Thank you again for all the positive reviews! I really appreciate them, Nate And Jake, KatieMalfoy19 and tomygirl. I know I said that Chapter 3 would be my last chapter...but this story seems to have taken on a life of its own. I am working on the last one and I promise it will be up before the new episode airs on Tuesday.
Standard Disclaimers Apply. I wish I owned Sam and Dean, but I am not that lucky.
As soon as the words had left his mouth, Sam regretted them. And this time he could not blame a psychopathic doctor's spirit for the way his brother's shoulders had slumped before he walked out the door. Sam silently cursed his father again. Even though he had seen his father do it for 18 years, he could not believe that at this point, after all that had happened with Jess, and in Lawrence, that he had called to push his sons into another hunt. The single-minded determination that drove John Winchester was something that his youngest son would never understand, and never wanted to understand.
Finally, after looking at the room door for more than an hour, hoping against hope that his brother walk back in, Sam rose from the bed and walked over to the restroom. After splashing cold water in his face, he put on his jeans, pulled his grey Stanford sweatshirt on, and tried to decide where to go. For the last six months, he had followed wherever his brother had led them, hunting whatever evil things they could find along the way to finding their father. But with Dean gone, he felt rudderless, lost, and without a purpose.
No point hanging around the motel room anyway, he told himself and reached over to pick up his backpack. Something clattered to the ground as swung his bag over the shoulder. Sam looked down at the floor and his eyes opened wide. There, lying on the ground was the chain with the silver charm that he had only seen around Dean's neck. He remembered how it was the only thing that his big brother had pulled off from the shape-shifter after killing him. He had known then that the charm was almost as dear to Dean as the Impala he drove.
But Dean had left it behind for Sam, left it to protect his little brother. Tears clouded Sam's vision as he rose and rushed out the door. He knew he had to find his big brother.
As Dean walked towards his car, he paused for a second before opening the door, and looked back at the room he had just come out of. He hoped that he would see the lanky form of his brother following him, but the door remained obstinately closed. Shaking his head, almost as if that physical action would cause the thoughts in his head to fall out, he turned to his car, and said, "Guess it's just you and me again."
He gingerly got behind the wheel of his Impala and roared out of the parking lot. Within a few minutes, with the effect of painkillers he had taken only a couple of hours ago wearing off, the effort required to sit up and drive almost seemed too much. Every breath brought with it a stabbing pain to his bruised chest. Dean cursed as he remembered that he had left all his pills and the first-aid kit in the bathroom of the motel.
Dean looked ahead and saw the gas station a mile up. The effort of driving even for thirty minutes seemed to have taken a toll on his body. He got out of the car slowly, used the support of the door to pull himself up before walking towards the store. The pain was not nearly this bad last night. Dean gritted his teeth and tried not to gasp. As he walked toward the store, it was steadily becoming harder to stay upright. His breaths were coming fast and shallow. Dean could feel the sweat on his forehead. He leaned on the wall next to the entrance of the Tiger-Mart and tried to take a deep breath. Instead the effort threw him into a coughing spasm. Unable to find anything else to support him he slid down the wall. The realization that he was coughing up tiny amounts of blood and was incapable of standing up scared him a little.
"This is just great," he thought. "Not even 45 minutes on my own, and here I am slumped on the floor."
And then he remembered the last time he was alone...in New Orleans.
I didn't do much better there too.
Sure, he had killed the rogue voodoo cult priest who was killing innocent children, but not before he was hit by the curse. He thought he would have died instantly when the spark had hit him, but its effect was muted because it was cast while the priest's life energy was ebbing. Dean had known then that he could not escape its effects once it had hit him. You can not fight a curse, only get out of its way…which he had not been fast enough to do. He had searched in vain for a cure but the other priests had only confirmed his fear. They had predicted that it would be only a couple of months before the hex's poison spread throughout his body and caused it to shut down. But they had tried to prolong his time by blessing the protection charm that he wore around his neck. They hoped they had given him a few more months…a little more time…time that he had wanted to spend with his family.
But instead I managed to drive them even further away.
Dean realized how strongly the charm had been protecting him as the curse quickly attacked his already weakened body.
At least now it is protecting Sammy.
That was the last thought that he had, before he lost consciousness.