You know what? I think it's time for me to face the fact that my brain went wild with this 'supposed to be a one shot' story and just make it an official 'I have no idea how many chapters' story. I'm sorry, I hope you can forgive me… it's just that Dean needs some more time to fix Sam. I'm really sorry. I hope you'll stick with me until the end, but if not…that's okay too.

And Emerald-Water you ARE the Queen of bugging…thank you so much and all of you who have reviewed…I'm really happy that you're enjoying the story so far.

Enjoy…please…

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The gunshot thundered through the forest, scaring the night birds off the branches, scattering the leaves, making them fly softly on the breeze. The birds wings made a sound Dean never wanted to hear again. It reminded him of the man's breathing. But that monster is dead now. Finally.

The noise stopped Dean, stopped his tugging and pulling at Sam…the dead weight in his arms.

Stopped Sam's breathing, stopped his shaking, stopped the pain in his arms, in his knee and settled deep into his chest. It rang out in his ear, seeping slowly into his brain…need air.

It stopped their steps in the fern, the cracking noise when their boots crunched the straw thin branches, could be heard for miles.

The soft cares of the fern was doing nothing to ease Dean's mind. He could feel the gentle leaves through his jeans; it was a solid press, a presence of something alive and kind…but it was Sam that was a presence too, a soft presence of life too sensitive for all off this.

Even though his face was still pressed into Dean's warm chest, Sam felt the shot as it stung his ears, cracking the tissue there. He felt it through Dean's body, felt it through the moving of Dean's chest, felt it like he was the one being shot. It was muffled by the distance, but nevertheless…it stopped his thoughts, it stopped his ability to feel anything…anything at all.

Dean felt Sam flinch, felt him go stiff, rigid like an iron bar.

Not good.

Help me, boy…the man's thick voice, dirty face, bloody chest, cold eyes…was all Sam felt, all he saw, all that was in his brain, breaking his ability to feel…to breathe.

He shuddered and pressed himself closer to Dean's warmth, his smell, too much fabric softener, his arms…strong, never letting go. His ability to feel came back the instant he felt Dean's amulet string grazing his nose. He felt alive for a mere second, before the silence overtook him again.

Because the night was loud and it was silent. It was dark and it was bright, it was…Sam in his arms. Dean looked down at his brother, seeing only a patch of rustled hair, brown and shining in the moonlight.

"Sam?" he went for a whisper, he went for gentle, he went for an order.

Silence.

His hand slipped from the back of Sam's neck again, and he resettled it, cupping Sam's head. His fingers grazed the pulse point and he counted. Too fast, too fast, too fast...shit, Sammy.

The cricket stopped its song, the birds settled down, the wind shhhhhhhed and the fern caressed. Sam…breathed. Dean felt him take a breath, his hand on Sam's back rose up and down…too slow, too shallow.

"Sammy?"

Silence.

He felt Sam shaking through the hand on his back…he pressed it deeper, stronger into Sam's spine, trying to iron the tremors, but it didn't help. He felt Sam's chest rising and falling, rubbing his own chest…too fast and too short…too shallow, too quick. Too messed up.

"Sammy, 's O.K., you're fine…just," he grabbed hold of Sam's hands, knowing he was putting bruises in the kid's forearm, "let's get to the car, O.K."

He pushed him from his chest, where Sam seemed to settle like a bird in a nest and looked at him. Truly looked at his baby brother for the first time tonight.

"Sam…" breathless.

The dry saliva from when Sam was sleeping was a white line going from his mouth to his chin, his forehead was hidden beneath a cascade of brown, shiny hair, moist from sweat. His mouth was slightly open, pulling in the much needed air, still not enough, Sammy, his cheeks were blushed, Dean didn't know from what…fear, running, lack of oxygen, warmth...everything. His nose had a bruise, a line of skin…an exact replica of the string that holds the amulet. Dean smiled at that for a moment.

But when he looked at Sam's eyes, he almost swallowed his tongue. They were a black maze of unshed tears. A storm was brewing in them and Dean knew he will be the one who'll have to find shelter…for the both of them.

"Sam, we have to move, come on."

He pulled Sam closer to himself again, settled him back to his chest and felt Sam sag a bit with the contact.

The steady pressure of Dean's chest, the raising and falling of it lulled Sam deeper into the haze of Help me, boy…words that hurt and tore at his soul.

And they walked…ran on occasion, stumbled over their legs, stumbled over the bushes, breaking twigs, rustling the leaves, cracking little bugs who were too slow on their tiny feet. The sounds of the forest were everywhere, birds, crickets, rustling, howling, tsking, cracking, but all Sam heard was…help me, boy.

Dean never let go of Sam's back or the back of his neck. The curls of Sam's hair were damp there, and Dean intertwined his fingers with them. With every step made he pressed Sam a little closer to himself, a little closer to his strength. He felt Sam's hands gripping the hem of his T-shirt, he knew Sam tore a hole in there, and he felt Sam's cold fingers dig themselves into that hole. Expanding it, until he fitted all his fingers in there. He felt Sam's bony fingers scrape his skin near his hip, felt them squeeze the fabric.

Sam sagged and breathed into Dean's chest. The warm breath in that exhale send shivers through Dean's skin…it was in such contrast to the cold he felt all over his body. He was soaked in sweat, almost matching Sam in that department and whenever Sam breathed out, the warmth spread throughout his body. He would never admit to anyone that he counted those breaths. It was the only way of knowing how Sam was doing. Too fast, too slow, too shallow, too deep...Dean knew it all, knew how Sam felt, knew when to go slower, knew when it was alright to go faster. All in the counts of Sam's breaths.

"Come on, move your feet, Sammy." were words whispered into his hair. They were like an arrow shot straight into his brain, but his brain had an 'out of order' sign on its door.

Help me, boy…playing over and over again. Like a broken record stuck on the exact same words…help me, boy.

They walked, they ran, they stumbled…but they never fell. Ever. Dean's hold was too tight, and Sam was too pliant to do anything about it. Their legs tangled up; it was a dance they performed, a dance to escape, a dance of tangled limbs and too fast breaths. Dean held his baby brothers body in his hands and pushed him forwards through the labyrinth of trees and bushes. He knew exactly where the car was, knew the way even in the silver light of the ancient moon.

Dean felt Sam shake like a leaf on a wild river, felt him breathing, felt him sweating, felt his T-shirt getting soaked. Felt all of Sam's bones moving, all his muscles twitching.

He never wanted Sam to see this…that, not this soon and not in that way. Sam was too sensitive for this…now. Why the hell did Sam come there? Why would he leave the car? Why would Sam…?

His line of why's was interrupted by the sight of the car. It was waiting there, patiently. The back door was open, and Dean flinched. But it was Sam…limp in his arms that pulled his thoughts away from all the nasty things that he thought could happen to the Impala…with its door open like that. But it was Sam…shaking in his arms, in his tight grip, that stole his attention. He let go of Sam's back and spun him around, awkwardly and too fast, making Sam stumble and almost fall on the floor.

"Sam, hey," he took a look at Sam's face, "look, we're gonna sit in the car and wait for Dad and then we're leaving."

Sam didn't blink. He just stared straight ahead into Dean's chest, the moonlight reflecting from the amulet and he was mesmerized by it. How it swung back and forth, reflecting the bright light. Reflecting his heartbeat, breath. Back and forth, in and out, thumpthump.

The big oak scratched Dean's shoulder, almost like petting him, telling him that everything's gonna be alright. They passed the tree, and stumbled on its root, but Dean's grip was too steady and too strong to make them fall.

Sam's legs were shaking, lacking strength to walk, lacking the strength to stand…

Help me, boy…that voice, that whisper of three simple words, turned his whole body into jelly.

The gunshot still echoed through him. It settled into him, it made a home in his chest. And the sound of the man's pleas was in his brain, eating away the soft voice of his brother.

He was being pushed again, and when he landed on the Impala's leather seat he sighed.

"Sam? Can you hear me?"

He crouched down, near where Sam's knees were and rested his hands on Sam's thighs. The jeans there were wet, the early morning dew landed there, when Sam was running through the bushes. And there was some blood near Sam's right knee. His jeans were torn there, little strips of bloody fabric.

"Sam? What the hell?" he touched Sam's knee and Sam flinched, but didn't make a sound.

"You fell?" he looked up at Sam's face, those eyes…staring back at him…stormy and glazed with tears.

No answer.

"You hurt anywhere else?" besides your soul?

The softly whispered words brought no answer.

He let go of Sam's knee and picked up Sam's hands that were only a second ago clenching his T-shit. He gripped them by the wrist, noticing how fast Sam's heart was beating, if you keep this up, Sam, you're gonna have a heart attack. They were cold, even in this summer heat, Sam's hands were like ice.

"Sam, calm down." he tightened his grip on Sam's wrists but felt no change in Sam's heartbeat.

"Sam, look at me." so soft not even the Impala heard it.

No flinch, no answer, nothing. Not even a blink of an eye.

"Sam, O.K.," he raised his voice a notch, "you have to look at me."

Nothing. Sam's eyes were staring into Dean's amulet, hanging near his chest, dangling left and right when Dean moved.

"Alright, O.K., just let me check you over, alright? It's O.K, alright?"

The old oak was shhhhhhing Sam when Dean raised his hand to look at Sam's pupils, gripped his cheeks, lingered his fingers on Sam's neck, when he let go of the pulse point on Sam's wrist, still too fast: "Calm down, Sam, 's O.K."

He ran his hands down Sam's shoulders, down his arms to his hands where he was met by a few bruises and some splinters. The blood was dry by now, but the dirt was still there and the splinters too. Sam's elbow was scraped too, the tiny bloody strips of skin hanging from the bruise and Dean touched them. Sam flinched and tried to pull his hand away from Dean, but Dean just pulled back: "'m sorry."

And that was enough for Sam to go limp again.

Dean made a mental note of every scrape and bruise Sam had. Every last one of them. Sam didn't flinch when he touched his chest, when he touched his back, when he touched his ribs, great, nothing broken, 's good. He took a good look at Sam's knee, tracing his hands down Sam's legs to his ankles.

Sam never flinched again.

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TBC…