Preface

Don't Stop Believin'
Posted originally on the Archive of Our Own at http://archiveofourown.org/works/684402.

Rating:

General Audiences

Archive Warning:

No Archive Warnings Apply

Category:

Gen

Fandom:

Supernatural

Relationship:

Dean Winchester & Sam Winchester

Character:

Sam Winchester, Dean Winchester

Additional Tags:

Episode Tag, Episode: s07e10 Death's Door, Drama, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Exhaustion, Hallucinations, Hallucifer, Psychological Trauma, Psychological Torture, Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Season/Series 07, Hurt Sam Winchester, Big Brothers, Brothers, Little Brothers, Siblings, Crying, Hugs, Confessions, Brotherly Affection, Affection, Angst, Sibling Love, Grief/Mourning

Language:

English

Stats:

Published: 2013-02-14 Completed: 2013-02-19 Words: 14,365 Chapters: 7/7

Don't Stop Believin'

by fogsrollingin

Summary

Bobby is dead. Sam is crumbling, Dean is falling, and they've got to piece each other together in order to keep on... And it's not easy.

Notes

This story takes off immediately from the end of s07e10: Death's Door.

See the end of the work for more notes

Chapter 1

The lights of the hospital stayed on. Nurses in the hallway kept their usual pace. The emergency room still held children and adults holding themselves or their loved ones in pain. Doctors still wrote prescriptions and updated next of kin on the progress of their patients. The phones were still ringing. The hospital machinery still hummed with activity and beeps.

Outside Bobby's room, Sam and Dean Winchester stared at nothing, the world having stopped for them and for them only. Dean felt like he had been dealt a final blow. He had no more energy. He was drained. He was hopeless, finished.

He couldn't put thoughts together and he didn't want to. His eyes were dry.

Grief wasn't a staged process anymore.

The brothers no longer faced denial, anger, or bargaining sentiments.

Bobby was dead. They didn't have the energy to be angry and they were well aware dealing with a crossroads demon would cause further destruction.

All they had left was acceptance and depression.

Sam was fighting something else entirely in the midst of all this but Dean was caught in tunnel vision. He was frozen; completely unable to find even a nugget of logical, focused reasoning that could help put them both back on track. Perhaps if he didn't move, if he ignored the time passing, then it wouldn't. 

Just give me a second. 5 minutes. An hour. Forever. I don't want this anymore. I don't want this life. I don't want to move past this.

Sam's voice broke through the mounting distance Dean was creating between himself and reality.

"He's a donor. Where do I sign?" He spoke softly, almost in a whisper to the woman Dean hadn't realized was standing in front of them with a clipboard. Dean gave an imperceptible flinch, turned around and walked away without so much as a glance towards his brother.

Sam vaguely registered that Dean was leaving. He finished signing the clipboard and continued to stare at Bobby's room. Unlike Dean, Sam's mind was racing a mile a minute, overwhelmed by Bobby's death and the implications of Bobby's last actions: Bobby had written numbers on his hand, called them, 'idjits,' and died. And it felt like the end. It felt like the end to Sam, and Sam knew it felt like the end to Dean. The boys' last witness was gone: no one was left to know all that they had done. Sam's rational side called to him, though: it is not the end, and those numbers mean something, and you will have to leave the hospital without Bobby forever. And you're going to have to figure out what they mean without him. And you're going to have to keep fighting. A wave of emotion swept through him and he lifted his hand to look at the numbers. These were the last written marks of a man he loved like a father and his implicit message: the hunt always comes first. The last thing Sam wanted to do right now was hunt, though. Sam fought back his nausea as he moved deftly to the bathroom and made his way to the stall.

Sam finished and fell back against the stall door, breathing heavily and sweating. He wiped his forehead and tried to settle himself. He wasn't sure what was going on, but he tried to relax. Tried to keep his breathing regular.

"Okay Sam." Sam looked up in alarm and saw Lucifer's cheshire grin. Lucifer was leaning against the sinks, watching Sam through the stall door still hanging open. Sam touched his hand in haste and pressed down, his face screwed in determination, whispering, "Not real not real not real..." Lucifer watched him and gave a disapproving look of impatience. He swiftly stood up and walked towards Sam quickly. "Time to go home." Sam looked up in confusion and started reacting as if Lucifer were real. He backed up in fear and hit the wall against him. Lucifer arrived at his feet.

"Please don't, no." Sam begged. Lucifer didn't respond. He bent down and reached his hand out and Sam cringed and tried to dodge away from Lucifer's touch.

"Dean! DEAN!" Sam called out just as Lucifer grabbed Sam by the throat and moved him back up to a sitting position. Grasping at Lucifer's arms, Sam gasped out his brother's name one last time before Lucifer touched Sam's forehead with his forefinger.

Dean wandered back to the hospital on automatic, programmed to always eventually come back to Sam. He had wandered around the city like a ghost. Watched people live normal lives. He hadn't really broken down, but he felt worse. He decided to go back to the only person in the world who really knew him now.

He walked to the hallway he'd last seen Sam and didn't find him there. He took the elevator down to the cafeteria and didn't find him there either. He sighed and pulled out his cell phone. It went to voicemail.

"Sam call me back. I'm trying to find you. I'm at the hospital." He clicked his phone shut and put it back in his pocket. He started back to where he had last seen Sam to talk to the nurses there. They might've remembered which direction Sam had gone when he'd left. Dean wasn't concerned; he had taken off... It would make sense if Sam had as well. Although why he wasn't answering his phone... Well, Dean thought, I probably wouldn't have been in the mood if Sam had called me while I was gone. Something bothered him, though. A voice in the back of his head responded: You still would have answered; Sam still would have answered.

Dean's concern for his brother hadn't grown when the elevator ping-ed and the doors opened. Dean once again stepped out into the hallway. He had grown frustrated and upset that his attempts to find his brother were failing. Normally, it would have taken Dean a lot more to become so irritated or bothered by his brother's absence... But not right now. Not when their surrogate father had just died, along with all the rest of their closest friends over the years. Now was the time to know that they would be available to each other at a moment's notice. Sam, usually so perceptive, seemed to have missed that memo. Dean didn't know this, though. He didn't understand: he didn't know if he was pissed, worried, or just anxious. All he knew was that he wanted his brother - and the sentiment's urgency was increasing rapidly.

He walked up to the nurse's desk and spoke with a slow tone. It felt like a lot of effort.

"Excuse me. Have you seen my brother? He's uh... Really tall. Kind of long brown hair... He was here with me... With Robert Singer." Dean's expression briefly flashed pain at the mention of Bobby. Dean could see the wheels turning in the nurse's expression.

"No... I mean I remember him with you... But I haven't seen him around lately." Dean sighed. His own sense of vulnerability further pissing him off. Containing himself, he smacked the desk with restrain and between pursed lips managed a, 'thanks.' He turned around and tried calling his brother again as he started walking out of the hospital. He took the stairs so as not to disrupt the connection. He was fishing his keys out of his pocket while listening to the phone's ringing when he stopped dead at the sound on the other end. It sounded like a click and then the unmistakable sound of movement and air. The line had been picked up.

"Sam? Sam!" Dean listened hard for a response. He heard vague sounds, almost grunts, which sent Dean whirling into concern.

"Sam! Where are you! Sam!" He heard heavy breathing and then the sound of the phone getting picked up. Whoever picked up took an unbearably long time fumbling with the phone and Dean yelled out.

"Sam! Where are you!" Dean noticed his voice echo throughout the hospital's empty stairwell.

"Dean... Dean," Sam whispered, sounding like he was on his death bed.

"Sam! Where are you?"

"I don't know. I'm..." Dean heard the phone land on the ground again and, this time, he heard his brother's muffled pained grunts and cries in the background; the wind was picking up and distorting the sound. Dean just listened in panic, unable to do anything to help his brother... Unable to even get to him. At no other point in time did death seem so real to him at that moment, and Dean was horrified to hear his brother in pain, fearing another loss was close at hand.

"Sam!" Dean tried once more, knowing that Sam wouldn't hear him because he could tell Sam was not close enough to the phone. Dean started hearing through Sam's choking sobs... Sam had relinquished the phone, but knew it was still on.

"Dean. It's just me. Come... Come get me." Sam then launched into another muted sound of anguish. Dean had never heard his brother sound so tortured. His heart beat skipped and sped as he got a better picture of what was happening to Sam from the sounds through the phone.

"Where! Sam where are you?" He yelled in anger, a hint of panic shooting through his vocal chords. He suddenly heard his brother scream for a second and then it abruptly cut off... Then just the sound of heavy breathing and Sam's humming voice pulsing through at each exhale, almost wheezing.

"Dean." Dean blanched when he came to the realization that Sam was actually crying. "Dean please come... Please get here..." Sam sobbed. Dean, empathetic, was nearly in tears himself as he heard his brother's experience through the phone and could do nothing to stop it. He was about to shout as loud as he could through the phone, "WHERE!" so Sam could possibly hear him... But stopped immediately as he heard his brother gasp and yell out in pain, then clamp down on it as soon as he could and finish out with what could only be described as whimpers and wheezes. Silence followed... More than Dean would've liked. Dean listened diligently for any clue as to where Sam could be from the sounds through the phone. The wind blew past the cell phone's receiver and a bird chirped. He heard a train coming in the background. Then he heard a train outside the phone. He turned around and looked out the window to see the train coming in the hospital's direction. Underneath the rails and behind the hospital, a long unoccupied expanse of unattended tall grass fields stretched out along the horizon.

Dean struck out down the stairs at breakneck speed.

"Sam I'm coming!" He yelled into the cell phone, hoping maybe Sam would hear him. He burst out the back doors of the hospital and ran into the field, shouting his brother's name and listening for any kind of response.

"Sammy!" Dean's voice almost broke, he was so scared. All the while he kept his phone to his ear. Suddenly, he heard another loud cry rent the air in the field and through his phone.

"Sammy!" Dean yelled and turned in the direction. What the hell was Sam doing out here? Dean wondered. He slowed down once he got to the location he'd judged to approximate the sound of his brother. He listened closely. Slowly, he got accustomed to the sounds of the waving grass around him. Dean used his intuition and headed in a direction - west.

"Sam? Talk to me!" Dean demanded. He walked slowly, not wanting to make much noise himself so that he could hear every other peripheral sound around him. Also, if something was hurting Sam, there could be more. Dean pulled out his gun at the thought and kept moving.

Eventually, he stopped, not knowing if he was too far off base now. He listened again, intently, and slowly felt like he heard something over to his right. He angled himself that way and trekked cautiously towards the sound.

Chapter 2

Chapter Notes

I have no idea why I made this its own chapter two years ago. My chapters are normally a lot longer. As a result, I'm going to post the third chapter right after this one. Really sorry for the inconvenience! ~ Alex

Dean pushed past the thicket of grass, step after step revealing only about a foot or two ahead of him on the ground. He heard the barest flicker of movement and a soft moan.

"Sammy!" Dean whispered. Dean nearly stepped on his brother as he approached and his visibility improved. It took Dean a second to take in the sight of Sam lying on his side, legs curled in the fetal position, his hands covering his face. He was covered in dirt, as if he'd been rolling around in it for awhile.

Dean collapsed to his brother's side and reached over to Sam's shoulder.

"Sammy!" He yelled in concern. With relief, he saw his brother's shoulders flinch: he was conscious. He grabbed Sam's shoulder and pushed him over onto his back forcefully. Sam immediately cried out in pain and Dean halted.

"What? What is it?" Dean asked solicitously, trying to figure out where his brother was injured. Sam remained silent, his head turned away from Dean, and breathing in sobs.

"SAM?" Dean yelled in anger. He knew his brother was conscious. He knew Sam knew he was there. "Wake UP, you dick! Now!" Dean's words were harsh because he was scared and angry... Sam had to be okay. Dean started rolling his brother onto his back again with pissed off determination. I've had enough of this. Sam, look at me! Dean thought. Sam's cries and weak attempts started up again. Dean set his jaw and rolled his little brother to face the sky so he could see his face. Dean's fear of the situation had increased as he listened to Sam and felt his pathetic strength as he tried to push his big brother off and away. His actions were feeble attempts to keep something away only; there was no fight in his behavior. At this realization, Dean automatically switched gears and became more gentle, touching Sam's forehead and making an effort to push Sam's hands away from his face. Sam gasped and his eyes snapped open.

"Sam! Sam talk to me!" Dean grabbed Sam's shoulder and the other cupped Sam's face, trying to keep his eyes focused on him. Sam stared at Dean blankly for a second. "Sam! Sammy c'mon!" Dean called to his little brother. Dean finally saw the change in Sam's expression... He had never seen his brother look so distraught and despairing. It soon progressed into tears and Sam moved his face towards the hand Dean held next to his cheek. Sam rolled slowly over towards his brother in the dirt. Dean, completely confused but still relieved, accepted Sam's behavior and allowed Sam to come close to him. He didn't understand and kept one hand on his brother's shoulder as his brother worked through whatever was going on. Then he felt Sam's body shake and felt his brother sob under his grasp. Dean moved his head down to Sam's level and whispered.

"Sam, Sam you're fine. Nothing's wrong. Why are you crying?" Dean bluntly asked desperately as he moved closer to his brother. He knew Sam heard him. Sam was breathing heavily on the ground, his face covered in dirt and sweat. Just as Dean came close enough, Sam moved up and, without reservation, hugged his brother. On any other day, Dean would have freezed and eventually allowed the awkward moment to pass. But Dean had just lost Bobby and he had just been terrified for a pretty long time that he had lost his brother. He received Sam's hug with relief and returned the bear grip that Sam had on him.

Eventually, after a few beats of embrace and Sam's continuing silent tears, Dean pulled Sam away from him a little bit. Dean wouldn't break contact with him though; he felt like Sam, as messed up as he was, still anchored him... And Dean didn't want to let go of that yet.

"Sammy... What's wrong with you?" Sam finally looked Dean in the eyes. Dean noticed Sams' were bloodshot and wet, his bangs hanging over them. Dean felt his little brother shaking in his grasp as he tried to get the courage to answer his big brother.

"Dean," Sam whispered, "I wish you were real," he gasped out in despair.

Chapter 3

"What do you mean, Sam? I'm real. We've been over this," Dean replied in an angry tone. Sam's words had caused a sinking sensation in him, though: Dean had experienced it for his brother before and he knew what it was. It was genuine fear. Dean had tackled monsters and witches and creatures that would terrify most, but his most substantial fear had always been embedded in the welfare of his family.

With Bobby dead, Dean was already suffering one of his worst nightmares. Now, Dean considered the last time he had heard his brother say things like this. Sam had pulled his gun out on him. But for all the fear that could have been elicited from a gunshot wound, nothing worried Dean more than his brother losing touch with reality. As strange as that warehouse experience had been, Dean was aware that it could've been much worse... And that's what he was worried about now as he stared with determination into his brother's tortured eyes. Sam couldn't look straight into Deans'. Finally, he responded to Dean after a few beats of swaying under his brother's hold; Dean had to make sure he wouldn't lean and collapse back to the ground again.

"This is what he wants," Sam said with tremors in his voice.

"Who? Lucifer?" Sam flinched at the mention of Lucifer's name. Dean automatically gripped Sam a bit more as a sign of reassurance. "Sam... C'mon man talk to me."

Sam had started just looking down at the ground in weariness; hopelessness.

"You're not real. Lucifer's giving me this time just so he can rip it away from me in the end." Dean digested this explanation, alarmed. "Dean. I'm in the pit," Sam explained to Dean with surefire certainty.

"Sam. No you're not. I'm real. This is real-" Dean stopped speaking as Sam started shaking his head.

"No it's not," he put simply. Dean paused, trying to figure out the best way to start convincing his brother. He looked around in irritation and worry... It was getting dark; close to dusk. In his distracted state, he heard Sam sniff. Dean turned back around, grabbed for and held Sam's elbows. He shook his little brother a little bit to make him focus.

"Hey hey hey... Sam, stay with me, okay? This is important."

"It's not up to me," Sam replied, his head bowing down in depression, allowing Dean to wrap his arm around his back and let Sam's head lean against his chest. Dean could tell his brother was finding comfort in these things and if Dean had to guess, he'd say that Sam was starting to relive his memories in hell... Dean couldn't feel worse on behalf of his brother.

"It's up to you Sammy," Dean responded firmly while holding his little brother. He didn't know what else to say. They were in an overgrown grass field in the back of a hospital. Dean didn't want to take Sam to the hospital, either, because Sam had been right: they would've locked him up and thrown away the key... Especially now.

"Sam, I need to get you to the car. Can you get up?"

Sam didn't respond.

"Sammy?"

"Yeah I... Don't know."

"Try," Dean replied and started to lift his brother up from the ground. Sam lost his balance once, almost falling back onto the ground completely until Dean caught him. From then on, Dean kept his hands firmly on his brother's back and chest as Sam maneuvered his way as best he could through the thicket.

"You're doing good, Sammy."

Sam didn't respond. He just knew nothing was real; he was living a slice of heaven just so Lucifer could destroy him all over again. He was sad, but he was still happy about the illusion - his brother's touch, the smell of the car as he stepped into it... He knew he'd be looking forward to some food soon, maybe. He felt his make-believe brother gently put him in the car and a strong pull of affection overwhelmed him again. Sam's eyes started to water a bit more, but he remained silent. Even in his illusions, he didn't want to worry his brother with his pain: he wouldn't have it any other way.

"Sammy!" Sam snapped out of it and flinched at his brother's intense call. "S'that okay, Sam? We're going to the motel."

"Food," Sam whispered.

"What?"

"Food?" Sam asked sheepishly.

Dean couldn't have been happier to hear that Sam was hungry. It's obviously a step in the right direction; it'd have to be.

"Okay we'll find someplace to pick up food before we get back," Dean agreed with a slight grin and watched Sam's lackluster nod. Dean started the ignition and the music turned on. Dean moved to turn it off but Sam interrupted him.

"Leave it," he whispered softly. It was playing one of Dean's favorites - Rolling Stones - Satisfaction.

"Seriously?"

Sam nodded slowly and Dean turned it down a little bit, but kept it playing. Dean was still scared as hell for his little brother, but the fact that Sam could walk and talk, have an appetite, and allow music in the car... They all pointed up in terms of improvement over the course of the past hour.

Sam listened to the Mick Jagger's drawl and slowly tilted his head towards his brother as he was about to sleep. Dean glanced over.

"Sam, if you do that, you're gonna go back. Don't go to sleep just yet."

Sam's eyes widened with surprise when he'd registered what his brother had just said.

"How do you know?"

"Just don't go to sleep."

Sam looked down at his hand and pressed his palm. He sighed in exhaustion and despair.

"Okay," he replied in acquiescence.

"Don't you want to know why?"

"No I believe you."

"Okay suit yourself," Dean answered. Sam looked at his brother in slight confusion, but let it go. "It's just that if you go to sleep, you might not ever wake up again."

"Okay Dean," Sam responded with feigned indifference. This coming out of his brother's mouth, even his imaginary brother, made Sam feel vulnerable and scared.

"Yeah well. I'm going to hold onto you for as long as I can. I need your help for that."

"Yeah... I mean... Yeah."

"Good."

Sam shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

"How long do you think I can stay here?" Sam asked. Sam watched with mounting apprehension as his brother frivolously shrugged his shoulders in response.

"I dunno Sam. I'm just gonna do my best, all right?" Dean responded, his temper coming through. Sam swallowed nervously and nodded, feeling on the brink of a full melt down. Not even his imaginary brother cared very much about him...

"I'm pulling over. I've had enough of this," Dean said all of a sudden. Sam became more alert, taking in the surroundings of the area they were pulling into while at the same time trying to figure out why Dean was so angry.

"Dean, I'm sorr-" Sam was interrupted by the car door slamming shut by Dean. Sam watched his big brother walk around the front of the car with a mounting sense of instability and fear: Dean was really pissed. Sam, still weak, remained leaning back against the passenger seat. As Dean walked around the car, Sam saw Dean's expression in the headlights: he looked so full of fury that for the first time in his life, Sam was genuinely afraid of him. Sam immediately locked the passenger door to the car so Dean couldn't open it. Sam was slightly mesmerized at this entire display as he sat in the car until Dean came up to his brother's side, discovered it locked, and furiously smacked the door of the car.

"SAM. OPEN THE DOOR NOW."

Sam watched his brother in shock. Dean was absolutely livid with him. Sam shrunk under his brother's glare through the window.

"SAM OPEN THE DOOR," Dean yelled with such a deeply growled sound, Sam felt an automatic need to answer and managed to shake his head minutely.

"Dean something's wrong!" Sam tried to yell out to him, but his voice was trembling.

"I CAN'T HEAR YOU, SAMMY, BECAUSE YOU WON'T OPEN YOUR DAMN DOOR!" Dean responded. "SAM GET THE HELL OUT HERE. WE'VE GOT TO TALK."

Sam's eyes were wide with disbelief as he watched his brother in fear through the window.

"YOU'RE SELFISH. GOOD FOR NOTHING. A DRAIN ON EVERYTHING I'VE EVER DONE."

Dean walked up to the car window as close as he could get to Sam, who had started to cry after hearing Dean's words. Dean whispered through the window to his little brother: "You should've died a long time ago, Sammy." Sam let the tears fall in acknowledgment of these truths. After awhile, Sam started getting upset: he needed to get out of the car and away from Dean so as not to cause him any more pain.

"Let... Let me out. Let me go..." Sam tried to say to no one in particular. He fumbled with the car door in his distress. As soon as he unlocked the door, it was wrenched open by Dean, who was waiting for him. Sam felt his brother pull him out of the car and to the ground, not caring when Sam's head hit the lip of the roof, fell to the ground, and slammed him against the side of the car. Sam whimpered in response to this rough handling, but kept his hands up in the air as a sign that he didn't want to fight... He was already completely broken; he didn't want Dean to hurt him.

"Sam get on the ground you deserve to stay there, damn it," Dean spat with contempt and walked off. Sam stayed where his big brother told him to stay and remained sitting against the closed door of the car. He was softly sobbing and fearing what was going to happen to him when he heard his brother's angry footsteps approach from the back of the car. Sam shrunk in fear, closing his arms across his chest more, lowering his head, and pulling up his knees closer to himself.

In less than 10 seconds he could tell his brother was hovering over him and Sam started to shake in fear. What was Dean doing? He had no choice but to do what his brother wanted; he didn't want to be left alone and he didn't want to go back to the pit. This was his only option. He felt a strong grip pull the back neck of his t-shirt up and then reacted with surprise and pain as he felt a freezing cold liquid pour down his spine. He cried out in surprise and shock, instinctually reaching out to his brother, who was now crouching in front of him. Dean allowed it.

"Sam, Sammy you okay?" Dean asked in desperation, gripping his brother harder than ever before. Watching his brother slowly but surely develop the symptoms of an all-encompassing fear and terror of you while you tried to make conversation during a drive - it had been a really alarming experience. Dean figured throwing some chilled water down his little brother's spine might snap him back. While it had been difficult getting Sam out of the car, it eventually happened, even if Sam was still extremely disgruntled and upset by Dean's presence. After the water and Sam's reach for him, Dean wanted to make sure Sam wasn't going to run from him, or somehow convince himself that Dean was assaulting him, so he held Sam together as they grasped each other. Sam had reached out to him for warmth initially, but as Dean kept his embrace with Sam and spoke calmly to him, he could feel Sam slowly relax under his grip.

"Sam can you hear me? I'm not saying mean things or doing anything wrong, right?" Dean tried to get confirmation that Sam was actually back to reality. Dean felt Sam's head nod by his shoulder. Dean patted Sam's back from the nape of his neck to the center of his back. Sam melted into their hug, so relieved to have his protective brother back. Dean felt vindicated: Sam felt safe again.

Dean was almost in awe of how Sam had reacted to his hallucinations. Dean never knew he could turn Sam into the mess he'd just become, and he felt guilty even though it had been all in Sam's head. He unconsciously gripped Sam closer as he thought this, worried. In every action at that moment, he just tried to communicate to Sam: "I would never hurt you," because although he couldn't read Sam's mind, he got a good idea of what Sam thought he was saying. It made Dean shiver with disgust, hoping Sam didn't remember much of it. Dean noticed Sam's breathing had normalized a bit.

"You okay? We'll hop in the car and you can sleep for a little bit, okay?"

"I can't sleep."

"You need to sleep, Sam."

"You said I couldn't."

"Ever?"

"Or else I'd go back to the pit."

"Do you think that was really me?"

"...I..." Sam concentrated. Dean squeezed Sam's shoulders.

"Okay know what? Doesn't matter."

Dean helped his brother up from the ground back into the car seat. Sam complied patiently and with trust. Once he was in the passenger seat, Dean took a second and pulled out a bottle of water and a couple of sleeping pills from the first aid kit. He came back around to Sam and crouched down so he'd be looking up at Sam in the passenger seat. Dean offered his brother the water and pills.

"Take them."

Sam hesitated, but went ahead and took them. Dean watched.

"Okay listen. If I say things that seem mean or scary to you, you have to assume that that's not me, okay? That you're hallucinating."

"But you were just..."

"Sam. I was trying to talk to you about what restaurant you wanted to go to for dinner take-out."

Sam's eyes widened in surprise, then worry. Dean watched as it slowly turned to shame.

"Sam, don't be upset. It's not your fault. Relax... Everything worked out fine, okay? But don't be scared of me. I'm not ever going to hurt you, okay, Sammy?"

Sam stayed silent through Dean's speech. He gulped and nodded in response.

"Sammy?"

Sam looked up and realized that Dean had been looking for direct eye contact from Sam.

"Yeah okay," Sam managed feebly after a brief cough. Dean nodded and watched his brother a little bit longer. He stood up and gripped Sam's shoulder in reassurance and affection.

"Okay," Dean replied back. He gently closed Sam's car door and walked around to the driver's seat. For a brief moment, Dean was able to close his eyes and wish for Bobby before he got back behind the wheel.

Chapter 4

Dean didn't blink as the road continued to stretch out before him. The radio was off and the silence covered Dean and threatened to smother him. Ever since Dean had put Sam back in the car, he felt like he was suffocating every time he realized that he had no one to go to for help or advice. "This is my brother. This is Sam. I can take care of him," Dean kept trying to tell himself. He had taken care of his brother ever since he could remember. But over the course of these past 7 years, Sam's intense need for independence had reduced the level of responsibility Dean felt for him and Dean had long since dropped any resentment he felt as a result of it. Instead, he felt immense guilt for having caused it. He had allowed Sam to make the choice to accept Lucifer into his body and sacrifice his soul to a fate worse than hell.

The other shoe always drops. These words echoed in Dean's head. He was sure it would happen to Sam eventually and he was frightened at the prospect of handling it by himself. He was expecting Bobby to help him keep Sam in a good place. Because Dean had lost hope in his own ability to do so. Bobby believed in Sam's ability to get better; Dean no longer believed as much as hoped. Dean had felt helpless in the face of Sam's problems so many times throughout the past few years. And now here he was again. With Sam's problems. And helplessness again overwhelmed him. He glanced over at his brother and did a double take. Sam's breathing seemed fast and shallow; his eyes closed.

"Hey. Sam," Dean spoke firmly, his eyes focused on the road still. Sam didn't respond. Dean didn't want to touch Sam, for fear of another round of hallucinations. In the end, he decided on it, though, and reached to gently brush Sam's shoulders.

"Sammy," Dean said again, this time with a gentler tone. Sam didn't respond, but his breathing started to go back to normal. Dean reached up from his brother's shoulder up to his neck in order to check his pulse. It seemed reasonable. Dean sighed and went back to the road. He couldn't think of what to do. He had no idea; he kept drawing blanks at everything. Everything except one thing. Beneath all of this, buried deep down, Dean still felt an intense need and responsibility for Sam. It was this feeling that Dean pulled out from years of disuse that was getting him through the motions with Sam at the moment. Because Sammy was still his little brother and maybe, just maybe, that still meant something to Sam, too.

It was quite literally all that they had, now, Dean realized. They had no one else; Dean had no one else except his brother.

That night... 3 AM

"Dean? Dean!" Sam yelled in panic, having jumped out of bed and rushed to his brother's bedside. Dean reacted on automatic, nearly pulling out his weapon from under the pillow until he heard his brother's voice. He let go and turned around onto his back in bed in order to look at Sam, whose hands were now frantically roaming around his shoulders, chest, and ribs.

"Sam... Sam!" Dean asked while grabbing Sam's hands and holding them at bay. "Dean are you hurt! You're hurt I saw it I saw it," Sam babbled, frenzied.

"Sam. I'm not hurt," Dean replied with patience and sleep in his tone.

"You are... I saw it, Dean..." Sam answered with insistence. Sam struggled to free himself from Dean's grip. Dean let go in order to turn on the light in the motel as Sam continued to search for Dean's injuries. The light illuminated the dingy room with the formica table in the kitchenette, the scorred wooden nightstand between their two twin-sized beds, and Sam, sitting on the bed, leaning over Dean with wide, dilated eyes.

"See, Sam? I'm fine, okay?" Dean finished, allowing Sam to have time to digest this before he shoved Sam away from him. Sam looked at Dean, worried, knowing something wasn't right with what was happening. He straightened on Dean's bed, then leaned back, thinking. Dean propped himself up from the bed a little to look at his brother.

"Sorry," Sam said quietly.

"It's okay, Sam," Dean replied at the same level volume.

"I thought you were dying."

Sam's words hung in the air.

"I'm not dying, Sammy."

Sam nodded as he stared at the floor.

"Sam look at me," Dean demanded with a level voice. Sam grudgingly looked up with watery eyes.

"Sam I'm not going to die, okay."

A tear fell from Sam's eyes as he nodded with more conviction borne from his brother's words.

"I'm here with you. We're together, you understand?"

Sam continued to nod, then stopped.

"Yeah okay Dean," he whispered.

Sam was terrified of when he'd have to go back to the pit - he was sure it was soon; he didn't know why. He could just feel it.

Chapter 5

Sam slowly arose from Dean's bed and hesitantly turned around and sat on his bed facing Dean.

"Are you all right?" Dean asked genuinely. Sam blinked and nodded.

"Um, sure."

There was a period of silence while Sam just sat there.

"Sam... Do you still think this is an illusion?" Dean asked, hoping against hope that Sam had already found out that he was not, in fact, still in the pit. Unfortunately, Sam just nodded with a defeated look.

"Yeah, Dean. It is."

Dean's spirits sank.

"Okay. Get some sleep. We'll... I don't know... We'll talk about it in the morning, Sam." Dean responded with an edge to his words.

"Are you angry?"

"No," Dean replied firmly, his tone belying his feeling. He didn't know why, but he was mad. It was infuriating, the thought that he was helpless in the face of an intense, unfounded belief that he wasn't real. Why couldn't Sam just believe him?

Sam turned off the light and lied down in bed. In the darkness, Sam stared at the ceiling in anticipation and fear while Dean stormed in his mind how to convince Sam in the morning that he wasn't an illusion. This is ridiculous. My brother is insane.

"Dean?" Sam's voice pitched out weakly from the darkness.

"Yeah?"

"You can't convince me I'm not in the pit."

Again, Sam had hammered the nail further into Dean's heart. Trying to bottle his irritation, Dean replied.

"But Sam-"

"No. Dean. The more you try to convince me, the more I'll think it's Lucifer using my trust in you against me."

Dean sighed with exasperation, lifted himself up, and turned on the light. Again it illuminated the room and Dean saw Sam lying above the covers with his hands clasped in his lap. Sam squinted a little bit as he turned to look at Dean now that the light was on. Dean took in his apologetic expression and softened slightly.

"Sam... Why?"

"Why what?"

"Why can't you just believe me? Even if it is an illusion, you'd be happier to believe that it's real while you're here, right?"

Dean thought this was a good point, but Sam frowned in sadness as he looked down at his hands.

"Ignorance isn't bliss-"

"Damn it, Sam, this is not the time for principals! How have you even kept principals while you've been there?"

Sam thought about this and inwardly acknowledged that that was interesting.

"They're not principals, Dean, it's just the truth. If I know the truth, I can't make myself accept an illusion. It's like me telling you that you're sleeping in a palace instead of a motel room right now. You'd be happier if you were in a palace, but you can't honestly convince yourself to believe it."

"Sam, it's obvious that we're not in a palace. Why is it so obvious that I'm an illusion?"

"The odds are against it," Sam replied simply. That was the last straw to Dean. He whipped his sheets off and stood up to pace. He finally stopped and looked straight at Sam.

"Damn the odds, Sam! This is real! You and I are really talking in this dirty motel room and you are actually talking to your brother, me, that I don't exist! Do you understand how-" Dean stopped himself and turned away from his brother. He unconsciously wiped his mouth; trying to wipe away the end of the sentence he was about to complete.

"Do I understand how messed up I am?" Sam offered with an even voice, albeit depressed. Dean lost the anger for energy at the sound of his brother's admittance.

"No, I mean... Yes. You're messed up, Sam."

"I can't argue with that," Sam acknowledged. Sam was remaining logical but steadfast. Dean didn't know exactly how to work with this.

"Yeah, but, Sam, you can... You have the ability to stop this." Dean looked at his brother and their eyes met; both pitying the other. Dean took in his brother's ragged form, his hunched shoulders, his dirty hair. "You're torturing yourself." Dean gestured to his brother as he spoke this last sentence, his voice nearly breaking. Sam nodded with watery eyes.

"Okay Dean," Sam replied with acquiescence. He wasn't accepting reality, though. He was accepting Dean's opinion. "Let's just stop talking about this for right now."

Dean nodded, but he was put off by this conversation. Normally he'd like nothing more than to bottle issues and push them down until the memory or feeling disintegrates... But this was different. This was Sam... And it wasn't a feeling Sam was bottling. It was an insane belief that he held - a belief that promised nothing for him but terror and depression. Dean was so uncertain about how to proceed with his little brother, though, that he allowed the conversation to end. As he got back to bed, Sam turned off the light.

"Goodnight Dean," Sam offered to Dean in the dark. Dean wasn't interested in talking to his crazy brother anymore.

"Dean?"

"Yeah?"

"Goodnight."

"Yeah, Sam. Okay. Goodnight," Dean replied with anger and impatience flushing through his words.

Sam felt worse after hearing his brother's dismissive response. He couldn't build the energy to lie to him but he still wanted maybe a little bit longer to enjoy this illusion as much as he could before he got pulled back. He thought his dream had been the beginning of his trip back to the pit... Waking up to find Dean bleeding out on his bed, crying out for Sam, while Sam just stood by, powerless to help and only able to watch. It was why he had rushed to Dean's bedside so fast; in his dream state he had driven up his adrenaline levels to the point of rushing fast to his brother's bedside the minute he reached just a modicum of consciousness.

Sam remembered back to a moment when they were kids. They were cooped up in a motel for a 3-day weekend and Dean must have been about 11... Sam was 7. They fought continually in the second and third day they had to be with each other. Neither wanted to watch the same thing on tv, neither wanted to go to bed at the same time, neither could settle on an appropriate duration of time for showers before the hot water ran out. Everything just seemed to go wrong and both of them were in foul moods the night before their father would be due back. Dean sat back on the couch they were sharing (albeit at extremely opposite ends) and took in the scene: dingy motel room, nothing new there... And his little brother fidgeting with a rubic's cube as the tv continued to air a worthless piece of programming. He gave his brother a furtive once-over and noticed a few things without prejudice: Sam had bags under his eyes, his clothes were extremely wrinkled, and he was wearing two relatively heavy sweaters. It wasn't a very cold September.

"Sam are you sick?"

Sam jerked up, having been lost in thought.

"What? No."

Dean hid a slight smile and lazily pointed to Sam's sweatshirts.

"You're wearing two sweat shirts."

Sam shrugged and looked back at the tv.

"Maybe I'm just cold, Dean..." he trailed off. Dean gave a brief expression of interest, then continued to monitor Sam as he leaned his head against his hand. After a minute or two, Sam couldn't ignore it anymore.

"Dean stop looking at me!" He yelled in irritation. He didn't have time for Dean's games... The last one resulted in him having to clean the bathroom clear of the black paint Dean had booby-trapped the bathroom mirror cabinet with. He shot Dean a look of irritated sincerity: Seriously, Dean! Dean lifted his eyebrows with concern and interest.

"What's wrong with you?"

"Nothing, Dean, I'm fine!" Sam responded, brinking emotions with frustration over his brother. Dean just nodded patronizingly as Sam looked at him, unblinking, trying hard to keep his bluff.

"Okay. You're fine. C'mon let's go..." Dean got up from the couch and turned to face Sam. Sam looked up, worried. "C'mon get up we're going out," Dean repeated pleasantly.

"Where're we going?" Sam asked cautiously. He watched Dean scrounge around in his deep jean pockets and pull out some money.

"We're going to go to the grocery store... We have a lot of money leftover."

Sam's eyes lit up slowly as he watched Dean go and walk back to him with his bulky winter jacket: Dean was really going to take them to the grocery store.

"Really?" Sam asked in mounting excitement as he shrugged into the jacket Dean held out for him. Sam followed Dean to the door and waited for Dean to throw on his jacket before they left the motel room and locked the door. The minute they walked out onto the pavement of the parking lot, Dean automatically reached out to hold Sam's already outstretched hand. It was a standard gesture that Sam had been taught to follow ever since he was a baby. Dean's hand was firm but accomodating; Sam always preferred to hold hands with Dean - their father would squeeze too hard and scare Sam sometimes with the circumstances under which John had kept his grip when it normally would have been more reasonable to let go. With Dean, safety obviously always went first, but there was always a level of affection that went with the gesture. This was what Dean had wanted - he knew Sam was hurting, but Sam was bluffing to him for some reason... So Dean had decided to take them on a trip were the trust they had in each other would be reconfirmed. They got to the grocery store and bought lil smokies and sloppy joe meat and mix along with several bags of chips and coca cola. They both really enjoyed their outings to grocery stores... The tinny instrumental music that blares out of loudspeakers the equivalent of most kids' love of the tunes ice cream trucks have. They especially loved grocery stores when their Dad wasn't with them: they liked to wander around. Sam always liked Seasonal aisles. Once they had been nearly all over the floor plan of the store, Sam checked with Dean.

"Is that it?"

"Wait there's another aisle we have to check out..." Dean responded seriously.

"Okay!" Sam replied in excitement, thinking there was some other aisle holding a category of treats he hadn't thought of yet. Dean walked his little brother to the medicine aisle. Sam realized a couple of aisles back that this was where Dean was taking him, but remained quiet and just followed behind. Dean turned around to look down at his little brother, wearing two sweaters under his already bulky jacket.

"Okay. What's going on?" Dean asked without judgment. Sam looked around at all the bottles for a second. "Fever?" Dean guessed as he calmly felt the backside of his hand up against Sam's forehead. Sam allowed Dean the gesture - it wasn't embarrassing as long as no one else was in the aisle with them... And Dean had already known there weren't. Dean didn't have to wait long to confirm his brother's fever.

"Okay," Dean murmured with understanding and empathy. He ruffled his hand across Sam's hair as another sign of affection and moved Sam, pressing him in the small of his back, to come with him as he moved down the aisle to find the appropriate medication. Dean moved forward, closer to the labels, without breaking a connection to his brother with one arm, and pulled out a bottle to read it.

"Sam be honest have you had any symptoms?" Dean murmured while reading the bottle's label. Sam shifted uncomfortably under Dean's hand and Dean looked up, alert to Sam's reaction.

"Huh?" Dean asked, patient. He acted like Sam's movement was a spoken response and it worked.

"I threw up this morning," Sam answered sheepishly. Dean placed pressure upon his brother's shoulder in sympathy and looked back at the bottle.

"Okay this should be fine. Dad'll have a better idea of what the best meds are for you... But this'll hold you over for tonight, okay?"

Sam listened to Dean, taking every word in and appreciating Dean's ability to make him feel so comfortable and not humiliated.

"Okay," Sam replied. He smiled at Dean, then, and Dean realized that he hadn't seen that smile in a few days. He returned the smile. They both took off from the medicine aisle and paid for their groceries. They cooked up the lil smokies, found a Star Wars marathon on tv and settled in for a great last night before they'd have to move yet again.

About an hour in, Sam had fallen asleep against his brother with a bag of chips in his lap. Dean had been too preoccupied with the movie to notice, but when he did, he let out a soft chuckle and picked the bag of chips up off his little brother's lap, set it down next to his, and spread a blanket over his brother; he added a pillow for good measure. He leaned back down into the couch where he had been sitting before and nearly immediately Sam moved the pillow onto Dean so his head would be against Dean's knee on the pillow. Dean smiled slightly and rested his hand on Sam's back, while grabbing the bag of chips with the other.

Sam reflected on this memory; it was one of many... But what made this different was Dean. Dean had been an ass to Sam throughout the entire weekend. Then he did a complete one-eighty and helped Sam in many more ways than one that night. Sam hadn't told Dean this, but he had been scared of leaving the motel room without Dean since the last hunt they'd been on. When Dean took him to the completely normal grocery store where there were naturally friendly people roaming for their staple foods and drinks, Sam had begun to feel normal and safe again himself, especially with his brother chatting casually with him about things as they walked around.

Sam didn't want his brother to be angry with him anymore. Or, if it wasn't anger, then he wished Dean would just let go of whatever he was harboring to make him so obtuse. Sam knew Bobby was gone and he knew how much that was destroying his make-believe brother, but now that they only had each other, Sam thought maybe they could just be brothers to each other again. "Because," Sam thought, "if this is real, only my brother could make me believe it..."

Chapter 6

The following morning, Sam's eyes snapped open at the sound of his lap top's clacking keyboard. He groggily widened his eyes repeatedly, surprised nothing else had happened that night. He turned over on his stomach and, still lying down, stared at his brother at the table on the computer. Dean was drinking his coffee and navigating the internet. At Sam's movement, he glanced up, acknowledging Sam, and then back down at the monitor in comfortable silence.

"Surprised?" Dean asked in a monotone, not looking at Sam. Sam blinked a second and slowly got up to lean against the head board.

"About what?"

"That you're still here?"

Sam thought about it and rubbed his head.

"Yeah, actually." Sam was even refreshed after his night of sleep. It felt… Wonderful. He made an effort to fully explore the feeling; he knew it would not last long… He looked at Dean and noticed his grim expression. Dean was dissatisfied with Sam's answer: he didn't want Sam to feel surprised about the continuing illusion… But he didn't speak up about it. Sam was thankful that he didn't. Instead, he said something much more shocking.

"I think I found a job." Dean took a huge swig of his coffee and stood up.

"Wh… What?" Sam asked, surprised.

"A job. In Wisconsin. We'll be able to make it there in a day's drive."

"I… Are you…"

"What?" Dean asked, daring Sam to say it.

"You're not ready. We're not ready, Dean," Sam replied in a tone that made it quite clear this should have been obvious.

"Why not?"

"Well, Bobby just died, Dean."

"That was fake, though, right? I'm fake. This, everything, is fake, right?"

Sam sighed: oh so this is what's going on.

"Dean…"

"Sam. If I'm fake, then I don't need to mourn. I don't need to go to Bobby's funeral. Because none of it is real. So why don't we just go hunting? Right now?"

Sam recognized that Dean had a point.

"Because, I…"

"I just want to relax. I just want to enjoy this for a little longer…" Sam thought. He couldn't bring himself to say it, though. It was too much emotion. Sam's eyes lowered in defeat and then looked up at Dean.

"Okay," Sam finally stated after his internal struggle.

"Good pack your stuff we're leaving in 30," Dean replied without missing a beat. He immediately headed to the bathroom, only to leave with toiletries in hand to pack into his duffel on the bed. Sam got up to go to the bathroom, slouching with sadness in anticipation of the day's journey in the Impala. He didn't want his mind, his illusion, to take him there. It was an unimpressive place to go and he really wished that it wouldn't be after several hours in the Impala that he would be taken back to hell. He would've enjoyed just eating junk food and bantering with his brother in the hotel room for a day. As he continued to think about it, he felt worse and worse… Angrier and angrier that even his mind would construct his brother in such a way that wouldn't allow him to find solace.

Sam packed his things with an irritated flourish, whipping them into the back of the Impala and slamming doors open or close. He noticed his brother regarded his actions with forced indifference… And every time Sam thought he was going to burst with anger and say something, he would deflate, realizing that Dean wasn't real. That he should really be cherishing these moments, even these times of tension, before everything got taken away from him again. For all he knew, Dean could be dead in the real world by now. This thought made Sam sink further. He wished he knew; wished Dean, the real Dean, could be preparing to slide in beside him in the car again. Dead got into the Impala and started the ignition. He glanced over at Sam, who was unconsciously giving him a woeful look as he thought his thoughts.

Dean pursed his lips together and shifted gears. He thought to himself about Bobby… And Bobby's funeral. They were going to miss it because of this hunt, but he knew Bobby would understand. Dean looked again at Sam, who was still shamelessly staring at him as if he had just died, and turned back to stare through the windshield.

"Sam don't look at me like that," Dean said with a genuine air of sadness.

Dean heard Sam react and saw his head move in his peripheral vision – Sam would be looking out the window now.

"Sorry," Sam murmured back. Dean nodded, thinking, "it's okay, Sammy."

"Do you think you're going to get pulled back to hell today?"

Sam flinched a little bit at Dean's bold question and looked at Dean like he was crazy for mentioning such a terrifying eventuality with such callousness. Dean looked back at him and Sam realized it was actually a serious question.

"I don't know. Maybe," Sam replied honestly. "Why are you asking?"

"I know you're not going to hell, Sam. You're here with me, whether you want to believe me or not…"

"Dean-"

"No, let me finish."

Sam fell silent.

"I just want to know when you think you're going to go crazy on me again," Dean stated in a hushed, worried voice. Sam recognized Dean's concern and knew not to reply immediately. He took a few breaths, thinking about his answer. He tried to ignore that his response involved thinking about the cage with Lucifer in hell… And it took Sam quite a bit longer to get himself under control enough to say anything with a steady voice.

Just as he was about to speak up and tell Dean that he didn't know when he'd be taken back to hell, he felt his brother's hand on his shoulder. Sam, startled, looked up at Dean, who had reached over to him while he had been so absorbed in disturbing thoughts. Dean glanced at Sam for only a second before looking back to the road, but Sam saw in Dean's eyes the understanding and compassion. Dean kept his hand on Sam and squeezed his shoulder reassuringly.

"Calm down, all right?" Dean instructed patiently. Sam kept his eyes on Dean – he could see his brother's expression as he stared out into the road. He was serious, worried, but also determined; confident. These last two traits were new.

"Did my question make you start thinking of hell?" Dean probed, lacing his curiosity with understanding. He was still driving, looking at the road, but ee still hadn't removed his hand from Sam's shoulder. Sam felt Dean's presence – his touch and his voice, more comforting than it had been throughout this entire ordeal. Dean's question needed answering; Sam suddenly felt so vindicated, so relieved, from his brother's behavior, that his eyes started to water a little bit.

"Yeah it did. But, Dean, I don't…" Sam's voice fell silent for a second in a bout of grief. Sam felt Dean's grip readjust on his shoulder to grip him more at the base of the neck. "I, um, don't know when I'll be taken back to hell."

"Okay. That's okay, Sammy," Dean replied. And with that, Dean gently removed his touch from his brother. Sam folded his arms together in front of him. He felt surprised and very vulnerable, for some reason. Looking at Dean, he saw no change in composure, though, so he wasn't exactly insecure or fearful. He actually felt safer than he had in a long time… This fake-Dean cared about him, like he knew his real brother would have.

3 hours later…

Flashes of hell flew past Sam at break neck speeds. The scent of burning flesh raged past as the sound of screams of absolute terror shattered through space. Pain would locate itself in his abdomen as what felt like metal rods pierced through… Then his neck as he felt the bone crack… Then his femur as-

"SAM!"

Crack! Sam screamed in pain as he felt his left femur break. Not a moment later, Sam felt something pushing down slowly on his chest. He tried to breathe.

"SAMMY!"

The thing carefully and eventually caved his chest in as he felt the relentless push continue despite his body's barriers. He felt himself lose his ability to breath and closed his eyes, listening in terror and pain to the others and their tortured cries and screams. He thought of his brother briefly.

"SAMMY!"

Suddenly blinded, Sam felt his chest compress, but not like it had been in hell. His ears rang loudly. He tried to breathe again and immediately the pressure of his chest was relieved and he gasped in a few breaths. He blinked his eyes open and realized he was staring at daylight – and the sky. Traumatized, Sam rolled over onto his side in relief and nearly broke down right there: he had been saved again and brought back to this place. It was terrible, the illusion, but thank god he had it now. He shook with fear, though, trying to get the feeling of a freshly broken femur out of his mind. He reached down and felt his left thigh, knowing it would be intact and healthy. He gulped.

He felt something cup his head and touch his chest at the same time, and he jumped away weakly,

pushing pebbles and dust across his clothes as he tried to scramble away. He realized he wasn't making much sound; he could only get out a few whines of fear and huffs of exertion. In a few seconds, though, the same hands had reacted and kept Sam still on the ground, unable to move. In the face of this blunt show of force, Sam got scared and immediately tried to cover himself in order to protect himself from any further trauma. Instead, he felt a hand move and brush through his hair, then a cloth wiped his face free of the tears streaming down his face.

Sam remained this way for awhile, until he had sufficiently begun to trust the hands that stayed on him. They patted his face with the towel, took his pulse, rubbed his back, the latter always settling any panic-induced bouts of hyperventilation. By now his ears had stopped ringing so loudly, and Sam hazarded a curious look out and over to who was taking care of him.

"Sam?" Dean asked nervously, watching his brother look out in the opposite direction. Sam turned around and Dean's eyes lit up for a brief moment now that Sam's eyes seemed able to focus. "You with me?"

Sam gulped. He nodded. He looked around and realized that they had stopped while driving on an interstate in the middle of a huge dusty desert expanse. He was on the ground next to the road and the Impala was parked on the emergency shoulder, blocking Sam and Dean's visibility from the road. It was peaceful here, and Sam appreciated it.

"I'm back," Sam stated dumbly and gave a weak cough. Sam didn't move to get up, and Dean leaned down to him.

"Sam, you never left, you hear me?"

Sam felt Dean grasp him and lift him up to a sitting position. Sam tilted into Dean and placed his hand on Dean's shoulder as Dean kept his secure hold him.

"Sam, you fell asleep in the car," Dean spoke gently, yet firmly, trying to get Sam to understand by bullet-pointing the events that happened while Sam was unconscious. He kept his words simple and his sentences brief. "You had a nightmare. I tried to wake you up. You didn't wake up. I pulled the car over. You started to have a seizure. I pulled you out of the car. We've been here for ten minutes, Sam. Ten minutes. Do you understand?"

Sam tightened his grip on his brother, focusing hard on what Dean had said.

"Sam. This is real. I'm real," Dean coaxed. Sam nodded slightly. "Don't let me lose you here. Come on, now. Stay with me."

Sam nodded with more assurance and felt Dean's grip loosen and slowly slide away from him as Sam worked to gain his bearings.

"Sam, I don't want to push you too far, but I think Bobby's death triggered you. You need to anchor yourself here again."

Sam didn't respond to his brother; just listened to the cadence of his brother's voice.

"…Like last time, Sam, remember?"

Sam tried to remember what Dean was talking about. Something with a warehouse… And soon the memory caught up with him. He remembered Dean pushing down on his hand.You gotta make this stone number one and build on it. Sam remembered the rushing of exhaustion and relief it granted him as he watched the image of Lucifer shutter before him as he pressed down on his own hand.

This memory was so far away, though, and it had been false. In the hospital, Lucifer had been true to his word. Lucifer had taken him back to hell.

Sam screwed his face up in confusion: so then why am I still here? Normally, with thoughts like these, Lucifer appeared, but as Sam looked around him, he neither heard nor saw Lucifer's presence. His thoughts turned back to focusing on his brother.

Dean moved to stand up and reached for his brother's arm to get him up as well, and Sam acquiesced with his brother's pull. He stumbled up.

"The warehouse," Sam mumbled. Dean stopped and looked at his broken brother.

"Yeah, like in the warehouse, Sam," Dean responded. Sam saw another moment of hope in Dean's expression: Yes! Sam, remember the warehouse! That's it!

In a second, Dean's expression neutralized, though.

"…Only this time don't pull a gun out on me."

Sam reacted to this statement, concerned, and immediately looked to Dean for an indication of what his brother had meant as Dean helped him into the passenger seat. The smallest hint of a smile played on Dean's face and Sam mimicked it: Dean had made a joke.

"Okay, Dean," Sam replied in a small voice, exhausted. Dean closed the passenger door and walked around the front of the car to get to the driver's seat. Sam's eyes followed his brother outside and felt a slight pull of fear as he remained in the car alone; Lucifer could be in the back seat right now, ready to touch him and pull him back all over again. Almost caught up in this concept, Sam flinched as the driver's door wrenched open and Dean's presence anchored Sam back as he slid in behind the wheel. His brother was a strong presence for Sam. Even if Lucifer was in the back seat right now, Dean was still there to distract him from worrying, at the very least. The engine rumbled to life and, with a courage borne from the sound of home (the Impala's rumbling engine) and his brother seated right next to him, Sam looked behind him into the back seat.

Nothing.

Sam turned back around and breathed. He started coaching himself to relax and, as the car moved off onto the road again, Sam impressed himself by doing just that.

Chapter 7

Sam and Dean had reached Wisconsin within 8 hours. They stopped off at the Golden Egg Motel and unloaded their bags after getting a room for the week. Once everything had been placed in the room, Dean watched Sam as he sat gingerly on the bed, feeling the sheets quietly. God only knew what was going on in Sam's head, but Dean didn't dwell on it.

"Okay come on."

Sam looked up.

"What where we going?"

"Food run."

Sam acquiesced, thanking god that Dean wasn't going to leave Sam alone.

…

The door jingled as they entered and Sam followed Dean into the small greasy spoon restaurant. Dean stood looking at the menu.

"What do you want?" Dean asked casually.

"Um…" Sam stared at the menu, struck by how normal everything seemed.

"You usually like salad," Dean said as a passing thought.

"Yeah, um, I don't know. You pick."

"No, Sam. Choose something yourself. C'mon," Dean replied, not unkind. He made it sound like Sam was making him uncomfortable in choosing for him. In truth, Dean knew exactly what Sam would have wanted. Sam took a breath.

"Okay uh a shake and the steak salad."

Dean was careful not to seem patronizing. He just nodded and flipped the menus back into the slot against the wall. They walked up and Dean ordered the food to go. Sam, again, felt relieved that they weren't going to stay inside and eat. They waited for a few minutes in silence until the food arrived and they made their way back to the motel room.

The food was delicious; Sam appreciated every minute of it as the two of them remained silent and watched reruns of old tv shows. Dean didn't seem angry or frustrated any more… He seemed calm and open; always slightly turned towards Sam no matter where he was in the room. Sam noticed this, but it wasn't offensive or cloying. Dean was just keeping him in his peripheral vision, just in case. Sam was becoming more relaxed, as nothing had interrupted the illusion for nearly half a day.

Sam thought about that for a second. He had last woken up to hell when he had fallen asleep in the car. Sam bristled a little bit as the ramifications of this fact crashed into his mind… If he went to sleep, he'd wake up in hell. And he couldn't do that.

Sam hid his thoughts expertly and knew Dean didn't notice anything amiss.

…

Dean woke up the next morning and turned over to look for Sam in bed. The bed had been rumpled as if it had been slept in, which settled Dean's nerves a little bit. He looked at the clock: 8 am. A little late, but they had stayed up until midnight relaxing and watching tv. He heard the shower running.

"Sam?" Dean yelled out.

"Yeah?" Sam replied back.

"Morning."

"Yeah."

Satisfied, Dean walked over to Sam's laptop and booted it up. He then moved over to start the coffee, but realized Sam had already put it on.

"Oh nice," Dean whispered gruffly, to no one in particular, as he poured the strong black liquid into a mug and walked back to the laptop. He found the address he was looking for and started searching through their bags to find the right ID badges for himself and Sam. Sam opened the door to the bathroom, freshly showered, and walked over to the bed to pull out clothes from his duffel lying beside it on the floor.

"What're you looking for?"

"Badges…"

"We're going out? I mean… Me?"

"Yep," Dean answered nonchalantly, not looking at Sam as he flipped through various badges. He stopped as he found them and looked up at Sam. "It'll be easy. We're just visiting the house we think may be haunted. Talk to the family. See if anything's up."

"Why do you think it's haunted?"

Dean smiled inwardly. This was exactly what he wanted from Sam. He wanted questions. He wanted Sam's curiosity piqued in this reality.

"Because a Ouiji board lit on fire while the kids were playing on it."

"How do you know that's a real story, though?"

"I don't. But it's a weird claim and… You know… Training wheels. Maybe we'll get to debunk something for a change here, y'know?"

Dean could tell Sam was battling himself. He wanted to stay with Dean, but that meant he'd have to go out and go through the motions on this inane investigation. Sam sighed.

"Okay?" Dean asked, watching Sam's internal resolve settle. Sam nodded.

"Okay," he replied quietly.

"Okay breakfast then interview."

…

Dean got out of the car and retucked his button-down shirt into his khakis as he waited for Sam to cross over to his side. Dean noticed Sam hit his thigh against the car's front grill as he misjudged the dimension when he was walking around it. Sam gently placed a hand on the front of the car, not really recognizing the slight mistake, and came up to Dean. They started walking up the front steps of the house and rang the door bell. As they waited, Dean looked at Sam.

"You've got food on your shirt," Sam said wearily, but with a half-smile. Dean looked down.

"Oh shit you're right…" Dean responded, trying to get the stain off before the door opened. Unfortunately, that didn't happen, and Dean struggled to hide as he slicked the sauce from his breakfast burrito off the shirt. Sam, surprised that Dean had just handed the reins of introducing themselves over to him, suddenly felt very uncomfortable and paranoid. It was a woman, in her late 20s, maybe early 30s, with a genuine smile. She wore a heavily-stitched patterned sweater and jeans – perfect casual fare for a mother during cold Wisconsin winters.

"Hi, can I help you?" She asked warmly. Betraying nothing, Sam seemed smooth and relaxed as he identified who he and Dean were.

"Hi Ms. Parse?"

"Yes?"

"Yeah hi we're volunteer firemen over at the district fire house and we heard about an incident-?"

"Oh that was nothing."

"Ah well if it's all the same to you, could we step in and talk to you about it a little bit? Maybe take a look at your electrical cords to make sure everything's safe?" Dean asked a bit more gruffly.

"It'll only take a few minutes. We do these rounds whenever an incident occurs – better safe than sorry, right?" Sam added gently. Ms. Parse relented with a smile to match Sam's and opened the door for them to enter.

Damn, Dean thought. Even when he's rounding the Cuckoo's Nest…

…

Dean and Sam went through the house with Elise Parse, mother to two and wife to a local high school history teacher. About halfway through the interview, Sam asked a question Dean was surprised to hear.

"And uh, um… How did you… How long after did it take for you to discover the fire from when it first happened?"

Elise looked at Sam, confused.

"The fire started with the girls at the slumber party, right?" Dean took over.

"Yes."

"And did you see the fire?"

"No. By the time I ran downstairs after hearing their screams, they said it had disappeared on its own."

"And there were no burns or marks on them from the fire?" Dean continued, realizing halfway through that Sam's hands were starting to tremble a little bit.

"No, no one got hurt."

"Sam, go over and check the wiring while I keep talking to Elise," Dean ordered casually, almost gently.

"Yeah go ahead," Elise responded. Sam looked at Dean, nodded, and smiled to Elise as he got up to go into the dining room, where the Ouiji board had flamed up and back down in a matter of seconds. Dean watched as Sam carefully moved into the dining room and, slightly worried, turned back to Elise anyway. He leaned forward and nearly whispered.

"So, honestly, do you believe what your daughter said about this whole thing?"

Elise frowned.

"Yeah. I do. I wish I didn't… Because it's creepy as hell. But I do really believe it happened. Those girls are good girls; I know it sounds weird, but they wouldn't have woken the whole house at 2 am… They just don't do that. It wouldn't even occur to them."

Dean listened attentively and nodded, considering Elise's words. She seemed on the level. Honest. Just as Dean really started thinking this could be a real hunt, he heard glass shattering in the dining room. Cursing to himself, Elise and him stood up immediately and Dean, quicker to respond than Elise, dashed into the dining room, worried he'd find Sam on the floor. Not again not again not again… he repeated in his head until he arrived at the threshold of the dining room.

And there stood Sam, looking guilty, but standing. He had knocked over a glass vase.

"Hey sorry – sorry! I'm so sorry" Sam spoke quickly, and crouched down to look at the pieces of the vase. Elise came up behind Dean to look at the scene and started to smile.

"I'll – We'll pay for it-" Sam continued.

"No don't worry about it. That vase is my mother-in-law's. I've been trying to get my toddler to accidentally break it for a couple of months now…"

Sam stood up with a slight smile playing along his lips.

"Is that why you put it on the edge of this thing?" He asked, indicating the shelf it had been on.

"Yup," Elise confirmed playfully. "You did me a favor. I'll clean it up later, don't worry about it. Is the wiring fine?"

"Yeah you're good," Sam responded and gave Dean an expectant expression. Dean looked at the time: almost 12 noon. Dean clasped his hands together in front of him and looked at Elise.

"Okay well I think we should get going. Thank you so much for your cooperation, Elise."

Sam walked towards Dean and moved to stand behind him.

"No, thank you for breaking my ugly vase," Elise laughed, "And… You know… the volunteer fire fighting thing…" Smiling and with genial handshakes, Sam and Dean walked out of Elise's house. They took the steps down to the sidewalk and Sam held onto the rail. Dean made a double-take when he saw Sam's hand on the rail.

"Are you okay?" Dean asked.

"Dean I think you're a delusion," Sam replied sharply, surprising even himself at how glib and bitter he sounded.

"No, that's not what I mean. You're off-"

"Dean, I'm fine," Sam spat, massaging his left temple. Dean stopped and looked at him, suddenly irrationally angry. Sam, unaware, stopped with Dean and looked around.

"What?" He asked, looking around before looking back at Dean. Dean was so pissed it, it worried Sam what he might do.

"Get in the damn car, Sam," Dean snapped with contempt, disgusted by Sam's behavior. Sam, slightly resentful, got into the car. This is getting overwhelming again, Sam thought, but he held on. He couldn't go back to hell. He didn't look over to Dean as his brother got into the driver's seat. He just stared down into the seat well, willing to keep his eyes open. Willing himself to let go of the waves of animosity he felt flowing over him from Dean's side of the Impala's bench seat. He felt the car rumble to life and the vehicle's movements seemed to beckon him to nod off against the window and seatback. He stayed up, though. He sat stock still and stayed awake; he knew his dream, this dream depended on it. How long had it been since he'd slept? He tried to do the math, but found he couldn't do the mental calculation.

In truth, the stress of Bobby's death, the seizures and convulsions, his delusions, his brother's anger, the fast shift from Bobby's hospital to Wisconsin, and this new hunt… These things all hung over Sam, ready to crash him back down to hell where he belonged. Sam couldn't stop circling the drain with these thoughts, nearly panicked but for the reassuring feel of the Impala's leather interior. He squeezed the handle-hold along the inside door above the window lever and held on tightly. He snapped out of his hopeless reveries when the car finally stopped. Sam looked up at the motel room door they were parked in front of: it was their room.

"Sam…" Dean asked, uncertain. He had been watching Sam for the entirety of the car ride; his anger had died off again in lieu of concern. Sam didn't move a muscle at the sound of Dean calling his name.

"Sammy, look at me," Dean spoke more firmly. Sam turned to Dean, scared.

When Dean got the chance to look straight at Sam, he inwardly cursed himself for not having noticed anything wrong sooner. Sam had dark bags under extremely glassy, slightly unfocused eyes. He was acting clumsy and couldn't put words in a sentence together very well. His hands shook.

"You haven't been sleeping." It wasn't a question. Sam inhaled.

"Dean, I-"

But Dean had already gotten out of the car to come around to Sam's side.

"Dean! I can't- I can't go to sleep-!" Sam shouted desperately through the window, then to Dean as Dean opened the door forcefully. Sam recoiled as the door opened.

"Dean, please. I'm going to go back to hell!" He called out in terror, not willing to evade his brother anymore, but instead pleading for his brother to understand. "Let me go, please! Let me stay here!" At the sound of his terrified little brother, Dean's anger was completely deflated; he just needed to work on the goal at hand, now.

"Sammy, c'mon," Dean grunted as he ignored his brother's begging and started to carefully pull him out of the car. As Dean reached in, grabbed a good hold of Sam, and started pulling, Sam crumbled.

"Dean, no, please… I'm gonna go to hell!" Sam cried out in despair as Dean clutched Sam to him and pulled him completely out from the car. Sam stumbled weakly for a second until Dean steadied him and Sam gained his bearings.

"You're not going to hell, Sammy. C'mon we're just going inside," Dean lied calmly as he ushered Sam into the motel room. Dean could feel Sam's muscles spasming in anxiety, his hands trembling as they held onto Dean's shoulders as he supported him enough to get him to the far side of the room for him to lie down. Once down, Dean started taking off Sam's shoes when Sam pulled himself up into a sitting position.

"Sam, lie down."

"No. I can't sleep…" Sam said in a hurried daze, disoriented.

"Sam, yes you can, and you will, and you have to, do you understand?"

Sam focused on Dean.

"Dean-" Sam started, but stopped, choking on his words. Sam could only use his eyes to express how much he needed Dean to help him. "Please, Dean, help me stay awake," he managed to whimper before completely breaking down. Dean watched his little brother, dumbstruck, as his brother shook with fear.

"Please don't let me go there… I want to stay here… I want to stay with you…" Sam cried repeatedly, trying to communicate to his brother why he couldn't go to sleep. Maybe he'll understand, maybe it's not too late. Sam could only hope.

Dean took this all in, looked down at Sam's shoes, and slowly took the last one off and set it on the floor as his brother quaked with utter fear on the bed in front of him. Dean moved up to the head of the bed where Sam was and leaned into Sam gently, placing one hand on Sam's shoulder, the other behind his head. Sam's eyes focused to meet Dean's, hoping Dean would agree somehow. Dean started to lower Sam back down to the pillow, firmly, as he spoke.

"Sammy, it's okay. Do you understand me? You're okay. You're with me," Dean whispered softly, confidently to Sam as he got him down to the pillow. At the last sentence, Sam's face twisted in despair and he shook his head, a few tears streaming down from the sides of his eyes. "Sam, Sammy, yes, you're here with me." Sam turned his head to the side to look away from Dean. Dean quickly anticipated and pulled Sam right back to look at him in the eyes. "YES Sammy!" He yelled, "I'm right here, baby brother. I got you. You're not in hell and you're not ever going back there again as long as I'm around. Do you understand me?"

Sam's heart was still going a mile a minute and he knew Dean could feel it too as he held him. Dean pressed harder on Sam's chest in reassurance, as if trying to make Sam's heart slow by pushing on it. Sam's eyes were unwaveringly locked onto Dean's. Something had clicked inside Sam. Dean could tell that the fear in them was no longer a fear of hell. Rather, it was a fear of the frayed tightrope on which Dean had just asked him to walk: that he was real. Dean returned his brother's panicked, insecure eyes with a steady gaze.

"Relax. Focus on your breathing. I'm right here. You're not going anywhere. I'm not going anywhere," Dean stated calmly. Sam gulped in anxiety and nodded his head skittishly as he kept his eyes on his big brother's. After a couple of minutes, Dean reached over to Sam's neck and Sam let him take his pulse. Dean softly felt his forehead and cheeks, wiping a couple of tears off in the process. "Okay," Dean said, almost to himself, as he stood up. Sam's unblinking eyes followed Dean as if his life depended on it. Dean walked to the windows and shut the heavy mauve drapes closed in order to block out the daylight. He proceeded to go into the bathroom, making sure to stay in Sam's line of sight, to wet a towel. He came back, knelt on the bed and gave the washcloth to Sam in order for him to wipe his face with it. Sam sniffed when he was done.

"Thanks," he croaked as he handed it back. He felt Dean take the cloth from his hand. Sam felt the bed go lighter as Dean got up from it and then there was the sound of a switch and Sam was thrown into pitch blackness. Sam's heart skipped a beat as he inhaled in shock, but quick as a flash he felt the bed compress and his brother's voice. Reassuring hands pressed against his chest and shoulders. Dean had just turned off the light.

"Hey it's okay. Shh… Sammy it's okay." Sam almost broke down again just by virtue of how Dean was being so gentle. It wasn't really like this; he would never have thought Dean could be like this with him. But now that he knew, utter relief flowed through him and released him from the pressure of hiding anything. Wracked with this realization, Sam sniffed and huffed a few times to get himself under control. He did the best he could until he heard two pillows being placed next to him and then Dean moving up from the side of the bed in the dark. Sam felt Dean's arm wrap around his shoulders and lift him up a little so Sam could rest up against Dean. At this, Sam started crying again, but this time from relief and exhaustion.

"I know," Dean said softly, his hand gripping Sam tightly. "I know. It's okay." Sam suddenly wrapped his arm around Dean's chest to hug him. Dean returned the gesture by placing his other arm over his brother and stroking his back. "You're okay now, Sammy. It's over." Dean whispered calmly, feeling Sam's sobs against him. "It's over. It's over now. I'm so proud of you," Dean finally said, extremely emotional, now, himself, as Sam relaxed his grip on him and started melting into a blessfully dreamless sleep.

Afterword

End Notes

Thank you for reading! Let me know what you thought if you can spare the time. ~ Alex

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