ENTITY (Chapter Six)

When Sam woke, he knew immediately that his brother was not there. The scent, the touch… the presence that was all Dean. It was missing. In its place was an harsh antiseptic stench and other smells that he recognized and wished that he did not.

He opened his eyes, his attention drawn to the confusion of medical equipment that throbbed and clicked beside him and then to the various lines that fed toward him. He swallowed thickly as he realized that they fed into him. Comprehension skittered and skipped just out of reach as he twisted his neck and looked down. Sure enough, the lines fed into ports at the back of his hand and the crook of his elbow. Bruises and pinpricks of dried blood evidenced failed attempts to access veins around the sites. Several failed attempts, it seemed, and Sam struggled with that. Struggled to understand what it meant. He had such plump, easily accessible veins. It was Dean who had the elusive vascular system, who made nurses work so hard to gain access to his blood – a fact that the older boy flaunted with pride because, he claimed, it gave him time to sweet talk the pretty ones.

"Hey, sweetie."

Startled, he jerked his head to the right and looked into a set of dark and compassionate eyes. "Missouri," he whispered, his parched mouth and seemingly over-sized tongue making a mockery of the name. He squinted, his vision shimmying as he attempted to lock and hold.

"How do you feel?"

Not so good. He ran his achingly dry tongue over his lips and shivered. He instinctively reached out with his left hand, the one not ensnared with wires and tubes, to snag the thin hospital sheet that he could feel edged just over his hips. The brief spark of molecular instruction to his left arm drove heated pain through his shoulder. He reflexively stilled and hissed through clenched teeth. Tears stung his eyes and he peered down at the heavy bandaging around his shoulder, across his chest and the taping that held that limb immobile.

Cold understanding teased and tugged at the edges of his blurred consciousness, but didn't quite hold well enough to allow him to make sense of it all. One of the lines into his right arm pulled his attention back to that side. Dark fluid fed from a bag that hung from the IV pole beside the bed. Sam's eyes widened as he stared and the cold understanding became an iced chill. He felt a warm touch on his thigh and though he knew it was Missouri, he flinched, unable to tear his gaze from the almost empty bag of blood. He had never had a blood transfusion… had never needed one despite the various and often bloody injuries he had endured throughout his life. "What happened?" he asked thickly, but he felt sure that it would be safer not to know.

"What do you remember?"

Fragments of memory flashed like broken shards of a mirror through his mind, and he fought to reassemble them. His gaze slid to the right, to the gaping doorway. "Where's Dean?" .

"Oh now don't you be fretting about your brother. Only you were hurt. You don't remember?"

Sam frowned, his breathing labored. He knew Dean had been with him when he had lost consciousness. What happened before that was still a blur. Though he suspected that it would be better to cling to the fragmented memories, he needed them whole. "What happened?"

Missouri hesitated. She looked at the machines that whirred and clicked and Sam knew she was determining his physical state – judging whether he was strong enough to know the truth. That brief pause scared Sam further and he pushed himself up, grunting as his shoulder fiercely protested.

"Sam, no." Missouri warned. "Don't move, honey."

He persisted, brushing her fretting hands away as he gained some altitude. He scanned the room and searched for any sign of his brother. The machine beeped hard and loud beside him, registering the increase in pulse.

Missouri tried another tack. Her tone harsher as she spoke again. "Boy, I won't be telling you twice. You lay back now. Don't you be thinking I won't whack you if you misbehave."

He risked a glance at the black woman. She hovered over him, her words forceful, but her eyes gave her away. She looked scared, and her hands fluttered uncertainly, barely touching. She was afraid to touch him… afraid he could break.

"Missouri, please. What happened?" God, he sounded panicked, scared… small.

She took an unbearably long time to respond. Finally, she said, "There's an entity inside Tara. When you touched her it attacked you."

Sam's eyes widened and he floundered for one blissfully unknowing second, then scissors, blood and unbearable pain flashed through his mind. He grunted, broad-sided by the violence of recollection. The return of memory also afforded Sam a blinding knowledge of what Dean had done for him. That made the older boy's absence ever so much more dire, Dean would never leave him to wake alone after an injury like that… not unless….

"Where's Dean?" he suddenly asked. He scanned the room, the part of the hallway he could see, for the leather jacket, the cocky saunter. He listened for his brother's sultry drawl and hoped to God that the older boy was just checking out the nurses.

"He's… ."

Sam's attention snapped to Missouri. "Where is he?"

"He didn't say where he was going."

"He left the hospital?" Sam trembled, disbelieving. "Where did he go?"

"I don't know." She paused and bit at her lower lip. "He was upset."

"And you let him leave?" Sam exclaimed, grimacing as he levered himself higher. Fear and anxiousness gave him strength and he realized it was false strength as his vision grayed and the machines went into overdrive.

"You don't be getting any stupid ideas, Sam," Missouri said weakly. He ignored her.

"I need to find Dean." He swung his legs over the edge of the bed, bringing part of the thin sheet with him where it twisted around his hips. The IV and transfusion lines pulled tight. He lilted then, headed for a stone-cold nose dive into the hospital floor. It was going to hurt, he realized as the gravity fed descent commenced. Muddled voices and strong hands caught him mid-way. Sam cried soundlessly as he was guided back to the bed, his aching body stretched out and the connecting tubes and machines checked and reset. None of the gentle hands belonged to his brother, and though they treated him with care and respect, he ached for Dean.

As Sam lay there, his consciousness dulled by the warmth of morphine, his tortured thoughts drifted back to his brother. The elder hunter's absence flailed Sam. Ripped strips from him that he could barely afford to lose. The bitter significance of regaining consciousness to find Missouri by his side… but not Dean, was not lost on Sam. Sam now remembered enough to realise that his brother was suffering. Emotional wounds posed a darker threat to the older boy than physical ones. Dean did not do chick-flick, it was a territory that he avoided like the plague. But, Sam knew that Dean had been pushed there, his back against the wall, his defenses destroyed. Left alone, Dean would succumb to emotions that he had no tolerance for… no defense against.

Sam pushed against the sheet again, determined to give liberty a second try, but the drugs, exhaustion and pain slammed a mallet through the pathetic attempt and Sam went down hard. He whimpered, clawed one handed at the thin sheet and turned his head to the side. "Missouri," he started. He stilled as he saw she was on the phone. He stared, wide eyed as the psychic spoke softly to someone.

"He's awake… and misbehaving," Missouri said, and her tone held disapproving reproach. Her words softened as she watched him. "He's asking for you."

Sam's breath hitched. "Dean."

She nodded. He licked his lips and eyed the device. Apprehension and hope thrummed through him and his fingers twitched. He reached out with all the patience of a hungry toddler. His desperation made Missouri frown, but she sighed and passed the handset to him. He fumbled it in haste, almost dropped it before wrenching it to his ear. He breathed hard. "Dean?"

"Sammy?"

Tears scorched Sam's eyes. He suddenly could not breathe – could not speak.

"Sam, talk to me. Please. Sammy?"

"It's Sam," he grunted, shocked by the desperation in the older boy's voice. Dean fell silent and several seconds passed where neither of them spoke. Sam finally managed more words. "Where are you?" He received no response. Sam heard his brother's grated breaths. Imagined Dean's tortured gaze, the fierce set to his jaw that signaled the point of emotional vulnerability that Dean would never allow himself to cross. But Dean had crossed it on this day. Now his brother was adrift, scared and alone. "Dean, please."

"No, Sammy," Dean's voice reverberated against the silence, and Sam knew his brother was crying.

Sam nodded, the tears finally slipping over – the pathetic walls of resistance shattered. "It's okay," he whispered. "I'm okay. We're okay. Really, we're okay." Silence descended again, and Sam listened keenly, the phone pressed tightly against his ear. He glanced at Missouri, then back to the door. "Dean?"

"I'm fine. It's not what you think." Sam heard his brother fight to cover his tears, the sound of his distress.

"Dean—"

"No, I don't. I mean…. Hell, Sammy, you know I don't do this touchy-feely crap."

"I know. I know. But… can you come back now?" He could not quite bring himself to beg, but his weary plea had a heartfelt depth that he could not disguise. Dean again fell quiet and Sam waited, caught in that dark hopeless void between longing and denial. Dean was on a knife's edge, emotionally cracked. Sam could read his brother… and what he read scared the life out of him. He licked his lips to speak again, to try another tactic, but Dean spoke first.

"I'll be there in five."

Dean cut the connection and Sam was saved the embarrassment of his brother hearing him sob. But Missouri heard, and she wiped the tears from his cheeks with her thumb.

"You are both stubborn asses," she said quietly.

Sam agreed, but emotion denied him the opportunity to express it.

Dean was there in three minutes. Which meant he had not been far away. Probably had sat in the Chevy in the hospital car park and played intensively loud rock music until his eardrums popped. That eased a little of Sam's unrest. If Dean had left the hospital grounds, had driven away... Sam left those thoughts go untended. He smiled as he saw his brother and his fingers twitched, the need for contact tangible. Dean loitered by the door, his progress stilted. The older boy raked his gaze over Sam's form and his eyes shone with a telltale brightness that Sam probably should not see. But he could not look away.

Sam cinched his hand closer. Dean glanced at it, then at the tubes that fed into Sam's veins. He swallowed convulsively, pursed his lips and stepped in. He moved to Sam's side and hesitated, clearly unsure of where he could touch his brother without hurting him. Sam reached for him and after an awkward moment, Dean acquiesced and their fingers entwined. Dean snagged a chair, scraped it over and sat down. His jaw worked, as though he was going to speak, but no words came. Missouri moved into Sam's view. He saw her whisper something to Dean, squeeze his shoulder and touch his face. The older boy nodded, and vaguely smiled, then she was gone.

Once alone, they had a chance to talk… but they did not. The drugs, the raw emotion and the warmth of touch communicated all that was possible… and prohibited all that was not. After a few minutes, Sam drifted, drugged and semi-conscious, his eyes locked with Dean's until they lost focus and finally closed. His breath hitched as he tried to fight, but Dean must have sensed the war Sam silently fought because he touched his hand to Sam's forehead and gently smoothed the pain lines there. The tender caress and the scent that was all Dean took Sam down. This time he did not try to fight because he knew that when he woke the next time, Dean would be there.

Dean drove wordlessly, the early morning sunshine biting through the windshield and warming his bare arms. The small city of Lawrence, Kansas faded into the horizon behind them, and over six hours away lay Perryton. They were going to find Beth, Sam's internet searches had amounted to zip, and neither Missouri or Marcus knew enough to be able to exorcise whatever it was that was in Tara's body. They had left the child with Missouri, Dean did not want her along – did not want her anywhere near his brother. Sam, for once, had agreed without an argument. As long as the child was not threatened, and it was clear that only Sam had the ability to challenge the evil bastard that had taken up residence, then Missouri and Marcus were both safe.

The plan was that they would return with Beth, or Beth would teach them what to do to exorcise the entity. As plans went, it had its flaws. Finding Beth was the first one. It might not even be her real name, and if they did find her and she would not or could not help, then as far as Dean was concerned, it was over. They would walk away. They had an uneasy agreement on that, but Dean was not naive enough to think that if it actually came to pass, that he wouldn't be up for one hell of a fight with his brother.

Sighing, Dean glanced at the younger man. Sam sat quietly, one hand occasionally unconsciously drawn to the wound at his shoulder. His left arm was held in a navy blue sling, and though he had spent two days in hospital and had been medically released, he still looked wrung out. Exhausted. Vulnerable. The hospital had given Sam drugs to mask the considerable pain he experienced, and to stave off infection. Dean had expected the medication to take his brother down. They didn't. For whatever reason, Sam fought the sleep that he so desperately needed. Dean squared his shoulders and pushed back in the seat, even being back on the road did not dull the increasingly intolerable emotions that scoured his gut.

Sam could have died, he damn well nearly did. Dean had had to employ hideous brutality in a vain attempt to save Sam's life. And then that had all gone to hell. The horrific damage to the muscle and flesh had so viciously compromised Sam's vascular system that his body had been unable to stop the bleeding. Dean's patch up job had bought time, but it was the medical team, three hours of micro-surgery and two blood transfusions that had saved Sam's life and given him a shot at a full recovery.

Then the stubborn asshole had managed to wrangle an early release, claiming a family emergency. Dean had tried to de-rail that one, but had failed miserably. So here they were, back on the highway because Dean could not convince his brother to let this one go. To walk away. To doom Tara to a tortured existence and to leave the rest to dark destiny. He would do it, in a heartbeat. Screw the consequences. Screw the guilt. But Sam would not back down. He even had the utter gall to quote Dean's words back at him – protect the innocent, or some such cocked up shit. That had hammered into him like a fist of nails in the face. Since when did Sam actually listen to him anyway.

Dean swallowed sourly, tightened his grip on the wheel and pressed the accelerator harder. Sam flinched and grabbed at the seat. Dean deliberately ignored the look his brother threw at him, but he did ease off on the accelerator. He did not want to scare Sam or cause him further pain, he just did not want to accept the new found reality of their situation. And he sure as hell did not want to talk about it. He had made that particular fact crystal clear to his brother several times over the past few days, despite Sam's best attempts to coax it out of him.

He leaned over, cranked up the volume on the stereo and hummed to the throbbing rock beat. If Sam wouldn't sleep, then there was no reason Dean had to suffer the silence along with him. He had just started to relax when Sam flicked off the tape and ejected the cassette.

"Sammy," Dean growled threateningly.

"It's Sam," the younger man responded tightly as he wound down the window. He shoved the tape outside, his fingers clutched at the cassette. Sam's faculties were hardly up to speed and Dean regarded his precious tape with raw apprehension. "Spill, or Metallica buys the farm."

"You little shit." Dean cursed as he hit the brakes, forcing the Impala into the gravel at the side of the road. He turned to face his brother. "Sam, I'm warning you."

Sam jutted his chin, openly challenging. With a deliberate flick of his wrist, the cassette launched and landed with a soft clatter on the blacktop. "Oops," Sam said with feigned regret.

Dean glowered at him and his anger pulsed. Sam knew damned well that Dean would not lay a finger on him until his shoulder had healed… and then probably not for a long while after that. Which was probably the only reason why Sam was so blatantly pushing his buttons. "You are going to regret that, Sammy boy," he growled as he shoved the door open and leapt from the car.

Sam hauled himself from the passenger seat and met Dean at the back of the Impala. "This is bullshit, Dean. What's going on with you? Since the hospital you've been different, quiet. I know something's bothering you, so fess up."

Dean brushed past him, grunting as he was jerked back by his collar. He felt a rush of cold air as a semi roared past them. He grunted and yanked himself free, checking for further traffic before he stepped out onto the road. The tape was gone. He found it twenty feet up the highway, the plastic case splintered, the chocolate brown reel crushed and torn.

He hunkered down and slowly collected the pieces of tape. It had been his favorite and Sam knew it. Sam reached his side and his pained exclamation revealed that his intent had not been the tape's destruction. But that was the only hard truth in life: things do not go as planned. There were no guarantees, no safe moves. Sam should have learned that already, but Dean saw that he had not. If he had, they would not be on their way to Perryton, Texas.

Dean returned to the car, slid behind the wheel and waited for Sam to join him. He fingered the broken plastic, keeping his head down as Sam awkwardly slid into the seat and quietly closed the door. Silence descended and he knew Sam would break it. His brother did not cope as well as he did with unresolved tension. Predictably, Sam spoke first. "I'm sorry."

Dean knew he was referring to the tape. The apology actually sounded sincere. "You hated that thing."

"But it was your favorite."

"Yeah well, you'll get me another one. Second hand music shops will be your best bet." He licked his lips, drawing his gaze from his brother's haunted eyes. "Or you could try Ebay."

"This isn't about the tape, Dean. What's going on, man?"

Dean snorted and tossed the broken fragments onto the back seat. He moved to start the ignition, stilling as Sam touched his arm.

"Dean, please. Talk to me."

"No chick-flick moments."

"This is about Tara, isn't it? About why I didn't wake you before going to her. Dammit, Dean, I didn't tell you my theory because I was scared she would hurt you. I was trying to protect you."

"You shouldn't have."

"What would you have done? C'mon, man. I sensed it, I knew where it was. I felt it before it struck. You wouldn't have known where it was and it could have seriously hurt you."

"Well, Indiana, you didn't do so well yourself. Give me some credit here. I'm not stupid enough to let some spirit slice me open with a pair of freakin' scissors."

"Fuck you." Sam fumbled with the door and pushed it open. He was out of the car a moment later.

Dean cursed himself and his stubborn brother. He followed suit, grabbed Sam's uninjured arm and pulled the younger man around to face him. He expected to see tears, or rage, but Sam's expression was oddly calm.

"You are such an asshole," Sam said. "If you'd been there it would have turned you into candy floss, just like Tara's parents. Are you so arrogant that you can't see that?"

"I know."

"You know what?"

Dean shuffled where he stood. He shoved his hands into his pockets and stooped his shoulders. A car flashed past on the highway, its occupants eyeing them suspiciously. He wet his lips. "We're making a scene. Let's get going." He started back toward the car.

Sam moved so he stood directly before Dean, blocking his path. "Are you scared of me?"

"What? Where the hell did that come from?"

"Is that what this is about? Do you think that something will get into my head and manipulate me into hurting you, like at the Asylum?"

"You were possessed. Ellicott could have just as easily overpowered me and I would have shot your ass full of rock-salt. It happened, we've been over this."

"Maybe we need to go over it again."

"Oh, c'mon Sam. I'm not scared of your spoon-bending powers, okay. Get over yourself."

"Then what?"

"You're like a dog with a bone sometimes, you know that."

Sam huffed, bringing his right hand up to rest on his hip. He pursed his lips and his eyes narrowed. He regarded Dean silently.

"Oh, c'mon already," Dean groused, making another attempt to move past. Sam stopped him with a hand on his shoulder. "What do you want? What do you want me to say?"

"The truth."

"You can't handle the truth," he drawled, raising his eyebrows as Sam failed to see the humor.

"Quit jerking around, Dean."

"Fine, don't get your knickers all bunched up. I just think you should have told me about your whacko theory before you marched in and let Tara's little freaky pal slice you open."

"What would you have done?"

"I would have covered your back."

"You would have come into the room with me?"

"Hell yeah."

"That is precisely why I did not tell you."

"Do you actually think you did me a favor?" Dean started, suddenly angry. "You think it was better for me to wake up and find you with a pair of scissors stuck in your chest? And you think that I had fun holding you down while your blood gushed all over my hands. Don't forget the fun I had stitching you up without any form of pain relief. But, hell, the real kicker, Sammy… watching you bleeding out because that thing had so right royally fucked you up that your blood wouldn't clot. Do you have any idea what that was like. Do you?"

Sam paled. "I'm sorry that you had to go through that," he said quietly.

"Don't ever do that again, Sam. Don't you dare."

"You saved my life and I can't thank you enough. But I'd do the same for you, Dean. It's what we do. It's what this whole screwed up life has forced us to do."

"No, that is what we used to do. Now things have changed. These visions of yours, these things that can invade your mind, can screw with you without even touching you, have changed it."

"Marcus has taught me to control the visions – how to protect myself."

"That didn't work so well for you three days ago, huh?"

"I knew it wouldn't kill me. It didn't kill Beth and she was a psychic. And, it lashed out when she touched Tara. You're not psychic Dean, it would have killed you, like it killed her parents."

"Dammit, Sam. We don't know that Beth got away uninjured. We don't even know for sure that she's psychic. And, anyway your theory has great big holes in it. Missouri and Marcus are psychic and it didn't go them. For someone so smart, you can be so freakin' dumb."

Sam looked down. "I can't explain... I just knew."

"Oh great, another one of your spidey-sense things. Freakin' fantastic." Dean ran a shaky hand through his hair. "I get that there are things that you don't share. That you need to have some privacy. But not this, Sam. It almost killed you. Christ, if you'd just said something before you marched yourself in there."

"I took a calculated risk and I got us the answers we needed. It was my choice."

"You still should have told me."

"No. I can't trust you to keep out of the way. Yeah, I needed you to back me up, but I knew you wouldn't do what I told you to. So I did what I had to do to keep us both safe."

"You could have bled out in the hallway," Dean said numbly, his throat constricting. "Don't you get that?"

"I do. But until you can prove to me that you will follow my lead and not pull some heroic big brother stunt, I will do whatever it takes to keep us both safe."

"Those big brother heroic stunts have saved your life countless times, Sam."

"Not in situations like this."

And that was the crux of it. That was what it came down to. The rules had changed. The big brother protectiveness that Dean held so dear was now being held against him. Dean wordlessly turned his back on his brother and returned to the car. Sam followed him and the younger man actually had the good sense to button his lip. Silent fell long and hard between them, and somewhere down the road, Sam fell asleep. Drug induced and restless, but it cut the tension that had been building since their mid-highway altercation.

None of what Sam had told him came as a shock to Dean. It had been festering in his subconscious ever since Sam had succumbed to the vicious connection in Bridgeport, Nebraska. And in Perryton, Dean had been given a stunningly brutal introduction to Sam's new world. He had recognised it then, and had reacted with all the force and revulsion that his tortured psyche could rain down on him. The brave new world that Sam faced alone was filled with blood, severed fingers and decaying entrails. And that was probably the sanitised part. And Dean could to nothing to protect his brother from any it. He had tried, and had been called up on it -- once when he had foolishly thought he could rely on modern medicine to fix the supernatural. Sam had paid for Dean's foolishness with pain and blood. The second time when Sam had recognised his brother's weakness and had cut him out, and that had almost cost Sam his life. Dean had to stomach the change. He had to face the plate like a man. He risked a glance at his brother and his heart clenched. He was not sure that he could.

They reached Perryton just before nightfall. It was just as unattractive as it had first time around, but it allowed Dean some peace from his painful introspection. He collected drive through burgers then chose the first motel he came across that displayed a vacancy sign. He got them booked in.

"Where are we?" Sam croaked when Dean slid back into the driver's seat to move the car to their allotted room.

"Perryton," Dean answered simply as he started the engine.

Sam rubbed one handedly at his eyes, yawning loudly. His elbow joint popped as he languidly stretched. "Motel?"

"Yeah."

"Good one?"

"Good enough."

"It was my turn to pick."

"Next time."

"No fair."

Dean swung the car into the space outside their room and cut the engine. He turned in his seat to study his brother. "You're sounding awfully Sammy-like, Sam."

"Sammy-like?"

"Yeah, chubby twelve year old Sammy."

Sam blinked at him, his eyes glazed and eyelids heavy. "Oh. Okay."

"You're no fun when you're off your face, Sam." He rolled his eyes as he heard his brother apologise. "Just stay awake. I'm not carrying your ass into the room."

"I'm 'wake."

"Yeah, sure you are."

Dean helped his brother into the room, only leaving him at the bathroom after Sam shoo-ed him away. "Get lost," Sam slurred, a stupid grin on his face. He looked plastered.

"Don't lock the door, Sam," Dean ordered as his brother tottered into the small room, intent on taking care of his personal business before passing out on the bed. "And stay awake for your meds. You're due for another dose."

"Oh yeah, drugs are good." He started humming some rock beat that Dean did not recognize.

"Just don't take a header into the John."

"No headers in here."

Dean sighed and collected their bags from the car, relieved to see Sam re-emerge from the bathroom unscathed. He stood by the door for a moment, looking around blearily. Dean frowned, disturbed by his brother's doped state. It was to be expected, but it still unnerved him.

He knelt by Sam's bag, his hands shaking as he unzippered it. He found Sam's medication and carefully selected the pain pills and antibiotics. Missouri had also packed a plethora of herbal remedies, vitamin and mineral supplements and a powder that Dean could make up as a liquid meal replacement if Sam could not eat.

"You hungry?" he asked as he straightened up.

Sam had moved to the bed and now sat at the edge. He stared blankly, but responded to Dean's question. "What you got?"

"Burgers and fries."

"Predictable."

"Was that a yes or a no?"

"Maybe."

Dean retrieved the burgers and placed one beside Sam. His brother regarded it with little interest. Dean sighed and collected a small bottle of apple juice from the motel's fridge, uncapped it and mixed one of the meal replacement sachets into it. He passed it and the prescription pills to Sam.

"This lot's non-negotiable."

Sam regarded him dopily before accepting the pills, he put them in his mouth then took the bottle and chased them down with the juice.

Dean sat heavily on the bed and watched his brother. Sam finished the drink then looked down, his eyes slipping closed. Dean checked his watch, his gut twisting. Sam was awfully out of it… too out of it to be taking more pills?

He worried at his brow, remembering the doctor warning him that Sam could be like this for the first day or so, and that he had to give Sam the pills even if his brother was still doped to the eyeballs. They would protect him and ensure that he had a continuous barrier against the pain and the risk of infection. Dean would not compromise that, and he was meticulous about keeping track of the timing of Sam's doses. He had not made a mistake.

Sam lilted and Dean moved quickly, catching him before he fell. He eased him onto the bed, realizing that Sam was asleep before his head had hit the pillow. He got his brother settled, covered him with a blanket and made sure his injured shoulder was protected.

Dean knelt then and watched his sleeping brother and he couldn't quell the surge of protectiveness, of fear that he held for his sibling. Though twenty-three years old, Dean saw Sam as a baby, a toddler, a sensitive pre-teen and a questioning, solemn eyed and headstrong adolescent. The man that Sammy had become was lost on Dean when Sam was in danger. Beneath the lithe muscular form was a gangly, awkward, doe-eyed boy with cute dimples and a mess of unruly hair – Dean's baby brother. The person that Dean would do anything to keep safe – he would give his life for, in a heartbeat.

The ache that worked through the elder hunter, that cut through his memories and cleared his eyes forced him to see the real Sam, the strong, capable hunter, intelligent, confident, instinctual and courageous. The man who now had visions, premonitions and psychic abilities that were foreign to Dean, a whole new battlefield on which Dean was not a warrior. Sam fought alone and Dean had to trust that Sam could. And he did trust. He trusted Sam, he relied on him, he had no doubts about his ability to protect himself and to protect Dean… but this. This was going to take some serious psychological re-wiring before it would fit.

Dean brushed the hair back from Sam's forehead. Let his fingers run through the soft auburn strands. "You'll always be my Sammy," he said, his voice breaking. "But I know that you're Sam. Give me time to reconcile the two, little brother. I just need some time."

End Chapter Six.