Chapter 19

"Bobby, wait," Sam called out as the older man stormed from of the room with a full head of steam trailing behind him, his anger evident in each and every heavy step he took. Sam chased after him as he left, wanting…no, needing the man to stay. Dean's words had stung him like an entire hive full of angry bees, and he didn't know if he could hold his own fragile emotions together on his own at the moment anymore. He hadn't had a worry free minute in over six weeks, and the ever present anxiety and fear that dogged him every day Dean had at first been in what he thought would be a never ending coma, then relentlessly hounded by a dead woman and her evil brother that caused one physical cruelty after another to him until he was an emaciated mess were really starting to take their toll on him as much as the drugs were now taking their toll on Dean. He'd done his best to hold himself together all this time, and even though he knew Dean hadn't really meant what he had said, his brother's words had cut him to the core and left him dangerously close to finally falling apart.

"Don't try to stop me Sam," Bobby nearly yelled back at the younger of the two men once they were out in the hallway and entirely out of Dean's earshot as all eyes in the broadcast vicinity heard the announcement and instantly trained on them, each pair wondering what on earth was going on behind that door now. "I know Dr. Horton said he'd be irritable, but he doesn't just have a bug up his ass, he's got the whole damn ant farm, and it's way too much. He's not just irritable; he's being a downright prick. Hell, I think he's even topped your Daddy in that department this time."

"I know Bobby, and I know it's hard to listen to, but he doesn't mean it, and he really can't help it," Sam tried excusing Dean's behavior to the man, not really sure if he was even listening, considering how upset he was.

"Why do you keep saying he can't help it? What do you know that I don't?" Bobby questioned, wondering if an answer would even help him deal with what he'd just heard at this point.

"It's a side effect of the drugs Bobby, extreme irritability and agitation. That and a whole lot more," Sam tried to explain.

"Why are you trying so hard to make excuses for the things he just said and did? He's been flying off the handle for no reason since he woke up. I've never heard that boy curse so much in my life, and directly to someone's face no less. For Christ's sake Sam, he just had the mother of all hissy fits and threw his lunch across the room like an angry little kid before he pretty much told me he didn't give a shit if he was alive or dead anymore. What the hell would make him say something like that? That brother of yours is one of the most obstinate people, next to John Winchester, I've ever met, and it breaks my heart to hear him talk about himself like that. I tell him someone is trying to kill him, and all he can say is 'good, let him'. I'm sorry Sam, you two boys are like family to me, but I just can't listen to him talk like that anymore," Bobby rambled, and Sam just let him go on until he was through, hoping he wouldn't turn his back on them and walk away. The raw emotion on Sam's face said it all, and when Bobby had finally calmed himself down enough, he clearly saw the pain and hurt clouding Sam's eyes. "Sam…"

"I have to make excuses for him Bobby, because I can't believe, not for one second, that my big brother, the one person that means everything to me, meant it when he said he wished he'd died when that car ran him over, like his life means nothing. I know he's in pain, and I know he's frustrated, but it's gotta be the drugs talking, not Dean. I have to believe that, because if I don't, it may drive me crazy wondering if he truly feels that way," Sam answered as he ran his hands through his unruly mop of hair like he was trying to keep the sane thoughts that were trying to flee his head in fear inside to corral the other, darker thoughts that were trying to drive them out and take over. "We gotta find a way to end this Bobby, and soon. I need my brother back, and I need him whole again."

Bobby let out a loud sigh as he stared into Sam's woefully sad eyes, wanting nothing more than to give him just that, his brother back. "I know Sam, and I'm sorry. I didn't mean to blow up at him, and I'm sure it was the last thing he needed to hear, he just makes me so mad sometimes."

"Tell me about it," Sam had tried flashing a smile as he replied, but it came across as forced and Bobby knew he was doing his best to keep from breaking down.

"Ok…so, irritability bordering on psychotic is what Dr. Horton really meant, is that what I gather? What else is there to look forward to, since I must have missed the briefing," Bobby asked Sam in a much calmer tone this time, hoping his obvious interest would make Sam feel a little less alone in this living nightmare.

"The list is too long to even tell you. He's already had the headaches, he sweats for no reason, his hands shake and he's always got stomach cramps, and as much as he tries to hide it, I know that when he does finally stop playing with his food and decides to eat it, he's just ends up throwing it up later. He doesn't know I know, but I think he's thrown up just about every meal he's tried to get down in the last two days. That and his heart racing on occasion is all supposed to be 'normal'," Sam said with a huff before continuing. "The rest of the list is a little more complicated, and I sure hope we don't run down anymore of it anytime soon. The last thing he need is insomnia, hallucinations, or suicidal tendencies, and that's just a few."

"Great. How long are we going to have the pleasure of the new and not-so-improved Dean's company, anyway?" Bobby asked, pretty much committing himself for the long haul when he saw the slight sign of relief in Sam's worried face.

"Not much longer, I hope, or I may have to kill him myself," Sam chuckled, the sound of Bobby saying 'we' enough for him to know he wouldn't need to live through the next few days alone.

"Well, let's go then. I think we have a mess to clean up, and lord knows he ain't gonna do it himself," the older man said with a another sigh, not really sure he was ready to head back into that room, but planning on doing just that anyway, telling himself it was solely for Sam's sake, but fully knowing better. Bobby had meant what he said about the boys being like family to him, and he would be there to help Sam help Dean muddle through until the end, however long it may take. "You ready for little more brotherly love today?"

"It's what I live for," Sam answered, the slight smile that did break out on his face actually looking somewhat genuine this time, until it turned into a confused scowl. "Hey Bobby, when Dean said he should have…well, you know…didn't he say 'when he ran me over'?"

"Yeah, I think so, why?" He replied with his own look of puzzlement.

"How'd he know it was a 'he'? You don't suppose he's starting to remember something, do you?" Sam hoped and prayed it to be true.

"I don't know Sam, but maybe now would not be the best time to ask," he commented, not wanting to be the one to even broach the subject at the moment. Maybe tomorrow, but not today.

Both men ignored the hushed whispers and the few remaining ogling stares as they walked back to the room, the few nurses that were still looking on curiously finally turning away and returning to their work when they realized nothing overly traumatic was about to happen as the two men disappeared behind the door, closing it tight behind them. They tried to prepare themselves for what could either be another verbal assault of epic proportions or nothing more than a forced deafening silence, but both would breathe a small sigh of relief when they realized they would get neither, Sam being the first one to notice that the room was empty and the bathroom door was shut.

He pressed an ear softly up against the door to the room Dean had retreated to, not wanting to invade the small semblance of privacy the tiny area afforded his brother, but needing to know what was going on inside nonetheless, only to be greeted by nothing but silence from the other side. As much as he wanted to start pounding on the door to be let in, he'd decided to give his brother the personal space he was asking for by his actions alone, and as hard as it was for Sam to do nothing but wait for Dean to decide when he was ready to come out, he did just that and allotted his brother all the time in the world that he would need to cool himself off. Forcing himself to turn away from the door, he went instead to the mess on the wall and floor and started making an effort to clean it up, until Bobby's voice broke the tense quiet in the room.

"Sam, did you go in my bag for something?" The older man questioned, rather tentatively.

"No, why?" Sam asked in return, not liking the sound of the question the second it hit his ears.

"Because I'm pretty sure I didn't leave it open on the bed here," he responded to Sam as he rifled through the bag and giving Sam an 'Oh shit' look. "What did you say about those 'other' side effects?"

As if Sam was suddenly a mind reader, he dropped the tray he'd had in his hands and let it crash back down to the floor with a resounding clang as it landed totally unwanted for the second time in one day against a wall while he crossed the room and instantly started pounding on the bathroom door, trying to hide the panic that suddenly welled inside him. "Dean, open up! What are you doing in there?" 'Fuck his privacy! If this is what he plans on doing with it, he doesn't need it!' Sam couldn't help but scream to himself. He knew he should have never left his brother alone in that room.

"Sam…is that door locked?" Bobby posed another question when he noticed Sam never even tried to gain entry via traditional route, his tone becoming more concerned then it had been when he asked the first question though. He knew it was a stupid question, but Sam tried the handle anyway, and sure enough, it didn't budge. Dean had most definitely locked himself inside. "My knife, it ain't here Sam."

"DEAN…OPEN THIS DOOR BEFORE I BREAK IT DOWN!" Sam now screamed as he pounded is fists hard against the thick wood, planning on counting to all of three before he attempted the near impossible. That door was heavy and thick, but being fueled by fear left him with the certainty that if he needed to bust it down, he could. The sudden, unmistakable sound of metal bouncing against tile filled Sam's mind with sheer terror, and before he could even count to one, he started his efforts of kicking the door down as he envisioned what was going on behind it.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Dean had found himself hanging at the end of his rope and was ready to kick the chair out from under him, knowing he'd utterly had enough. Not a minute went by that he wasn't in some sort of pain, and he really didn't have much of a clue as to why. More and more pieces slowly started coming back to him, but there just weren't enough yet for him to see the whole picture, and every time he tried asking Sam, he could never get a straight answer. He knew there was a lot they were both keeping from him, but at this point, he really didn't care anymore. He was tired of being tired, tired of being sick, tired of being in pain, and tired of just being.

He raised the knife he'd taken from Bobby's bag up to his face and marveled in its perfection. The way it gleamed in the dim light of the room and reflected his own face back at him was almost a thing of beauty, the beauty that was marred only by what he saw as he stared at his own face gleaming back at him in the metal. He shivered at the sight of that one blue eye staring back at him like it wasn't even a part of him, and he knew he didn't want to live another minute in the world he reluctantly found himself thrown into. Drawing a thumb down the blade to make sure it would be sharp enough to do the trick, he smiled when it came away bloodied, the skin sliding apart effortlessly without him ever once feeling it. Poking the tip into the soft flesh of his shoulder, he hesitated for only a brief second as a trickle of blood escaped, and he fully intended on splaying his entire upper arm open, until the soft sound of his own name whispered in his ear stopped him.

"Dean…what are you doing?" She asked him, her voice somewhat calming as she spoke to him in a hushed tone. "That's not going to solve anything,"

Turning his attention away from what he was about to do, he sat in his chair and watched as the familiar looking blonde woman moved out from behind him and was now standing directly in front of him, her face glowing in what he could only assume was her own natural light. He knew that face, but as hard as he tried, it just wouldn't come to him from where. "How did you get in here? " He demanded, although he thought he knew the answer to his own question the moment he had asked it.

"You let me in the second you started digging that knife into yourself, "she answered him softly. She could feel the turmoil in him as he struggled with what he was about to do, even though he couldn't. The longer he sat there staring at her, the more confused he started becoming as an explosion of thoughts and memories started flooding his head, his brain unable to sort them out as fast as they were coming in. It took him some time, but he did finally find some clarity and he was able to actually speak to her.

"It's you…you're the one in my head. How is it that I can see you?" He asked her through the ever present throbbing in his brain, grateful that was all that was throbbing as the recollection of all their other encounters made their way back to him along with all the others.

"I don't know. When you were in the coma, it was like I was stuck there, in your head, but once you woke up, I think you pushed me out and I couldn't find you anymore. At first, the only way I could get back to you was through your pain. It's like I was lost in the dark, and it was a beacon of bright light for me to follow to you. That's why I had to cause it sometimes, and for that I am so sorry. I never wanted to hurt you anymore than I already had. You fought me so hard when I first tried, and that just made it even harder to reach you, until that night…you remember, when…"

"Yeah, I sort of remember," he groaned, wanting her to leave out the gory details he suddenly had full recollection of. Those particular ones, he decided, he could have done without.

"When you finally let me in," she tactfully continued, not skipping a beat. "I could find you easily after that, but something was preventing me from getting through to you, until now. I can feel how much pain you're in Dean, and it hurts me too, but what you're planning on doing isn't the answer. What you're feeling now is entirely drug induced and isn't coming from you, and it will pass with enough time, you just need to let it."

"Sam would be better off without me anyway," he ignored her and mumbled as his thoughts started to wander in his brother's direction.

"How can you say that?"

"I've taken everything from him, his girlfriend, our father, his chance at a happy life. If I hadn't come for him at school when I did, Jessica would probably still be alive. It's all my fault she's dead, just like it's my fault Dad's dead. Hell, I almost got Sammy killed when we were kids after that filthy shtriga came after him. If I'd just listened to my Dad when he said…" he stopped, not sure he could continue the thoughts anymore as he reexamined what he thought to be every screw up in his life, the cold handle of the knife still in his hand reminding him of what he was now sure he wanted to do. "I can't hurt Sam anymore, I just can't."

"You think you've hurt Sam? Dean, do you have any idea what you've actually done for Sam? He would be dead ten times over if it weren't for you, and vice versa. You were the one that ran from your burning house, cradling him in your arms and carrying him to safety. You were the one that saved him from that crazy family that wanted to hunt him for the sheer sport of it. You were the one that stopped that demon from beating his brains in after you saved your father. Have you forgotten all that, and all of the other times you've saved him?" She sighed before continuing, not really sure she'd made her point well enough yet. "If you think you're hurting Sam now, what do you think you'll do to him if you go through with this?"

"How the hell do you know all of that?" He asked her, horrified that anyone had such an intimate knowledge of his thoughts, even if she was a dead girl and wouldn't be sharing them with anyone.

"Because I was stuck in your head for five weeks, that's how. I knew Sam was right there every second of every day, barely eating, barely sleeping and barely living. He rarely left your side that entire time, and I heard every word he said to you, even if you didn't. He talked to you every day, and believe me when I say that your brother needs you more than you think you need him. You, Dean, are all he has left. I know this because he said so himself," she kept going, feeling the change in his mind set the more she spoke to him as she watched a lone tear stream down his face. "You only hurt him when you lie to him, or shut him out. You are not protecting him when you tell him you're fine when he clearly knows you're not, you just make it worse for both of you. Instead of just worrying about you, he worries about you and what may actually be wrong with you. Let him in once in a while, and let him help you. You told him once that you didn't want to do this alone, so maybe you should live up to your word."

"But I'm all he has left because of me," Dean tried to argue, but there was little fight left in him now.

"Trust me when I say he doesn't feel that way. He needs you, whether you want to believe it or not. Wounds will heal, scars will fade, but what you're going to do will be forever, and you'll not only be ending your own life, you'll be ending Sam's as well. Killing yourself will kill him, and I don't think you'd ever want to hurt your brother like that, would you?"

That had been it, that last thing she had said struck a chord in him that spurred his self-preservative instincts that had somehow gone on sabbatical to finally kick back in, and when he heard the frantic pounding against the door, he dropped Bobby's knife on the floor and listened to it echo throughout the room as he buried his face in his hands, wondering how he could have ever been thinking what he'd been thinking in the first place.

'I think that's my cue to leave, but remember something Dean, if my brother had loved me as much as yours loves you, we wouldn't be here right now. Don't forget that, please, because the time will come when my brother needs to be dealt with, and you and Sam are the only two that can. Now open that door, let your brother in, and let him help you."

In what amounted to the blink of an eye she was gone, leaving him shivering and alone in the cold room as he listened to what sounded like his brother trying desperately to kick his way inside. He rolled himself as close to the door as he could and flipped the lock, not really sure if he should open it or not, and not really sure he was ready to face his brother yet either. He didn't have much of a choice once he'd unlocked the door though, because the instant Sam heard the barely audible click, even over his own yelling, all sound stopped. Dean backed away from the door he knew was going to open any second and waited, his stomach tying itself in knots as the door slowly drifted open and Sam stuck his head inside.

"Dean?" Sam voiced through what Dean was sure was sheer terror, and the guilt almost overwhelmed him, knowing he'd been the cause of it.

"Sam…I think we need to talk."