Previously on Chapter 2: Bind (Part I)…

… Sam gave a non-committal jerk of his head and then the door swings shut.

Really need to start my revision for mid-terms soon~ But I'll most likely complete this story before the exams start since there's only one chapter left :) (Got a feeling there'll be much editing to be done for the last chapter tho~›‹)

Chapter 3
Break (Part II)

Sam and Dean sit around the small table in their room, laptops out and research mode on.

"Urg..." Dean sighed and slumps against his chair after hours of surfing the net.

"Find anything?" Sam asked, sounding equally tired.

It has been annoying, not being able to use both hands freely when conducting the research and also, not able to move around without dragging the other along.

They had checked in during the wee hours of the day and haven't left the room since. Like what Bobby said, it is probably best to "lie low" for now, as they are pretty much handicapped in a physical fight. Moreover, both had felt extremely self-conscious when around people, like that time when they walked through the hospital, and then again when they approached the motel reception. Perhaps it was just their imagination, but with their wrists bound together like that, it did seem as though they were holding hands while they walk, which drew some funny looks from passing strangers. All things considered, it is probably not a good time to be out and about. And that also means alone time for the two brothers, trapped together in the motel room.

The last piece of half-cold pizza that they had ordered for delivery lies forgotten beside the lamp. Sam turned the lights on just a moment ago when the sky darkened, shading the room. The hours spent in the room were quiet ones, with both of them researching on their own respective laptops.

Dean closes his eyes for a second and they refuse to open again. When was the last time he had a decent sleep? At Bobby's place before junkie Sam's great escape? And then a handful hours in between tracking down the runaway?

Sam closes his laptop with a soft 'thud', stifling a drawn-out yawn that hurts his bruised face. It has been days since he last slept too.

"We can continue on tomorrow," Sam suggested.

"Agreed," Dean replied with his eyes shut. And then, with some effort and determination, he pushes himself off the chair and the two of them head towards the only bathroom to wash up before crashing for the night.

Standing in front of the sink and mirror, and under the bright white light, it is easy to see the full extent of the damages from Sam's neck up. The whole left side of his face is decorated with various tones of red, purple, and black, hugely swollen, practically disfigured. Sam noticed Dean catching sight of his injuries in the mirror. Having stood on Sam's right side since last night at the storehouse, Dean never really had a good look at his own masterpiece until now.

None of them made any comment about it as they brush their teeth and wash their faces - only half the face in Sam's case. Of course, Sam has been feeling his injuries since the first hit at the car park, throbbing and burning away underneath his skin. The impact was strong enough that blood had dribbled out of his nose and mouth, but he wiped them away while on the way to Bobby's storehouse. It has been constantly aching ever since but he learnt to ignore it, mostly. After years in this hunting job, cuts and bruises are just an everyday, part-of-his-life occurrence. Despite so, this particular wound, even by his usual standard, is pretty bad...

After cleaning up as best as they could, they return back to the main room. Without a word, Dean saunters over to his duffle bag and pulls out a bottle of their usual bruise treatment cream and tosses it to Sam, who caught it reflexively.

"Thanks..." Sam muttered after recognising the bottle. He then pulls out his phone and set it up on the table, using it as a mirror while he tries to apply the medicine to his face. Dean sits awkwardly at the side while Sam dabs cream at the bruises. He isn't very efficient though, having to use his left hand for his left face, not to mention his swelling left eye that affects his vision when he tries to see his reflection on the phone's screen. After watching Sam struggles at it for a few seconds, Dean sighs and tugs the bottle of cream off his hand.

"Wha.. I can do it..." Sam said, reaching out to get the bottle back.

"Don't move," Dean ordered impatiently, already squeezing the content onto his right index finger. He gestured for Sam to turn his head to the right, which he did.

Sam's eyes narrowed slightly in anticipation of the pain but managed not to flinch when the finger brushes his face. Despite Dean's abrasiveness at snagging the medicine, his hand is surprisingly gentle when applying it. Sam caught the look of concentration on Dean's face as he spreads the cream evenly across his cheek before averting his eyes to stare into the far corner of the room.

"Done. Anywhere else?" Dean asked after he's finished with the face, glancing pointedly at his abdomen where he had previously kneed.

"Er, no. No, I'm good," Sam said quickly while instinctively moving his hand towards his tummy.

Dean shrugs and tosses the cream back into the bag. The bruise under his shirt is not as serious as the ones on the face for sure. Finally, it is time for bed.

Then, as soon as they got up from the table, another problem hits. How are they going to sleep? They have two Full-Size beds, one of which is useless given their situation. Each bed is big enough for two - two normal-sized people, which they're not. They stood there for an awkward moment, soaking in their predicament. One quick solution is to ask for a change of room back at the receptionist, but... probably not. They can stick it out for just one night, right? Tomorrow, they'll be leaving with Bobby to find a way out of this.

"Get the lights," Dean said as they each settle into one half of the bed. Sam stretches his hand and switches off the bedside lamp.

It is an uncomfortable squeeze, with their arms literally pressing into one another in order not to fall off the edge. They couldn't even take off their jackets, thanks to the bind, adding on to their limited space constraints.

Both of them lie there, side by side, silent and still. But they are far from asleep. It seems like forever ago when they'd last shared a bed - when they were still two kids, playing with dad's torchlight underneath the large canopy of a blanket; going on imaginary adventures and far-away places that only they knew of...

And now. The dull and wrinkled piece of cloth drapes carelessly across their torsos, plain and boring as it is. Facing away into the opposite ends of the room, both have their eyes shut but it'll take much longer to shut down their brains, despite being exhausted to the core.

Dean
[... You don't know me. You never did. And you never will.] Sam's voice rings loud and clear in Dean's head.

He wants to reject, with everything he's got, that that isn't true. He practically watched the kid grew up in front of his eyes. If he doesn't know Sam, who does? However, he couldn't deny that he never did expect the Sam that he knew would rather trust someone else, much less a demon, over him...

Sam had regretted it. Dean knows that he does. He could see it in his eyes - the horror, when he realised what he had done. And he sees it clearly again when Sam stood there defencelessly while he pounded on him, letting himself get beaten up like that because he felt that he deserved it. Dean knows it was an honest mistake, that his intentions were good. Dean knows that. But he can't... just can't.

Sam
[... You choose a demon, over your own brother! ... you let me down in ways that I can't even… I just don't think I can trust you.] Despite all the heavy punches that Dean had thrown his way, it was his words that could really break him apart.

[...you blood-sucking freak. ... There's no going back... You're a monster, Sam. You're a monster... a monster... a monster...]

"You're right," Sam said aloud, replying to the voice in his head and breaking the silence in the room.

"Go to sleep, Sam," Dean replied wearily, too tired for another one of these confrontations. [Don't make me break your other face…] he thought idly to himself.

"You were right, I am a monster - a.. a "blood-sucking freak". I don't deserve your trust, or Bobby's, or anyone's..." Tears well up in his eyes as he said this.

Dean felt the arm against his tensed, its muscles hardening. He shifts slightly to lie on the back of his head, staring up at the ceiling. Soon as it was out of his mouth, he had regretted it. He knew how much it would hurt Sam when he called him a monster. It pained him almost just as much, but he said it anyway. He was angry, and hurt, and frustrated because he could see that he wasn't getting through to Sam. He couldn't. In that sense, Sam had been a monster - to him. After all that has happened, something has broken between them. Something less tangible than Sam's face but nevertheless, broken. It wasn't just angry talk when he said that he could trust Sam no more.

"Look, I'm not taking back what I said," Dean replied brusquely, referring to the last sentence of Sam's speech. "But what's done, done. Right? We made a mess. We clean it up. That's it."

"Yea..." Sam agreed quietly, his heavy heart sinking even lower than before. He has interpreted Dean's answer to be harsher than what he really meant it to be.

"And don't go putting words in my mouth," Dean then added.

"What?" Sam said blankly.

"I never called you a.. a "blood-sucking freak"!" He quoted Sam, voice filled with affronted indignation.

"Er... I'm not trying to pick a fight here but.. you did," Sam replied tentatively.

"No I didn't," Dean turned his head to glare at Sam in the dark.

"Yes you did," Sam turned to look back at him with furrowed eyebrows, "in the voicemail..."

"Voicemail?" Dean sounded confused for a second and then he remembered. "So you did get my voicemail," Dean said, looking back up the ceiling. He never knew if Sam had listened to it or not.

"Yea..." Sam mimicked Dean in gazing up the ceiling, and he tried to keep the pain out of his voice as he recalled the message. "You were right. You should have listened to dad.. when he said you might have to.. do what you have to do.."

"Why are you bringing up dad for?" Dean said, his mind shifted to the conversation that he had with the possessed Bobby. Sam wasn't there at the time though, he couldn't have known what that fake Bobby had blabbered.

"Wha.. you were the one who sai... Never mind," Sam sighed, unwilling to go on.

A curious and confusing silence followed. With a deep dent between his eyes, Dean lies within the darkness, his mind reeling. There is something really off about their conversation before. And it wasn't just because of their strained relationship right now. Like a gnat buzzing in his head, his gut is telling him that something... something feels wrong.

Dean bounces up from the bed into a sitting position.

"Dean?" Sam called out in concern, getting up and switching the lights back on.

"Give me your phone," Dean demanded.

"What?" Sam asked as he reaches for his phone beside the bed.

"The voicemail I sent you, let me hear it," Dean said urgently.

"Wh... why?" Sam asked, clearly uncomfortable with the request.

"I need to check something," Dean said snappily.

Sam stared at him for a confused second before looking down at his phone to search for the voicemail.

‹You listen to me, you bloodsucking freak. Dad always said I'd either have to save you or kill you...›

Dean listens with shock and bewilderment at his own voice coming out of the phone's speaker, and the shock gradually growing into anger and outrage.

Sam, on the other hand, has a look of pain and guilt since the very first word, both his hands are clenched tight into hardened fists, and the same goes for his jaw, even though it hurts his face. Hearing it a second time doesn't make this any easier.

‹... You're a monster, Sam - a vampire. You're not you anymore. And there's no going back.›

"… Friggin' angels!" Dean bursts out after the end of the voicemail and Sam looks at him in surprise.

"Dean...?" Sam uttered, confused by the furious twist upon his face.

"That is not me. It's my voice, but it's not.. it's not me," Dean told Sam, sucking in an angry breath mid-sentence.

"It's not...?" Sam repeated with uncertainty.

"No!" Dean almost shouted in reply. "You really thought that I'd say... any of those?!" Dean asked in exasperation. Sam didn't reply but Dean could tell from his face that yes, yes he did. Dean takes in a deep breath to calm his explosive rage towards those feathered douchebags.

"So... You heard the phoney voicemail and went running over to that church, huh?" Dean said in a calmer voice.

"Yea, I guess..." Sam muttered and hung his head in embarrassment.

"They totally played us - like puppets on a string! Those evil, cocky, manipulative..." Dean ranted on about the angels until -

"Hello." Both Sam and Dean jumped at the unexpected yet familiar voice. They look up, only to see the last person (angel) that they thought they would see.

Keep feeling like it's missing something for this chapter in the first draft so I edited quite a bit before I'm finally satisfied~ Or almost satisfied..
Haha, somehow I can never be fully contented with any of my stories~ Maybe cause I've read truly beautifully-written fics out there where the authors have such a knack for the English language! (You guys set the bar too high people - but I like it~ XD)

Writer's Random Rant: It's been months~~~ Those fics that I'm following, please updatee~ I wanna read~~ :P

Coming soon… Chapter 4: Bind (Part II)