Winchester Single Shots I Have These Dreams

by blue peanut m and m

Something dark is terrorizing Sam’s dreams, but just who, or what is it? And will he be able to help himself when he finds out? My round three in the Winchester Single Shots.

Winchester Single Shots: "I have these dreams, and sometimes they come true."

Summary. . . . . . . . Something dark is terrorizing Sam's dreams, but just who, or what is it? And will he be able to help himself when he finds out?

Sender. . . . . . . . . . . Dancerinthedark101

Responder. . . . . . . . Blue Peanut M and M.

A.N. . . . . . . . . . So here's the other Single Shot I'm so very proud of, I hope you enjoy it too. Again if you can find the time please check out the other chapters over on darksupernatural's page, there really is some great reads over there, written by a group of amazingly talented writers. Catch you soon, Peanut x

Dean slammed the door behind him, rattling the worn window frames of Bobby's house, causing the older hunters newest canine companion to lazily raise it's head off it's paws, yawning and looking at Dean contemptuously for disrupting it's sleep before rolling itself onto it's side and lowering it's head once more. Two weeks stuck here with an injured Sam, and Dean was just about at the end of his tether, and now with Bobby away, claiming that he desperately needed some new parts and would be gone a couple of days, that tether had frayed. Dean tensed as he heard the door creak back open, and the slow sluggish movements of his brother's sock clad feet dragging across the wooden floor. He started walking away even before Sam could ask, "where are you going Dean?" Not even bothering to reply, instead just clambering into the Impala and gunning the engine. He sent a silent apology his babies way, as he fishtailed and wheel spun his way across the gravel and out of the gates, sending sharp shards of stone and grit flying across the yard, Sam and the mutt both wincing as they were pelted. As the dust cleared and the noise of the v8 slowly ebbed away, Sam stood solitary, his head bowed, his mind fixed on the conversation that had just passed.

Dean's foot eased off the gas the further away from the yard, and Sam, he got. The intense anger he had been feeling towards his brother, slowly abating as the sounds of ACDC and Metallica melted his frustrations, only to rise again as he remembered Sam's words; words that had broken the tether all together. He pounded the steering wheel in rage as the words brought back visions of Sam diving in front of him, of Sam taking the punishment not meant for him, and why? Because of some misguided belief that he owed Dean something? Some misguided belief that he needed to be punished for something that was completely out of his control? Hadn't they gone over this after Meg? That Sam wasn't at fault for shooting him? Dean thought they had, he'd thought they had made peace, obviously he had thought wrong. Sam's words this morning confirming that. He needed a beer, needed something to dull the anger, surely somewhere in the world it was past noon. Pulling into the lot of a grungy rundown wooden bar, he climbed out, locked up, and entered.

Smoke, stale beer and sweat assaulted his nose as he pushed the door open, the smells just what he needed to banish the sounds and sights of Sam's body being ruthlessly thrown about the dusty decrepit room of their last hunt. Easing himself onto a stool at the bar, he signaled the waiter, his eyes roaming the L shaped room as he waited his turn to be served. For such an early hour the place was modestly crowded. Along the longest wall, two couples occupied the booths furthest back from the door, to Dean's mind both investing in sordid affairs. A man in a long black duster jacket, a hat pulled low over his eyes, rested at a table to the far side of the bar on the shortest wall. Three winos sat propping the bar up, three seats down from where he sat, their animated exchange of talk focusing on the previous nights football game. At the end of the bar a man stood, his posture speaking of harmlessness, his eyes though spoke otherwise, the dark orbs boring into Dean as he took the offered bottle from the tender. Taking a swig of the liquid, Dean placed the bottle down before looking the man's way again, only to find him gone. Glancing quickly around, a shiver ran down his spine, as no sign of him could be found. Pushing his feelings aside he picked his bottle back up, downed the rest of the beer and signaled for another.

Five beers and three hours later, Dean was beginning to feel the buzz, the high that alcohol always promised, yet as always it could never take him completely away, his thoughts still remaining on Sam's words, the last botched hunt, Sam's possession by Meg, and the memories it dredged up of his brother shooting him in the asylum. He tried to shake the thoughts from his head as he signaled the tender to bring him another. While he waited for the next ice cold beverage he stood, the need to relieve himself from all the accumulated beer pressing heavily on his bladder. With only the slightest of sways he made his way over to the washrooms, promising himself that after this one he would return back to the yard. Returning to the bar, his eyes scanned the place yet again, the couples had gone, as had one of the winos, the other two no longer talking as they fought to keep their drunken heavy heads from falling to he bar, the black clad man still remained, still unmoving, his beer untouched and still resting on the table in front of him.

As Dean took his seat, the hairs on the back of his neck rose, sluggishly he looked around, his eyes immediately catching sight of the black eyed man staring his way through the window of the door that led to what Dean presumed would be a store room. Passing the man off as being little more than a pest, Dean picked up his fresh beer and gulped half of it down. The promise of returning back to Bobby's vanishing, as almost immediately he began to feel less in control of his thoughts and feelings. Confused he looked down at his bottle, slightly alarmed as his hand moved as though in slow motion a ghostly echo trailing it's every movement. Finally able to grasp the glass neck he picked it up, his blurred vision just able to make out the traces of crystallized residue present around the rim before, with a loud thump and the smash of glass, both he and the bottle fell backwards off the stool. Dean unconscious before he even hit the floor.

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A deep, throbbing resonated throughout Dean's head as he struggle to regain back consciousness, other feelings letting themselves be known as he fought his way through the layers of cob webs that clouded his mind. A deep seated cold had invaded it's way through his clothes to worm it's way into his body, shivers wracking his frame as it sat propped up against some back alleyway steps. Rain poured down from above, it's iciness only adding to the chill he already felt. Smells assaulted him, accentuating his already nauseated stomach, threatening to send his fragile organ overboard and raise the sickness that lurked inside; smells of urine and rotten food, of vomit and other things he didn't even want to think about. Trying to breathe through his mouth, he forced reluctant eyes open, confused for a moment as all he saw was darkness. He brought a heavy hand up to his face, rubbing wearily at his eyes, before trying again to open them, realization hitting him full on that it was in fact night, that he had lost many hours, that Sam would be back at Bobby's alone, unprotected, and probably stewing. Using the filth covered walls for balance, Dean struggled to his feet and waited for the world to stop spinning, taking tentative steps towards where he thought the Impala was, once it had done so sufficiently. He knew it would be a risk to drive, but it was only one short back country road with little to no traffic.

By the time he was pulling the Impala to a slow stop in front of Bobby's house, Dean was regretting his decision to drive back. Although it had been accident free, his head now pounded, a brass band seemingly playing a beat that mercilessly resonated behind his eyes. Not even bothering to lock up his baby, he sluggishly made his way over towards the front door, his feet dragging heavily across the mud and grit that littered the yards ground. Pushing open the heavy oak door, he forced his weary body inside, his energy nearly depleted, his feet trailing along the floor leaving muddy traces as he went. He thanked a god he didn't believe in when his eyes made out in the gloom, Sam spread across the couch, his brother oblivious, caught in a drug induced sleep. Making his way towards the kitchen, his mouth dry and arid, he turned on the tap and reached for a glass, guzzling greedily at the water, never seeming to quench the thirst no matter how much he drank. His body now uncomfortably full, Dean started for the stairs, hoping that after a trip to the bathroom, a good nights sleep would take away the lethargy he was feeling. Stopping on the bottom stair he looked back Sam's way and whispered. "Sweet dreams, little brother."

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The large ornate clock, that spoke of feminine times past, stood guard over the virtually still room, it's hands ticking softly as they crept towards four am, the sound almost over shadowed by the soft moans that emanated from the sleeping form on the too small piece of upholstered furniture. Sam's head moved back and forth slightly as the dream took hold, his eyes rapidly, frantically moving around in their sockets beneath tightly closed lids, lashes clashing like drawn swords.

Moving stealthily, cautiously through the corridors strewn with old papers and years of dust and mold, Sam's eyes and ears were trained to see or hear anything in the dark space that seemed amiss. He called his brothers name, the word sounding harsh and too loud in the otherwise silent halls. He stills as his flashlight picks up movement, only to relax as he realizes it is only dust motes rising, disrupted from their resting place by the shuffling of his feet. He calls again and again, yet still receives no answer. Panning the small beam around he attempts to see into every corner, every alcove. He turns back, wondering if in fact he had some how passed his brother along the way. Turning back, he jumps as Dean's figure appears in front of him. "Why didn't you answer me?" He inquires, getting an answer in response that rushes past him, as he tries to explain what he had found. Moving further down the hall, he stepped into a room, it's smallness claustrophobic and oppressive after the vastness of the halls. He ignores Dean's protests about "having checked every where already" as he hears sound, bending towards where he thinks its coming from, only to rise quickly as he hears Dean's warning behind him. He spins round, the beam of his light picking out Dean's hard face and unfeeling eyes, the sawn off shotgun raised in his hand, his brothers nose starting to bleed. "Put the gun down" he asks, his mind not listening to the answer as he tries to figure a way out of this. He knows he's talking, can hear Dean's anger filled answers, but nothing is resolved. "What'ya gonna do Dean? The guns filled with rock salt, its not gonna kill me!" He barely hears Dean's answer over the roar of the gun blast in the rooms small confines. "No, but it'll hurt like hell!"

The feeling of someone pressing down on his chest broke through Sam's mind as the dream faded into oblivion, the pungent smell of gunpowder and rock salt tantalized his nose as he shot from the couch, gasping desperately for air, choking as agonizing pain erupted from his chest, the chokes soon turning to coughs; coughs that left him crying in distress as they shook his aching chest. Gradually gaining back control, he brought a shaking hand to his sternum, only to draw it away, wincing from the pain that radiated from just the slightest touch. Reaching gingerly over to the side table he switched on the lamp, pulling up his tee shirt as the room was bathed in a warm glow. Confusion registered on his face as he stared at the range of mottled bruising that littered his torso, little nicks and pock marks cut into the flesh in places. "What the hell?" He thought as he tentatively prodded at the damage. He stood, something catching his eye. Walking over to the mirror he gazed at his reflection, and at the imprint of a hand that lay amongst the discoloration.

Confused he stepped back from the mirror, his heart racing as he tried to come up with some reason as to what had happened, but no matter how hard he tried, he could think of nothing. Releasing his tee, he pulled it back down his frame, tucking the edge loosely into his sweats. Running a hand through his sweat soaked bangs, he shivered as snippets of the dream resurfaced. It had been a dream he had suffered through many a time after the incident, but never before like this, never before with himself as the one shot. Dean had shot him. He could still feel the shock, the hurt, and the surprise, as he watched Dean pull the trigger, his mind wondering if this was how Dean felt? If Dean had felt betrayed, confused, angry, cause at the moment he sure did. As he sat cautiously back down on the worn, yet comfortable couch, he felt agonizing pain radiate from his stomach, tears brimming his eyes as his mind thought back to just how much pain Dean must have felt, how he had sucked it up and refused aid from Sam in any way shape or form. Guilt ate away at him, numbing the pain slightly as it churned away at his insides, as he thought of the endless traveling, the hard motel beds, the hunts, yet Dean never once told him just how bad he actually felt. The least, Sam felt, he could do in return was to be the same way, even though deep down he knew in the end it could be a costly mistake.

Sleep evaded Sam for the rest of the night, his body protesting every position he found on the small couch. In the end he reluctantly rose, his eyes stinging with tiredness, his head throbbing from a mixture of lack of sleep, and worry, his body aching. Making his way slowly upstairs, he peeked in on his brother, relieved to see him sleeping soundly, if fully clothed on his bed. Silently easing his way further down the hall, he quickly used the bathroom before retreating back downstairs and entering Bobby's library, determined to find out by himself just what could have caused his dreams to come true. The throbbing in his head accentuated as he perused the dusty, crowded room, his heart sinking at the enormity of his task. He briefly contemplated ringing Bobby and asking for assistance, or even swallowing his pride and waking his brother, but the Winchester stubborn streak he was famous for, and the guilt he still felt, stopped him. Reading the crinkled, worn, spines of the tomes he stopped at one that dealt with dreams, pulling it out he sneezed as dust tickled his nose before dragging his tired body to the comfortable looking side chair and sitting down to research.

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Dean woke slowly, his head objecting to even the slightest of movement. He attempted to crack open eyes heavy with sleep, slamming them back shut as the sun pouring through the opened blinds aggravated the drum solo that was taking place in his head. He breathed deeply to try to quench the rolling in his stomach, timidly rising from the bed once it had and gingerly making his way to the door, hoping that a shower would help to invigorate his body. Stepping into the bathroom, he clutched onto the sink as a wave of dizziness threatened to send him tumbling, sitting down on the tubs rim he turned the handle and released the spray. Standing back up he waited for the room to stop spinning before stripping off his sweat drenched, crumpled clothing, tossing them to the side before stepping under the scalding water, a moan of pleasure escaping from his lips as the muscles of his shoulders appreciated the warmth, releasing the tenseness that had gathered there, he stayed that way, his head bent, his arms pressed against the tile, until the water began to cool, reluctantly washing off all the dirt, sweat and grime before turning the faucet off and climbing back out.

Drying and dressing quickly, Dean made his way downstairs, his body now craving coffee and food. The closer he got to the kitchen, the more concerned he was that he couldn't smell a pot on the go, or the usual treats Sam had been making in an attempt to make things up to him. He pushed open the door wondering if Sam was feeling okay, his concerns rising when his brother was no where to be seen. Sam hadn't been in bed, Dean vaguely remembered his brother sleeping on the couch when he had stumbled in last night, he closed the door and made his way back towards the living room, he was sure Sam wasn't there when he passed by, but the way he was feeling, he could have been wrong. He called out Sam's name as he walked back, his anxiety increasing as the only response he received was the muffled sound of barking coming from outside. Dean stood on the threshold wondering just where Sam could be, surely he wouldn't have left without leaving a note. A note, maybe Sam had left one and he just hadn't seen it, wanting to check the fridge he turned quickly, the fridge though once he returned to the kitchen was bare. Dean dragged a hand through his short hair, the other slamming down on the counter top, just where was Sam?

He wracked his confused brain trying to figure it out, Sam wasn't upstairs, he wasn't down, he would never leave without telling Dean, so where was he? The library! Of course. Dean raced to the room, flinging the door open when he arrived, relief engulfing him as he caught sight of Sam sprawled out in Bobby's chair, an opened book balancing precariously on his knee, a couple of fingers keeping it there, his eyes closed. Panic briefly flared inside as Sam didn't even move an inch at his noisy intrusion, he rushed over to his side. Dropping to his knees, Dean's hand reached to Sam's neck, calmed and comforted when he felt a pulse throbbing steadily there, knowing that Sam was just sleeping. Feeling that Sam would be hungry when he woke, and wanting to make up for the crappy way he had treated him yesterday, Dean stood up; too quickly he thought as pain flared through his head and his vision faltered, his knees buckling as the ground rushed up to meet him, darkness engulfing him before he even hit the floor.

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Sam's hand twitched, the book falling to the floor with a thud, but neither man moved. Eyes fluttered between closed lids as the nightmare took hold, clutching him, engulfing him in it's grip, allowing him to hear, and smell, and see as if he were actually there. He gasped in a halting breath as the feeling of tightness on his chest returned, and the pictures in his mind cleared, the blurry fog evaporating and another hateful moment of his life was played out in vivid Technicolor.

He cursed as he slowly made his way through the back door of the bar, only to stop as he watched Dean taunting Jo. Words registered in his head, "my Daddy shot your Daddy in the head," but it was the look of lust and malice upon Dean's face that hit home the worst. He knew if he didn't stop this now, his brother would do something he would never be able to live with. Stepping out of the door, his gun raised, Sam let himself be known. "I told you to kill me Sam. I told you I can't fight it. My head feels like it's on fire alright, Sam kill me, or I'm gonna kill her. Please you'd be doing me a favor. Shoot me. SHOOT ME!" Sam could feel Dean's rage, his anger, his fears portrayed in his voice, his own finger tightening on the trigger, his fathers words ringing in his ears, "if you can't save him, you'll have to kill him." He stood there feeling the world crush down on his shoulders, feeling as though his life was about to end. Could he do this? Could he really kill his brother? Could he kill this monster he had become? He blinked as realization struck, he couldn't do this, he just couldn't. "No Dean, come on." He spoke, his gun dropping, his eyes unable to see the crushed look in his brother's own orbs, he turned as Dean spoke, ignoring the words about being scared, about being alone. Rooting in his jacket he pulled out the flask, turning quickly he flung the contents in Dean's face, guilt rising as he heard his brother's screams.."

Awareness entered Sam's mind briefly and he fought against the hold the nightmare had on him. Sleep deprived, and injured he was no match, his eyes barely opening before he found himself succumbing to the night terror once again.

Haunting dimness assaulted his eyes as he stepped into the dockyard warehouse, dripping water and creaking wood adding to his unease. He turned startled as he heard footsteps heading away to his right, his own feet moving on a parallel line to match, his body low in an attempt to gain as much cover as possible. Shadows moving drew his attention to them as he stepped further into the room. Shouting out he asked, "Who are you?" Only to receive a cryptic answer in return. He asked other questions, not really listening to the answer, but trying to ascertain the whereabouts of Dean . The darkness seemed to grow and close in on him as his brother spoke, his words haunting Sam. It was right, he couldn't hurt the demon without hurting Dean, and that was something Sam just couldn't do. The sound of a door creaking slowly closed alerted Sam to his brother leaving, standing up he quickly followed. He crept along the warehouses edge, his senses alert, but all he could hear was the soft lapping of water, he tentatively peeped around the corner, seeing nothing he moved further into the light. He searched left and right, but Dean was no where to be seen. Moving cautiously towards the waters edge he glanced at the black depths, seeing nothing but ripples. The feeling of being watched brought the hairs on the back of Sam's neck up, and he slowly turned and faced the hardened features of his brother, his gun raised and ready. Searing hot pain erupted in his shoulder, a feeling of weightlessness briefly taking hold, before a harsh jolt to his system brought further pain, cold and darkness.

Sam could feel himself fighting to waken, fighting to withdraw from the nightmare that held him, feeling as though he was winning one minute only to be pulled back the next. Every time he was pulled back in he felt a sting and throb to his face, almost as if someone were hitting him repeatedly. As he felt agonizing pain radiate from his shoulder he jolted awake, his mind briefly feeling as though he was pushing someone off of him. He spluttered as water poured from his mouth, choking as he swallowed some of it, causing him to cough. He fought the darkness that encroached on his vision as agony sparked from his bruised and damaged chest, and new pains let themselves be known. Sagging spent back into the chair, his exhausted body willed him to let go, but something tickling down his face, and a wetness across his chest grabbed his attention and refused to let go. Bringing a weary hand up he touched at the site of the pain, his eyes staring at the crimson that coated his fingers as he drew them away, his addled brain trying to give reason to what he was seeing.

"Sam? What the hell? What happened?"

Sam's eyes were drawn away from the blood and down to the floor where Dean's form still lay, weary and confused he asked. "Dean? Dude, what are you doing on the floor?"

"I don't know. Sam, what happened to your face? And why are you bleeding from your shoulder?"

At a loss for words, Sam could only stare at the blood that was gradually drying on his fingers. "Dean, what's going on?"

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Dean tried to steady his shaking hands as he dug around the bloody tear in Sam's flesh, his mind confused as he pulled out the bent bullet that had caused the rent. "So you say you never left the house! That you dreamt this?" He asked incredulously, his face betraying the doubt he felt.

"Yes Dean! I told you I was here all the time. I must have fell asleep whilst I was researching and I woke up like this."

"And you dreamt of the time that you were possessed? Only this time I was?"

"Yes! Just like I did last night."

"Woah! Woah! What do you mean last night?"

Sam paused, cursing himself for his lapse.

"Sam!"

"I had a dream last night too."

"And?"

"And I dreamt we were back at the asylum."

"And?"

"And you were possessed by Ellicott."

"And?"

"And you shot me in the chest with rock salt. I woke up with bruises and cuts littering my chest. It's weird Dean, cause every time this has happened, I've woke up feeling as though someone is there with me, pressing down on my chest. I did some research and I think it's the dream demon, probably Nybbas. But that can't be, how would he have gotten through the wards?"

Dean rubbed at his face with his hand, his eyes flicking briefly Sam's way before they turned to stare at the wound that still pumped out blood in a slow trickle, the movement mesmerizing him. He reached out to touch the flow, his fingers digging cruelly into the raw flesh as he turned his black eyes back Sam's way. Ignoring the screams that tore their way from Sam, he pressed and prodded harder as he spoke. "I got Dean here to remove one or two, just enough to allow me in. Now that you've figured out who I am I don't need to hide in these foolish dreams anymore, and the fun can really begin." Bringing his hand back, the demon clenched his fist before slamming the limb into Sam face, the young hunter falling into unconsciousness.

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Sam fought his way back to consciousness feeling confused and in a world of pain. Was this all a dream? Was it a nightmarish hell? Or was Dean actually possessed? He really wasn't sure, and that thought scared the living daylights out of him. He tried to bring a hand up to wipe at the blood and sweat that was accumulating in his eyes, blurring his vision; only to find that he couldn't, the limb restricted, tight bonds encircling his wrists, the coarse rope cutting off circulation and digging viciously into the tender skin. Bringing up both hands, he rubbed at the moisture and blinked his eyes rapidly desperate now to see his surroundings. Although still in Bobby's library, the room was now dark, the only light coming through the dirty windows from the full moon outside. Sam was no longer sat in the comfy reading chair, but lying bound on the hard wooden floor, the bruises he had accumulated screaming in agony. He looked anxiously down at his feet, thanking whoever was looking over him that his feet were left loose. His eyes skirted around the cluttered room hoping to catch sight of his brother, hoping that he could still be dreaming all of this, yet more and more believing that he wasn't.

Painstakingly he rolled onto his side, biting back a groan of agony the movement resulted in, his eyes scouring the room in the hopes that he was alone. Soft snores coming from the couch placed against the far wall though told him otherwise. He knew that he had to a way to get free, that he had to get as far away from Dean as possible; but with his battered, bruised and exhausted body he had to wonder if that would be possible, but he knew he had to try, he was a Winchester after all, and Winchester's didn't stay lying on the floor waiting to die, they fought and battled their way to freedom. Slowly and with great care he began to ease his aching body up off the floor, biting his lip in an effort to take his mind off the pain even the slightest movement created. Once sitting he maneuvered his legs so that they bent at the knee and rolled so that he was sat on his haunches. He waited, listening for any difference in Dean's breathing, trying to slow his own as his equilibrium faltered sending waves of nausea rolling around his stomach and threatening to send him crashing back down to the floor. Finally when he felt that Dean was still sleeping, and sure enough in himself, he carefully stealthily began to clamber to his feet.

Groggily he struggled, shuffling his way out of the room and towards the kitchen, each step accentuating his new aches and reawakening old ones, sending agonizing stabs of pain to every inch of his body with every step he took. By the time his fingers brushed along the cool surface of the refrigerator, he was covered in sweat, and trembling profusely; his body desperately wanting to shut down, to rest, to sleep, but he knew that the respite would be a long time coming, that he had to keep moving. He pulled open the drawer that he knew Bobby kept his knifes in, his face contorting in a cringe as the old wood creaked and squeaked on it's rusty runner. He stopped and listened again, thankful once again when it seemed Dean still slept on. Pulling out a knife he made quick work of the ropes, before picking up his phone from where he had left it and making his way to the back door.

Sam breathed heavily as he stepped out onto the porch, the cool night air calming his frayed nerves somewhat as he tried desperately to come up with an answer, some way to break the hold the demon had on his brother. He blundered his way to the end of the porch and down the few rickety steps to the gradually drying earth of Bobby's yard, his fingers shakily dialing a number into his phone as he did so. Feeling open and exposed he painstakingly made his way over to the stacks of junkers that littered the small space and found a hiding place amongst them, Bobby's rusted chain link boundary fence and dense woods behind with in Sam's sight. He sighed in relief as the number he had dialed didn't go straight to voicemail, instead connecting to the other unit and beginning to ring. He could feel tears begin to well as the thought that help was close at hand began to take hold, the tears falling freely as a gruff voice eventually answered with a curt "Singer!" About to reply Sam stopped himself as he thought he heard a noise coming from the house. Pushing off the rusted metal frames he began to hobble for the fence, hoping to be able to hide amongst the dense foliage that lay behind it, not hearing Bobby's shout of his name down the line as Dean's irate yell drowned it out. Sam cried out in anguish as the fence loomed up large before him, not thinking he had the strength to make it over, part of him wanting to just give up, give in and collapse into the darkness that kept creeping in on him. He grabbed onto the fence as his knees buckled and waited for the black eyes of his brother to return.

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Dean raged inside of his own body as memories assaulted his mind as the demon slept; memories of the pain and torture the demon that controlled him had inflicted upon Sam. Awake but helpless he had been subjected to his worst nightmare as he had watched from the inside as the demon forced images into Sam's mind, as he watched the wounds inflicted appear as if out of no where, as he watched Sam awake confused and looking to him for guidance, for explanations. He remembered the anger he had felt as the demon used his voice to talk to Sam, as he remembered shouting for all he was worth from the inside, yet knowing he could not be heard. He remembered how he had been made to watch as Sam's face took on a look of incredulity, remembered as his own hand swung forward and slammed into his brother's disbelieving face, how he had cruelly pulled and dropped Sam's broken body from the chair and to the floor, how he had savagely tied Sam's hands together. He'd fought, god how he had fought; screaming and battling for all he was worth, yet nothing he did could break the hold the demon had over him, and the effort had left him spent and in his own world of pain.

He tensed as he felt the beast begin to awaken, apologies that would go unheard slipping from his lips for the wounds he was about to inflict. He cried out in agony as he felt the demons ire, his mind trying desperately around the pain to figure out what was wrong. A happiness he had never felt before engulfing him as he realized that somehow Sam had managed to escape. He started laughing, infuriating the beast that controlled him and causing himself untold amounts of pain as punishment, but he couldn't stop. As he felt his own awareness begin to ebb as the demon took back full control, he willed Sam to be strong enough to win; to be strong enough to figure things out. The demon though, wanting to punish Dean for Sam's defiance, couldn't help but gloat as he took over. "I will find him. I will punish him. He will die thinking you hated him. He will die with your face covered in his blood the last thing he see's."

An angry cry of "Sam" left the demon lips as he started his search for the youngest Winchester. Leaving the library he began to make his way around the house, stopping his search as he entered the kitchen and saw the tattered remains of the ropes he had used to bind Sam's hands. Rushing to the door he harshly yanked it open, allowing the old wood to bang closed behind him as he entered out onto the porch. He closed his mind and opened his senses in an attempt to hear any slight noise that could possible indicate which way Sam had gone, but all was quiet. Moving to the rickety steps he stood, his voice mocking as he shouted out "Oh Sammy! Where are you?" and received the information he needed, as a scuffling of feet across sandy gravel sounded out from his left amongst the tall columns of broken frameworks. He set off at pace using the light of the fill moon to guide him, an overwhelming feeling of success consuming him as he felt his goal was in sight. He turned one way and then another, his astonishment that Sam could even make it this far, leaving a feeling inside him he rarely felt; pride. As he turned the last corner to where he believed Sam to be hiding, that pride turned to fury as the aisle turned out to be empty, the only clue that Sam had even been there, a small snag of his shirt caught in the barbed wire at the top of the chain link fence, softly blowing in the breeze. "Sammy!! You better run, I will find you!"

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As soon as he had battled his way over the fence and into the forest, Sam had realized his mistake, his feet sinking into the boggy like ground, increasing the stress on his body with every step he took. He stubbornly carried on, battling his way through the swamp like substance and gradually entering deeper and deeper into the tightly packed trees. He silently sent out a prayer as he finally reached a muddy trail, now he just had to hold on, just had to put as much distance between him and Dean until Bobby arrived, just had push aside his aches for now, just had to keep running.

Running. That's all he was focused on, his boot-clad feet hitting the ground hard, the mud beneath squelching as too much pressure was placed upon it. His breath was coming out in pants, chest tightening every so often as he struggled to get in a deep breath. The intense, biting agony of his wounds requiring more air than his restricted lungs could capture. The urge to stop and have a rest was getting worse with every couple of steps, but he couldn't stop. If he did… it was all over.

Branches flung out their brown tendrils at him as he ran, scraping wounds across his pale flesh, crimson blood welling up from the cuts and trickling down his skin. Chancing a quick glance behind him, he didn't notice the spindly fingers of tree branches waiting to ensnare him in their trap. He let out a slight scream as one racked its sharp claw over his right eye, effectively blinding him momentarily as his blood ran free.

The light shining from the full moon bathed the forest in eerie light as he tripped and fell to the ground with an unmerciful thump. Ankle twisting beneath him, he started to scrambled backwards across the uneven earth, his heart thumping in his chest as he heard movement close behind him. Breathing hard, bloody and exhausted, he looked up into the possession-black eyes of his brother and willed it all to be over, willed it to be quick. He no longer cared about himself, he just knew that if he should die here tonight, and that thought was looking more and more likely, Dean would never forgive himself; and that hurt Sam more than any cut or bruise ever could.

He scooted across the muddy, rotting foliage his fingernails quickly gathering dirt and grime beneath the beds, as his hands dug deeper in an effort to gain more purchase; his boots slipping and sliding across the wet mess. A cry escaped his lips as his back viciously slammed into the rough bark of a tree, his escape halted, no where else for him to go, and no more strength in his damaged body. He looked up again at the black eyes that glinted from Dean's face and whispered. "Just make it quick."

"But where would be the fun in that Sammy boy? And you know how much Dean lives for fun! I think I'm gonna have to turn down your request, it is a bit selfish after all. Just because you don't want to play, doesn't mean that Dean here should have to miss out. No, I think we shall have to have a long, long playtime now Sammy, I can tell you Dean is itching to go." He laughed then maliciously as he heard Dean's screams of anger, and witnessed Sam's look of horror. "Shall we begin?" He asked, the knife Sam had used to cut his bonds appearing in the demons hands. "Where do we start? A wound to the leg? Or how about the stomach? No, no, I have a much better idea, how about we carve up that pretty little face of yours? Now that sounds like a plan!"

Sam tried to make himself as small as possible, tried to mold himself into the trees that surrounded him, as the demon stepped closer and closer. He tried to bat the knife away as it inched closer to his face, gaining a new wound across his arm as a result. He flinched as the demon grabbed his hair, cried out in pain as his head was roughly thrust into the uneven bark of the trees trunk effectively silencing his fight back, splinters of wood imbedding themselves in his hair, and darkness encroaching on his vision. He could only watch stunned as the knife aimed for his cheek, a scream falling from his lips as the sharp blade dug deep. As the darkness that had been flittering on the edges took him completely, Sam could only listen as the demon began to laugh before choking as a new voice rang out in the night.

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Bobby sang along to an old sixties song that played quietly in the cab of his truck; the tension of the past two weeks having abated after spending two days away from the Winchester brothers, leaving him now feeling refreshed and ready to referee whatever battle lay ahead between Sam and Dean. He smiled as he thought about the two boys he had grown to love dearly, both so alike in their ways, yet both refusing to believe just how alike. Both would die for the other, both would place themselves in danger every time to prevent the other from getting hurt, both were as stubborn as their Father used to be. This latest hunt had been hard on both boys, Sam physically, Dean mentally, yet rather than air their grievances, as usual both had clammed up and allowed the gripes to fester and consume them. In the end the petty bickering had become too much for Bobby, and feeling like a stranger in his own home, like he was caught between a rock and a hard place, he had felt the need to leave, to get away for a few days, to find a little bit of peace and quiet.

He just hit the towns borderline, his thoughts straying towards spending a night in his own bed, when his phone rang ominously beside him on the seat. Turning down the music even more, he picked up the device and looked at the screen, his stomach clenching, the weariness of the past two weeks returning as it registered Sam's name and he thought the boys were fighting again, pressing the green button he answered with a curt "Singer" the weariness disappearing almost immediately as Sam refused to answer, and he could hear Dean's wild, angered shout of "Sammy" in the back ground. He shouted the youngest Winchester's name again in an attempt to gain his attention, dismayed when he heard a thud like a body hitting the ground, and Sam's panicked, defeated voice begin to whisper. "I can't take anymore, please leave me alone." Fear raged deep within Bobby now, his foot automatically pressing harder on the gas as he strove to get home quicker, all the while trying anxiously to break through to Sam, relief nearly causing him to crash as finally a tired and hurting voice answered. "Bobby?"

"Yes son, what's happening? What's going on?"

"Bobby?" Sam asked again, his tone confused and pain filled. "Dean, he's. . . . . . ."

"He's what Sammy?" Bobby asked as Sam suddenly went silent on him. "He's what?" He asked again as he still received no answer, his mind wondering if Sam had accidentally dropped the phone, until he heard a confession that sent chills down his spine.

"He's possessed." Sam's voice whispered out, Bobby hearing the rattling of his chain link fence, before the line went dead.

"Awww crap!" Bobby shouted out as he quickly dialed Sam's number back, not surprised when it went straight to voicemail. He tried Dean's number hoping that Sam was just delirious, but yet again the answering service kicked in. Even trying his own house number produced nothing more than a constant ringing tone, indicating to Bobby that what Sam had spoken was in fact the truth. With no regard for his own safety he pushed his old truck harder, needing more than ever to get home.

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The moon was high in the sky as he finally turned into the yard, a mere ten minutes after his call from Sam had cut out, his trucks wheels kicking up dirt as he skidded to a stop in front of his house; a house that sat worryingly dark, and foreboding. He stepped cautiously from the cab and slowly made his way towards the front door, a bottle of holy water in one hand, his gun poised and ready in the other, he didn't expect anyone to be inside, but he still wanted to be prepared. As he entered his expectations were confirmed as only the ticking of his numerous clocks broke the otherwise still and silent house. Making his way to the library his fears for Sam's, and Dean's, safety increased as he noted the mess that littered the floor, and still drying blood droplets that twinkled in the moonlight. He made his way quickly to the shelves, trying his best to ignore just how much blood there was, and pulled down one of his oldest tombs, flicking through the dry parchment until he found the incantation he needed. Marking the page, he quickly made his way through the house, following the trial Sam had unknowingly made.

The climb over the rusted metal fence had taken longer than Bobby would have liked, his old limbs not a sprightly as they used to be; the trek through the muddy swamp causing cramp to spring up in his thighs as he used muscles he never knew he had, but still he plodded on, his fears for both brothers pushing him to keep going. He slowed his pace as he hit the trail, if his plan was to work it would all rely on stealth. His blood turned cold as he heard Sam scream just ahead, his stomach rolling as he turned a corner and saw just how hurt the younger sibling was, as he watched as Sam's head was viciously thrust into the unforgiving bark of a redwood. He stepped forward with a confidence he didn't feel and thumbed the lid off the bottle of water, before flinging the contents onto the older sibling, Dean's body rearing in anger and pain as the holy water caused agony for the demon that lurked inside. Bobby struck again and again hoping to weaken the demon enough to be able to chant the exorcism. As Dean's body fell to it's knees he started.

"Somnium quod obscurum satar, moestitia quod poena addo, verto ex is vultus. Licentia is somes quod animus. Inficio is vita haud diutiius. Addo lux lucis tergum ut obscurum. Addo animus tergum ut somes."

He stood back as the demon began to scream out in anger and pain, a thick plume of black smoke pouring from Dean's mouth as it finally released it's hold. As Dean dropped to the floor, Bobby wanted to rush over and help but he knew that his task was only halfway finished. He stood still, his body poised and ready to move at a moments notice, as he waited for the demons true form to show itself. A crack of fragile twig to his left signaled the beasts arrival, his eyes staring at the dense foliage as he watched them slowly part and a human like form enter the small enclosure. Bobby shuddered at the evilness that emanated from the being, it's form hidden beneath a long black duster jacket, it's face covered by a bowed head and a wide brimmed black hat. Bobby took an involuntary step back as it's head began to rise allowing him the see the pasty white features beneath and lidless dark eyes, mesmerized for a minute by the sight Bobby forgot the need to finish the chant for a moment until a groan coming from Dean broke the spell, throwing the rest of the water over the demon he proceeded to banish it.

"Reverto, reverto, reverto." He paused as the demon roared, flinging it's arm out and mentally throwing Bobby into the bushes behind him, still the words fell from Bobby's lips. "Reverto ut illiac qua incendiary saevio. Inficio is terrs haud divtius." Bobby struggled to get the few remaining words out as he felt an invisible hand clench around his throat. As the demon stood over a still out cold Sam, Bobby's resolve was heightened, his voice strong as he shouted out, "Reverto, reverto, reverto," and a blinding flash of red lit up the whole area, a blast of air shaking trees in it's wake. As the leaves settled once more Bobby looked around the clearing, happy to see that only Sam and Dean's prone bodies lay there.

He forced himself up, moving to Dean's side as he was the closest, his fingers checking his neck for a pulse, pleased when one thumped strong and steady beneath his fingers. He shook the older siblings body, hoping to gain a response, knowing that he would need Dean's help to carry Sam back to the house, he breathed out deeply as Dean responded with a groan, his eyes flittering beneath his closed lids. Patting his cheek again, Bobby spoke words of encouragement as he urged Dean back to consciousness, the words and the persistent tapping finally began to work as Dean's eyes opened and looked the elder hunters way, Bobby almost reeling back in shock as he witnessed the guilt and remorse that shone brightly in the green orbs. As Dean's head began to lower as he tried to hide his shame from him, Bobby lifted it by the chin and spoke again his voice, this time, stronger.

"Don't you even try to blame yourself for this boy, this wasn't your fault. Now Sam's hurt, and it looks bad. I need your help to carry him back, are you gonna sit there feeling sorry for yourself? Or are ya gonna help me?"

Although Dean knew that Sam was hurt, hearing it from Bobby's mouth was all the incentive he needed to break free from his feelings, he knew he would no doubt feel bad again later, but for now Sam needed help, needed him, and Dean was loathe to hurt his brother anymore than he already had. He scrambled up onto his knees and excepted Bobby's offer of a hand up as his legs began to buckle under his weight, his body reminding him of the drugs he had been given, and the alcohol he had consumed. Once steady he quickly made his way over to Sam, his heart breaking and tears springing to his eyes yet again as he witnessed just how much damage his younger sibling had sustained. He reached out with shaky fingers for Sam's wrist, not happy with the slow lethargic beat he felt beneath the skin, or the heat that burned to the touch from his brother's body. Looking up at Bobby, Dean's eyes begged for advice, for help, his mind momentarily blank.

"It'll be hard going, but I don't see any other, we're gonna have to carry him out of here."

"But. . . . . . that'll hurt him even more." Dean replied, the feelings of guilt returning, his eyes going wide at the thought of more pain for his brother.

"And staying here could kill him!" Bobby stated, the need to bring Dean out of this slump he kept falling into making him shout a bit angrier than he meant. "Dean, he needs help, he needs a bed and to be cleaned up and medicine. Now be a Winchester and help me before it's too late."

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Dean sighed as he watched Sam sleeping restlessly on the bed to the side of him, caught in yet another nightmare that had haunted him ever since they had returned to Bobby's house. Walking over he rinsed out a cool cloth and wiped at the sweat that poured down Sam's face from the fever that had taken a strong hold of his ravaged body, Sam settling down as the comforting coolness was applied. As Sam's breathing evened out signaling to Dean that he was deeply asleep once again, he thought back over the past few days and all the things that had happened. Bobby had explained about Nybbas, how he had obviously drugged Dean before possessing him; how he had made Dean remove the wards that protected the house; how he had forced Dean to help as he plied Sam with vicious and cruel images; how he had forced Dean to watch as he beat and shot his helpless brother. Dean had been consumed with guilt and remorse as Bobby spoke, the older hunter, realizing just what his words were doing to the eldest Winchester, stopping before adding that there was nothing that Dean could have done to prevent it, that he too had been a victim, just as Sam had been.

It hadn't helped Dean though and he found himself forgoing any aid or assistance, refusing to sleep or eat, as he tended to his ill brother. Although none of Sam's injuries had turned out to be serious, the combination of them, the ones received from their previous hunt, and Sam's trek through the swamp had resulted in a fever that had only last night broken, and a body so totally exhausted it has shut down in order to recuperate. Dean sat on the edge of Sam's bed as he rung the cloth out again, his own heavy tired head dropping to his chest as his own weariness threatened to take him under. He ran a hand over his eyes before resting his chin in his palm, his mind a whirl of all the things he needed to say, his gaze filtering slowly back to his brother, his mouth dropping open as two glazed, heavy blue brown orbs stared intently back at him, and a soft raspy voice spoke up.

"Hey." A fit of coughing broke out from Sam as his dry throat irritated him.

Dean reached for the glass of water he had on stand by, his own voice quiet and unsure as he replied. "Hey Sammy, you need anything?"

"No, I'm good. Not your fault." Sam whispered as his body tried to take him under once again. "Not your fault. . . . . . . Don' blame ya." He managed to croak out as he fought against his heavy eyes. "Demon. . . . . . Fault. . . . . Not you."

"Sammy." Dean ground out in reply. "Don't do this. Don't try and make me feel better. I shouldn't have let him take me. I should have fought harder to prevent this. No matter what you say, this is my fault. I just hope someday you'll forgive me."

"Won't forgive you, nothing to forgive. Not your fault Dean, just like wasn't mine with Meg."

"Sam, how can you say that? Look at yourself! You're a mess because of me."

"Because of demon. . . . . . .not because of you. . . . . . . . .not your fault De. . . . . .you have to believe me, please." Sam turned his eyes Dean's way, a force he never knew he had emanating from then and burying itself deep in Dean's heart. As he witnessed the trust and love that shone from his brother's eyes, Dean's guilt began to ebb away, he knew he would never really ever forgive himself for what he had done, but he knew Sam did and for now he was content with that. He watched as Sam's eyes finally lost their battle to stay open and he drifted off to sleep once more. Pushing his brother's stray bangs back into place he whispered an "I love you" before turning to return to his own bed, tears forming in his eyes as he just about made out Sam's return reply.

"I love you too."

A.N. . . . . . . . . . . Will be back soon with new chapters of my other fics, thanks for taking time to stop by and read, Peanut x