A/N Wow, thank you so much for the reviews and alerts! I am truly humbled. Here is the next chapter. Please remember to tell me what you think! I crave constructive criticism. It is my drug. :P

Chapter Two

Sam led the way into Dean's room and stopped at the sight of him. Flashbacks to another time, another place assaulted his mind and he held his breath a moment as though uncertain of whether this was just a memory, or a horrible, horrible dream. He swallowed hard, wishing it was a just a memory or a horrible, horrible dream, but knowing it was real. He had all year to prepare, but in the end, knowing it was coming did nothing to ease the pain or shock.

He moved beside his sleeping brother, and hesitated, unsure of where to touch him that wouldn't hurt. There wasn't much in the way of exposed skin on Dean's heavily bandaged torso and shoulders. His arms up to his elbows were exposed, but both hands were hooked up to IV's. With a sigh that almost resembled a whimper, Sam settled for gently but firmly placing his hand just above Dean's wrist in hopes that somehow their physical contact would reach him.

"Dean, hang on. Just hang on for me, OK?" he murmured quietly, pleadingly.

"Why don't I go get us some coffee?" he heard Bobby offer meekly.

Without taking his eyes off his brother's ashen and lifeless face, he gave a non-committal shrug, "Sure."

"I'll be right back then, OK?"

"Yeah," Sam replied quietly, not really sure what Bobby was really saying. He could be yelling that the building was on fire, but Sam was too numb to really notice or care. Sam flicked his eyes towards Bobby as he quietly left the room, and then at Dean's motionless body.

The steady, monotone rhythms coming from the ventilator and heart monitor was hypnotic and oddly soothing, and Sam's exhausted mind let the sounds lull him for a moment. He removed his hand from Dean's arm and rubbed his eyes, "I'm so fucking sick of this," he muttered, "I'm tired of watching you die, Dean. So please, I don't know if you can hear me, but just don't, OK? Don't die on me. You've beaten the odds before, so do it again. Come back." He said it in a tone that was less a plea than an order and he said it as though recovering from the brink of death was as easy as riding a bike.

He glanced at his brother's face, almost expecting to see his eyes flutter open, or at the very least a twitch, a sign of some sort that Dean was still there, fighting to find his way back to the land of the living, but there was nothing. His face remained still, lifeless and pale.

Dean looked worse off than he did almost two years ago, after the accident. Sam remembered standing in the doorway, listening to the steady, ominous hum of the heart monitor as the flat line told the world that his heart stopped beating, the sounds of the defibrillator charging, watching as a team of doctors worked frantically around Dean as he crashed, watching as they attempted to shock Dean back to life.

Sam knew that Dean was meant to die at that moment, but he remembered with clarity hearing something else amidst the chaos. Dean's voice. He could hear him yelling, demanding someone—a reaper as it turned out—to back off. His voice had been nothing more than a faint echo, and at first Sam had wondered if he had imagined it, but then Dean's heart began to beat again. He remembered feeling Dean's presence in the hallway shortly after, and it was a reassuring presence. Dean's body may have been failing, but his spirit was still there, fighting strong. Sometimes Sam wondered if Dean might've recovered on his own had their father not made his deal. Yes, a reaper had been after him, and as far as they knew there was no way to fight off a reaper, but Sam believed that if anyone could find a way to beat Death, it was Dean.

What seemed like a lifetime ago, after his electrocution, Roy Le Grange had chosen Dean for healing because he said God told him that Dean still had a purpose. Sam believed that Le Grange was right about that—it didn't matter if Le Grange wasn't the real deal. Dean did indeed have a purpose and Sam refused to believe that his purpose was to be dragged to Hell by hellhounds just so that Sam could live.

"You don't deserve this Dean," Sam whispered, "no one does, but you…you least of all." His voice broke into a tiny whimper.

Tears began welling up in his eyes and he choked back a sob, "Are you even here Dean? The hellhounds did a number on you, but you're still alive so you're still here, right?" He glanced around the room, trying to open his mind and sense any possible presence. He did before, the last time Dean was near death, but he couldn't feel anything this time. Why then and not now? Maybe it had to do with the fact he no longer had his psychic abilities. Or did he? Ruby said his powers were merely dormant, and Lilith couldn't hurt him. Maybe if he really concentrated he could do it.

He closed his eyes, trying with all his might to sense Dean's presence. Nothing.

"I must just be a little rusty on the whole psychic thing," Sam chuckled humorlessly. "I know you're here," he declared, even though he didn't really, and that terrified him, not knowing, but he pretended otherwise, it eased the ache in his heart, "so don't worry Dean. We'll figure something out and you'll be good as new before you know it with a few new scars to show off to the ladies, right?".

Sam knew that in theory it was impossible for Dean to still be alive, yet he was. On life support, yes, but that was a start. How Dean managed to go from being dead to not-dead was a mystery to Sam, because looking back he realized his insane attempt at reviving him those many hours ago was pointless, but he didn't care. Dean was a fighter, and he probably kicked the hellhounds' asses and found his way back. It didn't matter how or why he made it this far, all that mattered was that Dean still had a chance, however slim.

There was a knock on the door and a young volunteer poked her head in, "Are you Sam Johnson?"

He nodded.

She smiled and stepped in the room, glancing briefly at Dean, "Is he going to be OK?"

No, he's not. "I don't know," Sam replied.

She tucked a lock of blonde hair behind her ear. She held something out, a plastic bag. "Anyway, I was sent here to give you your brother's things. I hope he'll be OK."

"Thanks," he replied dully. She walked towards him and set the bag on the table beside Dean's bed.

She started to leave but hesitated by the door. She paused for only a moment and then turned to Sam. "Mr. Johnson?"

"It's Sam."

"Sam," she nodded, "You need to get out of here. It's not safe."

Sam's expression darkened, "Excuse me?"

She pulled her brows together and wrinkled her nose, confused by Sam's reaction, "What?"

"What did you just say?" there was an urgency in his voice, hinting at anger and fear amidst his mourning.

"I just said that if you needed someone to talk to, I'll listen," she replied, then with downcast eyes she explained, "Look, I know you don't know me, and I don't mean to pry it's just that… I lost my brother last year. Car accident. He was in a coma for two weeks. That's kind of why I volunteer here, to help those going through what I did. Talking helps."

"That's not what you said," Sam insisted.

"Yes it is," she frowned.

"Christo," he hissed.

"Huh?" was the only reaction he got.

This time Sam frowned in confusion. He rubbed his tired eyes and sighed wearily, "Look, I'm sorry. I'm really tired and I guess I thought you said something else."

"Hey," she smiled softly, "It's all right."

"Listen uh, thanks for the offer, but I want to be alone right now with my brother, OK?"

"OK," she nodded, "But if you do feel like talking, I'm here twice a week, and there is a bereavement group that meets every Tuesday evening."

Sam wasn't really paying attention, "Yeah, OK."

The volunteer left and Sam heaved a sigh, turning his attention back to his brother. He thought about what the young woman said—or what he thought she said. Whether she said it or not, it was true, they weren't safe. Surely Lilith would be back soon. Then again, they were never truly safe, were they? But how could they leave? Dean was on life support, he wasn't going anywhere and Sam couldn't leave him unguarded.

He absently grabbed the plastic bag containing Dean's things and opened it. There wasn't much in there, just Dean's wallet, his ring, his amulet and car keys. He pocketed the wallet and keys and put the ring on his finger, "Don't worry," Sam said, glancing at Dean's motionless body, "I'll give them back when you wake up. I'm just keeping them safe for you. You just have to wake up though. OK? Promise me."

He carefully took the necklace Sam had given him almost twenty years ago and clutched it in his palm, "It seems kind of wrong though," he mumbled thoughtfully, "you not wearing this. I can count on my hand the number of times you weren't wearing this thing. Every time it wasn't by choice. This you should have back, but… I don't know…the doctors might take it off again and you'd kill me if I lost it."

He leaned over Dean and sniffled, debating on whether he should put the amulet on him or not. He blinked back more of the tears that wanted to resurface and with the hand not clutching onto the amulet like a lifeline, Sam cupped Dean's cheek into his palm, wanting to say more.

That's when the vision hit.

First he felt the usual sharp pain in his temples, but it was accompanied by the feeling of invisible claws tearing at him. He collapsed to the floor and his vision grabbed hold and dragged him to a different place. A dark place, filled with swirling black clouds, thunder, lightning and pain. There he could hear screaming. At first he couldn't make out what he was hearing, but as the vision became more vivid it became painfully clear.

Dean, calling his name, begging for help.

Then Sam saw him. He could see Dean, yet he could also see through Dean's eyes at the endless void surrounding him. Sam could feel the chains binding Dean, and the hooks impaling his flesh almost as though he was at the receiving end of the torture. One of the chains that trimmed the darkness broke free and lashed mercilessly and repeatedly at Dean's back, and Sam could almost feel every hit. The blows to Dean's back tossed Sam forward as he clutched Dean's bed to steady himself and tried unsuccessfully not to cry out in pain.

Sam never felt so alone, but he knew that the feeling was actually Dean's. Dean had always feared being alone, of being abandoned, and yet he was. It was the ultimate abandonment. The ultimate prison. The ultimate torture.

Dean continued to scream.

Sam couldn't stand it, so he screamed back, "Dean!"

And he could've sworn he saw Dean look up in response.

He wanted to call out again but he was suddenly pulled away from his vision and found himself back in Dean's hospital room, steadied by Bobby's grip on his shoulder. As the vision faded, so did the pain, but the screaming continued to echo in his mind.

It was Dean's voice, but he never heard Dean sound like that before, never before had he heard such anguish and terror in his voice. He had always masked it before. Only a few hours in Hell and already his walls were crumbling. But Sam sensed that while only several hours had passed, to Dean, time moved differently, and he had been there much, much longer than that already.

"We have to find a way to free him Bobby, we have to. I can still hear him screaming."

"We'll find a way, I promise."

0-o-0-o-0

The vision and the long night had exhausted Sam and it didn't take long before he passed out again in the uncomfortable chair beside Dean's bed. Bobby lingered, pacing a few times before he too found a chair and dozed off. Sam noted, as he drifted into unconsciousness, Bobby's reluctance to leave, and it gave him some comfort. The vision had left him feeling so empty and alone, and while Bobby could never fill the void Dean left behind, it helped.

But the last thought that came to him before he was completely out was the reminder that Dean was utterly alone and comfort would forever be beyond his reach. Unless Sam could save him.

When he woke up, Bobby was gone. He rubbed his eyes, and then shivered. He glanced at Dean and saw his finger twitch. It took a moment for the importance of that movement to register in Sam's brain but once it did, he leapt to his feet and rushed to Dean's side to see him stirring.

"S'mmy?" he mumbled.

"I'm right here Dean," he whispered, taking hold of his hand. "Open your eyes."

Dean licked his lips and turned his head to the side wearily.

"Help me," he whispered hoarsely, stubbornly keeping his eyes closed.

"What do you need? Do you need me to get a doctor?"

Dean shook his head fearfully, "No…" his voice sounded so weak. "No…Sammy…please…" there was panic in his voice, "Help me." He began to thrash around and Sam held him down.

"It's OK, you're safe Dean, you're safe."

"Why Sam?" Dean moaned, wincing in pain.

"Why what? Dean? Please tell me what's wrong…" Sam begged softly, noticing vaguely that Dean was no longer hooked up to the ventilator and heart monitor and life support. He wondered how deeply he slept to have missed that progress.

"Why didn't you save me?" he demanded, screaming in panic, squeezing his eyes shut tight out of terror or fury, Sam couldn't tell, "You promised! You promised you'd save me!"

"I tried Dean, I did, but… you're back now."

Dean opened his eyes, revealing oily black orbs. "And now look at what I've become!" he snapped.

Sam jumped.

"Sam?"

Sam tilted his head to see Bobby standing over him, looking tired and worried. Sam was still sitting in his chair beside Dean who was still lying prone on the bed, still hooked up to an array of machines. He breathed a sigh for no other reason than to release some of the pressure in his soul but in no way was the sigh one of relief. "It was just a dream."

"What happened?" Bobby asked.

Sam shook his head, "Nothing. I just dreamt that Dean woke up but… it wasn't him, not really." He noticed Bobby was holding a change of clothes and Sam realized he still wore Dean's blood on his clothes even though he had taken off his outer shirt. Even his undershirt had some blood on it, and the knees of his jeans were a dark crusty red.

"Here kid," Bobby said, handing him his clothes, "I took the liberty of going back for the Impala and getting you something clean to wear. You look like shit."

"Thanks," Sam muttered.

"I'm surprised they didn't give you some scrubs to wear or something."

Sam thought about that a moment and then recalled that they did offer, once they established that he wasn't hurt in the attack, merely exhausted. But he was in such shock he had declined, not really processing what they were asking. All he had cared about at the time was his brother, and that was still all he cared about. He took the clothes and rose to his feet, stretching his stiff muscles and shuffled to the bathroom to change. Once he was in the clean clothes, he took the contents of his pockets out of his bloodied jeans and transferred them to his clean pair then threw the stained jeans into the trash. His shirt could still be salvaged.

When he emerged from the bathroom, Bobby was at Dean's side, his hand rested on Dean's uninjured leg. "Hang in there, Dean," Bobby murmured, "Remember what I told you. We're not going to give up on you."

"Hey," Sam cleared his throat and Bobby turned to face Sam.

Bobby scratched the back of his head with a look of uncertainty on his features, "Listen Sam? You know we can't stay here, it ain't safe," Bobby said carefully.

Sam froze, thinking about what he thought he had heard the volunteer say. Wondering about whether it was merely a hallucination or something else. "What was that?" he asked suspiciously.

"Sooner or later, the cops are going to want to talk to you, and with your record…"

"Hendrickson 'killed' us. According to the system, Dean and I are… dead," Sam pointed out, choking on the last word.

"Yeah but it's too risky, besides, there are too many holes in our stories as it is," Bobby said, "I don't think we have too much to worry about in that end though, the Fremonts made it clear that we're not the bad guys, but we can't be too careful. They find out you're not Sam Johnson and discover that your file is wrong about you being deceased? It's game over. Besides, there's also Lilith to consider."

"So what you're saying is that we should take off and leave Dean here? Alone and vulnerable? Bobby that's…"

"That's not what I'm suggesting," Bobby interrupted, "Not exactly."

"So what then?" Sam sighed tiredly.

"We're leaving, all three of us. We're not leaving Dean behind."

"Bobby, Dean's in no condition to be moved, he's on life support for fucks sake!"

"Sam," Bobby shushed him, "You have to trust me on this one." He stole a glance in Dean's direction then back at Sam, "I also took another liberty and made a few calls."

"And…?"

"I've arranged to have him transferred to Lawrence."

"Lawrence? Why? Dean hates Lawrence, why take him there of all places?"

"A while back when you and Dean were kids, your dad and I exorcized a haunted wing in a hospital in Topeka, and one of the doctor's we saved has since then transferred to Lawrence," Bobby explained, "he's willing to help us, and so has Missouri. He knows what we do and he and Missouri are already preparing a room for him as we speak. Not only with the medical equipment he'll need, but also charms and wards for protection. They'll make sure he's protected there and he'll be well taken care of."

Sam bit his lip, as his chin quivered, threatening to release more emotion. Bobby was right, Dean would be safer in a place where he could get medical care and protection from demonic forces, a precaution that was impossible here in New Harmony, Indiana. Also, the sooner Dean was someplace safe, the sooner they could begin their search for a way to free him and hunt Lilith down. And with Missouri's psychic abilities, she'd be an asset.

Sam let the information process and he finally nodded, "OK. When do we leave?"

"First thing tomorrow morning."

0-o-0-o-0

He screamed.

He had no idea how long he had been there, lost in an endless maze of chains, suspended, bound and impaled by large rusted meat hooks. It could've been hours, days, weeks… possibly longer. Time held little meaning here.

Lightning occasionally struck the chains, jarring the hooks in his shoulder and side, electrocuting him, burning him. A rogue chain lashed against his back repeatedly and mercilessly, and every blow reverberated through him like a sound wave. He was aware of every painful sensation and more importantly, he was aware of how alone he was. It was complete and absolute.

Vaguely he remembered in another life how during his last year on earth demons said how pleased they'd be to have a go at him, to torture him and watch him suffer yet there were none to be seen. He almost wished there were demons there to taunt and torture him, anything other than the extreme loneliness. It would give him something to do other than hang there and scream. The fact he was alone made the physical anguish that much more painful.

He continued to scream, even though it was completely hopeless. No one would hear him. Even if they did, they'd either be demons relishing in his pain, or other trapped souls suffering the same fate. Screaming eased the agony, just slightly, even though it made his throat raw.

At some point in his torturous imprisonment he could've sworn he heard a voice call his name. But he only heard it once and when he didn't hear it again, he decided that it was just a trick of the mind, a newer, sicker form of torture. Sick because it was Sam's voice calling his name. For hours, (days? weeks?) he worried that Sam was down there too, trapped as well, but he knew in his heart that wasn't the case. For a second he hoped that it was Sam somehow coming to rescue him, but the dark, heavy weight Hell placed on his soul had a way of snuffing out any thought of hope. He tried to tell himself that it was better that way anyway. For Sam to come to his rescue meant he had to go to Hell himself, and that just wouldn't do.

But even then it caused more torment because he knew that any hope of rescue was impossible. He was trapped there forever.

Despite the pain, the agony and the hopelessness, he continued to scream and struggle. He stubbornly fought the soul crushing weight of Hell on his shoulders and reminded himself of why he was there.

For Sam. Because…made a deal so that Sam could live. I am here so I could save Sam. Because of me, Sam is safe.

He repeated it in his mind using it as his mantra, and through the torment, he found the slightest form of relief.

TBC

0-o-0-o-0

A/N Well, I hope you liked that last chapter, though I'm not entirely happy with it. The plot should pick up soon. Thank you for reading and please, please, please leave a review. It makes me type faster and feeds my muse.