Thanks to all those who reviewed my other stories, whom I can't thank personally, such as "iforgetmylogin p"
He surfaced nebulously into consciousness, his thoughts jumbled; fleeting images and memories slipping away frustratingly from him like those dreams
or nightmares which seem to dissolve instantly as your mind awakens, and which you try to hold onto before they melt away completely.
He tried opening his eyes but his eyelids felt as if someone had attached two concrete blocks to them making their opening a feat
beyond his meagre forces. They snapped shut again like two elastic bands tugged too far apart.
He tried sending energy to his hands and managed to make them move clumsily, like a robot moving its extremities for the very first time.
His long fingers curled awkwardly around the edges of the bed. No, a cot!
The cogs in his rusty mind were staring to turn again.
Cot equals Panic room.
That's where he must be, but to verify that he had to open his un-cooperative eyes.
He tried again; all the strength in his weary body hardly enough to perform such a simple act.
As they creakily opened, his surroundings came hazily into focus and there was no mistaking the circular iron room;
he could never forget the hours, no days, he had passed locked in here; the pain and hallucinations of the prolonged withdrawals
from his demon blood addiction, terrible, frightful and unforgettable.
He hated this place with all the passion of his young heart, and yet his destiny kept pulling him back to it
as if the very room itself was a drug that he was a slave to.
Now that his mind had started to collaborate once more, it flew towards that with which it was inexorably linked. Dean!
Where was his brother?
He wasn't at his side, for if he had been, he would already have been fussing over him, his husky voice assuring himself of his little brother's well-being.
So he was alone.
Well, it wasn't the first time that he had languished abandoned in here.
His brain urged his limbs to move themselves, but he was just so tired and his muscular body just so heavy. but his mind and heart insisted however;
insisted that he move his ass and go find Dean.
Suddenly his senses flooded over him and he was overwhelmed with the need to see his big brother, to feel him.
It felt like years since he had last set eyes on him, but that couldn't be, for he was lying in Bobby's panic room and so Dean must be near-by somewhere...!
He brought a hand to his face, uncertain now.
It looked normal, young, not aged or gnarled as a old man's would; then why did he have this feeling of ancient, of years having gone by
without sight or touch of Dean.
He wished wryly that Bobby had a crane attached to the ceiling, one that could pull up his hefty uncooperative body from the cot, but there wasn't,
so he put all his efforts into swinging his "long freaky legs" as Dean scoffingly called them, over the side
and pulling his upper body into a sitting position.
Reality swirled around him leaving him once again uncertain if what his brain was registering was authentic or not.
For some reason he didn't seen to be able to distinguish the difference any more.
Dean! He had to get to Dean!
His big brother would make everything right.
Dean loved him; Dean was his brother, mother, father and best friend all rolled into one.
Dean! Dean! Dean! and with that one word reverberating in his mind and heart, Sam pulled his wobbly body to its feet
and stumbled towards the open door, wondering why his every movement seemed so stiff and unfamiliar,
as if he hadn't used his body in years and had forgotten how.
He felt himself becoming a little steadier whilst he made his way through Bobby's basement and when he arrived at the bottom of the flight of stairs
it didn't seem that climbing them would be as difficult a feat as he had expected.
Everything was quiet except for the murmur of voices from above.
He recognised the gruff gravelly tones of his brother and his heart filled with joy.
Dean was upstairs; he wouldn't have to wait more than a minute to see him.
He climbed the stairs, his heart beating ever faster; the need to see, to touch, to feel his brother's live body in his arms,
had become an overwhelming necessity.
He stationed a moment in the library doorway.
Dean was sitting at the desk, his back to Sam, talking to Bobby.
The older man saw him first, his eyes widening in an expression that Sam couldn't decipher, unsure if it was happiness or caution but he didn't care.
He had no wish or time to analyse Bobby's gaze.
His eyes were only for his brother as Dean, alerted by Bobby's gasp of awareness, turned slowly around.
Dean's eyes met his and Sam didn't care one hoot how girly it sounded but the sight of his brother was the most marvellous thing he had ever seen.
He made his way swiftly towards him, as Dean stood up; his paces no longer insecure but steady as a rock, leading him home, home to his brother.
He threw himself on to him with all the weight of his powerful body, crushing him to his chest, his head fitting exactly into the curve of Dean's neck
with the accuracy of a piece of a jig-saw puzzle, cut to conform there precisely..
He sensed Dean's confusion at first, as if his brother wasn't quite sure how best to react but a second later Sam felt his strong arms surround him
and pull him into his embrace, with all the love in his heart, soul and mind.
They hung on to one another.
Nothing else mattered.
In that moment they were one.
Whatever it was that bound them together, be it their simple brotherhood or something beyond this reality, was of no importance.
They were together.
Their love and joy at each other's existence flowed between them reciprocally, like a two way electric current, curing all their pain
and sewing together the pieces of their torn hearts, making each brother whole again.
XXXXX The enD XXXXX