Lux Fati, I have decided to keep posting because you are waiting patiently for some real struggle, I hope this chapter is what you are looking for. But, next chapter will be the real struggle, it will be the beginning of Dean's troubles.

Chapter 4--Chasing Sam

Dean stretched his leather jacket over his form crossing his arms over the top; he shivered. It amazed him how cold it had gotten so quickly, despite the fact it was November. He blew warm air into his cupped hands as a sea of multicolored leaves floated over the top of his head. He kept his head up as a gust of cold air blew into him. He took in all the different people who he passed as he walked…some preppies, Goths, immigrants speaking in their mother tongue, a few homeless people begging for money as he passed them by. He handed a woman with a small child three dollars, then he zipped his jacket up and crossed his arms over his chest once again.

He finally reached his destination and took a deep breath as he entered the 53rd precinct. He walked to the desk where a large man in his fifties sat stuffing his face with a Calzone. Normally, seeing the Calzone would make Dean's mouth water, but the way the man was downing it made him sick to his stomach.

He cleared his throat before speaking, "Um, I was hoping you could help me with something." The older man looked at the young man, dabbed his greasy sauce covered face with a napkin, took a sip of his pop and sat-up.

"Sure, how can I help you?" He said looking at the young man in front of him.

"My brother is missing and I have a lead that he might be here in New York. I was hoping you could help me…" Dean's voice trailed off as he looked around the room.

"He might be here in New York? Buddy, do you have any idea how big this place is?" The officer shook his head.

"I do know. I've been here for two fucking months…trust me I know!" Dean paused as he went into a coughing fit. Trying to bring his cough under control, he took a deep breath and continued, "I'm going crazy here. No one has any leads on him." Dean bit his lip. He had to control his temper…he couldn't lose it again; he needed the cops help whether he liked it or not. Besides, getting angry just made his cough worse and that didn't help anything.

"Hold on, I'll get a detective for you," the officer said, giving Dean a weary look.

Dean had been sitting there for an hour and a half when a detective who was laughing with another one came in. "Hey, you the one with the missing brother?" He said with his hands on his hips.

"Yeah, I am." Dean quickly got-up, and walked to the detective, who motioned for the younger man to follow him.

"Okay, name?" Detective Santiago asked as he sat in front of the computer ready to type.

Dean swallowed. He knew what the reaction would be when he said Sam Winchester…it would be the exact same as every other cop he went to for help.

"Sam Winchester." Detective Santiago gave him a hard look; the young hunter knew if this guy wasn't a cop, he would rip Dean's head off just for being here.

"Look, I know what you're thinking, but he didn't do it…some other guy confessed. Please just do the search." Man he hated being so nice to cops, he hated pleading with them, he hated coming here and telling them his real name, but most of all he hated that he had to rely on them. Biting his tongue to keep the smart ass remarks and the million and one cop jokes that went through his head every time they reached for a donut at bay, Dean waited patiently.

Detective Santiago looked the young man over. He could see that he was tired, his skin was pale and clammy, looked like he just got over something, or maybe he was just tired from trying to find his brother. He turned back to his computer and began the search.

"This could take a while, you want a coffee?" Dean nodded and the man got-up and walked to the coffee machine, poured two cups and returned, putting one in Dean's outstretched hand.

Dean drank the hot, steamy substance, taking in the heat radiating from rim, allowing the steam to gently press against his upper lip. It felt good to have a good cup of joe, tasting the bitterness seeping into his mouth and flowing down his throat. It comforted him, reminding him of good times with Sam. They had gone to so many different coffee shops, diners, and roadside gas stations, having so many types of coffees. Most of them sucked a hard one, but a few were pretty good to his surprise. He smiled at the memories.

"My brother and I were on a road trip and we were having lots of fun. I don't know why he left." He started without realizing it; he needed to talk about Sam, his little brother, the one he was always suppose to watch over and protect.

"I think he might be in trouble."

"What kind of trouble do you think he's in?" Detective Santiago inquired, his pen hovering over his notepad.

Dean shook his head and pursed his lips "I have no idea, but usually I wouldn't have any trouble finding him…" He took another sip of the black liquid, taking in the aroma.

"I always know where to find him. He left everything, his jacket, shoes, cell…he just left."

"You think foul play was involved?" Detective Santiago pressed further.

"No, he, um…he drugged me. Then he just left. I don't know…." Dean trailed off.

"It can be hard when a loved one disappears, especially when you don't know why." Detective Santiago said than the computer chimed.

"Sorry, buddy…no reports, and no arrests." Dean thanked the detective and got-up and left.

Dean sat in his car and banged the steering wheel with his open hand…and it hurt and felt good at the same time, to finally let-out his frustration. Banging his hand repeatedly against the hard plastic of the steering wheel cover, Dean started to feel breathless, gasped for air and went into a coughing fit. He reached for a bottle of water that was sitting in the passenger's seat. Twisting the cap off and downing the cool liquid, his cough finally eased.

The young hunter replaced the bottle on the seat, and leaned his head back against the leather head rest. He took a deep breath in and scrubbed a hand up and down his face. Where was Sam? And what did Luke do to him? What would he do to him? If they didn't find him soon they may never find him. A small coughing fit started again as he started the car and drove away.

Dean walked into the apartment he rented with his father and looked down at the lamp that sat on the small end table. He quickly grabbed it and flung it across the room. It slammed into the wall, crashing, shattering into small pieces, the light bulb popping as it shattered. The action irritated his lungs and he went into another coughing fit, but this time he had trouble catching his breath. He began to gasp for air, clutching his chest in an effort to breathe again.

John came into the small living room, drying his hands on a small towel. He saw Dean struggling to breathe and dropped the towel on the floor and ran to his son, putting his strong hands on Dean's shoulders. Dean had been very sick and John couldn't help but worry over his oldest.

"Dean take it easy…please, son." His father's words where strong and gentle. Dean could see the worry on his face…he'd seen it there for the past few weeks. It wasn't that he didn't want his father's concern, in fact it was nice that his father took care of him instead of the other way around. But, he was getting tired of his father treating him like he was china doll and would break at the slightest movement.

"Dad, I'm fine…" Dean breathed.

"No, you're not." John ushered his eldest son to the nearby sofa and gruffly sat him down. He sat beside him making it clear that Dean was not to move.

"You heard what the doctor said, you have Bronchitis and it will take some time for you to get over it. You need to take it easy. Are you using your inhaler?"

"The inhaler ran out and there's no money for another one…and I am taking it easy!" Dean snapped.

"No, you're not" John yelled back. "You're pushing yourself, again. We will find him, Dean; you just need to be patient. New York is a big city…"

"No…NO!" Dean backed away from his father, "We've been here for two months and we haven't found one clue, nothing dad. How many hunters do we have looking for him….? I'm…" Dean trailed off not wanting to admit he was starting to loose hope.

John could see this was taking a heavy toll on Dean, and he was beginning to loose hope. He had no words to console Dean.

Sam walked down the familiar path, in the too familiar church. He held the small knife in his right hand, blood soaked both his arms and the lower part of his white t-shirt. He could hear someone struggling for air...he looked down and saw Pastor Jim lying on the floor, covered in blood, struggling for air, but within a few short moments he was dead.

Sam stepped over him and moved to a man tied to a chair. He bent down, grabbed the man's hair back and put the knife to the man's throat.

Sam smiled "How the mighty fall!" He laughed "A fitting end to a great hunter, don't you think, dad?" John held his breath as he looked at his son…he was a monster; there was no saving him now.

Sam gripped the knife tighter then drove the knife deep into John's throat. The elder man gasped, gurgled, his eyes glassed over as the last thing he saw was his own son.

Sam ripped the knife out of John's throat and walked to the second man restrained in a chair next to John.

"No! This…this isn't how it's supposed to end." The man cried.

Sam laughed "How is it supposed to end?"

"I'm suppose to save you, Sammy…I'm supposed to save your soul," Dean answered, his eyes pleading with his baby brother not to kill him.

Sam laughed again "I have no soul for you to save."

Sam jolted-up, heaving, sweating from his nightmare, his hand gripped in a fist. He opened his fist and saw the old picture he'd found in his father's motel room over a year ago. He fell back down onto the bed, scrubbing a hand over his face. That damn nightmare had started months ago. At first it came once in a while, but now it was every night. He never killed Dean in the dream, but lately he was getting closer and closer to killing him.

"Damn it Dean…just stay away!" he said out loud.

"Huh!" He turned to see Kathleen in his kitchen eating his pudding. She walked to his bed and straddled him.

"What are you doing here? How did you get in and why are you eating my pudding?" He said exasperated.

"We're going to New York. You live in a shitty apartment and a simpleton could get in here. And you're a pudding whore. You never let me have any, so I took some." She put a spoonful into her mouth, "MMMMMM!!!" she taunted.

"Well, at least that's the only thing I'm whoring around with, unlike some people I know," She gasped at his insult and punched him in the shoulder.

He laughed and put his hands on her butt. "Hey, no freebies after you just insulted me like that!" She took his hands off of her.

He moaned and checked the time, it was quarter to six. "Can you do me a favor? I want to…cut my hair. Can you do it for me?" He bit his lower lip, part of him didn't want to do it; part of him couldn't wait to rid himself of his hair. It reminded him of his dad; they had butted heads over his hair so many times, and it was one of the battles he'd actually won. After a while his father got use to it, and liked it.

"Only if I get to keep the pudding." He rolled his eyes, then nodded.

Sam sat in the chair and took a deep breath as Kathleen brought the electric razor to his head.

"Are you sure? I think you look cute like this," she asked before she even attempted to start.

"Yeah, just do it before I change my mind." She came close to him and he put his hands around her waist, concentrating on her form as she shaved off his hair. Once she was done, he ran a hand over his now smooth head.

He took a deep breath in and slowly expelled it. "Thanks!"

"Why don't you look in the mirror" She suggested.

"No!...You know I don't like…" He trailed off.

"Okay, let's go!" She smiled as he got-up. Luke's plan was coming together nicely.

"Okay…right…call me as soon as you hear something…thanks a lot, Caleb." Dean closed the cell, and started to pace, biting his nails.

"Dean, you need to take a break." Dean stopped pacing and stared at his dad.

"I can take a break when we find Sam," He started to pace again.

"Dean…"

"I took a break for three weeks!" Dean snapped. He'd been snapping a lot at John lately. The stress of looking for Sam was definitely getting to him.

"That wasn't a break; that was you being sick! Just for one night, son?" Dean let out a loud sigh, then nodded his head in defeat.

The two men walked into the restaurant and a waft of BBQ steak hit them. They both took in the aroma at the same time. They stood there, their mouths watering, waiting patiently for the hostess to take them to their seats.

The restaurant was dimly lit, full with patrons. Dean and John sat at their booth and mulled over the menu. Dean went into a coughing fit again. He drank some of his water and, looking-up at John, he shook his head.

"Don't worry about it Dad, the doc said the cough would linger…I feel fine!" he said with a forced smile.

John smiled sadly as he nodded his head.

Dean looked around the restaurant, taking note of a group of beautiful women sitting in another booth. One of them noticed him and smiled…he smiled back. His eyes then went to the bar and saw something he never thought he would see. He stared at him for a moment, those eyes it was him…and he was bald!

"Sam!" The two brothers bolted up at the same time, but a waiter came crossed in front of Dean and they collided. An array of dishes and food fell on the floor; Dean slipped on the soup, but quickly recovered.

"Which way did he go?" John yelled.

"I don't know! You take the back, I'll take the front." They quickly separated.

Dean bolted for the exit, pushing past the people outside, scanning the streets for his bald Sasquatch of a brother. He heard the sound of tires screeching as a Mustang turned the corner and shot past him. John followed suit in his truck, stopping in front of Dean.

"That was him!" John yelled. Dean bolted to the passenger's side and got in as John sped-off after Sam.

Sam drove down the road, changing lanes quickly, cutting people off. John followed his every move, weaving in and out between the many cars on the road. Sam made a quick right-turn, going over the curb and almost running over a pedestrian.

John made the turn, quickly realizing Sam was heading for the freeway. Sam sped-up even more as he entered the freeway. Sam quickly changed lanes, almost causing a crash. John stayed in his own lane, staying close to Sam.

"Are you sure that's him? He was driving a rabbit a few months ago."

"I saw him get into the car," John said as he tried to keep up with his youngest.

"Damn, Sammy's been pimped!" Dean muttered as John weaved in and out of the lanes, avoiding hitting the other cars.

"Write down his license plate number!" John shouted at Dean; Dean quickly wrote it down.

Sam changed lanes again. John accelerated, now neck and neck with Sam, the woman with him rolled down the window.

"Nice night for a drive, eh?" Sam shouted through the window and laughed. The woman beside him gave John the middle finger. He accelerated again making his way through the two semis that were in front of him.

"Stupid bitch!" John shouted. He turned to the right, driving on the shoulder, and passing the semis and Sam, he quickly got back onto the road. Now Sam was chasing them!

"Uh, dad, we're supposed to be chasing them." Dean reminded him. John changed lanes to the left and Sam passed them. John changed lanes again; now he was behind Sam. The woman who was in the passenger seat climbed out of the window, holding a .45. She aimed and fired at the two men.

The two Winchester men ducked just in time, knocking heads in the process. Both cursed and rubbed their heads. Dean glared at the windshield, a bullet hole directly in front of his head.

She aimed again; Sam swerved, causing her to lose her balance as she pulled the trigger again, narrowly missing the front tire. She retreated into the car, then came-up through the sunroof, again pointing the gun at them. Dean reached for his gun in the back of his jeans and climbed half-way out of the window, aiming for the woman. She blew him a kiss and he shot her. She jerked back and retreated back into the car.

Sam weaved in and out of the lanes, cutting off an SUV that had to swerve to the left causing two other cars to crash into it. John jerked the truck to the left, causing the truck to narrowly miss the median. John quickly recovered and was back behind Sam. Sam took an exit at the last minute; a car right behind him slammed on their brakes, swerving to the right, John slammed on the brakes merely inches from the car. They sat there for a second, trying to catch their breath. Then John put the car into reverse, backed up, then put the gear back into drive and quickly found an exit, just as the cops arrived.

Kathleen walked out of Sam's washroom nursing her right shoulder.

"All better!" She announced. Sam ignored her. "As good as new!"

Sam turned his head and charged her; grabbing her by the shoulder, he thrust her against the wall. Holding her firmly, he moved closer making it more than evident how angry he was.

"What the hell is wrong with you? You could have killed them!" he spat with disgust.

"Oh, that would have been tragic." She replied sarcastically.

Still holding her by the shoulder, he brought her closer then slammed her forcefully into the wall. "They are my family!" he yelled.

"Don't act like you didn't want them dead; with the way you were driving, you could have killed them yourself," knowing this was killing Sam, she took a lot of pleasure in saying it.

Sam stood there for a moment; she was right, he clenched her shoulders tighter. "I was trying to get rid of them, not kill them!" Sam finally yelled back.

"Sure, I believe you," she laughed, which angered Sam even more. He struck her, knocking her head back. Touching her hand to her lip, feeling the blood against her delicate fingers, she slipped them into her mouth to retrieve the razor she always kept there. In one swipe, she cut Sam's right cheek.

"Bitch!" he screamed. He came at her, but she saw him coming and kneed him. He let-out a soft-groan in pain. "Son of a bitch!" he cursed under his breath.

Then she punched him and he fell to the floor. "You should know better than to attack a fellow collector, even if she is a girl!" She walked to him and attempted to kick him, but he caught her foot mid-air, swiping at her other leg and causing her to fall to the floor, quickly went on top of her.

"You should know better than to attack a collector who use to be a hunter." He growled as he slipped out his gun, pressing it firmly against her forehead. "I'm going to make you pay for almost killing them."

He cocked the hammer, smiled, and pulled the trigger. Her blood and brain matter splattered all over Sam, the upper half of her head blown off, and blood began to pool around her, seeping into the cracks and crevices of the floor.

Sam quickly got up and grabbed his blanket and placed it beside her. He picked her up and, roughly dropping her onto the blanket, wrapped her in it. Sam than carried her out of his apartment, keeping a look out for anyone who might be around, he opened the garbage chute and threw her in.

Sam then went back to his apartment and cleaned up. Standing in front of the mirror, he could see only one eye, and part of his mouth over the duct tape he'd put there earlier. Staring at himself, he was amazed how easy it had been to kill Kathleen, to stuff her down a garbage chute like he was throwing out garbage. He stared his image down intently.

"You're not me!" He yelled at it.

His image laughed at him, "I am you; good job killing Kathleen, but it would have been nice if we had slept with her first." his image said with an evil smile.

"I don't sleep with skanks!" Sam spat back.

"No, you just sleep with prostitutes…right!" his image taunted.

"I never slept with her; I love Jessica…I love Jessica!" he defended.

"Sure you do. just keep reminding yourself of that." His smile grew "Why don't you find that pretty little number you never slept with and really give it to her."

Sam didn't want to go downstairs. He was starting to put two and two together; the more evil he did the less guilt he felt, the less guilt he felt the easier it was to kill, the more evil he was becoming. Then it hit him, the familiar side effects of killing eased its way through, he started to feel guilty.

"Come on; admit it, you liked pulling the trigger. Her brains got all over you," his image started to laugh.

"Shut-up! shut-up!" Sam shouted as he covered his ears.

"I bet her blood tasted really good."

Sam couldn't take it anymore and he smashed his fist into his mirror. He stumbled out of the bathroom and onto his bed; ignoring his bleeding and throbbing hand, he sat there unable to sleep or move. He was losing himself, he could feel it. The more he struggled, the more he tried to hold on to the person he was, the harder the person he was becoming pushed.

Dean leaned slightly against the front of the truck, listening to his father on the phone from the rear of the truck.

"So, do you have an address?" John asked. "Great, thanks so much! Alright, you too…'bye." John hung up and walked around the truck and took a deep breath.

"We have a lead. The car isn't Sam's; it belongs to a Kathleen Franks. She lives in Philadelphia so that's our next stop. Did you put the new plates on?" Dean nodded. "Good, you drive; they won't be looking for a young man driving a pick-up," John said as he tossed Dean the keys. They both got in and headed to Philadelphia.

Now John and Dean are heading for Philly what will happen next???? Hint, Hint it won't be pretty for our boy Dean. Hit the button and review plz!!!