Hey everyone,

I'm so sorry I am just now updating this story. I am still grieving the loss of my Dad. This past Easter Sunday has been a year. It doesn't feel like it. I hope to update more frequently. It took me a while to write this chapter as it also describes my own feelings. But it is now my favorite chapter in this story so far. I really hope you enjoy it and thank you so much for my followers and the reviews! Please keep reviewing and I will try and be more diligent in answering each of you!

Bobby's footsteps had faded on the stairs when Sam finally lowered his glass of whiskey and flicked his eyes over to Dean who was staring at the table. Dean's glass was empty. The silence in the room was wrought with tension and grief. Sam felt like he was being smothered. His eyes closed as his head throbbed and he brought his hand to his forehead and rubbed it, willing the pain, the images to go away.

"How are you feeling?"

The words were soft spoken but laced with an under-current of harshness. Sam opened his eyes to find Dean staring at him, his eyes bleak; the emerald irises were dimmed in their color and shadowed with anger and sorrow.

Sam cleared his throat.

"I'm fine," He replied quietly.

"Liar," Dean said.

Sam opened his mouth to retort, expecting Dean to lash out at him, to press the issue of his well-being but his brother went silent again and the question of Sam's honesty was left alone.

"Bobby left us alone so we would talk," Sam whispered after the silence became deafening and he had to break it.

"So talk," Dean said.

"I-I don't know…"

"What Sammy? You don't know what we should talk about?" Dean's voice was a little stronger as he looked up and made contact with Sam who was staring at him warily.

"How about you tell me what happened upstairs?"

Sam lowered his gaze and stared at the table, feeling his face get hot and his heart start to pound heavily inside his chest.

"You don't want to tell me, do you? Well, that's fine. You don't have to tell me. I'm sure I can guess. I don't care that Bobby wants us to talk. I don't feel like talking."

"We need to talk-"Sam began. Dean broke in, his voice like steel.

"Sammy, I just told you I don't feel like talking."

"About Dad," Sam finished, voice hoarse, ignoring his older brother. Dean sucked in his breath and sat back in his chair.

The kitchen went silent. Sam braced himself barely breathing. He could feel the waves of tension, the hum of grief and fury that was teetering on the precipice of their lives, waiting, threatening to explode.

He waited for that explosion to come now.

It never came.

Dean got to his feet.

"I don't want to talk about Dad. I don't want to talk about anything." He grabbed his whiskey glass and walked over to the sink, setting the glass down on the counter.

Sam sighed heavily, both in relief and with resignation.

"Dean, we have to talk about Dad. We have to-"

"There's nothing to talk about," Dean said sharply.

"There is a lot we need to-"

"Sam, stop! I'm not talking about Dad. Drop it."

"No." Sam's voice was quiet but firm.

Dean turned around and glared at him, crossing his arms. His expression could cut through fire, his eyes stared daggers and any other person would have turned away. The subject would have been dropped.

Sam didn't even flinch. He stared his older brother down.

"Sammy," Dean finally said and he lowered his head, his gaze now directed at the floor, his tone going from hostile to pleading.

"Please," Dean whispered, "Talk about anything. Anything but Dad, please."

"Why?" Sam asked softly, "Because it's too painful? It's time we talk. We've learned things recently, things we need to discuss. It's time to talk about it all. I know it hurts," Sam whispered, "I know the grief cuts like a knife inside but we have to face the fact that Dad is gone. Dean, I know how close you and Dad were; I know how much you loved him and I know how much this hurts you. I can see it. I know you Dean and you're drowning. The drinking, the recklessness when we have hunted the past few months, the silence and the way you have distanced yourself from Bobby and from me…Do you think I can't see it? I'm your brother. We are family. Dean, we're stronger when we are together. I don't feel very strong right now," Sam confessed softly, "I feel like we have come to our own crossroads and we don't know which way to go. I don't really care which way we go as long as we can go together. I can't keep going without you Dean. We are family. You are my brother. I know we never go chick flick with our emotions but right now I don't give a damn…I love you Dean. Do you hear me? I love you. Don't give up on me. Please…please talk to me."

Sam's voice trailed off hoarsely and he realized tears had been dripping from his cheeks and had made small puddles on the table. His hands shook as he reached up and brushed his fingers over his eyes and then he raised his eyes to Dean who was watching him silently. Dean had lowered his arms sometime during Sam's declamation and they were now at his side. Tears were running down Dean's face and his emerald eyes had regained their color and were bright with emotion. He reached up and ran his hand over his face and took a deep, shaky breath.

"Dean," Sam whispered.

Dean cleared his throat and sniffed hard. He pushed away from the counter.

"I need some air," He whispered. Sam watched in despair as Dean's shoulder's hunched and he hurried to escape to the junkyard outside. The door closed behind him and Sam let out a breath he didn't realize he had been holding and got to his feet. He put his whiskey glass next to his brother's and then turned to follow him outside.

The sudden and loud crash from upstairs caused Sam to freeze, his head slowly turning to the staircase.

"Bobby? Everything okay up there?" Sam deliberately raised his voice, hoping he could be heard.

"You son of a bitch…"

The words floated down from the second floor and Sam began to walk towards the stairs, uneasiness burning inside his gut.

"Bobby? Are you all right?"

"You son of a bitch…"

There was another crash and Sam began to run, bounding up the stairs until he reached the second floor.

"Bobby!" He ran towards the guestroom and threw open the door.

Bobby was on the floor beside the bed, his face white and his were hands gripping the broom that was lying across his lap. He turned and met Sam's eyes as the door flew open and he struggled to get to his feet.

"Sam, stop!"

"Bobby-"Concerned, Sam started towards him as Bobby frantically gestured at the other side of the room.

"Sammy…"

Sam spun around as the voice breathed his name. The smell of Sulphur hit him and he knew instantly that he was inside his vision. Only this time it was real; it was happening.

The yellow-eyed demon stood there before him and Sam's eyes widened. He stumbled back only to feel the demon take hold of his arm and look deep into his eyes, holding him there, paralyzing him. Sam couldn't move.

"Sammy…you're all going to die…"

The smell of rotting eggs was nauseating and Sam struggled in the grip of the demon who had murdered their mother.

"Sammy…"

"Let me go," Sam snarled. The fear was abating, the rage was beginning to consume him. This monster, this demon, this black stain in the depths of hell had taken their mother away from them. This demon was the reason their Dad was dead.

"Sammy, you're all going to die."

"You first," Bobby shouted from behind and then there was a gunshot and the demon snarled and Sam was falling to the floor as the yellow-eyed demon let him go.

Sam heard Bobby yell as the demon flung him against the wall; he heard glass breaking, furniture shattering and then sudden silence. The only sound was Sam's own harsh breathing as he lay on the floor gasping for clean air. The smell was overwhelming and Sam's stomach went into full revolt. He scrambled to his feet, anxious to check on Bobby but even more anxious to make it to the bathroom. He heard Bobby groan as he passed him and felt relief that he was alive. Sam hit his knees in front of the toilet as the pain in his head and the whiskey from earlier became too much and he vomited until he saw stars. Faintly he heard the front door open downstairs and could hear Dean shouting.

Sam vomited again just as Dean came into the room and then he leaned back against the wall and looked over through bleary eyes as Dean checked on their friend.

"Bobby! Bobby, can you hear me? Are you okay?"

"Yeah, yeah, I can hear you. I'll be fine. Just leave me alone for a minute," Bobby whispered.

Sam saw the relief in Dean's eyes and the deep breath he took as he looked up and focused on him. Dean got to his feet and walked into the bathroom. He crouched down and regarded Sam with a solemn, yet concerned expression.

"You all right?" Dean asked quietly.

"I'm fine," Sam said softly.

Dean shook his head slowly and lowered himself until he was sitting next to him.

"Liar," Dean replied.

Sam glanced over at him and saw the small smile on Dean's face and Sam let out a small chuckle. They sat there side by side for a long time on the bathroom floor; Bobby lay quietly just outside the bathroom door. No one spoke.

And then Dean reached over and put his hand on Sam's shoulder and squeezed gently. Sam glanced at him and was startled to see a fresh sheen of tears in his brother's eyes.

"I love you too Sammy," Dean finally whispered softly. He dropped his hand and resumed staring at the bathroom wall. Sam lowered his gaze and then slowly leaned his head on Dean's shoulder.

It was a long time before any of them moved.