Chapter 2

A/N: So this is Dean's point of view in this chapter. Sorry if it all seems a bit cheesy or contrived but I really had no idea what to write for Sam's message but I hope this seems okay. There is one line slightly inspired by Sherlock since I was watching Reichenbach Fall this morning and it just sort of seemed to fit. Anyway, enjoy! :D

SPNSPNSPNSPNSPNSPN

"I really hate you ugly sons of bitches, you know?" Dean informed the corpse – which was still smoking slightly after being hit with an emergency flare. He'd taken on an apparently easy wendigo hunt as a break from the whole 'apocalypse' thing. God, he thought after a moment; when hunting a wendigo becomes a recreational activity just to blow off some steam you know it's bad.

He sighed, packed his weapons back into his duffel bag and set about trying to find his way out of the (now dead) monster's lair. Trying not to inhale too deeply since the air was still heavy with the scent of crispy-fried wendigo and whatever, or whoever, its last meal had been, Dean headed towards the mouth of the cave.

In a way it had been nice to take a nice simple case like this, one where he could just torch the bastard and be done with it. To get back to how things used to be when they were just ordinary hunters – Saving people, hunting things, the family business. Except, Dean mentally corrected himself, it wasn't so much of a 'family business' with just him here on his lonesome. Remembering the things he'd said to Sam last time they'd talked he couldn't help feeling a twinge of guilt. Logically, he knew he'd been right – it was safer, smarter for the brothers to stay the hell away from each other. But that didn't mean it was easy. He kept waiting for Sammy to whine at him to turn his music down or to pop up and say, "So get this…" but he didn't. And he wouldn't. Dean had been pretty damn clear about the whole 'stronger apart' thing. Not that he regretted what he said. Not much at least.

Making his way out of the miserably gloomy woods, the hunter couldn't help grinning at the sight of his car. His baby was by far the most reliable thing in his life so he felt entitled to spending perhaps-unreasonable amounts of time admiring her. And why not? She was a thing of beauty.

He climbed into the driver seat before realising he covered in mud and god-knows-what from the hunt. He sighed. That was just fantastic – now he would have to check into a motel looking like a dirty tramp. Turning the key, he let the low rumble of the engine and the comforting familiarity of led zeppelin wash away his irritation.

Just before he drove off into the night he noticed his phone had lit up. Normally he would ignore it but on impulse he turned the car off and leaned across to check his cell. "2 Missed Calls" it read. Checking, he found that both were from his little brother. What trouble had Sam got himself into this time? He pressed play on the voicemail he had left and Sam's voice filled the car and it was only then that it occurred to Dean how much he had hated the silence of hunting without him.

"Um, so hey Dean you're not picking up your phone right now but I really need to talk to you and it can't wait so I guess I'll just explain things like this. It's probably better, since this way you can't interrupt me or argue or anything. So basically: I've fucked everything up.

I killed Lilith, broke the final seal and released Lucifer. I caused the frickin' apocalypse, dude, not to mention all the demon blood and Ruby and all that shit. Man, I've really done a thorough job of ruining things, haven't I?"

Oh god, Dean thought, it was just like Sammy to do this – obsess over every little (and not so little) mistake he'd ever made. Didn't the kid understand that there was nothing he could do to change what he had done? Of course not, and that's why he was now bothering Dean about it! Honestly, he had given him some pretty damn clear advice on contacting him again, don't. And yet, here he was, bitching and moaning to his big brother about it all.

As he continued listening to Sam's words his anger soon changed to worry before shifting into full on panic. What the hell was his little brother thinking?

"I'm so sorry about all that. I wish I could just go back and change things. But I can't. And now things are worse than ever. The apocalypse is about to start going to full swing and I'm meant to be Satan's 'one true vessel' or something and it's just too much. It's all too much. If Lucifer gets my permission he'll become pretty close to invincible and Dean, I just can't let it come to that. After all the stuff I've done, I just don't trust myself not to give in. I can't let the whole world go to hell just because I'm too weak to do anything about it. This time I won't be weak. I've found a way out and…it's not ideal but, well, anything beats the apocalypse, right?"

Dean paused the recording for a moment. He was now in full-on 'big brother mode'. Something was seriously wrong. Despite how hard he was obviously trying to hide it, he could hear the sobs threatening to break through Sam's calm façade.

The elder Winchester stared accusingly at his phone. He was fighting the urge to smash it because he just couldn't bear to listen as his brother tore himself apart. He knew Sammy wasn't weak, hell, he was one of the strongest people he knew! Why couldn't he see that for himself? He felt torn, since a part of him just wanted to toss away the phone – and maybe drive over it a couple of times for good measure – so he could stop listening to the hateful words Sam was saying about himself but in the end reason won out.

He had to listen to the end, find out what the hell he was thinking before he could go find his little brother. He had to know what his idiot of a sibling was planning. With great trepidation, Dean pressed play.

He could hear Sam take a deep, shuddering breath in the message, like he was trying to prepare himself to do something impossibly difficult. If it was possible, Dean felt even more anxious than before. "I've been thinking," Sam began, "Lucifer wants to possess me and apparently I'm the only one who can be his vessel so, if he can't have me he can't do anything much, right? So as long as I'm gone, so is he." It sounded like he was trying to convince himself more than anyone else.

"I know this seems a bit dramatic but this is the only way I can see out.

This message, it's like my note, Dean. That's what people do, don't they? Leave a note?

Although, god, I never expected it to come to this: suicide in a grubby motel bathroom."

Dean choked for a second as the air inside the impala suddenly seemed to be made of treacle. He couldn't breathe. Had Sammy just said…? He tried to convince himself that he'd misheard but he knew in his heart that wasn't true. Sam had stuttered over the words a little and he sounded like he was barely holding it together but he had been clear. His little brother, the boy he'd sworn to protect, was really thinking about suicide. How was it that his nerdy Sasquatch of a brother had come to this?

He knew exactly how actually, he had abandoned the kid, made him feel like shit and then made him deal with all this apocalypse crap alone. Dean swore under his breath. He should have stayed with Sammy, then none of this would be happening. It was all his fault.

"I wanted to say sorry, for everything, all the stuff I've done. But more than that, what I really wanted to say was thank you. You've taken care of me for as long as I can remember and I couldn't've wished for a better brother. When I'm gone you've gotta keep going, Dean; no giving up. None of this was ever your fault, okay? No beating yourself up over this. Just keep fighting, keep living and know that I love you. I'm sorry."

Dean could feel the backs of his eyes prickling with unshed tears. It astonished him that, even now, his brother could always predict exactly what he was thinking and before he himself had even thought of it. How had it come to this?

"Goodbye, jerk."

And with that the recording ended and he was left alone in the oppressive silence with nothing but an electronic message asking if he wanted to play the message again. Numbly, he flipped the phone shut and let his head fall into his hands.

It was that last word, Sam's last goodbye that really broke Dean. The strong, unconquerable hunter sat hunched over and allowed the tears he would always restrain to fall. What was the point in pretending anymore? His little brother, his priority number 1, his reason to be had gone and killed himself someplace; thinking he was unwanted, unloved and alone and there was nothing he could do about it. This thought did nothing to stop the flow of his tears falling steadily from his desperate green eyes.

He had been too late. Too late to save Sammy.

He allowed himself a few minutes to wallow in utter despair before he suddenly had a thought and futile hope flared through him. He hurriedly checked the time the call had been made. 2 hours ago. Dean knew that the chances of Sam still being alive were slim to none but, hell, that was pretty much the same odds they usually worked with.

If there was any chance at all he could stop this, he would take it. Carelessly brushing the tears from his eyes, he found the GPS tracker on his phone. Sam – or his phone at least – was in Illinois, a seven hour drive away at least. Tossing the phone onto the seat beside him and taking a great, shaky gulp of air the hunter put is car in drive and prepared to speed all the way to his brother, hoping against hope that he wasn't going to be led straight to the county morgue.

SPNSPNSPNSPNSPNSPN

It was, without a doubt, the worst drive of his life. He couldn't bear to have music on – it seemed altogether too cheerful when he knew he was most likely driving to his brother's funeral. That left him to drive in complete silence, with only his dark thoughts and horrible possibilities to keep him company.

After nearly six hours of panic and despair he was almost surprised to reach his destination. He pulled up in the parking lot of the grubby motel where his brother apparently was, with immense trepidation. It was in the early hours of the morning, around four or five and the place was utterly still. The sun was just on the cusp of rising, and his bleak surroundings were illuminated by wan yellow light.

Dean climbed out of the impala with legs stiff from the long drive headed immediately for the motel reception. The boy behind the desk gave a double take when he saw the hunter approach him. Frankly, he couldn't blame him. Dean was still liberally covered with god-knows-what from the hunt and with his haggard expression and desperate eyes he must have cut a strange figure in the sleepy little town. After trying a variety of surnames – and receiving some odd looks for his effort – he finally found out there was a 'Sam Wesson' booked in room 106. The moment he found out what he wanted, he ran from the office, completely ignoring the tired and perplexed teenager manning the desk.

Once he found the correct door he wasted no time. Dean doubted Sam would be in any state to answer the door – if he was still alive that is, so he didn't bother knocking. Instead, one heavy-booted foot and kicked the door down. The rickety old wood gave immediately, splintering beneath his touch. This final barrier from his brother removed, Dean dashed into the room.

It was a mess. The lights were out, but in the dim light that streamed through the cobwebbed curtains the assortment of weapons stained rust red with blood laid out on the bed could still be seen, along with the unspeakably awful watercolour which the manager had painted himself. The fact it was now splattered with blood did nothing to improve its appeal. Behind the bed there was a large, dark red stain oozily spreading out across the hideous carpet.

But Dean did not notice any of this. No, his attention was singularly focused on the obscenely tall, shaggy haired man standing in the centre of the room. He could barely breathe for relief. He was alright. Sammy was alive. He wasn't too late.

In a single stride he crossed the distance between them and enveloped the younger man in a bone-crushing embrace. "Don't you ever scare me like that again, Sammy," he managed to say. His little brother stayed rigid in his arms, apparently shocked by his appearance.

"Dean?" Same finally asked in a tone of complete surprise and disbelief. "You came."

The wonder in Sam's exhausted face made Dean feel guilty beyond belief. How could he seriously doubt that he would show up after hearing that message? He must be the world's worst big brother. "It's okay, I'm here. I'm so sorry." He hugged the younger man tighter and continued to whisper a host of meaningless reassurances, the same way he always used to after Sam had a nightmare. He held him like this for a while, before Sam appeared to come to his senses and suddenly pulled away from Dean.

Dean took this opportunity to get a good look at his brother. He wasn't pleased by what he saw. His eyes were full of pain and, below the sleeves of his flannel shirt, he could see faint streak of blood on his wrist. Also, for some reason, he was soaking wet. Dean was about to start interrogating him about whatever the hell was going on but before he got the chance, Sam announced, "You need to leave, Dean. Now."

His eyes were full of panic and the older hunter knew there was no way in hell he was leaving any time soon. He was about to start asking Sam what happened, when he finally got a good look at the room. In truth, what with all the bloodstains, the place looked like an abattoir. So this was what Sam hadn't wanted him to see. Too late.

"What the hell happened, Sammy?"

Dean was shocked beyond belief at the scene of devastation before him.

But in a way, it didn't matter.

Because Sam was safe. He was alive. Dean figured he could cope with pretty much anything else, just so long as he had his little brother. Clearly, he wasn't alright but, for now, he would settle for alive.

Between them, he reckoned they would be able to fix whatever the hell it was that was going on.

Because they were the Winchesters. And that's what they did.

tbc

A/N: I apologise for the hideously cheesy ending to this chapter but I couldn't think of how else to stop.

Any reviews – seriously, I don't mind if they're only a word long or if you just tell me you hate it – would be awesome!

Until the next time… -Rona