A/N: Thanks so much for the reviews, guys. I didn't get the thirty I wanted, but I did get a lot. It means so much to me, and those of you who did review are so wonderful. I just want to hug you all!

Another A/N: So, I've got the next chapter up and ready, I totally had another creative blow out and wow… I wrote a lot yesterday. So, if I get enough reviews, I'll post again.

Warnings: Hmm… none really.

Disclaimer: See other chapters. The lyrics are from Foo Fighters.

ENJOY AND REVIEW IF YOU WANT MORE

Chapter Four: Free Me

Free me right now
You take me away, take it from me
Free me right now
You take me away, take it from me, yeah!

Beautiful prisoner, left here for dead
Promises made and sentences read
Voices and visions are locked in my head
I could sing for sorrow
All of the words that we damn never speak
All of our ghosts and secrets we keep
Gather them all we'll bury them deep
I could sing for sorrow

Dean stood still, taking in the sight in front of him.

Blood.

Everywhere.

He looked down at his hands. They were soaked red.

He appeared to be in a basement, one a lot similar to the one he'd almost died in with crazy old Mr. Marshal trying to hack down the door. Except this one was pretty, with the blood and all.

"The hell…" Dean whispered.

"Welcome to your subconscious, Dean Winchester." A hand slid down his shoulder, across his chest, to his other shoulder. Another hand mirrored. Two arms were slung loosely around his neck, not choking, hugging. "I've been waiting for you."

"Cassie?" Dean whispered, not daring to turn around.

"So you do remember me. Man, with all those random hook ups I assumed you'd forgotten me by now." She taunted.

"I could never forget you, Cassie…" Dean whispered, trying to turn around. The hands gripped his biceps with a grip that'd leave bruises. With a yelp of surprise Dean was shoved to the ground, barely managing to avoid biting his tongue in half as his chin smashed against the dirt floor.

The rough hands turned him over and he was staring directly at the half rotted teeth of none other than Papa Bender.

"You… you're dead." Dean stuttered. The old man smiled, pulling Dean to his feet and shoving him into a chair where Dean found himself familiarly tied.

"And so are you, boy… at least you're getting there." He whispered and lifted a red hot iron, taunting Dean with it. "You know who would love to take this to you?"

"Who?" Dean spat, fighting against the bonds.

"The little girl whose life you ruined." Papa Bender dissipated and in his place stood a little girl. She was wearing a white hospital gown and she looked impossibly clean, like a china doll. Her blonde hair fell in front of her face.

But it was unmistakably Missy. That same crazy little girl who held a knife with such comfort that it made Dean nervous.

"Quite ironic, Dean. Don't you think?" She taunted, her soft voice floating around him. Dean struggled against the ties. "You knew how to kill at my age too. You'd seen it, enjoyed it, savored it."

"We were killing monsters, not innocent people!" Dean snapped.

"What makes someone a monster, Dean?" She asked softly. "Lies? Well, you've got that down. Stealing? Wow, another point for you. Murder?" She leaned down close to his face. "Timmy Walker and Marshal Hall might call you a murderer." She smiled. "Wow, you're three for three. Want to go for one more?"

Dean set his jaw and stared at the ground.

"It hurts, you know."

Dean looked up and gasped.

"Mom…" He whispered. Her milky white hand reached out and touched his cheek, her hand was ice cold, but he didn't pull back from the touch. "What hurts, Mom?" Dean asked, tears threatening to make an uninvited appearance.

"The fire…" She whispered and a phantom wind blew her blonde hair back, ruffled her white dress. "It hurts all the time, Dean."

"How can I help you?"

"You can't, baby." She whispered, stroking his face. "You look so much like my father." She said with a small smile. "I'm sorry."

Dean shook his head.

"The fire is going to take you too." She whispered and then turned.

"No! Mom, wait!" Dean yelled, jerking in the chair. "Mom!" He thrust forward and his chair tipped, smashing Dean on the floor awkwardly. He groaned and rolled to the side, smashing his left hand between the wood and the cement.

Mary kept walking.

"Why do you deserve life more than me, Dean?"

"Lela?" Dean whimpered, his eyes closed. "What the hell is going on?" He groaned to himself. "I don't know, Lela. I don't deserve life. I deserve to die, slowly and painfully." He lifted his eyes to an unknown being. "Is that what you want me to say? You sick son of a bitch? Huh? What do you want? I know this isn't real! You can't break me!"

"I was engaged, you know." Someone whispered. Dean reguarded the unfamiliar face with confusion. "Oh, you don't know me. I just died to save you. No big deal or anything. Thanks for coming to my funeral by the way."

"Marshal Hall." Dean realized.

"I had a little brother too, you know. But I don't think he would have killed you to save me… or maybe he would have. I guess I'll never know."
"I didn't choose this… We didn't know."

"But you knew something was fishy. You knew that much! You shouldn't have even been there! You don't even believe in God!" Marshal Hall stepped back into the shadows. "Two good people are dead because you were too damn selfish to let the Reverend pick someone else, someone more deserving."

"I did it for Sam! I didn't think it was going to work! But the damn kid was so… I did it for him…" Dean let his head fall forward.

"Why'd you leave me, Dean?" A gentle voice. A small voice. A familiar voice.

"Timmy?" Dean asked, turning his head, scraping his nose on the ground as he struggled to view the untied red shoes.

"Why'd you leave me there?" He asked again. Dean closed his eyes.

"This isn't real, this isn't real. You're dead. You're dead." He took a deep breath. "Sam! Get me out of here! Sammy!"

The little boy knelt down, pressing his face on the ground so he could make eye contact with Dean. "I was your best friend. And you left me. I was cold and scared… and I asked you to stay…" The tears shining in the little boy's eyes, the Sam like demeanor, or something about the familiar sparkle in that boy's eyes made something inside Dean open, or break.

"I needed to get help… I thought I could save you, I'm sorry." He whispered.

"You're a monster, Dean."

"I was ten. I thought…"

"You're lying. That's all you ever do. Lie to make yourself feel better!" The voice was older now, deeper, but oh so familiar.

Oh, God.

Not this.

"Sammy…" Dean whispered. Suddenly the ropes were gone and Dean was free. He struggled to his feet.

"You've known this whole time where the demon was, didn't you?" Sam asked. Dean nodded slowly. "And you didn't tell me."

"I was protecting you, Sam."

"From what? Killing myself with guilt? I thought Jessica was dead because of me! Because I wasn't smart enough to listen to my dreams…" Sam sighed. "You know, the monster in my dreams, always stays in the shadows… but I know who it is now. It's you." Sam took a step back.

"Sam, wait." Dean went to follow him, but a ring of fire erupted, blocking his passage. An arm flew up to cover his mouth, and Dean squinted against the intense heat. "Sam! Don't do this!"

"And now you'll die alone, just like I want." And with that, Sam turned around and walked away.

The fire closed in quickly.

But not quick enough to be merciful.

He choked and hacked on the dense smoke as the fire blistered his skin.

And suddenly he was cold.

After all that fire and all that heat.

He was too cold to shiver.

The pain was intense.

The death was lonely. That was what hurt the most.

- - -

"Dean! Wake up! Listen to my voice! Listen to me!" Sam yelled as Dean continued to thrash, his lips moving but no sound escaping them.

"Oh, this is a hot one." She muttered, gasping in pure joy.

Gross. Sam realized. She's getting an orgasm off my brother's pain. Sick bitch, get off my brother!

"Oh, no fun…" She pouted when the thrashing suddenly stopped. She let her hands fall and she gently caressed his sweaty face until his eyelids opened. "Was it good for you too?" She whispered, leaning her face down to kiss him softly.

When she pulled back, Dean was scowling at her.

"Why can't I move?" He slurred, his mouth barely moving.

"Side effect, it will wear off." She smiled and looked over at Sam. "But not before I sample your baby brother's flavor."

"Don't touch him." Dean hissed. "If you lay a hand on him I swear I will…" She put her hand on his forehead, sending him a flash of memories—memories which depicted the time Dean deserted his sick brother to get a glass of water and returned to see him dead—that made him cry out.

"You'll what?" She asked sweetly. "Mind wave me to death? Breaking news Dean baby, you can't move."

"As soon as I…" His teeth were bared, his words a complete hiss. But she merely giggled and waved at hand at him.

"I'll be long gone by then, handsome." She explained. "Just relax and enjoy the show." She wiggled her nose—a weirdly hot imitation of Samantha, Dean thought—and sent him flying back against the wall.

What is it about that boy that makes him such a wall-magnet?

He stayed there, suspended next to his brother over their unmade beds. More than anything in the world, Sam just wanted Dean to look at him, just to see the forgiveness in his eyes, the tears on his cheeks. But Dean's neck was too weak to support his head and his chin fell to his chest.

"Your turn." The demon sung and Sam fell to the ground. She pounced on him, straddling him like she had done his brother. "Don't think of this as being sloppy seconds, Samuel. Orders are orders. If it had been my choice, you'd have been first. I like to save the best for last."

Dean snorted. Because the bitch-Impala hater was effectively stroking his ego. Damn, if she hadn't been a demon, they could have really hit it off.

"Sam." Dean rasped, trying in vain to lift his head. "Remember, everything she shows you… none of it is real. I'm real. Me. Don't forget that."

"Shut up!" She sighed tiredly and touched her nose, smiling wickedly. Dean's head lifted, but no noise escaped from his moving lips. His face was turning red with the effort to talk, but no noise came. "Ah, the wonder of silence." She looked down at Sam. "Now, lets see what you bottle up in this adorable head of yours." She put her hands on either side of his head and closed her eyes.

Sam couldn't hold back the cry that escaped his lips when a sharp pain split through his head and red exploded behind his eyes.

"Damn it! Damn it! Damn it! DAMN IT!" She screamed and stood up, shaking out her hands like she had burnt them. "Rules." She muttered, shaking her head.

"Rules?" Dean asked, apparently her powers had short circuited because Dean was sitting limply on the floor and he was talking.

Sam sat up and touched his upper lip where it had begun to itch. His fingers came back wet. His nose was bleeding.

"I cannot enter his mind." She said sadly as if she was a teenager denied her right to attend a party despite the fact that "everyone is going to be there."

"Why the hell not?" Dean snapped. Sure, its not like he wanted her to invade his little brother's mind, but why had he been a moving target and Sam was a no fly zone?

"The League wouldn't like it." She explained. "I'd be killed on the spot if any harm came to their Chosen One." She sighed disgustedly. "My powers have been overridden for the time being." She looked at Sam.

"You're one lucky little boy, you know that?" She asked. "You've got the biggest evil beacon on your back, you attract every thing from here to Kingdom Come, and yet… we can't touch you. You're the Holy Grail, kid. Only your guards… they can kill you with so much as a blink." She sighed heavily. "You know why they're after you, right?"

Sam didn't answer.
"Come on, Sammy. You don't see connection. Take your dead friend Max as an example… telekinesis, you see the future. What's the common thing?"

"Shut the hell up!" Dean roared, struggling to his feet.

"You're gorgeous Deano, but you're annoying as all get out." She held out her hand and a blade materialized. She closed her fist around the handle. "One more peep and I'll go for a bull's eye." She explained and looked back at Sam. "Connection?" She sung. "You both have powers, Sammy boy. You're special. Mutants of a new breed, a better breed. The League is essentially an X-Men rip off, but completely real."

"Don't listen to her Sam." Dean yelled. The demon sighed, closing her eyes.

"What did I say?" She asked, turning to Dean. She cocked her hand back and threw with deadly accuracy.

"Dean!" Sam yelled, and for the first time he felt like he was part of the world again. He'd been standing there, witnessing a train wreck that was once his life. The glint of the knife was his bucket of ice water.

The knife hit its target: Dean's lung.

"Slow and painful." She cheered. "Not so chatty now, are we, Dean?" She turned back to Sam. "They're coming." And then she left through the front door, closing it softly behind her.

"Dean." Sam whispered and ran to his brother's side. Dean started to speak, but another voice came to him. Actually, it was Dean's voice, but it sounded so far away.

"Sam! Remember that none of it is real!"

"Shut up!" The demon?

"Sam!"

"Goddamn it! I said SHUT UP!"

Sam awoke with a start and heard Dean's triumphant yell.

"Losing control so quickly?" Dean asked with a laugh. "Sammy! Get up you lazy punk! Get up and fight her!"

Sam got to his knees. The demon was struggling to stand, sweat had broken out on her forehead and she looked utterly exhausted.

There was almost some pity for her. Almost.

"Dean, you're not…" Sam looked at his brother. He was slumped on the ground, but there was no knife.

"It wasn't real, Sam." Dean whispered.

"Don't be so certain, Sam." The demon taunted, panting. "All that information… the League, they're real."

"Don't listen to her, Sam!"

"Why don't you want him to know, Dean?" She asked softly. "He has a right to know about his destiny."

"I swear I'm going to hunt you down and kill you…"

"After tonight there will be nothing to hunt. The League will take care of that."

"What are you? A supernatural suicide bomber?" Dean taunted. She shrugged.

"You could say that." She stood up straight. "Sam, everything I said… its all very true. Every word. And Dean knew it all." She cocked her head to the side. "When did Deano stop being your hero, Sammy?" She whispered. "I just grazed the surface of your memories… but it was all too clear that you no longer hold Dean on a pedestal like you used to. Why is that?"

Dean grunted as he tried to get to his feet, using the wall as support. Sam took a deep breath.

"I grew up and realized there is no such thing as heroes." Sam explained, his eyes closing against the pressure he felt building at the back of his head.

"Oh but Dean has heroes." She whispered. "Daddy Winchester. That man is a God in the eyes of your big brother… but to you? He might as well be dead."

"You're a bitch…" Dean gasped, slumped against the wall, but on his feet. He was trembling and drenched in sweat.

She began to clap.

"Bravo, Dean. No one has fought the effects like you have. It normally takes days for it to wear off."

"Well I'm not normal." He hissed and took a shaky step forward.

"You certainly are not." She agreed and turned back to Sam. "Does it make you mad that he didn't call, Sammy? He didn't show up at Lawrence, even after Dean called him." She looked at Dean, smiling. "Those tears were so heart-wrenching, really." She laughed as Dean took another step, his knees almost buckling, but he regained his balance. "How about when you called after stupid here almost got himself killed. What moron doesn't know water conducts electricity? Does he even know that you spent ten minutes trying to revive him before the paramedics showed up? Does he know how scared you were? I bet he doesn't. And when you called your father, he didn't even call you back to check in."

Sam's whole body was tense.

"You've got one hell of a family, Sam. A brother with a death wish and a father who doesn't give a damn. Congrats." She patted his shoulder. "And the cherry on the sundae? Everything is your fault…"

"No!" Sam yelled.

He heard a scream and looked up. The demon was half way across the room, in a pile of graying red hair and arthritic bones. Dean was on his knees now, wheezing, gasping. The explosion of power that Sammy had just let loose had shattered all the windows, obliterated anything glass and sent Miss Bitchy-Impala hater across the room. Dean had taken a small portion of the power, just enough to knock the wind from his lungs.

"Jesus Christ, Sammy…" Dean breathed. Sam got to his feet slowly, his head spinning. "Maybe you should sit down, Carrie." He said with a smile.

And despite it all, Sam smiled back.

Because in his eyes, Sam saw all Dean left unspoken.

- - -

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