AN: Hi everyone! Sorry this took so long. I just got a job and I'm just getting over the flu so bear with me. Here's the second chapter; I hope you all enjoy it! Reviews tend to expedite the writing process so keep 'em coming ;)
" 'What's a soulmate?' Well, it's like a best friend but more. It's the one person in the world that knows you better than anyone else. It's someone who makes you a better person. A soulmate is someone who you carry with you forever. It's the one person who knew you, and accepted you; believed in you before anyone else did, or when no one else would. And no matter what happens, they'll always love you. Nothing can ever change that."
The tires of the impala squealed as she made her way back onto the highway.
Dean's gaze flitted over to Sam anxiously, watching as Sam's grimace deepened.
Sam clutched his head between both hands, half curling over himself on the seat.
Water dripped off of Sam's face, running down both cheeks and onto his lap.
Shit. Shit. Shit.
Dean knew everything there was to know about Sam.
Enough to know when his kid was hurting.
He had to help him. Somehow. Ultimately, Dean didn't want to take Sam to a hospital.
He didn't want to see all the sympathetic looks he'd get from the staff, or be pushed around by the doctors there. The nurses would poke and prod at Dean and try to make him leave saying "they needed to run some tests."
They could fuck off, if they thought that he would ever leave Sam. They didn't know how to take care of his little brother.
Not like Dean could. He would take care of Sam, just like he always did.
Sam's head lulled over the side of the seat, his long legs sprawled out beneath him. His breathing was too harsh, too labored, for Dean's liking.
Sam's hair was plastered to his face, the skin on his cheeks pinched and red.
"Dean" Sam said, sounding suddenly much younger. Sam panted, his eyes retaining a sort of pain that shot straight through Dean.
A twinge of worry curled through Dean.
It didn't matter if Sam was three or thirty, he was still Dean's little brother. The brother that had Dean raised from a baby.
And Dean would still take care of the kid, his kid, no matter what.
"Hey, Hey." Dean said, trying to hold Sam's gaze.
Sam's green eyes fluttered weakly trying to find his brother as he battled with his mind.
"What's Wrong? You hurt?" Dean urged, placing a hand on Sam's chest.
Sam blinked at Dean, his eyes too wide and too glassy. He gasped, sucking in a ragged breath through his teeth.
Sam's virescent green eyes unfocused as if he was seeing something beneath his open eyes.
"Fuck." Dean muttered under his breath, as Sam's eyes fluttered open once more.
Meanwhile, Sam's head warred with the fragments of thoughts, memories, and pieces of conversation that had belonged to Gadreel.
Each piece of Gadreel colliding with his own mind.
Countless murders at the hand of Gadreel, plagued him, torturing his every waking thought.
Sam had thought they would go away, even disappear altogether. But they hadn't.
Murders that Gadreel had committed, with Sam's hands. Words spoken by the angel, but with Sam's voice.
The vivid images had attacked his every waking moment, as they were now.
He hadn't told Dean because they had been on the outs, and he thought it wasn't anything he couldn't handle.
Dean noticed Sam's rigid posture, his emotions raging within him. Sam's eyes were far away, as if remembering another lifetime.
Sam grimaced, pain flitting over his hollow features.
"Sam? Sam. Stay with me, now." Dean said, trying to get through to his little brother.
"Sammy." Dean said sharply, vying for Sam's attention.
He had to snap out of it, whatever the hell it was.
"You look like your going to pass out." Dean said, shaking Sam slightly by the collar of his jacket.
Sam blinked blearily, his eyes focusing on Dean.
Dean exhaled, letting out a breath he hadn't know he'd been holding.
Anxiety mixed with a fresh wave of guilt came over Dean at the sight of Sam.
All of this was his fault. All the shit that Sam had to go through because Dean wouldn't let Sam die.
But it wasn't in Dean to give up on Sam. To let him die.
No, never Sam.
There ain't no me if there ain't no you.
The words rang through Dean's head, clear as a bell.
But no truer words had ever been spoken by the eldest Winchester.
Because a world without Sam wasn't one worth living. At least not for Dean.
Dean jammed his foot on the pedal at the thought, urging the car to hurdle forward.
The Impala jolted forward in response, the engine roaring in Dean's ears. The windshield wipers swept against the windows as the rain pelted the car.
The Impala's familiar roar rumbled beneath the brothers, but for once did not comfort Dean as it usually did.
"I can fix this Sammy. Don't worry, we'll get you fixed up." Dean murmured, knowing he could keep his promise.
He would keep him promise. Especially to Sam.
An obnoxiously lit motel sign flickered in the distance reading,"Fletcher Motel".
The VACANCY light was half broken, the "CY" falling at a slant.
Dean had never been so fucking happy to see a motel.
Dean was sick of the crappy motels, and sure as hell missed the bunker.
But Sam needed a place to rest up for the night, until he was back on his feet. And this would have to do.
The impala's engine came to a stuttering halt, as Dean pulled her up front.
Dean glanced down at Sam, his forehead creasing with worry.
"Sit tight, alright? And stay awake you hear me?" Dean said sharply, trying to get Sam to focus. He tapped Sam's chest, shaking him slightly once more.
He would be damned if he let Sam pass out in the car. He didn't know what was happening to Sam, but didn't want to take any chances.
Sam hummed in response, as if answering was too strenuous.
Dean practically flew out the impala, slamming the door shut behind him.
Dean's mind raced as he got the room key from the clerk, his legs throwing him forward.
"You have a good night, Mr. Young" The paunch bald man had grunted from behind the counter.
Under any other circumstances Dean would have smirked at the ACDC inspired alias on the card, but he couldn't think straight.
Not while Sam was in pain and hurting in the car.
This was all so fucked up, this whole situation.
But Dean would fix it, just like he always did.
Dean would take care of Sam. He knew now that he couldn't protect Sam from everything; they had both learned that long ago.
But Dean would be damned if he didn't try.
Dean climbed into the Impala, pulling her around to their room.
He turned the keys, the engine coming to a stuttering halt.
Dean glanced down anxiously at his kid, worry threatening to choke him. No, he couldn't lose it now. Focus, Dean thought tersely.
Dean reached over the back seat, slinging his duffel bag over one shoulder.
He went over to the other side of the car, his heart thundering in his chest. Terrible possibilities flashed through Dean's mind. He had watched Sam die too many times; he wouldn't survive it if he had to witness it again.
There was no light at the end of the tunnel, unless Sam was somehow apart of it.
Sam was Dean's happy ending. Not that he would ever admit it to anyone else; including Sam.
Dean reached down, practically ripping car door off of the Impala.
Sam's face was set in a heavy grimace, pain flitting across his features. Worry fluttered in Dean's chest once more.
"C'mon buddy, let's get you inside." Dean muttered, pulling Sam from the car and slinging Sam's arm over his shoulder.
Sam's hollow frame sagged against Dean, his bones jabbing into his side. The kid had lost too much weight for Dean's liking since the trials.
Dean wrenched the door open to the room, flipping on the lights as he went. The bright light saturated the room, filling it with a deep yellow color.
Sam winced at the immediate brightness, his bright green eyes rimmed with red.
Dean leaned over, setting Sam down on one of the beds.
Sam let go of Dean's grasp, and stumbled, his world tipping sideways.
"Woah! Sam. Easy, I got you buddy. You're going to be just fine." Dean said softly, steadying the younger Winchester before his head could collide with the side table. Sam sagged against Dean, his head resting in the crook of Dean's shoulder.
"Up you go, Sammy." Dean said with concern, gritting his teeth as he hoisted Sam up on to the bed and drew back the covers. He leaned down taking off Sam's rain soaked boots and jacket.
Sam didn't protest as he normally would've, his face furrowed in pain as his eyes flickered weakly.
Dean threw his duffel bag onto the bed, dumping out its contents quickly. The first aide kit, sat at the bottom, the clear plastic shining subtly in the lamp light.
Dean had picked this up on a supply run, figuring that they ought to have something just in case a hunt went wrong. He silently thanked whatever had possessed him to get it.
Dean yanked the box open, ripping apart the outer layer of plastic with his teeth. He tossed the box aside reaching for the pain meds down at the bottom.
Dean went over to the sink, filling a glass with water.
He went over to Sam, placing the cup in his hands.
"Here, take these." Dean said, his forehead wrinkled in concentration.
"What are they?" Sam asked, looking down at the two blue pills in his hands.
"Effective" Dean said with a slight grin. "They'll help, trust me."
Sam shook his head but tossed them into his mouth, washing them down with the water.
Sam frowned as he swallowed, his head sinking back against the pillow.
"Shit, Sam. What the hell was that?" Dean said, sitting on the edge of Sam's bed.
"S'hard to explain." Sam murmured, his tired green eyes on Dean.
"Try me." Dean said, his vocie coming out sharper than he'd intended.
Sam sighed, avoiding Dean's pressing gaze.
"Ever since Gadreel...I've been having these...visions." Sam said spitting the word out between gritted teeth. "Like I have a link to him or something. Past, present, all those memories; tucked away up here." Sam said, tapping the side of his head weakly.
Sam frowned, his entire body sagging against the bed.
"All of the terrible things he's done, and is still doing..." Sam said trailing off, piching the bridge of his nose between his fingers. "And they're getting worse, more intense. And I can't stop it. Any of it." Sam said hollowly, his voice vacant of emotion.
Was it even possible? For Sam to be left with the horrifying visions of what Gadreel had done and was still doing.
To torture Sam further, even after Gadreel had been expelled; with the hopes of finishing him off.
In some sort of fucked up way it was possible.
Dean closed his eyes, choking back the fury that threatened to sear through him.
Flashbacks of post-hell Sam flickered beneath Dean's eyelids.
No, Dean thought furiously.
Sammy wouldn't be tortured with visions, not any more. Not as long as there was a way to fix all this.
There had to be.
Anger swam through Dean at the thought of Sam being hurt by Gadreel. Dean would kill the son of a bitch first chance he got. He would kill anyone who tried to hurt Sam. Past or present, didn't matter they were all the same. For once Dean wished the brothers could catch a break. Hadn't they done enough? Hadn't they given enough?
"Why didn't you tell me?" Dean said, half exasperated.
"Because I was pissed at you." Sam said his words slurring together. The meds were finally kicking in as Sam spoke. "Still am." Sam said, his green eyes half closed. "But I got your back Dean..no matter what happens. I'll watch out for you." Sam said, suddenly sounding much younger.
Dean snorted at the thought of Sam trying to protect him. The kid always got emotional after taking pain meds.
"Don't worry, about me Sam. I'll be fine." Dean said, glancing down at the Mark of Cain absently. He tugged his shirt down, rolling the cuffs over the mark.
"No, but I m'n it D'n" Sam said, his voice full of conviction.
"I know you do Sammy...Get some shut eye." Dean said, meeting Sam's gaze. He patted Sam's shoulder standing up.
Sam nodded, pulling the covers over his head.
Dean half smiled, wondering why it took a crisis for either brother to talk about their feelings. Dean stood up reaching over for the first aide kit he had tossed onto the bed, and tucked it into his duffel bag. He washed a hand down his face, and glanced over at his baby brother.
The clock read 4:13 A.M. by the nightstand. Dean couldn't sleep, as he glanced out the window.
The rain had stopped, leaving outside covered in a layer of water. The wind howled beating against the motel door.
Sam's tense posture had relaxed as he slept, the meds finally kicking in. The grimace had finally slipped from Sam's face making him look years younger.
Dean timed his breaths with the rhythmic rise and fall of Sam's chest.
It was almost a force of habit as Dean sat by the motel door. Dean had done it since they were kids. Just in case anything had tried to come for Sam in the night; it would have to go through Dean first.
Dean tipped the whisky bottle back, glancing down absently at the Mark of Cain; it's rough edges glinting in the subdued light of the room. He tossed the cap onto the table, hoping to finish the bottle by morning.
The hollow after burn of the whisky was nothing compared to the emptiness the Mark of Cain left behind. All Dean craved was the sheer raw power that he felt when he held the blade.
What was worse was the feeling that came along with it; the terrifying exhilaration that came with holding it.
It had made him feel so fucking powerful. Like he could do anything, tear down anything or anyone that stood in his way.
Alcohol was the only thing keeping him sane now that Crowley was in the wind with the First Blade.
Dean couldn't think about that right now. As soon as Sam was better they would head out to Albany, and try to figure out was going on with all the disappearances. Nothing about the case sat right with Dean, but they had to save as many people as they could.
Even now. After all this time.
TBC...:)
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