This chapter is super long because I wanted to find just the right place to cut it off. It's up so soon because it's one of the chapters I had parts of typed up already and just had to piece them together and add things. Hope ya'll like. :)

Ch. 17

Present.

Everyone in the group manages to either get far enough away or take cover. Dean and Drew get the brunt of the blast, barely getting behind a crumbling building before they're hurt. Crow is thrown off his feet, opting to stay farther back with Drew and Dean since they had to do the dangerous part. He lands on his radio.

"Damnit!"

Dean shakes his head, pushing himself to his feet. "Forget it. Just get back to the jeeps now. Mark will tell everyone to get there."

Crow nods, looking to them as he starts heading towards where the rest of his men are already headed away.

Dean waves him off. "We're coming. Go lead the rest of your men. Let Mark know we didn't all die." He grunts when his leg twinges angrily at him but he and Drew are already heading the way Crow and the rest of their squad went.

Drew stays resolutely beside him. "Your leg okay?"

Dean shakes his head, trying to increase his speed. "Hit it on something back there getting away from the blast. It was fine this morning, the stupid piece of shit."

Drew chuckles, grabbing Dean's arm and heaving it over his shoulders in order for them to move faster. "C'mon. Just three miles to the jeeps."

Dean grunts. "Thanks for the reminder."

Drew is chuckling again when the ground rumbles. They stop, turning around just in time to see buildings start to crumble, flaming pieces tilting before falling against other buildings. It's easy to see after a few seconds what's about to happen. Dean can't believe it.

"No. No way." His eyes widen as he watches the domino effect start. "Run." He turns, dragging Drew after him. "Run!"

The buildings behind them crackle as they tumble, picking up speed as they fall. Fire and dust spread as the two men stumble over rubble and things laying in the streets. They race to make it to where the shorter buildings are. They aren't going to make it. Dean grits his teeth, pushing on just to get Drew to move faster. If he slows down, he knows the kid will too. The pain in his leg is exhausting though.

He feels the ground beneath his feet start shaking more, sparing a glance over his shoulder in time to see a taller building crumbling towards them. He groans internally, turning and shoving Drew in the back. "Faster!" He watches as he runs ahead, keeping up as much as he can. But he can't. He feels the wind from the collapse, dust whooshing past him as pieces fall around him. They're at the edge of the tall buildings when he finally gets hit by a piece of a collapsing wall. He stumbles, skidding to the ground on his back with a cry. He doesn't have time to pick himself up before a piece is falling on him, pinning to the ground on his back.

Drew cries out his name in panic as Dean cries out in pain.

As the dust settles, Drew skids on his knees to Dean's side, clawing at rubble. "C'mon, help me. Help me." Rumbles still sound far off, a few buildings around them crumbling but the worst is mostly over.

Dean tries to push the rubble off of him, not moving the big piece (just wood thank God) a bit even with Drew's help. He winces at a spark of pain in his chest, breathing hard as he lets himself fall back down. "I'm not getting out from under here anytime soon." He shoves his gun into Drew's chest. "Go. You'll be able to get far enough away before they get here."

"I'm not leaving you here!" Drew's wide eyes lock on to the blood seeping through what's visible of Dean's shirt.

"Damnit, Drew! Just take my gun and get out of here!" He tries to push him away.

"You idiot!" the boy suddenly explodes, "You know as well as I do that there's no way Sam can live without you!"

Dean suddenly stops his frantic shoving, eyes squeezing closed as a shaky breath leaves his lungs. "I know. And I promised him that I wouldn't die before he did." He opens his eyes, surprising Drew with the swirl of emotions in them. "You need to keep him from hurting himself. You hear me?" He struggles to find his pocket under the smaller bits of rubble, finally getting his hand into it.

Drew's mouth falls open. "What? No! I'm not leaving you here! You know it won't be the same!" He starts scrabbling at the debris again.

"I know it won't," Dean sighs. "But I need you to do it for me. Please." He stops Drew's digging, taking his hand and putting a piece of paper in it. He closes his hand around it. "This is the symbol I carve into his back," he tells him. "It's drawn on there and has the incantation you have to say before you finish it."

Drew stares, choking on his breath. "I can't do that to him, Dean. And even if I could, he only trusts you enough to do that."

Dean nods. "I need you to try. Okay? Just try. If the scar starts to fade, fix it. Alright?"

Drew stares.

"Please. Sam likes you. It might just be enough. Don't let him hurt himself. Keep him from killing himself if you can. Please, Drew. Say whatever you have to. He has a soft spot for other's suffering. Just tell him since I told him it was your job, that you couldn't bear letting me down. Just do that for me." A single drop of liquid slides back into his hair line from the corner of one of his eyes. Drew can't tell if it's sweat or a tear. "Please."

Drew's own eyes water. "I'll never forgive myself for leaving you here," he murmurs.

Dean claps a hand to his shoulder. "You're a good man, Drew. Now go. Sam may seem strong, but he's emotionally and mentally fragile. Take care of him for me. I wouldn't trust him with anyone else."

Drew takes that for the ultimate compliment it is. He puts his own hand to Dean's shoulder. "I'll take care of him."

Dean nods. Then shoves Drew's shoulder. "Go. Before they get here. I hear stuff moving out there. And… tell Sam I'm sorry. It isn't my place to tell him what he's ready for. His ass better be with the rest of the group when you get there and you tell him he's right. Okay?"

Drew hears something moving out there too. It's shuffling footsteps. Not falling buildings. And maybe voices. "I will," he murmurs. One last look at the blood on Dean's chest, and he stands and walks away. He doesn't look back. If he did, his resolve would crumble. As it is, he almost turns back six times before he finally gets to where the jeeps were before. There's a symbol dug into the ground, telling him that they moved five miles towards camp. He keeps walking. He knows why they haven't totally left yet. Sam.

His face contorts with a mixture of anger and grief. How dare Dean put this on him, he thinks though he knows why. And he also knows there wasn't anything better he could have done. As he jogs, he tries to find a way to tell Sam. Does he tell him he's dead? Or does he tell him he's as good as dead? Would Sam try to go find him? He doesn't stop thinking for the whole five miles. It takes him two and a half hours, trying to stay quiet and hidden just in case.

The sight of the jeeps doesn't give him the relief they usually do. Instead, they fill him with dread. Will Sam blame him? Hate him for walking away from his brother? He's aware of a stray tear running down his face. They've been doing that for the past five miles. One or two every once in a while. One more escapes when he sees Sam jump from one of the jeeps, running towards him. This is it.

Sam's eyes are wide, body tense and jittery. His eyes scan the landscape behind Drew before looking to the boy. His breathing picks up. "Where's Dean?"

The grating sound of fear in his voice makes Drew want to cry. But he can't. He has to take care of this. "Heavy walls. Fell on him. He couldn't get out."

It's as if Sam were a puppet and his strings were just cut. He falls to his knees, dust flying up around him as he falls apart. "No. No, no, no, no, no."

Drew sees men step out of the jeeps in the distance, but none come forward. He grips Dean's gun tightly in his hand. "He gave me his gun. Told me to run." He feels tears run down his face as Sam keeps shaking his head, his composure collapsing along with the man at his feet. "And he gave me this." He holds up the paper. "Told me to help you for him."

Sam's eyes lock on the paper, his whole body freezing for a second as if that were the last straw. The ultimate proof that Dean doesn't expect to be escaping. Trusting someone else to take a knife to Sam's body. It's as if he were suddenly released from chains.

Drew grabs him as he tries to run by, hands fisting in the man's ripped t-shirt. He vaguely wonders what happened to cause them. What had happened in Sam's group. "Sam! It's too late! They were moving in as I left!"

Sam struggles like an animal, clawing and grunting to the point of almost growling to get past Drew and run to his brother. His elbow shoots out to nail him in the jaw and forces him to let go. Then he's running.

"Sam! Sam, please! He made me promise! I already left him behind! Don't make me fail him again!" He rubs a hand over his jaw.

Sam slows, seemingly debating with himself.

"Please, Sam!" Then he pulls the card of being who Sam feels responsible for. "I can't deal with two deaths today." His voice isn't quite a yell, but the land on their side of the hill is quiet and flat. He knows Sam hears him. He starts forward when Sam slows to a stop.

Sam's shoulders are heaving, chest expanding and contracting at an alarming rate. His hands are fists, and his legs shake. Then he's on his knees again. "You liar!" he yells, the words vicious. More vicious than he's ever been towards Dean before. "You stupid son of a-" a sob breaks through his curse, keeping him from saying his brother's favorite phrase. He leans forward, arms wrapping around himself.

Drew gets to him then, a hand to his shoulder as he falls to his knees next to him. "I'm sorry," he breathes. "I left him there. I'm sorry, Sam."

Sam shakes his head, lifting it finally to look at Drew. "Not your fault," he chokes out. His voice is raw from yelling. His head falls forward again. "I can't do this. I need him." He starts rocking. "I need him. He keeps hell away. I can't do this without him. He shouldn't have asked you to take care of me."

"Sam. He doesn't want you to-"

"I don't care what he wants," he spits, head lifting and sending a murderous glare across the distance in front of them. "He knows I can't do this."

"I think he believes you can. Or hoped at the very least."

Sam shakes his head. He's still shaking. Tremors in his whole body. "I'll never forgive him for this," he breathes.

Drew cracks a flat smile. "You already have, I'll bet."

Sam shakes his head, hands going to the ground to help him push up to his feet. "I hate him." He barely makes it stumbling to his feet.

"No you don't." Drew steady's him.

Sam doesn't answer. They both know Drew's right.

"He said you were right. It wasn't his place to-"

"Stop," Sam chokes out. "Please."

Drew doesn't continue. He understands. It doesn't matter anymore. Now Sam just wishes he had his big brother back.

They both walk silently back to the jeeps. In fact, Sam doesn't talk at all. Drew has to tell everyone. The drive back to camp is silent in their jeep. Sam gets out at camp without a word, walking to his and Dean's cabin without a glance to anyone. His shoulders still shake from tremors. Drew doesn't follow him, staying outside for a while out of fear for his life. The racket he hears inside is his confirmation. Sam is livid. It will be no surprise to Drew if there aren't any more chairs left in one piece when he goes in. Everyone else is giving the cabin a wide berth.

When it's finally settled down, he carefully opens the door and surveys the damage. He swallows in fear as he steps inside. Not just the chairs. The table too. And there are quite a few dents in the walls. There's also glass and blood on the floor where the table used to be. Drew is gripped with fear. He runs in, going to the bathroom to see Sam sitting on the floor, back against the wall and knees drawn up to his chest. His hand is cut badly, the red blood contrasting against his tan skin.

Drew gently pulls his hand away from where it's cradled to his body, using tweezers he finds in the med kit to get the glass out and wraps his hand. Neither say a word. When he's done he pulls Sam to his feet, pushing him out of the bathroom and into the bed made from two. He sits on the opposite side, aware that Dean shared with Sam to make sure he was there if he had nightmares, even though the spell was supposed to keep them away. He debates on whether to leave or not.

"Go away," Sam mutters.

"Are you going to try and kill yourself?"

"No promises," is the quiet answer.

"Then I'm staying."

Sam doesn't answer. Just turns his back to him and curls up into a small shape that shouldn't be possible for a man his size to fit to. He only takes up a half of the bed.

Drew pulls the bed he's on a foot away and lays down, looking up at the ceiling. He isn't going to be able to be what Sam needs. He needs his brother. If Sam has a nightmare, if he starts to go crazy, Drew doesn't stand a chance at reaching him. For the first time, Drew realizes how locked down Sam is to everyone but Dean.

Sam doesn't have a nightmare. But the next morning, he's sitting in the middle of his bed, muttering. The words are so low, so quick and breathed that no one would be able to understand. Except maybe Dean. Who's heard them before. You aren't real. You aren't real. You aren't real.

When Drew wakes up, he looks over to the sound, sitting up and watching with fear at the way Sam seems to have fallen apart over night. The man he's seen since Sam and Dean got here shouldn't look like this. He shouldn't look like he's about to go insane at any second. It's just… wrong.

"Sam?"

Sam doesn't look to him. Just keeps his eyes squeezed shut and keeps muttering.

Drew doesn't know what to do. This is so out of his ability to control. He carefully stands, walking silently over to Sam's bed. "Sam." He reaches out, barely touching his shoulder before the man is darting away to the other side of the bed.

"No. Please." He presses himself back against the headboard in the corner of the bed, looking like he could fall off at any moment. "Please. Don't."

Drew watches in shock as the one person in camp who could make him more nervous than Dean scrambles away from him in fear. This is what Dean was keeping at bay? This is how much of a support he was for his brother? No wonder there was talk around camp. "Sam, it's me. It's Drew, Sam. You're alright. Sam?"

It goes on for an hour or two. Maybe more. Drew just sits on the edge of the bed, talking to him. He starts telling stories of his childhood. Anything to hopefully attract Sam's attention. It doesn't work. It's a good thing Sam eventually eases out of it himself. When he finally does, Drew is left at a loss. He can't protect Sam. He's not Dean.

Sam looks to him, eyes finally looking like they're actually seeing what's around him. "Drew." He notices his curled up position as far away from him as possible. He swallows, realizing Drew just saw him flip. "Sorry."

Drew shakes his head. "Don't be sorry. I understand now."

Sam blinks.

"I understand that neither of us can do what Dean wanted us to do."

Sam flinches at Dean's name, then tilts his head. "What do you mean?" His voice is still soft. Barely there.

"I just sat here for two hours trying to pull you out of whatever you were just stuck in. I couldn't do it. I'm not him."

Sam closes his eyes, head falling back against the wall. A tear escapes his eye, rolling down his cheek to get stopped by the hair resting there.

Neither talk for a while. Drew eventually stands. "I need to go see if they need help with anything. They're probably wondering where I am." He eyes Sam. "You going to be alright?"

Sam shakes his head.

Drew doesn't know how to respond. He just leaves.

He checks in with Sam after lunch. He hasn't moved from the bed, but he's lying down now. He's still muttering.

Sam hears Drew open the door. Doesn't care to turn. He's too busy telling Lucifer he isn't real. Trying to stay sane when all he wants to do is escape the burning he feels on his arms and side where he's been cut by Lucifer's blade. He knows he won't be able to help Drew keep his promise. He won't be able to live like this. He just can't.

Living with visions of the devil is bad. Really bad. Paired with memories, the hallucinations that assault him are vicious. He feels everything Lucifer does to him. He feels like he's in hell again. He can't pull himself out. The scar on his hand stopped being his help a long time ago. Dean was his support. With Dean gone, he's sucked back into his mind. Lucifer has him. He's in hell.

Drew can't pull him out. He tries. Sam almost seems comatose. Doesn't react to Drew's voice. Just twitches and whimpers, every once in a while getting out a mantra of 'you're not real'. Eventually, Drew can't watch anymore. He goes to sit in front of the cabin, staring at nothing. He can't help Sam. It was stupid of Dean to even hope he could.

Sam snaps back to reality when Lucifer stabs him in the chest. He whimpers to himself, not even caring anymore how weak he sounds. He can't do this anymore. Lucifer is back stronger than ever. His mind has turned against him. He can't do this without Dean. He'll go insane permanently if it doesn't stop. And he knows it won't. It's on shaky legs that he finally stands from the bed.

He realizes with a second of shock that he hasn't eaten in over thirty-six hours when his stomach protests, but he ignores it. He's walking towards his duffel, at the foot of the bed. He doesn't have to dig. Just reaches in and pulls out his gun. He sits back on his bed, taking out the magazine to check the bullets before snapping it back in.

Then he stares at it. Feels the weight in his hands. Weighs his options along with it. The hallucinations and memories will only get worse. With Dean gone, he won't last more than another day in his right mind. It's better to off himself before that happens. But then there's Drew, who would feel like he failed his job.

"Damn you, Dean."

"Your brother never has made the best decisions," Lucifer pipes in, appearing on the other bed behind Sam.

Sam ignores him. Drew would get over it. He isn't in the messed up, codependent relationship Sam and Dean have. Drew would mourn like a normal person and get over it. But if he let the visions continue, someone else might have to kill him off out of mercy. And how would Drew feel then?

"Go ahead. Do it, Sam. You're only option, right?"

"Shut up," he mutters.

Killing himself would be considered weak. Not being able to stand up to his problems.

"You are weak, Sam. Can't live without your brother. Pathetic."

It is pathetic.

"Thousands of people live alone every day. Why can't you?"

Because he's weak. He needs Dean.

"You're a coward too. You're just staring at the gun instead of using it. Too afraid of life, but too afraid to die."

He's not afraid to die. Not really. It's happened many times before.

"Who's to say you won't end up with me?"

That gives Sam pause.

"Of course, as you said earlier, better to kill yourself now than wait for someone to do it for you."

He looks at the gun. That's what it comes down to, he guesses. Either doing it himself, or being put down like a dog with rabies. He nods to himself. That's it then.

So if you hate me for how I cut it off, mission accomplished. :) I will only hope for forgiveness.