Disclaimer: The characters of "Supernatural" were created by Eric Kripke and are owned by the CW Network. No profit is being made.

Note to Readers: Thanks again for the reviews and PM's. Not sure about this chapter but wanted to get something out to you this weekend despite the holiday. Happy reading, I hope!

Our Solemn Hour

By Dawn Nyberg

Chapter 8: Clenched Soul, Part 2

" … This experience reminds me of a clock that just won't tick. I want to wake up from this concussion, but my dreams just not done. I'm late again, it's just one of those bad days, look outside and be careful what you ride, you just might find that you're out of time …" lyric excerpt by Jack Johnson, Drowning

The Woods

Dean moved quickly and methodically as he followed the signs his brother left behind. It wasn't easy but it was clear Sam was upset because he hadn't covered his trail as good as he would have otherwise and Dean was appreciative for this small favor. He had called for Castiel under his breath a couple more times to no avail. He glanced at his watch and ran a frustrated a hand across his eyes. Sam had had a big lead in time and as high as the sin was over the green tree canopy he knew that the afternoon was slowly starting its decent into dusk. He figured that he had a good two or three hours before he started losing light. He had to find Sam.

The trek into the woods Dean figured was already a good mile into the green and wood, "Sammy!" he yelled. "Answer me!" He paused and waited, his only reward was silence. "Please, Sam, come on kiddo." Dean searched his movements edging toward frantic. He forced himself to reign in his emotions, he couldn't lose it, and he had to find his brother.

And he did …

He spotted a dark figure leaned up against a tree facing a creek that worked its way through the woods toward the lake back near the cabin. He recognized the long legs stretched out and the shoulder, although the rest of Sam was hidden by the tree. "Sam?" he called out only to be ignored. He couldn't see his brother's face or hands but the bowie knife was no where within his sight. He had to be careful not to spook his little brother. "Sam, look it's going to be okay, alright? I'm not pissed about you hitting me, I sort of deserved it … I pushed and shouldn't have. Where's the knife?" Dean spoke evenly and gentle as he approached his brother. He took a breath and walked around the tree to see his brother and his world stopped.

"Sammy!" Dean was on his knees at his brother's side immediately. Sam's head was canted to the side, his long bangs obscuring his closed eyes. "No, please," Dean pleaded. Sam was the color of alabaster, his lips translucent. His forearms were both cut from the crook of his elbow to his wrists although one arm was deeper than the other. Dean idly thought for a moment … must have cut something and had trouble holding the knife for the second arm but he'd managed anyway.

Blood was gathered around each hand like a thick, gelatinous reddish black halo. The leaves and dirt were soaking up his brother's life. "Sammy?" Dean choked. He felt for a pulse and felt a barely there thump against his fingers. Sam's breathing was labored at best, so shallow at times it seemed as though he'd stopped altogether. "Sam, come on, okay? Open you eyes," Dean demanded. He was already ripping his outer shirt off and into strips trying to stop the bleeding which seemed to be hardly flowing now as Sam's heart tired. He tied off the wounds and ground his fist into his little brother's sternum hoping to draw him into consciousness but he didn't respond. "Please, Sammy, I'm not gonna lose you now … not like this, I can't," Dean begged.

"Cas! Please! I need you!" Dean screamed up into the tree canopy and then he heard it behind him the familiar sound of angel wings. "Cas, fix him, please, he's hurt…"

"He's dying," the angel corrected him. Dean growled and leveled the angel with a deadly glare. He crouched at his brother's side and felt for a pulse. It was so infrequent, that Dean knew within minutes it would stop.

"Fix him," Dean demanded.

"He's a suicide Dean," Castiel studied the youngest Winchester. "We are not permitted to mend one who takes his own life. It's a la…."

"Screw your laws," Dean finished the word he knew Cas was going to say. "He's still alive Cas he hasn't taken anything, please …" The angel stood and watched. "Look you winged bastard you got him to come to me at Stull you brought him back into my life, fix him now!" Dean demanded. "He saved the fucking world and heaven owes him, owes me! Do it now!"

Dean realized that Sam was no longer breathing and felt his neck and his heart still fought to pump despite the obviously fatal blood loss. "Now!"

Castiel started at the final yell and the guttural desperate sound of it and nodded. He knelt at Sam's side and pulled the dressing free exposing the mortal wounds. He touched each arm and healed the grisly arms wounds. He touched Sam's chest over his heart and then his forehead. "He will rest now and the sleep will be long as his body regains its strength."

"Thank you," Dean could feel the strong pulse bounding under his fingers.

"Dean, I mended his body but not his mind, not his bruised soul," Castiel pointed out in an even tone as he looked on Dean with soft eyes.

"I know," Dean sounded lost and scared and Castiel knew it was for his little brother's well being and future.

"Here, I will return you both to the cabin as it is too far to carry him." Dean nodded and held Sam against his chest tightly and closed his eyes as Castiel touched his fingers to both of their foreheads and in an instance they were safely back in the cabin.

The Cabin, 8 PM

Dean sat in the dim light of Sam's room at the cabin. He watched the regular rise and fall of Sam's chest and relaxed only a fraction. Sam had barely stirred since being returned to the cabin a few hours ago.

"You should eat," Castiel's voice spoke quietly from the doorway. Dean looked over in surprise.

"I thought you bailed awhile ago," he offered matter of fact.

"No, I've been outside on the porch allowing you some time to clean him up and sit with him. Dean gave the angel a look he wasn't sure how to decipher. "What?"

Dean shook his head, "Nothing … it's just you finally grasping personal space and when to back off not usually your strong point." Dean paused and his eyes softened a moment toward the angel. "Thanks for healing him Cas."

Castiel nodded. The stirring sounds of a sheet and blanket brought Dean's attention back to his brother. He sat in the chair next to Sam's bed. "Sammy, you in there man?"

Sam sighed and his eyes opened slowly. His eyes fell on the concerned ones of his big brother. His mind was foggy, "Dean?"

"Yeah," Dean's voice was rough and Sam could see heavy concern in them. "It's dark," Sam scrunched his eyes sideways at the window.

"Yeah, you've been resting. Do you remember what happened?"

Sam was silent for a moment and then he studied his brother and saw the bruised jaw and small cut on his bottom lip and it all came back in a flood … the punch, the knife … blood ….

He moved his arms tentatively and didn't feel pain. He looked at them and saw perfectly unblemished arms. "But, I …"

"Yeah, I know," Dean's voice was an odd mixture of anger and fear. "Sammy, you almost died." Sam curled onto his side toward his brother but did not meet Dean's gaze.

"Should have … wanted too," Sam sounded broken.

"Don't say that," Dean's voice grabbed inside his throat. "I almost lost you out there and if Cas hadn't…"

"He had no right to heal me," Sam lamented quietly.

"You weren't thinkin' straight Sammy … he saved your life because I asked him to heal you. What you did out there … you gotta promise me you'll never try that crap again," Dean's voice was desperate and pleading. Sam was silent. "I'm not playing Sammy, I can't go through that again, hell, even if I hadn't been the one to find you like that and got some call tellin' me that you killed yourself … I couldn't handle it man, I can't…" Dean stood up and ran a hand across his face and over his head rubbing his hair.

"Can't what?" Sam asked so quietly Dean could have missed it but he hadn't.

"Lose you Sammy," Dean confirmed. "I just got you back. Promise me," his voice was pleading and Sam hazarded a look at his big brother and saw the pain and fear there but he also saw love, unobstructed and pure. He offered a shaky nod of agreement and for now it would be enough for Dean. Sam blinked a little longer and Dean ran a gentle hand up and through his little brother's long bangs. "Sleep Sammy, I'm here, okay?" Sam's eyes slid closed and Dean sat vigil.

Castiel watched in silence from the door and backed out silently to wait in the front room until Dean was ready to leave Sam's side for a short break a few feet away.

Two Hours Later

Sam leaned over the toilet and heaved too tired to keep his head up and when he tried to lean forward to become ill again he felt his brother's warm hand cup his forehead and support his head while the other arm circled around Sam's middle. "You're okay Sammy," Dean soothed. "Guess Cas healed ya but didn't quite take away all the effects of your day, huh?" Sam finished and leaned back. Dean looked him over and his kid brother looked like 100 miles of bad road. Dean handed him a glass of water, "rinse," he urged and Sam obeyed. He took the glad from his brother's shaking hand. Sam's eyes looked distant and lost as Dean kneeled back down and took a cool wash cloth and wiped the droplets of sweat from his brother's forehead. "You good or are you gonna pull another Linda Blair on me?"

There was a moment of evaluation on Sam's part and then he looked at Dean, "I'm done," he offered quietly.

Castiel had been gone awhile now leaving the brother's to sort things out. Dean followed close behind Sam as he shuffled back to his room. "Maybe, this is residual stuff from the blood loss," Dean suggested in a distracted voice. Sam offered a slight nod but didn't answer. Sam slid back into bed on shaky legs. "Think you can keep some juice down? Maybe, some soda crackers, too?" Sam wanted to say no but knew it would make his brother feel better and the juice would probably help with the shakiness a little.

A Short While Later

Dean sat quietly next to Sam and finally broke the fragile silence, "I won't push anymore Sammy, okay? How about we make a deal, you tell me in pieces when you can a little at a time. How does that sound?"

"Dean," Sam's voice sounded sandpaper raw. "I don't think I can," he sounded so lost to Dean and it made his soul ache to help his brother. He had always been the one Sam could come to when they were younger, the one to make the wrong things as right as they could be considering their twisted lives. This wasn't any different.

"Just try Sammy," Dean urged gently. "Start off slow, your first thought, feeling, whatever, a memory, maybe …" he left the sentence hanging as he gauged his fragile little brother curled on his side under a thin sheet watching his big brother with distant eyes. Dean waited long minutes and then Sam spoke with a voice that had Dean not been looking at him would have sworn his little brother was twelve again. He sounded so young, so scared and Dean felt his protective big brother instincts flare.

"I remember saying 'yes' and when he took me over …" Sam visibly shuddered, his voice a mere anguished whisper.

To Be Continued