Slowly Chipping Away At Walls.

Summary. . . . . . . . . . He can't help it. He just can't help it. It's itching and he can't help but want to scratch.

Disclaimer. . . . . . . . . As always, not mine, I'm just playing away in Kripke's backyard.

A.N. . . . . . . . . . Well 2010 didn't turn out to be a great year for me, yet more visa woes, an ill husband, a yet another big move on the horizon, and as a result writing kinda slipped away for a while. Things have started to quiet down a little bit now, the visas are now sorted, well somewhat, the husband is getting better, and even though the move is still happening, I'm kinda looking forward to it, Chicago here we come. Needless to say my want to write again is strong, but my train of thought as far as my posted Supernatural stories is concerned has gone, for anyone waiting for updates on them please bear with me, I will return to them I promise. In the meantime here's a little one shot to tide you along, I hope that you enjoy. Peanut x

The first time it happened he was sitting alone in their current motel room whilst Dean procured more funds, more girls, and more greasy food, Sam fiddled nervously with the loose strands of a hole in his worn down jeans, his mind elsewhere, and his eyes unseeing. He knew he shouldn't, knew he should leave it alone, but like a gaudily wrapped present under a tree festooned with trinkets and bright colorful lights, it needed investigating and he couldn't leave it alone, couldn't walk away without wanting to sneak a peek. So he scratched and picked, just wanting a glimpse, chipping away at the edges, the mortar crumbling from the heavily built up walls until a gap emerged, and the memories began to seep through, bringing forth with them the pain.

His hands left their destruction of his jeans as the first bolt of agony struck, his palms grounding into his eyes in an attempt to stop the recreated movies from repeating in his head. His mind desperately tried to shore back up the crack that he had created, it realizing now just how big of a mistake it had been to go prying, but it was too late. As quick as he tried to batten down the hatches, another crack would begin to appear, and with each crack came more pain.

He slid off the side of the bed, his body curling automatically in an attempt to stave of the agony, but wave after wave came crashing over him, buffeting him, consuming him, suffocating him. He felt nothing but pain, heard nothing but his own screams. He tried to fight through the pain, tried to restore the damage he had created, imagined himself in his mind plastering the cracks, battling against the onslaught that still flowed through, finding the task getting easier as his body registered another person close, the mortar sticking and closing the cracks as a voice began to break through his agony.

When his pain finally subsided, when his heart stopped thudding against his chest, when his breathing finally returned to normal, he embraced the comfort his brother was offering, leaning into the warm body as chills wracked his frame. He lied when asked, insisted he was fine, that it was only a bad migraine. He knew that Dean hadn't believed him, knew his brother could see straight through the lies, had a feeling his sibling even knew exactly what had happened; but Dean didn't question it, the Winchester way at dealing, still strong.

The second time it happened, he had no memory of how it came about. After the first time, and the agony that it created, he had sworn to himself that no matter what he would not scratch at the itch again, that his curiosity would not get the better of himself anymore. So when he woke up, not remembering how he got where he was, with a tired and emotional Dean sat next to him, his brother's eyes giving away just how bad things had gotten; Sam had looked at him with confusion and asked, "What happened?"

"You don't remember?" His brother answered with a question. At seeing the confusion still in Sam's eyes, he'd added. "We were on the hunt for that wendigo when you just wigged out on me. Dammit Sam that thing nearly sliced and diced you. What the hell happened?"

"I don't know." Sam replied. Pushing through the agony that still resounded in his head he tried to remember. Pictures invaded his mind, him and his brother driving along, the walk into the forest, the path that led to the beasts lair, the smell of rotting flesh. . . . . . . . . . . He groaned as that smell was remembered, noticing for the first time that the walls that he had so carefully restored were broken once more. "Dean." He managed to croak out, his hand grasping his brother's as his mind was assaulted, his body trying to curl up into itself as the memories attacked, leaving Dean with little choice but to sit and try and offer comfort as he seized upon the covers.

"I told you that this could happen, Dean. I warned you of the risks. Death did too." A soft voice resounded from behind the troubled older hunter. "Sam has been curious, and now the damage is done."

"You have to help him. You have to stop this. Build the damn walls back up again Cas. You owe us. You owe him."

"I owe you nothing Dean. I told you I was against this. I knew that this could happen, but you wanted your Sam back. Well this is the price you have to pay for that want."

"You have to do something, please Cas, you have to help him."

"I can't help him Dean; the damage has already been inflicted. These incidents will keep happening again and again and again. If Sam is lucky, it will be a crack at a time and he'll get through them like he did last time."

"Last time? What do you mean last time?" Dean asked his worry increasing.

"You didn't really believe that it was a migraine, did you Dean?" Cas stoically responded.

"Son of a bitch!" The older hunter shouted out, his anger at Sam and their stubborn Winchester way surfacing for just a moment before Cas' other words really registered. "What if it's not a crack at a time? What happens then?"

"Then you lose." Cas responded turning to leave, Dean's voice stopping him.

"How long? How long till the dam breaks?"

"That I can't answer Dean." He replied before Dean heard the sound of his wings that signaled he was alone once more. Alone and wondering if this time the walls would fall.

A.N. . . . . . . . . . Well that's it, I did say it was a small one shot, I hope that will do for you until the Supernatural muse returns. Thanks for taking time out to read, catch you soon, Peanut x