You couldn't believe the words that came out of Sam's mouth. After everything he had been through, how many times he had fought for Dean, you couldn't believe he was thinking about giving up now. You had spent many a night, drinking beers and listening to stories the two brothers spun. Stories from before you had joined them. Stories of choosing each other over anything, including the world. You had never imagined that type of commitment, the type of love it would take to act that way, but yet you had seen it time and time again in front of you.

 You hadn't minded their unusual relationship. In fact, you had always told Dean to chose Sam. If a monster, or some other  circumstance would make him chose between the two of you, you had made him promise to chose Sam. You couldn't imagine splitting them up.

But yet, here Sam was, his eyes full of lost hope, and heart break, and it was killing you. "Sam!" You said loud enough to snap him out of it. "We can't give up now."

He shook his head. "But what can we do? He doesn't want to be found, and he's killing people."

"But the cure." You started, but he stopped you.

"Who knows if the cure will even work. How can we even trust Rowena? Maybe she's just feeding us false information, and this is a spell to help her out." Sam argued.

"Stop. Just stop." You pleaded, not able to take Sam's negativity. "I can't take this. Not from you."

He didn't respond. Instead he turned the key in the ignition, driving away from the crime scene, his shoulders slumped, and you knew you hadn't been able to talk him out of his sour mood. It was really hard, seeing him like this, and for a moment you felt yourself leaning his way, feeling despondent. It was easy to feel this way, especially after the way Dean had almost killed you. But as the trees blurred past while Sam drove down the road, you told yourself it wasn't the right thing to do. You needed to have hope, because without it, Dean was lost. And the thought of nobody trying to help Dean, to believe in him was enough to tick you off.

Deciding you were going to let Sam stew in his own juices for a while before you tried again, you stared out the window, letting your own thoughts run where they wanted. They were mainly centered around Dean, and how you had met him. You could still remember seeing those intense green eyes staring down at you, feeling your heart almost jump out of your chest as your hand touched his. Then there was the time he had asked you to join them, hunting and living at the bunker. He had seemed so nervous, and a little afraid that maybe you would say no. He had stood there, his feet shuffling, his hand rubbing the back of his neck. Sam had just shaken his head, and left the room, leaving the two of you alone. You were confused, at first, fearing the worst. But when he had finally been able to stutter the words out, you were ecstatic, jumping into his arms, knocking him backwards onto the bed.

Then there was that one hunt, where you had almost been werewolf food. The two of you were trying to take a pack down, and you had thought you had gotten them all. You stood around celebrating with Dean, when his face turned pale, and and his mouth opened, but no sound came out.  You felt the swoosh of air behind you before the claws slid into your shoulder. But before it could do anymore damage, you heard the shot, and then a thud behind you. Instantly Dean had taken you in his arms, gently cradling you as he carried you to the Impala. The entire time he mumbled words, some too hard to make out, but what you could sounded like he was cussing himself out. As soon as he slid you carefully into the backseat, you grabbed his hand, pulling you into the backseat with him. "Dean, wait." You had told him, and he looked at you, fear in his eyes.

"Y/N, I need to get you back to Sammy. He's better at stitches, and I don't want you losing too much blood." He started, but you stopped him.

"Dean, it's just a couple of scratches, please don't tell me you're blaming yourself." You pleaded with him, and his down turned gaze was enough of an answer. "I don't blame you. We both missed that one. Can't we call it even?"

He looked up then. "Even? You could have died back there! No way are we even! Do you know what it felt like, watching the woman I love, seeing a werewolf behind her, and not able to react quick enough?" He almost yelled in your face, but you were still stuck on one word.

That had been the first time he had said the love word, and while it hadn't been the most romantic, you still cherished it. 

"Y/N!" Sam's voice shook you out of your thoughts, and you looked his way to see what was up. He had stopped in the middle of a road, with small cottage like motel rooms across from him. It was dusk, so it was really hard to see, but you could see what had him so excited.

"That's Baby!" You exclaimed. "But wait, I thought you were giving up." You chastised him, hoping he had changed his mind.

He shook his head, looking ashamed and guilty. "I was upset back there. It's just been so rough lately. But I can never give up on my brother. Not when he needs me now more than ever."

You sighed in relief. "Thank god. You had me worried that I might have to slap some sense in to you. Now let's go see if Dean's in the room." You ordered, and Sam pulled his car over to the side. Climbing the little hill to the room, you could feel your hands start to shake, your palms sweating a little. You were beyond excited that you might have found him, but you were also afraid of what you might see.

Passing by the Impala, you could only stare at it. It was covered in a thick layer of dust and grime, slight scratches marring the once shiny black paint. Inside was about the same, full of dust and empty wrappers and beer bottles. It made you sick, to see your favorite car, and Dean's pride and joy treated this way.

Sam was already at the door, bypassing the Impala all together. He had his picklocks out, ready to shimmy open the door, but when his hand gently touched it, it swung open. You came to stand beside Sam, mouth gaping open at the scene in front of you. 

Dean was nowhere to be found. The room was completely trashed. Furniture was ripped or thrown across the room. Picture frames were smashed, or hanging crooked on the wall. The TV was shattered, laying on it's front in the middle of the room. Beer bottles lay everywhere. You gingerly move into the room, wincing as you saw the smashed mirror in the bathroom, caused by a fist. 

"Sam, what happened in here?" You asked quietly, even thought you already could guess. 

"I'm not sure. But look at this." He told you, holding up keys and a piece of paper. You grabbed the paper, your heart breaking at the words. "Take good care of my babies, Sam. Both of them." You knew he meant you, and his car.

"What is he going to do?" You asked, not really expecting an answer.

Sam seemed in shock still, his eyes still glued to the keys in his hand. "I think he's given up. But I have no idea what that means for him, or for us."