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Hope you enjoy this chapter.

On with 'Homewards'

Chapter 8- Homewards

Dean Winchester's hazel green eyes flickered open and he moaned gently. His bare skin rubbed against the burgundy silk sheets as he lazily turned from his side and onto his back.

Forcing his alcohol filled eyes open he laid there a couple of minutes examining the ceiling of the room he was in.

He wasn't even sure where he was.

But he knew who he'd been with.

A grin spread across his handsome face as he snuck a look over at the sleeping Lydia.

Man that girl had given him a thorough work out; muscles he'd not even realised that had gone into hiding had come out to play during their sessions.

….That girl was wild in the bedroom and even wilder when…

Dean rubbed his hands over his face in an effort to wake himself up, he then stared at his wrist and realised that somewhere along the line his watch had come off. Now was that on their way to the bedroom, in the hall, the kitchen, or some other place he just couldn't quite remember.

A small tinge of guilt did run through him.

He hadn't checked in with Sam in the last few hours and knew his little brother must be worried; it was typical Sammy.

Reluctant to leave the comfort and warmth of the bed, Dean forced himself to the edge and with a smile of more embarrassment, realised that he was butt naked. Forcing his eyes to start picking things out in the room, he silently managed to find his jeans, shirt and one of his sneakers, but the elder Winchester had no idea where the other sneaker was or his underwear. He spotted his watch beside his left sneaker and glanced at the time.

His mouth fell open in shock.

It was almost 4am.

It wasn't like Dean had a curfew, shoot he'd never ever had a curfew growing up, but that had been from trust and constant communication via phone calls to his father or brother. Besides the only time he ever went out was to shoot pool, knock back some beers or to chase some skirt. He had never been out with friends just for a night out.

Dean Winchester didn't have any friends.

Just family.

Now he'd been gone for over nine hours. Dean groaned inwardly, he'd hate it if Sam had done it to him, not even a text message or nothing to say where he was, so Dean knew that Sam would be pissed at him; and rightly so.

Dean slipped his sneaker on and once standing fished around in his jeans pocket and found his cell phone. He opened it and couldn't help but be surprised that there were no messages from Sam questioning where he was, or a nervous voicemail from his kid brother asking him how his night was going, or any missed calls.

Dean made a face as he shut the phone off and headed towards the bedroom door.

Lydia stirred in her sleep and Dean cringed, he so did not want her to wake up. It wasn't like he planned on the whole loving and leaving routine, he had every intentions of calling the blond hottie, and every intention of having a repeat performance and possible even an encore; but right now he had to get back to Sam.

Cracking open the bedroom door, Dean paused when he spotted his black boxers sitting over the lamp near the entrance to the bedroom. Grabbing his under garment, he shoved it into a ball in his palm and slipped out the bedroom, taking one last look at the gorgeous Lydia.

Finding himself in the hallway of the house, he could hear groans and noises coming from another bedroom.

Obviously Sandy and Cameron had returned as well and were at the moment a little bit too busy to notice Dean wondering by the girl's room.

A wicked thought crossed Dean's mind as headed down the steps and into the hall downstairs where he spotted his right sided sneaker which he promptly slipped on.

He was actually glad that Sam had not come along tonight.

Dean hadn't been too keen on the way Sandy had been acting all night, the way she'd just been looking for a one night stand, and had obviously put that label on Sam. Dean shook his head as he headed for the front door.

Sam wasn't that type of guy, he would bet his life that Sam had never had a one night stand in his entire life; the guy thought too much with his upstairs brain and always involved emotion in everything.

It was one of Sam's greatest failures, yet one of the things that Dean admired about his brother more than anything.

Sam was too good for this Sandy chick. It had been a blessing that his little brother hadn't come along. Dean would make sure that Sandy the blond-headed-one-night-stand-chick never clapped eyes on his little brother again.

As Dean stood on the porch, the cool night air instantly removed the stale alcohol that had been wafting around his head. He knew he'd had a shit load to drink, he was sure they'd finished at least two bottles of JD, a bottle of tequila, and had a few beers thrown into the mix as well.

Groaning when he didn't see the Impala outside, Dean realised his prize possession must still be at the bar he'd been at. Dean had the vacant memory of riding in a youth and sure enough, there was a green one parked not too far away from him. Sighing out loud, Dean was suddenly really appreciative that he'd managed to find his missing sneaker.

He had one hell of a walk ahead of him.

With a wrinkled expression on his face, Dean stared at his watch and slipped out his phone. It was almost 4am now. His finger hovered over Sam's cell number and for half second he was tempted to call his brother and ask him to pick up the Impala while he walked back to the beach house, but changed his mind and slipped his phone back in his pocket.

It was too cruel to ring your little brother, wake him up and then ask him to haul his ass out of bed and go get your car which you drunkenly left in some parking lot.

He wondered if Sam had actually woken up from the sofa.

Dean tried to reassure himself, persuade himself that he'd done the right thing. It was a cocktail of drugs he'd slipped into Sammy's coffee. A combination of sedatives, painkiller and of course the anti-inflammatory tablets the doctor had issued Sam.

It wasn't against the law or anything; well, not as far as Dean was concerned. He was just being a good brother, looking out for his Sammy, making sure the boy took the medication that his little brother oh so conveniently constantly kept forgetting to take.

Dean didn't understand Sam.

How could Sam not see the improvement he was making when he was on the medication, the minute the stuff worked out his system, he became ill and unbeknown to Dean, Sam just couldn't see it. That bothered Dean more than he was willing to admit.

The fact that Sam seemed to be giving up. Caving in.

Everything was getting to Sam and it was getting to Dean.

Just in the diner earlier, Sam's eyes had been raw red, like when he was a child had had got upset and burst into tears and fled; too embarrassed to be caught crying. Dean sighed at the memory; it had driven their father mad. John Winchester hated tears, it was the biggest sign of weakness and that alone made Sam scared to express emotion.

He'd been like that today, Sam had been upset by something and had cried about it, by the time he'd got back to the diner the tears had dried up, but the tell tale signs were all still there for Dean.

Dean couldn't think about what had made Sam so upset, but Dean wanted, needed to know. He needed to know so he could find the son-of-a-bitch and kick the shit out of it.

Then there was the whole demon spirit thing. The spirit that was stalking Sammy that Dean couldn't find any evidence to.

Sam's behaviour was getting worse, and it worried Dean like hell.

……But not to worry, as long as Sam keeps taking those tablets he'll be fine, just fine….

Shaking his head, Dean started the walk down the road. He could not believe that he'd left his car, his, car, alone and abandon outside some bar.

…If anyone has done anything to her, I'll friggin kill them….

Dean sighed and glanced again at his watch.

Who on earth could he argue with, he only had himself to blame….

xxxxXXXXxxxx

All he wanted to do was go lie in the tub.

His feet ached and even though he was driving he knew he shouldn't have been, he'd almost nodded off twice at the wheel, the second time just catching himself before he ended up in a local's hedge.

So nothing had happened to the black beauty of an Impala. Well, nothing Dean could see in the dark.

The sun was just beginning to break through and as Dean parked his car under the house, he glanced one last time at his watch and stifled a yawn and climbed the steps. He'd just got to the third step when he realised he'd left his boxers in the car.

Shooing the thought of going all the way back down those three steps and to the car, a sleepy Dean climbed the remaining steps in the dimly lit sky and stood on his decking, the sound of the sea comforting and lulling.

….No wonder Sam loves it out here…..

It was peaceful, pain free and with out any ramification. It just felt like good, clean, wholesome fun.

Once at the top of the deck, Dean's eyes widened.

And then he froze.

Any ounce of alcohol that had been plaguing his mind quickly disappeared without a second thought.

The veranda had been smashed through and Dean could see into his living room; the entire place had been trashed.

" Oh my god…" Dean whispered the colour draining from his cheeks as he hurriedly pulled his shirt over his hands and clumsily unlocked the sliding door pushing the frame back.

Stepping into the living room, the shattered glass crunched unceremoniously under Dean's sneakers, and from the dim amount of light filtering through the room, Dean spotted his butter fly knife near his feet.

He bent down slowly and picked it up and his blood ran cold.

There was blood on it.

" SAM..!?" Dean screamed, his heart hammering violently in his chest, his hair standing on end. The cold sensation of dread over running his body. " Sammy, where are you…?"

…Oh god where the hell is he..?... Dean thought as he took an unsteady step towards the sofa area and headed for the light switches. Dean frantically flicked them back and forth and none of them snapped on.

" SAM…!?" Dean shouted again, " For God sakes Sammy, answer me…!"

Running rapidly, crashing and stumbling over fallen furniture Dean's knee brushed the lamp that had been on the table by the front door. He fiddled with the switch and with what small amount of mercy that still hovered around, Dean gave a triumphant cry when the room was illuminated by the small light.

Dean's eyes took in the room, and he physically had to stop himself from switching it back off again.

It wasn't the fact that the entire house was trashed; it was the blood that scared the hell out of Dean.

It was everywhere.

And then he saw him.

Sitting with his back against the door frame of his bedroom covered in blood.

His eyes wild and wide.

Dean slowly crawled over to Sam and his heart plummeted when he saw the condition his brother was in. Anger quickly replaced his fear when he saw the vacant look in Sam's eyes.

It was then Dean realised that Sam hadn't even realised that he was there.

" Sammy..?" Dean whispered as he watched Sam, his knees drawn to his chest, rocking backward and forwards slowly, his chin resting on his hands.

His eyes vacant.

Non-existent.

His dark shaggy brown hair almost concealing his entire face. It did nothing to hide the battering he'd taken; it did nothing to hide the blood pouring from his arms, his lip, his cuts all over his face.

Dean swallowed, and forced himself not to shake the life back into his brother.

Sam had clearly gone into a state of shock.

Either that or he'd had a nervous break down.

Both possibilities were too scary for Dean to understand or even begin to comprehend.

So Dean did the only thing he knew how to do.

He took care of Sammy.

Unplugging the lamp and taking it into the kitchen with him he went about trying to keep his voice down, keep himself quiet, keep himself busy; anything but even whisper what was really over taking him inside.

Blind rage.

How the hell could this have happened..? What the hell had happened..?

Sam wasn't even talking to him, not even looking at him.

He was gonna find the bastard that had broke into here, find them and kill them. Tear them limb from limb, torture them in ways only a hunter could know, take them apart like only a Winchester could do.

Dean caught a look at his own hands as he poured the hot water from the kettle into bowl; he was shaking.

The rage building with no vent to escape.

…Take care of him first, kill frigging unsuspecting bastard later…. Dean ordered himself as he headed back to Sam.

Swallowing, Dean knelt down onto his knees and saw Sam was still rocking back and forth, and Dean's heart sank.

He knew he had to talk to him try and bring him out of that safe, little world that Sam's consciousness had retreated into.

Boy, at that precise moment Dean wouldn't have minded heading in there as well, it beat the shit out being where he was right now- in friggin hell.

" Sammy, I know you can hear me…" Dean said voice deep, husky, but frantically trying to keep his anger out of it. He wasn't angry at Sam, oh god no, but who was to say that Sam wouldn't think that.

Dean gently soaked the tea cloth into the hot water and wiped some of the blood off Sam's face. A small part of Dean hoped the heat of the water would snap Sam out of this.

Dean shook his head, he couldn't do this. He needed answers. Now.

" Sam how many were there…? Did you get a look at them..?" Dean stormed as his hands cupped Sam's face forcing his brother to look into eyes.

Sam's terrified hazel eyes locked with the knife Dean still had next to his side.

" Sammy..?" Dean shouted, " What the hell happened…?"

Sam's eyes were wild as he frantically tried to pull away from Dean, but enraged at the situation; Dean hung on.

" I'll kill them, I'll fucking kill them…!" Dean stormed as he stared into Sam's eyes. " Come on Sam, talk…-"

Dean reeled back and fell in surprise when Sam dived across him, the bowl of water unceremoniously spilling all over the beech coloured floor.

Dean scrambled back at Sam's bizarre behaviour, wondering what had startled his little brother; Dean clambered to his feet.

Dean had no choice but to freeze.

The knife was shaking violently in Sam's nervous hand.

Too shaky against Dean's throat.

One false move from either of them.

One dodgy step from the other.

Dean barely dared to swallow, the blade to his own friggin knife poked just inches from his Adam's apple. Sam had only one advantage over Dean, his height, and boy was the freakishly tall kid using it tonight.

Dean gingerly held his palms up in surrender.

What else could he do..?

" Sammy…." Dean said in as calm a voice as he could manage with the situation given to him. " It's me, Dean, I know you're…-"

" Shut the fuck up…" Sam growled, " I'm done listening, now you listen to me. You got all of five seconds to tell me who the hell you are, who sent you and what you want from my family…"

" Wow, I can't even think of the last time you swore…" Dean said, which caused him to roll his eyes.

He so needed to think things through before he opened his mouth.

" If you've touched him, if you've laid one finger on my brother, I swear to God I will hunt every single one of you son of a bitches down and slaughter every fucking single one of you…" Sam seethed, his blood slicked hand finding it increasingly difficult to hold the knife.

The effort it was taking to hold the knife up right, to keep the stance, to keep his strength.

Screw that, the effort it was taking to just stand up.

It looked so much like Dean.

Even that stupid wise crack about his cursing. That had sounded so much like Dean.

His Dean.

His brother.

Not the monster that had been in here and slaughtered him an inch from his life.

Sam wouldn't even look at his side; he could feel the sticky, tackiness from the blood. He didn't even want to catch site of his reflection. He knew he looked a sight, he could smell his own blood all over his body.

Everywhere hurt.

God, where was Dean when he needed him. Why was Dean behaving like this…?

Sam's hazel eyes tried to take in the confused man in front of him.

God it looked so much like his Dean. So much like the brother he loved. The brother he needed to obviously protect.

If only he could make sense of what was happening.

At first he had, he thought he had had it all worked out.

Evil friggin spirit, screwing around with his mind, making him see things. Evil frigging spirit screwing with reality, making Dean ignore all the glaringly obvious signs that there was a spirit, a demonic spirit which could make Sam see things and people.

Like evil Dean.

There was no such thing as evil Dean.

Sam shook his head in confusion.

Of course there was evil Dean, he'd seen evil Dean, met him several times during their hunts.

No, not evil Dean, just protective Dean who was a hunter.

Not evil Dean who would commit murder.

Not evil Dean who would kill his own brother.

Who would take the greatest pleasure in taking the very knife Sam was now holding at him, and slicing his arms and telling him that he had to bleed him dry.

Sam shook his head.

Evil Dean had stabbed him.

A thought occurred to Sam; exactly how much blood had he lost tonight. More than he could count. Maybe he could collect it in a bowl and his brother could help him put it back inside of him later.

Sam laughed as he held the knife against the Dean in front of him.

He then clamped his free hand over his mouth. Why the hell was he laughing, there was nothing funny for him to laugh at. His own brother had stabbed him, had dried to bleed him dry tonight. There was nothing funny at all.

…Dear Lord, I'm losing my mind…Hey I can hear my own thoughts, and I'm answering them, why am I answering them, I'm not supposed to be answering them….It's only when you answer them that you're mad…damn it I did it again…

Sam stared at Dean and shrugged as he kept the knife still. He'd watched Dean's mouth moving the whole time, but hadn't been listening. Why should he..?

It was probably just another line to be used on him to lure him in…..

xxxxXXXXxxxx

Dean Winchester stared at Sam, his little brother Sammy and looked at the awkward way he was standing.

If it was one thing that always drove Dean mad without failure was Sam's stubborn streak.

And boy was it out in force tonight.

Sam had switched off, not listening at all to what Dean was saying and man was it pissing Dean off to no end.

He had to remember that he couldn't blame Sam. After all his little brother was freaking out, attacking anything that moved.

Trust Dean to walk in on this one, to leave a knife in Sam's reach for him to grab and then hold against his throat.

Dean rolled his eyes and wanted to pull his hair out.

How was he supposed to know that Sam would go nuts and grab a knife and hold him hostage for his own Adam's apple...?

How could one night go so friggin wrong..?

It was then Dean's eye caught the steady stream of red coming from his little brother's side.

" Sammy, what happened there..?" Dean whispered, his finger pointing to his brother's side. Completely forgetting about the knife, his eyes only focused on the blood. He already knew what had happened there; he just wanted to see if Sammy had.

" Oh that…?" Sam said laughing. That laugh. Even though it was filled with nerves and racking from tiredness, it was still music to Dean's ears.

" That's where you stabbed me you son of a bitch…." Sam whispered with a light laugh, " You know what the sad thing is, is that I know I'm gonna die, but Dean. Man you fucked up picking on us. He'll kill you. The real Dean. He'll kill you…"

Dean knew what it was, yet it still made his blood run cold hearing Sam say that he'd been stabbed.

" Sammy, I need to look at that…" Dean said gingerly taking a step forward, which forced Sam reluctantly to take a step back.

" Do that one more time and I'll cut your friggin head off…" Sam hissed pushing the knife a fraction further into Dean's throat.

Dean held his breath.

He didn't have time for this.

" Sammy, this is Dean, the Dean. The one and only…!" Dean muttered, " Now part of me is a little insulted that you can't even tell the difference between me and well, god knows who you're talking about…"

" Shut up…" Sam demanded, " Stop talking…"

" But whether you like it or not, I'm looking at that wound, because I am not having you bleed to death on me…" Dean stated in a matter of fact tone, " I'm your friggin big brother, now you listen to me, we can do this either the easy way or the hard way…"

Sam's eyes never softened, whatever this little man thought he was doing, was making some sense to Sam, but zero to Dean.

" Give me the knife Sam, now…" Dean demanded as he held out his palm.

Sam stared at Dean's out stretched hand in shock.

" No.." Sam whispered, " No way…"

" Wrong answer…" Dean muttered as he grabbed Sam's hand in one swift move and turned it back on him, he winced at the pain he knew he was causing Sam- but it was worth it.

The knife dropped to the floor with a clatter.

Sam tried to pull his hand back, but Dean held it firmly between his hands. Seeing no way out, fighting for his life, Sam lashed out at Dean.

Dean realising that Sam wasn't going to cooperate, dropped straight onto his back, pulling Sam down on him, with a knee in his brother's mid riff, he tossed Sam easily behind him.

Then Dean groaned.

Yup, that's right, the house had been trashed. All furniture had been moved. No sofa where he expected it to be.

Nope, just a heavy ass coffee table over turned, its leg sticking out.

He should have remembered that. He'd tripped over the friggin thing when he'd originally come in.

Dean rolled onto his stomach and saw Sam sprawled out on the floor.

Dean didn't need any lights to be turned on to know that Sam was unconsciousness.

Dean closed his eyes.

……Great….Just fucking great….

xxxxXXXXxxxx

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