Disclaimer: refer to chapter one

NOTE TO READERS: Well, I was happy to read all of the positive reviews and comments concerning chapter one. I hope you continue to enjoy the story as it develops. Thanks again for taking the time to read and review. I was pleasantly surprised at how many of you that did leave your comments really enjoyed it. I'm just glad that FFnet is finally back and sending alerts, etc. I've been sitting on this one for a couple weeks. In fact, I've gotten a little ahead, so I may be able to post a little faster, but not too fast. I don't want to make you wait too long between updates or at least I'll make an effort not to make you wait. Thanks!

Chapter Two

Under the Night

By Dawn Nyberg

"Dean, hey hun can you help me with this?" Ellen called over her shoulder from her vantage point on the ladder. Dean turned from wiping down the far end of the counter at the bar. He hadn't even noticed she was up on a ladder. His mind had been preoccupied with thoughts of Sam.

"Huh? Oh yeah, here," Dean sounded irritated. "You should have let me do that anyway. You don't need to be climbing around on ladders."

"Hey, mind your tongue," she scolded. "I'm not some old lady that's gonna break a hip. Here," she grunted as she handed down a cardboard filing box from the crawlspace in the ceiling near the main bar area.

"Sorry," he offered quietly. "I didn't mean anything by it." Ellen smiled softly.

"I know sweetie. No worries. You thinkin' about Sam?"

"Always," Dean answered bluntly. "I just want him back Ellen. Maybe I could try having him here again. It might help." Ellen offered an understanding smile.

"Dean, honey, you remember the last time in the beginning before he went to Stillwater when you brought him here after," she paused. "I know you want him with you, but I think he's in the right place Dean and Marcus can help him or at least do his best to try." Dean offered Ellen a begrudged nod. She was right. He remembered with a shiver the third night here at the roadhouse after the confrontation with the demon. He remembered the blood and Sammy. He swallowed down the bile that crept up his throat at the memory, but the memory came anyway.

Eight Months Earlier, the Roadhouse

Sam hadn't spoken and Dean still tried to coax his brother into the world around him. He had bundled Sam into the Impala and drove to the roadhouse only stopping for gas. He would get Sam to drink water, but he mostly slept. They had been at the roadhouse for three days as Dean tried to nurse Sam back to world with no luck. He could tell by looking into his little brothers eyes that there was a clear disconnect and that the light was gone from his dark eyes. Dean woke early and turned to check on Sam. It was an automatic response to immediately check on his brother. Sam had been sleeping most of the time or preferred being curled up and rocking himself. His absent eyes never met anyone's. Dean shot up from his bed as he quickly saw that Sam wasn't in the bed next to him. "Sammy?" Dean's voice was thick with a controlled panic. He didn't have to look far. He found Sam huddled in a corner on his knees rocking as he wrote on the wall. Dean noticed the red looking paint on the wall his mind not processing the truth. And, then he saw the hunting knife, his own hunting knife discarded beside his little brother … the blade bore the trances of coagulating blood. Dean watched Sam for a moment still frozen. He watched Sam rub the fingers of his right hand into the palm of his left and come up thick with blood and continue to write on the wall.

"Oh Christ Sammy," Dean blurted as he ran to his brother. He took Sam's left hand in both of his. "Shit," he hissed. "What have you done to yourself Sammy." Dean grabbed a t-shirt he had slung over a chair and wrapped his brother's hand in it. "You're going to need stitches," he admonished.

It wasn't until later after he had cleaned and sewn his brother's hand that he had looked at the wall to see what Sam had been doing, and it was then that he knew his little brother needed help he couldn't provide. The wall bore pictures of sigils and random gibberish. He cast a scared glance toward his sleeping brother. "I'm sorry," was all he could whisper as he allowed himself to cry. A hand on Dean's shoulder pulled him into the present and away from his haunting memories.

The Roadhouse, present time

"Dean? You okay?" Ellen asked with a concerned face.

"Huh? Yeah, I was just…" his voice trailed off. "You're right about … well, you know."

"I wish I weren't if that helps at all," her voice was sincere. "And, hey, at least the Center is only a twenty minute drive from here." Dean simply nodded. He hoped it was a busy night in the bar to keep his mind off his little brother, at least for a little while.

The Stillwater Center, Sam's Room

Sam's body lay curled on his side gently rocking with his eyes staring at the wall. Kendra unlocked Sam's door and walked in. "Hi Sam, it's Kendra. I just wanted to make sure you're situated for the night." She smiled at the young man. "I have to give you your medication for the night, okay? It won't hurt." She gently took Sam's left hand and inserted a syringe into his IV port. "There you go," she cooed. "You know if you'd just take your meds by mouth all the time we could get rid of this thing," she replied softly as she tapped his hand gently as she referred to the port. Sam's med taking had been hit and miss. When they could they would crush some of his meds in his food, but the evening meds came long after dinner was over, and there wasn't much choice. She pulled his blanket up over his shoulders and made sure the bed rails were up and locked into position. "Okay, you're all set. Sleep tight Sam. Sweet dreams." She ran a hand gently across his forehead and through his hair a couple times and watched as his eyes slid closed. She smiled. This simple action always seemed to work and had become their nightly bedtime routine. She hoped it would be a good night for him.

Sam hated this empty house. The white-grey walls seemed to stretch forever. The only light seemed to come from what he thought was the moon, but looking out the windows there wasn't much to see. He missed the distant light that came with the voice and the word Sammy. He felt warm when he heard the voice. He hated the stretching vastness outside the window. It was almost as if he were dropped in the middle of vast desert and nothing lived outside this house. He would stare at a dead tree not far away and there was something disconcerting about the knobby barren appearance of it and he felt fear when he looked at it too long. But there was something familiar about it, too. But, in his head he always saw it with leaves and was full and green. He could visualize a brief mental picture of a snapshot a little boy, a blonde haired woman, a man with a gentle smile and baby, but the mental picture always dissolved away like sand through fingers before he could fully grasp it or what it meant.

You know what? I'm going to be the one to bury you … you're a selfish bastard…

He covered his ears trying to block the words. He hated the voices and their words that came when the light was gone. Some nights were worse than others. He huddled in a corner trying and failing to block the disjointed voices as they echoed in the emptiness of the house.

…That's right Sam … you left … your brother and I we needed you … and you left…

…You're the one that told me if I left…not to come back… you closed that door, not me… you were just pissed off because you couldn't control me anymore…

…As long as I'm around nothing bad is gonna happen to you…

…Dean, we are a family…I'd do anything for you, but it's never going to be like it was…

…could be…

…I don't want it to be…

…That demon killed your mother, killed your girlfriend…

…Your son is dying and you're worried about the Colt…

… Can we not fight …most of the time I don't even know what we're fighting about … just butting heads…

…Dad are you okay?...

… Shoot me in the heart son … Do this Sammy…

…Sam, no…

… Time of death 10:41 Am…

Sam covered his ears tightly, but he did what he always had to do when the voices were too loud, too many, and the chaos threatened to crush him … he screamed.

Kendra and a resident unlocked the door as two orderlies filed into Sam's room. He was screaming and thrashing in his bed. A single hand gripped the metal bed side rail and yanked on it violently. Dr. Levin, the night shift resident looked through Sam's chart while the orderlies began to put restraints on Sam. "Okay, keep his arm still," he instructed.

"You want the Haldol, right?" Kendra asked. "He's allergic to the Thorazine."

"Yeah, 5 cc injection ought to do it." Dr. Levin answered briskly. "Damn this kid is strong," he muttered as the orderlies pinned Sam's arm so the doctor could inject the syringes contents into his shoulder. Kendra and the doctor both watched as Sam began to calm down and the ear piercing screaming stopped. "Put him on some telemetry over night," the doctor began. "You know … the standard … heart rate and oxygen monitors until the Haldol wears off and he wakes up."

"No problem." Kendra made sure Sam's four point restraints weren't too tight and covered him back up. "Oh Sam," she whispered to a now empty room except for her and her young charge. She hated his screams. They were primal and fear filled and there was nothing that would soothe him except drugs that lull him into a mindless, dreamless, stupor. "Rest well," she whispered and left the room.

The voices were quiet now, and Sam felt the warm void consuming him and in that void was a blissful peace … peace from this empty house, his confusion, and the voices that seemed familiar, yet remained lost in meaning … and he welcomed the complete oblivion that swallowed him into a nothingness, and he slept.

To Be Continued

This chapter was a little bit shorter, but I hope you liked it. Thanks in advance for comments and reviews. I appreciate hearing from you, but if you don't review that's okay too. I just hope you're enjoying the story!