I know what you're thinking. You probably think I'm crazy, right. I literally just started another story and now I have this. But believe me, I have an excuse: I was reading some chapters in my other story 'Agony', some of you may or may not have heard of it, when I came across a chapter in it titled 'Carry On' and I read it over and fell in love with it all over again. Sure, there was a few tweaks I had to make, and I did, so the wording's lightly different. Yes, this is the chapter 'Carry On' from 'Agony', but I will be adding to it. You know, like a real story (: Lol. Soooo, I will update this when I can, as often as I can. And this is without a Beta, so all of the mistakes are mine if you find any. Anyway, if you haven't read the chapter before: here it is. If you have read the chapter : please tell me if it's a good idea to continue it.

I'll stop talking now. Please enjoy. [:

Chapter 1;

One bed in the center of the room. No way out. One door looked from the outside. He was stuck. He was trapped. In a way, he was scared. His body ached, but his mind ached more. He was tired. Mentally tired, that is. He just wanted this all to be over. Sam sat on the edge of the bed and rubbed the sides of his face. His hands were shaky, his legs were tapping, he couldn't keep still. Not even if he tried.

Sam rocked back and forth . He grabbed the ends of his hair and screamed. He couldn't hold it in any longer. He had to scream; he had to yell. He had to do something to keep from going even more crazy than he already felt. A cold sweat came over him. Causing a hot-flash and the chills at he same time. His body shot backwards, laying him down on the uncomfortable bed. He stiffened as a wave of pain and went came over him.

"Ahh!" Sam yelled at the top of his lungs. His body was hot but his heart was cold. He couldn't shake the feeling that Bobby and Dean no longer thought of him as the same person. He feared that they thought of him as some monster that they can only tame by putting in isolation. Neither of them have been down tere since early this morning and even then, it was just Bobby. He had lifted the peep slip to the door and took a quick look at Sam. At the time, Sam wasn't facing the door but he knew someone was watching him. He felt it. And he could tell it wasn't Dean. Dean would've spoken, Dean would've came in. Dean would've done something, anything.

Without realizing, Sam sat up again. His stomach was queasy; he felt sick. Sam's breathing was uneven, rugged, and pained. He couldn't catch it. His lungs were tight, like someone was squeezing them. His stomach hurt, like he was being kicked. Physically and emotionally drained, Sam stood. Sluggish and heavy feet carried him to the wall. Banging his fists, he yelled again. He wasn't sure why he was yelling, it didn't make him feel better. But in a way it calmed him.

He was hungry, but he couldn't even make himself think of food. Just the thought of it sickened him, but he'd kill for it right about now. His stomach growled every once in a while, but his mind screamed that nothing would satisfy him quite the way demon blood would. He should be able to live without it, Sam knew that. He didn't need it, Sam knew that, too. But he wanted it, and he wanted it badly.

There was only one thing Sam hated the most, and that's being alone. Being by himself could kill him faster than any bullet, spirit, or demon could. And Dean knew that. And that's exactly what angered Sam the most. If Dean knew Sam hated being by himself, why would he put him here? What type of brother would intentionally hurt their younger brother? Shouldn't Dean be protecting him, not the one making him suffer?

Turning around and pressing his back to the wall, he slid to the floor. His feet tapped over and over again in a steady, rapid beat. His legs was shaking. To steady them, he wrapped his hands around them and pulled them to his chest. He put his head on his forearm and rocked back and forth. The sweat from his forehead rubbed off onto his lower arm and dripped onto his unbuttoned shirt. Sam cried out. Why did he feel this way?

He heard the sound of footsteps, but not the sound of a door opening. Cautiously, Sam brought his head from his arm and looked up. To his surprise, Dean was standing over him. Hatred etched in his face and disappointment clearly seen. Dean rolled his eyes and walked back a few steps.

"You're pathetic, Sam."

He could feel his mouth drop open in shock.

"Dean-"

"Shut up."

His mouth closed, impulsively listening to his older brother. Sam could feel his heart pick up speed. He was worried, he was nervous. Something he never felt around Dean before. And worst of all, making this whole experience more horrible than it already was, Sam felt like he couldn't trust Dean anymore. And that's what made Sam want to rip his heart out and just give up. He's feeling something he'd never feel with Dean. Distrust.

Pacing in front of Sam, Dean crossed his arms across his chest and shook his head. His boots scuffed against the floor. In this light, his leather jacket looked a deep charcoal black. Half his face hidden by the slight darkness, giving him sort of a 5'oclock shadow. Miraculously, his eyes had turned a grayish color, making him seem even more evil.

He pointed to Sam. "Look at yourself," Dean hisses, having a staring contest with Sam as he paced in front of him, his arms still crossed. "You're so weak, Sam."

Sam had obtained his stare, doing all he could to keep a straight face. He didn't know what Dean as acting this way.

"Dean-"

"Did I tell you to speak?"

Sam was silenced.

Dean shook his head as he crouched down in front of Sam. His eyes piercing into Sam's as he stared him down. A small, but raging fire in his eyes. Sam could literally see the flames. Suddenly, the flame was on Dean's hand. He smiled at Sam as he brought it closer to his face. Sam brought his face back, pressing it as far as it would go to the back of the wall. He turned his face to the side, trying to move his face away from the flame.

"What's a'matter, Sammy? Scared of a little flame?" Dean taunted, bringing it closer to his face. Sam could feel the heat radiating off the fire, causing him to sweat.

Dean knew Sam had a fear a fire. And after their mom's and Jessica's death, it was understandable.

Sam grabbed Dean's wrist, trying to keep his hand away.

"Dean, stop," Sam says in a weak voice.

Dean dropped his hand and magically the flame disappeared. He laughed a little. Dean grabbed Sam by his shirt collar and hoists him to his feet. Dean pushes Sam to the wall, knocking his head. Protectively, Sam pushed Dean back, but just as his hands were about to make contact with Dean's shoulders, he disappeared.

Sam's eyes go big, amazed and scared at the same time.

Tears swelling in his eyes, Sam slid back onto the floor. He wiped them away angrily, upset at his own, sick hallucinations.

Having enough, Sam pushed his aching body to his feet. He stumbles to his feet and when he feels his bed at his knees, he tips his body over and falls into the bed. All he had to hope for was that sweet, sweet unconsciousness would take over soon.

.-Sane-.

"Sam."

The voice pierced through Sam's blank dream. He tried his best to ignore it; he tried to stay peaceful. Sleeping was the only thing that was keeping him calm enough to stay still. He knew he'd been sleep for a while, but he wasn't sure how long. But he didn't care. It was calming, it was peaceful, and it didn't feel half as bad as being awake.

"Sam, calm down."

Calm down? I am calm.

Sam was confused, but didn't want to see what all the fuss was about. As far as Sam was concerned, he was more comfortable and in a reasonable state of mind than he'd been in a while and he wasn't passing that up for just anything. He'd need to hear a good reason to go back to consciousness and deal with the fever, the chills, the shakiness, and the nausea again.

He felt a hand rest just above his eyebrow and stay there for a second. Then the voice was back. It said, "You know I'm not gonna hurt you. Stop moving. Sam, stop."

Not being able to take being clueless anymore, Sam forced his eyes open. His eyesight was blurry for a while. It was just a big blur of dark colors, swirled together. He squeezed his eyes shut for a second and reopened then slowly. His vision was clear now and he seen Dean standing over him. His eye full of worry and compassion now, instead of the pure hatred and fire the other Dean had.

Not taking any chances, Sam reached his hand up, touching the side of his face.

"You're real?"

Dean nodded, his facial expression staying the same. "I'm real, Sammy."

Sam tried to sit up, but found it impossible because Dean's hands were placed firmly on his shoulders, binding him to the bed. Sam looked down at Deans hands then up at him, confusion written clearly all over his face.

"You were flipping out," Dean explained. "We heard you all the way upstairs screaming your brains out."

Sam shook his head. "No, I was sleeping. I-"

Dean shrugged. "Some people sleepwalk, you happen to sleep-scream."

Hoping to lighten the mood, Dean flashed his famous smile at him.

Sam shook his head, not able to tell between dream and reality anymore. He pushed at Dean's hands frantically. "Get off me! Get off," he yelled, rolling backwards and onto the floor.

Dean stood, surprised by his sudden outburst. Not giving up though, he walked around the bed in the center of the room and sat down on the floor next to him. Cautiously and slowly, Dean put his hand on Sam's back.

"Sam, calm down. It's alright."

Sam shrugged his hand off.

"No," he says. "Nothing's alright. I'm not alright."

"But you're gonna be," Dean says, his voice full of hope for Sam getting better.

Sam moves away, pressing his back to the bed.

"You don't want me to get better," he says, rocking back and forth, his hands tapping at his sides. "You want to get rid of me, don't you? I understand. I'm a monster. I'm evil. I'm a killer."

Dean dropped his head into the bow of his collar bone. He shook his head.

"You're not a killer, Sam. You're not evil either."

"Yeah!" Sam says, standing. He tugs at the back of his hair and lets out a shaky deep breath. "Then what am I then, Dean? Crazy? I'm definitely that."

Dean shook his head. "You're not crazy, Sammy…"

"No bet on that," Sam shoots back. "I feel crazy. And look at me," Sam points to himself. "I even look crazy! I- I can't stay still. Look, I'm sweating but I'm freezing cold. I'm tired but I can't sleep. I'm hungry but I can't eat. All I think about, all I want is demon blood. If that's not crazy, then I don't know what is!"

Standing, too, Dean takes hold of Sam's wrist and sits him on the bed.

"It's called withdraw, Sam. You know that."

Sam slams his hand down on the bed, startling Dean and causing him to jump back a little.

"Sam-"

"Why are you doing this to me, Dean?"

Dean sighs, "It's gonna help you, Sam."

"But why are you making me suffer like this? What've I done to you? All my life, all I've done is look up to you. Studying you. Trying to be just like you. And this is how you repay me for idolizing you? You- you trap me down here? What am I to you, huh? Some animal?"

Dean's hurt by Sam's words, but he has to convince and reassure himself that it's not Sam talking. It the withdraw. He's saying anything to get under Dean's skin, anything to have Dean let him out.

"You're not an animal, Sammy. And I don't think of you as one. All's I'm trying to do is help you. And this is the only way I know how," Dean wipes his eye. "I just want you to get better, Sammy."

Sam eyes soften. He puts his head in his hands and sighs. "I can't take this anymore, Dean. I can't take this feeling anymore. It's killing me."

"No, Sam," Dean interrupts. "The demon blood is killing you. That's what you need to understand."

"No you need to understand!" Sam shouts, his eyes bloodshot from the tiredness and from crying. "I'm your brother, Dean. Your little brother. Why are you torturing me?"

Dean looks away, trying not to give in to Sam's words. "Sammy, I'm not-"

"Yes you are. You don't know what it's like to feel this way. You don't know how much it hurts. Not matter what I do. It always hurts. And I can't make it stop," Sam says to Dean, his puppy dog eyes looking up at him, pleading Dean to take him out of here. "What is it? You don't love me anymore or something? You don't want me as your brother anymore?"

Dean shook his head. "Sam-"

"You think I'm gonna turn into one of those things, don't you? One of those things you have to kill?" Sam stand up straight and looks Dean straight in the eye. "Then just kill me already, Dean. 'Cause I can't take the pain anymore."

At that moment, Dean could feel his heart beginning to break. He shook his head, trying to keep Sam's words from entering his mind. Dean stands.

"I'm not gonna kill you, Sam. I'm not gonna hurt you at all. I want you- I need you to understand that. I'm only doing this because you are my brother and I do love you. Me and Bobby want you to be better, Sammy. We want to get you out of here, believe me, we do. But we can't until you're clean of this stuff. That's the only way we can make sure you'll get better."

Sam walks forward into Dean, tears running down his face. Dean pulls him into a hug.

"I can't take it anymore, Dean. I just can't."

Dean nods. "Yes you can," he says encouragingly. "Just a couple more days, okay? Then everything will get better, I promise."

Sam cries onto his shoulder. He shakes his head. "I can't do it, Dean. I can't."

By now, Dean's blinking away tears.

"You're stronger than me. You know that, Sam? You might be younger than me, but mentally? You are stronger than me. You've been through so much. Too much. And considering all that, you've handled it well. Better than I would've.

You can beat this, Sam. I know you can. You just have to try."

Sam pulled away. "I've tried, Dean. I swear I have."

"I know," Dean says nodding. "Just for a little longer, okay. You only have to wait this out a little longer. Please, Sam. Keep fighting, okay. For me, please keep fighting."

Sam nods, walking back over to the bed. He lays his head down and stars up at the ceiling. Small tears still run down the side of his face but Dean could see he was trying no to cry anymore.

Dean reaches down and pats his shoulder. "That's my boy. Hang in there, Sammy."

Walking slowly, Dean heads for the door. He walks out but just before he closes it, he looks over at Sam again.

"I'll be back in a couple hours or so. Try to get some rest."

He sees Sam nod.

"Try to eat something, too. You're skinny enough."

And with that, Dean closes the door with a loud slam. Dean was worried, but he knew Sam would be alright. This was just something he'd have to overcome. He smiled slightly, feeling proud of his brother.

Inside, Sam could feel the urges and restlessness of withdraw taking over his body again. But he kept them at bay as much as he could. He had to be strong and he knew that. He had to be strong not just for himself, but for his brother, too.

And that, and that alone, is what gave Sam the strength to carry on.

Soooo, not too bad, right? *cowers in corner*. Should I continue? Let me know...