So I take it, not many people liked the last chapter. The number of reviews slimmed drastically, and it could be that ya'll are busy and it being summer, and all. It's okay, I just wasn't sure!

Hopefully you'll like this one better! Cheers!

~o(Supernatural)o~

Dean ducked in time, the spray of buckshot narrowly avoiding his head by a mere inch.

"WHOA! Sammy!"

Sam had reloaded more ammunition by the time Dean stood back up, resuming his full height, "I said…stay back," he gasped, grimacing a bit.

"Sam, put the gun down. I'm not going to hurt you," Dean voiced, spreading out his hands in a placating manner, taking another step forward.

The narrowed gaze and the sudden trigger-happy finger, however, made him take a step back. "Okay. Okay." He licked his lips, thinking hard of someway he can get through to his brother. From the looks of things, Sam had seen and been through so much, it was going to take a lot more than a few heart-lifting words. He looked away, biting his lip, feeling a bit pressured under the gun.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the steady shake in the gun-wielding hand and the half-concealed pant. It didn't take a genius. Sam was exhausted beyond relief, injured, and losing strength quickly.

"Sammy, you're hurt."

"What do you care?" came the gasped spat. "You know, you're really one sick son of a bitch to show up like my brother," he glared dangerously, "I-it won't work on me."

Dean sighed pathetically, half-chuckling a bit. "Sammy. I'm not…I'm not Lucifer."

"Yeah right."

The gun bucked back as another shot rang out and Dean threw himself to the floor in split-second timing. Landing with a great oomph, he peered up at the troubled youngster, and shook his head letting out a huff of exasperation. At this rate, sooner or later he was gonna feel that buckshot…and that's never fun.

"Then what do I gotta do to prove it to you?"

"You can hold still," Sam said, letting off another shot.

Dean curled into a tight ball just in time for the pellets to embed in the wall. "Alright!" He called out, taking a breather. "Damn you're scary when you're pissed!"

"Get up," his brother directed.

Faithfully obliging to the order, Dean slowly rose from his fetal position. He kept his eyes trained on his sibling, careful not to make the slightest twitch. "Sammy, I swear it's me," he took a deep breath, "I swear."

The gun remained upright, but Dean could see the glint in Sam's eye suggesting he was intrigued. So he decided to carry on, anything to convince his brother to not blow his balls off. "You were born on the second of May in 1983. I was born on January twenty-fourth in 1979 and our parents were John and Mary. Mom died when you were just six months old and Dad went crazy to find her killer—"

"I know that already. And so does he," Sam glared, his lip trembling.

"Alright, alright. But does he know about the time we stole all those fireworks, snuck out of the house, and burnt down that field?" Dean licked his lips, scanning his memory bank, "Or does he know about the time when I left you in the motel strapped to a chair left to watch nothing but soap operas after one of our prank wars while I went off and had a threesome with a couple of cheerleaders?"

Sam jerked his head, squinting at that remark.

"I mean Hell, you didn't even know what I was up to," he bit his tongue. "Ah shit. You do now!"

"Whatever," Sam huffed. "He's been here for a very long time. And he has had contacts, so I'm sure he knows. We want to get anywhere from this, let me ask you a question?"

Dean couldn't describe what he felt at that statement, but it certainly had his attention. Sam was raising the bar, taking control of the situation. And that represented a slight problem. Regarding the question, everything depended on his answer. If he guessed correctly, then hopefully Sam will have lowered the gun and they sing Hallelujah or something. But if he answered wrong, hmmm…he gulped at that. His brother didn't appear as though he'd be up for an amiable discussion and it terrified him. The only other time he saw someone look like that was his father when he was about to destroy an evil son of a bitch.

He said nothing, except waited for Sam's cue.

Sam shuddered a bit, his eyes closing for a brief second. It was as though any minute he was about to pass out. And just maybe that might have been a good thing. "The time we were in Toledo. My eighth grade science final was the day before we left for that hunt in Jacksonville. What was my score on it?"

Inwardly Dean paled. Outwardly, his expression suggested that he fell off the stupid tree and hit every branch on the way down. Figures the little shit would give him a hard question.

"Are you shitting me? I don't even remember what I did two days ago, let alone something you did almost twenty years ago. Seriously! For all I know, you probably didn't take the damn thing; because Dad back then wouldn't keep you in school long enough to take a damn test."

Sam blinked.

"So go ahead," Dean spread his arms out wide. "Take the shot, cuz I don't know. And…" he paused, noticing the shiny glint of brass on Sam's chest.

Studying the piece of metal, it took him only a second to realize it was in the shape of an amulet, more precisely his amulet. The very one he received as a Christmas gift from Sammy during that time where their Dad hadn't bothered to show up and he snuck out into person's home, stole a couple of gifts for his brother which were revealed to be in the form of a baton and Malibu Barbie.

Only later on during the Apocalypse fiasco, Cass the angel had borrowed it in hopes of using the amulet in finding God. Except when they had learnt of God's message to "Back Off", he decided to throw it away, the metal acting as the symbol of the Man Upstairs' betrayal.

So how was it Sam had it now?

"Hey," he pointed at the necklace. "What are you doing with my necklace? I thought I got rid of that thing. What'd you do? Go dumpster diving and fish it out of the trash?"

In that instant, Sam's face fell, and Dean feared that he might have insulted him. He closed one eye in case, ready for the deep impact of lead. Instead he saw his brother cringe with emotion, letting loose a couple of tears. He didn't know whether to go over and offer comfort, or stand there like a dumbass…except as he learned, he didn't have to. Sam lowered the gun, limped over, and pulled him into a bone-crushing hug.

The hot and sweaty body hovered over him, fists clenched into the fabric of his jacket, with his face buried into his neck. Sam gripped him so tight, it was a good thing he really didn't need oxygen, otherwise lights out. Dean stood stunned, unable to comprehend what had just transpired in that moment. Maybe he said the right thing this time.

Relieved, Dean closed his eyes, listening to Sam's sniffles and sobs, clinging his little—giant of a—brother like he had used to when Sam was merely a child. "It's okay," he stroked the back of his head, "I'm here. I'm here now. And I'm not leaving you."

Finally Sam's legs buckled and Dean helped lower him to the ground, continuing his whispers of reassurance. "You're okay now."

Sam slowly pulled back from the embrace, wiped his face, and rested his back against the wall. He said shakily, "Even if you're not real, it's good to see you."

Dean chuckled light-heartedly. "Sammy," he slapped his knee, "As much as it probably pains you, I am real. And we gotta way out of here. You just gotta trust me."

More tears leaked down the sides of the flushed cheeks. It was a standard sign that Sam obviously hadn't believed him just yet. The poor guy still looked as confused as a hooker nun. "But why? How are you here?"

"Take a wild guess. How do I zap anywhere?"

Waiting for the casual nod of understanding and the small smile of relief proved to be useless. If anything, Dean swore the guy paled a shade. The wild look of a cat caught in headlights was hard to mistake. "Are you…" Sam swallowed, "Are you d-dead?"

Okay, he had to admit that question definitely threw him for a loop and tossed him somewhere off to the side. But the realization of it made him slump with dread. Not only did it pain him to see his brother so frail and nearly helpless, but also it explained Sam's current state so much more. Sam thought he was still in Hell, stuck in an eternity of fighting, terror, and always running. He had no idea he was brought back, where all he had to do was wake up and the fight was over. It was heartbreaking.

"No Sam, I'm not dead—"

"Then how?"

"You're not dead either."

"Huh?"

"Yeah," Dean nearly laughed, grasping both of Sam's shoulders, "You're back. And this…" he took a gander around, "this isn't real. It's all in your head."

Sam's lip trembled. "M-my head?"

"Yeah."

"B-but I thought—"

"Well there you go thinking again," Dean interrupted sarcastically. "You don't have to fight no more. This isn't Hell, though I think this would definitely come in runner-up."

"But why does it feel so real?" Wow, Sam sounded so childlike and vulnerable there.

Dean shook his head, "I don't know Sammy. I don't have all the answers. But back on Earth, you're catatonic."

Sam gazed up at him, a whirlpool of puzzlement and suspicion showing off in the mossy green, nearly dumping Dean back on his sore ass. "Catatonic? Why?"

"Yeah, well you haven't eaten your greens in a while. I told you they were important," he smiled.

"Jerk," came the sardonic reply.

Dean leaned closer, picking up Sam's chin. "Again I don't know Sammy. It could be that your body was only able to handle so much. It basically shut down, that way you were able to still fight Lucifer. Cass said you needed help, so…"

"Cass?" Sam looked up.

"Yeah. The man of the hour…"

"He was here?"

"Erm…well, not exactly," Dean pursed his lips, "but he said he talked to you and that's how we found out you needed help."

"That was Cass?" Sam slumped against the wall some more, "I didn't know who I was talking to, but it would explain why you popped up all of a sudden. Is that how you're here? Did you take some kind of dreamroot?"

"Dreamroot?" Dean was appalled. "Oh Hell no! I ain't going anywhere near that jungle juice again. No, Cass gave me a lift."

"Oh. Okay," Sam slurred tiredly, his eyes closing a bit. "Cass. He's a good man."

"Uh…" Dean scratched the back of his head. "Angel. He's a fully-fledged angel again. Don't ask, don't tell."

Apparently that extra tid bit of information was all that the younger Winchester could manage. Dean saw that this was too much for Sam's fragile piece of mind as he looked like he was going to let loose another waterworks show. But it would have to hold off for later. "I'm sorry Sammy, I really am. But we need to get going."

Sam sighed, his chin falling to his chest. "God, I'm so tired," he mewled.

"I get that buddy, I do," Dean rubbed the side of his arm. "And I get that this is all too much for ya, but Lucifer is still here, remember? So we need to go. He might be coming home at any time now."

Sam suddenly shot him a wide stare, and it terrified him all the more when his body began to shake really hard. "Y-you m-mean, you don't k-know where he is?"

Dean grew tense, the hairs on the back of his neck coming to a standstill. He was almost afraid to answer. "No. I lost him a while back…" he stopped short when Sam suddenly grabbed both his arms, and in a gliding smooth action he swore he could've seen in the Matrix, stood them both up. "Sammy, what's wrong?"

Sam didn't answer him, but peered at him with his glossy puppy-eyes. Dean felt the tingle in his gut, reading the expression as "It's okay, I don't blame you. I love you."

"Sam."

And when it finally occurred to him what the hell the matter was, it was all too late.

Inside the closed off hallway, a roaring wind erupted through, threatening to topple them over. The banshee-like screech echoed through, piercing into his eardrums, and he couldn't help but to cover his ears. A forceful pounding reverberated all around and it was then Sam stood in front of him, shielding him. The pounding continued, getting harder and harder, the place vibrating in disarray.

But before the force could level the place to the ground, it all stopped. The shaking, the roaring, the gale-like winds…all was put on pause.

Dean looked up, wondering what in the hell had just happened…and then…

Crash!

The front end of the hallway exploded into shambles; wood pieces, frayed patches of drywall crumbling into bits, the roaring striking up once again. And then it happened like an on-coming volley, all the doors exploded one by one, the invisible wrecking force speeding towards them.

"Sammy!" Dean yelled.

It was too late. The force had found it's way to them. Dean's head jerked harshly from side to side as a cannon ball of a hit landed its mark on each cheek. The air was suddenly gone as another hit wound its way into his gut, and then he was weightless. The impact of the wall was felt a second later, along with another hit to the floor.

If Lucifer's aim was to vitiate him to the point of immobility…well, he succeeded. Dean couldn't move.

There were more sounds of solid hits, along with a scraping noise. Dean opened his eyes, where he saw his brother dragged across the hallway floor, his feet suspended by some invisible pulley. "Deeeeeaaaaaaaannnnnnnn!"

"Sammy!" Dean struggled to him feet. He took off at a sprint calling out Sam's name. "Hang on Sammy!"

"Dean!"

Lucifer had Sam at the end of the hallway, the only remaining door wide and opened to an impenetrable darkness. Caught onto the doorframe, Sam held on, teeth clenched, his cries growing louder the more the plywood splintered off.

"Sammy, hang on," Dean at last had reached him, tugging on his hands. "I gotcha. I gotcha, pull yourself up dammit!"

And Sam did, he pulled with all his might, kicking his legs with a fury. There was laughter in the background, Sam's body slipping further into the fathomless dark.

"Don't let go Sammy. Don't you dare let go," Dean ordered, his face growing crimson from the strain of holding onto his sibling.

"Dean, WATCH OUT!" Sam screamed.

Dean had no time to comprehend as an outward wall of fire barreled his way from the darkness. The heat and the force was enough to blow him back a few yards, sliding along the floor. However the heat stayed with him, and he was sure it singed off any and all facial hair. Smoke filtered up from his clothes, his chest and arms lit aflame.

"Deeeeaaaaaannnnnn!" Sam screamed one last time.

Dean immediately began to roll, stifling the flames off his body. And when he was sure they were gone, he got back up and ran towards the door. But before he could reach, the frame pried off from the force and Sam was taken into the dark, the door slamming with a loud sonorous shut.

"Sammy! Nooooooo!" the big brother screamed out in a panic. He ran with all his might, prepared to barge through the door. Tucking in, he rammed his weight into the door, several times, but the result was always the same…it wouldn't budge.

"Sammy. Oh God, Sammy," he cried. "Dammit. I led Lucifer straight to him."

Yep, Sammy's in trouble. I know this was a shorter update. But I think that's what I'm going to try and aim for. Shorter chapters, hopefully mean quicker updates. But we'll see how it goes. Thanks for reading.