"What a peaceful sleep," Henry thought vaguely as he lay stretched across the Impala's back seat, half-awake, listening to the steady rumble of the engine in the night as they were leaving the town behind.
Up front, Dean kept his eyes on the highway.
"So," Dean said after a while, voice rough but controlled, "that demon bitch was Meg."
"Yeah," Sam replied quietly. "She wasn't happy about the last time."
Dean gave a humorless smirk. "She's not exactly the forgiving type."
Silence settled inside the car. Just engine noise and the wind against the windows.
Then Sam spoke again.
"Dean."
Dean didn't look at him. "What."
There was a small pause.
"Did Dad… say anything to you about me? Before he died?"
The question hung there.
Dean's fingers tightened slightly on the steering wheel.
"No."
Sam frowned. "Nothing?"
Dean's jaw worked for a second before he answered.
"Nothing you don't already know."
The silence that followed was heavier than before.
"I know what he said, Dean," Sam said finally, his voice low but steady. "Meg told me. She said Dad told you to kill me if you couldn't save me."
"What does that mean?" Sam pressed. "And why did you hide it from me?"
"That bitch," Dean muttered under his breath.
"Dean."
Dean finally glanced at him, eyes hard.
"You're really gonna take her word for it?" he shot back. "After everything she's done?"
"I'm not taking her word for it," Sam said. "I'm asking you. Is it true Dad said that?"
Dean kept his eyes on the road.
"Yeah," he said.
"Then why did you hide it from me?" Sam asked. "That's not small, Dean. That's not something you just don't mention."
Dean exhaled sharply.
"What do you want me to say, Sam?" he shot back. "You want me to tell you, 'Hey, by the way, if things go sideways, I might have to kill you'? You want that in your head every time something weird happens?"
"That's my life," Sam said. "I get a say in it."
Dean glanced at him.
"You think I don't already carry it?" he said. "Every time you get one of those psychic visions, every time something goes wrong, I have to wonder. Not because I believe it—but because it's there."
Sam's voice hardened. "So you watch me."
"I look out for you," Dean corrected sharply. "There's a difference."
Sam didn't answer.
"I didn't tell you because I wasn't going to let that become your identity," he said. "I wasn't going to let you start thinking you're some ticking time bomb."
"And instead you just carried it alone?" Sam asked.
"Yeah," Dean said bluntly. "That's kind of what I do."
"And if it's true?" Sam asked after a moment. "If I can't control whatever's happening to me?"
Dean didn't hesitate.
"Then we deal with it," Dean said. "Together."
A beat passed.
"You know… you kinda left me out of that speech," Henry muttered from the back seat as he slowly sat up.
Dean glanced in the rearview mirror. "You're still alive, aren't you?"
"Barely," Henry replied. He flexed his hand and winced. "Cuts on my palm still sting. Pretty sure I'm gonna feel that headbutt for a week."
Sam turned slightly in his seat. "How are you feeling? Seriously."
Henry gave him a small shrug. "I've had worse. I'll live."
Sam's expression softened slightly. "I'm sorry. About earlier."
Henry waved it off.
"If you ever lose control again, we'll just tie you up and drag you back," he said lightly. "Problem solved."
Dean snorted quietly.
"Like today," Henry added, rubbing his ribs. "Except maybe next time don't throw me through a wall. That part sucked."
He shifted in the back seat and looked between them.
"Look, everybody loses themselves at some point," he said more seriously. "That's kind of the deal with being human."
"My point is," Henry continued, "family's there to knock some sense into you and drag you back. So if you lose control, Dean and I do the beating. Fair trade."
Sam huffed a faint breath through his nose.
"And if I screw up?" Henry added. "If I go off the rails? You two better return the favor."
Dean glanced at him in the mirror. "Oh, trust me. I would."
Sam gave a small nod. "Yeah. We would."
Henry leaned back against the seat.
"Good," he muttered. "Just making sure we're all on the same violent understanding."
Sam's phone suddenly rang.
He glanced at the screen. "It's Ellen."
Dean raised an eyebrow but kept driving.
Sam answered. "Hey."
"Sam? Where are you?" Ellen's voice came through, sharp and direct. "Dean's been looking for you."
"Yeah," Sam replied, glancing at Dean. "They found me. There were… some complications."
There was a pause on the other end.
"Well," Ellen continued, shifting gears, "then I've got something for you boys. College campus. Professor just took a nosedive out of a fourth-story window. Cops are calling it suicide."
Dean's eyes flicked toward Sam.
"And?" Sam asked.
"And there are rumors the building's haunted," Ellen said. "Students claiming they've seen things. Cold spots. Shadows. The usual."
Henry leaned forward slightly from the back seat.
"You want the job or not?" Ellen asked.
Sam didn't hesitate. "Yeah, Ellen. We'll take it."
He ended the call.
From the back seat, Henry let out a tired breath and pressed his fingers against his temples.
"Great. You two can handle it," he muttered. "I think I deserve a day off. This headache is killing me."
Dean glanced at him in the mirror. "Headache? From what?"
Henry stared back at him. "From busting my ass for almost twelve hours staring at screens trying to find Sam "
*****
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