Chapter updates might slow down due to homework. Being an art major is very time consuming. But i will do my best to keep updates at a reasonable interval. I know how it is when someone takes months to update a story or discontinues it.

Ch. 2

Five Months Ago. North Carolina.

"Sammy. Don't do this to me now. I thought you were alright. I thought you were doing okay. Don't do this to me now. Wake up. Sam!" Sam doesn't answer. So Dean does the only thing he can think of doing. He grabs his brother, hoisting him up to hold his arm over his shoulders and starts dragging him. "Geeze Sasquatch. It would really help if you were awake right now."

Buildings all around them are burning. Smoke is creating a fog through the streets. Dean pulls his brother with him down the sidewalk, stumbling under the weight more than once. No one else is here. Everyone who could get away did so hours ago. He and Sam with three others were the only ones stupid enough to try to stop them. The leviathans. He and Sam are the only ones left that he knows of.

They were right there. Right at the front door of the building where Dick was. But there were also other leviathans. And they had discovered something that was new and fun to them. Blowing things up. Before Sam or Dean could react, fire was everywhere. They were destroying the already empty city, planning to make it their base of operations. The group was too late to stop them. They never had a chance.

"It would be awesome if you could wake up now, Sam," Dean grunts. The smoke is getting thinner. He's making it farther away from the worst of it. But there's no telling if anyone is after them.

It wasn't the first explosion that got them. They were able to get away from that one mostly unscathed. It was farther down the street where they were attacked. Thrown around by a creature or two until the canisters near them were set alight like the ones before. The explosion blew them off their feet, sending Sam into the side of a building. His head collided with the brick wall, making Dean cringe. He had scrambled over to Sam's side, looking around them for any more leviathans as he started to shake his brother.

"There you are."

Dean stops when the figure shows up in front of him. "Damnit." His hands tighten on Sam. Could he make a run for it?

"I wouldn't recommend that," the leviathan says as if reading his thoughts. "You won't get very far."

Dean stays still. Maybe. Just maybe he can do something else. Not enough to kill it, but enough to buy him and Sam some time. He shifts his hold on Sam. Right hand tightly around the wrist of Sam's arm he's holding over his shoulder, left arm around his waist. He takes a steadying breath. "Well aren't you going to finish us off?"

The leviathan steps forward. "I've always preferred my meat cooked."

Dean grimaces inwardly, preparing for his attack. When the leviathan gets within five feet of him, he lets Sam drop, hand going to the blade strapped to his waist. He can barely get his hand wrapped around it before a bone-jarring punch lands his jaw, sending him backwards. He hits the ground hard, rolling back up to his feet even as he tries to get his bearings. He brings a hand up to his jaw, grimacing but happy it's not broken.

The leviathan walks up to him. "You're going to have to try harder than that."

When Dean goes for him again, it doesn't go much more smoothly. His first swing is dodged, the second coming around right after to aim for the lowered neck. It doesn't make it. Instead, the leviathan again swings at him. This time, he throws his whole body into it. Dean is thrown again. Hard. One hit to God knows what, laying in the road and his leg snaps.

Dean cries out, lying on his back as he waits for the pain to leave. It's the same leg as before. Most likely in the same spot. Which totally isn't going be good later when it tries to heal. He groans, hand still tight around the handle of the blade in his hand. He stays down, waiting for the leviathan to get closer. Listening to his steps until he's standing right next to him.

As the leviathan leans down, reaching to fist a hand in Dean's jacket, Dean goes for it. One strong swing at the creatures neck, a burst of energy that surprises him, and the head falls to the ground. Then he's scrambling to get Sam back up again, the pain in his leg a dull throb in the background. This time he hears Sam groan. "Sammy? Sam!" He hauls Sam up again. "You with me?"

"Ungh."

It isn't reassuring, but it's enough. "C'mon Sam. Help me out here. We have to go. We've gotta get outta here Sammy." He starts walking, sneering in disgust as he sees the head already trying to reattach to the body. He moves faster. He gets around the corner of a building before ducking through another one. He pauses inside, shrugging his shoulder next to Sam. "You with me?"

Sam lets out a single breath. "Dean."

"Right here bro."

"It hurts, Dean."

He hates the way his brother sounds like he's eight again, falling off his bike for the first time. "What hurts?"

"The fire burns. Make it stop. Make it stop, Dean. It burns."

"Easy Sammy. We're away from the fire. There's no fire here." He starts moving towards the door opposite the one he came in through. It's time to get Sam out of here. He's about to have a break down. He knows Sam isn't talking about the fire around them, but the fire in his memories.

Sam whimpers. Honest to God whimpers. "Don't let them hurt me, Dean."

"I won't. I'm right here Sammy." He gets out the door, heading away from all of the fire behind them. Struggling under his brother's weight to get away from the creatures that want them dead. It feels like his leg is on fire. Might as well be. "They won't hurt you Sam. We got you out. I'm right here."

"Are you real?"

Dean grits his teeth, eyes squeezing shut for a second. Of course they tortured Sam with Dean. Of course they used the one person they knew could break Sam to torture him. Made him think Dean was there. What else did they make him think? "Of course I'm real. Remember? Your hand, Sam. The scar. This is real. It's different. Yeah?"

Sam's feet are almost supporting him without conscious thought. They're getting farther away. "I remember," he murmurs, head lolling onto Dean's shoulder.

"Stay with me, Sam. Just a little longer." They've made it out of the destruction now. Walking down a street with fire behind them, small signs of destruction still lingering on either side. "We need to get out of here." He looks around, trying to figure out where the impala could be. "Where'd we park the impala Sam? Huh?" He nudges his shoulder up to make Sam's head lift. "Which way? You remember?" He hopes to distract him from his confusion.

Sam looks around, eyes open, but unfocused. Then his hand attaches to the wrist of Dean's hand that's still holding his arm over his shoulder. "Keep going. To the left ahead. Not far." He groans, eyes falling closed as he starts to fall forward.

Dean struggles to balance him before starting forward again. "Easy, easy. I'm right here. You're alright." It's a long walk to the impala. When he gets there, he gets the back door open with trouble, gently maneuvering Sam into the backseat. He pulls off his jacket, laying it over Sam. "Relax bro. I've got ya."

He gets into the driver's seat, letting out a small cry when the pain in his leg reminds him of its presence. The burning feeling quickly spreads. His head spins and for one frightening moment, he thinks he's going to pass out. He controls it though, breathing through it and only emptying what little was in his stomach. He scrambles to get in the car and has to calm down before he can get the shaking key into the ignition and get the car started. He drives with his left foot. Which really sucks. But they get away. That's all that matters right now.

Sam doesn't wake up for days. Dean has to drag him into the house he chooses for them to stay in. He has to set his own leg which led to much throwing up, crying out, and eventually passing out. When he woke up he had to go through wrapping it and finding something to make crutches out of. He's proud of them at least.

By day three that Sam's out, Dean starts to get worried. He moves him around to keep him from getting bed sores and whatever else hospitals have told him about at one point or another. Nutrition and fluids becomes an increasingly worrying problem though. If Sam doesn't eat, he's going to die before he gets a chance to ever wake up. But with hospitals closed down where they've settled, Sam's chances aren't looking good. He barely manages to get some water down his throat.

At the end of day three, Dean is contemplating getting to another city and hoping for an open or working hospital. Sam wakes up at 10:04 that night. Dean will always remember that time. It was the time he breathed again for the first time since the day it happened. It's also when he realized he'd get at least another day of not being alone. Of having Sam with him.

His relief is short lived when all Sam does is lay on the bed and stare at nothing. Or sit and stare at nothing at the table in the kitchen. Or do nothing as Dean feeds him little by little. He doesn't talk. He doesn't eat unless Dean feeds him. He starts to wonder if Sam will get better at all. It's dinner on the third day he's awake when he finally looks at Dean like he knows who he is.

Dean blinks when he makes eye contact with his brother for the first time in almost a week. "Sam?" When his brother doesn't look away and he sees actual recognition in his eyes, he smiles a little in relief. "Hey. You in there? You with me, Sammy?" Sam doesn't answer. But he blinks before looking away. That's all Dean holds on to for that first horrible week. Sam knows him. Sam will climb out of wherever he is in his head for him.

That's exactly what Sam does. He makes an effort to respond just a tiny bit when Dean talks to him. He goes out of his way to get Dean's attention even if it's for the most pointless thing. He reassures Dean. He doesn't talk, but they still communicate as they've always done just by knowing each other's faces. A touch. He improves more rapidly every day. Except for the nightmares. The nightmares kill them both every night.

Dean has to sleep in the same bed as Sam. Keeps him from thrashing around and hurting himself. Pulls him out of it after what seems like hours of talking to him. Trying to pull him out of whatever horrible thing his mind has sucked him into. It took some time for him to work himself out of his walls labeled 'no chick-flicks allowed'. But Sam needs more than his old self could give. He starts trying to reach out more. It's not easy.

He does little things for Sam. One day he finds books in one of the rooms of the house and shows them to him. Hopes to get him to actually do something besides sit around silently. It's starting to creep him out. He feels like he just won the lottery when he sees the familiar spark of interest light up in Sam's eyes when he shows them to him. He feels like an idiot grinning to himself for the rest of the day. Even if Sam doesn't actually pick them up.

He starts to cook too. There are a lot of foods in a freezer in the basement. Not to mention still good food in the fridge since people didn't start running from their homes to get away from the leviathans until a couple weeks ago. He prides himself in the fact that Sam starts looking interested in what dinner is going to be every night.

"Housewife."

Dean startles, turning to look at his brother and proceeds to be even more shocked when said brother actually bounces up onto the counter to sit. "Uh… what?"

The corner of Sam's mouth quirks up a little as he leans forward to rest his elbows on his knees. This leaves him leaning over to watch dean cook. "You're a housewife." His voice is gritty from not being used, but it's never sounded better to Dean.

Dean barely gets out a glare instead of the smile he can feel fighting to spread across his face. Sam talked to him. And he's joking. "You're the girl in this relationship, Sammy. Always have been."

"Jerk."

Dean does grin now. "Bitch." He continues cooking with Sam sitting on the counter next to him, just silently watching. It's not quite as creepy anymore.