Limp Sam
Afraid to Say It

Summary: “Dean, I’m scared, man. These nightmares weren’t bad enough, now I’m seein’ things when I’m awake? And these visions, or whatever, they’re getting more intense, and painful.” Written for the Summer of Sam Celebration 2010.

Tag to 1.14: Nightmare (alternate ending)

Beta: none- look Ma no hands!

Word Count: 2126

Disclaimer: I don’t own them.

By: supernaturaldh

Afraid to Say It

Sam leans his weary head against the Impala’s passenger window. His breath fogs up the glass. He’s been pretending to be asleep for awhile now; ever since they’d left Saginaw, Michigan, ever since they’d left Max Miller - - dead.

He isn’t sure how much longer he can keep the act up. Pretending everything’s okay.

The car tires hum along the roadway causing a constant buzz that’s humming deep inside his head. The sound bleeds into the music that Dean’s got blaring on the radio.

He can’t stop thinking about Max.

His burrows deeper into his corduroy jacket and unconsciously rubs his thumb and forefinger against his throbbing skull. He’d tell Dean he’s got a headache but he doesn’t want to dump anymore crap on his big brother. He just prays it’s not a ‘vision’ headache at this point.

Dean, I’m scared, man. These nightmares weren’t bad enough, now I’m seeing things when I’m awake? And these visions, or whatever, they’re getting more intense, and painful.

He bites his lower lip and scrunches his eyes shut. He hates this - all of it. He doesn’t want to be different. He can still hear Max’s voice inside his head - talking about his mother - how she died - pinned to the ceiling - burning to death inside his nursery. My mother died the same way Max – we must be connected, but how? He can still see Max blowing his brains out with Dean’s handgun. I should’ve saved him.

His head’s pounding now. He tugs his hand up and rubs at his aching temple. He slumps in further against the passenger seat, leaning his forehead against the car door, eyes staring at the shadows that go whizzing by outside along the road. He vividly remembers the conversation with Dean before they left Saginaw. The words still bounce around inside his head.

It just came out of me, like a punch. You know, like a freak adrenaline thing.

Well, I’m sure it won’t happen again.

Yeah well, maybe. Aren’t you worried, man, aren’t you worried that I could turn into Max or something?

Nope. No way. You know why?

No. Why?

‘Cause you’ve got one advantage that Max didn’t have.

Dad - - Because Dad’s not here, Dean?

No. Me. As long as I’m around, nothing bad is going to happen to you.

He sighs. He hopes that Dean is right. He bites his lip and holds back a sob, mashes his forehead harder into the cool window and slowly shuts his eyes.


Dean’s been watching his baby brother out of his peripheral for the last two hundred miles.

Sam isn’t looking too damn good.

They’ve been driving all day to get away from Saginaw - away from Max Miller’s house -away from the kid blowing his brains out. It was bloody, it was bad. He shakes his head, attempts to push the memory from his thoughts. He’s worried about all of it, but mostly, he’s just worried about Sam. Kid has barely said a word since we left Saginaw.

He lets his eyes dart across the bench one more time to take in his brother. He sighs, taps his fingers on the steering wheel and attempts to mask his fears.
We're not going to kill Max.
Then what? Hand him over to the cops and say, "Lock him up, Officer. He kills with the power of his mind.”
Sam isn’t like Max. He knows his brother isn’t. He should talk to Sam, but that’s not easy when the kids all bunched up in a knot. He really doesn’t want to deal with it all yet, so, he’ll just keep his mouth shut and let the music fill the car.
Another hundred miles go by.
Max Millers mother died like Mom? He can’t imagine how that must make Sammy feel. He can’t believe it himself. It just came out of me, like a punch. You know, like a freak adrenaline thing. What is up with that? Sam can move things with his mind – holy shit!
He grips and releases the steering wheel in agitation.

He’s mad at himself too. He really messed up. If only I hadn’t taken that damn gun in with me….stupid, stupid thing to do. He can still see brains being splattered on the wall. He can still see the stunned look on Sam’s face. It’s all still to vivid and he blinks his eyes to get the image from his head.

He huffs out a weary breath and glances over at the kid again. Sam’s wild hair is covering his features. He can’t see his little brother’s face and that kind of makes him nervous.
Contrary to common belief, big brothers do care about little brothers.

He flips the radio off.

Tires hum against the road.

Silence hangs inside the car.

After several uncomfortable moments, Dean clears his throat. “I know you’re not asleep over there.” He states.

At that, Sam tilts his head up slightly and looks expressionlessly across the car.

Although the light is dim Dean can still see the pained expression in his little brother’s eyes.

Dean frowns.

“You got a headache?” He asks softly, although he’s sure he already knows

Sam just nods his head.

Dean’s got one hand on the steering wheel now while the other is fumbling for something underneath the bench seat of the car.

“Yahtzee!” He grins at Sam.

He pulls a bottle of pain reliever from its hidden spot beneath the seat and waggles it gleefully in the air. He unceremoniously dumps the bottle in his little brother’s lap.

Sam pinches the bridge of his nose. He doesn’t say a word. He doesn’t need to. It’s obvious; Dean already knows he’s got a headache.

“You should have said something sooner.” Dean fusses. “Hell, I should’ve said something sooner.” He drags one hand across his tired face. “It’s just…” He sighs loudly. “I’ll find us a motel.”

The older brother watches as Sam picks up the Tylenol bottle and dry swallows three pills. His chest clinches. He wants to beat the shit out of something. Instead, he pushes his foot harder against the accelerator and the car barrels faster down the road.


Dean moves slowly into the motel room. He doesn’t turn on the lights, what’s the point; they just need to go to bed.

The older brother drops his bag to the floor and then falls, haphazardly, and face first, against the lumpy motel mattress. He doesn’t think Sam is up for talking just now, and actually, that’s quite alright with him. They’ll talk later.
Sam lugs his own bag into the motel room behind Dean. He shuts the door with his booted foot and looks around the sparsely furnished room. He sighs. Slowly he places his duffle bag down on the dirty motel carpet by the bed furthest from the door. He sighs again and sets down heavily on the edge of his bed. He looks across at Dean. His brother already looks to be asleep, and well, that’s okay, ‘cause Sam doesn’t need to talk.
He rubs at his tired eyes with his thumb and forefinger. His thoughts are sluggish, his feelings overflowing, and he’s just so freaking tired. He already knows that he’s not going to be able to get to sleep. He’s too stressed out; too many things are running around inside his aching head. He stares down at the floor and runs a shaky had through his all too messy hair. What if I’m like Max? He exhales. What if what if what if?
Warm tears well up in his eyes and he tries to blink them back.
Don’t cry Dean will hear. Don’t cry Dean will hear.
Dean dozes for a moment. In a half asleep half awake state he vaguely hears Sam’s bag drop down against the floor. He hears the other bed squeak with his little brother’s weight. Sam sighs. He wants the kid to get some sleep. Things will look better in the morning, they always do.
“Sam, get in the bed.” He says. His words are muffled by the pillow he has scrunched against his face. He listens; doesn’t hear Sam move at all. He pulls his head up and blinks his tired eyes open. He squints across the darkened room.
Sam’s sitting on the edge of the bed, long bangs covering his downcast eyes. His elbows are on his knees, his hands clasped loosely between his legs. He’s staring blankly at the floor and Dean still can’t see his face.
“SAM…” Dean says louder. “Go To Bed.” The older brother drops his head back to the pillow, shuts his eyes, and nuzzles in.
Slow minutes pass and Dean is drifting in and out of sleep.
“Dean.” Sam says softly.
“Go – To – Sleep.”
Sam sniffles.
Dean’s head darts back up. He fully opens his eyes and peers across at Sam. Kid hasn’t used my nickname in years. He strains to get a better look at his baby brother in the pale moonlight from the motel window.
“Sammy?” he says curiously. He looks inquisitively at Sam.
“D-e –A- n,” Sam hiccups out unevenly. He seems to wobble on the edge of the bed.
Dean sits up. Is Sam crying? He’s at Sam’s side in record time. He wraps his fingers tightly around his brothers unsteady arm, attempts to push him backwards down against the bed. Kid just needs some sleep.
“Lie down Sam,” he urges. “Just…just …you need to get some rest.”
“No,” Sam states abruptly. He doesn’t want to go to sleep. He might dream. He doesn’t want to dream.
He fights to stay upright, pushing harshly against Dean’s hold.
“Sam - - STOP!”
After several tense moments Sam sags back into Dean - - and its then, that the tears break loose. He can’t hold them back any longer. The feelings that have been stalking him all day long just come bubbling to the top. He sobs uncontrollably, his whole body shaking with the sound. He gasps for air as tear drops roll down his distraught face. He grabs at Dean’s tee-shirt, his hands twisting and turning at the edge of the fabric.
Okay, Dean thinks, we probably should have talked.
“Sam?” Dean pulls little brother up against his side and rests his head against his chest. “It’s okay Sammy, it’s going to be okay, you’ll see…”
Sam hiccups in some air. He cries harder.
“I…I just…I don’t want to….” Sam’s weak voice trails off.

He’s grabbing at Dean desperately, pushing his face into his older brother’s chest. I can’t say it, because it might just make it so.

Dean blinks back the warm tears that have welled up in his eyes. Damn chick flick moments. He pulls Sam closer, wraps his brother in his arms. Sam’s hanging on to him like there’s no freaking tomorrow, like he’s going to fall apart.

He pats Sam lightly on the back, pushes the dark wobbly head into the crook of his shoulder blade - - and lets his brother cry.

They set like that for a while, until Dean’s feeling stiff and out of sorts. He’d let go, but he thinks not. If this is what Sam needs right now, then he’s okay with that? He frowns slightly. Huh? Go figure. He feels Sam’s brown hair tickle at his chin and it makes him almost smile, if this wasn’t so freaking serious, he would. It kind of reminds him of another time, when they were just kids, when Sam was little and just needed Dean to make it all okay. It was sure a heck of a lot easier back then.

Dean sighs.

“You don’t want to what Sammy?” The older brother finally asks.

Several minutes pass. The clock on the nightstand and Sam’s strangled breathing the only sound that Dean can hear.

He knows his little brother is trying to pull himself together, trying to sort things out; to rationalize everything in that big old head of his.

He rubs his thumb in tiny circles against the base of Sam’s neck.

Sam cuffs at his damp red swollen eyes.

“Dean?” the younger brother chokes out in an almost wordless sob.

Dean just holds on tighter. Sam sounds all of five years old.

“I… I don’t…I don’t want to…I don’t want to be like Max.”


Something About Bees
Something about Bees

Author: supernaturaldh

Warnings: none

Disclaimer: Not mine

Beta: Faye Dartmouth – of course I revised it several times after her expertise, so most of this mess is my own.

Word Count: 2455

Tag: Bugs (alternate ending)

Something about Bees

Dean sighs.

He's never been happier to see the sun rise in his life. Thank God, this night is finally over. If he never saw Oasis Plains, Oklahoma again - - it would never be too soon.

He glances around the attic, the bright rays of sunlight bellowing in through the large hole in the ceiling. Freaking bugs! He physically gives a little shudder. He looks across the loft at Sam and wearily heaves a sigh. His kid brother seems to be okay. Thank God for that.

"Damn bees," he hisses out.

He swats at another buzzing insect that is crawling up the back of his neck. He shakes his body unconsciously, several bees escaping from the layers of his clothes.

He knows he's been stung, repeatedly; he can feel the welts quickly rising up against his skin. It isn't as bad as it could've been though, thanks to Sam and his OCD tendencies about wearing layers upon layers of unnecessary clothes. He smirks to himself; he usually makes fun of his brother's OCD tendencies, but this time, well he'll just have to thank Sam for encouraging him to do the same.

He pushes the tarp away from his body and it falls stiffly to the floor. He stares around the attic at the tired, fear-filled faces of the Parks family as they stumble to their feet. Larry, his wife, Joanie, and their son, Matt, all look stunned in disbelief.

Yep, it's been a very long night indeed.

"Sweet Jesus," the unhappy homeowner says as he staggers just to stand. "You okay, Joanie?" He tugs the tiny woman up to her feet.

Matt's mom looks wide eyed at her husband, "Let's just go." She says abruptly. Then she shuffles quickly from the room.

Matt gapes blankly at his Dad.

It's pretty clear to Dean that the kid is struggling to make sense of everything that's been going on. Why his mother was suddenly ready to leave their brand new home?

"Get your shit together," the father states firmly to his son, "We're so out of here."

Matt's not sure exactly what to do. He just stares across at Dean.

"You okay with that, son?" the father asks firmly.

Dean watches Larry's hand suddenly tugs upward, hesitate, and then cautiously rest against his young son's shoulder-blade. He sees the fifteen year old look curiously at his Dad. He can tell the teen remembers the discussion with Sam from earlier. It has stunned him when his own little brother encouraged the youngster to tell his father how he really feels.

And isn't that ironic - his own brother - the one that had adamantly fought with their father every single day for years - advising some strange bug kid about how much he needed to talk to his own Dad. Sometimes life's just strange.

Matt smiles hesitatingly, look across at his father and then back to Dean.

Dean grins at the kid. He must admit Sam gave him good advice.

Matt nods his head in slow agreement. "Yes sir, I think, I am," and with that, he smiles widely, and then races down the stairs.

"Thank you," Larry mouths silently as he looks back across at Dean.

Don't thank me, thank Sam.

The weary father brushes one hand down his tired face, "We're leaving," he states resolutely. "Screw the damn Indian burial grounds, screw all this shit." His arms go wide, motioning around at the attic, his house, his home. "We'll find another place to live."

"Good idea," Dean quips. He smiles smugly. Man, this guy is eating crow.

Larry follows his son quickly down the attic stairs.

Dean glances over his shoulder at Sam who has been alarmingly quiet throughout this entire little show of affection. He grins; he knows how Sam loves chick flick moments. Such a girl his little brother.

"Come on, Sam, I think we're done here too."

The older brother shuffles towards the stairs. He wholeheartedly expects some sort of smart ass retort from Sam, some 'I told you so' comment about fathers and sons and relationships.

He gets nothing. His feet grind him to a halt.

Something feels off.


Dean turns slowly to stare at his kid brother.

Sam sighs, his mouth bowed low in a frown of distress, "Dean?" He whispers again. He lifts one hand to rub absently against his chest.

Dean's face contorts. He pauses and looks curiously at his little brother.

Sam's just standing there with a funny look written on his face.

Is Sam wheezing?

"What?" Dean's brow furrows. His little brother can't seem to catch his breath, and that's just really weird.

In three large steps he's at Sam's side. "Hey," he states abruptly, "you okay?" His hand grips Sam by the upper arm, pushing him slightly backward with the force. "Sammy?"

"I…I…can't…." Sam stutters. His voice is a little husky, like the words are struggling to get past his closed up throat. A second hand comes up to rub absently against his aching chest. He looks with puzzlement at Dean, sweat beads rising up against his paling skin.

What the hell? Dean grips his swaying brother tighter by the arm. "You can't what?"

"B…b…breathe," Sam says huskily.

Dean doesn't like this, not one single bit.

"C'mon, you're probably just tired," he offers his brother reassuringly. He backs slowly toward the doorway, both hands latched tightly onto Sam's arms, physically leading Sam along. His deep green eyes are fixated on his brother who is dragging in quick breaths or air. "Easy, kiddo, let's just get you out of here…." His voice trails off when Sam attempts to talk.

"D…D…?" He wheezes. He looks with large wide eyes at Dean.

Dean tows Sam's staggering form forward a sense of urgency overtaking his movements.

"You're okay," he soothes, reassures, while he is holding back the trepidation that's now niggling in his gut.

Sam sways, body gasping for some air.

"Come on, Sam…"

Sam blinks sluggishly.

"…get you out of this attic, you'll be fine…"

Dean frowns, this is so not good.

Sam stumbles. His breath hitches in and out. His legs suddenly falter, his body slumping boneless downward toward the floor.

Dean reaches for his shoulder, roughly grabbing him before he falls.

"Sam?" he says urgently. "Whoa, whoa…hey…"

He eases Sam down against the floor.

Foggy hazel eyes blink lethargically up at him.

"Damn it, Sam…" Do Sam's lips look kind of blue? "Sammy?" The older brother's fear ramps up a notch-several notches actually - when Sam doesn't answer him.

The kid's gasping, wild hands grabbing at his throat.

"Easy" Dean grabs the flailing hands, "you're gonna hurt yourself."

Slow realization dawns on Dean's face. He thinks he's seen this before, on some movie - no, no, some crazy documentary that Sam had made him watch; what was it again? Something on the Discovery Channel - -

Sam slumps further into Dean, his chest is scarcely rising now and he's barely moving air.

Dean panics. "Help…Larry…Help!" the older brother yells out loud and frantic, "Call 911!" He looks wildly from the attic door and back to Sam. "It's okay, Sammy…" he coos, "…it's going to be okay…just breath…"

Sam's fingers grasp at Dean's wrist weakly, pathetically trying to grab a hold of something, anything. His wide freighted eyes look blankly up at Dean. His fingers grasp weakly at Dean's shirt, his face, anything that he can reach, 'cause he's not getting any air.

"SAM," Dean demands, voice quivering, barely keeping it together.

Larry and his son bound loudly back up the stairs into the attic. "What's going on," Larry blurts. His eyebrows furrow. "What the hell?" he mumbles.

Sam blinks lethargically, his arms falling limply to his sides. All he wants to do is go to sleep.

"I'm right here, Sammy…"Dean tugs his brother higher up against him, hugging him tighter to his chest, willing him to suck in air. "Breathe like me, bro. Come on, you can do it."

Larry fumbles for his cell phone. He stares at the youngest Winchester's paling face, his blue lips. Holy crap! The large kid is cradled up against his older brother looking all of five years old. "911? Yes, yes…I got an emergency." He moves quickly from the room, banging loudly back down the stairs, words fading, as he moves swiftly toward the front door of the house. "Yes…yes…the address is…"

Matt looks from Dean to Sam, "I got this," the kid mumbles to himself. He sprints from the room.

Dean doesn't notice either of them. He's too focused on one point and one point only; his body willing his little brother just to take in another breath of freaking air.

"Sam…Sammy," he gives Sam a little shake. "You got to breathe, kiddo. Stay with me…breathe, Sam, breathe!"

Sam's head wobbles loosely on his neck, eyes trying to stay focused on his brother. Dean's voice fades in and out. He blinks sluggishly.

"Hey…hey…hey…" Dean gives Sam another shake, "Stay awake, dude."

Sam's chest is barely rising, shallow breaths barely ghosting past his dark, blue tinted lips. If Sam hears him, he doesn't know for sure. His fingers grip Sam's chin, tilting his little brother's face upward to look at him. Oh hell Sam, don't make me have to give you CPR. "Concentrate on me, Sam…"

Listless hazel eyes look at Dean.

"Sammy…" Dean gives his brother another harsh and brittle shake. He watches in shock as Sam's unfocused eyes slowly shut and stay that way.

"Sammy?" Dean whispers in almost stunned surprise. "No," he barks, he hugs Sam up against him willing the kid to breathe, to just take in some air.

Sam's head drops back against Dean's chest, his long limbs going completely lax in his older brother's arms - his chest no longer rising.

"No," Dean barks, he tugs Sam up against him. Don't you do this don't you do this don't you do this.

Suddenly, Matt bursts back into the attic, hurriedly dropping to his knees beside the brothers. He gazes, wide-eyed down at Sam. "I can help him," he huffs out in a hurried, urgent pant. He motions at Sam with the object that is dangling in his hand.

Dean gapes at Matt. "You can?" Wait….What is that, a needle? He rocks abruptly backwards away from Matt, physically dragging his now unconscious brother with him. "No freaking way are you sticking my brother with that thing?" he hisses out.

"It''s just an Epi-pen…." Matt stammers. "It's…it's for bee stings." The teenager looks pleadingly at the older brother. "I keep some, just in case…It'll help him." The young kid says with what sounds like confidence to Dean.

Realization dawns on Dean's face; he remembers this clearly now from that stupid bee documentary that Sam had made him watch. He thrusts Sam's long arm forward, fingers twisting at the sleeve of his brother's jacket, pushing and shoving it awkwardly up his brothers skinny arm. His intense green eyes look from the needle and back to Sam, who doesn't seem to be breathing now at all.

"Do it," Dean says firmly. "Do it now."

Matt looks at Dean's face hesitantly, what if he is wrong, what if this shot doesn't work?

"Do it NOW!" Dean demands again as his heart thuds loudly in his chest. Help Sam help Sam help Sam.

Matt grimaces, but does as he is told. He slams the Epi-pen down against Sam's limp arm, his thumb pushing the plunger in as the medication pulses quickly into Sam's vein.


Long moments pass, to Dean, it seems like forever.

"Come on…come on…"

He's cradling Sam limply in his arms.


"Give it a minute," Matt murmurs.

Dean nods, he hugs his precious burden tighter up against him as warm tears well into his eyes.

And then it happens, quick and quite intense. Sam's body arches up as he gasps and then tugs in some ragged gulps of air.

"Sweet Jesus, Sam…easy, easy…just breathe," Dean says softly.

Sam does it again, gulping down oxygen as if there's no tomorrow.

Dean's hand pushes the too long damp bangs away from his little brother's face. God, he'd almost lost Sammy. "Thank you," he closes his eyes, the adrenaline rush from a moment earlier waning. He feels Sam flail against him and he quickly opens them back up and stares down at his brother's pale face.

A small groan escapes past Sam's lips as he drifts slowly back toward consciousness.

"Sammy….can you hear me?" he asks anxiously. "Take it easy, kiddo. You're okay."

"Dean?" Sam slurs out in confusion, his eyes open to mere slits, his shaky fingers gripping weakly at his older brother's shirt.

Matt pushes to stand. "He still needs to be checked out at the hospital. Guess he's allergic to bees?" The kid grins goofily at Dean.

Dean gawks back. "What?" He looks back down at Sam. Holy crap! "Sam's allergic to bees?"

"Yep, I'd say so." Matt smirks. "It's all good though; you'll just have to keep some of these handy dandy Epi-pen's around. They work all the time for me."

The teen waggles the now empty shot needle in his fingers and steps backward as the paramedics bound into the room. Mr. Parks follows close behind.

Dean stares at Matt. Who would've thought? Bug boy is allergic to bees?

"Is he okay?" Larry asks as looks from Sam to Dean. He moves to stand right next to his own son.

"He's allergic to bees," Matt says quickly.

An oxygen mask is placed across Sam's pale discolored face.

"You know those pens are by prescription only…" The medic says as he continues to tend to Sam.

Sam fights the ministrations, weak arms pushing at the medic.

"Easy, kid," the paramedic says.

"You're okay, Sammy," Dean comforts, his hand griping Sam by the shoulder.

Unclear hazel eyes stare in confusion up at Dean.

The older brother smiles, gives his baby brother a little pat.

And Sam relaxes.

Dean relinquishes his grip on Sam. He stands. "Kid here had it." He nods his head at Matt. "Thank you," he says gratefully.

Checking Sam's blood pressure the paramedic smiles, "Good job, kid. You're familiar with bee allergies, huh?"

Matt's eyes dart uncomfortably to his father. "Kind of just hits you one day…one bug too many…"

Larry looks awestruck. "What?" His brow furrows at his son.

"Ah…there's some…something…I need to tell you…"

The father gives his son a puzzled look.

"There's something about bees…"


My Fan Fiction Site
Well, I am still giving this a shot. Here's my fan fiction site, if anyone cares.

When Your Are Blue
ay - I am not worth a crap at this site. I have had this LJ for a while, but never figured out how to work it all. Anyhow, I thought I would give it a shot. Here's a story. IF anyone has any suggestions on how to do anything out here, I am all ears!! Denise

When You Are Blue

“When You…”One Shot Series

By: supernaturaldh

Summary: When you are blue I promise I will try to dislodge whatever is choking you, as long as it’s not me.

Timeline: Season Two. No reference to anything.

Beta: None, all mistakes are my own

When You Are Blue

“You know Dean, if you’d look at the freaking map every once in awhile, you wouldn’t always be getting us lost.” Sam muttered as he eyed his older brother.

“We weren’t lost dude, I knew where we were the whole freaking time.” Dean’s eyebrows arch up as he leers across the seat. Bitch

“You didn’t have a clue where the hell we were Dean, just admit it and move on.” Sam huffs out. God, he’s driving me nuts.

“Would you please just shut the hell up? We’ve been talking about this all damn day.” Dean mutters angrily as he tugs his hand down across his tired face. Blah, blah, blah, blah, blah.

“You’re driving me crazy…” Sam looks heatedly at his older brother, anger rolling off him in a wave.

“We’ll that’s just what I live for.” Dean’s fingers reach over and turn the ACDC tape up as high as the volume will go, music blaring loudly throughout the car. If he won’t shut up, I’ll just tune him out.

Sam’s eyes roll in annoyance as he glares across at Dean. Jerk

Dean can see the kid’s lips moving and he grins. “Sorry bro, but I can’t hear you,” he spouts out cockily.


The sleek black Impala pulls into the Quick Stop market somewhere in the middle of no where. It’d been a long ride from Little Rock and the sun is falling slowly behind the trees. The last hunt wore the brother’s down. Too long in close quarters, and the Winchesters nerves are raw. They are both on edge, snapping and biting each others heads off for the last one hundred miles. Heated words between them, twenty four seven, is wearing pretty thin. Where to stop, what to eat, how long to stay, who gets the first shower, the music’s too loud, the cars too hot, and the list goes on and on. To say it was getting out of hand, well, that’s an understatement.

Sam’s just tired of his big brother, Dean’s not always right. Perfect hunter my ass, perfect jerk, that’s what the hell he is.

Dean’s really sick of OCD Sam, always the perfectionist. The jerk questions everything I do. Blah, blah, blah, blah, blah.

The arguments continue as they exit from the car.


“Whatever dude,” Dean hisses out heatedly as he slams the door closed with excessive force. Sorry baby, that’s meant for Sam not you. His hand caresses the hood of the Impala as he stomps abruptly past.

“Well, if you had just listened to me, we wouldn’t have gotten caught out in the middle of nowhere with that Wendigo on our ass.” Sam spouts off as his long legs eat past Dean and he enters the country store. The door slams abruptly in his older brother’s face.

Dean just rolls his eyes and pushes through the entrance. I’m gonna knock the shit out of him. God, kid’s like a damn dog with a bone.

Both brothers roam the tiny market looking for something to eat and drink. They’re short on money, and won’t be stopping for dinner anytime soon, they barely have enough for a motel room between them, and that’s not going to be a nice one either, but hey, they’ve been staying in rat holes their whole life, tonight will be no different. Both their hands reach for the cooler door at the exact same time, eyes glaring heatedly at one another. Sam huffs and grabs for the handle quickly, large shoulder nudging his somewhat smaller brother backwards.

Dean’s boots stumble momentarily and he braces himself with his hand against the cooler. His blue-green eyes flash heatedly at Sam. “Damn it Sam, you little jerk face, get the hell out of my way.”

The younger brother grabs his Coke and bolts sideways just as Dean’s arm swings to nudge him harshly to the side.

Sam laughs hard, a loud screeching cackle. Missed me. He grins cockily, and quickly moves away.

Dean snorts, it’s that awful little laugh Sam’s always had, the one that sounds like he thinks he’s won the war. I don’t freaking think so. He glares at the back of Sam’s head as the little brother moves on to the large selection of chips. “Screw you Sam,” he says loud enough for the kid behind the register to raise his head and stare up at them both.

“Hey Dean, kiss my lily white butt.” Sam glowers over his shoulder at his big brother.

Sam stops in front of the large array of chips, eyes perusing through the selections. Hummm….Doritos, Cheetos….Pork Rinds, and we have a winner. He grabs up an extra large bag of barbeque rinds and glances at the candy on the opposite side of the isle. I could get Dean some M&M’s, I could, but he’s being an ass. He ponders his thoughts a moment and then, decision made, quickly adds a pack of peanut M&M’s to his stash.

Dean can see Sam’s paying for whatever he found to eat, while he’s happily waiting on his delectable microwave bean burrito to heat up. Ah the joys of living on the road. Sammy will regret being ugly to me later. He rolls his eyes at his private joke as the timer for the microwave dings loudly throughout the store. By the time he has his food collected, Sam’s already in the car. He glances out the window, just making sure his smartass little brother is okay, then, he moves to the cash register to pay.

“You guys traveling together?” the teenage cashier asks curiously.

“Yeah, yeah we are.” Dean says as he watches the pimple faced kid ringing up his items.

“Most be a long trip,” the teen says smugly as he waggles up his brows.

Dean’s head tilts to the side, “What?” Not another person thinking that we’re gay….Pleeeaaase.

“I mean, you two been going at it since you first pulled into the parking lot. It’s actually, kind of funny.” The young clerk snickers, “That’s $4.57,” he says as he bags up Dean’s purchases.

“Humph, yeah, he’s annoying,” Dean mutters, “Sort a like you.”

The young cashier frowns. Well okay then.

Dean’s snarls his face up. He slides the wide eyed teenager a five and waits impatiently for the change. Don’t test me kid, I get enough of that from Sam.


They’d been on the road about ten minutes, dusk creeping in against the auburn sky.

“Are we stopping anytime soon?” Sam asks as he munches happily on a pork rind.

“Nope,” Dean says as a shit eating grin curls up to his lips. He shoves the rest of the large bean burrito into his mouth, and turns to chew, with his mouth open, as he looks across at Sam. Not till I get to digest this wonderful burrito. He’s eyebrows waggle.

“Ewe, you’re so damn gross, chew with your mouth closed.” Sam pushes back as far into the passenger door as he can, away from Dean, disgusted look resting on his face.

Dean just snorts and turns his eyes back to the road as he swallows and then let’s loose a large unyielding belch. Take that little brother. The warm scent of a bean burrito wafts around the car.

“I think I hate you.” Sam says as he stuffs another pork rind in his mouth. Not really, but you are driving me crazy.

The old back road is suddenly bumpy and the car bounces up and down, the tires dipping into some extremely large potholes.

Dean grips the steering wheel tighter realizing the road is in bad need of a repair job. These pot holes are bigger than the freaking car. “Holy crap,” he mutters, his foot easing off the gas.

“Slow down, Dean,” Sam mumbles through a mouth full of pork rinds, “You’re gonna damage the under carriage.”

“Well, no shit, Sam.” The older brother eyes squint up in anger, “It’s my car Sam don’t you think I know that.” Jesus Christ, little brothers are a pain in the ass.

Sam huffs and Dean just rolls his eyes, doesn’t look at his little brother, and concentrates on the road. He’s trying to maneuver his baby as best he can around the gargantuan holes in the pavement.

Sam swallows down the mouthful of pork rinds. He immediately feels a lump resting in his throat and he attempts to gulp it down. It doesn’t move. Sudden realization hits him; he’s swallowed a pork rind the wrong way. It’s stuck. He attempts to clear his throat, but nothing happens, and he struggles to pull in some air. He glances over at Dean, his older brother focused totally on the bumpy road before them. He gives a strangled sigh and pulls both hands up to claw against his throat.

Sam heaves out a funny sound as the car bounces on the road. Dean feels his brother moving around in the seat next to him. Is he wheezing? “Calm down Sam, I got it under control.” His eyes flit from the roadway to his little brother, and he suddenly feels sick. Something’s wrong with Sam. His brother’s face is saturated red; his eyes staring wildly back at Dean, hands pawing at his throat.

“Sammy?” the older brother darts his eyes from Sam to the road and back. “Sam?” Oh my god he’s choking.

Sam’s lips are turning blue, he’s wheezing, arms flailing sluggishly around.

Dean’s free hand pushes Sam forward, then whelps harsh against his little brother’s back.

Tears well up in Sam’s eyes as he struggles to pull in air, nothing happens, Sam’s still wheezing, attempting to pull in oxygen. His eyelids are starting to droop, his full weight falling forward, his chin smacking on the dash.
Dean whips the car to the side of the road. “Hang on Sam,” he says frantically.

The Impala comes to a grinding halt, half on the roadway, half off in the ditch. Dean doesn’t care.

Sam’s body slumps forward.

The driver’s door swings open before the vehicle is even placed into park. Dean slides full throttle across the hood; his legs whipping over the top of the car. Oh my god, help Sam, help Sam.

Sam’s lost all awareness when Dean yanks open the passenger door. His little brother falls limply against him, full weight leaning into his arms. His eyes are mere slits, his pupils unfocused and fixed. His head is tilting forward flopping limply on his neck.

“Sammy?” His brother’s name flows quickly from Dean’s lips. Oh my God, he’s not breathing. He latches his fingers tightly around Sam’s arms and lowers him from the front seat to the ground beside the car. Okay, okay, CPR…okay, I can do this. He checks his brother’s airway, realizing it’s still being blocked. He gently turns Sam over and rams his heal of his palm against his brother’s back, hard, several times in succession. He flops Sam back over and sticks two fingers inside his brother’s mouth. He feels the pork rind still lodged in the back of Sammy’s throat and he yanks it out quickly. He waits just a moment, watching to see if Sammy breaths.

Nothing happens. Sam’s unmoving, eyes closed, his lips a dark shade of blue. His chest isn’t rising – no air ghosting past his lips.
Dean’s body kicks into full big brother mode. Breathe Sammy. Dean lifts Sam's chin up, his mouth covering his brothers. He pushes air across his lips, two breathes. He moves to chest compressions one thought swirling through his head. Breathe Sam, Breathe. He places the heel of his right hand on Sam's breastbone and places the heel of his left hand on top of his right. Then he moves so that his body is directly over his hands. He remembers learning this from his Dad. He gives Sam 30 fast chest compressions.

“Damn it Sammy, don’t do this, don’t you do this,” tears well up in his eyes.
And nothing happens. He looks at Sam’s pale face. Oh God, he wills himself not to panic. The older brother frantically repeats the process, sweat beading on his brow. He never takes his eyes off Sam, he never loses hope.
And then it happens, Sam shudders in a breath, and then two. Dean stops his frantic motions, and focuses on Sam’s face. His hand presses the side of Sam’s cheek, eyes watching as color slowly returns. Sam’s eyes blink slowly open.

“Sam? Sammy its okay, just breathe, you’re okay.” Thank you God.

“D…De...n?” Sam’s voice is hoarse and shaky.

Dean’s arms wrap around his little brother and tug him to rest against his chest. Sam’s head lolls against him, as he gulps in oxygen like there’s no tomorrow. Sluggish eyes blinking up at Dean in confusion.

“It’s okay Sammy, you’re gonna be okay.” Dean hiccups and swallows down the knot that’s just setting in his throat. He blinks back the tears.

“Don’t talk, you just breathe, okay.” Dean’s voice is shaking and Sam looks curiously at his older brother’s face.

Dean releases a long sigh, and hugs Sam closer.

They set like that for a long time, the moon rising in the sky. Sam too tired to move, too confused to know why they’re even here. Dean too overwhelmed with relief to let his little brother go.



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