A/N: Thank you again to everyone who's read, reviewed, favourited and added this story to their alerts – I'm absolutely speechless. Sorry I haven't been able to answer all the wonderful reviews yet, I'll get back to you all ASAP, but I figured you might kill me if I didn't post this soon. As always, a huge, heartfelt thank you goes out to my amazing beta and big sister MuffyMorrigan who's made it all happen.

Hitting Walls and Getting Scars

Chapter 4

Past

Near Palo Alto

Having earlier established the location of the Heidegger residence, it didn't take Sam long to drive there after picking up salt and a small can of gasoline at his dorm room, along with a wicked, curved knife. Pure iron, hope it'll work even with the spirit tied to that amulet.

Sam took a turn off right before reaching the Heidegger residence, hiding Zach's car in the forest out of sight of the main road to the place. What if they're there? What if they aren't? I don't know which I hope for the most. I have to hurry, what if they've already met the spirit, what if…

No, thinking that way won't help me – or them. I have to figure out a game plan for the hunt. He could hear his father's oft-repeated 'Always be prepared for anything expected and unexpected' inside his mind.

Well, seeing how few weapons I have, I can't be prepared for anything. But I have to focus on finding and destroying that amulet. Dean and Dad can take care of salting and burning the bones, but they don't know that won't get rid of the spirit. He said they'd done some kind of ritual, probably nearby. I need to find out where, to find out how – to figure out how I can break the spell that holds the spirit here. If I'm lucky, I just have to break the amulet. Yeah, because I'm always so lucky. Maybe I should start wearing a rabbit's foot.

He stepped out of the car and started walking stealthily through the forest towards the house. Darkness was falling, forcing him to move slowly in order to avoid stepping on branches and alerting Dean and John to his presence. After walking for a few minutes, he was able to catch glimpses of the house through gaps in the trees, and he soon had an almost uninterrupted view of the mansion, a familiar black shape parked innocently in front of it, reflecting the light of the rising moon.

The sight of the Impala brought him bittersweet emotions, the longing for the sense of home that the car always had provided (not that he would ever admit that to his brother, who loved the car to the point of obsession) mixing with the painful memories of what he'd overheard the last time he'd seen it. Seeing movement near it, he shrunk back a little, then caught himself, realising that there was no way they were going to be able to see him in the darkness of the forest.

He watched as Dean went to open the trunk, tossed John what looked like a sawn-off shotgun and grabbed canisters of salt and gasoline. He couldn't hear what they were saying, but he recognised Dean's restless movements as evidence of the rush of adrenaline that his brother always experienced during hunts and that made him even snarkier than usual and, Sam had to admit, more deadly to supernatural creatures than Sam would ever be.

Seeing a grin spread on his father's face, he knew Dean had made one of his usual comments And a good one at that, bringing that kind of smile on Dad's face. I was never able to do that, no matter what. He involuntarily flinched when he saw John slap Dean's shoulder in a friendly manner, once again witnessing the close relationship between his father and brother that he could never be – and had never been – a part of. Then John disappeared into the house while Dean walked around the back of the mansion. Off to find the guy's grave, no doubt. I bet he's pissed that I'm not there to do the digging for him this time.

Knowing that once Dean started digging up the bones, if not before, the spirit was bound to make an appearance, Sam started moving slowly through the trees, starting his search. If they made an actual summoning ritual, they must've used some kind of clearing – they couldn't do it out in the open, because then they might be seen by people in the house. But it still had to be close to the house, so they could make it clear to the spirit who they wanted it to take care of… Shouldn't be that difficult to find. I just hope the amulet is in plain view, I can't use my flashlight with Dean moving about outside, in his current hyped-up state of mind he'd probably shoot me or at the very least dose me with salt before asking questions. He smiled lopsidedly.

His progress through the woods was slow, hindered by the density of the fir trees that forced him to painstakingly search through them in order not to miss a clearing hidden by the thick, needle-filled branches. He finally reached a more open stretch of forest, a mixture of tall oaks and lower bushes and climber plants. Realising that he was getting close to the back of the mansion and hearing movement, he figured that Dean had found the grave and started digging.

Moving even more quietly through the trees, trying to pick his way through the obstructing bushes, Sam suddenly found himself following a recently-made path through the thicket. The broken branches and downtrodden bushes that were only now beginning to rise again evidenced that a number of people had forced their way through there recently. Animals stay on the beaten paths. This was definitely made by humans. Hope it leads me to the site of the ritual. And that my going there doesn't bring the spirit there. Don't need a pissed-off spirit haunting me right now.

The path ended in a small clearing eerily lit by a beam of moonlight cutting through a hole in the canopy above. Sam carefully stepped into the light, at once noticing the darkened patch on the stone in the middle. He knelt down next to it, recognising it as dried blood. In the middle he saw a black rune. When will people ever learn? Soot and blood – they don't know what they're messing with. No wonder that spirit is mightily pissed off and running amok. I better find that amulet soon before it starts on Dean and Dad! They'll be like sitting ducks to that spirit, not knowing that the usual means won't work on it. Ok, heavily-armed and rather badass sitting ducks, but still.

He rose and looked around him, noticing that one corner of the clearing gave an almost uninterrupted view to the house. The moonlight shone on something white on the ground. Cigarette butts. Damn fools probably stood here while the spirit took care of that poor guy. And idiots that they were, they've probably tossed the amulet somewhere in this thicket afterwards. Great, just great. He knelt again, trying to see into the shadows cast by the bushes above him. The patches of moonlight and shadow made an intricate pattern on the ground. Pretty, I guess, unless you're on a timeline and need to find an amulet of God knows what shape and size.

Suddenly a slight wind rustled the leaves of the bush above him and he thought he caught a glimpse of something red flashing in the shifting patterns of moonlight. Stretching his hand towards it, his fingers closed around a primitive object of leather and glass. When he pulled it closer, he saw that the flash he had seen was moonlight reflecting off a tiny vial of red set in the middle of the amulet. I bet that's blood. Powerful stuff, they even used a blood sacrifice. Hope they knew what they were doing, because if that blood is unwillingly given… He shuddered at the thought.

He rose and turned to smash the amulet against the stone in the middle of the clearing, but before he could take a step, there was a rapid drop of temperature and a very pissed-off spirit appeared before him, sending him flying against the trunk of a huge old oak and then grabbing the amulet that dropped from his fingers on impact.

'Who do you think you are, daring to touch my amulet? A fool, I suppose, just like the fools who called me back here. But oh, I am ever so grateful to them, think of the fun I'm having! And now you're here, and those two others… Not together, are you? But don't worry, you soon will be, all united…' The spirit cackled evilly, then tossed Sam through the air to land in the middle of the clearing, knocking his head against the already-bloodied stone.

Satisfied that its prey wouldn't run away any time soon, the spirit cackled again, gleefully grasped the amulet in its hand and turned towards the house to seek out the two other annoyingly unworthy creatures that had dared enter its realm.

When Sam came to, he was at first disoriented, finding himself lying with his head against a stone in the middle of a moonlit clearing. Where am I? Dean? What happened? Dean? Dad? Did I get hurt on a hunt? But if so, where are they, they wouldn't leave me lying here… No, wait, I'm not hunting anymore, I left… Stanford… The amulet! The spirit! Oh, God, how long have I been lying here? Dean! Dad!

He pushed himself upwards, stumbling a little as the rush of blood in his head threatened to pull him back into unconsciousness. He re-gained his balance, checked that he still had his knife and the small canisters of salt and gasoline in his bag, then slowly made his way towards the house, figuring that the only reason the spirit had left him alone was that it had gone for Dean or John. Seeing Dean still digging furiously behind the house, he suddenly heard John's frantic voice coming from the house. 'Dean, hurry up! It's here!'

Sam saw Dean pick up his pace even more, the earth flying from the growing hole in the ground. He won't be in time, if that thing already has Dad… Oh God, I may be too late… He ran out of the forest towards the front door, hoping that the spirit hadn't sealed it shut when it started attacking John. To his relief, the door opened at his touch. Thank God, finally something went right today! The relief was short-lived, though, as the first thing that he saw when he entered was his father pinned to the wall, slowly rising towards the ceiling, his head bowed towards his chest, unconscious.

Sam felt a surge of anger, grabbed his knife and ran into the room towards the spirit who stood in the middle of the floor, cackling in anticipation. 'Put him down, you son of a bitch!' Sam said, holding the knife threateningly out from his body while slowly moving closer to the spirit. The spirit turned towards him, surprise evident in its eyes. It soon turned to glee, though, as it recognised its earlier opponent. 'Well, well, well, what have we here? You're skull is thicker than I thought!' Sam didn't answer, keeping one eye on the spirit and another on his father who had dropped slowly towards the ground when the spirit turned its attention to Sam.

'You shouldn't be here. Their calling you back was wrong. Go back where you came from,' he finally said when John was only a few feet above the ground. Before the spirit could answer, he flung the knife from his hand, right through the ethereal figure before him. With an angry screech, the spirit dissolved.

Sam ran to pick up his knife, then went to check on his father who had slumped ungracefully to the ground when the spirit's hold released him as it disappeared. Relieved to find a steady pulse and only a small lump on the back of his head, he rose to go to the window to check on Dean, but before he could do so, he was picked up and thrown through the air, colliding hard with the wall next to the front door. Trying to regain his bearings, he was tossed across the room, once again hitting the wall with a thud, hearing the spirit's evil cackle echoing in the room.

This isn't exactly going like I pictured. Hope it isn't me who's going to end up like a pancake. I have to stop it, I have to make it talk to me so I can get a chance to throw the knife at it again. But before that, I need to get hold of the knife again. Think, Sam, THINK. That might be easier if that goddamn thing would stop playing squash with me.

His last thought was accentuated with another flight through the air, back towards the front door. He hit it with his back first, feeling how the impact with the door handle bruised or cracked a couple of his ribs. He barely managed not to scream with pain, and when the dark spots receded from his eyes, he saw the knife lying beneath his leg, out of sight of the spirit. Guess I have a little luck today after all. He quickly grabbed the knife, and when he felt himself being lifted into the air again, he flicked his wrist and once again threw the knife at the spirit.

And missed.

The knife flew past the spirit, knocking against the window sill with a loud clang. Sam blanched as the spirit looked down at him, its cackles growing even louder. It showed him the amulet it held in its hand, waving it in front of him teasingly, then said 'is this what you've come for, little plaything? Well, why don't you come and get it? But if you're a naughty boy and try anything with that knife again, I might end up killing you. Oh, wait. I might do that anyway. Isn't this fun???' The spirit started towards him, then suddenly stopped, looked towards the window, gave an angry screech and disappeared.

Sam slumped to the ground when the spirit released its hold on him. He lay still for a second, confused by the spirit's behaviour, his brain muddled by the times he had hit the walls and the earlier knock against the stone in the forest. Huh? What happened? Did it disappear? It sounded angry… DEAN. That must be it – Dean's burning the bones. Oh no – he'll think that'll work – he'll let his guard down because he thinks it'll disappear when they're gone.

Sam rose quickly and stumbled across the room to pick up his knife, casting a look out the window at the flickering light from the flames. He saw the shape of Dean standing in front of it, looking down into the flames, unsuspecting of the danger he was in, thinking this was another job well done. Nothing's ever a simple salt and burn, Dean. You told me that enough times.

Just as he was about to knock at the window and warn Dean, he saw the spirit materialise behind his brother and knock him across the grave to land in a heap at the foot of a huge oak. Not waiting to see what happened next, he turned and sprinted out the house and towards the back and the grave. Please, let me not be too late! I should have warned him before going in to check on Dad… Dean! Hold on, I'm coming!

He turned the corner and stopped abruptly in horror at the sight before him. The spirit was playing with Dean, there was no other word for it. It held him suspended in mid-air above the still-burning grave, at the same time throwing all kinds of garden tools from a nearby shed at him. Sam could see that some of them had already connected and inflicted a lot of damage; Dean's head was lolling weakly as he struggled to remain conscious, and Sam could see dark patches on his light-coloured t-shirt, lit by a mixture of pure white moonlight and the orange glow of the flickering flames. Oh my God! Dean, hold on, I'm getting rid of that thing right now! I don't know exactly how, I need to get hold of that amulet, but that thing is going to Hell!

He started towards the spirit just as it sent a rake flying through the air towards Dean, the teeth scraping Dean's chest before the rake tumbled into the fire below him. Sam yelled at the spirit, causing it to send Dean flying towards the oak tree before turning towards him with anger burning in its eyes. Uh oh. Not good. What do I do now? Wonder if salt works… pure iron seems to do so. I wonder… it's holding the amulet in its hand – if I sever that connection… He threw his canister of salt towards it but was disappointed when the spirit didn't dissolve but rather simple flickered for a few moments before once again re-gaining its shape before him. It did give him the chance to get close to it, though, and when it started to lift the hand holding the amulet towards him to once again send him flying, he cut straight through its ethereal wrist, effectively (had it been a human being of flesh and blood) cutting its hand off.

The spirit screeched, the sound cutting through the air, deafening the cracking of the flames, reverberating in Sam's ears, almost robbing him of consciousness. It was a scream of despair, of loss, but also a scream for vengeance on the one that had robbed it of its long-sought amulet, the one thing that would give it freedom to roam the place for all eternity. Then the scream cut off as the touch of the pure iron took effect and it dissolved in the moonlight.

Sam grabbed the amulet, trying to break it by twisting the leather holding the vial and, when that didn't work, stepping on it, hoping to break the glass, but nothing worked. I have to break it, it's the only way to get rid of it, I have to break it before it comes back to finish what it started. Dean! Oh my God, Dean, I have to see if he's ok! Maybe the heat from the fire will destroy it? He ran towards Dean, stopping only to thrown the amulet into the hottest remaining embers and dousing it with salt from Dean's canister that lay abandoned beside the grave. Then he knelt down beside his unconscious brother.

Oh my God, Dean, you… you've lost a lot of blood! Oh, Dean, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry I was too late to save you from this, I should have warned you, I should've prevented this, I'm so sorry, Dean, please be ok!

He felt for a pulse and was relieved to find it steady although weaker than he would have liked it to be. He must be loosing blood… I have to stop that… How many things did that son of a bitch throw at him before I got here? He gently rolled Dean onto his side to survey the damage done by the spirit and flinched at the sight of Dean's blood-soaked, tattered t-shirt clinging to his chest. The largest patch of blood seemed to be low on his left side, just above the waistband of his jeans. The rest seemed to be more or less superficial scratches, although a nasty cut on the side of his head also worried Sam. He grabbed Dean's sweatshirt that was lying next to the grave and bundled it up to make a patch of cloth that might help him stem the bleeding. Then he lightly lifted Dean's shirt to reveal a nasty, ragged cut bleeding profusely. Oh, God, Dean, I'm so sorry!

He pressed the shirt against the wound, at the same time checking if any of Dean's other wounds needed stemming, but affirming his first impression that it was that one that presented the biggest problem. 'Just hold on, Dean, you'll be ok! This'll stop the bleeding, and then Dad can take you to the hospital to get you sewed up. You'll be ok, Dean, don't worry. I'm so sorry about this, I should've prevented it, it's my fault you got hurt… But you'll be ok, Dean, you'll be ok!' Realising that the words were more for himself than for Dean, he can't hear you, he's unconscious! Sam grew silent again. He has to be ok, he has to! The amulet… I have to check if the fire destroyed it. It may have, the spirit hasn't come back yet.

Placing Dean's hand on the shirt to keep up the pressure, he rose and quickly went back to the grave, where his hopes were disappointed: the amulet lay there, still intact, among the embers. The vial seemed to glow angrily, the blood inside reflecting the orange and red of the embers. Damnit, that didn't work! How am I going to break it then? He looked around him searching for something with which he could reach down and pick up the amulet and breathed a sigh of relief when he realised that the rake that he had seen the spirit throw at Dean now rested against the side of the grave within his reach.

He grabbed it and poked one of its teeth through a hole in the amulet, then brought it up and laid it on the grass beside him, figuring it would be too hot to touch after lying in the embers, pondering how he could destroy it and get rid of the spirit for good.

Before he could act, he felt a rapid drop in temperature behind him, and, turning, he saw the spirit hovering near Dean. Making a quick grab for the amulet, he felt his fingers closing around it but in the same moment, a hammer hit his already-bruised ribs full force, numbing his entire body and making him drop the amulet again. 'So, little plaything, you didn't listen, did you? You seem overly concerned about this guy… friend of yours? Or perhaps… perhaps brother?' Seeing Sam's reaction at the word, it cackled evilly. 'Brother it is. Now, I wonder how you'd feel knowing that I killed him with your knife?' No, not Dean, no! You stay away from him, you hear me?

Suddenly, Sam saw the moonlight glinting in his knife that was now slowly revolving in the air near the spirit. No, no, no, not the knife, he'll never survive if it throws that thing at him, it's so sharp it'll cut a hair in two, I sharpened it only last night. Oh God, what do I do, what do I do? Without conscious thought and praying that he was faster than the spirit, Sam leaped towards Dean, shielding his brother's body with his own as the spirit threw the knife towards them.

He felt a knock against his side but didn't really feel the knife slice through his body. He knew the pain would come, though, once he was forced to move and tear the two sides of the wound from each other, disturbing the paper-thin cut that the knife was bound to have made. At least it didn't hit Dean. I only hope the cut isn't too deep, I need to take care of that amulet. Then he felt himself being picked up again, held in the air for a few seconds, before being thrown against the oak. This is getting to be rather tiresome. Wonder if the guy was a squash player in his former life? Or rather, in his life. Just wish he wouldn't use me as a ball, I don't bounce that well. And boy, did I just sound like Dean!

He slowly tried to pick himself up off the ground, the broken ribs and now-opened wound in his side making themselves felt, the wetness of his shirt a clear sign that the cut was indeed serious. He looked at the spirit that was now moving towards the amulet. Oh, no, you don't! He felt a surge of adrenaline that enabled him to fight the dizziness and pain that threatened to overwhelm him and stumbled towards the spirit that for some reason seemed unable to pick up the amulet. What's that? Smoke? From the amulet? But the fire didn't damage it. What's going on? Never mind, I have to get rid of it! The spirit being distracted by the amulet, it didn't notice Sam until it was too late for it and he once again managed to slide the iron blade through its form, dissolving it.

Hope it stays gone for a while now, it seems to be gone for longer and longer the more times I get rid of it. He bent down to reach for the amulet, gasping in pain as the movement grated his broken ribs and once again opened the wound in his side. His hand stilled before he touched the amulet when he noticed how the parts of it that were smoking were placed in a distinct pattern. That… that almost looks like a handprint… What…? My hand? When I picked it up before? But why? Oh my God! He looked down at his hands, covered in Dean's blood. Blood! They bound it by a blood sacrifice, it must have been blood unwillingly given… And now Dean's blood is added to that, messing with the power of that ritual… I have to stop that… What was it Dad taught us about blood rituals… bound in blood, broken in blood…

He placed the amulet in his left hand, then pulled up his shirt, exposing the long gash in his side that was bleeding freely. Maybe if I counteract with a ritual using my own blood, willingly given…Maybe that small ritual will work… Gritting his teeth, he used his right hand to press beneath the wound, letting his blood pool in the palm of his hand. Then he drew the hand up above his left, slowly tilting it to let the blood flow downwards, drawing a circle around the amulet. 'In blood you were made,' he said in a chanting voice, then shifted his right hand, using the flowing blood to draw a five-pointed star on the amulet. 'In blood you are now broken,' he continued, then held his breath as he drew the last line of the star.

At first, nothing happened, then the amulet started to glow where his blood mixed with Dean's, and the smoke increased. Where their blood touched the vial in the middle, the glass started glowing red-hot like an ember, their blood seeming to burn through the glass to mix with the blood within. Sam found himself unable to tear his eyes from the sight, unable to drop the amulet although the heat it exuded seared his palm.

Suddenly the spirit reappeared before him, reaching for the amulet with desperate hands, terror evident on its face. Then both the amulet and the spirit exploded in tiny, blood-red fragments that hit Sam like drops of ice-cold water, the spirit's dying scream echoing in the forest.

Sam sank to his knees, the pain, dizziness and relief of tension threatening to overwhelm him. No, not now, I have to check on Dean, I have to know that he's ok! He slowly crawled to his brother's side, once again checking his pulse. It seems weaker… Oh my God, Dean, I'm so sorry, I've screwed up again, haven't I? He gently lifted Dean's hand to check the wound, noting that although the blood flow had slowed down, it still bled way too much for his liking. No, no, I have to stop that, I have to get you to a hospital…He started when Dean suddenly stirred, trying to pull away from his hand once again pressing the shirt to the wound. 'Stay still, Dean, you have to stay still, I'll get you help, ok? Just hang on, I'll get you help.' He once again placed Dean's hand on the shirt, giving it a quick squeeze. 'Hold this here, Dean, this'll stop the bleeding.' I have to help him… My fault he's hurt… My fault…

Suddenly he heard his father's voice from the house, calling out for Dean. The voice sent a stab of fear through him, fear of once again becoming the target of his father's scorn, of hearing how he was such a screw-up that he always put them in danger. He saw his father turning the corner, running towards Dean, and quickly shrunk into the shadows of the trees. He'll get Dean to the hospital, he's running, that means he isn't badly hurt, that he can drive the car. Oh my God, please hurry, Dad, get him help. Great job, once again I need Dad to clean up the mess I've made. I almost got both of them killed tonight because I wasn't fast enough. I should've warned Dean before going into the house, hell, I shouldn't have let that thing take the amulet from me in the first place, maybe then none of this would have happened… Oh God, Dean, please hang on!

He felt the guilt growing in him, solidifying, turning into a solid wall around his mind, keeping him from his father and brother, sealing him away inside his own world. He stayed hidden in the trees while John checked on Dean, talking quietly to him, praising him for getting rid of the spirit and having the presence of mind to grab the shirt to stop the bleeding. Then he gently helped the now-conscious Dean stand and supported him back towards the Impala. A few moments later, Sam heard the familiar rumble of the engine and saw the red of the taillights as the car disappeared down the driveway, gravel spurting from its wheels as John gunned the engine to speed Dean to the hospital to get help.

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Present

Dean looked as Sam in horror when his voice tapered out, the pain from the memories of that night very clear in his voice and eyes. 'Sam… Sammy, listen to me…' His voice tapered off, the enormity of Sam's story hitting him full force. 'Oh my God, Sam, you did a blood ritual to get rid of that thing? Do you realise how dangerous that can be???? You shouldn't have done that!'

Noticing how Sam seemed to withdraw even further into himself, Dean realised that his words had come out much harder than he intended. 'No, Sam, I didn't mean… I mean, you could've gotten hurt, badly… Who knows what that ritual might have done to you if it had gone wrong?'

'I had no choice, Dean. You and Dad were in danger, I had to do something before the spirit killed you. I'd already screwed up so much, I couldn't live with myself if I got one of you killed just because I wasn't willing to take a risk,' Sam replied, his voice almost breaking at the words.

My God, not only was he there the whole time and saw the whole thing, he also blames himself for it! No, Sam, no, it wasn't your fault! How can I convince you of that? Maybe if I tell him that I knew he was there – well, maybe not knew, but thought he was…

'Sam, listen to me. What happened to me and Dad wasn't your fault. Hell, you managed what we couldn't do… you managed to banish it time and time again with that knife of yours, and you were the one who got rid of it for good. And more than that, you saved both of our lives, Sam!' He did… He took a knife for me! Oh Sammy, I'm sorry, you shouldn't have done that for me, what would I have done if you'd gotten yourself killed for my sake?

'You know, I realised you were there… I heard you, felt your hands on mine holding that shirt against my wound… At the time I thought I was hallucinating because I wanted you to be there so badly… But you were really there, Sam, you were really there…' Do you realise how much it meant to me to sense you there, even though I thought it was just my mind playing tricks on me? What your voice meant to me, what that touch of your hand meant?

Dean looked at Sam, whose bowed head let his hair hide his eyes from Dean. 'Sam? You with me, little brother? You hearing what I'm saying? It wasn't your fault. None of it was. You did whatever you could to warn us, you found that amulet – Damn good hunting there, by the way – you fought that thing, saving Dad, saving me… You did nothing wrong, Sam.'

Is he at all listening to what I'm saying? What is going on with him?

'Sam? Sammy?'

Dean quickly rose, kneeling down in front of Sam, lightly shaking his shoulders, trying to make him acknowledge him. But when he saw Sam's eyes, he realised that his brother was once more caught up in the memories that kept tormenting him, shutting him off from Dean.

No, Sam, stay with me, don't let those memories get to you, whatever they are…

'You almost died, Dean…' Sam's voice was barely more than a whisper.

'Well, I didn't, because you saved me! You got rid of that spirit, you took that knife for me!' Dean used his best persuasive-big-brother voice in the hope that it would enable him to get through to Sam again.

'It wasn't enough, I should have prevented that, if I had then you wouldn't have been, you wouldn't have… ' Dean realised that Sam was shaking as he was revisited by visions of the events of that day, and suddenly he understood what Sam was talking about.

He knows! Not only was he there that night, he was also there later… Oh no, no, no, no, it can't be, it can't have been, he can't have been there all along, all through that, he can't have seen me like that, he just can't… But the sinking feeling in his stomach, the empty hollow pit that slowly drained all thoughts from his head left only that one realisation he was there, he saw it. He was there all along! And screaming in his head was the proof that no matter how much he wanted to, he couldn't deny the facts that were staring him in the eyes, evidenced by Sam's continued tremors.

Then Sam took a couple of gulping breaths and continued his story once again.

To Be Continued