Chapter Two
Dean awoke with a start and looked around. The lights in the motel room were off, and Sam was nowhere to be found. He shook his head, knowing that Sam was probably in some library, looking for some way to save him. He wiped his face and got up, pulling on his tee-shirt. He walked over to small kitchenette and started making coffee. He ran a hand through his hair and sighed. Three months left and they were no closer to finding a way to help him than they were when he made the deal.
The door to the motel suddenly opened. Dean swung around and saw Sam walking through the door with a bag. He could smell the grease and glaze of doughnuts.
"I knew I could count on you for breakfast, Sammy," Dean said coming over and taking the bag.
"Couldn't sleep again?" Sam asked, tossing the keys down.
Dean shook his head as he dived into the bag. "Just another dream."
"Hell hounds or just Hell?"
Dean pulled out a doughnut and quickly started eating. He knew with food in his mouth, he couldn't answer anymore questions. He walked back over to the coffee pot and poured a cup. He stared down at the black liquid, feeling the weight on his shoulder grow heavier. He didn't want to tell Sam how scared he was. He knew he had to keep his game face on now more than ever.
"Where have you been?" Dean asked.
Sam looked up from moving some books. He could see that Dean hadn't slept much. It was becoming common that he didn't sleep. Nightmares and late nights of research kept them both from getting the sleep they needed.
"I went for a walk," Sam lied. "I just needed to clear my head."
Dean took a long sip of his coffee and pulled out another doughnut. He didn't buy Sam's story, but he didn't want to pick another fight. It seemed the less time they had to save him, the more time they had to fight. He took another bite when his cell phone began to ring. He looked at Sam and then reached for it.
"It's Bobby," Dean said, flipping it open one handed.
Sam looked up. He hadn't been expecting Bobby to call, but he hoped that he had good news. Or maybe he had found something. He listened to Dean talk, but he only got the usual grunts and simple answers. He turned back to the books he had been moving.
"Chicago is a big city, Bobby," Dean said. "But alright."
Dean shut the phone with a quick slap and turned to Sam. He smiled a little, pretending to be happy. Sam looked up at him.
"What's going on?" he asked.
"Bobby got us a hunt," Dean replied, putting his coffee aside. "In Chicago."
Sam nodded. "We're only a couple of hours away."
Dean nodded and started packing his stuff. He looked around the room one last night, not looking forward to the long drive ahead. Then his mind wondered back to his dream. It had been the Hellhounds chasing him, but he wasn't alone. There had been someone helping him. He shook it off. That wasn't going to happen. No one was going to help him get out of this but himself.
"Dean," Sam said, snapping him back to reality. "You alright?"
"Yeah," Dean said, grabbing his keys. "Let's go."
Sam followed, watching Dean. Things were changing for both boys. Sam was starting to see Dean crack in fear. He could tell that the tough exterior that Dean always wore was wearing thin. His jokes to avoid situations were becoming more and more common. He also knew that his brother didn't want to go this road alone, even if he acted like he did. He looked at Dean as they got in the car but didn't say anything. He still had three months left to save him.
