mile after mile of just empty pages

I'm taking down all of my RPS

Thu, 17 Sep 2009 23:59:05 GMT

Hi all.

So. I’ve been deliberating on this for several months now, and I’ve decided to take down all of my RPF. Yes, that definitely includes the sick verse. A couple of you have mentioned to me that you still come by and read it sometimes, so I’m giving advanced warning.

I’ll be taking all of my RPF down on October 10th. I don't know if that many people are still reading this story or what, but feel free to save it to your hard drives. You can even email it to each other privately. That’s fine with me. I just ask that you don’t post it publicly; that includes forums, communities, archives, web sites, blogs, and public posts in personal journals. I know I can’t stop anyone from doing so but I’m asking, please don’t share it publicly.

I’m not sure how to explain this. Let’s just say, I’m not into RPS anymore. Not only am I not into it anymore, but I’m also becoming a little squicked by it. Yes, why hello there, hypocrisy, meet writeatmidnight, the girl who wrote what could easily be considered the most invasive RPS story in the J2 fandom. Twenty-seven chapters of it, in fact!

And that’s really why I’m taking it down. Not because it’s RPS, but because it’s RPS that deals with some pretty heavy subject matter that should probably never involve a real life person as a means of exploring such issues, no matter how fictional the situations. Considering just how deeply I delved into the themes used in the sick verse, I think this is a story I should have written using original characters. ~~And less use of the word stunning.~~

So suffice it to say, the sick verse makes me uncomfortable now. Having it out in the open makes me uncomfortable. RPS in general doesn’t bother me. It’s cool if other people read it and write it. I still think of it as a form of expression using nothing but public personas, as well as familiar names and faces. I don’t think anyone who reads and/or writes it is wrong or weird. Please don’t think I’m trying to get into meta about RPS, or silently judging everyone who writes and reads it, because God knows there’s already plenty of that around the internet. I’m simply saying that it’s no longer something that I enjoy. Hey, of course I will always get a little giddy when I see slashy moments between Jared and Jensen. (Who doesn’t?) I guess I’m just not into reading about it anymore.

I want to thank everyone who read the story. You guys were great. Again, feel free to save it and pass it around privately.

And let me just finish up by saying, I still love fanfic and the chance it gives to further explore characters and situations. I still love slash also. And I will be writing more of both. I plan on popping in to post fanfic here and there, which is why I’m not deleting this journal (though I’m sure my “friend of” list will shrink pretty quickly after I post this puppy). I’ve had a particular fic stewing on my hard drive for the better part of the year. I’ve been writing a paragraph of it every night for the past… err, five months. Yeah, not quite as prolific as I used to be.

Anyhow. That’s about it. I thought it just seemed fair to let you all know instead of simply yanking it all off the internet without explanation. Thanks for reading.

ETA: PM if you want the PDF that too_rational put together. It includes the entire sick verse. You don't have to give me your email. I can just send you the download link through PM.

Supernatural Season 4 Fanmix

Thu, 29 Jan 2009 00:46:45 GMT

Title: Standing on the Edge
Fandom: Supernatural
Type: Fanmix
Subject: Dean, Sam, and Castiel in season 4. Contains possible spoilers for all aired episodes.
Note: These are some of the songs on my playlist that make me think of the show.
Warnings: Some, not all, of the songs are slashy. (Dean/Castiel, Dean/Sam)

Pick and choose what you want to download or download the zip (includes front and back covers, mp3 format, zip).

* Let me know if there’s any problem with the links.

01. My Shadow - Keane
Dean, Castiel | Gen or slash | POV: Castiel | The Dean-Castiel song for me. Nice build on this one.

It’s time to make a start
To get to know your heart
Time to show your face
Time to take your place

02. Angels on the Moon - Thriving Ivory
Dean | Gen | POV: Dean | If it all ends in death for them, maybe Dean wouldn’t want to know in advance.

Don’t tell me if I’m dying
’Cause I don’t wanna know
If I can’t see the sun, maybe I should go
Don’t wake me ’cause I’m dreaming
Of angels on the moon
Where everyone you know never leaves too soon

03. The Resolution - Jack’s Mannequin
Dean, Castiel | Gen | POV: Dean | Dean dealing with life after hell.

There’s a lot that I don’t know
There’s a lot that I’m still learning
When I think I’m letting go
I find my body, it’s still burning

04. White Feathers, Strange Lights - Whitley
Dean/Castiel | Slash | POV: Dean | Castiel loses his grace for Dean. The atmosphere on this song just seems to work.

There are stranger ways to fall from grace
And harder ways to see your face

05. Hallelujah - Jason Castro
Dean/Castiel | Slash | POV: Dean | I don't think the full version of this song would have fit, but Jason’s short version is perfect.

Love is not a victory march
It’s a cold and it’s a broken hallelujah

06. I Am Still Running - Jon Foreman
Dean, Sam | Gen or Slash | POV: Dean or Sam | The Dean-and-Sammy-need-each-other-forever-and-ever song.

I had no idea the pain would be this strong
I had no idea the fight would last this long
In my darkest fears, the rights become the wrongs
I am still running
Build me a home inside your scars
Build me a home inside your song
Build me a home inside your open arms
The only place I ever will belong

07. Penny on the Train Track - Ben Kweller
Dean | Gen | POV: Dean | Written for Dean Winchester. I swear.

Stopping in somebody’s old hometown
Gotta get that midnight meal
If you can’t get behind your own life
Get behind the driving wheel
And go, just go
Find a place that you don’t know

08. Heaven Forbid - The Fray
Dean, Sam | Gen | POV: Sam

How much longer?
How long can you wait?
It’s like you wanted to go and give yourself away
Heaven forbid you end up alone
And you don’t know why
Hold on tight
Wait for tomorrow
You’ll be all right

09. Work - Jars of Clay
Dean, Sam | Gen | POV: Dean | This one is season 4 Winchesters more than any other song on this mix.

On the brink of this destruction
On the eve of bittersweet
Now all the demons look like prophets
And I’m living out every word they speak
Do you know what I mean when I say, “I don’t want to be alone”?

10. You’re All I Have - Snow Patrol
Dean, Sam | Gen or Slash | POV: Dean | Probably more slash than gen.

Under your skin feels like home
Electric shocks on aching bones
Give me a chance to hold on
Just give me something to hold on to
It’s so clear now that you are all that I have

11. All Is Whole - Whitley
Dean, Castiel | Gen | POV: Castiel | Dean saw hell and made it out. He’s alive, this is a second chance, and now Castiel wants him to find faith.

No one ever hears your screams
And water pouring through the seams
You walk along and feel nighttime’s cracks
Your memories are fading
You can’t keep calling
You can’t keep from falling
And you can’t save your soul
If you can’t believe all is whole
In the end
You’re carried off and wounds will mend
To save your soul, to save yourself

12. Flood - Jars of Clay
Dean, Castiel | Gen | POV: Dean | An analogy for Dean in hell, or it could be seen as Dean struggling more than ever after hell. Either way, he needs his Castiel.

Downpour on my soul
Splashing in the ocean
I’m losing control
Dark sky all around
Can’t feel my feet touching the ground

13. On Fire - Switchfoot
Dean, Castiel | Gen | POV: Dean | Sounds like slash at first but it’s really, really not about that at all. This is originally a “Jesus song.” But it fits a search/struggle I feel even Dean would take after being dragged out of hell by an angel. Surely he might look for something more out there, and he might look to Castiel as a starting point to finding it.

When everything inside me looks like everything I hate
You are the hope I have for change
You are the only chance I’ll take
I’m standing on the edge of me
I’m standing on the edge of everything I’ve never been before
And I’ve been standing on the edge of me
I’m standing on the edge
And I’m on fire when you’re near me
I’m on fire when you speak
I’m on fire burning at these mysteries

Some quick links to the musicians whose voices and artistry I borrowed.

Keane | Thriving Ivory | Jack’s Mannequin | Whitley | Jason Castro | Jon Foreman | Ben Kweller | The Fray | Jars of Clay | Snow Patrol | Switchfoot

Who ARE you?!

Tue, 02 Oct 2007 02:58:26 GMT

OHEMGEE! Okay, someone needs to spill right now. Which one of you is the anonymous person who bought me a year's worth of paid account time?! At first I thought it was an accident, but then I figured it had to be someone reading the sickverse. So YES. I KNOW YOU'RE READING THIS ENTRY.

I just had a really hard week, and this made my freakin' year. So please come forward so I can shower you with love. And possibly lots of chocolate.

Thank you. Just... thank you. It's incredibly sweet of you, whoever you are, and I totally appreciate it.

-Emilee

Fic: If You Wake Up in the Night

Thu, 28 Dec 2006 04:13:15 GMT

Title: If You Wake Up in the Night (1/1)
Category: Supernatural
Summary: Sometimes it’s ok to break down, as long as there’s someone there to catch you. (hurt/comfort & schmoopiness)
Characters: Sam, Dean (no pairings)
Word Count: 1,834
Rated: PG
SPOILERS: Pretty much all of Season 2 that has aired so far: 2.01 through 2.09.
Warnings: so sweet it could give you cavities
AN: This came from a need to see the boys hug and comfort each other in Season 2. Just hug already!
AN2: Oh, Inspiration, you pop up in the strangest of places. The song lyrics used are from Even Angels Cry by Jars of Clay. And yea, I used a Christian band for a Supernatural story. There has to be irony in there somewhere.
Disclaimer: Not mine, never ever. No profit (sadly). Lyrics used without permission from the band (um, duh?).

* Song download: Even Angels Cry - Jars of Clay

I whisper, “You don’t have to worry, we’ll survive”

At one in the morning Sam found Dean outside under a blanket of stars, lying atop the hood of the Impala, soaking in the car’s comfort.

Sprawled out with his upper body resting on the windshield, his hands were tucked under his head, eyes fastened on the sky above, as if the stars could give him all the answers to his questions of why.

He didn’t move when Sam climbed up onto the hood beside him and lay down; green-hazel eyes never broke contact with the shimmering lights overhead.

Any other car would have creaked under their combined weight, shuddered and protested. But the Impala- she just sunk down a little as if hunkering in for a long night and enveloped both her boys in that familiar sun-warmed metal kind of way.

They lay like that for quite awhile, their legs barely touching in a comforting kind of togetherness, unspoken support.

After an hour Dean spoke out of the blue, voice calm and even, stating facts, not bothering to pull his gaze from the sky. “Don’t know if I can do this anymore, Sammy.”

Sam remained silent, urging him on without words, and Dean continued.

“It hurts. Every morning… everyday, it hurts to get up and just keep going.”

Sam glanced over at him, took in the moonlit profile of his brother’s face- a mask of stony calm to keep out the world and keep in the hurt.

“For me,” Dean said in a small voice that kind of surprised Sam. “He did it for me. How do I live with that?”

Sam blanked for a few seconds before he answered honestly, in a tone just as soft and lost as Dean’s. “I don’t know.” Sam touched Dean’s shoulder and conveyed all the things he couldn’t say: I’m here for you. It’s ok. Somehow we’ll survive this. We’ll make it through.

Winchesters were never ones for words, anyway. Actions speak louder.

Forced smiles underneath the brittle, frozen light
Proof that you’re alive

Sam expected a familiar smile to soon appear on his brother’s face, the same old pattern.

A smile came, lit eerily by moonlight and shadows, making it seem hollow and broken, unfamiliar. It was a weak, half-assed smile and they both knew it. It quickly left Dean’s face as he turned his attention back to the blanket of stars, which were soothing and sympathizing, much like the smooth black metal under their bodies and Sam’s fingers squeezing Dean’s shoulder.

Silently, Sam waited for Dean to say more, but he never did. Instead, the next time Sam turned to look at him there were glittery spots on his face, quiet tears slipping down the sides of his cheeks and hitting the Impala’s solid, supporting metal.

“Dean…” Sam started, trailing off. Slightly numb from Dean’s tears, he put his arm around his brother’s shoulders.

The moonlight made the tear trails shimmer, highlighting the cracks in Dean’s brave façade.

Cold fingers find the curve below your tired eyes

“I don’t know what I’m doing anymore,” Dean whispered, swiping at his tear-stained eyes.

“We’ll figure it out,” Sam answered.

In a hushed voice, almost to himself, Dean said, “It’s like nothing really matters now.”

No comfort in familiar places, not this time
You hold it deep inside

Sam could feel the fight slipping out of Dean. It was scary.

He didn’t know how to comfort in this situation. He’d been waiting for this breakdown to happen, knew it would eventually come, yet still found himself unprepared for his brother’s collapse.

“What can I do?” Sam asked.

“Nothing,” Dean breathed out to the stars and wiped more tears from his face.

If you wake up in the night
Walls are falling letting in the light
No need to worry
Baby, even angels cry

“I can’t feel anything anymore,” Dean said after another half hour had passed into the night.

“What?” It was cold out, but not frostbite-cold. Dean shouldn’t be losing feeling in his limbs.

Dean crossed his arms over his chest and unconsciously hugged himself. “Dad’s down there in… He’s down there in pain and God knows what else, and I’m up here still living because of what he did, and I can’t even feel anything. Man, I just… I feel dead inside.”

Sam’s eyes were wide in the waning light. Here under the darkling press of night, Dean seemed to feel safe enough, or just desperate enough, to let Sam have a glimpse into everything that was hurting him, shaping him into the person he’d become as of late. The walls were crumbling. It was like seeing Dean for the first time. Like seeing the real Dean- the hurt and broken brother that lived behind the heavy concrete walls.

Never looking over at Sam, Dean continued. “It’s like nothing that happens even phases me any more. Like I’m caught in this nightmare, and I just keep expecting to wake up. And every day I get out of bed and it’s still happening; it’s still here with me, and I don’t know how to deal. I don’t know what to do with it, how to get over it.”

“It’s grief… you’re grieving, Dean. It’s normal… it’s ok to cry.”

“But I can’t stop, Sam. Grief’s supposed to pass, right? I can’t get over this. It just… It’s only getting worse. It hurts a little more every day, and I can’t stop thinking about what he’s going through and why he’s down there- because of me. He expects me to finish this for him, and I can’t even think straight.”

“You’re not in this alone. We’re going to finish it together. And it’ll pass- the grief, I mean. It just takes time.”

Dean’s only response was to fall silent and not break eye contact with the glimmer of stars.

No flood warnings, still the waters rise

“Dude. Don’t hate me for anything I’ve said in the past months.”

A smile in Sam’s voice: “I could never hate you, jerk.”

“It hurts so much, and sometimes I can’t see through it. I can’t think anymore, Sammy.”

“I know. That’s why I’m here.” Sam worried his bottom lip before adding, “For you. That’s why I’m here for you.”

Dean finally turned to Sam, meeting his eyes for the first time all night. Unshed tears danced in the reflecting moonlight. Sam barely recognized this man. Always so tough and unshakable, seeing this was hard. So hard. Why did everything in their lives have to be so hard?

The tears spilled over Dean’s eyes. He quickly reached up to brush all traces of them away. Stopping him by grabbing his hand and pulling it away from his face, in a hushed voice, Sam said, “No, don’t. It’s ok to let it out in front of me. It’s ok, Dean.”

Hesitation passed over Dean before he dropped his hand back to the warm metal of the car. “Whatever,” was the mumbled response as more tears slid silently down pale, freckled cheeks.

Diamonds in the pockets of your eyes
Turn your face and hide

Scooting closer on the hood of the car, Sam put his arm around Dean again and pulled him close to his side.

When Dean started to pull away, Sam clasped tighter and said, “It’s ok. Out here in the dark it doesn’t matter, not tonight. You’re not alone; you still have me. Take comfort wherever you can, Dean, especially when someone’s throwing it at you. I know I’m not Dad, but I’m right here, offering you support. Just take it and shut up.”

A choked sound escaped Dean’s lips and for a brief moment Sam thought he was holding back a laugh. Then he looked down in amazement as Dean curled into his shoulder and hid his face from the world. Salty warm wetness seeped through Sam’s clothes and hit his skin.

His tough as nails big brother suddenly seemed so small and fragile here under the immense field of glimmering stars. In Sam’s most hopeful dreams, he’d imagined Dean opening up to him, allowing Sam to be there for him while he let it all out. He had imagined it, but that didn’t mean he was prepared for it. Not for this, never for this.

His free arm swept up to awkwardly pet Dean on the back, until he found both arms wrapped around his brother and his face buried in the familiar scent of Dean’s hair. It felt like comfort and home, and mutual protection.

Now they were sheltering and protecting each other from a cold and unforgiving world, if only for one night. In the morning they would pretend it never happened. But tonight it was safety, warmth and unconditional love. Tonight it was holding onto everything they had left in the world and not letting it go.

Walls are falling letting in the light
It’ll be alright

“Feel like an idiot,” Dean grumbled into Sam’s shoulder half an hour later, snuffling like a kid with a cold.

“Nothing wrong with that. No one but us’ll ever know. Besides, I’m the only other person here, and I already know you’re an idiot.”

“Funny guy,” Dean replied dryly, though punctuating it with a sniffle took a lot of the deadpanned punch out of the words.

“We’ll make it through, Dean. Together. You have to know you can lean on me sometimes. It’s ok to do that.”

Dean didn’t reply, didn’t move away from Sam. Sam settled in for the long haul, which included only the few hours left of darkness in which Dean would feel safe enough to cry and let his brother hold him. Sam knew that as soon as orange tinged the eastern edges of the sky a burnt coppery color, Dean would be up and off the car and already pretending that none of it had ever happened.

But just for tonight, it was alright.

The Impala gave off a light warmth that it had soaked up from the sun during the day. It was almost as if it knew what was happening and in turn was offering up the only kind of comfort it had to give them.

“I need closure,” Dean said.

“We’ll kill it- that’s going to be our closure.”

“You don’t get it, Sam. The way it happened, the way he died… there’s never going to be closure for me.”

“Ok,” Sam whispered hoarsely. “I… I don’t know what to say to that. I don’t know how to help you through this besides just being here.”

“That’s enough.”

Fifteen minutes later, Dean’s sleep-drenched voice said, “Don’t die on me, Sammy.”

And Sam laughed loosely, stroked Dean’s hair with the tips of his fingers (a truly dangerous move if it had been in the light of day, but tonight Dean didn’t object). “Don’t worry. Not going anywhere, bro.”

If you wake up in the night
Walls are falling letting in the light
It’ll be alright
Please don’t worry
Not tonight

{The End}
December 2006

Thu, 16 Nov 2006 03:31:38 GMT

Let Me Lose You
A follow-up to You Can’t Fix This

Rating: PG14
Summary: Selling your soul can have some nasty consequences.
Characters: Dean, a purposely out of character Sam; (no pairings)
Warnings: mentions of past rape, violent and sadistic thoughts (yes, thoughts), unhappy ending, angst galore; nothing particularly graphic
Spoilers: None
Notes: I didn't want to write it but the voices made me. And no, that is not one-sided Wincest you see here. It’s not meant to be taken that way.

FF.net link: http://www.fanfiction.net/s/3234940/1/

This story might confuse you if you haven’t read You Can’t Fix This.

January 2007

It started innocently enough. Just a few pranks, like when they were kids. Some itching powder in Dean’s bed, and in return, some ants in Sam’s bag of clothes. Vinegar in the mouthwash. Superglue on the toilet seat. All just little stuff.

And the funniest part was that it was Sam who had started it this time. It was just a way to try and get their lives back on track; to forget what happened in the summer months. Dean had always loved prank wars.

It was Sam who started this particular prank war, and it was Sam who took it too far.

The idea had sounded funny in his head; clever and devious and darn right perfect revenge for the two inches of mud Dean had left in his favorite pair of shoes. Two inches! Where did Dean even get the mud? Oh well, it didn’t matter. Sam didn’t even want to know.

The idea was downright brilliant. Dean was going to hate him, yet be in awe and laugh afterwards. This prank war would end with Sam as the king.

It wasn’t until halfway through the prank that his head cleared as if he had just clawed his way out of a dream, and he actually heard Dean’s frantic and frightened yelling. Frightened. Jesus, this was not good.

Dean’s eyes were wild and scared, and Sam couldn’t believe that it was his fault this time. Jesus Christ, what had he been thinking? He hadn’t been thinking. That had to be the answer.

After everything that had happened to Dean in the summer; after Sam had seen him so vulnerable and scared and hurt; after Sam had tried to protect and help through it all… he pulled a prank that involved handcuffing Dean to the bed.

If the summer of 2006 had never happened, the prank wouldn’t have been so bad. Dean would have been pissed as all hell when Sam yanked his pants down, but he wouldn’t have freaked out on Sam like this.

It wasn’t until Dean yelled, “Stay the hell away from me” that Sam finally snapped out of whatever fucked up trance he’d been in and started trying to explain and calm Dean down. And that was pretty freakin’ hard to do with Dean yelling Christo over and over. Because after all the shit that went down in June through August, surely Sam wouldn’t pull this on him unless he was possessed.

Sam almost wished he was possessed. Something, anything, that would explain this screwed up prank he was about to pull on Dean after everything that had happened. Not to mention after Dean had actually opened up to him and told him what had gone down at that bar a few days before he’d snatched Sam from Stanford.

And still, he was going to pull this shit on Dean. Dean who still wasn’t quite Dean after the summer from hell. Dean who was still struggling to cope with everything that had happened. Dean who had actually admitted to Sam that he was still scared.

What the hell was wrong with Sam?

Suddenly he had to explain; he had to make Dean understand that it was just a stupid prank that wasn’t all that brilliant after all.

“I was never going to hurt you… God, Dean… Oh my God… I’m sorry… so sorry. Was just going to take a picture and send it in to this gay porn site… it was stupid… I’m sorry… God, I’m so sorry…”

Dean instinctively flinched away from his touch when Sam bent down to unlock the handcuffs.

When Sam finally had the cuffs off, Dean warily, wordlessly, moved towards the door. When Sam opened his mouth to try and explain again, Dean held up a hand to stop him, shook his head, grabbed his jacket and walked out.

It took a minute of staring at the closed door for Sam’s mind to tick into gear and figure it out. He’s scared of me. He’s afraid he can’t trust me now. His big brother was actually scared of him. Scared of Sam. When Sam was supposed to be the only person he could trust, the only person he had left now. And he had screwed it up over a damnstupididiotic prank.

Sam racked his brain, still couldn’t quite pinpoint when he had come up with the idea. He didn’t understand. He couldn’t figure out what would make him think something like that would ever be a good idea. Not after he witnessed firsthand the hell they had put Dean through. And especially not after Dean had told him he’d been gang banged outside a bar in New Orleans.

Sam would never pull a prank like that. Never.

And that was when the first warning bell should have sounded.

Early March 2007

By March it hurt, actually physically hurt sometimes.

Sam didn’t understand, couldn’t wrap his mind around what was happening to him.

Dean had forgiven him for the stupid prank, because it was Sammy, and sometimes brothers did stupid things to each other. Of course, his forgiveness came with a threat that involved drowning Sam in the toilet if he ever pulled some shit like that on him ever again.

Sam couldn’t confide in Dean. He couldn’t tell him about this strange feeling, these urges that Sam didn’t understand, didn’t want to understand.

Sam couldn’t tell Dean that he was getting scared because sometimes the feelings were so strong that they were like a black hole threatening to suck him down into oblivion.

He wanted advice badly. He needed to tell someone. The urges wouldn’t go away. They only got worse. Sometimes they hurt his whole body, until Sam wanted to lash out at something or someone, wanted to make them hurt just as much as he did.

No. Sam could definitely never tell Dean.

Mid March 2007

He thought that maybe it would eventually get better.

It didn’t.

He thought maybe it would just go away one day.

It didn’t.

It got worse. Much, much worse, until Sam was scared shitless. Until all Sam did was brood in the passenger seat, silent as death. Brood in one motel room after another. He threw himself into such a self-induced trance of brooding that he hardly saw or heard what was going on around him anymore.

Dean questioned him and tried to get him to talk. But Dean was still so messed up from everything that had happened last year that he was in a strange un-Dean-like silent mood of his own. Sam knew he should be helping his brother deal, because the way Dean was retreating into himself wasn’t healthy.

But Sam had to figure this out first. He had to figure it out before it was too late…

Too late. Too late for what? Sam wondered.

And that’s when he started getting really scared.

Late March 2007

Spring brought fresh thoughts, new thoughts that shouldn’t belong to Sam, shouldn’t belong to any sane person, ever. At first, Sam didn’t even realize what he was thinking until after he’d been sitting there thinking it. It was like he had no control over his mind for a brief period of time.

The first time it happened, or at least the first time that Sam noticed it happening, was right after an easy hunt. They rarely hunted anymore, but when they did, they made sure the thing was deader than dead.

Sam collapsed into a chair by the door.

Worn out but happy, Dean was sprawled out on the bed nearest the bathroom. He was babbling on about Did you see the way it exploded after that shot? Man!

Sam smiled because Dean was actually happy. These days, Sam could go weeks without seeing Dean happy.

Then, as if it was the most casual thought to have next, Sam thought, He’s just laying there. I could do it now.

I could hurt him. Just a little. I could do it and he wouldn’t be able to stop me. I could do that to him. I would---

Sam’s head snapped up to find Dean standing over him, worry etched like a permanent work of art across his features.

“Dude. You ok?”

Sam blinked. Rubbed a large hand over his face. “Uh… yea. Yea, sure. I think I’m just tired.”

“Because you totally blanked out on me.”

“Just sleeping with my peepers open, I guess.” Sam grinned at Dean’s groan.

“Never, never say that again. It wasn’t funny.”

“A year later and it’s still funny. Your face was priceless.”

“I could’ve killed her,” Dean mumbled, moving to his bag, pawing through it. “See how funny it would’ve been if I’d accidentally pulled the trigger in her face.” Dean’s expression was all serious as he pointed at Sam, a pair of clean boxers dangling from his fingers.

“But you didn’t. Which means I can still laugh at it.”

“Whatever, dude.” Dean headed into the bathroom.

It wasn’t until Sam heard the shower turn on that he allowed himself a moment to freak the fuck out!

It’s not me, he urgently told himself. Something’s wrong. Something’s really wrong with me.

Because he could never -would never- hurt any human being, least of all Dean.

He had never had the urge to hurt anyone. Despite his soldier-like upbringing, he wasn’t a violent type of guy. So where the hell had that come from?

What was happening to him?

Sam thought that maybe he was slowly losing his mind.

Early April 2007

The thoughts came many and often now. They weren’t just about Dean; they involved many people that he saw at random places. The waitress at the diner where they had breakfast, the woman who checked them into the motel, and God, oh God, the little kid they saved from the werewolf in South Dakota.

But since Dean was with him all of the time, it was Dean he thought about the most. What really scared Sam now was how after the thoughts ended and he refocused his mind, it repulsed him to think of hurting the waitress, the kid, and whoever else was nearby. But Dean... oh Dean. He couldn’t fight back the rush of sick pleasure the thoughts of hurting Dean gave him.

It wasn’t sexual pleasure. God, at least he wasn’t that fucked up. But it was bad, oh was it bad.

Sam had never been normal, but this? Was all kinds of fucked up.

He began arguing with himself.

Stop it. It’s Dean. You love Dean. You don’t want to hurt him. You don’t want to hurt anybody.

Then his thoughts would wander back to August, with Dean in his arms sobbing and gasping in pain, and he’d think, He looks good like that. He’s pretty when his face is all crumpled with agony. He---

No. Shut up, you sick sadist. Just shut the fuck up.

Dean was normally near him when he’d have these little arguments with himself. Sam wouldn’t blank out anymore, like he did that night in the motel room. He would just stare ahead at the road, or out the window, or at the laptop screen, and Dean wouldn’t think anything about it.

I’m getting used to it, Sam realized with a sick dread that bubbled up in his stomach. He actually had to tell Dean to pull over to the side of the road. Dean did so with a questioning glance. As soon as the car stopped Sam flung himself out of the seat and retched the entire contents of his stomach into the dirt by the road.

By the time Sam stood up, feeling weak and afraid, Dean was by his side with a concerned, “You ok, Sammy?” A comforting hand rested gently on Sam’s back. Sam shuddered under the touch. He shouldn’t be near me…

“Just a bad burger,” Sam brushed off, wiping his mouth and sliding back into the car. If Dean only knew the thoughts that had just been running through his head… Picturing the look that would be on Dean’s face, the reaction he’d give Sam, sent Sam’s stomach churning again.

Dean shot him a skeptical look. “Ok. But you sure you’re done, ‘cause I don’t want my car to smell like puke.”

Sam was too out of it to roll his eyes. He just rested his head against the window and tried to fight off thoughts of Dean curled by the side of the road covered in blood. “Yea, I’m done. I’m fine. Just drive.”

Kick me out of the car and just drive. Drive away, Dean. Get away from me before something happens.

----------
Sam moved quietly; much quieter than one would expect from a 6 foot 4 tall man.

He crossed the gap between the two beds and found himself staring down at his sleeping brother. Dean looked so peaceful, more peaceful and at ease than Sam had seen him look since they hurt him.

Because he thinks he’s safe now. He knows I’m in the next bed and he trusts me to wake him if something or someone comes in. He trusts me.

Instead of turning away with that thought, Sam almost laughed. A thrill ran up his spine, sparked in his mind. He trusts me, and I could hurt him right now. I want to. I could lean down and wake him up with my hands curling around his throat or a knife trailing lightly down his back. The look on his face… That’s when his expression would really be priceless.

At that thought, Sam actually turned to find one of their knives. Then he stopped. Grabbed at his hair, fisted his fingers in the long strands and pulled until it actually hurt his scalp. He shook his head back and forth. Hard. No, no. NO.

Sam turned back to Dean, who was laying burrowed under the covers, one arm hanging out and over the side of the bed. Standing stock still, Sam watched him for a moment. Dean, please help me. Wake up and help me. Something’s wrong. I need you. I need you to help me figure this out.

“Dean,” Sam said softly into the air above the older brother’s head. He needed Dean to help him, to fix him. But this -this standing over Dean in the middle of the night- this was bad. Sam was suddenly scared. But not for himself. He was afraid of what he might do if Dean woke up. What he might do to Dean if that familiar, smooth deep voice filled the room at that moment and the wide, concerned eyes met his in the middle of the night.

Sam watched the rise and fall of the blanket as his brother breathed in and out evenly and slept on obliviously. What’s happening to me? What’s wrong with me? I spent 3 months trying to protect you, Dean, why do I want to hurt you now?

I’m scared. I don’t know what’s going on.

Sam forced himself to peel his eyes away from his brother and move back to his own bed. Once in bed among the soft covers again, he dropped like a lead weight onto the pillow and fell into sleep.

And he dreamed. He dreamed of ways to hurt Dean. He dreamed a thousand different ways to punish Dean’s body until he had Dream-Dean begging him to stop. In his dreams, Sam smiled at Dean’s pleas and kept right on going.

----------
Sam stayed broody and grumpy through most of the days now. Deprived of dreamless nights, Sam was tired, and he couldn’t rid himself of new horrible, cruel thoughts. They pounded his mind throughout each and every winter day.

Dean was understandably confused at being given the cold shoulder every single day.

Around April 5th, Dean finally turned to him in the parking lot of another motel and said, “Dude. What is your problem?”

Sam shouldered past him, but Dean wasn’t giving up. He jumped into Sam’s path, right in his face, and Sam thought, If only you knew how dangerous this is…

“You know I hate this talking crap, but man, you’ve been acting like a totally different person lately. What gives?”

Sam stopped walking, stayed frozen to the spot, staring down at Dean blankly. “Nothing.”

“Really? Then why don’t you talk anymore?”

“It’s nothing.”

“If there’s something you need to talk about… did something happen?”

“Let it go, Dean. Nothing’s wrong with me.” He sidestepped and brushed by Dean.

“Sam,” Dean called after him. He jogged back up to Sam until he was walking by his side. “I’m worried about you, man.”

Sam scoffed, louder than he intended to.

“What?”

“You...” He swatted his hand out to Dean as if to brush him off. “Never mind. I just want you to leave me alone.” At that, Sam picked up his pace and left Dean standing by the car as he trudged onto the road to take a walk. A long walk.

It was the coldest year on record. Snow still fell in the northern parts of the country. Sam enjoyed the biting cold in a way he’d never experienced before.

“Hey!” Dean shouted at his back. “Sam! Where are you going? It’s fucking snowing out here!”

“Just need a walk,” Sam yelled back over his shoulder and disappeared around a curve.

Mid April 2007

Sam finally picked a fight with Dean around April 14th. It was a stupid fight, but Sam enjoyed the opportunity to get in Dean’s face and yell.

Dean called him Sammy, and Sam chose the chance to explode.

“It’s Sam. Are you stupid, Dean? Why can’t you figure out that it’s Sam? S-A-M. Sam.”

Forkful of Al’s Italian takeout spaghetti in mid air, Dean blinked at him. “Wow. Chill.”

“Apologize.”

Dean laughed. “Are you serious?”

Sam’s fist slammed down onto the tiny motel table and rattled the takeout boxes. His eyes blazed so hot at Dean that he was surprised his brother didn’t burst into flames on the spot.

“What the hell’s wrong with you?”

“You. You’re what’s wrong with me, Dean.”

Dean finally put his fork down, turning all of his attention to his raging brother. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I’m sick of you.”

Hurt flashed across Dean’s face for a brief second before he mentally sucked it back in and focused his gaze on Sam.

Sam reveled in the rush of immense pleasure that little pained expression on Dean’s face caused him. He wanted more of it, more of that look, and he wanted the pleasure of knowing that it was him who put it there on Dean’s face.

“What did I do? Did I do something to piss you off for the last few weeks? Because if I did, you better just tell me what it is, because I have no fucking idea.”

Sam laughed, stood up until he was towering over Dean, who was still seated. He leaned down. Every movement, every expression across his face, showed anger and aggression. Dean froze and Sam swore he saw a small hint of fear pass through the hazel-green eyes. Or maybe that was just wishful thinking.

He made sure he was leaning down on eye level with Dean. “Sometimes I can’t stand being near you anymore.” He straightened again, watched Dean watch him. It was an odd moment, because Sam couldn’t really read the expression on Dean’s face.

After a moment of silence, Sam grabbed his jacket and moved toward the door. As his hand closed around the cool metal of the door knob, he heard Dean mutter Christo under his breath.

Oh perfect, Dean. Thanks for handing me more ammunition.

Sam dropped his jacket and spun around to Dean. “You think I’m possessed? Oh right, that’s great, Dean. You’re a real piece of work, you know that?”

Dean finally stood up from the table, eyes meeting Sam’s, head tilted slightly to the right in a questioning, confused gesture.

Dean took a step toward Sam. His voice was even, almost calm. “What’s wrong with you?”

In turn, Sam took a step toward Dean, the gap between them closing quickly. “What’s wrong? You think a person has to be possessed to not enjoy your company? You think you’re that perfect, Dean?” Sam took another step until there were no more steps for him to take because he was all up in Dean’s personal space. “Well, you’re wrong. I wish I’d never said I’d stay with you forever because it’s only been a few months since the aliens and I’m already sick of you. I just… I need a break from you.”

Holding his ground, Dean looked up into his face so intently that Sam got the feeling he was searching for something, for some sign that Sam was indeed under demonic influence. “Fine,” Dean finally said, not raising his voice to shout like Sam had been doing, “then leave.”

Sam glared down at him, rage seeping out of every pore. It was all he could do to keep himself from grabbing Dean by the shoulders, spinning him around and bashing his pretty face into the wall. But some part of Sam, some part that was still Dean’s Sammy, kept his fists down by his side. He breathed heavily directly into Dean’s face for a minute before storming out the door into the night.

----------
Sam returned to a dark motel room and Dean snoring softly under the covers.

Perfect in his suffering. Beautiful and defenseless.

Sam shook his head. Those words. Where had he heard those familiar words?

Doesn’t matter now.

He moved to Dean’s bed until he was standing directly over him, a hovering shadow of madness.

Hurt. Hurt. Hurt.

Sam could barely see straight through the dark cloud in his mind that was engulfing him, pulling him down all the way. He was practically drowning in the dark.

“Dean,” he whispered, licking his lips, anticipating, wanting Dean to actually wake up this time.

Hurthurthurt.

“Dean,” he said louder.

Dean stirred, pushed some of the blankets aside until he could peer up at Sam through blurry eyes. Groggily, he croaked, “Sam? What’s wrong?”

Sam paused. Everything. Everything’s wrong, Dean. Please help me. Stop me. But you can’t stop me. Run, get away from me!

“Sam?”

This time, fully intending to do something, something to his brother, Sam reached out his hand to Dean. He didn’t know what he was going to do first, how he was going to start the torture. But it was going to happen tonight.

Suddenly Dean was sitting up, touching the knife he kept under his pillow to the skin on Sam’s outstretched arm. Sam actually had to blink at the sudden transition.

“Back off,” Dean said.

“What?” When Sam’s question came out surprised, it wasn’t a fake cover up; he was really and truly shocked.

“Get the hell away from me,” Dean hissed.

“Dean… I---”

Dean’s shoulders were all hunched up, glimpses of the suspicious hunter coming out right before Sam’s eyes.

Ok, stay calm. I can work around this. “Jesus, Dean. Get that knife away from me. What the hell’s wrong with you? I know you’re pissed at me but c’mon man.”

Sam studied Dean’s face, wishing away the wary look that was currently marking his features. He couldn’t start it with Dean all rigid and ready to fight back. Not to mention the sharp knife in Dean’s hand. Aha. So big brother did suspect something. Sam could still smooth this over, alleviate Dean’s growing suspicions.

“Dean?” he asked again, using an unsure, worried little brother voice. “Are you ok?”

Ignoring the question, Dean looked up at Sam, eyes studying him so intently that Sam had to fight the urge to squirm under that distrustful gaze. Dean let Sam shift in discomfort for another moment before he asked, “What’re you doing standing over my bed in the middle of the night?”

Quick. Cover up. C’mon. Think fast. “I was just wanted to talk about our fight earlier. Make sure we were ok. Didn’t mean to scare you.”

“You didn’t scare me,” Dean snapped, setting the knife on the nightstand.

“Oh yea?” Sam sent a pointed glance at the knife.

“You know not to sneak up on me like that in the middle of the night,” Dean growled. Wow, dude could be a real bitch when you woke him up from a deep sleep.

“Yea, no kidding.” Just play along. “You almost took a finger off.” Sam’s flexed his fingers and laughed nervously.

“Man, don’t do that again.”

Picking up the knife and studying the sharp point, Sam said, “Right. Sorry.” When he raised his head, Dean was watching him closely, that dubious expression on his face again. Sam realized he was running his finger appreciatively along the edge of the knife. He laughed and handed it back to Dean.

“Dude,” Sam said easily, “you need to chill. Since when did you start sleeping with a knife anyway? I don’t remember you ever doing that before I left for college.”

Sticking the dangerous piece of metal back in its place under his pillow, Dean shrugged. “It just… kind of became a habit.”

“Why?” Sam pressed, unsure of why he was doing so.

“Why? Why do you think? You know what’s out there.”

“Huh.”

“What?” By now Dean was so testy that Sam figured he could lightly poke him and his brother would go off like a bomb. Sam was starting to enjoy picking at him. Sure, it certainly couldn’t be as fun as torture, but it was pretty damn amusing. It was just too freakin’ easy to piss Dean off when he was groggy.

“Well, it’s just that a knife wouldn’t really do much against most of the stuff we hunt.”

“What are you trying to say?”

Sam shrugged knowingly, a move he knew would infuriate Dean considering the mood he was already in.

“Fine, asshole. You want me to admit to you that I started sleeping with it after that night in New Orleans?”

Sam swung his wide-eyed gaze to Dean, a convincing, sympathetic frown creasing the corners of his mouth. “Oh, man. I’m sorry.” He wasn’t. “I didn’t mean to embarrass you like that…” He totally did. And he liked it. Was it so awful that he had the urge to laugh in Dean’s face?

The fact that he could pick and pull at Dean like this and get the exact reactions he wanted was kind of a new thrill. Mental torture. Not bad. Not as good as the beating I was planning on tonight, but not bad. Not bad at all.

Dean laid back down, flipped the light off and snarled at Sam to shut up and go to sleep.

Woo he was pissed. Sam practically lapped up the tension in the room.

His last fleeting thought before sleep was I really have lost the person I used to be.

Then, Oh well.

Mid May 2007

There were only brief moments of clarity in between picking little fights with Dean. Getting Dean irritated had become somewhat of a hobby for Sam.

He always started tiny spats, only little arguments that would piss Dean off just enough to bring a light pink to his cheeks and a ticked off glare in Sam’s direction. He enjoyed timing a fight on a day he noticed that Dean was in a good mood. He would start in on him, suck the good mood away and then revel in Dean’s on edge moodiness for the rest of the day. It was always just enough to satisfy Sam’s thirst to hurt Dean. Words were sometimes almost as powerful as a knife in the back. And often less messy.

And Dean’s face was so amusing when he got pissed off: the little eye narrowing thing, the brow furrow, the way his forehead scrunched up and he pursed his lips. He looked like a confused little chipmunk, especially with the unspoken words written across his face: why do you keep doing this, you asshole?

Dean had already mentioned the stick up Sam’s ass quite a few times now. On the outside, Sam scowled in his exasperated I only put up with you because I’m related to you way. Inside, he laughed. You’re such a loser, Dean. No idea how hard you’re being played.

Besides, manipulating Dean’s emotions gave Sam a strange little buzz of power. He could control his brother; he could make Dean do and feel whatever he wanted him to. And all only with words. He ached to use more than just mere words.

He was desperate, yet he couldn’t bring himself to actually physically hurt his brother.

Sometimes after a fight, Sam would think, Stop. What are you doing?

Sam noticed that Dean rarely let him out of his sight anymore, and Sam started to wonder if Dean wasn’t as stupid as his pretty face lead people to believe. He seemed to sense something off with Sam.

Sam would turn around and jump a little in surprise when Dean would be right fucking there. After weeks of that, he kept expecting Dean to ask him something. But if Dean suspected something shady with Sam, he never mentioned it; he only kept an eye on Sam 24fucking7 until Sam wanted to shove him out of the car and leave him on the side of the road.

Despite Sam pissing Dean off every chance he got, it got to the point that Sam felt he was never alone anymore. Dean was always there. Friggin’ pain in the ass- that’s what Dean was.

----------
In the small, precious moments of clarity, Sam contemplated leaving Dean a note:

Hey Dean,

I figured it out. You were right, the deal I made with evil is backfiring. Guess they really did sign me up for the dark side after all. Sorry. I screwed up and now you’re going to be the one to pay for it because they got Dad killed and now they’re going to use me to hurt you until you’ll wish that the aliens had finished you off.

Sincerely,
Sam

Well, screw that idea.

----------
At the car, in a random motel parking lot, Sam bitched at Dean for the way he’d just thrown Sam’s bag into the trunk. Something about how Dean treated the guns with more care than Sam’s only possessions, which happened to be in that bag, dammit.

Dean turned to him slowly, hand still on the door handle of the car.

“Sometimes I think you do things just to piss me off,” Sam said in a mutter that he made sure Dean would hear.

“Sometimes I think you pick fights with me just to have someone to bitch at,” Dean fired back.

Sam froze. If only Dean knew how close to the truth he was. “Screw off. I’m not in the mood for this.”

“Really? Because lately you always seem to be in the mood to whine.”

Sam paused long enough to entertain the brief fantasy of hurling himself at his brother, knocking the wind out of him as his weight brought them both to the ground, and then forcing Dean to shut up by making him kiss the grainy pavement.

Sam looked up to find Dean staring at him, head angled to the side in a questioning tilt, eyebrow raised in expectation of a retaliatory comment. Sam ignored the look in favor of imagining delicate facial skin scraped raw on the ground under their feet until Dean was a bloody, unrecognizable mess.

Licking his dry lips, Sam turned away from Dean, slid into the car and slammed the door just as Dean said, “Sam…”

Sam had no urge to continue this argument. He would rather indulge in his latest little fantasy just a little longer.

On the road again, Dean kept pulling his eyes from the road to shoot Sam worried little glances.

“Something’s wrong with you, isn’t it?”

Sam snorted his response, kept his eyes glued out the passenger side window. He knows me so well. Too well. He’s eventually gonna figure it out.

“Nothing, Dean. I’m just really tired lately. Sorry.”

In the close confines of the car, Sam felt Dean’s curious gaze still on him. “Did something happen?”

“What? Nah.”

“You sure? Because you can tell me if---”

“Nothing. Don’t worry. I think I’m just gonna nap.”

Dean let it go.

Whatever was going to go down in the future, Sam was going to make sure that by the time Dean pieced it together and realized what was happening, it was going to be too late.

June 2007

Get away from me, Dean.

Sam wanted to scream at Dean to leave, just get the hell away from him, before he did something horrible and irreversible to him. Before he hurt the one person he’d sacrificed everything he had to save. Then none of it would be worth it and they really would win. They may be able to turn me, but I won’t hurt my own brother.

He had to get Dean unhinged from his side for at least half an hour, just long enough for Sam to leave and get far enough away that Dean would never find him again.

This was the longest time of clarity Sam had experienced for months. He had to use it, had to take advantage of it before everything was too late and the opportunity to get Dean safely away from him was gone.

The only way he knew how to do it was to pick a huge fight with Dean, one that had his big brother storming out the door to a bar for a couple of hours.

Hurting Dean was inventible. Sam knew that it would eventually happen if he didn’t kick Dean out of his life right now.

Dean came out of the bathroom wearing a pair of relatively tight jeans and toweling his hair dry. Numbly, Sam watched him slip on a black t-shirt that hugged his chest.

It’s now or never, Sam told himself. Oh God, I can’t do this to him. No… have to. I have to. He looked up to find Dean standing by the door, jacket already on, a questioning gaze focused at Sam.

“Ready?” Dean asked.

“Yea. Sure.” He pointed at the jeans Dean had on. “New?”

“Huh? What?”

“The jeans? Are they new?”

Dean looked at him as if Sam had just asked where the nearest bus top to Mars was. “No,” he finally answered, gifting Sam with a furrowed brow of suspicion. “Why? There a blood stain on them somewhere?”

“No, no. Nah. It’s just that…” Say it. Say it. SAY IT. “Just that they’re really tight.”

Dean raised an eyebrow. “Why you lookin’?”

With an eye roll, Sam said, “Oh c’mon, man. In those jeans everyone’s looking.”

Dean smirked. “Whatever,” he threw back, spinning to open the door, cocky grin firmly in place.

Sam put a hand on his arm to stop him.

“What?”

“It’s just that… have you ever thought that maybe sometimes you ask for it?”

Slowly, Dean turned back around until his back was to the door and he was turned toward Sam, smirk gone, face a blank mask to hide whatever he was really thinking. “Ask for what?”

“Well. I didn’t want to say anything earlier but… the thing that happened in New Orleans… maybe you were advertising yourself without realizing it.”

Sam stepped back as Dean exploded in front of him, all fiery hot anger and rage, eyes flashing, exactly as Sam had expected.

“I advertised it? Are you fucking kidding me?”

“Calm down, Dean. I just want to help you so that nothing like that ever happens agai---”

“Shut the fuck up,” Dean spat, voice low and dangerous.

“C’mon. Don’t get mad.”

Sam flinched as Dean’s fist reared back, and he mentally braced himself for a face full of knuckle. Hell, he deserved it.

But it didn’t come.

When Sam refocused his gaze, he found Dean panting in front of him. Still seething with anger, in a tight almost-whisper, Dean said, “You really think it was my fault?”

Sam shrugged casually. “Well, sometimes I think maybe it could’ve been, yea. Listen, it’s no big deal. Sometimes I don’t think you even realize the message you send out.”

By an amazing feat of control, Dean’s curled fist remained down by his side. “What message?”

“Well, you know.” Sam pretended to shift uncomfortably, even threw in a nervous lip bite to top it off. “A sexual message or whatever. Like a whore or something.”

The echo of Dean’s fist slamming back into the door resonated through the tiny motel room. His voice didn’t quite reach yelling yet. “A whore? What the fuck, Sam? That’s what you really think of me?”

Maybe there was another way to do this, another argument I could’ve started. Dammit. But now he’d already started it, was right in the middle of it. There was no choice but to finish it. “Look. I’m sorry, ok? It’s just that there’s a reason those guys were drawn to you. And then the aliens… they never once came after me or Dad. They went straight to you. There’s a reason for all of it, Dean.”

Dean didn’t respond, just regarded Sam from under his lashes with quiet fury, and it was worse than the shouted insults that Sam had imagined would result from the untrue words that he had to force over his tongue.

“Dean…”

The words came soft but strained: “That’s what you think?” They cut through Sam sharper, faster and further than any shouted comeback or fist ever could. “The whole time it was happening you were thinking that I… what, deserved it?”

Jesus, no. “I… I…”

On Sam’s falter, Dean’s face flushed a light shade of red accompanied by a pained expression. Sam’s body ached. He wanted to wipe that look off of Dean’s face forever. All he could think was You put it there.

“You…” Dean started, stopped, his glare more of a shit I’m gonna cry than the I’m gonna kick your ass expression that Sam had expected through all of this. Sam would have preferred angry Dean.

Through it all, Dean still wasn’t storming out the door the way he should be, the way Sam needed him to. Get out. Leave. Go!

Sam didn’t know how long he had before the sticky black wave of evil crashed down over him again. Then he would hurt Dean with more than just words. Fear gurgled up in Sam’s throat, threatening to choke him. He could imagine the horrible scenes in his head so clearly that it almost made him gag.

If it happened, if he did the things to Dean that the urges told him to do, there would be no escape- for either of them.

And in the end, if Dean ever got away, he still wouldn’t leave Sam. He would try to save Sam by way of exorcism.

And that would be the worst part.

Because there would be nothing to exorcise. Then Dean would know that Sam wasn’t possessed, that he never had been. He would realize that Sam had become evil, as dark and oily and soulless as everything that they had ever hunted. He would realize that the thing that had hurt him wasn’t some random creature; it was his Sammy.

Sam couldn’t bare the thought of Dean, his Dean, his fucking hero for pete’s sake, finding out what he had become.

He could already hear Dean saying it: Don’t you do this, Sammy. Don’t you let me lose you, too. Not after all the shit we’ve been through together. Don’t turn on me. Fight it.

The worst part wouldn’t be having those words slice into Sam’s heart and dig their way into the pumping chambers in the way that only guilt can. No, the worst part would be that by then, Sam wouldn’t care at all. Dean’s words and pleas would have no effect on him.

Sam couldn’t let those events unfold. Not like that, never like that.

It had to end. Here. Now. Before anything actually happened.

Dean would hate him for what he was about to say, but this way he would never find out about the man Sam had become. Sam couldn’t bare for Dean to find out.

Sam took a deep breath. On the exhale he rushed the words out, breathy but stinging like a knife. “Maybe they thought you wanted it… maybe you did want it.”

Neither brother breathed. Sam thought maybe time had stopped and they were frozen in this moment.

Reality kicked in again when Dean sucked in a sharp breath and shoved Sam away from him so hard that he stumbled backward and barely caught himself from tumbling butt-first onto the bed.

Dean grabbed the door, wrenched it open, eyes still on Sam the whole time. Two words fired in Sam’s direction: Fuck you. Not yelled, not screamed, not exactly calm, but with so much feeling that Sam could read every single emotion racing through Dean’s heart: anger, hurt, shock, but worst of all- betrayal. Sam could hear the unspoken words in the air even as the door exploded shut behind Dean:

I thought you were on my side. I thought you were always on my side.

“I am,” Sam told the closed door just as the engine of the Impala roared to life.

Go after him. Stop him. Explain. CHANGE THIS.

Sam didn’t move from his spot by the bed, didn’t allow himself to move. This was the way it was supposed to go.

This was the way it had to end.

Dean would never understand that the most hurtful words ever spoken to him were to save him.

In a numb trance, Sam slid his arms through his jacket, shuffled out the door, studied the angry skid marks the Impala had left behind just seconds ago.

He didn’t know how long he stood there wasting precious time, time that could be putting miles of safety between him and Dean.

The taxi cab that Sam didn’t remember calling arrived.

The yellow glare of the vehicle’s metal hurt his eyes, made his unshed tears even hotter.

Dean would never understand, never know the truth; he would never know why Sam left, where Sam went, or why the one person who had stood by him through months of hell had, out of the blue, turned on him with harsh words.

The country’s highways and back roads were an endless river of strangers, full of millions of people he and Dean had passed and never given a second thought to. The patchwork of roads only led to more roads, more cities, more nameless towns. It was easy to get lost.

In the thousands of tiny towns, between the hundreds of cities, among the 300,000,000 nameless faces in the United States, down never-ending pot-holed back roads- it was easy to get lost. And even easier to lose someone.

Don’t try to find me, Dean. Don’t come look for me. Let me lose you. Let me keep you safe.

Sam hoped, prayed, that Dean would unknowingly use the infinite ocean of humanity as a cover, a blanket of security to sink down into and get lost in. Slide into the world and down the thousands of tree-lined streets and into the safety of anonymity. Where Sam could lose track of him, eventually forget him.

The conversation had happened days before Christmas, half a year ago:

I don’t want to leave, Dean. Why is it so hard for you to believe that I want to stay?

Because everyone always leaves me.

Well, not anymore.

Sam climbed into the car and left.

-The End-
October 2006

----------
Gah. I made things so much worse. Don’t you just want to strangle me? I kind of want to strangle me. Now after this story I need something happy, like chocolate.

As always, reviews are welcomed and loved.

Fri, 03 Nov 2006 04:15:09 GMT

You Can’t Fix This
Chapter 14 :: You Could Be Happy
You all may or may not hate me after this last chapter. The illusion of a happy ending is in there. Somewhere.

I just wanted to thank everyone for reading this monster of a fic. It would’ve ended way back at chapter 7, but you all were so enthusiastic about the story that it started fueling more and more ideas until I just had to continue it. You guys have been great right from chapter one. Thank you so much!

(Chapter title shamelessly ripped from Snow Patrol.)
--------

“Dean, are you awake?”

“What are you? Psychic? Oh wait.”

Rolling over to face Dean’s bed, Sam let out a chuckle. “Shut up, man.” He paused, hesitant. “Why aren’t you asleep?”

Sam could just barely make out Dean’s outline facing him, backlit with the faint moonlight seeping through the way-too-sheer cheap curtains. “I just,” Dean began, then grew quiet.

“Just what? Are you ok?”

“Yea. I just can’t sleep.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t know. Maybe it has something to do with seeing alien tentacles coming at me every time I close my eyes.”

Sam shot up, flinging his covers off. “What? Are they here?”

“Damn. Calm down. It’s just memories, nothing else.”

Sam remembered the important task of breathing again. He slid back down under the covers, rested his head on his pillow, and kept his eyes on Dean.

“Stop watching me, perv.”

“Sorry. I’ve just gotten used to worrying about you all the time now.”

“Well, it’s creepy.”

After 23 years of Dean, Sam had gotten good at letting many of his snarky comments slide on by. Choosing to side-step the last one, he asked, “What are you thinking?”

“Oh God,” Dean muttered.

“What?”

“What are you thinking? Are you kidding me with this crap?” A pause, then completely seriously, “You sure you’re not a woman?”

“Fine. Never mind.” His comment came out way pissier than he meant for it too.

Sam could hear Dean sigh, shift on the bed, and mumble something under his breath. After a few minutes had dragged by, Dean suddenly blurted the words out, like he believed if he said them quickly and got them over with, the chick-flick moment would be less of a pain in the ass. “The aliens, they’re still out there somewhere, Sam.”

Sam didn’t quite get where Dean might be going with this. “Are you afraid they’ll come---”

“I’m not scared,” Dean growled at him across the small expanse between their beds. “I’m just saying we never killed them.”

“I don’t think there’s a way to do that.”

“I know. I’m just saying…” Dean’s voice trailed off while Sam fought the urge to shake him until he just spit the words out. Yea, that’d go ever real well.

Dean continued. “We know there’s something out there that we can’t stop, can’t kill. What if there are other things out there that are just as evil and invincible?”

“What are you getting at, Dean?”

Silence settled in the little gap between the beds before Dean finally answered in a low voice. “Maybe I am a little scared.”

Sam propped himself up with his elbow and eyed Dean’s shadowed face. He couldn’t make out an expression, just messy golden-brown hair that was sticking up every which way and highlighted by the moonlight coming in the window behind Dean.

Maybe Sam waited a beat too long to respond, because suddenly Dean was continuing without waiting for Sam’s reply, spilling his thoughts out into the dark room in a way he had never done before with Sam. Or probably anyone for that matter.

Cloaked safely in the darkness, Dean’s unusually hesitant voice went on. “I think things’ve changed… I’ve changed. I feel… different.”

“What do you mean?” Sam asked, mostly to show he was listening and hadn’t nodded off. Truth was, he was listening so hard that he was afraid he might breathe too loud and miss Dean’s words.

“I don’t know. I’m just… I’m scared now. Scared of what could be out there. And I hate myself for it.” Almost as an afterthought, Dean added softly, “I’m not supposed to get scared.”

In a soft tone to match his older brother’s, Sam said, “I’m scared too.”

Dean snorted. “That’s not a surprise.”

“Hey, what’s that supposed mean?”

“You’ve always been such a girl, Samantha.”

“Screw you. All I’m saying is that normal people get scared. Maybe you’re a little more normal than you thought.”

“Man, nothing ever used to phase me. Now I’m over here crying to my little brother that I’m,” Dean’s voice dipped into a girly, whiny tone, “scarrrred.” Sam sniggered at his drawled out, girly voice. Ignoring the muffled laughs from Sam’s bed, Dean went on. “They’re gone, but this fear and all the shit they put me through, it’s still here. I can’t get rid of it.”

And yea, that shut Sam’s chuckles up pretty fast. “It’s understandable, man. You just went through hell. It’s going to take some time to get over it and move on. Meanwhile, I’m here for you.”

“My hero,” Dean mumbled.

“Seriously, Dean. I just want you to know that you’re not going to be alone ever again.”

“Ever again? Dude.”

“You know what I mean. I’m not leaving you. You’re not gonna be alone in this.”

Dean sighed. “Just because you sacrificed your life for me doesn’t mean you’re hog-tied to me for life, Sam.”

“That’s not how I meant it. I want to stay with you.”

A gruff laugh floated to Sam’s ears. “You can’t stay and hunt with me now.”

“Huh?”

“All it would take is one mistake, one accident, and you could be dead and in hell by next week.”

Sam rolled his eyes, even though he knew Dean couldn’t see him in the dark. “No. I’m staying.”

“Fine, but you’re not going on hunts with me.”

“What? The hell I’m not, Dean. You need me out there.”

Firmly, Dean repeated, “You’re not going on hunts with me. Ever again.”

“Well then you’re not going either.”

“God. You’ve gotta be kidding me.”

“I didn’t sell my soul for your stubborn ass to go out and get killed because you were alone out there with no one to back you up.”

“Dude, I’m not 5. I can handle these things.”

Sam was no longer so sure of that, though he’d never say those words out loud unless he wanted 6’1” of infuriated brother on top of him. As it turned out, Dean was no more invincible than Sam or John.

“Dean,” Sam began, voice dropping to nothing short of a pleading he knew would hit Dean hard, “if you go out there and some freak accident happens, like it did with the electrocution, and you end up dying, then everything I did was for nothing. Would you really do that to me?” Sam bit his lip at the silence that followed his statement. He knew that was a low blow, but damn if it wasn’t the raw truth.

“Dammit, Sam,” Dean all but whispered a minute later.

“We have a problem, don’t we?”

“Don’t hold that over my head. Don’t. Because I could walk out and get hit by a semi tomorrow, or get cancer at 30, and your sacrifice would be worthless anyway. Don’t do that guilt thing to me, Sam. It’s bad enough that you fucking signed your soul over for me, but don’t make me feel any shittier about it.”

Sam felt like dirt. Or something lower than dirt. An earthworm or something. “I’m sorry,” he whispered.

Dean didn’t respond. Sam was afraid to say anything else, afraid he’d shove his foot further into his mouth.

After half an hour had passed, Dean said, “Next time you ask me if I’m awake, don’t expect an answer.”

“I really am sorry, Dean. This whole situation is just weird. I didn’t mean to---”

“Forget it.”

“You still can’t sleep?”

“I may never be able to sleep again.”

“You know I still owe you that beer.”

Dean laughed, and Sam had the incredible urge to capture the sound and carry it around with him. Dean never laughed anymore.

“You mean that shitty bar down the street from here? The one I had a beer at three months ago? Stuff tasted like piss.”

“Great. Wanna go?”

“What? Now?”

“Yea.”

“Hell, you know I’m game.”

----------
Half an hour after they walked in, Sam regretted suggesting they go. Awkward as hell didn’t even begin to describe it.

When 20 minutes had passed without Dean making a move to leave the table, Sam began to doubt his brilliant idea. Since Dean spent pretty much half of his life at bars, Sam had thought this would help him ease back into his old life.

It wasn’t helping. If anything, it was only pointing out how different things were now. Because if this had been before Dean had been put through hell, the older brother would have left Sam sitting at the table 5 minutes after they arrived. Eight minutes after they arrived, Dean would be at the bar flirting with at least two women. Twenty minutes after they arrived, Dean would be back at the table, grinning like a kid in a candy store and telling Sam about the night’s delectable selections. Half an hour after they arrived, Dean would normally be shooting pool amidst a group of equal parts admirers and equal parts men who wanted to bash his pretty face in.

“So,” Sam finally said.

“I told you the beer here sucked,” Dean responded, taking a swig and making a face that resembled that of a baby who’d just gotten a taste of a lemon.

“No pool tonight?”

“Nah.”

“I’ll play you.”

“What?”

“I think I could beat you at pool.”

“Oh baby brother, it’s dangerous to talk to the master like that.”

“Is the master scared I’ll actually beat him?”

Dean raised an eyebrow in response.

Classic Dean, Sam couldn’t help but think.

“Fine. Let’s go,” Dean said.

“You’ll play me?”

“Let’s see what ya got, little brother.”

----------
A little over an hour after they arrived Sam was cursing himself for this idea.

For one, Dean was kicking his butt at this damn game. To make matters even worse, there was a crowd standing around watching Dean work his magic while Sam got his ass handed to him by his own brother. It was humiliating.

A pretty brunette stood off to the side, following Dean’s every move with her eyes, while licking her lips. When Dean didn’t seem to notice, Sam leaned over casually and mentioned that he had a fan.

“Yea, I know.” The funny part was that he didn’t even seem to care. Actually, it wasn’t all that funny, because it set off an alarm of warning in Sam’s head.

After Dean won and the game was over, she sidled over to Dean as if he were a magnet slowly drawing her in.

Grinning knowingly, Sam turned away and walked back to the bar for another drink. Anything but beer. Dean was right; the stuff was God-awful.

When he turned around Dean was right in his face. “Let’s go.”

“Go?”

“Yes. Now.”

“What’s wrong?”

But Dean was already halfway to the door and disappearing through it in another second.

Sam discarded the drink so fast that he wasn’t sure if he drank it, dropped it, or set it back on the bar. He was already out the door behind Dean and sitting next to him in the car a split second later.

“Ok. What happened?”

“I can’t do this,” Dean mumbled. “I thought I could, but I can’t.”

“What do you mean?”

Dean’s face scrunched up into a look of pure misery. Sam was afraid he might start sobbing or something, which was really something he’d never had to worry about with his older brother.

“Man,” Dean began, gripping the steering wheel with both hands, “I don’t even want to get laid.”

Sam’s eyes widened in confusion. “What?”

Staring at his hands on the wheel, in a strained voice, Dean said, “The thought of her hands on me,” he shook his head, “I don’t want anyone’s hands on me. I don’t want anyone near me.”

“Just give it some time, Dean.”

“God,” Dean grumbled, starting the engine. “I’ll be as bitchy and uptight as you.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Dean shot him a meaningful look. “You know.”

“Wha… oh. Whatever. Listen, you just have to give yourself time to get over everything that happened.”

“That’s the problem. I don’t know if I’ll ever get over it.”

“You will.”

Dean pulled out of the parking lot, headed back toward the shitty little motel. They rode the short distance in utter silence.

It wasn’t until they were back in the motel room, Dean sitting on the edge of the bed, that Dean finally spoke again. Leaning over his knees, head bent down, he said, “I’m not the same, Sam.”

“What? Of course you’re---”

“No,” Dean interrupted, “I’m not. They fucked me over in more ways than one, and I don’t know… man, I just don’t know.”

“What do you mean? What’s wrong?”

“I don’t know how to get over it.”

Sam spoke gently but made sure he didn’t get too close to this brother who seemed to be teetering on the edge of some sort of break down, or depression. Or both. “It’s going to take time. You went through a lot. You have to give yourself time to get over it.”

“I don’t think I can get over it.” Before Sam could respond, before he could get past that defeated look darkening Dean’s features, Dean was already in the bathroom, and Sam could hear the water turning on.

It wasn’t supposed to be like this. Everything was supposed to be ok. And dammit! why couldn’t everything just be ok again? Instead, it all seemed to be falling apart, and there was nothing left for Sam to sacrifice to save this new situation.

Sam knew it was an unfair and selfish thought, but Dean was supposed to be Dean again. And this defeated, quietly accepting, broken guy sharing the room with him was not the brother he had grown up with.

Sam finally had to admit to himself that this was the way it might be from now on. He may never get back the Dean from before. And he may not be able to fix the Dean from after, but he still had his brother there and breathing and alive and, somehow, that made things ok. Somehow they would make it through this. Together.

June 27th, 2006

June. According to Sam’s cell phone, anyway. Like hell he actually wanted to live through the whole friggin’ summer again.

Except this time, the second time around, it wouldn’t be as bad. Dean might be hurting inside and trying to find a way to deal with everything that had happened, to heal, but Dean was safe and that’s what mattered.

Sam had honestly expected the normal Dean. The Dean that would brush everything that happened to him aside, bury it deep in that place where he kept all of his hurt and pain. He expected a smirk, a sarcastic comment, and a verbal beating for the way he had saved Dean, and then he expected life to return to normal. Well, normal for them, anyway. It happened to be a normal that Sam now craved.

But what he got as they drove the back roads of America, silently searching for their once again lost father, was Dean with his eyes peeled on the road, quiet and solemn. And hurting.

Sam knew that those long hours in the car, when Dean wouldn’t take his eyes from the road and stared straight ahead almost as if he was in a trance, were hours that Dean was still thinking about it. All of it. Because maybe this was something that even Dean couldn’t shove away and brush aside like it was nothing.

And maybe Sam screwed this one up after all. When he made that deal, maybe he should have made sure to include memory erasing or something like that in his list of demands.

At a dingy diner in southern California, Sam broke the silence with just, “Dean.” The pleading worry on his face said the rest.

“Just give me time,” Dean said quietly, green-hazel eyes flicking up briefly to meet Sam’s own concerned ones.

Sam only nodded. Four words said enough. Dean was dealing in his own way and this retreating into himself was his way of doing it, working everything out in his mind and maybe, in time, getting to a place where things would be semi-ok again.

Sam nodded again, said, “Ok. Ok,” and then mentioned something about Dad calling from California those many months ago right after it happened.

Dean finally interrupted Sam’s babbling. “He’s not here in California.”

“What? How do you know?”

“He’s gone.”

“Gone?”

“Gone.”

“I don’t understand.”

“That night we got back from the bar and I went to shower, I had a little visitor.”

“What… what do you mean?”

“That fucking disembodied voice.”

Sam couldn’t move, couldn’t form a question or a thought except nonodammitno! Nothing good ever came of that voice.

Dean continued in an unusually flat, almost emotionless voice. “I was right. Dad didn’t make it out. Instead of ripping him out of time like they did with us, they left him back there.”

The task of breathing seemed suddenly difficult. Sam shook his head, ran both hands through is hair and clutched the long strands, like a mad man about to have a mental breakdown. In disbelief, or just plain denial, he said, “No. No. That can’t be right. They left him to die?”

Dean’s eyes met Sam’s, and Sam immediately stilled at the angry tears in them. “They didn’t leave him to die. They handed him over to the aliens. To replace me.”

Sam’s jaw fell. Nonono.

“Because of me, Sam. To punish me for getting away. Dad…” He stopped, causing Sam to look up quickly just in time to see him slide out of the booth and shoot out of the diner.

Sam found Dean in the parking lot, leaning with his palms on the hood of the car, head hanging down so that Sam couldn’t really see his face.

He reached the car, put his hand on Dean’s back, leaning down slightly said, “Hey,” in a soft, unsure little voice. He heard Dean suck in a loud, shaky wet breath. When Dean finally looked up at him, it was with red eyes and a tear-stained face. Seeing Dean lose it so often now was really starting to unravel every last nerve Sam had left.

“They have him, Sammy. For the rest of his life. Because of me; to punish me.”

“That can’t be it, Dean.”

“No, that’s exactly it. The voice was all too happy to explain all of it to me there in the shower. She came to tell me so that I would know that he’s going through hell because I got away. She said it doesn’t matter though, and wished me a happy life. The fucker.”

“It’s not your fault. It’s mine. I didn’t know… I didn’t know.”

Dean brushed Sam’s hand off his back and turned to face him. “I don’t blame you. What you did was stupid, but I don’t blame you for this.”

“So… what? You’re going to take all the blame on yourself?”

“You and Dad both paid to get me away from them, and I… I can’t live with it. It’s not right.” The door opened with a groaning creak under Dean’s angry hand. He slammed it shut after him and through the bug-splattered windshield motioned for Sam to just get in the damn car.

Stricken numb, Sam scrambled into the passenger side, a thousand different apologies and comforting words that would never help on the tip of his tongue.

“I don’t know what to do,” Dean whispered in a broken voice. “Dad’s gone and your life is screwed over, and I don’t know what the hell to do about any of it.”

And Sam finally realized that he would never be able to fix any of this, no matter what he did, or how hard he tried.

Every piece of this mess was only going to find a way to get worse, no matter how hard Sam tried in vain to find ways to get everything back to the way it had been that day Sam had mentioned the town in Florida where people went missing, and Sam’s biggest problem had been how to get the bits of Cheetos Dean had spit on the laptop screen off without smearing and ruining the delicate LCD. Things were never going to be ok again, because this was too big for him to fix.

“What they did to me for three months, they’re going to do to him for the rest of his life.” Dean was bent over the steering wheel with his arms wrapped around it and his face buried between them.

Sam had no more words. Three months and Sam was out of every word he could possibly think of to say. His hand came out to rest on Dean’s back again. He could feel Dean taking shuddering breaths and trembling under his fingers, and God this scene was wrong on so many levels.

Sam lost track of time. Ten minutes, forty minutes, an hour later, and Dean finally lifted his head and wordlessly drove them out of California.

September 2006

They didn’t hunt anymore. Their entire world became driving from one small town to another without purpose.

Sam figured somewhere down in hell they were celebrating all of this. Laughing, cheering, hollering- whatever demons did to rejoice in a victory.

Dean was hurting and this was a pain that Sam didn’t know how to fix.

You keep them from destroying the world and you keep them away from my brother.

Sam kept wondering why- why he hadn’t said “family” instead of brother. Because then this wouldn’t be happening; Dad would be ok and with them right now. Why did he have to screw up like that? When one little change of wording could have made a difference.

He didn’t know what to say to Dean anymore, so they didn’t speak much. Dean was quiet and testy and angry. And it kind of scared Sam a little. Mostly because he didn’t know what to do about it.

Sometimes when they settled in at night and turned the lights off, Sam would say, “You know it’s not your fault.”

And Dean would respond with silence.

“It’s not,” Sam would repeat to empty air. “I’m the one who made the deal, and it was me that screwed up. I just wanted you to be ok and happy again, and I messed up.”

A muffled, harsh laugh would follow the words. “I don’t think anyone in this family was ever meant to be happy. Something about fate and all that shit.”

“What do we do now?”

“I don’t know.”

----------
Sometimes at night, Dean would catch little pieces of it in his sleep.

Fuck you, John rasps out to no one in particular. He manages a ‘go to hell’ before a tentacle slaps him across the face and remains over his mouth to shut him up.

Dean kept telling himself it was just his subconscious that was freaked out and fucked up.

John laying sprawled out across a glowing silver ground. Thousands of them. They’re everywhere. There’s an entire planet of them marching toward him. At the sight of that unrelenting army Dean’s breath catches painfully in his throat and he can feel his own heartbeat pick up speed to match his father’s frantically pounding heart.

It was nothing more than his subconscious.

“Kill me you sons of bitches. Just kill me!”

Dreams. All Just dreams.

Barely above a whisper. “Dean…Dean, where are you? What… happened… how did this happen? Are you here too? Dean, please son… answer…”

Dean jerked awake, threw himself away from his father’s desperate and confused voice. Dreams. Just dreams. Nothing more.

Then one night it was so vivid and real that Dean shot up from the bed panting, fell off the edge of the bed and slammed painfully into the wall.

“Dean?” The light flicked on. “What happened? You ok?” Sam’s legs came into Dean’s view. Sam bent down, and then his face hovered directly in front of Dean’s vision. “Jeez, what the hell happened?” He grabbed Dean’s arm and dragged him up.

Dazed, Dean crawled back into the bed and watched Sam sit down on the bottom edge. “Stop looking at me like that,” he grumbled.

“Dean. Tell me it wasn’t them. They’re not back. Tell me.”

“Wasn’t them,” Dean said quickly. Too quickly.

Sam hesitated. “Something’s really wrong, isn’t it?”

“Yea.” What the hell? Why did I just say that? Now he’s never gonna shut his cakehole.

“What happened? Dean. Tell me.”

“Sam---”

“Just tell me. After everything that’s happened this year, don’t keep something huge from me now.”

Fine, smart ass. You really wanna know? Dean told him about the dreams, even though he left out large portions of the last extremely vivid dream. Some things he just couldn’t repeat; they were too horrible, too much.

“Oh man,” Sam said breathlessly. “It’s just like the connection they had me establish with you when you were in their ship.”

“Wait. You’re telling me the stuff I’m seeing is really happening?”

Sam just looked at him, not willing to reply to that question with the answer that they both knew was true. “They must be connecting you to him like they did with me back in June, so that you’ll see it and know what’s happening to him…” Sam slowly trailed off at the look on Dean’s face. He looked like he was about to hurl.

Several minutes passed. Dean shifted on the bed. “I can’t fucking do this anymore. We have to do something.”

“What?”

“I don’t know.”

“What if there’s nothing we can do?”

“I…” Dean’s voice faltered; he turned his head away. “I don’t know. I just don’t fucking know what to do anymore.”

“Neither do I.”

October 2006

The dreams -connections- ended abruptly at the beginning of October. By then Dean was so strung out and exhausted everyday that Sam did most of the driving while Dean stared out the passenger window, afraid to go to sleep and see more of it unfold before his eyes.

Dean couldn’t figure out what it meant when the connections ended. Maybe Dad was dead.

Maybe it was better if he was.

----------

The last connection came mid October.

His father’s death flashed before his eyes like a Technicolor motion picture. The way they did it was more gruesome than Dean could have imagined; it was far worse than anything he’d ever seen, and he’d seen some pretty grisly stuff over his lifetime.

All of it ended in a yell and a screech of tires. It took Dean a minute to realize he was in the Impala and had just rammed his head against the window before shooting up in the seat. And it was him who’d let out that embarrassing little shriek. Jesus.

Sam smashed down on the brakes and pulled to the side of the road. Sitting in a weedy ditch on the side of God only knew where, Sam just kept repeating his name over and over in that freaked out, quizzical voice.

“Stop,” Dean finally said when he’d found his voice again. “Just… stop.”

“What happened?”

Dean was pretty sick of that question. “I saw… They killed him.”

Sam’s eyes went round and egg-like. “Dad? They killed Dad?”

“Yes. It’s over.”

“I’m sorry… sorry you had to see it. God. Dean… I…”

Dean was already flinging the door open and climbing out of the car, stumbling on the uneven grass.

“Where’re you going?” Sam asked.

“Need air. Just give me a minute.”

He needed more than a minute. He needed a lifetime to get over all this shit.

November 2006

Days and dates didn’t really matter anymore by November. Judging by the Christmas lights strung out across every small town they passed through, Sam figured it was sometime after Thanksgiving by now. But really, that didn’t matter.

All that mattered was… well, he wasn’t really sure what mattered now. It was over, done, but they were still caught in a limbo of uncertainty and meaningless travel across a country that suddenly seemed a hell of a lot more lonely.

Sam was beginning to wonder if he’d fixed anything at all. Over and over in his mind he went through different sceneries, other ways of saving Dean. No matter what he came up with, it always came back to this. Because all of the other plans and ideas he played out in his head ended with Dean dead or lost to him forever.

And that just wasn’t an option for Sam.

December 21st, 2006

Sam woke up in Palo Alto.

He jerked up from his nap in the passenger seat, confusion clouding his vision, smashed his head on the roof of the Impala and cursed.

“The hell?” barely passed over his lips before he realized they were in the Stanford parking lot. Sam’s head swung around to the driver’s seat where Dean sat watching him, a blank expression on his face.

“What are we doing here?”

“I think you know,” Dean said.

Huh? Sam had no freakin’ clue. “What?”

“It’s over. Go back to school, Sam.”

“Dean. I… what?”

“My Christmas present to you. You’re free. Get out of the car. Go. Merry Christmas.”

Sam sputtered. “Merry Chris… no. Wait. What the hell, Dean?”

“You don’t have an obligation to stay with me. Go and get a life. A real life.”

“Are you out of your mind?”

“Maybe.” Dean shrugged. “But the hunting, searching for Dad, searching for The Demon… it’s over. There’s no reason for you to travel with me anymore.”

“You’re giving up? You’re done hunting?”

Dean let out a rough sigh, ran his fingers over the steering wheel in that way that drove Sam slightly mad. “I don’t know. I don’t know what the hell I’m doing. All I know is that I’m just dragging you down with me now. Get away from me and go make a life for yourself, Sam.”

“No.”

Dean’s eyebrow shot up in exasperated irritation. “C’mon. This is what you’ve wanted for a long time, to go back to school and be normal. Here’s your chance. Just get out of the car.”

“And what? You’ll drive away and I’ll never see you again?”

“Get out of the car, Sammy.”

“No.”

Dean shook his head, an ironic laugh at the tip of his tongue. “You idiot. This is what you wanted. I’m giving it to you, guilt free. Now you’re going to get out of the car and when you turn around and look back I’ll wave at you like a proud parent, or some shit like that, and we’ll get on with our lives, ok?”

“Are you kidding me, Dean?” Sam unconsciously clutched the handle of the door, making sure it didn’t open on its own and toss him out of the car and out of Dean’s life. “It’s not ok. You think that after all the crap we’ve been through this year, that I’m just going to walk away and leave you? No. No way, man.”

“Dude. Just get out,” Dean said, words forced between clenched teeth.

“Make me.”

Dean glared at him. “Don’t tempt me.”

Sam replied with a smirk.

“I’m serious, Sam. I want you to get out of the car.”

“Well, I don’t want to.”

Dean threw his hands up in the air and cursed.

Sam could see the moment when he got his aggravation under control, filed it away and replaced it with a façade of calm composure before attempting to reason with Sam and talk him into this ridiculous idea. “Look, Sam. Everything’s all fucked up with our family… everything’s all fucked up with me now. But you… you can still leave. You could be happy. You deserve a real life instead of this.” When Dean gestured randomly around the car, Sam wasn’t sure if he was gesturing at himself or not. “So just… just get the hell away from me.”

There it came again- that incredible urge to smother Dean with a pillow. Jesus. After everything that happened, now Dean wanted him to leave? Didn’t just want him to leave, but was actually kicking Sam out of his life? Nuh uh. Oh hell no.

Finally Sam said, “I’m good where I am, thanks. You’re not gonna dump me off at college and get rid of me,” Calmly, evenly, he added, “I’m. Not. Going. Anywhere.” So take that, smart ass. Sam crossed his arms over his chest, adopted an obstinate look of defiance that looked more like Teen Sam than Adult Sam, and yea, he knew he probably looked like a stubborn little puppy dog, but he didn’t care.

“Don’t make me physically drag you out of the car, Sam, because you know I’ll do it.”

By now, Sam was so ticked that he’d like to see Dean try that one. With the mood Sam was currently in, Dean might find himself locked in the trunk while Sam drove them out of California for good if Dean even attempted to force him out of the damn car.

Sam cleared his throat to give himself a minute to calm the freak down. Locking Dean in the trunk probably wouldn’t help the situation. Neither would reaching over and forcing Dean to explain to him the way his screwed up brain actually found logic in this ridiculous idea and how he could possibly think that shoving Sam away would help either of them right now. No, none of that would be a good idea right now.

“Our family may be more screwed up than ever, but this,” Sam motioned between himself and Dean, “is all that’s left. You’re all I’ve got now, and you know what? I didn’t hand my life over to them just to walk away from you in the end. Especially not when you still need me, and stop rolling your eyes like that. I know you’re not gonna admit it, but you need someone with you right now. And I… I don’t want to be alone out there either. Not now.”

After a minute of attempting to frost Sam over with an icy glare, Dean’s body relaxed. “You’re a moron? You know that?”

“Yea. But so are you. Must be in the genes.”

Dean smacked him upside the back of the head. “This is your last chance.”

“I don’t want to leave, Dean. I’m staying with you. Why is it so hard for you to believe that I want to stay?”

“Because everyone always leaves me,” Dean muttered unexpectedly, staring straight ahead out the window.

Sam didn’t think it was actually possible for a heart to tighten at mere words, but yea, it was possible. “Well, not anymore. Ok?”

Dean mumbled something indiscernible under his breath.

“Now here’s what we’re gonna do,” Sam said evenly, paying no attention to the look of annoyance coloring his brother’s face. “You’re gonna turn the car on and we’re gonna drive away. And then you’re gonna go buy me a real Christmas present.”

Dean shot him a wordless look of disbelief before rolling his eyes.

“Because this,” Sam gestured at the building, “is a cheap way to get out of giving a real present.”

“I’m the cheap one? You’re the one that once gave me a macaroni and cheese portrait of myself for Christmas.”

“Dude. I was 6.”

“So?”

“Hey, what are you bitching about? It was a flattering picture. You looked good in macaroni and cheese.”

“You used blue noodles for my hair.”

“I thought it added a nice touch of color.” Sam ducked and accidentally rammed his head into the side window when he saw Dean’s hand coming for the back of his head again.

“Whatever, Picaso.”

“Dean. Start the car and let’s leave.” When Dean remained silent, Sam nudged him with an added, “Ok, man?”

On a breath of air, Dean let out a begrudged, “Fine.”

As Dean pulled the Impala out of the parking lot, Sam said, “We’ll get through this, Dean. Together. Right?”

“Sam?”

“Yea?”

“Those years you spent at college…”

“Yea?”

“You watched Lifetime every night, didn’t you?”

Sam rolled his eyes and Dean let out a spurt of laughter, shooting him little glances. “Man, I was just kidding, but you totally did, didn’t you?”

“Jessica liked their movies, ok? Leave me alone.”

The car echoed with Dean’s loud guffaw and his right hand slapping the edge of the steering wheel in sheer amusement. Sam feigned embarrassment and thought, This is the way it should be.

----------
Two hours later, Sam said, “Hey, Dean?”

“What?”

“I just want you to know that I only made that macaroni portrait of you because the teacher made me.”

Dean pulled his eyes from the road long enough to study Sam’s face, searching for the catch line. “Right.”

“She told us to create a picture of our hero, and batman was too complicated for macaroni, so that left you.”

Caught between an eye roll and a blush, Dean turned back to Sam, gifted his little brother with his cocky smirk (because he apparently couldn’t find any words to reply to that with) and then turned his attention back to the road.

Dean coughed into the crook of his arm, trying to hide the embarrassing little blush creeping up his cheeks. He turned Metallica up a little louder.

This time it was Sam who smirked before yelling over the music, “Just didn’t want you to think I made it for you because you were special or anything like that. Batman’s still cooler.”

“Shut up,” Dean replied coolly, tossing him a grin that went all the way to his eyes. Sam hadn’t seen that grin in months.

It was that open, sparkling grin sprinkled throughout Sam’s childhood years that always told him no matter how shitty things got in their family, that somehow everything would still be ok. Sam thought, Maybe this time’s no different. We can make it past this, too.

It’s gonna be ok.

He’d told himself and Dean that many times over the past few months. But this time, Sam actually believed the words.

December 23rd, 2006

The days, weeks and months that passed were awkward, depressing times with little periods of normal thrown in. Dean would say something snark-y and totally Deanish and Sam would laugh or roll his eyes like normal, and they’d revel in normal the way it used to be for an hour or so, before everything that had happened over 2006 would catch up with them again.

Eventually, there were whole days of normal where it was just Dean and Sam- Brothers on the Road again. The way it should be, even if they were without a mission right now.

Sam had the sneaking suspicion that once normal finally took a firm hold again, they’d find a new mission in the form of revenge. Because by now, they had a whole heck of a lot to avenge.

But for now, normal was still crawling in here and there at a turtle’s lazy pace.

Sam was ok with taking it just a little at a time as long as Dean was safe. And since Dad wasn’t there to see to that, Sam was going to be there to make sure of it.

Even if Dean hadn’t noticed the subtle change in role reversal that everything had resulted in, Sam found it kind of ironic in a way that just made you go, Huh.

Life had a funny way of changing things around and forcing you to face what’s really important.

December 24th, 2006

Stumbling back from a middle of the night bathroom trip, Sam passed Dean’s bed, paused, did a double-take, and came to stop at the foot of the bed.

Something didn’t look quite right.

When Sam’s eyes adjusted to the light he realized that Dean was laying on his side, curled into a tight little ball with his knees pulled up to his chest. The thing that struck Sam as odd was that he’d never seen Dean sleep like that before. The dude was almost always sprawled all over the place, bodily claiming the entire bed as his with arms and legs thrown here and there.

Sam dared step closer until he was hovering right over Dean like a mother over a sick child.

He noticed Dean’s arm snaked under the pillow, and it didn’t take Sam long to realize that he was probably gripping the hilt of the knife.

It finally dawned on him that Dean was scared. Jesus, why didn’t I realize how fucking scared he still is? Sam had taken an introduction to Psychology class in college and remembered enough from it to know that crap like what had gone down over the months of 2006 wasn’t stuff you just got over. After that night in June, Dean never again mentioned that he was still scared because that just wasn’t Dean. But he was, and Sam cursed himself for not picking up on it.

Uncertain of exactly what to do, Sam stood nervously shifting from foot to foot. To anyone casually observing the scene, they might’ve mistaken Sam for some psychotic murderer ready to move in for the kill. The thought flashed through Sam’s mind before he quickly slid into Dean’s bed without thinking.

When Sam felt Dean’s body go tense, rigid, and ready to fight, he quickly murmured, “’S ok. Just me.” On second thought, sliding into bed with a man gripping a knife was probably a really bad idea. Especially when their back was to you.

Instead of a stab wound, Sam got a blurry, “What’re you doing?”

Sam shifted into a closer position and loosely molded himself around Dean’s back.

Dean made a surprised sound of protest. “Sam?”

Sam wrapped his hand around the wrist of the hand Dean had on the knife. “Let go.”

Letting out a breathy sigh, Dean replied, “I almost stabbed you when you got in the bed. Don’t do that, man.”

Impossibly long fingers moved from wrist to settle on white knuckled fingers. “Let the knife go. You can’t live like this… always on edge.”

“Get outta my bed.”

“Dean.” Sam’s grip tightened. “Nothing… no one… is gonna hurt you.”

“Oh yea? Because someone’s about to get hurt if they don’t get the hell off me.”

“Dean.” Said again, all serious tone and no kidding around. Gentle fingers started prying Dean’s fingers from the knife.

“Dude. Ever heard of personal space?”

“Relax. You’re safe now,” Sam breathed across Dean’s neck.

“No.”

“No? You don’t think you’re safe?”

With his back still facing Sam, Dean said, “Not anymore.”

“Dean…”

“Maybe never again.”

Tears sprang into Sam’s eyes and he was suddenly thankful that Dean’s back was to him. “But it’s over now.”

“Not for me.”

Whether Dean finally relinquished his hold or what, Sam suddenly had the knife in his hand. He turned and set it on the nightstand. “It’s right here if we need it, ok?”

“Fine. Whatever.” Dean made it sound like he didn’t care but Sam caught the glance he threw over his shoulder. Probably gauging the distance between himself and the nightstand and how long it’d take him to leap over Sam to get to it.

To Dean’s back, Sam said, “It may seem like it’s not over yet, but that’ll go away with time. It really will Dean. I thought I’d never get over it after Jessica died. It was like falling further and further into a black hole. But it got better. It takes time to heal.”

“How much time?”

“How much? Uh, well I don’t know. I guess it depends…”

“C’mon, college boy. Gimme an estimate here. Six months? A year? A decade?”

“God, Dean. I don’t know for sure, ok. I just know it won’t happen right away.”

“A year then?”

Sam groaned. “Yes. Fine. A year. Exactly a year.”

“But is it a year from the first time it happened or a year from the time we went back in time? Should we add or subtract three months?”

“I hate you sometimes.”

“That’s not an answer, Sammy.”

Even in the dark, even with Dean’s back turned to him, Sam could see that shit-eating grin on Dean’s face; could hear it in his voice. “I’m going to bed.” He started to slip out of Dean’s bed. Feet to the floor, dragged himself up… Sometimes talking to Dean could suck the energy right out of you.

“Sam.”

Sam looked over his shoulder at Dean’s form under the covers. “Yea?”

“Stay.”

“What?”

“This is humiliating enough. Don’t make me beg.”

“Stay here? In your bed?” Sam scratched his head in confusion, flicked a rather long strand of hair out of his left eye.

Dean didn’t answer and Sam wondered if he’d heard him correctly.

“What?”

Dean let out a sigh laced heavily with annoyance.

“What?” Sam said again, exasperated.

“Stay here,” Dean mumbled.

“Uh... Ok?” Sam laid back down on Dean’s bed, stared up at the ceiling. After a moment he said, “This is…”

“Awkward.”

“No. Well… yea.” He had meant to say not like you at all where the hell is my brother or something that was meant to be funny but was equally as stupid. Thank God for not sticking your foot in your mouth.

“Never mind. You can leave... If you want. I’m fine.”

“Nah. It’s ok.” Trying to ease the tension, Sam smirked and said, “I can hold you again if you want.”

“And I can punch you in the face if you want.”

“I think I’ll pass, thanks.”

“Good choice. Night, shaggy.”

“Night, freckles.” Sam had been saving that one for a while.

There was a silent pause, long enough for Sam to think that maybe Dean had just gone to sleep. He started to turn onto his stomach when a pillow smacked him across the face hard enough for Sam to choke on little pieces of fuzz. “What the -spit- -gag- hell,” Sam sputtered.

“Do you want to die tonight?”

“I just---”

“Because I can make it happen.”

“I---”

“Never again, Sammy.”

“Point taken.”

December 25h, 2006

“What? You made me get you something and you didn’t get me anything?” Dean’s face took on a fake, wounded look, and it sent a twinge of painful memories down Sam’s spine, even if it was only Dean kidding around.

“Oh, I got you something,” Sam smirked and tossed the wrapped gift at Dean’s head.

“Hey, watch it,” Dean warned, catching the box. “Not the face, man.”

“Open it.”

Dean eyed him from across the room. “Is it something that’s going to jump out and bite me?”

“You know me better than that.”

“Do I?” Dean mumbled, ripping the paper off. Then, “You’ve gotta be kidding me. Talk about cheap.”

Sam smiled at him.

“A box of mac and cheese?”

“Now you can make your own self portrait.”

“I hate you. And just so you know, this is Christmas dinner right here, buddy boy.”

Laughing, Sam ripped off the clumsily wrapped gift paper covering the box Dean had handed him and stared at the present inside. “What… what is this?”

“You never seen a DVD before?” Dean’s eyes sparkled with a child-like mischievousness that Sam hadn’t seen in a while.

“Yea, of course. But this…”

Dean’s smirk said plenty.

“The complete 4th season of Golden Girls?”

“It comes on Lifetime. I thought it’d be right up your girly-boy alley.”

I wonder if it’d cause a concussion if I threw it at his head. “You actually bought this?” Sam asked, mild disbelief threading through his voice.

“No, I stole it.”

Sam’s eyes widened. “You---”

“God, of course I bought it.” Dean pouted, actually fucking stuck his lower lip out and honest-to-God pouted. “Sammy, I’m insulted that you’d call me a shoplifter.”

“You’re unbelievable,” Sam said, head shaking back and forth in hidden amusement.

“Thanks.”

“It wasn’t a compliment.”

“Whatever. Let’s watch it.”

“What?”

Dean brought the laptop over to the bed Sam was sitting on and stretched out on his stomach, the laptop directly in front of him.

“Make yourself comfortable,” Sam deadpanned.

Dean shoved the box of mac and cheese into Sam’s hand. “Go make this while I get it started.”

“You’re serious?”

Dean glanced up at him. “What? You got any other Christmas dinner plans I don’t know about?”

“You’re actually serious?”

“Sophia’s awesome,” Dean said as way of an answer.

“Isn’t she the one with the big mouth?”

Dean grinned over the top of the laptop screen. “Yep.”

“Figures you’d like her,” Sam muttered, popping the food into the microwave.

“What was that?”

“Nothin’.”

----------
“That was a classic,” Dean laughed, nodding at the laptop.

“Dude. Stop spitting mac and cheese at the screen.”

“What? I didn’t---”

Sam pointed at a gooey spot on the LCD.

“Oh. That’s from you.”

“Wanna bet?”

“Not really,” Dean said, rolling off the bed and setting his empty paper plate down on the nightstand.

“You’re such a pig.”

“But you still love me, bitch.”

“Yea, I do. But I’m still not sure why.”

Dean laughed and winked at him.

“Could you at least throw the plate in the trash?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Shut up.” Sam added an eye roll in for good measure when Dean turned around and saluted him.

Dean dropped the plate into the trash and lunged at the bathroom. “I get the shower first tonight!” he shouted, slamming the door before Sam could protest.

Sam heard the shower kick on as he turned the laptop off and threw the empty mac and cheese box away.

Dean started singing some random song half-assed and at the top of his lungs, clearly meaning to annoy the crap out of his little brother.

Except this time it only made a small smile twitch at Sam’s lips.

Somehow, things were going to be ok.

{The End}
June 2006 - October 2006

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Hate me? C’mon. It’s kind of a happy ending, right? If you just look past John dying and Sam eventually going to hell, all is well in the end.

And I may or may not have written a one-chapter follow-up piece. Ok, I totally did. Except that it’s, uh, hard to explain. It just didn’t really seem to fit with the rest of the story, so I’ll be posting it separate. Anyway, it’s called Let Me Lose You and I’ll be putting it up next Tuesday if anyone wants to check back for it. Let’s just say, it shatters even the illusion of a happy ending. I know- I suck.

Wed, 18 Oct 2006 23:40:15 GMT

You Can’t Fix This
Chapter 13 :: Sacrifice
Chapter 13 seemed never-ending so I had to chop the poor thing up. Meaning there’ll be one more chapter after this one, just to wrap things up and… I don’t know. Allow me to mess with the boys just a little bit more, I guess.

Y’all don’t know how many last chapters with a dozen different sceneries I wrote before I decided on this one. I just couldn’t figure out how to end it the way I wanted to. No ending seemed to fit. Then this idea popped into my head and I just hope it isn’t a letdown. It’s actually a pretty simple solution.

And yea, I’m totally scared to post it.

Anyway. I want to add one last thing, and I don’t want to even chance spoiling someone in the slightest way for the season 2 premiere, so if you haven’t seen it yet don’t highlight the rest of this little author’s note. Seriously, just skip down to the story right now.
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Spoiler for 2.01:Regarding the whole making “a deal” part- I would just like to say that I wrote this chapter before the season 2 premiere even aired. I swear. So any slight similarities should be blamed on Mr. Kripke. As soon as John was all, “I wanna make a deal” I was like, “Screw you, Kripke! Outta my head!” The similarity in this chapter is small, but it’s there.[/spoiler]
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An hour later John still wasn’t back, and Sam couldn’t wake Dean.

He was breathing fine, pulse normal. But he just wouldn’t wake up.

Sam kept shaking him and begging him to just open his eyes. Normally when Sam would try to wake Dean in the morning or from a nap, Dean would groan, and in a comic-like attempt, sleepily try to slap Sam’s hands away.

So this non-moving, pliant Dean was a bad sign. Because once Dean retreated into unconsciousness again it could only mean that they were back. And it was bad.

But Sam had no idea what was going on because this time Dean was completely silent in his deep sleep. Didn’t moan, didn’t move a muscle. Sam wasn’t sure if this newly dead silent Dean should worry him more than the whimpering, sheet clutching Dean.

If they were back, then Sam needed ice. Lots of it. Buckets of the damn stuff. Hesitant to leave his brother alone in the room but having no other choice, he grabbed the ice bucket and made his way to the little tunnel where the vending and ice machines set inside an alcove.

The little bucket was almost filled to the top and Sam’s foot was impatiently tapping on the sidewalk when the dull, dirty lights in the enclosed walkway started going out.

One by one, they went down the line, shooting out in little sparks until the whole little enclosed area was tomb-dark.

The bucket dropped out of Sam’s hands as he raced back to the room. By the time he reached their motel door and fumbled to get the key in the lock (damn card keys never worked right) the sky was giving off a brighter silvery glow that now seemed to pulsate through the sky like a strobe light. It broke through the brownish-green smog that had been in the air for too many days.

Sam’s only thought was This is it. This time it’s really happening. And really, that thought wasn’t all that comforting at the moment.

When Sam burst into the dark room he immediately reached for the light switch and almost laughed at himself for expecting the simple comfort of light to fill the room. The electricity was out. Probably forever. That thought wasn’t all that comforting either.

The pulsating silver light coming from the sky was the only source of light anywhere now. It leaked through the closed curtain and gave Sam just enough light to make out Dean’s form laying prone on the bed, just as Sam had left him.

Way too calmly, Sam sat down by Dean and put a light hand on his back, just to have the comfort of touch and human contact. Before it was all over he wanted to say something like I’m sorry or Goodbye. Or something even sappier that would make Dean’s face crinkle into mock disgust if he was awake: I couldn’t have asked for a better brother, Dean.

As Sam said the words in his head he wished his dad was there, wished he knew where the hell his dad had driven off to. Maybe he had gotten stuck in some store while trying to stock up on God only knows what items that wouldn’t really help when the whole world was coming to an end.

Sam, the voice whispered teasingly, filling the room, making Sam’s blood run icy cold. Sam--myyyy.

“What?” Sam ground out. It wasn’t fair for it to just be a voice. It should be something he could see and feel, something corporeal so that he could shoot the bitch full of rock salt. “What do you want?” He spat over his shoulder, unwilling to turn from Dean or take his hand off his brother and break that precious connection.

You know what they want.

Sam had to force the words through his clenched teeth. “Not gonna happen.”

The voice seem irritated with a pinch of confused. So stubborn. Is he really worth the world?

Sam glared at a corner in the room. His answer was a strained whisper. “He is to me.”

It laughed at him. This is your last chance before everyone pays for your pathetic loyalty.

Sam shook his head. “I know your whole goal is to break my family and it worked, ok? You don’t need to do this. You’ve already won.”

Already won? They haven’t even begun to break your family.

Sam’s stomach turned over, threatened to send his lunch back up for a visit. “We’re not worth all this.”

The damn thing chuckled at him, and he wanted to punch it in its nonexistent face.

Oh, how you underestimate your family. You Winchesters are a pain in the ass.

Sam couldn’t suppress a snort.

We’ve had enough of you. All three of you.

“So why not just kill us? Why go through all this?”

Because it’s entertaining.

“You’re making Dean suffer because it’s entertaining?” Fuck! Sam felt the need to smash something to pieces.

Once we break him it’s over for you and Daddy. He’s your glue. Surely you realize that. Plus torturing him is just plain fun for all involved in this.

Fun, Sam thought numbly, mind rushing over all the pain and hurt Dean had gone through over the past few months. But for them it was just fun. Sam’s stomach did a flip and he thought that he might vomit any second now.

When Sam failed to respond, the voice went on. Isn’t he perfect in his suffering, Sammy? So beautiful and defenseless. We never realized just how fun it would be. The voice dipped to a low, lust-filled purring. Dean has made this very enjoyable to witness.

“Sick,” Sam whispered, anger laying heavily behind every syllable. “You’re fucking sick. All of you.”

Not sick, it laughed, just evil.

“Go to hell.”

It’s really nice there this time of year.

Sam threw the bedside lamp into the wall across the room, eliciting a small chuckle from the voice. “Get out,” Sam said. “GET. OUT.”

It’s been fun to watch him break, it said softly, almost to itself, caressing the walls with its suddenly tender tones. I’m so glad you talked him in to going back to Gulf Breeze so that all of this could happen.

“No,” Sam muttered, “no.”

And the men at the bar that night? They helped too. They gave The Greater Evil the answer to what would break him. It all fell into place, almost like it was Dean’s fate.

“Fuck you,” Sam said, because he didn’t know what else to say, couldn’t come up with anything else through his suddenly boiling rage.

The voice continued, clearly enjoying taunting Sam this way. And you and John couldn’t protect him through any of it, which for your family is a whole torture in itself. It worked out perfectly with the aliens. They’re the best weapon The Greater Evil could have ever found to use against your family, because you can’t fight them. They were a good idea. Don’t you agree, Sammy?

Sam refused to answer, just stared at Dean and watched the rise and fall of his back with each breath. This was never how it was supposed to end.

He’s so beautiful like this, it breathed and Sam knew that it was somehow watching right now, maybe hovering right over Dean and staring down at him while he was tormented in his sleep. Maybe for three months it had been watching. Maybe they had all been watching- the whole Greater whatthehellever clan.

Sam moved his hand protectively to Dean’s head and threaded his fingers through the soft brown hair, looking up at the ceiling defiantly.

Your brother wears torture well.

“Shut up. Just shut the fuck up!”

You don’t agree?

“You mean the way you’d sound better with laryngitis?” Ok, and that was a pretty weak comeback, but Sam smirked up at the ceiling anyway. Dean would have had a great comeback, but Dean was out cold.

The next words came out in a hiss. You can’t save him, and you can’t save the world. You and John are going to lose either way. You chose to sacrifice the world for your brother, but they will take him anyway. You’re such a failure, Sammy.

And that’s when the idea first made its way into Sam’s head. He cringed a little at the thought of his life if he chose to go through with it. He knocked it around in his brain, trying to think of another way. But right now this desperate moment could still be salvaged. Dean could still be saved.

The voice began to speak again, and without thinking, without giving himself time to mull the idea over, Sam interrupted.

“How ‘bout… a deal.”

A deal?

Sam swallowed, dread descending over him like a scratchy wool blanket. “My life,” he said evenly, “for the lives of my family and the rest of the world.”

For once, the voice remained silent, waiting to hear more.

“When I die, The Greater Evil can have me.”

It sounded surprised, wary even. You’re willing to send your soul to hell for your brother?

“And the world,” Sam added firmly.

Hm.

“I sign my life over to you all and you guys call the aliens off. Forever. You keep them from destroying the world and you keep them away from my brother.”

All of this in exchange for your soul?

“Yea,” Sam breathed out. The idea had come to him in a split second, and he’d made the decision to do it in less than a minute.

He didn’t exactly know what the hell it was he’d just done, wasn’t sure he really believed in a heaven and a hell. But he did believe in evil, and he realized that he somehow just signed himself up for recruit on their side. Honestly, he was more than a little surprised that the voice wasn’t laughing at his offer. Was it really possible to sell your soul?

Sam had no idea just what his possible deal with evil really meant, but there was no time to think this through. There was only desperation and love for a brother it didn’t look like he’d be able to save.

No answer came and Sam finally said, “Well? You hate us so much, wouldn’t a Winchester in hell be great?” And as he said the words, Sam couldn’t believe he’d actually just said those words. A Winchester in hell. The phrase would almost be laughable if it weren’t for Sam’s growing awareness that this was real. Whatever it was he’d just done might actually work. He’d worry about the ramifications later.

I’ll have to go check with The Greater Evil. And wow, she was actually taking him seriously. Maybe it was possible to sell your soul.

“How will I know if they agree to it?”

Oh, you’ll know.

“Then go ask them. Now!”

Silence filled the room, filled Sam’s heart and leaked out in wet drops down his face. Hushed tears were dripping onto the back of Dean’s t-shirt as Sam leaned closer to his big brother and stared down at him. “Sorry, Dean. I had to. For you. Don’t be mad at me.”

The world outside crashed, like the whole sky falling in. Sam went to the window and peeked out the curtain.

What he saw before him gave him The Greater Evil’s answer loud and clear: No.

The sky was leaking mercury-like liquid from the top all the way down the sides. Large drops were slowly making their way down, like someone was drizzling a silver sauce over the world. Apparently it was fondue night and Earth was the delicacy.

Feeling like a trapped animal, Sam let the curtain fall back over the window and leaped across the room to Dean. If it was going to be like his dream (vision?) then the motel was going to melt down in a minute, and he and Dean had to get out.

He hooked his right arm under Dean’s armpit and dragged him up, with his left hand pulled Dean’s legs to hang off the edge of the bed, and then eased Dean into a limp, standing position. Dean’s head lolled onto Sam’s shoulder and his hair tickled Sam’s jaw. It was like dragging along a wet noodle.

When they got to the door Dean’s sleep slurred voice said, “Sam… wha…?”

Pushing away the joy at Dean actually being awake, Sam said, “We have to get out of here, Dean. Something… something bad is about to happen.”

Dean lifted his head from Sam’s shoulder, but Sam still had to support him with an arm around his waist as they made their way out the door.

Once in the parking lot they stood with Dean weakly leaning into Sam, Sam’s arm wrapped protectively around his brother’s sagging shoulders.

Dean’s eyes were on the sky, wide, shocked, and… full of fear, Sam realized after watching him for a minute.

“Where are we?” Dean whispered hoarsely.

“The motel parking lot.”

Dean looked up into his face, obviously searching for answers. “We’re not in their world?”

Confused, Sam asked, “Whose world?”

“The aliens’. It looks just like the world they tried to pull me into that night.”

“No. This is our world. The aliens are… invading it.”

“Invading…” Dean repeated, confusion still etched on his face.

Sam nodded and stared up at the sky.

“Where’s Dad?” Dean asked.

“I don’t know. He never came back from the store.”

Dean’s knees seemed to give out, and Sam slid to the gritty pavement with him. “You ok?”

“Do I look ok?” Dean growled back. After a moment, “You’re telling me the world is about to end?”

“Well… yea.”

“Why don’t you seem surprised?”

Sam avoided the question by standing up and pointing at trees on the horizon that were melting into the earth.

“Holy crap” was all Dean could say to it, just as others who were staying at the motel came out of their rooms and stood in the parking lot, looking on in horror.

Sam gulped when the family with the little girl with gray-blue eyes ended up coming to a stop near him and Dean. Just like my vision. All just like my vision.

Looking down at Dean with dark eyes, he said, “I dreamed about this.”

From his position on the ground, Dean angled his head to meet Sam’s gaze and matched it with a grim, knowing look. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Well, you were kinda out of it, man.”

The Impala shimmered, swayed slightly in the light breeze and oozed to the ground slowly.

“Son of a bitch,” Dean blurted out, eyes wide at the sight of his baby melting away into the ground.

Sam turned to the motel that was at their backs and watched it liquefy right before his eyes. “Dean, get up!” he yelled, reaching down and grabbing for Dean’s arm even as his eyes stayed glued to the silver liquid moving towards them in a wave.

In total disbelief, Dean said, “What the---”

In the next instant Sam found himself going under as the wave rolled over the parking lot. When he came back to the surface no one but the little girl was in sight. Not knowing what else to do, he swam to her and scooped her up. She was alive, even awake, but silent with shock and fear. Her small arms wrapped around Sam’s neck and clung.

“Dean!” Sam called, eyes taking in a world devoid of everything but that horrible, faintly glowing silver ocean. “Dean!”

He knew it was futile. He was never going to see his brother again.

The little girl in his arms let out a scream and slipped from his grasp, going under quickly and disappearing.

Sam cried out a, “Noooo” and then raised his eyes to the unusually dark sky. It’s just like my dream, Sam thought. Why did I dream it if I couldn’t find a way to stop it?

Sam’s foot grazed a dead body, probably the same dead body from his vision. This time he didn’t pull his foot up to check for damages. He was too afraid he’d find the long blonde hair that he now realized closely resembled the golden hair from the little girl he’d just tried to save.

There was no more time to think. That same familiar white light engulfed the world in a flash and Sam went under. He couldn’t figure out why he was fighting against the pull this time, not when he already knew how it was going to end, but it was instinct to fight for his life.

He kept his eyes closed so that he didn’t have to see the thousands of floating dead bodies that he knew he was sharing the ocean with.

His lungs filled with the silver liquid just as an odd ripping noise flooded his ears. It grew louder and louder until it was nearly unbearable. His body felt abused, like it was being slowly torn apart. It mixed with the sound of ripping until all he could think about was the excruciating pain and that noise, God that horrible noise. The ripping- it had to be the sound of his own body being split apart. And Jesus, why did he actually have to be able to hear it?

The blast of that sound and the pain filled his entire world, his entire being. Sam just wanted it to be over, just wanted it to stop. Please just stop.

Over and over, alternating between ripping and throbbing pain until he was screaming, or at least thought he was. Maybe the screaming was just in his head; a silent plea that no one would ever hear.

Over and over. An impossibly never-ending, repetitious pattern of sound, pain; pain, sound, and then---

“You’re like a big stick that is constantly poking at----” Sam stopped mid sentence, jaw hanging open as he stared at Dean’s face in the moonlight. Sam’s eyes opened wide and darted around the forest.

The forest. The place where it had all began.

They were crouching in the underbrush. In front of them, teenagers goofed off in the forest clearing.

When Sam focused his gaze on Dean again he found his older brother’s eyes on him, moonlight reflecting and glittering in his pupils, making him look kind of like an owl as he stared blankly at Sam.

Before Sam could say anything, Dean finally spoke.

“What. The. Fuck.”

“How did we get back here?” Sam asked.

“I don’t know. This is back at the night right before---”

“Shit,” Sam interrupted. He couldn’t remember exactly. All he knew was that this was just minutes before all of it began, right before the blinding light filled the forest around them and changed their lives forever.

Sam jumped up and yanked Dean to his feet. “We have to go. NOW. Before it’s too late to change the outcome!”

“Sam, the kids in the forest---”

“Forget them!” Guilt only briefly trickled into his mind at those words, along with, We can’t save everyone. But this time he was going to make sure they saved themselves.

This time he was going to make sure he saved his brother.

Dean swayed on his feet, causing Sam to stop, turn around and look at him wide-eyed. “What is it?”

“Everything still hurts,” Dean rasped, doubling over.

“What? What do you mean?”

“Hurts,” Dean said again, trying to catch his breath.

Sam went back and snaked an arm around Dean’s back and under his armpit, and then forced him to walk. “I know it hurts, but you have to walk. We have to make it to the car before it’s too late again.”

“Sam, what the hell’s going on? The last thing I remember is drowning in ugly silver crap.”

They stumbled through the forest, reaching the outer edges and taking way too long in Sam’s mind.

“Somehow it… it reversed. This is a second chance, Dean. We have to get to the car and get out of here before it happens all over again. You need to walk faster.”

“I’m trying to, you pushy asshat.”

Behind them, the white light took over the forest. “They’re here,” Sam said, arm tightening around Dean’s back at the sight.

“Oh. So that’s what that white light means. Thanks for the tip, genius.”

Sam could only roll his eyes and support-drag Dean to the car.

“The car better be where we parked it three months ago,” Dean said.

“It will be.”

They pushed their way out of a thick clump of branches and the Impala gleamed at them just feet away. The home stretch loomed ahead, and Sam expected Dean to double over with a groan and shimmer right before his eyes. Just like last time. The arm he had around Dean tensed and grew even tighter around his brother‘s back.

“Dude, you’re gonna bruise me,” Dean said at Sam’s iron-tight grip.

“Sorry.” But he didn’t loosen his hold, and Dean didn’t make a move to pull away.

Dean stumbled over a root, almost tripped. Sam caught him, pulled him in tighter, expecting to hear a, “Get off me, man,” but it never came; Dean didn’t protest the closer than close contact.

He just said, “Jesus, it hurts” and took a deep breath, tried to regain his footing with a grimace.

Sam kept shooting fearful little glances behind them where he knew exactly what kind of scene was playing out.

With a, “C’mon, Dean. I got ya,” Sam prodded them both along the invisible pathway back to the car, to safety.

He was pushing, but there was no time to stop and wait for Dean to get his balance. There was no time for anything except to haul ass out of there. Because Sam wasn’t sure if Dean noticed, but the spot where he tripped was around the same spot where he’d been abducted that night -abducted. God, Sam still couldn’t think it without flinching.

They reached the car without incident. Sam slid Dean into the passenger side and, once behind the wheel, hit the accelerator so hard that they lurched forward and Dean had to throw his arms out in front of himself to keep from slamming into the dash.

“Jesus Christ, Sam!”

“Sorry!”

“I swear, if you damage my car I’ll run you over with it.”

“Wouldn’t that damage it more?” Sam teased as he eased onto the dirt road and they left the white light in their rearview mirror.

“Probably would since you’re such an overgrown freak. But I’d risk it.”

“How do you feel?”

“Like time sucked me up, gnawed on me and spit me back out three months in the past.”

“This is a second chance, Dean.”

The brightly lit forest faded in the rearview mirror until it was nothing more than a pale smear of light in the distance.

Dean shook his head. “What if it’s not? What if they sent us back here just to start it all over again?”

Well there was an unsettling thought. But it wasn’t possible. Because Sam had saved the day. Maybe? “I don’t think so,” Sam said cautiously, keeping his eyes on the road so that Dean wouldn’t pick up a hint in his face that he’d made a deal with the enemy and apparently they had decided to take it.

Dean watched the cars around them as Sam pulled onto the main highway in Gulf Breeze. His voice was bitter and strained. “They wouldn’t have sent us back to change it out of the kindness of their hearts.”

“Dean, trust me,” Sam said softly, “it’s over. You may still have the memories, and you may still physically hurt from what they did to you, but it’s really over.”

He could feel Dean’s eyes on him suddenly and in his mind, he cringed.

“Sam,” Dean said slowly. The words were spoken carefully, every word emphasized. “What. Did. You. Do?”

“Huh? What do you mean? I didn’t do anything.”

“Pull over.”

“What?”

“Pull over.”

Dean was using his now, dammit! voice that he’d gotten from their dad, so against his better judgment, Sam found himself pulling into the parking lot of a Waffle House.

“What did you do?” Dean repeated once Sam had turned the car off and turned to him.

“I didn’t do---”

“Cut the crap. I can tell when you’re lying. Tell me how you went all Charmed on me and reversed time.”

“You watch Charmed?” Sam asked with a small grin turning up his lips.

“I… that’s not the point. Don’t change the subject, Sam.”

“I didn’t do---”

“So help me God, I’m gonna smack you in a minute.”

Sam remained silent under Dean’s intense glare. Headlights from other cars flashed through the Impala’s interior and lit up Dean’s face in brief, ghostly white streaks of light.

Several more minutes crawled by, and Dean silently refused to take his gaze from Sam’s face.

Maybe he deserves to know the truth. Maybe he deserves to know what I did so that he knows it’s really and truly over and won’t happen again next year… or next week. He deserves to know that he’s safe and can finally sleep again at night.

Sam raised his gaze to meet Dean’s questioning eyes.

“They wanted to take you,” Sam said quietly.

“What?”

“The aliens. They were going to take you back to their world and torture you. Forever. And I wouldn’t be able to protect you. Neither would Dad. You would’ve been all alone, Dean. I couldn’t let it happen.”

Dean was just staring at him with those deep green eyes darkened by the car’s night shadows, unblinking, so Sam went on. “Everything had gotten really bad. Worse than you realized. If they didn’t get you, they were going to end the world, but then I found out that they were going to take you anyway, no matter what.” Sam took a deep breath. “I had to. They were going to hurt you either way.”

“What did you do?” Dean whispered.

Sam stared at his fingers, toyed with the hem of his shirt. “I made a deal with The Greater Evil. When I die, I’ll join them down in… hell.”

Dean’s eyes widened. “YOU WHAT? You sold your soul for me?”

Sam was pretty damned surprised to hear Dean’s voice near hysterical.

“I guess you could put it that way.”

“Fuck, Sam! How could you do that?! How could you fucking do that?!”

Sam’s voice came out surprisingly calm and even, despite Dean’s rising hysterics. His face full of earnest concern and sincerity, he said, “Don’t you get it? They were going to take you home with them and use you as a sex toy for the rest of your life. I was desperate.”

Briefly, Dean’s body stiffened at the words, and he just watched Sam for a minute.

Sam lost track of how long they sat there in the parking lot of Waffle House staring each other down.

A car passed them and the light from the headlights caught Dean’s eyes and reflected glittery, unshed tears.

“No, Sam,” he whispered, and he sounded just as broken and empty as he had all those times when he had woken up in the middle of the night being tortured. “No. You take it back. You contact them and take the deal back.”

“I can’t. It’s done.”

“No!” Dean snapped, his voice echoing in the closed confines of the car.

“Remember that time I said I’d do anything for you, die for you? I meant it, Dean.”

Dean shook his head slightly and clenched his jaw to keep his chin from quavering. Quavering! Christ, Dean’s about to break down right here in the car, right here in front of me. Sam was finding it hard to concentrate on words when Dean’s shadow-cloaked face sat across from him looking like it was about to crumple into a sob.

Softly, Sam said, “I told you I’d fix it and I did.”

“You asshole,” Dean spat, voice shaking. There was no vehemence behind his words. Only shock mixed with something else that Sam couldn’t quite pick out. One thing was for sure. Dean sounded like he was about to lose it any second. “How could you? How could you do that?”

Sam shrugged and it seemed to be the last straw for Dean. He clutched the door handle, flung the door open and tumbled out of the car, slamming the door to his most precious possession hard enough to break the glass in the window.

Sam stared at the steering wheel, traced his fingers around it like he’d seen Dean do those many months ago, and let Dean have a minute to himself. To get out whatever it was he needed to release without Sam hovering over him.

After half an hour had passed, Sam got out of the car and came around to the passenger side where Dean leaned against the smooth black metal of his car. Sam stood watching him until Dean finally spoke.

His voice was raw and he stared at the ground as the words spilled from his lips. “How am I supposed to live with myself knowing I let my little brother sacrifice his soul for me?”

Sighing, Sam kicked at a pebble. “You can live with yourself knowing that you have a brother that loves you, jackass.” Sam risked a glance over at Dean when he got no response to that. “Don’t feel guilty. After seeing you like that for months, I was ready to do anything for you. It had to end. They were taking joy in your suffering…” Sam’s voice trailed off, aware that he was about to start rambling in a lousy attempt to try and force Dean to understand and accept.

“And after you die they’ll take joy in your suffering for the rest of eternity.”

Sam’s head shot up in surprise.

“Sammy,” Dean said and his voice broke before he could continue.

“I know you hate it, but it’s over. And if I had the choice again, I’d still choose to do it. I’d make the same choice every time.”

“God, Sam. Why?”

“Because it was for you.” He lightly punched Dean on the arm, causing his brother to wince at the touch. Sam chose to ignore the reaction that he should be used to by now.

Dean’s face pulled into that damn wounded look that killed Sam a little inside every time it appeared. Dean never even seemed to be aware that he had his own version of a puppy dog look, even if he rarely used it. “Do you even realize what you’ve done?”

“Yes. I was the one who suggested it to them. It was my idea, and I accepted it.”

“You accepted it? Just like that?”

Sam gulped, having a bit of difficulty swallowing his own saliva. “It’s done. Now come on. I know you’ve got to be hungry. I am.” He moved towards the door of the restaurant.

Still back at the car, Dean muttered. “Yea. My brother just sacrificed himself for me and I’m gonna go have a waffle drenched in syrup.”

Sam forced a grin and pushed the doors open, willing Dean to follow him.

----------
Among the clash of plates and calls of “hash browns, no onions” Dean sat across from Sam at the table and eyed him.

“Sam, what you did…”

“Stop, Dean, just stop.”

“What were you thinking?”

Sam’s face twisted into a forced smirk. “I was thinking of saving your sorry ass, jerk.”

“This is crap, Sam.”

“You know, when someone risks their life for you, there’s something you’re supposed to say in return.”

“That you’re an idiot?”

“Dude. You’re supposed to say thank you.”

Sam leaned back on the hard bench and smiled at his brother, who was fidgeting in the seat across from him.

“No,” Dean replied. “We have to fix this.”

“I already fixed it.”

Dean’s fist slammed down onto the table. “You made a deal with the fucking enemy just to save me. You never should have done it.”

“Why? Because you don’t think you’re worth saving?”

Motionless, Dean stared hard at Sam across the table, unresponsive, frozen to the spot.

In a quieter tone, Sam continued, leaning forward slightly to make their conversation a little more private. “All those times you’ve risked your life to save strangers, to save me or Dad, you always just did it without thinking or caring that you could actually die. But when it comes to your own life you don’t want anyone to save you. What is it that makes you think you’re not worth it?”

Shaking his head, Dean said, “You’re full of crap.”

Sam held up a hand and ticked off fingers as he went on. “Layla, Marshall Hall, and now me. You’d be willing to hand your life over to change things for any of the three of us, but when it comes to someone saving you, you freak out.”

“This is different, Sam. This isn’t just life or death, it’s eternity. I can’t live knowing that you’re going to suffer for eternity for me. It was a stupid move.”

“It’s over. You’re alive and so am I. Can you just be a little grateful?”

“Jesus,” Dean muttered.

“I’m still not hearing a thank you.”

Dean’s eyes narrowed into two glittering slits. “You’re right. I don’t think I’m worth you spending an eternity in hell.”

The waitress slapped plates of food down on the table just as Sam started to reply to that. Thankfully, instead of weird glances at their choice of dinner conversation, she just shot them a bored look and asked if there was anything else she could get them.

Sam flashed her a smile. “Nah, we’re good. Thanks.”

Dean’s eyes dropped to the steaming hot food.

“Shut up and eat,” Sam commanded before Dean could continue the conversation.

----------
Back in the same motel room they’d stayed at in June, Dean paced the floor. “I can’t reach Dad on his cell.”

“Is that anything new?”

“It says there’s no such number.”

“What? How could that be possible?”

“I don’t know. This is bad. Something’s wrong.”

“Calm down, Dean.”

“Bite me.”

“Ok, I get that all of this is a little weird, but Dad’s changed his number on us before.”

“I know, but this is different. I think something’s happened this time.”

“Like what?” Sam asked.

“What if when they reversed time they left him back in September?”

Sam shook his head. “No, no. I don’t think that’s possible.”

“They wanted our family out of the picture, right? What if this is their way of doing it? Not including Dad in the time shift, signing you up for the dark side.”

Standing up from the bed, Sam moved into Dean’s pace path and blocked him from wearing a hole in the carpet. “You’re still weak from them. Just sit down before you collapse.” He put a hand on Dean’s arm to lead him back to the bed.

“Man, get off me,” Dean grumbled, shaking off Sam’s hand. “Don’t you get it? Your whole little plan might’ve backfired on us.”

“Just because we can’t reach him doesn’t mean he’s been wiped out of time.”

“I know, but something about this just isn’t right.”

Sam kept his mouth shut and let his brother rant.

Because maybe Dean was on to something.

----------
The room was steeped in darkness and the bed beside Sam’s was empty. And it shouldn’t be like this.

Seconds and Sam was at the bathroom door, twisting the knob and stumbling into the brightly lit room, expecting to find Dean crumpled in a corner freaking out.

“Dude!” Dean said, flushing the toilet.

“What happened? Are you ok?”

“Well I was until my freak of a brother busted in on me taking a leak.”

Sam sagged against the wall in relief, “oh” being the only word he could come up with at the moment.

“Shouldn’t have had that third glass of coke,” Dean grinned and brushed past Sam on his way back to bed.

As soon as the light went off, it was Sam who spoke first.

Across the small gap between their beds, anxiety smothering his voice, Sam finally asked the question that would make his sacrifice worth it. “So you’re ok, right? Nothing’s hurting you?”

“I’m fine, Sam.”

“The tentacles haven’t come to you at all tonight?”

“No.”

“And you’re feeling better? You’re not hurting as much now?”

“Yea. It’s easing away little by little.” Dean seemed surprisingly patient with the onslaught of questions.

“Good.”

“Sam, what you did for me…”

“I know, Dean. I know. Just go to sleep.”

--------
Well? What do you guys think? *whimpers* I’ve been fussing over this chapter for months now.

Oh, and one more chapter to wrap things up and then you all are rid of me for good. Yay.

Chapter 14

Tue, 10 Oct 2006 03:35:43 GMT

You Can’t Fix This
Chapter 12 :: Chink in the Armor
Somehow this chapter slipped in before the ending. And I’m not entirely sure what it’s for except that I decided to try and explain why the aliens were chosen as a weapon. And then I got rambley. And angsty. And a little weird. I poured it all on kind of thick just to make you all suffer a little before the end. Heh.

Warning: Includes a couple spoilers for Faith.
--------

August 19th, 2006

Sam stood at the door. He felt unusually numb all over.

He couldn’t do this. This wasn’t the way it was supposed to end.

His hand brushed the door handle, grasped it, and his feet propelled him out to the car before he could change his mind.

He came back to the room with a gun, one of Dean’s favorite. Cocked it, held it to Dean’s sleeping head, turned and threw up in the wastebasket by the bed.

“I can’t do it. I’m sorry. I told you I couldn’t do it and I can’t.”

He set the safety and put the gun on the table by the window.

John would be disappointed in him for not leaving Dean like he’d told him to do, and Dean would be disappointed in him for not ending his torment. The whole world was about to be extremely disappointed.

And Sam was out of ideas, energy, and hope.

Sam talked to his brother’s sleeping form as if he was awake and normal and still Dean.

“I don’t think I can do this without you, Dean. You always know what to do and I’m… I’m just lost.”

The afternoon’s cloudy light left the room in gloominess that fit Sam’s mood. He flipped hopelessly through his father’s journal, passing entries of things they’d run into and things he didn’t even know existed.

A wet cough from the bed dragged Sam’s attention from the well-worn pages. Eyes squeezed shut, Dean gurgled in the back of his throat, unconsciously yanked at his bound hands, and then turned his head to the side and threw up on the bed.

It was really gonna suck to clean that up.

Thirty seconds later Dean moaned “uhhh,” with such agony that Sam made up his mind right then and there.

It wasn’t just rape. It had become a constant rape of the mind, body and soul and it was going to end tonight. Sam no longer cared what he had to do, just that he was going to end this. Somehow.

After wiping Dean’s face down with a cool cloth from the bathroom, Sam sat on the side of the bed that wasn’t covered in vomit and gently put his hand on Dean’s chest.

Under Sam’s fingers, Dean’s heart pounded out an erratic thumping. Sam was no doctor, but he figured it couldn’t be normal or healthy for a heart to pound like that for too long. A past memory of Dean sick and dying, heart ready to give out in a few weeks, seeped into Sam’s mind and sent a spasm of dread ripping through his stomach. Right now the deathly pale face before him, the dark circles under his eyes, the fine features pulled into a grimace of pain- it all looked terrifyingly familiar to Sam.

It was that horrible week after Dean got electrocuted all over again. But somehow it was even worse now.

You’re not gonna let me die in peace, are you? Dean had asked.

Something outside crashed, like a bomb going off or the sky cracking open. Ignoring the sound, Sam looked down at Dean and mouthed the answer he had given him those many months ago. I’m not gonna let you die. Period.

He hadn’t cared what it had taken to save Dean back then, and he didn’t care what it would take now. He knew Dean had been racked with guilt over the way he had gotten to keep his life after the electrocution. Sam had cheated death for him, literally, and Dean hated that someone else’s life had been taken instead. But what Sam had never told him was that he didn’t regret it. Not a bit. If he had it to do all over again, even knowing someone else’s life would be taken for Dean’s, he would do the same exact thing. Sam was a compassionate, sweet man to nearly everyone he met, but when it came to his brother, he would do anything for him; sacrifice anyone, anything.

It was a scary realization but truer than anything Sam had heard in the last few months.

Dean sucked in a breath and let it out shakily a few seconds later. His breathing became more shallow and his chest heaved under Sam’s palm.

“This is going to end,” Sam whispered tonelessly.

August 21st, 2006

“Dean… Deeeeaaaan…”

“Shuddup,” Dean slurs back automatically. Why can’t Sammy just let him go? Little bro is pretty friggin’ persistent and sometimes that just gets downright aggravating.

“Dean… Dean… Dean…”

Jesus, Dean thinks with an irritation saved especially for Sam, Could he get any more annoying?

“Let me go, Sammy. Just want it to be over.”

“No, Dean. You’re not going to give up. You’re going to open your eyes and at look at me.”

Since when was Sam’s voice so… girly?

The next time it’s said, it’s way more than a request- it’s a firmly spoken order.

“Dean. Now.”

Dean flexes his fingers, wiggles his toes, lets out a sigh of resignation and forces his gritty eyes open. Everything hurts. Not an oh crap the creature of the week just slammed me against a wall kind of hurt. No, it’s way beyond that, and Dean doesn’t want to pause and think about it too much. Because then he’d have to think about all of the punishment his body’s gone through over the past few months… Uh, 6 months, a year- whatever. He really has no idea how much time has passed now. It feels like he’s been out forever, caught up in some painful world between unconsciousness and death, with only the tentacles for company.

And when he wakes -if he wakes- he doesn’t want to think about how this hurt might never go away; how he may be stuck with these things for the rest of his life.

It’s now that he finally turns his head to the side and notices that for the first time in a long time the tentacles aren’t around him.

Alarmed, he drags himself to a sitting position and… Oh shit. Yea. Sitting up was a mistake. He’s about to let his body fall backwards with a graceless thump when the shimmering form of a woman blinks and wavers in front of him.

Once she gathers herself and becomes less mirage-like, she smiles at him, little wisps of hair and airy pieces of clothing floating away from her in transparent, ghost-like pieces.

And that’s strange because Dean can’t remember dying. Aren’t you supposed to remember important stuff like that?

“M… Mom?” It comes out a little croakier than he’d have liked, but it gets the point across.

She smiles and nods, as if she’s excited that he recognizes her. And of course he recognizes her. He might have only been four but some things, like your mother’s face, you just don’t forget.

“I’m dead, aren’t I?”

A light tinkling of laughter wafts out of her mouth and the sound reminds Dean of wind chimes in a light breeze. “No, no. You’re still very much alive, darling. This,” she sweeps a translucent arm out to indicate the white room, “is just an in-between.”

“Right,” Dean says, not bothering to hide his doubt. He’s got to be dreaming. “An in-between. Yea, sure… Mom.” The last part is meant to be a mocking sort of “yea right, you’re not my mother” but instead, it comes out as a hanging question that lingers in the air around them.

“You don’t believe me.” She smiles. “You think you’re dreaming, don’t you?”

What? She reads minds now? “Well… yea.” Not that it’s a bad dream.

She laughs again and floats closer, until she hovers just feet from him. Bending delicately at the waist, she comes in closer and studies Dean’ s face.

“Oh, Dean,” she says breathlessly, “oh, Dean. You’ve been through so much…”

A gentle hand comes out to caress the side of his face and he instinctively flinches. She seems slightly hurt, but it doesn’t stop her from tenderly raking fingers through his hair.

“You turned out so handsome.” Dean can’t help but smile a little at that because she sounds so proud and ooh look at what I created when she says it.

“Not bad, huh?” Since he’s here dreaming this, he might as well humor her.

“Not bad at all. You and Sammy both.”

Something to their left makes a distinct slapping sound and Dean jerks his head to find the source of the unpleasant noise. When he sees the tentacles slithering and writhing over each other, trying to make it past some sort of invisible wall, he tries to pull his weak body into a standing position so that he can run. It doesn’t work.

Dammit. Now they even find him in his dreams. And they’re going to ruin this last little piece of pleasant he’s found and turn it into a nightmare. Not fair, he thinks sourly. Just not fucking fair.

“Quick,” she says in a hushed voice, “I can’t hold them back from you for long.”

“Hold them back? What---”

“Shh, sweetie. Just listen to me. I came to you for a reason. You have to wake up. You have to fight this!”

“Mom, I---”

She gestures to the slippery looking beasts to their left. “Don’t let these things win. You have more than this ahead of you in life. I can sense it radiating from you. You have a purpose, a destiny.”

Dean doesn’t often find himself speechless, so he’s pretty surprised when it happens right now, here in this dream… not-dream… in-between place.

“But it won’t happen if you don’t open your eyes and fight them. Fight them, Dean!”

“How?”

Suddenly she’s talking faster, more desperate, like she knows their time together is about to run out. “As long as you stay out like this, asleep, you’re alone in it. That’s how they want it. It’s why they’re doing it this way; it’s why they’re trying to separate you from your dad and Sam, so that they can break you. You have to pull yourself out of this and let Sammy help you!”

She doesn’t realize, Dean thinks to himself, his hope so far away that he can’t even see it anymore. She doesn’t know that Sam can’t help me this time. No one can.

“Give me your hands.”

“Mom, it’s not---”

“Now,” she barks in a voice that startles Dean into submission.

“This isn’t you, Dean. You never give up like this. You… you fight! You’re a fighter!” She clings to his hands tightly, desperately. “Why are you giving up this time, Dean? Why?”

He opens his mouth to answer, and then he realizes that he really doesn’t have an answer. “I don’t know.”

“Don’t. Give. Up. It’s not your time. You have so much more to do. So much good.” Tenderly, she ghosts a hand down the side of his face.

This is insane. But hey, what else is new in my life?

“Is saving yourself not enough motivation?” The tone is demanding, and he’s vaguely reminded of a time when he mouthed back to her and she sent him to a corner for time out. “You’re dad is right. It’s the Greater Evil behind all of it. And once they have you broken, they’re going to go after your brother. And after him, your father. You’re the rock. Their rock. They need you, Deano. The world needs you.”

He nearly chokes up at the sudden use of the affectionate childhood name she used to call him. God, how could he have forgotten that she used to call him that?

“Now fight! Please tell me you’ll fight this!”

He nods, starting to wonder just how much of a dream this actually is. Could her bone-crushing grip on his hand really hurt that much if it were just a dream?

Cupping his chin and tilting his face upward, she gives him a sad smile. “Fight them, Deano.”

“I don’t know how.” God, can’t she just give him a hint or a clue at how to kill the bastards? Just one measly hint.

“Some people put out an immense amount of heat and energy -more than most people- and the aliens are drawn to it. That’s why they would have chosen you over John or Sam anyway, but The Greater Evil went one step further and told the aliens to attack you specifically.”

Well, great. “Why?”

“Because once they break you, it’ll be easy to take down John and Sam. I already told you that you’re their rock; once you’re gone, they’ll already be weakened physically and emotionally. Your extra heat and energy just makes it easier for the aliens to establish a connection to you and zero in.” Her smile is a small laugh as she ruffles his hair. “You always were my little ball of energy.” The urge to hug Dean, to hold him and protect him suddenly radiates from her. “I’m sorry that it’s causing you pain now.”

Dean reaches up and grasps the hand running through his hair and clings firmly to both of her hands like they’re a lifeline. His thousand watt smile flashes across his face at only half of its usual wattage. For some reason, despite the fact that she already seems to know he’s a fighter, he still wants to show her that he’s not this confused and cowering weak little baby that he appears to be right now. His voice comes out with a whole hell of a lot more confidence than he’s actually feeling. “I can do this, Mom. I just need to know how.”

“Do it for John and Sam. Do it for yourself. Do it for me.”

“I will. But how do I kill the---”

“Just don’t let Sammy do it. It’s not the right way to end it.“

“Do what?”

“You have to pull yourself out of this and wake up.”

“Ok, but then how do I---”

“I love you.” A whisper of a smile and she fades, taking with her the invisible barrier that had been keeping the aliens momentarily at bay.

“Shit,” Dean says out loud and it echoes through the white room and bounces back at him as he manages to pull his achy body into a stand and stumble away, only a few feet ahead of them.

----------
It’s funny how their dad always had a way of just popping up, crashing through the door looking worn and beaten, with a gun in hand.

Sam practically fell off the bed when the door banged open hard enough to slam against the wall, and then bounce back to nearly hit John in the face.

It kind of took the dramatic effect away when John had to quickly shift the gun around so that he could hold his hand out to stop the door from coming back and whopping him right in the face.

If it had been any other time and Dean wasn’t dying and the world wasn’t ending, Sam might have had to suppress a smirk at that little scene.

But as it is, he just kind of stood in the middle of the room and gaped at his father’s sudden appearance.

“Dad?”

“Did you get my call?”

Sam’s face hardened. “Yea, I did. You told me to leave him.”

John’s face showed bewilderment. “What? I never said that. I said we may not be able to stop them and if you have to leave Hopeville then just go and I’ll find you later.”

What? “Oh.” Damn cell phones.

“You think I’d tell you to leave your brother like this?” It came as a challenge that Sam was pretty sure he didn’t want to take right now.

“No… no.” Yes, Sam thought. Well, maybe.

“We don’t have time for this,” John said testily, brushing Sam aside as his eyes fell to the where Dean lay on the bed looking pasty-pale and a lot like the definition of death.

“God,” John choked out, sitting down next to Dean. “What… how long has he been like this?”

“Too long,” Sam answered, hesitated, then, “I think they’re hurting him all of the time now.”

John nodded and fingered the ropes around Dean’s wrists. “What are these for?”

Ducking his head, Sam tried to explain quickly. “I was afraid he’d try to run away or hurt himself. He wasn’t thinking clearly… he wasn’t thinking at all.”

John seemed to accept the answer. “The world’s ending,” he said quietly, eyes never leaving his oldest son.

“I know.” The way the sky had stayed a dirty, unnatural brownish-green the past two days made the whole apocalypse thing pretty hard to miss.

“They’re going to invade, and then they’re going to take Dean.”

Sam’s eyebrows shot up in alarm. “No, you said they’d only invade if we didn’t hand Dean over to them. We didn’t hand him over so now they’re invading.”

“Yea? And what’s to stop them from taking him anyway, after they’re done fucking up the world?” John hissed.

Somehow Sam had failed to think of that.

John cocked the gun in his hand. “We’re going to die, Sam. But Dean… they’ll take him back to their world and keep him there for their own sick fun. Like some sort of consolation prize given to them by The Greater Evil.”

“How do you know?”

“I know evil. They said they want him, and they’ll take him no matter what.” John stood. “And it’s not going to happen.”

“What’s the plan?”

Something Sam couldn’t quite read flashed across John’s face before he spoke again. “If something happens to you and me before they take him, there’ll be no one to fight for him. I can’t let that happen, Sam, I just can’t.”

“I know.”

“He’s unconscious now. He won’t know that it even happened.”

“That what happened?”

John glanced down, steadied the gun in his hand.

Sam’s mouth hung open as he stared at the gun John held to Dean’s temple. It shook unsteadily in John’s hand. He lifted his eyes to Sam and opened his mouth to explain.

Sam was on his father before he even realized what he was doing.

He slammed John backward and they both crashed into the end table by the bed. The phone slipped off the table and hit Sam’s foot with a thud.

When you make the decision to attack your own father, it’s best not to let out a yelp and lose the upper hand just because a phone hit that tender bone at the top of your foot and may or may not have broken it.

John wrenched away and stood watching Sam from the other side of the bed, anger evident in every breath he let out. “Jesus, Sam! I have a loaded gun in my hand. I could’ve accidentally shot you!”

“You don’t want to accidentally shoot me, but you’d shoot Dean in the head?”

“It’s not like that,” John said, head shaking back and forth. “Think of the life he would have, Sammy. They could attack any minute and take him before we have the chance to do anything. This is the best way to,” his voice cracked, and Sam thought he’d never heard his father sound so broken, “save him from a life of hell.”

“I can’t let you do it.”

“You have to.”

“No. This isn’t the way. There’s got to be another way.”

“And what way is that, Sammy? You gonna put that Stanford education to use and come up with an idea?”

Sam wanted to hurl himself across the bed and punch the man.

“Get your stuff together and wait in the car. You shouldn’t see this.”

Fists in tight balls by his sides, Sam said, “Ok…” He grabbed his bag and scooped up the gun that was beside it.

With his back to Sam, John stood over Dean, murmuring words that Sam couldn’t quite hear, aiming the gun, hesitating.

This is crazy. This is wrong. I just want this to be a nightmare.

Instead of walking out the door, Sam pressed the butt of the gun into John’s back. “Sorry, Dad,” he whispered. “Can’t let you.”

“Go to the car,” John replied, body visibly tensing.

“No sir.”

“Sam---”

“I’m not leaving him. Not again. We’re all in this together now, Dad. And… and I don’t think you can shoot your own son.”

“Sam, don’t make me have to knock you ou---”

“Dad? Crap! Dad!” Dean didn’t wake half out of it this time. He woke completely sane, with his father holding a gun in his face. “Dad,” he said again, a mixture of confusion, pain, and grogginess clouding his words. He started to bring his hands up for protection only to find them pinned above him to the headboard. “What the…”

Two pairs of eyes turned to Dean in shock.

“What the hell is going on!” Dean yanked at his restraints hard enough to rattle the headboard.

Dropping the gun, Sam pushed their father aside and leaned over Dean.

“Sam, what---”

“You’re awake,” Sam said in wonder.

“Why am I tied to the bed?”

“You were totally out of it. I was afraid you’d hurt yourself.” Sam began untying the knots.

“Dad?” Dean asked, eyes roving up to look at John with uncertainty.

Sam shot his father a look. See? You would’ve shot him in the head right as he woke up. But he couldn’t say the words because when he spared his dad a second glance he saw a face that was already pinched into a pained expression at what could have happened; what almost happened.

“It’s ok, Dad,” Sam said softly as he got the final knot and released Dean’s hands.

Dean sat up slowly, eyes still on John, massaging his wrists and wincing as he did so. “You were going to shoot me.” It wasn’t a question. John looked like he was debating on either bolting out of the room or puking.

“It’s ok. I knew Sam would be too much of a girl to do it.”

“Hey!”

John collapsed into a chair, face relaxed with sudden relief.

“Are you hurting?” Sam asked.

“Yea. Give me the strongest painkillers we’ve got.”

“We already tried them and they didn’t work, remember?”

“I don’t care. Give ‘em to me anyway.”

Shaking his head, Sam brought him a glass of water and a container of pills. “You’ve been out for days. Why did you wake up?”

Setting the glass on the end table, Dean turned to Sam and shot a glance at his dad. “I saw,” a reluctant pause, “you won’t believe me.”

“Dude. Are you serious? I went into a spaceship with you last month and you’re telling me you saw something crazier than that?”

“I saw Mom.”

John sucked in a loud breath of air.

“She told me to fight,” Dean continued, ignoring the intense stares of wonder he was currently receiving.

“Mary,” John murmured to himself in a pained, gravelly voice.

Sam’s anxious voice cut through the room. “It was really Mom? You’re sure?”

“Yea. Positive.”

In a quiet, low voice, John asked, “What else did she say?”

By the time Dean finished telling his captivated audience the small amount of information from his Mother he was fidgeting on the bed, his breath coming in little wheezes.

“Dean?” Sam said, moving towards him quickly as Dean flopped back on the bed and curled onto his side in a fetal position, wrapping his arms around his midsection.

John jumped up and hovered over his son.

“Goddddd,” Dean drawled. “It didn’t take them long to find me again…”

“Dean…” John began, his voice trailing off, face crinkled into a permanent line of worry. His hand shot out to pat Dean on the shoulder as a sign of support and Sam grabbed his arm just in time.

“No, don’t. It’ll hurt him, remember?”

John nodded.

Coughing and gagging, Dean said, “Sorry… sorry…”

“Sorry? For what?” John asked, glancing at Sam.

“Don’t think I can do it… gonna let you all down…”

Dropping down to a crouch by the bed, John was suddenly eye to eye with his oldest. “Don’t you even say that, Dean. No matter what happens you didn’t let us down. You’ve never let us down. So don’t… don’t think that.”

Dean’s pain-glazed eyes squeezed shut and missed John furiously reach up and swipe at a tear caught at the corner of his eye. But Sam saw it and gave him a knowing look when John threw him a glance.

“It can’t end like this,” John gritted out between clenched teeth.

Sam shot up from his half lean on the dresser. “Ice!”

“What?” John said, looking up at him from his kneel by the bed.

“Mom said they find him by honing in on his heat. So maybe if we put him in a bathtub filled with ice it’ll confuse them.”

John nodded. “Go get some from the ice maker by the vending machine.”

“You think it’ll work?”

“I don’t know but it’s a worth a try. Hurry. We don’t know when the electricity’s going to give out.”

After grabbing an ice bucket that conveniently came with the room, Sam shot out the door into a dark day backlit with silver.

The way the trees stood out as dark, jagged silhouettes against the faint silver horizon was definitely unnatural. Shoving away the dread in the pit of his stomach proved impossible. So Sam ignored it and filled the bucket with ice, rushed back to the room, dumped it into a tub John had filling with cold water, and went back for more.

Buckets later, Sam and John had the tub filled nearly to the brim with ice water. John shut the water off and motioned for them to get Dean.

“He’s gonna hate this,” Sam muttered.

“C’mon, Deano,” John said affectionately, causing Sam to raise an eyebrow at the unfamiliar nickname that had just rolled off his father’s tongue. John didn’t notice Sam’s silent look, just wrapped his arm under Dean’s armpit and scooted him to the edge of the bed. Dean didn’t open his eyes, only let out a little groan as his head lolled from side to side when Sam caught him under his arm on the other side and they carried him into the bathroom.

Once in the bathroom, they stood awkwardly. “Ok, Dean,” John finally said. “This is going to be really cold, but just hold on.”

Dean’s eyes opened, glossed over with hurt and confusion. After days of that look, Sam knew it meant he had no idea what was going on around him.

“I’ll hold him and you strip his sweat pants off.”

Sam gave his dad a what?! Me?! look but did it anyway, then hoisted Dean’s legs while John lifted him under the arms and they gently lowered him down into the ice water.

As soon as he was all the way in, Dean’s eyes flew open wide until they looked like two large marbles in his face, and he let out a gaspy yelp and tried to stand up.

John’s arm kept him down while Sam tried to explain it to him.

“Sonofabitch!”

“It’s ok, Dean. We just thought it might---”

“It’s fucking cold!”

“I know. Sorry, but it---”

“JESUS!”

“Maybe it’ll help---”

“Fuck that! Let me out!”

“No. Give it a minute!”

“I’m sitting in ice! You give it a minute!”

“Did you hear me?” Sam grabbed Dean’s thrashing arms and forced him to still. “Dean, look at me! If they’re attracted to your heat, then this might throw them off!”

Dean wrapped his arms around his sopping wet shirt and shuddered. “So cold.”

“I know. I know. Sorry. But is it helping? Are they around you right now?”

Dean paused and finally looked around the bathroom. “No. They’re not here.”

Fighting back a smirk of triumph, Sam said, “See? Maybe it’s working.”

“Can’t… live… in… the bathtub,” Dean forced out between chattering teeth.

“This is just for now,” John said. “You can’t stay in here for long periods at a time; it’ll slow your heart down too much.”

“Fre…eeezing.”

“Sorry but if it’s working…”

“Your… idea… Sam?”

“Yea.”

“Gonna kill… you.”

“But it’s working!”

“Still… it’s co…old.”

“But it’s working!”

“Can’t even… feel… my… legs!”

“But it’s---”

“Shut… up.”

“But---”

“Sam, I… swear… I’ll kill yo---”

“Ok. Enough.” John sounded ticked but looked as though he wanted to laugh. “Only a few more minutes in there and it’ll be long enough for now.”

Dean let out a shaky sigh and rested his head against the back of the tub.

Ten minutes later, Sam set some warm, dry clothes on the bathroom counter and John wrapped a towel around a shivering Dean.

Indicating Dean’s t-shirt and boxers, Sam said, “You have to get out of those wet clothes.”

“Some privacy would be nice.”

“You sure you’ll be ok?”

Dean looked up at Sam with an indignant glare cold enough to frost the whole bathroom over. Sam held his hands up in surrender. “Ok, ok.”

“I can undress myself.”

“I know.”

Dean glanced back and forth between his brother and his dad. “Well?”

“Yea?”

“Get out!”

“Oh. Right. Sorry.”

----------
“I’m going to pick up some food and supplies before---”

“Dad,” Sam interrupted, glancing at Dean propped up against the headboard on the bed watching them.

“Before it gets darker out,” John finished.

“It already looks dark out,” Dean said.

Sam bit his lip and stepped in front of the clock that announced it was only 3 in the afternoon. “Must be some bad weather on the way.”

Dean shrugged. “Pick up some M&Ms if you go by the store.”

John gave Sam a quick look and ducked out the door, saying over his shoulder that he’d be back soon.

Sam peeked out the corner of the curtain and quickly let it fall back into place over the window. This was ridiculous. They couldn’t keep something like the end of the world from Dean.

Dean waited for Sam to sit down on the edge of the bed and lean back on the headboard next to him. “It was a good idea.”

“Huh?”

“The ice water. I knew that big brain of yours would come in handy one day.”

Sam rolled his eyes and remained silent, afraid Dean would want to turn the TV on and then notice the cable was out for some reason. It was stupid to worry about it, because cable sometimes went out. It wasn’t necessarily a sign of the apocalypse.

Except that in this case it was.

“So how long do you think it’ll last?”

“Huh? What?”

“The effects of the ice water.”

“Oh. I dunno. Until your temperature stabilizes again, I guess.”

“Oh.”

“What?”

“Nothing. It’s just… they’ll come back then, right?”

Sam turned to him, sympathy practically shining off of his face. “Probably.”

“Never thought I’d die like this,” Dean said, crossing his arms over his chest.

“What are you talking about?”

“You know… getting fucked to death.”

“Dean…”

“What? It’s basically what’s happening.”

“You’re not gonna die.”

A harsh snort floated out of Dean’s mouth. “Well by now I kind of want to.”

“That’s what they want.”

“And it’s working.”

“Didn’t Mom tell you not to give in? Are you giving in?”

“That’s low, Sam.”

“What?”

“Using our dead mother to make me feel guilty for… I don’t know. It’s just low.”

“You said she wants you to fight.”

“I don’t know how to fight this!” The admittance came out so distressed and full of desperation that Sam turned his head to face Dean.

“We’re going to find a way.”

Dean shook his head. “We’ve been trying to find a way for three months now. If it hasn’t happened yet…”

“Shut up, Dean.”

Surprised at the firm command, Dean turned to Sam, eyebrow raised.

“What?” Sam asked. “You might’ve given up, but I haven’t.”

Dean slid down farther on the bed until he was laying flat on his back and Sam was looking down at him.

“What’s happening to me?” Dean said quietly, bringing his hands up to his face and rubbing so that Sam couldn’t see his expression.

“You mean---”

The words were muffled behind Dean’s hands and Sam had to strain to make out what he was saying. “Why can’t I fight them?”

“Because they’re not supernatural. They’re,” Sam paused and then spit out, “aliens.”

“I just… I don’t know why I’m giving up.”

Sam’s voice softened. “It’s understandable. You’re tired and hurt---”

“And fragile and pathetic,” Dean finished. “Crap, Sam! This isn’t me! I should be fighting, not giving in to them! But every time it happens again and again I just can’t… I can’t…” His voice caught and trailed off with him staring intently up at Sam, his eyes round, unusually dark and dull.

Carefully, Sam placed a light hand near his leg. “You’re not superhuman. After three months of sexual abuse like this there’s not one person out there that wouldn’t be going a little crazy.”

“Sexual abuse,” Dean repeated flatly.

“They’re trying to break you and they don’t know what else to use.”

“They don’t need anything else. The bastards already knew exactly what to do.”

Something about the way Dean said it, the way his voice shifted a little at the end of the sentence, and he unknowingly emphasized the word exactly, grabbed Sam’s attention.

“Dean,” he began slowly. “Is there something you’re not telling me?”

Blinking innocently, realizing he stupidly just tipped baby brother off but could maybe still backtrack, Dean feigned ignorance. “What?”

“You said they know exactly what to do to break you. Is there a reason they would know to use something like this against you?”

“No.”

“You’re lying.”

With a blank face, Dean answered, “I don’t lie.”

A laugh that would never surface twitched at Sam’s lips. “Like hell you don’t. You’re an expert liar.”

Dean’s lack of an answer to that confirmed Sam’s suspicions.

“See, at first I couldn’t figure out why they went after you. Dad realized it’s because you hold our family together, but I still haven’t been able to figure out why they’re using this kind of thing to break you. Why not just beat the crap out of you over and over or something?”

Dean’s eyebrow quirked at that and he gazed up at Sam for a moment. He tried to pull out a smile but failed. “I guess I’m just irresistible.”

“This is something even you can’t make a joke out of, Dean. They’re using these aliens and this particular type of torture for a reason, and I’m beginning to think you know why. You’ve known why all along.”

“Dude, I don’t know what you’re talki---”

“Just cut the crap and tell me! How am I supposed to help if I don’t know the whole story?”

“There is no story. It doesn’t matter.”

“If they’re doing this because of something from your past…”

“They’re not,” Dean said stubbornly. “It’s nothing.”

Sam bit his lip, stared hard at Dean for an agonizingly slow moment, and then finally whispered the suspicion that had been growing in his mind during the whole conversation. “Dean… were you raped before all of this even started happening?”

Dean glared up at him hotly, anger evident in the way he scrunched up his face.

But he didn’t respond. And that’s what gave Sam his answer.

“God, Dean… What the hell happened?”

“Nothing. Nothing happened.”

“You can tell me anything.”

“I don’t wanna tell you.”

“But maybe you need to.”

Dean yawned, shrugged his shoulders casually as if they were discussing which bar to hit that night. “Nah. I’m good.”

“You’re not good. You’re going through hell. Talk to me, man.”

“What? Are you a psychiatrist now?”

“Dean…”

“Because I gotta tell ya, you kinda suck at this.”

By now, Sam was trying really hard to ignore Dean’s typical evasive tactics. “If something happened in your past, it could have something to do with why they’re doing this to you. Maybe it’ll give us a way to stop it.” Sam ran a hand through his shaggy, chocolate brown mess of hair. “Look. I can tell you’re hurting. Just let me try and help you.”

“Oh jeez. You’re not gonna charge me by the minute, are you?”

“Dean…”

“Because I already want my money back.” When Sam just looked down at him instead of responding, Dean sighed, closed his eyes.

Sam waited wordlessly.

“I just got stupid and careless, ok? It’s not a big deal.”

Sam’s brows shot up. “Not a big deal? Really? Because obviously it was if this Greater Evil crap decided it was bad enough to dig into your past and use it against you.”

“Let it go, Sam.”

“When was it?” Sam asked softly.

Sighing as if Sam just told him he was going to pull out one of Dean’s teeth, Dean brought his hands up under his head and stared up at the ceiling. In a matter of fact tone, he said, “Right before I came and got you at Stanford.”

“WHAT! This happened just last year?”

“In New Orleans.”

Pleading, Sam asked, “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Well it’s not exactly something you run and tell your little brother. What did it matter anyway? It was over. It’s not like I knew these bastards would use the experience against me a year later.”

“Was it a succubus or something?”

Turning his head to meet Sam’s gaze, Dean set his jaw, his face going cold and blank. “No.”

“Oh. Some other demon?”

Dean snorted and shook his head. “It wasn’t like that.” Suddenly he sat up and swung his legs over the side of the bed, his slumped back facing Sam.

While waiting for Dean to continue, Sam studied his back, noticed the way his brother’s shoulder blades jutted out from underneath the thin material of his dark gray t-shirt, and noted that Dean had to eat something. When was the last time he’d eaten a decent meal? Heck, when was the last time he’d eaten anything at all?

“I had just gotten this voodoo witch who’d put up one hell of a fight. Bitch was crazy. Afterwards I was tired and hungry and dead-ass broke.”

“Oh God, Dean, please tell me you didn’t…”

Dean scooted around to face Sam, pinning him with a blazing glare. “What was that, Sam? Didn’t what?”

“Do something stupid,” Sam finished lamely.

“Like what? Pimp myself out? You really think I’d do something like that?”

The urge to sink through the floor rippled over Sam. Why was there never a patch of quick sand around when you really needed it? “No, I just---”

“Pool, Sam. Pool. I went into this sleazy bar and won just enough to get a motel room. I didn’t even have a drink that night. I just wanted sleep. But when I got back out into the parking lot there was a group of five waiting for me.”

“Five? Guys?”

Eyes narrowing, Dean said tightly, “No, Sam, fairies with pretty glittering wings.”

“Jesus, Dean! Five?”

Dean let out a breath of air and his body drooped a little. Sam had to grip the bedspread to keep from bringing an arm up and throwing it protectively around Dean’s shoulders. “They were blocking my path to the car so I just started to walk around them, and then they circled me.”

When Dean paused to absent-mindedly run a hand through his hair, Sam couldn’t breathe. It was like the story had begun to unfold before his eyes and he was helpless to change the ending.

If I had been there with him it wouldn’t have happened. No one had his back. If I had just been there…

“They were some of the guys I’d been playing pool with, so I just thought I’d pissed them off by taking their money.” Dean shrugged casually. “I thought they were going to beat the crap out of me, so I already had my hand on my gun when this sixth guy came up behind me and got me right in the back of the head with a piece of plywood or something.”

Sam was shaking his head, and Dean said, “I know. It was stupid. I let my guard down.”

“No, Dean,” Sam said quietly, voice constricted with anger, “it’s not your fault. They jumped you.”

Sighing, Dean went on. “Yea, well it knocked me out cold. And when I woke up they had dragged me around to the side of the building and tied me to a pipe or something.” Dean’s head dropped into his hands for a minute before he finally lifted it again and stared at the floor. “They didn’t even lay one punch! They just---”

“It’s all right,” came Sam’s soft comforting tone, shaking a little. “You don’t have to tell me any more.”

In a low voice, jaw clenched, Dean whispered, “They took turns and I couldn’t stop them, just like I can’t stop it now either.” Grabbing the nearest pillow, he snatched it up with a vengeance and threw it hard at the wall. “Fuck!”

“And Dad?”

“He wasn’t there. He doesn’t know.” When he finally ripped his gaze from the limp pillow laying on the floor, he looked over at Sam almost panicky. “And you can’t tell him. About any of it.”

“I won’t.”

“Not about what the aliens are doing to me either. Swear to me, Sam.”

“I swear. I won’t tell anyone.” Not like Dad hasn’t already figured it out on his own, Sam thought darkly.

Dean’s body was still tense and he looked away from Sam, avoiding eye contact. “I was never going to tell you that.”

“It’s ok, Dean.” Sam spoke gently, as if he were handling a skittish colt. “I’m your brother, and I won’t hold this crap against you.” But them, those filthy excuses for human beings, he would hold it against. In fact, he was tempted to get the club name from Dean and go down there when this was all over and bash some skulls in.

“I just didn’t see it coming. I didn’t get any weird vibes from them when we were inside playing pool. And afterwards they weren’t even pissed that I ended up with their money. They took it pretty well. I guess that should’ve tipped me off right there.”

“Dean---”

“I just can’t believe I let it happen.”

“You didn’t let anything happen. It’s not your fault that you were outnumbered.”

“I know, but I fight evil for a living and I couldn’t even take down some fucking humans! I mean, c’mon! And now I can’t fight these aliens either.” Dean shook his head in disbelief and let out a small, rough laugh. Under his breath, barely loud enough for Sam to hear, he muttered, “Pathetic.”

“You’re not pathetic. No one’s --Dean, look at me-- No one’s invincible, including you. Crap like what happened to you in New Orleans happens everywhere. But it’s different for you because now all this supernatural shit we fight found a chink in your armor.”

“Aw Sammy. You’re so poetic.”

“So right after it happened you came to Palo Alto?”

Ducking his head, Dean fingered the bedspread as if the material was fascinating to him. “It was a few days after. Dad had disappeared, and I didn’t… I just didn’t wanna be alone right then.”

That stung, because in Sam’s mind Dean never should’ve been alone in the first place. Sure, he was 26, but he was always there for Sam and Dad, and where were they when Dean had needed them back at that bar?

Sam was beginning to wonder if his brother’s life was actually a book titled When Shitty Things Happen to Good People… Over and Over and Over. And it just wasn’t fair.

If I had just been there that night then maybe none of this would be happening right now…

The shuffling movement right next to him on the bed brought Sam back to the motel room and out of his thoughts. Dean rolled over onto his stomach and stretched out on top of the bedspread. “I’m gonna sleep.”

Swallowing hard, Sam nodded. “Yea, sure. Hey, aren’t you hungry?”

“Wake me up when Dad gets back with the M&Ms.”

“Dude, you need to eat a real meal.”

“Yes, Mother.” Mumbled into the pillow.

“Seriously---”

“Seriously. Shut up.”

“It’s just that you haven’t really eaten anything in a few days and you’re looking kind of… bony.”

“Bony?” One eye cracked open and regarded Sam with lazy annoyance. “Yea, ok. Whatever you say, stick boy,” Dean scoffed, shutting his eye and burrowing deeper into the soft bed. Voice muffled by the pillow, he muttered, “Just not hungry, ok?”

Sincerity rolled off of Sam in waves. “I’m worried about you.”

“Well stop.”

“All of this---”

“Just stop.” It was a warning tone that Sam was used to. Dean had opened up to him briefly -in fact, it kind of surprised the hell out of Sam that Dean had actually told him all of that- but now it was over and Dean was done with the girly, Lifetime movie moment.

“Ok. Fine. Just get some sleep before Dad gets back.”

But Dean was already out like a light.

--------
I know, I know. A whole chapter with no real answers as to how they’re going to fix this situation. Bwaha. Sorry. No really, I am. So sorry. But hey, there is a little clue in there if you squint realllyyyyy hard.

Chapter 13

Thu, 28 Sep 2006 02:33:00 GMT

You Can’t Fix This
Chapter 11 :: Leave
Need to catch up with the story? Story Index
--------

Dean finds himself staring up at complete darkness, and it’s funny because he can’t remember drinking that much. In fact, he’s having trouble remembering anything at all; everything’s a murky blank spot in his mind.

His whole body hurts like nothing he’s ever felt before, and he can’t recall why.

There’s a tug on the back of his mind telling him to retreat into sleep, and he thinks, Ok, I’ll just sleep this hangover off. Won’t hurt if we leave a little later than usual today.

A soft, warm light fills the cold blackness of his vision, and he finds himself squinting up at it. Some of the murkiness clears briefly, and all of a sudden he’s gazing up at… Holy crap! Yea, he must have gotten totally drunk off his ass to be seeing stuff like this.

What bar were he and Sam at? He can’t remember a name or anything, but he’s mentally planning to go back there and kick some ass because someone had to have slipped something in to his drink. Bastards. Probably ticked that he won all of their money and planned on jumping him in the parking lot and beating the crap out of him. Chicken shits thought they’d drug him and get an advantage.

A small groan and he thinks, Maybe it worked. Because man does his body hurt, and then, Where the hell was Sammy when all this crap went down last night? Little brother’s supposed to have his back.

A soft hand reaches out to him, runs slender fingers through his hair and murmurs something he can’t quite make out. “No way,” he says to the ghostly face above him. Can’t be happening, can’t be happening, he tells himself. He’s just tripping out from whatever they gave him. Man, that stuff must’ve been strong.

“Take my hand,” the whisper of a voice breathes down into his upturned face. Like it’s possible to take the hand of a hallucination, but ok, if she insists.

He grasps the fingers, and she smiles down at him, brushes her other hand across his hair.

“Good boy,” she says, “I’m proud of you.”

Sam’s head jerked around, and he was sitting on the bed beside Dean in a split second when he heard him call out, “Mom” in a broken voice.

He hadn’t moved or spoken in hours, and Sam had been standing across the room, shifting nervously from foot to foot, finger on the numbers for 911.

Daylight was finally slipping away, dipping the room in a half-light of gloom when Dean had spoken out loud.

Sam was afraid to touch him, afraid it would hurt him more than ever after what they had done to him this morning. So he ran fingers through his hair, just light touches so that Dean would know he wasn’t alone; that Sam hadn’t left him.

“Dean?” Sam breathed softly, leaning down close to his face.

Dean stirred but didn’t open his eyes. “Mom,” he croaked out again, voice sounding like he hadn’t spoken in years.

Mom? Sam thought.

“Dean, it’s Sam. Wake up.”

Dean grunted, shifted slightly on the bed and slowly cracked his eyes open, squinting as if he wasn’t sure what he’d find when he opened them all the way.

Sam leaned into his line of vision, the eyes focused on him, opened wider and blinked.

“Dean.” The name came out long and drawn out and full of relief. “You’re awake.” You’re alive. Thank God.

Blinking, Dean looked up at Sam, his eyes unusually bright and glassy looking in the room’s waning light.

Sam waited with baited breath to see what would happen next.

Finally, Dean said in a whisper of a voice, “What… happened?”

Sam blinked in surprise. “You don’t remember?”

Dean just stared up at him.

“You don’t remember anything that happened this morning?”

“Someone drugged me?”

“What?” Confusion clouded Sam’s features. “No…”

“Where were you?” Dean asked.

“Where was I when?”

“When they jumped me.”

“When who jumped you?”

“The guys at the bar.”

Brain damage danced through Sam’s mind.

“No, Dean,” he shook his head, “there weren’t any guys. No one jumped you.”

“Oh.” Dean continued to blink up at him, his brows drawn in confusion.

“You don’t remember the… the aliens? Gulf Breeze?”

Dean looked thoughtful, his eyes far away even though he was still staring at Sam’s face.

Sam could see the exact moment the memories came back. A pained expression crossed his face and stayed there, frozen in place.

“You remember now?”

“Rather be… drugged,” Dean rasped out.

“This morning,” Sam began, and then stopped when Dean shook his head and closed his eyes.

He remembers, Sam thought. All of it.

“I’m sorry…” Sam was getting sick of the damn word. But by this point what else was there to say?

“Just wanna sleep,” Dean muttered and rolled over and away from Sam with a grunt of pain at the movement.

“Can I get you anything? Water?”

“Sleep,” Dean muttered again.

Dean didn’t move when Sam pulled the covers over him.

He had already drifted off, and Sam hoped this sleep would be an escape for him rather than a torture chamber.

----------
Sam stood outside of their room, squeezing the cell in his hands. Gotta be careful, wouldn’t want to ruin a second cell phone in two months.

Not like it really mattered, what with the possible ending of the world coming and all.

John’s voicemail clicked on again.

“Why aren’t you answering your phone, Dad? Talk to me, dammit! We need you. Dean needs you!”

Click.

August 13th, 2006

Sleep wasn’t an escape; it never was anymore.

Partly there and mostly out of it, Dean muttered, “I hate them, Sammy. Why can’t I fight them?”

Sam stirred at the child-like way his brother was muttering, as if he was 4 year old Dean again and had woken from a nightmare and needed the warm arms of his parents.

It killed Sam that he couldn’t give Dean the comfort that he needed and deserved right now.

Sam checked the clock: 6am.

Dean was laying on his stomach, face buried in his pillow. Sam brought the blanket up over his back so that he could throw an arm around him. Dean shivered at the touch even through the blanket, and Sam said, “Are they here?”

There was a long list of questions that Sam was getting sick of having to ask Dean. Are they here was pretty much at the top of that list.

“Prolly,” Dean told the pillow. Then, “I’m tired, Sammy. So tired.”

“Don’t give up on me. Don’t you dare.”

Dean mumbled, “Mmm.”

“I can’t get in touch with Dad.”

The grunt Dean gave him as an answer made Sam unsure if his brother was even all there right now.

Sam continued anyway. “He was supposed to be on his way, but he doesn’t answer when I call. I’m kind of getting worried.”

“Huh,” Dean responded.

“Dean?”

Dean mumbled something that sounded like, “Gnuhhhh.”

“Dean?” Sam asked again, unsure.

Jumbled letters leaked out from between Dean’s mouth and the pillow.

Quietly, Sam asked, “You don’t really know what I’m saying, do you?”

There was no response, and Sam sighed, patted Dean’s hair and turned over onto his back.

They were both losing it fast now.

August 15th, 2006

Dean slept all of the time.

The few times that he did wake, he wasn’t really all there. Sam would make him sit up in bed to eat and drink something or drag him to the bathroom, and Dean would look at him with glazed eyes and utter confusion. Sometimes he’d mumble incoherently; other times he’d remain completely quiet like he didn’t know what the hell was going on and didn’t really care.

At night, Dean tossed and turned, smacked Sam in the face with his hands, hogged the covers, threw them back off again, pulled away from Sam’s touch, groaned, cried, muttered, and freaked Sam out way more than any demon with long bony fingers and a hunger for children ever could.

All of it was tearing Sam apart.

He didn’t know if they were there all of the time now or not at all. Maybe now they never left. Or maybe they left a while ago because they’d served their purpose by finally driving Dean out of his mind. The latter would mean Dean really had gone over the edge.

Sam didn’t sleep much anymore, just stared at the rise and fall of his brother’s back as he slept, or was tormented in his sleep, or whatever it was that happened when Dean pulled into himself like this. Sam no longer had a clue what was going on with Dean. Just that it wasn’t good, and maybe he should seek medical help. But what could they do? Probably just put him in straightjacket and a nice, soft, white room.

The idea of Dean sedated and locked away somewhere with no one to comfort or really help him had Sam clenching his jaw and shoving his cell phone far away. They were in this one alone.

Worry and dread laid heavy over Sam like a sheet. Without Dean there to snap him out of it, he was drowning in his own angstfest.

Where’s Dad? Why can’t I help Dean? When will the world end? What should I do next?

I think I’m gonna throw up.

August 17th, 2006

Dean wouldn’t move, wouldn’t get off the bed; wouldn’t even open his eyes.

There were only so many times that Sam could say, “Get up, Dean” before it got really old, really fast. In his attempt to get some sort of response he tried to get creative.

“Get up before I kick your ass, bro. And you know I can.”

“Dean! Someone’s stealing the Impala!”

“I think something happened to Dad on his way here.”

“So, uh, the world may end soon.”

“Look! Free beer!”

After 30 minutes of trying, Sam had the incredible urge to lay down beside his brother and sleep forever, sleep this whole damn disaster away.

August 18th, 2006

Somewhere along the way, Sam did lay down beside Dean, though he couldn’t even remember doing it. But he must have because the next thing he knew, the insistent ringing of his cell was blaring in his ear, and the color beyond the curtains was pitch black.

He groped for it, flipped it on, slurred out a groggy, “’Lo?”

Static hissed at him through the lines and over the miles. He could barely make out John say, “Sam?”

“Dad? Dad, are you there?”

The voice was faint and dropped in and out through the aggravating static disturbance. “Sam…y … found out … nothi--- … if you have to …”

“You’re dropping out!”

Though it didn’t do much good, their father’s voice rose a little higher on the phone, and Sam could imagine him standing somewhere yelling into it. “HAVE TO … HIM … happen … soon…”

“Dad, I can’t understand what you’re saying!”

“--- YOU,” garbled sounds, “HAVE TO LEAVE---”

Sam’s phone went out. He shook it, stared at its dark screen in wonder. Couldn’t something, by some miracle, just go their way for once? Even technology was turning on them now.

Sam sat on the edge of the bed with his head in his hands and ran fingers through his tangled mass of hair.

Pretty much all he had made out was leave. Leave? But go where? Nothing really made much sense any more.

The digital numbers of the bedside clock glowed an obnoxiously red 12:30am.

Funny, he couldn’t remember laying down and sleeping the rest of the day away.

Outside, something slammed into the window.

Sam’s body tensed instinctively. He moved toward the window, pulled the curtain back and peered into the night. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary.

Grabbing the gun and easing the door open, he set a cautious foot outside and looked over at the window. It’s what was underneath it that caught Sam’s attention. A dead bird lay on the sidewalk, neck broken from impact with glass.

He stared at it, wondering if it was an impending sign of doom. A quick glance at the night sky revealed nothing unusual. Everything in the silent parking lot was as it should be. The air echoed with middle of the night quiet.

Sam let out a small sigh of relief and went back inside. Birds occasionally ran into windows; it happened.

He heated himself some canned soup in the cheap microwave that came with every room. Uneasiness at John’s frantic call and the inability to decipher it crept up Sam’s back as he spooned the dinner into his mouth.

After he got half way through eating, he glanced at Dean and brushed a hand across his face. “Wake up. You gotta eat something.”

Dean didn’t even stir, just remained sprawled on his stomach, continuing to breathe evenly.

“Fuck you, Dean! JUST WAKE UP!” Then, spoken so softly that Sam wasn’t even sure if he said it out loud or in his head, “Sorry. I’m sorry. Didn’t mean it…” Where the hell had that come from?

He set the soup aside and, ignoring his father’s attempt at a warning, sprawled out beside Dean on the bed and went back to sleep.

----------
Dean woke in a bed swarming with them. The whole bed was writhing with their bodies. He screamed. Or at least he thought he screamed. Maybe it was only in his head. Either way, the sound drew the attention of one to his left. It moved toward him, so he crawled backward until he fell off the side of the bed.

Once on the floor he scrambled backwards, in too much of a hurry to bother standing up. The one tentacle followed him.

“Stop it! Just get the hell away from me!”

It paused, as if confused, and then resumed its movement toward him.

Dean backed up until his back met the wall and he couldn’t go any further. He’d just cornered himself, something he never would have been stupid enough to do if he was lucid.

It rested directly in front of his face, studying him.

“Don’t,” he whispered. “Just don’t.”

He flinched as it reached out and rested its stinging body on his shoulder.

----------
“Leave me alone,” Dean slurred.

Sam removed his hand from Dean’s shoulder. “Dean, it’s just me.”

“Go ‘way,” Dean mumbled.

“It’s Sammy. I’m not gonna hurt you.” A gasp of pain (fear?) escaped Dean’s mouth when Sam grasped his arm and tried to pull him up.

“No,” Dean gasped and wrenched out of Sam’s grip. He stumbled to the door, flung it open and fell out onto the sidewalk.

Sam was right behind him, but when he caught sight of the parking lot strewn with dead birds and various other dead animals he paused to gape.

Dean stumbled into the parking lot blindly. As far as Sam could tell Dean didn’t even see the animals covering the pavement. He just shuffled awkwardly through them, like an injured man searching for safety.

Sam ran after him and yanked him back with a hand on his arm. Dean surprised him by turning and sending a fist into his face. He dropped Dean’s arm, staggering back and holding a hand to his bloody nose. “Shit, Dean.”

But Dean was already halfway through the animal graveyard of a parking lot, half running, half falling toward some sort of safety that wasn’t there.

Long legs pumping the ground, Sam reached his wavering brother. This time he wrapped both arms around Dean, pinning his hands to his sides and dragging the struggling man back to the motel room with much effort.

In the room, Dean backed into a wall, eyes resting warily on Sam with terror.

It’s me he’s scared of, Sam realized. In his mind, does he think I’m against him now too?

His father’s warning of leave floated back into his mind, causing him to throw their belongings into bags and slip them onto his shoulders. Weighed down with a bag on each shoulder, he held his hand out to Dean and said, “Let’s go. We’re getting out of here.”

Dean shook his head and fell back against the wall like a drunk.

“COME ON, DEAN! NOW!” Maybe yelling would break through his brother’s dazed nightmare.

When it failed to work, Sam huffed and walked out of the room and tossed the bags into the car.

He turned back to the room only to find Dean stumbling out the door again, heading in the opposite direction of the car.

“Dean!” he shouted.

When Dean didn’t turn around at the sound of his name Sam ran after him again.

As they fought each other, Sam contemplated knocking Dean out cold to get him into the car, because this was just. not. working.

With a sorrowful look and a “Sorry Dean” Sam slammed the smaller man into the side of the motel with just enough force to jolt him long enough for Sam to then bring his fist around in a punch hard enough to knock his brother out.

Sam caught him just before he collapsed onto the animal-covered ground.

When this was all over and things got back to normal Dean was so going to kill him for this.

After he gently laid him in the backseat, Sam studied a rope from their supplies. Could he really do this?
Unfortunately it had gotten to the point where he had no choice.

No, Dean was definitely going to beyond kill him.

Sam crawled into the backseat where Dean lay unconscious on his back. Do it fast, don’t think about it. He repeated the words over and over in his head while looping the rope through the door handle and yanking on it twice to make sure it would hold. He then wrapped the rest of the rope around Dean’s wrists and knotted the whole thing several times to secure it.

He crawled back out and looked at his handy work. “Sorry Dean,” he said for the second time in 10 minutes. “You can kick my ass for this when it’s all over.”

Safely behind the wheel and heading down a tree-lined road, he flipped on the radio and tried to find any station that broke through the static. None would come in, and Sam admitted to himself that this was probably the beginning of the end.

Half an hour down the road a voice filled the car. God how Sam loathed the sound of the familiar female voice that flooded the car and washed over him.

You can’t run from this, it laughed, as if the whole thing were an amusing joke, just a prank.

“Watch me,” Sam growled.

You caused what is coming.

“What’s coming?” Sam asked, not able to hide the dread in his voice.

The end.

“Of what?”

Everything. It’s your fault.

Sam shook his head in a sort of denial. “No.”

We never actually thought you would sacrifice the world for your brother.

“Then you don’t know me as well as you think you do,” he ground out between clenched teeth, eyes on the animal littered road ahead of him.

The car filled and expanded with its gritty laughter. You might have sacrificed the world but you still won’t be able to save him.

Sam glanced at Dean’s unconscious body in the rearview mirror. “That doesn’t mean I won’t try.”

It’s funny, the voice began and stopped, waiting for Sam to take the bait and ask what exactly was so funny about this.

Sam remained quiet.

It’s funny that you’re going through all of this trouble when in the end it’ll be you that hands him over to them.

Sam’s head whipped around. “What!”

You’ll see… you’ll see. Its laughter faded from the car. Sam ground his teeth until they hurt and let his foot lay a little heavier on the accelerator.

In the backseat, Dean stirred, groaned, and let out a gasp. Sam watched his eyes fly open and dart around the car wildly.

“It’s ok, Dean,” Sam said, forcing a weak smile in the rearview mirror, even though it wasn’t ok; even though it would probably never be ok again.

Dean groaned in agony and pulled at the rope, not seeming to really understand that he was tied up in the backseat of his own car. He was seeing something that Sam couldn’t see; caught in a nightmarish world that Sam couldn’t save him from.

“I’m trying to find a safer area,” Sam explained, keeping an eye on Dean through the rearview mirror.

When no response came, Sam turned his attention back to the road.

“Please,” Dean whispered from the backseat, “please…”

“Please what? What do you need?”

“Please,” Dean whimpered again in a voice that Sam had never heard him use before.

Sam continued down the deserted road, barely seeing it through the tears in his eyes.

----------
In another motel room set in woods far off the road, Sam sat with his head in his hands. To his left, Dean moaned softly and pulled at the ropes securing his hands to the bedpost.

For the third or fourth time, Sam leaned over and his eyes took in the skin Dean was rubbing raw on the ropes. Finally, he ran to the bathroom and came back with toilet paper that he proceeded to wedge between Dean’s wrists and the ropes to try and create a barrier.

Dean winced and tried to shrink away from him while Sam murmured comforting words as he worked.

He sat back down on the edge of the bed and stared at his useless cell. He had long ago given up on trying to get his cell and the motel room phone to work. Technology was abandoning the world right when it needed it the most.

“Strange ain’t it?” The desk clerk had asked. “All these dead animals everywhere and technology chooses now to poop out on us. Ain’t it just the way?”

A little girl with golden hair and gray-blue eyes stood behind Sam with her family. “It’s scary,” her small voice squeaked out. She tugged at Sam’s arm in the friendly, trusting way children have. “Are you scared too?”

Sam had given a numb nod and taken the room key from the clerk.

The man’s voice had stopped him on his way out the door. “You any idea what’s goin’ on?”

Sam looked at him, an innocent man who had nothing to do with any of this but would probably suffer a horrible death regardless. Because of me.

“Yes,” Sam had answered quietly and left the man and the family staring at his back in surprise.

People were going to die because of Sam’s choice. But for Sam there was no choice in this. He had to do whatever he could to keep Dean away from them. Right?

Back in the motel room, Sam lay down next to Dean who flinched and tried to back away from him.

He watched them unravel Dean from the inside out. “I’m not one of them,” Sam told him desperately and fell asleep.

----------
You’ll see, the voice said gleefully.

And Sam did.

A dying world flashed before his eyes. His world. Full of death and destruction and silver light.

Molten silver started at the top of the blue sky and melted down like chocolate syrup over a Sundae. It met the land, leaving the sky a silver mass of heaving waves.

“No,” Sam said. “No.”

Trees on the horizon melted down into the earth like silver waterfalls of light.

He turned in time to see the Impala shimmer in the parking lot, waver like a reflection in a lake full of ripples, and then melt to the ground, leaving behind a puddle of silver goo.

Other people who were staying in the motel flooded out into the parking lot. The little girl and her family stood near Sam and glanced at him fearfully as they took in the world around them.

The entire motel at their backs melted into the ground, sending a wave of silver into the parking lot.

Sam was lifted onto the wave and floated along beside the family. The golden-haired child screamed for her mom as a tentacle came out of the muck and wrapped around her neck. The mother reached desperately for her crying child and was attacked from behind by yet another tentacle.

“No!” Sam yelled.

His mind flashed like a light bulb and he found himself floating in the silver sea that he had dreamed of, with nothing in sight but that endless ocean of death. He fought it again and this time, right before he went under, he knew it wasn’t a dream; it was a vision of the world if he chose Dean.

His father’s static voice drifted into his mind and repeated over and over “you have to leave…” until finally his mind filled in the vital word the phone had cut off. “You have to leave… you have to leave him.” As soon as he figured it out, he grimaced, and his father’s voice faded from his mind.

You’ll make the right choice, the female voice whispered hauntingly and everything went blank.

----------
This time it was Sam who woke up crying.

--------
I owe Dean many, many gifts and lots of money. And I’m not sure, but I may even owe Jensen something just because it’s his character I’m putting through hell. Aw jeez.

Chapter 12

Wed, 20 Sep 2006 03:02:06 GMT

You Can’t Fix This
Chapter 10 :: Giving Up
This chapter is long. I don’t know if you guys prefer long or short chapters but… yea, I hope you’re in the mood to read. The angst in this story may actually kill me. Is that possible?

Once again, thank you for the reviews/comments. It’s always good to know that people out there are reading it and hopefully enjoying.
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The phone nearly slipped from Sam’s hand. “They… WHAT?”

“Keep your voice down. You’ll wake Dean.”

Sam lowered his voice until he was practically hissing into the phone. “Your son or the world? What does that mean?”

“I think you know what it means, Sam.”

“They mean Dean?”

“Yes.”

“Or the world? I don’t understand.”

John sighed again. “I can’t believe I’m even saying these damned words, but I’m guessing the world means they’re going to use the aliens for some sort of alien invasion.”

“But you’re not positive.”

“What else would it mean, Sam?”

Sam grew quiet, racking his brain for another explanation. Unable to think of one, he said, “I don’t know. But this… this is just ridiculous.”

“There’s more.”

Swallowing the dread, Sam said, “Ok. Tell me.”

“They say you’re interfering.”

“Interfering? With what?”

“The aliens and their purpose for Dean. You’re pissing them off.”

Sam shot up from his spot on the toilet, fuming and barely managing to spit out, “Their purpose?!” between clenched teeth.

“Calm down.”

“No, Dad! You don’t understand! Their only purpose is to---”

“We have to stay calm, Sam. Exploding isn’t going to do a damn thing right now.”

“They came back, Dad! They come and torture him every night now. Every single night!”

“They’re back? For how long? Why didn’t you call me?”

“None of that matters right now. Dean’s losing it, and I don’t know what to do. Dad,” Sam’s voice broke on the word, “they’re breaking him down piece by piece.”

John grew quiet for a minute before saying, “And you stay with him? All of the time?”

“Yea, of course. I’m afraid to leave his side now. He’s not the same person he was when you left last month.”

“It makes sense now,” John murmured into the phone.

“What makes sense?”

“What the voice said to me. It said you were getting in their way, stopping them all of the time. I didn’t know it was happening again, so that part didn’t make any sense to me.”

“How am I stopping them?” Sam spat out. “They do it to him anyway, whether I’m right there with him or not.”

“Sam…” John’s voice had grown deathly serious. “They want you to leave him.”

“Leave him? Like drive off and leave him alone in all of this?”

“Yes.”

“FUCK NO!”

“Shhh,” John urged. “I didn’t say you should do it; I’m just telling you what they said.”

“There’s no way in hell I’m leaving him to handle all of this alone. Dad, he’ll break if I do that.”

“I never told you to leave him. I don’t want you to leave him.”

“What’ll happen if I don’t do what they say?”

“I don’t know.”

“Alien invasion?” Sam growled sarcastically.

Sam could hear a puff of air escape his father’s mouth and brush past the phone’s mouthpiece in a scratchy whooshing sound. “Sam, that could actually happen.”

“It’s not like we’re going to hand him over to them.”

There wasn’t an answer right away and Sam said, “Dad? Dad, we’re not letting them have him!”

“I know, I know. We just have to figure this out. You know I’m not going to hand him over to those things.”

“I know.”

“Where are you right now?”

“Some small town in south Mississippi called Hopeville. It’s around Biloxi.”

John snorted. “Nice choice of town, Sammy.”

“Yea, well it’s not exactly giving off much hope.”

“Stay there. I’m coming to you.”

“Ok.”

“Bye, Sam.”

“Hey, Dad?”

“Yea?”

“Hurry.”

“I will.”

Sam flipped the phone shut, lifted his arm and barely restrained himself from hurling the thing into the mirror above the sink. Instead, he splashed cool water on his face and walked back out into the bedroom.

Dean was sprawled out on his stomach, a bare foot the only thing hanging out from under the safety of the covers, his breath slow and deep. It was the most normal Sam had seen him look in days.

Carefully, he eased himself onto the edge of the bed and lightly rested a hand on Dean’s messy hair. Normally Dean would stir at any sort of touch, ready to kill with the knife under his pillow, but today he remained motionless, still deep in badly needed sleep.

“They’re not going to win,” Sam whispered, steely determination just under the surface of his voice. “And I’m not leaving you. I promise.”

August 11th, 2006

Sam jumped and breathed out a curse at the sudden loud crash of thunder that ripped through the hot, Mississippi evening.

Dean turned from the TV and stared at him with curiosity. So Sam smiled sheepishly across the room and tried to cover the fact that the thunder way too closely resembled the sound of an impending invasion. Or at least what Sam expected an alien invasion to sound like.

“Anything on?” Sam asked, feigning casual boredom and a yawn to hide his looming dread.

Dean continued to stare at him with one eyebrow raised.

Shit, he knows. He knows something’s really wrong.

As innocently and wide-eyed as he could manage, Sam said, “What?”

But this was the new Dean, the completely quiet Dean. There was no sarcastic, “What’s gone wrong in Samland now?” Followed by an eye roll. There was just silence; deafening, stifling silence until Dean finally turned back to the TV, and Sam let out a hushed breath of relief.

Pocketing his cell, Sam slipped into the bathroom, perched on the toilet and called his dad for the fourth time in the past 5 hours.

The voicemail clicked on, and Sam resisted leaving a fourth message. He hung up and stared at the phone, wondering why his father wasn’t answering when he knew it was Sam calling, and he knew the situation they were in. He wondered why his dad was once again not there when he needed him.

Sam left the bathroom frustrated and leaned back against the headboard next to Dean on the bed.

“What’s on?”

Dean shrugged.

Well good. At least he’s still acknowledging me.

“Are you even watching it?”

Dean’s eyes flicked over to him briefly. He shook his head and returned his gaze to the television set where Jack and Kate pretended to be interesting on an episode of Lost.

“How you doing?” Sam asked in a soft tone of voice that would normally make Dean smack him upside the head.

Dean crossed his arms over his chest and shook his head again.

“Hurting still?”

Sam knew his brother well enough to know that his lack of response meant the answer was yes.

“So um, the other night when we fell off the bed… can you give me a hint to what was going on there?”

There was no indication that Dean had even heard him, but Sam ventured on anyway. “Were they trying to take you away?”

Dean finally turned to him with a look of surprise. Eyes wide, he finally nodded slowly, green-eyed gaze locked on Sam’s face.

After days of Dean avoiding direct eye contact, the steady stare in such close proximity made Sam shift uncomfortably on the bed. “Do you know where they were trying to take you?”

Quickly breaking their locked stare, Dean slumped down further on the bed and looked away.

“Why won’t you talk to me? Dean, please…”

Sam knew not to push it. Sighing, he announced he was going to shower and for Dean to yell for him if something happened... Like the TV suddenly flashing a warning that the world’s ending, Sam thought darkly.

In the shower, he let the hot water massage his tense muscles and fail at easing his mind. The phone call with his father ate at his thoughts. Were they seriously dooming the world? No. No way. Because stuff like that only happened in Hollywood movies.

But was it possible that maybe, just maybe, he was about to kill billions of people for his brother?

He beat a closed fist into the wall and dropped his head, eyes only half seeing the water swirling around his feet and rushing down the drain. This can’t be happening.

Sam was a good person, the kind that helped old ladies cross the street; the kind that saved innocents from dying at the hands of evil. The thought of being responsible for destroying an entire planet didn’t exactly send shivers of thrill down his spine.

All he wanted to do was get his brother out of this mess alive without anyone getting hurt. Was that too much to ask?

Sam froze under the hot spray of water, cocked his head to the side, straining to hear through the hissing of the water.

He thought he’d heard something, yelling, then thought maybe it was just the TV.

The choked cry of his name that came wafting into the bathroom a second or two later was definitely not produced by the television.

Moving quickly, he slammed the faucet off, threw one leg over the side of the tub and nearly brought the whole shower rod down with him when he slipped in his haste. Cursing under his breath way more than usual (he blames Dean for that; big bro is a bad influence), he dragged himself up and reached for his boxers just as a long roar of thunder ripped through the motel room and ended in the lights flickering off.

Stumbling in sudden awkward clumsiness, Sam yanked the bathroom door open and fell out into the pitch-black bedroom, yelling Dean’s name.

The unsettling thought that this was it; they were here to punish Sam and the world for not getting what they wanted flashed through Sam’s mind in the time it took him to rush into the room, slam his knee into the edge of the dresser, and trip over his own bag of clothes.

He couldn’t see a damned thing in the unnaturally dark room. “Dean! Where are you?”

Somewhere near the door a chair crashed into the wall with a loud crack.

Sam moved toward the noise. “Dean?”

No answer came. He was getting more than a little freaked out. Hell, if the world was ending right now then he wanted to get to Dean and make sure they were together when it happened.

Lightening turned the dark room into day, and Sam saw Dean backed against the door, breathing hard, something in his hand catching the brief flash of light. The light vanished, leaving behind darkness, a crash of thunder, and bright spots in Sam’s vision.

The length of the room seemed endless as Sam crossed it to reach Dean.

Stupidly, Sam tripped over the chair that had been tossed into the wall and fell face first to the floor. When he looked up, Dean was just feet away from him, face lit with an eerie, orange glow that Sam couldn’t understand the source of.

And then it hit him. Crap.

He couldn’t untangle himself from the chair and jump up fast enough. Once up, he hurled himself at Dean, who wrenched away, still holding the lighter.

“Dean, no. Turn it off.”

Dean glanced around the room with wild eyes as another flash of lightening lit up the world with an eerie, camera-like flash.

“They’re here, aren’t they?”

Dean nodded.

“Ok. But this isn’t the way. You can’t light the room on fire, because there are other people in this building.” Sam inched toward him. “Just let me have the lighter.”

Without a word, Dean pushed past Sam and threw himself out the door into the windy, storm swept night.

Sam followed closely behind and caught his arm as he reared it back to toss the lighter through the open door.

“Dean! People could get hurt!”

Dean glared up at him defiantly and jerked away, the small flame of fire in his hand dancing back and forth in the wind.

At that moment, Sam realized that Dean wasn’t really thinking straight anymore. So he tackled his brother to the ground before Dean could do something he would regret once this was all over.

The lighter bounced away on the pavement, and Dean stretched his arm out, reaching for it.

“No!” Sam shouted and grabbed for his arm.

Dean fought him, and the two rolled off the sidewalk and into the parking lot.

Just like with every southern, summer thunderstorm, the cool rain suddenly came pelting down in a sheet of fury, soaking both boys instantly, though neither even seemed to notice.

They rolled around on the ground, each vying for control over the other, until Sam finally came out on top. Water droplets dripped from his hair, down his face, off his eyelashes into his eyes, blurring his vision. With a firm grip on Dean’s wrists, he leaned down into his face, ready to repeat that fire wasn’t the answer.

Dean let out a howl of pain when Sam tightened his hold on Dean’s wrists to keep him from getting away. Sam started to say something, but Dean’s leg connecting with his crotch stopped him.

Gasping, he rolled off, and Dean jumped up and raced toward the motel.

“Dirty move,” Sam rasped out, dragging himself up.

Sam gathered himself, ran after Dean and tackled him from behind just as Dean reached the lighter.

He was beginning to worry that Dean’s way of losing his mind was going to be dangerous. Not to mention exhausting. What was he supposed to do if Dean started trying to burn everything around him all of the time? Tie him to the bed? Sam knew that wasn’t an option. Tying him down for the aliens? No, just no.

But this wasn’t working; he didn’t know how to handle this Dean.

Dean went down hard with the tackle, barely catching himself with his hands before Sam wrapped long arms around him. Without letting go, he pulled them both into a sitting position on the soaking wet pavement.

Back pressed into Sam’s chest and gasping, Dean said, “Please, Sam…”

Finally. Something other than just head nods and wide-eyed glances. “Please what? What, Dean?”

“Let me do it!”

“No, I can’t let you burn a building down!”

“I have to do something,” Dean choked out desperately.

“I know… I know… but this isn’t gonna help.”

“They’re in the room. Just let me---“

“No.”

“Sam, I can’t… can’t…”

“What?”

“Live like this,” Dean finished, shuddering in Sam’s arms.

This time Sam didn’t say anything at all. He’d run out of comforting crap about a week ago. And that’s just what it was- crap. Crap that neither of them believed anymore, so why bother repeating it over and over?

This was hell, and they were both stuck in it.

“Dad’s coming,” Sam said suddenly, ignoring the beating rain. “We talked yesterday, and he’s coming to…” Be with us when the world ends. “…help.”

Sam watched the back of Dean’s head nod as he finally gave in to telling their dad what was happening. He just didn’t know what Sam knew, that Dad couldn’t help; that all of this was much worse than Dean could even imagine.

And he wasn’t going to find out, because Sam would rather grab the lighter and set himself on fire before he burdened Dean with any more crap.

Cautiously, he released his hold on Dean. “You gonna try to burn the motel down again?”

Dean turned to face him. “I don’t know. Maybe.”

“Should we go inside?”

Dean shook his head and wiped his wet t-shirt across his face. “No. Not back in there.”

“You’re talking again.”

“Am I?”

Sam wasn’t sure if it was supposed to be funny or if Dean really didn’t realize that he was speaking out loud.

“Yea. I’ve kind of missed your loud mouth the past few days.”

“Thanks, asshole.”

Sam’s body relaxed at the comment. Maybe when Dean started to… drift away Sam still had the ability to pull him back from it. “’Welcome, dickhead. So where should we go?”

A low roll of thunder peeled through the night. Dean squinted up into the sky, rain pelting his face, and shrugged. “Dunno.”

Sam pulled himself up, sat down with his back against the wall right outside their room. The overhang of the roof didn’t provide as much shelter as he hoped it would. Eventually, Dean walked over and sat down next to him.

“Did you just call me dickhead?”

“Yea.”

“Lame.”

“Who uses ‘lame’ anymore?”

“Shut up.”

“You kicked me in the balls.”

“Did I? My bad.”

“It was a cheap shot.”

Dean massaged his wrists and looked away from Sam, out into the parking lot. “My wrists still hurt from where they grabbed me the other night.” The matter of fact way it was said made Sam cringe a little, especially when he recalled how he’d ground Dean’s wrists into the pavement to hold him down earlier.

“Oh. I didn’t know.”

“Yea.”

“Sorry.”

“Yea.”

“Yea?”

“What?”

“Nothing. Just… Dean?”

“Yea?”

“Stop saying yea.”

“Whatever.”

“Dean?”

“Yea?”

Sam raised an eyebrow and Dean just shrugged. “When you get quiet like you’ve been the past few days, where do you go?”

“What do you mean?”

“It’s like you’re gone, Dean, and I can’t reach you. It… it scares me.”

“It scares me too.”

“What happens?”

“I don’t know. I just… it’s getting to where sometimes I just can’t handle it, and I can’t think anymore.”

“That’s not good.”

“Really? You think so, geek boy?”

Sam didn’t respond to the jab, so Dean went on, speaking more quietly now and making sure to look at anything but Sam. “Some days now all I can see are them, even during the daytime.”

Sam’s breath hitched in his throat at Dean’s admittance, and he couldn’t quite hide the underlying tone of horror in his voice. “God, Dean. This is just… God.” When Dean remained quiet, Sam ducked his head and absent-mindedly picked at a pebble that was by his leg. “I hate this. After all the crap we’ve fought, this one’s different, isn’t it?”

“If you mean it’s different because we’re not going to win, then yea, I agree.”

“Dean, if we don’t win -and I’m not saying we won’t- but just if we don’t, then what’s going to happen to you?”

Dean pulled his eyes from the parking lot and settled them on Sam. “I don’t know; I don’t think I want to know. Sam, if things don’t work out, if you and Dad can’t find a way outta this, you have to promise to do something for me.”

Sam gulped. Sentences that ended with something along the lines of you have to promise me usually never ended well. Sam nodded to urge him on, even though he wasn’t really sure he wanted to hear this.

“If things get really bad, and I lose it for good, take one of the guns and---“

“No.”

“You didn’t let me finish.”

“I know what you were going to say, and I can’t do it. I won’t do it.”

Dean’s steady stare never wavered, only softened slightly. “Please, Sam.”

Sam’s head shook vehemently. “I can’t do that to you, Dean. Don’t ask me to do that to you.”

“I would do it myself but I may be so out of it---“

“No, Dean, no.”

“I’m asking you because I trust you, Sam. Don’t let me live like that, with those things being my only reality.”

“I. Won’t. Do. It.”

Dean’s eyes glittered in a flash of lightening, giving Sam a glimpse of unshed tears. Jesus, I can’t believe we’re having this conversation. Why is this happening? Why the hell does this have to happen?

“I’m sorry, Dean. I don’t think I would be able to do it.”

Dean’s face took on that hurt, wounded look that always killed Sam a little inside every time it rarely made an appearance. Dean said, “Ok… ok. Never mind.”

To Sam, Dean had never looked so utterly defeated. It was like a knife that went straight to Sam’s heart and lodged itself there, digging a little deeper when Dean brought an arm up to wipe across his eyes.

Just looking at Dean right then shook Sam to the very core. Because that slumped down position against the wall, those eyes drained of the usual mischievous sparkle, all added up to one thing in Sam’s mind. Dean’s fight was gone.

Sam didn’t think Dean losing that fiery fight he always carried around was something that was even possible. Even though he never wanted to admit to himself that Dean might die while fighting some sort of evil one day, deep down he always kind of expected it. But this… this defeated Dean huddled against the wall next to him, begging for Sam to end it -end him- if need be, wasn’t something he ever thought he would see.

“Let’s go inside,” Sam said, voice lifeless, drained of hope.

“I’m not going back in there.” Dean sounded just as hopeless with a tinge of desperate on the side, and Sam thought they’d never been so low. Surely this was the worst it got.

Several minutes passed with Sam fingering the pebble and Dean leaning his head back against the wall, eyes staring at the grimy place where roof connected with cement wall.

After a few minutes, Sam spoke again. “I’m sorry it turned it out this way. I’m sorry I can’t fix this.” Now seemed the time to say it because there was an aching dread in Sam telling him this might be one of his last chances to talk with Dean before this whole thing finally blew up in their faces.

“It’s ok, Sam. I know you and Dad tried.”

“We’re giving up, aren’t we?”

“Maybe a little.”

“Just a little?”

“Ok. A lot.”

“Dammit. None of this seems right, like it shouldn’t be this way or something.”

“Hey, dying’s never fun,” Dean said with a tiny, half smile.

“That’s morbid, man.”

“I know. But at this point who cares.”

“Uh, me. I still have to hear you.”

“I thought you said you missed my loud mouth.”

“I’m starting to regret saying that.”

“Eh, whatever. You know you love me.”

Sam softened. “Yea, Dean, I do.”

Dean looked over at him, mock disgust on his face. “Dude, no more chick flick moments. We’ve had enough of ‘em in the past three months to make me want to strangle you in your sleep.”

Sam surprised himself with a chuckle. Dean always found a way to make him laugh. God he was going to miss tha--- Ug. He slammed the door on that thought fast.

“Did Dad find anything?” Dean asked suddenly.

Masking a cringe, Sam replied, “No. Nothing. I’m sorry.” I’m sorry the truth’s so shitty that I can’t even tell you. But now I never will because I know what you would probably do and it involves a gun and it’s stupid. It’s just fucking stupid, Dean!

Dean nodded, as if it was the answer he had expected to hear.

“Let’s go inside,” Sam said. “We’ll sleep and Dad’ll be here sometime tomorrow probably.” Hopefully.

The storm was letting up, sucking the rain back into the clouds and moving on. Only a few bolts of heat lightening here and there decided to stay behind.

“Ok,” Dean surprised Sam by saying.

----------
“Dude. Stop hogging all the covers.”

Sam shifted around until he was laying on his side and facing Dean, effectively dragging even more of the covers away from his brother. “Sorry,” he grinned.

“I’m serious, Sam. I’m laying here fucking freezing.”

“Too bad.” Sure, it was stupid, but Sam would cling to anything that momentarily kept their minds off of everything that was so fucked up in their lives.

Dean grabbed an end of the cover and pulled it hard, bringing the entire thing to his side of the bed.

“Hey,” Sam protested. “Now I don’t have any.”

Dean’s voice dripped with a mocking sort of sarcasm that was his specialty and often only saved for Sam. “Too bad, Sammy boy.”

Sam reached for the cover and caught an end of it right before Dean yanked it away. They tugged back and forth for several seconds before Dean let go of his end, and Sam went crashing backwards and barely caught himself from going off the side of the bed. This had happened way too many times when they were young kids and were forced to share a bed on hunting trips.

“Aw Sammy, you never learn,” Dean laughed. And it was so good to finally hear him laugh for the first time in days, weeks, that Sam just laughed too and threw some of the blanket at Dean’s head.

“You upset that I got one bed?” Sam asked after they’d settled down.

“Any other time I’d kick your ass for doing it, but this time… it’s ok.”

“Night, dickhead.”

Dean snorted. “Night, bitch.”

Sam really shouldn’t be so glad to be called bitch.

August 12th, 2006

By now, there had been so many nights of this, so many times he’d woken to Dean in pain, whimpering, crying, that they all blurred together in Sam’s vision.

When he opened his eyes to Dean’s latest cries at the crack of dawn, it didn’t surprise him this time. There was no moment of shock, no moment of surprise and horror at the fact that the toughest person he knew was crying.

The only shock that hit Sam was the shock that this was normal. Waking up right before the sun started finding its way through the cracks in the closed curtains and finding Dean crumpled in the corner of the room where the bathroom wall met the bedroom wall was totally and horribly normal.

Somewhere along the way this had become their life.

And no one deserved this life.

He didn’t remember crossing the room and kneeling in front of Dean. Maybe he was still half asleep, because he looked up and there he was with the blanket from the bed, tossing it over Dean’s knees and folded arms and murmuring words of comfort that weren’t really making any sense.

He no longer muttered things like it’s ok, you’re all right, things will be ok, and we’ll make it through this. Somewhere back there between threats of the world ending and Dean begging Sam to shoot him if it came to it, Sam lost hope. He no longer believed things would be ok, so he didn’t mutter those pointless lies any longer.

Sam just said, “I’m here” over and over, because at least that much was true. And every time he said it, it sounded like an unfinished sentence that should continue with until it’s over, until they take you or finally just kill you, I’ll be here for you.

And God what a morbid thought for Sam to have running through his head at such an early hour of the day while he sat helpless and watched tears streak Dean’s too-pale face as he shuddered under the blanket. But he couldn’t help it. Reality was finally starting to stomp out every last bit of optimism Sam had left.

But right now Dean was still with him. Sam may not be able to stop it and protect him, but he could still just sit there and hold on to him on that dirty motel carpeting until the sun came up, and the little bastards finally had enough for the time being.

Sam wrapped his arms around the blanketed bundle that was his brother and didn’t say anything, just held on. Next month –heck, even next week- might be different; he may not be able to hold on to his brother like this.

He may not even have a brother to hold on to by next week.

At the thought, Sam found slow tears sliding down his cheeks. It’s funny, he didn’t even remember starting to cry. It kind of just happened. And dammit, he wasn’t supposed to break down too! He had to be the strong one now.

Dean didn’t notice his little brother’s silent break down happening right in front of him. He just leaned forward, in his usual position of knees to chest, arms wrapped around his legs, and kept his head bent down until the top of his short hair was practically up Sam’s nose.

Holding back the urge to sneeze through his tears, Sam turned his head sideways and let it sink down onto Dean’s bowed head.

A year ago, Sam thought, Dean would’ve killed me if we ever got even half this close. Now he doesn’t even notice that my tears are wetting his hair. This is weird.

Suddenly, Dean shuddered and his head shot up, knocking Sam upside the face in the process.

Sam flexed his jaw, nearly said, “What the hell” out loud and eyed Dean warily.

Dean’s eyes were frozen wide, staring straight ahead over Sam’s shoulder at something in the room.

Sam’s head whipped around, and he followed Dean’s gaze to see what was there. The room was normal. Sam turned back to Dean and said, “What is it? What’s there?”

With lips parted slightly and his breath coming in struggled gasps, Dean’s eyes remained fixed in horror at something Sam couldn’t see.

And for some reason, this creeped Sam out more than any of the rest had.

Dean squeezed further into the corner and whimpered a soft, “No, don’t. I won’t go…”

Eyes now as wide as Dean’s, Sam turned to the empty room at his back and stared in horror. They want to take him. Right now. Right from the room.

Sam had no idea what the hell to do; how to stop this.

Leave.

Sam froze at the new voice in the room; the female voice that seemed to waft out of nowhere.

Leave, it said again.

Sam opened his mouth to speak and then found he had no words.

LEAVE, it said, much louder this time.

And then Sam, geeky college boy that he was, figured it out. It was the voice that had come to his dad in 2004 and again just days ago; it had to be.

So he said, “No” with a brave defiance that he wasn’t sure he felt.

Leave him.

“Hell. No.” He turned back to Dean, who he found staring at him, mouth open in what appeared to be shock.

Get out.

“Bitch, I’m not going anywhere.” Sam almost smirked because damn he knew he sounded just like Dean on that one.

Leave him or pay the price.

That was kind of unsettling, but not unsettling enough. “You think I’m going to walk out of this room and leave my brother here for your little friends to take and torture for fucking eternity? Are you really that stupid?” Sam couldn’t remember when he had picked up Dean’s flair for telling evil off. It just kind of happened.

LEAVE HIM.

“There’s no need to shout. I can hear you.” Whoa. Maybe I’m channeling Dean’s snark or something.

Sam turned back to Dean, expecting him to snap out of it any minute. It freaked him out to find him staring straight ahead with a vacant stare.

You’ll both pay the price for refusal. Are you refusing?

“Uh… yea.” Lady, you have no idea just how hard I’m refusing to play along with your crap.

The voice actually sighed, and Sam briefly wondered how a disembodied voice even had the right (or lungs) to let out a sigh.

Then it is done.

A heart wrenching half moan, half cry ripped from Dean’s lips, and he pitched forward lifelessly onto Sam’s lap.

“Dean!” Sam caught him up in his arms, noticed his closed eyes and labored breathing, and willed his mind to stay calm. He felt for Dean’s pulse and found it surprisingly strong and steady.

Even though he was unconscious, Dean’s whole body twitched in Sam’s arms, then arched and convulsed. What the hell now?!

It went on like that for minutes until Sam found his cell in his hands, not even remembering how it got there. He was hitting send on their father’s phone number before his mind even registered what his fingers were doing.

It was strange; he’d never in his life turned to his father in a crisis before. He didn’t fully understand why he was doing it now except that John was the only other person in this whole mess with them, and… and… he was Dad. This was a time in Sam’s life when he really, really needed his father.

Dean’s body arched forward, and he moaned so deeply and painfully that it brought new tears to Sam’s eyes, because he could only imagine what was happening; what it was they were doing to him right now when his unconsciousness rendered him completely helpless and he couldn’t even try to fight back.

John’s cell rang two times, three. Ten. The voicemail clicked on, and Sam threw the phone into a full-length mirror on the opposite wall. The mirror shattered with the impact and hundreds of glittering shards of glass rained down onto the floor and the cell phone that now lay on the ground, still open and connected.

“Will this voicemail be enough to get you to call me back now!” Sam shouted through tears across the room. “DAMMIT!”

Forgetting the phone, he hoisted Dean up in his arms and brought him to the bed, laid him on his back, fixed the pillows around him carefully and then asked himself what the hell he was doing.

Dean’s fingers clinched the bed sheet in tight fists, and he moaned again, low and full of a kind of pain that Sam would never be able to understand; could never even begin to understand.

Sam watched Dean’s body struggle for a moment before he turned back to the abandoned phone, debating on whether or not to call an ambulance.

What the hell do I do? What should I do for you, Dean?

At a complete loss, Sam sat down on the bed near his brother’s shaking body. Voice pleading, he said, “What do I do?”

----------
An hour or so later, Sam sat watching, eyes never leaving Dean as he finally began to relax. Slowly, his body stopped the strange, jerky movements, and he grew still. Sam reached over and checked his pulse again; it was normal. His breathing slowed down to a normal in-out, in-out instead of the terrifying sucking gasp it had been for over an hour.

Sam threaded his fingers through his brother’s damp, sweaty hair and, sounding way more like 12 year old Sammy than he realized, he said, “Dean? Wake up now. Please, Dean… just wake up.”

Sam grabbed a washcloth from the bathroom, wet it with cold water and gently wiped it across Dean’s forehead, down his too-pale cheeks where his freckles stood out more than usual, across his mouth, down his neck. He didn’t know what good it would do, but it always seemed to be what they did for sick people on TV.

“Dean,” he whispered, “I’m sorry. I didn’t know this would happen if I refused to leave you. I don’t know what the hell’s happening at all any more.” He flipped the cloth over and left it on Dean’s forehead, then laid down beside him on the bed, making sure not to touch him.

Lying on his back, Sam brought his hands over his own face and wept.

He was at the end of his rope. This was so far beyond anything that should ever be allowed to happen. There should be some universal law that stopped shit like this from happening to anybody.

Back when Jess died, he thought he was going to lose it, but Dean had been there to keep him sane. Now he was going to lose it when Dean died, and there would be no one there to keep him from sinking down into depression and completely going off the deep end.

Too many good people had already been lost in his lifetime. This was wrong, all wrong.

Maybe this really was the end of the world.

--------
No really. I promise I’ll be drawing to a conclusion soon. This isn’t the never-ending story from hell, though it really may seem like it right now. There are about 3 more chapters left, depending on whether I hack chapter 13 into two parts or not. Hm.

Chapter 11

Mon, 11 Sep 2006 02:31:11 GMT

You Can’t Fix This
Chapter 09 :: The World
Some plot development slipped into this chapter. Gasp!
--------

August 6th, 2006

The sticky, Lysol scented air of the gas station bathroom seeped into Sam’s nose as he stared at the cell gripped in his hand. His father’s number stared back at him from the screen. Sam’s upper lip twitched as he told himself to just screw Dean’s refusal to call Dad and hit the damn send button.

But was there really anything more John could do? He had no idea the aliens were back and his oldest son was falling apart, but maybe that was ok because he was busy getting a hold of all their contacts, researching and trying to find a way to stop The Greater Evil crap. After all, they were the ones using the aliens as a torture tool; they were the ones at the root of this whole disaster. Maybe if Dad could find a way to stop them then all of this would end.

John’s cell number glowed and blurred in front of Sam’s tired eyes. He could feel a rip-roaring headache beginning at the backs of his eyelids. Damn, that’s the last thing I need right now.

Sam’s thumb hovered over the glowing green send button while his mind wandered to Dean curled up asleep in the backseat of the Impala.

Sam’s mind lingered on the fact that Dean never stretched out anymore. Everywhere they went lately, he would practically fold in on himself. Maybe it was because he felt like less of a target if he didn’t sprawl his limbs everywhere; maybe he felt safer. It was just another change in Dean that Sam didn’t fully understand and didn’t really want to fully understand. All Sam knew was that he was afraid to leave him alone out there for too long. Dean might need him.

If he was really going to call their dad then now was his only chance. His finger brushed the send button, paused, and then quickly snapped the phone shut instead. He leaned against the sink, gripped the sides of the cool porcelain, and studied his reflection in the mirror.

Weeks of sleepless nights and endless worry met his gaze in a listless stare. His hair was a raggedy tangled mess that hung limply across his forehead. Dull, bloodshot eyes and dark circles underneath stood out against his paler than usual complexion. You look like hell, Winchester. The thought that Dean looked even worse would normally bring a smirk to his face, but right now it was only something else that tugged at his heart. These damn things were sucking the life out of both of them.

After splashing cold tap water on his face, he left the bathroom and headed back to the car, ready to get going again. Truthfully he had no idea where to go next, but staying on the move seemed a better option than being sitting ducks. Not that driving from state to state, city to city, actually did any good. They always found Dean anyway, no matter where the brothers holed up for the night.

Sam opened the back door to hand Dean the cold bottle of water he’d bought him. His hand froze in an iron tight grip on the door handle when he caught sight of the empty backseat. No. NO! Not now. Not again. Not here!

His eyes swung franticly from the backseat to the front, then out into the semi busy parking lot. He shouted, “Dean!” loud enough to draw the attention of the people pumping gas into their cars.

He was no where in sight; no where near the building; no where around the small road with few cars. With dread, Sam’s eyes fell to the small forest that lay directly behind the gas station. Sam groaned inwardly, pulled out his cell, and called his brother’s phone. Swearing under his breath when no one answered, he left the parking lot and trudged into the forest, familiar lines of worry creasing his forehead as he delved deeper into the clump of trees. Hysteria was biting at the edges of his mind because Dean wouldn’t have left the car unless it was happening again, and he had stumbled out of the car blindly without thinking, just focused on trying to get away from them.

Sam continued to press redial over and over until he heard the familiar sound of his brother’s ringtone playing in some thick undergrowth to his left.

Crawling through thick bushes, he pushed aside soft leafs and tree limbs until he almost put his knee down on Dean’s foot as they suddenly came face to face. Startled, Dean let out a gasp and fell backward. Without hesitation, Sam grabbed his arms and half pulled, half dragged him out of the undergrowth.

Dean stood panting in the middle of the little forest, apparently only seeing them instead of Sam, who was leaning down right in Dean’s face.

“We’re going to the car and getting out of here,” Sam said firmly.

“They’re here,” Dean muttered, eyes darting all around the forest, his chest heaving with the effort to breathe through his terror.

Sam grabbed him by the arms and pulled him toward the parking lot. At the car, he pushed him into the passenger seat and stepped on the gas, sending gravel spurting out behind them as he pulled onto the road.

Sam kept shooting glances at Dean, whose tight fists were digging into the seat on both sides. He kept his wide-eyed gaze on the road ahead, his face a blank mask of dread.

“Dean.” When no reply came, Sam shot another glance at him. “Dean, answer me!” Stay with me. Please just stay with me. Don’t lose it. “Are they here in the car?”

Dean gave a sharp nod that caused Sam’s knuckles to turn white on the steering wheel.

Here, in the car, during the day. They were getting bolder, more persistent.

“Fight them, Dean. Don’t give in.”

Dean nodded again and bit his bottom lip hard enough to draw blood.

August 8th, 2006

For the first time ever Sam got a room with only one king sized bed and, much to his surprise, Dean didn’t protest; didn’t even say a word, in fact.

The thing that scared Sam the most was that Dean didn’t talk at all anymore. He hadn’t said another word since the forest episode two days and three states ago. If it was even possible, the last two days were even worse, mostly because Dean not only wouldn’t let Sam get near him, but now he refused to speak. He’d completely shut himself off from Sam and any little bit of comfort and support Sam tried to offer him. It was the days back in June right after they’d sent him back all over again. Except this time there didn’t seem to be any hope of things improving.

Everything seemed to be a steady spiral downwards.

Eventually, Sam figured Dean’s silence was some sort of coping mechanism, and he didn’t push him to talk. Although, two days of silent car rides soon had him longing for the familiar brotherly banter.

Dean wouldn’t even look at him. On the 7th, it finally occurred to Sam that Dean’s silence was a mixture of coping mechanism, shame, fear, and giving up. A horrible mixture that Sam realized was heading down a dark road that reeked of disaster.

Sam collapsed on the bed with a cold washcloth over his aching eyes. Three days of a pounding headache wasn’t helping the situation.

He pulled the cloth away when he heard Dean come out of the bathroom. He was in pain all of the time now; it never let up during the day, like it did in the beginning. Aspirin soon proved as ineffective to Dean’s pains as it did to Sam’s aching head.

Dean climbed into the bed, and Sam turned the light off before placing the cool cloth over his eyes again.

“Night, Dean.” No response came.

But he wasn’t expecting one anyway.
----------
Breath catches in Sam’s throat, and he inhales deeply in an effort to get his lungs working again. Everything immediately strikes him as strange.

The very air itself seems wrong. He kicks a leg out only to find that he’s floating in an ocean of water that appears to be lit with a crystal, silver sheen of light. Shocked eyes rise to a gray, unnaturally dark sky. No building or light sources of any kind are in sight and it makes him wonder where the silvery light is coming from.

He starts to swim forward, heading for a shore that can’t be seen, that may not even exist, arms weighed down by the water, legs aching and moving way too slowly.

His foot catches on something underneath the too-thick water, and he tugs at it until he rips himself free. When he reaches down to feel his foot for injuries, his hand comes back up with light blonde hairs dangling off his fingers. Realizing he’s just grazed over a body, he gags and washes the hairs off his hand.

Where the hell am I? briefly flashes through his mind as his eyes take in the silvery, metallic world around him.

A white light fills the sky, engulfs the strange, silver world in blinding light, and Sam feels the ocean tug at his legs, softly at first and then angrily. He goes under flailing.

The blinding light fills the ocean, reaching hands of light down into the depths and bathing everything underwater in a soft, wavering glow. Much to Sam’s horror, the light reveals thousands of bloated bodies floating in the ocean as far as he can see, hair of every color swaying in the current. If he weren’t underwater, he’d gag until he threw up.

The silvery water seeps into his eyes, stinging and burning until he’s sure his eyes are permanently ruined. He sucks in a breath of cold liquid, and it coats his throat like acidic milk, clogging his airway passage.

For an agonizing amount of time, his world consists of nothing but shining, silver liquid as he fights the water’s pull, trying to make his way back to the surface. Everything stings and tingles as the blood in his body slows. The light disappears just as suddenly as it had come and leaves Sam’s underwater world in complete darkness. Seconds later, everything goes blank.

A hand smacked Sam right in the face, causing him to bolt into a sitting position just in time for Dean to roll over and knee him in a rather sensitive area.

Sam groaned and doubled over on the bed. “God,” he moaned in Dean’s direction.

Dean, however, was completely oblivious of the pain he had just caused and still soundly asleep. He let out a low moan of his own and whimpered into the pillow.

Sam quickly grasped what was happening and shoved his own pain to the back of his mind. But damn, Dean could knee hard.

He grabbed Dean by the shoulders, pulled him to a sitting position and shook him awake. By now, it was all a familiar, middle of the night routine.

When Dean’s eyes popped open, Sam ran a hand over the ruffled hair and said, “It’s ok. I’m here.”

Dean wiped his wet eyes and cheeks and laid back down on the bed, breathing hard. As usual, he turned his head away from Sam.

Wordlessly, Sam wrapped the bed covers around Dean and laid down close to him, pulling the bundled body into his arms until he could rest his chin on the top of Dean’s head.

It was closer than Dean had ever allowed him to get, and he waited for a snarky protest to come any moment, or you know, another kick to the crotch.

“Am I hurting you like this?”

Dean’s hair tickled Sam’s neck as he shook his head no, and his body relaxed in Sam’s arms.

Sam wondered why he hadn’t thought of this simple, nifty blanket wrapping idea earlier. It was a brilliant little trick to get around the no touching problem.

“It’s gonna be ok. Somehow it’s going to be ok.” Sam murmured the words into Dean’s hair as if he were reciting a bedtime story. “Everything’s going to be ok,” he whispered, as much to comfort Dean as to comfort himself. God, how they both needed those words to be true.

Dean remained a silent, warm body huddled against Sam’s chest.

Unable to find sleep just yet, Sam traced the patterns of the ceiling with his eyes, his mind going back to the strange dream in which he suffered a rather gruesome death. It was impossible to dream your own death, right? Besides, the silvery world was more like an alternate universe, or a sci-fi, fantasy world.

Either way, it was impossible; nothing to worry about.

Still, Sam couldn’t hold back the shiver of doubt that crept up his spine.

He sunk down farther into the warm bed covers and tightened his hold on his sleeping brother.

Miraculously, Sam’s headache had vanished.

----------
The pull is gentler this time; it’s more like a friendly tug at his legs rather than the forceful, angry ripping it was the last time. It tugs playfully at his feet, like it wants to pull him from the bed.

Dean doesn’t understand how this new thing, how this suction, fits into the whole aliens fucking him every night deal.

By now, his brain is so muddled and he’s in so much constant pain and fear that he can’t wrap his mind around this new development. He figures it can’t be friendly, no matter how child-like the unseen force seems as its gentle pull tickles the bottoms of his feet.

No, not good, not friendly, Dean tells himself. It definitely wasn’t friendly two days ago when it tried to rip him from the backseat of the car and suck him away into… into… What? What the hell is it?

He actually wants to believe it has to do with the aliens because part of him is full of a dreadful fear that this new thing is in his own mind. He’s afraid he’s losing it fast now and this pull is not a foe, but rather his mind trying to suck him down into insanity where it’s dark and safe and things don’t slither up your leg every night.

The tug becomes more persistent, and he jerks his leg away, trying to shake it off. Whether it’s aliens or insanity, he’s not ready to give up and go just yet. Hell no.

The only thing that’s keeping him from going completely out of his mind is Sammy. He has to stay in one piece for Sammy. He has to stay away from the cliff of insanity for Sammy. He has to fight this for Sammy, because Sammy still needs him.

He still can’t fully admit to himself that it’s him that needs Sam this time.

But sometimes, when the pain is too unbearable to even form coherent thoughts, he just thinks the word Sammy and his will to fight comes back. It works, for now anyway.

Softly, the tug caresses his leg, and he immediately repulses in disgust. Gaining confidence, it boldly moves up his body until it rests near him on the bed.

With some amount of fear he turns to face it, to finally get a glimpse. Because he’s Dean Winchester, and he’s never backed off whimpering from anything before. Well, not before two months ago, anyway.

It’s a black hole. He turns his head and comes face to dark, murky depths with it before he’s even realized what it is. Even staring at it, he’s still doesn’t get it. A hole?

There are things inside it, scenery of some kind and he dares to peer closer. A silvery landscape with dark skies meets his gaze, and from the little that he can see, it’s pretty damn unsettling. The scenery seems alien and as soon as that word comes to mind he immediately hates the damn hole.

A tentacle appears out of the hole, right smack in front of his face and that just settles the deal. He jerks his body back and slams into something on his other side. With a grunt, he huddles with his back against the thing that’s blocking him in and eyes the tentacle. Another one joins the first and Oh hell this really can’t be good.

His body tenses as he goes motionless, expecting to feel the familiar burn on his skin. But things are different this time. He senses a new, though just as malice intent.

One whips out, snags his left wrist and wraps itself around in a tight hold. He tries to yank his hand away, but it pulls his arm forward. He yells something along the lines of oh fuck or fuck off or something similar. Really, he has no idea what he just yelled because he’s too busy worrying about the second one that’s just wrapped itself around his other wrist.

With their own tentacley bodies half disappearing in the black hole and half wrapped around Dean, they begin pulling him toward the hole. His body drags forward unwillingly, locked into the struggle by his captive arms.

Now this really, really can’t be good. When he realizes what’s about to happen, that their intent is to pull him through the hole into that other world, his mind kicks into fight mode, and he rears back.

It doesn’t do any good except to slam him hard into that thing that was laying beside him. Their unearthly tight grasp doesn’t loosen in the slightest.

He’s never let things get the better of him: not supernatural beasts with evil running in their blood, not humans who try to pull a fast one on him, not situations that seem impossible. But for some reason, he always loses with these aliens, and he still can’t figure out why that is.

His arms up to his elbows disappear in the hole as they pull him forward, slide him across the bed sheets, and he finally lets out a strangled sort of surprised part gasp, part yell.

Arms encircle him from behind, a solid body at his back offers support, and he almost says duh out loud. The solid thing he had backed into earlier was Sam. He had forgotten they were sharing a bed.

“What the hell is happening, Dean?!” Frantic and scared.

“They’re trying to take… hole…” Talking takes too much energy; energy he could be using to fight the things. Besides, he’s not even sure he answered Sam out loud or in his head. Ever since they started tormenting him during the daytime too, his perception of being asleep or awake, in the car or in the bed, has been screwed up. He’s really not sure what the hell’s going on anymore.

The only thing he knows right now is that he does not want to go through that hole.

The arms tighten around his chest as Sam’s legs spread out on both sides of Dean to brace them both on the bed.

“Dean! Dean?”

“Don’t let them Sammy… please” Truthfully, he’s not above begging anymore, because it’s suddenly registered in his brain that what lies on the other side of that hole is a guaranteed lifetime of torment.

Without Sam. Without Dad.

Without human contact.

“What’s happening?!”

Dean answers with only a moaned, “Sammyyyy.”

Apparently it’s enough motivation because Sam wraps each of his legs around Dean’s legs, one each, affectively binding their bodies together.

“They’re not going to take you!”

All Dean can seem to manage is another moan, and somewhere deep down he’s cursing at himself for being so weak; so pathetic.

The tentacles give one last yank before retreating back into the hole and releasing his wrists, causing Sam’s pull on him to send them both tumbling backwards off the side of the bed.

Sam landed on his back with a thud, and Dean came crashing down on top of him.

“Gnuhhhh,” Sam groaned.

Sam gently rolled Dean off of him and pulled himself into a sitting position on the floor before reaching over and pulling Dean up until he was leaning with his back against the bed, facing Sam.

“What… what the hell was all that?”

Dean shook his head. He was drained of energy and terrified. He could barely even think through his terror, much less look Sam in the eye and even begin to try and explain this.

“Dean?” Sam leaned in closer, peering worriedly into his face.

“They,” Dean began, voice shaky, “they…” He shook his head again, unable to form a coherent sentence through his haze of fear. “I’m scared,” he finally managed to whisper. And God was he scared, and it shouldn’t be like this, with Dean cowering against the side of the bed, because he’s Dean and he doesn’t get scared and what the hell is happening to me?

Dean had the incredible urge to grab Sam by the shirt and shake him frantically until Sam explained what just happened and why this was happening and why was it happening to Dean? What the hell did he do that was so fucking wrong and horrible that he deserved this ridiculous, never-ending hell?

And the saddest part was that he couldn’t even find the fucking energy to shake anybody right now.

The fact that he was almost sucked out of bed into another world through some hole should really piss him off, but after everything that had happened over the past three months he was just tired and worn out and in no mood to deal with this new problem. Mostly, he just wanted it to go away. All of it. But especially every time over the past three months where his little brother witnessed him reduced to crying and whimpering like some whiny little baby.

Without a word, Sam shuffled over until he was sitting beside Dean, back against the bed, and wrapped a protective arm around his shoulders and pulled him in closer. “I know, Dean. I’m scared too.”

Dean jerked away at the stinging sensation Sam’s arm caused across his back. He wanted to lean into the arm appreciatively, but it was like the tentacles had turned any touch against him. Sam’s face contorted into a pained expression, and Dean realized that all of this was hurting Sam almost as much as it was hurting him.

Closing his eyes, he leaned his head back against the mattress, his mind slowly trying to blank out everything that had just happened in an effort to block out the fear. “So scared,” he mumbled, the exhaustion evident in his slurred speech. “I hate this.”

He could feel Sam shift uncomfortably next to him, wanting to reach out to him, to comfort in some way. Finally, Sam pulled the bed cover off the bed, and Dean felt it wrap around his shoulders, followed by Sam’s arm pulling him in close. “It’s going to be ok.”

Dean didn’t respond, just leaned into the comforting arms. He wished Sam would stop saying that, stop trying to pretend that this would all work out, because Dean couldn’t fight the feeling that it wasn’t going to be ok this time; Sam’s optimism was dead wrong on this one. This whole fucked up mess they’d walked into wasn’t going to end well.

August 10th, 2006

Sam’s cell jolted him from sleep. The clock read 10:30am, and he felt like crap that had been put through a blender. He unwound his arms from around Dean, rolled over and grabbed his cell from the nightstand.

Dad glowed at him from the blue screen. Maybe he was calling because he had found some answers.

With a flicker of hope, Sam flipped the phone open. “Dad?”

“We have a problem.”

Crap. You have no idea.

“Well, yea, we do. Did you find out anything?”

“Sammy,” John paused to let out a sigh, and Sam immediately knew that whatever he had called for wasn’t good.

“It’s bad, Sam. Really bad.”

Sam was tempted to hang up, flip the phone shut and along with it whatever bad news his father was about to dump on him.

“What did you find out?”

“Nothing much.”

“Then what’s the really bad news you called to tell me?”

“Don’t tell Dean. Not yet.”

“What’s going on, Dad?”

“Is he with you right now? Can he hear this conversation?”

Sam’s brow furrowed as he turned to look at Dean burrowed under the covers, finally getting some rest. “No, he’s asleep.”

“At 10:30?”

“Yea… I have some bad news too.”

“Great. Save it. Duck into the bathroom so he doesn’t wake up and want to talk to me.”

This really, really had to be leading to something horrible. With everything that had already happened to his family, Sam couldn’t come up with anything else that could possibly make things worse. He slipped into the bathroom, closed the door softly behind him and sat down on the closed toilet seat. “What is it? Just tell me.”

“I was in the middle of researching when they contacted me again.”

“They? They who?”

“The Greater Evil. They sent that same voice that talked to me back in 2004 in the car.”

Oh God. “And…? What did they say?”

John paused as if gathering himself, and Sam thought he might have to lift the toilet lid to hurl into it any minute now.

Finally, John spoke again, his voice low, betraying an inner battle of anguish and dread. “They said, ‘Your son or the world.’”

--------
Just when you thought the situation couldn’t get any worse BAM there it is.

Chapter 10

Mon, 28 Aug 2006 02:55:42 GMT

You Can’t Fix This
Chapter 08 :: Losing Dean
With a chapter title like this you know it ain’t gonna be pretty…

Note the date- a whole month has gone by since the fire in the spaceship.
--------

August 1st, 2006

The loud crash followed by an oomph woke Sam up. He reached over and flicked on the light.

“What the hell, Dean?!”

His brother was laying on the floor, staring up at the ceiling and holding onto the lamp that had been setting on the nightstand next to his bed.

“Dean?”

The lack of an answer was starting to freak Sam out. He crawled out of his own warm blankets and approached the motionless form on the floor.

“Dean? What happened?” He crouched down next to Dean, pulled the lamp from his hands, and set it back on the nightstand.

“Talk to me, man,” Sam said nervously.

Dean finally looked up at him and let out a deep groan that immediately gave Sam his answer. “It was them again, wasn’t it?”

“Yes,” Dean choked out. “I fell out of the fucking bed trying to get away and cracked my head on the nightstand. Then that damn lamp crashed down on me.”

“So graceful,” Sam said and offered him a hand.

Dean allowed himself to be hauled up but not without a “shut up.”

They sat on the edge of Dean’s bed and Sam watched his brother rub his head and wince. “Let me see it,” Sam said, his voice softening into concern.

Dean backed away from the hand that reached out to assess the damage. “No,” he said firmly.

“I need to see how bad it is.”

Pulling his hand away from his head, Dean offered a weak smile and said, “See? No blood. I’m fine.”

“You’re not fine. You haven’t been fine since that night they took you in June. Dean, you’ve changed…” Crap. Sam wished he could take back the last sentence when he turned and Dean’s questioning glare practically slapped him in the face.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I think you know what I mean. You don’t talk to me anymore; you don’t talk much at all anymore. It’s like you’ve trapped yourself in your own head with all of that torment those damn things are causing you and I’m afraid one day I won’t be able to reach you at all.”

“Oh God.” Dean rolled his eyes and fell back so that only his legs hung off the edge of the bed. “I’m fine. Everything’s fine. Just leave me alone.”

It took every ounce of control for Sam to keep his cool and not scream at Dean. “You’re not fine. Every night it happens again and in the morning it’s like a little piece of you is gone. I’m losing you, Dean!”

Turning his head to meet Sam’s eyes, Dean pulled out a smirk that he hadn’t used for days. “Dude, you’re such a drama queen.”

“You can’t laugh this one off. I can tell that it’s getting worse every night. Stop shutting me out and just let me help you. I can’t stop them, but I can be here for you.”

“There’s nothing you can do,” Dean said quietly.

“I know. But you don’t have to keep it all to yourself. Just… I don’t know. Just let me help you through it instead of pushing me away and going back to bed.”

Dean sat up and met Sam’s worried gaze. “What do you want me to do? Sob into your arms again? Maybe we should take this conversation into the bathtub like last time.”

“If you need to cry, then cry. I’m not going to judge you.”

Dean shook his head and spoke so softly that Sam had to lean in closer to hear him. “Don’t you get it, Sam? If I give in and start crying over this crap then I may not be able to stop. Once I break down…” He hesitated and began tracing the pattern of the bedcover with his index finger.

“Once you break down…” Sam repeated, trying to urge him on. This conversation was more than he’d heard from Dean in a month and he was desperately afraid that he would stop and pull into himself again without finishing.

“Once I break down it’s over, ok?”

Sam shook his head, completely confused. “What’s over?”

Losing interest in the bedcover, Dean leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees and then dropped his head into his hands, looking more lost and despondent than ever. He rubbed his face and let out a soft snort, seeming unable to meet Sam’s eyes. “I think I’m on the edge of losing it, Sammy,” he mumbled into the palms of his hands.

“That’s ok, Dean. It’s ok to cry.”

“No, you don’t understand. I mean really losing it. Like white padded room losing it.”

Sam stared at him, unsure if he understood correctly. Was Dean actually telling him he was on the edge of insanity?

“So you’re saying you think you’re close to going insane and if you cry it’ll push you over the edge?”

Dean nodded wordlessly into his hands.

Oh God. When he’d planned this conversation in his head, he’d never planned on it going in this direction. He’d prepared himself for Dean throwing on the tough guy image and stalking off, or Dean yelling at him to butt out, but this? No way.

“Uh, ok…” Words, words. Why the hell couldn’t he find the right words to comfort his brother?

“This is how I’m handling it, Sam. I don’t know what else to do.”

“Ok.” Yea, real comforting.

“Just… just don’t push me. I don’t know how many more of your sad, little pitying looks I can take before I break down.”

Jesus. “Ok. Sorry.” He looked away quickly, afraid he had one of those sad, pitying looks on his face right now.

Still not meeting Sam’s eyes, or looking at him at all, Dean got up from the bed and walked into the bathroom, closing the door firmly behind him.

Sam ached. He could actually feel it in his chest. The need to help and protect Dean through this whole mess and not being able to was physically hurting Sam. What do you do when it keeps happening over and over and you can’t do anything to stop it?

The worst part was when they thought they had won that little battle, maybe not the whole war, but at least that one battle back in Gulf Breeze. It was finally over because they’d burned the whole damn spaceship down. That had seemed pretty final to Dean and Sam.

By July 4th, just 4 days after they had taken down the aliens in Florida, and John had left them to go find answers, Dean had scared the crap out of Sam in the middle of the night by jumping up, grabbing his gun, and shooting into the bed.

Sam had sprung out of his own bed and screamed at him because a gunshot in the middle of the night would most likely not go unnoticed. As soon as he’d caught sight of Dean’s wild, frantic eyes he’d stopped the yelling. Dean had been out of control with anger when he told Sam that they were back. By some horrible, cruel twist of fate, the damn tentacles, and whatever greater evil was driving them, had taken a few days off before they started visiting Dean again every night. Sam hadn’t expected the next attack to come so soon, but apparently setting fire to one of their ships had pissed them off for some reason. Go figure.

Every night for nearly a month now his brother was raped by some otherworldly creature right in his own bed. It never failed. Dean always woke up thrashing and whimpering at some point during the night. Sometimes it happened twice a night. On those nights, Sam often woke up and found Dean hiding out in the bathroom, huddled in the corner of the tiny room, eyes wide with fear until Sam finally snapped him out of it.

And everyday Dean would hurt a little worse, pull away from Sam a little more, and get a little quieter.

Sam had a chant that he often found himself playing in his mind throughout the day: Don’t do this, Dean. Don’t let them win. Don’t pull away from everything.

Because they were winning, slowly, but it was happening. Sam supposed it would’ve broken any other human being much quicker, but with Dean it was a gradual process. Eventually, they would win because he could see it chipping away a little piece of Dean every night.

Sam couldn’t figure out exactly what would happen when Dean finally gave in and broke down. Would the aliens and The Greater Evil cheer and clap? Or would they wait for Sam to finally lose it too, because seeing someone you love and look up to being torn apart mentally was pretty hard on one’s emotional well-being. Hell, once Dean went, the whole family would eventually follow. But he supposed this was the purpose; the whole point.

Dean stumbling out of the bathroom knocked Sam out of his thoughts. Jumping up quickly, he moved towards Dean and held out an arm.

“What am I? An old lady? I don’t need your help to walk,” Dean growled.

Sam held his hands up in surrender and watched Dean gingerly climb back into bed. Sam followed suit and doused the light. “You ok?” Stupid question. Of course he wasn’t ok.

“Fine,” Dean mumbled automatically, the familiar word something he’d been using often the past month.

“We’re gonna find a way to stop them. I swear.”

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep.”

Ouch. The words flung themselves at Sam like a verbal slap in the face. “I don’t know what to do or say anymore, Dean. I don’t… I don’t know what to say to you anymore.”

“Don’t say anything.”

“I… ok.” God, what else was there say to that? Talking to Dean had become something like running up against a solid, brick wall.

Sam wanted to say more but couldn’t find the right words. Maybe there weren’t any words for a situation like this. Maybe all there was to do was sit back and watch the destruction of the person he loved most in the world.

----------
Sam didn’t get just how bad it was until the next morning when the flirty, blonde waitress leaned down and practically stuck her boobs in Dean’s face.

Sam hid a grin behind his menu and waited for Dean to respond as he usually did.

Dean barely even glanced at her, just put his menu down on the table and said in a flat voice that ripped at Sam’s heart, “I’m not really hungry.”

Misty, according to her nametag, smiled sweetly. “The food here’s pretty good. You should try the pancakes.”

Still not even looking up at her, Dean just shook his head and gazed down at his folded hands on the table.

Misty seemed hard to discourage. “The French toast here is the best. Some people come all the way over from the next county to have it.”

“That’s nice,” Dean said absent mindedly. He didn’t even crack a smile, much less pull out his patented, flirty grin.

Shrugging, she finally turned her batting eyelashes on Sam and asked for his order.

After Misty walked off, Sam turned to Dean. “You’re starting to give up, aren’t you?”

“What?” Dean asked in surprise, quickly looking up from his hands.

“You’re letting them change you. Don’t let them start chipping away at your personality, Dean.”

Dean leaned forward. “I’m not letting them change me. I’m just trying to make it through each day without going out of my mind.” It came out in Sam’s face in a low-voiced hiss.

“I’m sorry. You’re right. I just hate seeing what they’re doing to you.”

“Yea, well it’s not a pleasant view from my side either.”

“Let me call Dad.”

“No! He’s already busy trying to stop The Greater whatever. He doesn’t need to know about all of this. There’s nothing he could do about it anyway.”

“Dean---”

“No.”

“Fine. You’re a stubborn ass, you know that?”

“Whatever.”

The slap of two plates being set down on the table stopped their conversation. Dean looked up from the French toast setting in front of him. “Uh, I didn’t order this.”

Misty slid onto the bench beside Dean and smiled into his face. “I know but I got ‘em for you anyway. You’re too cute to go hungry.”

Sam rolled his eyes and busied himself with his own meal.

“Well, thanks. But I’m not hungry.”

She leaned in even closer and pouted. “At least try a bite.”

Sam eyed them as Dean pushed the plate away and Misty pushed it back.

“Listen, not hungry. What part of that do you not get?”

Sam choked on his orange juice at Dean’s harsh tone of voice. Stunned, Misty backed out of the booth quickly and walked off.

“Jeez, Dean,” Sam whispered.

“What?”

“You could’ve at least taken a bite instead of bitching at her.”

“She had her hand on my leg.”

Sam did a double take. “So?”

Dean looked away, squirming on the seat. “It hurt,” he said softly.

Sam often found himself forgetting that even little touches hurt Dean now. “Oh, right.”

Minutes ticked by with Sam eating and Dean staring out the window.

“Why don’t you eat a little of it?”

“Not hungry.”

“You aren’t eating anymore, not flirting anymore. It’s all even worse than you’re letting on, isn’t it?”

Dean ran a hand through his hair and slouched down in the booth. “Even just the smell of all this food is making me want to vomit. And I don’t feel like flirting. I just don’t care anymore.”

Sam nodded, trying to hide his worry. He ate the rest of his meal as fast as he could, paid, and they left.

August 4th, 2006

At first, Sam wasn’t sure what had woken him. A glance around the room assured him that everything was quiet and fine. Except that it wasn’t. His eyes landed on Dean’s bed and it finally dawned on him that it was Dean’s absence from the room that had roused him from sleep. He jumped up and immediately went to the bathroom. The door was open, revealing a dark and empty interior.

What the hell?

His eyes frantically darted from one corner of the room to another, hoping Dean was huddled in a corner somewhere. When he finally realized that Dean was nowhere in the room, he ripped open the motel door and stumbled out into the quiet night.

“Dean!”

Hoping to spot the familiar bob of brown hair, Sam rushed out into the middle of the parking lot and searched the surrounding grounds with panicked eyes.

“Dean! If you can hear me, answer!”

The night remained calm and silent despite Sam’s wildly beating heart.

He ran back to the motel room, his first thought at what had happened being an alien abduction right out of the bed. The thought wasn’t comforting and caused him to wrench the car door open harder than necessary before sliding into the driver’s seat. A small noise from the backseat made him jump and whip around to see what lurked behind him.

“Dean?!”

He was huddled up against the door, knees pulled in close to his chest, hands by his side, fingers digging into the seat. He looked impossibly small and child-like for a grown man. In seconds, Sam was out of the front seat and sliding into the back.

“No,” Dean whimpered as Sam slid closer.

“Dean, it’s Sam. Calm down. It’s going to be ok.”

With eyes wide and staring straight ahead, Dean shook his head and backed even further into the corner.

Sam dared reach out a hand to him.

“No,” Dean said again.

“You have to pull yourself away from them, Dean!” Sam scooted in even closer, grabbed Dean’s arm to get his attention, and wrapped an arm around his shaking shoulders.

“Stop,” Dean cried, tears suddenly soaking his eyes and running down his cheeks.

“No, I won’t stop! They can’t fucking have you! WAKE UP!”

Sam jerked in surprise when Dean mumbled, “I am awake.”

He pulled Dean closer to him.

“This is my car,” Dean whispered. “They’re not supposed to follow me here.”

“They followed you?”

Dean nodded, still staring straight ahead with glassy green eyes. “They’re still here,” he whispered in a haunted voice that made Sam shudder. This was way too damn creepy.

“Dean, look at me.” When he didn’t get a response, he grabbed Dean by the jaw and forced him to turn his head until they were looking straight at each other, faces inches apart. “Forget about them and just look at me.”

“They won’t leave me alone.”

Sam swiped some tears from Dean’s cheeks and pulled him in even closer. Dean’s body remained stiff and shaking in his arms. “It’s ok, Dean. It’s going to be ok.”

“No it’s not. They won’t go away this time,” Dean mumbled.

“They’re still in here? Right here in the car?”

Dean nodded again, clearly terrified. “Make them go away, Sammy.” His voice was small and scared, and it scared the crap out of Sam just hearing his brother sound like that.

“I don’t know how. I’m sorry.” Truthfully, Sam was so frustrated that he was near tears himself. Dean finally gave in and leaned in to Sam’s chest, his hair tickling Sam’s chin. Sam wrapped his other arm around Dean and cuddled him like he would a child.

“I can’t handle this anymore…” Dean was crying so quietly that Sam wouldn’t have even noticed if it weren’t for the tears that were wetting Sam’s thin t-shirt.

“Yes you can. We’re going to make it through this together. Are they still here?”

“Yes,” Dean whispered. “This was supposed to be my safe place.”

“Are they… are they touching you right now?”

“They’re trying. They won’t,” Dean paused and shuddered in Sam’s arms, “stop. I just want them to stop.”

“I know… I know.” He threaded his fingers through Dean’s hair in a soothing, massaging motion. “They’ll go away soon.”

“I didn’t think they’d be able to do it to me here,” Dean said, voice muffled in Sam’s shirt. “I thought it’d be safe…”

Sam didn’t respond, didn’t know how to respond to that. It was only made clearer how bad things were getting when Dean wasn’t safe in his car, a place that had always been his safe haven in their crazy, fucked up world.

“I have nowhere else to go, Sammy,” Dean mumbled, voice still full of tears. “They always find me.”

God. Sam wanted nothing more than to jump out of the car and scream into the night. Demons, ghosts, witches, whatever, Sam could handle, but Dean falling apart in his arms when there was nothing he could do to help him was way too damn much. He was dangerously close to joining Dean and falling apart right there in the backseat of the Impala. Every nerve ending and emotion in his body had been frayed and destroyed over the past couple of months and this night was about to rip away any last ounce of control he had left.

But he held on to that last shred of sanity, because if he fell apart, he knew Dean would completely lose it too. And once Dean lost it, he may never be able to get him back.

“Hold on,” Sam murmured into Dean’s hair. “Hold on, Dean. If nothing else, hold on for me because I can’t lose you.”

Suddenly, Dean shivered in his arms and let out a choked cry of pain. He tried to wrench himself out of Sam’s grip, but Sam wouldn’t let go. He clasped his arms tighter around Dean’s chest and shoulders and murmured comforting words in his ear. Dean actually started to fight him, tried to peel Sam’s hands away from him as he managed to twist around in the long arms and reach for the handle of the car door.

“Dean, what---”

“Let me go,” Dean gasped.

“No! What’s wrong?”

Painting and heaving, Dean couldn’t seem to form the sentence through his pain. “They’re… doing… happening… let go!”

“I won’t let them---”

“LET ME GO!”

Despite Dean’s yelling and weak resistant, Sam’s arms remained protectively around his brother in a silent refusal to leave his side.

Sam could barely keep up with everything that was happening in his arms as Dean alternately bucked and convulsed against him, his sobs getting harder and louder the whole time. Minutes passed before Dean yelled out, “For God’s sake, let go of me! You’re holding me down for them!”

Sam’s eyes widened in horror, and he immediately let go. As soon as the arms loosened, Dean flung the door open and fell out of the car, going down hard on his hands and knees. Sam got out on the other side and came around to stand nearby. After what had just happened in the car, he was afraid to get too close now.

Dean sucked in a breath and let it out a few seconds later in a low moan. With the release of the moan, Dean’s energy seemed to seep out as well, and he collapsed face down onto the gritty pavement.

“Dean? Jesus, Dean!” Forgetting his hesitation, Sam rushed to his side just as Dean pulled his arms up, folded them under his head and buried his face in them. “Dean, are you…” Ok? Yea, a stupid question that Sam quickly swallowed when he bent down closer and realized Dean was crying softly into his arms, his face and the tears hidden from Sam’s view.

Sam’s hand reached out, hovered shakily an inch above Dean’s back before he pulled it away, knowing that his touch would only hurt Dean more right now.

“God Dean. God, I’m sorry. I didn’t know… I don’t know what I’m doing. I don’t know how to help you… I’m sorry…” Sam brought his hands up to his own face to keep away the tears that were threatening to fall. Sitting beside Dean and crying would be the worst thing he could do at the moment. He might not be able to fight Dean’s demons, but his own emotions were definitely something he could fight.

A hand pawing at Sam’s leg snapped him out of his emotional crisis. Without looking up from the ground or stopping his tears, Dean reached up and grasped one of Sam’s hands. Surprised, Sam looked down at him. The hand gripped his tighter, and Sam tightened his hold too until Dean’s hand was the only thing he could think about; until that one connection he could still manage with his brother was the only thing that seemed to matter.

Dean continued to shed his tears into the cracks of the pavement while Sam fought to keep in his own tears.

This is what they wanted. Every demon or evil that thought the Winchesters were becoming too much of a problem got together and planned this; worked out each and every little detail, gleeful at the idea of what would eventually happen.

They weren’t going to take Dean away from Sam in one night; weren’t going to whisk him away in the blink of an eye. Because that would be too easy. No, they were going to take him away little by little, piece by piece, until there was nothing left but an empty shell of the person he used to be.

And worst of all, they were going to make Sam watch.

August 5th, 2006

Sam lost track of time long before the sun began tinting the sky a light gray color. Dean had pulled himself into a sitting position and leaned his back against the Impala about an hour ago, though a swift shake of the head had made it clear that he refused to stand up and go back into the motel room, and Sam refused to leave him out in the parking lot alone. So they sat side by side in the warm summer night alternately nodding off to sleep and waking again with a snap of the head until Sam realized that his leg had fallen asleep and was getting a much better night’s rest than he was.

Neither had spoken for nearly two hours when Sam finally turned his head to Dean and found him staring out across the parking lot, eyes on the light seeping into the dark sky, his face blank and trance-like. “Dean,” Sam said softly and leaned closer. “It’s morning.”

Dean didn’t respond and all Sam could think about was what Dean had said the day before. Once I break down it’s over.

For a moment, Sam just sat and watched him with wide eyes. Please, Dean, no…

“Dean?” Knowing how much Dean always hurt after these attacks made Sam afraid to touch him. Hesitantly, he put his hand in front of Dean’s gaze and snapped his fingers. No response. He snapped again. Absolutely nothing. Sam started to get scared. He waved his hand in front of Dean’s face.

“Stop,” Dean said hoarsely.

Sam dropped the hand and rubbed his face in relief. “Thank God. Are you…” Still sane? Probably not a great question to ask right now. “Let’s go inside.”

Dean shook his head and kept his gaze on the horizon. “Can’t.”

“You can’t go inside?”

Dean finally ripped his gaze away from the sky and lowered his head to stare at his legs. “Can’t move. It… it hurts too much.”

“I’ll help you.”

“No. Don’t touch me.”

“Please just let me help you.”

Sam knew every expression that came across his brother’s face and what each one meant. The one creasing Dean’s features now screamed that he was barely holding it together. “Don’t touch me,” Dean said softly, not once meeting Sam’s eyes.

“I don’t know how to help you.”

“You can’t help me.”

“I… I know.”

Dean tried to slowly push himself away from the car and stopped with a groan of pain. He collapsed back against the Impala’s warm surface and looked away from Sam like he was ashamed.

“It’s ok, Dean,” Sam murmured. “I know you’re hurting. You don’t have to be embarrassed.” Dean snorted so softly at the statement that Sam wasn’t entirely sure he’d made a sound at all. Unable to stand the hard pavement any longer, Sam stood and offered a hand down to Dean. When Dean looked away he said, “Take it.”

After staring at the hand for a few seconds, Dean finally grabbed it and Sam hauled him to his feet. As soon as he straightened up he moaned and doubled over, breathing hard.

“What’s wrong?” Sam asked, bending down to meet his brother’s doubled over position.

“Hurts so bad this time,” Dean mumbled. The grimace on Dean’s face was so painful that Sam suddenly wished it were him that all of this was happening to. Dean doesn’t deserve this, dammit!

All pitying puppy dog eyes and sad wrinkles of worries, Sam said, “What can I do to help?” He had exhausted all of his ideas of comfort about a month ago. Sam was completely at the end of his list of things to do in a situation like this.

Still doubled over, Dean shook his head and choked out, “Nothing.”

Sam turned away from the hunched over form to look out at the horizon, because watching Dean in such pain was slowly killing Sam inside. He stood and waited. A minute later the sound of sudden movement ripped his gaze from the lightly swaying trees back to Dean, who had fallen to his hands and knees.

“Dean!” He shouted and bent down to him. His arm instantly went out and grabbed Dean’s arm.

“Nooo,” Dean moaned as he yanked his arm away. “Don’t… just… stay away…”

Sam backed away quickly, the urge to reach out and help Dean burning in his arms. “I’m sorry. I always forget.”

Slowly, Dean pulled himself back into a standing position and leaned against the car to steady himself. Sam took a cautious step in his direction and stopped when Dean held out his arm and wordlessly shook his head.

Dean started making his way back into the motel room, hunched over and moving like an old man with arthritis. Sam couldn’t even find an adjective that described his feelings as he stood, unable to help in any way, and watched Dean painfully make his way back inside the room. The motel door closed shut with a soft click. Frustrated, Sam turned to kick whatever was nearest and barely stopped himself from slamming his bare foot into the Impala, which happened to be the nearest object.

He kicked a nearby rock and scraped his toe instead.

----------
Dean lay on the bed on his stomach, facing away from Sam, who was packing both their bags.

Sam kept pausing in his clothes folding to shoot his deathly quiet brother worried looks.

“You don’t deserve this, Dean,” he said softly.

He knew Dean was awake even though there was no answer to his statement.

“I’m scared,” Sam told Dean’s back. “I’m scared because I’m losing you and I don’t know what to do about it.”

When no response came, Sam turned back to packing and finished in silence. He started to walk into the bathroom when Dean’s voice filled the room. “Sammy…”

Sam turned and eyed his brother’s motionless back, waiting for him to continue.

“I’m scared too,” Dean said to the wall. “I don’t think I’m gonna win this one.”

“Don’t say that.”

“I can’t fight them.”

“Dammit, Dean! Don’t give up on me!”

“I don’t have any more energy. Sam, I just… I don’t know how much longer I can take this.”

Sam sat down on the edge of Dean’s bed, careful not to touch him. “I know you have more fight left in you, Dean. Get angry. Throw something, beat something, get pissed off at them! Don’t let them beat you down! Not yet. Me and Dad… we can still fix this. We’re going to fix this.”

Several minutes ticked by without Dean responding. Sam finally leaned over and saw that he was asleep. Trying not to disturb the bed, he pulled himself up slowly and turned to leave the room.

“I’m going to fix this,” Sam whispered in Dean’s direction and ducked into the bathroom to shower.

--------
So what do you all think? Worth continuing? I can’t help but ask that because I’m a needy little thing and I like reassurance.

Chapter 09

Mon, 21 Aug 2006 04:09:10 GMT

You Can’t Fix This
Chapter 07 :: Try Again
No matter what I did this chapter still bugged me. It was supposed to be the last chapter but muse struck out and I realized that I could take this sucker so much further. Much to Dean's dismay. *pets*
--------

Sam woke up with Dean leaning down, studying him closely and breathing into his face. “You’re awake,” he said and it seemed to Sam that Dean’s voice echoed off of every object around them. “Get up.” With that, Dean stood from his crouch over Sam, grabbed his arm and hauled him to his feet.

Once up and steady, Sam finally looked around at their surroundings. What he saw surprised him. They weren’t in a room that Sam had seen from his connection to Dean a week ago. The room was filled with an air that was brown in color. You could actually see the air. It made everything so murky that Sam could barely make out sleek bronze walls curving up on four sides of them, making the room kind of small. But the ceiling was what was eye-catching. Instead of the liquid walls from last time, it was the ceiling that was rolling in tiny waves above them in a mesmerizing, silver shine. It glowed with a silvery light of its own that hardly reached all the way to the floor. Luckily, it produced enough light that he and Dean could see each other in a strange sort of half-light that made the whole thing seem like a dream.

Dean watched Sam gaze around the room with his mouth open. When Sam finally turned back to him, Dean said, “When we get out of here I’m gonna kill you.”

Ignoring the comment, Sam asked, “Do you recognize this room?”

Shaking his head no, Dean picked up the gas and walked a few feet away, and Sam followed closely behind him. Like heck he was going to get up here and let Dean out of his sight. When Dean stopped suddenly Sam rammed into his back, nearly knocking him down.

“What the hell?! Back off!”

“Sorry.” Dean was pissed, and Sam knew that it wasn’t because he’d almost trampled over him just now. It was because he’d managed to come with him in the first place. “I couldn’t let you do this alone.”

Dean brushed the words off. “We don’t have time.” He popped the lid off the gas container and sloshed some of it onto the floor. “We’re not going to have enough. Dammit! We needed that second jug!”

Sam didn’t exactly hear what Dean was saying about the second thing of gas, because his gaze had focused in disbelief at Dean nearly stepping into the gas he’d just poured.

Noticing Sam’s horrified expression, Dean looked over at him utterly confused and said, “What?”

“If you don’t watch it, as soon as we drop a match you’re gonna be the first thing that goes up in flames!”

“I’m not stupid enough to get it on me, ok? Will you just calm down. You’re being really uptight.”

“Uptight?! Dean, we’re in a spaceship!”

“Yea, so? I’m just here to give ‘em hell. Now are you going to join me or are you going to be the whiny little killjoy you always are?”

“Dean, if we’re wrong about fire killing them---”

“Then we’re screwed. We’ll cross that bridge if it comes up.”

“Cross that bridge if it comes up?! Are you crazy? We’re not talking about taking the wrong road and ending up in Illinois instead of Indiana. This is life or death!”

Rolling his eyes and capping the gas container, Dean turned to him with obvious annoyance and said, “You’re such a drama queen. You’re the one that weaseled your way onto this ship with me, so stop whining and lets just do this.”

“I didn’t weasel my way on---”

Dean snorted. “Yea, you did.”

Sam’s expression softened. “Dean, I just couldn’t let you come alone knowing what happened to you up here last time. You never know, you might need backup. There was no reason for Dad and me to just stand around down there and wait.”

“There is a reason.” Dean’s voice was low, barely constrained, and full of emotion. Setting the gas down on the floor, he wiped his hands on his jeans and turned to face Sam. “This is my fight! They might have been targeting all three of us but it’s me they fucked with!” Ripping his intent gaze away from Sam, unable to look him in the eye any longer, he lowered his voice and added, “Literally.”

Sam didn’t fully understand the literally that was thrown in there, and he paused a moment at it. Literally? Literally what? Fucked? Oh… oh shit! In a low voice, as if it were a secret, he said, “You mean they… you know?”

“You know? What are you, 12?”

“I didn’t want to say the word…”

“It didn’t even really occur to me until the other night when I ran out into the parking lot.” The laugh that followed was bitter, laced with disgust. “It took four times for me to realize that’s what they were doing!” Suddenly breaking away from the conversation as if it had become too much to stand, Dean grabbed the container again. Sam noticed his knuckles turning white as he tightened his grip on the handle. “They can throw me against a wall, try to eat me, whatever, but what these things have done is way too personal! This is my fight, and I’m going to end these bastards even if it kills me!”

Sam didn’t respond. He watched Dean uncap the container yet again and pour gas onto the floor with a vengeance. That’s what it was all about when they took him? All of the touching and feeling? None of it was extraterrestrial life trying to figure out the human anatomy? It was all sexual? He wanted to ask Dean how was he so sure but knew that wouldn’t go over well. For some reason, it made the tentacles even worse in Sam’s mind and brought up even more questions. Were all of the people taken just for sexual use or was it just Dean? And did they come to the bed of everyone they sent back or did they just have a particular liking for his brother? It was all that Greater Evil crap that set this whole thing up? And why the hell did they just choose to pick on Dean; why not Sam or John or all three of them?

Watching his older brother slowly and evenly spread the gas in a line around the room, Sam was suddenly glad he was going to have ringside seats in seeing the tentacles go up in flames. Well, if the whole fire thing worked, anyway. The creepy rapists had to burn. Sam shuddered as soon as the word entered his head. He liked thinking the word about as much as he liked saying it out loud.

Dean had made a circle around the room and came up on Sam from behind, making him jump when he spoke from about 10 feet behind him. Sam whipped around with every nerve on edge, causing Dean to raise an eyebrow wordlessly.

“Ready to do this?”

Hell no he wasn’t ready. This was it? This was Dean’s big plan? They were just going to toss a match down and watch the room burn? Until what? It eventually licked at their feet and took them down too? “Uh, no. Have you ever noticed that fire isn’t exactly a friend of our family? I don’t want to die like this.”

“We’re not gonna die like this. I have a plan.” A wide, smug grin followed the statement.

Comforting. Dean’s plans weren’t always something you’d want to put your life into. “Sorry, but I’m not all that confident in your plan.”

Dean’s face took on a mock look of hurt. “You haven’t even heard it yet.”

“I know. Just hearing that my life rests on one of your plans scares me.”

Dean started to reply with some smart ass remark when his eyes fell on something behind Sam. His face hardened. With a controlled tightness to his voice he said, “Sam, come towards me. Fast.”

“What?” He started to look over his shoulder, afraid to even see what it was looming behind him because he pretty much already knew.

“Don’t turn around. Just come to me.”

In several huge leaps, Sam was standing next to Dean, turned around with both of them facing the tentacle that appeared out of the murky gloom. Sam’s heart sped up and started an unusually fast thumping in his chest. If just the sight of it across the room scared the crap out of Sam, he could only imagine what it did to Dean.

When Sam looked back over at him, he saw that Dean wasn’t wasting any time standing there open-mouthed and trembling in fear, like Sam was tempted to do. He already had the match in his hand. Sam was afraid he was going to light it right there, not having time to carry out whatever plan he had in his head, and send both of them up in flames.

“Dean---”

A fiery whop! came from behind and sliced across the brothers’ backs. The match flew out of Dean’s hand as they both went sliding across the room with the impact. Their slippery slide across the slick floor came to a stop between the first tentacle and the new arrival that’d greeted them so sweetly.

While still sitting on the floor, Dean immediately pulled out the box of matches and started to light one, and Sam knew he had completely abandoned whatever idea he had and was willing to send them up in flames with the things. The box of matches melted in Dean’s hand and oozed through his fingers. “Damn it!” He yelled in frustration.

“How many more boxes of those do you have?” Sam asked nervously, eyeing the creatures waiting on both sides of them.

“Four. And a couple lighters.”

“No time for that plan you had?”

“No. And trust me Sammy, you’d rather die by fire than whatever these fucks have planned.”

Sam nodded, knowing how true those words actually were and hating it. It’s a sad day when Winchesters choose to die by fire. “Try another match. Do it fast.”

Dean leaned in to Sam, using their two bodies as a cover to hide the second matchbox that he pulled out.

Unfortunately, the first tentacle had waited long enough. It moved up from behind Dean, who was closest to its side of the room, and whipped out, curling itself around Dean’s neck.

“NO!” Sam screamed out, his voice echoing off of the floors and ceiling. He quickly scrambled to his feet. This couldn’t happen. This wasn’t going to happen. Damn it! He wasn’t going to sit by and watch this shit happen!

Panic danced across Dean’s face and his eyes bulged at the pain and lack of oxygen it was causing him as it dragged him across the room, away from Sam.

Sam frantically looked around for the matchbox Dean had been holding and cursed under his breath when he didn’t see it anywhere.

He gave up and ran after the beast that had Dean. He skidded to a stop several feet behind it when it threw Dean flat onto his back on the ground near a wall.

Sam briefly wondered why it didn’t bother with him when Dean called out, “Soak it with the gas, Sam!”

The gas? He whipped around to search the room for the container Dean had set down somewhere. Spotting it on the other side of the room, he practically flung himself to it, scooped it up, and ran back.

“Dean?” It was said in horror as more tentacles came out of the gloom and surrounded Dean on the floor, slithering up and down his body.

“Just do it!” Dean half yelped, half pleaded, holding his arms across his face in a useless attempt at protection.

Standing back slightly, Sam splashed the remaining gas onto the beasts. Surprisingly, none turned on him, their focus completely on Dean, and he wondered why they had such a burning interest in Dean only.

Before they could wrap around his arms and tie him down completely with their stinging version of rope, Sam saw Dean reach into his jeans pocket and pull out a lighter. “Roast in hell you bastards!” He flicked it on and tossed it at the one nearest him.

That’s when Sam finally admitted to himself that there would be no hope of getting out. One caught fire, going up in a surprisingly colorful ball of flame. The burning tentacle fell forward across Dean who was still lying on his back and had only had time to throw his arms over his head and face for protection.

“Dean!” Sam started to run forward when a flame shot out and lit another one of the beasts on fire. The newest ball of flame fell to the side, taking a few of its friends with it until all that was left were smoldering tentacles scattered about here and there.

Sam burst through them to Dean, who was huddled against the wall, trying to put out his shirt that was on fire from where the first roasting tentacle had fallen across his chest. Without thinking, Sam yanked the shirt and ripped it away. It tore, the already on fire material shredding and Sam tossed it to the side. He grabbed Dean, pulled him to his feet, wrapped his arms around him and flung both of them through the smoldering tentacle blaze and over to a wall that hadn’t yet caught on fire.

They slid down the wall, leaning their backs on it and puling their knees to their chests to make as small a target for flying embers of fire as they possibly could. Other areas of the room where Dean had made his gas circle were burning. Both boys coughed in the smoke that was spinning about in a large, whirlwind-like circle.

“Are you ok?” Sam asked him.

“I’m great. By the way, that was my favorite shirt you just ripped to pieces over there.”

“Uh, sorry? What’s it matter? We’re about to die anyway.”

“Dude, I wanted to die in that shirt! Why do you think I wore it up here?”

“Sorry to ruin your plans,” Sam said darkly, just as the liquid ceiling caught fire and spread in a whooshing wave across the entire room until the whole ceiling was a sea of fire above them.

“Damn,” Dean coughed out. Sam turned his gaze away from the ceiling and watched the fire’s reflection play in Dean’s widened eyes. He finally turned at Sam’s staring and said, “What?”

“This isn’t going to end well is it?”

“Probably not.”

“I thought heroes always went out in a blaze of glory.”

“Well, we have the blaze part covered.”

“Not funny, Dean.”

“It was a little funny.”

“If we’re going to die, I have something to tell you.”

Dean groaned. “You’re going to make my last moment the mother of all chic flick moments, aren’t you?”

As fire rained down all around them from the ceiling, Sam smiled weakly at Dean’s last attempts at humor. He should’ve known his big brother would go out either fighting or snarking. Or both. “Even though we’re about to die, I’m still glad I came up here to help you end this. If I have to die with anyone, I’m glad it’s you, Dean.”

“You shouldn’t be up here dying with me. You shouldn’t be up here at all, Sam.”

“Hey, I saved your ass over there when they were surrounding you.”

“I had it under control.”

“Dean, they were about to… hurt you again.”

“I know.”

There was a beat of silence between the brothers before Dean said, “Thanks for having my back.”

“No problem.”

As the smoke and flame increased, Sam sucked in a breath of acrid smoke and pulled his shirt up to breathe into. Dean coughed and sputtered and tried to breathe through his hands until Sam pulled his own shirt over his head and held it in a way that Dean could grab the other end and they could both breathe into it.

I fucking hate fire, Sam thought. Everything good always ends in fire.

The rain of fire around them and the hot haze of smoke soon stung at Sam’s eyes until he had to blink furiously to see anything. The heat was searing, yet it was all so slow. Slow enough for Sam to wonder how horrible it was going to be when his flesh burned to a crisp with him still alive. He hoped that when it finally reached them, it would be a quick death for both him and Dean, though he knew that it would never be quick enough.

He caught Dean’s eye as they both struggled to breathe a hint of fresh air through the shirt. He could tell that Dean’s mind was on the same exact thing, imagining how painful it was going to be. This is it. Oh God, why’d it have to end like this?!

“This sucks out loud,” Dean sputtered, his voice already hoarse and barely there from all of the smoke.

Sam could only manage a nod. He felt like he was standing on the edge of a faint, and he wondered if it would almost be better to pass out cold from the smoke and not be awake for the actual burning part of it. Looking at Dean, he found the hazel greens resting on him sleepily. He wasn’t the only one about to pass out.

“Bye Dean,” he whispered out.

“I’m still going to kick your ass in the next life for coming with me,” Dean rasped. Sam couldn’t help smiling behind the shirt at that. Even in the end like this, Dean was still being so… Dean.

The smoke seemed to pour into his mind, and he knew he was quickly losing it now. Eyes half closed, he nearly dropped his end of the shirt when his head lolled back and hit the wall they were leaning against. Dean’s strangled cry quickly pulled him back into reality. As he sat up straight and turned his head, he was so afraid he’d see Dean on fire. Like he had seen Jess on fire. And he prepared to throw himself onto Dean so that he would catch fire too and they would both burn together, at the same time.

It actually surprised Sam when Dean wasn’t on fire. Staring blankly, it took him a slow moment before he realized that a tentacle had wrapped around Dean’s arm.

“No…” Dean whispered hoarsely, unbelieving.

One strong yank and it had Dean away from the wall, away from Sam, dragging him into the raging fire.

Sam found voice enough to yell, “Dean!” The one syllable came out loud enough to reverberate off the walls. Not even bothering to pull himself into a standing position, Sam threw himself forward and reached for Dean’s foot as it dragged him off.

Sam skipped right over shock and went straight to panic. If they were going to die like this, then they were going to die like this side by side. Dean wasn’t going to die with that damn thing feeling him up!

In mere seconds Sam lost him. The whirling ocean of fire and smoke worked against him and swallowed them up quickly. Dean could have been a foot in front of his face and he wouldn’t have been able to see him.

This isn’t happening, Sam thought and passed out.

----------
Dean tried to yell Sam’s name but the smoke and ash in the air mixed with the scorching heat and swept down his throat as soon as he opened his mouth. It dragged him through flames that were stretching out from the main fire and over the sizzling hot floor where the blaze hadn’t yet reached. He reached up with his left hand and tried to pry the thing off his right arm. Just touching the flesh of the tentacle stung the pads of his fingers, and its strong grip tightened even more at his touch. It was unrelenting, determined to do… well, he didn’t want to think about what it had planned.

It made it to a small corner of the room that was not yet engulfed in flames and threw him so hard face first into the wall that dozens of tiny golden stars swam into his vision. Dean shook his head, trying to clear the floating specks out of his already smoke-stung eyes. It had let go of him, and he took the opportunity to try and stumble to his feet, but it was on him in a split second, smacking down across his back like a whip, and sending him face first onto the ground.

His smoke laden mind was already so foggy and confused that he couldn’t quite grasp at a way to get out of this situation. All he could think was Run, run, run! But between the fire quickly moving in and the freakish tentacle from hell, running wasn’t exactly an option.

A throb of pain came down across his butt through is jeans. Once, twice… ug! The damn thing was spanking him! Oh hell no… He spun around until he was facing it, pulled his legs into his chest, and kicked out at it with both feet. With perfect timing he caught the thing in midair as it was coming down on him and sent it staggering backwards. It barely missed falling into the fire that was edging in.

Dean’s eyes widened and he brought his arms up to his face when he realized that it had recovered quickly and was rearing back to throw itself at him. It landed on his stomach with a thump that sent a shot of pain through his entire body. Wrapping a long tentacle snugly around his waist, stinging every piece of skin it touched, the tentacle oozed under him, down the small of his back, and into his pants.

No. Not again. Not again damn it! He fought to control the frantic emotions inside his head and stay awake and alert long enough to make sure the damn beast burned with the rest of them. Now the fire was just feet away from his spot on the ground. Its burning depths were his only escape.

Bringing the tentacle along for the ride, Dean rolled himself into the fire.

----------
Unable to tear his gaze from the glimmering ocean of stars above, John stood in the middle of the forest, refusing to cry. He would not cry. He would not break down and weep. Because this had been the plan: to send Dean up there so that he could finish this and then, somehow, he would be sent back down. Because he was Dean, and Dean somehow always made it out alive. And the girl, the Canadian girl, had been sent back after she set fire to the ship she’d been taken in to. It was possible to come out of there alive and still win.

John just hadn’t planned for Sam to throw himself onto Dean and ride up there with him. The fact that he might loose the two people most precious to him in the entire world all in one night hit John like an oncoming train and threatened to bring tears to his eyes despite his brave façade.

No. He wasn’t going to loose them tonight. As soon as the aliens burned and no longer had control of their ship, Sam and Dean would be sent back through some sort of default. Right? He spent an hour trying to convince himself that that thought made sense; that it was totally possible and this hadn’t been a huge mistake after all.

An hour and half later, still staring at the stars until his eyes began to burn, John started doubting. After the ship had sucked his kids in, it had disappeared, taking off so fast that one second it was there and the next it was gone, miles away into the galaxy.

Thousands of millions of miles a way in the star sprinkled sky a star exploded in an orange ball of light.

Head tilted back, John gaped at it, fully aware that it wasn’t a star. One word echoed over and over in his head: No!

The fiery not star sent smaller sparks of light shooting away from it in what looked like a far off fireworks display that rained down across the sky miles and miles away. John stood long after it stopped sending smaller embers of light out from it and watched the larger ball of orange light burn on and on until it began fading, growing dimmer and dimmer.

John’s hope grew dimmer with it. They were gone. He should’ve listened to Sammy’s doubts when they first gotten to the forest. John knew he had just fucked up in a huge and horrible way that he wasn’t sure he’d be able to live with for the rest of his life. Or even the rest of the night, for that matter.

The tears burned his eyes and blurred his vision, yet he didn’t want to let them fall because then it really would be over; he really would be mourning over his children.

John turned and nearly ran into Sam who was staggering up behind him. John backed up slightly and nearly tripped over his own feet in his alarm. Sam blurred and shimmered in front of him and John had to blink the tears away furiously to clear his vision. When he finally saw his youngest clearly, he cringed.

Shirtless, covered in black soot from head to foot, his hair singed at the edges, Sam swayed on his feet. John rushed forward and put a hand out to steady him.

“Where’s Dean?” Sam’s words were slurred and his voice scratchy.

“He wasn’t with you?” John asked quietly, already feeling the ache of loosing a son swell up in his chest again.

Sam shook his head, a movement that caused pieces of ash to fling out from his hair and float to the ground. “We got… separated.”

John ran his hand down his face. “Damn.”

“He’s not back yet?”

“No.”

Sam gasped a “no,” quickly followed it with a deep sucking in of breath, and ended the whole thing with a sob. John put his arm around Sam’s shaking shoulders to keep himself from breaking down too. He gently guided him back to the Impala and they left.

----------
“Are you sure you don’t need to go to the hospital?” John asked.

“I’ll be ok. I just want sleep,” came Sam’s flat voice from the other bed.

John turned off the light in between the two beds and they lay in a stifling gloom. It hung over the room and Sam knew it was darker than an ordinary night. It was the kind of darkness that only came when you lost someone so close to your heart that you felt like a part of it had been chipped off and taken with the person who had died. The ache in Sam’s chest was real; it physically hurt. It was the kind of darkness that settled over you, in you, because it was a death that left everything unfinished, awkward, and not right. It was a death you’d spend the rest of your life thinking about, wondering how you could have changed it so the outcome would be different.

“I couldn’t fix it,” Sam said out loud before he realized what he was doing.

He heard the covers on his Dad’s bed ruffle as he turned over to look at Sam through the dark. “What?”

Great. Now he had to explain. “A few days ago, Dean said I couldn’t fix this one and he was right.”

“Sam---”

“I let him down, Dad. We were sitting right beside each other when one of those things came out of nowhere, grabbed him, and took off.”

John was silent which made Sam uneasy. Maybe he’d blame Sam too, just like Sam blamed himself.

His father finally spoke, using a comforting tone Sam hadn’t heard in years. “It was beyond your control, Sam. Don’t blame yourself for this.”

“You know what I did instead of helping him? I passed out!”

“A person can’t control when they pass out, son.”

“I know, but it’s just that… he was always there for me when I needed him and in the end, I was right beside him, but I couldn’t do anything! I was right there!”

John switched into stern, command mode. “This is not your fault! He knew the risks when he went up there. You know Dean. He wasn’t going to live his life with those things visiting him every fucking night! He was going to do something about it, no matter what. Don’t you think I feel guilty too? I let him go up there! I should have stopped him! But we both know that he’d made up his mind and neither of us could’ve stopped him at that point.”

Sam sighed, long and heavy. “I know. But the way all of this happened… none of it seems right.”

“Death is never right. Especially when it’s someone good, like…” John’s voice broke and Sam knew he was thinking of both Dean and Mary.

The intake of breath that comes with crying shocked Sam when it wafted over from his dad’s side of the room. “Dad?”

“I’ll be ok. Just go to sleep.”

Sam wasn’t used to comforting his dad, so he turned to his side and lay uncomfortably in the dark. Deep sobs were the last ting he heard before sleep snuck up and claimed him.

July 1st, 2006

Loud banging on their door woke them sometime before daylight.

“What the hell,” John muttered sleepily.

Sam, closest to the door, lurched out of bed, got his foot tangled in the sheet and fell flat onto the floor.

“Sam?” John called groggily.

“Yea, yea. I got it.” He pulled himself up and staggered over to the door. Who the hell would bang on someone’s motel door that early in the morning?

Sam eased the door open cautiously. Dean’s fist paused in mid air before he could connect it with the door again. Sam’s mouth hit the ground as he pulled the door open all the way and gaped in wonder. Dean covered in soot and ash, but looking no worse for wear, stood staring at him in the doorway with a blanket of some kind wrapped around his shoulders.

“Dean?” Sam blinked as if he were perhaps just seeing a mirage.

Dean’s face broke out into a wide, charming smile. “Sam?”

“How are you alive?”

Cocking his head, Dean said, “How am I alive? How are you alive?”

John came up behind Sam so fast that he almost crashed into him. “DEAN!”

“That’s me.”

Before he knew what he was doing, Sam stepped through the doorway, and embraced his brother in a hug. Surprisingly, Dean didn’t make a move to pull away. Pulling back, Sam looked him in the eye, brushed a finger across Dean’s sooty cheek, looked at the soot that came off on his finger and said, “Man, you look like crap.”

“Yea, well… I’m too tired to think of a comeback to that right now.”

John pushed forward until he was standing next to Sam, facing Dean. “We thought you were dead!”

“Really? Is that your excuse for driving off and leaving me in that forest?!”

Sam threw his head back and laughed up at the sky.

“You think that’s funny?! I searched for you out there for an hour! And then I realized that the car was gone and I told myself that Sam better hope he’s dead because if not I’m gonna kill him for letting Dad drive off without me!”

Sam was laughing so hard that tears were squeezing out the corners of his eyes, while John put his hand over his mouth to hide a chuckle.

“It’s not funny!” Dean insisted, a glittering of amusement lighting up his eyes. “I had to walk to a house! At the first house the lady threatened to call the police when she caught sight of me. And then I went to another house and this guy brought out a gun. All I wanted to do was use the damn phone!”

“Well you do look pretty bad…” Sam said through his guffaws.

“Shut up.”

“So who finally brought you here?” John asked.

Dean smiled and pointed to a car that was parked nearby. Waving at whoever was inside it, he said, “An old friend with peanut butter cookies.”

Confused, John watched as an old lady climbed out of the car and Sam said, “Claira!”

The lady slowly made her way over to them and joined in the little circle. Smiling, she said, “I didn’t even recognize him when he showed up on my doorstep at two in the morning. Scared me half to death!”

“Sorry,” Dean said.

“Thought I was being robbed until he spoke and I recognized his voice. He asked me to drive him here right away. Wouldn’t take me up on my offer to get him cleaned up or anything.” She grazed her hand across his sooty black cheek affectionately and laughed.

“Well I’ll be,” John muttered under his breath.

“Well, it was nice of you to offer to bathe me…” Dean said, eyeing the older lady with a small smile playing at his lips.

“Anytime, darlin’.”

Dean snapped his fingers as if he’d almost forgotten something. “We brought something for you, Sam!”

“For me?”

Dean ran to the car and returned with something behind his back, while Claira grinned sweetly up at Sam.

Dean said, “I was telling Claira that I enjoyed her cookies so much that I ate all of them before you got to try one.”

This can’t be good…

“Lucky for you Sammy, she had just made some more!” Dean whipped out a cookie from behind his back, the grin on his face saying it all. “Try it for her.”

“Well, I---”

“It’s homemade,” Dean added with that damn grin that made Sam want to hurl.

“But I---”

“He was so angry that I ate the whole platter,” Dean explained, looking over at Claira who nodded and urged Sam to try the cookie.

Just wanting to get it over with, Sam finally snatched it out of Dean’s hand and took a bite. Well that’s an interesting flavor--- Oh dear God what is that?! Something sticky and bitter flooded over his tongue and caught in his throat. Claira looked up at him expectantly, causing him to struggle to swallow God only knows what before saying, “Mm… so… good.” The fine cat hairs were about to start testing his gag reflexes.

John silently watched the whole scene with a slightly bemused expression.

“After everything Dean went through tonight I thought it was so sweet of him to think of you like that,” Claira said.

“Yea, I’m so lucky.”

Dean swung his head toward Sam and flashed him a smirk. Clapping Sam on the back, he said, “Well I’d do anything for Sammy, especially when he deserves it.”

Ok, point taken. Payback’s a bitch. And so is Dean.

Claira wrapped an arm around Dean’s waist until he leaned down to the little woman and she pulled him into a hug. It wasn’t until she whispered, “Thank you” into his ear that Sam realized Dean must have shared at least part of the story with her on the way to the motel.

“No problem,” Dean said after the hug and winked sweetly at her.

Giggling like a schoolgirl, she started towards her car when Dean called out, “Wait! You want your blanket back?”

She eyed the sooty cream-colored mess for a small moment, smiled, and said, “Nah, you keep it for now, sweetie. Come visit me again some day and drop it back by.” With a small wave, and a warm smile, she slid into her car and drove off.

Sam shook his head. “Is there anyone you can’t charm?”

A mischievous little smile played across Dean’s face. “Maybe. Somewhere out there. Oh, and by the way Sam, we’re even now.” He walked past Sam and John into the room and straight to the bathroom to shower.

“Unbelievable,” Sam muttered, shaking his head.

“What was that all about?” John asked.

“Long story.”

Their father didn’t seem interested in hearing it as he sat down on the bed, leaned forward and rested his arms on his legs. There was no joy or amusement surrounding John Winchester. In fact, Sam could feel the burden of worry radiating from him.

“I think Dean has nine lives,” Sam said to fill the empty space between him and his father.

“We need to stop this Greater Evil crap before he runs out of them.”

“Maybe next time they’ll target you or me.”

John shook his head. “No. They won’t. They have us figured out. Take Dean out and eventually you and I will fall apart.”

And there it was. As soon as his dad had said it, Sam knew that he had hit the nail on the head. Break Dean down and you break the whole family. There was no need to go after all three of them when all they had do was take Dean out, in one way or another, and watch John and Sam eventually crumble also; Dean was the glue holding the whole thing together.

“We’ll fix it. Like we fix everything,” Sam said after a minute or so.

John just nodded, neither of them wanting to admit that they didn’t know how to stop something like this from happening again.

----------
“Man, it feels good to be behind the wheel again,” Dean said.

A half smile crossed Sam’s features as he looked at his brother out of the corner of his eye. “It’s only been a week since you’ve driven.”

“A long week.” Dean patted the dashboard. “I’ve missed you, baby.”

“Here we go again.”

Dean cocked his head. “You hear that?”

Sam was afraid to ask.

“She missed me too. Says you drive too slow.”

“I don’t hear anything.”

“Well, maybe she only talks to me.”

“Isn’t that one of the first signs of going crazy? Inanimate objects start speaking to you?”

“Right, Vision Boy. Out of the two of us, I’m the crazy one.” He snorted, resting his eyes on their dad’s truck ahead of them, leading the way past a sign that announced they were leaving Florida.

“Hey,” Sam said suddenly, changing the subject, “We never went to the beach.”

Dean grunted softly and turned Metallica on. “I think I’m over wanting a vacation.”

“Really?” Sam cocked an eyebrow in amusement.

“Yea, but I could still go for a grilled cheese sandwich. Hey, open the glove compartment.”

Sam looked at him questioningly. “Uh, hate to break it to you but there’s not gonna be a grilled cheese in there.”

“Just open it.”

Sam did as he was told and a wrinkled piece of paper fell out into his hand. Surprised, he looked over at Dean. “You kept the sappy ‘I love you’ note I wrote you?”

“Dude, don’t get all girly on me. I only kept it because it says you owe me a beer.”

“Yea, right. Of course you did.” Sam smiled knowingly, crumpled up the note and threw it at Dean’s head, hitting him right in the face with it.

“Hey! Not when I’m driving!”

Sam smiled out the window, reveling in the normalcy of the banter, soaking up just being able to be with Dean and for everything to be ok. Every moment seemed precious now, because deep down, Sam knew that they were eventually going to strike again, and if his father was right (and he was) it would never be Sam or John they targeted; it would always be Dean, every single time.

Dean flicked the note out of his lap and muttered, “Bitch.”

----------
Elsewhere, in a deep and faraway place where blood dripped from the very walls, a circle of demons argued back and forth. At first, it was unclear as to what exactly they were fighting over, but upon further listening one might pick up on the guttural sounds that formed the words failed, Winchesters, and not over.

It wasn’t until two words were finally uttered that things seemed to calm down in hell.

Try again.

--------
No, this is not the last chapter. Just in case anyone was wondering. *wink* You didn't think it'd be that easy did ya?

Chapter 08

Sat, 12 Aug 2006 21:52:23 GMT

You Can’t Fix This
Chapter 06 :: Desperate Times, Desperate Measures
FF.net link: http://www.fanfiction.net/s/3044080/6/
--------

“Will you just sit down? You’re driving me crazy.” John wiped his hand across his face, tried to mentally massage his ragged nerves with a deep breath. Two deep breathes.

Ok, not working.

Dean’s coffee hyped pacing around the room was giving him a headache. He looked over at Sam who was staring so intently at the laptop that he didn’t seem to notice.

It was a quarter ‘till 12:00. After Sam and John had driven all day, they were both getting tired. But Dean was buzzed on coffee and seemed pumped to research all night. He was also, clearly, avoiding going to bed, and John couldn’t blame him for that. He watched his oldest son pace back and forth between the window and the bathroom and wondered what it must be like to be afraid to close your eyes for fear of knowing that you’d be attacked sometime during the night. Gritting his teeth, John swore to himself that he was going to take these sons of a bitches out no matter what. Attacking one of his children made it way too personal.

“This is strange,” Sam said suddenly.

“You’re just noticing?” Dean asked.

“No, I mean what I just found.”

Both John and Dean came closer and leaned over Sam’s shoulders to see the laptop screen.

Sam pointed at the website he had been studying. “Look at this. Five people go missing every twenty years in a place called Saltwater, Maine. No bodies ever found and no murder suspects. It’s a pattern just like the one here in Gulf Breeze but with different numbers.”

John said, “So this is happening in other parts of the country too? God.”

“So what do we do?” Dean asked, looking to John for answers.

“Well, I think first we need to sleep, because I don’t know about you boys, but I can’t concentrate anymore.” What John didn’t want to say was that he had no idea what to do next. Over the years he thought he’d seen it all, so for there to be something this huge out there that he didn’t know about worried him.

“Yea, I’m getting pretty tired,” Sam said.

Sam and John moved toward the beds, and Dean sat down with the laptop.

John noticed, sighed, and said, “Son, you need to sleep.”

“I’m on a caffeine high. I couldn’t sleep right now even if I wanted to. You guys go ahead. I’m just going to dig around a little more. Maybe I’ll actually find something.”

John shook his head but laid down on a bed anyway, too tired to argue.

Within minutes Dean was the only one awake, comforted by the deep breathing of his family.

June 30th, 2006

Three hours and many clicks and websites later, Dean was so close to finding some sort of answer that he could taste it. He was on to something.

After a countrywide search of similarly patterned disappearances didn’t turn anything up, he searched worldwide and hit at least a dozen leads. He clicked around and read the local reports on each of them until he came to a story about a small town in Canada where six people disappeared every fifteen years, but one was always sent back. The difference between the Canadian town and the other towns was that the pattern hit 1988 and stopped. There were no disappearances in 2003 like there should have been if the pattern had continued. Following link after link finally brought him to the website of a woman who claimed to be one of the ones that had been taken.

She had logged in her entire experience on the website, and Dean read the whole thing with his eyes glued to the screen, too fascinated to even blink.

The story was much like his except for the end, which was an entire story in itself.

She didn’t claim to have been sent back. She insisted that she had accidentally found a way to stop them. Dean finished reading her explanation with growing hope, and then clicked her email address at the bottom of the page and emailed her.

Her return email came half an hour later and surprised Dean with a bing that told him he had mail.

I don’t know how I made it out alive after that, she wrote. I thought I was going to die in there with all of them, and I thought that maybe that wouldn’t be too bad, as long as they died too. But the next thing I knew I was back in the place that they had taken me from. I don’t know how I’m alive right now. It’s a miracle.

Unable to contain his excitement over the huge findings, Dean woke Sam and John and spilled the entire story.

----------
By 4:30am they had a plan. It was one that neither Sam nor John liked, but after much convincing on Dean’s part, they saw that it was the only plan of any kind they had right now.

“You’ve been awake for over 24 hours, Dean. If we’re going to carry out this plan tonight then you need to be well-rested and sharp,” John said.

“I’m fine,” Dean responded. “I don’t need to sleep.” Lies. He was exhausted and could barely see straight from spending half a night staring at a computer screen.

“Really? Because you look like death warmed over,” Sam said.

And he did. Dark circles outlined bloodshot eyes and highlighted skin drained of all color.

“I’m too ready to do this to go to sleep now.”

“But you’re going to sleep anyway, because you can’t afford to mess this up just because you got out there and fell asleep.” John’s fatherly foot had come down, and Dean knew he was right.

“Fine,” he grumbled, “I’ll sleep for an hour or so.”

“I’m going to shower,” John said, satisfied that Dean had finally given in to the idea of some rest.

Once John had left the room, Sam laid down beside Dean on one of the beds.

“What are you doing?” Dean asked.

“I know you don’t want to sleep because of those things, so I’m going to lay here and wake you at the first sign of them.”

Sam knew how bad it had gotten when Dean made no attempt to protest his baby brother laying beside him and watching over him while he slept. Normally, he would have kicked Sam off of the bed.

“I know I may not make it out of this one alive, Sammy.”

“Don’t talk like that.”

“You and Dad were right. It’s a stupid plan.”

Sam looked at him in surprise. “Then why are we---”

“Because I can’t live like this any more.”

“Dean…”

“I know, Sam. I just can’t take this for much longer. Either I do something to stop them today or I throw myself off of a building tomorrow.”

“We’re going to stop them. It’s such a long shot, but I think it’ll work. Things’ll be ok again, Dean.”

“Hopefully,” Dean mumbled groggily.

“Go to sleep. I’m here.”

“Ok.”

----------
This time they’re on him before he knows what’s happening. Maybe they heard the plans for their demise, or maybe they’re still remembering their last encounter with him that was ended too soon. For whatever reason, they’re mad.

They fly through the air and land on him so quickly that the slap of burning pain hits his body at a speed that momentarily shocks him.

Of course it’s happening again, Dean thinks. Those sick fucks have to get one last round in before we wipe them out of the galaxy.

The stinging slices his skin, and instead of breaking down at the pain this time, he’s just pissed off. Pissed that this shit keeps happening again and again. Aliens really need to get a better hobby.

Before they move to silence him he yells, “Fuck off!”

One pauses above his face and actually seems to stare him in the eye.

“Yea, that’s right you sick fuck. Get the hell off me!”

It rears back as if to come down across his face, and he does the only thing he can at the moment: spits at it. Even in such a horrible situation the comical factor of that ridiculous move isn’t lost on Dean. But he’s had enough. He’s just fucking had it by now and is willing to fight back any way he can.

Besides, all of this will be over soon anyway. Hopefully.

The thing pauses in front of his face again, looking down at him from its floating position, studying him.

And then someone, Sam’s voice he realizes, is yelling at him through the haze of the dream.

“Wake up!”

And Dean did, able to pull himself out of it quickly this time, shaking the things off of him even as he opened his eyes and found Sam’s worried, fearful face inches from his own.

“Are you leaning in for a kissing scene or something? Back up!”

“No... I mean… Are you ok?”

Dean shoved him away and sat up in the bed. “I told them to fuck off. It felt pretty good.”

“I heard.”

“You heard that?”

“We both heard it,” John interjected. “I think the whole motel heard it.”

“I enjoyed the ‘that’s right you sick fuck’ part. That was a nice addition,” Sam said.

Dean grinned. “I’ve always been good with words.”

“You know what else you’re good at, Dean?” John asked, and then answered himself quickly when he saw Dean’s mouth forming into a slow smirk. “Killing things. Let’s go do this.”

----------
Devoid of a full moon this time, the forest near Sundown Drive was cloaked in a stifling, black darkness. The three Winchesters stood uncomfortably in the bushes nearest the clearing, looking over their supplies and making sure they had everything.

“So she just flicked her lighter at them?” Sam asked nervously for the twelfth time in the past hour.

Dean ran his hand over his face in annoyance and answered in an impatient voice. “That’s what she said. She threw the lighter at one and it caught on fire and spread to the others until the whole place was on fire.”

“And then she woke up back where they had first taken her from?”

“God, Sam. Yes! I’ve already told you it twenty times!”

“I don’t like this. We still don’t know for sure if Dean’ll make it back.” Sam looked at John, waiting for him to stop Dean, to say there had to be a better way to do this. But John was glaring up at the sky, as if daring them to take him this time instead. “Dad?”

“Unless you’ve got a better plan, Sammy, this is the only way,” John finally answered, ripping his gaze from the star-glittered sky.

Dean threw Sam a not-so-subtle “I win” look as the three men sat down and waited.

“Is it hard to be back here?” Sam asked suddenly, knowing it was a stupid question even as it flew out of his mouth.

Dean actually rolled his eyes at him, a move Sam knew he deserved. “Why would it be hard to be back here? I love this place. So many good memories.”

“Sorry,” Sam mumbled.

Several minutes dragged by as Sam watched Dean pick at his nails with a stick. Who even does that? he wondered to himself.

“What are you looking at?” Dean asked, pulling his gaze from his nails.

“Not much.”

“I’m bored. What do you want me to do? Put on a fireworks show for you?”

“If it’ll make you stop picking your nails with a stick, then yea.”

Dean’s face folded into a frown, and he threw the stick at Sam, getting him upside the head.

“Hey!” Sam protested. He grabbed the stick, and John caught his arm right before he sent it Dean’s way.

“We don’t have time for this,” John said gruffly and tossed the stick to the ground. Dean’s smirk met Sam’s glare, and John’s heavy sigh of annoyance burst through and landed between the two brothers like a lead weight. “You two are going to make this an even longer night than it has to be, aren’t you?”

Being over-ruled and out numbered in his opinion that this was a bad idea put him in a bad enough mood that Sam nearly let out a mocking, “Yes sir” but joined in on Dean’s mumbled reply instead.

----------
An uneasy feeling began to send tingles of uncertainty down Sam’s arms. At first, he ignored it, passing it off as his reluctance to carry out this plan. After half an hour it settled over him like a suffocating blanket, and he could no longer ignore it. It was a familiar feeling that he couldn’t quite place, and he spent quite a few minutes brooding against a tree trunk, trying to figure out what the heck it was; why it felt so familiar.

And then it hit him. On June 23rd, when he found Dean in this very forest, he had rushed him into the car because he felt they were being watched; that the things were still up there eyeing Dean. And now… They’re here. The thought dismayed him. He was hoping that they wouldn’t show at all and the plan would never get a chance to be put into action. But damn it! They’re here! Unbelievable!

A quick glance at Dean and John told him they had no idea, no unusual feeling at all.

Sam stood up from his perch by the tree, stretched the cramps out of his stiff back, and shuffled his feet nervously. “Guys, I have a feeling we’re not alone anymore.”

Shooting up from his spot on the ground, Dean whipped his head around the area suspiciously. “What? Where?”

John got up, and the three edged in closer to each other until they formed a half circle. “How do you know?”

“I just have this feeling that we’re being watched by… them.”

Three pairs of eyes simultaneously looked towards the shimmering field of stars above them.

“Shouldn’t we be able to see it?” John asked.

“Maybe not. I felt them watching the night they sent Dean back, but you couldn’t see them in the sky.”

“So they’re spying on us?” Dean asked with obvious disgust.

“Yea, I guess you could call it that.”

Dean snatched up the container of gasoline and stormed into the middle of the clearing until he was completely out in the open and no trees were hiding him from the sky. Eyes glued starward, he yelled, “Why don’t you come on down for a visit you creepy fucks!”

“What the hell is he doing,” John muttered under his breath, annoyed but also slightly proud.

“What? Now that I’m prepared to fight you don’t want me anymore? Assholes!”

Sam knew that he was only trying to bring them out of hiding but taunting an evil this huge didn’t seem wise…

John turned to Sam, mouth open to speak, ready to give commands, when a familiar white light bathed the forest. “What the fuck?” John blurted out even though his sons had already described the blinding light phenomenon of June 22nd to him in surprising detail.

Sam didn’t even hear his father’s surprised outburst, because he was already running toward where Dean was standing in the clearing. “Dean!”

Just as it had been a week ago, the explosion of light left Sam blinking furiously, trying to regain his sight. He stumbled in the direction of Dean, shouting his name a few more times, hoping for an answer so that he could follow Dean’s voice.

“Sam!”

He was close, just a few feet away. Gauging the distance in his head, Sam ran and purposely tackled Dean to the ground. He wrapped his long arms around his brother and held tight, forcing them both to remain laying on the grassy forest floor.

“What the hell are you doing?!”

“If you’re going back then I’m gonna make sure you’re not going up there alone this time!”

“You know that’s not what we planned! Now get the fuck off me!”

“No!”

Without another word, Dean pulled his knee up into Sam’s stomach, causing the younger man to groan and loosen his grip. Taking the opportunity, Dean bucked underneath him and tried to wriggle out of the grip, but Sam was determined. He tightened his hold again. There might be times strung out over the years with wrestling matches like this one where Dean came out victorious, but this wasn’t going to be one of them. There wasn’t anything Dean could’ve done to get his brother off of him.

“Damn it, Sam! Let me do this!”

“You’re not going back up there alone!”

John’s voice yelled their names from a distance, but both were too busy with their little struggle to answer.

“Fuck, Sam! Don’t make me hurt you! I don’t want you up there where you could get hurt!”

“You mean where I could die with you?”

“Get off me you little brat!”

“Dean! Sam! ANSWER ME!” A frantic shout from John who, despite the vivid details his kids had described the light in, was still confused at the brilliant flood on his vision and found himself stumbling around wildly.

“I’m not gonna leave you, jerkwad!”

“Sam, I swear…”

The thunderous boom filled the silent little forest. The wind rose in a wild, furious gust that whipped across Sam’s back until it actually hurt and felt like someone was beating him with a belt. He huddled down into Dean’s body and ducked his head into his brother’s neck.

Dean yelled something he couldn’t understand because of the wind and the booming engine noise that had taken over the forest. It didn’t matter that Dean was probably screaming at him to run now, while he still had the chance, because his only thought was to hold on to his brother. The event of June 22nd was not going to happen again. He wasn’t going to watch Dean get sucked up into the air a second time. His only hope was that if he was wrapped around Dean before it started to happen instead of after, they would take both of them as one.

And then he felt it. It was like a suction, light at first, tugging on his body, and he thought, This is it. It worked.

He felt the very molecules in his body shift. To say that scared the crap out of him would be an understatement. Bodies weren’t made to become liquid-like in substance.

So, of course, if a body did happen to become akin to liquid, it would hurt like hell. And it did.

He fought back a yelp and pulled his head up, finally taking a look at Dean who he found shimmering like a lake reflection beneath him. There was no doubt about it: they were both about to take a ride skyward.

He tightened his grip on Dean when he felt them both slowly being lifted from the ground.

Dean screamed something in his ear and Sam screamed back, “WHAT?”

With the roar of wind and gigantic engine, it took him a few seconds before he realized Dean was yelling, “The gas! Get the gas!”

The medium-sized container was nearest Sam so he reached over right before it was beyond his grasp and scooped it up.

At fifteen feet or so above the ground they were still floating up horizontally and Sam could only imagine what it looked like. Some sort of cheap effects, gay porno film briefly flashed through his mind and didn’t help his mood any. Halfway up the trees they began straightening out until they were vertical and pretty much standing in the air. And that’s when it really, really started to hurt like hell. Claira’s words about it feeling like she was being ripped apart began playing over and over in his mind. He felt a hand at his back and realized that Dean had wrapped his arms around Sam now too, so that they were holding each other in mid air.

John’s voice reached their ears but neither could bare to look down at him. By now he was probably staring up at them wide-eyed, like so many in this town had done every 13 years.

The pain made concentration impossible until Sam couldn’t even remember what the hell they were going through all of this for. Whose bright idea was this again? Oh yea. If he hadn’t felt like his body was about to implode, he would’ve kicked his leg out until it met with Dean’s shin.

Now they were level with the tops of the trees, oozing and shimmering until Sam had the horrible thought that maybe they were melting into each other like two liquids in a chemistry experiment gone horribly wrong. His last thought before he blanked out was Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea…

--------
Yes, I totally just sent the boys into a spaceship. I may or may not have lost my mind somewhere back in chapter 5.

Chapter 07

Mon, 07 Aug 2006 03:42:22 GMT

You Can’t Fix This
Chapter 05 :: Tonight, Not Again

June 28th, 2006

“Noooo…”

Sam jumped out of bed wildly and bent his knees into a squat in case there was something in the room with them. Where the hell was the gun? How could he not know where the fucking gun was?!

“Stooooppp…”

“Dean?” Sam flicked on the lamp in between their beds and walked over to Dean who was writhing on his bed, tangled up in his own sheets and blankets.

“Dean, wake up!”

“Get away…”

Sam sat down on his bed and grabbed Dean’s arms, pulling him up into a sitting position until they were face to face and Dean’s eyes popped open. His face was streaked with tears again, which made Sam wonder how long he’d slept through it this time.

“It’s ok. You were just dreaming.”

Dean yanked his arms away and backed away from Sam on the bed, watching him closely.

“Dean, I---”

“Stay away from me,” he whispered, holding an arm out to enforce his words.

Sam’s eyes widened in surprise. What was this? He’d thought things were getting better. “Dean, it’s just me. What’s wrong?” He reached out to tousle Dean’s hair and Dean practically fell off the other side of the bed trying to scoot away from him.

“No… don’t.”

“Dean, I just… What’s wrong?”

Dean scrambled off of the bed, almost tripped in his haste when the sheet wrapped around his ankle, and ran into the bathroom.

What the hell? Sam thought he was going to hide out in the tub again until he heard him throwing up into the toilet. At least, he hoped it was the toilet.

He came to the door and found Dean sitting on the floor, holding onto the sides of the toilet for dear life and vomiting everything he had eaten at lunch when they stopped at a diner on the way.

Man, Sam hated vomit. But he walked into the bathroom anyway and sat down on the cold floor beside Dean.

Unpleasant minutes ticked past and Sam swore he felt time slow. Finally, after Sam thought Dean couldn’t possibly have anything else left to get rid of in his stomach, he stopped and sagged against the cool porcelain.

Sam rubbed his back and Dean tensed.

“Stop it.”

“What? I just---”

“Please.”

Hurt, Sam pulled his hand back. “Why are you pulling away from me again? You know I’m not them; that I’m not going to hurt you.”

Arms still wrapped tightly around the bowl, Dean stared down into the toilet, not responding.

“Dean? Are you scared of me or something?” God, if he answered with a yes… Sam closed his eyes, waiting for an answer.

Dean hesitated long enough to worry Sam. He better clue me in fast because I have no idea what the hell is happening here.

“It’s not you I’m scared of…”

Sam let out a breath he didn’t know he had been holding.

“…it’s everything. And every time I dream it, it hurts all over again.”

Slightly freaked out, Sam said, “What hurts?”

“Everything.” Dean’s loud sniffle after he said it made Sam realize that he was trying hard not to start crying again.

Sam’s comforting voice immediately came into play. “You don’t have to be scared anymore.”

“But I am. I’ve never been so fucking scared.”

“It’s ok to be scared. And it’s ok to tell me. You don’t have to be so tough all of the time, Dean. Let me help you through this. Just don’t push me away again.”

Dean snorted into the toilet and turned his head to meet Sam’s eyes. “I keep pushing you away because my whole fucking body hurts and your touching makes it worse.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t know. Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because it’s embarrassing,” he mumbled back, not meeting Sam’s eyes anymore.

“I’m your brother, Dean. We’ve been through so much crap together that nothing should be weird or off limits between us.”

Dean looked up. “What the hell does that even mean, Sam?”

“I don’t know. It’s two in the morning. I’m tired.”

“It sounded dirty.”

“Everything sounds dirty to you.”

“I know. It’s a talent.”

“Or you’re just a perv.”

“Whatever. Bite me.”

Sam raised his eyebrows at him. “Nice choice of words there.”

“Now who’s the perv, Sammy?”

“Still you.”

Dean opened his mouth, ready with a comeback, and threw up the milkshake he’d had for dessert.

Once he stopped, Sam asked, “So everything hurts you… all of the time?”

“Yea, but it’s gotten to where I can handle it in the day. It’s just when I dream that it gets really bad.”

“And afterwards too, right? Maybe we should take you to a doctor.”

“And what? Ask him for a pill for alien aftereffects?”

“You don’t have to tell them about the tentacles---”

Crap. Someone please rewind time right now so that I can take that back.

Dean’s stare was cold and suspicious.

Crap, crap, crap!

“How the hell do you know?!”

“Uh, know what?” Oh yea. This was bad. Really, really bad.

“Tell me how you know about… them.” The words came out cold and Dean backed away from him and the toilet until he had scooted far enough that his back hit the side of the tub, and Sam got the creepy feeling that Dean was afraid he was one of them.

“No, Dean. It’s not what you think… I don’t know how it happened but somehow… When I closed my eyes I saw what was happening to you. I saw some of it…”

Dean’s forehead wrinkled in confusion and Sam continued quickly.

“The first time, I closed my eyes and I saw that room with the liquid walls. I saw it all through your eyes. I saw you touch the wall and it was freezing cold. And then I saw you fall down that hole. Dean, it was like I was right there with you, in your head or something. I saw---”

“In my head?”

“Yea. Don’t freak out on me. I don’t understand it either. I don’t know why or how I could see it, but whenever I fell asleep it was like I was living it with you. I saw and felt the tentacle things… I just… I wanted to stop them…”

Dean’s eyes were wide and it suddenly came to Sam that he looked like a frightened child who’d just been told that monsters really did exist.

“You saw what they did to me?”

Sam nodded, started to speak, and then found he had no idea what to say. What possible words of comfort could make what they did better, could make it all ok?

Dean wrapped his arms around himself and Sam reached up and pulled down one of the towels and tossed it to him.

“I lost it up there, Sammy.” He shook his head, as if in disbelief at his own weaknesses. “I just wanted them to kill me.” He pulled the towel around his shoulders and studied the dirt patterns on the floor. “I didn’t want to come back. I just wanted to die.”

“I know,” Sam murmured, “I heard you begging them.”

Dean’s head snapped up and he actually laughed, low and bitter. “You heard that?”

Sam nodded, his trademark, sad puppy dog eyes resting on Dean sympathetically.

“I never thought I would ever beg anyone. And when I did it up there, I didn’t even care that I was giving in. It hurt so bad that I just wanted it to end.”

“You don’t have to explain it to me. I would have done the same thing.”

“I hate being pathetic.”

“You’re not pathetic. Anyone in that position would have done anything to make it stop.”

They grew quiet and Dean stood up, clearly ready to end the conversation. “I think I’m done puking for now. And as beautiful as this bathroom is, I prefer sleeping in a bed.”

“Dean, shouldn’t we…”

“What?”

“Talk about what happened up there? Maybe it’ll help if you---”

“No,” Dean said firmly. “I’m not going to talk about it. Ever.”

At that moment, it finally occurred to Sam that this was just something else for Dean to keep bottled up inside, buried deep just like everything else that threatened to break down his tough guy image. That’s great, Sam thought. Something else to fuck up our family. Add it to the list.

----------
The digital clock read 4:01am in bright red digits the next time Sam woke up to Dean’s cries.

He was sitting on Dean’s bed in a heartbeat this time, yelling at him to wake up, trying to pull him from the grip of the tentacles with only loud words.

Still half asleep, Dean muttered into the pillow, “It hurts so bad, Sammy. Make it stop…”

Sam laid down next to him, afraid to get too near and accidentally touch him. “I want to but I don’t know how.”

“They killed her,” Dean said, a little more awake but his voice still muffled with sleep.

“Who?”

“The girl I tried to save in the forest. They killed her right in front of me.”

It only gets worse, Sam thought.

To Dean, he said, “It’s not your fault. There was nothing you could do.”

“She was screaming for me to do something, and I couldn’t help her; I couldn’t save her, Sam.”

“It’s not your fault, Dean.”

They had both been silent for so long that Sam thought Dean had gone back to sleep. He started to get out of the bed when Dean whispered, “I’m scared.”

Sam surprised himself when he said, “Nothing’s going to hurt you. I’m here.” They were the exact same words that Dean had said to Sam many nights as they were growing up when Sam had whimpered that he was scared. Even at 4 in the morning the irony didn’t brush by Sam unnoticed.

“Don’t leave me.”

Don’t leave me. Almost always what Sam had responded with in the past.

So Sam finished it with what Dean had always ended those conversations with: “Never.”

“This is pretty ironic.”

Sam almost laughed out loud when Dean broke the strange little moment with the exact words that Sam was thinking.

“I know.”

“But really… don’t leave me, ok?”

“I won’t. Maybe you won’t dream if somebody else is laying next to you.”

“Maybe,” Dean mumbled sleepily.

----------
This was turning into one of the longest nights of Sam’s life.

Dean groaned and moaned next to him, but Sam didn’t start yelling at Dean to wake up until he heard him start whimpering in his sleep. Dean never whimpered. He just didn’t.

The clock read 5:15am, and Sam wanted to smash it into thousands of tiny little pieces.

“Get outta me… nooo…” Dean let out a gasp of pain and Sam could too clearly imagine the part that Dean was dreaming about.

He was cocooned in the blankets so Sam risked shaking him to bring him out of it faster.

With a gasp, he opened his eyes and rolled over to face Sam.

“I hope they all burn in hell one day,” Dean said flatly.

“So do I.”

“I wouldn’t mind a trip to hell just so I could watch.”

“I’ll bring the popcorn.”

“I’ll bring the M&Ms.”

“You don’t bring M&Ms to hell.”

“Why not, smart ass?”

“Because they’d melt.”

“Damn. No candy. No wonder I’ve heard it sucks down there.”

“You ok?”

“Not really.”

“What is it?”

“It just… hurts. Everything hurts.”

“I wish I could fix all of this for you.”

“You can’t fix this.”

It stung to hear those words, because he knew they were true. This was the one that couldn’t be fixed.

“I know I can’t.”

“It would hurt worse if I was alone.”

Sam caught Dean’s eye across the pillows. Perhaps Dean had avoided chic flick moments for so long that he was going to get all of them out in one week and then swear Sam to secrecy.

“Well, you’re not alone.”

“Thanks… for just being here.”

“Hey, we are brothers, right? God knows I gave you enough crap growing up that I owe you something.”

“Yea, you do.”

“Hey…”

“What?”

“Just go back to sleep, Dean.”

“Yessir.”

“Shut up.”

“Bite… never mind.”

Sam snorted into the pillow and went to sleep.

----------
At 8am they were ready to walk out the door and continue their aimless road trip across the United States.

Exhausted, Dean plopped down in one of the motel chairs by the door. He had been moving slowly and painfully all morning. Sam watched him from across the room with mournful eyes.

“Stop looking at me like that. I’ll be ok.”

“How am I looking at you?”

“Like a little kid that just saw their dead dog along side the road.”

“Great. Thanks. Nice imagery for 8 in the morning.”

“No kidding. So stop looking at me like that.”

“I can’t help it.” Sam rummaged through his bag of clothes and found the sappy “I love you” note from a week ago tangled up in a pair of his pants.”

“Hey, Dean?”

Dean grunted at him in response.

“Remember that fight we had a week ago? The one that started with your dirty clothes and ended with you driving off?”

“How could I forget it? I drove to the bar down the street and had the worst tasting beer ever.”

“I wrote you this note after it.” He tossed it into Dean’s lap and watched him read it.

Maybe giving him the note was a mistake, because Sam knew he was in for some stupid comment when Dean looked up from it grinning. “Sammy loves me? He really loves me? Be still my beating heart.”

“Whatever.”

“And you wrote it in the bathroom. That’s kind of gross, dude.”

“I was going to give it to you after we got back from the hunt that night…”

Dean’s grin disappeared. “Oh.”

“Listen, I---”

Loud banging on the door stopped them and Dean started to stand up, groaning.

“Sit down. I got it.”

Their father filled the doorway, and Sam stepped back in surprise. “Dad?” How the hell?! His thoughts flew to Dean and he stood up straighter, already preparing himself to physically keep his father from showing up in person to dole out an onslaught of mental abuse that Dean didn’t need.

“Dad?” Dean parroted Sam’s question and he quickly stood up from his spot in the chair.

At Dean’s voice, John pushed past Sam in the blink of an eye and stood directly in front of his oldest son.

Sam prepared himself to slide in between them any second.

Dean’s face was full of confusion. “Dad, how did you---” John suddenly caught him up in a tight hug that seemed to last quite a while. Silence hung over the room as John continued to hold on to him, as if to convince himself that Dean was really and truly alive.

When he finally pulled back, he put his hands on Dean’s shoulders and looked him in the face.

Sam bit his lip at the pained expression that was pasted on Dean’s face from all of the touching.

Still not releasing Dean from his grip, John said, “What did they do to you?”

Dean brushed his father’s hands away, backed up, and said, “Nothing.”

“Nothing? Dean, Sam called me freaking out, saying he saw them hurting you and he couldn’t do anything about it. What the hell happened to you?!”

The look of surprise Dean sent Sam’s way at the realization that he had actually called their dad for help made Sam blush and study the carpeting with faked fascination.

“Nothing worth repeating,” Dean finally answered.

“This is bigger than either of you realize. I need to know everything that happened in that town. Tell me what they did, Dean.”

“No.” Sam looked up at him in shock. Dean’s face had taken on a stubborn determination that he normally never used with John. “I’m not going to talk about it. Don’t make me relive it like that, Dad.”

John’s face actually softened and he stepped closer. “You don’t look so great.”

“Well, thanks.”

“Did they make you sick or something?”

“I’m just tired.”

“He dreams about it every night,” Sam said. “He hardly got any sleep at all last night.”

“Oh, Dean.” John’s voice caught in his throat and Sam swore he saw the glittering of tears come into his eyes. Unusually affectionate, he started to pull Dean into another hug, but Dean backed away quickly until his back hit the wall.

John looked baffled and Dean said, “Don’t touch me. It hurts.”

John looked at Sam questioningly before saying, “I think we need to sit down and talk. You boys need to tell me as much as you can about what happened in Gulf Breeze, because something is targeting us and it all ties into that damn town. And I finally need to tell you what happened to me in August 2004.”

Dean glanced at Sam in confusion before turning back to their father. “What do you mean something’s targeting us? What’s going on, Dad?”

John sat down on the edge of Dean’s bed and ran a hand through his hair. “I should have told you that summer, Dean. This never would have happened. I should have just told you… I’m sorry.”

“Wait. You somehow knew this was going to happen?” Sam wanted to throw a punch at his dad, the wall, something.

“I knew something bad would happen if you went to Gulf Breeze. I didn’t know it would be---” he paused and for a moment it looked like he was going to either cry or laugh hysterically before he finally spat the last word out as if it burned his tongue. “Aliens.”

“Tell us what you know,” Dean said.

Several hours later it was all out in the open, excluding the details of what happened up there, because Dean refused to tell and Sam would never repeat the things he saw to anyone. Ever.

----------
They drove long and hard, aiming toward a purpose for the first time in days, the taillights of their Dad’s truck guiding them back. Back to the town that John believed held all of the answers. But for Dean and Sam it held memories that they would rather forget.

Sam was behind the wheel again, willing to let Dean catch up on sleep in the car. But instead of sleeping, Dean was gazing out the window, worry etched on his face.

“You sure you’re ok with this?”

Dean snorted. “Of course I’m not ok with it. I’d wipe that town off the face of the earth if I could. But it’s the only place that might have answers.”

Going back felt wrong to Sam, and he wasn’t afraid to voice that opinion again. “There’s no reason for Gulf Breeze to have answers. The only thing it’s had for us so far is a trap.”

“What are we supposed to do, Sam?”

“I don’t know, but this doesn’t feel right.”

June 29th, 2006

They’re surrounding him again. All he can see in every direction he looks are long, cruel, fleshy ropes moving in the air, reaching out to touch him.

One slithers up his side and he recoils at the burning sting it brings to his leg and every area of skin it touches as at makes its way up, past his hip, into his shirt.

“Noooo… please…” he moans. Not this. Not again.

Another comes out of the shadows, glides over the bed sheet like a snake, brushes past his hair, and slides underneath him, down his back.

Others come out of the darkness, enveloping him, smothering him. And he whimpers. He whimpers because this shouldn’t be happening. How can this be happening?! They shouldn’t be with him here in his bed, under the covers where it’s supposed to be safe. This shouldn’t keep happening every night.

There’s at least a dozen of them. They wrap around his entire body, tugging, pulling, feeling him up in a way that nothing, no one, ever should. He prepares to scream but one closes in on his mouth, covering the entire bottom half of his face and stinging his lips like acid.

The strange part is, they never cover his nose, as if they know that would cut his oxygen off and kill him. And apparently they don’t want that. He can sense that they want him alive.

They crawl around under his clothes, leaving no piece of skin untouched, and exploring even his most private of areas. The pain brings tears to his eyes until he’s sobbing and gasping for air underneath the tentacle over his mouth. He can’t fight them, can’t even brings his hand up and swat at one of them, because they wrap around like stinging rope and hold his arms and legs to the bed, reducing him to a powerless, sobbing mess.

Somewhere beyond the nightmare of cold tentacles, he knows his dad and Sam are sleeping elsewhere in the room, and he wants nothing more than to call out to them so that they can come to him and end this nightmare. Frustration nearly edges out his fear because they’re so close, yet he can’t call to them.

And then one enters him, like they did when he was up there, like they did last night, except it doesn’t even bother going through his eyes first this time, like they did the past two times. This time it skipped down and entered through elsewhere, a place Dean doesn’t even want to think about, except that it’s all he can think about because it hurts worse than anything he’s ever felt in his entire life.

And that’s when he finally lets his mind admit to the word he wanted to deny for the past week, ever since they first did it to him. They’re fucking raping him, and now it’s even worse because it’s in his own bed, on his own turf.

The one over his mouth lifts, hangs in the air inches from his lips, and he’s not sure if it’s going to climb into his mouth or attempt to kiss him. Before it does either he lets out a gut wrenching scream that’s loud enough to rattle the window.

It slices across his face in what he guesses is supposed to be a slap of punishment for screaming. The other one, the one he would rather ignore if only it were possible to ignore pain like that, claws its way out of him and slithers around to his front, making its way up his stomach, straight to his neck where it wraps itself and causes him to choke.

Strong hands grab his shoulders and shake him fiercely, frantically.

“Wake up, Dean!”

He tries to say something but sputters instead, because the tentacle around his throat won’t let go. The pressure of the hands sting until he can’t tell the difference between the helping hands trying to wake him and the other things still crawling around his body.

“Your hands are hurting him, Dad!”

“No, we have to wake him!”

The tentacle on his neck loosens and he moans out, “Make them go away…”

“Make what go away, son? Wake up! Pull yourself out of it!”

And he tries. He tries to ignore the things around his body and concentrate on the voices of his family, the hands that are pulling him into a sitting position and shaking him again.

Finally, the tentacles seem to release their various holds on parts of his body. He wrenches away from them, throws himself out of the bed, and runs. Still in a half dream-like state, he practically falls out of the motel door and races into the parking lot, intent on getting as far away from the bed and that entire room as he can. And he only hopes that they don’t follow him this time, like they did the night he crawled into the bathtub.

“Dean! Wait!”

“Stop!”

“What are you doing?!”

“Come back!”

A bright light filled his vision to the left and he turned to it, confused, as a car swerved to the right to avoid hitting him. It honked and drove on, the rolled up windows most likely blocking out some angry swearing.

He tripped and fell knees first onto the wet pavement. He was too tired to run anymore so he sat there, still half asleep, hurt and confusion his only company in the early hours of the moonless predawn.

And then Sam was by his side, crouching next to him and asking if he was all right.

He was so far from all right that it wasn’t even funny. It had taken him days to figure it out and now that the truth of what was happening finally occurred to him he almost wished that the car had hit him.

The dreams weren’t dreams. They were real. Somehow, in some cruel cosmic joke, they were real. The things, the so-called aliens, hadn’t released him after all. Because they found him wherever he was every night and continued the exploration they had begun up there.

Oh God, it’s not over, he thought. Maybe it’ll never be over.

John finally jogged up and stood nearby, letting Sam handle this freaked out, terrified Dean that John had never seen before.

“Dean, are you ok?”

He finally looked up and met Sam’s eyes. “No…” I’m not ok. I’ll never be ok ever again.

“What can I do? What---”

Dean cut him off, only half hearing the worried questions starting to spill out of Sam’s mouth. “They’re real, Sammy. All of it’s real.”

Sam’s face turned into a large, hanging question mark. “What are you talking about?”

John moved in closer.

“The dreams. They aren’t just dreams. It’s all real.”

“No,” Sam shook his head, “it was just a dream. You’re safe now.”

“They’re real,” Dean insisted.

John spoke. “We were right there, Dean. There was nothing in the bed with you.”

“But they were there anyway,” Dean said. He fought back the tears, determined not to cry, because crying in the middle of a parking lot would mean they really had succeeded in breaking him. And dammit, he was not going to break! Not like this with his dad and baby brother watching. Not ever.

“There wasn’t anything or anyone on you or around you,” John said tiredly.

“I’m not going crazy.”

“We didn’t say you were,” Sam jumped in quickly.

“But you’re both thinking it.”

“How do you know it’s real?” Sam asked gently, using that maddening sweet voice he always saved for victims he was trying to coax information out of.

Dean hesitated. The pain afterwards was certainly real. That was the only proof he had. “Think about it. I always hurt after every dream, and it’s getting worse every time. If they were just dreams it should go away when I wake up, right?”

Sam and John paused, trying to find a logical way to explain away the pain after the dreams.

“Man…” Sam breathed after a moment. “How can this be happening?”

“I have shitty luck,” Dean responded.

“It’s them, The Greater Evil bastards. They’re using these aliens to make sure we never fight their kind again.” John’s voice was low and dangerous, laced with anger. “I’m going to kill them.” He turned and stalked across the parking lot back into the motel room.

Sam stood and pulled Dean to his feet. He put his hand on Dean’s back to steady him and help him back to the room.

“Don’t…” Dean said, flinching.

Apologies flooded Sam’s eyes and Dean said, “It’s ok. I can make it back on my own” before Sam could start in with the I’m sorries he was using so often lately.

In the motel, John was already sitting with the laptop on in his lap, searching for answers or help of some kind.

Sam laid down on his bed and Dean stood in the middle of the room. “I’m not getting back in that bed,” he said after a moment and went into the bathroom to shower and get dressed.

----------
“You can’t live off of that stuff,” Sam said, glancing at Dean in the passenger seat.

“Yea, well I don’t plan on ever sleeping again.” He downed another gulp of coffee.

“That’s like, your seventh cup since this morning.”

“Eighth,” Dean corrected. “And we’re going to need to find a bathroom soon.”

Sam rolled his eyes, and Dean flashed him a grin.

“I’ve been thinking,” Dean began.

“That’s never a good thing.”

“Shut up. I’ve been thinking that we should get a cameraman to follow us around.”

“Why?”

“We could make money off of what we do!”

“You’ve had too much coffee.”

“What? It’s a good idea. We could have our own show.”

“Ghostbustin’ Across America?” Sam suggested.

“I was thinking Supernatural.”

“Sounds super lame. No one would ever watch it.”

“You’d be surprised at what people watch.”

“Like Oprah?”

Dean pointed at him seriously. “You promised you’d never mention that again.”

“I lied. So why do you think people would watch our little show?”

Dean shrugged. “The same reason people pay to go see a scary movie. They like to be scared.” He took another sip of coffee and grinned at Sam over the rim of the cup. “And because I’m hot.”

“Not to mention vain and a pain in my ass.”

“But you still love me.”

“Jerk.”

“Do you like to be called bitch?”

Sam groaned. “You and too much coffee have never been a good mixture. Why don’t you just try to nap here in the car? I’ll be right here.”

“No.”

“You’re really scared, aren’t you?”

Dean’s forehead wrinkled as he frowned in annoyance. “Didn’t we already cover that? Yes, I’m scared. Get over it.”

“I didn’t say it to rub it in. I’m just worried about you.”

“I’ll be fine,” Dean muttered, “as long as I have coffee.”

“Which means you’re going to be flying high on that stuff and make me and Dad suffer through your talking all night.”

“Yea, pretty much.”

--------
Must go wash the angst off now. Ahem. Anyway, I really, really appreciate comments and feedback so bring it on!

Chapter 06

Mon, 07 Aug 2006 03:33:23 GMT

You Can’t Fix This
Chapter 04 :: Break The Silence

June 26th, 2006

Sam had no idea where they were. All he knew was that it was some lonely, two lane road out in the middle of no where. And the road sucked.

Dean slept tucked down in the passenger seat, arms crossed, head resting against the window.

They hadn’t spoken since yesterday. In fact, Dean’s last words to him for 24 hours had been Don’t touch me.

Those words had hurt worse than the silence. He tried to understand. After those things -he still couldn’t bring himself to think the word aliens- had violated him to such an unbelievable degree, of course he didn’t want to be touched. Probably didn’t want hands or anything near him ever again. Sam spent many of the long, silent hours on the road convincing himself that it wasn’t just him, Sam, that Dean didn’t want near him. He would have said it to anybody. Right?

Still, Sam wasn’t so sure.

He hit a pothole that jolted the entire car, and Dean’s head cracked against the glass of the window.

Fucking great!

Dean sat up dazed and rubbed his head, wincing in pain.

“Oh my God, Dean! I’m so sorry! Are you ok?”

“Fine.” Mumbled in his direction.

“There are potholes everywhere out here. I keep trying to avoid them but that one was too big…”

He didn’t want to admit that he hadn’t seen that one because he’d been lost in thought over whether Dean was scared of him or not.

Dean still rubbed his head where it had smacked into the glass, and Sam wanted to slam his own head into a window. “Are you sure you’re ok?”

“Yea.”

The whole take care of your brother thing he had promised Claira? Not going so well.

----------
Sam couldn’t remember what fucking state they were in! The last state sign he remembered seeing said, “Welcome to Tennessee” but he thought they had passed another one since then, and it was driving him crazy that he couldn’t pull the memory of what it said through the muck of grogginess in his brain.

Sam pulled the motel curtain over the window to block out the night.

Normally, he would just ask Dean where they were, but Dean had been sleeping most of the time and had only woken to use the bathroom and eat ever so often. And even when they stopped to eat Dean refused to go into the places. Sam would have to go in, order something to go, and bring it out to him and they’d eat it in the car. He mostly tried to find drive-throughs so that he didn’t have to get out of the car and leave Dean’s side.

Neither brother bothered with the TV. They were both in bed by 10:30 and at 10:33 Sam could hear the deep breathing of sleep coming from Dean’s side of the room.

----------
Somebody was yelling loud enough to jolt Sam from a deep sleep. Catching sight of Dean’s empty bed, he threw his feet to the floor in record time and followed the strangled screams into the bathroom.

Dean was hunkered down in the grimy tub, sitting the same way he had been the night Sam had found him out in the rain, with his knees pulled up to his chest and arms hugging the knees. Rocking slightly back and forth, he was gasping and letting out loud bursts of strangled cries while staring in terror at the wall in front of him.

In one effortless leap Sam was at the tub side, kneeling down. “Dean! Dean, what’s wrong?! What happened?!”

He didn’t look at Sam, didn’t answer, and Sam started to get seriously worried. Wasn’t there some sort of mental condition where people developed fits like this?

He touched Dean’s arm, causing the older brother to groan deeply in response, as if he hadn’t even seen or heard Sam walk into the room and talk to him. His face was streaked with tears. The way his eyes darted around the room wildly freaked Sam out. It was if… he sees them here in the room, Sam thought.

Sam grabbed his arm and didn’t let go when Dean tried to shake him off.

“Dean! Listen to me! You’re in the motel bathroom! It’s ok! You’re---”

“GET AWAY FROM ME!”

Jesus, they were going to kick them out of the motel for disturbing the peace.

“It’s just me. It’s Sam.”

“Stop touching me! Please just stop!” He started sobbing uncontrollably and Sam could picture in his own mind what it was Dean thought he was seeing; he could almost see the tentacles reaching greedily toward his brother again.

Without even thinking about what he was doing, Sam climbed into the tiny bathtub with Dean and sat opposite him. Two grown men in a tiny bathtub made for a tight squeeze, especially with Sam’s long legs, so he pulled them into an Indian fold.

The sobs hadn’t stopped with Sam’s sudden presence in the tub. In fact, Dean didn’t even seem to notice that he was now sharing his space with another body.

Sam grabbed his brother’s shoulders and shook him. “Snap out of! You’re ok! I fucking swear to you, Dean, I’m not letting those things come near you again! It’s not going to happen a second time!”

Dean finally looked at him through puffy, red eyes, and Sam unfolded his legs, placed one on each side of Dean, slid closer, and wrapped his long arms all the way around his brother, enveloping knees and all. Instead of protesting, Dean dropped his head to his arms again and cried.

As Sam watched his tough as nails brother cry and shudder in his arms, he found it hard to believe that this was the same man he’d known all his life. With the tough façade Dean always put up completely gone for the first time in decades, it was like Sam was seeing Dean for the first time, really and truly seeing him. And what he saw was someone just as mentally and physically fragile as any other human being. Sure, Dean wasn’t made of glass, but he had his breaking point just like anyone else, and those bastards up there had found it and then used it against him over and over.

Sam had come so close to losing him this time and it made him see just how much he loved his brother; how much he needed him. He held on to Dean just a little tighter and said, “It’s ok, Dean. Everything’s going to be ok now.” He wished he could make himself believe that. Somehow, Sam knew that things would never be completely ok again; not after all of this.

Through gasps and tears, Dean said, “I can’t make it go away, Sam! I can’t stop seeing them every night!”

Sam rubbed his back in a soothing, circular motion. “It’ll get better one day. I promise. And until then, I won’t leave your side.” God, Sam knew it was all so cheesy, but it didn’t matter. The whole damn situation was a nightmare. A little cheese sprinkled on top wasn’t going to hurt. And he meant every word he said.

“It’s like all of it keeps happening over and over… and I just want it to go away…”

“It will go away. It’s just going to take some time.”

“Oh God, it still hurts,” Dean sobbed into his folded arms.

“Look at me, Dean. Stop seeing them and look at me.”

Dean finally looked up at Sam again. His eyes were red and bloodshot and Sam had to bite back tears for his brother. Crying now wouldn’t help either of them at all. Instead, he brought his hand up and brushed back a few strands of ruffled hair from Dean’s forehead.

“It’s like I still can’t escape them,” Dean whispered, finally meeting Sam’s eyes.

“Remember that time when I was eight and I accidentally slammed your fingers in the car door?”

Dean blinked at him, confused. “Yea…”

“Remember what you did to me afterwards?”

A small smile played on Dean’s lips and Sam nearly let loose with his own tears at the sight of it.

“Yea…”

“What was it you did again? I think I’ve blocked the horrible memory out of my head.”

“Super glued your underwear to the outside of your only pair of pants.”

“Oh yea.” Sam smiled knowingly at the memory. “That was cruel.”

“It was brilliant.”

“I couldn’t get the glue out in time for school the next morning. It was horrible. I was scarred for life.”

“No, you super gluing my hand to that beer bottle was horrible.”

“Now that was brilliant.”

“The hell it was! That shit hurt!”

“You had it coming.”

“And it was the same hand you slammed in the door when I was 12. Why don’t you just chop it off next time!”

“But then how would I be able to carry out my plan of super gluing you to the door handle of the Impala one day? Besides, like I already told you, you had it coming. That itching powder… you just don’t put itching powder there. It’s just… wrong.”

“Itching powder isn’t as bad as superglue.”

“What? I did you a favor. You like beer!”

“Not enough to live with it glued to my hand, dude.”

“You’re just pissed that I got you back.”

“What? I can’t hear you. My head’s still ringing from you smacking my skull against the car window.”

Sam exaggerated a groan. “I knew you weren’t going to let that one go.”

“Your driving sucks.”

“Whatever.”

“I think I’m ready to get out of this tub.”

“Yea, I think it’s normally a general rule that brothers don’t sit in a tub together.”

“And your freakishly long leg is digging into my side.”

“Oh. Sorry.”

“Get out.”

“What?”

“Climb out first.”

“Oh, ok.”

Sam pulled his legs in, stood up in the tiny space, shuffled around to get a better angle to climb out, and stepped on Dean’s hand.

“Ow fuck!”

Sam dropped back down and knelt in front of Dean. “Oh my God! I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to!”

Dean cradled his hand as tears came to his eyes again.

“Are you ok? God, I’m so sorry!”

“It’s the same hand again!”

“Huh?”

“The same hand you slammed in the car door and glued to the beer bottle.”

“Oh man, Dean. I didn’t mean to. It was an accident. I’m---”

“I know you didn’t mean to. Just get out of the tub before you step on anything else.”

Sam scrambled out, then reached back and pulled Dean to his feet by grabbing his good hand and hauling him up.

They walked out of the bathroom and Dean said, “We never talk about this again.”

Thinking he meant the entire thing with the aliens, Sam said, “Dad’s going to want to know every detail.”

“About our story time in the bathtub?”

“Oh. That. Never mind.”

Dean’s eyes dropped to the floor and he got quiet for a moment. “I’m going back to bed.”

“Me too.”

Minutes later Dean’s voice came to Sam as they lay in the dark. “Hey...”

Sam almost jumped up from his own bed and rushed to Dean, afraid he was already seeing tentacles coming at him from out of the inky blackness that hung in the room.

“Don’t think I’m not going to get you back for the superglue on my beer bottle.”

Sam groaned in response.

“I’m just waiting for a good opportunity.”

“Whatever, jerk.”

Sam waited for the normal response to that word, but Dean was quiet.

“Dean?”

“What, bitch?”

“I was waiting for you to call---”

“I know you were.”

“You’re such an ass.”

“Thanks.”

Several minutes ticked by.

“Dean?”

“What?”

“Are you… are you better now?” He didn’t know how else to word it. What he wanted to say was Is that all it took to break that shitty spell they put over you?

“My hand still hurts.”

“I meant---”

“I know what you meant.” He paused and Sam thought he wasn’t going to answer the question. “I don’t know.”

“That’s ok. I’ll be by your side no matter how long it takes. We’re going to make it through this, Dean. Together.”

Sam braced himself for a smart ass retort when he heard Dean’s heavy sigh. But all that came was a soft, almost defeated sounding, “Ok.”

Several more minutes of silence passed and Sam laid on his back, squinting at the ceiling.

“Sam?”

“Yea?”

“Uh… thanks. For… you know. Being here for me and whatever.”

Sam smiled at the ceiling. “You’re welcome. Night.”

“Night.”

I love you, Dean, Sam added silently, rolled over, and went to sleep.

July 27th, 2006

“Your phone’s ringing, dude.”

“I know,” Sam replied, not moving to answer it, instead keeping his gaze steady on the road and hands on the wheel.

“Well it’s annoying me.”

“It’s Dad.”

“I know.”

“I hung up on him the other day”

“I know.”

“It’s not gonna be pretty.”

“I know.” Dean flipped the phone open and Sam groaned. “Hi Dad.”

Dean paused and Sam readied himself to listen in on the phone conversation of the century.

“Hung up? Oh, you mean when the signal dropped out?”

Sam met Dean’s eyes across the car and smiled thankfully, and then wondered what kind of father asks about being hung up on before freaking out over talking to the son that he’d been told had been taken and tortured.

“Yea, I guess I’m ok,” Dean was saying.

He paused. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

Another pause.

“I don’t want to talk about it, Dad.”

Dean sucked in his breath and stared straight ahead. “It was… I don’t know what they were.”

Sam could barely keep his eyes on the road he was so interested in what Dean was saying.

“They didn’t do… I don’t know… It was awful, ok? I don’t want to talk about it.”

Dean’s fingers were digging into the seat. Sam could tell John was hounding him for details, and he wanted nothing more than to rip the phone out of Dean’s hand and tell the man off.

“No sir. I just don’t want to relive it by talking about---”

Dean sighed, long and heavy.

“I don’t know. I just wanted to check the town out again---”

His face reddened as he paused and listened to whatever his father was saying to him.

“You never told me anything. We just left.”

A long pause and Sam could practically hear his Dad’s voice getting louder over the line.

“Well maybe you should have told me the reason you freaked out that night.”

Pause.

“We’re in all this together. I think I deserved to know what happened.”

Sam was going to freaking ruin the steering wheel the way his nails were digging into it.

“No, it was my idea to go back. Sam didn’t know we’d ever been there. I thought we could help the people. It was all my idea.”

Dean glanced at Sam and looked away quickly when Sam gave him a “you liar” look.

“Listen Dad, it was my fault, ok? It was just a stupid mistake---”

Sam was mentally telling himself to pull off the road long enough to throw the phone to the ground and stomp it to pieces.

“Sorry,” he mumbled into the phone, “I know we can’t afford to make mistakes. I paid for it, ok? Lesson learned.”

That’s fucking it! The car skidded to a stop as Sam slammed the brakes.

“What the hell, Sam?!”

He snatched the phone out of Dean’s hand so fast that the older brother just stared blankly at him, his hand still held up to his head where the phone had been.

Sam leaped out of the car and yelled into the cell, “Dean just went through hell, Dad! He doesn’t need you bitching at him, so back off! Just. Back. Off. Why can’t you just be happy that he made it out alive? Because you have no fucking idea; you don’t know how close you were to losing a son!” Sam was nearly in tears from the anger and the idea that their dad never understood, never appreciated Dean the way he should, and now, when he should be crying through the phone that Dean was alive and well, he had him apologizing for not obeying orders!

Dean was by Sam’s side before he realized it and reaching for the phone. “Ok, Sam. That’s enough. Just hand---”

Sam wrenched away. He wasn’t quite done yet.

“And you know what, sir? It was me who insisted we go to Gulf Breeze, and even after Dean told me what had happened when you two were there, I still insisted that we stay! I dragged Dean out there that night and it’s because of me that he got abducted by aliens and was put through hell! It’s my fault, so if you want to yell at somebody, yell at me!” Small tears were squeezing out of Sam’s eyes by the time he finished. The weight of everything that happened in the past week finally got to him and just broke and something seemed to rip loose when he actually said out loud that it was his fault.

Stunned silence met him on the other end of the line, and Sam could almost picture his Dad’s mouth hanging open at all of it, especially the alien abduction part… He dropped the phone and it clattered across the road.

Furious at himself for breaking down while standing on the side of the road, Sam wiped his arm across his face to brush the whole scene away.

Dean stood staring at him for a minute.

“Is that true? You actually blame yourself?”

Sam nodded pathetically.

“You’re such an idiot.”

Surprised, Sam looked over at him. “What?”

“You think you somehow could have stopped everything that happened?”

“We both know it’s my fault we even went to Florida in the first place. And if that weren’t bad enough, I guilted you into staying.”

“You didn’t guilt me into anything. I wanted to stay.”

“You did?”

“You think I actually would have stayed if I really wanted us to leave? I would have knocked you over the head and thrown you into the car or something. But I knew we couldn’t turn our backs on those people. And… I was kind of curious to see what it was.”

“You were?”

“Yea. And I saw too much. But it was my own fault. Not yours. We both made stupid moves down there. I still say it’s the salt air that effects people’s brains.”

“Right.”

“Right. Now shut up and get in the car.”

Sam almost smiled as he slid into the driver’s seat and watched Dean scoop up the phone.

“Hey? Dad?” After not getting a response, Dean tossed the phone into Sam’s lap and got into the car. “Way to go, genius. You broke your own cell.”

A few minutes later Dean said, “So are we ok?”

“Yea, of course.”

“So you don’t blame yourself anymore?”

“I guess not.”

“You guess not? I know you, Sam. You take all the guilt onto yourself and it sits inside your head and festers until eventually you’re blaming yourself for cancer and world hunger and God knows what else. This wasn’t your fault.”

“Ok, I know.”

“Say it.”

“Say what?”

“Say it wasn’t your fault.”

“C’mon Dean.”

“No, say it. Because I can’t live with the thought that you think you caused it somehow.”

“It wasn’t my fault.”

“Good. Because there was nothing you could do. Got it?”

“Yea.”

“Ok.”

Dean put Metallica in and Sam smiled at the normalcy that seemed to be returning to their fucked up little family.

----------
John flipped his phone shut so hard that part of it cracked. He cursed and tossed it to the backseat.

Damn Sam for having that outburst! Damn him for always daring to talk back and stand up to him.

Damn him for being right this time.

Yelling at a son he had almost lost was ridiculous; John could see that. But lecturing had become like a second nature to him. When one of his kids did something that caused an unwanted result, he was used to yelling at them so that that mistake would never happen again. But this time had been different. He had come dangerously close to losing… No. He couldn’t even think it.

He should have told Dean that he was glad he was ok, he loved him, he was sorry that he had to go through whatever had happened. Should’ve told him something! Some words that would have comforted him. But comforting wasn’t his thing. He had never been good at it. Hell, he wasn’t even good at comforting himself, much less his kids. And they knew that. Right?

So he had bitched at him instead. But Dean knew him well enough to know that How could you go back to that town after I made it clear to stay away?! How could you have been so stupid?! translated to How could you have put yourself in a position where I could lose you?! Dean knew that. Of course he knew. Sam was softer and didn’t always understand John’s harder ways. He’d never known how to communicate with Sam because every time they were around each other they always seemed to be misunderstanding everything the other said. It was like Sam was floating down the river on a raft, taking it slow and careful, and John blew past on a speedboat and knocked him into the water. Miscommunications never failed to happen, and John had to finally admit to himself that that was mostly his own fault.

But he had never imagined that Dean would go back to that damn town. He thought he had made it clear that place was off limits.

And that was where the tricky part came in, because John then had to admit to himself that it was partly his fault for not telling Dean everything that had happened that night. If he had told him, he knew that Dean never would have gone back there; he would never have let Sam go there either.

Sam’s not to blame for what happened. I am.

The words unsettled him because they rang true. What Sam thought he had caused in a few days, John could have prevented two years ago!

John started the truck and dialed Sam’s number again. His voicemail picked up and John hung up and tried Dean’s cell. There was no ring, just a strange gurgling static sound that hurt his ears.

Crap, crap, crap!

How could he make it right if they didn’t give him a chance?!

If only he hadn’t bitched at Dean. But what was there to say? He was John Winchester. He didn’t cry weepy I love you’s into the phone. It had been either sob that he almost lost a son, or take the alternative that John always preferred: bitch at Dean for making a mistake that could’ve cost him his life so that he didn’t do it again.

According to Sammy, this apparently was not a situation for bitching.

Abducted by aliens. Had he heard that right?

Without realizing that he was doing it, John found himself shuddering at the words. This seemed like one of those problems that he should actually be there for.

John made a simple plan: he was going to get to the bottom of this and then fix it.

--------

Chapter 05