Bobby met the pair at an off-the-map motel. Quiet. Low traffic.

"Easy. Easy." Bobby reprimanded. The pair tripped through the door, Dean swinging between them like a hammock. Body slack, head lolling side-to-side with each of their steps.

Bobby had arrived ahead of the boys. Booked the room and was to the impala upon its arrival before Sam cut off the engine. The moment he saw Dean his heart fell. The poor kid looked like he was barely holding on. The bruises on his face had gotten the chance to fully bloom, his clothes were dyed red, and there were wounds that caused your upper lip to crunch.

"The nearest bed." Bobby mumbled.

Sammy had Dean's shoulders in a death grip, Dean's head against his forearm. There had been too many close calls this evening. Sam felt like every time he blinked there was a possibility Dean would be gone. So, holding him now he didn't want to let go. Wouldn't let go Bobby noticed. Bobby was about to order Sam to start the bath but Sam's white knuckles changed his mind. Not to mention the expression on the kid's face.

"I'm gonna start the tub. We gotta get him cleaned up, see what we're working with. Warmed up too. Poor kids cold as ice. I'll be right back." Bobby took a step before turning back.

"Dean's gonna be alright boy. We are gonna get him patched up." Sam didn't respond. He just continued staring straight ahead, seated on the bed with Dean's torso in his lap. Holding on for dear life.

…..

Once Dean was stripped down each injury seemed to individually clamor for attention. The stab wound in his side wasn't deep but gnarly. More of a tear then the clean entry of a knife. Tiny red scratches, puffy, angry, were scattered across Dean's chest like sand on the ground. There was no point in counting them, there were too many. Dean's ribs were bruised, broken it seemed, and there were hand prints on his arms. Knuckle indents scattered here and there took Sam back to the clearing, seeing the witch's fists of stone flying at his brother. Sam thought Dean managed to dodge most, seems a couple times he wasn't so lucky.

Dean stirred slightly as he was lowered into the warm water.

"Dean? Dean can you hear me?" Dean eyelids fluttered but didn't open. Instead, he moaned in response as soon as the liquid hit his side. Body instinctively trying to curl to that side for protection.

"Easy." Bobby mumbled. Sam was shaking. From his hands, up his arms, and across his shoulders.

"Sam. I got this. Go get yourself cleaned up eh."

"I am not leaving him."

"I am not asking you to leave Sam. I will need your help patching him up. We don't need him catching infection... we got some hours of work ahead." Sam looked uneasy: his eyes cautiously shifting from Dean to Bobby. Bobby knew there was more going on then Dean's condition. Dean, unfortunately, had been in bad shape before. Sam was always steady and constant in the care of his brother. Not easily shaken, either of them, they knew how to keep a game face one and deal with the situation at hand. But something had the boy spooked. He seemed to be fighting a descent to madness if Bobby was brutally honest, which he didn't wish to be.

"Sam. Boy you listen to me now. Clean shirt. Wash up."

Sam didn't move. Bobby was kneeling alongside the tub keeping Dean's head above water while simultaneously working to clean his wounds of all the rocks, pine needles, dirt, and underbrush. Sam remained kneeling beside him. Bobby was about to bark another order when he noticed Sam's eye twitch. It was subtle making what happened next totally unexpected.

Sam screamed and gripped both sides of his head. He pitched forward over his knees and ground his teeth together nearly bouncing his skull off the edge of the tub. He likely wouldn't have noticed however, because it felt like a red hot spike was being driven through his brain. For Sam, the motel bathroom faded away.

Sam is hovering above the field again. Dean is conscious, looking at what is Sam's physical form. The one holding the front of Dean's coat, fist poised to strike. Sam preferred death in this moment versus being forced once again to watch, to feel, to hear, to be everything other than with the control to stop it.

[observer] The strikes began. Swift and with the impact of a bull kick. There is no mercy. There is no recognition by this figment of Sam that the flesh it is brutalizing is his brother. 'NOOOO!' Sam screamed uselessly. Sam knew his words could do nothing. They did nothing last time... But it didn't matter, he couldn't stop from trying.

"NO! STOP! STOP! DEAN!" Sam's voice broke and the tears came.

[in body] One. Two. Three. Sam never realized how you can feel every facial feature of someone when you hit them. He had only ever struck with the intent to hurt to kill when hopped up on adrenaline in the heat of a fight: thus distracted with the need to stay alive. There is not concern for detail in those types of situations. You hit the enemy, they stay down, that is all that matters. But this isn't self defense. There is no adrenaline. The one being hit isn't fighting back, isn't defending, and alas, the details are clamoring at a deafening volume, being imprinted on Sam's fist, his skin, with every strike. The shape of Dean's cheek bone. His teeth through his split lips. The crunch of his nose and its awkward shift as the strikes continue. Sam could feel himself drifting. He fought so hard to gain control without any success that he didn't know how else to survive then block it out. So Sam grabbed the door of his subconscious, with a final look at Dean whose light seemed to have just gone out, and slammed it.

The cold tile floor came rushing back with sickening suddenness. Sam gagged and turned for the toilet. He had no food in his system so instead of upchucking, he dry-heaved until his abdomen spasmed uncontrollably.

"What the hell was that?!" Bobby demanded, hands still in the tub supporting Dean. As soon as Sam could take a complete breath without his stomach trying to jump from his throat, he turned to the pair. There was a part of him that was scared to look, scared to see that the vision had become reality, or worse, was reality. It had not. Dean was still grey with only the wounds inflicted by the witch. It was creepy seeing him resting, white as sheet in a pool of red. It wasn't the combination Sam needed after that vision.

"Samuel! Did you hear me boy?!"

"I-I-I don't know... I... I don't know Bobby. I DON'T KNOW! That is what I have been trying to tell you. I don't know what the hell is going on! What is happening to me?!" Sam's voice broke at the end. He was shaking again. Bobby eyed him with concern. Pythonissam, nasty bitches. There was no knowing what these boys got themselves in to.

Dean's ribs and side were wrapped. Antiseptic applied to every cut. Sam was sitting on the bed, just watching as his brother's chest rose and fell. Dean was breathing a little better after the warm bath, the steam seemed to have help clear some of the funk clogging his airway. His face was a little worse for wear but Dean never seemed to mind that too much, help him get along with the ladies he would say.

"Sam." Bobby beckoned from the kitchen. Nothing.

"Sam." Bobby tried again a little firmer. Sam rose without taking his eyes off his brother. His didn't let Dean out his sight until he was standing under the single light above the sink.

"Son. What happened earlier?" Sam looked ashamed, barely able to meet Bobby's gaze.

"We gotta figure out what this is boy. The more info we got the better armed we are for the fight."

"… That is what I saw…"

"What?"

"I don't know. They are almost like visions. Hyper realistic visions. If I didn't know better, I would call them memories."

"Them?"

"It happened earlier too, in the car, when we were on the phone."

"You saw the same thing both times?" Sam just nodded, adam's-apple bobbing as he swallowed.

"I am there but... observing as well. Like... like... I don't know," Sam spat, frustrated.

"And you remember the whole thing when ya, come out of it?" Again, Sam just nodded, eyes downcast. Bobby's gaze flicked to Dean.

"Is it something to do with Dean? The visions?" It was a wild guess that really wasn't that wild. Sam was a strong-willed boy. Little could bring the load of shame and regret currently radiating from his soul. Little other than his brother.

"I could feel it. Every detail. The wind. The sun... The crunch of his bones." Bobby's lips pursed. Sam's voice was shifting from steady to crazed.

"I hit him. Again. And again. Why would I do that? Why? What is happening to me?!" Sam had stepped off to look at Dean, suddenly turning back to Bobby with the conclusion of his questions. He looked desperate, like he expected an answer, needed an answer.

"I don't know what you are saying boy."

"In the vision. It is Dean and I. But I am strong and Dean isn't fighting back. I am hitting him. I keep hitting him until he falls... Bobby… what… how…" Bobby stepped forward and grabbed Sam into an embrace. The poor boy looked like he was about to fall over, chin quivering. Sam held on to the old friend using his strength and solidity to stabilize his own.

"Its alright. We will figure it out." Bobby mused. The two separated. Sam evaluated Bobby like he was trying to decide if he believed him. After a moment and without a word, he turned back to Dean and reclaimed his position at his brother's side.

Bobby fumbled for his phone. Sam wasn't in the state to know how dire the situation actually was. Pythonissam can cast crazy spells and curses, they don't like departing the world without one final hoorah. With near nothing to go on, trying to figuring out how bad this web was spun might turn fruitless. Bobby closed his eyes. He would do whatever it took to not watch these boys die, which is how this journey was currently set to end.