AN1: Wahoo! Didn't think I was going to be able to do it, but I got this chapter out before Friday! I'm working on the next (and probably last) chapter as well, and I'm hoping that if I kick it into overdrive and my muse is cooperative, I can get that chapter out before Friday as well. Haha, we shall see!

AN2: This chapter was completely and totally inspired by BlueEyes444, a wonderful author and friend who provided me with the quote, and the support I needed. Thank you so much, M! It means the world to me! If you haven't read her stuff, I highly recommend it. This girl's got talent!

Shout-out to my reviewers: xenascully, TinTin11, pandora jazz, Cainchan, Writing For The Wall, Tango Eight, BlueEyes444, Lujayn, sarahsrr, KKBELVIS, Marianna Morgan, twomoms, and cxoxuxsxixnxsxSM

THE SILENCE

"The silence was a blood-curdling scream of anguish, set out to break my soul."

-Unknown

He's awake. He's awake and he knows it the moment he is. But something doesn't feel right.

Dean yawns and stretches as he blinks his eyes open. The bright light streaming through the motel curtains assaults his eyes, so he sits up, shielding his face as he takes in his surroundings.

He gets it now, why something felt off. For the past weeks, Dean has never woken up this late in the morning. Ever. It's become a routine of sorts. A horrible routine that neither Dean nor Sam want any part of. But they don't really have a choice in the matter.

In the middle of the night—every night—Dean is shocked into consciousness by the most piercing, gut-wrenching sound he can imagine. Sam's shallow, panicked breaths in combination with mind-numbing screams. Every night. Without fail.

Dean stumbles over to his brother's bed and squeezes Sam's shoulder, muttering meaningless words in his ear. He keeps up a steady stream of talking and squeezing, whispering and rubbing, until he sees hazel eyes open into his.

In those few seconds between dreaming and waking, Sam can't quite hide the terror and confusion oozing out of his hazel orbs. He recovers quickly, clearing his throat and blinking away the moisture in his eyes.

But Dean sees. Dean sees every damn time.

Then, they sit up for a few minutes and talk. About anything. Girls or cars or the hunt or the past. And Sam sips a glass of water. They pretend it's because he's thirsty, but they both know his throat is raw from screaming.

After that, they drift off to sleep, only to repeat the cycle once or twice more before waking in the morning.

It's their routine. It's heartbreaking, it's horrible. But it's their routine.

So when Dean sleeps through the night, and wakes late in the morning, he knows something is wrong. When Dean wakes to silence, he knows something is very wrong.

"Sam?" Dean questions, voice rough, trying to mask the concern.

"Right here," Sam replies. He's sitting at the small table to the right of his bed, numerous books open in front of him.

"Why'd you let me sleep so late?" Dean asks, pulling on a pair of pants and a fresh t-shirt.

Sam shrugs, eyes still glued to the pages in front of him. "You looked tired."

Dean narrows his eyes, examining his brother. Sam's face is tired, lips drawn into a tight line. His eyes are darkened, his posture slumped.

"You ok?" the elder brother questions. Finally, Sam looks up, pasting on a grin.

"Great, you?"

"Fine," Dean says cautiously. "So no-"

"Nope," Sam says, a little too quickly. His eyes avoid Dean's gaze. Just as Dean opens his mouth to argue, Sam hops up. "We should get going. I mean, I'm glad you got your beauty sleep, but it set us behind a few hours."

Dean decides not to push the subject, and stands up warily. "Yeah, ok. I'll start her up," he says, grabbing the keys off the nightstand.

A few minutes later, the boys are in the car, nothing but the rumble of the engine to fill the silent air.

. . .

That night, Sam and Dean return to the motel, a little bruised, but other than that, no worse for wear. Exhaustion creeps into their systems, and as soon as the door shuts, Sam and Dean are collapsed on their beds.

"Night, Sammy," Dean says, stifling a yawn and switching off the light.

"Night, Dean," Sam replies.

And with that, Dean is fast asleep, unknowingly the only one. After a few minutes, Dean's deep snores fill the room, and Sam is grateful for the noise. He sits up, stretching his back and limbs. It's going to be a long, just as the night before had been.

Sam hopes that Dean can get some more sleep, and that he doesn't notice Sam's lack of it. Sam hopes he can keep up the façade for long enough to purge the nightmares from his mind, both conscious and subconscious.

I did it for more than a year, what are a few more weeks or months?

Sam knows the logic is tenuous at best, but it's all he has.

Leaning back, Sam's mind runs through all the possible hunts he and Dean can tackle next. He'd get on the laptop, but the risk of waking Dean up is too big for Sam to take. He isn't like his brother. The only risks he takes are calculated, repentant. Dean is impulsive, reckless…brave. Even when all signs point to disaster, Dean takes the leap and risks everything…and in turn, gains everything he could ask for.

Sam sighs. He wishes he could be more like Dean.

If it wasn't for Dean's risk-taking, Sam knows he wouldn't be where he is. He would've died back in Cold Oak; he would've been killed on any of the hunts over the years. And right now, he'd be 'RoboSam' as Dean so kindly put it.

Then again, Sam thinks, shuddering at the images creeping into his mind. Maybe some risks aren't worth taking.

"Sam?"

The voice startles Sam out of his reverie, and he whips around to face his brother, who's rubbing his eyes and looking at his brother questioningly.

"Why aren't you sleeping?" Dean asks carefully.

For once, Sam is at a loss for words, and all that greets Dean is silence.

"Sam? Why aren't you sleeping?" he asks again, more forcefully.

"I…I didn't…I thought you…you could use a little sleep," Sam responds lamely. Smooth, Sammy. Real smooth.

But instead of the heated reaction Sam expects, Dean just sighs, sadness flooding his eyes like a broken dam. Sam looks away. He can't bear to see the sympathy, the understanding in his brother's eyes.

"Sam," Dean says, voice soft and gentle. Damnit, his voice should never sound like that. I hate that I make him sound like that.

The elder Winchester moves to his brother's side, much like he's done in the past, when Sam wakes up from…

"Listen, Sam…You need to sleep. You just…you just do. I know it sucks, but we can work through it. What we can't work through is death by sleep deprivation. Just…sleep. I'll be right here, you know that. I'm not going anywhere. Just sleep, Sammy. Please."

Dean looks at his brother desperately, trying to make him understand. He could live with any problems or nightmares that came with Sammy. Because it meant that he had Sammy.

He can't live without Sam. He's tried. He's failed. And he's not doing it again.

Sam looks at his brother, and it's the broken desperation that does it for him. Dean doesn't plead. He doesn't beg. Except now.

Sam nods. "Ok. I'll try."

Within minutes, both brothers fall into an exhausted sleep.

A few hours later, Sam wakes up in the middle of the night, gasping out those soul-piercing screams that rattle both brothers to their very cores.

Dean is up in a flash, comforting his brother as best he can, like he always has. He hates the little part of himself that is relieved to wake up to something other than silence, but at the same time, he's just so damn glad to be hearing something. Still, Dean doesn't inquire about the content of the nightmares. He doesn't even mention it.

He's afraid to ask.

Sam accepts the support, but still doesn't tell his brother what he sees, never talks about his blurred perspective. He doesn't know if what he dreams about is real…it sure feels it…The death, the pain, the blood on Dean's face, the screams of Sam's victims. He hopes beyond all hope that it's just a nightmare.

All he really knows is that he doesn't want the images in his head anymore. He feels something inside of him, something broken, and it's ripping him apart, killing him. He wants it to end. But the constant stream of nightmares incapacitates him, paralyzes all other thoughts.

Is it real? Are his nightmares even nightmares at all?

He's afraid to find out.

After a few minutes, Sam is sipping his water and Dean is sitting on the side of the bed. But this time, they don't talk. There's nothing to say.

Sam and Dean sit, together yet separate in their pain, hand in hand with the silence.

Shaking off the dark images, Sam fights the sudden urge to laugh.

It's funny how, back in Cold Oak, Dean was willing to risk everything to keep Sam alive, to fight that deafening silence that plagued him in those fateful hours.

And now, Dean had risked everything to return Sam's soul, to fill the void of silence inside his baby brother.

…But Dean has left him dying in the process.