AN: This part is unfinished. It had been so long since I last updated that I thought that I should post what I do have written to show that I haven't abandoned this story. Thank you to everyone for the wonderful reviews. I hope to finish this story soon.

Part Five

'SAMMY.' Sam stared at the nickname he loved and hated. It had to be Dean, but how? Where was he and how could he have... Sam's heart clenched as icy darts shivered down his spine. He stared at his phantom reflection in the window, not letting the thought become anything more than a half formed fear. Dean was not... Dean was fine. He was fine and soon they would be fine together. As soon as they figured out what the hell was going on. At least now there was a place to start. Sam reached out and wiped the 'MY' away and drew a line under 'SAM.'

It didn't take long for a response. Another patch of fog formed above his name with the message 'OK SAMMY?' It was Dean. Only his brother could be concerned and an ass at the same time. "Yes!" Sam yelled and wiped the glass clean with his hand. He fogged up the window and wrote 'FINE. YOU?' Nothing happened. Sam stepped back from the window. Dean had to be okay. Sam bounced on his toes as he waited for a reply. This was ridiculous. He was communicating with his brother by writing on a window for Christ's sake. Why wasn't Dean answering?What if he was hurt? What if he...Sam automatically shut down the thought before he could complete it, but he knew denial wouldn't help. He had to face every possibility so he could deal with it. Sam took a deep breath and then let himself think the one thing he never wanted to have to deal with. What if Dean was dead and his spirit was communicating with him? Dean probably didn't know how to tell Sam,writing 'I'M DEAD. SORRY' on a window pane wouldn't be an easy way to tell your little brother you had died while he was sleeping. Oh, God, what if Dean wanted him to find his body and then salt and burn his bones? He couldn't do that. He would rather Dean haunted him for eternity.

The words on the glass faded a bit as the fog started to slowly dissipate. Sam scrubbed at his eyes, wiping away the moisture before tears could fall. He had killed his brother. If Dean was dead then he must have died from the injuries Sam had caused at the asylum. He could have been bleeding internally, slowly dying, and Sam hadn't noticed a thing. Sam squeezed his eyes shut, trying to stop the image of Dean waking up in the middle of the night - confused and in pain - stumbling outside and dying alone in the dirt. "No!" Sam shook his head. That didn't happen. Something wasn't right about this place and the clerk. It was this place that was dead, not his brother. Sam opened his eyes and wiped his words away with his forearm. He needed to know what was going with his brother before the speculation drove him crazy. Sam wrote 'DEAN!' on the glass and hoped that would get a response. He almost fainted in relief when words immediately appeared.
'I'M GOOD. WHERE R U?'

Sam answered and asked where Dean was even though he was pretty sure his brother was in the room with him. When his suspicions were confirmed, he felt the panic rise again. Dean hadn't written anything about being a ghost, but maybe he didn't know he was dead. It would be just like Dean to cling to his own personal mission to watch over his little brother. Even if said little brother could be a selfish, whining bastard who didn't appreciate him as much as he should. Sam swallowed his regret and grief. Now was not the time to think that he would never again sit beside Dean in the car listening to ancient metal music. The Impala. Sam stared hard out the window. The Impala was gone. And as much as Dean would want to, Sam knew that Dean wouldn't be able to take his beloved old car with him when he died. Sam grinned. Dean wasn't dead, they were just separated some how. It had to be this place. Sam went to the window and ran this theory by Dean. Hopefully, his brother would know how the hell to get them out of this. A word appeared on the window and Sam frowned.

"Duck?" Sam blinked in confusion. What would a duck be doing in the motel room with Dean? Then it occurred to Sam that the word wasn't so much a noun as a verb and he hit the floor just as the window exploded in a shower of tinkling glass. Sam looked up cautiously. "The fuck,
Dean?" He slowly raised himself up and when nothing else shattered, he stood up and looked around.

The lamp on the small writing desk in the corner flickered and Sam looked toward it in time to see the mirror on the wall behind it fog up. 'OOPS. DIDN'T WORK.'

"No shit, Sherlock." Sam shook his head. This writing on fogged up surfaces was getting to be a pain in the ass. They couldn't communicate properly this way. He couldn't tell Dean what he was thinking and Dean couldn't tell him what he was thinking. There had to be another way. Sam paced around the room. "Okay," he muttered to himself. "We're both in the motel room, but in different dimensions. But the window, mirror, and lamp exist in both because we can both manipulate them." It hit Sam what Dean had been trying to do when he shot out the window - create a rip in the dimension that one of them could pass through. "Not bad, big brother." Sam was impressed, even though it didn't work and left them with a broken window.

--

Dean stared at the broken window, but nothing happened - not that he was even sure what he expected. It hadn't brought Sam to him or him to Sam, so it was bust. Dean tossed the shotgun onto the bed and moved over to the desk. Now he needed another way to communicate with Sam. Hoping it would work on the same principle as the window and that it would get his brother's attention, Dean flicked the lamp on and off a few times. Then he fogged up the mirror and wrote. Sam probably wasn't too impressed with his idea, but it had been worth a shot. Dean smirked. He could imagine what Sam was muttering about his 'idea.' If it had even worked on Sam's end. 'BROKEN WINDOW?'

'YES. WHAT NOW?' was Sam's reply. Dean snorted and wrote back. He was out of juice on this one and only hoped Sam could come up with something.

--

'YOUR TURN COLLEGE BOY' appeared on the mirror. Sam rolled his eyes.
He didn't have a clue what to do next and he really didn't have anything to work with. Dean apparently had the Impala and the weapons and probably the laptop too. All Sam had was his cell phone with no reception. He had nothing, not even a damn breeze coming through the window. He was alone - isolated - with nothing. He had no weapons to fight with, no car to drive off in, and no brother to protect him. He was the one who was trapped. Sam stood up and crossed to the mirror.

--

'YOU CAN LEAVE. I CAN'T'

Dean's eyes narrowed at the words on the mirror. "Like hell," he ground out. He wasn't going to leave Sam. He hadn't done it when Al the asshole desk clerk had suggested it and he wasn't going to do it now just because it was Sam's bright idea. Dean frowned. The clerk had been pretty hot for him to leave.

'YOU CAN GET MORE INFO. COME BACK' Dean rolled his eyes at Sam's persistence. He didn't need to leave to get more info, he was pretty sure he knew where to get it. He wiped Sam's argument away and replaced it with his own.

--

'SHUT IT SAM'

Sam scowled at the words. Even though the thought of Dean leaving him here scared the shit out of him, it was the only way they had a chance - or at least Dean would have a chance. He was trapped here by something or someone. If Dean could leave, Sam didn't want to be the one who kept him here. The world needed Dean. It needed his brash older brother to save the day and keep the monsters in the closet from winning. It didn't need Sam - who had no interest in saving it and only seemed to attract the nasties. Maybe it was better this way, at least if he was stuck here then he wouldn't get anyone else killed, like he had gotten Jessica killed. Through his tears, Sam saw words start to appear on the mirror, but he angrily wiped them away. He wrote instead.

--

It had taken a while for Dean to figure out how to enlighten Sam about his wonderful theory, so when the words were unceremoniously wiped away before he would finish, he was a bit mad. Quelling the urge to bash the mirror with his fist, Dean bit his bottom lip instead. Fine, if Sam wanted to be stubborn and not even consider his idea. Dean closed his eyes on the words that appeared in the mirror as the anger drained away.

'DEAN PLEASE'

He had heard Sam say those words so many times. With big bambi eyes and childish lisp - Dean please can we stop to buy an ice cream. With high pitched giggles and gulping gasps - Dean please stop tickling. With impatience and barely repressed anger - Dean please just tell Dad I have to study and I'm not going hunting this weekend. This 'Dean please' was the worst. He could almost hear the desperate pleading and resigned self-sacrifice. This was a 'Dean please leave me and save yourself because I can't be the reason you die.' Because they both knew that's what Dean would do - stay in this shithole motel room until either Sam came back or he died. He was a stubborn bastard, after all,
who didn't know how to let go.

"Dammit, Sammy, you've got to learn to have more faith in big brother.
I'm not leaving without you," Dean said out loud even though he knew Sam couldn't hear him. It was the first time he hadn't given in to a 'Dean please.'

--