My fascination with sleepwalking inspired this story. With everything these guys have been through, at least one of the Winchesters has to be a sleepwalker. As always, reviews are welcome and appreciated!

Fallen Angel

As he sat on his bed undressing, Dean Winchester settled his glance on his brother, sound asleep in the next bed. The Georgia air was still and muggy, and Dean had managed to prop open most of the windows in the motel room, as their A/C unit was broken.

Pulling back the covers, Dean could not help but keep staring at his brother. It had been a couple of hours since Sam had gone to bed, and Dean was afraid he'd have another episode. Keeping his eyes on Sam, he climbed into bed and let his body sink into the semi-uncomfortable mattress. His body ached from the day's hunt. Catching a werewolf was always a difficult task, and even harder to shoot one, seeing as it was once an innocent person.

As he slowly fell into sleep, Dean heard a shuffle coming from his brother's direction, and sat up immediately in bed. Sam wasn't in his bed. He scanned the room and quickly found his brother rifling through a duffel bag.

"Sam," he said as normally as possible "go back to bed, dude."
"Gotta get it. Gonna kill…" Sam mumbled the words almost incoherently.

Dean climbed out of bed and walked toward his brother.

"Come on, just go back to bed." He reached out for Sam, and was met with Sam's fist connecting with his face. Dean stumbled backwards at the blow, stunned. "God damn it, Sam! Get your ass back into bed!"

Sam proceeded to load a gun in front of Dean. Fearing that Sam would try to shoot him, Dean leapt at his brother and tried to wrench the gun away from him. Sam was a formidable opponent for his brother, and the struggle lasted until Dean ended up on the floor, holding his stomach where Sam had punched him. Putting the gun into the band of his athletic shorts, Sam bolted for the door. Dean got up and tried to run after him, but he couldn't get very far, as he was still regaining his breath from the punch his brother had thrown. He was even more dismayed when Sam got into the Impala and drove away.

"Shit!" Dean shouted in anger as he watched his sleepwalking brother drive away in their one and only mode of transportation. He had no other way of tracking Sam than to steal a car, and the motel they had chosen actually had working security cameras, so it was out of the question. All Dean could do was wait until Sam returned, if he returned.


Dean awoke the next morning to find Sam back in bed, snoring loudly. He must have come back after Dean had finally fallen asleep again. Climbing out of bed, Dean found the gun Sam had taken in the middle of the floor, in pieces.

Immediately Dean went to his brother's bedside and shook him lightly.

"Sam, get up!"

Sam stirred and turned over. A stunned look washed over Dean's face, and he backed up and fell back into a sitting position on his bed.

"Dean, what's the matter? You're white as a ghost."

Dean didn't know how to tell his brother what he saw.

"Sam, what did you do?"

Sam went to throw off the covers and felt moisture on the sheets. He looked down to see what it was, and his face turned as pale as his brother's. His clothes and sheets were covered in blood, and his arms and chest were covered in bruises.

"Dean, I swear I don't know—" he was interrupted by a sharp knock on the door. They exchanged glances as Dean responded to the knock.

"Who is it?" he yelled.

"DeKalb Police! Open up!"

Dean jumped up and grabbed his brother's arm, pulling him off the bed.

"Just a second!" He tore the sheets off his brother's bed and threw them into Sam's arms. "Get into the bathroom. I'll take care of everything." As Sam ran into the bathroom to hide the evidence, Dean picked up what was left of his favorite firearm and threw them into the side pocket of his duffel bag.

"Open this door, now!"

Dean threw the comforter back onto his brother's bed and made it with the spare pillow he had been using. He had to make it look like he was the only one who had slept there that night.

As he finished, the door burst open, and two officers barged in, guns pointed at Dean.

"Hands over your head! NOW!" Dean did as directed. As one of the officers put the handcuffs on Dean, the other went to check the bathroom. A lump formed in Dean's throat. They were going to find Sam and his blood-soaked wardrobe.

"What the hell am I being arrested for! I didn't do anything!"

"Premeditated murder isn't a misdemeanor, Mr. White. You're in serious trouble."

Dean's heart sank. What had his brother done in his sleep? If they figured out who he really was, both of them were screwed royally.


Sam crouched down under the bathroom window as he listened to the police inside his motel room. He was thankful they had chosen a hotel with such an escape route. He wasn't sure what he had done, but it was going to bring them down. He had to remember where he had gone, what he had done, and why he woke up doused in blood. The first thing he had to do was get his brother out of police custody, and he was going to need reinforcements. Pulling his cell phone from the pocket of his shorts, he flipped it open and started to dial Bobby's phone number.