Chapter 2

He was immediately on his feet, agilely jumping out of bed and dashing to get a gun. He grabbed one from a table and pressed his back against a wall, his eyes wildly trying to assess his situation.

His heart was racing as he looked around him, knowing that he was surely in Hell.

He was shocked when all he saw was a trashy motel room, with papers and clothes thrown everywhere. The ugly yellow paint on the walls was chipped, and there was a crack in the ceiling. He closed his eyes and shook his head: It seemed like just yesterday he had pulled up to this motel with his brother, his motive trying to find a place to sleep while the investigated a series of murders from the town over.

He was confused; why was this Hell? Wasn't Hell supposed to be fiery and horrible? Sure, this motel room wasn't the best, but it wasn't Hell…

"Dean?" A low and timid voice asked. Dean jumped violently and opened his eyes, trying to find the source of the noise.

His heart stopped when he saw who it came from.

His brother was standing by one of the beds, on his feet. He had his hands in the air, like he was surrendering. Surrendering to what? Dean didn't know. Sam's face was pale, and his eyes were wide, almost fearful. He was wearing his pajama bottoms and a white t-shirt, and his hair was messy from sleep. Dean pointed it at his brother, absolutely unable to believe that it was his brother in front of him.

It's impossible… Sam's dead, and in heaven…He can't be here… This must be some sort of apparition or demon, trying to get me to admit things to someone I trust. And what better form than my brother, someone who I would tell anything to.

"Who are you?" Dean barked, trying and failing to keep fear from his voice.

Confusion crossed 'Sam's' face, his eyes widening even more. "What do you mean, who am I? I'm your brother!"

"Oh really?" Dean scoffed, gripping the gun tighter and trying to stop his hands from shaking. "Prove it!"

'Sam' took a deep breath. "My name is Sam Winchester. I am the brother of Dean Winchester, who is 4 years older than me and was born on January 24th, 1979. I was born on May 2nd, 1983. Our mother died in a nursery on the day of my six month birthday, and from that point on, our dad raised us as hunters. I was about to go to college at Stanford but then you came and told me that Dad was missing, so we left and hunted down—"

"Okay, okay," Dean said, narrowing his eyes. "What are you—"

A sudden revelation hit him, making him sick to his stomach and sending chills down his spine.

"You did not," Dean whispered, gripping the gun tighter. "You made a deal, didn't you?!"

Something unidentifiable crossed Sam's face. "Dean—"

"How could you, Sam?!" Dean yelled. "You got yourself sent to Hell! After I sacrificed myself, you go and make a deal?!"

"Dean, listen to me—" Sam tried to talk again.

"Dammit, Sam!" Dean yelled, the gun trembling in his hands. His legs suddenly felt weak and his heart broke into a sprint. "I can't belie—"

The breath was knocked from him before he could even finish his sentence, and he doubled over, unable to fill his lungs with the needed amount of oxygen. He gasped for breath, putting his hands on his knees and attempted to get a grip on himself. A cold panic filled him, almost as if he was dumped into a bathtub full of ice-cubes.

"Dean?" He vaguely heard Sam say. "Hey, are you okay?"

He could barely hear his brother, all he could hear was a sharp ringing in his ears.

He tried to stand up straight and steady himself, but his legs were quaking so violently that he couldn't even try to stand without falling flat on his face.

The room began to spin as Dean crashed to the ground on all fours, his legs finally giving out. All he could feel was a mind-numbing panic, so intense that he couldn't see straight.

Tears filled his eyes when he remembered the dream that he just witnessed. He could almost feel the hellhounds ripping apart his skin and tearing up his insides, which suddenly felt like they were on fire. Sweat broke out on his forehead.

"Calm down, Dean," Sam's soothing voice reached his ears. "Deep breaths… Deep breaths…"

Dean shook his head violently, the tears threatening to slip. "I… I…" He desperately tried to grasp onto some snarky response to Sam's apparent worry, but he couldn't focus on anything long enough to say it. His mind was too occupied with hellhounds, burning, and his brother's death.

"Dean," He vaguely heard Sam say. "Look at me, Dean. Hey—"

He felt a hand touch him, and Dean jumped violently, inching away from the threat. His back hit a wall and he shook, the room spinning at alarming speeds. He quivered against the wall, more scared than he had ever been in his life. He shut his eyes, tears falling down his face.

"Dean," Sam said again, his voice quiet. "What's going on? What's wrong?"

"N-N..." Dean tried to say, but he was shaking so much that he couldn't get the words out. "F-F…"

"Hey," Sam said quietly, and Dean could feel movement around him. Silent sobs suddenly shook his body, and the tears fell faster.

He felt an arm around him then, but this time, he relished in the contact. There was a strange longing in the pit of his stomach, a longing for comfort, for relief... for affection.

"Shh," Sam whispered, his tone quiet, soothing, and slightly appalled. "You're okay… You're okay… You're not in Hell… you're here, in Minnesota with me…"

Momentarily relief filled Dean as he realized that he wasn't in Hell, but then he remembered the dream he just had, and the relief vanished, replaced by despair.

Dean didn't say anything as Sam pulled him close. He buried his face in Sam's chest, still crying silently. He hated crying… He really did. He always tried to put on a façade and denied his emotions, but tonight… something was different.

Sam didn't say much while Dean completely came undone in his arms. He just held his brother and rubbed his quivering back, trying to send as much comfort and affection as he possible could through his actions. He hated seeing his brother completely fall apart like this. He was always the strong one, the one who held his emotions behind a solid mental wall that was impossible to break. He always tried to get Dean to share his emotions, as he knew they were absolutely eating him up on the inside, but after trying time and time again, he just accepted the fact that he was never going to share.

But now…

That dream must have been really horrible, Sam thought to himself, his eyebrows furrowing in confusion. I didn't know anything could do this to him… Our father dying didn't even do this to him, and he was the person that Dean absolutely idolized… What was that dream about? What could have caused him to fall apart like this?

As Sam pondered the possible causes of Dean's panic attack, a war raged in Dean's head.

Get a hold of yourself, He scolded himself. You're making a fool of yourself. You're crying on your younger brother… the younger brother you're supposed to be strong for. Stop acting like a chick, and more importantly, stop your stupid crying!

He tried to stop thinking about the dream he just had, or the looming fact that Hell was waiting for him, but no matter how hard he tried, he just couldn't…

He suddenly became aware of the fact that Hell was ineluctably waiting for him, whether it be in a few months or in a few years. This realization scared Dean more than the dream ever could, and the panic the resided in him intensified.

Eventually, Dean cried himself out, and went limp against his younger brother. He was still shaking, though, and no matter how hard he tried to stop, he couldn't.

Silence fell in the motel room as Dean tried to get a grip on his emotions. His breathing was slowly starting to even out, and he didn't feel as panicked.

The panic slowly resided, and the shaking started to become less severe.

Sam finally broke the silence.

"Are you okay?" He asked quietly, his deep voice echoing in the quiet room.

Dean nodded, not trusting himself to speak just yet. Silence filled the room once again as Dean finally stopped shaking.

"Jesus," Dean whispered finally, removing his face from his brother's chest, moving away from him, and wiping his tears. "I'm turning into a chick. I'm expecting to grow boobs."

Dean expected Sam to laugh, and for the awkwardness to pass.

His brother didn't laugh. He didn't even crack a smile. He just stared at Dean, his eyes slightly narrowed and his forehead creased in worry.

"I feel like I need to go to a monster truck rally or something," Dean said, grinning. "Get the testosterone flowing, you know? Maybe drink a few beers, hook up with someone, eat a double bacon cheeseburger... you know, the works."

He was desperately trying to change the subject, as he knew Sam was going to question him about what just happened. He didn't want to relive that experience, or his dream, ever again.

Sam still didn't smile or laugh. Instead, he crossed his large arms and stared at Dean.

"I heard that there was a nice bar just down the street," Dean babbled, clutching at any excuse to change the subject. "Some dudes were mentioning a hot bartender too… I heard she's a blonde, and she's working on her PhD. Blonde, smart… Just your type, Sammy. What do you say?"

Sam remained completely stoic.

The grin slowly faded from Dean's face as he realized there was no getting out of this talk. Oh well… he couldn't blame his brother. He did just fall apart on him, after all.

He sighed. "Go ahead and ask. I know you're dying to."

"What just happened, Dean?" Sam asked quietly. "One minute I'm completely asleep, the next I'm standing by your bed, shouting at you to wake up while you're screaming like you're being murdered. And then, about a second later, you're holding a gun at me and accusing me of killing myself and getting sent to Hell."

Dean looked away from his brother as shame fell on him. It sounds worse when you say it aloud.

"Then you had a panic attack," Sam whispered, sympathy clouding his green eyes. "I know you don't like talking about this, Dean, but I have to know… what was your dream about?"

Dean looked down and began to pick at the carpet, an unsettling cold falling over him. Once again, panic began to blossom in the pit of his stomach.

"It's nothing," Dean said quietly, his tone gruff. His heart had started to pound again as he struggled to quell the panic that was once again threatening to take him over.

"It's not nothing, Dean," Sam whispered, his face softening. "I know, Dean… you don't like to share your emotions, and I get that… but please… I don't want you to face this alone."

"That's exactly what you're going to do," Dean said, his head snapping up and his eyes meeting his brother's. His heart was racing, and he grappled with the part of his mind that began to show the images from his dream again. He made his face stoic and emotionless, trying to show his brother that everything was alright. "You're going to go back to bed, and forget this ever happened. Because that's what I'm going to do."

"You can't bury this, Dean… you know you can't."

"Too bad," Dean said unemotionally. He turned away from his brother and made to stand up. "I'm not going to talk about this, Sam. Not now, not ever."

"Did you dream about Hell, Dean?" Sam asked quietly.

Dean froze in the action of standing up, his form going rigid. He didn't say anything as he slowly sat back down, facing his brother once again.

"You need to talk about this, Dean. I know you don't want to, and I know you're scared to let your emotions show, but I'm not going to let you carry this alone. So please, Dean… let me help you." Sam whispered.

Dean looked down again and took a deep breath. When he spoke, his tone was impassive. "You can't help me, Sam. No one can."

"Let me try."

Anger flared inside of him. Why didn't his brother understand? He didn't want to share his feelings, and he certainly didn't want to relive that dream.

But then he realized that his brother wouldn't give up unless he told him about the dream, and he finally gave in.

"Fine," Dean said angrily, baring his teeth. "I'll tell you about my dream. I had a dream that a bunch of Hellhounds ripped me to shreds. Happy now?"

Sam stared at him, examining his face. He stared into his older brother's eyes.

"No, I'm not happy," Sam said slowly, still scrutinizing his brother through narrowed eyes. "There's something else."

"For the love of God," Dean said, rolling his eyes. "I'm not lying!"

"I never said you were lying. I said that there was something else to the dream that you're not telling me. A nightmare about Hellhounds couldn't cause you to have a panic attack, Dean. I know you."

Goddammit, Dean inwardly cursed his brother for being so observant. I am not talking about this. No way. I can't relive it.

"I don't want to talk about it," He snapped angrily.

Sam sighed and ran a hand through his long hair. "Dean, please… let me help you."

"I don't want to talk about it…" He said again. The anger had left him, leaving him tired and sad. He didn't want to fight with his brother. He only had a month left with him.

Sam sighed. "Dean—"

"Please don't make me talk about it, Sam," Dean whispered, trying his hardest to repress the images that threatened to run through his head again. "Please… I can't."

Sam stared at his brother, his heart aching as he watched Dean shut his eyes for a second and take a deep breath. His mask was starting to crack, Sam could see the emotions start to flit across his face. Dean looked down at the carpet, seemingly trying to avoid eye-contact.

"I'm sorry, Dean...I don't want you to go through this alone." Sam said, reaching out and grasping his brother's shoulders. "Hey, look at me."

Dean looked up at his younger brother. Sam's eyes were filled with concern and pain, and it made his heart lurch. He knew he was killing his brother by keeping this from him. Sam hated being in the dark about things, and he hated seeing Dean in pain.

Dean's eyes filled with tears.

"I dreamt that I was running through a forest," Dean said, unable to stop his voice from shaking. "And I was being chased by Hellhounds. They… they finally caught up to me, and ripped me to shreds."

Dean paused, taking a shuttering breath and tried to control his emotions. This wasn't even the worst part about the dream and he was already about to fall apart.

"The pain… the pain was horrible. But then, suddenly, I felt… I felt like I was burning."

Sam's eyes held nothing but concern. "Burning?" He asked, turning his head slightly.

Dean nodded, picking at the carpet again. "Burning. I was on fire… the skin was burning off of my bones… and it smelled, Sammy. It was so gross…. Ten times worse than anything we've ever done." Dean took a deep breath, trying to quell the nausea that began to rise. "It hurt so bad…"

The panic greatened as he realized what came next in his dream.

"Then… then the s-scene changed," Dean whispered, his voice shaking. "And I was in Cold Oak, South Dakota."

Confusion flitted across Sam's face, then shocking realization, then horror.

"Oh…" He whispered. Dean nodded, beginning to shake again.

"I saw it happen again. I saw Jake take that knife, and stab you right in the back with it," He whispered, the tears falling. "I saw you fall, I saw the color drain from your face… I saw the lights leave your eyes…"

Sam's face was a mixture of horror and pity.

"I had suppressed that memory for so long, Sammy," Dean said, sobs escaping him. "And now that it's in my head so vividly again, I can't help but thinking… what if I was quicker? What if I would have gone through that one stoplight instead of stopping? What if we didn't stop and eat, and had just driven the whole way through? I could have saved you, I could have saved us… and now, I'm going to Hell in a month, Sam… and I just can't do it anymore…"

He dissolved into sobs, his whole frame shaking in grief. Sam quickly captured his weeping brother in his arms. Dean gripped the back of Sam's shirt, waves of desolation radiating off of him. Sam rocked them back and forth slowly and murmured a steady stream of reassurances in Dean's ear, trying to weather the onslaught of sadness that was coming from his brother.

"I've got you," Sam whispered, shutting his eyes and holding Dean tighter. "And I won't let you go."

~End of Chapter 2~