Ummm, hi! Bites lip I have no excuse, really. I just hope someone out there is still reading this story. If so I just wanna thank you!!!!

Ahm, nothing much happens in this chapter, but you do get the answer to WTH is going on…well I answered to that question in my previous chapter, but no one noticed it. shrugs Maybe I'm just really good at keeping things mysterious, idk. LOL

So here it is….

enjoy...

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The feather light rain drops were knocking on the window of the motel room. The sound was in tune with Dean's heartbeat, thump, thump, thump…steady in the fear that settled in him. It was soothing in a way…a soft cluck, cluck, cluck…a soothing whisper of calmness in the quiet room.

The storm was fallowing them the whole ride to the motel…strong thunder and bright lightning, small rain drops like tears running down the windshield of the Impala.

Dean wanted to stay in the safety of the black car, wanted his Dad to just drive away…anywhere but to the motel room where it all started.

-:-

"Why does Sam have to go?" he stuffed his hands in his pockets, twirling the loose threads in them with his fingers.

"We can't leave him here alone and I need you on this hunt."

John said in a monotone voice, not raising his eyes from his diary that was lying wide open on the table.

Dean had it on the edge of his tongue, words like 'he's old enough to wait here', 'he can't go on a hunt, not yet', 'he's to young to go on this hunt', 'I want him to stay here, safe', but this was his Dad and you don't question your Dad.

Something fell in the bathroom and Dean was just about to ask 'what the hell' when Sam yelled: "'m fine!"

Dean smirked…dork.

A few minutes later, when Sam emerged form the bathroom, smelling of soap and way too much washing detergent, Dean was already waiting for him with his hand on the door knob and a sad smile on his lips.

"Sam!"

"Yeah, what?!"

"Come on, we're going."

Dean could actually see how Sam gulped down a bucket of saliva. The kid didn't even have time to realise that this was real, that this hunt was gonna happen. It was like something died in Sam's eyes, the moment Dean said that.

"Now?"

"Yeah…"

"You sure?"

What kind of a question is that?

"Yes, we're gonna kill the b…witch just the way she deserves. Now come on. Dad's packing the stuff into the car. Move your ass."

A beat of a heart in the silence…

"Do I have to go?" the softness of the voice and the big brown eyes stopped Dean in his track. He breathed out…a long breath: "Sam, come on."

He didn't know what else to say to his brother that was nervously standing by the bed. He could lie and say 'no, you can stay here', but…yeah.

"Dean…" he whined, trying to change the unavoidable.

"Sam, just," he wanted to be pissed at Sam, wanted to scream at him for acting like a whiny little brat, wanted to tell him that he didn't want Sam on this hunt, wanted to do anything that would prevent Sam to go with them…but those eyes Sam wore mixing with his Dad's words, made him soften his voice: "Come on."

He waited for his brother to step closer to him, closer to the door. He brushed along Sam's shoulder…the bony arm and closed the door.

-:-

The room was dark except for a little lamp on the night stand that was bright enough to make the brownness of the room look almost…bearable. It was a warm colour that enveloped Dean, the colour of wood, the colour of warmness. He didn't want to turn on the main light in fear that it would be to strong for Sam when he would wake up.

He will wake up…

So he kept the room dim, trying to hide in the dusk of the light, trying so damn hard not to think about anything else but fixing Sam.

The lightning that illuminated the small room from time to time, raised shadows on the walls, shadows that constricted Dean's veins, made his blood run cold…long branches, like arms stretching over the ceiling, trying to grab Sam, the flutter of the curtain, the hum of the far away thunder, the small rain drops...it was all turning upside down in his mind, made everything twice as scary as it really was.

Not scared…

Sitting on the edge of the bed where Sam was sprawled on at the moment, Dean steadied his hand over Sam's bruised knee. His brother was so small; it was like the bed swallowed him in its softness. The only thing that was moving was Sam's chest…his T-shit worn thin, drenched in sweat and Dean knew he should change him, but the room was warm enough and Sam needed his knees, hands and elbows taken care off.

A thunder shook him; shook the bed, shook Sam…shook the room.

"Some storm we have here, Sammy."

He looked up at his brother's face, wet from sweat, even though he wiped it off just a minute ago. He reached his hand over Sam's chest, brushing away a stray, wet curl of Sam's hair from the kid's forehead.

Another thunder made its room in his chest, making it harder to breathe.

He swiped the cotton ball over Sam's knee, expecting a hiss from his brother, but there was nothing. Just…steady breathing and rapid movement of Sam's eyes beneath his eyelids.

The dried blood from Sam's scrapped knee coloured the cotton bright red, dark in places where the dirt came off too. And there was a lot of dirt there…dirt with blood, twigs, little pebbles…it was all embodied in Sam's knee.

"Where the Hell did you fall, Sam?"

Dean whispered into the quiet room, running the cotton over the scrapes, trying his best to clean off every piece that didn't belong there.

Sam was warm…sweaty…shaking…still…breathing…alive. And that was all that mattered. Everything else Dean would deal with when his brother would wake up.

Lightning that hit the room, was brighter than anything else Dean had ever seen and he contemplated on turning off the only light he dared to have on. But darkness…darkness would kill him and if Sam woke up in darkness…no, he couldn't do that.

He left the knee uncovered, leaving it to the warm room air to dry it.

The rain was unmercifully knocking on the window now…the summer storms are unpredictable like that…they start all nice and sweet and then they hit with all the power they truly posses.

Looking toward the window, and seeing the tiny drops sliding down, casting shadows on the wall, whenever a car passed by…he sighed and turned his attention back to Sam.

In the brownness of the room, Sam looked peaceful. Fragile, young, barely fifteen.

But that was only in the light of the room. Dean knew that Sam was not really like that. He was not fragile, he was not a normal fifteen years old boy…he was…just…sensitive.

The only normal on Sam was that he was a bitchy; pain in the ass little brother that always got the short stick of a hunt.

And what that witch did to him…he would kill the bitch all over again if he could. But his Dad took care of it. Everything was fine now, everything but Sam. Everything but his baby brother that was stuck in God knows what nightmare. He needed to talk to Sam, needed to hear his brother speak; needed to know what Sam saw, needed to make this alright. The need was so strong, he could choke on it.

He wiped away the sweat covering Sam's cheeks…they were clammy and warm, the skin slightly red, feverish, but not quite. Dean knew it was just a residue of the spell…and he knew that his Dad was taking care of that at the moment. Nothing to worry about…except for the wounds Sam was covered in.

He picked up Sam's left hand and started cleaning up the palm. He picked out some of the splinters earlier in the woods, but some were still in there. Deep under the skin. He could see them, tiny long pieces of wood under Sam's skin.

With a needle, the only thing available, he tried to pull them out. A needle going under Sam's skin, catching the splinter and pulling it out.

"Good, you're not awake for this, Sammy."

He smirked, knowing Sam…Sam would be squeezing tears out of his eyes with the restrain not to show pain. Maybe he would flinch too. Maybe. The kid was good in hiding his pain…Hell, I thought him that.

He wiped away the blood that came spilling out when he dug in for a particularly long splinter.

Sam's hand was boneless in Dean's, long bony fingers, sweaty, dirty and bloody. He tried not to look at the mess that was his brother's hand but it was so hard to push everything aside and just do his job in fixing Sam. And the thunder was not making it easy. It just made every thing more sinister.

He put away the needle when he was sure all the splinters were out and just as he tried to clean the wound a huff of air came from Sam's direction. He was struck with Sam's voice: "Dean!!!"

The sound of his name was almost lost into another thunder that vibrated through the room.

He all but fell off the bed; the only thing that kept him on it was Sam's warm hand that gripped his wrist in a death grip. He looked up from where Sam's hand was clutching his wrist, and saw Sam rose up on the bed, almost knocking his head into Dean's chest.

"Sam!" he whispered, not wanting to startle his brother.

"Dean!!!"

Not knowing what to do, but knowing that Sam can't be heard screaming like someone was butchering him, he dropped the gauze from his right hand and clamped it over Sam's mouth. In an instant Sam's other hand clutched his.

The look Sam gave him all lost and teary, big eyes that saw too much… soft gaze that scorched Dean.

"Shhhhh, shhh, shhh, Sammy. 's okay, 'm here."

The trees were shushing him, Dean was shushing him, everyone was shushing him, but all he wanted to do was scream…scream out his memories, just drown them in his brother's name…or Dad's.

He could feel Sam's struggle to scream, feel Sam trying to open his mouth but…he wasn't entirely sure Sam wouldn't scream if he let go. And he can't let go…can't let Sam scream. Not here. Not now.

"Sam?"

Those eyes with tears in them, spilling out, running down his brother's cheeks, straight onto his palm…they were cutting him in pieces.

"Sammy?"

He deepened his voice, lowered it to a soft whisper and looked at those eyes, trying so hard to seek out his brother in them.

"Sam, 'm gonna remove my hand but only if you promise me not to yell. Okay?"

He waited for a nod…he would wait for eternity. They couldn't afford anyone to hear them…a child screaming is a sure sign of trouble and soon all kind of people would come knocking at their door.

But the nod was stuck somewhere in Sam…in his sense of reality.

"Sammy, can I let you go?"

The tears mixing with sweat were running down his brother's face, and he didn't care. Teasing Sam about it was the last thing on his mind.

The thunder that shook both of them, made Sam scream over Dean's palm that was efficiently muffling the noise.

"Sam, look at me. Come on."

Sam did. He's been looking at his eyes the whole time, but Dean was not entirely sure Sam was actually seeing him and not something else. He didn't even wanna think what that something else could be…although he knew.

Dean nodded at Sam, a little sideway glance at his brother: "Sammy, hey it's me, okay? You're safe, we're in the motel room, Dad'll be here soon, you're alright, but I need you to calm down and don't scream. Nothing can hurt you here. Okay?"

He hoped that would get the necessary nod he wanted from Sam.

Sam's breath quickened, his chest heaving like it was about to explode and Dean thought that this was it, that Sam was gonna pass out again and leave him alone again. Quick huffs of air were tickling the side of his palm, huffs of air Sam was blowing out of his nose…the sound of that little evidence of distress was echoing so laud in the room, Dean thought it could easily overpower the thunder.

He could feel Sam's hands tighten their grip on his hands, digging his fingernails into the soft skin of his wrist…

Sam could feel the bones in his Dean's wrist, crashing together, but he didn't care. He just needed to feel for himself that this wasn't a dream, that Dean was alive, that a simple heartbeat can make a difference between dreams and reality.

"Sam, just breathe…I'm gonna remove my hand and you're not gonna scream and then you're gonna lay down on the bed again, and you'll be fine. Understand?"

Over three beats of a heart and another thunder a nod came. The nod. It was hidden in such a delicate move of Sam's head that Dean would never have seen it, but he felt it on his hand that was holding Sam's mouth shut.

"Okay then."

He slowly removed his hand and grimaced when it came back all wet from Sam's saliva.

"You just had to drool over my hand, didn't ya?"

He placed his hand over Sam's heart, pushed his brother back down on the bed and by the way wiped his hand on Sam's shirt: "Drool boy."

He expected a smile from Sam, but all he got were opened eyes and a blank stare directed to the ceiling.

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TBC…

Oh and yeah I'm fully aware that I wrote a she witch and they killed a man. I know where I'm going with this. Smiles Sort off, LOL.