Chapter Nine: The Sufferer and the Witness

Dean sat stiffly on a kitchen chair, a bottle of beer sitting untouched on the table before him. He ran a hand through his short-cropped hair and scratched the back of his head.

Dean took a swig of his beer and grimaced- he had waited too long and it had gone warm- and set the bottle down, glaring at it.

He sighed. Dean thought about his brother, laying upstairs in his bed but so far away from him.

Sam had been having more frequent hallucinations after they had arrived back in Whitefish and nothing Dean did could snap Sam out of them.

Dean had become a pro in predicting when a hallucination was about to start- his brother's gaze would drift away from him or become distant, his pupils grow so large that only a thin ring of green iris could be seen. Sam's face would become expressionless in the instant before the terror began- and Dean knew that his detection abilities were nothing to be proud of.

Sam had tried to fight them, Dean could tell but slowly he saw his brother grow weaker and give in.

Tears filled Dean's eyes and threatened to overflow as he thought of his younger brother. He had been fine for months. Months! But now he was drowning and Dean was sure it had been Bobby's death which was the straw that finally broke the camel's back.

Sam wasn't Sam anymore. He was growing increasingly listless and he barely ate or drank anything. Dean worried that Sam was slowly starving to death.

But the despondency wasn't the worst of it, Dean decided. The worst had to be the odd mood-swings. They often occurred after a hallucination and Sam would either be extremely clingy, begging Dean not to leave him, never letting his brother form his sight for hours afterwards as though Dean would walk out on him or Sam would become hostile, his expression one of rage only just contained. Dean was sure he had seen that angry, albeit aloof look on his brother's face before- Dean was sure that it was the very look that his brother wore when he had been soulless. He hated that mood shift most all.

Dean felt useless. He couldn't help his brother. All he could do was watch and wait and make sure he was there for Sam when he came out of whatever hallucination he'd been trapped in.

Dean gulped down the rest of the warm alcohol and set the bottle in the recycling bin under the sink. He grabbed a box of soda crackers from the pantry and trudged upstairs.

Sam's door was open and Dean saw his brother was lying on his side, the bed sheets crumpled and twisted around his body.

"Sam?" Dean whispered so as not to startle his brother.

Dean entered the room and moved around the side of the bed so he could face his brother. Sam's eyes were open but they were glazed and looked through Dean rather than at him. Dean crouched down so he was eye-level with his brother. Sam was still there- Dean knew he wasn't hallucinating- but continued to stare unblinking as if his brother was invisible.

The episodes were emotionally and physically exhausting and drained both Winchesters.

"I brought you some crackers," Dean said and shook the box a little for emphasis.

"You feel up to eating a bit?" he continued hopefully.

Sam nodded nearly imperceptibly and slowly sat up.

Dean sat on the edge of the bed and opened the box and tore apart the plastic wrapping.

He didn't like how little his brother ate, not nearly enough to support him surely but Dean couldn't make his brother eat - Sam would shut down if he tried.

You can lead a horse to water but you can't make 'im drink, Dean thought miserably.

Dean held the box out to Sam who took a cracker and munched it as though he could have cared less about what it was.

"Feeling any better?" Dean asked and Sam shrugged.

"Mm… tired," he muttered and took another cracker.

That had become Sam's response every time Dean asked him 'how are you feeling' or 'are you okay'.

"How about you? Did you sleep last night?" Sam asked; surprising Dean because his brother seemed so caught up in his own world to notice him, much less anything else in his surroundings.

"Got a few hours after you passed out," Dean lied. He hadn't slept a wink. It had been a bad night and even after Sam had finally fallen asleep out of exhaustion Dean didn't dare close his eyes.

Sam lowered his head. His shoulders sagged with lassitude.

"You thirsty? I'll go get you something," Dean suggested and stood, taking the crackers with him, knowing that Sam was not going to eat anymore.

Dean made his way downstairs, throwing the crackers carelessly onto the kitchen table as he entered.

He threw open the refrigerator door and pulled out a pitcher of grape juice. Dean grabbed a mug and poured some juice in before riffling through the drawers and pulling out a packet of sleeping pills. Dean frowned as he crushed a couple of the white pills with a spoon and tipped the powder into the grape juice before stirring the mixture together so that the liquid was clear again.

Dean hated giving the pills to his brother but at least they afforded Sam a few hours of deep, restful sleep with no nightmares. It also gave Dean the chance to go to the local bars and hustle pool or play some rounds of poker and get much needed cash in his wallet. He didn't want to go back to McDougal's, he was sure the old man wouldn't take him back now anyway but Dean didn't see any use in complaining about it.

Dean brought the drink up to Sam to find his brother sitting against the bed's headrest, his eyes half-closed and lines of pain and fatigue etched into his face.

"Hey Sammy, got you some juice," Dean said softly and sat down slowly on the edge of the bed.

Sam opened his eyes wider and gave his brother a slight smile.

"Can't drink it," Sam said and lowered his gaze.

"C'mon Sammy, just a couple of sips?" Dean plied.

"Can I have water?" Sam asked.

"You hardly eat anything," Dean persisted, "At least drink something good for you."

Sam grimaced slightly, "I thought water was good for me."

"You know what I mean," Dean held the mug out, not willing to give in.

Sam sighed and Dean knew he'd won. His brother took the mug from him and Dean was shocked when Sam's fingers brushed his because they were ice cold.

"You warm enough?" Dean asked and half-stood, intending to get a blanket or a sweater.

Sam nodded, lifting the mug to his mouth and took a small drink of the juice.

Dean stood down and waited until Sam had drunk his fill of the juice. He took the mug back from his brother and set it on the nightstand. Like a parent, Dean unknotted the blankets and held them out so his younger brother could sleep underneath them.

He knew Sam was tired, he could see it in his brother's expression and Sam, who would normally refuse to be babied, allowed Dean's mothering simply because he was too weary to protest and it made Dean feel better.

Sam mumbled his thanks as he lay down and Dean pulled the covers halfway up his chest.

Dean stood and made sure Sam was asleep, his eyes closed and his breathing light, before grabbing a wool blanket from the linen closet and spreading it over his younger brother, hoping to give him much needed warmth.

He gathered up the mug and headed back downstairs, trying to decide if he should go out at all or just relax and watch some mindless TV.

Dean peered into his wallet, counted the bills and chose to stay at the cabin. He could always head out the next day.

He sighed though; today had been a fairly good day, so far Sam had had no hallucinations and was just tired but tomorrow was a new day and he had no idea what it would bring.

Dean knocked on the wooden kitchen doorframe, praying that Sam would sleep for at least two or three hours and eat something more substantial upon waking. He hoped that Sam would not have any visions of Lucifer or Hell because as much as they frightened him, they scared the shit out of Dean as well.

Dean poured the leftover grape juice into the sink, more than half of it remained in the mug but Dean tried not to think about that.

Sam didn't know about the sleeping-aid, Dean had not told him and didn't plan to tell him as long as it helped his brother rest.

Dean felt badly for giving his brother the pills without his knowledge, he hated lying to Sam but he could not think of any way out of it.

At least like this we both get some rest, Dean convinced himself that he was doing a good thing for Sam.

Dean decided that since he was in the kitchen he might as well make himself lunch. He'd be in no shape to help Sam if he neglected to eat.

Dean pulled a minute steak and a carton of eggs from the fridge.

He cut open the cellophane wrapper on the steak and pulled a frying pan from the oven. Dean warmed the pan, put the meat in and waited for it to brown.

He leaned against the counter, white knuckles gripping its edge and the muscles in his arms straining as though he was attempting to break the construction of wood-covered laminate.

Dean sighed and rubbed his face with his hand.

"God, I wish you were here, Bobby," Dean muttered as he took a fork from the drawer and turned over the steak, breathing the scent of cooking beef.

"You'd know what to do, wouldn't you?" Dean continued his one-sided his conversation as he picked a beer from the fridge and opened it.

Even if Bobby couldn't help, he'd be able to stay with Sam. Of course, Dean thought furiously, if Bobby was still here than Sam wouldn't be like this.

Dean peered out the kitchen window. The day was bright and sunny, warm. Not that he cared much.

Should coax Sam out there, Dean mused, maybe some fresh air would do him good.

SPN

Sam awoke slowly, his eyes felt heavy and sleep tempted him to return to its warm embrace. Sam's head ached and his eyes throbbed in their sockets. There would be no more sleep for him.

He sat up, leaning his back against the bed's headrest and raised a shaking hand to his hair to brush the sweaty bangs off his brow.

Sam swung his legs off the mattress and set his feet on the worn, woven rug beside the bed. Like an old man, Sam stood on unsure legs, one hand against the wall for support.

He trembled with weakness and fear. Weakness from the meager amount of food he would eat and fear of what vision might greet him.

"Dean?" Sam called softly, his voice slightly rough from disuse.

Sam crept to the doorway and peered into the hall. He did not see his brother. Sam closed his eyes and took a deep breath. His stomach twinged with hunger but nausea pushed all thoughts of food from Sam's mind.

Sam took cautious steps into the corridor and headed toward the stairs. He listened for the sound of the radio or television but all was silent below.

Sam reached out and gripped the railing. Descending the steps should not be such a Herculean task but they seemed to buck and dip before his eyes.

Sam stuck one foot out and found no purchase. He grabbed the railing tightly for fear of falling down the stairs. His breathing became rapid and he crouched down. The stairs continued to sway crazily and he felt bile rise in his throat.

Sam clenched his eyes shut until the dizziness faded and the stairs no longer moved when he opened his eyes.

Warily, Sam climbed down the steps and breathed a sigh of relief when his feet touched the wooden boards that made up the floor of the main part of the cabin.

The television in the living room was turned off and Dean was not in the kitchen.

"Dean?" Sam asked, looking anxiously for his other brother.

Sam received no answer and all he could think was that Dean had left, that Dean had grown tired of taking care of him and had gone away.

"No, no, no," Sam whispered and his heart began to pound in his chest.

He couldn't believe he was alone. He couldn't believe his brother had abandoned him.

Sam had tried to handle it, he had, but maybe Dean had seen just how weak he really was and couldn't take it anymore.

Sam sucked in a watery breath. His eyes stung.

What was he going to do all by himself? What if Lucifer came back?

Sam's limbs began to tremble at the thought.

"Dean! Dean! Where are you?" he called out and ran to the front door, opening the heavy wooden interior one and peering nervously through the screen.

Dean wasn't out there. He was gone and he was never coming back.

Sam stumbled away from the door, arms wrapped protectively around his middle to sit on the bottom step.

Sam grabbed his hair in his hands. Dean was finally gone. He was finally alone.

He jerked up when the door slammed open and shut.

"Sam!" he could have leapt with joy upon hearing that voice.

Dean rushed over to his brother.

"Are you okay? Did you fall down the stairs?" Dean started running his hands over Sam's arms, back, legs, to check for injuries.

Sam shook his head. He had forgotten he had not been down on the main floor for a number of days.

"I woke up and… and I thought… you were gone," Sam stammered, burying his face unabashedly into his brother's shoulder.

Dean gripped Sam's shoulders gently and held him back so he could see his face, "Hey, I'm not going anywhere Sammy. I've told ya before and I'll tell ya again."

Dean's heart clenched when he saw the look of pure relief and gratitude on his brother's face. He smiled at the look of love in his brother's eyes.

"Sorry I scared you," Dean apologized. He hadn't thought Sam would wake up so soon- kid had only been asleep for an hour and a half- but he supposed he should have expected it due to the amount of grape juice that had remained in the mug when Sam had finished with it.

"I was just in the garage," Dean explained, "I just wanted to see the old girl again."

Old girl? Sam thought, confused for a moment and then it dawned on him- the Impala.

"I was thinking; if you're feeling up to it… want to go for a little drive?" Dean asked.

"But the Impala's kind of conspicuous," Sam said although the idea of being inside the beloved car again was very tempting.

"We'll only go up the road and back," Dean promised and stood, reaching a hand down to help his brother up.

Sam smiled and Dean's heart just about melted. This was the liveliest Sam had been in days.

The brothers stepped outside, Dean taking a deep breath and grinning at the sunshine slanting through the green-leafed trees. The tension left Sam's shoulders and he held himself a little taller, revived by warm breeze.

Dean kept a hand on his brother's arm as they walked to the Impala. Dean had given the car a once over and washed her so that her black hide shone and the silver hubcaps sparkled.

He placed a hand on the Impala's hood and patted it as though she were a trusty horse or a faithful dog.

"Couldn't bear to let her gather dust in the garage," Dean said, more to himself than his brother.

"She's beautiful, Dean," Sam said and ran a hand over the side of the Impala until it rested on the door handle.

Sam opened the door and paused a minute before getting inside. He peered at his brother. Dean looked so happy and that troubled Sam. He wasn't sure how long that happiness would last.

Sam looked away from his brother, toward the surrounding forest and sighed. He could already feel the pull and he wished he had more time. Dean wouldn't understand but Sam could almost feel Hell tugging at him, beckoning to him, eager to sink its claws into him again.

"Sam?" the sound of Dean's voice roused him from his dark thoughts.

Dean motioned that he should get in the car and Sam complied. His brother slid into the driver's seat and started the ignition.

Dean leaned back against the Impala's leather seat with a contented sigh.

"I've missed ya, baby," he muttered and looked at his brother from the corner of his eye. Sam's face was turned away from him, his attention on the scene outside of the old wooden hunting cabin surrounded by green, jovial foliage.

Dean gulped and put the Impala in drive and slowly began rolling down the dirt road that would wind through the trees until it reached the paved street that led to the town of Whitefish, only miles away.

Dean turned on the radio to alleviate the silence and smiled when Boston's 'More Than a Feeling' came on.

Sam's green-eyed gaze turned to his brother and Dean cursed himself for not being able to do more to help his younger sibling.

Although Dean could tell Sam was trying to appear happy, he could see the sadness and pain clearly in his eyes, in his haggard face, in his hunched posture.

Dean gripped the steering wheel tightly and let out a deep breath. He turned down the music and spoke instead.

"Remember when I taught you to drive this car?" he asked and Sam nodded with a slight grimace at the memory.

"Thought I was going to go off the road," Sam said softly.

Dean chuckled, "Nah, you did great."

"Dad was pissed though," Sam continued, his tone light and contented.

Dean snorted laughter, "Only 'cause you could barely see over the dashboard… even with two phonebooks under ya!"

Sam chuckled at the memory of sitting on the big yellow books while his brother, not even old enough to drive himself, taught him how to maneuver the Impala out of the motel's parking lot and down the street to an Open 24/7 diner.

John had been gone on a hunt with Bobby, reluctantly leaving the Impala in case of emergencies but of course, his two young sons couldn't help but be curious about driving the car- Dean only had a rudimentary lesson- and it had ended up with Sam in the driver's seat, tiny hands gripping the steering wheel, green eyes peeping over the dash and a big grin on his face.

The Impala hadn't been damaged at all and no one had seen the two boys (or if they had, they simply hadn't cared) and the only way John had found out at all was an overexcited Sammy, telling him proudly that he had driven the car.

John had not let Sam touch the Impala again until he was fourteen, still too young by law to drive, but the father and his eldest son needed someone to drive in case they got the short end of the stick on a hunt.

John himself had insisted on teaching Sam and after a lot of yelling and slammed doors and not moving the car forward an inch, Dean had taken over, much to Sam's relief and John's irritation.

Dean smiled kindly at his brother and felt a sensation he hadn't experienced in a long time. The peace he was feeling wouldn't last, he knew, but he could revel in it while it did and remember that same feeling when things got bad again. Dean hoped that Sam was feeling the same way and prayed that he had the strength to do what was needed to protect his brother.

1. Title comes from a Rise Against album of the same name.

2. Thanks to nupinoo296, lizziemarie0529, SPN Mum, BlueRavenQuill, AlxM, sammynanci, brynerose, and Shannanagins for reviewing.

3. Thanks to everyone who alerted and favourited.

4. Please review! They make me smile!