I do not own Supernatural

Hey! It's been forever since I updated this, I wonder if anyone still reads it…

Anyway! I hope you all enjoy this chapter and that you'd like to read more as I'll definitely be writing more! I might not update right after but don't worry! None of my fics have been forgotten!

Ok so I had just written this, having completely forgotten that I had already written a second chapter… but I ended up liking this one more so I'm just going to replace it… use it as a short chapter… and write a really LONG and detailed third chapter… ok? Ok!

Please fav/follow and leave a review! No matter how short or detailed the review is they always mean a lot to me! So please just let me borrow a minute of your time to let me know what you think! Thanks!

Chapter 2 :

It didn't take long until the brothers were back in the motel. The boys' dinner had gone as well as it possibly could have considering their… situation. As expected, Dean casually brushed off any of Sam's efforts to get him to talk about what was going on with him, and eventually Sam conceded for the night and settled on picking the topic back up with his brother the next day. The two enjoyed their meals over a light conversation, that mainly covered topics such as Sam's hair growing too long, and how Sam would literally stab Dean in his sleep if he mentioned it again or dared to go near him with a pair of scissors. The usual. They both joked over silly things and talked about music, cars, and girls. The usual. Dean had ordered one too many beers… then swiftly moved onto taking shot after shot of tequila to the point where he practically could have just chugged the bottle and gotten it over with. The usual. Sam had to practically carry him out the door after he had begun flirting with one of the waitresses, who was really not into the drunken mess that the eldest Winchester was at the moment. The usual. For once, when Sam turned the key in the Impala's ignition, Dean didn't yell or fuss over it, which Sam found rather peculiar; drunk or not, Dean hated anyone else driving his baby unless he gave them his permission beforehand. The engine growled to life, and then slowed to a soothing rumble, which Dean's snoring seemed to match perfectly as he was passed out in the back seat.

Carrying Dean wasn't as easy as he had thought. He was quite heavy, and his upper body seemed to just attract itself straight toward the ground, so Sam settled on holding his brother's legs over his shoulder as the rest of his body hung limp over his back with his head nearly skimming the floor of the motel corridor. The two crashed into the room and Sam basically flung his brother onto his bed with a hefty sigh, frowning as his brother barely stirred and continued to snore, completely unconscious. Sam breathed in relief, enjoying the quieter setting (sans the honking of his brother's sinuses), and went to the bathroom to change and to wash up for bed. He was exhausted. The dark circles under his eyes had gotten worse and every inch of his body ached from sleep deprivation and from stress. It wasn't supposed to be this way. His brother was supposed to be back, for good, no catches, no tricks. He cupped his hands and splashed warm water onto his face, patting down with a towel and then looked in the mirror. He flinched, an unwanted thought entering his mind. He needed more, he could feel the power fading from his body. He looked away. Dealing with Dean was difficult enough already, he didn't need to deal with the morals of his involvement with… her. It. He felt as if the world was falling apart around him, and in a way, it was. Sam let the silence in the room sink into him, trying to let it calm him down. He breathed in, maybe… just maybe he-

He paused.

Silence.

Sam poked his head out of the bathroom to peek on his brother. Dean's snoring had stopped. He cautiously made his way over to his brother, checking to see if he was still asleep or if something else was wrong. The eldest Winchester was breathing regularly, and showed no signs of waking up. Sam breathed a sigh of relief. He was becoming paranoid now. He flicked the lights in the room off and crawled into his own bed, melting into the somewhat soft, cheap motel mattress. Maybe, everything would work out. Eventually. He let his eyes close, and gradually began to drift off to sleep.

"Dean," Sam grumbled in annoyance, "Turn that light off". There was no response. Sam huffed, squinting as he slowly began to wake from a bright light shining in defiance straight into his eyes. "Dean, I said turn the light off." Again, his brother didn't respond. Sam blinked, readjusting his sight to the brightness in the room, straining to see why his brother had turned the buzzing motel room light on. Except, his brother hadn't moved from bed at all. Sam's back stiffened and he reached for the gun on the side table. "Wake up." He quietly urged his sibling, taking a quick scan of the room to see if anyone or anything else was there. Dean didn't move, he lay still on his bed without even so much as shifting in his sleep. The lights began flickering. Sam reached over to shake his brother awake, laying a hand on his arm, and then immediately flinching away the second he made contact. Sam gasped, a sharp burning sensation had rippled from his fingertips through his shoulder the second he had put a hand on his brother's forearm. What the hell was going on?" The younger Winchester turned, laying his gun back on the nightstand and kneeling at his brother's bedside. Light beads of sweat had formed on Dean's forehead, and his skin was pale and glistening. "D-Dean?" Sam whispered, suspecting that he was suffering from another nightmare. He edged back slightly, not wanting a repeat of before, but staying close enough to be there to aid his brother if needed. A soft, broken sigh escaped the eldest Winchester's lips, his brows creasing and his fists clenching and unclenching. Sam was right, but, why wasn't he yelling like before? Something was wrong. The lights flickered more violently, and the humming of the bulbs became louder and louder, and the brightness of the lamps began to slowly increase. Sam's eyes widened, was his brother doing this?

"Dean, you need to wake up." Sam pleaded, his voice even but laced with concern, "Please."

Suddenly, Dean's back arched and a sharp cry of pain erupted from his lips, his eyes remaining tightly closed. Sam lurched forward, once again trying to shake his brother awake, and again his hands felt as if they were being scorched by fire and he was forced to sit back unable to do anything. This time, after he made contact, a gold light shone from underneath Dean's skin. It wrapped around his arm and went up to his throat, and after further inspection, the mysterious glow had spread to Dean's other arm and across his body. It wrapped across his chest, arms, legs, and throat almost like rope… like chains. "What the…" Sam breathed in astonishment.

"S-Sam please, no, don't!" The older brother yelled out in desperation, still trapped in his own dark and twisted nightmare, "Please Sammy, I-" His plea was cut short by a small gasp which was closely followed by a dark line appearing at his throat. Dean coughed, struggling for air as if he was being choked. Light tears pricked in the corners of the older brother's closed eyes, his jaw clenched as he struggled for breath. His heart pounded with the same ferocity and intimidation as a drum, pumping scorching crimson blood through his veins, and giving his cheeks a flushed pink color. If Sam couldn't lay a hand on him without being burned, then he'd have to find another way to wake him up. He jumped to his feet, running to the bathroom and grabbed a bowl from the dingy motel kitchen, filling it with cold water and running back to his brother. After taking a deep breath, Sam flung the cool water onto his brother, hoping that it would finally be able to free him from his torment. It did nothing. The lights continued to flicker, and the buzzing became louder and louder until it became a high pitched whining, causing for Sam to wince, falling to his knees and covering his ears. Blinding lights filled the room, and one by one the lightbulbs began to pop, sending shards of glass rocketing through the room. Sam shielded his eyes with his arm, ducking from the shower of razor sharp pieces of glass that were bouncing across the bedroom.

"Sam!"

"Dean!"

Then there was silence.

Sam's view of his brother had been obscured by a tan fabric, which upon further inspection he realized was a large beige trench coat being worn by a rather scruffy looking, yet familiar man. Sam dropped his hands from his head and stood up, leaning forward to see who the strange figure was. His dark ebony hair was an absolute mess, giving him the appearance of a stray dog, with his poorly maintained stubble on his jaw complimenting his disheveled look. The man had laid two fingers on Dean's forehead, who was now relaxed against the mattress and sleeping soundly as before; the golden markings had left without a trace. He lowered his fingers from the eldest Winchester's head, and turned to face the very confused and distressed looking younger brother, who still couldn't quite figure out what had just happened. His eyes widened with realization.

"C-Castiel?"