And then from far away,
Who's that I see come riding?

Upon a pale white horse,
Come riding fast as lightning.

Starbird Corner, Maine

October 30th, 2008

His jaw trembled as he waited and he swallowed hard, sickened by the deep shadows turning Dean's vacant eyes into hollows, the thin slit of green barely visible through long lashes clumped together into dark 'vees', staring back at him, past him, through him into a place he couldn't even begin to imagine.

"I'm sorry, man. Come b-back."

Sam's shoulders hitched once, twice, his vision blurring and his face twisted as he wrapped his hand around Dean's, tears burning his throat, drowning him as they splashed onto their joined hands.

"Don't leave me, Dean. D-don't you dare leave m-me alone again," he stuttered, his head dropping as he hunched forward, curling around his brother's silence and never breaking it as the sobs wracked him.

~~HoC~~

He never knew how long he sat there, the empty stare a razor scraping across his skin as he wept, bowed his head until his brow rested against their hands. He didn't see the shadows lengthen, reach out to envelop them in the dark; didn't see the door open, Bobby's eyes too bright as he froze on the threshold and turned away again, shoulders slumped with defeat and sorrow.

All he felt was the chill in the skin under his fingers, shuddering away from the memory of his brother's torn, broken body cooling in his arms, even from the phantom touch of strong arms pulling him close, barely a month before, holding him so tight he almost didn't feel the tremors shaking Dean to the core. He realised with a pang of guilt that it had been fear as much as anything that shook his brother that day, fear that the resurrected hunter was terrified of being torn away, of losing him again. Fear that had made him lock his arms around Sam, so tight the younger man could barely breathe. He hadn't noticed it at the time, only caring about the feel of his brother's heart pounding against his ribs.

His hand tightened as he stole a single glance up at the empty eyes staring past him, his mind painting them with all the fear from that moment, a deceitful glint of life that sickened him. His knuckles turned white as he held on desperately, not even sure what he was holding on to anymore. Slowly, the night deepened, drenched the motel in silence and darkness. Sam didn't move, his tears finally spent, his bloodshot eyes dry and aching as he stared at the tangle of fingers, too close to focus on, the shadows beyond shifting, changing. Dimly, as if it was from another world that ended at their door, he heard the growl of a familiar engine, the air echoing with the Dodge's thunder long after it had rumbled into silence. Heavy footsteps thumped against the wooden steps but the door didn't open and he never looked up, just stared down at their hands.

~~HoC~~

He was nothing. Lost in the cold and the dark, turning away from the touch of warmth against his skin, seeing only pale eyes, too close, smelling decay on a dead man's whisper as it brushed across his face.

Hands pulled at him, a thousand directions at once, all of them trying to drag him back to the light and the heat of the world. He fought them, twisted away, cried out silently but there were too many and the dark shifted, changed to memory again before he could stop it, before he could hide in the cold and the dark again and as it dragged him under he screamed silently.

He'd been here before.

Arms burning, pulled too tight behind him as cramps spasmed through his shoulders, making his body twitch helplessly, until finally numbness spread slowly, blessedly through his muscles.

He blinked, forced one eye open, felt something tacky gluing the other one shut and peered into the dark. He was lying half on his side, gritty concrete grating against his skin, the room fuzzy, full of hazy shadows that shifted constantly. Dean shivered, lifted his head an inch, swallowed a groan as the throbbing in his skull intensified and let it sink back to the floor.

He tried to hold himself still, each tremor that slipped through his control igniting every nerve ending, setting them ablaze in a fire that swept through his body, taking his breath away. The battered hunter panted, short, shallow gasps all he could manage through the pain as he risked opening his eyes again. The shadows still swung and danced around him, his eye trying to follow them until the motion and the shivering and the hurt made his stomach lurch.

He rolled further onto his side, chest and sides heaving as he retched, vomited up thin bile stained pink with blood, crying out as the contractions sent jolts of pain screaming through him. He dazedly thought he must have spewed up most of his insides by the time he slumped back, flopping weakly over onto his bound hands, staring blearily up at the naked bulb swinging from the ceiling. Slowly, his mind cleared a little, the rhythmic, pounding in his skull fading back to a distant thunder and he realised he was lying in a familiar cellar, stripped almost naked, shivering helplessly as he turned his head to see the old, old stains on the floor, the heater on the other side of the scuffed circle still decorated with tattered, rotten strands of rope.

"Son of a bitch," he muttered roughly, fighting back the sting in his eyes as his dazed mind supplied the image of his brother, young and terrified, pulled tight against a dead man's chest in the middle of the circle. He rolled away from it, turning to the blank wall, squeezing his eyes shut and swallowing hard.

The door above and behind him clicked, scraped open and he froze as he heard soft steps on the stairs. They echoed gently, dully until they stopped, too close and he couldn't stop the flinch as a cold, cold hand closed around his shoulder, pulled him over onto his back again and pale blue eyes met his.

"Hello, Dean. I'd say good to see you again, but I'm not sure you'd agree."

"What the hell do you want?"

The dead man ignored his question, hunkering down next to him and regarding the hunter thoughtfully.

"You know, I never thought about you and your family again. I didn't look for you, didn't hunt you down. I was done."

"Right," Dean spat, trying to ignore the tremors in his arms as the numbness gave way to the adrenaline rushing through him. "'Cause you're the forgiving type."

The revenant shrugged.

"Didn't see the point in it. But when I saw that shiny, black car in the parking lot, well. It was like serendipity."

"Oh, save me the destiny crap, will ya?"

The soft laugh echoed around him, the sound slowly fading away as he squirmed under the cold stare that pinned him to the floor.

"You lose, Dean. You and your family."

He tried to scoff at the quiet murmur, tried to laugh it off as his mind scrabbled to find some snarky comment and came up empty. His sneer withered and he gazed back at the dead man, shivering again as a chill seemed to seep out from the other man and settle over him, into him.

"You lose," the revenant almost whispered, standing and hesitating a moment, a smile twisting his lips into a sneer as he turned and walked away, climbing the stairs quickly as the worn wooden steps groaned under his weight.

The door slammed shut, the light snapping off a heartbeat later and Dean gnawed at his lip, glad of the wall at his back as his head span sickeningly, the concussion and the darkness disorienting him.

The quiet whimper that cut through the dark made his blood run cold.

He held himself still, barely even breathing as he strained his ears, his good eye wide. Slowly, faint shuffling sounds emerged from the silence as he hesitated, torn between the deep-seated fear of the unseen and the trembling instinct in his gut that told him whatever was out there in the dark with him needed help, needed him.

A soft cry, weak and tearful, made his mind up.

"Hey!" he called, keeping his voice as low as he could. The noises stilled, fear heavy on the cold air as he squirmed his way to sit up against the wall.

"Hey, it's okay. I'm not gonna hurt you."

He waited, heard ragged breathing, something in the back of his mind screaming at him that it was wrong, it sounded all wrong, but he shut the tiny voice down and leant forward a little.

"My name's Dean. Can you hear me?"

He heard a scuffing sound, couldn't stop himself flinching back as it drew closer, until he felt the air in front of him move and he lowered his voice to a whisper.

"Hey, you okay? What's your name?"

He held his breath in the silence, waiting.

"S...Sammy. Sam."

He couldn't move, couldn't remember how to breathe as the young, terrified voice slammed into him, the world spinning around him. Vertigo swamped him, dizzy, he leaned away from the presence he could feel in front of him and retched, mind trembling under the onslaught of memory, of Sammy, curled into the dead leaves at his feet as dead men circled them; Sammy, cowering in the middle of a circle painted on the dusty floor; Sammy pulled against a dead man's chest, eyes terrified, trusting him desperately.

"Dean?"

"God," he whispered, spitting out the sour taste in his mouth and sinking back into the wall, the sound of his name in that young, scared voice shaking him.

"Are you okay?"

Not Sam. Not Sam. Not Sam.

He kept repeating the mantra in his head as he turned his head towards the boy he couldn't see.

"Yeah," he grated. "Sorry. You okay?"

He felt the nod, the boy hovering just inches from him.

"Where you from, S-Sam?"

Not Sam. Not Sam!

"M-Mustang. Nevada."

Guilt dug at him, twisted snake-like in his stomach.

They took him to get to me.

"You live with your folks?" he asked, forcing normalcy into his voice as if they were sat waiting for a bus instead of locked in a cellar full of memories that kept trying to overwhelm him again.

"M-my m-m-mom."

Dean frowned, hearing Sam stutter, a cold arm knocking against his as the boy shivered.

"You cold, buddy?"

Another nod, felt rather than seen and he leant forward, hesitating an inch from the thin shoulder as the voice in the back of his mind screamed up at him. He shook it off again, nudged gently at the boy until he shifted against his side. Long hair tickled his bruised jaw as Sam leant into him, skin like ice where it touched his, the boy's clothes damp and rough against his aching ribs.

"How old are you, Sam?"

He knew the answer, could feel it in the long hair, the awkward length of the limbs that wrapped around him, clinging, seeking warmth in the dark.

"Thirt-teen."

They talked softly, murmured questions as he tried to fight off the disorientation, tried to remember that this wasn't his brother, not Sam not Sam not Sam running endlessly through his mind. Slowly, the boy relaxed against him, rested his head against the hunter's shoulder, his breath puffing against the base of Dean's neck.

Lulled by weariness and memory, the hunter drifted a little, let his head roll back against the wall. The jolt of adrenaline that shot through him as teeth sank into his shoulder hurt almost as much as the bite.

He'll live forever and he'll never forget the taste of your blood.

He yelled hoarsely, kicked out at the whisper in his head, at the boy, cringing as his foot slammed into a thin shoulder. A low snarl sent a shiver down his spine as he felt blood trickle down his chest.

The air shifted and he lashed out again, putting all his strength into the blow and it landed with brutal force. He overbalanced, sprawled forward as he heard a body hit the ground, a sickening crack snapping ice through his veins. He lay there, struggling to breathe through the pain that swamped him, listening to the silence that suddenly seemed so much more complete than it had before.

The light flickered on, blinding him and he flinched, eyes burning. The stairs creaked and groaned and he scrambled back against the wall, blinking furiously as a shadow fell across him. He looked up at pale blue eyes staring down at him, devoid of anything human.

The revenant smiled, a lifeless twist of his narrow lips. He stepped back as hands reached past the hunter, grabbing hold of Dean's arms and savagely dragging him up. Cold fingers tore at the ropes around his wrists until the fibres scraped the skin and the old, faded scars beneath them bloody then finally snapped. He couldn't tear his gaze away from the silent man, still smiling faintly, watching as the rest of them bound his arms in front of him, lashing his wrists to a chain and hoisting him up until his toes barely brushed the floor. His ribs screamed as his own weight stretched his body, broken bones grating against each other, his breathing shortened with the pressure on his diaphragm and still he couldn't look away from the revenant as the dead man moved in close again, reaching up to the bite on his shoulder, dragging cold fingers through the blood and lifting them to his lips.

"You sick fuck." Dean forced out, panting for air as his head span and his vision blurred in and out of focus. The revenant smiled, teeth stained crimson and stepped back. The hunter flinched as the small body, crumpled at the base of the wall in front of him swam into view and he dropped his head, eyes fluttering closed.

A hand clamped around his jaw, yanking his head back up, a low snarl stirring the hairs on the side of his head.

"You'll look, Dean. You'll look at what you've done."

"Go to hell, you son-of-a-bitch."

The sound of glass shattering almost drowned out his growl but he heard a low chuckle, felt the fingers dig into his jaw as another hand gripped his shoulder like a vice. He squeezed his eyes shut tighter, until spots danced across the reddish-black behind them, shuddering as he felt something jagged and cold press against his back.

But he couldn't stop his eyes snapping open as it tore down, parallel to his spine, a shocked gasp escaping him as white-hot agony ripped through him. He tried to twist away from the body on the floor, a low cry escaping him as he saw familiar long hair for the first time, not Sam, fading to a dull echo as blood spilled down his back, sliding hot and thick over his legs to spatter the floor beneath his feet. The hand wrapped around his jaw was pulled away but he watched helplessly as the dead man stepped into his view again, held up the jagged end of a bottle, blood dark inside it, spilling over the shattered edges as he crossed to the boy and crouched.

"...never forget, he'll live forever and he'll never forget..."

The memory slid unbidden from the hunter's lips in a listless whisper, bringing a smile to the revenant's lips as he lifted the boy's upper body easily, Sam's head lolling too far back before he cradled it gently, almost tenderly, holding the make-shift chalice to the teen's blued lips. All Dean could do was watch as his own blood trickled from the corners of the boy's lips, shivering in revulsion as he saw Sam's throat work then young hands came up, pressed the broken bottle closer and Dean's stomach roiled as he heard the boy suck greedily at the last few drops of the blood. The revenant eased the dead boy down again, stood and crossed to the hunter.

"I knew you'd remember soon enough. Just like I said, Dean, your Daddy killed my family so I'll replace it with his. Starting with little Sammy here."

"No. Not Sam. 'S not Sam," Dean murmured, gaze fixed to the child swaying on his knees. The revenant at his shoulder laughed softly, leant closer and whispered in his ear, "Are you sure, Dean? Sure enough?"

They left him hanging there, eyes locked on the boy as Sam's head came up, hazel eyes cold as they darted to the blood still dripping from his feet, a low, hungry growl bubbling up in his throat. Silently, tears slipped unchecked, barely noticed down the hunter's cheeks.

"'M sure. Not Sam. It can't be Sammy. Can't be..." the light snapped out and his whisper faded into the dark...

... and he let go, sank back into the cold emptiness where he couldn't feel the tears drowning him anymore, feeling the warmth on his skin slowly sink deeper into him. More tears splashed hot onto his hand but this time they didn't burn, didn't rip something apart inside him. They lifted him, gently, until the dark changed again and the cold slipped down into the back of his mind.

~~HoC~~

He almost missed it.

So weary, so broken by the exhaustion settling into his bones he could barely see, he almost missed the faintest touch of pressure against his hand. He froze, didn't dare move in case he woke himself up from the dream, but it didn't come again and he let out a slow, broken sigh, thick with the last few tears that welled up, burning in his eyes again.

They slid over his knuckles, landed hot against the cold skin wrapped in his and it twitched. Sam's head snapped up, his eyes still fixed on his hand, on his brother's as it slowly, so slowly, tightened around his fingers. He looked up, almost dreading what he might see, still half-convinced he was dreaming, a single, shattered laugh escaping him as he saw his brother, looking at him, green eyes dulled with pain but awake.

"Dean?"

Dean blinked, eyes slipping closed, climbing back up to half-mast as if they carried the weight of the world.

"Hey, hey, stay awake man. You with me?"

For a moment that seemed to last an eternity his brother didn't answer, his gaze slipping past Sam into the distance and the younger man's heart froze between beats, his hand trembling with the force of his grip as he saw the terrible emptiness return to the haunted green eyes.

No. Don't you dare.

"S'm?"

He choked up at the faint breath of sound, throat filled with a lump of solid, molten iron that burned as he forced words out past it.

"Yeah, yeah I'm right here. I'm right here Dean."

Dean sighed, a wince flickering across his pale face and Sam swallowed hard as he watched his brother struggle to focus on him, eyes wandering sluggishly down to their hands as his fingers twitched again and Sam finally realised his knuckles were white and stinging he was squeezing so tight.

"Oh God, sorry, sorry Dean."

He let go, almost snatching his hand back but Dean caught him weakly, holding on to his hand as a slow smile trembled on his lips, not reaching his eyes. He curled his fingers around the younger man's and Sam mirrored the gesture gently, the tears still drying on their hands. Dean fought off the shivers trying to spread through him, pushed the cold down to the base of his spine, letting the sight of his brother grinning back at him wash away the vision of a younger boy, lips bloody and dark eyes feral as the shadows took them both.

He sighed again, carefully, feeling the sharp ache of his ribs pushing against the tight wrappings supporting them and blinked against the pain. Sam's hand brushed through his hair, lingering against his brow and he rolled his head into it a little as the cold skated up his spine, curled around his ribs, seeking, searching in the dark behind his eyes. The warmth of his brother's touch held it away, pushed it back with a quiet, patient whisper he didn't hear as Sam murmured beside him.

"It's okay man. Get some rest. I'm right here."

Don't let go, Sammy.

He couldn't say it, couldn't hold on to the world anymore, just clung to the touch, warm against his skin as he slipped away into the silent dark again.