Disclaimer: the impala will survive...coughs anyway yes the impala would survive if i owned them...

Authors note: sorry it took so long, so i'll give ya 2 chapters as this one is very short

Chapter 8- Worst nightmare

Once again the only outlet was his voice and like hell he used it. Blinding white light encompassed him, and scorched his eyes behind his closed eyelids, the image of Dean's lifeless face flashing before him. Excruciating pain exploded in his head, and he tried to curl up into a small ball, as if it could take the feelings away that were being hurled at his body and soul, knives twisting their way into his heart and leaving him there to bleed to death in his own sorrow. But the attempt was futile, as he found himself incapable to move, restrained in some way. That thought was quickly thrown aside as once more; he imaged the pain that Dean had gone through, and knowing that his must have been a thousand times worse.

Dean's suffering was more important to him than his own, there was no contest really. He knew that it was the same situation with Dean and his heart ached and longed to hear him say his secretly favourite pet name; Sammy. Guilt wracked his body as the tears streamed down his face, the salty taste lingering in his mouth, as at the same time the screams erupted, unconsciously and uninvited. His throat was on fire now, but he didn't stop, feeling if he stopped he would be betraying Dean. Dean wouldn't give up, so neither would he. It was as simple as that.

Only Dean could ease this pain, not even his father could piece Sam back together despite everything. He would never be there to hold him, when he woke up scared, alone and terrified after a nightmare or vision.

He just wanted the pain to end, to see Jess, mom and Dean again, but he wasn't even allowed that luxury. He had failed Dean at the worst possible thing. He had failed at being a brother. He had just watched and done nothing. Dean had tried al least but him? He had just laid down and let his injuries take control when his brother had needed him most. Selfish. Just as he almost succumbed to the darkness his head snapped from the left and then to the right. His cheeks stinged as the motion of someone slapping him lasted for several seconds.

Oh God! Dad! How could he have forgotten? That murdering bastard was still out there! Rage consumed him, and the only word that made any sense right now was revenge. He'd finally seen what his dad was capable of, and Sam was secretly glad that Dean had never seen that his murderer was the man who was his own hero, and that the man he obeyed without question was the very person who stabbed him in the back, and took him away from his baby brother. Dean had thought he had died valiantly and heroically (the way he'd always wanted) by some evil son of a bitch demon. He died trying to the one thing that meant the most to him. Protecting his Sammy.