Chapter 1

Sam was screaming again.

Dean crashed into the closet door but it was locked and refused to buckle. In the darkness, silence fell. All Dean could hear was his own ragged breaths. He braced himself before throwing all his weight at the door again, trying to concentrate it in the same area. There was a dull thump, but no cracking of wood.

Panting, Dean slumped against the back wall. The only source of light was through the tiniest, dimmest crack under the door, which he was facing.

Sam cried out again.

"Sammy!" Dean yelled, gritting his teeth to throw himself at the door again. "Sammy, I'm coming!"

But even three more gradually weakening blows didn't break the door. Swearing, Dean placed both palms against the cool wood panel and rested his forehead against it. He closed his eyes and concentrated.

"Cas, Sammy's in trouble. Our hunt went wrong. I need your help."

He opened his eyes. Nothing. No Castiel, no nothing. He lunged at the door again and, when he rebounded from the impact, he tripped and crashed to the ground, landing hard on his back and elbows. His head struck the back wall. Head spinning and seeing stars, Dean struggled up. He placed a hand on the door, straining his ears.

"Sammy?" he called before stopping. He repeated it louder as his heart began to beat hard and fast. He couldn't hear himself speaking. He pounded his fists on the door, yelling for Sam, for Castiel, for anyone who could help. But to him, it was all silent.

He couldn't hear his own dry sobbing breaths, couldn't hear as Sam screamed again.

"Cas!" Dean shouted, pushing himself to his feet and barging into the door again. He couldn't hear his own voice, and he didn't hear the splintering crack as the door began to succumb. Dean had almost given up. He held his head in his hands.

No, he had to try one more time. Just in case. He sucked in a breath and used all his remaining strength, driving his shoulder towards the door. With a smash that he could not hear, the door broke and Dean tumbled out, rolling in the scattered shards of wood. He shook his head as he looked up, dust covered and bloodied. He could hear through his left ear.

There came another cry. It was fainter but more pained than before, and Dean strained to hear where his brother's voice was coming from.

"Sammy?" he called out, but there was no reply. Dean ran to the staircase and looked up. He hoped his brother was upstairs. As he ascended slowly, he saw blood spatters on the wooden floorboards. His own blood ran cold at the sight. All Dean could think of was how Sam could have been hurt. He sprinted up the rest of the staircase and followed the spots of blood until he reached a door.

The red drops gave way to a broad streak, like someone had been dragged through the doorway whilst bleeding. There was a streaky handprint along the wall by the door, as if Sam had tried to hold on.

Dean pressed his left ear to the door. He could hear shallow breathing on the other side, and a low voice speaking indistinctly. Unable to wait, Dean kicked open the door and entered the room. Sam looked up from the table he was tied to, his hair stringy and stuck to his forehead. His arms were sliced multiple times, the blood dripping into bowls. His eyes widened at the sight of his older brother.

"Dean?" he exclaimed. Meters away from his brother, the two ghouls hissed. One held a knife to Sam's throat, pressing hard enough to draw blood.

"Get away from him, you bitch!" Dean growled. The ghoul smiled toothily before moving to slash Sam's throat. As it did so, Dean tackled it across the table, dragging it away from Sam and down to the ground. Without hesitating, Dean began punching the ghoul, hitting its head with all the strength he could muster. As it lay stunned, he grasped one of the heavy blood-filled bowls and smashed it repeatedly on the ghoul's head until it was destroyed. The body stopped twitching. He dispatched the second in a similar fashion.

"Dean, they-"

"Don't speak, Sammy."

Dean rushed to Sam's side and began untying the bonds with his left hand. His right hand pressed against the side of Sam's neck, where the knife had gashed him. It wasn't a wide cut, but it was deep, and blood spilt from between Dean's fingers.

"Goddammit, Cas!" he cried in exasperation as he grabbed the ghoul's bloody knife and sawed through the ropes tying Sam down. Next, Dean took off his jacket and balled it up, pressing it hard against Sam's neck.

"Hold it, Sammy," Dean urged. He cut through the ropes around Sam's legs before hoisting his younger brother to his feet, one arm supporting Sam and the other helping apply pressure to the jacket. Sam's eyelids drooped, his hand slipping from the jacket. Dean swore and walked faster, pulling Sam with him.

"Come on, Sammy, don't give up on me. Don't you dare!"

His voice cracked as he spoke. They reached the stairs. Sam slipped from Dean's grasp and he began to fall, the jacket rolling away. Dean managed to catch his brother but almost dropped him again, his hands slippery from the blood seeping from the cut. Dean reached for the jacket, finding that it was soaked on one side. He rolled it up and pressed a dry area against Sam's neck, trying to staunch the flow. His brother's eyelids fluttered and one of Sam's own hands pressed against Dean's.

"You're shaking," Sam said weakly, his voice barely audible. He looked up at Dean. His face had streaks of blood on it and his eyes were unfocused. Dean's breathing was panicked.

"Hold on, Sam. Don't die on me," Dean begged. He pulled Sam up and they stumbled towards the door. Dean pushed it open with his back and he managed to get Sam into the Impala. His priority was to stop the bleeding and get Sam to safety. He ordered Sam to keep the jacket pressed against the wound. Sam didn't reply, but his hands were white-knuckled as he held the jacket against the gash.

Dean forgot everything. He forgot there was a speed limit, he forgot that blood could stain his car's upholstery, he forgot about Cas. All he cared about was getting his younger brother to safety.

He didn't want Sammy to die.

The Impala almost crashed into other cars as Dean pulled haphazardly into the parking lot, braking into a space. He ran around the bonnet, opening the door and helping Sam out.

"Come on, Sammy, come on," he repeated breathlessly as he helped Sam to their motel room. With shaking bloody hands, Dean fumbled for keys. Sam was slumped against the wall by the door, trying to keep the jacket against his neck despite his failing strength.

"Okay, I got it, come on," Dean said in a cracking voice as he supported Sam again, helping him into the room and onto the couch. Dean grabbed medical supplies and sat next to Sam. "I'm going to have to sew it up."

Sam's eyes opened a fraction as he drew in short breaths. His head twitched in a nod and Dean pulled out a needle and thread. It took him five attempts to thread the needle and he was almost sobbing with frustration on the fourth try.

Peeling the jacket from Sam's neck, Dean was relieved to see the bleeding had almost stopped. He rested a hand against Sam's neck to keep his brother still and moved his other hand, with the needle, close to the cut. Dean drew long breaths to calm himself down before gritting his teeth and making the first stitch. Sam tensed and let out a low whimper of pain. As his older brother made more stitches, Sam screwed his eyes shut and wished he had painkillers.

"It's done," Dean declared in a trembling tone before he bit off the thread and went over to the refrigerator. He pulled out a bottle of whiskey. Sam knew what was coming and closed his eyes again. He stifled a groan as he felt whiskey poured over the cut, washing the blood away and cleansing the wound.

The sewing and cleaning was repeated for all the serious cuts down Sam's arms; the smaller cuts were just cleaned and bandaged. It took almost a hour of bandaging, careful needlework and the rest of the bottle.

"Finished," Dean murmured. He packed away the medical supplies and drank from the bottle. Sam beckoned to it.

"Give me some," he said hoarsely. He drank from the bottle the second Dean handed it to him, swallowing and grimacing at the burn down his throat. He let out a soft sigh and put the bottle down. When Sam didn't speak, Dean took it as a cue to leave his brother alone. He stood and went to the door, going outside to park the Impala properly.

Later that night, Dean looked up from where he was researching with Sam's laptop. His brother was sat by the window in silence. Sighing, Dean took out one of his earbuds. He didn't even know why he'd been wearing them. His right ear still wasn't working.

"Hey, Sammy?" he asked quietly. Sam's head turned slightly. Half his face was illuminated from the soft yellow glow of the motel room lamp. The other half, the part facing the window, was in darkness. Even from the other side of the room, Dean could see how tired Sam's eyes looked. "Man, you look exhausted. You should sleep."

"I can't," Sam replied after a short pause. He didn't elaborate, instead turning back to gaze out into the darkness again. Dean turned off his music and closed the laptop. Sam was in a bad place, he knew that. He wanted to help his brother but he didn't know how.

So Dean did nothing. And Sam remained gazing out of the window.

That night, Dean had a nightmare. He was drowning in a sea of water under a black sky. As he looked up from where he desperately tried to stay afloat, he saw Sam, looking down from a ledge. His brother's eyes were cold and blank. The last thing Dean saw before the waves swallowed him was his own face reflected in the water's surface, his eyes as black as the sky.