Chapter two – Conclusion

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Dean awoke finding himself slouched behind Baby's wheel, his head pressed against the glass. He must have pulled over and fallen asleep. He felt unnaturally mindless and empty. Scrubbing a hand over his face, he raised his head and leaned forward peering out the front windshield.

The sun was out, though lower in the sky. They were parked in a meadow, a sea of tall grass blowing gently in the hot summer breeze. There came a flash of lightning, but it was far away. Hadn't there just been a storm? Turning and writhing and lashing out at them like a living, impenetrable thing. It had been a doozy, the darkness thick and black, that much he remembered.

Dean frowned. So why wasn't the grass sodden wet? He sat bewildered and tried to focus harder, pinching the bridge of his nose and shaking the cobwebs from his head.

It was hard to think. His body felt beat up, his mind too. It was as if a part of him had been taken away with the storm. A storm they'd been…they'd been chasing. No. No, they weren't chasing a storm…they were riding one.

"Whose screwed up plan was that?" He slurred, lethargically letting his hand fall to his lap.

They?

We?

Us?

He wasn't alone in this.

His memory came back to him in a sluggish, syrupy way. The furious rain, whipping wind, cracks of thunder, descending darkness, and the horrible poisonous smell in the air. This was no ordinary storm. It was coming back now. How the blackness seemed to infiltrate his very soul leaving him cold, crushed, and full of –"

"The Darkness," Dean sat bolt up. "Crap, Sammy," he grimaced, every muscle taut. "We sure pulled that out of our…" Dean stared at the empty shotgun seat, "…Asses," he finished lamely, gaping out the flung open door at his little brother moaning and fumbling to push himself up into a sitting position in the flattened grass a few yards away. "Sam," Dean murmured as he scrambled to untangle himself from the car. "Sammy, I'm coming."

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For a while there was no light, no sound, not even pain. The jet-black held him prisoner inside a black hole in the ground. It was small and cramped and stuffy. How deep that hole went, Sam didn't know.

All he knew was that it was hard to breathe and he was unable to think straight. Everything was blurred and blotted out, the strange space growing darker with each bellowing intake of his breath.

The darkness was an endlessness mammoth-sized universe of absolute solitary nothingness. He was lost. Lost in this strange, subterranean place where hope, and family, and friends and love, and all things human were nowhere to be seen or felt. Even Sam himself seemed to disappear, unable to see his own hand waiving right in front of his face. Maybe he'd been turned into one of those weird cavefish adapting to his environment?

This underworld oubliette was terrifying, its toxic hollowness hitting like a thousand bullets flying through him, tearing apart his heart and shattering his soul. The pieces scattered and missing for all eternity and leaving behind nothing to show that he, or anything else in the world had ever existed.

Suddenly, there came a flash of light. Mellow at first. Like the afterglow of sunset. Sam knew this light, knew every little nuance of it. The light called out to him, quiet and gentle. He tried to plod toward it, but every movement was painful. Then just as suddenly as the light had come, it was gone.

A feeling of distinct loss took over Sam, and he was caught back in the darkness. It was air-tight and he choked, floating in a sea of black, drifting in the eternal abyss.

Out of the darkness the light came again.

"Sam…Sammy…comin'."

Flashes of feelings – good and safe –pulled him out of the hole.

A strong hand to his shoulder and a rough shake brought Sam back to consciousness.

He looked up and blinked several times at Dean crouched in front of him.

"Sammy, you okay?"

"What?" Sam's eyes fluttered back and he tilted sideways, arms flailing in disorientation.

"Easy!" Dean caught an arm, tugging Sam upright. "It's, fine… it's fine," he soothed, ducking his head, peering up into Sam's eyes.

Sam breathed heavily; his eyes dull and skin pale as he stared blankly back at Dean.

You okay?" Dean demanded more strongly, giving Sam's arm a quick squeeze.

"Um…okay," Sam answered in an empty monotone voice, eyes averting to inspect Dean's hand on his arm.

Dean looked around the field nervously and slowly until his gaze met Sam's again. "You see where it went?"

"Where who went?" Sam scowled.

Dean frowned back at his brother. Sam's face was a friggin' mess of bruises, both eyes droopy and puffy around the edges, capillaries broken leaving red spider web- like veins running through the whites. "Let me check you out." Dean gently thumbed Sam's right eyelid open wider.

Sam squirmed under the scrutiny.

"Dude, hold still," Dean ordered, taking Sam by the chin firmly and tilting his head up higher to the sunlight as he did the same to the other eye.

Sam automatically sat still, awkwardly focusing upward at the blue sky to avoid from blinking as Dean held the eye open for several long seconds, inspecting closely.

"Well?" Sam questioned impatiently.

"Well." Dean sat back on his hunches a few seconds later with a worried look on his face. "Your eyes aren't dilated, so I don't think you have a concussion, but man, you look rough."

"I look rough?" Sam raised a hand to the back of his head and winced at the touch.

"C'mere." Dean urgently cupped the back of Sam's neck, manhandling him forward.

"Can you stop pawing at me now, Dean," Sam complained now limply lying in his brother's lap, head tucked close to Dean's side like a football. "Ugh," Sam moaned, "You stink."

"Shut up," Dean scolded, examining him. "You drive Fast and Furious enough to escape a storm with ten times the energy as a World War II atomic bomb and come out smelling like a rose, Toretto." Dean's hands were shaky, but gentle as they swept through Sam's hair. It was dark and wet, quickly dripping fresh blood down the back of his neck and under his shirt collar. "You got a fair-sized gash back here, bro, most likely from all the flying glass."

"We had an accident?" Sam struggled weakly to sit up.

"Stay still, damn it, while I get this bleeding stopped," Dean grouched distractedly, pressing the sleeve of his shirt to the back of Sam's head and hurriedly digging around in his pockets with the other.

"Wha' happened?" Sam asked listlessly.

"Why did Sammy Winchester cross the grassy field?" Dean riddled, finally finding the blue bandanna he was searching for and pressing it to the back of Sam's skull.

"To get to the other side," Sam hissed, responding in traditional form to the lame-ass joke.

"Because the stupid idiot wasn't wearing his seatbelt," Dean quipped, not finding the punch line funny in the least. "Think you can walk back to the car, soup for brains?" he said in a softer tone, easing Sam forward, while still holding pressure on the wound.

Sam's eyes fluttered and fought to stay open and he wrinkled his nose at the lingering stink in the air. "You could at least tell me what that smell is…'cause I don't think even you can smell that bad?" He groggily took over holding the bandana.

"F. A. N.," Dean blurted out, pulling Sam up to stand beside him.

"Wh-what?" Sam tried to keep his feet under him, but he titled sideways with a moan.

"Feet, ass, and nuts," Dean smiled weakly, keeping hold of Sam's forearm, righting him. "Remember now?"

"The Nothing," Sam yelped, eyes going wide and darting.

"Yeah, okay, easy Childlike Princess," Dean snatched a hold of Sam's forearm righting him. "The Darkness," Dean corrected. "It's gone for now."

"Childlike Empress," Sam corrected.

Dean rolled his eyes. "Whatever, never ending geek, it obviously has some sort of mind control power. It knocked us both for a loop." Dean scrubbed a hand over his face.

"Dean." Sam looked in awe at his brother. "You out ran it? How?"

"I'm awesome." Dean pulled Sam up to his feet grinned gamely.

Sam raised a brow, wobbling slightly.

"Don't question it," Dean growled. "Come on." He navigated them both back to where the Impala still sat in a sea of tall grass and dredged in mud, her back window blown out.

Dean lowered Sam into the passenger seat.

Sam groaned. Man, he hurt. His head was pounding and felt like a cement block, his body a human punching bag. "Wh-where to now?" he groaned again, letting his head flop weakly against the leather upholstery.

"Back to the bar," Dean said, shutting the door and making his way unsteadily to the driver side. "Bottomless beer for me…approximately twelve stitches for you." He started the engine, putting the car in gear and rolling them back through the field, the tall grass smacking softly against metal.

Nervously aware of his brother's scrutiny, Sam didn't argue and closed his eyes as they headed back down the road.

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"What the friggin' freak?" Dean bellowed as he carefully pulled onto the gravel driveway, maneuvering around the large mud puddle they'd been stuck in only a short while ago.

Sam sluggishly followed his brother's gaze.

Just ahead was a large open area, the ground flat as slate where the bar should have been. The entire place - and miles ahead – was charred midnight-black, an explosive starburst pattern along the ground, not a single blade of grass or shred of evidence that the bar ever existed.

"That does not look good does it?" Sam inquired.

"No, it does not," Dean gritted out clenched teeth.

Sam shook his head in disbelief. "The perfect storm," he muttered.

Dean turned in his seat coming eye- to- eye with Sam. "The perfect monster," he amended, both men opening their doors and stiffly exiting the car simultaneously.

Though the sun was still out the area seemed dressed in eerie shadows, the air chilly, and only the crunch of gravel beneath their boots could be heard.

As they neared, Sam felt his breathing slow and his muscles begin to tremble. His legs felt like liquid, and his headache flared, an odd dizzy sensation taking over him as he stumbled over his own feet.

"Hey." Dean reached out and snagged him by the shoulder, drawing them both to a standstill just a few feet from the scorched plot of land.

"Think you misdiagnosed. I might have a concussion after all," Sam said, leaning closer to Dean.

"Bad news, buddy, not this time," Dean's voice was barely audible. "Concussions aren't contagious," he gasped.

Sam peered over at his brother. Dean looked as bad as he felt. His brother's face pinched in pain and awash with perspiration.

"What's happening?" Sam questioned as the screech of a hawk circling overhead drew his gaze upward.

"May-maybe has something to do with ground zero?" Dean grimaced, navigating them within inches of the strange spot.

"If that-that's the case shouldn't we –" Sam's throat clenched as he watched the hawk from above swoop down to catch hold of a rabbit that had hopped out of nowhere and land right where the bar once stood.

Immediately, both animals gave an anguished cry, their eyes twisting in their sockets.

"Stop," Sam yelled and grasped Dan's shoulder retreating them several quick paces back before either one could set foot onto the charred ground.

They stood and stared in sick fascination as the two bodies mangled and melded together grotesquely. Convulsing and drooling and bleeding from every opening. It was like watching a scary scene in a movie – ghastly and terrible – then it was over as fast as it had happened.

The coppery scent of blood filled the air as the lifeless heap of deformed and gnarled feathers and fur sunk into the char-blackened earth and disappeared from sight.

They shared a silent, shell-shocked look between them. Everything around them cold and quiet and still.

"That was intense," Dean muttered weakly.

"Cursed land?" Sam surmised, his jaw trembling. "I mean…Death did die here."

Dean gave a somber little laugh, swallowing down the gritty dirt and bile stuck in his throat.

The heavy guttural weight of guilt sent both their hearts thumping in fear, chests rising and falling with ill ease.

"We brought this on," Sam's voice was gentle and soft as it broke the long silence. "Dean. You should have taken the swing."

"Not sorry." Dean raised his chin in defiance, body trembling, his green eyes sparking in protest. "Not going to let my little brother fall dead at my feet. Not by my hand. Not by any hand." Dean slammed his eyes shut, questioning his own sanity.

How many lives where on the line now because he couldn't take just one? Millions of billions. But yet, he couldn't be sorry. He'd never be sorry for saving Sammy.

Sam nodded his head in understanding. "You're not the only one, Dean. I did the same." He brought a tentative hand up to Dean's shoulder, and gave a squeeze.

They would always cover each other's backs. A united front compelled by some unseen force to risk their own mortal souls to protect one another's. Something rooted and engrained deep inside both of them. From the day they were born. Neither brother would or could ever take the other's life or let the other go before him, even if they knew it to be the right thing. They went together, or they didn't go. Call it codependent, call it a condition, call it crazy, and call it a puppeteer's life. Whatever they called it….they simply couldn't do it.

Both brothers refrained from any lectures. There was no need. Their intentions were always good, but in their efforts to make things right…things were once again so very wrong. A carnivorous and voracious evil with a never ending appetite for anything and everything in its path was on the loose.

Sam stood on ungainly legs, round saucer-sized eyes blinking owlishly at Dean. What the hell do we do now?

"What we always do, Sammy," Dean answered his brother's silent question, smiling faintly at his brother. "How we always do it…badass and fighting every step of the way."

Sam took a deep breath and nodded in agreement.

Dean slipped an arm around his brother's waist, and headed them back to the car.

The end