A/N- Three days later and already a newer, longer chapter! I know, I'm excited too! Usually I'm not super excited about writing from Sam's perspective, but this actually was an interesting tell from his perspective. Sam's love for his brother is very different, but still intense. And thank you to AlaskaForever, Coleyb20, and mel0211 for their reviews. In answer to AlaskaForever, yes, Eris was a character I instantly fell in love with while watching Sinbad, and she's a character I definitely wanted to work with. It works in Supernatural because she's an actual mythical goddess. Also, I feel her role and relationship with Sinbad could be very similar to the one she has with Dean. Thanks for the pregunta!

Chapter 11

Sam was a researcher through and through. Ever since he was young and he'd been shoved into the research position in their skewed family dynamic, he'd learned to love the wealth of information at his fingertips whenever he pulled out dusty tomes about mysterious creatures in the library. He knew it was John's way of keeping him safe and out of harms way on a hunt, but he'd excelled at it in a way that rivaled even John's superb deductive mind. It was his way of getting involved. Still, it seemed to come as a shock to Dean and John both when his love of learning carried over to school and academics. The world of higher education seemed like a waste of time to his heroic family, but Sam found himself just as enchanted by its normalcy.

Just as much as Sam was the brains of the operation, Dean was just as surely the brawns. That wasn't to say that Dean didn't have a brilliant hunters mind – it was true that he could see patterns where nothing seemed to be there, and his instincts were a trusty compass both he and Sam had learned to trust. But Dean was also wired for action, the need for movement and fighting evil creatures seeming to be ingrained in his very DNA. Dean had taken to hunting like a duck to water, and John had further molded him into a hunter capable of tackling most anything. Dean was a force to be reckoned with.

Unfortunately, Dean's hunters' instinct sometimes overrode common sense and coupled with a masochistic, compulsive need to save others, frequently at the expense of his own safety and life. Sam both loved him and hated him for it. On one hand, he often saved lives and gave people the chance to live past their expiration date. On the flip side, however, Sam was sure one day he'd suffer from a heart attack from worrying about his brother's crazy antics and half-assed plans. Dean gave no thought to himself, and Sam was left concerned enough for the both of them, seeing as Dean couldn't seem to bother himself.

As the engine of the Impala rumbled to a halt, Sam could hear one of Bobby's clunkers doing the same beside him. Just the thought of it made Sam scowl angrily as he slammed the shining car door. Dean had opted for a quieter ride out of the junkyard, obviously because he didn't want to be caught sneaking out when they had already decided to get a little more info. It was just so Dean. Once again, he had sent Sam into a tailspin of worry for his older brother, while he heroically pursued a victim without knowledge on how to actually deal with the monster. Dean was a consequences be damned kinda guy, and yet Sam always found himself shoulders with the consequences. Like the state his brother was in after the fact. Worrying was putting it lightly.

No, you can't think like that Sam. Dean will be fine. You'll find him after he's slain whatever it is, and he'll complain about how long it took you, like he expected you all along. He's fine, Sam thought furiously, solidifying his thoughts with all the mental fortitude he could. His mind was like steel pillars – sturdy and resolute.

Sam circled back to the Impala's trunk, and winced as the squeak from the door echoed into the night. It seemed too quiet for them to be there. The remnants of ruler straight rows of trees and plants remained, dark shadows set against a midnight blue sky. The derelict plants were long forgotten; many of their meticulous ranks were broken and weeds smothered the rest. Sam felt like they were peering at the odd group, shouldering against one another to get a peek at the people who obviously shouldn't be there. He just couldn't shake the feeling something was watching him. Sheesh, get a grip. You have a job to do. There's no maneating plant named Audrey out to get you.

Bobby had gathered around the Impala's trunk with Ellen and Jo in tow. Rustling around the disorganized chaos that was the Impala, everyone was handed a stake and guns were divvied up. Bobby spoke quietly, as if he too was scared of what would happen if his voice carried over into the oppressive night around them. "Alright. Here's how we're gonna do this. Me and Sam are gonna take one side. Ellen, you and Jo are gonna take the other. We'll search the place, and call for backup if you find anything." Everyone's heads nodded agreement. Sam couldn't help but see lines set off by Bobby's frown, the shaking quality of Ellen's hands, and Jo's hardened eyes. It was a small consolation, but at least he wasn't doing this alone. This time he had people to cover him while he searched for his brother.

Dean will be standing over the body, grinning. Dean will be fine.

The group set off toward the dilapidated glass greenhouse, the only building in sight. The moonlight shone against the dirty glass panels, revealing broken panes and vines spilling out. Once inside, the silence was almost stifling. The cricket sounds were gone, and now all that could be heard was the crunch of their feet padding down the aisles of wilted, overgrown plants. Flashlight beams bounced across the room, the searching, roving circles of golden light only illuminating the desolate quality of the place.

As they reached the end of the rectangular structure, Sam could feel seeds of hopelessness being planted and sprouting, starting to grow in around his bones and his muscles, circling around his veins and his heart in a chokehold. If they couldn't find his brother here, he didn't know what they'd do. They had no other leads to go on, and Sam could just feel the clock ticking as time quickly ran out. They had to find Dean. They had to.

A whining creak yanked him out of his thoughts, and Sam instantly stilled, his mind frantically searching for the cause of the loud din. "Sam! Bobby!" Jo's strained whisper carried across the previously silent room. "We found something!"

Sam hurried toward the manager's office, gliding into the room in a way he almost didn't know was possible for his 6'4" frame. Bobby was right behind him. Upon entering the small room they saw Ellen and Jo in a corner, both of their hands tilted downwards as they observed something on the floor. Sam peered around them and saw what the flashlight was illuminating – a wooden trap door, without the presence of dust like the rest of the abandoned building. This had been recently used, which was definitely promising.

Crouching, Jo expertly picked the lock and pried it from the door. Slowly, the hatch was opened upwards, and everyone winced as they expected the inevitable groan of old metal, which surprisingly never came. Instead they were faced with a ladder that receded down to the bottom of an old basement cellar. A distant, hidden light shone, revealing a golden brown dirt floor and nothing else. All was silent from below.

Jo made a move to start down the ladder, but Sam gripped her shoulder tight. She turned to look at him, her eyes wide as he shook his head. "I'll go first." Something in his voice made her eyes drop, looking anywhere but at him.

As Sam turned and started his descent into the belly of the beast, he tried to ignore his wildly thumping heart and his conflicted, warring mind.

We came too late – he probably went in stupid against something he had no hope of winning against.

Shut up. He's fine. If anyone can take out a monster, it's Dean.

He's probably injured. Who knows, could be lethal.

Shut. Up. Dean is perfectly capable of handling himself. He's just taking care of Sara.

Please. Sense when can Dean handle himself? You're his conscience – without you he has no boundaries, no limits to which he'll go. He's probably dead.

He's not dead. Dean is not dead. He wouldn't leave me like that. He wouldn't.

At least he got himself killed for a good purpose. Well, it wasn't for you this time, but at least he died a hero. Who's going to take care of you now Sammy?

SHUT UP!

Free to go back to college without your brother dragging back to the life…

With a grit of his teeth and a shake of his head, Sam tossed the evil little voice in his head into a locked box and shut the lid tight. Of course he didn't think that. Of course he wanted his brother safe and by his side to fight the rest of their days. But his brother was fine – Dean was always fine.

Sam reached the bottom of the ladder with a light thump. He spun around and was instantly overwhelmed.

First, there was the smell. It reeked of death and decomposition and blood and something sweet that lingered at the edges but couldn't be recognized under the blanket of putrid that filled Sam's nostrils. It was pure decay. To his left he found the source of the stench. The pile of bodies was staggering and grotesque, limbs bent at odd angles and tufts of hair sticking out. Faces at random junctures showed sleeping grey faces with blue lips. It seemed modge – podge. Sam could see women, men, old, young. Not just that, but Sam could also distinguish the victims they had been searching for. Madge Dillon, 54, two cats and a worried neice. Alexander Green, 32, single interior design artist. Bert Warren, 40, accountant. Every face he'd seen on a missing poster or when he'd been researching. Every face was familiar. And dead. He felt vomit rise in the back of his throat as he viewed the bodies of people who were loved thrown haphazardly into a pile, forgotten and disrespected.

His gaze continued and came to a stop as he saw the scene directly in front him. The basement went deeper, and not but 20 feet away from his stood a girl planted solidly on the dirt floor. She was swaying slightly, and her gaze slid back and forth in front of her. Dingy black strands swayed in front of a pale face covered in blood. Like an autistic murder. He took one step forward and suddenly her eyes whipped upward to meet his, eyes sharp and intelligent in a way that conflicted with her demeanor.

"Stop." Her voice was scratchy and high, nothing more than a whisper, but the single word carried a sharp command that Sam had no doubt she had the ability to enforce. He stopped in his tracks, senses alert and keen. This was a hunt, and he finally had a face behind all the disappearances. A target for his grief and worry. And anger.

"I've been waiting for you Sam Winchester." With every word she spoke, a pit gaped wider and wider in Sam's stomach, threatening to swallow him whole. Sam didn't know where the feelings of hopelessness and misery were coming from all of a sudden, but he had no doubt that he wasn't responsible for the sudden onslaught of despair.

"Achlys. How did you know I'd come? It's not like you left a huge clue trail to follow." Sam cursed his voice, hating the way it shook at the ends, a mixture of heady anger and the sudden sorrow affecting his normally calm, commanding voice.

"Your brother." Two short words, and his eyes were small saucers. She moved to the side behind him, and let him see what lay a ways behind her. Or who. Dean was a large heap on the floor, his clothes rumpled and mussed, surrounded by the remnants of some purple smoke that was quickly ebbing away. Sam felt his own dread at the sight of blood pooling on the ground around his brother, the dark red mixture contrasting with the floor in a way that made Sam want to gag. That was his brother there, beaten and broken.

Before he could stop himself, Sam growled. The sound was directed at the girl standing between him and his brother, and it was feral and enraged. The ferocity of it didn't seem to phase her; she didn't even blink. Sam wasn't disappointed though – he didn't care if she was scared. He just wanted her dead, as beaten as his brother. "Why?!"

Her answer came slowly, as if the events in front of her were as boring as a detergent commercial. "Why was your brother treated this way? Why was he injured? Possibly because he was in the way. I know not – your brother is none of my concern. I didn't hurt him. He's not of import to me."

"Really?!," Sam snarled. "He's not of import to you? I don't fucking believe you."

"Not in the slightest. There are others that find him intriguing, or useful…I honestly can't find the appeal. Not unless he's dead."

Her monotonous tone grated Sam's nerves. All he wanted to do was bash her head in with the stake. Repeatedly. "Then why didn't you just kill him? Why torture him and leave him for dead?"

"Not of my doing. I was told you were more intelligent Sam Winchester. I can say whoever made that assessment was thoroughly mistaken."

With that Sam charged at her, stake ready in his hand. She flew at him too, closing the distance between them in seconds. They wrestled, and Sam was surprised at the strength of this one little girl. It didn't matter that he had a height and weight advantage; she had the strength of a demon, and as Sam struggled to pierce her with the stake she successfully kept him at bay. She scratched his arms with her long nails as they fought, and Sam could feel hot blood coursing down his arms as she broke skin.

Finally she seemed to grow tired of the struggle, and pushed Sam in the chest. The thrust sent Sam flying, and his back connected with the wall a second later. He dropped to the floor, and Sam gasped as the contact rid all the air out of his lungs. His back and spine were on fire, and he slumped against the wall. Achlys had started toward him, her gait smooth and slow as she seemed to taste his misery; a small, hungry smile seemed to play on her face as she approached.

Thump. "Hey, ugly!" Bobby's gruff voice reverberated off the concrete walls, and Sam felt a flush of relief flood through him. Now, if only oxygen would do just that. His eyes were wheeling, looking, searching…

They skidded to a halt on a squat barrel next to him. He could just make out a black liquid within the barrel, sloshing as the reverberations from Sam's fall made the fluid inside spatter against the containers walls. Sam's eyes widened as he saw the flowers resting on the water's surface, swaying gently. A conversation drifted to the forefront of his mind, his thoughts drifting to the words that had been spoken…

Ellen took a step forward. "Ok, that's good. We know who she is, now how do we kill her?"

Bobby flipped a few pages, searching, and looked back up. "Stab her with a blessed olive branch dipped in her own poison."

Jo spoke up from the couch for the first time. "What's her own poison, exactly?" They all exchanged looks as the question hung in the air. It was a valid point, and Sam didn't know the answer.

Apparently Bobby didn't either. "That it doesn't say. I have the blessed olive branch, but I have no clue how to get my hands on her poison."

His mind skipped back to words Bobby had spoken only moments before that conversation…

But, they're also a symbol of something else. A greek goddess, goes by the name Achlys. She's a nasty thing – very old, very powerful. She's the goddess of misery, poison, and death, and these flowers are her calling card.

They'd been staring it in the face the entire time, and hadn't connected the dots. Dean probably would, Sam thought bitterly. It was true – connections were Dean's thing, and if he hadn't traipsed off to play hero (and now damsel), he would've figured it out and they could've came in prepared together.

In a swift movement, Sam took his first shuddering breath and plunged the stake into the barrel into the sickly sweet smelling substance. His gaze slid back to Bobby, who was doing his best to appear fearsome and not panicked as Achlys advanced toward him, blood dripping from her fingernails as she shuffled toward him. Trying to catch Bobby's eye, he tried to garner his attention by waving his arms, but to no avail.

Finally he shouted, "Hey", and threw the stake across the room in the same second. Achlys whipped around, her hair slapping her face as she spun to face Sam, and Bobby's eyes slid from Achlys to Sam to the stake soaring through the air and toward him. He caught it one hand, and it only took a second for him to spot the dark, sticky liquid on the end and make the connection. In one deft thrust, he sunk the stake into Achlys back.

Her mouth opened in a silent scream, and she shook on the spot for a mere moment before sinking to her knees. Blood and black matter started dripping from her every orifice until her hair and every surface of her skin was coated in the black-red substance. She sunk to the ground and it only took a second for her form to waiver like a mirage. And then she was no more than a puddle on the ground.

Sam stared at what had once been a girl and took another shuddering breath. His lungs still felt stupid and slow from the blow from the wall – he kept having to remind them how to do their job. He was aware of Bobby rushing to his side and he stupidly looked up at him. Suddenly his limbs were so heavy, and his mind felt hazy, like a smoke screen was between him and reality. All he'd like right now was for a nice nap…

Slap! Sharp pain registered as an open hand made contact with his face. Sam's eyes were jolted open and it felt like his body had received an electric shock. Bobby's face was hovering over him, eyes intent on his. "Now's not the time for sleep, Sam. Your brother—"

And that was all Sam needed to jump back to his feet. His brother was hurt. His brother needed him.

He rushed quickly to his brother, his eyes passing briefly over Sara's still form and Ellen and Jo's shapes as they tended to her. So Dean had ended up finding her after all. From the look of it, she'd suffered the same beatings as Dean. A fleeting feeling of sorrow flitted across Sam's heart, but he brushed it away. He felt sorry for the poor girl for getting involved in this, as he felt sorry for all their perfectly normal victims for getting involved in the supernatural shitstorm that was their world, but Sam didn't have time to worry about Sara. His mind could only contain enough worry for Dean at the moment.

Crouching next to Bobby, he took in Dean. His face was a pale sheet compared to his normal peach coloring, and his freckles shone out against his pale pallor. His long lashes swept across his pale skin, and his blonde hair was mixed with blood at the base of his skull. There was a darkening bruise on his cheek that was turning into a promising purple and blue. Looking down at his body, Sam could see his chest rising and falling in shallow breaths, but it was a small consolation when he took the wounds Dean had suffered from. His long form was a mixture of blood and bruises, the worst of which appeared to be Dean's leg. On his side he sported a deep gash that was at least a foot long and still leaking blood in considerable amounts. The gash itself was straight and meticulous – obviously intentional and savage torture. Sam saw red as anger bubbled up in his stomach. That bitch did this to my bother. She tortured him for no reason other than to see him in pain.

"No, no…Dean, Dean, you there? It's Sam. You have to be ok, Dean. You have to promise me you'll be ok. Please…" Sam's voice was shaking harder than ever, tears threatening to spill. He didn't care who heard his pleading as long as Dean was ok. He was no longer a 6'4" hunter capable of anything; he was a little boy who needed his older brother.

Trembling, Sam reached out and felt at the side of Dean's cool neck. A pulse throbbed under his fingertips, which made Sam want to dance, but the urge was quickly squashed when he felt the fast, weak flutter. Dean had lost a lot of blood, and it was making itself apparent.

A roaring sound rushed around Sam's ears. All his promises, his hopes, his wishes for Dean, all his optimism about the situation he was to find his brother in fell crashing down around him, tinkling as the fragility of his glass desires smashed into a million pieces and he was left sitting in the middle. Dean was the one equipped to handle this situation, not him. Dean was the protector and the caretaker and everything else Sam needed, and the only person Sam needed as he stared down at his brother prone form was Dean.

Sam felt Bobby's steady hand grip his arm tightly, as if tethering a leash to Sam. It was a good idea. If not for Bobby's iron grip, Sam might just float away unburdened to a place where he didn't feel pain like this. To a place where it didn't feel like his heart was going to explode in his chest. To a place where big brothers never left their little brothers. Sam wasn't sure places like that existed, but if not for Bobby the weight, he'd find them himself.

Sam turned and met Bobby's solid, ice blue stare. "It'll be alright Sam. Dean will be ok. But we have to stop the bleeding and get them out of here soon as we can." He gestured to a bag of bandages that Jo was helping herself to, and they both silently got to work. An air of impatience had settled in now, and Sam knew it wasn't just him and Bobby that felt it – he could hear Jo and Ellen making quick work on Sara behind them. Time was of the essence because the longer Dean and Sara went without blood transfusions to replace the blood they lost, the more danger they were in. Sam and Bobby gently yet quickly wrapped ribs and staunched bleeding until Dean was covered in haphazard bandages.

Bobby stood up. "Ellen, Jo, how's Sara?"

Ellen's terse voice sounded from behind Sam. "She's lost a lot of blood, but she'll be alright." A turn of Sam's head revealed Sara being cradled by Ellen, her arms tucked under Sara's shoulders and knees. Sara's head lolled and her long hair was thrown across her body. "Good thing she's so tiny."

Sam turned back to Dean and his still face. I wish for anything I didn't have to carry you out of here man. You and me both would rather you walk out of your own power. He made to pick Dean up in a fireman's carry, but stopped as Bobby gripped his arm. Another turn revealed Bobby's face as drawn and slightly apologetic. "Sam…I don't think that's the best idea."

Sam scrunched up his face. "Why?"

Bobby heaved a sigh. "With his broken ribs, I think it'd just hurt him more. No, best to carry him how Ellen got Sara."

Sam looked back to Dean and thought it over. Bobby had a point – any further pressure on Dean's stomach or ribs would only hurt him, and the fireman's carry wasn't really designed for it. The marital, over the threshold carry would be safer, even if it was a shitton more embarrassing.

"Sorry dude," Sam muttered as he slid his arms under Dean's armpits and knees. He grunted as his legs almost buckled against Dean's weight as he stood. Dean wasn't fat by any means – despite his disgusting diet, Dean's metabolism and non-stop movement seemed to prevent fat from accumulating on his body. Carrying his older brother now, Sam could tell Dean was actually pure muscle. Usually he was glad for it, but right now his brother was the equivalent of a small elephant.

Following Bobby, he headed out the back entrance, which was really just a cellar door that led straight outside. As he took the steps out into the crisp night air, he couldn't help but jostle Dean's body slightly. He regretted it instantly – a slight moan slipped from between Dean's teeth, and his face winced in pain. He stayed unconscious though, for which Sam didn't know if he was grateful or disappointed.

He made the rest of the way to the Impala lightly, trying to make the trip as smoothly as possible. He reached the car, and with Bobby's help, succeeded in laying Dean across the back seat, which was no easy task. His brother's pants were now intermixed with soft moans, and it made Sam realize how much he kept at bay normally. He was used to the brother that never complained, the brother that refused to go to the hospital no matter the ailment. Seeing his brother like this, unguarded and shields down… he may have wished for it before, but it wasn't right. It wasn't what Dean would have wanted.

He clambered into the front seat next to Bobby. A sidelong glance was exchanged. "Hospital or your house?" Sam asked between clenched teeth as he started up the car and pulled out onto the road.

Bobby sighed. He seemed to be doing a lot of that, but then again, Dean brought that out in a person. "My house will do. I've got enough O negative stored up for the both of them. We should be ok." He was quiet for a moment, and then said, "He'll be ok Sam."

Sam couldn't answer – all he could do is glance back at his brother and continue driving.

TBC- Thank you for reading, and don't forget to review/favorite/follow!