"Sam!" Dean hollered, hands cupped around his mouth, "Sammy!"

Nothing. Nothing but his own damn voice bouncing back at him off the trees. "Get some air my ass," he muttered, but the anger was thin. A small mask sitting on mounting fear. Dean hadn't waited long. Needing air – he respected that. So Sam had ten – okay, five minutes.

Dean barely made it to three.

There were so many things, too many to count, that could've happened. Sam didn't take off like this, not without saying something. And...if he did, he couldn't get far.

Not in two and a half minutes.

But, God (Chuck, sorry man) – what if something… possession? The tattoos, so no way. Angels, though? Those dicks were looking for the kid, so maybe they thought that Sam –

The kid…

Dean's stomach dropped. Possession – heaven, hell – he could deal with those. Not like it was fun, but Dean could work with them.

But if this was the kid going bad, if he sent Sammy to another universe..

Dean froze.

Lucifer. Did that little- did he send Sammy…

Dean wasn't sure when he'd done it, but his gun was cocked and he was busting ass back to the bunker to get some answers. He barely heard anything other than his own breath, his heartbeat.

And then in the distance he heard a soft, sputtering moan.

Someone was dying.

Dean's heart jumped out his throat. Panic froze his blood, burned him from the inside. He ran in the direction it came from, burst through the woods at light speed because someone was definitely dying and the only person who could be in the area was his baby brother.

"Sammy-!"

And there he was. The big sasquatch, hunched over himself, still except for the subtle wave in his shoulders. Alive.

Dean lowered his gun, ran a hand down his face to wipe away the cold sweat, the relief turning to annoyance because he'd way overreacted here.

Then annoyance burned, sizzled and boiled into anger.

"Damn it, Sam! Didn't you hear me shouting your name? What the hell, man! Damn it…"

Sam's subtle movements stopped. He was stone still.

Except for his hands. Dean saw them peeking out, just a little. They were shaking. And they were red.

His eyes trailed down to the body he just noticed, the one Sam was straddling, the one that was bleeding out. And then it hit him like a truck.

Eggs. Rotten, old ass eggs.

"S-Sammy…" Dean started, the name dying on his lips. Because no. Not now. It was a dream. A really bad, shit, alcohol fever dream because there was no way, there was no way in hell…

"Dean," he heard Sam croak, "I need help."

Taking prompts, as always. Thank you every one for liking, following, commenting and so on. You guys are my life force :)