center Chapter Nine /center

Sam had found a new enemy in the concept of time. It had been just over two hours since Dean went missing. Two hours. It shouldn't be taking this long. Every minute that passed by was a minute of oxygen his brother was losing. He didn't know how long it took for someone to suffocate while buried alive, but Sam knew that his brother was running out of time. And they had yet to reach the hidden cemetery that Mary had told them about. Conroy was leading the way, going as fast as a man his age could go. Sam wished he could go faster, but in truth, he needed the man. He had already lost his bearings.

Finally, Sam had had enough. He needed to find Dean, now. He rushed to catch up with Conroy, who was using a tree to help him navigate the increasingly muddy ground. He put a hand on the old man's shoulder. "Are we close?"

Conroy turned and smiled at him before tipping his head in front of them. "Sure are, it's right up that hill."

Sam didn't wait for the old man to finish. With a burst of renewed determination, he hurried forward, climbing the hill with the help of his free hand. The other clutched the duffle bag close to his body. When he made it to the top, his heart dropped. There were maybe ten or fifteen different headstones. Sam suddenly realized that he had no clue which one Dean was under, if he was even under one of them at all. Blaine was at his side in a moment and then pointed to one of the headstones. "That's the one she's buried under," he said.

Sam nodded. "Start digging," he gave the command swiftly, eyes scanning the entire cemetery. It was old, really old. The headstones were falling apart and moss covered. The ground was dry, thankfully, but there didn't seem to be any disturbance in the thin layer of plant life that covered it. Blaine withdrew two hand held shovels from the bag and handed one to Sam.

"Where are you going to start looking?" Blaine asked, already heading to the headstone Piggy's forgotten body was buried under. He kept his eyes on Sam, however, though Sam never answered him.

Feeling horribly helpless, Sam realized that even if Dean was buried somewhere in this cemetery, there was no way of knowing where. And unless, by some grace of God or whoever was watching out for them, there was a miracle and he found it on the first try, he could be here for hours. Hours that Dean did not have. Sam felt the tears that he'd been holding back start to build up in his eyes. He had failed his brother. It was a pain worse than death. First Jess, now Dean. He was cursed, that had to be it. Something out there hated him and all the people who truly mattered anything to him were dying. Why? Why was this happening to him?

"Dean!" he yelled, hoping beyond hope that he'd hear a shout back. He prayed that he would hear Dean yelling at him to hurry his slow ass up and get him out of the ground. But he was met with only the sound of the woods and of Blaine's hand shovel digging into the earth above Piggy's grave site.

Sam ran his hands through his hair, holding it back out of his eyes as he looked around the cemetery one last time, not yet ready to give up on finding his brother. If ever he needed his Dad, now would be the moment. Sam didn't know what to do. He didn't know how to help his brother, he didn't know how to rush in and be the hero. That was always Dean's job. Dean was the hero, Sam was just along for the ride, wasn't that how it was? And this one time when his brother's life was depending on him, Sam couldn't pull through.

Pathetic. That's what he'd called Dean. He'd said all those nasty things to him and yet, they hadn't talked about it, seriously talked about it. He knew that somewhere deep inside, he'd hurt Dean in a way that never should have been allowed. Had he even apologized to him? Had he even taken the time to tell Dean that no matter how frustrated he'd get, he still loved him? Blaine's words from earlier were echoing in his head, like some sort of sick mantra determined to destroy Sam. I loved my brother. I don't think I ever told him. God, had he ever told Dean? Had he ever sat Dean down and told him that he was his rock that kept him going, that he was glad and proud to have him as a brother, that he loved him more than life itself? No, that would have been classified a tender moment, and Dean didn't do tender. He never did, and now he never would.

But he couldn't just stand here and despair. He'd find Dean, dead or alive, though he preferred the latter. There was no way he was going to let his brother stay buried in this fucking town, out in the middle of the fucking swamp with the alligators. Dean hated alligators. If he found Dean, he'd get him as far away from any alligators as possible. That was a promise.

So Sam walked along the tombstones, trying to mentally tell himself which one was marking his brother's hiding spot. He let his guard down for only a moment and a tear slipped down his cheek, but he quickly brought a hand up and wiped it away. He'd cry when he found a body. And maybe a little if he found his brother alive, but only just a little. Didn't want Dean thinking he was a wuss or anything.

Suddenly, Sam's eyes were cast on one particular tombstone. A strange feeling was floating through his chest. He tried to pin what it was, but couldn't. All he knew was that this is where he needed to be digging. Something in his gut told him so. This was right. Dean was here. All of the other tombstones had given him strange vibes, dead vibes. But this one, this one was alive.

Sam didn't know how and he didn't know why, but he was sure Dean was buried here. He couldn't explain it, he just knew. He fell down in front of it, digging his shovel into the dirt. Yes, Dean was here, he was sure of it. He knew by the way his stomach had clenched and his chest had tightened. He knew by the way his body was now moving out of his control, digging like a poor man who had just found the X above the treasure. He knew by the voice in the back of his head telling it to be true.

It took another hour of frantic digging, way more than Sam would have liked, but it was like music to his ears when his shovel hit something hard. At the same time Sam looked up from the hole he'd dug, maybe four or five feet into the ground, to call out to Blaine and Conroy that he'd found something, he heard Blaine give an excited yell. "I found it!"

"Keep digging it out," Sam said, unable to keep the gleam out of his eyes. He looked over at Conroy. "Give me a hand," he said. Conroy walked over, bringing the bag over as he did so. "Hand me the knife in there," Sam said, now shoveling dirt away with his arms, trying to clear off as much as the coffin as possible. He'd seen the ugly heads of nails holding the lid down. Everything in the world was trying to keep him from his brother.

But as Conroy handed him the knife and Sam shoved it between the lid and the side of the coffin, Sam felt his heart speeding up. He felt anxiety and fear and hope rise up his chest and constrict his throat. He didn't know what he'd find. Would he find Dean bloody and broken? Dead? Alive? Sane? In tact? He didn't know. But he was about to find out.

He popped two of the nails out and threw the knife up out of the hole. Squeezing his fingers beneath the lid, he ignored the pain of the new scrapes and curled his hand around the wood. This was it. Dean, please be alive. He thought to himself. i Please let him be alive. /i

At the same time Sam pulled the lid off the coffin, something from inside of it lashed out with an angry yell and a grunt. Sam hadn't been expecting it and something sharp slashed him across the cheek, not deep, but deep enough to make it bleed. But Sam was quick, even through the sudden pain, and he felt his defense moves kicking in automatically. He grabbed the arm of his attacker and held it under his own. He was about to move and disarm his opponent when he caught sight of who it was attacking him. Sam's eyes widened in both shock and relief.

Dean's eyes were frantic, but squinted against the sunlight. Though bloodied and bruised, it was his brother, it was Dean. And he was staring at him without recognition in his eyes, the sun keeping Dean from seeing who was holding him so awkwardly. Sam felt his chest squeeze up with panic again as Dean tried to pull his arm free, gritting his teeth at the effort it took.

"Dean!" Sam called, bracing his brother's body with his free hand. Dean was pushing against him, but the motions were weak. His brother was grunting and struggling like an animal caught in a trap. Sam would have easily been able to over power his brother. But right now, the last thing his brother needed was another person attacking him. "Dean, hey, it's me," he tried, seeing Dean's still frantic eyes trying to focus themselves against the sun. "It's Sam," he said through short breaths. "Dean?"

Dean's eyes slowly seemed to focus and as they made eye contact with Sam's, Dean's entire body seemed to relax. Dean was sucking in air, the small gasping noises that accompanied it didn't go unnoticed by Sam. Dean let out a small sound that sounded as though it were a muffled sob and he frowned. "Sam?" he whispered, his voice low, gruff, shaky.

"Yeah," Sam cooed, letting go of Dean's shoulder and moving his hand up to cup the side of Dean's face with brotherly love. "Dean, it's okay," Sam said, looking down at the hand he still had trapped under his arm. Dean was holding the shard of a knife in his hand. In his incredibly bloody hand. Sam reached back, grasping onto Dean's wrist, but looking back into Dean's eyes. "Dean, let me have this," he said, prying Dean's fingers from around the shard. He didn't like the way his brother was shaking all over, or the way his forehead was beaded with sweat and his skin was so pale he looked dead. "Let me have this," he whispered again as Dean's hand finally let go of the knife shard.

Sam threw it away with utter disgust, but tried to no let it show on his face. His brother was staring into his eyes, panic still raw in his face. Sam moved in, positioning himself so he had one arm wrapped around his brother and the other holding his chest, keeping him in place. "It's over," he whispered as Dean took in a shuttering breath, tears welling up in his eyes. "It's over," he assured him again. "You're okay." It was a statement, not a question. He didn't expect Dean to answer. Of course he wasn't okay, but Sam was telling him that he would be. "I've got you, Dean," Sam whispered as Dean's body continued to shake and Dean leaned into his brother, his head resting back against Sam's shoulder.

Dean's eyes strayed away from Sam and he eyed the dirt walls that were surrounding them on all sides. A worried look marred his face and he closed his eyes, turning his head to the side, his face close to being buried in Sam's shirt. "Get me out," he whispered brokenly. Sam tightened his grip on his brother, holding him in place as he tried to stand up, finding it hard to do so in the small hole. "Get me out, Sammy," Dean's voice broke and Sam felt his heart break along with it.

"Okay," he assured him, looking up at Conroy, who was leaning down, trying to lend a hand in the extraction of his brother.

"He all right?" Conroy asked, eyeing Dean closely.

"No," Sam whispered, the word sounding horrible to his ears. "Come on, Dean," he said a little bit louder to his brother. "You need to stand up." Sam pulled his brother, not liking the weakness behind Dean's movements. But after a few moments, Dean was on his feet, shaky, and unable to stand on his own, but he was on his feet.

Blaine had joined Conroy at the edge of the grave. "Come on," he said, reaching a hand down, along with Conroy. They grabbed onto Dean's shoulders and Sam let go of his brother only long enough to leap out of the grave and reach down to help lift Dean up and out.

Wrapping his arms around his brother, Sam moved Dean as far as Dean's shaky legs could take him. They gave out just a few feet away from the grave and Sam had to brace himself on the tombstone to keep from falling to the ground as his brother went down hard. But Sam caught him too and helped to sit him up against the tombstone. Here he was, Sam assured himself. Dean, in the flesh, alive and breathing. He felt like pulling his brother into a bear hug and never letting go. But he restrained himself to just sitting close to his brother, holding him up with one hand and brushing the other hand through Dean's hair which was covered in dust and, to Sam's horror, blood.

It was time to assess the damage. There was a gash on Dean's temple, just under his hairline. Blood had trickled down the side of his face, caking in his ear and continuing to stain his shirt. There was a scratch on the bridge of Dean's nose that had bled and trickled down the front of Dean's face, though only sparingly. Blood had been smeared across Dean's cheeks and nose. There were very visible and sore looking scratches on Dean's neck, unmistakably made by fingernails. Bruises littered Dean's entire body, from what Sam could see. There were several on his face, on his neck, and he had no doubt they continued beneath Dean's shirt onto his chest and back. But the thing that worried Sam the most were Dean's hands. One looked as though it had gone nine rounds against a meat grinder while the other was swollen, the wrist twice the size as it should be, probably broken, and the fingers curled in, limp and useless.

"God," Sam whispered after he'd taken stock of Dean's injuries. He looked into his brother's eyes only to find Dean watching him closely, glossy eyed but alert. Sam wrapped an arm around Dean's shoulder, pulling him in closely, trying not to jostle his injuries. Sam hugged him to his chest for a moment, almost afraid to let go. Finally, he pulled back and looked at Dean, who didn't seem too perturbed by the show of affection. He actually looked a little better. Sam ran his hand over the gash on Dean's temple before gently holding his chin and making Dean look him square in the eye. It was a stupid question, but he had to ask it. "You all right?"

i Please, Dean, please just say you're fine. Make some wise ass crack about the whole thing and play it off as no big deal. Say anything, Dean. Show me that you're still here. /i

Dean was taking his time to answer and Sam felt his eyes water up. But finally Dean licked his lips and a smile played across his face. It was glorious to Sam's eyes. Dean leaned his head back and looked at the sky. "About time you showed up." Sam couldn't help it as he let out a laugh and withdrew his hand from the side of Dean's cheek. Ah, the clichéd answer. Thank you, Dean.

"Yeah, got held up in traffic," Sam joked, though his face was anything but humorous. Sam watched as his brother closed his eyes, taking in deep, calming breaths. When he opened them again, Dean looked less panicked, less fearful. That was a good thing. Sam had never seen his brother so scared before. Not even on that airplane when they were trying to take out the demon. Dean had faced his fears head on then and yeah, Sam had ribbed him about it, but Dean had held himself together pretty well. But when Sam had opened that coffin and had caught a look at Dean's eyes, he was looking at a whole new person. One he hadn't seen since they were kids. The fear, the emotion, it had all been so clearly written on Dean's face.

Dean's head rolled to the side and Sam saw his eyes fall slightly. But soon after they widened and Dean started squirming and pushing against Sam, who held him still, looking to see what he was looking at. Dean's eyes were staring at the grave, the one he had just spent three long hours in. Sam moved instantly, positioning himself between Dean and the grave. Dean kicked at it with his foot, but settled down again, though his face was still tight. "It's okay, Dean," he whispered, willing his brother to calm down again. Dean seemed to do just that, staring instead at the woods and grass and sky. Anything but that damn grave.

Blaine came over, quietly offering Sam some bandages and gauze. Sam took them gratefully, smiling at Blaine. The man walked back over to the other grave and continued digging out the coffin there. Sam would deal with that in a bit, right now he had his brother to worry about. He picked up Dean's mangled hand and winced as he saw just how deep the cuts were. He hoped Dean hadn't severed any nerves.

"Dean, I'm so sorry," Sam said as he grabbed a bottle of water from the duffle and started rinsing out the wounds. Dean flinched, but didn't say anything. He turned to look at his brother and Sam couldn't stop himself before he let out all the thoughts he'd had inside his head while his brother had been missing. "I said I had your back, but I didn't, and I'm sorry. I thought you were right behind me. If I would have known you weren't…I'm so sorry, Dean." The tears were coming now, whether Sam wanted them or not. He could do nothing to stop them.

"Sammy," Dean started but winced as he tried to sit forward. Sam pushed him back gently, starting to bandage the hands. It was only temporary. Dean needed to go to the hospital. The wounds looked bad. Dean sighed and shook his head, trying to pull his hand away from Sam. But Sam was quicker and caught him before he could get away. Dean tried to jerk it away giving a soft plea of, "Sammy." Sam looked into his eyes, seeing something new there. "This can wait until later."

"Dean," Sam said, exasperated. "You're bleeding all over the place. You're really hurt, I'm getting you out of here and to a hospital."

Dean shook his head again, his eyes closing slightly at the effort. "No, Sam," he said. "You finish this." Then he looked at him with hard determination. "Burn the bitch."

Sam began to protest. He began to tell his brother that the ghost could wait and right now Dean was top priority to him. He gave Dean that look that told his brother he thought he was crazy. It was the look that said Dean was being stubborn and Sam wouldn't have any of it. Dean wasn't in control this time around, it was Sam's turn to take over. But what Dean said next cut off anything Sam had intended to say.

"I didn't think you'd come." Sam felt as though someone had literally smacked him across the face. The words left a stinging feeling all through his body, like the moment of panic right before something horrible happens. It hurt, it hurt like hell. Sam leaned back, staring hard at the side of his brother's face. Dean's eyes were closed, obviously struggling to keep control of his emotions. Dean wasn't one to let something like that slip out, so the fact that it had scared Sam shitless. Suddenly, Sam was struck with the gravity of what his brother had just been through. Alone, in the dark, for three and half hours with nothing but his thoughts to keep him company. Dean had had three hours to dwell on whatever fears he had locked deep inside. Three hours to wonder if anyone cared enough about him to come. Three hours to convince himself that he would be left alone to die. And what hurt the most was knowing that he was the one who had planted that seed within Dean.

Sam watched his brother still trying to hold tight to whatever emotions and thoughts that were struggling just beneath the surface of his shattered façade. That night, in the asylum, Sam had stared his brother in the eyes and told him that he was sick of following him around, sick of taking orders. He was pathetic, weak. And when Dean had asked him if he hated him enough to kill him, Sam had hardly waited a second before he pulled the trigger.

There was no way in the world Sam could begin to understand what that must have been like. Sure, he'd had the shapeshifter ordeal, but who had come in and saved him in the end? Dean had. Though Sam had been looking up into the face of his brother as he strangled him, he'd known it wasn't him. But when Dean had been flat on his back, hurt and frightened, he had looked up into Sam's face and he knew it was him. And when he'd pulled the trigger, all four fucking times, he had pulled it out of hate, hate for his brother. It was unjustified and completely untrue. Sam didn't hate his brother. There were things about him that he hated, but he didn't hate him. Sam needed to make Dean understand that.

"Of course I came," Sam whispered and Dean's eyes opened slightly, looking down at him. At the sight of Sam's stricken face, Dean tilted his head forward, ready to listen to what Sam was inevitably going to say. For so long, Dean had been the one to make things right. Dean had been the one assuring Sam that they would find Dad. Dean had been the one to protect Sam from the evil things of the night. Dean had been the one to pull Sam out of the fire, twice. Finally, Sam knew that Dean had passed that role onto him, if only just for the moment. God, that look in Dean's eyes, those wide, open, fearful eyes. Dean was opening himself up to Sam, waiting for his little brother to either reach in and fix what he had broken, or destroy Dean forever. Sam wasn't going to lose this opportunity. He knew it would only present itself once.

"Dean, I can sit here and apologize over and over again for what I said to you in that asylum. But we've been down that road and it doesn't work." Dean's eyes teared up a bit. This was obviously going to be hard, for both of them. "What I'm going to do, is sit here, look you in the eye and tell you that I don't hate you. There's not one bit of me that hates you. I meant it when I said I would die for you. And I'll say it again, as much as it takes for you to believe it. I need you to know, I'm begging you to believe that I would never leave you alone to face this, any of this. You're my brother and no matter what you think, no matter what I said to you or what I'll ever say to you in the future, nothing will change that. I'll never leave you alone."

Sam stared into Dean's eyes, willing his brother to soak in the words, to use them to stitch together whatever had broken inside of him. Dean's face was moving, his lips pursed, teeth biting at them. He was trying to keep them neutral, keep them in a straight line, but they were slowly bending downwards and at last, Dean's barrier broke and Sam watched as his brother let go. Sam smiled, rubbing Dean's shoulder as the tears slowly came, trying to let him know that he wasn't going to judge him if he broke down and cried right now. Hell, Sam wouldn't judge him if Dean full out wept. After what he had been through, Dean was entitled to it.

But, Dean gathered himself, sucking a deep breath and letting out a low, gruff chuckle. He shook his head, smiling after a moment. "You realize that you just used up at least a years worth of chick flick moments." Sam smiled, giving his brother's shoulder another squeeze as Dean put his humor on hold for a moment. "I used to think it was something I did," he started and Sam kept himself quiet, knowing his brother needed to get this out. "When Dad left, I was convinced I'd done something wrong. And then I came and got you. I tried so hard to not chase you off too. And I thought, that any day I'd wake up, and you'd be gone. Just like Dad. Just like Mom."

"Dean…" Sam watched as his brother's resolve broke. Dean bowed his head, looking at his broken, mangled hands.

"I'm trying, Sam," he whispered. "Honest to God I'm trying. I just don't know what to do anymore."

"Dean," Sam commanded and his brother looked up again, his eyes sullen. "I don't know why Dad left. But I know it wasn't because of you. And, you may piss me off sometimes, because you really are a pain in the ass, but you're not chasing me away." Sam smiled, trying to get Dean to reciprocate the action. He did, but only half heartedly.

"I just," Dean started but shook his head. Sam encouraged him to go on by nudging him a little. "You and Dad have such purpose behind your need to kill this thing. He has Mom, you have Jess. I feel like I'm just along for the ride."

"What?" Sam shocked. "Dean, you have as much of a reason to be doing this as either of us. She was your Mom too. You've lost just the same as we have."

Dean smiled after a moment and looked at Sam. He looked all too tired for Sam's liking. "Yeah, seems that I've lost my mind." Dean struggled to sit up a little straighter and Sam helped him, not liking how hard it was for Dean to move around. "Sitting here like pussies crying about everything." Sam shook his head, though he couldn't get the smile off his face. "Let's just burn the bitch so we can get the fuck out of here. I need to find a beautiful woman who will take pity on my wounds and you're just not doing it for me, Sammy."

"All right," Sam laughed. "You just sit tight and watch this bonfire. Then, we're getting you to a hospital." Dean didn't seem too thrilled about that, but he laid his head back and tried to relax anyway. Sam noticed that Blaine had stopped digging and was trying not to eavesdrop. Conroy, on the other hand, was watching them as though he were watching a movie. Sam went to rise, holding onto Dean for as long as he could. But when he got up, he bent back over and made Dean look at him. "Oh, and Dean?" Sam added.

"What?" Dean asked, eyes half closed.

"I love you, man."

"Get to work you sap."