A/N: OK I hope you like this chapter, and I'll say it a few times IT'S IN DEAN'S POV! Just wanted to make that clear : ) Thank you to the people that reviewed, I'm still trying to think of a better summary but ya…

Poaetpainter: Omg when u said the Sam and Dean plushie thing I started laughing so hard I spit out my water all over my keyboard and my H key broke!! Haha I took it to the mac store and fixed it but that was so funny lol All the guy did was take off the little button thing shake out the water and clean it with a tissue and it was fine and I was acting like omg this is the end of the world lol

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THERE'S NO DIFFERENCE YOU CAN MAKE

-DEAN'S POV-

My life is pretty much one big inconsistency.

Every week there's a new motel. A new hunt. A new dilemma for us to face.

But through all those inconsistencies there are always two constants in my life: Sam and my knowledge.

The knowledge I have of what's really out there. That's something I use, and depend on every single day of my life. And most of this knowledge comes from one extremely reliable source.

My Dad's journal.

Dad's journal can tell me everything I need to know about vampires, reapers, spirits, and werewolves. I turn to that damn thing too much. I rely on it when I don't know what to do. Just like I rely on Sam. Just like I used to rely on my dad. He left me that journal. He left me with that guide on 'what to do if'. He left me that knowledge.

Why I start thinking about this when I walk in the motel room and see Sam sitting on the floor covered in blood, I don't know.

I'm the big brother. I need to take care of Sam. Take care of Sam.

So I sit down next to him and try to figure out what the hell happened. I can tell right away he's shaken up, but right now I need to know. I need to know why he's hurt. I need to know who did this. I need to know if he did it himself. I need to know why the room's trashed. I need to know how we're going to pay for this. I need to know-

I need to know if any of these questions make any goddamn differnce.

"She came."

After a few minutes he sort of- kind of- not really tells me what happened. The only thing usefully that comes out of his mouth is that the silver bullet didn't work, which is fucking great.

Guess Dad's journal isn't all that dependable, eh?

Sam tells me nothing else happened which is pretty hard to believe. He's covered in bruises and blood and sitting in the middle of our destroyed motel room when I find him. He expects me to believe all the witch did was beat the crap out of him and leave?

I may not have gone to college, but I'm not stupid.

The whole time while I guiding him to the bed, helping him change, wiping the blood from my his forehead and just about everywhere else, stitching his wounds and staying by him as he starts to fall asleep, he seems to be in this deep, deep thought. Like what he's thinking right now is something I'm too scared to know about and too scared not to know about. Like what he's thinking means life or death.

Screw it. He's probably just thinking about how bad I'm going to tease him later when he wakes up. Letting some chick pull one over on him. Ha.

When I see Sam is sleeping peacefully, I decide to step out for a few minutes. Our supplies are nearing empty, and I have some strange feeling we might need them. I saw a 7/11 a few blocks away, so I hop in the impala to make my way over there. Cleaning up the room can wait until Sam's better. That way he can help.

I must have only been out for 25 minutes before I arrived back at the room. Again, with a bag in my hand, only to drop it the second I see my brother.

This time he's not covered in blood or sitting out dazed, he's panting. Even in his sleep his breaths are urgent like this room is slowly running out of air. His face is red and a layer of sweat is covering it.

"De… Wit… Nee…"

I'm so stupid, I haven't even realized he's sleeping from across the room. I'm thinking he's awake and talking to me.

So much for knowledge.

"What Sam?"

"… Sca… Wit… Nee…"

"Sam wake up." Yeah, that's totally going to work. I place my hands on his shoulders and lightly shake him. It takes a few seconds for him to blink and look up at me. He looks at me like I'm a stranger, like he's never seen this handsome face in his entire life.

I explain to him he was having a nightmare and murmuring something. Who knows what he was saying. He probably doesn't even know.

I put my hand on his forehead and he's actually cold. The sweat is a cold sweat, which is probably just from nerves.

"Dean?"

Ok, he said my name. So like any normal person I look at him and nod, let him know I'm listening with out actually responding. I expect him to tell me he had a nightmare. Maybe he had some realization he wants me to listen to. Who knows maybe while I was gone he had a vision and now we have to leave this hunt and drive to the other side of the country. But you know what he does?

Stares. Stares at me like I'm friggin Jesus Christ.

"Never mind, Dean… Don't worry… I'm gonna take care of everything…" that's all he whispers before he closes his eyes and falls back into some deep sleep.

Yeah, Dad's journal can tell me a lot. But what it can't tell me is what to do when I think something's wrong with my brother.

A/N: Oh ya review and I'll send you some virtual cookies and Sam and Dean plushies haha ; )