This chapter is very sad and very graphic. You have been warned—Now enjoy!

Leandra was sitting on a bed in the middle of the room. Her messy blond hair framing her face in thick wispy strands of gold, her eyes wide with fear. "Who…who are you?" she whispered.

Sam didn't say anything for a long while. He stood there, bleeding from every square inch on his body, the flesh ripped away to the bone in multiple places. "You know who I am." He said coldly.

"No. I don't." Leandra said simply, the look on her face a mixture of terror and awe. "I thought I did—I thought—but you fooled me. They were right…about you. You're the one, Sam. You're the one that will lead us."

Silence.

Sam's breath caught in his throat as her words shattered through the wall of rage his mind had constructed, and in an instant the reality of the situation and all he had done crashed back upon him. He took an involuntary step backwards, and shards of glass crackled underneath his feet.

Leandra's expression of complete adoration remained fixed on her face, and she quickly got down from the bed and kneeled at his feet.

Sam shook his head, terrified, and ignored the sweat that dripped down into his eyes. "No."

Leandra didn't say anything, and she remained kneeling motionless at his feet, her gaze averted respectfully.

Sam looked away from her and his gaze fell upon the wolves, all lying motionless on their stomachs, eyeing him with fear. "No, I—No! I'm not—" he looked back at Leandra. "Get up!"

Leandra looked up at him and slowly rose to her feet. "Yes Master." She said reverently.

"Don't call me Master…" Sam said. "I'm not your leader, okay? I'm not—you've got the wrong idea!"

Leandra shook her head and said nothing, still refusing to meet his gaze.

Sam angrily wiped a hand across his face to stop his sweat from dripping into his eyes—and his hand came away drenched with blood. "Oh God…." He whispered, shocked, suddenly aware that he had been hurt. He looked down at his body and recoiled at what he saw. His jeans were ripped and torn to shreds, revealing large missing chunks of flesh. Every inch of his arms and torso were marred with bite marks and huge bloody gashes. A huge flap of skin on his lower arm was barely still attached, and the skin hung down grotesquely to reveal several inches of white bone. Sam shook his head, horrified, nauseated. "Oh—oh God—I—" he looked at Leandra, his eyes wide. "How—h-how—"

"You are the one." She said simply.

"I—but—it doesn't even hurt!" Sam stammered frantically. "Why doesn't it hurt?! I should be dead!" he stepped backwards again to escape the crimson puddle of blood that had collected under his feet.

"You are the one."

"Stop saying that!" Sam snapped. "I'm not! I'm not the one! I'm not leading your damn army! Do you understand me?!"

Leandra didn't say anything.

"Look at me!" Sam yelled. "Why the hell won't you look at me?!"

"Others will be here soon," Leandra said quietly, her eyes downcast as though he hadn't spoken. "They have heard."

"Others?" Sam said quickly. "What have they heard?"

"You know." She said simply.

"No, let's pretend for a second that I don't know. What have they heard?"

"That you are the one."

Sam's face contorted in anger. "STOP SAYING THAT!" he bellowed.

She flinched, but remained standing motionlessly in front of him.

"If you're not going to help me, then just leave!" Sam shouted angrily, reached out a hand to push her.

His hand never even touched her. Leandra flew backwards across the room, hit the wall with a sickening crack and then fell to the ground, motionless.

Sam stood there for a moment, shocked, and then realized what had happened. "No…" he whispered, rushing over to her side. She had landed face down, her hair hiding her face from view. Sam dropped to his knees at her side, terrified. "Leandra?" he whispered. "I—I'm so—I'm so sorry, I—" his voice trailed off, and he slowly reached out and grasped her shoulder and turned her over.

Leandra's neck was twisted and bent at a grotesque angle, her eyes wide and vacant.

She was dead.

Sam let go of her as though he had been burned and jumped to his feet, his mind reeling. He stumbled backwards, horrified, desperate to escape—

Without warning his foot caught on something lying on the floor and he fell backwards onto the ground with a thud. He sat up quickly, and looked to see what it was he had tripped over—

Sam's legs were lying over Dean's torso, his vacant eyes staring right through him, blood soaking through the carpet under his head.

Sam turned to the side and retched, emptying the contents of his stomach onto the floor until there was nothing but dry heaves left. He started sobbing, and tears streamed freely down his blood stained cheeks. "Noo…no, no, no, nooo, please, no…"

Without thinking he crawled over to his brother and laid his head down on his already cooling chest, sobbing uncontrollably into his jacket. "D-dean, wake up…" he gasped between sobs, shaking his brother's shoulders. "Dean—please—you have to wake up! You—you have—I need you!" he sobbed, "I-I need you, you promised you would a-always be here when I needed you! Y-you promised, and you're not here! You're not—h-here—"

PLEASE REVIEW!

I know, I know…short and sweet (well, maybe not so sweet—sad and heartbreaking maybe). I debated on whether to end it there and decided that it was the best thing to do in order to make the next chapter turn out as I want it to. So, sorry to leave you hanging like that, but get your tissues and be ready for the next chapter! As always, reviews encourage me to post faster, and thanks to all who keep reviewing, I love you guys!