Title: Blindly Walking

Summary: Sam is convinced something strange is happening in Oregon; Dean not so much. A suicide before their eyes convinces Dean that something is going on. From suicide, strange pictures and manipulated perceptions, the Winchesters find themselves doing what they do best.

Promise: Canon, realism, etc. You know the drill.

Reviewers: Thank you to: hearts-4-stars and BlackScream16.

Note: It has taken me a very long time to update, and I apologize. There have been several soap-opera-esque events in my life that have taken me from writing. I plan to take nowhere near as long to update from here on out.

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Sam and Dean were silent for a prolonged minute as both of them stared at the picture. It was an unspoken dare to see who would break the silence. The only sound that could have met either of their ears, if they chose to hear it, was the sound of their own ragged breathing. The discomfort level continued to rise steadily until Sam finally let out a long sigh that sounded neither relieved or restful.

"Well…" Dean said helpfully, still not taking his eyes from the photograph that was in Sam's hands. Dean didn't make much of an effort to finish his statement and let it simply hang there. The reality of what Sam was holding in his hand so casually had still not taken complete hold of Dean's mind. Somewhere in there he still wanted to believe they hadn't found the picture and that everything was still way within his control.

"Now what?" Sam asked. It was Dean's wish to hit his brother soundly on the head for not thinking about the "now what" part until now of all times. He allowed Sam's question to hang unanswered a moment.

"Now we wait for you to become a psycho-crazy," Dean said offhandedly, stacking packets of worthless pictures and trying to not look even a fraction of the worry he felt. He had torn his gaze from the red picture, but he now wasn't even looking Sam's way, so much as at the picture.

"Dean…" Sam began. Dean could feel his brother gearing up to try and have a touchy moment.

"Sam, we don't have time for this anymore." Dean said, finally looking at Sam when he felt his face had cleared of the conflicted emotions that were firing rapidly through his mind. At Sam's silence, Dean continued.

"You know this means neither of us are going to be sleeping very well for a few days. And you can't go anywhere unless I'm with you." He gave Sam a hard look that demonstrated that he was not willing to negotiate on this particular point. "Anywhere." Sam wasn't planning on arguing.

Sam let out a sigh again, more to fill up the emptiness in the room than to express anything. This one sounded anxious. "I know, Dean," he said, creating a rare moment where he conceded to Dean's judgment. He shifted around; silence suited neither of them well.

"Man, why do you always have to be the damn radical?" Dean burst out, throwing Sam a look.

"Dean, we almost die all the time." Sam pointed out. "It's not like this is any different. This time is just bothering you a lot more."

"Don't even go there, Sam," Dean commanded.

"Remember the Shtriga?" Sam countered instantly. "We put that kid on the line. We risked his life, so why not mine. It's no different."

"It is different," Dean insisted.

"How is it any different from what we've done before?" Sam asked as an annoyed tone crept into the edges of his words.

"It was us against the thing." Dean said. "It was two to one. It was never this one-on-one bullshit."

"All that's changed is that there's not a third person in the mix, Dean," Sam pointed out. "I'm not completely defenseless here and it's not like you're not capable of—"

"Sam." Dean said. "I should have never let you do this. I should have put my foot down. But I never do because I feel like I owe it to you to let you make your own mistakes."

After a pause, Sam asked, "Why is this bothering you so much?"

It took even longer for Dean to answer Sam. His eyes went unfocused and he looked at the wall opposite of him. Sam wanted him to answer but he also didn't want to interrupt Dean. It seemed Dean was thinking about a lot.

"Because I can protect you from things around you." Dean said eventually. His eyes were still unfocused as he looked at the wall ahead of him, trying to mentally bore a hole in it to distract him from the small burning sensation in his eyes. "I mean, I can shoot demons with rock salt and I can scream away distractions. I can tackle some badass shit when I need to."

"But?" Sam prompted.

"But I… I can't do anything when the baddie is you. How am I supposed to fight you and protect you, Sammy?"

"I dunno, Dean."

"Yeah." Dean agreed, the expression on his face falling just so slightly. "Neither do I."

₪

It took Dean a full three minutes to remember why he woke up so violently unhappy. Once he thought about it, the events of the day prior had completely taken over his mind and he found that he was unable to think of anything else. This did nothing for his mood.

Glancing across the table and sipping his coffee, Sam could tell exactly what Dean's mind was on. Furthermore, Sam's mind was stuck on the very same facts and thoughts and worries. Sam was mainly worried about what might happen to him. Sitting on this side of the fence, Sam realized that there were a lot of things he had not taken into account when he jumped headfirst into this mess. He wasn't about to tell Dean that, though.

Throughout the day Sam could feel Dean's eyes on him at different times. He knew it was because Dean was watching for something to change in him, but he started to feel very annoyed by how close Dean was watching him. Did Dean think he'd have absolutely no control over himself?

Dean, on the other hand, was trying to think of any similarities between the several suicides they had been witness to. He was grasping for any clue of what to expect or what to do. His worst fear was that he would be looking away too long and something would happen. Dean didn't think he could deal with losing control.

It made for a very tense day.

The tension got to Sam more and more as the day wore on. By lunch he was about ready to start tearing his hair out, and by dinner Sam thought he was going to commit suicide just because he felt like he was losing his mind.

"You need to chill," Sam finally said as they were heading back to their room from a high class dinner at a run-down diner. "Seriously."

"Don't tell me what I need to do," Dean retorted, jamming the key into the door. Dean heard Sam take breath in and he prepared to ignore the sarcastic remark. He jiggled the key around a bit before he got the lock to turn and he was able to open the door. Sam still hadn't spoken, so Dean turned around to say something more to him, but the words stopped in his throat.

Sam was gone.

"SAM!" Dean yelled and he dropped the keys as he made to begin frantically rushing around to find Sam. He could feel his heart rate soaring in a matter of seconds and his rational thought being obscured by adrenaline. So, against all the emotion speeding through his veins, Dean forced himself to hold still and regain his focus.

Dean too a deep breath in. And then out. A breath in. A breath out.

As his eyes unclouded, he saw what he hadn't before. Sam's cell phone was lying in the dirt a few yards from where Dean currently stood. He went over to it and picked it up. As he grasped the phone he saw the light indents of a foot scraping quickly across the dirt and realized that Sam had jogged or run from where he had been behind Dean.

Something screamed a low, guttural noise that made the hair on Dean's arms stand up and his stomach plunge uncomfortably.

Dean quickly picked up the trail, trying his best to keep himself in check so that he could be of any use. Once he had engaged the "thinking" part of his brain again, Dean found the hunt much easier. What he was unable to control were the quite images of what could be happening to Sam because he had been careless enough to let Sam get away. As much as he tried, Dean was unable to suppress these gentle reminders of inadequacy and he had to try to pretend they were not there for the time being. He had more important things to think about.

The trail took Dean to the parking lot. As he looked at the lot he let his eyes come to rest on his Impala for a moment. He started scanning across the parking lot, but something drew his eyes immediately back to the old Chevy. He went over to it quickly.

Running the whole length of the hood were foot high letters scratched into the paint. Dean felt an interesting rush of emotions as he read the words.

IT'S TAKING OVER.

Dean didn't give himself ample amount of time to try and consider the deepest meaning of the words. In fact, he didn't really consider the words that much at all. Just the fact that his brother was missing and probably turning into a psycho crazy.

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Sam had known that something was bound to happen to him because of the picture. He had known that this whole case wasn't going to be a cake walk in the park. But he hadn't known that it would change so suddenly. Dean had been trying to open the door of the room and Sam was preparing to say something sarcastic to him.

And then Sam stopped remembering. The next thing he could tell, he was in front of the Impala in the parking lot, breathing hard. He felt like he had just sprinted a mile. He had no idea how that could have happened, though. Sam could only tell for certain that he felt very disoriented at the moment. In fact, nothing was appearing as it should have, according to his logical half. He closed his eyes and rubbed them roughly, trying to clear the confusion from them.

He opened one eye and saw bright colors. He closed his eye and rubbed them once more. He opened the other eye and saw the familiar darkness setting in and the parking lot of where he and Dean were staying. He let out a slow sigh and closed his eyes a moment longer. He listened to his breathing for a moment and took the time to steady his racing heart and mind. It was all okay.

He opened his eyes yet again and his mind was hit with a barrage of conflicting images that challenged his grasp of certainty. It was both the bluish tint of evening and the bright color of a sunny day. He was in a field and the gravel parking lot at the same time. Sam closed his eyes again, determined to clear the jumble of realities in front of him.

He opened his eyes and was met with a bright, sunny day. In front of him was a large, cheery rock with squirrels and rabbits resting on it. He reached out a hesitant hand to touch the rock and felt the cool, smooth texture of the Impala's hood. Sam realized he was in a large bit of trouble. And he realized the feeling beneath his hand was slowly feeling more like rock and less like metal. He groped on the ground for a rock or something somewhat sharp. He carved words into the hood of the car, praying that he would be able to apologize to Dean for ruining the paint.

The last thing Sam remembered clearly deciding to do was to let the rock fall from his hand and hit the ground below his feet. After that, his choices were clouded.

₪

Dean quickly ran down a mental list of all the dangerous places there were around where they were staying. With every time his foot hit the ground, a new image of some way Sam might commit suicide came to the front of his mind. Dean had to stem the melee of images and focus on trying to find Sam.

If Sam was on foot, the river would be too far to get to anytime soon. Dean considered closer landmarks, but had no luck in deciding where or when Sam might decide to do anything. His best hope was to find his brother and go from there.

It was all becoming a guessing game from here. Dean had no foot prints or shoe scrapes or tire tracks to follow. He knew only too well how dangerous this has become for Sam. If Dean was unable to make the right choices, he wouldn't have the ability to even try to protect Sam.

That wasn't an option.

Yet even as he decided that was an unacceptable outcome, Dean saw nothing to help himself with. He saw no way to make this any less of a guess and check evening and that wasn't good enough.

He looked down at Sam's phone which was in his hand. He made a mental note to staple it to his brother's body as soon as possible.

₪

Sam was dazed as he wandered across the landscape. He turned a corner and found that he was at a campsite. Everything looked too familiar. He blinked as if it could help him at this point. The tent and gear he saw was the same gear he had stowed away in a garage somewhere back at home.

He walked around the perimeter of the camp a moment, trying to convince himself that it was not his stuff sitting here, set up for camping. He didn't get very far into that task before he was distracted once more.

"Oh, you're back." Said a woman's voice happily. The words were followed by some general clanking noises. "But where's the firewood?"

Sam turned to see who was talking and every logical thought vanished from his mind. "Jess?" He asked quietly, trying not to stare and gape in utter disbelief.

"Who did you think I was?" She asked, giving him a strange look as she rearranged a few of the things sitting out around camp. "Seriously, Sam. Where's the firewood?"

Sam didn't know what to say. He was staring at her, trying to decide which emotions to allow to take over. One part of him roared that this was not real, Jessica was dead and that he needed to pull his act together or else he was going to end up dying. But the other part of him wanted more than anything to believe that this was real and that everything else had been a dream and this was the truth.

Sam let everything fly through his mind at once and promptly fainted.

₪

Dean was climbing through the underbrush near the inn now, trying to find any hints as to where Sam was. He found he had even turned somewhat religious and was letting quiet prayers fall from his lips as he crashed through the weeds and twigs.

He had no idea where to look. He did have a strange feeling, though, that he needed to continue onward from where he was. Dean wanted to scream as loud as he could and vent some of the frustration that was building in his chest. This was so unfair. This was so stupid.

"Where ARE you?" Dean demanded loudly to no one. As he expected, there was no answer. He didn't even know what he wanted to find, at this point. Did he want to find his brother alive? Dead? Did he not want to find him at all so he could try and pretend that Sam was okay?

Dean wanted to pretend that this case had never happened and that they had never gone on a little side trip to freakin' Oregon.

₪

Sam had woken from his impromptu nap a while ago and had set to building the campfire for Jessica. She was preparing some food to cook over the fire just as soon as he got it going. It might take longer than he wanted, because he could already feel his stomach screaming for food.

Sam let his eyes travel over her a moment and smiled a little to himself in the leisure and tranquility of the moment. Things were so seemingly perfect right now. His strange nightmares of the last night were gone and the day was ready to be spent with his lovely girlfriend, camping, out in a picturesque landscape.

He couldn't even remember when he had decided to go camping with her. But at this point, it really didn't matter. The fact of it was, they were having an amazing time and the scenery couldn't be any more beautiful.

The questioning was gone from his mind now. There was simply no way this could be a dream. After all, his hands were holding actual sticks. He was building an actual fire ring. He could truly feel the items in his hands and there was no way that it could just be in his mind. He had made his decision. This was real.

₪

The person furthest from Sam's mind was still stomping through what was quickly becoming a forest. Dean had no idea where he was anymore and could only hope that he wasn't forced to spend more than the night out here searching for his brother.

He ran down that list in his head again. All the things that could be happening. All the places Sam could be right now. Dean found that rather than helping him, his mental list depressed him far beyond the point the events of the night had. So he decided to stop, for the time being.

"SAM!" Dean yelled as loud as he could, more for himself than for Sam. He knew that even if Sam had heard him, there would be no response. And that was assuming Sam could still even hear him.

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Sam looked up from his handmade fire pit. "Did you say something, Jess?" He asked.

"No, why?" She asked, looking quizzically up at him.

"I could have sworn someone just said my name." Sam told her. They looked at each other a moment longer before Sam laughed a little and said, "boy, put me out in the woods and my imagination takes over."

"I had no idea," Jessica said. Had Sam looked up, he would have seen her features fade and reappear.

₪

Dean was looking around for any sign of anything. The darkness was becoming too thick to see through anymore and Dean had no flashlight. In fact, Dean was sorely lacking on most of the essentials for a hunt.

His mood was not helped by the fact that the light from his cell phone had died. Sam's battery was low as well and he couldn't risk wasting the battery in case he actually needed it. Not that there was a very good signal out here, anyway. He was convincing himself he could use the phone more for his own sanity than anything else.

He found that if he thought too hard about what was going on and what could possibly be happening, he started to lose his focus. Dean narrowed his focus down to finding Sam.

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"Are we ready to light the fire?" Jessica asked, coming over with food and sitting by Sam. "Because I'm pretty much starving."

"Yeah, I think we're ready." Sam said, reaching over to steal a piece of bread. Jessica slapped his hand lightly.

"Nuh-uh," she said, and then she reached out with a match and lit Sam's collected sticks and wood on fire. "There. Now we'll wait for it to get nice and toasty."

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Dean, working hard to be hyperaware of anything and everything around him, wrinkled his nose as the smell of smoke met his nose.