A/N: Okay, I planned to make this the last chapter but figured to split it. There will be one more chapter! New Walking Dead tonight guys. Its gonna be awesome and I can't wait! Okay I also need y'all's vote. After I have completed this story, I will be starting another one.

I also want to apologize to those who have been waiting on a story I planned to write months ago called Fighting Darkness! I will actually be re-watching the episode cuz I haven't seen it in awhile. Cuz I don't remember what all happened in that episode. So I should be starting on that story soon.

Pick-A-Fic Time!

1) Sam gets thrown into the past, age and memories in tact, where he meets a very alive John Winchester and 15 year old Dean. What's worst is his younger self is no where in sight. He has to figure out how to get back while keeping his identity a secret. To bad Dean isn't stupid.

2) After a hunt gone wrong, the boys find out a werewolf isn't the only creature roaming the dark woods of California. Dean gets hit with a curse that reverses him back into the body of a twelve year old and the last thing he remembered was being on a hunt. In New Orleans with his dad.

3) Inspired by a fic I read awhile back and still read now, by the lovely nightmares06- Sam didn't know what happened. Dean just disappeared and he hadn't a clue what happened. Frantic, he searches for answers. When he ends up on the bad end of a vampire, a familiar face appears and saves him. Problem is, its Dean's face he sees, looking a little smaller than before.

Okay guys, pick 1, 2, or 3. Its hard to say if ill write all three so that's why I'm giving you the choice to choose. Anyway, thanks for reading a long ass AN. XD

Enjoy ^^

Castiel patiently waited for Dean and Mary to arrive. He comfortably leaned up against the stolen truck he hijacked over twelve hours ago.

With peering eyes, he gazed upon the house that kept him out by powerful warding's, repelling him from going more than twenty feet near its confinement. He took in every detail, from the banged up rust bucket of a truck, it being a ugly color of red as the many years of harsh weather and poor environment caused it to rot and break away. The metal withering away until its nothing more than shavings on the ground.

Trees stood tall reaching in height of that of the house. The limbs swaying and the leaves rustling as the peaceful wind filled the air and swept them into a graceful dance. Very few of the leaves broke from the branches and were being carried through the sky by the invisible force; swirling and drifting without one particular direction, allowing the unseen wind to guide them.

Castiel tilted his head in mild fascination. He watched as the small leaf rose high and higher in altitude. The farther it got swept up the smaller it appeared until it finally it was nothing more than a very little spec of green hovering with the clouds.

The all to familiar rumble of the impala coming towards him knocked him from his trance of admiration. Cas turned his head in time to see it coming to a smooth stop behind the truck, her soft purr dying down to a quiet silence.

Cas turned to fully face Dean and Mary as they wasted no time getting out of the car, the light bouncing off the black metal as Dean opened and shut the driver side door.

"Where's all this warding you mentioned?" He asked out right getting down to business.

"It's cloaked and very powerful." Cas answered easily. He gazed back at Mary. "You brought your mother?" He asked with a bit of confusion hidden in the question.

Mary came up behind them, her hair in a neat braid hanging down on one side. "Hello Castiel and yes he did." She answered his question.

Dean nodded. "You sure there's anyone inside?" He asked even though he had a sinking feeling Sam was definitely being kept somewhere in the house.

Cas eyed the house wearily, not one hundred percent sure if there was anyone there. He wasn't completely unconvinced considering the angel warding that surrounded area. It had to be placed there by someone. "No but someone warded the house."

"Right. I'm going in for a closer look." Dean stated not wanting to waste anymore time getting to Sam.

With that said he made for the house.

Dean took careful steps around the seemingly abandoned building, caution in every move, with his beautiful 45' held firmly in both hands at his side for the ready if need be. His advance was slow and stealthy, like a predator, falling into a natural routine like he has done countless times. He moved around the side of the building with ease and efficiency; like a snake slithering about undetected. In quiet strides, he eased himself around the side of building, first peeking around to make sure it was clear of any threat. His eyes trained and aware looking in every direction taking in the several piles of discarded and rotting wood on the ground along with broken glass sparkling like diamonds in the sun, reflecting light that seemed to bounce off the ground and hitting his eyes making him squint at their harsh penetration

The first thing he noticed was that the house was surrounded by over grown weeds and scrap but not one vehicle was visible on the property except for the antique, rusty beat up truck surrounded by dead grass that he spotted on arrival. Two wheels were missing with only the rims in their place, the other two where flat with sizable holes in them. One set of the head lights were busted. All in all, a vehicle that hasn't run in over twenty years and the rust had ate out much of the metal making it nothing more than scrap to be hauled off.

The home was old with boards nailed over the windows, the glass gone, shattered into multiple pieces save for the sharp shards sticking out from the ends of the once whole window. Black mold and weeds started to overtake the small building mercifully. The leaves and stems using the wood as a support to climb up the decade old house.

Cautiously, he surveyed the area, seeing that though there were some windows boarded up with fine wood, there were a few perfectly in tact and with curtains on the inside.

Dean carefully maneuvered around those ones, easily ducking down from view to be on the safe side. He didn't know if anyone was actually using the place to hold up but knew if they were then he would have to be wise about how he slinked around the grounds. He needed to blend in like a camellia, cloaked and undetected.

Dean's thoughts drifted to Sam.

The emotions that ran through him like a raging storm of thunder and lightning when he arrived at the bunker to find Sam gone and a pool of red coating the floor, hit him like a ton of bricks. All at once he was hit with shock, confusion and fear at seeing the already dried blood shimmering in a dark scarlet. It's sickening sight hard to miss considering it was in more than one place, particularly running along the floor in a straight path, small spots of blood splattered, accompanied the larger stains.

It was enough to get every one of Dean's limbs to freeze and his body to tense on the spot but within seconds Dean was automatically on alert and grabbing his gun from the safety of its confinement and cocking the chamber back, ready to shoot the thing anything that suspiciously moved.

There was shock, accompanied by confusion then fear, as the realization that something bad went down while he was off on his suicidal mission, struck his senses like a well placed bolt of electricity but there was one feeling that overpowered every other sensation and that was overwhelming panic and concern.

Worry for Sam had him moving forward with the gun pointing down at the floor and at the ready. His finger placed over the trigger for a fast and immediate response to any unwanted threat still looming around the corridors of the bunker. His 'big brother' senses were on full panic and he just knew that it was Sam's blood decorating the floor. Which made every fiber Dean had shake in a quickly rising anger, that was quickly pushing past the growing concern, for whatever had hurt his brother.

He still had to wonder though, how Sam managed to get himself in such predicaments every time Dean wasn't around. It was like his brother was a large magnet meant to attract all the big bad monsters looking to tear into some juicy flesh. Sam was always getting the worst end of the deal, being the one to usually catch the creatures point of interest on most of their hunts. Which ended up with Dean saving his ass. Of course, Sam did his fair sharing of saving a brother for ironic reasons. Sam had a thing about being choked, whether it be a ghost or crazed vampires, and Dean always got lifted into the air like a rag doll and thrown a good ten feet.

Sam was choked. Dean was thrown.

A shitty way to go about a Salt 'N' Burn considering that's how it always ended, with one or both, of them getting hurt, Sam strangled or Dean tossed.

Their lives were always so complicated.

It didn't make things less complicated considering his brothers unfortunate luck. Trouble always found Sam, not the other way around. It had achene sense and targeted Sam like a guided bombshell no matter where he was.

Dean even threatened to put a 'I'm right here' sign on Sam's forehead. Like he would ever need it. Kids already a giant bleep for every supernatural creation around the world.

In a rational sense.

Moving forward and up the two steps protruding from the floor, he caught sight of the bloody drawn symbol on the wall and realized it was an angel warding and Dean guessed Cas got a one way ticket to banishment. It only added more confusion and unanswered questions to Dean's suspicions.

He couldn't help the fear crawling up his spine like an eight legged spider and it gave him Goosebumps. Small chills wracked his body when he thought about how hurt Sam might be. The amount of blood on the floor was a considerable amount and it scared him.

What scared him more, what had him closing his eyes and running a shaky hand over his mouth, was the fact that Sam is in danger thinking Dean was dead and this time Dean wouldn't be there. Something about that made him feel sick at his stomach. It shouldn't be that way, it should never be that way. Sam thinking that Dean wouldn't be there, even if he thought he was dead, blown away by the invisible bomb planted inside him ticking away his minutes, was a thought that should never enter Sam's mind. Yet, at that very moment it was exactly what Sam was thinking. Dean didn't need to see his face, or read his thoughts, to know wherever Sam was, whatever he was going through, to know Sam wasn't expecting Dean to come save him.

Like hell.

He was going to rescue Sammy and, show whoever made the mistake of spilling Sam's blood, that it was a bad decision to go after his brother. No one got away with hurting Sam without a good ass woopin from Dean Winchester.

Dean was a fierce hunter, a man that has both seen and bestowed terrors of all kinds. There were occasions when he scared himself after a brutal kill. That un-nerving swarm of triumph and victory whenever he beheaded a vampire, or shot the heart out of a werewolf, ran through him like lava; hot and destructive like a newly awakened volcano and it was aggressive. It was as if he was frozen in a trance, his eyes as hard as stone and colder than icicles, caught in the moment as he watched the life drain from the creatures wide eyes. It's cruel and fearful orbs.

When he got the mark, that was all he felt. There was nothing but sure satisfaction from watching the light die from his prey's eyes. It was a thrill, an addiction that Dean craved and a hunger that was never really filled. He couldn't get enough, wanting more and more. He wanted to strip them, not only of their meaningless life, but of their pride. He wanted to watch the moment they realized death was something they would never escape and Dean was going to be the one to take that away from them. Knowing that they quivered under Dean's cold stare and his harsh hold gave him the kind of feeling that made him complete.

The mark longed for it, thirst for it and it pulsated viciously, glowing in red hot rage on his arm, making that fact known. Letting it be well aware that without bloodshed it wasn't pleased and would continue to send hot flares racing through his veins. Only lessening when the blade rested comfortably in his hand. Even then it didn't go away. Not until he quenched its desires, settling it's anger with the one thing that could numb its constant ache; death.

It turned him into a worse being than any vampire or werewolf.

Sam saw it, the sudden changes in Dean's behavior, his sudden want for blood, seeing first hand what the mark really done to Dean when he first handled the cursed blade. It sent power racing through his veins, freeing his mind from reality and completely taking him over.

He remembered hearing Sam's voice. It sounded far away and didn't reach his ears at first but then it grew louder. Sam was pleading, his words shaking, concealed in confusion, on the brink of panic as the mark took control of Dean's free will.

All that went through Dean's mind was kill, being repeated over and over. His attention glued on the bloody dead corpse of the man he had killed. Still the words kept flowing endlessly pushing through his mind to be the only though known. All rationality thrown out the window. He felt the blade coursing through him. It's strength, it's rage, it's evil gripping him with all it's might, tainting him.

Yet, the influence it held over him teetered with one word. One voice. Sam's.

Dean? His name, almost a whisper, knocked him from the deep ravine he was thrown in.

As if a flip was thrown, the blade slipped from his fingers easily enough where it fell with a 'thud' onto the floor. It's hold broken. Its presence forgotten.

What Dean saw in Sam's eyes then made Dean's heart do a complete one eighty because it takes alot for a Winchester to cry. Though tears didn't roll down Sam's face, the evidence was shinning brightly in the corners of his eyes, moist from barely contained tears that he was denying to let fall. His face scrunched up in pain and not of the physical variety.

Dean put that look on Sam's face. Those watery eyes as they stared at him with so many emotions running through them.

Dean didn't know if it was because he had literally scared the living hell out of Sam or if Sam himself realized just how much the mark was changing him. Not for the better but for the worse. At that moment Dean was scarier than any fang and he knew it by the fear in his brothers confused gaze.

It was a fight that Dean struggled with ever since receiving the mark from Cain. No matter how hard he tried to ignore it's violent touch, it's suffocating presence, everytime it would remind him that he was not in complete control. He was nothing more but the vessel for it's hatred.

Yet, no matter how far he fell within the Marks grasp, there was that one thing that was constant, something stronger than the anger and never ending blood want. The one thing that could not be replaced by it's wrath.

The very reason Dean could be scarier than any evil creature that roamed the earth.

That was the big brother in him. His devotion to protect Sammy and kill anything that threatened to go near Sam, anything that tried to harm him because they shortly found out how dangerous Dean could really be. Just how ruthless.

"I'm coming, Sammy." Dean muttered a silent promise to himself as he moved around the yard in slow strides.

Dean slowly stepped up to the open garage, gun trained in front of him as he peeked around the corners before walking in. He noted the it's bare walls save for the old nails sticking out. Debris littered the garage floor and hung lazily from the ceiling. The place was falling to pieces due to the lack of care over the years. It was clear it hasn't been occupied for quite some time.

Just when he was about to step out from the other side, a loud banging that sounder close caught his attention. His head turned before his body did, eyes open and alert at the unexpected noise. His hunter instincts screaming at him to tread carefully. Dean never questioned his instincts as they were usually spot on and right now, that little voice in his head saying 'Something's not right' was loud and affirmative.

Narrowing his eyes, Dean turned back around, ignoring the sound for the time being, and proceeded by walking out of the garage by using what once was a door way. Of course it was missing a door and was now just the frame leading to the other side. The debris was scattered everywhere, dangling limply from beams that had no top, just wood and loose plastic.

He stepped around the mess and spotted a cellar door on the other side of the house. Dean eyed it with suspicion. He could see that there was no lock on the outside and was more than likely latched from the inside, but, something was off about it. That nagging feeling in the pit of his stomach was telling him it was a trap.

His first reaction was to investigate it but that little voice came back and this time it was screaming 'danger'.

He made his way swiftly past the cellar door and that's when he saw it. A neatly drawn symbol printed on the ground in front of the door. It wasn't written in blood, that was obvious, its color more like a tan, and was hard to see at first as it blended in with the ground. One wouldn't know it was there until they were right on top of it making it the perfect set up for unwanted guests.

Fortunately, Dean was trained better than that. Sure, there were times he failed to be more aware and alert and ended up falling right into the traps set. Only, he couldn't afford any misjudgments or miscalculations. Not when Sam was involved. One wrong move and he could be caught and then someone would have to save his sorry ass. Which rules out Cas who couldn't even set one foot on the property. He was sure Mary, without difficulty, could be more than enough to save both him or Sammy.

Mary was strong. She had more spunk and confidence than any hunter Dean's met, even over powering him and sending him to the ground with one twist of the arm. Her demeanor could be intimidating and downright terrifying, giving John a run for his money.

Still, Dean would prefer she stay out of it. He knew she was good and capable of handling herself in a hunt. He knew, because he remembered how easily she had got the drop on him when he met her younger and much more energetic self.

When he found out Mary was a hunter and not your normal house wife.

Quite the shocker there.

To say Dean was impressed would be an understatement. He never imagined Mary anything more than a caring mother and devoted wife. The thought never occurred to him that she could have been a hunter in her earlier life. It was an impossible wonderment that never once crossed his mind. To him, she was a mother who always smiled with radiance and love. Her eyes always soft and her touch much to gentle to be the hands that once belonged to a hunter. A wife who loved her husband unconditionally and made a family of four.

Just a normal, loving family who lived in a small house in Kansas.

Sam was alot like Mary.

Her words reminding him of Sam as soon as they were said.

I spent my life running from this, from hunting and I got out. I never wanted this for you and Sam.

Her hands shaking from moments before when she drove the angel blade into the women in order to save Dean. The solemn look in her eyes. Mary's body shook with incontrollable vibes.

And Dean realized just how much of Mary was in Sam.

Sam always wanted to be normal, was dead set on living life to the fullest by leaving the hunting business and going to college. Maybe meeting a girl and falling in love. Later getting married and having a family of his own. Well, he got to go to college, he met a girl, fell in love.

And in one single night all of that was just gone. Sam's dream coming crashing down in a violent aftermath of fire and death.

Jess taken away in the same manner as their mother.

And Dean never felt so much sympathy than he did that night.

For months Sam suffered horrendous nightmares of his girlfriend burning in front of him.

Of course, his brother brushed it off and never talked about it. He didn't need to. Dean could see it in Sam's eyes. Sam wasn't okay, he was hurting, in turmoil and trying to brush it off like a bad cold.

Being tough was the Winchester way. John had drilled that into them since they were able to walk and talk. Always saying that, 'Winchesters don't cry, they suck it up.' So he was always tough on them, teaching them how to survive and defend themselves. Being weak meant letting your guard down and ending up as a monsters play toy. That went both way, physically and mentally. Crying was out of the question.

However, Sam was still always the emotional one. Where Dean took his fathers example and hid away most of his distracting emotions, Sam was an open book. Talking freely about what was bothering him came naturally and more easily as if it was a simple task and John hadn't hot wired it into their brains.

Then again, Sam was never into Johns vengeful quest to find the thing that killed their mother. Obviously. He was always butting heads and picking fights with their father. His rebellious nature a constant thorn in Johns side and a problem for Dean, somehow being tossed in the middle of most his father and brothers arguments. He knew better than to go against anything John said but at the same time understanding where Sam was coming from.

Dean himself would have liked a apple pie life. At one point, when he was around seven, he thought about how cool it would to work in a garage as a mechanic. He loved cars and later enjoyed working on them. Them being the impala since it took more beatings than Sam or Dean on a daily basis.

Despite Sam's accusations of Dean being a obedient soldier, it didn't mean he didn't at least once in their unfortunate lives think of being normal.

Dean realized normal was certainly not their thing.

They were normal once with a mother and father who planned on raising them like any other family but that was stripped from them the moment the demon killed Mary.

Everything changed.

At some point Dean quit thinking about the what 'if's' and 'what could have been' had Mary died. All he wanted to do was hunt and kill ever evil son of a bitch he could find. It became a natural part of his life. Nothing else mattered except hunting things, saving people.

The family business.

That, and watching out for Sammy.

His job since day one. It became stronger the moment John placed a crying Sam into his arms and demanded he run as fast as he can.

Yet, he couldn't protect Sam from everything, much to his dismay.

Sam lost a chance at a stable life away from hunting. Worse than that, he lost Jess.

He hated that anyone had to go through that, having seen it himself, and even though he was four years old the image was burned into his brain. His beautiful mother pinned to a ceiling with blood staining her white night gown with orange and red flames devouring her from every angle. It was a sickening picture forever embedded in the back of Dean's mind.

Then Sam had to witness the one thing Dean himself wanted to forget? Sam was a baby and Dean was thankful that he hadn't been old enough to fully grasp what was happening at the time, his mind to small to support memories or comprehend emotions. He was glad that Sam would never have to see what he had.

Winchesters bad luck was as strong as ever.

Dean was prepared to go up against the unthinkable, the impossible, if it meant keeping Sam safe and alive. He would dive head first into an ocean riled up by tsunami's knowing that he would drown but still giving it everything he had to get to Sam. Thrown himself into the very depths of hell again, to save him.

But there was some things, no matter how hard Dean fought to shield Sam from, that was more stronger than Dean's determination to protect Sammy.

He would give anything to change what happened. He never wanted Sam to go through that but the truth of it was he could no more change the past than he could current situation right now.

Throwing the thoughts from his mind, Dean marveled around the odd scripture and walked towards the other side of the house, shooting a final glance at the door.

Hunkering down, he moved to the other side of a bare window, slowly raising up, he looked inside.

There was a women sitting in a chair, her attention solely focused on the small monitor in front of her. She held a cup in her hand and took a sip of the contents inside. Her eyes were slightly narrowed, expression stoic, completely fixated in whatever was on that screen. She looked young, maybe in her early thirties with average clothes.

Dean couldn't make out what was on the screen. He was getting a sinking feeling that Castiel was right about Sam being there and if his hunch was right, then it was Sam that had her undivided attention.

His grip on the gun tightened as he pictured Sam, broken and bloody laying on some basement floor. All fight drained from him from whatever torture was played out on him. An image Dean shook from his head, the anger coming back when he imagined the kind of state he was going to find Sam in. Just the thought that Sam could be bleeding out from his injuries and on the brink of death lit the kind of fire inside him that was dangerously close to combusting.

Jaw set, Dean grabbed the handle of the door. With bated breath he slowly turned the knob, intent on surprizing the women with quiet intention.

The door pushed forward without so much as a squeak as he eased it opened just in time to hear her amused voice.

"Can you survive the next stage with your sanity in tact? Show me Sam Winchester, show me how strong willed you are. That, or break under the weight of your own mind."

It was his brothers name leaving the women's twisted mouth and the way she used 'survive', 'sanity', and 'break' in the same paragraph, that had him bringing the gun up and pointed at her head. The loud 'click' of the safety being thrown enough to give away his presence. He didn't care, he already had the upper advantage and if anything he could shoot her where she sit.

Her shoulders tensed, posture changing completely, going from relaxed to rigid at the sound of the gun cocking behind her.

"Turn around." He ordered, voice calm yet held a dangerously low key to it.

The women stood up and faced him, taking in note the way he glowered at her. His eyes unmoving and hard, anger clear in his features. "Dean Winchester?" She asked casually as if they gun aimed at her was nothing more than a prop.

Dean smiled. "The one and only." Grin fading, both hands on the gun, all seriousness he asked, "Where's Sam?"

She sighed. "I guess Ms. Watt failed in keeping you busy." She quipped with disappointment, gaze never wavering from the man in front of her.

"No one dents my baby without getting a serious beat down. Still, hope you wasn't expecting her back anytime soon. Now, where is Sam. I won't ask again." Dean took a step forward and regretted it when the women struck out with one arm to knock the piece from his hand and used the other to punch him in the face.

Dean stumbled at the unexpected retaliation. Her fist connected with his jaw line, and damn, Dean had to seriously rethink the whole 'women are weaker than men' thing. It was like being hit with a brick with how much power she put into that single hit. It wasn't enough to knock him on his ass but he had shake his head when he saw stars.

"Yes. You killed her. I was informed. Only makes it more reasoned to dispose of you Winchesters." She didn't allow him to catch his breath, already going in for another blow.

Right when she was about to land a punch to Dean's face, her fist was caught and Toni looked to see a women clutching her hand.

She was to focused on Dean that she didn't notice when a different presence found its way into the room. Evidently neither did Dean by the look of confusion, that was quickly replaced with relief, at seeing her. "Good timing." He grunted.

Mary pulled her fist back and punched the British women, putting enough force behind it to send her sprawled out on the ground. "No one messes with my boys."

Dean smirked, impressed. "Remind me not to piss you off." He picked himself off the ground, grabbing Mary's extended hand, grateful for the help.

Mary walked over to her son's discarded firearm and picked it up, aiming it down at the British women who was just starting to pick herself up. "Don't think so. Stay down." The command was lethal and held no defiance from the person it was commanded to.

Toni stayed down on the floor. She wiped the blood away from the top of her lip where it flowed from her now busted nose and stared at Mary with spite in her eyes.

Mary rose a curious brow, side glancing at Dean. "You let a woman get the best of you."

Dean made a face, retorting, "She's a woman of letters! She's stronger than she looks."

Mary laughed. "Right." Looking around, keeling her gun lined up with Toni's head, her eyes fell on the lit up laptop. "What's that?" She asked, smile fading from her lips when she made out a form standing in the middle of the room.

Dean was already moving.

The moment he saw the shape on the screen he knew it was Sam. He was relieved to see him up and moving, that was a plus. Still, there was something off about Sam's stance, the way he stood still, his back to the camera, his rigid body language. It was hard to see any injuries from the quality of the picture. One thing was certain, though.

Sam was holding something. What, Dean didn't know but the statement Toni declared earlier came back.

What had she meant?

Whatever is was, it wasn't anything good.

Something was wrong.

Dean hurriedly undid the many locks on the door, worry and frustration leaking through the surface in his haste to get to Sam. "Come on, dammit!" Last lock undone and Dean threw the door open and raced down the stairs.

The smell hit him right away. The scent of blood and hard sweat filled his nostrils. He was sure if he looked at the floor he would see the evidence of the last twenty some hours of Sam's torment. The ugly substance know as blood. Sam's blood. It was strong in the air.

There, in the middle of the room, was his whole 6'4 sasquatch of a brother.

He didn't have time to assess the room. His eyes were only on Sam, who, had his hand out with a sharp piece of glass in the other pressed firmly against his wrist. Dean's breath caught in his throat at the sight. A small steady stream of blood was already tickling down Sam's arm to drip on the floor. His legs seemed frozen and didn't want to move, to horrified by what was happening in front of him.

It wasn't until Sam started to press down harder and move the shard did Dean finally find his ability to move.

"Sam! No!" Dean yelled frantically. Was his brother actually trying to kill himself?!

Dean knocked the glass out of Sam's hand, careful on how he did it. He didn't want it digging deeper into Sam's broken skin. He cupped Sam's cheeks and forced him to look at him until his eyes met his. He noticed right then that Sam was locked in some kind of trance. His eyes glazed over in a thick fog, unseeing.

"Sam? Hey?" One small slap to the cheek. "Come on, show me some kind of sign you hear me." He coached his brother but Sam couldn't hear him, didn't even move, just continued to stare blankly.

Dean's eyes went wide, new panic flared at seeing Sam's eyes suddenly roll up into his head and he started to pitch forward. Dean was ready for it, seeing the lack of function in Sam's awareness, and caught his brother as he fell in a motionless lump against his chest.

Dean snaked his arm around Sam to help support his brother, hugging him against his chest. He quickly checked Sam's neck for a pulse. It took longer than he liked for the familiar 'thump' to make itself know. Which means it was slow and sluggish and not to Dean's liking.

"I gotcha, Sammy...Im right here."