Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural or any of it's wonderful characters.

Special thanks to waitingforAslan for being the first review! This chapter is dedicated to you! Also some language in this chapter.

Chapter 2

Dean really just wanted pie. Was that so much to ask for? Like he just wanted to take a step back from the supernatural, all the psychic vision crap, and eat his feelings in a nice, delicious slice of apple pie. Was that so bad?

Apparently, because he hadn't even made it into the diner before everything went wrong. Sam had been acting strange since the whole thing with Andy, and Dean was worried about him. Well, Dean was always worried about him, but that kind of came with the big brother job description, right?

Dean couldn't help but laugh. If only the big brother job description manual taught him how to deal with little brothers who got freaky death visions. This vision, though, was different than the other ones. Sam normally got a bad headache. Sam normally didn't pass out.

It had happened in an instant. Sam had been looking a little pale in the Impala, but had seemed OK overall and had insisted he was fine. That should have been the first thing that sent warning bells off in Dean's head. The damn kid never let anyone take care of him, and would first run himself into the ground before admitting he was sick or hurt.

Dean had been walking towards the rundown diner, his mind set on a slice of pie to eat his worries about Sammy away. That was until he turned around to crack a joke about the state of the place and realized that Sammy wasn't next to him.

He whirled around, frantic and worried, until he caught sight of Sam still by the Impala. Dean allowed himself to relax for a fraction of a second, before he realized that Sam was in pain. The kid's face was screwed up in pain, he was clutching his head like his friggin' brains were gonna fall out, and he was shaking and shivering uncontrollably. Sam, Dean realized, was in the middle of a vision.

"SAM!" Dean yelled, and broke into a sprint. His feet flew over the broken and uneven pavement, and in instant he was by his little brother's side.

Sam's eyes were closed, and he was leaning against the Impala to support his weight. Like the vision was so painful that he couldn't even hold himself up. Sam was hunched over, his breath coming in ragged, panting gasps.

"Sam," Dean said. He was surprised his voice wasn't shaking, that was how scared he was. "Sam, you OK?"

A soft little moan escaped Sam's lips, and Dean felt his heart break. His baby brother was hurting, and Dean couldn't do a damn thing to stop. Dean was powerless. And Dean hated feeling powerless, especially when it came to Sammy.

He had protected the kid all his life, hell, he had raised him, and now Dean was in danger of losing him to something he knew nothing about. And Dean wouldn't admit it, wouldn't ever have the chick-flick moment, but he would do anything for Sam. Anything.

Dean reached out and hesitantly touched Sam's shoulder. Sam didn't move, didn't say anything. Whatever he was seeing, he was so deep inside his own head that he didn't even know Dean was there.

Dean felt Sam go rigid beneath his hand. And then Sam started screaming. "Dean?" He yelled. "Dean?" His voice was frantic and full of pain. "DEAN!" Sam bellowed. His hazel eyes were open, wide but unseeing, looking for something that wasn't there.

Sam's entire body was shaking under Dean's hand. He gave one last scream, this time not Dean's name but one of pure pain that made Dean want to kill that yellow-eyed bastard a thousand times for doing this to his brother, and then his eyes rolled back in his head and his body went limp.

Dean lunged forward, catching him around the waist before he could crack his head against the pavement. Sam was dead weight in his hands, all 6'4 of him. Dean gently lowered him to the ground and turned him over, making a mental note to himself to ask Sam when the hell he had gotten so tall.

But all that took a seat on the back burner when he saw Sam. The kid was out cold, and was so pale that he looked like a ghost they would hunt, not a living, breathing, person. Sam's breath was uneven, and that worried Dean more than anything else. He had to get Sam to a motel, and fast.

Dean lifted Sam under the armpits and hoisted him up, dragging him next to the car. With one hand he managed to maneuver the backseat door open, and he lifted Sam and laid him across the seats. By the time he had finished getting Sam into a semi-comfortable position, Dean was panting and sweating slightly. The damn kid was heavy.

But not, Dean noticed, as heavy as he should have been for his ginormous height. Dean scowled to himself. He had to get on Sam about his eating habits, or in other words, lack of eating.

"You stupid bitch," Dean muttered to his brother's unconscious form. He held his breath, like Sam might pop-up at the nickname and call him a jerk, just like he always did. Dean wasn't surprised though, when there was no response.

"You just stay here, Sammy," Dean said to Sam's limp form. "Imma be right back, I'm just gonna go find out where the nearest motel is, and then we're gonna go there and figure this whole thing out, OK?"

He stood up and closed the door, then stuffed his hands in his pockets and headed into "Randy's Diner".

One of the waitresses eyed him up skeptically as he came in. She was about 40, with frizzy red hair, a snaggle tooth and wrinkles. Dean winced on the inside, but turned on his famous Winchester Smile. The smile that got him basically anything(including all the chicks).

"Excuse me, ma'am," he said in his most innocent voice. "Could you tell me where the nearest motel is?"

The waitress glared at him. Her name tag read Ursula, and Dean couldn't help but grin to himself. An ugly name for an ugly lady. "You can't come in unless you buy something," she replied in a nasally voice.

"Please," Dean said. "Just tell me where a motel is." His little brother was passed out in the back of his car, and this lady was worried about him buying something? Of all his luck, he ended up talking to her. He glanced around the shabby diner, looking for a different waitress. There wasn't one.

"Buy something," she snapped. "And then I'll tell you. It's house policy."

"Whose house?" Dean retorted, anger rising.

"Mine," she said with a smug smile. "I own the place, so you either buy something or you get the hell out of my diner." She crossed her arms, as if that settled the matter.

It didn't.

"I don't have time for this," Dean muttered, shoving past her. He spied an old man sitting alone at a booth and made a beeline towards him, ignoring the old hag's shrieks of protest behind him.

The old man glanced up at him, and Dean flashed him a charming smile. "Excuse me sir, I'm so sorry to bother you, but would you be able to tell me where the nearest motel is? It's kind of an emergency."

The old man's face softened instantly. "Of course son, just go three miles up the road, ya' can't miss it."

Dean couldn't believe his luck. Only three miles? He could get Sam there in under a minute. "Thank you, sir," he said, a real smile overtaking his face. "You have no idea how much this means to me."

He fished around in his jacket, pulling out a 10 and slapping it down on the table in front of him. The old man began to protest, but the door was already swinging shut as Dean made his escape.

Dean slid into the driver's seat, turning the keys and gunning the engine. The Impala rumbled as Dean maneuvered her out of the parking lot and onto the road. He glanced back quickly, just to make sure Sam hadn't woken up.

He hadn't, but that wasn't what worried Dean. What worried him was the fact that Sam was still pale, still shaking, and when Dean reached a hand back to feel him while still managing to keep one on the wheel, ice cold to the touch.

"Don't you worry Sammy," Dean whispered as he put the petal to the metal and watched the speedometer needle steadily climb. "I've got you."

A groan of pain from the backseat was the only response, and Dean couldn't help but breathe a sigh of relief as the neon sign for "Maple Tree Motel" came into view. He quickly pulled the car around and hopped out, striding purposely towards the front desk like a man on a mission.

Which, he supposed, he was. On a mission to save his brother.

The girl behind the desk looked up as he walked in, her face lighting up into a smile as she looked him up and down. She was blonde and pretty and on any other day Dean would have been totally interested, but today wasn't exactly like any other day.

"What can I help you with?" She asked, her voice lilting and flirty.

"Can I have a room with two queens?" He asked roughly, digging around in his pocket for some money.

The blondes face dropped a little at his brisk tone. It was clear that he was all business. "Sure," She said, scowling. "Room 7 is open." She held out the keys, and Dean all but snatched them from her hand.

Room 7 came into view, and Dean felt his heart speed up. Now all he had to do get Sam out of the backseat and actually into the room. Piece of cake, right?

Wrong. Sam was still dead to the world, and Dean hoisted him out of the car and took Sam's arm over his shoulder. A man who was just leaving Room 8 saw the unconscious form and backed away slowly, looking like he was about to call the cops. And cops were the last thing that they needed.

Dean raised a hand in greeting and pasted a smile on his face. "Just my brother. He's a pass out drunk, and I'm just gonna take him inside to sleep it off." Sam's head lolled against his shoulder.

The man still looked skeptical, but no longer like he was going to call the police on them, so Dean assumed that that was an improvement.

Once Dean had the door open, and Sam inside the room, he quickly laid Sam on the bed closest to the door. After making sure that Sam was settled, Dean locked the door, set the salt lines, and closed the curtains.

The motel was utter crap, Dean thought to himself, but still not as sad as some of the ones he'd been to. The cheap wallpaper was peeling, there was a leak, more than one hole in the walls, and the place stank of tobacco and drink. But it had a bed, and that was all Sam really needed at the moment.

Dean grabbed a chair from the small kitchen space and dragged it over next to Sam's bed. He sat down, and he waited for his little brother to wake up.

000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000

Sam was trapped on an island. It was just big enough for him to stand on, and the sea moaned and crashed around him. The wind whipped through his hair and the salty spray stung his eyes. The sky was a strange color, a mix between gray and purple and red, and lightning crackled through it.

Sam turned around frantically. There was only the sea, for miles, and all he could see were the giant storm waves.

Something bobbed against his tiny little island. It floated, water making it's clothes heavy, and Sam wanted to cry because it was Dean's body, Dean's dead body in Sam's own little ocean from hell.

Sam reached out, but Dean floated just out of his reach. "Dean!" He yelled. "Dean!"

The thunder boomed in time with his headache, and Sam realized that he was, for once in his life, really and truly alone. Because Dean's body had been swallowed by the ocean. The pain in his head doubled, and Sam felt his knees hit the sand as his hands came up to clutch his head.

He screamed and screamed and screamed, for Dean and for Jess and for all who he had lost, for the dead brother who would never again smile at him and say, "Bitch."

Sam Winchester was trapped on an island, and he watched as a great wave rose up out of the ocean. The pain in his head felt like his skull was splitting in half, and then the wave was on top of him, pulling him under.

Sam Winchester screamed, and then the darkness returned to claim him as its own.