By: Karen B.

Summary: Season six spoiler warning. Very short missing scene from the beginning of episode 6-14.

Disclaimer: Not the owner.


Dean was having a hard time keeping composure. Wasn't even sure who was shaking worse. Him or Sam. Had to keep telling himself over and over Sam wasn't dead. The wall still stood, though the edges might be frayed.

Sam's little, struck by lightning, electrocution act was hair-raising to say the least. Pun intended. Dean could almost feel the volts sweeping through his little brother as he seized. What was worse, Dean couldn't do crap about it. All he could do was watch. Watch helpless and scared and wait for Sam's seizing to stop.

The twitching and twisting and arching was violent and seemed to painfully go on forever. But suddenly - like a heavy boot stamping Sam in the heart - he stilled. Kid ended up flat on his back. Face up. Hair slicked back. Wide-open eyes - now closed.

The stillness was ten times more scary.


Dead. Dead. His brother looked dead.

"Sam." Dean gave him a tiny, unsure shake.

Sam flopped weakly, but didn't respond

"S-S-S-Sammy?" Dean questioned, tearful and scared.


Dean glanced around the room in a panic. Should he call 911? Send up a bat signal. Who could help? Nobody could help. Not even angels. He knew what this was, though he wanted to deny it.

He looked back down at Sam. Waited and waited. Eyes watering. Wanting to cry. Wanting to pray, but his tongue was glued to the roof of his mouth and words just wouldn't come.

Still nothing from Sam.

Son of a bitch, he didn't want to check, but he had to. Dean lay a hand to Sam's neck. Fingers directly over his brother's pulse point.

Barely a heartbeat.

Dean clenched his teeth, gentling a hand near Sam's hairline.

His brother's skin was clammy and very cold.

He scrutinized Sam's chest.

Hardly breathing.

Sam was drifting away. Far, far away.

And all Dean could do was kneel over his baby brother. Bend in low. Will Sam…Beg Sam…. to come back to him. He knew where Sam had gone. Dean could almost smell the sulphur flaring in his own nostrils. Could practically hear the screams of Sam's dying soul. Dean was completely unraveled. His childhood job of keeping Sam safe - forever -never letting anything happen to Sam as long as he was around - what an impossible task.

"Sammy!" More shaking. Heavier this time.

Everything was quiet, and it made him feel sick.

Dean briefly turned his head away. 'Come, on. Please,' he silently petitioned, the words unable to find their way out his parched throat.

Still unresponsive, Sam didn't so much as flinch. If anything, he'd stopped breathing all together.

Dean held his breath, kneeling further over Sam. Fingers gnarled in Sam's jacket - desperate times.

Without Sam, Dean knew he was lost. He was the rat running through a dark, slimy sewer pipe to get to the cheese. Only there never would be any cheese. Only death and sewage.

"Oh, come on, damn it!" Dean yelled, with urgent impatience.

Out of the blue, Sam's eyelids lifted and he sucked in a long, pronounced gasp of air.

Dean was taken back with surprise, almost not registering what he was seeing. He had his brother back.

"Hey, hey, hey. You with me?" Dean questioned, anxious, his fear still obvious.

Sam quickly caught Dean's eyes. Blinked, focused, then nodded. "Okay," he breathlessly mumbled.

That was all Dean needed to know. He was in a hurry to get to their next destination, not knowing what that would be. All he knew was they needed to get away from this town. A town that was like a long sewing needle, popping balloons and putting holes in his brother's thin- as- latex head. Allowing hell to slowly hiss out.

Dean's back, shoved against the wall, holding hell's playhouse in place, wasn't helping.

His options - diddly squat.

If Sam hadn't waken, he didn't know what he would have done. And now that he was awake, Dean still didn't know.

His only strategy - take Sam away from here. As if that was a cure-all. As if a magic pill could make everything all better. Keep the wall from opening up any further. Dean knew deep inside, sooner or later, the wall would be swept away, and the winds of hell would take Sam over. Flood through his veins like liquid fire. Leave Sam a drooling, brainless melon.

The thought was too much to bare.

"Come on. Come on. We got to get you the hell outta here." Dean forcefully took Sam by the arm and tugged him quickly up to his feet.

Sam, obviously not prepared to stand, stumbled and sagged against Dean. Pale and hunched over.

"D'n." Weak fingers loosely flexed, trying to grip Dean's jacket, but couldn't quit find the strength, instead falling limp to his sides. "How…" Sam dangled in his brother's grasp like a wet newspaper, trying to adjust to being vertical. Acclimate to where he was now. Back in the room. Back with Dean. "How long?" he frowned.

"Long enough, dude." Dean wiped a gentle hand over Sam's forehead. "About three minutes."

"Guh," Sam took in short, unsteady breaths curling in further on himself.

Easy, now, Sammy." He took most of Sam's weight to keep him standing. "

Dean was in a rush. The longer they stayed here, the more chance of a relapse. Not happening. So not happening. With Sam in tow, they stumbled about the room.

"Death gave you one tiny rule," Dean huffed, half-angry, half-out-of-his-mind. "Four simple, little words," he growled, moving he and Sam awkwardly as he gathered their bagfuls of clothes. "Don't …" he slung his bag over his shoulder. "Scratch the wall." He picked up Sam's bag and lobbed it over top that, leaving behind a few unpacked shirts. "And you," Dean grunted adjusting Sam against his side. "You can't follow them." He headed them toward the door. "Dude, you win the Kewpie Doll prize for stupidity."

"Wha'? "Sam could hardly keep up. Mentally or physically. His knees buckled and his head and hair went all floppy.

"All right. All right. I gottcha, Sammy," Dean's voice softened, dragging Sam's arm up over his shoulder for better support. "You going to make it to the car, man?"

Sam teeter-tottered. "C-cold," he slurred, scarcely able to keep up with Dean's yakking, let alone where they were headed.

"Don't you worry, little brother." Dean urged Sam onward, fast as he dared, toward the door.

Sam moved sluggishly across the creaking floorboards, head hung low.

Out the front door into the light, eyes half-lidded.

Across the parking lot, clinging to Dean weak and cold and clammy.

Finally they got to the car.

Dean paused a moment, side glancing at Sam. "I don't like the look of you, Sam."

Sam lifted a weak, shaky hand pushing away the strands of hair that dangled over his eyes. "B-better?"

"You suck." Dean opened the passenger door and unloaded their bags first. "Here's how we're going to do this…from now on it's my way, Sam." His words hard as stone

"I don't. I can't," Sam mumbled, dizzy and confusioned, allowing Dean to lower him to the seat.

"No choice. Just my way." Dean stated, solid in his conviction.


"Shut up, Sam," Dean ground out fast, clear and concise.

Sam gave up trying to keep up with the conversation and shut his eyes. Breathing in and out through his nose, he slowly straightened his aching body. "Cold-colder," Sam groaned.

"Hold on." Dean scrambled to reach over Sam into the back seat. Knowing all to well how cold hell was.

"C-can't stop shake-shaking." Sam's teeth clicked together loudly.

"I know. I know." Dean nabbed a blanket and wrapped Sam all up snug.

Sam sighed, "Thanks, D-Dean."

Dean kept tucking in the blanket. Molding it to Sam's body. Studying him with troubled eyes.

"Stop ogling me like-like one of your chicks," Sam protested, his shivering lessening.

"Don't flatter yourself, Sam." Dean stopped fussing with the blanket and straightened, backing out of the car. "You're not much to look at," Dean gave a light chuckle, gently shutting the door.

He moved slowly around the front of the Impala letting his hand run over the hood. His eyes met Sam's.

Sam stared at him, the emotion on his face clear. Dean couldn't help but notice how the kid was shaken, literally. Inside and out. Sam ran a hand through his hair, gave a nod.

Damn the shit just kept stacking up against them.

Dean gave Sam a slight smile and blew out a few breaths, desperate to get his own shaking under control.

The wall was breaking. A little bit everyday. Leaking through the cracks. Scratching or no scratching the bitch was crumbling.

"What are we going to do, Sammy?" Dean whispered, just before opening the driver's door and sliding his ass onto the black leather seat.

Sam was still shivering under the blanket. "Crap, Sam. You're still freezing."

Before Sam had a chance to say a word, Dean had his jacket off and tucked in around Sam on top of the blanket.

"Dean." Sam peered out sunken eyes. "Warm enough. Don't need…"

"I say…" Dean paused. "You do," he reminded, starting the engine and hiking up the heat. It was such a dad thing to say, but it was all he had. "Now go to sleep," Dean ordered.

"Not sleep…"

"My way, Sam, like the song goes." Dean shot Sam a hard-edged stare ready for a fight, but got none.

Sam's eyes had already fallen shut and he was out. Head leaning back against the seat, face tipped upward, looking drawn and hollow.

"Sam?" Dean's panic slammed back into his heart and his hand flashed out, swiftly checking his brother's pulse for the second time that day. "Son of a bitch, don't you friggin' do that." He gave a small nasally laugh at the feel of the strong and steady beats beneath his fingers. "You need to stick close to me, bro. At all times." Dean gently eased Sam over, until he was leaning against him and tucked in tight. Close enough to feel Sam's breath - warm on his neck. "Just stay with me, Sam."

Dean headed them down the bumpy road, desperately trying to remember the lyrics to a song he didn't really know.

What he did know was that Sam had a good soul. His brother wasn't that soulless drip anymore and he would never be again. Sam was going to keep past, past. If Dean had to put the kid's memories in handcuffs. Dope him up. Spend the rest of his life double checking and triple checking Sam's every move and thought.

If Dean had to crawl into Sam's head and take the blows for Sam - he would do that too. Eat hell up and spit hell out. But one thing was for certain…he wasn't losing Sam.

Never, ever again.

The 'blah' End.