, Sammy.”

Sam manhandled Dean towards his room. Dean balked. “Hey! How come we’re going to your place?” he complained. “Why can’t it be my place?”

Sam kissed him hard and fast. “Because your place has been empty for the past three years, and mine at least has clean-ish sheets.”

Dean considered that for a moment and then nodded. “Fair enough,” he conceded. “Let’s do this.”

“Now who’s being the romantic sap?” Sam asked as he pushed his room door open.

Dean stopped at the threshold of the room. “What?” Sam asked.

Dean shrugged. “Just feels like we should take a moment, you know?” He looked around the room. “I mean, this is a big fucking deal.”

Sam knew that Dean felt things far deeper than he pretended. Dean didn’t give his heart easily. His body was an entirely different matter. “It is,” he agreed. He went to his bed, sat down and looked at Dean.

Waited.

Dean took a deep breath and stepped into the room. Sam watched his eyes. Watched them move with hunter detachment around the space. He had no doubt that Dean spotted the framed photo on his bedside table. It was one Bobby had taken of the two of them when they were still kids. Faces burnt in the sun, eyes closed and mouths open with laughter.

“Okay.” Dean squared his shoulders.

Sam smiled at him, leaned back on his hands, and watched Dean’s eyes go dark. “You look a little like you’re heading for your execution,” he observed.

Dean stepped closer, eyes roaming over Sam’s skin. “I feel like I could maybe be dying,” he admitted. He pulled his shirt off, stepping a little nearer. “I haven’t done this in a while.”

“Done what?” Sam asked, patiently waiting for Dean to come to him.

Dean flapped his hand around a little. “Uh, you know, with a guy?”

Sam shrugged one shoulder, pleased to see Dean’s eyes follow the movement. “It’s like riding a bike,” he said, mouth quirking. He filed the information that apparently Dean had slept with a guy before away for a later time. Right now, he was focused on Dean.

Dean laughed. “You are so full of shit.” And then he was standing between Sam’s legs, staring down at Sam. “God, I should be freaking out more,” he said. “But all I want to do is fuck you up.”

Sam lay back, spread out over the bed. “Go ahead,” he said. “I can take whatever you dish out.”

Dean toed out of his boots, leaned down and ran his tongue softly over Sam’s navel. “Now, Sammy, that sounds like a challenge to me.”

Sam felt gooseflesh breaking out over his body. He propped his hands under his head, flexing his abdomen. Dean made a noise against his skin. “Go for it,” Sam urged.

Dean knelt down between Sam’s legs, hands resting on Sam’s thighs. “It’s a problem,” he said, inching his palms upwards.

“What is?” Sam asked, trying to keep still.

“I’m not sure where I want to start,” Dean murmured, fingers brushing the inside of Sam’s thigh.

Sam felt his muscles quiver, sparks trailing Dean’s fingers. “Just fucking start,” he ordered.

“Hush now, Sammy,” Dean crooned into his skin. “I’m thinking.”

Sam felt like he was dying. The feather-soft touches were driving him crazy. “How about less thinking and more doing?” he gasped.

Dean’s smile was pure evil as he rubbed his palm over Sam’s crotch. “Little desperate are we?”

“Fuck you,” Sam gritted, trying to keep his hips still. Giving Dean the satisfaction of seeing him helpless was not high on his list of current priorities.

“Only if you ask very, very nicely.” Dean’s mouth now hovered perilously close to Sam’s dick. “Well hello there,” He made an approving noise as he tackled Sam’s belt. “You look happy to see me.”

Sam flopped back onto the bed, fingers now clenched in his hair. “Stop talking to my dick.” He didn’t sound quite as commanding as he’d hoped.

Dean made a scoffing noise as he slid Sam’s zipper down. “Well, someone needs to.” He patted the front of Sam’s jeans. “You’re clearly neglecting him.”

“God, you are so…” Sam stuttered when Dean’s warm, damp breath skated over the fabric covering his cock.

“Amazing?” Dean’s eyes went wide. “Astounding? Remarkable? The god of all things?” He pushed Sam’s boxers down, freeing his dick so that it bounced up against his stomach, red and drooling precome.

“I am going to end you,” Sam threatened. He promptly lost the capacity to think when Dean’s hot, hot mouth slid over the head.

Sam wasn’t a proud man. He’d be the first to admit that he’d made mistakes in his life. But whatever deity that he’d pleased to be here, now, like this, he was entirely prepared to swear eternal fealty to. Dean sucked him down, his lips soft on Sam’s length. When the head of Sam’s cock hit the back of Dean’s throat, Sam couldn’t do a thing to stop the rush of come.

He shouted, trying to thrust his hips at Dean, but Dean held him in place with one arm braced over his belly. Sam thought he’d gone blind until he realized that his eyes were closed. Dean still suckled at the tip of Sam’s dick, milking every last drop.

Sam pushed at his shoulder. “My turn,” he croaked. His cock was sensitive, almost sore as Dean moved back.

He shoved his jeans and boxers off, scooting up on the bed. His eyes roved greedily over Dean’s body as he stripped. “God, you…”

Dean looked up at him. “Don’t get mushy on me, princess,” he warned and pounced.

Sam fell back with a laugh, arms full of a very naked Dean. He rolled them quickly so that Dean was beneath him. He looked down at Dean’s smiling face. He looked younger suddenly, eyes crinkled at the corner, and very bright.

“What do you like?” he asked Dean.

“Anything, everything.” Dean’s hands dug into the meat of Sam’s ass. “But I’m not expecting anything much. You just came your brains out.” He looked entirely too pleased with himself.

Sam dipped his head to kiss him. It was filthy and wet and messy and wonderful. When he lifted up, Dean’s eyes were glazed over. “I have a short recovery period,” he assured Dean.

“Who taught you to kiss like that?” Dean sounded like he was going to go out and shoot the person responsible.

Sam smirked. “I’ve had a little practice.”

Dean growled and tried to buck Sam off, but gravity was on Sam’s side and he just made his body go lax and heavy. “Sam.” His name was a warning.

“Whatcha gonna do, Dean?” Sam undulated against Dean, watching as his face went slack. “You’re immortal, but I’m a Horseman.”

Dean’s eyes flashed. “I’ll show you…” Sam whispered a spell and his tattoos started moving. Dean’s eyes went wide. “What the fuck?”

The ropes of black, red and silver oozed across Sam’s skin, slithering further down his arms until some of them were pressed to Dean’s skin. A couple of coils slipped off Sam’s arms, moving like some sort of alien Slinky onto Dean’s chest.

“They want to touch you as much as I do,” Sam bent to suck on Dean’s nipple. Dean gasped, thrust up against him.

“Goddammit!” Dean sounded wrecked. The tattoos slinked across his skin, swirling around his arms, over his chest. One strand of silver glided down to twist around Dean’s cock.

“Hold on tight,” Sam murmured against Dean’s lips. He closed his eyes, concentrated and the power sang inside him. Dean moaned; his dick hard against Sam’s belly. “Tell me what it feels like?” Sam forced his eyes open again, not wanting to miss any of Dean’s reactions.

Dean looked like he was punch-drunk, eyes hazy and mouth open. “Feels amazing,” he slurred, lifting his legs and wrapping them around Sam’s hips.

Sam ran a hand down the length of Dean’s side, reaching between them, and enfolding Dean’s cock in his fist. The tattoos moved over his fingers, around them, beneath them as Sam jacked Dean slowly. “God, you’re so fucking gorgeous like this,” Sam breathed into Dean’s mouth.

“Stop being so fucking careful.” Dean tried to glare at Sam but it was clearly an effort. He was panting heavily now, cheeks flushed and mouth hanging open.

Sam slid his hand down behind Dean’s balls, the tip of his thumb running over Dean’s rim. The clench of muscle made him smile. “I don’t want to hurt you.” He met Dean’s gaze. “I want this to work.” They hadn’t talked about this, negotiated for this. Sam wanted to be inside Dean more than he wanted to breathe, but he wouldn’t do anything Dean didn’t want. Too much had been taken from Dean. Sam wasn’t going to be someone adding to that tally.

Dean lifted a hand, digging his fingers into Sam’s hair and yanking his head back. “I’m. Not. Going. Anywhere.” The words were gritted out.

Sam stared at Dean. He saw the conviction in his brother’s eyes and believed. “Do you want me to…?” he asked, pressing against Dean’s hole.

“God, yes, just fuck me already,” Dean groaned.

Sam let Dean go, rolling off him to scramble to his bedside table. He grabbed the tube of lubricant and rooted around for a condom. “Fuck!” He couldn’t find one.

“What?” Dean wasn’t looking at Sam, he was writhing on the bed with a hand on his cock.

“Stop that!” Sam ordered, fumbling for his wallet. “I can’t find a condom.” He couldn’t stop staring at Dean. “Shit, if you could just see yourself right now.”

Dean waved his other hand towards his jeans. “Should be a rubber in my wallet.” Sam stifled the jealousy. This wasn’t the time. He’d just have to make sure Dean wouldn’t ever look at anyone again.

He lunged towards Dean’s jeans on the floor, fumbled the wallet out and almost crowed with triumph when he found the condom. He stumbled back to the bed, dropping the condom and lube beside Dean as he covered Dean’s hand with his own. Dean’s head dropped back, his body a long, lovely arch as he thrust into Sam’s hand.

Dean felt around for the lube. He shoved it at Sam. “Start prepping, man. I’m about ready to explode.” The good thing about being with a guy, Sam thought, was that there was no need for pretty speeches. Dean was even more pushy than most.

Sam took his hand off Dean’s cock, squeezing some lube onto his fingers. It was pretty messy, but Sam didn’t give a shit. He reached down once more, pressing the tip of his index finger into Dean. The tight ring of muscle gave reluctantly, making Dean grunt. “Tell me if it hurts,” Sam commanded.

“Not a girl. Won’t break,” Dean clenched his jaw and bore down on Sam’s finger, forcing it further inside him. “Just get on with it.”

Sam snorted. “Gee, Dean, when you say it like that, I seriously can’t wait.”

Dean glared at him. “Are you going to be like this all the time?”

Sam shrugged. “Maybe, depends on my mood.” He moved his finger, trying to get Dean looser.

“Like if it’s your perio….ahhh!” Dean yelped when Sam crooked his finger, brushing against the bundle of nerves that lit him up.

“Yeah,” Sam grinned. “That’s the spot.” He pressed a second finger in while Dean was distracted.

The hairy eyeball Dean gave him said that he hadn’t been that distracted. “A little impatient?” Dean asked, trying for cocky but the breathlessness sort of ruined it.

Sam met his gaze. “Yes.”

Dean lifted a hand, wrapped his palm over the back of Sam’s neck and pulled him down for a brief, scorching kiss. “Better get moving then,” he breathed against Sam’s mouth.

Sam stopped wasting time. He spread his fingers, opening Dean up quickly. He added a third and fourth finger in quick succession, enthralled at how mouthy Dean was getting. Sam was used to seeing Dean in control when it came to sex. But here, on this bed, impaled on his baby brother’s hand, Dean was a babbling mess who writhed on the sheets and cursed with increasing desperation as Sam fingered him open.

It was a heady rush of a different kind of power. Sam decided that he’d get addicted to it as quickly as breathing.

“I’m ready.” Dean cuffed Sam’s shoulder. “C’mon, fuck, Sammy, c’mon, fuck me.”

Sam scrabbled with the condom packet, swearing when he dropped it from his trembling fingers, trying to ignore Dean’s little whine of distress when he pulled his fingers out of his ass.

“Fuck.” He finally managed to get it over the head of his cock, slapping at Dean’s hands when he tried to help. “No.” He met Dean’s gaze. “I will go off in a second if you touch me.” He had the feeling that the moment he got inside Dean he was going to come embarrassingly fast.

“Then stop dicking around,” Dean growled, his hands moving to Sam’s hips and digging in.

Sam didn’t hesitate. He pushed into Dean in one long, slow, steady slide, stopping only when he felt Dean’s balls against his groin. He looked at Dean, mesmerized by the sheer abandon in his face. His head was thrown back, mouth open and gasping and his body was a hot arch of sweat-slicked flesh. He’d never been more gorgeous.

“That’s only half the show, princess.” Dean’s lips were quirked in a smirk, eyes dark and slumberous. “Get with the program.”

Sam obliged, fucking into Dean so hard that they edged up on the bed until Dean grabbed onto the headboard. His legs were a vice around Sam’s hips.

Sam thought that he'd perhaps gone deaf and blind to everything, barring Dean. Dean's voice urging him on, Dean's hands on his ass, Dean's cock between them, leaking copiously. Sam thought that Dean, bottled, could be sold as a drug that would cause instant addiction.

“This is it,” he told Dean, snapping his hips so that Dean gasped and undulated beneath him. “No one else.”

“Yeah.” Dean met his gaze. “Only you, Sammy. Only you.”

Sam felt his balls draw up and his dick go hard, and before he was ready, he was coming. And coming. Dean cried out, a garbled curse, and then came between them, hot and sticky, and Sam wanted them to be stuck together forever.

He dropped down onto Dean, heavy and sated. Dean pinched his ass. “Move, Sasquatch, you weigh an elephant.”

Sam grumbled a little, pulling out of Dean as carefully as he could. He didn't miss the slight wince on Dean's face or the eye-roll at Sam's concerned expression. “Not. A. Girl,” Dean repeated, reaching over for the nearest piece of fabric. It happened to be Sam's shirt. It was Sam's turn to wince as Dean scrubbed at the come covering his belly.

He offered the shirt to Sam.

“Uh… no thanks,” Sam said, taking it anyway, unsure of post-orgasm-with-your-brother etiquette.

“Suit yourself,” Dean shrugged, slithering beneath the sheets, looking like he was planning on staying there, in Sam's bed.

“You're staying?” Sam blurted once he’d made a half-hearted effort to get clean, incapable of stopping himself,

Dean cracked one eye open. “Get used to it, Sammy,” he threatened. “You're stuck with me now.” And just like that, he dropped off to sleep, leaving Sam to have several panic attacks and to finally realize that Dean wasn't actually going anywhere.

He fell asleep to the dulcet tones of Dean's soft snores. He'd never been happier.

Dean was asleep next to him, and Sam couldn’t breathe.

A week ago, he’d thought his brother lost forever, and now, here they were. If he was dreaming, it was a dream he didn’t ever want to wake up from.

He lay on his side, staring at Dean’s face. Sure, they were both older, harder, more cynical now, but Sam still thought that his brother was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. And if that made him the sap Dean had called him, well, so be it.

Dean’s eyes flickered open. “Stop staring at me, freak,” he slurred, mouth tilting a little at the corners.

Sam took the term of endearment for what it was. He leaned over and nuzzled Dean’s cheek, ignoring his yelp when his stubble scraped Dean’s skin. “But you’re so prettyyyyyy.”

He grinned as Dean wrestled clear of the sheet just to flip him off. “Your breath smells like bunnies died in your mouth,” Dean told him, pushing him away. “Go brush your teeth, you Neanderthal.”

Sam jutted his bottom lip out. “The romance is gone already,” he mourned as he tried to push closer.

“Seriously, you stink.” Dean’s face scrunched up.

“Shut up, you love my musk,” Sam said.

Dean snorted a laugh. “You’re going to be a clingy bitch, aren’t you?”

Sam lunged for him, wrapped his arms around him so that Dean was held immobile. The squawking was even more entertaining than the face. “Cuddle me, asshole.”

Dean flailed around for a couple more seconds before realizing that Sam wasn’t going to let him go. “God,” he muttered when Sam held on.

“Nope, just Sam,” Sam said, face shoved into Dean’s neck. Dean’s snicker warmed him.

“You wish,” Dean poked his ribs, hitting the one ticklish spot on his body.

Sam yelped, squirming away hastily. “Dude!” He rolled off the bed and onto the floor. “Fighting dirty like that isn’t cool!”

Dean leaned over the side of the bed, hair sticking up in about a gazillion directions and laughing his ass off. “I have to use the weapons at hand, Octopussy.”

Sam pushed up to his feet. “Just remember, I know just as many of your weaknesses,” he warned as he headed for the bathroom.

“You only think you do!” Dean called after him. Sam grinned to himself.

Sam got his toothpaste on his brush and stared at his reflection in the bathroom cabinet mirror. He looked different. His eyes were bright and the color was high on his cheeks.

Dean shouldered in next to him, snatching the toothbrush from his hand and sticking it into his own mouth. “Hey!” Sam protested, making a grab for it.

Dean hunched over the basin, making it impossible for Sam to reach him without doing damage.

“You are such a dick!” Sam kicked Dean’s calf with a bare foot. It probably hurt him as much as it hurt Dean, but the responding screech was still satisfying.

While Dean was jumping around, Sam took the opportunity to liberate his toothbrush. He shoved it in his mouth quickly, grimacing when he realized Dean had used most of the toothpaste.

They spent the next couple of minutes arguing and jostling at each other like kids. The surreptitious glances they kept giving each other were just a happy plus on top of their games. They washed, peed, dressed and headed to the kitchen, still slapping at each other.

There was no awkwardness, no weird uncomfortable morning after.

It felt remarkably normal.

“So, this isn’t weird,” Dean said a little later, digging into the large pile of bacon and eggs they’d prepared together.

Sam lifted his head from his plate. “Did you want it to be?” he asked, curious for the answer.

Dean shook his head. “Of course not,” he said. “Was just expecting there to be a little more angst on your side.”

Sam stretched his legs beneath the table, trapping Dean’s feet between his. “We’ve had enough angst to last a lifetime, wouldn’t you agree?”

Dean looked at him. “No shit, Sherlock.” He shoveled more eggs into his mouth. “But seriously, though, you’re not having some kind of internal crisis or something?”

Sam sipped his coffee. “I could ask you the same thing,” he said.

Dean shrugged, swilling his gulp of coffee around in his mouth, along with his eggs, and grinning at Sam’s disgusted face. “I don’t give a shit about what anyone else thinks.”

“Me either.” Sam waited for Dean to continue. There was obviously something he had on his mind. “I just want to be with you. And if that makes me wrong then I don’t want to be right.”

There was a beat and they both cracked up. Dean wiped his eyes. “Jeez, Sammy, you’re the worst kind of girl.”

Sam put his hands on the table, letting Dean see the restless tattoos on his skin. “What’s up with them?” Dean asked.

Sam looked down at them. “I’m happy,” he said simply. “They’re not sure how to handle it.” He smiled at Dean. “It’s a whole new world for them.”

“You know you’re ridiculous, right?” Dean shook his head. He reached out with a hand, touched the tattoos with a careful finger. They curled up at his touched, arching like an abstract cat. “That is one of the coolest things ever,” he said.

Sam met his gaze. “They respond to you because they know you’re the one who’s made me happy.”

“How do they know?” Dean asked, finger still stroking Sam’s skin.

Sam shivered. “I have no idea,” he confessed. “I just know they do.”

Dean looked down at his own magic mark. “It’s going to be interesting when we have to work together.” He touched the imprint of the Mark and the Blade. “How they’ll react together, I mean.”

Sam picked up his mug again. “I’ve been using the First Blade while having the tattoos for over a year now. The Blade sort of amplified my magic.” He thought a little harder. “We should maybe test things out before we go back out there.”

Dean nodded. “Or you get called in for a Horseman emergency.” He sounded a little put out.

“Dude, are you seriously jealous because I’m a Horseman?” Sam asked.

Dean shrugged one shoulder, pouting just a little. “I don’t understand why you get to be a cool Horseman of Peace or whatever, and I just get a tattoo of a couple of old knives.”

“And you call me ridiculous!” Sam shook his head. “You are immortal thanks to that tattoo, remember?” He prodded the tattoo. It flared with a gentle heat beneath his skin. “One day, I bet it’s going to start talking to you and then you’ll understand why I’m a little envious.”

Dean grabbed his hand. “You sure you want this?” he asked.

Sam knew he wasn’t talking about the tattoo anymore. He wasn’t talking about Sam’s new part-time gig either. “Yes.” Sometimes the only answer was merely a word.

Dean nodded, watching Sam closely. “So do I,” he said.

Sam grinned. “I kinda got that last night, man.”

Dean rolled his eyes. “Next time, it’s my turn,” he muttered, wincing a little as he shifted in his seat. “I’m an equal opportunity kind of guy.”

Sam’s smile widened. “You mean, you want to fuck me next time?” He delighted in the color that climbed up Dean’s cheeks. It amazed him just how old-fashioned Dean could be in some of his behavior.

“Shut up,” Dean muttered, kicking at Sam’s legs.

“No, but seriously, you want to be the pitcher this time?” Sam pressed.

Dean lurched to his feet. “You had better stop that,” he warned.

Sam stood up a little more slowly, muscles tense with anticipation. “Or what?” he taunted. “You’re going to spank me?” He took off at a dead run when Dean lunged for him, laughing breathlessly as he fled into one of the bunker’s maintenance passages.

“I’m going to beat the shit out of you!” Dean yelled, chasing after him.

“You’ll have to catch me first,” Sam called, ducking into one of the side tunnels. “Oh and maybe our safe-word could be ‘Impala’?”

Dean’s roar had Sam cackling like a crazy person, breathless and giddy and so stupidly happy it was terrifying.

He’d found Dean. He’d saved Dean. They were here together in the bunker. Sure, a few things had changed. They were going to have to deal with his job as well as whatever the Mark and the Blade planned on doing to Dean.

But….

Right here. Right now?

It was still them.

Still Sam and Dean.

Only better.