I don't own Supernatural, not one bit of it, so if you are planning on suing, please, please don't

I don't own Supernatural, not one bit of it, so if you are planning on suing, please, please don't. I'm a recent college grad with negative money (I owe money) so please just let me use the brilliant characters.

Also, thanks for all the reviews, I love them.

-sn-

The room was dark. Dean hit the button on the flashlight, but nothing happened. He cursed under his breath and waited for his eyes to adjust, he hated waiting. A dark figure was suspended towards the back of the room. With mounting trepidation that Dean couldn't figure out, he walked towards it.

As he got closer he recognized a blue hooded sweatshirt. Sam. Dean could now make out the noose around Sam's neck, the stillness of his little brother. Dean reached for his pistol, aimed, fired. Nothing happened, the gun wasn't even loaded. He always loaded the guns.

He desperately looked for something to get Sam down. He suddenly remembered his knife. He flipped it open, pretended that there was no more pressure than a game of darts in a smoky bar, and threw. The rope snapped and Sam's lifeless form dropped to the unforgiving floor.

Dean checked for a pulse, for breath, for anything, but Sam was gone. Dean started chest compressions, breaths, Sam's ribs broke under the attempt to save his life. Minutes passed, but Dean couldn't stop. Sammy was dead, never to come back.

"Sammy." He yelled as though it could wake him up.

Dean sat bolt upright in bed, his breath fast and his heart racing. He looked over to Sam and held his breath until he saw his little brother breathe. Dean's hands shook and he couldn't get the images of the nightmare out of his head. He glanced down at the illuminated hands of his watch and saw that it was four thirty. He knew he wouldn't sleep any more that night.

Silently, Dean slipped out of the room and went out to the kitchen. He started a pot of coffee and leaned against the counter, his heart still beating quicker than usual. The coffee finished and he poured himself a cup.

He wasn't sitting at the table long before Bobby appeared. "I thought I heard someone up."

Dean looked over as Bobby poured himself coffee. "Couldn't sleep."

"I never could go back to sleep after a nightmare either."

He met Bobby's gaze. "How'd you know?"

"Dean, you sleep like lead when you're here. I've only seen you get up before six a handful of times."

He shrugged and took a drink of his coffee.

"Also, you make coffee."

"I never meant to be so predictable."

Bobby looked up at him. "When everything else goes to shit, routines hold strong in whatever way they can."

They sat at the table and drank coffee over conversations of sports, past poker victories and engines. They didn't talk about jobs or the reason why the boys were at Bobby's.

Sam stood in the gym, the darkness pressed against him. He could feel someone there with him, just beyond his sight.

"Dean?" His voice echoed back to him.

"Sam?"

Suddenly there was a flashlight in his hand and the beam swung around until it landed on Jeremy, hanging from the pipe. His limp body swung slightly, but his eyes were focused on Sam.

"You could have saved me, Sam." He coughed and blood ran down his chin. "You should have saved Jess."

Sam dropped to his knees, the light and his eyes locked on Jeremy. Everything spun around him and he felt sick.

"Sam." A lighter voice, from behind him.

Something wet fell onto his cheek. He wiped it away and saw blood on his fingertips. Even though he knew and feared what he would see, he raised the beam of light to the ceiling above his head.

Jess was there, pinned and bleeding.

"Sam." Her eyes pleaded with him. "Save me, save my brother."

Then the flames started and Sam was frozen.

"You killed us, Sam." Jeremy called over the crackle of the fire. "You knew and you didn't tell her. You could have saved her!" He yelled.

"I don't blame you, Sam." He turned and saw Emily. She stood between her children dying and looked only at Sam. "I can't blame you."

"I did this." He held his hands out, empty.

Pain ripped across his chest. He pressed a hand to his shirt and it came away slick with blood.

Sam woke tangled in the sheets. His ribs felt like knives in his chest as he gasped for breath. His head pounded with his rapid heartbeat. Sweat dampened his hair and shirt. He eased himself up and rested his elbows on his knees.

Dean had been in the shower not ten minutes when Sam appeared in the kitchen. His hands trembled a little and he looked worn out.

Bobby looked up from the paper he was reading. "Are you okay?"

Sam nodded, pale and silent. "Where's Dean?"

"In the shower. Coffee?"

Sam shook his head. "Maybe I'll go for a walk."

"How'r your ribs?"

He shrugged. Bobby set his pain pills on the counter and placed a glass of water next to them. Sam took one and finished the water.

"Don't go off too far."

He slipped out the back door and Bobby watched him walk towards the junk cars.

On his way across the yard, Sam grabbed a baseball bat that was propped against a rusted truck frame. Everything was still messed up in his head, so tangled that he didn't know what he should be feeling. As he walked, the bat in hand, anger slowly became the only thing he could figure out. He stopped by a dented car and looked at it for a moment.

He swung the bat through the window and ignored the pain that ripped across his chest. The glass shattered and he tightened his grip. He swung into the side of the car and dented it further. The strain ripped through his ribs, but he couldn't stop. He beat the shit out of that car.

Exhausted, he dropped the bat and fell to his knees. The pain sharpened and his breath was tight in the lungs. He crawled over and leaned against the car. His headache returned full force and he closed his eyes to everything around him. After a half hour all the pain was muted by the medication and he pushed himself to his feet.

He picked up the bat and swung again. With each swing he yelled with all the volume he could muster from his damaged throat. "I. Killed. Them. All." His voice broke and cracked. Tears ran down his cheeks. "It's. My. Fault."

He didn't hear the footsteps behind him, didn't know Dean was there until his arms wrapped around Sam from behind and stopped him. Automatically he tried to fight.

"Sammy, come on. You're okay. It's going to be okay, Sammy." Dean held him to keep him from moving. "Sam, please."

Sam struggled for a few seconds before he dropped to his knees, Dean with him. Dean could feel his younger brother's labored breathing, he could almost feel the pain that radiated from him.

"Dean?" Bobby's voice hinted at worry.

"He'll be all right." He still hadn't let go of Sam.

Sam leaned against his brother as the pain grew stronger again. Tears still fell from his eyes and he hated that Dean was there to witness it all.

"What's going on, Sammy?" Dean loosened his grip slightly.

Sam reached a hand up and gripped Dean's wrist. "Don't leave."

"I'm not going anywhere."

He continued to gasp for breath. "Hurts."

"Yeah, let's get you back to the house." Dean glanced over at Bobby.

"Not yet." He breathed. "I'm sorry."

Dean shifted slightly, but didn't let go of his brother. "What's going on?"

"Dreamed I killed them." He whispered. "I did kill them."

"No, Sammy. You didn't kill them."

Sam winced and was worn out from the pain. He had been up too long, done too much. Dean felt Sam's strength fade.

"Let's go back to the house and we'll get this sorted out, okay Sammy?"

"It's Sam." He sighed.

Dean almost smiled. "Come on, jerkface."

Bobby and Dean helped Sam to his feet and guided him back to the house. Sam was dizzy and the pain continued to sharpen in his head and his ribs. His legs were weak and he kept tripping on small things. They brought Sam back to the house and eased him onto the bed.

He sunk into the pillows with his eyes closed. He reached for Dean's hand and held it tight. Bobby left and returned with the pain medication and water. Dean sat Sam up and Bobby fed him the medication and water. Dean leaned Sam back against his chest and held him. Sam reached up and held onto his brother's arms.

"Dean?"

"Yeah, Sammy."

"Don't leave yet." He barely whispered.

"Not a chance." Dean could feel him shake with pain and fatigue. "I'm not going anywhere."