Hoi guys!

I've got a science test tomorrow, and have wisely decided that instead of revising I'm going to finish this chapter and post it. Oh well. I'll just copy from the clever guy next to me.

Hope you enjoy this chapter.

DISCLAIMER: the last section is written is Sam's POV, and isn't meant to romanticise mental illness or depression in any shape or form. It is a mental illness, and deserves to be treated that way, but with respect and understanding. Not making it look artsy. I hope you can understand that it is sometimes difficult to write from the POV of a depressed person and not offend anyone, but I did some research and I hope that I treated the subject respectfully.

-Lily

Deans mouth fell wide open.

"What?"

"What," Deans voice felt unfamiliar and far away from himself.

Tears ran furiously from Sam's eyes, biting his bottom lip as he tried not to make any noise.

"I'm sorry Dean, I'm so sorry," Sam's voice shook and broke and he let out a small sob at the end of the litany of apologies that fell on deaf ears.

"No,"

No!" Dean shook his head, unable to accept what had happened.

"No, that's bullshit Sam. Please tell me it's bullshit… Please," Dean had collapsed back into his chair, and his eyes were wide and shining with unshod tears.

"I can't Dean." Sam looked Dean in the eyes. "I'm sorry, but I can't."

Silence.

They were along with Deans heavy breathing and Sam's hitched crying.

And all of a sudden Deans chair hit the wall.

"NOOO!" Dean screamed. He screamed for the lives of the people his brother had taken. He screamed for what was going to happen to Sam. He screamed for his brother, for the fact that Sam would never, willingly hurt a soul.

Sam flinched and swallowed, his eyes locked onto his fingers resting on the bedsheets.

Dean cast a half angry, half distressed glance at his brother before looking away. Sam heard Dean counting to ten under his breath.

Agonising silence filled the atmosphere.

And all of a sudden, his brother was back and Dean turned to face Sam.

"Tell me what happened."

Sam frowned and creased his eyebrows before nodding.

They weren't brothers anymore. Dean was treating this as if it were a case, and Sam was the monster at the end of the episode.

"Um…" Sam sniffed and wiped a hand against the moisture on his cheeks. "I was driving home, and I glanced down at my phone. When I looked back up, me and the," Sam's voice caught in his throat. "The… The other car were on the same lane. And I tried to swerve away but it was too….. Too fucking late."

Dean frowned. Something wasn't right.

"Were you on the wrong lane Sam? Or was it the other car that had swerved?" Deans voice was low and quick and there was a flicker of hope in his eyes.

"I..I…I can't remember…"

"No, this is important Sam. This means that you might not have done it. You have to, or otherwise-" Dean caught himself and stopped as someone knocked quietly on the door.

They both looked up at a young woman as she entered the room and smiled.

"The police will be in soon, ok?" The young woman was pretty, and wore a doctors lab coat.

Sam nodded, and turned away.

The young woman gave Dean a sympathetic look before exiting the room, the door swinging quietly to a close.

Dean spun around and looked Sam in the eyes.

"You have to tell them it wasn't you Sam. You have to." Deans voice was pressed and urgent.

"Dean I can't, I don't even know-"

A policeman in full uniform came through the door. He had a full beard and a scar on his left cheek. He was stocky and short, kind of like a dwarf.

"Sir, I have to ask you to leave the room for the questioning, please."

Dean looked Sam in the eye, giving him one last beg, before nodding and walking slowly out of the hospital room. The door swung shut behind him and he didn't look back.

It had been 30 minutes since Dean had sat down on one of the waiting room benches, and had been waiting in excruciating suspense, when finally, Emily had walked through the swinging glass doors, to give him the news.

She felt for the poor boys. She could see they had some kind of connection she'd never really seen before, and she saw such good intentions in both boys.

Especially in Sam though, and it deeply saddened her that the young boy was caught up in such a terrible situation.

Dean, the eldest brother, had immediately stood when he'd seen her, and a wide eyed with anticipation face greeted her as she approached the eldest.

"So?" The poor brother was so eager to learn his brothers fate.

Emily shook her head.

"Sam said that he couldn't remember what had happened. He's going to court on the fourteenth. I'm sorry."

Dean took a sharp breath and cast his eyes downwards, a tear falling from his eyes and splashing against the cold hospital floor.

"Oh."

He looked up again and nodded a thank you, biting his lip.

Emily stared after the eldest as he strode with slumped shoulders, as if to symbolise his defeat, towards Sam's room.

Dean stared through the small square pane of glass at his brother, who had his shaking back to Dean.

Dean couldn't bare thinking about Sam in court. Sam being told he was guilty. Sam being chucked in prison. What was going to happen to him?

The thought of it scared the living shit out of Dean. How had everything gone so wrong? Sammy was hurt, physically and mentally, and Dean felt so lost to help him.

Dean turned around and slammed his back against the door. He slid slowly to the ground, and came to a halt, head in hands.

The world was flat and broken to Sam. Everything felt surprisingly numb, and there were times where he'd just sit, existing, not thinking for hours.

Each sip of a searing hot drink couldn't do anything to make him feel. Dean would stay with him and they'd chat, but it was all empty. Dean didn't care for him.

After what Sam had done, Dean certainly was entitled to hate Sam. Sam did.

He'd go to physiotherapy every day, and he'd 'try', but it didn't matter.

Not really. The birds that sang overhead, their song one Sam used to have comfort in, now annoyed him immensely as Dean pushed him through the hospital parking lot in his new wheelchair that the condescending nurse had told him how exciting each component of it was.

Yeah. Of course it was.

Sam didn't know why Dean was even pretending to act like he cared for Sam. He still fed Sam, told him about hunts and demon possessions, and discussed the news.

It all seemed so trivial and fake.

And then there was the deepening pit of self hate and guilt that kept burrowing itself deeper and deeper, growing faster and faster, like a tumour because of what he'd done.

He had killed four people.

Four.

Four.

1.

2.

3.

4.

Each with their own brains and thoughts and lives, and he'd taken that away from them.

Dean must be disgusted at the thought of Sam.

Sam certainly was, and it was clear in his mind that everyone who knew what had happened were disgusted too.

Sam couldn't even begin to describe the emotional pain that he went through, 24/7, because of what he'd done.

But it wasn't enough. He deserved more. So much more.

He deserved to be punished.