PROLOGUE

The air is pressing in around you. Gravity is a bully, pushing at you until you can barely lift your feet. Sorrow is heavy, thick…a smothering presence that halts all thought, leaving only pain, unvoiced because there are no words dark enough, despairing enough, hopeless enough to describe it.

You stumble from Dean's room, blindly making your way down the hall towards the library. Sam throws back a shot of whiskey as you watch from the doorway, and his eyes, dead and lifeless, move up to meet yours. Your lips part, you open your mouth, but no word or sound escapes. Your throat constricts and you look back down again, unable to bear the desolation on his face. You turn away, slow motion as if you are wading through a sea of molasses, and then you feel his hand on your shoulder, pulling you back, turning you towards him as he folds you into himself.

And that's when you break. You feel, more than hear, the deep sob being wrenched from Sam's chest, and you crumble into sharp, brittle shards, quaking in his unyielding embrace as you curl your fingers into fists around handfuls of his soft plaid. Sam sinks to his knees as he holds you, and you clutch each other, the vortex of grief and loss sucking at you, clawing, trying to pull you both under.

CHAPTER 1

You're beyond tired, right down to your bones. Your eyes feel dry, almost gritty from lack of sleep and the sea of tears you've cried the last few days. Everything aches. Everything.

But Sam needs you. The desperate search for Dean, or what used to be Dean, has consumed him, and you are doggedly determined to be there for him, to find answers when he needs them. You are holding yourselves together – Sam, by his fierce devotion to recovering his brother's body and bringing him back, and you, by throwing yourself completely into giving him some kind of anchor to hold on to. Sam has stubborn, unrelenting hope that Dean can be saved. You, however, are in mourning for him, desolate and achingly lonely for the man you loved with everything you have in you. Being there for Sam is the only thing keeping you from lying curled up in your bed and surrendering completely to the grief that presses in on you every minute of every day.

You send Sam a message containing the information he asked for and close the laptop, folding your arms on top of it and laying your head on them for a moment. You just need to rest your eyes, just for a few seconds. You should eat something, but nothing has any flavor. You should sleep, but the fear of the nightmares that haunt you keep you from your bed. The memory of his battered and bloody face are always in your mind, but in your dreams… it's fresh, agonizing, just as if you're seeing him for the first time. And you can't bear it.

Warmth surrounds you like a blanket, and you feel a brush of lips against your neck. You sigh softly, as strong hands run up the slope of your back, then gently knead at your aching shoulders. And then a chill runs up your spine as you realize there is no one there to kiss you, to touch you. You jerk yourself upright and turn in your chair, eyes wide and terrified… but there is nothing to see. You could swear you weren't asleep, but… you must have been.

And if you can fall asleep at the table, you really must give in and go to bed. You take a sleeping pill, hoping it will keep your subconscious safely at bay, and crawl between the sheets, hugging a pillow to your chest.

—–

Consciousness slowly but insistently prods at you until your eyes flutter open. Impressions from your dream are still with you, your senses still almost sure it was real. You still feel the heat of a body curled up close behind you, warm breath on your neck. His scent still surrounds you. The thought occurs to you, not for the first time, that you should have gone with Sam. At least then you wouldn't be quietly losing your mind all alone in the echoing halls of the bunker.

A shower and a hot cup of coffee help clear the cobwebs, and you plop down into a chair at one of the tables in the library, sighing as you open your laptop. Sam asked you to keep checking for signs of demonic activity, and despite the fact that you think he's on a hopeless quest, you refuse to let him down. Your phone vibrates against the gleaming mahogany surface of the table, making you jump a little, and you reach for it.

"Sam? Are you okay?"

"Hey, Smalls. I'm okay. Are you sure you are? I feel bad, leaving you there alone…"

The guilt in his voice makes you wish he was here so you could hug him. "Sam, I'm fine. Well, as fine as you are, anyway. What's up?"

"Listen, that guy you called me about? Drew Neely?"

"Yeah… sorry. Probably turned out to be nothing, right?"

"Actually, I'm going to Wisconsin to check it out."

"Sam, you realize – it's probably not…"

"Listen, Smalls – I know you think I'm crazy. Or delusional. Whatever. But I know something out there is wearing my brother, I know Crowley's behind it, and I can't let that go." You don't know how to answer that, so you just wait, and Sam finally speaks again. "I can't let some – thing – use Dean like that. I need to find him, bring him home." He's quiet again for a moment, but you can hear his ragged breathing, and you know he's struggling to keep it together. "Even if I can't get him back… maybe if we can, you know, lay him to rest… maybe…"

"I know, Sam." Your eyes are swimming with tears as you hear the pain in his voice, and your chest aches with the effort to control your emotions. "I know. Do what you have to do. Just check in, often. Let me know you're okay. Or if you find anything. And be careful. I know you want to go after Crowley, but – Sam, just… I can't stand losing anyone else right now."

"I know, Smalls. I'll be careful. I promise. Call you later."

—–

Food. You have to eat something. Forcing yourself to get up from the chair, you go to the kitchen. There isn't much to choose from, but there are still a few eggs in the fridge, and it doesn't take long to scramble a couple. After forcing them down, you refill your cup with strong, bitter coffee and trudge back to the library. The cup slips from your numb fingers, your mouth and eyes widen as you see him, leaning back against the edge of the table, legs casually crossed at the ankle and arms folded over his chest as he grins sardonically at your shock.

"Surprised to see me?"

Your heart is pounding so hard you can barely breathe, panic squeezing at your chest. "Dean? What… how…"

He shifts his weight from the table and takes a step towards you, and you skitter backwards clumsily, one hand held out as if to ward him off. A humorless chuckle vibrates in his chest as he stops, and you blindly reach out a hand for support, connecting with a small table lamp that crashes to the floor. His laughter echoes through the room, and your knees connect with the chair behind you, dropping you ungracefully into its seat.

"You should really calm down, sweetheart. I just wanted to stop in, say hello to my girl."

"Sam's looking for you," you manage to blurt out, your voice barely recognizable.

"Oh, I know. He's a real pain in the ass. Besides, you're the one I wanted to see." He moves closer, stalking you, but your body doesn't respond, can't manage to leap out of the chair and run. And he grins again as he stands over you, bending to rest his hands on the arms of the chair, staring down at you. "I've been kind of… hanging around. You probably thought you were dreaming, right? No, baby, I've been here, with you. Just wanted to give you a little time to adjust. I'm not a monster, you know." He leans in, his face directly in front of you, his smile gone, and you whimper in fear as his eyes go completely black. "I'm a demon."