Chapter Nine

It had always been an odd feeling for Sam when, sometimes while sparring with his brother, he'd be so engrossed in the routine, in the style, in the adrenaline and the moment, that somewhere along the line he would forget to breathe. It happened a lot once Sam hit fourteen. He'd train with his brother, listening to John call out moves from the side, punching and kicking in a mixture of fighting styles that had to be unique to their family. A mismatch of just about everything. But never all of one thing. And Sam would be so engrossed listening to John's voice, listening to Dean's grunts and quiet calls of warnings, watching his brother's muscles twitch and anticipating the block or the hit, that he would simply be focusing too much on the fight for his mind to remember to breathe. He'd found out about this quirk when in the middle of a sparring match with Dean, he'd simply passed out mid-fight and face planted into a doorknob. Dean had been simply beside himself with horror that it had taken him nearly four weeks to agree to train with his brother again.

After that, John had spent weeks engraining into his sons when to breathe. Out when you punch, in when you block. Out when you kick, in when you duck. Even then, Sam would sometimes hear his father call out a reminder to breathe as he was training with his brother. And after a while, Sam stopped needing his father to remind him. He stopped needing to repeat his breathing mantra in his head while he fought. His body had learned to do it on its own again, making breathing and fighting just another internal mechanism, as it should have been. He hadn't had a problem with it again.

Until the moment the wraith possessing his brother's body slashed a knife across his cheek and he realized his lungs had been empty as he sucked in a gasp. He'd scrambled backwards, sucking in air and spitting it back out again as if he'd just discovered the joy of breathing. And the two of them stayed like that for a moment. Sam, back on his haunches, a hand over his cheek, reminding himself how to breath. And Dean, blood dripping from a shallow cut on the back of his head below his right ear, a stranger's grin on his face, and the offending knife clutched in his hand, ready to strike again.

Sam could already feel his face starting to swell from where Genie had smashed it up against the wall. And along with the throbbing pain in his brow came the understanding that he was on his own with this one. Sure, Dean was still in there somewhere, Genie had said as much, but if Dean had any control, whatsoever, Sam's eye wouldn't be threatening to swell shut and Sam knew it. He wondered if his brother even knew what was happening. Did Dean even know what was going on? Or was Genie torturing him inside his own mind? Sam felt a fury rise up in him at the thought.

"Caught your breath?" Genie asked and Sam snapped back to reality. He stared at Genie in Dean's body and jutted his jaw a bit more. "Or do we need another time out?" The grin that followed just made Sam all the more angry. Dean's face was not supposed to look like that. Not when those eyes were on him.

"You keep calling my brother a monster," Sam said through clenched teeth, tensing his muscles as Genie shifted his weight. He had to be ready, Dean was quick and with a psychic wraith inside his head, he was nearing on godly. But he could still bleed. Sam hoped Dean would forgive him for a few cuts and bruises. "But you're only making yourself into one by doing this, Genie."

"Don't talk monsters with me," Genie spat, the anger that flashed in those black eyes startling Sam. "You haven't seen the things I've seen." Then he smiled coyly, bringing the knife he'd used to slice Sam's cheek to his lips. Sam resisted the urge to shiver as he ran his tongue along the blade. Sick man. Get out of my brother's body. "Hell's got a special place for people like your brother."

Sam growled and leapt forward. Genie rose quickly to meet him, bringing the knife up. Sam sidestepped it and surprised himself when he landed a backhanded blow across Dean's face, drawing a trickle of blood from his brother's nose. And that moment of surprise cost Sam as Genie used it to his advantage and swiped out with the knife again, cutting a shallow line across Sam's chest. Sam sucked in a breath and in his moment of pain, Genie leaned forward and grabbed the side of Sam's face. He pulled Sam in, laid a teasing kiss on his forehead and the pushed him away again.

"Remember when I used to kiss your head goodnight?" Genie asked, the grin on his face malicious.

"Shut up!" Sam yelled and kicked forward, catching Genie in the knee. But Genie brought the knife up and just barely missed taking out one of Sam's eyes. Sam gasped and leapt backwards, but Genie was relentless and Sam tried his best to hit away the attacks that he could. Some got too close and sliced at Sam's arms, but finally Sam got up enough strength to grab Dean's wrist and jerk it to the side. The two struggled their, a battle of strengths for a moment, before Sam finally squeezed Dean's wrist hard enough for the knife to fall loosely to the floor. But he was rewarded only with a swift hit across his bloodied cheek, to which he stumbled backwards and received a punch to the gut that doubled him over.

Dean's fingers wrapped into his hair again and Sam grit his teeth as he was spun and one of Dean's arms came and wrapped around his throat, holding him in a chokehold despite the awkwardness of the height difference. Sam choked and spluttered, Dean's arm closing his windpipe. He was briefly annoyed that he found himself being choked yet again by someone with his brother's face.

Dean's mouth came to Sam's ear and as he whispered, Sam flinched as he felt the hot breath on his neck. "Well Sammy, it's been fun." Sam cried out as Dean squeezed tighter on his throat and pulled back on his hair. "Say hello to that pretty girlfriend of yours."

And suddenly, Sam was being hurled through the air. He barely had time to figure out what was going on, why he wasn't getting his neck snapped or throat slit, before he found himself colliding with a desk in one of the abandoned offices Genie had tossed him into. Sam hit it on his left side, hearing the snap in his arm before he actually felt the pain, and rolling over it to land on the floor against the wall, where he lay, unsure whether he wanted to stay awake or give into the blackness dancing at the edges of his vision.

Sam didn't remember yelling, but the echo in the room and the hoarseness of his voice gave him away. He lay on his side, eyes shut tightly. Damn, that hurt. He'd had broken bones before, but shit. Arms were always the worse, especially when he opened his eyes and saw the protruding white-yellow bone sticking out of a bloody hole in his skin. Oh that was always fun. It would be cool looking if it didn't make tiny dots flash in front of his eyes. And as Sam stared at his broken arm as it lay awkwardly out in front of him, he realized that it wasn't the only thing that hurt. Damn, his entire body hurt. His ribs were going to kill him in the morning, if Genie didn't kill him tonight. And hell, his head hurt worse than it had a few minutes ago. How many goose eggs could a person have before they started looking like Quasimodo? Great, now he was thinking like Dean. He wondered if this was a concussion bringing all these thoughts? Probably.

"Sammy, you alive?" Genie called from the doorway and Sam almost called out a sarcastic, "no," but held himself back. He grunted and groaned and tried to push himself up from the floor, but his body was protesting so badly, he just fell right back down. Well shit. Sam heard the desk groan and he moved his eyes to look up and see that Genie was laying on it, looking down at him with a smile. "Well look at you," Genie grinned and swung his legs off the desk. He hopped down and rolled Sam onto his back. Sam couldn't help the cry that escaped him. "Resilient little pest, aren't you?" Sam fought back a wave of nausea that coursed through him as Genie patted his head. "Goodnight, Sam." And Sam's chest constricted as he watched his brother, with Genie inside of him, raise a knife up above his head and get ready to bring it down on Sam's chest.

"Dean…" Sam croaked out, one last plea. There was so much he wanted to say to his brother. Don't blame yourself. Kill this bastard for me. Find Dad. Kill the thing that killed Mom and Jess. Don't miss me too much. But above all, just know, that I love you.

Sam's plea didn't go on deaf ears.

He wasn't sure how, but Dean found himself standing on the edge of the white river again. He tensed for a second. Moments before, he'd been watching the fight going on between Genie and his brother. Moments before, Genie had Dean trapped inside his head, held down by chains, stripped of his pride, his confidence, his façade of strength. Moments before, Dean was preparing to have his heart ripped out.

But now, there was just the white river. The same shapeless, pearly river. Flowing as beautiful as ever, straight and endless and enchanting. Here, by this river, Sam wasn't dying. Dean wasn't trapped. And the world wasn't shit. Dean liked it by this river. He wished he could stay here for all time.

"Dean?" He turned slowly at the sound of his name, his mind already succumbing to this place, already forgetting about Sam, broken and bleeding on the floor. Forgetting about Genie, screaming and searching for him. Forgetting about emotions and feelings and senses. And as she said his name, he forgot that too. She came to stand next to him. "We need to go." He only stared at her.

I'm lost again. He knew it to be true. Everything and nothing told him it was true. Everything and nothing told him it was the only truth he would ever know.

"He's coming," she said and she took his hand. "Please. I need you to remember."

I don't remember. I can't. How am I supposed to?

She was running now, with his hand still in hers. And she pulled him away from the white river. And he knew he'd never see it again. And there were tears on his face that he would never remember crying.

"You have to remember something!" she yelled back at him as she kept pulling him along. He could feel something behind him. Something screaming at him to stop. But he couldn't stop with her holding his hand. "Just one memory. All you need is one!"

I don't have one. But even as he said it, he knew it was a lie. Everything and nothing told him it was a lie. Everything and nothing told him it would always be a lie.

"Please!" She screamed, scared now. He couldn't remember why to be afraid. "Sam needs you!"

Sam. He knew that word. A name. It wasn't his own, but it very well could have been. He knew it more than his own. Sam. Again, say it again. Sam. Sam, Sam, Sam. And then he stopped running and she screamed and pulled at his hand and he shook his head. I can't run yet.

"You have to!" She screamed. "He's almost here."

And he held out his arms and knew they were empty. Sam. Sam. Outside. Brother. Go. I know these words. I know that voice. I remember.

And suddenly Dean was inside his house. There was screaming and there was heat and smoke. He was crying. Where's Daddy? Where's Mommy? He ran into the hall. "Dean!" Daddy! Daddy came running into the hall with baby Sammy in his arms. He leaned down and placed Sammy into Dean's arms, still outstretched. "Dean, take your brother outside." But… "Go, Dean, now!" Okay, Daddy. Okay.

And he held Sam and he ran outside and he kept running with Sam in his arms until he couldn't run anymore. He stopped and turned around. Daddy was standing there, looking at him. He was crying. Was this part of the memory? "Daddy?" his voice was so young.

"Dean, your mother's gone."

"Where did she go?"

"She's gone to Heaven, Sport."

"Can we go there too?"

"Someday."

"She's not coming back?"

"No."

"Something bad happened."

"Yes, it did. But I swear to you, Dean. I'm going to find out what happened. I going to find what did this. But I need you to do me a favor."

"What, Daddy?"

"I need you to take care of Sammy. No matter what. Always look after your brother."

"Even when I'm sleeping?"

"Even when you're sleeping."

"Okay, Daddy."

"That's my boy. You have to go now, Dean."

What? Why? No, Daddy, I don't want to go! But Daddy was already standing, already leaving, already walking, already fading. Daddy didn't even turn around. Daddy didn't even say goodbye. And in Dean's arms, there was a missing Sammy. He had to find Sammy. He promised. He had to take care of him, no matter what, even when he was sleeping.

And as Dean turned and walked back the way he had come, he passed by a motel room. He could see a bald, hairless man with an angry face looking out the window at him. The man was yelling, pointing, threatening.

And Dean threw a rock at the window and his whole world shattered.

Sam closed his eyes. He didn't want to see his brother's face when he felt that knife plunge into his chest. He didn't want to see the malicious black orbs that had so cruelly taken over the clear, hazel eyes of his brother. He didn't want to see that grin that was so his brother but at the same time not even a shadow of the Dean he knew. And Sam couldn't help the tears that slipped out. It wasn't supposed to be like this. They had so much more to do. Sam had so much more to do. Had he really failed this horribly?

Genie screamed and Sam tensed. He heard the sound of the knife plunging into flesh, deeply in, a squishy, tearing sound. He waited for the pain he knew was coming. He waited to feel that burning sting followed by the deathly chill as he bled out. That's how they said it happened. When you bleed out, when you die, it's cold. It's always cold. Sam didn't know whether to believe that. All his memories of death were filled with fire and smoke. How could death be cold?

But the pain never came. Sam slowly opened one eye, seeing Dean's face still looking down at him, looking relaxed. And then he shot the other eye open, staring up at his brother as he realized that something wasn't right. The black eyes were looking at him with something akin to shock.

"H…how..?" Genie stuttered and Sam frowned. Then Genie looked away and Sam realized he wasn't talking to him. He followed Genie's eyes and Sam's face drained of all the color that was left. He knew why he'd felt no pain from the stab wound.

He had never been stabbed.

Dean's knife, his precious knife with the eight inch silver blade, was buried hilt deep in Dean's side. Blood was already soaking Dean's shirt, already soaking his pants, already dripping down onto the floor. Sam stared in horror at the amount of blood. Dean staggered to his feet, his hands still wrapped around the hilt of the knife. His entire body was shaking, shivering, his lips trembling. Those black eyes came back up to look at him. The two stared at each other for a moment and Sam was unsure how he knew, but he saw fear in those black eyes. Fear and pain. How was that possible?

And then Dean's body leaned up against the wall and slide to the ground with a jolt. Sam pushed himself the little that he could. He ignored the pain in his arm. Dean's hand came away from the hilt and Sam took in a sharp gasp as he saw it was coated with thick red blood. Then, Genie spoke. "I wasn't done with this body yet." The words were soft, sad, regretful.

Panic overtook Sam as Dean's body tilted to the side at the same time a black cloud seemed to withdraw itself from his skin. For a moment, Sam thought he would have to fight Genie again, but in the air, the smoke was crackling with spasms. It wasn't anything near to the smoothness, the power of how it had been before.

"Sam!" He turned at his name and saw Cecily in the doorway. She held Jeremy's journal in one hand and the holy water in the other. She ran over to him and handed him the book. Then, she took the holy water and stood in front of him. "We're not afraid of you anymore, stupid!" she yelled and threw the holy water at the smoke. Immediately, the room was filled with a scream. Cecily covered her ears, her own scream adding to the noise. Sam seemed to snap out of his shocked stupor and started to read the counter verse, to perform the exorcism. The screaming was tearing at his ear drums, but Sam wasn't hearing it. He concentrated on the counter verse. It took him only a few seconds to read the entire thing and when he was done, he looked up and saw Genie manifest himself once more.

Sam threw the journal to the side and leaned forward, wrapping his arm around Cecily and pulling her back. She put her head on his shoulder, but neither of them could look away as Genie seemed to relive his original death. Sam watched Genie arch his back and open his mouth for soundless screams. He watched him turn his head to the side, stare at something with endless, begging eyes. And then a real scream. And then Genie's head jerked to the side, exploding in black smoke. Sam jerked and felt Cecily do the same. The black smoke gave one last horrendous scream before imploding on itself and disappearing with a loud pop.

The room was too quiet after that. Too quiet as Sam scurried to his brother, crying before he even knew if Dean was still alive. Too quiet as Cecily told Sam she could go get help. Too quiet as Sam didn't even realize Cecily had left. Too quiet as Sam put his forehead against his brother's and prayed for him to wake up, prayed for him to keep breathing, prayed for him to hold on until the ambulance came.

The room was too quiet when Dean didn't answer.