A/N: So, yeah… while I was writing Payback for the Prank Master, this just came out. (The four pages I mentioned deleting) And now here it is! So, technically its all on its own, but events mentioned in my other stories (My Hands, Sesame Street and Make Believe, A Child No More, and Payback for the Prank Master, as well as The Bandage Cuts Me Deeper) may be mentioned. It doesn't rely upon those other stories, but characters may be mentioned (ie. Timmy Walker or Marie) So yes, you may want to read those, and hey! Leave a review there too!

Warning: Dark, that's about all I can say. AU, I guess. Spoilers for everything and yet, maybe for nothing at all. Rated T for maybe some language and gruesome imagery.

Disclaimer: This is just for fun, I make no money and everything the WB had copywrited, I have placed no claim on. The lyrics are from My Chemical Romance's "The Ghost of You"

Summary: (Not exactly sure where I want to go with this yet, so its definitely a work in progress) Sam and Dean are hunters. But their whole lives they've been hunted, preyed upon, running. Running from one thing. Destiny. What happens when they can't run anymore?

Be kind, review. If I get some good feedback I will post again. Flames are not appreciated, but constructive criticism is.

The Ghost Of You

© M.Kena

I never said I'd lie and wait forever
If I died, we'd be together
I can't always just forget her
But she could try

At the end of the world
Or the last thing I see
You are
Never coming home
Never coming home
Could I? Should I?

And all the wounds that are ever gonna scar me
For all the ghosts that are never gonna catch me

Chapter One; Breathing in Sequence

Sam dreamt most nights. They were never good dreams. Well… hardly ever good dreams. He had this one, a dream that lasted all night. He could wake up anytime, but it would come back the moment he fell asleep again.

An epic, dark dream.

He was the monster in this dream, and everyone who meant anything to him died. Most of the time at his own hand. He'd become paranoid in his dream. He was positive there was this woman behind it all… well she looked like a woman.

The funny thing about this woman… girl? Was that she grew as he grew. The dream started to appear when Sam was five, and the girl was five. Now that Sam was twenty two, she was twenty two.

In the latest installment Sam found himself in a town that was out to get him. He'd been separated from Dean, and was trying to find clues to their family mystery. Who, or what, had killed their mother.

He rounded a corner, seeing two men dressed in long, black robes, and hid in a small niche. Once they had passed he stepped out and was seized by the shoulders by another, identical, man in robes.

"What are you doing here?" He whispered urgently. "Are you crazy? They've got a price on your head. Everyone is looking for you. You're in no condition to fight."

It was at that moment that Sam would realize how injured he was. He would see the blood for the first time, feel it weighing down his shirt. He could feel the cuts, the fire of them, all over his skin. And he could feel the ache in his bones, the tenderness of his muscles.

"I… I…" Was all he could say.

"You've got to leave, its suicide coming her after the damage you and Dean…"

"Where is Dean?" He'd ask. The man would look at him sympathetically.

"Dear boy, I must get you someplace…"

"You there!" Someone would yell. And in an instant the dream could become a nightmare. The color of the world turned red and Sam knew he was in trouble. The man in the dark robe, the friend, would become an enemy to save his own skin.

The man would grab Sam, jamming something hard into his chest. The world would blur, and he would fall.

He never remembered hitting the ground.

He would wake up in a room, tied up and gagged. Pacing back and forth in front of him was that girl with the short blonde hair, a knife in her hands. He never saw her face; it was always hidden in the shadows.

"What do you want with me?" The question was always the same.

"Me? Personally, nothing." She would say. "But, Father, well, he wants a lot with you."

"Where is my brother?"

"Don't worry about him, Sam." She'd say gently. She'd touch his face lovingly. "I can't wait until I find you." She'd whisper. "So I can have you to myself. I'd only need a few minutes…" she'd shiver and laugh heartily. "I watch you sometimes, Sam. You've got so much power, you don't even have an idea. Daddy does, but Daddy is afraid of you."

"Your father is a coward." Sam would cry, struggling against his bonds. Hoping, just maybe there'd be a way out. She'd laugh again and the sound would dash all his hopes.

"Not my Daddy, Sam." She'd explained and kneel in front of him, putting her face close to his. He'd turn away and she'd pressed her lips to his ear. "Yours." She'd whisper and he'd feel her tongue touch his earlobe and he'd jerk away. "Don't be like that, baby." She'd put her hands high on the inside of his thighs. "When we find you, I'll be all yours." She'd move them higher and Sam would swallow nervously. "You know you want it."

With those words the ropes would be gone and he'd grab her, pushing her roughly to the ground. She'd hit her head and lose consciousness.

And suddenly Sam would realize the room resembled an old business office. Just like a cubical he used to see on all those T.V. shows. God, that seemed like such a long time ago. A lifetime ago.

He'd leave the cubical, walking silently just as his father had taught him, with constant checks at his back.

Around the next corner would be a surprise. A man in a robe, holding a large gun. The man would look shocked at first, amazed to actually be seeing him. To be seeing Sam.

Then he'd open fire.

It would take two bullets to get Sam moving, one to the arm and another to the chest. The one to his chest would puncture his lung and he'd known instantly that he was going to die, and soon.

But that wouldn't stop him from running into the nearest "cubicle" room and shutting the door. He'd push the nearest file cabinet in front of the door and sit there, gasping, weak from blood loss.

"Aw, baby, why do you have'ta be like that?" The girl would coo. He'd open his eyes and she'd be there, sitting in front of him, her face still hidden by shadow. "They hurt you." And then she'd be ripping off his shirt, Sam too weak to fight, and then she'd place her hand over the wound and with a flash of pain that made his back arch, it would be gone. "There, all better." But she didn't ever give him another shirt and he'd spend the rest of the dream without one.

"How did you…"

"When we find you, you'll be able to learn too." She'd explain and kiss him gently.

And before Sam could develop the plan, he'd be deepening the kiss, pushing her back towards the couch in the corner of the room. The couch right under the window…

They'd fall on the couch, lost in a passionate kiss and she'd grab his hand suddenly.

"This is what we're meant for, you know." She'd whisper. "Our child…" But she'd stop suddenly and smile. "Aw, Sammy, this will be your first time with anyone but her."

"Yeah." He'd whisper, trying to kiss her again, figuring out his escape plan as he went.

She'd remove her shirt, and play with Sam's belt buckle. He'd take it off and… light bulb!

He'd grab her wrists, held them together and tied them together with the belt.

"Sam!" She'd scream, but he'd cover her mouth and then carry her to a closet and throw her inside, pushing another file cabinet in front of it for good measure.

After he escapes out the window, Sam would always run to the Impala. He wasn't sure how he knew where it was, he just always knew. The keys would be there and when he started to drive, he knew where to go.

"You're too late, you know." Her voice would come to him, accompanied by a sharp pain in his head that made him nearly run off the road. "My men have been there all ready. They're dead."

"No!" Sam didn't know who he was crying for, he'd just cry.

"And when they died, Samuel, they saw you as the perpetrator." She laughed. "When Dean gave his last breath, it was you that told him he was worthless and alone."

And suddenly she'd be in the seat next to him.

"You can't stop this Sam. It will be. No matter what you do in your waking life, your dreams always lead you here." She'd explain, her face serious and her voice monotone. "Father will have you. You will come to us. Or we will take you."

"Go to hell." Sam would yell and turn sharply, causing her to fall against her door. And then, faster than he knew he could move, he'd reach over and open the door, letting her fall out of the moving vehicle.

He'd straighten out Dean's baby and drive off.

He'd drive until he reached a gravel driveway. He'd get out there and run, to where he didn't know, his legs just moved.

His legs would lead him to the doorstep of a coral colored house high in the woods. He'd be sweating, panting and exhausted, but he'd still run up to the door, knock once and then kick the door in when there was no immediate answer.

And then, for the first time in the dream, everything would just stop.

Sam would take in the blood on the walls. He would take in the blood on the floor. He would take in the blood everywhere. The smell would make him gag. The sight would turn his stomach. And the sound would make him cry.

"Sammy…" He'd never heard so much pain and anguish in one word. He'd never known so much fear. He'd never known so many tears.

But he knew that voice.

He knew, he just knew, that it was Dean.

He'd jump over the bloody, overturned couch and land at Dean's side. He'd take one look and know that whatever he said now would have to be their goodbye.

Sam would grab his big brother's bloody and broken hand. "Dean." He'd croak, his throat constricting around the words "I love you".

"You have… you have to fight…" Dean would whisper, his own blood choking him. "Don't let them… take you…" Sam would sob as he'd watch his brother—his glassy eyes no longer focusing, his body arching with each forced breath, his face contorted in agony—try desperately to hang onto the one roll he'd always known; big brother.

"I will." Sam would promise, pressing his forehead to his brother's. "Dean I am so sorry, I should have been here. I should have stopped it. Please…"

"I have faith… in you… Sammy." Dean would whisper. "I… love you."

"Oh God, Dean, I love you too."

And then, the world would turn blue and Sam knew his brother was gone.

"NO!" Sam would scream and lift his brother's broken body, hugging him to his chest. "Dean…"

"This could have been avoided." The girl would whisper in his ear. "If only you'd come the first time."

"The first time?" Sam would yell bitterly, rocking his brother's still body. He could still feel some of Dean's warmth. "What the hell are you talking about?"

"You'll know, Sammy."

Then she would be gone.

And the light within Sam would disappear soon.

He'd be alone.

And he'd have no strength to fight the darkness crawling at him from every corner.

He'd hold Dean closer, close his eyes, and let it take over.

- - -

Sam woke with a start, flying into a sitting position and gasping loudly. It took two seconds and lots of panicked eye searching for him to figure out where he was.

The dark motel room.

The empty dark motel room.

His eyes scanned the bed where Dean should have been.

Dean was not there.

Sam waited for his eyes to register to the dark. Once he was sure he could walk around without stubbing his toe on everything in his path, he moved away the bed sheets and got to his feet.

His legs felt like rubber and for a minute he thought he and the floor were going to have a nice meeting. But his rubber appendages proved steady enough to carry him to the bathroom.

Sam hated being sweaty. He hated the little beads that clung to his skin and how it made him feel sticky. He hated when his clothes clung to the moister and he felt suffocated in his casing.

He ran his hand over the back of his sweaty neck. All he wanted to do was dive into a bath full of ice. Shock the dream out of his system and get rid of this sweat.

While he knew he should be concerned about Dean and where he was, he couldn't stop focusing on the sweat dripping down his back, making his craggy gray tee-shirt adhere to his body awkwardly.

He turned on the shower and watched distastefully at the dingy white bottom of the bath as the water that washed over it took on an orange tinge.

"Mosta the shower heads are rusted an' there is a bad calcium build up in the wells. Drink from the water coolers an' let the water run a few before you take a shower."

Sam heeded the motel clerk's advice and turned to the mirror while he waited for clean water to spurt from the old shower head.

God, he looked like a panda. Or at least that's what Jess would have told him.


He couldn't even think her name without his heart constricting.

He put his hands on the counter, flat on the tile surface, one on each side of the sink and leaned against it, his eyes closed, his head hung in deep remembrance.

"You sneak." She whispered, her arms slipping around his trim waist from behind him. She stood on her tip toes so she could place her chin on his shoulder. He turned his face and she tilted hers so they could almost see each other.

Almost see each other. Sam smirked bitterly. He'd seen her. It was her who'd never seen him. He'd tucked himself away those four years. Maybe not his whole self, but a big freaking portion. Tucked it away, stashed it, never planned on letting it out ever again. But the lock and key it was under went up in flames with his heartbreakingly beautiful girlfriend.

"What'd I do?" He asked innocently, stirring their dinner with a wooden spoon. She let her finger splay out against his hard stomach. He got goosebumps as she let her hand go closer and closer to his belt.

"You didn't tell me it was your birthday." She explained, nibbling on his ear. "I have a very special present…" She elaborated in his ear.

Sam turned off the stove, dropped the spoon and turned around. She walked backwards, beckoning him seductively.

"But you must work for it." She explained. Sam raised his eyebrows.

"I shouldn't have to work on my birthday." He argued. She smiled and shrugged.

"It's easy work, Samantha." She teased. "Now, stop being a girl and come here." She taunted. Sam walked up to her, looking down into her enchanting eyes. Her arms slowly snaked around his neck and he reached down, his hands running up the curves of her thighs and lifted her up. Her legs wrapped around his waist and they were lost in a passionate kiss.

Sam's stomach gave a sudden lurch and he fell to his knees in from of the porcelain toilet. He heaved the contents of last night's dinner—hamburger, hold the pickle, fries and a lemonade with way too much sweeter thanks to Dean—into the toilet.

After a few dry heaves, Sam reached up and flushed, his closing eyes waving a last goodbye to the food that had never quite settled right in the first place. Sam rolled off the toilet and settled his back against the side of the bathtub.

He drew his knees to his chest, resting his arms on top, letting one of them jut out messily, and let his head come to a rest on the pyramid of Sam.

Sam bumped into the bedroom door and Jessica broke the kiss to laugh. He growled at her and commenced with the kissing once more, though her giggles were intensified by the archaic snarl.

Sam was not a good growler.

He fell back on the bed, once his thighs hit the frame and he knew there would be a bed underneath him to fall on. Jessica straddled his waist, pinning his hands above his head. He smiled, stuck in a trance, as she worked his shirt over his abs with her teeth. He laughed when she had to let go of his hands to get it over his head.

"You're an animal." He whispering jokingly. She let her lip curl in a surprisingly attractive imitation of a vicious animal. She let out a hiss and Sam wanted her even more.

The shower was making a hissing noise and Sam lifted his head. The room was steaming up.

How long had he been lost on memory lane?

He got to his rubbery appendages once more and peeled off his sweaty shirt, letting it fall to the ground. He stripped off his boxers and carefully got into the shower, snapping the curtain closed.

It was amazing how water could soothe and times. He closed his eyes, turning his face and the shower head and let the water pelt his forehead.

It was hotter than he would have liked it, but reaching down those few inches to turn it to a more comfortable temperature seemed like the equivalent to climbing Everest. No way, no how.

"I love you." Her soft voice traveled through his mind and into his heart… into his soul. Those words entered him the way no words had ever entered him before. The wrapped around his being and left him feeling warm, safe and most of all, loved.

It wasn't that he'd never felt loved when he was with Dean and John. He knew father and brother loved him. He knew. But it was just so damn good to hear someone finally say it.

"I love you, too." He whispered.

It was the most honest he'd ever been with someone besides his "team". He'd never allowed himself to get close to anyone until this moment. Until this moment he'd never envisioned himself with an 'apple pie' life. He didn't see the wife and kids. He didn't see the white house with blue shutters and a picket fence.

Instead he saw pain. He saw death. He saw fire.

He saw nothing.

With Jessica he saw everything.

And once you've had everything, you can never settle for anything less.

But that is exactly what he'd learned to do. He was settling for Dean, an emotionally challenged brother with a hero complex, a compulsively absent father on a mission for revenge, and these half-assed visions and lame-assed telekinetic powers.

In less than a year he had gone from a normal twenty two year old with a girlfriend-soon-to-be-fiancée, a solid chance at Stanford and a law degree to a spook hunting freak with a freaky brother with a death wish and freaky powers and freaky dreams and…

In a nutshell, he went from an absolute dream to an absolute nightmare.

- - -

Yeah, he'd killed it. He'd saved Sam. But he still felt like a complete and total failure. It never should have been alive after that night. How many little kids were dead because of him? Why couldn't he pull the trigger that night?

How many big brothers were sitting alone in their rooms, lost because they didn't have their little brother to watch over, to tuck in, to check for the monster in the closet, or to be their best friends?

Sam had always been Dean's best friend, his only real friend. Unless you wanted to count Timmy Walker… but look how that had turned out.

"Hey cutie, you look like you've got something on your mind." She was cute, but that could have been the alcohol talking. She put her hand on his arm. "You okay?" She asked honestly. "You've been here a long time, and you keep drinking."

"I've had a bad few days." Dean admitted hoarsely. She frowned.

"Here, where are you staying?" She asked, grabbing for his keys. He grabbed her wrist roughly.

"Don't." He snapped. She dropped them and he dropped her wrist. "Just, don't."

"Sorry." She said angrily. "I didn't want you to get in a car accident." She muttered. "Good luck driving." She rolled her eyes and then walked away.

Dean grabbed his keys and got up, not completely sure if his legs were going to support him. He felt numb. Everywhere except for his heart, that is.

He staggered out of the bar, attracting eyes. He had a feeling those eyes weren't watching him because he was so cute. No, he was that guy. That lonely drunkard who was probably going to kill himself, or worse, someone else, driving home.

A wall slammed into him. He wanted to yell at the bar owner for putting a wall right there. Who put a wall where a door should have been? Come on.

"The door is over there, buddy." Someone said with a laugh. "Have a few?"

"Shut up, Chuckles." Dean grumbled and walked towards the door, a grimace of determination on his face.

It was amazing that he made it to his car, or what he assumed was his car, without falling. He leaned against the door, resting his arms on the roof and placing his heads on the top of his arm-pillow.

He was so tired.

A hand fell on his shoulder.

"Get off me." Dean growled. The hand faltered, but didn't move from his shoulder. Dean raised his head. "I mean it, buddy." He turned around and was slammed back against the car, a hand pressing against his throat.

In a surprised, drunken panic, Dean raised his hand to his throat, tugging uselessly at the hand that was cutting off his precious oxygen.

"You have to let him go." The man whispered. His had a hat pulled down low, and Dean couldn't exactly see his face. He had a short but thick beard on his lower face. He wasn't short, but he wasn't tall. He had a strong build with strong shoulders.

"Wh…" Dean tried to ask, but ending up gagging and trying harder to take in a deep breath. His eyes were bulging and he knew he was going to pass out soon.

"Sam." The man whispered. "If he doesn't go, everything will be worse, much worse. If you let him go, you'll have a chance to get him back. If you fight, you'll lose and there will be no hope." He let go of Dean's neck and the hunter slumped to his hands and knees, gasping. "Remember, it always seems darkest before the light."

Dean looked up, a hand around his sore neck… but the man was gone.

He struggled to his feet, his legs even shakier than before. He got into the car and sat there for a minute. His childish nervosas got the best of him and he locked the doors and checked the back seat. For what? He didn't know. But a man had just come out of nowhere, nearly choked him to death and then disappeared.

Not the mention the fact that he seemed to know who they were and had just told Dean to let go of his brother. "It always seemed darkest before the light." What the hell?

Dean threw the car into reverse and backed out of the parking spot, threw it into drive before he had completely stopped, and then tore off towards the hotel room.

- - -

Sam shut off the shower. Just as he stepped out of the steam box he heard the Impala pull into the hotel parking lot.

He grabbed a towel and wrapped it around his waist. He ran a hand through his wet hair, messing it around a little bit, shaking loose some of the water.

The door flew open and Dean staggered in. Sam stopped in his tracks, panic welling in his chest. But he relaxed when he realized Dean was just drunk.

Wait. Drunk? Anger replaced the panic. Now was not the ideal time to get tipsy, Dean you moron.

"Where the hell have you been?" Sam growled. Dean rolled his eyes and flopped down on the bed. "Dean?"

"Where do you think, Sam?" He asked, his face smothered into the dirty bedspread.

"Well, I can smell the smoke and alcohol from here. So I'll take a wild guess." He crossed his arms over his chest. "So, how many drinks did you have? Should I be worried? Because that last time you got smashed I…"

"I remember, Sam. You don't have to bring it up." Dean interrupted, lifting his head. "I made a mistake, okay, I'm sorry."

"You will be in the morning." Sam grumbled and tossed his bag on the bed and riffled through it.

Sam could feel Dean watching him, but he ignored the hot gaze, focusing on his clothes. Every second under Dean's eyes made Sam angrier and angrier until his frustration hit boiling point. "What Dean? What?" Sam yelled, throwing his hands in the air. Dean flinched at the sudden volume and anger, but didn't falter when he answered.

"When we kill it… the demon, I want you to go back to school." He said simply and got up to kick off his jeans.

In the silence of Sam's reply, Dean peeled back the sheets and climbed into the bed. "G'night Sam."

Sam—it was a wonder his towel was still wrapped around his trim waist—let his long legs carry him to the side of Dean's bed. He yanked the covers back, Dean immediately drawing his knees to his chest and groaning.

"Dude! I'm cold and exposed." Dean cried and reached down for the sheets, but Sam knocked his hand away. "What the hell is your problem, man?"

"My problem?" Sam yelled. "What the hell is your problem? You just pulled a complete three sixty on me, Dean. Back in Chicago I know you didn't want me to leave, what the hell changed, huh?"

"What's the difference? You're getting what you want!" Dean yelled back, sitting up. "Now shut the hell up and give me the sheets back, my head is killing me."

"What changed, Dean?" Sam asked stiffly.

"Nothing changed, Sam." Dean explained. "I just want you to be happy. I don't want you to hate me in twenty years because I took you away from school, away from your life, away from Jessi…"

Sam could have sworn it was someone else's fist that connected with Dean's face.

The impact of the punch was enough to force Dean to his side, he sat up, his jaw held in his hand, his eyes full of surprised tears—merely a reaction, not from the pain—and his face in a deep grimace.

The silence was thick, threatening to choke them both as it settled into their chests—into their hearts.

Sam spoke first, shaking out his fist. "Dean, I didn't…"

"Whatever, Sam." Dean whispered, pulling the sheets back to his neck and closing his eyes.

Sam sighed and walked back over to his suitcase, throwing concerned glances at his brother.

Why do you have to be such a dick, Sam? He asked himself.

Why did you have to mention her name, Dean? The eldest scolded himself as he pretended to sleep.

- - -

Sam kicked open the swinging door and hurried into the room, dead weight in his arms. No, not dead, just unconscious.

"You've got to help him!" Sam cried, trying desperately to hold on to his brother. They were both covered in dirt, sweat and blood. Whose blood, Sam didn't even know anymore.

The man in the black hood stood from his table, shooing away his wife and young daughter. "Put him here." He cleared off the table with a wave of his hand. Sam eyed him warily, still unsure of his "powers".

"It lies within you too, Samuel. And the sooner you except your fate, the sooner we shall all be at peace."

Sam laid Dean down on the oak wood table.

"Serena, get a pillow and some blankets!" The man yelled, straightening Dean's arms and legs. The older brother let out a pained moan, his head rolling side to side.

"Sammy…" He whispered, his eyes still shut tightly. Sam stood at the head of the table so that the top of Dean's head was against his stomach. He put his hands on Dean's face.

"Dean, I'm here. Everything is going to be okay." Sam whispered, stroking his forehead. He walked around the side of the table in case Dean decided to open his eyes so he wouldn't have to strain to look up.

"What happened?" The man asked, cutting away the torn tatters of Dean's shirt. Sam looked down for a fraction of a second, his stomach flipping and flopping and tightening at the sight.

Jesus. How was his brother even still alive? He couldn't tell where there was skin and where there was blood and another tissue.

He ignored the man's question and instead focused on Dean's face, his beautiful disaster of a face. This couldn't really be Dean. Not this batter and broken shell. No, Dean was always smiling, cracking inappropriate jokes, being an ass… not lying limply on a table whimpering pathetically. It couldn't be. Not really.

"No!" Sam slammed one fist on the table, the other grabbing a handful of Dean's jacket.

The room shuttered, the lights flickered and all the contents on the surrounding tables or shelves were thrown to the floor. The man stopped what he was doing and raised his eyes to the powerful man in front of him.

But all Sam noticed were Dean's eyes, how they were opening slowly. He grabbed Dean's face, forcing Dean's unfocused eyes upon Sam's own face.

"Look at me, you bastard." Sam demanded. "Damn it Dean! You selfish piece of crap, look at me!" And Dean did. He raised his eyes to his brother's face, he arched his back as he swallowed, attempting to speak. To apologize. To comfort. To be a big brother. "Don't you dare, don't you dare do this…"

"Samuel, maybe you shouldn't…" The man suggested softly, his haggard hand falling on Sam's bent forward shoulder.

"Shut up! Shut the hell up!" Sam yelled, whirling around to look at his mentor, his savior, his destroyer. The man flew back against the wall, but Sam was too grief stricken to realize he had just used his powers.

"Sam…" A weak groan. Sam focused his attention back to his dying brother. Oh God. Dean was dying. He was so pale, his breath came in shallow labored rasps, and he was sweating but shivering from cold at the same time.

"You listen to me, Dean." Sam sobbed, not giving a damn that his voice broke and was nothing more than a whisper, it was the words that mattered now. He grabbed his brother's face again, lifting it off the table slightly. "Don't you dare give up on me. Not now." Not ever. Sam closed his eyes against the tears and let his head fall down upon Dean's chest. "God damn it Dean, don't do this. I need you man."

Dean lifted his hand slightly, just enough to touch the closest part of his brother, which just happened to be the back of his upper thigh. Sam turned and grasped the had-to-be-broken hand softly and smiled.

"Dude, you just grazed my ass." Sam whispered and gave a soft encouraging squeeze. He almost leapt with joy when he got one in return.

"Sammy, I'm sorry… I can't…" Dean mumbled. Sam shook his head, running one hand over Dean's forehead.

"Shh, shut up." Sam whispered. "You can, you can hold on. You're going to. I'm going to be right here. Fight Dean. Please?"

"Samuel…" A woman's voice whispered. Sam looked up. She was lovely, young with long white blonde hair. She looked like an angel. All she was missing was the wings and halo. Or wait, maybe that's what that light over her was, her halo.

"Put it under his head, Serena." The man instructed. She nodded, and lifting Dean's head, sliding a black pillow under his head. "Water, bandages and coffee." He said, smiling at Sam. "And a chair for Samuel."

It seemed to Sam that he was instantly sitting in a chair, with a steaming cup of coffee and a blanket wrapped around his shoulders. Dean's body covered in bandages, his chest rising and falling slowly, but steadily, his face still pale, though no longer sweating or shivering.

The man walked in with a cup of lukewarm water. "Do you want to make him drink, or should I?"

"Don't touch him." Sam ordered calmly. The man nodded, a gentle smile on his face, and nodded.

"I won't." He promised and set the cup on the table where Dean still lay. "Samuel, you must except this…" Sam shook his head.

"Shut up." Sam whispered. But the man was persistent.

"If you don't turn yourself in, he will die. They won't stop until they cut all your ties to this world." He explained.

"Shut up!" He said a little louder, closing his eyes and placing his head in his hands.

"You're killing him, Samuel."

"I said shut up!" Sam got to his feet and jarred the table. Dean groaned and Sam's anger quickly turned to concern. "Oh, Jesus, Dean I'm sorry." Sam whispered and put a hand on Dean's cheek. "Hey, it's okay. You're fine. Go back to sleep." Sam reached out for the cup. "You thirsty?"

Dean gave a weak nod and Sam lifted the cup to his lips. "Slow sips, Dean." He whispered. Almost half the cup was gone before Dean broke into a coughing fit. Sam pulled the cup away and gently rubbed Dean's back. "Shh, you're okay."

"Samuel, may I see you in the other room?" The man asked. Sam put the cup down, gently pushed Dean back down and pulled the blanket up to his neck. He gave Dean's shoulder a loving squeezed and followed the man into the other room.

"What?" He asked rudely. The man had saved his brother, but he couldn't help but feel some sort of hate towards him.

The man grabbed Sam's hand, pressing something into his palm. "You must understand, Samuel. It has to be this way. You must lose him." Sam yanked his hand back and looked at the bottle in his hand.

The bottle of rat poison.

The bottle of rat poison he had just fed to his brother.

"Dean!" Sam yelled and the room began to tip.


Oh God.


Sam froze in the entry way. Dean's back was arched painfully, white foam spewing from the corners of his mouth, his hands pawing at his chest.

He couldn't breathe.

He was dying.

Sam ran to his side, tears streaming down his face. He wrapped his brother in a hug, tightly to his chest.

"Dean, I am so sorry." He sobbed, pressing his face in Dean's sweat soaked hair. "I love you. I love you so much. I'm sorry. I'll take the pain away." He promised. He placed his hand flat on Dean's back. "Goodbye."

Then using the powers he had fought against so hard. He killed his brother.

- - -


So, feedback is good. Ideas, better. Long reviews with lots of constructive criticisms, best. And I like compliments as well. : ) So please, if you read, I'd like a review.


XOXO—your writer: Kena