A/N: Thank you so much for the reviews, follows and favorites for this story. I'm completely humbled by the response. I'm in the process of replying personally to reviews but didn't want to leave you waiting for the next chapter. I hope you like this one as much as the first.

Chapter 2: Pray Tell

Do you light the shadows in there?
Keep me in the dark, now are you scared?
Will the truth ever set you free
Tell me will you buckle at your knees?-Anberlin

ooooo

"Yes, Sam. The darkness did do this," Dean answered automatically. He didn't know why he was so quick to lie to Sam, but he just couldn't bring himself to tell him. He knew Sam's head injury was serious, so much so that Sam couldn't see. However, it was possible it wasn't permanent and he didn't need to scare Sam further.

"I can't see you Dean. Only hear you. How are you even able to see me?" Sam asked.

"Big brother radar," Dean responded, feeling silly. "I can just see enough Sam. My eyes have adjusted a bit. You just woke up so you need to give it time."

"What is it like, Dean? Is there any light at all? How bad is it?" Sam asked.

"It's dark Sam, just dark."

"Like night? Or worse?" He asked, tremulously.

Dean was lost for words. He didn't really know how to wax poetic about the situation or how to channel his inner author to form a fake description for what this alleged darkness looked like. He imagined for Sam that it was just pitch black with nothing.

He waved a hand in front of Sam's face and noted that he didn't even react so chances were he couldn't even see shadows.

"It is like night time Sam but there are no stars, just..just the dark," Dean finished, not knowing what else to say. As far as he was concerned, there would never be stars again, not anything to wish upon, not any beacon of light, no hope, not anything to clear up the blue-black blackness if Sam was stuck in this permanent state.

Sam sighed heavily.

"I hope it's not like this forever," Sam said, a childlike wistfulness to his voice. "I always liked when we looked at the stars."

"Just admit it Sam, you're scared of the dark. What did you have a nightlight until you were 14?" Dean joked, but then winced. He had no idea why he was making stupid jokes right now but he expected it was some kind of coping mechanism.

"Haha, not funny," Sam replied. "It'd just be nice to have some light. I can't see a thing."

"Well, we'll take care of this darkness business and then things will go back to normal, you'll see." He winced again, even before he was finished talking because now he was making false declarations. Yet another coping mechanism. He didn't even believe it. Their whole lives were darkness and he didn't expect that to change any time soon.

He looked down to see Sam had drifted off again. He nervously checked his pulse and it was steady, if a bit fast. He inspected the wounds he was still applying pressure to and saw that the one on Sam's temple was bleeding but not quite so much as before. However, the one to the back of Sam's head was still flowing freely. He knew how head wounds bled a lot, but again it was what was lying under the surface that scared him. Sam couldn't see so it was obvious that there was some kind of swelling or pressure in his brain, preventing it. He didn't think Sam had any glass in his eyes, as he hadn't seen any jutting out so it wasn't likely to be an external injury. He'd give anything to be anywhere but here, stargazing right now, with Sam giving a running commentary.

"Hey Sam is that the Milky Way?" He'd ask.

Sam would huff in his usual way.

"You wouldn't know the Milky Way unless it was the candy bar," Sam would scoff.

It was their usual routine.

"Do you think the moon has had enough to eat?" Dean would ask.

Sam wouldn't respond, just waiting for the punchline.

"I don't know but it looks pretty full to me," Dean would answer, jabbing him in the shoulder.

Sam would stare daggers at him.

After some good natured ribbing, Sam would point out all the constellations. They didn't have many constants in life but stargazing was at least one.

ooooo

Time passed slowly as Dean sat stranded with his wounded brother. He had no idea what the darkness had wrought, what civilization even looked like out there. He knew Sam needed help but he had no clue how to go about it. He was practically holding his brother's head together at the moment and he couldn't fathom leaving him there.

The sun beat down on him relentlessly as he broke out in a sweat. His arms cramped from holding Sam's head but he kept constant pressure on Sam's wound. The irony wasn't lost on him on how he was being consumed by the light of the sun, while Sam was being consumed by the darkness due to his vision loss.

Sam yelped in his slumber and Dean looked down at Sam to see him stirring once again.

"Hurts, Dean," Sam managed, grabbing his midsection, attempting to roll on to his side. Dean stopped him.

"I know, Sam. I'm sorry," he replied, not sure what else to say.

"I think…I'm going-," Sam barely squeaked out, not even finishing his sentence, before beginning to retch.

Dean continued to cradle Sam's head as he brought up what little was left in his stomach. Sam had curled himself up into a tight ball at this point, his face milky white and waxen in color.

"The pain is…bad," Sam gasped out as he finally stopped gagging. "Is there any light out there at all? Did you see if you could find the f…f… flashlights?" Sam stuttered.

Dean knew this was Sam's way of asking for help, telling him he needed help, because he was in pain due to his insides probably being torn to shreds.

"I…I…I couldn't find them," Dean stuttered. "The car is pretty mangled."

"Oh," Sam said, glumly and defeated. "I still can't see anything. Maybe if someone is out there and saw the light, they'd find us. If I had a flashlight, I could probably see you."

"Yeah," Dean said, half heartedly, a deep ache settling in his chest. He didn't even know if there was anyone out there left.

"S'hot," Sam slurred. Dean removed his jacket that was covering Sam.

"Is that better?" He asked.

"A little. I guess," Sam said. "I know it sounds weird, but it's almost as if I can feel the sun on my face. My face is burning."

Dean noticed the sun was taking a toll on Sam's face. Despite the blood and cuts, he could see that Sam's nose looked red. He didn't think it was fair that Sam was being hurt by something he couldn't even see, but then again that type of thing happened a lot. People ended up hurt by the things they never saw coming.

"You just think that Sam because maybe the sun is supposed to be out," Dean said, trying to give an easy explanation.

"Do you even know what time of day it is?" Sam asked. "I think it was day time when we got outside."

"No, it's too dark Sam. You shouldn't talk too much, save your strength." Dean knew in a roundabout way he was telling Sam to "shut up" but he didn't think he could come up with any more creative answers.

He could guess what time it was based on the sun's position in the sky. He would infer afternoon, which meant that night would eventually be upon them. He wasn't so sure Sam would make it through that night. He didn't even know how long they'd been outside either. It could be the same day or perhaps they had been out for hours, unconscious.

Dean wasn't sure how much time passed but he watched the sun moving across the sky. It wasn't directly overhead anymore so Dean guessed they were getting closer to losing daylight all together. Sam drifted in and out of consciousness and Dean could see that he was only getting worse. His condition was deteriorating rapidly and he hardly seemed lucid.

"Dean!" Sam jerked awake suddenly. He seemed to be having a nightmare, yet he was awake so it was more like a hallucination. "Please don't! You aren't evil. My fault, not yours."

"I'm here, Sam," Dean soothed, but it didn't do any good.

"Remember!" Sam cried.

Dean watched in torment as Sam's face took on the same expression in the cantina as a single tear drop fell from his eye.

"No!" Sam shrieked, shielding himself with his hands.

Dean realized in horror that Sam was envisioning what would have happened if he hadn't gotten through to him, if instead he had chosen to kill him.

"Sam, I remember okay?" Dean said, pleading.

Sam reached out his hand forward, blindly, not even close to where Dean was, but he grabbed it. He could hardly show Sam that he was here, that he wasn't wielding Death's scythe if Sam couldn't see him. However, he could let him know that he wasn't a threat.

Sam seemed to calm down, but Dean could see that Sam's nose was bleeding profusely as Sam began to gag on his own blood.

He pulled Sam up, pushing his head slightly forward to try to stop more blood loss. Dean realized then that Sam had gone totally limp but was making gurgling noises as blood bubbled from his lips. He turned Sam on his side so he wouldn't drown in his own blood. Sam began vomiting then violently, a pink frothy liquid which consisted of bile and blood as his stomach was empty.

Dean tried to prevent Sam from jostling his injuries further but Dean knew it was no use that Sam had to be in horrible pain. Sam finally stopped vomiting and the bleeding from his nose slowed to a trickle. Dean cradled Sam against him, still holding the shirt to the back of Sam's head, the frightening realization dawning on him that he was going to have to leave Sam by himself if he was going to have any chance to save his life.

"You feel warm," Dean said, his hand on Sam's forehead. He wasn't sure if it was from the heat or he was running a fever. Dean feared it was the latter.

"I…uh…I'm going to have to go little brother, okay?" Dean said to Sam's still form. "It's just for a little while, but we need to get you fixed up," Dean continued, his eyes welling with tears at the idea of leaving Sam alone, vulnerable, with no vision at all. He wasn't even conscious at the moment.

He looked down at Sam's face and his features were lax, his breathing even. Deep down, he knew that this was probably the right time to go. Maybe Sam would never even know he was gone. Yet, an intense fear filled his heart that Sam might awaken, no longer able to see, nor hear his brother anymore. He'd be stuck in a void. Or maybe Sam might even die there, alone. Dean couldn't decipher what was worse at the moment. However, he did know Sam would die indefinitely if he didn't get him help.

He carefully placed Sam back on the ground, arranging the shirt under Sam's head so it could act as a pillow yet still hopefully add pressure to Sam's head.

He made his way back to the car, hoping he could somehow pop the trunk. He knew they had some first aid supplies in there that he could use for Sam. He also needed a weapon. He was elated to see that the trunk was actually open, apparently had popped open in the accident. However, he was dismayed that he hadn't thought of checking the trunk immediately as a way to help Sam. He could see that some things had possibly been thrown from the vehicle but he luckily located the first aid box and a thick roll of gauze. He also found a tarp, and most importantly his rifle. He had a couple of shells, regular bullets and he had no idea if they'd be affective against what was out there, but it was better than nothing.

He jogged back over to Sam who was still unconscious and began wrapping the gauze around his head. He had no pressure bandage but at least it was something. He gently lifted Sam's head, making sure he had his worst wound entirely covered. He quickly saw the white gauze turn crimson which meant Sam's head was still bleeding. He then located some pieces of wood from the cantina and staked them in the ground. He placed the tarp over the wood forming a tent. It was a crude shelter for Sam but it would protect him from the relentless rays of the sun.

He knew he was ready to go, yet as far from ready as he ever would be. He sent up a quick call to Castiel but as he expected, the angel didn't materialize. He knew he was just stalling for time. He picked up his discarded jacket and decided he had better cover Sam with it, just in case he was cold. As he went to drape it back over Sam, something slipped out of the pocket. It was the photographs. It was him and Mary and then the three of them.

Take these. And one day, when you find your way back...Let these be your guide.

He remembered Sam's last words to him right before he thought he was going to die. He had to let them be his guide now. He finished tucking the jacket around Sam, placed a reassuring hand on Sam's forehead which still felt far too warm, and with a quick glance behind him, he left.

ooooo

As he walked, he couldn't help but steal glances behind him. He could make out the blue tarp and reassure himself that Sam was okay under there. The further he walked, he could see the tarp grow smaller, until it was a mere pinprick in his line of vision until it was completely gone. Without even that small reassurance in sight, walking grew more difficult. What if he and Sam were the last ones left?

He could see more destruction in the darkness' wake as he walked. There were some flat structures and debris on the road. He didn't see one car, at least not one that anyone was driving. He spotted the compact car he'd driven to the cantina himself, when he had left the note for Sam to keep the beloved Impala. It had been thrown several feet and was crushed like a matchbox car. He knew if he and Sam had been in that one, they'd both be dead.

Small favors, Dean thought, ruefully. He was also proud of his baby, his Impala, that she had got them through, at least protected them enough so they were still alive. He'd been ready and willing to leave her to Sam back when he thought he was trading his life but then Death wanted him to trade-

He pushed the thought quickly from his mind, not allowing himself to go there. He wasn't sure how far he had walked, although he was betting at least a couple of miles when he saw him. There was a man coming toward him in the road. Instantly his hand went to his rifle.

"Hey!" The man waved him down. "Hey!"

Dean stopped short, not knowing if this guy was human or what.

As the guy got closer, he saw Dean's rifle.

The man's hands went up in surrender and he looked scared.

Dean noticed he was wearing a uniform of some kind. As he took a closer look, he realized it was a paramedic's uniform.

"Look, don't shoot! I don't have anything okay. My rig flipped and I just need some help."

Dean kept his rifle raised, debating his options. The guy might just be a paramedic, with medical knowledge, who could help Sam.

"Who are you?" Dean asked, gruffly.

"You a cop?" He responded.

"I'm asking the questions," Dean said, tersely.

"I'm Alex," he said at last, still appearing frightened. "I was driving my ambulance with a patient when the twister came out of nowhere. It was like nothing I've ever seen before. It flipped us right over. My partner is hurt pretty bad. I was walking, looking for any sign of life. It's a pretty desolate area."

Twister, Dean thought to himself. Is that what people think it was? He supposed in some way that it made sense. This was Nebraska after all.

"Dean," Dean said, simply stating his name. Necessity won out over caution, and he lowered his gun, letting it hang by his side. "Where's your rig?"

Alex eyed his gun, looking like he wasn't sure if he should answer.

"It's just for protection," Dean shrugged.

"It's down here," Alex said, motioning. "I tried to get someone on the radio but there was nothing but static."

Dean could tell that necessity won out over caution for Alex too as he led him forward.

In the distance, Dean could make out what looked like an ambulance. Now that he looked closer at Alex, he could see that he had blood on his uniform but it didn't appear to be his own.

He and Alex made their way down to the scene of the accident and Dean could see that the ambulance was totaled, the back doors sitting open. There was someone on the ground on a bent and broken stretcher covered with a sheet.

"He was our patient. Probable heart attack," Alex said, noticing Dean looking. "No noticeable signs of trauma so I suspect that the accident didn't kill him anyway."

Yet Dean wondered if this was the first casualty of him and Sam's actions.

"My partner is over here," Alex gestured.

Dean took one look at the guy and knew he was dead.

"I'm pretty sure he has a pulse," Alex declared, leaning over the other paramedic. The ambulance had also been flipped on its side but this guy hadn't gotten as lucky as he did. He didn't have a brother who used himself as a human shield. The guy was pinned inside the ambulance, his head on the ground, skin a light blue color. His neck appeared to be broken. He looked young, no older than Sam. There were medical supplies strewn next to the guy and Dean surmised that Alex had tried to treat him.

Casualty number two, Dean thought to himself.

"You think you could help me get him out?" Alex asked plaintively. "He's been my partner for almost ten years. He thinks he might want to go to medical school. He has a bright future, really smart," Alex rambled on.

Dean turned his face downward.

"He's dead," Dean said, flatly, at last.

"No, no…," Alex said in denial. "The hospital isn't that far. We could take him on foot. I just need help getting him out. We could carry him."

"Nothing that can be done for him," Dean said again. He approached Alex's fallen comrade and felt for a pulse. Nothing. His skin was icy to the touch. He'd probably been dead for awhile.

"I think his neck is broken. That can affect his pulse reading and—"

"I need your help," Dean said, cutting him off. "He's gone but maybe you can help save my brother."

"You won't help me but you want me to help you?" Alex asked, incredulously. "Why should I?" He said, defiantly.

"Because your friend here is dead and my brother is not."

"So you are just giving up here? That's bullshit!" Alex said, angrily, his voice growing louder.

"Listen—"

"No you listen!" Alex said, cutting him off. "I'm going to go find someone else," Alex finished, turning on his heel.

Dean didn't know what came over him, or perhaps he did. It was every fiber of his protective older brother being taking over but he leveled his rifle at Alex.

"On second thought, I'm not asking. I'm telling you."

Alex turned around and looked down at the gun in line with his chest, swallowing, his Adam's apple bobbing in his throat.

"Where is your brother?" Alex asked, licking his lips nervously.

"He's hurt, but unlike your partner over there, he still has a pulse. Maybe not for much longer though if he doesn't get to a hospital."

"What do you want me to do?" Alex asked fearfully.

"Well this rig is useless so we're going to have to bring the supplies to him. Bring everything you think can help someone with massive internal injuries, bandages, fluids, the works. We're going to need that backboard too because we'll have to carry him to that hospital."

Alex got to work gathering the stuff while Dean kept a close eye on him. He made sure that he filled the medical bag with the necessary supplies. He grabbed the orange backboard himself. Alex kept stealing nervous glances at him but he kept the gun trained on him. He wasn't risking Sam's life. He needed the guy to stabilize Sam and help carry him. Then he'd let him go.

They began their trek forward and Dean questioned his decision. He didn't exactly like the idea of having a hostage. It certainly wasn't his plan and he didn't know the kind of care the guy would provide under duress but desperate times definitely called for desperate measures.

Dean was thankful that they just had to walk a straight line to get back to Sam. He was filled with relief when he saw the blue tarp in the distance and a glint off the side of his overturned beloved baby Impala.

"He's just ahead."

"What happened to him?" Alex asked, finally breaking the silence. He'd been silent on their walk over, just putting one foot in front of the other.

"Car accident like you guys. We were pulling out of this restaurant after stopping for a rest and the car flipped."

Alex just nodded.

Dean resisted the urge to jog the rest of the way to Sam because he wasn't sure if Alex might take off on him. At last they made it over to Sam. Dean let his tough guy façade fade as he dropped next to Sam. Sam still appeared to be unconscious and he shakily checked for a pulse. He nearly choked back a sob when he felt one.

Alex eyeballed him nervously and finally he crouched over Sam.

"Any medical history I should know about? Drug allergies?" Alex asked.

Dean shook his head.

He began checking Sam's vitals, listening to his chest with a stethoscope and getting a blood pressure reading. Then he performed a cursory exam.

"He's fading fast," Alex said anxiously. "He's bottoming out."

Dean could tell he was scared that if something happened to Sam he might kill him. Dean was scared that he might be right. He was free of the mark but still possessed an innate rage whenever Sam was in danger.

"I need to start a line on him," Alex said. Dean handed him what he requested as Alex attempted to set up an IV.

Dean watched as the young paramedic's hands trembled as he cut through Sam's sleeve and he tried to get it started.

Dean watched as he fumbled and poked Sam several times.

"Come on!" Dean shouted, as Alex continued to shake like a leaf.

Dean couldn't help his impatience when he saw that Sam wasn't even waking up despite being jabbed repeatedly. It unnerved him and set him on edge.

Despite his difficulty, Alex managed to get the tubing inserted into Sam's arm. Then Alex began checking Sam's other injuries. He lifted Sam's shirt, palpated Sam's abdomen, and grimaced.

"His stomach is distended, not a good sign. Definitely has internal injuries, potentially a broken pelvis, probably unstable. Help me check his head."

Dean lifted Sam's head while Alex undid the bandages.

"I'm not going to lie to you, this is really bad," Alex said, when he saw the condition of Sam's head. "Give me my bag. I have a pressure bandage in there."

Dean complied and Alex dressed Sam's wound.

As he was checking Sam's head, Sam jerked awake.

"D..Dean? Dean? Where are you?" Sam asked, as if he could sense that it wasn't Dean taking care of him this time.

"Right here. Found you some help," Dean said, reassuringly.

"What's his name?" Alex asked.

"It's Sam," Dean said.

"Who is that?" Sam asked, sounding frightened.

"I'm Alex, a paramedic. I'm just checking you out. Can you straighten your legs Sam?"

Sam shook his head 'no' while Dean anxiously bit his lip.

"Can you look at me?" Alex asked.

A puzzled expression crossed Sam's face.

"I can't see you. It's still dark outside. My eyes haven't adjusted at all," Sam said.

"What do you mean?" Alex asked.

Dean glared at him in an attempt to get him to stop but it was too late.

"It's not dark out. The sun is out Sam. Are you telling me you can't see it?" Alex asked.

"I…I can't see anything," Sam said, sounding panicked.

"You didn't tell me he was blind," Alex said to Dean.

"Dean, is it true? I'm blind?"

"It's only temporary okay Sam? You'll be fine."

"Why didn't you tell me?" Sam asked, sounding betrayed.

Alex looked utterly confused over the situation and began to shine a penlight in Sam's eyes.

"Can you see this Sam?" Alex asked, tracking the penlight across Sam's eyes.

"See what?" Sam asked, sounding dangerously close to losing his composure. "What are you doing?" He batted at Alex's hands trying to push him away even though he couldn't see him. "Get away from me!"

"Stop it Sam. He's helping you," Dean chided, in a feeble attempt to get Sam to cooperate.

However, Sam grew increasingly combative, turning his head away.

"It's all black, Dean. Black!" Sam yelled. "There are just veins and darkness and death," Sam finished, grimacing and grabbing his head.

Dean didn't have any idea what Sam was talking about, how despite being blind, he yet again seemed to be seeing something that wasn't there.

Then it was as if time stopped. Sam's body went entirely rigid and then his body arched abnormally.

"He's seizing," Alex said.

"What?" Dean said, then noting that Sam's body was contorting unnaturally. In his race to try to help Sam, he dropped his gun to the ground.

"Sammy? Sammy?" He pleaded, as Sam continued to thrash. "Do something!" Dean yelled at Alex.

Alex looked from Sam to the discarded rifle on the ground, then back again as if battling some internal conflict. Then he did the worst thing Dean could ever have imagined.

He bolted.

Dean watched in horror as their only means of salvation disappeared in front of him, while he clutched his dying brother, helplessly, as he continued to writhe in the throes of his seizure.

TBC