WARNING: There is a racial slur used in this chapter, as well as racially motivated violence. In no way do I advocate this kind of ignorant hatred, but it was necessary for the story. Please use your judgement in reading this.

"I'm done," Sam said wearily, tossing the now-full notebook onto Dean's bead. Dean looked up from the magazine he had been reading, taking in his brother's haggard appearance. Sam looked utterly drained, pale and sullen.

"That's everything?" He asked, picking up the notebook and thumbing through it.

"Everything I can remember, which is more than I would like…" Sam sat heavily on his bed, his shoulders sagging with fatigue. He had been writing all morning and most of the afternoon, and his right arm and hand were painfully cramped.

"So, I guess I should read it."

"Yeah," Sam looked up, rubbing the back of his stiff neck, "I guess you should." He looked slightly uncomfortable.

"I think I'll go get some dinner for us while you look that over."

"No fuckin' rabbit food or tofu dogs, alright? You come back here with anything that started as a bean and you're toast."

"Dean, I'm impressed you even know what tofu is made of."

"Yeah, well, I screwed this hot vegan chef a couple times on a job in Reno last year. She could do this thing with her legs-"

"Dean! I get it, okay?" Sam shot him a slightly amused look. "I don't even want to know how tofu was involved in all of that."

"Good, 'cause you're not gonna. Now remember, grease and meat."

"One of these days I'm going to get you to eat a salad."

"And on that day, pigs will take to the skies and it will rain frogs."

"You're so fuckin' immature…" Sam chuckled. "I'll see you in a bit." He left, looking slightly less beaten down. His brother gone, Dean turned to the booklet in front of him. He felt a little guilty about reading it – it felt like an invasion of Sammy's privacy. But he had no other options that he could see. Sighing, he opened to the first page and began to read.

Sam walked, head down, in the direction of the diner they'd eaten at last night. He wasn't really hungry, to be honest, but he didn't want to sit in their room and watch Dean sift through his dreams. It was pleasantly warm, the afternoon light taking on a olden hue. Haughtenborough, Virginia was a small town, and this stretch of road was quiet and undeveloped. Old, gnarled trees cast speckled shadows over the road, and Sam felt himself relaxing somewhat. Dean would be a while more with the notebook – maybe he would just find a place to sit and think for a bit.

There was a huge old oak tree just ahead, set back a little from the road in a swatch of gently swaying grass. Face turned towards the sun, Sam picked his way carefully towards the base of the trunk. A gentle breeze rustled the hair at the base of his neck and he actually smiled. At least he could get away from his fucked up life for a little while.

Sitting between two thick roots he leaned back, his shoulders touching the bark of the tree. His brief hope of escape shattered cruelly as a jolt shot through his spine and a vision pulled him inside of himself.

A group of angry looking white men wrestled a struggled young black man towards a much smaller version of the tree, yanking him by a rope secured around his wrists.

"Yer gonna hang for this, boy!" one of them shouted, punctuating his statement with a kick to the back of his victim's knee. The young man went down with a grunt of pain, but when he saw the noose being looped over a branch he shot to his feet and made a desperate run for freedom.

He didn't get more than five feet before he was yanked back by the rope around his wrists, but he continued to struggle frantically as the noose was dragged over his head.

"I didn't do anything!" he cried out, his face twisted with panic. "I didn't-"

His shout was cut off as the two largest men hauled on the rope and yanked him into the air. He struggled for a few minutes, his eyes bulging and his body jerking weakly before his tongue protruded and his eyes rolled back in his head.

They released the rope and the man's body thumped limply to the ground. One of them spit on his corpse, disgust in his eyes.

"Won't be lookin' at our women now, will ya, nigger?"

Sam jerked away from the tree as if he'd been burned, his breath exploding out of him. Scrambling to his feet he darted towards the road, desperate to put distance between him and the site of the lynching. Sick despair churned in his gut, mingling with hatred for the men responsible.

"Fuck!" he cried, dropping to a crouch at the side of the road and covering his face. I can't get away from it. No matter what I do, I can't get away… He felt like he was losing his mind – disjointed thoughts and emotions clammered in his aching head, none of them lasting longer than an instant. A warm sensation on his upper lip made him brush a hand under his nose, a crimson smear gleaming wetly on his fingers when he pulled them away. His nose was bleeding again and he felt lightheaded.

I have to get back to the hotel room, he thought vaguely. He couldn't stay here, crouched on an empty stretch of road. Gathering his resolve he stood, swaying slightly for a moment. Despite having walked for less than ten minutes, the motel looked impossibly far away. Holding a hand to his nose, he started staggering towards the distant gleam of the Impala.

He got twenty feet before another vision dropped him to the pavement. The pain of his knees striking was remote as he watched a car full of drunk teenagers veer off the road and flip, the wheels of the car spinning lazily in the air as gas dribbled from the tank. There was no sound from inside the car.

"Stop it!" he screamed, clutching his head and squeezing his eyes shut. He panted, suddenly too hot. Fiery panic seized at his lungs and he tried to make himself as small as possible, terrified that if he moved he would spark another vision of death and brutality.

I can't do this, I can't do this… he thought manically. I can't TAKE anymore!

There was only one person he needed then – Dean. His hand shook as he fumbled his cell phone from his pocket, nearly dropping it, and he had to stop and breathe for a moment before he could dial his brother's number.

Dean picked up on the second ring.

"Sam? You at the diner?"

"Dean-" he moaned, hating the weakness in his voice.

"Sam?" Dean's voice was immediately concerned. "What's wrong? Are you okay?"

"I- I can't stop, Dean. Everytime I move, everything- Please, come get me…" His voice trailed off into a breathy whimper.

"I'm coming, Sammy. Hang on, you hear me? I'm coming to get you."

Sam saw the distant motion of his brother leaving the motel, heard the Impala roar to life, and sagged with relief. The phone dropped from his suddenly weak hands, bouncing off the pavement with a sharp crack.

Dean was on his way.

Xxxxxx

A/N: Although at this point this story seems to be an excuse to torture Sammy, I am going somewhere with this, I promise…. :)