Chapter 2

Sam slid Dean's jacket off his chilled body with ease and tossed it onto the nearest bed before resting his hands on his brother's firmly each one of his shoulders as they made their way into the bathroom, Sam walking with a meaningful purpose and Dean just shuffling along like a mindless zombie with no real destination in sight. If Sam hadn't stopped his brother's aimless gait, Dean would have walked directly into the toilet and probably fallen over it and through the wall behind it. Sam turned him around and was shocked to see nothing but a blank stare coming back at him, but not really at him. It was more like it went straight through him and was focused on nothing, and Sam found it a little unsettling. Without saying a word, he forced Dean to sit down on the closed toilet seat before squatting down directly in front of him as he grabbed him by the chin and forced his face up to his own, trying to look him directly in the eye as he spoke to him in as firm a voice as he could muster.

"Dean, are you in there?" He tentatively asked, desperately trying to figure out what the hell had happened in the last few minutes that had turned his brother into what appeared to be a walking vegetable. His stare was blank and unfocused, making Sam doubt it was just a mild concussion. "Dean, will you talk to me please…you're really starting to scare me."

Sam's words hit him like an open-handed slap in the face, snapping Dean back into some semblance of reality as his eyes finally found some focus when they met his brother's concerned stare. He was fully aware of what was going on around him, but he just couldn't seem to find the strength inside him to really care at the moment. He'd been letting things go in one ear and out the other since Sam had shoved that key at him and pushed him towards the door, and if he really thought about it, he could still feel the stinging burn in his palm from its initial contact. He turned his hand over to examine it, fully expecting to see an imprint of the fob attached to the key ring seared into the skin, but he found nothing. Even the blood that had been partially dried on his hand was gone where it had made contact, leaving a small spot of clean, dry flesh behind. As odd as Dean found that, he really had no interest in mentioning it.

"Sam…" he started, then paused for an excruciatingly long moment to gather some kind of coherent thought, the pause being far too long for Sam's liking to wait any longer.

"Dean, are you alright? Do I need to take you to an emergency room to have your head examined? You are really starting to freak me out," Sam's voice had gone for partially reserved to slightly panicked, to damn near scared in the few minutes they'd been in the bathroom, and Dean knew if he didn't get his shit together, Sam would do just that. He'd pile him in the car and drive him to the nearest hospital through what looked like more then a foot of fresh snow on the ground, and Dean would probably just let him, having no energy to protest.

"My feet are cold…I can't feel my toes…my head hurts. I just wanna go to back to sleep Sammy, please…" he'd finally spit out, and Sam let out the breath he'd been holding since he'd asked Dean the question, thankful his brother had actually been listening and was still there with him, for the most part.

Sam had been so concerned about the free-flowing, bloody gash in his brother's head he hadn't thought twice about the fact that Dean had run from the room in anger without anything covering his feet, and he was pretty sure the temperature outside had dropped to well below zero now that the snow had finally started letting up. The short trek through the icy, snow covered parking lot had merely gotten his feet wet, but standing in the howling winds just outside the motel room door the entire time Sam had been gathering their stuff was another, and when he actually took a good look down, he was not really surprised to see that Dean's feet were an unhealthy shade of white, but it upset him anyway, and he couldn't help but let his brother know it.

"Damn it Dean, why didn't you put your shoes on before you went hauling ass out of the room like someone was making off with the damn Impala or something," Sam angrily scolded him like he was some kind of disobedient child, knowing he'd be spending the next couple hours trying to ward off a full blown case of frostbite after sewing his brother's head closed. 'Ok, the head thing wasn't his fault.' He'd thought to himself after he'd said it when the tone of the comment left him with a tinge of guilt. It had been his shoes Dean had tripped over in the dark, hadn't it?

"I'm sorry Sam, I didn't think," he'd meekly tossed his apology, almost as if he could sense what his little brother was thinking and needing to take all of the blame on himself.

"Forget it, let's just get your feet warmed up, then work on that head so you can get back to sleep," Sam tried to not sound as irritated as he turned from his brother and started running the water in the bathtub, carefully adjusting the temperature to what he thought would be hot but tolerable.

He didn't bother removing Dean's pants, he just picked up his legs, turned him to face the steaming bath, and quickly dropped his feet in, fully expecting some kind of pained outpouring of curse words at the sudden, extreme change of temperature but getting nothing in return other than that blank stare again before he just decided keeping his eyes open wasn't worth the trouble anymore. 'Probably a good sign, it must not have hurt' he thought, praying for just frost nip instead of the whole damn bite. With his feet now fully submerged in the hot water and the warming process started, Sam attempted to deal with the damage at his brother's opposite end.

Saying the bathroom was tiny would have been an extreme understatement, the small space between the tub on the left, the toilet in the middle, and the small sink on the right barely a foot apart each, but making it much easier for Sam to do what he needed to do quickly and cleanly, With Dean's body facing the bath, Sam grabbed one of the rolled up towels from the rack above the toilet and leaned him back, resting his shoulder blades against the sink with the towel as a pillow so that his head lolled back into the bowl. He turned on the water and waited for it to warm before starting the daunting task of cleaning the laceration out, the instant he'd brushed the wet washcloth against it causing another cascade of blood to pour, marring the white porcelain down the side of the sink. Sam stitched quickly but carefully, not very concerned with leaving a scar since it would be far enough behind his brother's hair line to go unseen anyway. Dean had remained silent through the entire ordeal, not once cringing or grimacing in any pain, his breathing the only indication he was still in the land of the living.

"Dean, help me out a little here, would ya?" Sam asked his brother but doubting he was listening. To his surprise, he had been.

"You done? Can I go to bed now?" He mumbled, desperate to be in a bed at the moment.

"Not yet, I need to get your feet out of the tub and make sure they're not frostbit. You gotta take your jeans off man, the pant legs are soaked."

"What, no dinner first? I'm not that kind of guy, you know?" His feeble attempt at a joke was just the thing Sam needed to hear, the tension in his body starting to fade when Dean attempted to return to some sort of normal.

"Yeah, right. What are you, a born again virgin?"

Dean was too tired to respond, so he just pulled his feet from the warm water all on his own and planted them on the battered bath rug gracing the tile floor before he slowly stood and dropped his jeans to his ankles, kicking them to the side as he stepped out of them and into the warmth of the room beyond. The bed directly in front of him was calling his name, and he wasted no time flopping onto it like a dead fish now that his entire body was blessedly warm. Sam followed right behind him, not entirely confident his brother would make it all the way across the room without falling on his face, especially if the last couple hours were any indication of his ability to function normally. The last thing he needed was Dean nose diving into the footboard. One set of stitches in his head was enough for today.

"Well, I don't think you made it all the way to frostbite, thank god," Sam informed his half sleeping brother as he dried his dripping feet off. "Guess you'll get to keep your toes for a little while longer."

"Hell, that's the best news I've heard all day, little brother. You got any Tylenol in that bag of yours over there? I think I'll be good once my head stops throbbing."

"I think I can dig you up a couple, just as soon as you crawl under those blankets."

Dean didn't need to be told twice, and before Sam could even open his bag to look inside, Dean was curled up under the covers, comfortably warm, dry, and ready for sleep again. He fumbled with the pill bottle as he walked back into the bathroom with one of the plastic stock cups all motel rooms seemed to have, his brow furrowing when his eyes fell to the side of the sink. He'd been sure there was blood streaked down it where Dean's head had been bleeding into it when he'd walked out behind his brother, but the sink was now totally clean with no bloody stains in sight. Sam had been pretty sure he hadn't cleaned the basin out yet, but he must have, because Dean sure as hell hadn't done it. He just shook it off, filled the cup with cold water, flipped off the light and returned to his brother's side.

By the time Sam finally had the pills in his hand and water to down them with in a glass, Dean was already deep into his sleep and snoring lightly. He just dropped the loose pills back into the bottle, left the water on the nightstand between the two beds, and prepared himself for sleep now that he was just exhausted as Dean apparently was. At nearly five a.m., he finally crawled into his own bed, turned off the light and curled himself up in his own blanket, sleep coming over him by time his head hit the pillow.

XxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxX

The clock next to his bed flashed 12:00 in bold, red numbers, leaving Dean with absolutely no idea what time it was when he'd finally dragged himself up and out of bed, the only indication it was daytime coming from the dim light filtering in through the tiny bathroom window. His head was no longer pulsing with the beat of his own heart and all his fingers and toes were still attached to their respective appendages. All in all so far, it was shaping up to be a good day. He shuffled into the bathroom with only one eye half open and kicked the toilet seat up to take care if his usual morning business, fully intending on going right back to bed when he was done. Whether it be morning or afternoon he really didn't care, if Sam wasn't up, he wasn't staying up either. He dropped the seat and the lid back down, turned the few inches to the sink and turned on the water to wash his hand.

The water was icy cold as it flowed from the tap, but he didn't really care. The water may be cold, but his bed was nice and warm, and he was anxious to get back under his blankets. He stuck his hands underneath the faucet and finally opened his eyes in search of the soap, the reddish tinge to the water swirling down the drain catching his eye before anything else. He glanced down at his hands first and stared at them in stunned horror when he saw that not only were they covered in blood, but so were his forearms. It was still somewhat sticky, indicating to Dean that it was rather fresh, and he couldn't help but search his own body for the source.

The logical first place to check had been his head, but when he touched the row of stitches Sam had put into it the night before, he knew they were all still intact when his fingers came away clean. Looking in the mirror, he was even more surprised to see blood splattered across is face and down his chest, the stickiness when he felt it starting to make his stomach churn. He searched everywhere, but could find no open, bleeding wounds on himself, and as much as he didn't want to, he knew he'd have to wake Sam.

Dean walked slow, but in the confined space of the room he was at Sam's side in a matter of seconds, and even without looking under the covers, he suddenly knew where the blood bath had come from. His hands were shaking as he reached for the blanket and he jerked it back hard and fast, the initial shock not setting in immediately, but taking a few moments for his brain to process what he was seeing.

Sam lay there flat on his back with his eyes wide open and fixed on the ceiling, their dead stare not coming from the usual soft bluish-green Dean would recognize anywhere, but a harsh, evil yellow-red that was all too familiar to him. He'd seen that gaze before, when his own father had stared him down through it, and those were definitely eyes he would never forget as long as he lived. His brother's body was covered in blood from his neck to his waist, the crimson flow obviously coming from the numerous gaping holes that had been cut into his upper body by a very large knife, the knife that belonged to Dean himself and was still buried in Sam's chest where it had delivered the killing blow directly to his still beating heart.

The longer Dean stood there speechless, the harder it became to look away, not at the carnage that it appeared he himself had caused, but at the eyes, the eyes that had been dead seconds before but were now somehow filled with evil life. Sam's body jerked upright faster then Dean could process what he was seeing, and when Sam's bloody hand locked itself around Dean's throat and started choking him, he'd pretty much decided to just let Sam kill him. He made no effort to struggle or fight, he just let his brother choke the life out of him, knowing he'd failed in his efforts to protect Sam from himself, like he'd promised their father he would.

"Dean…DEan…DEAn,,,DEAN!" Each time the name had been said, it was said with more and more urgency, the final scream accompanied by a very hard crack across his cheek and a violent shake.

Dean's eyes jerked open hard and he sucked in a deep breath, totally unaware that he hadn't been breathing the entire time Sam had been screaming at him, trying to wake him from whatever was going on inside his head. He stared hard at the panicked eyes of his little brother boring into him, their familiar hue fully returned to what he'd expected them to be. The memories of what Dean had just seen suddenly flooded back into his head when he stared back at Sam, their images so vivid they made stench of blood fill his nostrils, which immediately made his stomach start churning. He pushed Sam out of the way, nearly knocking him hard onto the floor as he made a mad dash for the bathroom, firmly slamming the door and locking it behind him. He barely had time to force the lid up before his stomach emptied what little contents it had, the sight of the toilet itself bringing the recollections to the forefront of his mind one more time, making his stomach contract even more. He could hear the constant pounding on the door and the yelling of his name from the other side and knew Sam was desperate to get in, but he just didn't think he could face his brother yet, not until he could calm himself down and push the nightmare out of his head. When he was sure his stomach had nothing left to give, he leaned forward and unlocked the door, then slumped back against the tub and waited for Sam to barge in and start his inquisition.

Dean had barely had time to rest his head against the wall before the door slowly drifted open and Sam had peeked his head inside, the simple act of unlocking it a clear invitation to Sam that it was alright for him to enter now. As much as he wanted to kick the door open and burst inside, he opted for the calmer approach now that he was finally back in control of himself. Dean was obviously distressed enough without Sam making it worse, so calm it would have to be.

"Dean…" Sam started to say, and Dean knew it was the question he always asked first, like the damn broken record he was.

"Yeah Sam… I'm ok." He said it, but in Sam's opinion, he looked far from ok. He was deathly pale and covered in sweat, and even in the warm air of the room, Sam could see he was starting to shiver a little. 'Thank god we're not in that other room, at least this one is hotter then…'

"Is it your head? Is that what made you sick? Damn it, I knew you had to have a concussion," Sam's questions broke Dean's thought process the second he'd asked them, the comment in his head that never made it from his lips already forgotten.

"Must be," he answered, thanking god again that he had something else to blame the whole episode on other than what it had actually been. No way was he sharing that little tidbit of information with Sam right now, or ever for that matter.

"Dude, you weren't breathing, maybe you should see…"

"No. I said I'm ok," he cut Sam off, knowing where his train of thought was going yet again. "I must have been choking on my own…never mind, just help me up man."

Sam extended a hand to Dean, who grabbed it in his own clammy one and dragged himself up off the floor while Sam guided him back to his bed. He stole a glance at the nightstand directly in front of him, the shock of what he saw making his knees started to buckle underneath him, and it took all the strength Sam had to keep him from crashing to the floor. He felt the bile burning in his throat as the standard issue motel alarm clock on the nightstand prominently flash 12:00 mockingly in his face.

"Shit…" Sam cried out, almost dropping his brother who had somehow harmlessly fallen onto his bed.

"Sam, what time is it?" He really didn't care, but he asked the question anyway as he threw an arm over his face, wanting to know how long they'd been in the room and wondering if he'd ever get any rest before dawn broke.

"It's only six. I'll fix the clock, just try and get some sleep, and lay on your stomach this time so you don't start choking again. That scared the shit out of me."

"Yeah, how the hell do you think I felt?"

Dean rolled onto his side, turning his back to his brother as he just closed his eyes, aware for the first time that the throbbing of his brain had started to return, and once again, it didn't take long for him to start drifting off to sleep in spite of it. He wasn't sure where it was coming from, or if it was actually real, but he'd say he'd heard it plain as day before finally drifting off into the dark and he heard nothing else.

"Welcome home …stay with me..." a soft woman's voice whispered in his hear, then he heard a baby crying.