Terrible sorry for not responding to reviews, but I figured you guys would rather have a new chapter anyway! ...Hopefully... Thank you so much for your continued support! Here we go:


Previously in 1995:

A heavy weight bashed into Dean's head and he felt to his knees, black lining his vision.

Sam's fingers were ripped from his sleeve and he heard the kid scream as the pressure hit him again, sending him to the ground. The last thing Dean heard was Sam shouting his name.

BROKEN RIDGE, 2007

Sam flashed his light across gravestone after gravestone, occasionally glancing at Dean two rows over.

They were searching for the grave of Julius Pater.

"What I don't get!" Sam shouted. "Is why the killings just started! He's been dead over two years now!"

Dean was silent as he backtracked and re-checked a marker. "I have a theory, actually." He said, moving on. "Ever since... You came back. That's when the first one happened. Two weeks later."

Sam stopped his walking and shined his flashlight at Dean as if checking his expression for truthfulness. "Are you serious?"

"As a heart attack."

"But you don't think-"

"Your own supernatural resurrection made him vengeful in a creepy ghost radar sort of way?" Dean shrugged.

"So I-" Sam stopped. "It doesn't matter anyway, I found 'im." Dean came over, hurdling a shorter grave and holding his fist over his flat palm, a dead-set look in his eyes.

"Two outta three." He stated.

"I don't understand why you always win." Dean grumbled a couple hours later, throwing the blade into the dirt and shoveling.

"You're predictable." Sam replied.

"Am not."

"Scissors. Every friggin' time."

Dean pretended to look hurt, when in reality he enjoyed this easy bickering with his brother. He sniggered as his spade hit solid and Sam jumped in beside him.

"Go for it." His little brother said. Dean smashed it down, splintering the wood enough to spot the body he'd smelled long earlier, and Sam pried it open.

"Just another day on the job." Dean mumbled as he grabbed his brother's hand to pull him out. Sam shook salt while Dean doused it in gas and lit it.

"Yeah, not quite." Sam muttered half to himself, thirteen-year-old images replaying in his mind like it was only yesterday. "You do remember what this guy did to you, right? To us?"

Dean sniffed and threw the shovel over his shoulder. "That's old news. We don't have to think about this guy again, Sammy."

BROKEN RIDGE, 1995

Dean groaned and turned his head, finding his cheek to be mashed against the cold floor of... Not the cabin. It was hay, itching at his skin. But that was the least of his concerns. His hands were tied behind his back as he laid on his stomach, but he couldn't manage to roll over onto his back. There was something in the way, a wall or a barn door maybe.

Dean heard a crunch as someone's weight was displaced. "Sam?" He whispered hopefully. But it was too heavy to be sixty-pound-Sam.

"You son of a bitch. Where is he?" Dean grunted out. "If you hurt a hair on his head, I swear I'll-"

A face ducked into Dean's vision suddenly, but it didn't say a word. A white mask covered the man's face, similar to the Phantom of the Opera, which Sam had forced him to watch during that musical stage of his two years ago. Dean cringed even more than he had then.

He put a finger to his lips, signaling Dean to be quiet.

"Where's Sam?" Dean asked again, vaguely aware of a liquid trickling down the back of his neck.

The masked man said nothing, but wrapped a hand around the necklace Dean wore and pulled. "The hell?" Dean struggled in his bonds again.

Phantom took the amulet and pressed it against the back of Dean's bloody head.

"What're you... Oh, no." Dean said when he figure it out. "Don't! You can't!"

Half the man's face grinned sadistically as he closed the heavy barn doors behind him, a broken, bloody amulet in hand.

**********

Sam moaned and turned his head slowly, his eyelids fluttering. He forgot where he was for a minute in a fog of sleep and fever, but then it all came rushing back with a shiver. He snapped his eyes open.

"Dean?" Sam attempted, his voice cracking and dry.

He sat in a rocking chair with his wrists and ankles tied to the arms and legs of the seat, and pulling seemed to do nothing. The fire still crackled, and Sam could see the melting remains of his phone.

Tensing at the sound of footsteps, Sam watched the shadow grow as it turned the corner. He was masked, the man. An old-fashioned ski mask, too, like the ones the robbers used to wear.

The robber seemed to chuckle as he walked closer, seeming to enjoy the sight of his victim with no where to turn.

He didn't say a word, but his intent was just as clear when he pulled out a long, sharp knife.

Sam gasped, breathing heavily, wanting more than anything to just go back to sleep or unconsciousness or whatever it was he'd been long enough for them to stick him in this chair. Not because he was a wimp or he couldn't handle pain, oh no, he just figured- knew- the anxiety this whole event was giving him would make his hair grey by twelve. He wanted away.

But no. He couldn't. He had to find Dean.

The Robber took the knife and let the tip tickle Sam's throat. He pressed lightly, enough to draw a thin line of blood and accelerate Sam's breathing even more.

"I don't know what you want." He grunted. The Robber stared at him before slamming the knife down, right between Sam's fingers.

He just grinned from ear to ear and pointed at the folded up picture he'd taken from Sam's hand-me-down wallet.

The paper was worn from years of wear and tear, but the face was still prominent.

"Y-you want... Dean..." Sam choked out.

BROKEN RIDGE, 2007

By the time Sam stepped into the shower, the water was cold. He rolled his eyes, but stuck his head under anyway, because the job was over, Dean was fine, and it was as straightforward as it should've been- and that in itself was hard to believe.

He twisted habitually in the mirror to take a good long look at the faint scar square in his back from a fatal knife wound that had become fatal in a whole other sense of the word.

Because Sam wasn't the one dying.

And the way he saw it, Dean himself had said "What's dead should stay dead." He could argue all he wanted that he was just making things right after what Dad had done for him, but saving your living and breathing family was different from bringing him back from the dead.

He used the flow from the faucet to drown out his call.

"Hi. Is this Zachary Brown? I heard he'd be back in town-"

Sam swept his wet hair out of his eye. "Yes, I understand it's late... He's... Okay, would you please tell him to call me when the plane lands? Thanks." Sam rested his elbows on the counter, closed his eyes, and pressed his phone to his temple.

"I'll get you out of this one, Dean," He mumbled. "Let me save your life for a change."

He cleared his throat and blinked his eyes. His neck was burning for some reason. With a quick glance in the mirror, Sam silently gasped, his hand flying to the thin sliver of blood running down his throat.

"How..." He wasn't shaving or anything. Sam grabbed a Kleenex and wiped the blood away in confusion.

Buttoning his jeans as he kicked the bathroom door closed, it took less than a second for the scene before him to register.

"Dean!"

BROKEN RIDGE, 1995

"What do you want?" Sam growled, his ear an inch from the Robber's face.

Wait. What would Dean do?

"I don't know what you want from us!"

Dean would bad mouth the son of a bitch to hell and back.

"Whatever you want, it's not happening. Because Dean Winchester is going to kick your ass so hard your grandchildren's grandchildren'll be bleeding." Sam replied smoothly.

A boot appeared and Sam moved his head almost just in time as it landed on his temple and knocked both him and the chair over backwards.

The man leaned over him and chuckled crazily, spit flying.

"What do you want with Dean?" Sam tried again, his voice coming out shakier than he had wanted it to, because this guy was a maniac.

But it was terrifying. Because this guy wasn't a supernatural monster. He's just a monster, period. A monster who wants Dean out of the game for some reason.

The Robber grinned and laughed and cackled but he wouldn't say a word. He wouldn't take off his mask, either. He just... Watched Sam.

"I don't know what you WANT FROM US!" Sam shouted frustratingly.

The man paced and twirled his knife and smiled.

"WHAT DO YOU WANT!" Sam screamed in exhaustion, bowing his head.

He felt a hand on his cheek. Sam's eyes snapped open.

The Robber unclasped his hand and let the amulet dangle, crusted with blood.

"No... No!" Sam cried. The man just laughed. "Nonononono..." Dean couldn't be, right? It was a trick. But Dean wouldn't give up his amulet unless he had no choice.

Sam made eye contact with the Robber and he nodded slowly, as if reading Sam's mind.

"NO!"

**********

Dean could hear the scream clearly.

"Sammy!" He shouted back, but his voice didn't carry far, considering he was still on his stomach.

Dean felt a boot kick his side and he cursed. "Whatever you're doing to him I'll do to you twice!" He threatened.

"NO! DEAN!"

Dean wriggled around, ignoring the sharp pain every time he did so.

A foot fell on Dean's neck and he froze.

'Don't. Test me.' The stare seemed to say, chilling Dean's bones even more. The Phantom looked unamused as he took his shoe away forcefully.

BROKEN RIDGE, 2007

"Dean!"

Sam ran over and collapsed at Dean's side. His brother's eyes were closed, his breath a soft huff, and Sam searched for an injury.

His ribs.

Blue and swollen and hopefully nothing more than bruised.

Sam glanced around frantically before his eyes fell on the door. The salt line was broken.

Quick as a flash, he flung himself towards the bed and the shotgun, positioning himself in front of Dean, just in time to face the ghost flickering back at him.

He shot without a moment's hesitation.

BROKEN RIDGE, 1995

The tormentors were experts. Or so it seemed.

The Phantom couldn't help smiling, and the Robber grinned ear to ear from his point of view, too.

They had manage to get both boys screaming for the other with little physical damage.

The Robber had dropped the bloody amulet in Sam's lap ages ago, and after much maneuvering, the boy held the metal in his hand.

Dean was dead.

"Ple-ease." Sam sobbed quietly, his head bowed. "Jus' stop. Please." He'd had enough, but he honestly didn't care anymore. Dad was in a whole other state, his Dean was gone, and Sam had nothing to live for.

Dean was dead.

His eyes grew hot with tears again, and Sam felt no shame or need to hide it this time. His front was down, and that was just what these guys wanted.

Dean was-

"SAAAAAMMYYY!"

Sam's head snapped up, recognition and hope blooming on his fevered features.

"DEAN?!" He called back. "DEAN!"

A dirty hand clapped over Sam's mouth until a dirty gag was shoved in place.

The Robber was just stepping back to admire his handiwork when Sam's raw and bloody, yet free hand lashed out and hit him right in the temple.

He yelped, stumbled back, and Sam used the moment to frantically free his other arm shakily.

The Robber's fingers were at Sam's throat within an instant, strengthening their hold against the already weak eleven year old.

Sam clawed with his fingernails at the gloved hands, gasping for breath. The Robber laughed at Sam's feeble attempts at taking in oxygen, his breath tickling Sam's neck.

He was close enough.

With a strangled cry, Sam jerked his head back straight into his captor's nose, feeling the hands release immediately and fly up to the broken cartilage.

His shaking hands undid his ankles before the Robber could counterattack. Sam froze as he stood, his head spinning, and stumbled forward.

He wheeled around towards the man with the full intent of beating him down to size and coaxing Dean's whereabouts out, but the sight of the gleaming knife changed his mind.

Sam turned and ran towards the bedroom, where he remembered seeing Dean pull a gun from under the bed.

All I need is a weapon.

Sam slammed the door shut, propped a chair under it, and turned the lock. He dove under the bed and felt the overturned floorboard knock his shoulder.

A strong force slammed against the door, causing the eleven-year-old to slam his head on the bottom of the bed, cursing.

The bang sounded again and again as Sam ran his fingers in search of the hole. Finally, his hand found a deeper crevice and he placed both in in search.

"No!" There was nothing left but dust and dead bugs. "No!"

At the same time as Sam backed out in realization he was screwed, the door splintered and then burst open, the chair flying, as the dark shadow of a bloody man fell over Sam.

BROKEN RIDGE, 2007

The blast of the gun knocked Sam backwards a little, and he crawled back to Dean's side the second the spirit dissipated.

"Dean!" He shook his brother's shoulder with no response, and figured it was acceptable to tap him lightly on his cheek.

Suddenly, a force swept him up and flung him into the wall as it gave away slightly, bending behind the younger man, the bathroom tile on the other side of the thin wall crumbling.

Sam groaned as he landed on the ground, but was soon left speechless. A ghost stood before him, but it wasn't Pater.

"You..." Sam whispered tiredly. He felt the blood trailing down his head and found it increasingly hard to concentrate. "I thought... W... We'd killed... You..." He exhaled. The ghost shook his head in amusement at the surprised hunter. Sam realized what the dead man insinuated.

We did kill him. He's a ghost. And he's pissed.

The ghost threw out his hand and curled it slowly. Sam felt the pressure, as if it was ripping his insides out, a burning hot pain that made him short of breath in an instant.

"Ah... Stop!" Sam shouted. "Dean!" He blurted. But last he saw, Dean was lying unconscious six feet away.

The pain ended abruptly and Sam could vaguely make out the sound of a shotgun as his eyes closed.


So that's it for this time! Questions? Comments? I'll try to update As the Years Go By soon. I appreciate all reviews, alerts, and favorites, as always! 3 See you soon!