Reminiscence Chapter 10: Now Part II, a supernatural fanfic

Notes

Alright so originally this was going to be the finale chapter, but then I realized that I could not wrap this up in one chapter...which is why I haven't updated in a long time, which I am VERY sorry about: ( I'll never let something like this happen again with another story, cause it sucks for the readers and it's stressful to me.

Alright to anyone who hasn't subscribed to this story then UNsubscribed cause I suck, I hope you enjoy the chapter and AGAIN...my deepest apologies. I'm just a perfectionist and I refuse to post something unless I feel it is ready.

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Chapter 10

Dean fumbled with the key to the motel room with one shaking hand, the other wrapped tightly around Sam's left arm. The heater in the car had succeeded in warming Sam up to the point that he had almost stopped shivering and was probably capable of standing on his own, but still Dean refused to take that chance.

Finally, he was able to fit the key in the slot and unlock it. Turning the knob to release the latch, Dean kicked the door open the rest of the way with his foot. He snaked his left arm inside the room and felt blindly for the predictably located light switch just to the right of the door. He flipped it on and guided Sam into the room. Dean followed and closed the door behind him.

Sam watched with heavy concern as his brother's blue-nailed and shaking hands fumbled with the chain lock on the door. The Impala's heating system had not had such an equally positive effect on Dean. Sam had managed to shed his coat and had had a blanket to fight the cold, but Dean had left his soaking wet jacket on and had given the only blanket to his little brother.

Dean practically growled when he yet again failed to fit the chain into the slot on the door. Sam walked over to the heater below the motel room's single window. He turned it on as high as it would go and looked up at the sounds of sliding metal and Dean's only slightly heartened cry of triumph.

"I have a new appreciation for dead-bolts." Dean said huskily, a small smile crinkling his eyes. Sam immediately noticed the weariness behind the action and he frowned.

"You should take the first shower. You haven't stopped shivering since we left the bridge and I still need to check that." Sam indicated the knot on Dean's forehead with a flick of his eyes. "See if you have a concussion." But Dean was already shaking his head.

"No way. You first. And anyway, I'm fine." Sam's frown deepened when Dean swayed a little on his feet. He hurried over and took the two duffles that his brother was shouldering.

"Thanks." Dean breathed quietly. Sam shouldered the bag and held up his hand.

"What do you see?"

"The pain in my ass personified."

"Fingers, Dean."

Dean huffed a sigh, but finally relented. "Four. And before you ask..." He added quickly, his voice raising a little to cut Sam off when he started to open his mouth. "No spots, no blurring, no numbness in any extremites." Dean raised his eyebrows fractionally, daring Sam to defy his self-assessment. Sam simply let out a long-suffering sigh, narrowed his eyes and focused on Dean's, no doubt checking pupil dilation. "Happy?" Dean asked sarcastically after a few seconds.

"It's hard to contain in sometimes." Sam deadpanned before turning and walking across the room. Dean smiled fondly and watched as Sam went to place the bags on the nearest bed. The smile instantly vanished and Dean's lungs felt as if they'd shuddered to a halt when a blotch of red on the back of Sam's shirt caught his eye. He felt his heart thud painfully and his stomach felt like he'd swallowed a bunch of stones. The still-painful and always weary side of Dean's memory still got the better of him sometimes, and in a flash he saw Sam fall to his knees, felt Sam limp in his arms, saw Sam's blood covering the palm of his hand.

Before Dean realized he was moving, he'd crossed the room and was lifting up Sam's shirt.

"Hey, wha-" Sam started to protest.

"Your back." Dean answered in a hushed voice before Sam could finish inquiring.

"What?" Sam twisted about as if attempting to make his head turn a full 180 degrees and see what Dean was talking about. Dean swallowed as he looked at the two wounds on Sam's back. One, running vertical down Sam's spine in a scar, pink and long since healed. The other, fresh, jagged and dripping blood in a diagonal line close to the former.

Dean blinked, successfully pulling his mind back to wounds of the present.

"It's bleeding. The cold must've stalled it befor-stop moving around so much!" Sam immediately stopped his fidgeting and sighed. Dean went to touch the wound but stopped and grumbled out a breath. "Let me take a look." He gripped Sam's shoulders gently and urged him down onto the bed.

"No. Dean you can't just stay in those wet clothes-"

"Yeah and the more you don't cooperate the longer I'm going to." Dean shot back flatly, fixing Sam with a unyielding stare. Sam's shoulders slumped with defeat and he let Dean help him onto the bed and stretch out on his stomach. He bit back a groan as the wound pulled before pillowing his chin on his hands. Dean grabbed an actual pillow, offered it to Sam, then retrieved the first aid kit from his bag. He pulled a chair up next to the bed and flicked on both lights over the night-stand before taking a seat.

Carefully, Dean lifted up Sam's shirt again, jaw held tightly as he regarded the jagged wound. The improved lighting revealed the beginning of a wide expanse of bruising around the cut.

"One to ten, Sammy." Dean prompted.

Sam seemed to seriously contemplate the question and after a moment. "Six."

Dean frowned and grabbed the bottle of hydrogen peroxide and a square of gauze. He poured a generous amount straight into the wound; who knew how much bacteria was in that river or on whatever was in it that had done this to Sam. The muscles in Sam's back tensed in a violent jolt and a throaty groan came muffled from the pillow. Dean carefully placed the gauze over the wound, his teeth clamping tighter together. No matter how many times he'd had to take care of Sam over the years, stopping him from bleeding, setting a bone, stitching up a wound, Dean had never gotten used to witnessing his little brother's pain. And he was pretty sure he never would either.

Dean lifted the gauze after a moment and gingerly wiped the pink froth that had bubbled out of the wound. The cut wasn't terribly deep, just nasty looking. Dean didn't think it would need stitches; he'd just dress it after Sam had had his shower and leave it at that.

"Happy?" Sam snarked, sounding pleased with himself for being able to throw Dean's words back at him and remind his big brother of the double-standard that had frustrated him his entire life. Dean couldn't help but smile, not able to deny when he'd been checked.

"Sometimes it's hard to contain it all." Quoted Dean, changing Sam's check to a stalemate. They both remained quite as Dean retrieved another square of gauze and tore off four lengths of medical tape.

"M'I gonna make it, doc?" Sam's deep voice rumbled after a few minutes. Dean looked up briefly at the back of Sam's head as he taped the temporary bandage over the cut.

"Not if you keep those smartass remarks comin'." Dean quipped. Sam's breathed laugh blew noisily over the pillowcase and he turned his head to look back at his brother. Dean rolled Sam's shirt down and sat back in the chair.

"Doesn't look too bad, just some bruising on the way. I'll dress it better after you take a shower."

Sam's face screwed up a little in a brief flash of pain as he pivoted to rest on his side, leaning against his elbow.

"Dean, please. For God's sake your fingernails are blue."

Dean made a face at Sam and brought up his right hand, bending all the fingers in towards his palm to study them.

"Huh...guess that's the closest thing I'll ever get to a manicure."

"Dean."

"Okay, fine." Dean pushed himself out of the chair. "Stubborn ass." He threw back at Sam as he walked over to gather dry clothes from his bag.

"Hypocrite." Sam retorted, smiling softly.

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Dean made sure to keep his shower short. If Sam was going to make him go first, he should at least have the decency to leave his little brother some hot water. So exactly six minutes later, Dean stepped into a pair of sleep-pants and pulled a faded, red t-shirt over his head.

The blissfully hot shower had helped ease some of the aches, but Dean still felt chilled.

"Great." He grumbled. All he needed at that moment was to have to deal with a cold. He pulled the door open and walked back out into the room, the slightly cooler temperature making him have to suppress a shiver. Dean flicked his head back towards the bathroom, indicating Sam to have at it. Sam grabbed a change of clothing from his bag and disappeared behind the water-spotted door. Dean lay his wet clothes over various pieces of furniture to allow them to dry then situated himself in a chair conveniently close to the heater.

A squeak from the faucet handle in the shower preceded the sound of running water and Dean felt himself relax for the first time since before everything had happened on the bridge. Now that he didn't have to look brave for anyone, at least for a few minutes anyway, Dean let the events of the last hour and a half file back through his mind.

His eyes fluttered closed and he shook his head when he relived the moment in which he had realized Sam wasn't breathing. This had been too close. For the past ten months Dean had managed to keep Sam relatively safe and out of harm's way. He had managed to at least keep him breathing, for God's sake. "What if Sam had drowned?" The inevitable question crossed Dean's mind before he could stop it. "Shut up. He didn't." And then a moment later "...But what if he had?" Dean leaned forward, resting his elbows against his knees, and raked his fingers through his still-wet hair. God what if he had lost Sam that night? Dean couldn't have lived with that. Actually, he technically wouldn't have to, not for long anyway.

It suddenly struck Dean that he wasn't sure what he'd almost lost Sam to in the first place. He was sure the spirit had a big something to do with it. It completely fit with the MO of the articles, but Sam had apologized after coming to. Dean remembered brushing it off without a second thought, too focused on getting Sam to warmth and safety, but now curiosity was starting to take hold. Why on earth would Sam apologize to him because of what a spirit had made him do? Dean huffed out a sad laugh and shook his head. "I swear that kid has the most epic guilt complex in the world."

"Dean?" Dean quickly sat up at the sound of his brother's voice. Sam stood a few feet in front of him, clad only in a pair of black sweatpants, a clean, gray t-shirt held loosely in his fingers at his side. "You okay?" Sam asked softly, eyes showing obvious concern as the swept over Dean appraisingly.

"Yeah." Dean breathed out. He hadn't really realized how much time had passed since Sam had gone into the bathroom. "I was just...." Dean motioned vaguely with his hand at the room in general. He sighed when no explanation he cared to share with Sam came to mind. "Yeah." Dean finished finally with a crooked smile. Sam's mouth turned up half heartedly, but immediately slid back in an unconvinced frown. Dean motioned at Sam, eager to change the subject. "Come on. I'll patch ya up."

Sam sighed and nodded. He tossed his shirt on the bed ahead of him and carefully eased down on his stomach again. Dean pulled the chair away from the warmth of the heater and to the edge of the bed. The cut on Sam's back had mostly stopped bleeding, but a few stray drops had paused in their roll down his back. Dean wetted another square of gauze with peroxide, just for good measure, and cleaned the wound once more. He allowed a full intake of breath when the action appeared to cause Sam no additional pain.

The already-healed wound on his brother's back pulled Dean's attention again as he secured a piece of gauze over the one he'd received that night. Dean swallowed hard and became suddenly thankful that Sam wasn't inclined to look at him at the moment. His lightly-shaking fingers ghosted unsurely over the pink line dividing Sam's back.

"Does it hurt?" He asked gruffly. Sam shifted a bit from side to side and shook his head.

"No. The peroxide barely even stung this time." Dean allowed his fingers to lightly brush the long scar.

"Not what I meant." The muscles in Sam's back visibly tensed and he became very still. Dean looked up at the back of Sam's water-darkened hair when he didn't say anything for a moment.

"S'been aching a lot more lately." Sam replied quietly, simply. The sound of air blowing from the heater suddenly sounded deafening in the ensuing silence. After a few moments, Sam levered himself up, snagged his dry shirt, and scooted down to sit on the end of the bed. Slowly, eyes downcast and focused on something probably only he could see, Sam pulled the shirt over his head and carefully eased it down. He leaned forward gingerly and let his clasped hands hang between his knees.

"I know what happened to all the spirit's victims." The change of subject caught Dean completely off guard, but it brought back up the question he had been thinking just a few minutes earlier.

"Yeah?" Dean said softly, not wanting to rush Sam. Sam's stare was blank, lost in thought as he nodded lightly.

"She feeds on pain. Digs up your worst memories and your darkest fears and just..." Sam folded down his lips bitterly, shrugging his shoulders briefly. "...Tosses them back at you. And she doesn't stop until you..."

He stopped, but not before Dean's face had softened with understanding. "Until you don't want to face it all anymore." The spirit had mentally tortured those people until they'd wanted to leap to their death. She'd done this to Sam. The beast inside of Dean that always rears its head whenever anyone or thing messes with his little brother awakened in that moment. "Bitch is going down." Dean silently vowed, making an oath to find that girl's bones, dump three pounds of salt on them, and burn them into a fine dust.

"Dean, I'm sorry." The soft voice brought Dean's vengeful train of thought to an abrupt halt and he looked up to find Sam's shiny eyes staring sadly at him. "She...I-I couldn't block her out. I tried, but I couldn't stop it-"

"Knock it off, Sam." Dean cut in, silencing Sam's guilt-ridden apology. "If that's what she does, then there's nothing you could have done about it." Sam huffed out a breath, the movement pulling his shoulders further in towards his head. The stubbornness of Sam's conscience made Dean's head pound...or maybe that was just the recent collision with the Impala's driver's side door or the swim in below zero water talking, but still his brother's self-loathing didn't help in the least. Dean scrubbed a hand across his forehead and began to open his mouth to speak again.

"When I was..." Sam paused and pulled in a breath. "Did you...?" He started to reiterate, but stopped once more. Dean tilted his head to the side a little, curious, sweeping his eyes over his brother's hunched form.

"Did I what?" Dean asked, suspicion coloring his tone ever so slightly. Sam must have noticed the change in Dean's voice, because he flinched minutely and just shook his head.

"Nothing."

Dean looked away from Sam for a moment, the memories that suddenly clouded his mind making him feel cold. He hadn't wanted Sam to ever know about...that, but if it would help him to not feel alone or weak, then so be it.

"Yes." Dean said after a deep breath. Sam's profile softened and he looked over at him.

"What?" Sam blinked owlishly at his brother. Dean kept his gaze steady and locked on Sam's.

"In Cold Oak when you were..." Dean's eyes flitted to the side momentarily before returning to Sam's. "I thought about it...a lot."

A mix of surprise, relief, pain, and just a hint of anger passed over Sam's expression. He opened his mouth, his bottom lip trembling slightly before he closed it again. Dean continued when it was clear that Sam didn't really know how to respond to that.

"I realized, though, that it wouldn't solve anything. And it sure as hell wouldn't save you." No sooner had Dean said the words that he began to contemplate the validity of them. What exactly had he saved Sam from? Not Hell, Dean could be no surer of that. He hadn't saved Sam from the obvious guilt he felt over the burdening knowledge that his brother had sold his soul for him. Dean hadn't saved Sam from the pain and sadness etched in his features every single day. He hadn't saved Sam from having to live without his brother, something Dean himself hadn't even been able to do. No, instead Dean had deliberately and selfishly bestowed all those burdens upon Sam. When it came down to it, in making that deal, the only person Dean was saving was himself, and for only a limited amount of time.

Dean pushed the thoughts aside and looked away from where his eyes had drifted in thought. This wasn't the time for a pity party or a blame-fest; Sam needed him, strong and reassuring.

"Spirits screw with you, man, it's just what they do. You're not weak for letting her get to you. You are strong, Sam. You're stronger than me." Dean tilted his head a little to the side in an attempt to recapture Sam's gaze, and he didn't move until he succeeded. Which he finally did when Sam sniffed loudly and lifted unsure eyes to look at him. Dean raised his eyebrows a little. "And I'm gonna torch that bitch good for making you doubt that."

Sam's head lifted a little more. His eyes flicked to and away from a few times before settling finally on his brother. Sadness left a residual shine in his eyes, but appreciation managed to pierce through and fix Dean in a loving gaze. Dean held and returned the visible gesture and bobbed his head ever so slightly, expectantly. "Alright?" Sam's slow, brief, nod an answering "Yeah, alright."

Dean's ghosted smile sealed the moment and Sam pulled in a deep, steady breath.

"First thing's first. We gotta find who this girl was. Everything. See what we're dealing with here."

"Yeah." Dean's response floated out on a weary sigh. He had gotten his point across to Sam and, with the loss of the distraction of doing so, he found himself unable to ignore the weakness his body was so desperate to remind him of. The pounding in his head had returned anew, the focal point at the tight-feeling lump on his forehead, and his body was beginning to feel achy on top of the chill that still seeped into his very core. "You get started on that, I'm just gonna uh..." Dean pushed up out of his chair and moved towards the bed Sam had just gotten off of to retrieve his laptop. "...hang out for a uh...a few minutes."

Dean felt the worried eyes watching him as he pulled back the blankets on his bed, a spot near the top still a bit damp where water had dripped from Sam's hair, and slid between the sheets, but he let them watch. He would just sleep for thirty minutes or so, just enough to recharge his internal batteries, then he would help Sam out with finding the likely-gritty details of the death of the girl haunting the bridge.

A loud, contented sigh blew past Dean's lips as he pulled the blankets high and tight around him and closed his warm-feeling eyes. He willed the shivers jolting through his battered body to cease, but they seemed to have a will of their own and continued to rattle him and fend off the desperately-desired oblivion of sleep.

Behind him, Dean heard the sound of fabric rubbing against fabric and a moment later the weight of a second blanket was draped over him and smoothed carefully over his shaking shoulder. The gesture soothed Dean's mind, if not his body, but after awhile the added covering was able to trap a bit more warmth and quell some of the chills coursing through him. That, coupled with the close and comforting presence of his little brother, finally lulled Dean to into a light sleep.

...To Be Continued...

Notes

Hope that was somewhat worth the wait.

I realize there really wasn't any reminiscing in this chapter either, but again I didn't feel like it would fit. I promise more flashbacks in the next chapter, which WILL be the finale this time, and I will wrap everything up.

I wanted to add in Sam's scar aching since the timeline in this story is close to the one year anniversary of when he got it. BECAUSE, I've discovered something fascinating the past few years that I wanted to incorporate into this story. Said fascinating tidbit being that in April 2004 I had an appendectomy and every year since, like clockwork, late March/early April the area where my appendix used to be aches just a little and every once in awhile; the rest of the year, it doesn't do a damn thing. So I thought that was kinda interesting, kinda like a little reminder like "Hey, remember when?" Not that Sam needs that, but I digress.

I'm VERY tired, so I apologize if this chapter is less than par or poorly edited.

Reviews are like writing wicked-cruel season finales(I'm literally frightened to see what he'll do this year)...and I'm Kripke.

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