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"I have had it with you! I am leaving for good!" Sam stormed out of the motel room. Although he was mad, he didn't dare to take Dean's car. Sam walked along the road to the highway and then held his thumb out, trying to catch a ride.
Dean sat in the motel room, seething with fury. His hands clenched tightly, white-knuckled, as he gritted his teeth. Sammy had left him. All he had ever done was all to protect him, and he had left. He grabbed his car keys off the table and left the motel room, slamming the door behind him. He climbed into the Impala and drove out of the motel lot, trying to clear his head. Dean passed the exit to the highway and sped to a dirt road. He drove the Impala a few miles down the road, but slammed down on the brakes when encountering a sudden thump. The tires deflated and the car screeched to a halt. Dean silently cursed as he got out of the driver's seat to see what happened. The tires were completely flat. Dean walked a few feet behind the car to find out the cause. Sitting in the middle of the road were a bunch of nails poked through a wooden plank, laid out so the points were facing the midafternoon sky. Dean kneeled down to the contraption. What the hell? He began to pick up the potential hazard when something bashed against his head and he fell into unconsciousness.
Dean woke up, his eyes focusing slowly and he saw he was no longer on the small dirt road. The room was dark, the only light to seep through was from a crack in the ceiling. He got up, walked across the room, stood on his toes, and peered through the cement crack. At his eye line, he saw tall grass. At least I know I am underground. Dean reached down into his jacket pocket to get the hammer he always kept with him, for when he needed to bust out of somewhere. It was gone, in fact entire his leather jacket was gone, including all the contents in it. He looked down to see what he was wearing. His grey undershirt and jeans. Dean looked down at his feet, seeing that both his shoes and socks had gone missing. What kind of sick bastard takes someone's socks? A hatch on the ceiling that Dean had not noticed earlier opened. A tall dark figure approached Dean. The figure seemed to have floated down to the ground. He stood in the room, motionless. Without warning, Dean was lifted up by an invisible force, thrown across the room, and pinned against a wall, helpless.
Sam continued walking. The sun had set a few hours ago and he forgot his wallet back at the motel, making it impossible for him to check into a new motel. He did not want to go back to the motel room and face his brother again. A recreational park was just within eyesight. The night was warm with only a slight breeze so Sam had no problem sleeping outside. He found a nice, grassy spot under a large oak tree. Sam gazed up at the sky and watched at the stars as he drifted off to sleep.
A sharp pain in his head jolted him awake. He recognized the oncoming signs of a vision and braced himself against the tree, squeezing his eyes shut as the image began to play in his head.
A dark hooded figure, appeared in his mind, beating Dean. Dean's nose was bleeding and bent sideways. Blood ran down his face from a large gash in his forehead. His entire body was swollen and covered in bruises. Dean's arm bent at a weird angle as if it was broken repetitively. The hooded man kept Dean against the wall with an unknown force as he proceeded to beat him to death. "P-P-Please." Dean stuttered, shaking from pain. "Please stop." His teeth chattered and tears rolled down his cheeks, seeping into his blood soaked clothing. He hung his head and screamed out in pain as the assailant beat him harder and harder, without giving him a break. Dean took in a shallow, shaky breath, it only lasting in his lungs for a second before the wind was knocked out of him again. "Please, please, please..." Dean's pleas for the pain to stop grew quieter and quieter until it was all but him mouthing the words. His body slumped over as he slipped into unconsciousness. Dean hung there like an abandoned puppet on strings. The force broke causing Dean to crash to the floor, his legs gave out beneath him- his knees bending the wrong way with a loud cracking noise, and Dean landed harshly. The hooded figure left, leaving Dean in a heap on the cold, cement floor. He laid there motionless in a puddle of his own blood.
The pain in his head stopped. The vision had ended. Sam knew deep down that this was not one of his visions of the future. This had already happened. Dean was in trouble, or even worse, dead. Sam pushed aside the feelings of hatred he was feeling for his brother. He had to save Dean. He had to.
Sam sprinted out of the park and ran up to a parked car along side road. He hotwired the car in a matter of seconds and sped off into the inky black night. Sam's head felt like it was splitting in half as he got another vision: this time of the Impala. It sat, abandoned, on a dirt road. Sam recognized the dirt road, it was only a few miles from the motel they were staying at and they had passed it on their way in. He sped as fast as the little Volkswagen Bug could go towards the Impala. Sam got there in record time. He drove at the Impala until he felt an unexpected bump. The car he was driving halted immediately: its tires deflated. Sam did not check what did this, he would have to do the rest on foot. He left the driver's side, not even bothering to close the door behind him.
Sam sprinted faster than he ever had, adrenaline filling his system as the image of the bloodied, bruised Dean haunted his vision. He soon approached a worn down cabin that was almost falling apart. The only thing about that house that wasn't made of wood was a large cement block in the ground right beside the house. Sam ran towards it, his breath shallow, but his adrenaline still pumping. Once he approached the block, he saw that had a trapdoor leading inside. That must be where Dean is, he thought, remembering the lack of windows and the musty, damp feel of the underground from the vision.. He pried open the door and jumped into the dark hole that led to his brother. He landed with a grunt as his knees popped, but not stopping because of the brief pain. The room was dark and completely made of cement. Sam looked across the room and saw a bloody lump on floor. He ran over to it, finding out it was Dean. He flipped Dean on his back and checked to see if he was still breathing.
"Please be alive! Please be alive..." Sam prayed as he checked for a pulse. Tears streamed down his face as he frantically tried to find one, but was unable. His body shook uncontrollably and the tears fell harder as Sam clutched his brother to his broad chest, teeth clenched in pain. In one last attempt, Sam jabbed his finger along the vein on Dean's neck, he felt faint thumps. Dean had a heartbeat! It was almost non-existent, but it was there, Dean was alive. Sam clung on to his brother even tighter upon realizing there was a chance Dean would be OK. If an ambulance got here soon enough, Dean could live. Sam lowered his brother's head into his lap as he fumbled in his pockets for his phone. He called 911, and told the operator where he was and what had happened. A wave of hope rushed over him as he stroked his brother's hair, regretting what he had said earlier that day. Regretting that he had left. Tears dripped down on Dean's still face, wetting the dried blood. Sam, caught up in tending to his brother, didn't notice the trap door creak open and the hooded assailant enter the structure.
The dark figure lifted his arm, a gun nestled within his fingers. Sam remained holding his dying brother, unaware of what was to come. The finger lingered at the trigger and pushed it back sharply. The bullet spiraled out of the chamber and buried itself into Sam's back. Sam shouted out in anguish and fell forwards on top of Dean. His ears rung from the loud gunshot and his nerves shrieked in pain from the bullet embedded into his back. Sam let out a shaky breath and hauled himself off of Dean and rolled on the cement floor next to him. He knew this was not good. Not good at all.
Dean heard the gunshot. It woke him from unconsciousness, something was wrong. Dean didn't remember where he was or what had happened, the only thing he could think was what his father drilled into him since he was only four years old: protect Sammy. He had to check to see if Sam was OK. He rolled himself over, gritting his teeth to keep from screaming from the pain that the simple task caused all over his abused body. He forced his eyes to open and looked over the room. There Sam was, laying in a puddle of what Dean assumed was a mix of Sam's blood and his own. Sam turned his head to look at his brother. Green eyes and blue eyes locked in realization, this was the end, the only hope they had left was the arriving ambulance.
"Dean, I just want you to know-"
"No death speeches Sammy, we-" Dean quietly told Sam, interrupting him.
"I want you to know, that I am sorry, for earlier." Tears flooded Sam's bloodshot eyes. "I'm sorry I left. This is all my fault." Sam looked away, regretful of what he had caused.
Dean took in a shaky breath, "It's ok Sammy. Its ok." He soothed, now unbearably tired. Dean closed his eyes, using barely a whisper told his brother one last thing. "Bitch." Dean took his last shuddered breath as he slipped into the world of the unknown.
Sam instantly knew that his brother was gone. The last shards of his broken family disintegrated. His eyes filled with tears of sorrow, of guilt, of lost hope. Dean was gone, forever. Sam used all of his remaining energy to cling on to his brother's lifeless vessel. He shook as he gripped Dean's grey undershirt, pulling his brother closer, trying bring the life back into him. His eyes grew heavy and began to shut. Sam kept them open for a bit longer. He leaned over to his brother and whispered, "Jerk." Sam clutched his brother's hand, anticipating what was to come. A wave of relief washed over him as the pain numbed, Sam's face relaxed as he realized he would soon get to see his brother again.
The world grew out of focus and became filled with a white light.
The paramedics rushed into the cement structure, the sirens still blaring. Once their eyes adjusted to the darkness, they saw they were too late. They stood still for a moment, gazing at the two men who lay sprawled next to each other, scarred hands locked together, one beaten to death and one with a bullet wound, but they both held expressions of the utmost peace on their worn, tired faces.