Okey dokie, here's the next chappie. Hope you like, please R&R. :)

Chapter 10: - NO!

Sam guided Dean into a cubicle as his older brother tried to shrug him off irritably. He couldn't believe that in the space of a few short minutes, his brother had become totally dependent on him.

Dean sat down on the bed moodily. He hated the sympathy evident in his brother's voice. He could feel Sam's penetrating gaze on him constantly, his body ready to jump if he needed anything.

"Quit it," he finally snapped, feeling along the bed for his brother.

"Quit what?"

"Looking at me like that! You're driving me crazy."

Sam looked offended and embarrassed. "I wasn't-"

"Sam, just stop," he hissed through gritted teeth. Not being able to see was bad enough without his brother becoming overprotective. He was the older brother. That was his job. To protect Sam, not the other way round. Yet for some sick and twisted reason, their roles were being forcibly reversed.

"Hello," said the doctor, as he pushed back the curtain, breaking the suffocating silence which had fallen between the two brothers. "What can I do for you?"

The doctor was of medium build with black hair and a slightly upturned nose, his eyes a hazy blue. Glancing at the clipboard he held in his hands he turned to smile at the younger of the two men before him.

Dean was silent as Sam explained briefly in a more mainstream and family friendly way, the version of events that had led them here, events that had left his brother blind.

The doctor nodded, listening intently as he asked questions about the injuries Dean had sustained, looking closely at the healing eyebrow and bruising that covered his body, courtesy of Meg.

Grimacing slightly, Dean turned away from the pair. What with being beaten to a pulp by a girl, even if she was a crazy assed demon and now being driven crazy by something else, all in all it had been a very long week.

After listening to Sam's cover story, the doctor attended to Dean, looking into his eyes with a pen light. Clicking his tongue between his teeth, he took his time checking him over before letting out a sigh.

He turned to Sam, who was looking at him anxiously, before looking back at Dean saying, "I can't see anything that can be causing your blindness. Your eyes are functioning normally. They're responsive to light, but you still say you can't see anything?"

"No, just darkness," Dean sighed despondently.

"Well then, it could be a range of things not related to you eyes which seem to be in good working order. It's not unheard of for a person to become temporarily blind after serious trauma as a defensive mechanism by the body. Sometimes the sight of harrowing scenes, blood, devastation, mutilation, etcetera, can cause the mind to try to block out these images resulting, in some cases, in temporary blindness. Most often such things happen to young children, normally affecting their ability to speak, but it can also affect adults. Given the fact you and your brother have recently been beaten to a pulp by a group of thugs this may well be the case."

"But I've seen far worse things and been hurt a lot more in the past and have never experienced this. I'm not squeamish," Dean protested. He wasn't a coward and he didn't want the thought to even be considered, especially seeing as Sam was standing right next to him. He couldn't bear the thought of Sam thinking him so weak and vulnerable. It was bad enough already.

The doctor looked at him closely. "Dean if this is the case, this recent incident might have been the final straw. I see by these records you are seeing Mr. Hyde."

Dean flushed. "It's not because of this, trust me."

"Yes, but if you've been talking and reliving painful memories about your past, it might be the reason. The body and mind can only deal with so much before it hits crisis point and begins to shut down. Your body's telling you something. I think you need to listen to it."

"Like what?" Sam asked as Dean scoffed.

"Maybe you need to take it easy for a while. Deal with your past before you race towards your future."

Dean continued to look unsure. 'This has to be the demon, not me,' he thought desperately. 'I love my job; it's what keeps me going. It has to be this demon! Doesn't it?' The question, once considered, began to eat away at him as he became unsure, not knowing what to think. He tried to shrug the feeling off as Sam looked at him, thinking the same.

"Without more tests we can't rule out other causes," the doctor continued. "I'd like to send you to a consultant."

Dean jumped to his feet. "No. I just want to go home."

Sam tried to argue, but one look from Dean made him shut his mouth and concede. He knew his brother too well. He'd never get him to go. He'd already dragged him this far, anymore and his brother would turn and run. Considering the state of things, he realised he'd have to back down. Dean needed him more than he'd ever admit and he wouldn't allow his brother to push him away, not now, not ever.

"I think we should phone dad," said Sam gently, as he tried to guide Dean out of the hospital entrance without getting his head bitten off.

Dean didn't seem to protest, and instead turned his head away as Sam drew out his phone and punched in the number. They stood in silence as Sam impatiently listened to the endless ringing. Finally slamming it shut, he sighed.

"Let me guess, no answer," Dean muttered bitterly.

Sam shook his head, forgetting Dean couldn't see it.

"What a surprise," Dean continued, letting out a hollow laugh. "Well he never answered or returned our calls when I almost died, or when you lost Jess. Nothing ever changes."

Sam looked at him, taken aback by his harsh words. He'd never heard him talk about their father like that. If anything they should have been his words. Dean had always been so confident in his actions and motives.

The night was dark and heavy. Dean had hardly said two words to Sam in the car on the way home from the hospital. Instead, he had pretended to look out the window lost in thought. Before Sam had even stopped the car in front of the motel Dean had pushed open the door, struggling out.

Sam, leaping out and rushing to his brother's side, guided him towards their room. Opening the door, Dean had gone straight over to the bed and thrown himself down, facing the wall, leaving Sam to research what it was they were dealing with alone. He spent hours scanning through endless pages of demonic myths and legends, finally finding a possibility. Noting down the details, Shabriri – a Jewish demon that strikes people blind, he glanced at the clock. "Two am," he groaned, rubbing his hands against his tired face, his eyes so heavy they threatened to close there and then. Shutting the laptop, he crawled over to his own bed, too tired to even undress.

The motel room was silent, but for the steady deep breathing of the pair as sleep claimed them. Neither heard the demon return, taking up the same position it had used before, behind the bathroom door.

Dean walked through a field of long grass, the gentle summer breeze whipping through his hair as the fierce sun beat down upon him. The sky was a bright and brilliant blue as he looked around him seeing no one.

Cutting his way through the grass and down the gentle slope, he found himself in front of an old white-washed church. Leaning against the door as he turned the old iron handle, it creaked open, a blast of cool still air assaulting his senses.

Looking down at himself as he stepped over the threshold, he found himself attired in white linen trousers and a white T-shirt, his feet bare. As they hit the cold solid floor, a feeling of apprehension and unease settled over him. Looking around, he saw a young man, no older than himself, sitting in the front pew, his back towards him.

Silence filled the air as he walked down the aisle, seeing with alarm two chestnut coloured coffins standing before the altar. All that could be heard was the gentle slap of bare feet on wood. As he drew level with the seated man, he glanced down at him. His jaw dropped open as he looked down, seeing himself. He was dressed in a black suit, his head bowed, grief-stricken tears trickling down his pale cheeks.

Fear gripped Dean's heart as he turned to look at the coffins before him. His breath caught in his chest as he took the few remaining steps towards the altar. Climbing the stair, he held his breath, swallowing hard against the panic that was slowly strangling him as he looked down.

Letting out an involuntary gasp that his other self couldn't or wouldn't hear, he stared down at his younger brother's chalk white face through tear-filled eyes. Turning to look into the other coffin, his body shook violently as he stared down at his ashen-faced father. The realisation that the bodies of his family lay before him made him feel physically sick.

A shadow appeared before him. Looking up as it fell across his brother's peaceful face, the figure cackled. His eyes widened as he saw before him the demon his family had been hunting for over twenty years. Looking from his father to his brother, his face creased with grief and anger. As the emotion surged through his body, he leapt at the thing that had destroyed his life.

"NO!" he screamed, as he slammed the demon against the altar beating his fists against its chest.

Sam shot up in his bed, grabbing the '45 off the bedside table, totally disorientated. "JESUS CHRIST, WHAT'S GOING ON!" he yelled, jumping off the bed, stumbling as he looked round the room every nerve on edge as he tried to wipe the sleep from his eyes.

"What's … what's," he mumbled, trying to get a grasp on his bearings. His eyes flew to Dean as he let out another strangled cry. "Shit, Dean," he cursed, chucking the gun aside as he tried to shake off his confusion. He leant over his brother, whose eyes flew open as he fought against the bed sheets. "Dean, snap out of it. Come on buddy. I'm here. It's just a dream; it's just a bad dream," he said, trying to gain his brother's unfocused attention.

The EMF on the dresser beside them screamed wildly, catching Sam's attention. Realisation dawned on his tired face. Grabbing hold of the knife that Dean kept beneath his pillow, his senses alert, he spun around, looking for the demon.

Behind him, Dean continued to struggle half awake, half asleep. "I'll kill you," he yelled, clobbering Sam over the head.

"Shit Dean," Sam groaned as he ducked, avoiding another blow, looking for the cuffs and rope he'd used earlier.

Tying Dean to the bed, Sam turned, drawing the '45 off the floor as his eyes flitted around the room, the hairs on his neck standing on end. Creeping towards the bathroom, his face fixed with controlled panic, he pushed back the door.

The demon within Dean grinned as it watched the younger Winchester fumble around in disorientation, though had trouble biting back its annoyance as he advanced on its body's hiding place.

Withdrawing its influence from Dean slightly so it could regain control of its own body, it silently swept out of the bathroom window and glanced back through the half drawn curtains as Sam appeared, kicking back the door, his gun raised.

Shifting to the window which afforded a view of the main room, it watched as Sam walked back towards his brother, his shoulders slumped. The demon grinned, still able to taste the sense of suffocating fear that filled the room, licking his lips hungrily as Sam made his way back over to his brother carrying a jug.

"You're gonna really hate me for doing this," it heard the young man say to his disorientated brother. Watching, it laughed as Sam threw the jug full of water over Dean's face, before disappearing into the night.