I set fire to the car tonight to keep from running away. I needed something loud and bright to keep the memory at bay.

He comes stumbling through the doors. He's covered in dirt, ashes, and old blood, his eyes are wild, his hair longer than she remembers it and in disarray, his clothes torn. Once he's inside he collapses to his knees, his hands clutching either side of his head, his head thrown back as a scream tears free of his throat. He is obviously delirious. Ellen Harvelle is convinced that he's lost his mind.

She heads toward him, and suddenly she's frozen in place, unable to get within three feet of him. His head falls forward, and then he lifts his gaze to hers and she gasps, his eyes are black, the black of the possessed, and then he presses the heels of his hands to his temples and screams, "Get the fuck out of me NOW!"

A moment later his head is thrown back, darkness pouring out of his mouth with a hideous shriek, and his body falls forward, and he barely manages to weakly catch himself with one arm. He slowly lifts his head to look at Ellen, and a noise escapes him.

She's free now and moves forward. She bends down, reaches to put her arm across his shoulders and he shrinks away. "Don't touch me. I'm not what you think I am. I'm not… Oh God, and he… He tried so hard, but Dad was right… Oh God."

Ellen backs away, and looks down at the broken young man kneeling on the dirty floor of the Roadhouse. He looks up at her, his eyes wet and shining, but glowing a faint amber color. Ellen's hand rises to her mouth, and she stares at him.

"He wanted me to save him, but… Oh God…"

"Sam? Sam, what happened? What's going on? Where's Dean?" she finally manages to ask.

Sam cocks his head at her in confusion. "What are you talking about? Sammy's gone. I… I killed him," he says, and her eyes widen, because the voice coming from Sam's mouth is not Sam's voice.

"Oh my God. Dean?"

He nods.

"Okay, how about we take this in the back?" she suggests.

He looks around, and the bar is empty, but if she wants to take this in the back then he'll go along with that.

It isn't long before he finds himself sitting at Ellen's kitchen table, a glass of water between his large hands. No. Sam's hands. He's still not sure how he managed to get inside his brother's body. All he really remembers is the last shriek of the demon, Sam's hand slipping from his, and the darkness.

When he'd woken up he couldn't find Sam anywhere, but he remembers Sam clawing at the ground screaming for him to save him. There are all kinds of things that he remembers, the smell of blood, smoke hanging thick in the air, heat blistering against his face.

He remembers stumbling through the wreckage to the Impala, gleaming in her untarnished beauty among all the wreckage. He drove away in her, left the damage hundreds of miles behind, and when he was close enough to the Roadhouse he felt something inside of him stirring, something that was wrong.

He'd pulled off to the side of the road, got out of the car, took the spare gas can from the trunk, and began to pour it all over her beautiful black finish. He started with her trunk and before he christened her hood he kissed her one last time, and then he blessed her and sent her ahead of him to hell.

She'd gone up in a blaze of glory, crackling, sizzling, the rubber of the tires burning, the smell ripping into his nostrils. He'd been determined to watch her last moments, but something threw him into the darkness, and the next thing he knows he's in the Roadhouse, clawing at his head and screaming for the thing to get out. His hands are too large, everything is smaller than what he remembers, and his hair is too long.

"So the Demon…?"

"He's gone. Like Sam. I'm what's left. I fucking survived and I have nothing. I set fire to the car tonight to keep from running away. I can't run anymore. I needed something loud and bright to keep the memory at bay. She went up quick. I wonder if Sam went up as quick, or if maybe Dad did. Why am I always what's left? Why are they always leaving me behind?" he asks, a tear slipping down his cheek, and his eyes flash golden for a moment, sending a shiver up Ellen's spine, but somewhere in Sam's body there is Dean, and she can be strong, because Dean needs someone.

She reaches across the shabby table and takes his hand. He looks at it, sees her hand in Sam's hand and snorts. "God, your hand is so small. Sam's fucking huge. How did this happen? I was supposed to save him. Not become him."

"Dean, you're still you," she whispers.

Dean snorts. "Naw. I'm done. The truth is… My days are numbered. There's a million things out there, lining up to move in and force me out. They want Sam's body, and if any hunters out there figure out what I am, I'm as good as dead. Hell, I'm not even human. Not in this body. Sam is… Hell I don't know how I never knew. I just… He was mine, and we were a part of each other. I need him to survive, and he's not here anymore. Make it quick Ellen. Just end this shit."

She pulls back and stares at him. "I can't, Dean. You're John's boy. You're a good man. Hell, you just dispelled a demon from your body with the force of sheer will alone. You're good. You're decent. I can't do it."

"This isn't my body! It's Sam's, and Sammy's gone. Now fucking end this!" he snarls.

Ellen gets up and pulls back. Her eyes slip to the drawer just below and to the left of the kitchen sink. Sam's eyes, that carry the weight of Dean's soul, follow her gaze and Dean crosses the room in three steps. He yanks the drawer open and finds the Colt. His eyes widen, but he doesn't question how she could have possibly come across the Colt.

He feels the thrum of bright energy pouring off of the gun. He checks it. One bullet left. He takes in a deep breath, and lets the end of the barrel rest against his lips, Sam's lips. He looks past Ellen, sees the air shimmer behind her, and more tears slip down Sam's face, because Dean sees Sam, the real Sam, and Sammy is waiting for him. He opens his mouth, and the gun slips inside, the metal cool and hollow against his lips as he closes his mouth around it.

Ellen jerks at the sound of the gun, and sinks to her knees as the arm with the gun falls away limp and then Sam's tall body collapses to the knees, and then falls forward completely, the back of his head blown away. Dean has gone after Sammy.

Her body shudders and she lifts her hand to her face, feels the tears slipping down her cheeks and then she jolts at the weight of a hand on her shoulder, and the breath of air against her ear. "He's safe Ellen. I'm going with him now to keep it that way. Bury his body next to our momma's."

She simply nods, and a moment later she knows that she's the only one left in her small kitchen.

End.