Well, this is me back again. I've had my little break, so it's time to get back to work.

This was a surprise of a story - partly because it's set in Season 4, and I told myself early on in the piece that I would hold off doing any S4 stuff because I was having trouble getting a handle on the boys. But this little plot bunny wouldn't leave me alone, so here we are.

Lots of the story is still being tweaked, so let's see how we go with it.

The usual thanks to Chasidern and Ziggy, my awesome banner-maker and beta respectively. Thanks girls - I can't do this without you any more.

And the usual disclaimers apply: Don't own them - if I did, I'd give up work,stay home and play with them, and dress them in as few layers as I possibly could.

Oh, and this story has spoilers for Season 4, so if you haven't seen the episodes et and don't want to be spoiled, go no further, I beg you!

And one more little note - I know that the story starts with a poltergeist hunt, but the spirit actually only plays a minor part in the story, so that's why it's in this section and not Ghosts.

Jules




Rewound by Mizpah

“You, my brother, are a figment of my imagination…”
A hunt for a poltergeist leaves Sam doubting his brother’s very existence
Set in Season 4, after the episode Heaven And Hell, and contains spoilers up to and including that episode

Chapter 1

“Cindy, wait up!”

Cindy Reardon juggled the stack of despatch orders to one arm and thrust out her other hand to stop the elevator door closing. The young blonde smiled, withdrawing her hand as a tall, willowy brunette dashed inside. “Hey, Andie.”

“Going down?” Andrea Birch pressed a lacquered nail against the button for the ground floor.

The shorter woman grimaced, trying to suppress a shudder. “Yeah, unfortunately.”

Arching one finely shaped eyebrow at her companion, the attractive secretary gave a tentative smile. “Come on, Cin, you don’t believe that ghost crap, do you?”

“Ed Kowalski said –”

“Ed Kowalski is not what I’d call a reliable witness.” Andie cupped one elegant hand as if holding a glass, and brought the imaginary drinking receptacle to her mouth before winking knowingly.

“Not again?”

“Third time this month. His supervisor’s trying to cover it up, but I think Mr Levine is getting suspicious. Too many orders have been screwed up or misplaced on his shift.” Patting the young accounts clerk’s shoulder, the secretary smiled in reassurance. “Don’t let the rumours get to you, honey.”

“It still kind of gives me the creeps, coming down here.” Cindy’s teeth worried her lower lip as the elevator pinged. The doors slid open to reveal the busy loading dock and despatch area, and she hesitated before stepping out onto the scuffed concrete floor. “Especially just after shift change.” She checked her watch and gave vent to an aggrieved sigh. “Which is in five minutes.”

“Don’t give it another thought. Hey, when you’re done, wait for me, okay? I’ll ride back up with you.” Striding confidently forward, the brunette was soon gone from sight, weaving her way with fluid grace past busy workers, stacks of cartons and loaded handcarts.

“Thanks, Andie,” Cindy called after her friend. A red-nailed hand popped into view over a pallet of sealed shipping cartons, waving briefly in acknowledgement before dropping again.

Taking a cautious look around the bustling dock, the young blonde clerk mentally mapped out her route before setting forth, dodging through the organised chaos until she reached the despatch clerk’s desk. “Hey, Olivia.”

“What brings you down to the pit, girl? Doncha know the place is haunted?” Letting out a hearty laugh at her own joke, the middle-aged African-American woman wiped a hand across her sweaty forehead and leaned back in her chair.

“Yeah, I – I know.” Cindy couldn’t help the involuntary flinch or the worried look she shot over her shoulder as she handed over the stack of orders.

“Aww, now honey, don’t you put any stock in what that old drunk Ed Kowalski says. “Ain’t nothin’ down here except us chickens.” Olivia gave a throaty chuckle, thumbed through the orders and began to sort them into piles. “Some of these can get packed tonight – I’ll give them to Henry when he clocks in.”

“Thanks, Olivia. I’ve got a few more that just came in over the fax, but I haven’t processed the paperwork yet. I’ll bring them down tomorrow.”

“No rush.” The elder woman waved a hand at the frantic activity just as a horn sounded, signalling the end of the day shift. “Not like we’re tryin’ to get this crap out to the stores before Christmas or anything.”

“Yeah.” Cindy laughed softly in genuine amusement.

The despatch day personnel departed in a steady stream, to be replaced by a much smaller crew for the late shift. The young accounts clerk watched the day staff leave, a slight feeling of apprehension sending a shiver down her spine. The noise level dropped considerably, the evening staff conversing in low murmurs as they packed the orders and stacked the boxes onto pallets to be shipped out. It almost seemed to Cindy as though even the lighting had become a little more subdued after the change of shift. She shivered suddenly, wrapping her arms around her torso.

Olivia glanced up, a puzzled frown between her brows. “Honey, you all right?”

“I’m fine.” Cindy gave the woman a weak, reassuring smile. Hearing the sharp click of heels approaching, she spun around, her petite frame slumping in relief as a familiar figure appeared from between the racks of merchandise waiting to be packed. “Andie.”

“Hey.” The secretary’s wide smile encompassed both women. “Anything go bump or levitate off the floor yet?”

“The only thing that’s gonna levitate off this floor tonight will be Henry, with the help of my boot against his butt,” Olivia growled in reply, glancing at the clock on the wall behind her desk. “He’s late.”

“Maybe he’s upstairs with Mr Levine.” Andie shrugged one slim shoulder. “He hasn’t been happy with the evening shift’s quota lately.”

“Honey, if I had to sit down and make a list of all the things that make your boss unhappy, I’d be here for the rest of my days,” the despatch clerk shot back.

Andie rolled her eyes. “Tell me about it.”

A metallic ping, followed by a soft thump and a faint gasp reached the women’s ears and they glanced curiously towards the elevators. Just visible over the stacks of boxes was a balding head fringed by an untidy ring of thinning grey hair, heading steadily in their direction. Olivia snorted as she rose from behind the desk.

“Henry Wilkes, you better have a good explanation for why you’re so damned late.”

The man didn’t answer – didn’t even look up at the sound of the despatch clerk’s voice. Olivia frowned, an uneasy tingle running down her back. She stepped around the desk, her gaze on the top of Henry’s head as he came steadily closer.

Finally the rest of her fellow supervisor’s body came into view, and Olivia took a half step forward, her blood freezing in her veins.

“O-oliv-ia?” Cindy clutched at the older woman’s sleeve as Olivia moved protectively in front of the two younger employees. She heard Andie suck in a hitched gasp at her side. “H-henry – his – his feet…”

“…aren’t touching the floor,” Andie finished in a shocked whisper.

Henry Wilkes continued to move towards the despatch desk and the three scared woman; feet dangling a few inches off the floor, head inclined slightly downwards, terrified eyes wide and pleading. Blood ran in a ruby stream from his partly open mouth, over his chin and onto his dark grey shirt.

“Holy Mother of God…” Swallowing rapidly, Olivia spread her arms out from her sides. “S-stay behind me, girls.”

The evening shift supervisor’s suspended body came to a halt six feet away. Henry locked gazes with the older woman, his mouth opening and closing without a sound.

“Henry – my God…” Olivia stretched out a shaking hand. “My God…”

Suddenly the man’s body snapped into a rigid brace. His eyes bulged, and his bloody tongue protruded from his mouth as a wet, rasping breath gurgled from his throat. Henry sent one last pleading glance in his friend’s direction before his torso was wrenched backwards with incredible force. There was an audible crack as his spine was snapped completely in half, and then the broken body was released by whatever invisible bonds had held it captive; tumbling to the floor like a discarded rag doll.

Cindy Reardon put her hands over her ears, squeezed her eyes tightly closed to shut out the grisly sight, and screamed.

* * * * *

Dean Winchester sat in a corner booth of the almost deserted diner, his right shoulder pressed against the window as he moodily watched the rain bands streaking across the glass. He could hear the faint howl of the wind outside, blowing the freezing rain almost horizontal.

A handful of people braved the elements, making their way along the sidewalk in a hunched stagger or an awkward rearwards lean; depending on which direction they were headed in. Dean’s full lips twitched into a tiny smile as one business type had his black umbrella first blown inside out, and then torn completely from his hands. He watched the man chase the bouncing bundle of metal rods and rapidly shredding fabric down the street, shaking his head at the futility of the exercise.

The bell over the door rang suddenly, dragging the hunter’s attention away from the people on the rain-lashed street. A gust of wind preceded the appearance of the tall, broad-shouldered figure as he was practically blown inside. Hastily slamming the door closed behind him, Sam took a moment to brush his damp, wind-tossed hair out of his face before making his way to the booth where his brother waited in mild amusement.

Huffing a little as he shrugged out of his equally damp jacket, Sam sat down and tossed it onto the seat beside him. “You know, it would have been much warmer, not to mention drier, to stay back at the motel. They have a dining room.”

Dean shrugged, the tiny smile fading from his face. Resuming his study of the rain bands slashing across the window, he picked up the saltshaker and idly turned it between his fingers. “Just needed to get out for a while.”

“You all right?”

The elder hunter rolled his eyes. “Don’t do that, Sam.”

“Do what?”

“Don’t go giving me that sappy look with the puppy eyes. I’m fine. Quit worryin’.”

“Oh, God, not the puppy eyes.” Sam smirked in response to his brother’s amused snort. Picking up a menu from the table, he scanned the items listed on its laminated surface. “By the way, Bobby’s back.”

“Yeah?” Dean flicked his gaze briefly from the window. “What did he say?”

“Said he was glad we didn’t break anything.” The younger man shrugged. “Asked if we were okay. He got the whole story from Pamela.”

“Huh.” Becoming aware of a presence hovering at his shoulder, Dean glanced up, eyeing the pretty waitress with disinterest. He waved a hand at his brother, indicating that Sam should order for him, and went back to staring at the rain.

Drawing his brows together in a faint frown, Sam placed their orders before leaning back against the brown vinyl seat. The silence stretched on between the brothers, each man lost in his own thoughts until the waitress returned to the table with their coffee. Thanking the girl with a nod and a smile, Sam stretched out his leg and gently tapped the side of Dean’s boot, pointing to the steaming cup of coffee when the older hunter looked up. Dean quirked a faint grin, wrapped both hands around the mug and let his gaze stray to the window once more.

Deciding to leave Dean to his musings, Sam turned his attention to the rest of the diner. There wasn’t much to see – the usual collection of booths and tables dotted the rectangular room, interspersed with a few fake potted plants. The counter stretched across one end of the building, opposite the door. Advertisements for condiments and other foodstuffs dotted the dark cream walls. Spying a discarded newspaper on the next table, Sam reached out and snagged it, turning the pages until he came to the obituary section.

Vaguely aware of the faint rustling of the purloined newspaper, Dean continued his quiet contemplation, grateful that his brother wasn’t trying to push the point. Sam had been going out of his way to give him some much needed space after his revelation about his time in the Pit. Every now and then he would turn to find Sam quietly studying him with those worried puppy dog eyes, but the younger man hadn’t made any attempt to have another chick-flick chat.

It was oddly comforting to know that Sam was so concerned about him. Comforting that his brother didn’t hold what he’d done in Hell against him – that Sam didn’t suddenly see him as some kind of monster, or weak and pathetic. Hell, Dean thought to himself, Sam had even tried to justify what he’d done, in his own clumsy, stumbling way; telling him that he would have outlasted most other people down there. Trying to reassure him – trying to make things better. That was his Sam, he mused wryly – always wanting to fix things.

Dean gave a tiny shake of his head, his mouth twisting bitterly. Anna had told him that he had to forgive himself for what he’d done. Sam had forgiven him almost before he’d even gotten the whole horrible story out – he’d felt the waves of sympathy and grief rolling off his younger brother the whole time they’d sat there on the hood of the Impala, and for a good few hours after they’d finally hit the road. He just couldn’t seem to find it in him to forgive himself.

A soft clunk against the table tore the elder hunter’s gaze away from the inclement weather once again. He looked at the plate of food the waitress slid in front of him, gave a half-hearted smile in thanks and picked up his knife and fork. Waiting for her to serve Sam’s meal and leave before speaking, he eyed his brother’s equally well-heaped plate of chicken-fried steak, potatoes, carrots, beans and gravy. “No burgers, huh?”

Sam shook his head, indicating Dean’s steak dinner with a wave of his fork. “Think of it as comfort food.”

“Comfort food?”

“Yeah.”

“Comfort steak.” The green-eyed hunter snorted out a soft laugh.

“And there’s comfort pie to follow,” Sam added with a grin, loading his fork with steak and creamy mashed potatoes.

“Comfort pie, too?” Dean shot his brother a brief look of gratitude for the gesture.

The Winchesters fell silent once again, concentrating on their food, which was surprisingly good, compared to some of the places they’d been through. Returning to the table in response to Sam’s raised hand when the empty plates were finally pushed aside, the waitress smiled at the handsome hunters, refilling their coffee cups before bringing out two servings of freshly baked cherry pie.

Dean toyed with his dessert for a few moments, watching his brother scan the pages of the newspaper. Finally he broke the self-imposed silence. “Sammy?”

Sam didn’t even raise his eyes from the paper. “Yeah?”

“Find us a hunt.” The elder hunter stabbed his fork into the pie. “Something easy, you know? Something that doesn’t involve demons, or angels, or the damned end of the world.” Dean sighed vexedly, twisting the fork around and around in the dessert. “Just like the good old days.” Back when hunting was simple – before you died – before I got ripped to shreds by hellhounds – before I went to the Pit – before I got dragged out and put back together, only to get thrown into the middle of a freakin’ holy war…

“All right.” Sam folded the newspaper in half and tossed it down in front of his brother. One long forefinger tapped the page, indicating the picture of a balding, grey-haired man and the accompanying article. “How about a vengeful spirit?”

Dean blinked in surprise, the fork halfway to his mouth. “You found something already?” Putting down the utensil, he studied the man’s picture. “Give me the details.”

“Guy’s name is Henry Wilkes. He was the evening shift foreman for a model factory.”

“Model factory?” Dean’s curiosity was roused. “As in mannequins?”

“As in model kits – cars, fighter planes, Star Wars spaceships – that kind of stuff. He died at the start of his shift two days ago. Witnesses say he was raised from the floor and broken in half.”

“Yikes.”

“Yeah.” Sam raised one eyebrow as he took a sip of coffee. He’d been worried sick about his brother ever since Dean had finally broken down and told him about the torture sessions in the Pit. Maybe a nice, simple ghost hunt would help ease Dean out of the depression he’d been steadily sliding into. Sam was willing to try anything at this point. No matter how many hours he’d lain awake wracking his brain, he couldn’t come up with a single thing to say that would take away the pain and the horror of what Dean had gone through. Dean had been right – there were no words. Not for this. “Sound like our kinda gig?”

“Definitely sounds like our kinda gig.” The green-eyed Winchester attacked his pie with renewed enthusiasm. “I’ll just finish my comfort pie, and then we can hit the road.”

Great. With hope in his heart, Sam turned his attention to his dessert.

* * * * *

The gleaming black Chevy pulled up outside a modest apartment block, the rumbling engine idling for a moment before being turned off. Her driver glanced up at the modest brick edifice for a long moment, deep in thought.

Finally Dean turned to address his brother. “What’s the name of the first witness again?”

Shuffling through the papers in his lap, Sam plucked out one of the pages and studied it before passing it to his brother. “Andrea Birch – personal secretary to a Mr Ira Levine, the owner of the company.”

Dean’s gaze roamed from the front of the building to the picture on the sheet of paper. Andie’s smiling face stared up from the page, and he felt a small spark of interest. “And she’s definitely home.”

“Yeah. Officially on stress leave. She’s expecting us.” Sam caught his brother’s curious glance. “I called her first.”

“Huh. Well, let’s not keep the lady waiting.”

Together the brothers ascended the stairs leading up to Andie’s apartment. Sam pressed the buzzer and stepped back a pace, listening to the click of heels approaching from within the dwelling. Feeling a nudge against his arm, he glanced down, and then up at his brother’s face.

“Dude, I got this one.” Tapping the secretary’s printed picture from her personnel file with one finger, Dean arched his eyebrows and nodded.

A grin tugged at the corners of Sam’s mouth. Gesturing with a sweep of his hand as the door opened, he edged subtly back as his sibling stepped forward.

“Andrea Birch? I’m Agent Rodgers, and this is my partner, Agent Kirke.” Dean flashed his fake I.D., giving the tall, attractive brunette a quick once-over. He definitely liked what he saw, and a tiny smile curled his lips. “I know it must be hard for you to keep going through this, but…”

Andie waved an elegant hand and stepped aside to allow the hunters into the apartment. “No, it’s fine.” Leading the way into the living area, she indicated the young blonde girl sitting on the couch and the middle-aged African-American woman standing in the kitchen. “Hope you don’t mind – I called the others, too.”

Sam’s gaze flicked between the three women while he rapidly assessed the value of interviewing all three at once. Darting a quick look at his brother, he received a subtle nod in reply. “That’s fine, Andrea. Not the usual way we do things,” he added. “But I guess we can make an exception this time.”

“We’re not gonna change our stories, young man,” Olivia interjected testily. “The cops already interviewed us separately and took down our statements.”

Arching his eyebrows in surprise, Dean turned to face the dark-skinned woman. “That’s not what he meant –”

“Anyway,” the despatch clerk continued belligerently. “The cops didn’t believe it, so why should you? And why should we go through the whole thing again on our own? The first time was bad enough. We’re stickin’ together.”

Andie shot the hunters an apologetic look. “Safety in numbers.”

“Right.” Sam nodded solemnly, drawing a notebook from his pocket. Suddenly finding himself confronted by the irate older woman, he took a step back in surprise.

“Coffee?” Olivia barked, brandishing the empty pot like a weapon.

The younger hunter swallowed. “Uh – sure, yeah. Thanks, ma’am.”

“It’s Olivia.” The feisty clerk studied the tall, hazel-eyed stranger, and decided he wasn’t going to be a threat to her girls. She wasn’t too sure about the other one just yet, but time would tell. Giving a brief nod of satisfaction in Sam’s direction, Olivia shot Dean a warning glare and bustled back to the kitchen.

Biting her lip to keep from laughing out loud, the brunette shared an amused glance with the blonde, and indicated the sofa and twin recliners with a wave of her hand. “Please, Agents – have a seat.”

Sam settled on the couch beside the young accounts clerk. She gave him a tentative smile, twisting her hands together in her lap. Smiling back in reassurance, he cleared his throat before getting down to business. “So…”

Dean took his cue, perching on the recliner closest to the kitchen while Andie sat on the other one. “So, Anna…”

The shaggy-haired hunter looked up, his eyes widening in amazement. Catching his brother’s attention with a subtle tilt of his head, he frowned, flicking his gaze to the piece of paper still clutched in Dean’s hand.

Glancing down at the secretary’s name on the printout, Dean felt his cheeks flame with embarrassment at his slip-up.

“Um, it’s Andrea.” Andie supplied helpfully. “You can call me Andie – everyone does.”

Dean ran a hand across his face. “Sorry. Long day – uh – so, Ann – Andie – why don’t you start? Tell us in your own words what happened that afternoon.”

Andie laced her hands together in her lap and sighed. “Well, it was almost the end of the day shift. Mr Levine – that’s my boss – he asked me to go down to the Despatch supervisor and see if the Christmas rosters had been completed.” At Dean’s enquiring look, she explained, “In the last few weeks before Christmas, we put on an extra shift to help process the orders.”

“Okay.” Dean gestured for the pretty brunette to continue.

“So, I was heading for the elevator, when I saw Cindy.” Andie smiled at her friend sitting nervously by Sam’s side. “We went down in the elevator together, and I went to see Max – that’s the Despatch supervisor.”

“And I was delivering a heap of orders to Olivia,” Cindy chimed in; watching Sam’s hands while the hunter took notes. “Andie said to wait for her and we’d go back up together, ‘cos…” She trailed to an uneasy halt, dropping her gaze to stare at the floor.

“’Cos?” Sam prompted gently.

The blonde girl fidgeted on the couch. “’Cos…”

“’Cos some old drunk filled her head with ghost stories and made her scared to go down there on her own.” Olivia banged a laden tray onto the coffee table, causing the cups to rattle in their saucers. Straightening up, she rested her hands on her hips and glared defiantly at the elder hunter. “That Ed Kowalski would get drunk and go around sayin’ that some of the boxes were floatin’ around the dock by themselves.”

“Floatin’ around by themselves, huh?” Dean gazed steadily back, grim humour in his wide eyes. “Kinda like Henry Wilkes?”

Deflated, Olivia sagged onto the arm of the couch and ran a trembling hand across her face. “Yeah. Just like poor Henry, God rest his soul.”

Sam leaned forward. “Olivia – what happened to Henry?”

The elder woman poured the coffee and handed out the cups before squeezing onto the couch beside Cindy. “We heard the elevator door open, and then this kinda funny little noise.”

“Like a gasp of air,” Andie interjected softly.

“Yeah. And we looked up…”

“So – so, you were all standing where, exactly?” Sam queried.

“We were all at my desk. Andie had joined us by that time, and I was just sayin’ that Henry was late for his shift, when we heard the elevator. We looked up, and we could see the top of Henry’s head over the boxes waiting to be shipped out.”

The willowy secretary shivered. “He was moving – strangely. Like – like he was floating.”

Olivia nodded in agreement. “Yeah, and when he finally came in sight, we found out why. He was suspended in the air. Something was just – carryin’ him along, like a life-size doll.”

Sam’s forehead wrinkled in a frown of concentration. “You didn’t see anything, or feel anything?”

Shaking her head slowly, the woman rubbed her hands up her arms. “I felt a little cold, but I just thought it was because of Henry – you know. Seein’ him like that, with blood runnin’ down his chin, and just hangin’ there like a slab of meat, only there wasn’t any hook.”

Dean flinched, his hand involuntarily creeping to his side as he remembered Alistair’s hooks tearing into his flesh. “So,” he ventured gruffly, avoiding his brother’s concerned glance. “What happened then?”

“Then?” Olivia felt the tremors shaking Cindy’s body, and put an arm around the girl’s shoulders, drawing her close. “Then, whatever it was just broke poor Henry in half and dropped him to the floor. And that’s when it all went crazy.”

“Crazy?” both brothers chorused, exchanging swift, puzzled glances. This was something new.

“Yeah, crazy. Like the movie Poltergeist kinda crazy. Things spinnin’ and flyin’ around by themselves, just like that old drunk said. Only…” Olivia shuddered.

“Only this time you saw it for yourselves,” Sam finished for her, sympathy in his direct gaze.

“Yeah, we did.” Andie’s cup rattled in its saucer as she set it back down on the tray. “It was the most horrific thing I have ever seen.”

Cindy took a quick peek at the tall hunter by her side. “So, do you believe us?”

Flipping the notebook closed, Sam stuffed it into the inside pocket of his suit jacket and got to his feet. “We believe you’ve given us an accurate description of what you saw,” he hedged. “I’m afraid that’s all I can say at this time. But as soon as we have anything concrete, we’ll let you know.”

“Ladies.” Nodding to the group of women, Dean headed for the door, his brother falling into step behind him. Pursing his lips, he got halfway down the stairs before shooting a cautious look over his shoulder. Satisfied that they were far enough away from the apartment that they wouldn’t be overheard, he cleared his throat. “So, poltergeist?”

“Sounds like it.” Sam drew level with his sibling as they walked across the lawn to the waiting Impala. “Hey – that Olivia.”

“That was one tough old gal. I thought she was gonna clock you with that coffee pot. Was all set to pull my gun and shoot her in the ass.”

“Right, and that would have gone down so well with the whole federal agents disguise.” Resting a hand on the Chevy’s roof while Dean unlocked the doors, Sam glanced back up at the apartment. “She kinda reminded me of Missouri.”

“Missouri Mosely?” Dean considered the thought for a moment. “Yeah, kinda.”

The hazel-eyed hunter opened the passenger door and slid onto the seat, loosening his tie as his brother put the key into the ignition. “So, you okay?”

“I’m fine. Why?”

“It’s just that you kinda slipped up a little back there, you know?”

“What, I get pulled out of hell by an angel, and now I’m supposed to be perfect?” Dean flashed a weak grin to take the sting out of his words.

“No, no, no, not at all. It’s just that it’s not like you to screw up the name of a pretty girl, especially when she’s a witness in a case.”

“Yeah, well, it’s just one little mistake. Not like I’m getting soft in the head or anything.” Pulling away from the kerb, the elder hunter steered for the motel they’d booked into earlier that day.

“Good to hear.” Sam settled comfortably against the seat, draping one arm across the back, his fingertips a few inches from his brother’s shoulder. “’Cos I’d hate to have to start training a new partner.”

“Ha, ha. You just want to get your hands on my baby again.”

“Yeah, that must be the reason. I kinda miss driving the old girl,” Sam teased back.

Dean ran a hand possessively over the dashboard, favouring his brother with a mock scowl. “She doesn’t like you. You douched her up.”

“I didn’t hear her complaining.”

“That’s because she only talks to me.”

“Right.” Pulling out his notes, Sam quickly scanned them, his tolerant smile slowly fading. “So, I found out the place is closed for a week or two pending the investigation. If we want a shot at this thing, we’ve got some time – I don’t think the cops will be in there through the night.”

“A week or two, huh? Let’s try and cut down that time a little. I say we go in tonight loaded for bear...”

“…or poltergeist…”

“…and send this sucker packing.”

“Sounds like a plan. I’ll need some stuff for the gris-gris bags.”

“Already on it. There’s a herbalist in town, about two blocks from the drugstore. They should have what we need.”

Sam nodded in satisfaction. This was one of the many things he’d missed – working in tandem with someone who knew him as well as he knew himself. He and Dean had trained together all their lives – they fit like two connecting pieces of a jigsaw puzzle. Sam had felt like half a man the whole time Dean had been in the Pit. When he’d finally been convinced that his brother really had come back from the dead, something loose inside had clicked back into place. He’d gone back to hunting with his brother so smoothly, sometimes it seemed as though Dean had never left.

A slap across his leg brought the shaggy-haired hunter’s thoughts back to the present. “What?”

“I said, were you planning on spending the night in the Impala? You know, since you miss her and all.” Dean’s amused chuckle filled the car.

Sam blinked in surprise – they had arrived back at the motel, and he hadn’t even been aware of the cessation of forward motion. “Huh.”

Clambering from the car, Sam palmed the room key and unlocked the door, shedding his suit as he strode to the beds. Quickly donning his street clothes, he sat down at the small table in the corner of the room and fired up his laptop, searching for the list of gris-gris bag ingredients that he had on file on the hard drive. A few fast keystrokes later, he had the list printed out. Stowing the folded piece of paper carefully in his jacket pocket, Sam turned to his brother as Dean tugged on a pair of jeans.

“Bring me back a burger. If we’re gonna work this afternoon, I need food.” Waiting for his brother’s confirming nod, Dean took Sam’s place at the computer as the younger man slipped out the door. He flexed his fingers before calling up an internet search engine, and started his research into the history of the building they were hoping to cleanse.

* * * * *

The Impala pulled up in the loading bay, her lights already switched off before Dean steered her off the street. The motor died, the tick of cooling metal and the familiar creak of the opening doors sounding loud in the hushed darkness. Making his way to the trunk, Dean popped the lid and stepped back as Sam grabbed the weapons duffle they’d packed back at the motel room.

Stepping back, Dean started to pocket the keys when he hesitated, eyeing them in speculation for a moment. He suddenly tossed them to his brother and closed the trunk.

Sam caught the keys one-handed, looking at his sibling in surprise. “What’s that for?”

“You can drive her back.” Dean shrugged, grinning in the dark. “Wouldn’t want you to get out of practice.”

“Wow, you’re letting me drive twice in one day. I’m touched.” Shaking his head in fond amusement, the shaggy-haired hunter shoved the keys in his jeans pocket and swung the khaki green duffle onto his shoulder. “Promise I won’t run off with her.”

Dean rolled his eyes before striding to the staff entrance door, bending to pick the lock while Sam stood guard. Within a few seconds he had the door open and they slipped inside. Dean turned to unzip the bag hanging from Sam’s shoulder, pulling out the two salt-filled shotguns and two short handled axes nestled inside.

Using hand signals, the elder hunter split them up to search the despatch area. He had barely gotten three feet from the door when the EMF meter in Sam’s pocket started screaming. Turning back to face his brother, Dean gestured to the elevator and the stairs beside it, indicating that they should start with the upper floors and work their way down.

Moving swiftly through the deserted building, the hunters planted the gris-gris bags in the north, south, east and west corners of the top two floors before meeting up again near the elevator on the ground floor.

“So far, so good,” Dean muttered, hefting two of the last four bags and taking a quick look around. “This is just what I needed – a nice, simple ghost hunt.”

Sam’s mouth twitched as he stuffed the other two bags into his jacket pocket. “Be careful what you wish for, Dean,” he cautioned softly. “It’s not over yet.”

“Yeah, well – let’s shag ass so this son of a bitch doesn’t get the drop on us. I’ll take east and south, you take north and west.”

Nodding his assent, Sam moved off through the racks of model kits. Dean watched his brother’s back until the tall figure was swallowed up by the deeper shadows. Running a hand across his mouth, he turned to face the far wall, took a deep breath and headed past the stacked pallets awaiting despatch.

Quickly threading his way to the north wall, Sam hefted the axe he’d been using and carved a neat hole in the corner, pushing the cloth-covered bag inside as soon as the gap was big enough. He listened for a moment, detecting a series of faint thumps coming from the opposite side of the loading bay. Surmising that the thumps were coming from Dean’s axe, Sam got his bearings and headed rapidly for the west wall to plant his last bag.

Sam had a feeling that the last bag was going to be the clincher. Unconsciously raising a hand to his throat as he recalled the poltergeist at their old house in Lawrence, he swallowed and picked up his pace, hoping to get finished before his brother so that he could head over to cover Dean’s back. The last thing his big brother needed right now was a jacked hunt. Dean was already carrying enough pain and guilt for more than one lifetime.

A shudder ran through Sam’s body at the thought of how much Dean had suffered in Hell. His brother hadn’t deserved any of it. If only I’d killed Jake when I had the chance – or if I’d taken Ruby up on her offer instead of listening to Dean when he begged me not to – I could have saved him from all that. I should have saved him…

Gritting his teeth, Sam reached his goal and slammed the blade of the axe against the wall with savage force.

* * * * *

Dean heard a series of faint thumps coming from the other side of the loading dock as he approached the south wall. Guessing that the sounds were being generated by Sam’s axe, he hefted his own and hacked a ragged hole in the drywall. He shoved the bag inside, dusted his hand against his jeans and set off for the eastern end of the building.

It took a little longer than he anticipated weaving his way through the maze of stacked pallets, cartons and other supplies. The wall was in sight when he detected the sharp crack of Sam’s axe against the far wall. Heaving an aggravated sigh, the hunter began to drag the supplies out of the way to clear a path to the corner. He was sweating by the time he had made enough space to wriggle through.

Footsteps approached from behind, and Dean cast a quick glance over his shoulder, his hand tightening around the axe handle. A familiar broad-shouldered figure appeared out of the gloom and the hunter slumped in relief.

“Getting a little slow, there, brother.” Taking hold of a stack of pallets, Sam helped his sibling drag them away from the wall.

Dean wormed his way past the last stack. “Yeah, well, you didn’t have to rearrange the furniture.” He raised the axe.

The attack came almost without warning. The EMF nestled in Sam’s jacket pocket screamed as the temperature suddenly dropped. Dean barely had time to turn around before he heard his brother’s startled grunt, followed by a crash. Shooting a look over his shoulder as he drove the blade of the axe into the wall, he was just in time to see Sam being slammed into a nearby rack loaded with merchandise. The taller hunter crumpled to the floor amid a shower of broken boxes and plastic model parts.

“Sam!”

One of the empty pallets lifted off the pile and hovered in mid-air for a moment before arrowing straight for the green-eyed Winchester.

“Holy crap!” Diving to the floor, Dean flung his free arm over his eyes as the pallet shattered to pieces barely a foot over his head. Splinters and chunks of wood rained down on him as he raised the axe and drove it against the wall with all the force he could muster. The drywall split under the assault, and Dean quickly reached into his pocket for the final gris-gris bag as another pallet rose from the stack.

“Come on, come on!” Frantically shoving the bag into the small hole, Dean grunted with satisfaction when it finally slid through. Knowing what to expect, he covered his head with both arms and crouched low as the spirit roared in rage.

White light and energy exploded from the location of the last bag, knocking the elder hunter into the stack of pallets. His head connected with a sharp corner and he slumped to the floor between the pallets and the wall, bright lights dancing before his eyes before fading rapidly to black. A sudden wind howled through the building, whipping papers and other loose objects into a mad dance.

Finally the tempest died down, and the debris rained onto the floor. Sam let out a soft moan, rolling weakly onto his side. Peeling his eyelids open, he blinked rapidly and raised a hand to his spinning head.

“Ohh, gah…” Slowly, the battered hunter pushed himself into a sitting position and gazed blearily around the deserted dock area. He glanced down, and dusted bits of plastic from his tall frame, frowning in confusion. Using the nearby racks to pull himself upright, Sam hissed in pain, clutching his head with one hand while hanging onto the solid metal framework with the other.

“Friggin’ demon,” he muttered darkly as he slowly straightened up. “Thanks for the heads-up, Ruby. Thought you said this one would be easy.”

Sam slowly and carefully shook his head, vowing to have a little talk with his teacher next time she showed up. He searched the floor, picking up his dropped shotgun and axe and studying them with a puzzled frown. “Why the hell would I go after a demon with an axe and a salt gun?”

Glancing around to get his bearings, the shaggy-haired hunter felt his confusion grow. There was nothing he recognised about this place. He had no memory of even coming in. “Huh. Guess Ruby’s right – maybe I do have to start sobering up.”

With a weary sigh, Sam patted his pockets until he located the Impala’s keys. Studying his surroundings, he quickly spotted the exit signs and made his way to the door, his steps uneven. The cold night air cleared his foggy brain enough for him to spot the black Chevy nosed up against the loading bay door. Practically falling into the driver’s seat once he got the Impala’s door open, Sam heaved a sigh, slumping against the steering wheel until the worst of the head-spins stopped.

Finally, Sam pushed the key into the ignition, turned it and listened for a moment to the rumbling of the V8 engine. “Then again,” he muttered as he put the car into gear. “This is one mother of a headache. Maybe I’ll start sobering up tomorrow.”

The Impala’s tyres squealed as she shot out of the loading bay and onto the road, her taillights flaring briefly before she turned the corner.

* * * * *

See you next week, and we'll find out what happens when Dean wakes up....

OMG Jules, you did not just have Sam wake up with no memory and leave Dean on the floor of a warehouse?!?!?!?!

Dean will never and I mean NEVER let Sam have the keys to the Impala again!!!

I have a feeling that Dean is going to get a glimpse of what life was like for Sam while he was gone. Maybe a little perspective for Dean.

I can't wait for your update!!!

Thanks for the heads up on the post!

Michelle

Awesome start Jules, I'm hooked already! :)

Those poor office girls, what first sounded like the ramblings of a drunken employee have turned out to be real - and the poltergeist has offed Henry in front of their eyes!

Oh dear, sounds like that 'easy' hunt is going tits up already, seeing as Sam has knocked his head and now thinks that he was hunting a demon and that Ruby said it would be easy! :rolleyes: Plus he has left without Dean and not batted an eyelid about it and thinks that his headache is due to too much alcohol . The poor boy really is confused

Dean may usually remember the names of girls he has to interview, but that can't always be said of his one night stands :rotfl but obviously Sam noticed it and was a little worried.

Poor Dean, now unconscious, hidden between some pallets and the wall, and abandoned by his brother! :o Can things get any worse! :huh: Think Michelle is right and Dean may now get some idea of what things were like for his brother when he was in 'the pit'.

Have a great weekend my awesome sis :hug

Sarah :wave

that's an awesome start jules,as always ;)
sammy went away with no memory,he remembers ruby but he has no idea that his brother is there on the floor :o
amazing,you have the ability to describe a story in a superb way,like a movie ;)

good grief...this is not good...Sam having amnesia and leaving Dean
great great start...
can't wait for more
LIsa

Oh good heavens!!! Holy mother, the boys are in for ride... What a terrific start!!!! Sam's lost his memory!!! Oh, Sam, hope you come around soon... Dean needs you! That poltergeist is one nasty SOB... Hope the boys show him who's boss! Well, of course they will, they always do... but i can't help but worry for them...

there's big emo scenes coming up isn't there? Oh, i can't wait for emo scenes...

Great start, can't wait for more! Hope you're doing well!

luvs,

Pauline

:lol: Jules, I am GLAD your little plot bunny wouldn't leave you alone - this is fantastic! :cheer What a great start to a new story and so much is going on!

Dean being 'distant' in the diner has to be a concern, spilling over to the fact that he couldn't remember Andie's name. Now however, he is going to have much more to focus on -SAMMY!

And Sam, woah, didn't see that coming, he's slipped back a few weeks...What's going to happen when he finds out Dean is back, if he finds out that is - how will he find out and what WILL he do? :blink:

Loving it Jules, can't wait for more! :lol:
Julie.

:clap :clap GREAT START , WOW I REALLY CAN FEEL THE WORRY FROM SAM... AND DEAN JUST TRYING TO MAKE IT THROUGH THE DAY WITHOUT THE GUILT, :cry ....THIS SHOW IS JUST MAKING ME :cry THIS YEAR :( .....I LOVED THE TEASING BANTER BETWEEN THE BOYS, ESP WITH THE CAR. HMMMM SAM DOESN'T REMEMBER DEAN WAS WITH HIM, NICE IDEA FOR A PLOT, YOU ALWAYS COME UP WITH REALLY GOOD IDEAS GIRL, KEEP THEM COMING AND I HOPE YOU'RE OKAY

LUV YA :hug

LORRIE :hug:

OMG, you didn't :blink: *scurries back to read*

YOU DID! :o You made Sam forget about Dean!!!

You truly are evil :evil

:woohoo :cloud9

Yay! Friday nights are good again! :lol:

Uh-oh, not good. Sam has forgot Dean? Man Dean'll be pissed when he wakes up and finds no Sam and no Impala.

Loving this already....

~Trace~

What a start.
Sam got selective amnesia, he still thinks that Dean is in hell or he forgets that he has a brother :o
Dean is going to be worried when he'll wake up an notice that Sam is not there anymore.
I'm hooked, I'm looking forward to Friday.

Hi ya Jules :wave
Glad you're back with another story :D
:o Wow what a start, Sam's lost his memory and thinks Dean is still dead, poor guy!! Maybe Dean will get a glimpse of what Sam was going through while he was in hell and poor Dean left there unconscious. I feel some angst coming, bring it on :D
Can't wait for more and i hope you're good :)

x loz x

oo I like this so far :) awesome start btw...update soon plz :D

:clap Girl you are so wicked. :fire Leaving us hanging here. :jacket Sammy, no memory of his brother...oh this is bad. :blush And Dean, unconcious and left in the warehouse. :evil

What a tangled web you have weaved. :cry Cannot wait for the next chapter.
:drool1
Denise ;)

Hi,

No, not an update - sorry - that's tomorrow night.

Just wanted to drop a quick plug in for a young writer who has just completed her first story, despite going through quite a struggle in her personal life (her mother is terminally ill).

It's called Nighthunters, and the author is a lovely young lady called Arielmarie. Here's the link:
http://z14.invisionfree.com/Supernatural/i...showtopic=21082

I sort of have a vested interest in this one, since I became her beta after her original one left the site.

Anyway, if you feel to, please check it out. It's in Demons. And don't forget to leave her a little review to let her know you dropped by.

Sadly, I think that this might be the only story that Liz will write, due to the circumstances. Perhaps one day she might feel like taking to the keyboard again. I certainly hope so.

See you all tomorrow night for Chapter 2 of Rewound - and Dean waking up......

Jules

Hey thanks Jules, terrible situation for the young girl, she needs all the encouargement she can get and am heading on over there now to take a peek...

Looking forward to Dean's awakening too. :lol:
Julie.

Thanks for the heads up Jules! I will go and check it out!

That is such a devastating situation. I can't imagine!

Michelle

I totally agree with Jules, go check out Arielmarie's Nighthunters in the demons thread, it is an awesome read, and well worth a look :)

Sarah :wave

Thanks to all who popped over and had a look at Nighthunters - it's much appreciated.

And heartfelt sympathies to Kim Manners' family, friends and the entire Supernatural family on his sudden passing. He will be very much missed. Our discussion group has made a small donation in his honour to the American Cancer Society. I hope other groups will feel to do the same. Cancer is the one demon that there doesn't seem to be an exorcism for....yet. Let's do a little bit to help the medical hunters find one, eh?


Michelle – wow – first boat off the beach! You’re an early bird, that’s for sure. Oh, and in answer to your question – yes, I did. I’m a bad girl….*hangs head*… And yep, Dean is going to see exactly what life was like for Sam while he was in Hell. And he’s in for a rough ride himself. Thanks hon.

Sarah – thanks, sis. And yep – poor old Henry got snapped like a twig. And Sam has headed off, completely oblivious to the fact that his alive and well brother is laying on the floor between the stack of pallets and the wall. Wonder how far he will get before Dean wakes up…..*grins evilly*….

Ilaria – thank you honey. Yep, that’s right – Sam’s mind has rewound a few months to his time alone, so he had no idea that Dean was lying unconscious and out of sight a few feet away. It’s going to be interesting when Dean wakes up and finds Sam gone.

Lisa – thanks for that. So chuffed to have you along. Yes, Sam has no memory of Dean coming back into his body, so his reaction is going to be interesting to say the least, when – or if – Dean finally catches up with him.

Pauline – the boys are in for a very rough ride. But don’t worry – at least they got the poltergeist. But that is the least of their problems at the moment – lol. And yep, there are some nice meaty emo scenes coming up – one in chapter 2, in fact. Just before everything goes tits-up again…..*grins*..

Jules – awww, I love that you have Kim Manners in your avi. I just sat here stunned when I got the news via email – I didn’t quite believe it at first. Our little discussion group has made a donation in his name to the American Cancer Society, as per the request of his family. And yes, there is a bit going on in this story – the ghost hunt being a very minor element compared to what is happening to the boys. Sam’s mind has gone back a few months, in fact – he has absolutely no recollection of Dean getting out of Hell. As for what he will do when – or if – his big brother finally catches up with him – well, let’s see, shall we?

Lorrie – yes, I know what you mean. Season 4 is tearing at my heart too. I’m holding on with everything I have to the hope that their brotherly bond will survive the worst that heaven and hell can throw at them. Thanks for that – I just wish the plot bunnies would stop flipping breeding in my Works In Progress folder. There are 21 of them now….*sigh*….

Robin – yep, I did. Yep, I am. But you love me for it. And I’ll give you some lovely angsty bits to get your teeth into as well. Aren’t I nice?

Trace – hi, there. How’s the snow? Yep, Sam has completely forgotten that Dean’s back – he still thinks he’s alone. So it’s going to be interesting to see what he does. I wonder whether Dean will let him have the Impala’s keys ever again – that’s of course provided he can catch up with his concussed brother first.

Oceane – hi, hon. Yes, Sam has a bit of amnesia – he was focussed so much on Dean’s time in hell that when he got that whack to the head, his mind just rewound itself to that point. So he still thinks Dean is in the Pit and he’s hunting demons with Ruby. And Dean’s going to be a little upset when he finally comes to and finds he’s been abandoned….

Loz – hi! It’s good to be back, actually. And I see you have another gorgeous banner up. And yep, Dean will get to see Sam at his lowest – that’s if he can find him first. Lots of angst – and a joyride or two, before I’m done with this one. Hope you enjoy.

Kristy – thank you so much. Hope you like chapter 2, and the lovely angst.

Denise – yes, I am wicked. And I’m sort of proud of that fact – is that bad? LOL! Yep, Sam thinks Dean’s still in hell and he’s gone off on his own. Dean’s not going to be happy when he wakes up, methinks.

Well, let's go see what happens when Dean wakes up and finds Sam gone...

Jules


Chapter 2

“Ahh, jeez, someone get the number of that truck….” Dean groaned, his eyelids fluttering open. Raising a hand, he carefully brushed a small pile of woodchips and torn paper from his body and sat up, holding his head until the worst of the dizziness subsided. The hunter carefully probed his scalp, wincing when he found a lump the size of an egg on the back of his head. “Ow! Damnit.”

Letting out a strangled moan, he pushed himself to his feet and hung onto the metal rack until he gained his balance. Finally the room stopped spinning, and he blinked in the dim glow of the emergency exit sign as he scanned the floor for his brother. “Sam?”

There was no answer to his hail, and the green-eyed hunter frowned in concern. “Sammy? You okay?”

Searching his pockets, he found a flashlight and clicked it on, concentrating the narrow but bright beam on the section of floor where he’d seen his brother land after being tossed by the poltergeist. There was a pile of broken merchandise, but no Sam. And even more puzzling was the empty weapons bag lying on its side a few feet from where Dean was standing, but no sign of Sam’s shotgun or axe. Wondering if Sam thought he’d been hurt worse than he actually was and had gone for help, Dean staggered the few steps to the small stack of pallets and sank down onto it, cradling his head in one hand while he fished out his cell phone.

The phone rang eight times before switching to voicemail.

Dean pinched the bridge of his nose to try and ease the pounding headache. “Hey – it’s me. I’m okay, just got knocked out for a bit. Nothin’ I can’t fix with an ice pack, a beer and a couple of Tylenol. Come on back.”

Flipping the phone closed, Dean blew out a sigh and rested his chin on his hand, surveying the damage done by the poltergeist as it had dissipated. “Someone’s sure got a mess to clean up in the morning. But at least no more workers are gonna get snapped in half like a cheese straw.”

Sighing again, Dean gathered up the weapons bag, stuffed his salt gun and axe inside, and settled back on the stack of pallets to wait for his brother.

* * * * *

“Liquor store…liquor store…” Sam drummed his fingers against the steering wheel as he cruised the main street. Suddenly he stiffened, his eyes gleaming in triumph. “Ahh-ha-ha – there you are.”

Parking the Impala as close as he could get, he strode rapidly along the sidewalk, shoving his hands into his jeans pockets. The fingers of his left hand encountered a small metal disc and he frowned, coming to a halt outside the store as he pulled the item out and held it up to the light.

It was a motel room key, with the name of the establishment and the room number painted on the attached round metal tag. Sam stared at it in confusion. He didn’t remember checking into any motel, but obviously he must have – unless he had accidentally kept the key from the previous motel he’d stopped at. Giving a ‘what the’ shrug, he pushed open the door and stepped inside the brightly lit store.

Moving purposefully through the aisles, Sam collected a bottle of tequila along with two bottles of Jack and took them to the counter. The liquor store attendant glanced from the bottles to the tall hunter in mild curiosity.

“It’s for a party.” Sam winked, getting a knowing grin in return. He let his left hand slip into his pocket, and toyed with the mysterious room key for a second. “Hey, buddy – do you have a phone book I can borrow?”

“Sure.” Heaving the book from a shelf under the counter, the attendant placed it beside the bottles of booze.

“Thanks, man.” Sam paid for the liquor, shoved the change into his pocket and quickly flipped through the pages until he came to the listing for motels. Finding the name inscribed on the key tag, he pulled out his notebook and a pen to scribble down the address. He closed the book and met the mildly amused eyes of the attendant as the man packed his purchases into a sturdy brown paper bag. “That’s where the party is,” Sam explained, grinning wickedly.

“Have a nice night, buddy.”

“I intend to.”

Tucking the bag under one arm, Sam left the store and headed back to the Impala. He slid behind the wheel, placing the bag carefully on the passenger seat before pulling out his cell phone and notebook. Entering the motel address into his nav programme, Sam waited for the directions to start flashing up on the screen.

“Proceed west one mile,” the flat electronic female voice instructed.

Sam patted the cell phone and started the Chevy. “Attagirl. You’ll get me home, won’t you? Well, you and…” His fingers gently caressed the steering wheel. …”and you,” he added softly, staring with unseeing eyes at the gleaming black hood. Snapping his attention back to the matter at hand, he gave himself a little shake and checked over his shoulder, waiting for an SUV to pass before pulling back onto the road.

He was negotiating the second turn advised by the nav programme when his phone started to ring. Wondering who would be calling since no one knew where he was or if he was even still alive, he threw a puzzled frown at the name flashing on the screen.

Seconds later the Chevy slammed to a screeching halt, her driver gripping the wheel so tightly his hands were white.

Sam stared in horror at the screen, and the caller information flashing ‘Dean’s cell’. Hardly daring to breathe, he waited for the phone to stop ringing. It finally switched to voicemail, and within a few moments the phone beeped, signalling an incoming message.

Reaching out a shaking hand, Sam stopped just short of touching the device, drawing his arm back as if he thought the plastic case would burn him. His mind raced frantically, trying to come up with a reasonable explanation as to why his dead brother would be calling him.

“Got – gotta be some kinda – joke – trick – somethin’. Trick – yeah, trick. Or – or a hallucination. Yeah, that’s it. Hallucination. ‘Cos God knows I’ve had some doozies lately.”

Satisfied with his conclusion, Sam shot one more wary look at the phone’s small screen and reactivated the nav programme.

A few minutes later he steered the Impala into the parking lot of his destination, pulling up outside the room whose number matched the one on the key tag. Deciding to leave the booze in the car for the moment until he checked things out, he slid from the car and softly closed the door as he fished the key from his pocket.

The tall hunter inserted the key into the lock, checked the parking lot, and pressed his ear to the door. No sound issued from within the room. Grabbing the pistol tucked into his waistband, Sam took a deep breath, turned the key and kicked the door back against the wall.

Sam spun inside, the gun coming up to cover the darkened room in a smooth sweep. Finding no obvious threats waiting for him, the hazel-eyed Winchester nudged the door closed as he reached out to hit the switch on the wall, flooding the room with light. Satisfied that it was safe, he made his way to the nearest bed to drop the handgun onto the nightstand, and froze, his jaw dropping.

“What the hell….” Sam stared in shock at the brown leather duffle sitting in the middle of the bed, clothes spilling haphazardly from its opening. Dean’s clothes. Slowly, his gaze shifted to the other bed, and his own army camouflage duffle lying neatly on the coverlet. “First the call and now this? What the hell?”

Reaching out a hand, he hesitated for a brief moment before touching a fingertip to one of his brother’s plaid shirts. Half expecting the shirt to shimmer away into nothingness, he couldn’t help a slight flinch when his finger brushed against the cotton material.

“Okay….okay….alright…” Sinking down on the bed next to the overflowing duffle, Sam raised a shaking hand and pressed it to his lips. “There’s gotta be a reasonable explanation. I swear I put his stuff into storage in Buffalo a week ago. Or – at least I think I did.”

Giving vent to an aggravated sigh, he got to his feet and retrieved a bag of salt and the newly purchased booze from the Impala. He carefully spread a line of salt under the door and across the windowsills, leaving the bag beside the bed closest to the door.

With the security taken care of, it was time for a little more situation assessment. Twisting the cap off one of the bottles of whiskey, Sam took a long swig, lowered the bottle, wiped the back of his hand across his lips and contemplated the brown leather duffle.

“All right. Guess I only thought I’d put his stuff into storage. Doesn’t explain why it’s spilled out all over the bed. Or why the hell I got a room with two beds anyway. Or why I’m suddenly getting a call from my brother a month after we buried him, when I still haven’t found any friggin’ way to get him out of the Pit.”

Sam took another swig of Jack and shook his head. “I must be really losing it. Or somethin’s messing with my head. Maybe the demon I was hunting did somethin’ to me before I sent the bastard back to hell. Yeah – yeah, that could be it.”

He set the bottle on the nightstand and gathered up the scattered clothing, carefully stuffing it back inside the duffle. Carrying the bag to the other bed, he placed it beside his own, stripped off his jacket and button-up shirt, kicked off his boots and fished the bottle of heavy duty painkillers from the first aid kit he found sitting on the table. Sam returned to Dean’s bed, settling cross-legged on the coverlet. He grabbed the bottle of Jack, popped two pills into his mouth and washed them down with a mouthful of whiskey.

Grimacing a little as the raw spirit and painkiller cocktail hit his stomach; Sam stared at a spot on the wall beside the door while he lowered the tide in the bottle even further. He figured he had more than enough supplies to combat the pain in his head. The pain in his heart was a different matter. But maybe tonight he could get drunk enough to block out the sounds of his brother’s screams echoing inside his head, just for a few hours. He didn’t deserve any more of a reprieve than that.

“Guess I can only try, right?” Sam asked the empty room. Tilting the bottle of whiskey in a mock salute, he studied the amber fluid for a moment, his handsome face twisting with lines of grief and bitter regret.

The sudden shrill ringing of his cell phone startled him and he jerked, almost spilling the whiskey. Sam pulled the phone from his pocket, gazed sadly at his brother’s name flashing on the screen and shoved it back, letting the call go to voicemail.

Getting to his feet, the young hunter walked over to the door and flicked off the light, casting the room into deep shadow. It matched the darkness that seemed to have taken up permanent residence in his battered soul. He took one last look at his brother’s duffle, shaking his head before sinking back onto the bed. Closing his eyes, he raised the bottle to his lips and drank deeply.

* * * * *

Dean tried calling his brother twice more, his frustration growing with each passing moment. Flipping the cell phone closed after leaving a third message on Sam’s voicemail, he tapped the instrument against his knee before shoving it into his jacket pocket. The hunter bent down, hoisted the duffle onto his shoulder and swayed dizzily for a moment. Straightening up, Dean pressed a hand to his spinning head and squinted up at the exit signs.

“Okay, Sam, there’s gotta be a logical explanation as to why you suddenly decided to wander the hell off,” he muttered testily. Making his way back to the elevator near Olivia’s desk, Dean paused at the foot of the stairs to plan his next move.

He hadn’t heard the ringing of Sam’s phone the three times he’d tried to call, which meant that the younger hunter wasn’t on the ground floor. With a weary sigh, Dean pressed the button for the elevator, figuring that it was safe to use now that the poltergeist had been taken care of. He took the car to the second floor and called again, listening for the ring tone amongst the offices and corridors of the administration section. Repeating the action on the first floor, with the same negative result, Dean pursed his lips and stepped inside the elevator again.

“Okay, then he must be outside. Maybe he tried to go for help and got dizzy or somethin’. He got thrown pretty hard against that shelf.” Slipping out of the same door through which they’d entered, Dean was halfway down the stairs when he realised that something was missing. Something much bigger than his Sasquatch of a brother. “Oh, crap…”

Dean came to a swaying halt in the middle of the dock, staring aghast at the empty stretch of concrete where he’d left the Impala. “He ditched me? He took my baby and bailed? Son of a bitch – he promised he wouldn’t run off with her!”

Growling low in his throat, Dean whipped out his cell phone and stabbed at the redial button. His foot tapping impatiently against the concrete, he waited until the call reverted once more to voicemail before exploding.

“Sam! I don’t care how hard a knock that freaky head of yours got – I am so gonna kick your ass when I get hold of you! What the hell possessed you to just take off and leave me behind? Now quit screwing around, get back here and pick me up!” Dean pulled the phone from his ear, hesitated, and added,” And answer your freakin’ phone!”

Shoving the phone back into his pocket, Dean began to pace, chewing on his lip. “Why the hell would he just take off? Where the hell does he think he’s going? And where the hell did he go?”

If Sam was suffering from concussion, which Dean hoped was the logical explanation for his brother’s disappearing act, then he could be anywhere. Including being slumped over the steering wheel unconscious, possibly with the Chevy lying in a ditch or wrapped around a lamppost.

Angrily, the hunter shook his head to banish the dark thoughts. He quickly discarded the possibility that Sam had been taken by a supernatural entity. Demons and spirits usually didn’t worry about earthly things like Chevy Impalas when they grabbed a victim. The anti-possession tattoo on Sam’s chest remained unbroken, so a demon hadn’t ridden his brother out of there. And Dean really didn’t think that Sam had just ditched him because he finally got sick of his limited choice of music.

That just left one conclusion – a concussed brain and a scrambled thought process, and Dean sighed unhappily. He really didn’t need this crap on top of everything else. “Great,” he muttered. “I’m gonna have to do this the hard way.”

Studying the street, he mentally reviewed the map of the town he’d committed to memory, planning out the most likely route Sam might have taken. Deciding to try the motel first, Dean hoisted the weapons duffle more firmly onto his shoulder and set off, his long legs propelling him along the pavement with a mile-eating stride.

Forty minutes’ brisk walk brought him in sight of the motel, and he sighed with relief when he spotted his baby parked outside their room. Relief quickly turned into annoyance as he crossed the parking lot, and he’d worked himself up into outright anger by the time he picked the lock and pushed the door open.

The first thing that hit him was the raw, biting smell of whiskey. “What the…”

Dean peered at the figure slumped untidily on the bed closest to the door, his brows drawing into a puzzled frown. Sliding the weapons duffle off his shoulder, he let it fall to the carpet and switched on the light, blinking in the sudden brightness.

Sam grunted softly in his sleep, flinging an arm limply across his face to block out the glare. He smacked his lips together, grunted again and burrowed his face into the pillow. Soft snores issued from his partly open mouth a few moments later.

The elder hunter walked slowly to his brother’s side, staring down in shock. The stench of Jack Daniels was much stronger, and Dean could now see the reason why. An empty bottle was lying in the crook of Sam’s arm, its mouth against his chest, moving slightly with his steady respirations. There was a damp stain on the shaggy-haired hunter’s tee shirt and the coverlet beneath his arm. Dean figured that whatever had been left in the bottle had spilled when it tipped over, probably some time after Sam had fallen asleep. Or passed out, he added silently, taking in his brother’s flushed face and the fact that he had barely stirred when the light had snapped on.

Dean shook his head, his confusion deepening. Reaching out, he clamped a hand on Sam’s shoulder and shook him. “Sam – Sam, wake up.”

Letting out a guttural moan, the younger hunter flailed an arm limply in Dean’s direction. He muttered a Latin invocation under his breath, grimaced and turned his head further into the pillow, twitching his shoulder to try to dislodge the annoying hand so he could get back to sleep.

“Sam, wake up, damn it!”

This time the lazily swinging arm had a bit more strength behind it, and connected with Dean’s forearm with enough force to dislodge his hand. Sam cursed raggedly, draping his hand over the whiskey bottle.

“Jeez, it stinks like a distillery in here.” Extricating the empty bottle from his brother’s loose grasp, Dean put it on the counter top and returned to the bed, to find half-lidded bloodshot eyes peering at him from under a mess of tousled chestnut hair. “There you are. Come on, get up. I’m gonna sober you up, then I’m gonna check that head injury, and then I’m gonna kick your ass, in that order.”

“Dean.” Slowly, Sam pushed himself into a sitting position, his bleary gaze on his brother. “Knew you’d come.”

Dean rolled his eyes and snorted. “Well, it’s not that hard to figure out, Einstein. You freakin’ left me behind! Of course I’m gonna come after you. Oh, by the way, nice of you to answer your freakin’ cell phone!”

Sam winced, dropping his gaze. “You’re a li’l late tonight.”

“That’s because I had to walk clear across town, asshat!” Shaking his head in annoyance, the green-eyed Winchester stalked across the room and put on a pot of coffee. “You are so banned from driving my baby. And what’s with the whiskey?”

“Usually you’re here ‘fore I get halfway through th’ bottle.”

A cold, uneasy feeling settled in Dean’s gut and he slowly turned around. “What?”

“So – we gonna do this?” Spreading his arms, Sam looked at his brother expectantly.

“Do what, Sam?”

“You know – th’ show.” Cocking his head to one side, the younger hunter studied his brother. “’S started a li’l diff’ren’ly tonight.”

“Sam, what show? What the hell are you talking about?” Settling on the end of the bed, Dean eyed his little brother warily.

“Th’ same one thass been playin’ every night since you…” Sam swallowed convulsively before squaring his shoulders. “Let’s jus’ get it over with.”

Dean shook his head in confusion. “Sam, what show?”

“Th’ blood, th’ screams, th’ hellhounds – c’mon, Dean, y’know th’ drill.” Closing his eyes, Sam braced himself with one hand against the pillows.

The elder Winchester licked his lips. There was something seriously wrong here. He decided to pump for a little more information so he could get a handle on the situation. “So, okay – tell me one thing first. What happens after the show?”

Sam shrugged, opening his eyes to stare at the ceiling. “Th’ parade.”

“Parade?”

“Yeah. All th’ people I couldn’ save. All askin’ me why. Why it hadda be them an’ not me. An’ you know what?”

Dean’s blood ran cold. “What?”

“I haven’ figured out an answer to that. ‘Cos I know it shoulda been me.” Huffing out a bitter laugh, Sam unfolded his legs, swinging them over the side of the bed. He clambered unsteadily to his feet and weaved his way over to the table, grabbing the bottle of tequila and twisting off the cap. “Hell doesn’ even wan’ me, you know that? My crappy, useless, demon-tainted soul isn’ worth a plugged nickel to anyone.”

“It’s worth somethin’ to me,” Dean muttered hoarsely, his heart clenching at the raw pain in his brother’s voice.

Sam’s lips twisted in a parody of his usual fond smile. “Yeah, but you’re not here, are you? ‘Cos of me, you’re burnin’ in the Pit. I can hear your screams in my head – every day.” Swaying groggily, he tapped his fingers against the side of his head. “Every. Damned. Day.”

Dean blinked rapidly as he got to his feet. So that was it. Sam’s mind had somehow rewound itself back to Dean’s time in Hell, a side effect of the concussion he’d no doubt received at the hands – or whatever – of the poltergeist. “Sam, listen to me – I’m alive. It’s really me. I’m back. I got pulled out of the Pit, remember?”

One long forefinger wagged unsteadily in admonition. “No, no, no – you, m’ brother, are a figment of my ‘magination. You’re jus’ in my head.” Sam took a long swig of tequila, wiped his mouth and spread his arms once more. “So – ‘m ready. Le’s do it.”

“Okay.” Striding rapidly forward, Dean snatched the bottle of tequila from Sam’s hand, stepping away before the younger man could react.

“Hey!”

“No more booze.” Making a lunge for the table and the second bottle of Jack, Dean barely beat Sam to it. He spun away from his brother’s clutching fingers, darting to the other side of the table as he hugged both bottles to his chest. “You are gonna sober up, and then maybe it’ll sink into that whiskey-soaked and concussion-screwed head of yours that I’m here for real.”

Sam came to a teetering halt, his eyes narrowing. Dean watched the rapid shift of emotions on his brother’s face as it sank into the younger man’s addled brain that maybe he wasn’t facing his memories, or a figment of his imagination. But Sam still wasn’t ready to believe that his flesh and blood brother stood before him holding his stash of booze.

“Then you’re a spirit.”

“Oh, for the love of…I’m not a spirit!” Inclining his head towards the door, Dean indicated the unbroken salt line. “If I was a ghost, how did I get past the freakin’ salt line, huh?”

Sam looked over at the salt line and scowled. “Then you’re a revenant.”

“Ah, jeez, how many times do I have to go through this? I’m not a revenant either. I’m your brother, back from the dead.”

Sam snorted derisively. “Right.” Darting a hand behind his back, he drew a long-bladed knife from the sheath on his belt. His eyes never left Dean’s face as he began to stalk the elder Winchester, his knife held in an easy grip.

“No, no, no! Sam, stop! Look!” Holding up a hand in supplication, Dean edged towards the counter top and put the bottles down. “Get me a silver knife, and I’ll prove it to you. Again.”

Hesitating, the hazel-eyed hunter thought for a moment before reaching down to his ankle. He slid a small silver knife from the sheath under his sock and hefted it, his wary gaze flicking between the glittering blade and the figure of his brother standing as tense as a coiled spring on the other side of the table. Coming to a decision, he flicked the knife, sending it point first into the tabletop. Sam stepped back, giving himself room to manoeuvre should things suddenly start to go south.

Grumbling under his breath, Dean shrugged out of his leather jacket, rolled up his shirtsleeve and plucked the small knife from the table. He rested the blade against his forearm, rolling his eyes in exasperation before making a small cut. Wincing, he held out his arm for inspection. “There, happy? Not a revenant or a shapeshifter.”

Sam watched the tiny trickle of ruby blood run down his brother’s arm. Backing away from the table, he raked the fingers of his free hand through his hair in agitation. “Alright, you’re not a revenant. Or a shifter. Or, apparen’ly, a ghost. I jus’ gotta figure out what you are.”

“I’m your brother! It’s me, Dean, in the flesh, all healed up and breathing. And I’ve been alive for two freakin’ months! We’ve been hunting together the whole time I’ve been back, Sam.”

“Hunting.” The taller hunter snorted in disbelief.

“Yes! We were on a hunt tonight, as a matter of fact. We got tossed around some, and we both got knocked out. When I came to, you’d booked. And now I know why – look, you’ve got a concussion. It’s screwing with your head, Sammy.”

“Right. So, what was it we were hunting?”

“A poltergeist. In a model factory, of all things. You know – cars, planes...”

“Poltergeist.” Sam’s eyes glittered dangerously as he raised the knife to a defensive position. “See, thass how I know you’re not real.”

Dean’s jaw dropped in shock. “What? Why?”

“’Cos I don’t hunt poltergeists any more. I only hunt demons.”

Flinging out his hands, the elder hunter began to back up, the silver knife still gripped in the fingers of his right hand. “Wait, wait, wait! Look, we – we were taking a break from the whole apocalypse thing, okay? We just got caught in a battle between angels and demons, and barely made it out in one piece. And – and I – I needed something simple to hunt. Kinda like the good old days, you know? Before all this heaven versus hell crap.”

“Angels?” Sam drew back a little, his lips curling in wry amusement. “Angels. Thass a new one.”

“Look, if you don’t believe me, then call Bobby. He’ll tell you it’s all true.”

The younger Winchester’s smile melted rapidly away. Dropping his gaze for a moment, he rolled his shoulders. “Bobby – uh – I – I don’ – I haven’t talked to Bobby since…”

Dean let out a small sigh. “Since just after you buried me. Bobby said you went real quiet, and then you took off – didn’t answer your cell, didn’t leave a trail so he could find you.”

“How’d you –”

“’Cos you were hitting the bottle pretty bad by then, and tryin’ to make a deal to get me back. When that didn’t work, you started going after Lilith. You didn’t care if you died in the attempt – in fact you were hoping for it. But Ruby saved your ass, and started teaching you how to tap into your psychic mojo and pull demons out of people with the power of your mind.” Dean paused for breath, studying his brother’s pale, shocked face. “How am I doin’ so far?”

“How did…” Sam’s frantic gaze bounced around the room before coming to rest on Dean’s face.

“She screwed you yet?” Dean jerked a thumb over his shoulder at the bottles on the counter top. “Obviously your mind got wound back further than the part where she sobers you up. I just want to know if it missed the bit where you and Ruby do the horizontal tango.”

“Has she…” A guilty flush crept across Sam’s cheeks. “How – there’s no way anyone could’ve – how – how’d you know that?”

“Because you told me, Sam! A few days ago, you sat down and told me everything. The drinking, the reckless hunting, the training, Ruby taking over some dead chick’s body – all of it. And I…” Dean broke off, rubbing a trembling hand across his face. “And I – told you – about my time in the Pit, and what they – what they did to me – and what I did.”

Sam began to pace, his fingers tightening spasmodically around the haft of the bowie knife. “Wait – wait…” Coming to a halt on the other side of the room, he spun to face his brother. “Alright – jus’ – jus’ f’r a minute – less say you’re right. That you’re really – standin’ there – alive.” Sam’s chest hitched as he drew in a ragged breath. “How – how’d you get out? Of Hell?”

Pinching the bridge of his nose for a moment, the elder Winchester grimaced. His head was really starting to pound. This proving that he was alive crap was getting so old. “Okay, that’s kinda the freaky part. At first, I thought you’d made some kinda deal, sold your soul to get me back. Guess it runs in the family.” Wincing, Dean raised his eyes to his brother.

Sam snorted wetly.

“Yeah, so anyway, we found out that an angel – yanked me out of Hell and put me back together. Left a handprint branded into my shoulder as a little souvenir.”

“An angel yanked you out.” The shaggy-haired hunter’s face twisted in rage as he stalked across the room, coming to a halt on the opposite side of the table to his brother. “An angel.”

“Yes, an honest-to-God angel. His name is Castiel.”

“Now I know you’re lying, you sick son of a bitch.”

Dean frowned in confusion. “What – wait a min –”

“’Cos there’s no such thing as angels! There’s no such thing as God!” Sam flung out a hand. “He doesn’t exist. There’s just chaos, and darkness, and random acts of violence. You tol’ me that before you died.”

“Sam, come on, man. You’re the one who always had faith in this stuff. It’s true, I swear. This whole God thing – it’s all real.”

The taller hunter grabbed a chair and tossed it aside. It crashed against the wall, rebounding a foot or two before toppling to the floor.

“Where was He, then, huh? Where the hell was He?” Sam roared, slamming his fist onto the table. “Where the hell was God when I was on my knees in the dirt at your grave, bawling like a baby and begging – begging – for Him to do something! Anything! To bring you back an’ take me instead! Where was He?”

Dean stared into his little brother’s angry, tear-filled eyes, his heart breaking. He knew Sam had been struggling with his faith, especially after finding out that angels could sometimes be even bigger dicks than demons. And he had seen how the snubs and the threats from the heavenly entities had taken their toll on the younger hunter.

It had been a shocking revelation; listening to Sam recount how low he had sunk during the first few weeks following Dean’s death. But to see the devastation with his own eyes – this was a whole different ball game. Dean finally understood that he’d been wrong all those months ago. Sam hadn’t been fine without him. He’d been lost, adrift, and alone in a way that Dean hadn’t been able to face a year and a half ago when Sam had died. And Sam had wrestled with his choices, trying to make the best of the crappy situation he found himself in – trying to pull something good from the ashes of his life. The thought brought Dean comfort and pain in equal measure.

“I’m sorry,” the green-eyed hunter finally murmured. “I’m sorry that you had to go through that. But I am back, and I was pulled from the Pit by an angel, and I can show you proof…”

Dean didn’t even see Sam move. In the blink of an eye, his brother had gone from the other side of the table to right in his face, and he stepped back in shock. “Jeez –”

“You’re in my head. Thass how you know all that stuff. You’re jus’ in my head.” Shoving the elder hunter aside, Sam reached for the bottle of tequila. “You’re not real.”

“Sam, listen to me! I’m not in your head! And no amount of booze is gonna drown me out!” Wrapping his hand around his brother’s arm, Dean tugged hard, spinning Sam around to face him. “I’m right here, damn it!”

Sam clenched his jaw, staring down into Dean’s wide eyes. “No, you’re not!” He jabbed a finger hard against his temple, looming over his brother. “You’re in here – you’re not real! Not any more!” Drawing back a little, he heaved a ragged sigh and reached for the bottle once more. “So, if th’ show’s not startin’ tonight, then I gotta go. I got a hunt to finish.”

“Hunt?” Dean kept hold of his brother’s sleeve, preventing him from picking up the bottle. “What hunt?”

“Lilith. This time I know where she is.”

The elder Winchester’s blood ran cold. “Over my dead body.”

Sam’s laugh was short and bitter. “Yeah, it kind of is, since she’s th’ one who sicced th’ hellhounds onto you.” Tugging his arm free, he straightened to his full height, swaying slightly as he moved past his sibling. “Don’ worry, if it all goes to plan, I’ll be seein’ you soon, brother.”

“Oh, no you don’t!” His heart pounding in his chest, Dean blocked Sam’s path, staring up into the bloodshot hazel eyes. “You’re not leaving this room.”

“An’ who’s gonna stop me?”

“I am.”

Growling low in his throat, Sam dropped the knife and clutched Dean’s shoulders. Practically lifting the shorter man off his feet, Sam flung him backwards before turning to grab the tequila. Dean landed awkwardly and staggered, out of control, his legs tangling in the legs of the overturned chair. His balance completely destroyed, the older hunter fell, striking his head against the wall. Slumping to the floor, he laid still, the rise and fall of his chest the only sign of life. Blood welled from a cut near his hairline to trickle down the side of his face.

Sam raised the tequila bottle to his lips and gulped down a hefty swig. “Time t’go,” he decided, eyeing the remaining bottle of Jack and the three-quarters-full tequila. “Nex’ guest’s gonna have a nice li’l welcoming present, if I don’ make it back.”

Placing the tequila on the table, Sam pulled on his boots and jacket. He snatched up the Impala’s keys and staggered from the room without a backward glance, slamming the door behind him.

Dean began to stir long after the rumble of the Chevy had faded away into the distance. Groaning, he raised an unsteady hand to his head and winced. “Ohh, God….” His hand came away bloody, and the hunter blinked groggily at the dark red smear on his skin. “S-sam? Sam…”

Rolling onto his side, he scanned the room, his vision blurring. The beds were empty, Sam’s jacket was missing from the one furthest from the door, and Dean realised with a sinking heart that his brother had taken off on his suicidal hunt for Lilith. “No, no, no…”

He pulled his cell phone from his pocket and dropped it, cursing as he fumbled to pick it up. Squinting, he tried to see past the blinding pain in his head and focus on the buttons, calling up Sam’s number out of habit. Dean hesitated, knowing that Sam probably wouldn’t answer. So he called the only other person who might be able to get through to his wayward brother – and maybe help him at the same time, before the headache split his skull wide open.

The phone at the other end rang four times before a gruff voice barked an enquiry. Dean smiled in relief as darkness curled at the edges of his hazy vision. “Bobby,” he murmured, losing consciousness for the third time that night, the cell phone falling from his limp hand to land a few inches from his sluggishly bleeding head.

“Dean? Dean!” Bobby’s gravelly tone issued from the speaker, sounding unusually loud in the quiet of the room. “Dean!”

* * * * *

Yep, I just did what you think I just did..... :fire ......the hunt for Sam isn't quite going to plan....see you next week! :evil

Jules

:o :thud WHATTTTTTTTTTTTTT.....OMG YOU DID NOT JUST LEAVE IT THERE!!!! GET BACK HERE SIS!!!!...GOD I JUST LOVE THE DETAIL YOU PUT INTO YOUR STORIES AND THE DIALOGUE :cry ....POOR SAM THINKING DEAN IS DEAD, ALL IN HIS MIND.....KINDA LAUGHED THOUGH WHEN DEAN SAW HIS :car MISSING :D ....OMG SAM IS GOING AFTER THE B*TCH, DEAN BETTER HURRY, WAIT HE'S OUT FOR THE COUNT..NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!... :thud ... :cheer :cheer TOTALLY FANTASTIC PLOT AND CAN'T WAIT TO SEE WHAT HAPPENS...I'LL JUST SIT HERE AND NAB THE BOOZE DEAN TOOK FROM SAM UNTIL YOU UPDATE NEXT ;)
LUV YA LOADS SIS

LORRIE :hug:

OMG things are not going well for the eldest Winchester, not only does he find Sam has left the warehouse and taken the Impala :car but once he makes it back to the motel he finds him rat-arsed and believing Dean is figment of his imagination! :rolleyes:

Loved that part, you got it so well how Sam had been whilst Dean was in hell, and seeing his brother now, Dean finally realised what effect it had had on him. :(

So not good, Sam pushing Dean, and making off with the keys and the Impala :car At least Dean managed to get Bobby on the phone before passing out again! He needs to wake up quick and tell the old hunter where is as Dean certainly needs assistance. Think Sam needs putting on a leash! :rolleyes:

And Lorrie, don't hog all the booze to yourself, share sis

Fantastic chapter Jules, you rock these threads Can't wait for next Friday and the next exciting instalment! *watches clock hands slowly moving*

Hugs my awesome sis

Sarah :wave

wow,what an amazing chapter!there is so much tension and sammy is breaking my heart-he lived that once and he's living it again-it's an endless nightmare poor boy :)
I can't wait for more

JULES!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

:thud

Are you kidding me????? :blink:

Two weeks in a row with really REALLY evil cliffies!!!!! :bang

And Sam did not just leave Dean (and take the Impala I might add) twice in one night!?!?!?! <_<

I think you are trying to kill us all here!!!

I hope Bobby finds Dean in a hurry, not only is he alone again, but he has a pretty nasty concussion obviously!

I am waiting very anxiously for the next chapter!!

Michelle

AAAAAA!!!! AAAAAA!!!!! AAAAAAAA!!!!! I'M GOING TO KEEP SCREAMING UNTIL YOU UPDATE!!!!! HOLY COW ON A STICK!!!!! YOU-THAT-I-YOU-SAM!!!!!!

*breathes*

holy crap! that was-was-are there any words that describe something better than fantastic? Because that was it! Holy cow, I loved it! The-the emotion... wow. Poor Dean, poor Sam... wow. It was brilliant. You really know how to write. To keep us all caught up and twisted in your fantastic mind, that's awesome. Damn, i need friday now!

hugs,

Pauline

Holy Crap! There are so many things to say here...but the words...they're gone!

Love this story the emotion is so beautifully written. You truly have a gift!
I have one question here...Sam has gone back in time in his mind, and is obviously back in the time that he knew where Lillith was...He wouldn't hurt an innocent would he, I mean obviously that was then this is now, Lillith wouldn't be there...Would she? So he may hurt someone thinking it was Lillith. :unsure:

Okay I'm not as speechless as I first thought. :lol:

And the snow? Hating it as usual :P we're expecting another 5-10 cm tomorrow. :cry

But i will survive...I guess.

~Trace~

Gak! Can't believe you left it there!

O.K, maybe it was just me, but teared up at the idea of poor Sam having to listen to Dean screaming over and over. :cry

And where was the tissue warning may I ask...*taps foot* :D

Loving it and off to find something to do until next update *grumbles*

that was great...Dean almost had Sam convinced but then it went all to hell and then you gave us one evil cliffy!!! Bobby to the rescue!
great job
more please soon
lisa

Jules, you are the queen of cliffies! :lol:

Jeez, that was flippin' good. And I mean good. With a capital Oh My God.

I was so feeling Sam's pain when he was talking to his room and himself on finding Dean's kit, the confussion was immense. Then to fall into oblivion, have Dean wake him and Sam still think he's dreaming and waiting for the show...what a plot.

When Sam revealed what it was like for him after Dean had gone, particularly by his graveside and the never ending sound of his screams, my heart broke. And like tori80 said, where was the tissue warning?! :cry ;)

Poor Dean trying to get through to him that he was indeed real, thank goodness he realised what was happening to Sam but just when I thought he had broken through, Sam leaps away from it and runs. Again. Poor Dean.

OK Bobby, come on man, got to get here quick. :car
Can't wait for Friday, FANTASTIC story. :clap
Julie. :D

Dean saw with his own eyes what his "death" did to Sam, heartbreaking.
Dean nearly convinced Sam that he was really there in flesh and blood but Sam didn't buy it.
No!Dean is out once again, thank goodness Bobby knows that he's in trouble and Sam is gone after Lilith.
Suspenseful, I can't wait to read more.

Found you Lorrie said you'd started another story.......without me :(

Still here now


THUD WTF are you doing to Sam ......to Dean

Those poor boys

Sam is sooooo broken its hard to see him like that but what you have written is sooo true of what it must have been like for him.....gosh I have a lump in my throat....

Dean is pissed and worried and hurting and now he is unconscious for the third time...not good not good....

Sheesh I almost forgot how much tension you get into your stories, how much I feel the hand gripping my heart as my anxiety for the boys grows.

Its great to see you back on the threads Jules HUGS

Steffs

Very intrigued and happily waiting for the next chapter. Poor Sammy, all caught up in his own little world.
denise :blink:

:blink: Sam?

I can't believe you just left us there <_< okay, so I can, but that only means you need to get back here and update.

Poor Dean, trying to prove he exists all over again and now Bobby out of his mind with worry I'm sure.

:unsure: Sam really doesn't know where Lilith is does he?

Sounds like its about to hit the fan--again :rolleyes:

Well, here we are. It's Friday evening. Let's see now...

Lorrie – yep, I left it there. Love me evil cliffies. Yes, Dean’s expression would have been rather priceless when he walked outside and found his brother and his baby long gone. Glad you liked the little glimpse into Sam’s tortured mind. As for that booze – you’d better grab it quick before Sam does – lol!

Sarah – no, things aren’t quite going swimmingly for Dean at the moment are they? He’s had to walk back, only to find Sam sh*t-faced and not believing he’s real. He’s probably seriously wondering why the heck he got out of bed that morning. Well, he would have been, if he was conscious…. And that leash idea might just be a handy device to have, especially after the next chapter….

Ilaria – thanks hon. Yes, Sam went through his own version of hell while Dean was gone. I watched the S3 finale at Cookie6’s place on the big screen (she has a movie room) with surround sound, and I tell you, while it’s truly horrifying watching Dean get torn apart, it’s heartwrenching hearing Sammy’s near-hysterical screams as he begs Lilith to stop the attack. I am sure that it would haunt Sam’s dreams – and his waking moments, for a long time after.

Michelle – um….well….yes. And wait till you see this week’s one, too. ROFL!!!! And yes, Sam did leave twice in one night. As for killing you – no, I’m not, honest – it’s not good policy to kill off readers….*ducks head to hide evil grin*… Thank heavens Bobby’s on his way, eh? Well, I hope Bobby’s on his way….*whistles innocently*…

Pauline - …*holds hands over ears*…man, you can sure pump out some volume with those screams. So – guess you liked that chapter, huh? LOL. There was a fair bit going on, wasn’t there? Especially with Dean playing fox and hounds with a concussed and now drunk Sam. Something tells me the hunt’s not over yet…

Trace – yes, Sam has been rewound to the time when Dean is in the Pit. As for him hurting an innocent – Sam would never consciously do that, no. And you forget one tiny little detail. Dean called “uncle” Bobby before he passed out. Now, what do you think Bobby’s reaction to that brief but cryptic phone call is going to be? Let’s find out.

Tori – yep, I left it there. I’m a bad author….*hangs head*… Oh – um – tissue warning…tissue warning…hmm, I know I had one somewhere around here. Ah – there it is! It must have fallen down behind the desk when I posted the chapter. Sorry about that. You know, that final scene in the S3 finale has me thinking – and I’m puzzled that no one has done a tag for it – but when Dean was screaming for Sam in Hell – I’ve been wondering if on some level of consciousness, Sam actually heard him….. it would certainly have coloured his nightmares for the first few weeks, wouldn’t it, the poor kid? Not that he didn’t have enough to keep him awake and screaming with the memories of Dean being ripped to bits. But I have wondered…..

Lisa – yes, evil cliffie, I know. They’re almost as bad as chocolate, aren’t they? But you’re right – Bobby to the rescue. He just has to figure out where the boys are, and what he’s rescuing them from… Hope you enjoy the next chapter.

Jules – I sort of went along the lines of Sam being so rocked by Dean’s admission at the end of epi 10, that it would be preying on his mind. So when he got that bonk on the bean courtesy of the poltergeist, it wouldn’t be too much of a stretch for his mind to just rewind itself a few months. Um – oops – sorry – like I told Tori, I dropped it….you believe me, don’t you? …*bats puppy dog eyes*… Well, Sam’s on the run, Dean’s out cold and Bobby is probably trying to figure out just what the hell ‘his’ boys have gotten themselves into this time. Let’s see how he does from his end of the proceedings.

Oceane – hi, hon. You know, if you ever missed a story, I think I would be absolutely devastated. You’ve been right there with me since the very first one. Yep, Dean actually got to see for himself what Sam was like while he was down below. Not a pretty sight, especially since Dean thought that Sam would be okay alone. And no, Sam doesn’t believe his brother is really there. Wonder if he will start to get ‘flashes’ of real memory….and what will his reaction be?

Steffs – oops. Um…well….you see…. What am I doing to the boys? Torturing them, as always. Just the usual – lol! When I watched epi 9 at a friend’s place, I was heartbroken myself to see the state Sam was in. No wonder Ruby found his weak spot so quickly. Sam’s a strong guy, and a good hunter, but I think he needs to love. And with his beloved brother gone, there was no one left to love. I’m also thinking that Sam’s carrying around a pretty fricking huge load of guilt as well, not just because of Dean going to hell, but also what he found out along the way about the YED’s plans, and the systematic wiping out of his mother’s family and friends. That sort of devastation leads to desperate measures, and that’s just what we’re seeing in Sam. He breaks my heart, he really does. I fear for Sammy – not because I think he is evil, because I believe that he is NOT!!!! But I think he’s slowly but steadily being backed into a corner from which there will be no escape. He’s a pawn in a very high-level game. Thank you, hon – it’s good to be back…*hugs*

Denise – hey, hon. How’s the bronchitis? You keeping rugged up? Do we need to send Sammy around to stroke those long, gentle fingers across your fevered brow? I think I just heard a croaky but definite ‘yes’ to that. Yep, Sam’s lost in his own living hell – life without Dean. Let’s hope that Dean can wake up and pull him out of it.

Robin – yep, I did leave it there. And if you think that’s bad, just wait till chapter 3!…*laughs evilly*… Um – well, Sam thinks he knows where Lilith is. How far he gets is another matter. Don’t forget Bobby’s probably moving heaven and earth to find out what kind of trouble the boys have gotten themselves into this time. And yep, it’s about to hit the fan – again – lol! I’m so wicked!

So, did everyone have a good week? Excellent!

Well, let's see just how much trouble Dean and Sam have managed to fall into, shall we?

Bless you,

Jules

Chapter 3

The bright headlights from the oncoming semi hurt his eyes. Sam swore, squinting to see past the glare to the dark stretch of road heading out of town. Finally the truck passed and he breathed a sigh of relief, flicking the Impala’s headlights to high beam. Drumming his fingers against the steering wheel, he mentally reviewed the sketchy information he had on Lilith’s whereabouts and entered the coordinates into the nav programme on his cell. Sam ignored the list of missed calls and messages and stepped on the gas, listening to the hungry growl of the V8 engine.

Half an hour later his cell phone rang, and Sam glanced in annoyance at the screen. Reading the name of the caller, he felt his annoyance turn to apprehension and confusion. Bobby’s name flashed repeatedly on the small screen, demanding attention, and Sam wondered fleetingly how the wily old demon hunter had finally managed to track him down. Deciding that he couldn’t put it off any longer, he pulled over before taking the call.

“Bobby – uh – hey, um – guess I shoulda called…”

“Sam, what’s happened to your brother?”

Sam flinched, gritting his teeth against the stab of grief that went through his heart like a knife. “If thass s’posed to be a joke, s’not very damned funny, Bobby.”

“I’m not makin’ any damned jokes. I just got a call from him – he said my name, and then nothin’. The line’s still active, but I can’t hear a sound from the other end. I’m on my landline, ‘cos I can’t use my cell until he ends the call.”

“You got a call…Bobby, thass impossible, unless you’re havin’ th’ same halluc’nations as me.”

“What do you mean, hallucinations? What the hell’s goin’ on with you two? Where are you? Why aren’t you with your brother?”

I’ve been asking myself that for the last month, Sam thought bitterly. Taking a shuddering breath, he cleared his throat. “Bobby, you do know Dean’s – dead, right? I mean, you were there, when…”

“What the hell, Sam? I just got a call from him not five minutes ago, and it wasn’t from the friggin’ Pit! What’s goin’ on?”

“You – you can’t have – he’s – he’s not…”

“Look, kid, I don’t know what’s happened between me talkin’ to you yesterday and the call from Dean tonight, but…”

“Yesterday? Bobby…” Sam pinched the bridge of his nose and scrunched his eyes closed, feeling the whiskey in his stomach beginning to turn sour. “Bobby, we haven’ talked in over a month. Not since…”

“Kid, I called you yesterday morning to let you know that I was back, and that Pamela had given me the run-down on the angels versus demons fight and the thing with Anna. You told me that you and Dean were a little beat up, but okay, and were havin’ some downtime before the next job.”

Sam’s stomach roiled. “Who – who’s Pamela? Angels an’ demons – thass – thass impossible. ‘S – s’not – it can’t be…”

Bobby drew in a sharp breath. “Sam, listen to me. What’s today’s date?”

“W-what?”

“The date – what’s the date?”

“It’s uh – it’s June. I think – third week…”

“Sam, it’s almost December. Dean got pulled out of hell on September eighteenth. He’s been back for two months.”

“I don’ – he – thass not – that can’t be possible…” The shaggy-haired hunter stared out through the windshield in shock. The phone calls from Dean, his clothes scattered across the second bed, the weird conversation he’d had with what he’d assumed was a figment of his imagination – could it have all been real? And what had happened just before he left the room? Had he hurt Dean in some way? Had Dean been hurt during this poltergeist hunt he’d been so adamant they’d been on, and Sam hadn’t noticed because he hadn’t believed that Dean was real? “Oh, God – what did I do…”

“Kid, just calm down and listen to me. It’s obvious somethin’s happened to the two of you. Maybe you got hurt in a hunt or somethin’. So I need to know where you are. All you said yesterday was that you were somewhere in Nebraska.”

“Uh – I – I dunno. Bobby – I don’ remember. I dunno where we are.” Sam chewed on his lower lip as he cradled his head in one hand, the other holding the cell phone pressed so tightly to his ear that the casing was making an indentation on his cheek.

“Okay – all right, son. Do you remember the name of the motel?”

“Uh – it’s uh – hold – hold on a second.” Digging in his jacket pocket, Sam pulled out the notebook and quickly flipped to the page where he’d scribbled down the address from the liquor store phone book. He gave the details to the anxious demon hunter and sagged against the black leather seat, his thoughts a chaotic whirl. “Bobby – is he – what did…”

“I don’t know. Now, Sam, you gotta go back to the motel. I’m only about an hour away from you, okay? You go back there and wait for me. Wait with Dean, okay?”

“Uh – yeah. Sure, okay.”

Sam ended the call and sat staring at the darkened road, maintaining his tight grip on the cell phone. Tremors wracked his tall frame as the reality of the situation started to sink in. With shaking hands, he tapped the buttons on the phone to bring up his message service, and pressed the device against his ear.

“You have four new messages,” the dispassionate electronic voice informed him. Swallowing rapidly, Sam played the first one. Dean’s deep voice rumbled against his ear, vibrating clear down to his shattered soul.

“Hey – it’s me. I’m okay, just got knocked out for a bit. Nothin’ I can’t fix with an ice pack, a beer and a couple of Tylenol. Come on back.”

Sam closed his burning eyes as the second message started.

“Sammy, where are you? Come on, quit screwin’ around. I’m okay – I don’t need a doctor. Come on back so we can get the hell out of here before the security patrol sees the Impala parked outside. I’d hate to have to come up with an explanation for the mess the freakin’ poltergeist made. Hurry up already – I’m starving.”

The phone beeped, signalling the end of the second message. Sam groaned softly, dropping one hand to his belly as the whiskey threatened to make a reappearance. The other hand clutched his phone in a death grip as the third message began to play. He could hear a hint of exasperation creeping into his brother’s tone.

“Sam, where the hell are you? And why aren’t you answering your cell? My butt’s going numb sitting here waiting for your sorry ass. Don’t make me search this whole freakin’ building for you. My head’s sore, I’m tired, and I want a hot shower, a beer and a burger, in that order. Jeez, don’t tell me you got freaked out seein’ me lying on the floor. Come on, dude, get a grip and call me back – let me know where you are.”

A cold feeling of dread settled over Sam’s body as he listened to the fourth message.

“Sam! I don’t care how hard a knock that freaky head of yours got – I am so gonna kick your ass when I get hold of you! What the hell possessed you to just take off and leave me behind? Now quit screwing around, get back here and pick me up!” There was a slight pause before his brother’s angry tone added, “And answer your freakin’ phone!”

“Ohmigod….”

It had been real – all of it; Dean, the calls, the poltergeist hunt, the heavenly rescue from the Pit. And Sam had walked out; believing his brother to be a figment of his own tortured mind, leaving Dean in God only knew what kind of condition. Hurt – and alone. Badly hurt, from what Bobby had said. He could even be…

Giving his aching head a quick, sharp shake to banish the dark thoughts, Sam dropped the phone onto the seat, checked for traffic, and brought the Chevy around in a tight turn. He stepped on the gas and the black classic leapt forward, her tyres squealing as she shot back down the road towards the motel.

* * * * *

Dean groaned as he felt calloused hands cup his cheek. Scrabbling weakly against the musty-smelling carpet, he was helpless to prevent his head being lifted and leaned against a firm, denim-covered surface. Something cool and damp touched his face, dabbing gently from his temple to the side of his ear. Forcing his eyes open, he stared blearily up at the fuzzy figure at his side. “Sam?”

“It’s me, boy,” Bobby answered gruffly, continuing to sponge away the worst of the blood so he could see the extent of Dean’s head injury. His heart had been in his mouth when he’d picked the lock on the door and found Dean lying in a crumpled heap against the wall, blood pooling under his head. He’d hastily pulled a handkerchief from his pocket, dampening it at the sink in the kitchenette before hurrying to his young friend’s side. “It’s okay – I gotcha.”

“Where…S-sam…” Dean squinted painfully, trying to search the room.

“He’s on his way.”

As if summoned by his words, a faint throaty growl of a big engine came from outside, rapidly growing louder. Bobby snapped his head up as the Impala screeched to a halt right outside the room. He listened to the familiar creak of the driver’s side door, followed by the uneven thump of heavy footsteps hurrying towards the room. A tall figure appeared in the doorway, and the demon hunter stared at the youngest Winchester in surprise and concern.

Sam clutched the doorjamb with shaking hands, swaying as he stared in shock at his brother sprawled on the floor, his head resting against Bobby’s knee. He could detect the faint coppery scent of freshly spilled blood, and the smell made him gag. None of his nightmares, or conversations with an alcohol-induced image of his big brother, had ever contained this particular scenario.

Bobby reared back a little as the stench of whiskey hit his nose. He frowned up at the youngest hunter as Sam dropped to his knees beside his brother. The shaggy-haired man’s face was flushed, his eyes bloodshot, his pupils dilated. Bobby’s shrewd gaze dropped to Sam’s shaking hands as the kid reached out to press two fingers against Dean’s neck.

“Sammy?” Dean squinted painfully up at the second fuzzy figure before his eyes drifted closed again.

Sam didn’t answer. The rapid, erratic throb of Dean’s pulse beneath his fingers sent his own pulse rocketing. It was true – Dean was alive. Hurt, but alive.

Pulling himself together with a visible effort that left him shaking, Sam began a quick triage. Dean moaned as his eyelids were gently peeled back, revealing one blown and one reactive pupil. A quick check of his limbs found no damage, apart from some faint scratches on his hands. Running his palms over Dean’s ribs and back, Sam watched his brother’s face twitch in pain as he skimmed across a few bruises. He found two bumps on Dean’s head – the one that had been bleeding, and a knot on the back of his scalp which he assumed must have come from the hunt Dean had mentioned earlier, when Sam still thought he was an illusion. Distractedly, he slid his fingers through his brother’s short spiky hair, dislodging a small handful of wood splinters.

“S-sam?”

Realising that Dean needed to hear his voice, Sam cleared his throat, trying to swallow the lump that threatened to choke him. “I – I’m here.”

Closing his eyes, Dean relaxed against the floor, losing the fight to stay awake and alert.

Sam glanced at Bobby, wincing at the concern in the older man’s eyes. He felt a sharp stab of guilt at having caused their old friend so much grief and worry. But at the same time, Sam was relieved that the demon hunter was there, because he didn’t think he could cope with the situation on his own. He was convinced he was about to come apart at the seams - his legs felt like rubber, his insides were churning, and he couldn’t think beyond the fact that his brother was lying in a pool of blood on the floor.

“Sam, we gotta get him to a doctor. There’s a clinic on the other side of town.”

Galvanised into action, Sam slid his hands beneath Dean’s back and knees and lifted the unconscious man off the floor, inclining his head towards the Impala parked haphazardly outside. “You drive,” he muttered tersely. “Keys are in the ignition.”

“Sam, let me…”

Shouldering his way past the grizzled demon hunter, Sam managed to get Dean to the car before Bobby caught up with him. Ignoring the concerned glances from their old friend and surrogate father, he waited with ill-concealed impatience while Bobby tugged open the back door. Sam dropped onto the seat, sliding all the way across, dragging Dean’s unresisting body with him. Re-settling his brother’s head in his lap, he kept his focus on Dean’s sweat-dappled face as Bobby got behind the wheel and started the car.

Bobby glanced at the young hunter’s worried countenance in the rear view mirror. “Sam –”

“Just drive!”

Grimacing, Bobby threw the car into gear and headed for the clinic, falling silent but keeping a close eye on both boys. Hopefully Sam would snap out of whatever was affecting him once Dean was all right. The kid looked like hell, he mused worriedly. And he hadn’t missed the raw stink of whiskey emanating from the young hunter.

Dean didn’t stir during the tense ten-minute ride to the clinic. Sam kept his fingers pressed against his big brother’s neck, needing to feel the soft thump of his pulse to remind himself that this wasn’t a dream. His own body trembling in a combination of shock, inebriation and concussion, he kept his gaze on the lightly freckled face, watching for some sign that Dean was going to wake up. But the elder man stayed stubbornly, worryingly comatose, his thick eyelashes lying in sooty crescents against his pale cheeks.

Curling his body forward until his forehead brushed against his brother’s, Sam pleaded in a soft whisper, “Dean, I need you to wake up.”

He straightened up, peering hopefully at Dean’s still face as the Impala came to a jerky halt outside the well-lit clinic. The elder Winchester’s head lolled slightly in his brother’s lap, but he failed to rouse. Sam gritted his teeth before slipping his arms beneath Dean’s back and knees.

Bobby hastily slid from behind the wheel and wrenched open the back door, stepping out of the way while Sam carefully manoeuvred his sibling’s lax body from the car. Offering once more to help carry Dean, he was again rebuffed, finding himself talking to Sam’s retreating back as the tall young hunter staggered determinedly through the front doors of the small medical facility.

Scrunching his eyes almost closed as the glare from the bright fluorescent lights sent stabbing pains through his aching head, Sam hitched his brother’s body higher in his arms and stumbled towards the reception desk. “I need some help here!”

The middle-aged nurse rose from behind the desk, a sour expression on her thin, pinched face. She retrieved a gurney and shoved it towards the young hunter, bending over Dean as soon as Sam laid him down. Catching a whiff of alcohol, she grimaced, eyeing the hovering young man with disdain. “Another drunken brawl, I suppose?” she asked waspishly, glancing up as Bobby hurried through the doors.

Sam drew back, his mouth flattening into a thin line. Feeling a hand clamp around his left bicep, he bit back the sharp retort that was burning the tip of his tongue and gripped his brother’s wrist instead.

“They got mugged,” Bobby growled, staring the woman down. “Where’s the doc?”

“Mugged? Got into a bar fight more likely, by the smell of him.” Jerking her thumb at the shaggy-haired hunter, the nurse took hold of the gurney and pushed it towards a set of double doors, callously tearing Dean’s arm from Sam’s shaky grasp. “I’ll get the full story when I come back, though he’s probably too drunk to remember.”

The doors slammed closed behind her ramrod-straight back, and Bobby let out an angry snort. “Friggin’ bitch,” he muttered before turning his attention to the youngest Winchester.

Sam stared at the doors, his face rapidly losing its colour as he swayed dizzily. Feeling Bobby’s grip tighten around his arm, he allowed himself to be steered towards one of the hard plastic chairs in the waiting area. Sam dropped heavily onto the seat, cradling his spinning head in his hands. “Too drunk to remember…” The cranky nurse’s cruel jibe echoed around and around in his head.

Bobby softly cleared his throat, bringing the younger hunter’s bleary gaze to his face. He peered into Sam’s bloodshot eyes, his own narrowing in concern. “Kid, what happened?”

A faint huff slipped from Sam’s pale lips. “You h-heard the nurse – too drunk…” He hung his head, his long bangs falling forward to shield his face from his friend’s view.

“Sam,” the grizzled demon hunter urged gently. “Tell me the last thing you remember.”

Slowly, Sam raised his head to stare at the doors through which his brother had been taken. His brows drew together in a worried frown as he sucked in his bottom lip. With his hair falling over his forehead, he looked all of five years old, instead of the seasoned hunter he had become. Bobby’s heart clenched at the sight of his woebegone face.

“Come on, son, talk to me.”

Bleary hazel eyes blinked slowly. “ Um – last – last thing….” Sam swallowed nervously, casting a worried glance at his friend. “Uh – got word – that Lilith was back in town – so I went after her.”

Bobby winced – he’d been so afraid of something like this when Sam had disappeared just after Dean’s death. He’d almost felt ill when Sam had told them back in Illinois that he’d been set on getting revenge on Lilith for what happened to Dean. But Sam had neglected to mention that he had actually made an attempt. “You went after her by yourself?” he queried, his tone rough with regret. Damn it, kid…

“Had a plan.” The tousled chestnut head slowly drooped. “But – she – she set me up. Couple of her heavies were waitin’. Then – kinda gets hazy – think I killed one, an’ got away – went to ground to regroup.”

Instinctively, the bearded hunter knew that the young man was keeping something back. Damn you, Johnny – you and your secrets – your boys learned that particular lesson way too well. “So, you don’t remember anything about the last two months? Dean coming back, us finding you in that motel in Pontiac, the angels, the rising of the witnesses, the ghost sickness – nothin’?”

Sam shook his head, and then shot unsteadily to his feet as a doctor pushed through the doors. “Hey, doc – my brother – how’s my brother?”

Shoving his hands into the pockets of his white lab coat, the thirty-something doctor came to a halt in front of the anxious hunters, craning his neck to look Sam in the eye. He wrinkled his nose slightly at the raw smell of alcohol coming from Sam’s clothes and breath. “We’re not sure yet. Can you tell me what happened?”

Blinking rapidly, Sam turned to Bobby, biting his lip in agitation. The elder hunter stepped forward.

“They got mugged.”

“And you are?”

“Their uncle. They called me for help. Dean – that’s the older brother – he was unconscious by the time I got there.”

Sam could have gladly fallen on Bobby’s neck and sobbed in relief. He half closed his eyes, only to snap them open when he felt the weight of a hand on his shoulder. Muscles tensing, he twitched away from the unfamiliar touch.

The doctor pulled his hand back, shrugging in apology. “Sorry – didn’t mean to startle you. But if you got mugged, too, I’d better check you out as well. Just follow me.”

“No.” Sam shook his head, sinking back onto the chair and clasping his hands. “’M alright. Fix my brother.”

“Sir, I really think –”

“No!”

Bobby shook his head in a silent warning. Catching the signal, the doctor backed off, giving a small, exasperated sigh.

“Okay, well, we’re prepping your brother for an x-ray. We need to make sure his skull isn’t fractured. I’m hoping it’s just a severe concussion, but I won’t know for sure until the x-ray is done. If anything abnormal shows up, I’ll do some further scans and let you know what’s happening as we go.”

Nodding his thanks, Bobby let the doctor return to his patient, and sat back down at Sam’s side. He didn’t know what to make of the younger Winchester’s actions. He’d never seen Sam in such a state. This is what he must have been like after he disappeared on me, he realised with a jolt. Well, I failed him the first time – let him take off and almost get himself killed. I’m not gonna fail him a second time. “Sam, look at me.”

The younger man slowly straightened up, turning his head to meet his friend’s worried gaze. “What?”

Bobby peered into Sam’s bloodshot eyes, noting the blown left pupil. “You’ve got a concussion. You need to let the doc check you out, kid.”

“No.”

“Sam –”

“No.”

Before Bobby could argue further, the doors slammed open to emit the grumpy nurse who had wheeled Dean away. He felt Sam stiffen beside him as she approached, a clipboard clutched in one slender hand.

Giving the younger man a withering look, the nurse thrust the clipboard between his shaking fingers. “Fill that out, if you’re sober enough to see what you’re doing.”

The bearded hunter shot to his feet, anger spiking in his gut. Grabbing her arm, he hustled her away from the stricken young Winchester. “If I were you, I’d cut the kid some slack,” he growled softly. “He and his brother have been through hell the last six months – leave him be.”

“I call it as I see it,” the woman shot back defensively, wrenching her arm free. She tilted her head back to look down her nose at the young man’s bowed head. “And I see a kid so drunk he can hardly stand, while his brother’s lying on a gurney with a cracked skull. Hell, he probably caused the incident himself, and is just too much of a coward to admit it.”

The clipboard clattered to the floor.

Bobby stepped in front of the woman, leaning down into her personal space. “You’re a grade-A bitch. How the hell did you get into nursing?”

Bristling indignantly, the nurse stormed back through the double doors, leaving the veteran hunter to face the aftermath of her cutting comments. Turning towards his young friend, Bobby pulled worriedly at his beard. “Sam…”

Sam’s pale face was devoid of all expression. Rising slowly to his feet, he refused to meet the elder man’s gaze. “Need some air,” he rasped, stumbling a little as he pushed past Bobby, heading rapidly for the exit.

The cold night air was like a slap to the face. Sam paused just outside the circle of light spilling from the front door, his chest heaving as he fought to keep from throwing up. The nurse’s words lashed him mercilessly, mocking his lack of memory. Sam clutched at his head and belly as he sank to his knees, bowing his back until his forehead almost touched the dew-dampened grass. “God…”

“It wasn’t four months, you know.” Dean’s deep, slightly husky voice seemed to echo softly in the darkness all around him. Sam groaned, squeezing his eyes closed. “It was four months up here, but down there…I dunno, time’s different. It was more like forty years.”

He could taste the cold, malty kiss of the beer as it slid over his tongue, hear the traffic roaring past on the road a few dozen yards from where they were sitting, feel the cool metal hood of the Chevy under his butt, and the warmth of his brother’s back against his shoulder. Curling both arms across his belly, Sam rocked back and forth, gasping for air, trying to sort out the conflicting signals his senses were shooting to his brain.

It seemed like he’d been out there for hours when he suddenly felt rough hands grasp his shoulders. Jerking in surprise, Sam whipped his aching head up to stare into Bobby’s worried blue eyes.

“Come on, kid, let’s get you up.” Wrapping one arm around the distraught young hunter’s back, Bobby cupped his other hand under Sam’s elbow and helped him to his feet. He transferred his arm to Sam’s waist, steering the taller Winchester back inside the clinic. “Easy, now.”

Sinking back onto the same hard plastic chair, Sam rested his elbows on his knees and cradled his throbbing head.

“Not gonna hurl on me, are you, kid?”

“No.” Blinking rapidly, the younger man flicked a lightning glance at his companion. “Bobby?”

“Yeah?”

“Is it really true?”

Bobby nodded solemnly. “It’s true. He’s really back from the dead.” Taking a chance, he edged forward on his seat and stretched out his hands towards Sam’s face. “Come here, son.”

Sam stared at the elder man in confusion, before his addled brain finally interpreted the meaning of Bobby’s actions. With a weary sigh, he tipped his head forward.

The demon hunter gently ran his hands through the shaggy mop of hair. It didn’t take long before his fingertips skated over a good-sized lump just behind Sam’s right ear. Sam flinched, letting out a hiss of pain.

“Sorry, kid.” Parting the chestnut strands, Bobby carefully examined the lump, relieved to find the skin unbroken. Cupping one hand under Sam’s chin, he turned the pale face towards the ceiling and the bright fluorescent lights, noting that Sam’s left pupil still didn’t react to the increased illumination. “Concussion, just like I thought.”

“I’m getting – flashes.” Carefully shaking his head, Sam dropped his gaze to the floor. “It’s coming back. Little pieces at a time – conversations – feelings.”

“Well, that’s a hell of a goose-egg on that hard head of yours. No wonder your brain got scrambled for a while. I still think you need to let the doc check you out.”

“I’m all right.”

Bobby sighed. “Damn it, Sam – why won’t you let anyone help you?”

Sam hunched his shoulders. “Because I don’t deserve it.”

The demon hunter’s ears barely caught the whispered confession. Dropping a hand on the younger man’s broad shoulder, Bobby squeezed hard enough to draw a tiny gasp of pain from Sam’s pale lips. “Where the hell did you get that stupid idea?”

Sam squirmed uneasily, trying to shake the vice-like grip digging into his shoulder muscles. “Look what I did, Bobby,” he finally admitted.

“You mean tonight? Kid, whatever happened, it was an accident. Your head’s messed up – you didn’t know what was real.”

“No, I don’t mean tonight. I mean – Hell. Dean – he remembers. Everything that he went through – he remembers it all. He has nightmares…” Sam trailed off, chewing on his lower lip. “It’s my fault.”

Bobby slumped in his seat. “It’s not your fault he went to Hell.”

“He made that deal to bring me back. How is that not my fault?”

The grizzled salvage yard owner shook his head. “You didn’t twist his arm to make that deal, Sam. If anyone’s to blame, it’s the damned demons. They’re the ones who manipulated the situation – backed him into a corner so that there was only one way out – your death, or his. Or hell, blame me for some of it. I’m the one who left him alone. Maybe if I’d stayed, I could have…” Bobby trailed off into an awkward silence, realising that if he had stayed and prevented Dean from making the deal, he wouldn’t be sitting there having this conversation with Sam. He winced, his mind racing frantically as he tried to deflect the younger hunter.

“I could never blame you, Bobby. You’d never hurt Dean – he’s been like a son to you.”

Bobby’s eyes widened in hurt surprise. “And you haven’t? What have I done to make you think that, boy?”

Sam straightened in his seat, his face twisting in anguish. “I – I didn’t mean…”

“You’re always on the outside lookin’ in, aren’t ya, kid?” the demon hunter continued sadly. “No matter how many times I leave the door open.”

Drawing his self-imposed isolation around him like a cloak, Sam turned his face away. That’s ‘cos if you knew what I am – what I’ve done – you’d hate me. Hell, you’d probably even hunt me. A memory surfaced – a sunlit motel room, his brother’s angry face, cruel words stabbing at him like a knife to the heart. “If I didn’t know you – I’d want to hunt you!”

For a moment Sam couldn’t breathe. He felt the phantom blow to his mouth, tasted copper on his tongue and raised a shaking hand to his lips. A warm palm settled between his shoulder blades, snapping him back to the cold, harsh reality of the clinic waiting room. Disoriented, he blinked rapidly, staring in bewilderment at the back of his hand. There was no trace of blood.

“Sam?”

“I – I’m all right.”

Bobby looked at Sam’s pale face in concern. “Another flash?”

“Yeah. I think so.” Pressing a hand to his chest, Sam frowned, glancing down as he realised something was missing. “Oh, no…”

“What?”

“Dean’s amulet.” The young hunter felt around his neck before searching his pockets. “I’ve lost it.” A hand on his arm halted his frantic movements.

“You gave it back to him the night we caught up with you.”

“Oh. Right.” His heart racing, Sam settled back in the chair and stared at the floor. “I – I forgot.”

The minutes stretched on, both men lost in their own private thoughts. Eventually Bobby leaned over, picked up the clipboard from the floor beneath Sam’s chair and handed it to the younger man along with a pen he found in his pocket.

Sam let out a ragged sigh as he stared at the blurring page. “Bobby, I don’t…”

“Singer. Just use Singer. I’ll take care of it.”

Nodding his assent, the young hunter shakily filled in the information and handed it back. Bobby glanced at the unattended desk before walking over to return the paperwork, thanking whoever was listening that ‘Nurse Ratched’ had decided to make herself scarce. Good thing there’s no other emergencies tonight, he thought grimly. God help anyone else who comes in during her shift. A thought struck him, and he dredged up a grim smile. God help her if she’s still here when Dean wakes up…

A soft thump sounded behind him, and he turned to see the young doctor edging through the door. Bobby shot a quick glance at Sam, laid the clipboard down on the reception desk and shoved his ball cap back with his thumb. “How is he?”

The doctor gave the waiting men an encouraging smile. “I’ve got some good news, actually. Your nephew’s skull isn’t fractured, and there’s no sign of bleeding on the brain. He’s had his bell rung really hard tonight, though – I found two contusions, one near his temple and one on the back of his head, resulting in a severe concussion. Of course, we’ll run some further tests when he wakes up, just to make sure everything is okay.”

Sam clambered to his feet and stood swaying, his bleary gaze locked on the doctor’s face.

“Can we see him?” Bobby threw another glance at his too-silent young friend.

“Sure. He’s through here.”

His stomach churning, Sam followed Bobby and the doctor through the doors and along the wide corridor. Sharp antiseptic smells assaulted his nose, causing his already pounding head to spin dizzily. Trailing one hand along the wall for balance, he scrunched his eyes almost closed against the pain and the nausea as the two older men came to a halt outside a room down near the end on the left.

Giving the tall young hunter a comforting pat on the arm, the doctor smiled and gestured towards the open door before turning to go back towards the waiting room. Sam sucked in a shallow, shaky breath, licked his dry lips and stepped inside.

The elder Winchester lay on his back on the bed inside the room, his head turned slightly towards the door. His face was serene; the gauze pad on his temple standing out starkly against his slightly flushed skin. One hand rested on his belly, the other falling lax by his side, fingers curled in towards his palm. The gold amulet hanging from the cord around his neck caught the light as his chest rose and fell with deep, steady respirations.

Sam felt a nudge against his shoulder and jerked aside, stumbling against the doorjamb, his gaze locked on the unmoving form of his brother. Slowly, as if in a dream, he made his way to the bed and grasped the handrail, staring down at Dean’s lightly freckled face.

“See?” Bobby murmured softly at Sam’s shoulder. “He’s really here, son. He’s okay.”

A trembling, long-fingered hand reached out, hesitated a few inches above the sleeping man’s chest before lowering to rest against his ribcage. Sam watched his brother’s still form, seeing the tiny facial tics and involuntary movements Dean made while he slept, and feeling the steady thump of his brother’s heartbeat under his palm.

Conflicting images assaulted the young hunter. He smelled the rich, copper stench of spilled blood, felt his hoarse screams ripping from his throat in echo to his brother’s agonised shrieks, and heard the triumphant snarls of the hellhounds as they tore apart their prize. Snatching his hand away, Sam backed up, shaking his head, his blurring gaze seeing the blood-spattered face and wide staring eyes hovering like a gauzy mask over his brother’s sleeping countenance. “No…”

Bobby reached out to grasp the shaggy-haired Winchester’s sleeve. “Sam, it’s real. He’s here.”

“No. No.” Dodging the demon hunter’s grip, Sam began backing towards the door, one hand clasped to his head. Dragging his gaze away from the image of his sleeping brother, he flicked a glance at Bobby’s worried face, and his own crumpled in anguish. “I’m sorry, Bobby,” he choked softly. “Stay with him. I – I gotta go. I gotta be sure.” Sam’s troubled gaze skated back to Dean’s slumbering form, and he bit his lip. “I gotta be sure.”

Without warning, Sam lunged forward, sliding his hand into the pocket of Bobby’s jacket as the force of his impact with the elder man’s body drove Bobby back a few paces. Knocked off balance, the demon hunter flailed out a hand to grasp the bed rail as Sam spun on his heel, the Impala’s keys dangling from his shaking fingers.

“Sam, wait!”

Bobby lunged for the door, but the young hunter was faster, hurrying away down the corridor without a backward glance. Sam was running by the time he hit the double doors, barrelling through without slowing. Cursing under his breath, Bobby tried to sprint after him, knowing in his heart it was already too late. As he burst through the doors into the brightly lit waiting room, he heard the deep rumble of the Impala, followed by the squeal of tyres. Hurling himself through the front door, he skidded to a halt on the sidewalk as the gleaming black Chevy shot past him. It sped up, rapidly disappearing from sight around a bend in the road, and Bobby tore off his cap, flinging it to the ground in frustration.

“Damn it to hell, kid!”

* * * * *

The Impala rocked to a stop outside the motel room, a wisp of smoke rising from her overheated tyres. Sam climbed shakily from behind the wheel, steadying himself for a moment with one hand against the Chevy’s roof. Drawing in a ragged breath, he stumbled to the room and opened the door, swaying on the threshold as his gaze zeroed in on the overturned chair and the patch of blood on the dingy grey carpet.

The hazel-eyed hunter wiped a shaking hand across his mouth and stepped inside, closing the door behind him. “I gotta be sure,” he muttered, focussing his attention on the brown duffle sitting on the far bed. Firming his jaw in determination, Sam pulled the duffle open and turned it upside down, scattering Dean’s belongings across the coverlet. A patch of green caught his eye and he reached out, tugging his brother’s favourite shirt from the pile of clothes. The same shirt Sam had tearfully dressed Dean’s dead body in before lowering it into a plain pine box.

Sam held the shirt in his hands for a long minute before raising it to his nose. Inhaling deeply, he detected a mixture of scents – stale sweat, Dean’s favourite after-shave and deodorant, and a faint, spicy aroma that he finally identified as chilli. Which explained the small reddish brown stain he found on one sleeve. The trembling in his hands spread to his whole body as he studied the obviously recently worn shirt.

Giving the rest of the scattered clothes the same smell test, Sam found over half of them showed signs of having been worn recently – by Dean, if the deodorant and after-shave were anything to go by. He slumped against the bed, his head spinning, one hand creeping up his chest to feel for the amulet that he’d gently taken from his dead brother’s neck and hung around his own. It wasn’t there, and Sam felt the loss almost as keenly as he’d felt Dean’s absence.

“No, no, no…”

Lunging to his feet, Sam began to pace, raking his fingers through his already mussed hair. He came to a halt near the table and looked around the room, seeing the signs of co-habitation that he’d missed the first time – one of Dean’s jackets tossed carelessly over the back of the small couch flanking the television in the corner, two empty coffee cups on the nightstand between the beds, Dean’s favourite bowie knife peeking from under the pillow of the bed closest to the door, Sam’s laptop on the table, a notebook with half a page covered in Dean’s bold handwriting lying next to it.

Stepping into the bathroom, Sam spotted two shaving kits on opposite sides of the vanity unit; his own sitting square with the edge of the unit, Dean’s at an angle. A tube of toothpaste lay between the two kits, mangled in a way that was hauntingly familiar.

His head pounding so hard it was making him feel queasy, Sam slumped back against the bathroom wall and covered his face with his hands. “Oh, God…”

Slowly, he made his way back to the main room, sinking down onto the end of his bed to stare at the overturned chair. What had happened? And why couldn’t he remember?

“Bring me back a burger. If we’re gonna work this afternoon, I need food.”

Dean’s wry tone seemed to fill the empty room. Sam blinked in shock, his mind supplying an image of his brother settling at the small table, strong fingers skating across the laptop keyboard, his brow furrowed in concentration. Giving vent to a soft groan, the young hunter pressed his fists against his throbbing temples.

“I can’t…I don’t know what’s real. How can I be sure…” Slowly, his chaotically spinning thoughts organised themselves, coming up with a possible solution. There was one way he could be sure it really was his brother back from the dead. Sam sat up, pushing his hair from his forehead, his gaze skating around the room. No other alternative came to mind, and the weary hunter sighed heavily.

“If I’m gonna do this, I’d better get going.” The thought made his stomach churn even harder, but he had no choice. He had to know if Dean was really back from the dead. And he didn’t want anyone to try to stop him before he completed his task. Which meant making sure he couldn’t be tracked.

Getting to his feet, Sam pulled his cell phone from his pocket and dropped it onto the bed. With one last look at the clothes spilled across the coverlet, he grabbed the bottle of Jack Daniels from the counter top and left the room, closing the door softly behind him.

* * * * *

And if you think that I just did what you think I just did, you're right......I think.....

:fire

Let the hunt begin!

Jules

Oh Sammm... I will smack that man, then hug him so hard! Damn, he makes me wanna cry... Oh poor Sam. I have a few theories, neither of them good. I'm going to wait and see which may play out before I get worked up, but if either of them are right, I'm pretty dang queasy.

Hee! Uncle Bobby is made of win! I wuvs him, he's the rock the boys need... :wub: Its so kind of him to look after the idjits, he really is their second father.

Phew, at least Dean isn't too too seriously hurt... I can only imagine how he's going to react when he finds out Sam's split again and Miss Nurse from Hell has been giving him grief. She'd better hold onto her bonnet...

Sammmm!!! Well I won't scream until the next update, but I shall fret badly until friday. My boy is drunk, has car keys, and bad ideas... It should be very very interesting...

luvs

Pauline

The way Sam kept flopping back and forth between realizing Dean was alive and thinking he was still in hell..sometimes I wanted to strangle him and other times I wanted to hug him. Is he heading off to the grave site to see if Dean's body is still there? Poor Bobby after saying that he won't let Sam out of sight he ends up losing him....good update

thanks for the update...don't know about you but the ending of sex and violence made me feel so unsettled...they really are heading down the sam vs dean path...I hope that at the end of your story I get some brotherly chick flick moments, I think we are going to need them!
LIsa

Another awesome chapter hon, but you are stretching Dean's nerves to the limit with Sam taking off in the Impala :car yet again, still under the influence of alcohol and with a severe concussion!

Good thing that Sam actually answered his phone to Bobby and that the older hunter got through to him on some level, persuading him to go back to the motel to Dean :) Not good though the state of the older Winchester, so severe that he needed a trip to the local clinic!

Nurse Ratched is certainly in the wrong profession and way to go Bobby for telling her so! :lol: God help her when Dean wakes up, especially if he finds out what she said to his little brother! :rotfl

And trust Sam to still not totally believe that his brother is back, despite all the evidence to prove he is :rolleyes: So he's obviously off to where he buried Dean, just to make sure! :thud At least Bobby and Dean (when he regains consciousness) should be able to figure that out and go after him! :)

Have a great weekend sis :hug

Sarah :wave

Argh Jules, you are killing me here...SO many good moments in this one, you are truely talented. :clap

Well done to Bobby for being quick to realise that there was something wrong with Sam when talking to him on the phone, but oh, the confused Sam, poor boy.

Oh Sammy... :cry my heart was breaking for him throughout the whole chapter, you write him so well, it makes me want to just hug him tight! And all the time he was carrying his brother and caring about him, he was struggling with his own injuries. Then, his self-depreciation when talking with Bobby in the waiting area, guh, I filled up.

Now, oh now what? Where is he going? I just don't want to think - you do that and just tell us, quick. Is it next Friday yet? No? Can you post early then please?

I LOVE THIS STORY :D
Julie.

Damn it, Sam! What are you thinking?
Poor Sam won't believe what is right before his eyes, but if he had conversations with Dean during their time apart I can see where he may be somewhat confused in reality now.
Again, he takes off with the Impala and the whiskey...Bad choice there, Sam. Bobby is gonna beat himself up about Sam getting away on him.

Great update,
~Trace~

How confused poor Sammy must be...

AND

How many conversations did he have with Dean when he was on his own

AND

How desperate must he be for it to be true

BUT

How sad that he can't let himself believe that Dean isn't Dead.

THEN

How great is it that Bobby actually said he was their Uncle

AND

How is he gonna stop Dean from going after Sam as soon as he hears even if he is still suffering from Concussion.

AND

How are Bobby and Dean gonna know if Sam keels over with his concussion or where he's gone.


SHEESH Jules so many things that could....and probably will LOL ....go wrong.

Edge of seat on a f**king cliff job that.

I'm gonna have to go and have a bath to think about this.

Steffs

he's desperate!!! :cry
where does he go??to dean's grave??or is going to call some demons(ruby)to know more???
amazing chapter,I could really feel his pain,his sorrow -everything
I can't wait for the next chapter!!!!