Author's Note: Sorry for the long delay in between chapters! I was trying to think of the overall arc for this story and now I'm back. Who's ready for some hurt!Sam goodness?

"Unfortunately, the clock is ticking, the hours are going by. The past increases, the future recedes. Possibilities decreasing, regrets mounting."

― Haruki Murakami

—In the past

The matron at the motel counter eyed him up and down, and then glanced back at his impeccably made fake I.D.

"How old did you say you are?" She questioned, voice tight with some sort of indignation.

"I'm old enough to get a room." Sam retorts and it's not like she can turn him away. He has the money for at least one night. One night to regroup and put his head on straight, one night to figure out the next step of his plan—whether that means he goes back to his big brother or not, he's still trying to figure that out.

"You going to do anything illegal?" The woman questions sharply and Sam quickly shakes his head.

"No ma'am."

"One night then." Reaching behind her, she pulls a key off the rack behind her. Handing it to him, she glares. "Just one night."

"Of course." He takes the key and his fake I.D. and then quickly retreats out of the lobby. Glancing down at his number, he quickly makes his way down the twisting rows of rooms and towards his own. He's splurged a little bit—the rooms are actually inside a building than outside—and as he closes the door behind him and plops on the fluffy—not hard as a rock, like before—mattress he can't help the smile that crosses his lips.

He's out.

He's free.

He's by himself—

Part of him feels ashamed and even mortified by his own joy at being away from the controlling grip of his father and his incessant training. When their father finds out—and he will find out; no way Dean could hide this from him—John will be furious. Dean will be disappointed. Sam will be dragged back to that charade of a life and he'll have to take part in something he wants no part of.

He can't go back.

But here, as he glances around the coolly decorated room, he can't help but feel alone. He is alone and if he stays on this path, if he does not go back, he'll spend the rest of his life running from the people he cares about, his only family. Can he really do that? Can he be apart from Dean or John or heck, even Bobby? Could he really choose to just walk away from it all?

There's a knock on his door.

"Room service." A voice chirps and immediately Sam is wary.

"I didn't order any." He raises his voice a little as he reaches for his gun—yeah, the matron in the lobby would be pleased to see that—and moves to check out whoever it is through the peephole.

He doesn't get that far though.

Without any warning, the door bursts open and the same red headed woman from earlier storms into his room. With a smirk, she regards him, her eyes piercing him like ice.

"Hello Sam." She purrs as she shuts the door behind her.

He points the gun at her chest, ready to shoot if he needs to.

The woman isn't fazed. She steps closer, her chest coming to touch the barrel of his gun. Sensing his discomfort, she tosses her head back and laughs, "You can't do it, can you?"

He backs away from her instead.

"Who the hell are you?" He growls, trying to summon up some of that courage that Dean has in spades. He couldn't let this woman see how scared he really is. He has to be in the control of the situation—

A sharp pain jolts him back in reality. Blood drips from his hand and he quickly realizes that she disarmed him and somehow injured him with just the flick of her wrist. His whole hand is bleeding, the blood oozing down his arm and immediately, he tries to apply pressure, hearing familiar instructions about stopping blood flow swarming in his mind.

"What are you?" He tries again and the woman grins.

"Don't worry, Sam," She beams, like the cat that caught the canary. "Heaven has a plan for you."

And she takes another step towards him.

—In the present

"Easy, just take it easy," Dean soothes as he wraps a bandage around his brother's bleeding hand—a hand that was fine not even fifteen seconds ago and then just spontaneously started bleeding. Dean is doing his best not to panic, but as he watches the blood soak the bandage, his attempts at remaining calm are slowly failing. He tightens the bandage and then meet's his brother's wide-eyed gaze, "Sam, you good?"

Sam, for his part, is pale, almost as pale as he was in Cold Oak and damn it all, if that doesn't scare Dean down to his very core. His brother is breathing though—that's what the eldest Winchester needs to focus on. He hasn't lost too much blood, but for some reason, the bleeding just won't stop.

"Dean." Sam's voice is faint and light, full of fear, a tone Dean hasn't heard since his brother was a little kid and had nightmares that required him to sleep in Dean's bed until the imaginary monsters had left his mind.

"It's okay, Sammy." Dean soothes, rubbing circles on his wrist, something he first picked up from Bobby so many years ago. He applies more pressure and after a few minutes have passed, he lifts up to see if the bleeding has stopped.

It hasn't.

"It's not clotting." Sam murmurs, and it figures, even through the haze of blood loss, his brother's big brain is still working.

"It will, Sam."

It better because if it doesn't, no ER in the world will be able to do Sam any good.

"Let me see the wound." Castiel demands, quickly pushing Dean out of the way. He grabs Sam's injured hand and unwraps the bandage.

"Cas—!" Dean interjects sharply, grimacing as the blood continues to gush.

"This wound . . . it will not heal." The angel lets Sam's hand go gently before waving his hand. Some of his grace flares up and Dean can see some of the color swim back into Sam's visage. Catching Dean's hopeful gaze, the angel continues, "This is only a temporary fix."

"Thanks, Cas." Sam breathes, relaxing somewhat.

"What do you mean, a temporary fix?" Dean growls, anger easier to process than fear and he hates not being able to help his brother, hates feeling useless, hates being forced to stand by the sidelines.

"I believe Anna has gone into the past to try and eliminate Sam."

Dean blinks, lost for words.

"What?" Sam finally asks.

The angel sighs, "Anna knew it would be impossible for her to eliminate Sam while you and I are here. Thus, she picked another era, one where Sam would be defenseless."

Sam gasps, shuddering and immediately, Dean is there, trying to ease his apparent distress.

"What, Sammy? What is it?"

"Flagstaff." Sam grinds out, rubbing his temple with his uninjured hand. "I remember . . . she's in Flagstaff with me."

Castiel ducks his head, "It is worse than I thought. I have to fix this, get Sam to safety—"

"Where?" Dean shouts. "In the past? Cas, just what the fuck is going on—?"

The angel kneels down to face Sam, checking the injury once more with a cursory glance. It's bleeding again, slowly this time, but the frown that tugs down Castiel's lips is enough for Dean to know that this is whole situation is clearly spiraling out of his control.

"It's simple," Castiel states quite calmly, turning to face Dean, "I will go into the past and protect Sam. I will eliminate Anna before she can destroy Sam in the past. It is the only way to resolve this situation."

"No, I should go with you—" Dean begins to protest.

"No," Castiel interjects sharply, "Someone needs to stay with Sam. Not to mention that if you came in contact with your past self, there would be severe repercussions.

Sam's eyes flutter shut and then back open. His pallor is that of a ghost and it's clear that shock is setting in. His little brother doesn't have time for them to debate. He needs someone to take action.

"Okay," Dean relents, quickly tacking on, "If you're sure."

"I need to prepare a few things to confirm when she is, but as soon as I do that, I will leave."

"Wait," Sam whispers, his eyes open once more, "Will you be okay?"

"I will be fine—" Castiel assures him quickly, though Dean knows that's a lie. How much energy would the rogue angel be using to go back in time? Would he have enough grace to even survive?

"Cas—"

"I will be fine." Castiel reiterates, sensing Dean's apparent distress. He rewards his friend with a rare smile before disappearing in a flutter of wings.

Dean doesn't spare another moment thinking about what could possibly happen to the angel. Coming to sit next to his brother, he tightens the bandage and asks, "Sam, you with me?"

"Yeah." Sam slurs.

"Just hang on."

"M'fine, D'n." The syllables all collide.

Dean's never felt so useless before, but all he can do is wait.

Wait and hope.

Author's Note: Next chapter, Castiel goes into the past! Please review if you have a moment. Thanks!