Title: Now I Know My ABC's

Author: Disasteriffic Kaz

Info: A hurt/comfort romp through the alphabet, one letter at a time from A to Z. Each chapter is a stand-alone one shot. There is hurt, comfort, angst, humor, feels and all around fun.

Author's Note: I'm so sorry for the long delay on getting to this chapter! The holidays and work didn't leave me a lot of time or energy for writing but I'm back at it. I'd never desert you guys! :D So this one is set after 7x08 "Season 7: Time for a Wedding" and indulges my love of all things Poe. Shakespeare ensured that I write my poems in iambic pentameter but Poe ensured that those poems tend to be dark and a little twisted. Lol

Beta'd by the always awesome JaniceC678 :D– Friend and Muse's co-conspirator.

**Follow me on Facebook as "Disasteriffic Kaz" for frequent fic updates or just to chat!
~Reviews are Love~

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P is for Pendulum -

"Dean!" Sam shouted his brother's name hoarsely. He tipped his head back and yelled as fresh pain burned along his chest, and he could feel his heart beginning to try and pound out from behind his ribs. He struggled against the bindings holding him tight but there was no give in them even as he felt fresh blood oozing from the torn skin at his wrists. The sound started again, low, the rhythm steady, and he could feel it tapping against his crumbling sanity. "DEAN!"

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*Twelve hours earlier…*

Sam leaned back from the computer screen in front of him and rubbed his tired eyes. He turned his head slightly, expecting to see Lucifer, and let out a soft breath of relief when all he saw was the empty records room. He closed his eyes and scrubbed his hands over his face. They had barely started researching the case, but the sight of the last victim's body in the morgue had been enough to turn his stomach and make him twitch.

"Hey." Dean slapped his brother's shoulder as he stepped into the records room and didn't miss the slight flinch of Sam's shoulders as he did. "What's up?"

"Nothing." Sam waved a hand at the computer screen. "I haven't found anything that ties the victims together yet. At least, nothing obvious."

"Uh huh." Dean dropped into the chair beside him and scanned Sam with a critical eye. "You doin' alright? 'Cause you look a little twitchy."

Sam bristled at the question but he let the irritation go. Dean certainly had a reason to wonder about his mental health. He rolled his eyes and shrugged. "I'm fine. It's just… the whole gutted body thing. I can handle it."

Dean nodded. "Yeah. I know you can," he said firmly. "Trust me, man. I almost lost my own damn lunch there for a sec. And right in front of the hot intern. That would have been a disaster." As he'd hoped, his little brother snorted a laugh and some of the tension visibly eased from Sam's face.

"I just wish we knew how the victims were being eviscerated." Sam reached over and closed his research. He shut off the computer and stood, stretching. "I mean, what kind of creature slices someone's chest open so their hearts and lungs spill out?"

"We'll find it. Come on." Dean stood and gave Sam a nudge toward the door. "I'm friggin' starving, and we need to investigate the dude who owns that diner anyway."

Sam smirked. "You mean you want to investigate the pie case in the front window."

"Shuddup." Dean grinned and rubbed his hands together. "Nothin' says we can't do both."

Sam opened the doors and let Dean out ahead of him into the sunlight. "I'll bet half the town eats at that diner once a week. It may not even be a real connection." He sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "As much as I hate to say it, we need a live victim to talk to."

Dean nodded, his humor evaporating as he turned down the street toward the diner. "Gotta be a reason these poor suckers are just letting someone slowly cut them open an inch at a time. We'll figure it out."

"Before someone else dies?" Sam shook his head and waved a hand when Dean looked over at him. "Sorry. I know. Forget it." He ducked ahead across the parking lot and pulled open the door of the diner for his brother. The parking lot was fairly empty for which Sam was thankful. Crowds were harder for him these days with Lucifer riding shotgun. He looked around the cozily lit interior of the diner, noting the handful of patrons and snorted. The walls were covered in mounted catfish; a small army of them. And paintings of them swam across the dented, dingy bar that Dean walked up to. He smiled when his brother turned and eyed the massive display case of pies that covered the wall between the bar and the front window. "You're hopeless, dude."

"It's pie." Dean shrugged as though that explained everything and grinned. "Love me some pie."

"Can I help you gentlemen?"

Sam looked over and smiled at the older man who appeared behind the counter from the kitchen. "Yeah, we're hungry. Well, I'm hungry. He just wants to empty your pie case." He gestured to his brother and then pulled his fake FBI badge out of his pocket. "Also, we'd like to ask you some questions if that's alright. It's about an ongoing investigation."

"Whoa. Feds, huh? Cool." The man ran a hand back through his short black hair and waved both men to seats at the bar. "I'm Jim. I own this place. So what do you want to know?"

Dean grudgingly left the pie case and sat on a stool beside his brother. "First, a slice of apple and a slice of cherry." He smiled at the owner. "And then we need to know about some of your patrons."

"Former patrons." Sam took a folded collection of papers from his jacket pocket, opened them, and spread them on the countertop. "We're trying to trace the movements of our victims prior to their deaths, and quite a few ate here."

"Well, hell. Half the damn town eats here every week. That's nothing special." Jim shrugged. "Don't know that I can tell you much, but I'll try." He looked over at the other agent and smirked, seeing the man's eyes fixed on the pie display. "The blueberry's fresh. Just took it out of the oven an hour ago."

"Sold." Dean flashed Jim a blinding grin and got comfy on a stool.

"Let me get you boys something to eat and then I'll look through these." Jim waved a hand to the pictures Sam was spreading out and headed back to the kitchen.

"I think he knows something," Sam said softly once Jim had vanished.

"Spidey senses tinglin', Sammy?" Dean asked, only half in jest and quirked a brow.

Sam shook his head. "I don't know. Maybe." He stacked the photographs of the victims neatly and loosened his tie. "Most people either dive into the pictures or turn green and tell us to piss off, you know?" He shrugged a shoulder. "He's awful friendly and helpful to two strangers."

"Two strangers with badges who are also going to eat his food." Dean slapped Sam's shoulder. "Could be right though. We'll keep an eye on him."

Sam frowned but didn't say anything. He had the feeling that Dean was humoring him, and, really, it's not like he could blame his brother. Sam himself couldn't guarantee this wasn't another case of his personal 'crazy' spilling over into reality, the devil in his mind twisting his perceptions yet again. He closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to back off the ever-present headache.

"Hey."

Sam jumped when Dean's hand slapped into his shoulder. He rolled his eyes over and scowled. "What?"

Dean studied Sam's annoyed face for a moment and then nodded. "He's comin' back. You do the pictures; I'm gonna investigate the pie." He grinned as Sam couldn't help but chuckle at that.

Sam watched Jim come back with two plates in his hands. He smirked when the man set a thick slice of blueberry pie in front of his brother and then stared in surprise as Jim set the other plate in front of him and Sam saw it was piled with leafy greens, thin strips of chicken and surrounded by tomatoes. He looked up at the man and gaped. "How did you know I wanted a salad?"

Jim laughed and slapped a hand on to the counter. "Son, I been doin' this a long damn time. You learn to read your customers."

Dean moaned long and loud around a mouth of possibly the best blueberry pie he had ever eaten. "Oh my, God. I'm gonna live here."

Sam took a bite of his salad, almost cautiously, and his mouth watered at the light flavor of some sort of vinaigrette dressing. It was exactly what he would have ordered for himself. "Wow. You have a gift."

"It's been said." Jim shrugged and smiled happily. He sobered quickly as he looked down at the bar. "Now. Let me look at these." He pulled over the stack of photos Sam had laid on the counter and started going through them slowly, taking time to look at each one.

Sam ate his salad, savoring the flavors, and watched Jim's face while the man studied the pictures and the documents attached to each of them. He had nearly finished by the time Jim laid the last one down on the bar. "Well? Recognize any of them?"

Jim nodded sadly and met the man's suspicious, blue-green eyes. "Most of them. I know most of these faces. I've seen them in here a time or two, obviously. Most of them, I couldn't even tell you their names." He sighed for the sad truth of that. "Didn't even realize they were gone. Now, a few of them…" Jim took the top three pictures off the pile and set them aside. "These ones I do know… did know, anyway. Only one I knew was dead was Gena. She was a sweet little thing. I've had a few cops in here since she died, but they wouldn't tell me anything, wouldn't give me any details. Typical. Maybe you boys will, huh?" He looked between the two men earnestly. "Just tell me how she died. Was it quick? 'Cause that little lady sure didn't deserve any suffering."

Sam bit his bottom lip and flicked a glance at his brother. Dean gave him the barest shake of his head and Sam sighed as he looked back at Jim. "I'm sorry. We really can't give out details of the cases like that." He looked back down at his empty plate and pushed it away. "I can tell you, it… it wasn't fast. I'm sorry."

Dean watched Jim's face fall and finished off his pie. "What can you tell us about her? Or the other two. Do you remember anything strange happening to them before they died? Any new people in town that might have taken an interest in them?"

"No one I can think of." Jim tapped his fingers on the pictures and tried to think back. "It's a small town, you know? Everyone kind of knows everyone and knows everybody's business. I don't remember seeing anyone new around, aside from the usual people passing through. No one who stuck around anyway." He sighed. "I'm sorry I can't be of more help."

"How about anything they might have had in common?" Sam tapped the pictures Jim had set aside. "Did they all visit the same place or person? Do anything different? Have the same hobby?"

Jim opened his mouth to say no and then frowned. "Huh. You know…" He looked up and met Sam's gaze. "Come to think of it, I'm pretty sure they all went to the college last week. The little one next town over. There was a literary festival or something." He gave a sad smile and tapped a woman's picture. "She was a big reader. Him too," he said and tapped another face. That's all I can think of really."

"Thank you." Sam gathered up the pictures and files and then took out his wallet. "How much do we owe you?"

Jim waved Sam off. "Forget it. You boys figure out what happened to all these people and we'll call it even."

"The federal government thanks you." Dean smiled and stood, patting his belly. "And so does my stomach. I'm gonna be back for more pie."

Jim chuckled and shook the man's hand. "I'll keep it warm."

"Come on." Dean gave Sam a nudge toward the door and waited until they were several yards away on the sidewalk before he spoke. "So?"

"I still think there's something weird about him." Sam shrugged and glanced back at the restaurant over his shoulder. "But I don't think he's a bad guy."

Dean nodded in agreement. "Yeah, something's hinkey there, but we'll figure it out later. Let's go over to that college, see what we can find."

"It's a dinky little arts college." Sam smirked over at Dean. "Nothing but nerds as far as the eye can see."

"So, you'll feel right at home." Dean chuckled at the roll of Sam's eyes. "How dinky?"

"Less than a thousand students from what I read online when I was researching the area. It's very exclusive." Sam tucked the pictures back into his jacket as the wind picked up and plucked at them.

"What the hell kind of trouble could all these people have found at a damn book geek convention?"

"Literary festival, Dean." Sam rolled his eyes. "Some people actually enjoying cracking a book for more than just research."

Dean chuckled as they reached the car. "Don't I buy you books for Christmas every year? I know that."

Sam outright laughed as he slid into the passenger seat beside his brother. "Skin mags do not count, jerk."

"Quality articles in those things, Sammy." Dean grinned, unrepentant and pulled out onto the street with a cheerful smile for the fact that, at least for now, Sam was his normal little brother again, easy to get a rise out of.

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Dean leaned against a pillar outside the college offices and watched the small student body as they dashed through the hall to classes and tests and some who dropped into deep chairs on the other side of the hall with a gaggle of friends and laughed. He snorted a laugh and shook his head, finding it hard to remember that Sam had once been one of them, albeit in a much larger college. It seemed like a lifetime ago that his brother had been that… innocent. He shook his head again a bit wistfully. Even after all these years, part of him still wished things could have been different for the kid. He straightened as he saw Sam coming down the wide stairs opposite him and waved him down. "So? Anything? 'Cause no one's home in the offices."

Sam nodded and brushed his hair out of his face. "Yeah. I found the literary club upstairs." He rolled his eyes and raised a hand toward Dean as a grin spread over his face. "Don't say it. They said the festival is over, but some of the exhibit is still here in Halliwell Hall on the other side of campus." He started for the doors before Dean could snicker. "The girl I talked to said they use the building mostly for storage. There isn't much of a student body."

"Some of the student body ain't bad," Dean said with an appreciative smile as a trio of coeds went past them, eyeing them over their shoulders and giggling.

Sam looked over at his big brother and quirked a brow. "You're probably old enough to be their dad." He grinned when Dean groaned and threw him a dirty look. "Still want to flirt with them?"

"Shuddup, Sammy." Dean slapped the back of Sam's shoulder and followed him outside. He tugged his jacket closed when the wind whipped into his face. "How does this place even function with no students?"

"They have students." Sam led them across the quad and up the steps to Halliwell Hall. "The college is almost exclusively funded by the parents."

Dean chuckled and moved to block his brother from view as Sam pulled out his lock picks to open the door. "Richie Rich and his pals' private playground, basically."

"More or less, yeah." Sam easily picked the lock and pushed the door open. He tapped the back of his brother's shoulder and slipped inside. "Come on."

"Do we know where we're going in here?" Dean asked as they moved down the long hall, their footsteps echoing in the silence.

"Think so, yeah." Sam listened for any sign that they weren't alone in the building but heard nothing apart from themselves. "Should be down here on the left, if the guy I talked to was right." He shook his head as they passed each closed door. "It seems weird for a building on a college campus to be this empty. Maybe whatever's killing people is affecting anyone near it too. Like it makes people not want to be near it."

"Gotta be a cursed object." Dean listened to the silence around them, paid attention to the way the building felt as they moved. "You know, I do kinda feel like I'd rather be somewhere else." He smirked when Sam looked back at him. "Somewhere with pie."

Sam rolled his eyes and stopped at a door with a handwritten sign duct taped over a small, frosted window that said 'storage'. "This should be it." He turned the handle and his brows rose, finding it unlocked. "Huh." The room was dark, but he could tell from the sound of his footsteps that it was big. He stretched a hand out to the wall on the left of the door and found a bank of light switches, flicking them on. Halogen lights flickered to life above them, moving steadily away to reveal a cavernous room, more like a small warehouse, and filled with packed, eight-foot shelves and boxes stacked everywhere, cluttering the aisles. "This is going to take a while."

"Awesome," Dean groaned. "We don't even know what we're looking for."

"Well, it was a literary exhibit so… books. Book related things." Sam shrugged. "I'll probably know it when I see it." He headed off to the left and waved a hand. "Start over there."

Dean rolled his eyes and scrubbed his hands through his hair. "Great." He took out the EMF meter in his pocket and turned it on as he searched down the first aisle. "I hate this job." He ran his fingers over the spines of rows of books and ducked to check the labels of the boxes along the bottom. "This is gonna take forever."

"Stop whining and it'll go faster!"

Dean jerked up with a growl as Sam's voice carried through the room. "Don't make me kick your ass, little brother!" He rolled his eyes hearing Sam's chuckle and shook his head, though he smiled fondly. It felt nice, normal even, to be on a case with his brother heckling him. And for too long, Dean had been afraid he'd lost that forever. He moved on to the next aisle and chuckled. "Hey, Sammy! I found Winnie the Pooh!" Dean picked up the stuffed animal with a grin, remembering a little brother who had once never slept without the honey-addicted bear. "Wanna trade?" He set the stuffed animal back on the shelf and then frowned when there was no annoyed response. "Sam?" He heard things tumbling to the floor and a bad feeling swept over him.

"Sam!" Dean yelled and ran to the end of the aisle. He slid out, catching a hand on the side of the shelf to turn and ran, slowing only to look down each aisle for his brother. "Sam?" Dean found him kneeling in the middle of the second to last aisle amid a pile of books and several boxes. "Hey, dammit. You answer when I call. What the hell, dude?"

Dean walked to him and looked down. Sam's eyes were closed, his arms lax at his sides, and he showed no sign of being aware of Dean's presence. "Sammy?" His bad feeling grew as he dropped down beside him and put a hand on Sam's shoulders, giving him a shake. "You're startin' to freak me out here. Sam!" Dean gasped as Sam crumpled into him and wrapped his arms around his brother to keep him sitting, supported against his chest. "Hey, hey, hey. Come on. Talk to me." He slid a hand behind Sam's head to support him and looked down at his face. "What the hell did you touch?" Dean asked suddenly and looked down at the books scattered around them, then up at the shelves, but he had no idea what could have caused such a reaction.

"Sammy." Dean gave his brother another shake and tried not to panic. He was breathing and Dean could feel Sam's heart beating under his hand on his brother's neck. Sam's heart was pounding; that much Dean could tell. He felt a tremor pass through his brother and watched as Sam's eyebrows drew together in a frown. He was disturbingly reminded of the seizures Sam had used to have before his wall had been destroyed, how helpless he had been. It was no easier to deal with now. "Come on, Sam. Dammit. Wake up and tell me what the hell's goin' on with you." He held on a little tighter when Sam jerked in his arms suddenly. "That's it. Come on. Come back." He rubbed a hand vigorously up and down his brother's arm and grinned when Sam's eyes flew open. "Hey, hey! Take it easy! I got you," he soothed as Sam gasped.

Sam wrapped his hands around Dean's arm across his chest and took a moment to just breathe. "Shit. Shit," he panted softly and tried to will away the fear that still gripped him. He held his hands up then and looked, needing to be sure.

"Sammy?" Dean watched his brother study his hands and frowned. "You ok? What happened?"

"Tied down. I was… I was tied down. Couldn't move." Sam closed his eyes and shook his head. He could feel his entire body shaking.

"Dude, you've been right here the whole time." Dean assured him. "No one tied you down."

"No. No. It…" Sam's voice trailed off, and he felt another wave of terror, no longer sure what was real and what wasn't. "No ropes?"

"No ropes." Dean eased Sam up and when he was sure his brother could support himself, Dean stood. "Come on. Hey." He took Sam's arm and waited until Sam gave him a nod before he pulled him to his feet. Dean steadied him when he swayed. "What happened?"

Sam looked down at his body and then over at Dean. "I, uh… I don't know." He shook his head. "I was here and then I was… somewhere else. I think. I don't…"

"Did you touch something?" Dean asked and waved a hand at the books on the floor around them. "A book? A box? What?"

"I, uh… I don't know."

Dean scowled, and just as he was about to release Sam, now that he was steadier on his feet, he realized his fingers were warm and wet against his brother's wrist. "What the hell?" He pulled Sam's arm up and shoved the sleeve of his jacket back. Dean's eyes went wide. "Sammy."

Sam looked down at his wrist and sucked in a shocked breath. The skin was worried and torn, bloody, and he knew those marks came from struggling against rope bonds. He'd been in that position too many times in his life; they both had. "Oh, my God."

Dean grabbed Sam's other hand and found the same damage. "But you weren't tied up," he whispered angrily, confused and trying to reconcile how Sam's wrists could have possibly been damaged. He glanced up at Sam and saw a tightening around his brother's eyes that he was beginning to become all too familiar with. "Hey." Dean purposefully pressed his fingers into the bloody wounds on Sam's wrists to cause him pain and gave a wan smile as Sam's eyes jerked to his from whatever he'd been staring at. "You're good, dude. I mean, this is some freaky shit and we're gonna figure it out, but you're not losin' it, alright? Sam?"

Sam took a deep, steadying breath and nodded. "Yeah. Yeah. I'm good." He shook himself and pulled his arms back from Dean, then looked at the shelves around him. "We need to find out what it is. It's here." He gestured to the books and boxes on the shelves. "Most of this, uh, Edgar Allen Poe. Books, some artifacts." Sam looked more carefully and gently nudged a heavy, leather volume on the floor. "My money's on that."

Dean knelt and looked, being careful not to touch it. He frowned. "The Pit and the Pendulum? Why?" he asked as he took a handkerchief from his pocket and carefully folded it around the book so he could safely pick it up.

Sam let a breath shudder out of him as Dean stood. "There was a… wherever I was, I saw a… a pendulum. Above me. It…" Sam swallowed hard and met Dean's eyes. "Think I know what cut all the victims open." He held up his hands. "And why they couldn't save themselves."

"A pendulum?"

Sam nodded. "Big, swinging blade." He shivered and scrubbed a hand over his face. "I was tied down to… to something, a table, I don't know. I couldn't move, couldn't see anything but that thing above me."

Dean lunged forward suddenly with fear closing his throat, letting the heavy book thump to the floor forgotten, and jerked his brother's shirts up. "How bad? Did it cut you?" In his head were the images of the victims, their chests sliced open and their insides grotesquely on display.

"Hey! Knock it off." Sam slapped his brother's hands away and pulled his shirts back down. "I'm not hurt. It was above me. It didn't touch me."

"Yet," Dean finished darkly and allowed Sam to straighten his clothes while Dean tried to control his own fear. He bent down and carefully retrieved the book. "Alright, come on. Let's go see what we can dig up on this thing."

"We should call Bobby." Sam rubbed at his wrists as they quickly left the store room. He turned for a last look over his shoulder and shivered, seeing Lucifer there, leaning against the wall and smirking at him. Sam resolutely turned his head away and followed his brother.

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Sam leaned against the wall of the motel and looked out, watching the lights of passing cars. He shivered a little in the chill night air, but he wasn't ready to go back inside the room just yet. He'd had to make a hasty exit when he simply couldn't stand the sensation of warm blood dripping on him like rain anymore, or stand to listen to the macabre rainfall that had slowly covered the entire motel room in red and all the softly hummed soundtrack of 'Singing in the Rain' courtesy of the Devil stretched out on his bed and grinning. Dean had given him a look but let him go without a word.

"Dammit," Sam muttered. He scrubbed his hands over his face roughly and leaned his head back, closing his eyes. He listened to the sounds of a normal world around him and tried to let them settle his nerves. He couldn't afford to be distracted. He startled badly when the door beside him creaked open and turned wide eyes to find his brother leaning out.

"Hey. Get in here. Bobby found something." Dean watched Sam visibly settle himself and bit his tongue as his brother slipped into the room behind him. He frowned when Sam stopped in front of him. "Dude, you gonna take a nap there?"

Sam shook himself into motion. "No, uh… sorry." The room was thankfully free of raining blood at last and even Lucifer seemed to have moved on, at least for the moment. "What did Bobby fi-"

Sam gasped as the world went black around him. He threw his arms out with the sensation of falling and grunted when he felt something hard slam into his back. The impact dazed him, and when he could think again, he felt ropes binding him tightly as they had before. He opened his mouth to yell for his brother, and the world snapped back into focus with a flash of light. He shook his head in denial. He was once more tied down to something hard; ropes crisscrossed his body and wrapped his arms and legs tightly leaving him no room for movement.

Against his will, his eyes rose up above him to find the massive, glinting steel of the pendulum. "No," Sam whispered. He struggled when it began to move, beginning its slow swing through the air. He jumped in his bonds when it visibly dropped lower. "No! Dean!" He threw himself against the ropes, trying to twist free, to loosen them enough, but there was no give. He could almost feel them growing tighter as he struggled. They bit in to his flesh painfully as he threw his head back, eyes closed in distress and fought. His arms came free in a rush, and Sam's fists swung up through the air.

"Hey! Hey! Hey!" Dean caught his brother's fists before they could slam into his face and wrapped his arms around him. "Sammy! Stop! You're good, dude! Hey!"

Sam gasped in a breath and opened his eyes to find himself sitting on the motel room floor with Dean holding him. "Dean?" He stared around the motel room, letting it sink in that he was there and safe while his breaths punched in and out of his chest.

"Yeah. Shit." Dean loosened his hold on his brother and frowned when he felt something warm and wet on the front of his brother's shirt. "What the hell?" He leaned Sam back and tugged up the front of his t-shirt. His eyes went wide and he heard Sam's panicked breathing hitch to a sudden stop. "These look like…"

"Rope burns," Sam whispered. He stared at the marks the crisscrossed his chest and could feel similar burns on his arms and shoulders.

"Ok. Alright. Just… come on." Dean was fighting to remain calm and got to his feet. He helped Sam up and sat him in the chair next to the table. "Get your shirts off so I can see the damage."

Sam nodded silently and convinced his trembling hands to pull his shirts off over his head. The sight of raw rope burns climbing his arms did nothing to help his calm, and he couldn't stop the flinch when Dean's hand landed briefly on his shoulder. "Shit."

Dean set the first aid kit on the table and then sat down, taking a good long look. Anger burned through him for whatever or whoever was putting his little brother through this. It didn't take an idiot to see that Sam was having trouble reconciling what was happening to him with the crazy in his mind. He shook his head. "Same thing again?"

"Yeah." Sam watched Dean soak a washcloth in alcohol and took it from him. "I can do this."

Dean wet a second washcloth, ignoring Sam's scowl, and helped him clean the various rope burns. "Big swinging blade of doom over your head again?" Sam's flinch was answer enough for him.

"What did Bobby find?" Sam asked, in a bid to distract himself from the cleaning process.

"Says we need to take a closer look at that damn book." Dean took his brother's right arm and grimaced, swiping the rag as gently as he could over the bleeding abrasions and inwardly seething with anger that he couldn't protect Sam from this. "He's figuring cursed object, but he didn't rule out haunted. Apparently, that book has a history, if it's the one he thinks it is."

"Which… crap." Sam hissed and resisted the urge to yank his arm away from his brother's well-meaning torture. "Which does he think it is?"

Dean glanced up at Sam and quirked a brow. "He said check the lithium."

Sam was surprised into a snort of laughter and rolled his eyes. "You mean the lithographs?"

"Whatever."

"The pictures in the book, Dean." Sam smiled fondly and tossed his bloodied rag to the table.

Dean smirked and nodded. He'd hoped his comment would finish the job of pulling Sam back from the fear and was happy it had worked, if a little smug, though he tried to hide that. He sat back finally and sighed. "That's as good as this is gonna get." He slapped his brother's hands when he reached for the book on the table, still wrapped in the handkerchief. "Put gloves on, dammit."

"Right, Sorry." Sam shook his head at himself and decided to put a shirt on first as he rose from the table. "Did Bobby say why the lithographs are important?"

Dean tossed the first aid kit back together and watched Sam tug on a t-shirt. He pushed down the knee-jerk kick of anger that came with seeing his little brother hurt. "He said if the pictures in the book are authentic, they could be haunted by the artist who painted them. Bobby said the guy was some whack job who used his own blood in the ink."

"Ok, that's disturbing." Sam picked up the latex gloves his brother had discarded on the table and pulled them on before he pulled the book over and opened the cover. "We could try a cleansing ritual." He turned the pages with gentle fingers and a small smile, feeling the age of the paper even through the thin layer of latex. He could smell it too, that musty smell of old pulp that permeated the air of every used bookstore he'd ever loved.

Dean chuckled at the look on his little brother's face. "Dude. You are such a nerd."

"Bibliophile, jerk." Sam gave him a smile. He slid his fingers into the pages and opened the book randomly near the middle. He pulled the book closer to him and felt his heart race. The image was a black and white vision of a man bound to a table, the terror evident on his face even in the drawing, and a massive, deadly pendulum just above his chest.

"Sam."

Sam startled when Dean's hand landed on his shoulder. He leaned back and tore his eyes away from the image. He cleared his throat, not looking at the concern on his brother's face. "What were the odds, huh? First page I open it to."

"Yeah." Dean caught the edge of the cloth beneath the book and used it to pull it closer to him. The look on his brother's face had been fear and it frightened him too. "This what you're seeing?"

Sam nodded. "Yeah, I… yeah. That's it." Even with the gloves on he was wary of touching the image. He turned instead and pulled Dean's jacket over, taking his brother's homemade EMF meter out of the pocket. He turned it on and held it over the book. The needle twitched and then rose steadily into the red as the sensor whined. He turned it back off and set it aside. "So, haunted."

"Looks like." Dean shook his head. "We could just salt and burn the thing."

Sam stared at his brother in shock. "Dude! This book is an antique! You can't just… just burn it!"

Dean snorted. "Cool your jets, Fahrenheit 451. It's just a suggestion."

"It's…" Sam's ire faded into amusement and he quirked a brow at Dean. "You made a literary reference."

"So? I read."

Sam's smile grew as his brother stood and headed into the bathroom. "Bradbury."

Dean rolled his eyes and stopped in the bathroom door. "Mom. She uh… she used to read them to me." He laughed softly, and there was sadness in it. "Dad always fell asleep."

Sam was surprised, watching the bathroom door close, and stared. It stunned him that even now, all these years later, he could learn things about his own mother. He felt the familiar melancholy at never having had the chance to grow up with her and the sadness for his older brother who had lost her even more. He looked back down at the stark image of the pendulum and shuddered. "This is screwed up," he muttered. "Even for us." His eyes caught on the bandages wrapping his wrists and it took all his willpower not to tear them off. He could suddenly feel the restriction of the bandages as though they were the ropes restraining him again. Worse, for a moment, all he could see was the room Becky had confined him in, the sensation of being tied down to that bed, gagged, and helpless while waiting for her to drug him just a few weeks earlier.

"Sam?" Dean asked as he emerged from the bathroom to find his brother hunched over himself and gasping for air as though he'd been running. He grabbed Sam's shoulder, worried that he was slipping back into wherever the damn pendulum was. "Hey!" He was surprised when Sam jerked as if struck, and Dean scowled as Sam pulled away from him and stumbled out of the chair. "Whoa! Hey! Take it easy. It's me, Sammy. Just me. What's goin' on?"

Sam's back banged into the wall and he closed his eyes, trying to steady himself. He heard Dean moving closer and flinched. "Just… gimme a second."

Dean watched Sam slowly pull himself back together. It was fear on his brother's face, and somehow Dean knew that this time it wasn't the book causing it, or not only the book. "Talk to me, Sammy." He moved closer once Sam's eyes found him again. Dean kept his movements slow, understanding that whatever was wrong, Sam was jumpy. "You're gonna make that worse," he said calmly and reached out to brush his fingers over the bandage around Sam's left wrist that his brother was even then scratching at absently. "Come on. Stop. Let me look, alright? Sit down."

"Crap." Sam stopped pulling at the bandage on his wrist. He hadn't even been aware that he was doing it, and went back to his chair on shaky legs. He scrubbed his hands over his face, disgusted with himself. "Sorry."

"For what?" Dean grabbed his brother's left hand before Sam could shy away and straightened the bandage as gently as he could. "What the hell was that?"

Sam shook his head. "Nothing. It was nothing."

"I call bullshit." Dean released Sam's hand and looked at him. "Talk to me."

"It's… it was the ropes." Sam rolled his eyes at himself. "It just… I couldn't move and it was too much like…"

"Like what?" Dean asked when his brother faltered and turned his head away.

"Becky."

"Shit." Dean sighed and he understood. He wasn't sure he would ever forget hearing about that incident, his little brother tied down to a crazy fangirl's bed. At the time, he had teased him. Now… Dean kicked himself for giving Sam grief about something that could have gone very differently if Becky had been just a little more unhinged. "Should'a shot that crazy train when I had the chance."

"Dean. You can't kill her."

"I said shoot, not kill." Dean gave Sam a grin. "Kneecap. Totally survivable."

Sam chuckled, feeling more of the stress bleed away in the face of Dean's typical outrageous sense of justice. "You're ridiculous."

"It'd make me feel better." Dean turned and used the cloth beneath the book to flip it closed. "See if you can find a cleansing ritual that'll work for this thing, since you won't let me torch it." He figured putting Sam's attention on research would do a good job of distracting him. "We need to fix this, 'cause there is no way I'm just gonna watch while you get your chest cracked open. I'll burn it first. Understood?"

Sam nodded. "Yeah. Research fast. Got it." He smiled and pulled his laptop over.

Dean reached out to pick up the book when his phone rang. He frowned and answered it, then frowned harder hearing one of the sheriff's deputies. He looked up to see Sam shrug his shoulders, a silent request for information. "Uh-huh. Yeah. I can be there in ten. Don't let him go anywhere." Dean tucked his phone back into his pocket and sighed. "Looks like this thing…" he thumped a fist into the covered book. "…has more than one victim on the hook. According to the deputy, there's a guy holed up in the back of a convenience store screaming about ropes and blades, and he's bleeding. From his chest."

"Shit."

"Yeah." Dean ran a hand over his face and back through his hair. "I'm gonna go grab him. You find a damn cleansing ritual. And don't touch the thing again."

"I should come with you." Sam rose and wasn't surprised when Dean's hand shoved him back into the chair.

"No way. That thing yanks you back into nightmare land again while we're out there, the cops are gonna think you're crazy, or in on it." Dean shook his head. "Stay here. Try not to get sliced up before I get back."

Sam watched his brother's cocky smirk and knew it was meant to hide his fear and help alleviate Sam's own. "I'll be fine."

Dean looked at his brother for another moment before he grabbed his jacket and reluctantly left him alone. It made him itch with every step he took away from Sam, but he gritted his teeth, climbed into the beat-up Dodge they were driving that week and went to do the job. It killed him that he couldn't protect Sam from the crazy in his head, let alone from some possessed damn book intent on slicing him in two. "Dammit," Dean growled and slapped a hand into the steering wheel. He blew out a breath as he drove and worked to get his emotions under control.

The drive to the convenience store took barely ten minutes and Dean wasn't surprised to find it surrounded by police cars and flashing lights. It was going to make his job more difficult if he couldn't convince the locals to let him take the guy out. He parked away from the cruisers and took a moment as he got out to scan the area. Five officers stood just outside the convenience store with what looked like the clerk, and, thankfully, the tension level seemed to be fairly low. That would make it easier.

Dean walked over and smiled at the group. "Officers. Where's the victim?"

"Victim?" A tall, balding officer snorted a derisive laugh. "The nutbar is still in there and who the hell are you? Get back behind the cars."

"Agent Coulson." Dean pulled out his fake badge and flashed it, enjoying the looks of surprise on all their faces. "Your lieutenant around?" He leaned forward. "Officer Vetters."

"Inside." Officer Vetters hooked a thumb over his shoulder. "Heard the feds were sniffin' around."

"You know what they say about us. Big noses…" Dean grinned and walked through the group to the door. "I'd appreciate it if you all could take off. I don't think I'm gonna need you for this. Thanks." Cops with attitude got on his nerves. He stepped inside the store and instantly heard a woman's voice talking calmly.

"Peter. I need you to come out now, alright? No one's going to hurt you."

"Lieutenant?" Dean followed her voice to the back of the store and found Lieutenant Roma standing beside an open door. He smiled at her long, black hair and brown eyes as he had every time he'd seen her. She was an attractive woman for a cop.

"Agent Coulson." Lieutenant Roma gave him a relieved smile. "He's still in there and refusing to come out. Frankly, I'm about to grab a couple of my guys and just overpower him and get him to the nearest hospital. He obviously needs to be restrained." She smirked. "And maybe some medication."

"I'll handle it." Dean smiled again and waved to the front door. "It'd make my job a lot easier if you and the rest of the officers could leave. He'll come out sooner if he knows he's not going to get pounced."

Roma shook her head. "Agent, he could be dangerous. I'm not leaving you alone with him."

"He's not dangerous." Dean assured her. "He's just scared. Let me do my job. Please." He watched her weigh the options and saw the moment she decided to let him have what he wanted.

"I'll let the rest of my officers go, but I'm staying." Roma gave him a firm look.

"Then wait outside." Dean moved to take her spot at the door. "I mean it. I don't wanna lose this guy because all the uniforms freaked him out."

Roma rolled her eyes but she stepped away. "Fine." She watched the agent, Dean, as his eyes flicked to the door and shook her head. "You're not going to let me arrest him, are you?"

"For what?" Dean smirked and shrugged. "Having a harmless freak out in a storeroom? Nope. I got this. Go on." He watched her leave, waiting until he heard the jingle of the doorbell, and then cautiously stepped through the door. "Hey, Pete. How's it goin'?"

Peter was on his butt at the back of the storeroom with his back against the wall. His hands covered his face, spattered with blood, and Dean could see more spatters of red on the dingy, white tile around him. "Hey. I'm here to help you, buddy." Dean moved closer and knelt a few feet away so he could get a better look at him. "Peter." He watched as the young man slowly lowered his hands and Dean could clearly see the blood and torn flesh of rope burns peeking out from beneath the cuffs of the man's jacket sleeves. "Hey."

"It won't stop." Peter breathed. Horror was in his voice and in his eyes. "Make it stop."

"We're gonna try, alright? But you gotta pull it together long enough to come with me." Dean gave him a small smile. "Can you do that?"

"It's the noise." Peter lowered his arms and let his knees fall. "The sound of it… back and forth. Back and forth. Please." He looked at Dean desperately. "Make it stop. Make it st… stop."

"Peter?" Dean lunged forward when he saw the man's eyes roll back the same way his brother's had. "No. No!" He caught one of Peter's arms as it dropped and pulled the man's jacket apart. The white t-shirt beneath was soaked in blood. Dean pulled it up and his jaw fell open as he watched the already deep slice across Peter's chest become wider and deeper. He could hear the flesh and muscle parting, and he grimaced in disgust when the sound of crunching bone echoed in the room. "Shit!" Dean took Peter's shoulders and shook him, hard, then slapped a hand over the open wound in his chest as though he could somehow stop it.

"Come on! Snap out of it!" Dean pulled Peter's shirt up again as blood began to pour from the side of the man's mouth and could only stare. The mystical wound sliced again beneath his palms. Dean jerked his hands away, revealing Peter's still beating heart as something unseen sliced through the center of it crosswise. Peter snapped back to himself in that moment. His scream filled Dean's ears as he held on to the terrified man. He could do nothing but watch the light fade from Peter's horrified eyes.

Dean released him and stumbled back to sit on the floor. He stared at the bloody mess of the man. "Jesus." He brought a hand up to cover his mouth and stopped, seeing his fingers coated in blood. Dean swallowed hard around a lump of nausea and got shakily to his feet. "Shit. Shit." He backed away from Peter and back out into the store.

"Agent Coulson?" Lieutenant Roma's voice carried to him. "I heard a scream. Is everything alright?"

"No." Dean left the dead man behind and headed for the door. He wasn't surprised to see her standing there inside, in spite of what he'd asked. "He's, uh… he's dead."

"What?"

"Roma." Dean caught her arm before she could walk past him and shook his head. "He's like the others."

"How?" She demanded. "You were with him. How?"

Dean shook his head again. "I don't know, alright?" He couldn't very well tell her the truth. He saw a towel on the counter beside the register and grabbed it, using it to wipe Peter's blood from his hands. "Who was he anyway?"

Roma stared hard at him, glancing toward the storeroom, and then back. "Another college kid. You're sure?"

"Yeah, I'm sure. You'll see." Dean tossed the blood-smeared towel back to the sink. "I have to go. My partner will want to know."

"I don't like this," Roma told him angrily. "How does that guy just die in front of you and you don't know how?"

Dean shook his head. "I didn't see. I was comin' to get you, and then he screamed. I'll be in touch." He left before she could stop him again and was relieved to see all but one of the police cruisers outside had gone. It made for fewer questions. He went to his car before the lieutenant could chase after him. He took out his phone while he pulled away from the convenience store and dialed his brother. He listened to the phone ring, and every second that Sam didn't answer drove a wedge of fear into Dean's stomach. He could still see Peter's beating heart being sliced in two. "Dammit, Sam. Answer the phone!"

The Charger surged forward down the road as Dean pressed on the gas. It seemed to take even longer to reach the motel than it had when he'd left, and he squealed the car into the parking spot outside the room and threw himself out of the car. He fumbled the key in the lock once and threw the door open, slamming it behind him.

"Sam!" Dean shouted when he didn't see his brother at the table or in his bed. The bathroom door was closed and he went to it. He banged his fist on the door. "Sammy?" The sound of water running in the shower filtered through the thin wood, but there was still no answer. "Dude, you don't answer me in the next five seconds, I'm comin' in!"

Dean rested his forehead on the door, waiting. "Dammit. Alright, hope you got your pants on!" He turned the knob, opening the door. It swung into the bathroom and then stopped suddenly. Dean squeezed in and found his little brother lying on the tile floor. The shower was running, and he could tell from the lack of steam that the water had long gone cold. And Sam lay shirtless, in only his jeans and socked feet, on his back on the floor.

"No. No. No. Sam, don't you do this." Dean dropped to his knees beside him. Fresh rope burns began to bleed across his chest and arms as Dean watched, and worse, a long shallow slice opened horizontally, crossing his brother's sternum. Dean slapped his hands over it, fingers sliding through the warm, fresh welling of blood as if he could stop it from happening. "Sam. Sam!" Sam's eyes were open but vacant, nearly rolled back in his head. Dean could feel the panicked thud of Sam's heart beneath his hands and feel his chest hitching for air from whatever was happening to him in his mind.

"Come on, Sammy." Dean leaned over for a better look at his face. He palmed Sam's jaw and picked his head up, ignoring the red smears he left on his brother's skin. "Sammy, please." He flinched, feeling the flesh beneath his left palm part further as the phantom blade swung lower, apparently affecting only its specific victim, not the hands held protectively over the wound. "Dammit, come on!"

As if in answer to his plea, Sam blinked and then sucked in a loud, wheezing breath as he lurched up into his brother. "That's it. That's it. Hey. Hey. I got you." Dean wrapped an arm behind his brother's back and held him. Sam's hands latched on to his jacket; his forehead thumped into Dean's shoulder and his gasping breaths filled the small room over the sound of the shower. "I got you."

"Dean," Sam gasped into his brother's shoulder. "Shit. Shit."

"Yeah, I know. Just breathe, Sam. You're alright."

Sam shook his head. "No. M'not." He shuddered and could feel the blood dripping down his chest and abdomen from the new wound. "S'gonna kill me."

Dean jerked and pulled Sam back. He dragged his brother's head up with a hand around his jaw and glared at him when Sam's eyes found his. "Like hell it is. You hear me? Not gonna happen, Sam. Not on my watch. We're gonna get up and we're gonna go out there and fix this." He looked down and grimaced. "First, we're gonna clean up all this blood. You look like a reject from an Elm Street movie, dude. Come on."

Sam looked down at himself while Dean stood and pulled and forced him to his feet. He brought a hand up, shaking fingers tracing the edge of the cut across his chest. "It's… if I…" He shook his head and looked at Dean. "I won't survive the next time. You know it."

Dean gritted his teeth together but said nothing. He knew Sam was right, especially after watching Peter die in that convenience store. "Sit down." He gave his brother a nudge to sit on the closed toilet lid and grabbed a washcloth from the counter, wetting it before he knelt in front of him. "Lean back a little." He reached into the tub to turn off the shower and then bent to his task.

Sam was sinking in quiet horror. Lucifer lurked over his brother's shoulder. He could see the devil just outside the bathroom door, hand over his mouth, failing to hide a gleeful smile and eyes crinkled in malevolent humor. He dropped his eyes back to Dean, his stone number one. He curled the fingers of his left hand into his palm and dug his nails in as hard as he could in an effort to not let Dean know how tenuous his grasp on reality was just then. "It's bad."

"You've had worse," Dean said easily. "We both have." He wiped blood from the long gash as gently as he could but still saw Sam's chest flinch in reaction. "Sorry."

"No. It's good." Sam eased out a long breath of relief as the flickers of pain from Dean's ministrations served to drive the devil out of his sight, at least for the moment.

Dean watched Sam's face closely for a moment and saw everything the stubborn ass was trying to hide. He rolled his eyes and pressed the washcloth harder into the wound. Sam hissed in reaction and Dean eased up. "Better?"

Sam jerked his eyes back to Dean's in surprise and then smiled even as he felt like an idiot. "Yeah. It's… yeah. Thanks.

"Don't mention it." Dean finished cleaning the wound and stood. "Better yet, do mention it the next time the devil's riding shotgun. You don't need to deal with that alone. You know that."

"I know. I do." Sam stood on shaky legs. "But I can handle it."

Dean groaned softly in frustration as Sam went past him out into the room. "Right. Cause' one of us sayin' that bullshit line has never gone wrong," he muttered and followed him out.

"I called Bobby." Sam pulled a bandage out of the first aid kit still on the table and sighed, realizing it was nowhere near big enough. "He didn't answer. I left a message."

"Gimme that." Dean plucked the bandage from his brother's hand and tossed it to the table. He pulled a rolled bandage instead. "Arms up. How long ago you call him?"

"Right after you left. I found a cleansing ritual that might work."

"Well, what are we waiting for?" Dean tucked the end of the bandage in after wrapping it around Sam's chest and stared at him. "We get lucky, it works, and problem solved!"

Sam shook his head and sat, turning the laptop toward his brother. "If it doesn't work, the ritual could have side effects."

"What kind of side effects?" Dean hooked a chair over with his foot and sat to look at the open page on the screen.

"The spirit haunting the book, if it is a spirit, could be released." Sam looked down at his bandaged chest grimly. "Unless you know where his body's buried, we'd be screwed."

"Well, shit." Dean read through the ritual.

"I need to talk to Bobby." Sam ran a hand through his hair in frustration. "He might have a better idea." He rested a hand softly over the ache in his chest. "I don't want to die like this."

"You're not." Dean took out his own phone and dialed Bobby. The longer they waited, the better the chance Sam would get sucked back in, and he couldn't let that happen.

"Dean?" Sam caught hold of his brother's right wrist and pulled his hand up. "Why is there blood on the cuffs of your sleeves?"

Dean swallowed and lowered the phone. "Peter. The guy at the convenience store. He, uh… he didn't make it."

Sam let go of Dean's hand and sat back with a thump. He sucked in a breath and stood, feeling the need to do something, anything, until they could get a hold of Bobby and get some answers.

"I'm not gonna lie. It was bad." Dean watched Sam's shoulders hunch as he turned away and couldn't help but look at the rope burns covering his brother's arms, some still slowly seeping blood. "But that's not gonna happen to you."

Sam snorted a miserable laugh. "Pretty sure 'because you said so' isn't going to save me."

"Like hell. You watch me." Dean smiled when Sam turned to look at him with a raised brow. He dialed Bobby again and put the phone to his ear while Sam paced over to the window and leaned dejectedly against the wall beside it.

Sam twitched the curtains apart to look outside. The daylight was beginning to fade to dusk. He couldn't help but wonder if he would be alive to see the dawn. And with that thought, there was almost a sense of relief. The thought that he wouldn't have to fight anymore, to spend every moment of every day trying to hold on to the fraying threads of his sanity… Sam sighed and closed his eyes. It's not that he wanted to die, but he was just so damn tired…

"Sammy? You good?" Dean asked, seeing his brother suddenly slump against the side of the window.

"Yeah." Sam opened his eyes and looked back as Dean muttered a curse and dialed Bobby again. He straightened, knowing that there was the reason he was going to keep fighting. He couldn't leave Dean alone; not like that. He turned and took a step toward his brother, and then it was like the world slid sideways beneath his feet. The familiar darkness covered his vision as the sense of vertigo made him want to throw up. He came back to himself with a thump he felt all across his body that knocked the breath from him. He opened his eyes, and what little breath he did have clogged in his throat. He was back. The ropes dug painfully into his flesh and, above him, the pendulum swung into view. "No. No! Dean!" It dropped suddenly, making Sam strain against his bonds in fear. Some small part of him had felt faith that Dean could actually save him, but he knew now that he was lost as the wicked blade dropped again and brushed the already open wound.

"Dean!" Sam shouted his brother's name hoarsely. He tipped his head back and yelled as fresh pain burned along his chest and he could feel his heart beginning to try and pound out from behind his ribs. He struggled against the bindings holding him tight, but there was no give in them, even as he felt fresh blood oozing from the torn skin at his wrists. The sound started again, low, the rhythm steady, and he could feel it tapping against his crumbling sanity. "DEAN!"

"Bobby, dammit. Would you answer the phone? We're runnin' outta time here." Dean glared at the cloth covered book on the table angrily. "Sam's about outta time, so if you got a miracle, now's the time. Call me back. Now." He put the phone down, looked over to his brother and surged up from his chair to catch him as Sam crumpled to the floor. "No!"

Dean settled to his knees with Sam against his chest. "Sammy." He caught his brother's head, stopping it from rolling limply over his arm. Sam's eyes were rolled back as before. His body felt loose, pliant, even though Dean could hear the frantic breaths wheezing between Sam's lips and the pounding of his heart under his arm at his back. "Shit. Shit! No." He laid Sam down on the carpet while fresh blood stained the bandages around his brother's chest.

"That's it." Dean dashed across the room to his duffel bag and pulled out salt and lighter fluid. "If that ritual of yours is too dangerous, we're doin' it my way." He grabbed the book, careful to only touch the cloth covering it, and ran into the bathroom. Dean tossed it into the bathtub. "You are not getting my brother, you asshole."

Dean poured salt down on the book until the cover was nearly white with it, then popped open the lighter fluid and squirted a steady stream over top of it. Every moment he waited, he knew Sam was getting closer to death. He forced himself to take the extra few seconds to be thorough before he took out his lighter. He spun the wheel and dropped it into the tub once it lit. Flames burst into life and Dean left it there to burn. "Sammy?"

Sam lay where Dean had left him and Dean dropped beside him. "Sam?" He untucked the end of the bandage and pulled it down. "No!" he shouted as he watched the invisible force of the pendulum deepen the wound. "Son of a bitch!" As he'd done with Peter, Dean pressed his hands over the wound. He felt the frantic, terrified rhythm of Sam's heart hammering beneath his right palm and pressed harder. Dean glanced over to the bathroom door and could see the light flickering from the fire inside. "Sammy, come on. Come back, dammit."

Dean felt Sam's heart skip a beat and couldn't bring himself to move his hands. If the pendulum was about to cut open his heart, Dean didn't want to see it. He put his weight over his hands, trying to stop it and felt the moment Sam came back to himself. Tension sang through Sam's body and his chest arched suddenly, even beneath Dean's weight. "Sam?"

Sam's eyes flew open. He dragged a long, painful breath into his chest and shouted in pain and relief when he found himself back in the motel room, on the floor, with Dean's terrified face staring hopefully down at him. "Dean."

"Holy shit." Dean moved his hands grudgingly when Sam's came up and pushed at him.

"Oh… fuck," Sam groaned and slammed his eyes closed. "That… that hurts."

"Yeah, no kidding." Dean's voice was a breathless whisper. He slid an arm under Sam's shoulders and slowly helped him to sit up and lean against one of the beds. He watched fresh blood drip and trickle down his brother's chest and knew he had been moments from losing him. "Sammy?"

"It was on its last swing," Sam said and closed his eyes, unable to stop himself from picturing it, the way the pendulum had cut through his skin and swung back up, how he had known that, when it came back, it would open his chest and cut his heart in two. "How did you…" he stopped as the smell of something burning came to him. He looked up and leaned to see around Dean's shoulder. His eyes went wide at the sight of lazy curls of smoke coming from the open bathroom door. Sam looked back to Dean. "You burned it?"

"It was you or that damn book, Sam. You're damn right I torched it." Dean rested a hand on his brother's shoulder, taking a moment to let the contact settle him. "Didn't have a choice."

Sam nodded and then smiled, even as he winced at the pain he was in. "Not complaining. Believe me. Help me up."

"Yeah." Dean took Sam's arms with a grimace as his fingers slid through fresh blood. "Easy. Take it easy," he coached softly while Sam's eyes slammed closed at the movement. "Here you go." Dean set Sam on the side of the far bed and gave his shoulder a push. "Lay down. Gotta see if you need a hospital."

"I don't." Sam glared up at his brother but didn't look too closely at his own chest. "We'd never be able to explain all the rope burn."

Dean dragged the first aid kit over and set it beside his brother, then went to the bathroom. He ducked under the smoke and turned the shower on. "Good riddance," he muttered to the charred, blackened remains of the book as he dragged the curtain closed. He took a fresh towel and wet it before going back out and sitting beside Sam's hip. "This is gonna hurt."

"I know. It's fine."

"No, it's not," Dean snarled. He took a deep breath, pushing back his temper and his fear and bent over his brother's chest, beginning to clean away the new blood. He didn't bother to look up. He didn't have to see Sam's face to know his brother was giving him that girly, forgiving look of his. He smiled to himself, where Sam couldn't see it, because he was damn glad to still have that around. "Didn't hit the bone," he said instead as he pressed carefully on either side of the cut crossing Sam's chest over his heart. "I'm gonna have to stitch this up though. Get comfy."

Sam groaned and let his head thump back into the pillow. "Awesome."

Dean left the tube of topical anesthetic stay in the kit, taking out the suture kit instead. He knew Sam could take it without the pain relief, and, more than that, he knew pain helped him cope with the devil. "How you feelin'? You've lost enough blood."

"Alright." Sam blew out a breath and held up his arms to look at the rope burns spiraling up each. "Don't feel like throwing up yet, so there's that."

Dean snorted and sterilized the open wound quickly. "Bet that changes. Five bucks says you're pukin' by stitch ten."

Sam chuckled softly. "Deal." He shoved an extra pillow behind him to lift his head and watched Dean deftly thread the suture needle. "Hey, Dean?"

"Huh?" Dean bent and slid the curved needle into Sam's chest, noting absently that he didn't even twitch. It was a sad commentary on their lives that getting stitched up with no anesthetic barely registered on their personal pain scales anymore.

"Thanks."

Dean looked up and met the look of sincere relief in Sam's eyes. He rolled his eyes fondly and bent back to his work. "No chick flick moments, little brother."

Sam chuckled and then jumped when Dean's phone rang suddenly. "Bet that's Bobby."

"Shit." Dean laughed. He laid the needle on his brother's chest and pulled his phone out. "Don't move. Hey, Bobby." He smiled at the worried stream of cussing echoing out of his phone and saw an answering smile on his brother's face. "Yeah, he's good. Had to torch the book. We'll call you in the morning. Yeah. Thanks, Bobby." He hung up, tossed his phone onto the end table and picked up the needle again. "He says he was gonna tell us to burn it."

Sam sighed and closed his eyes. "At least it's over." He twitched, feeling the touch of phantom fingers along his neck. Then Dean jabbed the needle in particularly hard, the pain making him grit his teeth, and the touch was gone as quickly. Sam looked over at Dean's face and the knowing expression in his eyes. "I'm good."

"I know you are." Dean gave him a small smile and bent back to his work. "Cause I damn well said so."

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The End.

Next Chapter: Q is for Quetzalcoatl