Bobby and Ellen were out picking up some food for the four of them while Sam and Dean checked into the motel, managing to snag the last two free rooms. There was some sort of festival in town and they'd had to drive an extra twenty miles outside of town to find the place. The door to their room had barely closed behind Dean when Sam turned and pinned him to the wall, chest heaving.

"You stupid, stubborn son-of-a-bitch," he said, adrenaline still pounding through his veins. He'd tried not to get angry with Dean but it was hard. Hard to accept the fact that his brother thought so goddamn little of himself.

Dean wouldn't look at him, blood still smeared down his face. "Sammy, please. Don't do this, okay? I don't wanna spend this year-"

Sam shook him a little before pressing him back against the wall. "Shut up, Dean. Shut the fuck up. What you did was stupid but it's too goddamn late to change it. So now I just gotta figure out a way to get you out of this."

He knew he was repeating himself but on the drive from the cemetery to the motel, the only thing he could do was try to figure out how long they had before Dean's debt came due, before the hell hounds came looking for him.

1 year.

12 months.

52 weeks.

365 days.

8,760 hours.

525,600 minutes.

3,156,000 seconds.

It was all they had left.

All he had left.

Sam had to find a way to save Dean's ass, because there was no way that was enough time.

...

Three-hundred and sixty-six days later...

Sam woke alone in the hotel room, early morning sun catching on dust motes that filtered down from the thirty year old curtains. He stretched under the covers, jaw popping as he yawned. Dragging himself out of bed, he shivered a bit, sleep-clumsy as he made his way to the bathroom.

He felt his mind start to wake up as he washed himself in the tepid water of the too-small shower. He closed his eyes tight and tried not to think, to block out recent events. Everything was still too raw, too close. He sucked in a deep breath then tilted his head under the shower head, letting his mouth fill with water before he spit.

He turned the shower off just as the water turned from lukewarm to downright cold. He dried off using the scratchy white towels provided courtesy of the Shangri La Inn, in the huge metropolis of Cumberland, Maryland. He brushed his teeth and skipped shaving, as he had for the past week. The scruff he was sporting was slowly growing in, changing to what might one day pass for an actual beard.

He stared for a minute when he realized that with the added facial hair, he looked a hell of a lot like his father. It gave him a weird jolt and he shook it off, stepped out into the chilly room and started digging out clothes from his duffel on the floor. The tee shirt he slipped on barely passed the sniff test, he had no clean boxers and the cleanest pair of jeans he could find were stiff from... actually he wasn't sure what he'd gotten on them. He sighed and ran a hand through his wet hair as he made a mental note to make a trip to the Laundromat later.

He sat down on the bed and shoved his feet into his worn Chucks, forgoing socks. He laced them then straightened and made his way toward the door, grabbing his wallet and watch on the way. He snapped his watch closed as he opened the door and squinted against the sunlight. It was warm, everything still covered with morning dew and he made his way to the Impala, sliding onto the hood, the damp seeping into his jeans and shirt but he didn't notice.

He ran the tips of his fingers over the windshield, then rubbed them together, spreading the wetness. Laid his head back and closed his eyes, heaved a sigh as he let the sun beat down on him, warming him and the cool metal underneath him.

He folded his hands on his stomach, tried to come to terms with how his life had changed in the past few days. What it meant for the rest of his life. Where to go from here. It was all so damn overwhelming, almost like the future was looming ahead of him. That was something he'd craved at eighteen - a future to do with as he pleased. But now that he had it at the age of twenty-five, he was scared absolutely shitless.

He didn't open his eyes when he heard footsteps crunching through the gravel on the parking lot, or when they approached his prone form on the Chevy. He only opened them when his arm was bumped with what turned out to be a paper cup of coffee. Sam smiled, squinting against the brightness. He slid over on the hood to make room and took a sip of his coffee, fixed just how he liked. He let out another sigh, this one of pleasure and looked to his right.

Dean looked back at him and smiled. He took a sip of his own coffee, which Sam knew was black. He bumped his shoulder into Dean's and Dean chuckled.

"Pleased with yourself?" Dean said, leaning back and looking up at the sky. Sam nodded, even though Dean couldn't see him.

"A little," Sam said. he didn't admit to the fear that had nearly choked him the past few months, running out of time and still unable to find a way to save Dean. But he had. "Not everyday I manage to save my big brother's ass from a one way ticket to the lowest level of hell."

Dean snorted and took another sip. "Still not sure how you managed to do it, man."

Sam's grin this time was a little harder, brittle around the edges. "Bureaucracy, Dean. I wasn't going to be a lawyer for nothing, you know. There's always a loop-hole." He would never admit how close he'd come to giving up and just trying to hold onto Dean as hard as he could, for as long as he could.

Dean nodded, his own face a little sober. "I, uh. I've been meaning to-Sam, this isn't-"

Sam smiled, really smiled. "You're welcome, Dean." He turned to look at Dean again, studied the lines and angles of Dean's face, his profile in the morning sun.

"'Sides, you're my big brother. I'd do anything for you."

He waited a beat, sliding off the hood. "Dickhead."

Dean's face broke open in a huge smile, looking lighter than Sam could ever really remember seeing him.

He met Sam's gaze and held up his middle finger. "Princess."

Sam laughed the whole way into the room to gather up their clothes so he could head to the Laundromat down the street.