Hey! Thanks for the reviews! I'm glad you liked it! Next chapter here, not much action, sorry. A little... sad? It's up to you I guess. Anyway, here you go!

"Sammy!" Dean yelled as Bobby ran past him and up the stairs. Hopping over to his crutches, Dean hobbled to the second floor- slower than he would've liked to- and found Bobby talking to a trembling Sam on the carpet.

"Sam, just let me see," Bobby was asking gently. Sam flinched every time Bobby almost touched him, biting his lip. The older hunter looked up at Dean for help.

He made his way into the room, throwing the crutches to the ground and crouching next to Sam.

Dean looked into his brother's eyes. "It's just me, Sam, okay?" Sam nodded and gave Bobby a look that clearly said to leave them alone.

Bobby nodded in understanding and left the two, deciding to wait in the hallway just in case he was needed again.

"Sammy..." Dean muttered, lifting his brother's shirt to check the healing bullet wound. "How are you doing?"

Sam stared at the ground and shrugged, but that wasn't good enough for Dean. "Sam, these nightmares. You know... you're safe now. No one's going to get you now. I promise. I'll never leave your side again if you don't want me to."

Sam was silent as he fingered the strings on his sweatpants. No one understood. He wasn't worried about himself. He knew Dean and Bobby and Dad would protect him. He was always safe with Dean.

Bobby hadn't heard a sound from the boys' room in ten minutes and he was starting to get worried. He heard the Impala's trunk slam closed and decided to talk to John again about the nightmares. They couldn't just sit here and do nothing.

Bobby cracked the bedroom door just enough to see the two brothers sleeping back to back. At least, Sam wasn't awake. Dean was facing the wall, but Bobby could just tell from his uneven breathing and tense posture that he wasn't falling asleep anytime soon.

..ooOOoo..

Sam sat up and yawned. When did it get dark out? Dismissing it, he sat up and heard a creaking noise coming from somewhere in the room.

Stupid motel rooms, he thought. Never repaired, always dirty... He got up and checked the whole room, too occupied to realize he was the only one in the room at all.

Finally, Sam opened the bathroom door... and almost fainted. "No!" He cried. "NO! Please!" He dropped to his knees, the tears already running down his face.

But Josh just grinned and let the droplets of blood from his knife fall to the white, cracked tiles as Dean swung bloody and lifeless from the shower curtain bar, his blank, green eyes staring hopelessly at his little brother.

..ooOOoo..

"Sam!" Dean was shaking Sam awake, immediately pulling him into a hug at the look of pure terror on the youngest's face.

Sam's breathing was unsteady as he tried to get the image out of his mind. He'd seen everything in those dreams. Dean swinging, Dean drowning, Dean falling five stories and breaking his neck... They never escaped him and sometimes just looking at a knife or a glass of water triggered a flashback. Then he would be quiet for another twenty minutes. He always tried to stay awake, 'cause sleep meant a new form of torture.

He knew he wasn't getting enough rest, but Dean couldn't even walk properly and Sam can barely make it downstairs without being hit with a wave of nausea, so how's he supposed to protect Dean?

"I need a shower." Sam mumbled, hoping the constant stream of water will somehow manage to wash away the pictures carved into his mind.

Dean nodded and offered to help, well aware Sam would say no anyway. He preferred to be alone more lately. Didn't even talk to Dad or Bobby much anymore.

He sighed and sat to sharpen his knife as he waited for Sam to finish.


"Hey," Dean looked up as Sam made his way back into the room, shirtless and covered in bruises.

"Your stitches are looking good." He mentioned, avoiding the fact that the majority of cuts and bruises on the fifteen year old were results of tumbling out of bed after nightmares.

"Yeah." Sam replied simply, walking to his bag of clothes.

Dean decided to seize the moment. "Hey, Sammy?"

"Yeah?"

"Wanna tell me what you dream about?"

Sam was silent and become very interested in getting the creases out of his shirt.

"You."

Dean stopped sharpening. "Me?"

"And Dad and Uncle Bobby sometimes, but mostly you." Sam gulped and his face had turned ashen as he thought back.

Dean gestured for Sam to sit next to him. "I-I don't wanna watch you die anymore, Dean." Sam whispered.

"Sammy, I will never leave you here alone. You understand? What kind of brother would I be if I just died? How irresponsible!" Sam smiled a little, forgetting momentarily the seriousness behind Dean's joking manner.

"Come on," He said, reaching for his crutches. "You hungry?"

"Yes!" Sam exclaimed, realizing how empty his stomach felt. He stood up, and so did Dean, groaning in annoyance as he reached for his crutches.

Sam fingered his soup, his hunger having disappeared almost instantly at the sight of the red liquid, too similar to... No. Dean was right next to him, not dead. Remember? He said he'd stay with you, so he will. Dean doesn't lie. Not to me.

..ooOOoo..

"Hey, Dean," John walked into the library as both his sons looked up from their place on the couch. "I'm gonna take a supply run. You guys good?"

Dean nodded, his mouth full of BLT. Bobby was off helping one of his friends named Rufus so Sam and Dean would be alone.

"I'll try to be back by dark." The father added, glancing at the already diminishing light in the window. He looked at Sam and leaned against the doorway.

"You doing okay, Sam? Nightmares? Anything?" Sam shook his head a little too quickly and John gave him a doubtful nod as he left the room.

..ooOOoo..

"Ready for bed, kiddo?" Dean asked. Sam's eyes were glued to the TV as his older brother finished redressing his cuts. "We'll take the stitches out tomorrow, okay?"

Sam agreed, slowly making his way up the stairs and into the guest bedroom.

Dean sighed. His crutches were leaning against the stairwell across the room and he figured he could make it to the couch. He stood up on his good foot to take Sam's spot in front of the TV. It wasn't long before the drone of the old set put him into a well needed sleep.

..ooOOoo..

"D-dean?" Sam called, shivering in his sleep shirt as he trudged barefoot through the alley.

"Uncle Bobby? Dad?" He turned the corner, cursing as he fell in a puddle. A sickening feeling fell over the young boy as he realized how warm and sticky the puddle was.

"Oh my god." Sam crawled over to the lifeless form, shaking not from cold anymore, but the constant flow of tears that fell on the mangled body of his older brother.

"D-d-dean!" He stuttered, shaking the body. The murderer hadn't even bothered to take his knife and the way it just stuck up out of his chest made Sam want to throw up.

Hugging the cold body to his chest, Sam looked up at the skyscrapers and the cold, black sky and screamed in despair.

"DEEEEAAAAAN!"

..ooOOoo..

Dean flipped off of the couch at the sound of the scream, cursing and crawling toward his crutches. "Sam!" He called as he put the bars under his armpits and swung to the stairs.

"Deeaan!" Sam was shrieking. "NO! Please, no! Dean!" The older brother finally made it to the top of the steps, trying to remain calm.

"Sammy!"

Sam was kneeling in the hallway. The bed's comforter was dragged halfway through the door as if it had fell off of Sam in his wild chase to the top of the stairs.

"Hey! Sam!" Dean put a hand on Sam's shoulder, but the kid freaked out, shrinking away and reaching his own hand out to something invisible on the floor.

"Sammy..." Dean muttered, trying to pull him up by his arm. Sam's eyes were strangely vacant and a wave of relief washed over the hunter when he realized his brother must be sleepwalking.

"Come on, let's get you to bed." He said, grabbing Sam's hand.

"No!" Sam cried, staring in utter despair at the floor.

..ooOOoo..

Sam had just been sitting there minding his own business with his dead brother when he felt the hand on his shoulder.

Quickly, he pulled away, wrapping his arms around the one he'd called his hero and holding him close.

The evil hand grabbed his, pulling him away from his grip of Dean. "No!" Sam cried, reaching out for the body as he was pulled away.

..ooOOoo..

Dean figured the best way to go about this was to lose the crutches. He dropped them to the floor and put a little weight on his braced foot.

"Let's get you to bed." He repeated, making another step towards Sam again. It was no use: the fifteen year old was getting stronger- and more stubborn- by the day and there was no way Maimed Dean was getting him anywhere.

Plan B.

"Sammy! Wake up." He shook his brother's shoulders, slightly panicked.

Limping into their bedroom, he grabbed the glass of water from the bedside table, biting the straw with his teeth and spitting it onto the ground as he returned. "Here goes nothing,"

He flicked the cup, splashing three quarters of the water and a couple ice cubes onto a suddenly very much awake and sputtering Sam, who looked up at Dean with wild eyes as if he'd seen a ghost (minus the shotgun).

"Dean..." He glanced at his big brother's stomach for a blood stain. "You're alive. I thought you'd left me."

Dean shook his head, trying to avoid his pounding heart and the look in Sam's eyes and his last comment.

And that's how John found them: kneeling on the second story floor, hugging, Sam soaking wet and shaking with racking sobs as Dean let a few tears escape his own wet eyes.

"I thought you'd left me." Sam whispered for the eleventh time.

"Never." Dean whispered back for the eleventh time. "Never."

Next chapter next week! Hope you liked it! If you did, I love hearing from you! See you next week!