Disclaimer: I don't own the supernatural characters.
Warnings: Harsh language, violence, some physical violence but nothing too graphic, thoughts of self-incrimination.
Author's Note: Not quite sure where this one came from. Not even sure if I like it or not but … it is set just after The Darkness is released. I have no knowledge of spells or how to perform them, so I have just used my imagination.
Special Note: Thanks to Kas3y and Wayward-or-Awkward for your review and your kind words. Because of you guys I have decided to post the next chapter. Fingers crossed that you guys like this. Thanks to everyone who has taken the time out to read this, your support means a lot, thanks.
UNFORGIVEN REMEDY
CHAPTER TWO
Dean heard a thump a few moments later and could only deduce that his brother had fallen or banged into a wall like Sam was prone and known to do even when he wasn't drunk.
It was the continued silence that started to freak Dean out, making him become a little anxious. As long as he heard noises – smashing, thumping, slurred curses – he knew that his brother was still all right. But the continued silence that rained over the bunker caused Dean's over active imagination to go into over-drive.
And after ten minutes of hearing nothing but silence, Dean decided to go and check on his drunken little brother. Knowing Sammy, he had probably just passed out cold somewhere between here and the kitchen; which would mean that Dean would have to haul his heavy ass back to his room and get him settled for the night. It was an even more difficult task when Sam was completely dead-weight and four inches taller than him.
Dean let out a long, weary sigh as he rounded the corner to the kitchen, not looking forward to the difficult task that lay ahead. An emotional Sammy was bad enough; but a drunken Sam … hell, that could open up a whole can of worms that Dean didn't want to get into right now.
Still, he couldn't leave his kid brother comatose on the kitchen floor, freezing his ass off. What sort of big brother would he be if he allowed that?
But, you tried to kill that kid not more than twenty-four hours ago; Dean's inner voice mocked him. What sort of big brother were you then?
Dean gritted his teeth together, deliberately ignoring that voice as he stepped into the kitchen. What Dean expected to see and what he saw were two completely different things.
He had expected to see Sam comatose at the table or on the floor, but what he saw made Dean's eyes widen in surprise, his heart clench with fear and his stomach twist out from under him in dread.
Glass lay scattered upon the ground – which Dean wasn't too surprised to see since he'd heard the sound of glass breaking while he'd been in his room – but what did surprise him and shock him out of his own self-incriminating thoughts was the blood that he could see amongst the shattered glass.
"Sam!" Dean called out, his heart pounding against his chest in fear at the sight of blood. If there was one thing Dean absolutely hated, it was the knowledge of his little brother hurt … especially if it involved blood. Blood on Sammy was not a good look!
"Sammy!" Dean called out again, louder this time when his first call was met with nothing but silence.
Dean's eyes quickly scanned the kitchen, taking in the scene and looking for things that were out of place or a clue as to where Sam had gone or what had happened to him.
Dean cursed softly under his breath when he noticed a trail of blood exiting the kitchen and going toward the library. Damn fool kid was too drunk to know that he was bleeding!
Dean quickly followed the trail of blood, which did indeed lead him into the library, to find Sam standing at the table, hunched over a book, a look of fierce concentration upon his face, adding things into a bowl, muttering to himself as he swayed on his feet, blood still flowing freely from the young man's arm.
"Sammy," Dean moved forward, relief hitting him at finding his brother relatively safe, but frowned in puzzlement a moment later when he noticed various types of ingredients that his brother had scattered about the table. "What are you doing?"
Sam jumped, shocked at the sound of his brother's voice, so concentrated on the task before him that he had failed to hear Dean's approach. "Dean?" he said in surprise and Dean couldn't help but notice a look of guilt that flashed upon his brother's expression for a second before he tried to school his features into a more casual look.
"What are you … God; I'm sorry if I woke you. I just … I needed to fix something before I went to bed." Sam tried to smile at his brother reassuringly, but Sam had never really mastered the skill of lying, his hazel eyes far too expressive to be able to pull it off … especially when he was drunk. "It's all good Dean; I've got this, okay? You don't need to worry about … this. I was just … researching."
Dean noticed the wide arm gestures Sam made while trying to explain himself, keeping his eyes trained upon his brother's eyes, watching as Sam's eyes darted everywhere except looking straight into Dean's eyes, which was a sure sign that Sam was doing something that Dean wouldn't approve of and with his exaggerated arm gestures, a sense of forbidding began to settle within the pit of Dean's stomach.
"Sam, what are you trying to fix man? If you're trying to do a spell to fix the cut on your arm, you don't have to finish it dude, cause I can fix that for you." Dean kept his tone even and light as he cautiously moved closer to his erratically swaying sibling and Dean wasn't sure if it was from the alcohol or because Sam had lost too much blood.
Sam blinked at Dean stupidly for several seconds before he raised his left arm, blood still dripping from the wound. "Huh. I wondered why my arm was hurting." Sam sounded genuinely surprised by that discovery before he shrugged unconcerned, dismissing his bleeding arm as nothing to worry about as he shook his head. "Not a spell to fix my arm," Sam muttered, eyes scanning the book in front of him, mumbling under his breath, concentration once more upon the book.
"What's it a spell for then Sammy?" Dean asked softly, inching closer toward his sibling, the apprehensive feeling within the pit of his stomach increasing when Sam turned to look at him, a sad smile upon his face, longing, and a wistfulness within Sam's hazel eyes that Dean had never seen before.
"I'm gonna fix it Dean. Everything. I'm gonna make you … you'll be proud of me this time around, I promise."
"What are you talking about? What exactly are you trying to fix?"
Sam frowned, shooting Dean a slight bitch face, gesturing wildly between the two of them. "Us Dean. I'm gonna fix this. 'M gonna make it so I don't walk down the path that led to this.
All I have to do is change one thing Dean, just one … and all of this … the Darkness, another evil that I set free upon the Earth … again … will be gone." Sam clicked his fingers, a shaky smile surfacing upon his lips. "I promise Dean, I'll make it so you will be proud of me, so that you never went to Hell because of me, and I didn't get addicted to Demon Blood or choose a demon over you; where you wouldn't have to choose an angel, a demon or a vampire over me because you don't trust me no more or you're ashamed of me."
Dean frowned, not liking where his brother's head was at, at the moment. "Sammy, we talked about all of that man. I'm not ashamed of you. Nor have you disappointed me. The Darkness … we can beat her together man, you're not the only one to blame here."
Sam shook his head violently from side to side, tears starting to gather within large sad, puppy eyes. "No, Dean! 'S my fa'lt. And I'm gonna fix it bro. Make you proud … you'll see …"
Dean forgo caution in favour of speed, taking four quick steps which would bring him to within arm's length of his brother. "Sammy," Dean began, holding his hands out in front of him placating when Sam shot him a suspicious, wary look. "Why don't you tell me exactly what the spell does little bro?" He was close enough to restrain Sam now if he had to.
"It's a 'pell where I get to go 'ack and ch-change o-one thin' in my life so I don't walk the same path as this one."
"What exactly does that mean Sam? What do you mean go back?" Dean tried to remain as nonchalant as possible, but his heart thudded loudly in his ears, becoming more scared the more his brother tried to explain.
"One thing Dean," Sam sighed loudly, sounding as if he had the weight of the world upon his shoulders. "At first, I thought I would change it so that I was never born. Mum wouldn't die. Dad wouldn't spend his life hunting down Azazel. You wouldn't be forced growing up having to worry about me and I wouldn't be forced on the path to evil that night because Azazel wouldn't have bled in my mouth and I wouldn't have Demon Blood in me. E'veryone be happy."
Sam grinned, missing the dark scowl that crossed over his older brother's features. "But b'cause of deal Mum made … Yellow-eyes would still have come … cycle be re-repeated whether I was dead or not. Would have just been someone 'lse." Sam shrugged. "So, I can't change that or how we grew up in the life or Dad's obsession to find the demon.
But maybe … maybe it's not somethin' I did; maybe I can change somethin' bout me. Like …" Sam pursed his lips, tapping his fingers upon his chin thoughtfully. "Maybe I would like hunting instead of craving normal. Be like you De'n. Embrace hunting, embrace the life. No fight with Dad, no leave for Stanford; stay with you Dee … make you proud … "
"Okay, that's enough," Dean stepped forward, grabbing his brother by the arm and not so gently started to drag Sam away from the book and the spell he was about to perform. "I've heard enough of this nonsense Sam. You can't use a spell to erase everything just because you feel bad. That's not how the Winchesters do things. We admit to our mistakes; we face up to it; and then we kick it in the ass like we always do.
What you're trying to do right now … it won't change anything Sam. If you believe everything that the angels said … our paths were already written a long time ago. You were always supposed to go dark side, because you're Lucifer's vessel. And I was always supposed to lose trust and faith in you because I'm Michael's vessel. That's not something you can run and hide from Sam. That's not something you can change or meddle with. What if you make it worse instead of better?
If you liked hunting and the lifestyle … I honestly think you'd be one scary son of a bitch Sam. You'd become cold and callous well before your time. Not going to Stanford … that would kill you Sammy. You were always going to Stanford dude, no matter what."
"No!" Sam yelled, violently yanking himself free from Dean's grip, almost falling upon his butt, but was able to quickly position his feet before he fell ungracefully back to the ground once more. "I hav'ta do this De'n. I hav'ta try."
Dean blinked, shocked by the amount of determination he could see upon his little brother's pouting expression.
"Please Dee …" Sam pulled out the one weapon in his arsenal that he knew Dean couldn't resist; the big soulful puppy-eyed look, the tears not needing to be forced or faked, easily springing into his eyes.
"You don' … you don't unde'stand. All my life you've looked afta me, protected me, raised me, given up things so that I could 'ave a betta childhood than you. And what the hell did I do in return for all of that? I bitched, I moaned I ran … I was never satisfied, never 'appy or … I didn' appreciate what you did for me De'n."
Sam's eyes grew wider with hurt and pain. "I followed Ruby, followed Azazel's plans for me to go … dark side, rationalizing my actions away as I was doing it for the "greater good", I was doing it for you … but it was all lies Dean!"
Tears began to spill from Sam's eyes as he desperately tried to explain why this was so important to him. "I was always supposed to go down that path, I know that. But the one thing I regret – apart from setting Lucifer free – was that I b'trayed you.
Afta you went to Hell for me … I returned the favour by gettin' involved with Ruby, gettin' addicted to Demon Blood, not listen to you when you begged me to stop … Dee, please, I need to change that. I need to see if I can change that. I need to fix it man. Please Dee, let me fix this!"
"Okay Sammy, I'm hearing you," Dean stated, surprised when his voice remained relatively steady. "But you aren't the only one who's screwed up man. I did my fair share of screw-ups too.
Listen Sammy, you're drunk, not thinking very clearly … let me help you to bed and if you still feel this way in the morning then … I'll let you do the spell, okay?" Dean offered Sam a forced, fake smile, lying through his teeth because there was no way he would ever allow Sam to complete this spell.
Sure, there were things in the past that Dean wished he had handled differently, been more understanding and open, but Dean would never want his little brother to change who he was … even if all of this was somehow erased.
It had been bad enough when Sam had returned from Hell soulless, and Dean knew that if Sam changed anything about himself; if he didn't go to Stanford, then Sam would return to a version of his soulless self, not caring who he hurt or the short-cuts he would take to complete the hunt, his heart having been ripped apart, withered and dried up long ago; because if Sam lost his dreams, Dean instinctively knew that Sam would lose himself; the special quality that made Sam, Sammy, having died the moment he had given up his own dreams and desires for a life outside of hunting, for a shot at normal.
"Come on Sammy, please. Just one night to think things over, that's all I'm asking for bro."
People thought that Sam Winchester could pull off the wounded, pleaded puppy-eyed expression, but few people knew that Dean Winchester could also pull off this look, especially when he was desperate.
And Sam knew, with that one look from his older brother, he could feel his determination wavering. His big brother was pleading, begging, him not to do this, to give it the night. Was he really going to repeat the mistakes he had made by not listening to his brother again?
Sam closed his eyes, reopening them a few seconds later as he reluctantly nodded his consent. "Okay Dean, I'll give you the night," he relented.
Dean let out a sigh of relief, quickly reaching for his wildly swaying sibling. "Come on little bro, let's you get you to bed, okay?"
Sam reached out to grab hold of Dean's out stretched hand, swaying wilding, his vision starting to blur, leaning his bleeding arm against the bowl of ingredients he had been mixing in order to complete the spell, trying to regain his balance before he tried reaching for Dean again, when the next thing Sam knew, the ingredients bowl was flying; Sam was falling; a white powdery essence falling over him; his older brother's look of panicked alarm as he screamed out Sam's name; an explosion of pain to the back of his head, before he was completely overwhelmed by the darkness that descended over him.
DW SW DW SW DW SW DW SW DW SW DW SW DW
Dean's heart clenched in his throat when he saw his brother begin his almost slow motion descent to the ground. Dean tried to grab one of Sam's flailing arms, but his hand clamped around nothing but air.
"Sam!" Dean cried out in panic and could do nothing but watch in horror as his younger brother hit the ground hard; the back of Sam's head landing against the floor with a deafening crack that had Dean wincing in pain.
Dean stood there for several long heart beats, unable to move as he looked upon Sam's deadly still unconscious form, the ingredients from the spell Sam had been about to attempt, scattered about his brother's upper chest.
At any moment Dean expected his brother to get up, telling Dean to stop laughing as Sam shot Dean his infamous bitch face; but Sam didn't get up. He didn't move, groan or twitch. He just lay there, unmoving, completely still and if Dean didn't know any better he'd think that Sam was …
Dean swallowed hard, pushing that thought to the back of his mind, a calm determination coming over him as he ran a critical eye over his brother's unconscious (not dead, damn it!) form, his eyes coming to rest upon the small patch of blood that was building at the base of Sam's head.
Fuck, head wound!
It was as if the sight of Sam's freshly pooling blood snapped him back into reality and before Dean was even consciously aware of moving, he found himself kneeling at Sam's side, gently gathering his brother's head in between his hands.
"Sam … Sammy, can you hear me?" Dean's heart pounded frantically against his chest, his fingers automatically probing at the back of Sam's skull, searching for the wound at the back of Sam's head, trying to determine how bad it was and if he needed to get Sam to a hospital ASAP.
"Oh God Sammy," Dean groaned helplessly, the building panic within him making it almost impossible for Dean to think straight. "Come on buddy, talk to me. Give me a sign that you're still with me."
Dean's fingers located the wound and he inspected the damage with gentle fingers, trying not to move Sam's head too much in case he caused more damage to his brother … like accidently paralysing him …
Dean's panic began to subside when he realized that the wound wasn't too deep – more than a graze actually – but head wounds tended to bleed a lot more than other wounds; and with the blood Sam had already lost, Dean feared that his brother may soon be suffering from blood loss if he didn't get the bleeding under control.
"It's okay Sammy," Dean murmured softly, more reassured when he saw his brother's chest rising and falling as Dean's shaky fingers registered a pulse, knowing for sure now that his little brother was definitely alive; just unconscious and not dead like he had feared earlier.
"I'll just get this bleeding under control and then you'll be right as rain, won't ya Sammy? You'll wake up and then the two of us will laugh our asses off because of how drunk you were and … God Sammy, I'm so sorry."
Dean's voice broke off on a sob, even as he moved to stop the flow of blood from his brother's wounds, his body on autopilot, having preformed these tasks hundreds of times over the years when he'd had to patch up his younger brother.
"You … why the hell do you have go and blame yourself for shit that you had no control over? You should be angry with me Sam. You should be furious with me, not feeling bad because you think you've somehow failed me."
Dean rested his head against his brother's forehead. "You've never failed me Sammy, not once," Dean whispered, hoping that would be all Sam would need to hear before he woke up, hung-over and embarrassed, but otherwise fine.
"I'm the one who failed you Sammy," Dean admitted. "I'm the one who lost faith in you time and again, while you … you never lost faith in me. And I … I'm sorry I couldn't be the big brother that you deserve. I'm the one who's sorry Sammy; I'm the one who's tried to kill you over and over, even when I vowed to protect you, always.
You have done nothing wrong little brother. You hear me? C'mon Sammy, come back to me … please," Dean pleaded, becoming a tad desperate now when there was still no sign of movement from his little brother.
God … now what did he do?
Dean closed his eyes, hand resting upon his brother's upper chest, the steady rising and falling of Sam's chest helping Dean to calm down enough where he could begin to think rationally and logically again.
After a couple of deep breaths, Dean opened his eyes, his panic quelled for the time being as he took in his brother's appearance. The bleeding to both his arm and head was now under control, Sam's complexion was not overly pale, his skin didn't feel clammy to the touch and from what Dean could see Sam didn't appear to be shaking, so that indicated that Sam wasn't suffering from shock or blood loss; although Dean had wrapped his brother up in a couple of blankets to prevent at least shock from kicking in.
Sam looked fine. And if Dean didn't know any better, he would think that Sam was just sleeping off the alcohol, but … his little brother was never this still. Even in sleep, Sam would always be moving, twitching or groaning. Now, he was still and silent and Dean couldn't help but frown with worry and concern over that.
The head wound was what Dean was most worried about; concussion being one of the bigger worries, not to mention brain haemorrhage …
Dean tried to control his rising agitation and fear, knowing that he wouldn't be able to gauge his brother's condition until Sam regained consciousness. Until then, all Dean could do was to make his brother as comfortable as possible and patiently wait for Sam to open his eyes.
But Dean wasn't known for his patience – especially when Sammy was concerned – and not long after making sure Sam was comfortable, Dean was on his feet and looking at the book that Sam had been intently focused upon, trying to determine which spell his brother had been so desperate on performing.
As Dean's eyes skimmed over the page, taking in the list of ingredients Sam would need to complete the spell, a sudden realization began to dawn on him that the one ingredient Sam had been missing in order to complete the spell had been his blood.
When Sam had staggered, before trying to regain his balance, Dean had noticed that Sam's bleeding arm had brushed over the bowl of ingredients before Sam had crashed onto the floor, unconscious.
Wait a minute, did this mean that Sam had completed the spell? Was he unconscious because he had bashed his head onto the ground or was it because of the spell? Dean's eyes grew wide with fear as he spun around and glanced at his unmoving sibling once more.
Oh no. No, no, no, no.
Sam couldn't have completed the spell. He would have needed to utter an incantation for it to have worked, right? There was no way that …
"Cas!" Dean called out loudly, quickly rushing back to his room in order to grab his phone. If Sam's unconsciousness was due to a spell, then Dean needed to know about it, now! And the only person that Dean knew who could tell it Sam was trapped in a spell or just suffering from concussion was the angel – former angel of the Lord – Castiel.
Dean hadn't seen the angel since … he'd almost beaten him to death, the Mark on Dean's arm blazing with vengeance and blood, wanting to find retribution for Charlie's death by storming the Styne's family residence and blasting each and every one of them out of existence.
Cas had tried to stop Dean from leaving the Men of Letters bunker after the massacre and Dean's response to that was to beat the angel, his friend, his family into a bloody pulp, leaving him shattered and broken as Dean walked away, not even caring if the angel lived or died.
Dean swallowed back the intense feeling of guilt and remorse for the actions he had committed while under the Mark's influence, as he found Castiel's number in his phone and dialled him. He had no time to worry about his pride, guilt or anxiousness that Castiel wouldn't want to talk to him again after Dean had almost killed him, because his little brother was in trouble and needed help.
If Dean had to beg the angel to help, then that's exactly what Dean would do. He was not going to fail Sam again. And Dean would use whatever means necessary to bring his brother back to him.
DW SW DW SW DW SW DW SW DW SW DW SW DW
Castiel hadn't returned any of the messages Dean had left for the angel over the past hour; even when Dean's voice had cracked with emotion as he begged for the angel's help, explaining that Sam was in trouble and needed help, it was to help Sam, not Dean, but Castiel still hadn't responded.
Even when Dean's voice had become so hoarse and ragged from calling and praying to the angel; Castiel still didn't respond; not one peep, not even a 'fuck you, Dean!', nothing, nada, zilch.
So, that either meant that Castiel was holding one hell of a grudge and was through with helping the Winchester siblings or, he was in trouble.
Dean really hoped it was because Castiel was pissed at him and not because he was in trouble. Dean didn't even know where to start looking for his friend – not that he would go and leave Sam vulnerable, unprotected and alone like this – so all Dean could do was to keep calling Cas and hope by some miracle that the angel would answer.
"Fuck Sammy, what do I do?" Dean whispered, desperation clearly evident within his voice as he carded restless fingers through his brother's dark hair, willing Sam to wake up.
But Sam remained unnaturally still and silent as Dean checked Sam's vitals for what seemed like the millionth time tonight. Pulse was strong, if a bit erratic; breathing was well within the normal range; but Sam's basic reflexes … they elicited no response from the younger hunter what so ever.
Dean had considered duplicating the spell, but without knowing exactly which spell Sam had been doing and not knowing if the spell would take him to where Sam was or maybe would grant him a wish of his own, Dean was reluctant to try it.
What if he performed the spell and Sam woke up, his unconsciousness due to his head wound and not the spell? Without knowing exactly what was causing his brother's unconsciousness – spell or head wound – Dean couldn't take that risk. He had to be here for Sam when – not if – his brother woke up.
Having exhausted nearly all of his options; Castiel wasn't returning either his phone messages or his prayers and not willing to do the spell, Dean could see only one viable option left. If Sam didn't regain consciousness soon, Dean would have no choice but to load his brother into the Impala and drive to the nearest hospital, where they hopefully would be able to hell him if this was caused through natural causes – concussion, head wound – or they had absolutely no idea of why his brother was in this form of what Dean considered was some kind of coma.
But Dean hesitated to take Sam to the hospital for the simple fact that Dean knew how much Sam hated hospitals. For all Dean knew, Sam could just be sleeping off the alcohol; no head wound; no spell and he could be panicking for absolutely no reason at all.
God, Dean hoped that was the case.
"Come on little brother, just wake up," Dean pleaded, grabbing one of Sam's limp hands in his own, squeezing gently, hoping to get some sort of response from his brother. "Come on dude, enough with the girlie dramatics. Open your eyes and let me know you're all right in there."
No groan, no eye roll, no Sammy bitch face, nothing. But as Dean was readjusting the blanket about his little brother's body, Dean couldn't help but notice a scar which seemed to magically appear upon Sam's upper left shoulder.
What the hell …
Dean frowned, perplexed by this scar because Dean had never seen it before. And Dean knew all of the scars his baby brother had acquired over the years through hunts or accidents, and this one, upon Sam's left shoulder was not one of them.
Gently, Dean trailed a finger down the length of the scar, gasping in surprise when a sudden memory invaded him and he could now recall with vivid clarity how Sam had obtained this scar.
The night Sam had left for Stanford, after storming out of the house, after the gruelling argument Sam had had with their father; Dean had spent hours driving around, trying to track that damn kid down, even if it was just to give him a ride to the bus depot. But Dean hadn't been able to find his brother anywhere.
Returning back to the cabin where the Winchesters had been living for the past month, Dean returned back to discover that John had done a disappearing act and left a bloody unconscious little brother upon the ground.
Sam had returned and John, in his drunken state had decided to teach his youngest a lesson in discipline and obeying orders, something that Sam would never forget.
Sam had had to have an operation upon his shoulder in order to put it back together again, screws having to be inserted to hold it in place.
That's where this scar had come from.
Dean recalled being so furious with John for the abhorrent way he had treated Sammy, that he had been tempted to pack Sam up and leave their father for good. But Sam had convinced Dean to stay, that Dad needed them and they needed to stay together as a family. And John … he had apologized profusely the next day, the alcohol he had consumed, clouded his judgement, making him see red for a few minutes, having no control over his actions as he hit upon his youngest son.
John swore to Dean that it would never happen again. And if John ever laid an aggressive hand upon Sammy ever gain, he would leave and never come back – after Dean expelled some of his own vengeance upon the old man.
Against his better judgement, Dean had accepted their Dad's apology and Sam's pleas for them to stay together as a family and let the matter rest.
But … hadn't Sam gone to Stanford? For two years? Sam had left the two of them behind and struck out on his own for a slice of normal.
Dean could vividly recall that's what had happened. So why did he suddenly have this other memory of Sam returning home to them and not going to Stanford at all?
It had to be the spell, Dean suddenly realized. Sam had succeeded in casting the spell and now he had been given his chance to change one aspect about his past. And obviously Sam had decided to make it so that he'd never attended Stanford.
"Oh God Sammy, what are you doing?" Dean whispered in Sam's ear, suddenly terrified of the changes that could occur because of that decision. "Stop this right now and just come home little brother. Please, before it's too late," Dean pleaded, watching with horror as new bruises, abrasions, cuts and scars appeared upon his younger brother's body.
And each time Dean touched the new marks upon Sam's body, a new, foreign memory would spring into his mind of how it had occurred. And Dean realized that a lot of these new marks had to do with – not only hunts that his brother had never been involved in because he'd been at Stanford – but John Winchester's own hands as Sam and John's arguments grew more physical the more time the two of them spent together.
"Sammy, stop this, please." Dean begged, tears beginning to roll down his checks as the terror and horrors of another life invaded and closed in on his mind.
