He could feel the hand on his chest, feel the way the fingers seemed to slip a little into his skin, under his skin. Inside.
That's one deep, dark nothing you got there, Dean.
He bolted awake, taking a minute to get his bearings, the fan spinning slowly above his head letting him know that he was in the panic room, crumpled in the corner of it to be exact.
You can't win and you know it.
"Shut up." Raising his hands to his head he tried vainly to damp down the voice that was snaking through his thoughts.
You just keep fighting, keep going through the motions.
"I said, shut the fuck up!" He used the wall to get drunkenly to his feet, legs numb from sitting in the same position for so long. Finally managing to get upright Dean moved over to the still twitching form of his brother. The hunter knelt down on protesting knees, getting next to the bed and checking the bonds that held Sam, making sure that they were still secure but not causing any damage. Once he was happy that Sam wasn't in any more discomfort than he had to be, Dean slumped down against the bed, resting his hand down on his brother's and then his head on that. Closing his eyes he willed sleep to come claim him again. He needed it, craved it. That brought his thoughts back to Famine's words.
You're not hungry, Dean, because inside... you are already dead.
"Enough already. I get it." Dean flicked one eye opened and looked again at the figure on the bed wondering just how he was suppose to save his brother. "He killed a horseman," he whispered quietly to himself.
"Dean?" Sam's voice was weak but the tremor that ran through him was like an earthquake.
"Hey Sammy." The elder Winchester pushed himself up and reached over to the small table to get the glass of water that sat there. "Here, drink some of this." He lifted the straw in the glass to his brother's grateful mouth and let him drink for a second or two, then he withdrew it. "Not too much." Dumping the glass back down Dean reached over and wiped the sweat from his brother's forehead. "How you feeling?"
"Dean." Sam jerked on the bed again and Dean prayed for the second time in as many days for some help as his brother started to spasm. This was worse, so much more worse, than the last time.
"Sam?" He dragged himself up off the floor, placing his weight over his young sibling, trying to make sure that he didn't hurt himself. "It's ok little brother, I got cha. Just ride it out Sam. I'm here."
Sam turned his head towards the sound of his voice but his eyes didn't look as if they were seeing anything but what was going on inside his head. Then, suddenly, the look cleared and the two brother's held each other's stare. "Dean?"
"It's ok Sam. I'm here," he repeated, not sure of what else he could do or say at this moment.
"Help me….please…I need some help. Please…"
Dean wiped at the tears that formed unbidden in his eyes as his own words can back to haunt him and he leant in. "I will Sam, I will. I promise I'll find a way to make this better ok? You just have to hold on a little longer for me Sam. Do you think you can do that?"
Sam closed his eyes and slowly shook his head. "No Dean. I don't think that I can."
Dean wasn't sure if the tears on his brother's face were his or Sam's own.
Ok. And idea that came to me when the guys where given the info on where the Colt was and Crowley appeared.
Short and hopefully quick chapters on this one. Enjoy. Some angst!! (hey it's me!)
Style is a little choppy but it kind of deliberate, I think.