A.N I am so sorry that I haven't updated in so long, I have had an even worse case of writer's block and it took me forever to shift it. Thank you to everyone who continues to read this story, I promise it won't be that long a wait again.

But dreams though sweet have teeth my dear, and sharpened ones at that.

Sam groaned. He was awake before he opened his eyes. He felt sick, his head was pounding and he was freezing. Tentatively he cracked one eye open, feeling like he had the mother of all hangovers. When the world didn't tilt on its axis he opened the other eye. He felt like crap, his head was fuzzy, he couldn't quite remember why he was out here freezing his ass off in the middle of nowhere.

Then it came screaming back to him. He shot up into a sitting position, breathing deeply when his stomach protested at the sudden movement. He looked around; Dean was nowhere to be seen. He squinted at his watch, just after three. He'd not been out for too long, Dean couldn't have gotten that far at the speed he'd been walking.

Getting to his feet was not as easy as it should have been, his vision swam and he had to steady himself and breathe through it. He had to get it together; he was no use to Dean if he was concussed and hypothermic. He was still shivering, that was a good sign, despite his brief interlude, he'd managed to fall in a heap at the base of a tree, sheltering him somewhat from the snow.

He wrapped his arms around himself and trudged forwards, trying to follow the footprints in the snow. The flakes weren't falling with such intensity anymore which meant that the footprints were still visible. All he had to do was follow them and they should lead him to his brother.

It still unsettled him how Dean hadn't even noticed he was there. Like he was under a spell. The Dean he knew would never have left his unconscious brother lying in the snow without a damn good reason.

Sam couldn't feel much of anything, just pain and cold, a deep penetrating cold that bit at his skin and made each breath painful.

In a normal situation their plight would be hopeless, but they were Winchester's. Normal was never really their thing. They were survivors, their Dad had taught them well. They had the resources to hold out longer than the average man. But how much longer could they hold out? Sam was being driven by the need to save Dean, if Dean didn't make it them Sam's motivation would die right along with his brother and he'd probably just lie down in the snow and let sleep take him.

It was so hard to stay alert, his head was swimming, and he was so tired. His senses were dulled; he had no idea if he was still being followed. Sam tried to make himself pay attention to his surroundings, he couldn't give up now, he could be being watched. He'd heard something whisper his name before he'd knocked himself out, he was sure of it.

He tried to think about what they could be dealing with, he needed to keep his mind focused but it was hard, so hard to think past anything but the cold and exhaustion. All he could come up with was a Wendigo but it didn't seem to fit. Dean had been in some sort of trance, a Wendigo was more likely to just grab a snack, they weren't the play with your food type.

Sam followed the footprints deeper into the woods, following them over fallen trees and under low hanging branches. Sam was hurrying, praying that he was walking faster than Dean had been. He was trying to rush his progress so much that he almost missed the point where the prints doubled. Sam stopped, puzzled, unsure if his eyes or mind were playing tricks on him. From where he was standing there were two sets of prints, one veering off to the left, the other to the right.

"Damn it!" Sam grumbled.

Something was definitely screwing with him, trying to throw him off. Renewed rage erupted inside him. He'd be damned if he was going to let some supernatural douche finish them off! Not after all they'd dealt with.

Reacting purely on instinct, Sam ploughed straight ahead, ignoring the two paths in the snow. If something was trying to throw him off the trail it was just as likely to cover Dean's real prints and if it thought he was falling for it, it could go straight to hell!

The anger bubbling in his gut spurred him on, dulling the pain in his head. There'd be time to pass out later, once he'd killed something they could find a nice cosy ER and he could sink into blissful nothingness while a team of strangers fixed up his brother and provided him with some heavy duty painkillers.

He doubled his pace, determined that they were going to win this. The nagging doubts were just starting to worm their way back into his mind when up ahead he saw a pale glow.

He forced himself to slow down, to catch his breath and control himself. He couldn't afford to be seen, he needed the upper hand.

Stealthily he crept forward, softly approaching the ghostly light. The eerie atmosphere sent a shiver of fear up his spine. He felt an incredible sense of foreboding.

Sam winced as he felt something crack beneath his foot. Whatever he had stepped on was now wrapped around his ankle, briefly he thought that the thing in the woods knew he was there. He peered down and couldn't stop the gasp of surprise as he found his foot embedded in a rib cage.

Sam grimaced and tried to free himself without making too much noise. Tattered clothing still clung to the skeleton, empty eyes gaped at him, and the bony fingers seemed to be clawing at the ground. Sam shuddered and finally managed to wrench himself free. Dead bodies didn't freak him out anymore but that didn't mean he wanted to become entangled with one, especially when he had more pressing issues on his mind.

He backed away from the body, wondering what it had died from; it disturbed him that it had been sitting out here for a long time without anyone finding it. Had this unfortunate soul also been lost in the woods, perhaps lead off the path to die?

He heard another sickening crack as he backed up from the body and suddenly the skeleton in front of him wasn't the problem anymore. He already knew what he'd stood on before he looked down. He felt nauseas as he realised he'd crushed part of a skeletal hipbone. Another body, face down, arms and legs bent in such a way it looked as if it had been crawling for Sam and had laid down when he looked. Like some kind of twisted game of 'what's the time Mr Wolf?'

There were more. It disturbed him to realise that they were marking a pathway. Skeletons were laid on either side of him; some appeared to be crawling their way towards him, towards the path, some were even laid in front of him, as if they'd made it further than the others. A few of them were scattered, bones dispersed throughout the snow. An animal maybe? But it sort of looked like they'd fallen from a height, and their bones had shattered. Almost all of them seemed to be reaching out for him; skeletal fingers brushed his ankles as he passed, moving slowly towards the pale light.

There were so many, so many bodies that were lying here, forgotten. As he fumbled for his small flashlight to look closer it dawned on him that some were in different stages of decomposition. Some still had skin. One or two looked almost mummified, dried shrunken skin clinging sickly to sunken eyes and cheeks. Tattered clothing signalled different eras, different styles, different personalities, and served as a haunting reminder to Sam that these were once people, people who had never thought that they'd die out here to be forgotten.

How the hell had no one found this place before, some of the bones had obviously been out here for years. Had no one looked for them? Had no one stumbled across this grisly bone yard? Maybe they had, maybe people had found this place and then found themselves playing the part of the new victim.

Sam felt sick, what was he walking into? Were the spirits of these people still here, haunting the woods? He couldn't do anything to help them; all he could do was try and stop his brother becoming the latest addition. He tried so hard not to stand on any more bones, but some were spread out across the path, two even had their fingers entwined, as if offering one another some small comfort in death. Every time Sam heard another snap of bone beneath his feet, he grimaced and offered up a silent apology.

He couldn't make himself walk any faster, partly from an irrational fear that if he made more noise then the corpses would wake up and come after him. But mainly from the deep cold terror that when he reached the last body, he'd see his brother's lifeless face staring up at him. That fear grew inside him until finally he came across the last body. It wasn't Dean. He felt a guilty pang of relief as he stared down at the body that looked as if he'd just died. It could have been preserved like that because of the cold weather, but Sam guessed that he'd just been lying out here for a few days.

The worst part was the look on their decaying faces. He couldn't convince himself that these people had just laid down and gone to sleep from the cold, that they hadn't really been aware of what was happening. The last man had an expression of pure terror etched on his face. Eyes and mouth wide in disbelief, blood leaked from his ears and his arms and legs were twisted at unnatural angles.

Sam felt utterly unprepared. He was weak, he was lost, he had no idea what he was up against and the likelihood of their fate was lying in the snow in front of him. He calmly thought that if it came to it, it might be best to finish Dean off quickly with a bullet to the head. Rather than have him suffer the same fate as this poor man.

Leaving the bodies behind, he tried to ignore the insane notion that they were crawling after him, more than once he had to glance over his shoulder to check that they weren't dragging themselves along behind him.

The pale light was fading; it had moved away from him while he had stood staring at his chilling discovery. He forced himself to hurry, to pay less attention to what he was standing in. He wasn't sure if the light was for him, he kind of hoped it wasn't, if his presence wasn't noticed then he might just be able to get the upper hand.

He was silently cursing his feet that kept getting tangled up together. He was having trouble coordinating his body, it felt like he had twice has many limbs as normal, and his vision kept swimming in and out of focus. Definitely not good, he had to get it together, he was no use to anyone if he was unconscious or dead.

He tried to think of things to keep himself focused, but his concentration kept drifting off. He was trying to remember what number he'd gotten up to in the seven times table when suddenly Dean was right in front of him.

It took Sam a second longer than normal to react. Dean was standing five feet away from him, looking right at him. The path had been clear a second ago, Sam was sure of it. Was he sure? His mind felt fuzzy and unclear. It didn't matter though, because Dean was there, standing in front of him. Staring. Smiling. In the eerie pale light he looked horribly pale, his torso was covered in blood, his eyes were sunken and gaunt, but what disturbed Sam most was the smile on his brother's face. It wasn't Dean's trademark grin; it was a little too wide, a little too empty, a little too dead. It failed to light up his brother's eyes the way it usually did, but Sam could almost see something else in those eyes, something that didn't belong.

He took a step forwards and Dean stepped back, the smile never faltering. Sam took another step and again Dean stepped back. It was creepy the way he kept staring at Sam, just smiling, not talking, not doing anything unless Sam made a move first.

"Dean..." Sam ventured quietly, before Dean brought a lightning fast finger to his lips

"."

Sam shuddered at the hushing noise coming from his brother's mouth, the way it sounded was wrong, the length was wrong, everything about this was wrong.

Sam opened his mouth to try again, but Dean jumped backwards, his grin stretching impossibly wider. Sam watched in horrified fascination as Dean reached a hand behind his back and produced his knife. Sam's head was screaming at him to react but all he could do was watch as Dean fixed him with an intense stare, raised his knife wielding arm and rammed the blade viciously into his own throat. Sam still couldn't move, he couldn't break away from Dean's eyes, those eyes that weren't right. Only when Dean had finished dragging the blade across his throat and even more blood was spurting out, was Sam able to move. Even as Sam ran to him, ran in a futile attempt to save him, Dean was still standing there, still smiling.

Sam knew it wasn't right, none of it was right, the feel of Dean in his arms wasn't right, the way that Dean just watched as Sam lowered him to the ground, the way that Sam couldn't look him in the eye, couldn't look into those empty windows, the way that Dean was still smiling. Sam couldn't stand it, he held on to his brother's neck, even though it wasn't right, and shut his eyes to shut out Dean's. It wasn't right, and when he opened his eyes, he wasn't really surprised to find that Dean was gone and he was once again alone in the woods.

Xxx

Dean had been floating in a state of nothingness. No pain, no fear, no feelings whatsoever, just a thick white fog. Then something had punctured that fog, something painful and suddenly he was back. Back in his body, back with the pain, back lying on his back in the snow.

It took him a while to work out what was happening, he was disoriented and confused. So he didn't immediately struggle when he felt something wet and cloying worming its way down his throat. His head was being forced back, and he was choking, drowning on something, he couldn't breathe, couldn't see. If he could just find the strength to open his eyes then he could feel in control again. It was an effort to wrench his eyes open and even when he did his vision was blurry with sleep and pained tears.

He still couldn't make out more than a vague shape hovering above him. He needed to breathe, his lungs were screaming for oxygen, his legs kicking out with a will of their own. He could feel it blocking his nose, making his head burn, his chest felt like it was going to burst open if he didn't inhale some sweet air instead of the liquidy substance that was killing him.

His hands were grappling uselessly at his face, at the hands above him, desperation making him clumsy and unfocused. Then, just as the ringing in his ears had swelled to an almost unbearable pitch and the spots dancing in front of his vision had grown so that they had become one giant purple dot, the pressure was gone, the liquid was gone and he was instinctively rolling himself onto his side, choking and gagging and spewing up the foulness. He inhaled sweet air, the best thing he could ever remember tasting and for a moment just lay there breathing in lungful after lungful of precious oxygen, as if he could store it up in case someone tried to take it away from him again.

He knew he should be trying to escape, he had no idea what he was escaping from, but that was usually the plan. But he was so tired and confused, he couldn't remember anything, nothing since walking through the woods to find Sam. He couldn't even open his eyes, he couldn't tell if he was cold, he couldn't do anything but lie there and savour every precious breath.

It was funny how he never thought about breathing, he liked breathing, liked the way it helped power the rest of his body. Liked the way he could inhale a smell, like shampoo on a girl's hair. The way he could tell that he was in shape from how fast and far he could run or how deep he could dig a grave before he got tired. Mainly he liked how it kept him alive.

For some reason he didn't really like breathing right now, thirty seconds ago it had been the best thing in the world, but now it kind of hurt. It shouldn't hurt. Breathing stopped the hurting, controlled breaths, breathe through the pain all that crap. But it did hurt, it was cold, every time he inhaled it felt like tiny icicles were clawing their way down his throat, freezing him from the inside out. He couldn't exhale properly, for each deep, chilling breath he took; he could only release a small puff of air. He tried to stop, tried to just take little breaths, but his body wouldn't let him, it needed air. He tried to stay calm, if he panicked then he'd just breathe faster and it would hurt more and he'd suffocate quicker. The air was so cold though, the nerves in his teeth complained every time he took a breath in. Then his toes started to tingle, just slightly at first, and then a freezing, sharp prickling ran up his foot. With an effort he pushed himself onto his back and raised his head to look at his feet. His vision was still swimming, with pain and blood loss and exhaustion, but there was nothing there. There was nothing around him that he could see. But his feet were twitching, working their way up into a furious shaking as the prickling ran up his body, like an intense form of pins and needles that was slowly claiming him. With every breath the trembling grew more severe, as if he was filling himself up with this poisonous air. His breaths grew shallower and the spots danced in front of his eyes again, waiting to take him down.

His legs were bouncing up and down off the ground now like they were having their own seizure. As the sensation clawed its way up his body he tried not to panic. He felt it snake past his hips to the small of his back and he gasped at the new found cold, he was almost impressed that he could still feel so cold, he had been positive that he'd passed the worst of it but lo and behold, new realms of pain.

His chest seized up, there was something under his skin, whatever had been poured down his throat was now killing him from the inside. It wasn't exactly a pleasant way to go. In fact it was damn right painful and unsettling. He instinctively tried to push his head back as he felt its icy fingers crawling up the inside of his throat. The rest of his body felt alien to him now, he could sense it shuddering but the panic was closing in fast now. The need for air was excruciating, no matter how deeply he tried to draw breath it just hurt.

But suddenly, somehow through all the pain and confusion, he was standing, pushing himself to his feet on limbs that he was sure couldn't support him. Then he was walking, short, stunted steps on violently trembling legs. He couldn't think clearly, he wasn't doing this was he? No, because he couldn't breathe, because he wanted nothing more than to just close his mind off from the agony, the feeling of separation from his body. The one thought that made it through the confused, pained fog, was nope, you're not in charge any more Dean.

Something else was moving him. Something had crawled inside his skin and it was killing him. He was vaguely aware of his mind going somewhere else now, partly still trapped in his agonised body, desperate to take control, but part of him was going somewhere else. It filled him with ecstasy and he wanted to stay there, stay in this place where he didn't belong, where nothing living should ever belong.

Before Dean slipped away again, he heard a chuckle in his ear and felt himself smile.

Xxx

Sam let out a shaky breath and looked wildly around him, there was no one there. He inspected his hands in desperation, no blood. There was no sign that there had been anyone out here but him. He stayed crouched on the ground for a minute, trying to get himself under control. It wasn't Dean, he'd known it wasn't Dean, everything about him was off, but he'd panicked, convinced that his brother had hacked open his jugular in front of him and he had reacted purely on instinct, there had been no time to think.

Could it have been an hallucination? No, it had to be to do with the thing that had dragged Dean from the church, the same thing that had no doubt been screwing with them all night.

He must be getting close, it was trying to freak him out and throw him off the scent. Either that or it was just a sadistic son of a bitch.

He pushed himself to his feet again, ignored the way his vision swam for a moment and resolutely stomped forwards.

It dawned on him that it had stopped snowing, small mercies and all that.

The thing in the darkness might have thought that it would destroy Sam with its little stunt, but it had made a huge mistake, because now Sam was angry and he used that anger to fuel him, to spur him on.

He stopped short when Dean appeared in front of him again.

"Funny I thought I saw you die ten minutes ago." He sneered.

The thing that looked like Dean didn't react, just stood there, still staring and smiling that same maddening smile.

Sam's nostrils flared in frustration and uncertainty. There was still a tiny part of him that thought his brother might just be standing in front of him.

On impulse he pulled out his gun with numb hands.

"Who are you and where is my brother?"

Dean just cocked his head to the side.

"ANSWER ME DAMNIT!" Sam tightened his finger on the trigger, or he thought he did; he couldn't feel his fingers too well anymore.

The thing that looked like Dean smiled brighter "."

Sam shuddered, the voice wasn't human, could never be human. It was like an empty whisper, one that reverberated through his very soul. He loathed hearing that voice come out of Dean's mouth.

The Dean thing turned slowly and wandered further into the trees.

"HEY! HEY COME BACK! WHERE IS MY BROTHER!"

Sam sped up to a jog as he disappeared from view; he rounded a bend and gasped in shock as he found himself face to face with the thing using his brother's skin. He tried to recoil back, but the Dean thing shot out a lightning quick hand and with an inhuman strength, forced Sam's hand holding the gun to his forehead. Sam tried to pull back, instinct refusing to let him shoot his brother, but the Dean thing just smiled and pressed his finger down on the trigger.

The shot sounded louder in the silent woods. Blood and brains exploded everywhere. But Dean still stood there, still smiling and Sam couldn't help but reach out to him. He took him by the shoulders, aware of how foreign the thing under his hands felt.

The Dean thing cocked his bloody head again "y?" It sounded more human this time, more like Dean, more uncertain and Sam snatched his hands away and shut his eyes tight until it was over.

When dared to open his eyes again he was alone. He was almost relieved until he glanced up ahead and again saw Dean standing there.

Damn.

He was just going to ignore it. Just keep walking right on past it. His plan was working fine, with an effort he managed not to look at it while he walked past, but he could feel its eyes on him, could see its head following him out of his peripheral vision. He'd almost convinced himself that this one was going to just let him go.

"Oh God Sammy please help me."

It sounded so like Dean that he couldn't help but whip back round. Sam looked into its dead eyes, it was becoming more and more like his brother. Was it trying to lure him into a trap? It couldn't mimic Dean's eyes though and as long as Sam was sure that it wasn't really his brother then it could do what it liked. So he ignored it while it opened up Dean's wrists with what looked like Dean's bowie knife and while it used Dean's voice to beg Sam to help him, Sam just looked into the dead eyes and kept on walking.

Xxx

Sam was growing increasingly tired of fake Dean. He'd gone from being a terrifying vision for Sam to just plain irritating. But he still had to check the eyes every time he appeared; just on the off chance that it really was Dean. It was becoming more and more like him, it even had some of his facial expressions down but the eyes were always the same. So Sam didn't pay much attention when it hung itself from a tree, he just walked past while the Dean thing scowled in annoyance as it swayed on the end of Dean's own belt. He ignored it when it choked to death (Sam had no idea what it could possibly be choking on anyway) and he only flinched a little when Dean stood in front of him and said,

"I'm dying Sam." Before landing face down in the snow and not moving.

Sam had steadfastly kept walking and ignored all of the cries for attention until the last one. Once again it appeared in front of him, and it smiled, a small knowing smile. It gave a small wave of the hand and vanished. The hazy light that had been enveloping Sam seemed to fade away as well. Sam was possibly more weirded out than before. All the other times it had made sure that Sam saw it kill itself in a grim way. Now, Sam got the distinct feeling that it knew something that he didn't.

He hadn't realised he'd been climbing a slope until he broke out of the trees. He was on some sort of rocky outcrop, the snow was thicker up here and he could see the white tree tops off the edge of the cliff.

Dead end. Fantastic.

But then he saw him there, standing twenty or so feet away with his back to him.

Sam dropped his head back in despair and stared up at the dark sky. "What do you want from us?"

He let his head loll back to the front and asked the question again. "What do you want from us? I know you understand me."

The figure in front of him turned, its movements jagged and uncoordinated. Sam narrowed his eyes as he gazed at his brother's face.

"Dean?"

Dean smiled. And it was Dean, Sam was sure of it, the eyes held the Dean Winchester spark, but there was still something off.

"Dean, man come on we have to get out of here." He took in his brother's appearance, he wanted to rush forwards and latch onto his brother, convince himself that he was real, but something was stopping him. "How are you even still standing?"

In the dim glow from the snow Dean looked deathly pale. The blood covering his torso stood out in stark comparison. In fact, Dean looked so much like the apparition that had been appearing to Sam, that he gave an involuntary shudder.

He took a tentative step forwards. "Dean, do you know what's going on?"

Dean in turn took a step towards his brother. He still hadn't said anything, he was just smiling, making his unsteady way forwards.

It hit Sam that he was afraid. Not just afraid of how the hell they were going to get out of here. He was afraid of Dean. Something about his brother was terrifying him, and he never got scared like this, he made a living out of hunting the things that scared the crap out of most people and right now he felt like a little kid scared of the monster under the bed. He fought the overwhelming urge to back away from Dean. Because this was Dean! He was crazy to be reacting like this; it had to be a combination of the cold, exhaustion and stress.

And yet he couldn't help it, the way Dean was looking at him, juddering towards him with those slow uncertain steps, not talking. He was freaked out, something was way off here.

"STOP!" Sam held out his hands as if to keep him at bay. "Dean, just stay there OK? Just don't come any closer, I need to think."

Dean stopped, cocked his head to the side and quirked an eyebrow. It seemed so like him and yet so wrong.

Sam struggled to think clearly, but the only clear thought was Run.

He took a deep breath Think think think. What's wrong with him? What are you scared of?

Dean was still standing in exactly the same spot, unmoving except for the tremors racking his frame. He still couldn't quite put his finger on why he was so damn terrified. He tried to absorb everything he could about Dean's appearance.

For the most part he looked exactly the way he'd appeared in the woods, and Sam had had time to analyse what needed to be done to save him. But it still wasn't the same, he seemed so full of life and yet so dead at the same time. His breath was rattling in but didn't seem to be coming out. It was like Dean was choking but he wasn't showing any signs of discomfort.

"Dean, does it hurt to breathe?" He ventured slowly.

Dean rolled his head round, his chin dipped towards his chest slightly and looked out from under his lashes. He shook his head painfully slowly.

"Can you talk?"

"Yes."

Sam was slightly taken aback by the fast response. It sounded like Dean, but there was something like an echo behind his voice.

"Dean," Sam swallowed past the awkward lump in his throat "do you remember what happened to you?"

"I was attacked by a Yeti Sammy." Sam felt another chill snake up his spine at Dean's voice, it was said in such a matter of fact way, but there was still that hollow edge, that haunting echo behind his words.

"No. I mean after that. After the church. How did you end up here?"

Dean smiled for a second "It's a secret."

Sam had the insane notion that Dean was playing with him, the knowing look he flashed him before he answered angered Sam, he didn't have time for games.

"Are you really my brother?"

"Yes."

"Are you possessed?"

"Nope."

"Then why won't you tell me?"

"Sammyyyyy. Where's the fun in that?"

Sam bit back a growl of frustration. What the hell was Dean doing? He still had the fear churning in his gut, but he knew that they didn't have time to screw around. He forced himself to slow down and think about this rationally, Dean could be in some weird kind of shock or something.

"Dean, we have to get you to the hospital."

Dean's voice was lightly chastising "Oh Sammy, now why would I want to do that? I like it out here? I like the snow remember?"

"Yeah well you can play in the snow when you're not bleeding out all over it. Dean please, please man you're freaking me out." Sam hated that he'd resorted to begging but he was getting desperate. His foggy brain couldn't work out why Dean was acting this way, and he wanted nothing more than for them both to be out of here, warm and safe. His mood kept shifting from angry to terrified, but either way he was anxious to have his brother back.

Dean turned away from him.

"You seen this view Sammy?"

Reluctantly Sam moved closer to Dean, standing a few paces away, still worried that he might turn on him or vanish again.

"I don't care about the view Dean, I care about you. I mean you can't even breathe man! I don't get how you can still be standing and talking with all the blood you've lost! You look like you're about to DIE!" Sam's voice had risen several octaves but Dean didn't seem to notice.

Dean didn't say anything for a while, there was just the sound of Sam's teeth chattering and Dean's breath struggling in, and then barely puffing back out. But the lack of air didn't seem to be having any effect on Dean. He didn't seem to be feeling the cold the way Sam was, even though he was clearly soaked to the skin.

"We don't have to leave Sam."

Sam just stared at him in disbelief.

"Erm, yeah, yeah we do Dean, we really have to leave."

Dean rounded on Sam so fast that he barely registered the movement until Dean was right in his face. His eyes locked on Sam's with such an intensity that Sam couldn't look away.

"I think we should stay Sam." Dean's voice was low and soothing, despite the eerie echo that clung to every word. Sam found himself relaxing; Dean's eyes looked so sure, his voice sounded so convincing, Sam started to wonder why they really needed to go back.

"I mean aren't you tired Sam? Tired of all of it, our lives, the responsibility. Wouldn't it be better to just sleep, just let someone else deal with all the crap?"

Sam nodded; speech seemed to have failed him. At the back of his mind he knew that they shouldn't be here, but Dean was his big brother and he trusted him. He didn't really feel too cold now anyway.

"It snows all the time here Sam. You know how I like the snow."

Dean had said that before, when? Just now, or a while ago. Sam couldn't be sure. He was tired and nothing was making much sense anymore, but his brother was here, he was looking into his eyes and they were safe and told him to trust him.

Dean backed away from Sam towards the edge of the cliff. Sam didn't notice how alien his legs seemed to move, how they jerked and shook, but Dean just seemed to float.

"Come check out the view Sammy."

Sam felt himself propelled forwards, trusting nothing but his brother, he felt like he was five years old again and Dean was the boss. He stopped a little way from Dean though; something instinctual wouldn't let him go any further.

"Don't want to come any closer Sammy?" The side of Dean's mouth twitched in a grin and Sam again got the feeling that he knew something he wasn't letting on, the fog cleared a little but he was still confused.

"Don't you trust me Sammy? It's nice here I promise." He paused, the smile on his face grew more cunning "I'll tell you the secret if you come here Sammy."

His name, the way Dean kept saying his name wasn't quite right, it seeped into the foreground of Sam's thoughts and suddenly his voice worked again.

"Come away from the edge Dean." He held out a placating hand.

Dean met his eyes again "Why don't you come towards the edge Sammy."

Sam felt the pull again, felt the urge to just surrender and do what he was told. But his instincts were trying desperately to kick in, and with an effort he wrenched his eyes away from Dean's.

"Dean. Think about what you're doing? Come to me."

"But Sammy," Dean's words were slow and soft, each syllable dripping with conviction "I like it here. It snows all the time here Sammy."

"Stop saying my name like that! And stop talking about the damn snow Dean! It's just snow! It doesn't snow all the time!"

"It does where I am." Something about the way Dean said that made the fear return with renewed strength and it took everything Sam had not to look into Dean's eyes, to keep it together.

"It doesn't where I am Dean, come to where I am. Please! Just come away from the edge."

"Ah Sammy, I think you know I can't do that. Shame, I thought we could do this together." Everything about what Dean was saying was wrong, the pace, the tone, the damn words themselves.

"Do what together? Do what together Dean?"

"I think you know. Doesn't matter though, you'll change your mind soon enough."

Panic erupted inside Sam, "DEAN STAY WHERE YOU ARE! DO YOU HEAR ME! DON'T MOVE!"

But Dean was moving, he was calmly backing away from Sam again, getting closer to the edge. Grinning wide on his face, his eyes lit up with malicious joy.

Then Sam was running, sprinting towards Dean as fast as he could, but Dean was faster.

Sam could almost reach out and touch him when Dean chuckled and said

"See ya soon Sammy." Before he stepped backwards off the edge of the cliff.