Chapter Four: I stop believing everything will be alright

Sam was driving through New York City, and wasn't feeling at all safe doing so. He could fight demons and ghosts for a living, but when it came to confrontations on the rough city streets, Dean had always been much better adapt for that kind of thing.

Dean was the one who hustled pool and played poker to make the money that the brothers had lived on.

Since...

Sam took a deep breath. He hated thinking this. He really, really hated thinking the words. But he hadn't seen his brother in nearly a week and a half. Maybe it was time.

Ever since Dean had died... He took a deep breath, steadying his nerves.

Ever since Dean had died, Sam had been relying on credit card scams to get by. He'd also taken the rest of his own money out of the bank. Cash was always safer, in his opinion.

As Sam tapped his fingers to the rhythm of Metallica as he sat, patiently waiting at a never ending stop light, his thoughts drifted away and for a few moments he was almost content.

A gunshot rang out, and before Sam had time to blink, or even form a thought, people were dive bombing onto the ground, ducking into establishments, and sirens were filling the air.

Sam's knuckles whitened on the steering wheel. He couldn't move. He had nowhere to go.

"Drug bust." Came Dean's casual tone from the passenger's seat. And Sam actually jumped, because for once, he hadn't been expecting it.

"What?" He asked, voice slightly shallow.

"It's just some low time drug dealer." Dean gestured across the street, to where the arrest was now being made - threatening weapon in the hands of officials - another shot hadn't been fired, people, already, had diverted their attention. "Or a pimp or a thief. Nothing big."

"I know." Sam snapped. "I'm fine."

"You were scared." Dean said factually. "That's why I'm here."

"I was scared when that ghost had me pinned to a wall two days ago." The younger man snapped, grip loosening on the steering wheel. "Where were you then?"

"You didn't need me then." Dean said simply.

"Like hell I didn't."

"Sam," Dean sighed. "Most of the time I can't even move things. I wouldn't of actually been able to help you with the hunt." He looked ay him firmly. "You didn't need me."

"But I needed you when I heard a gunshot?" Sam asked, sounding doubtful. "I think you just show up whenever you want to."

Dean sighed, patience with Sam obviously wearing. The younger man couldn't blame him. It sounded pathetic even to Sam.

In truth, he'd just missed his big brother.

"You know that's not true." Dean said. "And in reality, the less I show up, the better you're probably getting."

"The better I'm getting?" Sam quoted, sounding angry. "I'm not sick."

"Sam..."

"No," he cut off, "Seriously, where do you go when you're not with me? What's being dead like?"

"What does that have to do with anything?"

Sam lacked a sufficient answer to that question, so he insisted instead, "I want to know. Where do you go?"

"I can't tell you that." He said calmly.

"Why not?" Sam snapped. "Why the hell not!"

"Because I can't!" Dean shouted. "Because I -"

"Move it, pal!" The angry voice of the man in the car behind him cut Dean off and instinctively made Sam swivel his head around to meet the guy's eyes in the rearview mirror, and stick a certain finger in his direction.

When Sam turned back to the seat beside him, Dean was gone. No farewell, no warning, just gone. Just like when he'd died.

Sam had tears in his eyes when he stepped on the gas pedal. Somehow, it was like he'd lost his big brother all over again.

An hour or so later found Sam on his fourth beer and counting at some bar. The name of which he could not be bothered to remember, or even glance down at the napkin his Budweiser was stuck to and find out.

He didn't care.

"Wanna another?" The female bartender asked. It was the same woman who'd been waiting on him since he'd entered the establishment.

When he'd first gotten here and sat down, Sam thought that she regarded him with a certain sympathetic gaze. He'd noted that she was cute; curvy, with long black hair and tanned skin. Not normally the kind of girl he'd go for. She looked to be no older than him. Probably working to put herself through college.

Four beers later, and he could care less. She was simply the supplier of the thing that was keeping him comfortably numb.

"Sure." He said. "I wanna another."

And moments later he had it. He felt no victory. Nothing really, except the gaping wound in his heart.

"Hey," she said lightly, leaning up against the counter across from him, and Sam could honestly not identify how much time had passed since he'd gotten his new drink.

He shook the bottle; not very long.

"Huh?' He asked, wondering why she was talking to him. She'd already supplied him with his beer.

"What's wrong?"

"What makes you think anything's wrong?" He stammered slightly, and raised his bottle to gesture with that hand. "Can't a guy just enjoy a refreshing beverage?"

"Sure," She nodded. "But in my experience, people only drink alone for two reasons." He looked up, mildly interested, and she continued. "They're alcoholics." She stated plainly."And I don't think you are..."

"Howdaya know?" He mumbled. "You don't know me."

"I think you fall into the second category." She didn't speak again until Sam met her eyes. "You're drinking to forget something."

"Yahtzee." God he missed his brother.

She studied him for a moment. "So what happened?" She inquired gently. "What are you hiding from?"

The rest of the bar fell away as he met her deep brown eyes. She looked genuinely curious. She wanted to know.

"My brother died."

She looked taken aback. "God, I'm so..."

"He got killed by this thing. I don't even know what it was." He shook his head, laughing slightly. "We killed all these things, monsters, you know? We did it for a goddamn living. We even killed the thing that killed our mom when we were kids. Same thing that killed my girlfriend..." He was deep into the memories now, it didn't mater that he was still talking to another human being.

"I mean, that's what we've been trying to kill our whole lives. That was supposed to be the grand finale. The end, you know? I wasn't even gonna stick around, I mean, I wanted to go back to school, be normal again. But Dean asked me to stick around for a little. Actually asked, and he'd never done that before. So I did.

"After almost getting killed by the thing that broke your family apart...if anything deserved a little one on one brother bonding time, it was the aftermath of that. It wasn't gonna be for long. A couple weeks. Maybe just until a new semester started...then we were hunting this thing... A spirit. It was so easy. It felt so easy. Like a...cool down almost. Our dad had gone...god knows where after the demon was dead, and me and Dean were just hanging out.

Then this thing attacked us. Right in the middle of taking out a ghost, this thing just sweeps through and poof, Dean's dead. I couldn't even blink. Dean was just dead. He's really dead."

Then he stopped, looking up at her again. He saw fear in her eyes. The same fear that had been present in Dean's. The last real - alive - look he had given his little brother. Fear.

Dean wasn't supposed to be afraid of anything.

"I'm sorry," Sam mumbled to the woman, standing up, and stumbling slightly while doing so. He didn't miss how she took a protective step backwards when he reached his full height, but he didn't care if this girl thought he was insane.

He pulled a wad of bills out of his pocket and tossed them to the counter clumsily.

He talked to his dead brother, saw Dean walking around like a normal human being. Of course he was insane. This girl had every right to be frightened.

The cold air hit him as soon as he stumbled out the bar's doors, and he shivered. It was one of those deep shivers that reached inside his entire body, took hold of him and refused to let go.

He'd spent his whole life fearing the flames, and now he wished for them back desperately so he could drive this cold away. He hated the cold.

"Sammy..." Dean was at his side. The younger man hadn't realized it before now, but he had stumbled his way into the ally behind the bar.

He was grasping the side of a dumpster with one hand, other sealed tightly over his eyes.

"...god..." he gasped, barely able to speak through the sobs wracking his body. "D-Dean."

"I'm here, buddy," the elder man whispered softly standing close to his little brother, and Sam could not find it in himself to even try and crack a joke. He'd cracked enough jokes over the last few months. He'd been running and hiding from the truth.

"No you're not!" He gasped, refusing to look up. "No you're not, no you're not!"

He continued to cry, great, wracking sobs that had been held in since the day his brother had mysteriously died. Pushed aside each time Dean had appeared at his side, ignored while he focused on other issues.

He'd had things to hunt and a dead brother to talk to. Life could go on, he'd assured himself after Dean's first appearance at his grave site, right after John had taken off again. There would be some things he'd have to get used to, of course. No more hunting for the Winchester spirit.

No more hunting, no more eating, no more talking to his brother in public, no more real physical contact; and that one didn't even apply at all times, so really, this was such a simple thing to deal with. Simple for the Winchester's anyway. The brothers who could overcome anything could certainly overcome death.

But it was a lie.

Sam felt it now. The tightening in his lungs, his complete an utter desperation. "You're not here," he choked out a horse whisper again. "You're not here. You're dead. You died. You died and you left me here all alone. How..." A sob interrupted him.

Angry at his own weakness he ripped his hand away from his eyes and pounded the side of the dumpster with as much force as he could muster. "Damn it!" He ranted. "Damn it! Fucking, damn it!"

He snapped his head up then, looking around, blinking rapidly to clear to tears from his vision.

Dean wasn't there.

His brother had vanished again, and this time, Sam had truly needed him.

"Where the hell are you!" His shouts echoed off the brick walls lining the ally around him. "Huh! What was all that shit about you being around! Where are you?" He was screaming so loud and his sobbing was so violent that his voice was nothing but cracked sounds now.

"Where are you?" He tried again, not understanding how his brother could be there one moment and be gone the next. "Dean? I need you..."

He waited then. Waited for his brother to appear as he always did, waited for Dean to tell him everything was okay. He'd gladly accept a lie at this point. Just anything to assure him that his big brother was still - at least somewhat - with him.

Only he wasn't.

Sam felt it hit him suddenly, like a full-on body slam.

Dean was gone.

Dean was dead.

Dean would never be a part of his life again.

His older brother - his protector, his hero - was dead. And Sam was vulnerable for the first time in his life.

He didn't remember slipping down the side of the dumpster and pulling his legs to his chest. He would never recall sitting there all night, rocking back and forth, drifting off into brief bouts of fitful slumber, only to wake up minutes later mumbling Dean's name frantically.

He wouldn't remember the snow start to fall, or the way it covered his whole body like a blanket. A blanket designed specifically by some aspect of fate that hated him, that warded off the warmth and kept in that deeply cold feeling.

He wouldn't remember much of that night after Dean had disappeared again. But the doctor's will fill him in, tell him of the shock he'd gone into. The way his body could not cope after having been deprived of real nutrients for so long, only to be filled with alcohol, then left outside in the freezing cold for the better part of three hours.

The bartender will tell her version, as well. She will leave out the gruesome details - those were clearly covered by the doctors. No, she will tell Sam of the white light that was surrounding him when she found him in that back ally.

She will explain, with awe in her voice and a gleam in her eye how, while Sam was an inch from death, there was something in that light keeping him alive.

She could feel it, she swore to him. It was like hope and trust and love all rolled into one. She'd never experienced anything so magnificent in her entire life.

Had it not been for that feeling, she might have doubted what she'd seen right before she'd run inside to call an ambulance. But she'd felt what she felt in that light, and knew it to be true, so when she'd glanced away from Sam's pale and shaking form and saw the man standing above them, she didn't flinch.

She only rose to meet him and listened to his words, promising to repeat them when Sam was well enough to hear them.

She stood at his bedside now, awe still present in her tone. "He said...he said, 'See ya later, kiddo. I'll be around.' Then he smirked, most confident smirk I've ever seen," she laughed lightly, "Then he disappeared. Just, vanished."

"That was my brother," Sam said, small smile playing over his lips. "Man of few words."

TBC...