HI EVERYONE!

THANKS to everyone who has reviewed, favorite-d, and followed this! It means so, so much!

Here is chapter 4-I really hope its not moving too slow for you guys. I'm trying not to just skip ahead to all the ideas I have rolling through my mind. But during that process let me know if I'm going to glacial slow though, okay? Thanks!

ENJOY!

A Fall to Darkness

Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural…

"Dean?" Sam whispered, "Dean?"

Sam quickly swiped the flashlight out of Dean's hand and shined it into Dean's face for a few seconds, but his brother didn't even flinch. He was…was…

"He just passed out." Sam told himself hotly, "That's it!"

Sam felt traitorous hot tears drip down his cheeks and he cried out in frustration. Sam didn't want to cry—didn't want to be weak. What he needed right now was to think of someway to help Dean. He closed his eyes tight and went back through everything he's ever read on head injuries and treatment.

"Okay…" Sam whispered out loud to break the silence, "The first step is to…to…" Well logically, Sam mused, the first step would be to call 911 but John always tended to skip that one—and it's not like they'd honestly be any help to Dean right now. "Next step," Sam went on quickly, "check the person's airway, breathing, and circulation."

Sam moved shaking hands around Dean, checking his pulse, making sure he was breathing normally. Sam let out a rough breath when he noticed Dean was still going strong.

"Okay Dean—if breathing and heart rate is normal but the person is still unconscious, treat as if there's a spinal injury."

Sam focused on gently stabilizing Dean's neck and keeping it aligned with his spine. It was hard though considering Dean was squished down so much from the bent up Impala. After several minutes, Sam finally managed to line him up somewhat. He still looks uncomfortable though.

"Okay Dean next," Sam whispered to his sleeping brother, "Apply pressure only if there is not a skull fracture. You got a skull fracture?" Dean of course didn't answer Sam's question.

So flashlight in hand, Sam bent forward to inspect the wound praying there was no skull fracture. After staring intently at his brother's head for a while Sam decided that it was just a deep cut, no fracture. That meant he could apply pressure.

Sam quickly slipped his hoodie and favorite t-shirt off. With a longing glance at the t-shirt Sam started ripping it up into long pieces, before applying them to his brother's head. When one strip bled through he just added another one. I hope you realize what I'm giving up for you man, Sam thought as he looked as his now tattered shirt.

Next, Sam worked on turning his hoodie into a makeshift sling for Dean's busted up arm. It didn't look pretty when Sam was done but it kept the arm tucked in close to Dean. Now Sam just wished his brother would wake up, see Sam sitting shirtless across the way and crack something like, "No one wants to see all that bro!"

But Dean didn't look like he was close to waking up soon, and now that Sam has done all he could do to help him—he felt alone again. Scared.

Sam busied himself with deciding just was his own injuries were. He was pretty positive he'd popped his ankle out of place earlier and his back was pretty bruised up. Sam was nearly as hurt as he should be though.

How was dad doing? Sam couldn't help but picture John's truck spinning out of control those last few seconds before the darkness took over. What are the chances that John landed so perfectly trapped like they did?

"Of course he's okay Sammy," Dean's voice assured him but Sam knew better.

Dean is always so certain that John is okay—that he's invincible or something. Sam really hoped he was. In fact, he wanted John to show up in his window right now and take care of everything. He'd know what to do about Dean and he'd get them outta here.

Mostly Sam just didn't want to be alone anymore. He really needed Dean to wake up now. Sam eyed his older brother and spotted the red peeking out the newest t-shirt strip. With a sigh, Sam gently smoothed another piece down onto Dean's forehead before settling back into his seat.

He could hear noise all around—screaming, moaning, and crying. He could even hear the slight sizzle of the car fire close by. At least I'm not truly alone.

Though if Sam were being honest, he wished all those people would just stop screaming. He wished they stop calling for help because every second that passed the urge to join them filled Sam. He wanted to scream for help at the top of his lungs. Sam waned to scream, hit things, cry, and just go completely bonkers until someone finally heard him.

Sam wanted—no needed to go crazy because Dean was hurt and not waking and their dad was probably long dead now, and everything was not okay.

The Winchester in Sam though prevented him from going ballistic. Instead, Sam just stayed statue still as the sounds of the pleas racked his ears, and every once in a while Sam would add a new strip of his ruined t-shirt to Dean's head until there was nothing left.

Minutes—hours—days—years passed, at least it felt that way to Sam. He was beginning to feel a really bad ache in his back that thumped along with every beat of his heart and he was freezing. He couldn't stop his body from shaking as the icy air took over. It must be evening now…

A while ago, after Sam had ran out of t-shirt to clot Dean's bleeding, he'd shut off the flashlight. He didn't want to see the red drenched strips on Dean's forehead constantly reminding him that Dean was dying and Sam couldn't stop it.

"Dad's dead…Dean's dying…" Sam whispered tiredly to the Impala, "You're most likely dead too girl. I guess I'm next right?"

Strangely enough Sam wasn't too afraid of the idea of dying. He was just sore and cold, so cold. He let himself sort of fall backwards so he could rest his head on the Impala's seat.

He noticed a while ago that everything had gotten a lot quieter lately. Not as many people were crying out for help now as the cold set in, and those who are still going sound much softer…weaker. Sam thinks he should probably be worried about that but he's not.

"Maybe…maybe I'm the only one left." He whispered into the darkness around him. That wouldn't surprise Sam very much. Him being the last die seemed exactly like the kind of lucky break he'd be given.

Sam just couldn't find it in his heart to care though. He was just cold and exhausted. Maybe if he closed his eyes now he could join Dean wherever he is now and yell at him for passing out like that. Maybe John will be there too.

Sam vaguely felt the violent shivers still racking his body as he let his eyelids fell closed—or maybe they've always been closed. He didn't know. He felt the flashlight slip from his fingers but Sam couldn't find the strength to reach for it again. I don't want to see Dean die anyway. He reminded himself.

Sam didn't want to see anything actually. He just wanted to go to sleep. Go to sleep and wake up with Dean and John again. Away from the darkness.

Review! ...please and thank you! :D