A/N: Well this is the longest chapter I've done, for this FF, I hope you all like it. When I first started doing it I thought it was going to seriously suck, but I'm somewhat happy with how it came out for once lol. PLEASEEEEE REVIEW!! Thank you to everyone that has btw you guys are amazing.

--------------

…KEEP TRYING TO EXPLAIN

-DEAN POV-

Come on now, Sam.

You know I don't need Dad's journal to know when you're lying.

So face it. You're lying.

And you need to stop. Now.

Maybe you're not telling the whole truth, maybe every word that's left your mouth was imagined from that head of yours. But one thing is for sure. You're lying in a lame attempt to keep someone safe. To do 'good'.

All I can do is hope is it's not me.

Sam, are you doing something stupid? Are you messing with things like life and death? Are you accepting fate? Destiny? Some other crap someone who knows nothing about you told you? Are you telling me the truth? Am I ever going to ask you any of these questions?

No.

Would you lie to me if I did ask you these questions?

Probably.

For the past day I've been watching you. I doubt you noticed. I'm just too damn good.

You walk around the room on invisible eggshells, too afraid to give away any clue. Sam, you're a walking photo album of emotions, thoughts, and ideas. You're a gallery of grief and regret. Guilt and sadness. I need to get you out. Something's killing you. I know it.

Sam, do you feel guilty?

You sit on your laptop. And I noticed. When I walk over to 'get' something from the table, you 'x' out the window. You hide what you're looking for on that computer. You hide what's bothering you. Sam, you suck at hiding things.

Sam, why do you stare at the desktop of your computer?

Is that really what you're doing?

You go in the bathroom every once and a while. Stay in there for about half a minute, then you come out. But for the most part you're in this room. This goddamn space. You don't look at me. You definitely don't talk. You just stare out into the air contemplating on something. You're making life changing decisions in you're head. Without me.

Sam, can I help you make your decisions?

Can I have some details as to what specifically is going on with you?

Don't you think you owe me that much?

You've turned on the TV maybe three times today. Usually all you can find is some pathetic infomercial or 'TV special'. You hate that crap. Or you flip to channel with some mellow-dramatic television show. Issue of the week. Some crap like that. A show with prompters and product placement. Shows with girls who look straight from those magazines I read. Boys from those fitness magazines I flip through while I'm in the waiting room of a hospital. God you hate that stuff even more. I bet you're not even watching it. I bet you just want me to think you are.

Sam, do you think I'm blind?

And when there's no bathroom or laptop or soaps to keep your attention, you just stare. Stare at the wall. Stare at the floor. Stare at your lap. Stare out the broken window. I hope it doesn't freakin rain-

Stare at the door like your weighing your chances of getting out if. Stare at the glass and not bother to clean it up. Stare at everything but not really see anything- Stare at me?

Not sure, maybe. I am pretty goddamn attractive.

It takes me about eight hours to finally work up enough courage to ask you what the fuck's going on. And of course order you to clean up your freakin mess (which is still there, as if I haven't said that enough. Maybe if I keep thinking it, you'll hear me and get the hint).

Nah not going to work.

"Sam. I'm done with this bullshit. Get up and help me clean. Now."

Ok, I said that a bit louder than I meant to.

After that I wouldn't be surprised if Sam responded with 'Yes sir'. I can't believe how much like my dad I sound.

Mind you, I think those words I said just shook the earth. Woke little girls in Australia and other countries across the world from their sweet little dreams. Made wussy men in California dive under their table in fear of the 'coming' quake. Made bodies six feet under jump from their graves. My voice was probably heard by things so far up in the sky and souls so far down in hell.

That's how fucking scary it was.

All listening to me order my brother around. All listening to me finally realizing the only thing dad's journal or dad taught me how to do was be just like him. I turn to that when I don't know what to do. Did I already say that?

But my brother. My brother does absolutely nothing. He just stares.

Sam?…

I would have a question, but after that there's only one thing I can really say.

What the fuck?

"Sam!"

Ok now he gets up from the bed. The trance is broken. Sam is back.

Well not really.

He seems to get up and move in a motion I don't understand. He kneels down carefully, aware of the shards of glass littering our floor, glancing at the window ever few seconds. Fuck this motel is cheap. They didn't even realize their friggin window is broken.

I let out a sigh, when I see my brother can actually hear me. Too bad he's not talking to me. Or looking at me. Just quietly being obedient. Doing what he's told. Hey Sam! Snap out of it!

I'm an idiot. My brother is clearly not in his right state of mind and I'm forcing him to clean. He's still a little weak, from whatever the witch did to him. He's still not Sam. And I decide to go to the bathroom.

For the record, I don't have to go.

I just want to get away from my brother for a second. I just need to breathe.

I stay in there for maybe… I don't know, three minutes. Pretty goddamn selfish, right?

So I come back and take a look at my brother and begin to go about whatever the hell I've been doing all day. It takes me all of 15 seconds to realize my brother is bleeding.

That's too long.

"Sam?"

His hands are all cut up. There's glass sticking out of them. It's pretty grotesque but I don't care. All that matters is Sammy. All that matters is my Sammy.

Sam ignores me and continues to pick up glass from the floor, blood now flowing freely from his fingers and palms. It's nowhere near life threatening, but my brother is letting himself get hurt. My brother is willingly let his hands feel pain. He's welcoming scars to haunt him forever. Like he doesn't even have much longer to feel pain. Like he's running out of time to feel.

Sam, can you even feel it?

"Sam stop."

My voice is firm. It's power. It's superiority. It's stop. It screams stop.

Yeah, Sam doesn't stop.

"Sam I said to STOP!"

Oops, did I shake the earth again? My bad.

No one would know the goddamn difference anyway.

Now Sam stops and looks up at me. He slowly reaches out and begins to pull pieces of glass from his, now pale, sweaty skin. My brother's skin. He doesn't wince but I do. I can't stop myself no matter how much I want to. I guess when he's content with the lack of glass in him at this point; he stops and looks up at me.

Dear god, his face is drenched, I mean drenched in tears.

These tears couldn't all have fallen in the three minutes he's been down here. These tears must have fallen throughout the entire day. I slowly reach out a shaking hand to touch his shirt and it's damp. My brother's been crying all day, and it took me until now to notice.

Until now. Eight hours later.

Maybe I was the one staring and not seeing anything.

Now he's sobbing, making noise as he weeps and I can feel the embarrassment, the self-pity radiating off of him. He covers his face in his bloody hands. The tears and blood mixing together and making slow paths down his chin and onto the carpet below us.

Now I understand why motels have dark carpet. Keeps all the stains from the eyes of new guests. My mind drifts to the secrets this carpet must hold, and suddenly I'm disgusted and all I want to do is grab my brother and place him safely on his bed.

That's when he starts talking. Or mumbling really. He's trying to confess about something, but from the few words I catch my mind automatically shuts it out. Shuts out the hurt and the fear attacking it. Shuts out the goddamn emotion.

All of it.

And all I really comprehend is that this is something I don't want to know, something so scary I would take the deadliest creature on before I touched this. This is how hurt sounds. This is how a desperate brother sounds.

This is how everything falling apart sounds.

You know what, Sam. Don't answer any of those questions. I changed my mind.

You can keep lying to me.