Disclaimer: Still don't own them!

A/N: Thank you so much to everyone who has taken the time to read this story and especially to those who have taken the time to review - I really appreciate seeing what you have to say! Sorry it has taken so long to get this chapter up - I've had relatives visiting and my workplace has morphed into a madhouse! I'll try to do better in future.

Chapter 3 – Broken Promise Land

Dean was lying on a rooftop. That was about the extent of what he knew about where he was. He didn't know what building the roof belonged to or where it was located – though presumably it wasn't in Siberia because surely the air wouldn't be so pleasantly warm if it was. Gentle sunlight caressed him and the scent of jasmine danced on the breeze. It was beautiful.

Then a boulder fell on his chest, knocking the wind out of him and piercing his skin with long thorns. Dean gasped for air and tried desperately to move it but to no avail.

He woke up panicked and breathless. All he could see were a pair of large yellow eyes.

Dean groaned and pushed the cat on to the bed beside him. "Sorry Mags, but I'm kinda partial to breathing."

Sitting up, Dean took in his surroundings. It seemed that, unfortunately, last night had not been one of his more vivid and outlandish dreams. In lieu of a working clock, the pale sunlight filtering through the window suggested that it was early morning. The bedroom door was still closed but he thought he could hear people moving around somewhere beyond.

Dean hadn't slept well. Being in a place that was beyond weird, even for him, had put Dean on high alert and even the tiniest sound had been enough to wake him. This was a problem because as well as the usual sounds made by a not so young house someone had been coughing on and off. He probably hadn't got more than fifteen minutes uninterrupted sleep. What made it worse was that it had been Sam doing the coughing. At least Dean was ninety nine percent sure it was and having spent so much time practically living in Sam's pocket Dean should know. It had taken all the will power he possessed not to pick the lock, run to Sam's side and try, however ineptly, to make him better. It didn't matter that it wasn't his Sam.

On top of all this was the sense of foreboding hanging over him. It was understandable perhaps, given that the last time Dean had slept in this room he'd been woken in the middle of the night to find his father in a panic, his mother dying, Sammy squalling and the house on fire. Every time he woke up he half expected to find the same scene or something equally dreadful.

Dean scrubbed a hand through his close cropped hair. He needed a convincing story ready just in case last night's interrogation recommenced. Normally that sort of thing wouldn't be a problem but then, normally Dean would know more about what was going on than the person he was lying to. In this case he barely knew anything and Dad knew almost everything, or thought he did. Obviously he was going to need to be as vague as possible to minimise the risk of Dad catching him out on some detail he didn't know. Above all he needed to keep Dad happy.

There was a rattling as someone unlocked the door and then Dad was there. Dean saw the look of surprise that crossed his face before he schooled his features into the familiar mask that Dean had seen his own father wear near constantly, as though it was a crime to have feelings. If he was honest Dean would have to admit that he was much the same.

"So you're still here. I hope this means you were being genuine last night."

"Of course I was." There really wasn't any point replying but Dean suspected that staying silent would be taken as an affront.

"Good. Let's go downstairs."

They were half way down the stairs when there was a scream. Forgetting his 'don't upset Dad' mantra, Dean sped down the stairs towards the source of the sound.

Mum was standing in the doorway of the downstairs bathroom. Inside, Sam held a kitchen knife to his wrist. Tears ran down his face as he apologised over and over again for what he was about to do.

"It's ok Mum," Dean told her quietly, "I'll handle it."

He walked into the room as Dad arrived in the doorway. He started to speak, to tell Dean to get out of there, but Mum shushed him. Dean was grateful – this was a delicate operation and he didn't need distractions.

"Sammy?"

Sam looked at him but didn't seem to really see him. Dean held out his hand for the knife.

"Give it."

Sam shook his head. "No."

Dean sighed. "I didn't want to have to do this." His left hand snaked out to grab Sam's wrist and he yanked the hand holding the knife well away from wrist Sam had been intending to slit. "Drop it or I'll make you drop it."

At first he thought Sam was going to refuse again but all of a sudden his hand went limp and the knife clattered to the floor. Dean kicked it away to make sure Sam wouldn't be picking it up again.

"Thank you." Dean let go Sam's arm and tentatively laid a gentle hand on his shoulder. Sam flinched at first but then began to lean into the touch. Before they knew it they were both on the ground, Sam's head against Dean's chest.

They sat in silence for a few moments. Then Dean spoke. "Sammy, you want to tell me what's so bad you were going to slit your wrists?"

Sam took a shuddering breath and glanced warily at their parents. Dean gestured at them to leave and they did, though very reluctantly.

Then Sam spoke. "Jess is gone, isn't that enough?" When Dean didn't reply he continued. "No-one will believe me if I tell them what really happened but they can tell I'm holding back and some of them even think I set the fire." He sniffled, "As if I would ever hurt her. I can't take it, I just don't want to…and I can't do what you do and just…drug myself beyond caring…tried drinking it all away…only works for so long then it's just worse…I'm tired Dean."

"Tell me, what did really happen?" That yellow eyed bastard happened, I know it.

"Promise you won't call the little men in white coats on me?"

"Cross my heart."

Sam took a deep breath. "Ok, well, I saw…Jess was pinned to the ceiling…she burned on the ceiling…I know it sounds crazy, not to mention physically impossible, but that is what I saw."

"I believe you." Because I saw it with my own eyes, just like I saw the same thing happen to Mum.

"What?" Sam's voice was thick with shock and amazement.

"You heard. I believe you."

"No, no you don't. You're just humouring me."

Dean shook his head. "I'm not humouring you. You said you saw Jess burn on the ceiling and I believe you. No-one should have to watch something like that." He paused for a minute, "You think you should have died too, don't you? You were there, you saw Jess taken from you and you don't understand how you could have got out alive. Am I right?" This was well and truly beyond being a chick flick moment, but for Sam Dean would go as far as painting his nails or holding a slumber party if he had to. God forbid that should ever be required but there was nothing Dean wouldn't do for his brother.

Dean watched closely as Sam processed his last statement. He didn't speak but the expression on his face was reply enough.

"I don't know why or how you survived but the fact is you did. What I do know is that you're hurting, even though I probably couldn't even begin to understand how much, that the fire wasn't your fault and that you shouldn't feel guilty for being alive. I also know that I love you and Mum and Dad love you and that I won't let you die, even if I have to march into death itself and pull you out. If you're feeling this bad I want you to tell me. I might not be able to change what happened but I can listen. Got that?"

"Got it," Sam said, with a watery smile. "You know…" He trailed off, staring at Dean as though seeing him for the first time. "Dean, what are you doing here?"

"What does it look like? I'm being an awesome big brother."

"But you were using again. Dad told you to stay away until you were sober. We kept getting calls from the hospital about overdoses…I was so scared I'd never see you again. I said such horrible, awful things to you the last time I saw you and I was terrified that you were going to die thinking I hated you and I don't Dean, I never could. I was angry and scared and I said things I never should have said and I'm sorry. I just can't believe you're here and Dad isn't trying to kill you, or at least throw you out."

"Trust me, he ranted plenty last night. I don't know what would have happened if Mum hadn't been there to keep him under control." It felt odd to talk about Mum like that when he'd lived for so long in a world where all that was left her was ashes and a few charred pieces of bone.

Sam opened his mouth to say something but was overcome by a fit of coughing. Dean frowned, now one hundred percent certain it was Sam who had been coughing all night.

"Are you sick dude?" Dean asked when Sam had got his breath back. "You were coughing all night."

"I didn't get burnt in the fire but I inhaled a lot of smoke. It permanently damaged my lungs. I'm ok, but I won't be running any marathons." He gave a wry smile. "I never wanted to be a marathon runner anyway."

It was irrational but Dean felt somewhat guilty about this. He couldn't help but think that it was because he hadn't been there in this reality to pull Sam out of the burning apartment that his brother had suffered lung damage.

"Do you think you're ready to come out of here and put Mum out of her misery?"

Sam took a deep breath. "Let's do it."

They both got up and Dean was about to start heading out when Sam pulled him into a tight embrace.

"Thank you." He whispered.

"Any time Sammy."

***

"Sammy, why're you doing this?" Dean whined, "You said it yourself, the last time I saw you, I'm a hopeless case. Just let me go."

It had been thirteen hours since they'd left Morphettville and Sam was getting to the end of his tether. Dean had swung between whining, desperate pleading and belligerence but the message was always the same – 'let me go'. There had been occasional periods of silence but even then Dean's discomfort and distress was plain to see. Sam was tossing up whether to respond to this latest whine by telling him to shut up or just ignore it until he realised what Dean had just said.

Sam pulled over and turned to face his almost brother.

"You are not a hopeless case. Understand?" Sam told him, voice trembling with tiredness and emotion. "You can do this. And you don't have to do it alone. I'll be with you."

For a moment the only sound was the throbbing of the impala's engine. Then Dean gasped and clutched at his abdomen. He started gagging.

"Smmy…ick" Dean's words were garbled but his meaning was clear. Sam undid both their seatbelts and ran around to Dean's side of the car as quickly as he could. Much to Sam's relief he somehow managed to help Dean out of the car before he started vomiting.

Puke on the impala's upholstery was unlikely to go down very well with her owner when he returned.

When the retching subsided Dean fell back into Sam's arms, shaking violently. Sam held him close and Dean leaned in to the embrace.

"Hurts, Sammy." The words were the same but the tone had changed. At least for the moment, Dean had stopped fighting.

***

It was a relief to Sam when they finally reached Singer's Salvage. He guided the car up the long driveway and parked next to the house.

"We're here." He informed Dean, and got out of the car.

Dean made no move to do anything. Sam yanked open the passenger door, well past being patient.

"Are you going to get out of the car or do I have to make you?"

"Sam, you've cuffed my wrists and ankles. Even if I can manage to get out of the car without falling on my face I'm not going to get anywhere very quickly. Besides, it hurts to move."

"I don't care if it takes you a hundred years to make it to the house. And what do you mean, it hurts to move? It's not as if you've broken your legs or something."

"You really don't know what you're getting into, do you? FYI when you come off smack everything hurts like hell." Dean paused for a moment. "Sam, are you sure you want to be introducing your friends to me now? 'Cause you must have noticed that I'm not really very good company at the moment and it's going to get worse." His voice shook with the tremors that coursed through his body.

"Bobby is more than just a friend. Besides, he's put up with worse than this. Think Dad in a foul mood."

Dean groaned. "Does the man have any other mood?" He sighed. "No, don't answer that. He's probably perfectly happy when I'm not around."

Sam found this hard to imagine. In his experience Dean had been the golden boy and he'd been the one to always make Dad mad.

"He does love you, you know. He's probably just scared for you." It was a variation on what his Dean had often told him and Sam had always had trouble believing it but in this case he thought it was probably true.

Dean laughed bitterly. "You know I went back home a few months back? Yeah, I thought maybe they'd help me, since I'd done such a bang up job trying to quit on my own. That went down well. Mum wasn't there and Dad just went ballistic on my ass. 'What are you doing here! I thought I told you not to come back till you were sober! Rah, rah, rah!' He wouldn't even let me get a word in. He said things I wouldn't dare repeat. If I spoke like that to him he'd kill me."

"Well Bobby's not going to yell at you. He doesn't take any crap but he's a lot more even tempered than Dad has ever been. Anyway, back to my original question – are you going to get out?"

Dean sighed. "I s'pose so." He swung his legs around and slowly pulled his body into a standing position, wincing and cursing under his breath. Once he was up Sam slung an arm around his shoulders. Dean was shaking violently and Sam didn't want him to fall down.

Together, they made their way slowly to Bobby's house.

***

Sam had been unsure what kind of welcome he'd get from Bobby. The phone number he had for the old family friend was no longer working and he seemed to recall Dean telling him about some threats involving their father's ass and a great deal of buckshot. Apparently their father was the only person the threat and hostility had been directed at; after drinking from a flask of holy water to no effect Sam had been welcomed with open arms. Exhausted after driving for the better part of fifteen hours on approximately four hours sleep Sam had crashed out on the couch after explaining the situation, leaving Dean in Bobby's more than capable hands.

Twelve hours later, after a long but troubled sleep, the situation hadn't got any better.

"This is not good."

Had he been involved in a 'state the bleeding obvious' competition Bobby would have won hands down.

"Tell me something I don't know," Sam motioned in the direction of the stairs. Dean's cries could be heard coming from overhead.

"Sam, I'm talking about the bigger picture here. Now I don't know much about other realities and everything I do know is second hand, but one thing all the stories have in common is that a person can't survive for long outside their own reality. If we can't switch them back your brother and Mr Congeniality up there will both be dead within about six months, nine at the outside."

Sam paled. "So how do we swap them back?"

Bobby rolled his eyes. "If I knew, don't you think I'd have told you? We're going to have to do a bit of research on that."

"Well, what do you know?"

"There are more theories about other realities than you can poke a stick at, it's ridiculous. We're going to have to hit the books, see which ones come up the most, which ones fit best with what happened. Then we might have more than a snowball's chance of putting things right. I've gone through my collection, pulled out the most likely looking books," He motioned at the heavily laden table to his left, "Take a seat and let's get cracking."

Hours passed at that table, the endless reading broken only by trips to get more coffee and to check on Dean. Day had turned to night and Sam had long lost track of the time when the screaming began. He dropped his current book and ran up the stairs like a bat out of hell.

When Sam reached the spare room he found Dean staring, stricken with anguish, at something only he could see and repeating the same words over and over again.

"Not Shell…no…no…not Shell…no…please, no…Shell…Kick…no…no…"

Sam tried to comfort him, tried to tell him that there was nothing there but Dean didn't even acknowledge his presence. He seemed to be caught entirely in some terrible moment that Sam knew nothing of.

How long this lasted Sam would never know, but it seemed like forever. Then Dean gasped and sank down on the bed shaking and breathing heavily. Sam sat down beside him and tentatively reached out to put his arms around his brother. Dean flinched at first, then accepted the touch, clinging to Sam like his life depended on it.

"Why do you put up with me Sammy?" The question was barely audible.

"Because I love you."

Thanks for reading!