Chapter Six:

Sam's lanky frame shot up like a lightning bolt and his once boyish, whisper-soft facial features were now contorted with fiery, eyes flickering with fire. "Goddamnit, Dean!" He boomed.

Despite the wave of dizziness that rushed over Dean mere moments before, his head snapped up out of anger and shock at his brother's outburst.

Who the hell did he think he was talking to?

"Christ, don't you have any idea how serious this is! You could have fucking died, Dean!"

Rolling his eyes, Dean began firmly, "Sam, I'm fi–"

"No!" His brother shouted back loudly, and the tears visibly streaming down Sam's face have knocked the air right out of Dean's lungs.

Sam furiously wiped at his face, towering over Dean, his tone literally roaring, "What if I didn't wake up! What if I hadn't found you in time, did you think about that!"

Honestly, Dean hadn't. Man, Sammy sure knew how to make a guy feel like a totally asshole. Absentmindedly, he reached a comforting hand out to his brother, trying to calm him the way he did when they were kids. Dean frowned when he noticed his hand was shaking.

Seeing the action, Sam pulled away sharply as if Dean's touch would scald his flesh and if anything it only made him madder. "No, you didn't think, did you, Dean? You don't fucking think! You're such a damn idiot little boy!"

Dean found himself cowering deeper and deeper into the corner of the bathroom, drawing the blanket up to his chin, flinching at every hurtful word flowing from his brother's mouth. He felt ages younger then Sam. He felt like a helpless... idiot... little boy. He watched Sam's figure, the way his shoulders were hunched and trembling in such a way that looked as if something else was living inside of his skin. His breathing was struggled, making noises that sounded as if he were being strangled but he wasn't, obviously.

Apart from Sam's rage and tears – his body language, the movements he was making now... were almost unnatural. And even though Sam was downright spitting acidy words at him as if he actually did chip the fine China, Dean was also finding himself feeling terrible, feeling guilty, feeling... responsible for ever making Sam this angry and hurt in the first place. "Sammy, I'm sorr– "

His brother's response was loud and twisted and –

"Shut the fuck up, Robby!"

– not Sam.

Dean's brows furrowed quickly at the sheer disgust of his brother's words and with confusion as well, when he questioned, "Robby?"

Dean didn't wait for a response because now this was just weird and unexplainable. No one could be so angry that they call their own brother a name that didn't belong to them. With a grunt, he pulled himself up, only making it about half-way before something or in this case someone rammed into him from the side, sending the back of his knees into the edge of the tub, and he folded in on himself, barreling inside.

"What did I say, you little bastard?"

Dean heard Sam shout as he made a swift grab for the shower curtains to stop his fall, only bringing them down with him and he hissed when his bare back pressed against the freezing cold porcelain.

"See what you made me do?" Sam whimpered loudly, sounding just a bit remorseful. "If you would have just did what we were supposed to do then–"

"Sam," Dean gasped, when the dull ache in his shoulder blades twinge from the fall. He shifted under the baby blue curtain that was tented over him and tries to get up, get away because Sam was scaring him now. Scaring him shitless. "Please."

Looking up through the fabric at Sam's silhouette, Dean can see his brother hovering and for a moment he let his mind think that Sam was going to help him, for a second, he thought it was an accident.

"You wanted to take a shower, huh?" Sam asked, his tone pulsing with eerily calm malice.

Sucking in a shaky breath, Dean pulled down the curtain just in time to watch Sam lean over to twist the knob and soon boiling hot water was pouring down onto him, the sharp needlelike water burning his skin. Frantically, he scrambled, slipping and sliding onto his forearms only to be shoved back down, harder. Soon after, rough hands were gripping at his upper arms, tight enough to leave horrible colorful bruises in their wake; Sam was pinning him down.

"Take your fucking shower, Dean!" Sam spat as he lifts Dean up an inch or so, only to drive his brother's body against the tub.

Dean's mind was reeling from the blow the back of his head took, but he was still painfully lucid of the fact that Sam was doing this. Sam was killing him and man, he sure wished he wasn't aware of that.

"You wanted it, didn't you?" Sam taunted, pulling him up –

Dean wished this was someone else, wished this was not his Sammy.

– only to slam him back down again.

"Take it, Robby!"

Robby? Who was Robby?

Dean clearly heard being called the wrong name for the second time but didn't really process it. The water level was rising so much quicker then both of them realized. Turning the water a light shade of pink as it combined with Dean's rich blood oozing from the back of his head where it has connected with the metal plug at the base.

"Sammy, please," he begged, sounded so weak and helpless and young but he didn't hear himself at all; the water was past his ears and plugging them up and he was grateful he didn't have to hear Sam's vile words anymore. It's peaceful here.

Fair crimson was starting to seep into the sockets of his eyes and the last image he saw before his vision was blurred was of Sam sneering down at him, sheer hate owning his entire being. Dean realized somewhere distant, that Sam wouldn't do this. This wasn't Sam. This was wrong. This was evil.

Meanwhile, Sam was sure he was dreaming this up right now. Surely, this couldn't be happening. This has to be a nightmare because Samuel Winchester would never, ever drown his big brother in a goddamn motel bathtub in Riverside, California. Yet, here he was, doing just that and he was fighting himself or whatever force making him do this, hell-bent on waking up because again – this wasn't really happening.

Stop, stop, stop, stop, stop, He told himself inwardly, Wake up, Sam! Wake the fuck up now!

When Sam finally snapped alert, Dean's head was almost completely submerged beneath the water under Sam's weight, his own hand forcing Dean's cheek against the tub relentlessly.

Dean's eyes were wide-open with fear, his fingernails were slowly unclenching from his baby brother's arms, his body was starting to relax in horrific defeat.

Sam let out a cry of terror and thrusted Dean upward as fast as humanly possible, lovingly and powerfully wrapping his arms around his brother in a bear hug as he pulled him out of the tub, onto the floor to safety.

Dean flopped down onto his side, gasping, choking and throwing up water. His eyes were bulging and he was breathlessly rambling incoherently as his forehead slid weakly along the linoleum, desperately trying to crawl away.

Sam was doing some ranting of his own and didn't sound anymore clearer then Dean was. The words overlapping each other, all mushed and rushed. "Dean – oh god – I – oh my god – I didn't – Jesus – are you alright? are you okay? – I don't know what – please – Dean – Dean?"

Dean had yet to stop pawing at the floor in an attempt to flee from his brother's wrath. He was taking in horrible hiccupping sounding breaths and all but screamed in sheer fright when he felt Sam's hands touching his leg to stop him, to calm him. "G-g-get away f-f-f-from me," Dean half-gasped, half-cried, "d-d-don't touch m-me, Frankie!"

Sam's brows knitted so closely it looked as though he had but one as his hands recoil from his brother. "What?" Sam countered, admonished.

"Please, Frankie. I'm sorry. I don't wanna take more, please. It hurts," Dean pleaded hoarsely, still panting as he feebly continued to pull his shivering battered body across the threshold of the bathroom.

Frankie? Robby? What the hell was going on?

And then like a fucking slap to the face, Sam suddenly pieced everything together. They were playing out the murder of Robert Landon Hoel, a murder committed by Frank Carlova, the man they came to Riverside for in the first place. How Sam knew this he couldn't say or explain... it was just a feeling, knowledge he just knew and never doubted for a split second.

Paralyzed for a few seconds at the revelation, Sam sat there stunned, his shaky hands coming up to clasp at his own mouth in horror. "Dean, I know what's hap–" He stopped, taking a quick intake of air when he witnessed Dean's frantic movements halting and only his bare feet were visible to him now. "Dean?"

When he retracted nothing but silence, he shifted into a crouch and inched closer, puckering his lips thoughtfully as he pondered at a different approach. "...Robby?"

Nothing.

Scrambling forward, Sam finally reached Dean, who was laying prone on his stomach with his head tucked in the crook of his arm, his skin disturbingly drained of color. "Shit! Dean!"

Gently, Sam rocked him onto his back, supporting his head and neck as he did so, and noted by the deadweight that Dean most certainly was unconscious. Sam peered at Dean's face for a moment then quickly dropped an ear down to his brother's parted mouth for the third time this night.

"Thank god..." Dean's breathing was a little congested but nevertheless, he was breathing and alive and for now that's all that mattered.

Sam carefully threw his brother's limp body over his shoulder and hoisted him up, shuffling a few mile-like feet over to the bed he was closest to and where he as softly as he possibly could, lowered Dean down onto the mattress.

How quickly the anger towards his brother mere moments before shifted to love and guilt and fear was beyond Sam and he found himself propping Dean up with the aid of pillows to ease his breathing.

Vaguely, Sam heard Dean's cell phone ringing at the nightstand as he circled the bed with a thick trail of sea salt to protect his brother from whatever the hell was happening to Sam and Dean for that matter.

Sam found it strange that he was the murderer of the scenario, not that Dean better fit the role or anything. And though he nearly killed his brother, Sam knew, just knew, that whatever occurred in that bathroom was not of a threat but a –

His reverie was split in two, cringing at the fact that the phone was still going off. Gritting his teeth, Sam closed the short distance, snatching up the cell into his palm. He flipped it open and wearily pressed it up to his ear, never taking his eyes off Dean's chest as he watched it rise and fall.

"Yeah?" He huffed, then immediately pulled it back when he was greeted with a loud crash and a shriek of a child or maybe a young women, he wasn't all that sure. Frowning slightly, he brought the phone back to his ear with caution, "Hello? Who is this?"

Again noises, staticy and loud, nothing at all he could make out. Frustrated, he shook his head and cut off the hopeless call, tossing the cell at the base of the mattress before he stepped closer to hover over Dean. Instantly, he noted the small blotch of blood blossoming behind his brother's head onto one of the off-white pillows. Sam sighed heavily and reached down to grasp Dean's shoulders, jostling him a bit. It probably wasn't a good idea for Dean to sleep with a head injury.

"Dean?" He called and the elder shifted restlessly, murmured but nonetheless, remaining down for the count. "Hey..." Sam said softly yet firmly, "You gotta wake up, alright? I need you, okay?" Sam frowned forlornly at the sound of his own voice. So shaken, so young.

His attention was brought back to Dean as his eyelids fluttered open to stare directly at Sam. He jaw hung a little askew, eyes wide with a thousand different emotions clouding his hazel orbs.

Sam heard a gasp and later discovered it was his own.

"Dean, I'm–"

"Cold."

Sam blinked. "What?"

"M'cold, Sam," whispered Dean, as he took a gander down at his pajama bottoms that were wet at the top from the shower he took– or the one Sam gave him.

Sam nodded slowly and reached over to throw the blanket over his still damp brother, who flinched at the sudden movement. Sam pretended not to notice then settled back down onto the bed, making Dean dip down a little. Biting his own lip to keep his budding emotions at bay, Sam sighed.

They both understood exactly what happened in that bathroom, and both knew that the other knew as well and yet there are no words. Silence so loud it's buzzing and it's hurting their ears. Dean didn't look away from Sam almost as if he was waiting for him to manifest into a demon again and Sam was waiting for his brother to say something– anything.

Neither of them get what they were waiting for...