Chapter Ten

Dean tried to pay the cab driver but he refused to take his money. Dean shrugged. He was never one to give up a free ride if he could get it. He thanked the driver and got out of the cab. His eyes searched the parking lot for their car. It wasn't there. Damn, he could really use his pills right about now.

Dean made his way to their motel room, unlocking it and getting inside. He switched on the light, raising a brow at the mess, but shrugging it off. He was too weary and too tired to care. He took his jacket off, tossing in on the floor with a grimace. He reeked of smoke and sweat. He started towards the bathroom, kicking his shoes off on his way, and tossing his shirt on the floor. His jeans found their way to the bathroom floor before he reached and turned the hot water on all the way. He leaned against the cold wall for a couple of seconds, exhausted, before he stripped and got in the shower.

The hot water really helped sooth the pressure in his chest, but not enough. He stared down at the large scars across his chest and bit his lip. He wasn't going to think about it. He wasn't. He saved that baby, that's all that mattered. God, he was tired. He really wanted it to be over. He wanted it all to be over. He leaned his hands against the wall, letting the water wash over his face and hair, scrubbing the smell of smoke out as best he could.

Dean wrapped a towel around his waist as he got out of the shower. He was going to have to do the laundry tomorrow. He didn't it like when his favorite jeans smelled of smoke.

Dean fell on his bed, closing his eyes. Damn, he wanted to sleep. But his chest still bothered him. With a loud groan, he pushed himself up and walked over to his duffle. He got dressed slowly and laid his jacket on one of the chairs, his cell slipping from the pocket as he did. Dean sighed and picked it up, turning it on. He had eighteen missed calls. Huh. Dean tossed the cell over at the bed and searched around his duffle for his painkillers. He finally found the bottle and took one large pill out. Walking over to the bathroom, he filled a glass with tap water. He couldn't dry swallow that giant thing even if he wanted to.

Dean sighed again as he fell back against the bed one more time. He wanted nothing more than to just close his eyes and fall asleep. Instead, he picked up his cell, looking at the missed calls list. Eighteen calls, all from Sam. There were even five voice messages, but he didn't feel like listening to those. He closed his tired, itching eyes and pressed the speed dial for Sam's number.

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Sam sat in the ER waiting room, holding his head in both his hands. He was trying his best not to cry, and failing miserably. No one would talk to him, no one seemed willing to give him any information on either the baby or the man that came with her. Oh, yes, he found out it was a baby girl. How great was that? But there was still no sign of Dean.

He jumped, startled, when his cell phone started ringing. He almost screamed in relief at the sight of his brother's ID flashing on the screen, and quickly answered the call.

"Dean? Where the hell are you, man? I've been looking everywhere for you!" Sam said in a shaking voice, unable to hide the accusation in his voice.

"I'm at the motel." Dean said, stifling a yawn. Sam jumped to his feet.

"Dean, listen, lines of salt, behind the door and the windows, quick, okay? I'm on my way to the motel." Sam said quickly, already heading for the hospital exit.

"What? Sam, relax okay? What are you talking about?" Dean asked, sounding a little more confused than usual.

"Dean, listen, the Demon – it was here, man." Sam said quickly, getting out of the hospital and practically running for the car.

"What? Where? Sam, where are you? Is it after you?" Dean asked quickly.

"No, no, Dean, I'm fine." Sam quickly reassured the older hunter, "It's just, there was a fire tonight, something to do with a baby. I think the Demon was there." He went on.

"Oh." Dean said after a moment. "Well, I knew that." Sam frowned.

"How the hell would you know that?" he asked suspiciously.

"I'm psychic now, too." Was Dean's sarcastic reply, and then, just as Sam was about to snap at him, he went on; "I heard about the fire. I went over there earlier. Nice house. Used to be, at least."

"Oh. Well, what were you doing there, anyway?" Sam asked, holding the phone with his cheek pressed to his shoulder as he started the car.

"I had a date across the street." Dean said. "Listen, Sam, where are you?"

"I'm on my way, I should be at the motel in twenty minutes." Sam answered. He could hear Dean yawning.

"Yeah, okay," he said, "Listen, I'm wasted. I'm going to bed. Oh, and Sam, you've got a gun on you right? 'Cause there're a couple of pillows here, man, and I think they look pissed." And at that, Sam hung the phone up.

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It only took Sam fifteen minutes to get from the hospital to the motel. He passed the Alberts house on his way there and scowled when he saw the fire engines were still there, still fighting the flames, though it was mostly just smoke now. The ambulance was gone, and Sam wondered if it was because they got whoever was inside out, or if it was too late, or if there even was someone else inside the house.

By the time Sam pulled the car over and took the keys out of the ignition, he could feel the tug of sleep. It has been a long day, one he didn't wish to repeat. And it wasn't over yet. It won't be over until he got in that room and made sure Dean was there and that he was okay. He'd have to wait with the apologies and birthday plans for tomorrow.

He stepped in something crunchy when he walked into the room and turned the lights on. A salt ring. Good. Sam looked around the room. Dean made sure to draw large salt lines behind the doors and windows. He even drew a circle of salt around Sam's bed. Sam smiled at that. He breathed a sigh of relief at the shape of his sleeping brother, covered in his blankets. There was a shotgun leaning against the nightstand, and Sam noticed the drawer had been put back in place, though the mess was still there on the floor.

Sam took his coat off, and made sure the door was locked. He stifled a yawn and walked over to his bed, on which his sweats were tossed earlier that morning. An unintentional groan escaped his lips as he pulled his jeans off and changed his clothes. And then he straightened. Something was wrong. Something didn't feel right, but he couldn't put his finger on it. He looked around. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary, but the feeling that something was wrong only intensified. Sam reached over and grabbed the shotgun, getting to his feet. He was growing more and more nervous, but he couldn't find the reason for it. He should wake Dean up, he thought, whatever this threat might be, it was better if… Dean! His brother was asleep! He had entered the room, walked around, took the shotgun, and in all this time, Dean had barely stirred in his sleep! Cold fear grabbed Sam. What if something was wrong with him?

Sam lowered the shotgun, crouching next to his brother's bed. He stared at the older hunter for a couple of minutes, relieved to see the rise and fall of his chest. But Dean was covered all the way to his neck with his covers, save for one arm that was tangled in the blankets. If his brother was injured, he couldn't tell. Not like that. Sam reached over and shook Dean's shoulder. Dean grunted in his sleep and turned onto his side, still sleeping. That was strange, usually, that move would result with Sam sprawled on the floor with Dean's hands around his neck before Sam would have had the chance to retrieve his hand. Sam frowned, shaking Dean again.

"Mmm go away." Dean muttered in his sleep, pulling his covers tighter around him.

"Dean," Sam called out softly, shaking him again.

"Not here right now. Leave a message, would you?" Dean mumbled, showing no sign of waking up. Sam smiled and tried yet again, but the most he got was Dean turning from one side to the other. And then something else occurred to him. Smoke. There was a faint smell of smoke in the room. Sam sucked in his breath, his eyes widening. He wouldn't!

"Dean!" Sam cried.

"Whaaaat!" Dean muttered in irritation, squinting his eyes against the light and trying to focus his angry glare on his little brother. The look might have sent Sam running for cover if the glare and angry tone weren't smothered away by a huge yawn.

"Hey, you okay?" Sam asked. Dean narrowed his eyes angrily.

"Was doing much better before you woke me up. Now turn the lights off and go away." Dean said, turning his back on the younger Winchester. Sam rolled his eyes.

"Where were you all day?" Sam insisted, but only received an unintelligible mumble that resembled 'Norway'. Sam figured it was actually 'go away', but he couldn't be too sure. "Dean, why does it smell like smoke in here?" Sam insisted. Dean grunted again, pushing himself up on his elbows and glaring at Sam with bloodshot eyes.

"Would you leave me alone if I told you I took up smoking?" he muttered. Sam just stared at him. Dean let out a guttural groan, burying his face in his pillow.

"Dean,"

"Well, what can I say, Sammy. I'm getting old, I guess." Dean muttered, "Too many candles on the cake, it's really starting to become a fire hazard. Man, you missed one hell of a party. Good cake, great beer, even had this hot stripper come out of the cake and everything." He went on, and Sam felt a sudden pang of guilt. "Can I go back to sleep now, or do you have any more stupid questions?" Dean demanded. Sam bit his lip, unable to look his brother in the eye.

"Good night." He said, getting to his feet. Dean didn't answer. He just rearranged his pillow and went back to sleep.

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Sam woke with a jolt, a cry escaping his lips. He blinked, still shaken from his nightmare. It was a different nightmare, a strange one. It felt like someone somehow twisted a thousand nightmares into one and forced him to watch as it unfolded before his eyes. He had no idea if it were a vision or not. Some parts of it couldn't have been real, they were too surreal, too unrealistic. Other parts had already happened, but some parts felt like a vision to him. He swallowed hard, sitting up and drawing his knees to his chest, still shivering. One thought ripped through his mind. Dean. He wanted his brother. Dean was always there, by his side, to take care of the nightmare aftereffects. He always had been, ever since they were little. But he wasn't there now, and that only made Sam more anxious.

"Dean?" he called out in a shaky voice, rubbing his eyes and looking around in the dark, searching for the safety that was his older brother. Why wasn't Dean there? Was he mad at Sam for forgetting his birthday? What if he's really angry and won't make everything better? The thought made Sam's heart leap all the way to his throat, where it suddenly met Sam's stomach. "Dean?" Sam cried out again, a little more urgently.

Sam looked over at the bed next to him, wondering why Dean wasn't answering him, why he wasn't coming to help him. And then he understood.

Sam forced himself to swallow, running a hand over his sweaty face, and untangled himself from his covers, getting heavily out of bed and coming to sit on his brother's bed.

Dean wasn't helping his little brother with his nightmare for a very simple reason. He was trapped in one of his own. Sweaty hairs clung to his brow as he thrashed and tossed and turned in his bed, his covers kicked down to his waist, tangled around his legs. Dean was soaked in cold sweat, his breath coming in quick, shallow, gasps.

Sam watched his older brother for a couple of minutes. It still felt strange for him to watch Dean like that, to see his brother having nightmares. He used to have them all the time for a while, right after the accident, but he always refused to talk about them, pretending they had never happened.

Dean was in pretty bad shape for a while. Things got a little better after their father had left them again. Dean stopped having nightmares after that. He hasn't had one since, Sam was sure about that. Well, pretty sure. Almost positive. Surely, he'd notice if his brother had had a nightmare, he was a light sleeper after all… Dean couldn't have hidden something like that from him, he wouldn't. Would he? Sam gasped, rolling his eyes and exhaling loudly. Of course he would! He was Dean after all, wasn't he? That stupid, cocky, arrogant, irritating, self-sacrificing jerk! Sam had a sudden urge to strangle his brother, or at the very least, punch him really, really hard.

TBC

A/N: A little teaser from next week's chapter...

"Sam," Dean said eventually, turning his eyes away from his little brother and back towards the ceiling. He took a deep breath and just let it out. "If you could do it all over again, if you had the chance to go back and do things… I don't know, different. Would you?" Dean asked, his voice a little husky. Sam raised a brow, completely taken by surprise by that question. He opened his mouth to speak a couple of times, but couldn't think of anything to say. This question came from left field, giving him no warning whatsoever. Dean cleared his throat again. "I mean," he went on in a small voice, "you know, the whole leaving for college stuff." Dean added. Sam laid back on his back, staring at the ceiling with unseeing eyes. Where had that come from?

Does it tease you enough to leave those nice reviews?