A/N: So I have had one of the best weeks of my life. I never appreciated spring break quite so much until I was the teacher--it's a real eye opening experience. However, tomorrow I go back, but, luckily for you all,it won't affect the story very much--it's mostly done so updates should still be fairly regular. How can I ever show my appreciation to all of you who are reading? I can't think of anything except to say you're all fantastic! And I'm so overwhelmed by the response. This chapter is short, and almost a gratuitous transition, but I promise to post the next chapter quickly. Thanks, as always, to Cati, who I think I love more than I love Sam, which is saying something.

Chapter Four: Escape

Jack Travis lived in an old farmhouse on the outskirts of town, far enough from neighbors that parties could get loud and last all night. His parties were infamously loud and wild, and people from three counties would come to check one out.

Dean parked his car on the grass a good ways from the house. Clearly the party had already started. Some partygoers were outside, leaning on the hoods of cars, smoking and tipping their beer bottles back.

The front door was open, and he could hear the music from the lawn. Inside, the place was packed, nearly wall to wall. The lights were half-dimmed and the house reeked of smoke.

"Winchester!" Jack called, moving his way through the throng of people. "You made it!"

Dean accepted a beer that Jack offered. "One of your parties? Wouldn't miss it?"

"Don't you have to babysit or something? Thought your dad made you stick by your kid brother like glue."

"He's 16, dude. I think he'll be okay for the night."

"Whatever, man," Jack said, leading him toward the living room. "I've got my eye on this cute little brunette. Redecker's a little too close to her, so I've got to go reclaim my territory. Check you later, Winchester."

Dean nodded a goodbye and watched as Jack disappeared into the crowd. He took a sip of his beer and meandered through the mob of people, scanning the crowd for a familiar or amenable face.

He found her by the window, nursing her beer, bobbing her head slightly to the music's rhythm.

Her name was Tessa, but he didn't know that until later, and she had such a beautiful smile. Her teeth were perfectly straight and brilliantly white. Her lips were a glossy pink, full and voluptuous as they widened around her teeth. In the low lights of the house, her blonde hair seemed to glisten, the light dancing up and down her highlights as she moved with the music that pulsated off the walls. As she sidled up to him, her smile became mischievous, and Dean could see she had crystal blue eyes that were round with long dark lashes, laden with mascara.

She didn't say anything to him at first, just let her body graze against him, so close that he could feel her heat. He let his hands find their way to her hips. She didn't shy away, and Dean could see the freckles on her nose.

Even Sammy would understand this. Even with all of his focus on academics, all his resistance to a no-strings lifestyle, he would understand this.

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He couldn't open his eyes, he could barely breathe, and pain eclipsed his reality.

He lingered there, caught in a tormented limbo, praying for some kind of escape.

Time to grow up, Sammy. Take it like a man.

Sam tried, he attempt to steady himself, but the pain commandeered him, left him weak and spent. I can't.

Despite his controlling need to live up to his brother's expectations, the pain won out, and he surrendered to it.

"…Dean…?" He heard his own voice lilting feebly through a haze.

Where was his brother? It wasn't like Dean not to come when he needed him. It wasn't like Dean to not be here, to not help him, to not make him better.

I swear, if you're faking. Sam could see the look on Dean's face--composed with a definitive layer of anger underneath. No, Dean, not faking, I promise.

Everything burned. There was fire around him, near him, in him. It started in his stomach, burning intensely throughout his abdomen, then spreading steadily throughout his entire body. He tried to scream, to call out for help, but he couldn't make his throat work.

His chest felt tight and each breath was an effort. His pretenses of stoicism fell away. Dean, please, help me.

He opened his eyes, searching for his brother, but everything blurred together--the off-white walls, the blue bedspread, the small rickety fake wood desk, his brother's unmade and empty bed covered with pale green sheets--it was an ever shifting kaleidoscope. The colors made his stomach turn, and he closed his eyes again.

Was he asleep? Was this a nightmare? Sam shook his head, trying to find his voice, trying to wake himself up.

As pained seemed to vibrate along every synapse, he realized acutely that there was no way this was a dream. He felt suddenly detached, the pain encompassing his body, making it a separate entity. He still felt it, but distantly now, and he let himself drift away from it. Sleep. It was a dark sleep that beckoned him, but he could not resist. Sleep now.