The Road So Far:

Another week went by.

Dean stayed at Bobby's. Recovering, healing up. After all he couldn't explain to Sam where he had those wounds from. Why he looked like chewed onto and spit out.

He had rent the room at the motel for another three weeks. So if Sam - contrary to his expectations – would come and look for him, he'd hopefully know that he'd return.

Faith(or rather the writer of this story) though … was playing it's own game and speeding things up ...

CHAPTER 7

It was fucking cold, and he was fucking hurting. Blood dripped from his split lip.

Paving a way through the woods with bare feet wasn't fun at all.

He's had a bad feeling about this. He knew something had been off with the both of them. Right from the beginning. They wanted to have him for the night. Offered him 500 straight for his services. They even paid him before they reached their destination.

His stomach had churned and revolted, when he realized it wouldn't be a warm cosy motel-room they'd spend the night in. Not like the last time.

The both of them had taken him into an apartment – though roughing him up pretty much, it had been at least a warm place to suffer.

Instead it had been an old abandoned warehouse in the middle of nowhere. Well, not exactly nowhere. They've been driving south for about half an hour.

Inside they had set up everything already. Obviously.

Back then he thought it couldn't get that bad. No wipes this time around, no knifes. Well yeah, there's been bondage-stuff and some utilities used in BDSM-Circles. But nothing that would look dangerous enough to him to feel threatened in any way.

He was a fucking mess. Not knowing where he came from and where he was going.

He felt dizzy, not capable of catching a clear thought at all. He tried to remember. Sam tried to remember.

He tried to recall where they went with him in the car. Tried to trace back his path from where he went and where he actually should be.

Usually he used to know. He always knew. He pretty fast learned to memorize places and streets. He always found his way back. Always.

But tonight? He knew tonight he wouldn't. Not on his own. Not in this condition.

Sam knew – this time – it was bad. Like fucking bad.

His head was too fuzzy. Thoughts flew by, and he couldn't possibly catch a single one of them that could help him to find his way back – at least to the road.

And he was so fucking cold. He already thought that, he thought. It sounded like a never-ending echo somewhere at the very back of his mind.

„Phone", Sam rasped. His neck hurt like a bitch. Swallowing hurt. Some time soon, sun should come out, giving him a better few on his surroundings.

Again „Phone", he was whispering to himself. He had Dean's phone. He knew. He could remember – better said – FEEL that he had to have it in his jeans. Sam couldn't clearly remember, but there was a glimpse of a memory, that he should've taken it with him after waking up in agony.

Bad thing he didn't think about getting back into his boots and grabbing the fucking parka. Or at least one of the sheets they had laid out on the floor.

Sam halted. „Phone", he mumbled again, trying not to drift off and forget about it.

Stiff fingers searched his pockets.

There it was.

And it had no signal.

Sam blew out a huff in disbelieve.

He needed to find the road. Most likely he'd have signal there.

SPN

Something was poking at him. Probing around the outer lines of his mind. Hunter-senses kicking in.

Dean was agitated since evening. He tried to sleep but couldn't, so he was wandering around in Bobby's house.

Touching stuff, breaking stuff … like this one figure of some roman goddess. He hoped Bobby wouldn't need this one some time in the future.

He was also carrying his phone around. With that itching in his fingertips he checked on it close to every five minutes.

It was tearing at his nerves. Tearing at his mind, as if something wanted to tell get him to do something. He just couldn't put his finger on it. Not yet anyway.

Bobby's house was save. Salt-lines, banishing symbols. Everything was intact.

Dean sat in the library huffing out a breath, staring out of the window. The funny thing was, that Sam didn't come to his mind at all. Not even for a split second this past hours.

Until now.

And that was, when Bobby appeared in the doorway and joined Dean, sipping hot coffee with scotch. Well, scotch with hot coffee in this case.

There was total silence between the both of them. For a very long time, until Bobby cleared his throat.

He sat up in his recliner. „What's bothering you, son?" He sounded even, relaxed. „And don't say nothing's bothering you, 'cause I damn fucking know when something's on 'ya mind, son.", not sounding that even anymore, a threatening uneasiness had been swinging within his words.

Dean grinned. „I don't know."

Bobby was the second father he never had. The guy he could crash at. The one who'd be there, when his father couldn't. He spent there a lot of time when he was young, or when John thought he couldn't take his ten year old with him on a hunt because it was too dangerous for a kid.

They shared looks. „I really don't know."

„You're hanging out here. For longer than I expected. - You on the run from somethin'? Hidin'? Stallin'?" Bobby knew something was up. That man had a sense for stuff like that. He ever had.

„Ya, stalling maybe." Dean hadn't anything else to offer. „Can't go back to the motel, just now you know ..."

„Someone special ain't supposed to see ya like this?", oh, the old man had a point.

„Kinda like that." Dean couldn't hide a embarrassed smile, which kept lingering on his face.

Bobby huffed out a triumphant lough, telling Dean „I fuckin' knew!" He took another sip. „'Bout time boy."

The hunter chuckled. „You think?"

„Sure of it. - Gonna get a look at your lady some time?" No, Bobby Singer wasn't nosy.

Dean's cheeks flushed. He never flushed. A Winchester never flushed.

Bobby's eyes narrowed. So no lady. „Well, as long as it's no animal I'm cool with it.", he mumbled into his beard.

„We don't need to do this now, do we?" Dean looked up, breaking eye-contact. „I don't even know what this is. - Haven't seen nor talked to him since we took off."

„I can tell you're into whoever we're talking about here. May as well tell the person." Bobby shrugged. He knew there was more about it. They were hunters. In a hunter's life. Even if Dean didn't go on hunts on a regular basis anymore, it would stay difficult.

Back in Black tuned in. Loud and sharp. Thanks to the broken loudspeakers of the phone it sounded more like the screech of a banshee than an actual song.

Torn out of his thoughts, Dean fumbled for the phone.

He couldn't believe what his display showed him.

Sam was calling.

At four in the morning.

No good time for a talk.

No good time for anything than sleeping.

The hunter's eyes narrowed, his mind tingled.

It took him a moment to pick up.

He straightened up in the sofa leaning forward while holding the phone to his ear.

Dean heard wheezing breaths. A sniff.

„Dean?`", it sure as hell was Sam calling. His voice broke.

„Hey, what's up kiddo?", he tried to sound relaxed. All easy peasy.

A pause, a wheezing breath. „I'm sorry to call ...I", he rambled into the phone. „It's ..."

Dean's eyes narrowed a bit more, his forehead lay into deep wrinkles, leaning forward a little bit more as if he could hear Sam better by doing so.

There was a choked sob at Sam's end. „Pick me up? Please?" Another sob.

Dean got up from the couch. „How bad?", he asked, he sounded calm. Dangerously calm.

„It's not … I just can't … I can't find my way back." A mixture of stammered words and sobs. He was crying.

Sam. Was. Fucking. Crying.

„How bad Sam?" Well, someone was pretty pissed off.

Pissed enough and obviously filled up with anger all the way, so that even Bobby Singer instantly realized that the call wasn't about some sweet nightly chitchat. Singer rose from the recliner, put his cup aside and frowned at Dean, who was staring at nothing.

„Okay, where are you?" Dean sniffed, a thousand things running through his mind at once.

„There's a warehouse. About thirty minutes from Nancy 'n Fred's, headed south. I ..." Sam's voice broke. It took a few wheezing breaths and a moment to try to remember before he continued. „I think I'm somewhere along the road, heading north. - I just … I can't."

Dean was already on his way out of the front door, Bobby close behind him, gathering all the weapons on his way out.

Dean slid into his boots without lacing them up, nearly stumbling. "Hang on."

„I'll take you on loudspeaker. You stay where you are, we're gonna get'cha." Dean yanked the door of his baby open. „You keep talking, Sammy, you got me?"

Bobby wasn't quite sure what was going down right now. But he knew things could get ugly fast. And obviously Dean got one of this fast-ugly-going calls. So he didn't had to be asked to come along.

The old man got into the passenger's seat. "Where are we goin'?"

"The old shoe-factory. We have to pick someone up."

„So, what're we dealin with, son?", the old man asked, preparing himself mentally for the fight of his life by the looks of it. „Weres? Ghost?"

They shared a fast look. Dean telling Bobby, that it wasn't something like that. „No monsters, Bobby. He doesn't know.", Dean whispered, hoping that Bobby would understand and Sam wouldn't.

„How bad is it?.", Dean said into the phone, then handing it over to his old friend.

Some wheezing. „Actually … bad."

It had to be bad. He didn't know Sam. But he knew enough that the kid wouldn't call if it wasn't for his life depending on it.

There was no talking. No talking at all. Only the rumble of baby's engine and what sounds came out of Dean's phone.

„You can walk?" Dean knew the kid had to keep going. Hat to move. It would keep his blood flow. Had to keep himself somehow warm until they'd get to him.

„Yeah." No, he actually wasn't in the mood to walk.

„You gotta stay on the road." The hunter set his car in motion with squeaking tires. His voice raised, wanting to make sure Sam'd understand him. „Stay. On. The. Road."

SPN

Sam wasn't in the mood to move. Not just a little bit.

Actually he was leaning propped up against a huge tree, hand and phone in his lap.

He felt blood flow slowly but steady from several cuts.

For a brief moment he closed his eyes, trying to refocus. He needed to get back on his feet. On the road.

SO he did what he had to do. He gritted his teeth and tried not to move his head to much on his way back to his feet.

Didn't work at all, but somehow he managed standing up, without doubling over. A stinging sensation crawled all over his feet as if thousands of small teeth were ripping junks of flesh out of him.

Sam stayed still for a moment, trying to regain control, trying not to double over as nausea got a hold on him. Slowly but surely he made his way towards the icy concrete. The cold felt oddly soothing against his burning wounds.

SPN

Sam couldn't tell how many time passed since he had called Dean. It felt like eternity.

Like a robot he kept moving. One step at a time, all so slowly.

Blood dripped from the tip of his middle-finger on the concrete, surely leaving a nice trail behind him.

He stopped for a moment, regaining his breath. He still held the phone in his hand, holding Dean in the line. On Loudspeaker. Listening to soft chords of Highway to Hell in the background.

„I think ...", Sam swallowed thickly. Tasting the metallic components of blood on his tongue. He wasn't sure if Dean could hear him. „I think I need to lay down."

„Don't you dare!", Dean's voice burst out.

He sounded distant. Too far away – still. „We're past the first driveway. - We're close. You hear me? You pass out now, I'm gonna ..." Well, what was he going to do? Hit his ass? Making him do the laundry? WHAT was he going to do to Sam?

„Gonna do what?" It wasn't like Sam was into anything sexual at the moment. It was more a phrase he used automatically. when he was on the job.

„Gonna get you in trouble." the hunter shook his head, a cocky grin flashed over his lips. His eyes not grinning at all.

„I' AM in trouble." Sam smirked.

So the kid was still up for joking, right? Well, Dean could work with that, as long as he kept talking, receiving signs of life from Sam.

They had to be close. So close.

„Figured." Dean cleared his throat. „You still walkin'?"

„On Sunshine." His breath evaporated in the crispy December-air. „You know … Guess I might quit my job."

Dean huffed out a breath.

„I can't do this anymore." Sam wasn't sure what he was talking about. If it was really about his job, or if he meant this walk. The whole life-thing. „I can't. - I don't belong ..." He broke off, a brutal cough erupting from the depths of his chest, catapulting trickles of blood out of his mouth.

Dean wasn't quite sure what to say. They had never talked that much, and sure as hell Sam never talked about anything but what it was Dean wanted for the night.

„I' … I've been doin' this for too long." Again, Sam wasn't sure what he was telling him – or telling himself by saying those words. Somehow something had shattered deep inside his soul. The barrier, which kept his emotions and feelings at bay.

This barrier had gotten thinner and thinner since he first had met Dean. Ready to go down anytime soon. And just now, now that he was here. Bleeding, hurting, bruised, it had come crashing down on him. Splintered like a thin layer of ice covering a lake's surface, sending him face down into the cold water.

„It's been too long.", Sam mumbled to himself, putting another foot in front of the other. „It's to heavy. So many things to carry around. - To go to all those dark places." He shivered. „It's so cold there."

And that was, when bright headlights caught his attention between the silhouettes of trees.

Sam stopped, panting. Squinting at two bright beams coming closer fast.