Once again, I should warn that are some disturbing images in this chapter, and again I will say this is not a death fic. Hope everyone enjoys the chapter. Please let me know what you think, and extra hugs for those who reviewed! Hugs, Ember

Chapter Eleven

I heard Sam shout Bobby's name, but I didn't turn to look. My eyes were glued on the bloated, bearded face of our dad. His shoulders hung limp in a defeated manner, not at all like the strong man I'd proudly come to know through a lifetime of fighting at his side. His hands looked so small and shriveled – no longer the hands of a man built to take on all the hellish things hiding in the dark. His eyes, opened and glazed, stared down at me, and I swear I could see an apology in their unseeing depths, and my jaw dropped wide open. Real or imagined, in his death he was trying to convey how sorry he was for how badly things had turned out for us, and it brought burning hot tears to my eyes.

My dad never said sorry – he knew what he was doing was right – it was a simple as that. He saved lives, and he made the world a safer place for people to live even if no one ever knew about it or thanked him for it. And in my mind there was no reason for him to feel as if he'd somehow done wrong.

Spurned into action, I bolted forward, and gripped my arms tight around his legs. "Sam, help me!" I cried out as I tried desperately to push my dad up off the metal spike, but his body wouldn't budge. Muscles straining, I redoubled my efforts even as my feet slid in the knee-high murky, sludgy river. I couldn't allow myself to think of what I was standing in, wouldn't allow myself to dwell on how from my father's lifeblood along with countless others a river of blood was forged.

Sam was at my side in an instant, and to his credit, he tried – he tried so damn hard as tears spilled down his cheeks. And he wouldn't have given up. I know he wouldn't have. He would have stayed there for as long as I let him go on believing there was a chance to save our father. But there wasn't. My dad – the man who taught me to fight . . . to protect those who couldn't protect themselves – they killed him. Just like they killed my mother.

"Stop, Sammy," I cried, pressing my eyes closed at the sight of confusion and defeat in Sam's hazel orbs.

"No, D-Dean," Sam rasped, voice cracking and trembling with heartbroken emotion, "We gotta s-save him!"

It was all too much. My dad. Bobby. The moaning wails of the dying. Bodies lying in row after row, stretched out for as far as I could see. From all around, fires burning wild and uncontrolled with smoke so thick and black it blotted out the sun. The putrid aroma of death that clung to my skin and clothes, choking off my breath. The utter and complete destruction of everything I once knew and cared about.

I grabbed hold of his arms, and pulled them away from my dad. "Jus' stop . . . he's gone."

"You can't mean that, Dean," Sam shouted, roughly shrugging out of my grasp, "Not you – you don't give up," with pursed lips, he shook his head, "not for family. What if it were me up there instead of dad? Would you leave me to rot like him?"

"It's not you, Sam," I somehow managed to utter around the thick knot forming in my throat as I tried to block out the unwanted image of my little brother dying in my arms. Devin was responsible for the horrifying vision, I'm almost certain of it as it was so vivid and real. I could feel Sam's blood on my fingertips, and saw his eyes flutter closed. My heart beat at a frantic rate as his last breath ghosted across the skin of my neck. "It won't be you, Sammy . . . I won't let it be you."

With one last look at my father, I swung to glare at Devin. He stood so smug and proud amongst the chaos that I lost the last shreds of whatever was holding me together, and cocking back a fist, I slammed it square into his face. Over and over again, I struck him. Stomach. Face. Ribs. And with each shot, I poured every ounce of rage that had filled me to overflowing ever since the moment I'd met him, but he just stood unmoving with a serene smile plastered on his hateful face.

D-Dea . . . st-stop, D-Dea – " Sam choked out, and somehow the pain in his voice managed to break through the revenge-filled trance I'd fallen under.

Pivoting on my spot, I took in the sight of my brother, on his knees in the river of crimson with blood streaming from his nose and mouth. One of his hands was curled tightly around his midsection while the other was somewhere beneath the murky sludge, bracing the sediment to keep himself upright. In an instant, I was at his side with all thoughts focused solely on protecting him from whatever was hurting him.

Devin cleared his throat, drawing my attention if not my eyes to him. "I probably should have mentioned that since this is Sam's reality, any pain you try to inflict on me will only serve to hurt him." He moved forward into the depths of the flowing river, and crouched beside us. "Can't either of you see what is around you?" he splayed out an arm and gestured toward the horrifying landscape. "This is how it all ends. What began in fire ends in fire." He stood again, and straightened his suit and tie. "And here you two sit at the end of everything, gripping ever-so-tightly to each other – the cause of it all." He turned his back on us. "Like I said before, the few lives you've saved along the way, will amount to nothing compared to the complete devastation you will cause."

"You can't blame us for this," I spat as he turned back and I met and held his condemning golden-eyed gaze. "It's not even real . . . you said so yourself. Only what I believe to be real is real – and I don't believe this is real."

Devin chuckled as he pointed to my father. "You seemed to think it was real enough a moment ago when you were begging Sam to help you save you long since dead father . . . So I think it's pretty damn real to you."

I opened my mouth to deny what he had said, but Sam grasped hold of my shirt and pulled me closer to him. "He's right, Dean," he whispered in my ear, and even as I shook my head, he continued onward, "everything he makes us see and feel is so real that even if it isn't true, our minds won't see it that way."

"So what do you want me to do, Sammy?" I asked, looking from him to Devin and then back again. "You want me to admit this is our fault? Cause I won't do it."

"No," Sam shook his head, "You can't beat him here – he's too damn powerful . . . I want you to leave me and go back."

"I'm not leaving you here!" I shouted loud enough for Devin to hear. It was what the bastard had wanted all along, and there was no way in hell I was going to give it to him. "We'll figure a way out of this, lil' brother, we always do. So don't you dare ask me to leave you again."

As I spoke, Sam pressed his eyes closed, and gripped hold of me even tighter. Once again, I experienced the same gut twisting feeling of being wrenched from my spot and thrown into whatever hellish reality Devin wanted me to suffer through, only this time Devin wasn't responsible for it. Sam was.

"Stay with me, Dean," I heard him say against my ear, and my grasp instinctively tightened, fingertips biting firmly into the soft fabric of his jacket.

Squeezing my eyes shut, I waited until I felt my feet touch firm ground, and then I reopened them and peered around the darkened room Sam had taken me to. Icy water dripped from the leaky ceiling overhead to splatter into several pots and pans in the center of the room. Lifting my sights from the steel water catchers, I saw a long wooden slab, and laying atop of it was my brother. Devin sat at his side in an old backless chair. His head was bowed, and from the looks of him, he was either asleep or in a deep trance. Sam lightly touched me on the shoulder, and I jumped, startled by the sight of him beside me along with another him laying deathlike on the slab.

"How'd we get here, Sammy?"

With a shrug, Sam pushed past me and went to stand beside Devin. "Devin said this was my reality, and if that's the case then I figured I should at least have some control over what happens . . . so I pushed him out of my head so I could show you where to find me."

Raking a hand through my hair, I mulled over what he was telling and showing me. He wanted me to leave him. He wanted me to risk his life on the chance that I could find him in time, but that would mean leaving him alone with Devin. "He'll kill you, Sam," I uttered with a shake of my head.

"No, if he wanted me dead, I'd already be dead right here." He gestured toward his body. His hand hovered above his prone form several seconds, and then he pulled it away. "It doesn't look as if I could stop him, so what's keeping him from finishing me off?"

"I dunno, Sammy, I gave up trying to figure out whack-jobs a helluva long time ago."

"Look, Dean, from where I got into the accident, we drove no more than twenty minutes, and I'm pretty sure we only turned once in all that time," Sam went on to explain in hopes of swaying me to do as he wanted. "It was snowing out pretty bad and the roads were crap to the point of being nonexistent, so that narrows down your search to about a ten to fifteen mile radius."

"But what you're forgetting, lil' brother, is that I'm not in Grand Forks, and it's a helluva long drive back here."

"So you drive it as fast as you can . . . and knowing you that's pretty damn fast. You get here, you kill that sonuvabitch along with that Shifter posing as me, and then you bring me back. Got me?"

"Yeah, I gotcha," I said after a slight hesitation. He was right. I wasn't going to save his life being a puppet in Devin's screwed up version of reality, but still the thought of leaving Sam to save him, didn't settle well in my gut. "So you think you've got enough space travel mojo in you to give me a real good look at the outside of this house?"

"I think so." Sam crossed back to where I was standing, and then nudging his head toward the door, he kept on going out of the room, calling back over his shoulder, "But I'm pretty sure we could just walk out the front door instead."

I followed at a much slower rate, wanting to familiarize myself with the layout of the home. It was a two story home with vaulted ceilings. The floorboards and stairs were weak and giving way in several spots which meant the home had been abandoned for some time. Two of the first floor windows had been boarded up, but a strong breeze filtered through, leading me to believe the glass had been broken out of both of them. The front door hung off it hinges and swung back and forth in the wind, hitting against the front railing, and then slamming closed. All in all, it looked almost exactly like just about every other home I'd ever set foot inside.

Parked outside the house was the same Green Ford Explorer, I'd seen in the alternate reality. I'd never forget that vehicle for as long as I lived, and it would make it a helluva lot easier to find this place. I stepped away from the crumbling front steps, and with my head falling back onto my shoulder, I glanced up at the house, and noticed a copper rooster weather vane perched atop the roof. It would be easy to spot from the road, making it a beacon of sorts in my search for Sam.

"Dean," Sam cut in on my thoughts, and as I lowered my head and turned to look at him, I saw him pressing his fingertips into his temples. "I have to go . . . he's worming his way back into my mind, and I don't want him to know we we're here."

With a curt nod, I closed the gap between us, and wrapped an arm around him. "Don't you let him kill you, Sammy," I breathed against his ear. Fisting my hand in his jacket, I hugged him tighter and then pulled back to look him square in the eyes. "Whatever it takes, you stay alive. Got me?"

"Just remember to drive fast, Dean, an' I'll be here waiting for ya."

"Gotcha."

I swear I only blinked for a fraction of a second, but that was all it took and he was gone. When I reopened my eyes I was back in Bobby's garage. And as far as Sam's plan went, this was the only part that went off without a hitch, as when I glanced around the eerily quiet garage for Bobby, I spied him passed out cold in a chair with his legs bound and his wrists handcuffed behind his back.

Sliding out of the car, I kicked aside the smoldering pot of herbs I'd used to astral project myself to Sam, rushed over to him, and dropped to my knees. "Bobby!" Tapping him hard on the face, I heard him groan, and let out the breath I hadn't realized I was holding. "Where is he, Bobby?"

Bobby blinked hard several times, and then focused his eyes on me. With another low groan, he mumbled, "He's gone. Yer father called, an' he must've been listening in on the conversation."

"He knows where my dad is?"

Pressing his eyes closed, he gave a short nod. "He said you could either save your dad or you could save Sam, but you couldn't be in two places at once to save them both."